“Wait a minute,” Ezra said, coming forward.
“It’s traditional.” Kissindre put a hand on his arm until he eased up. “We can get more.”
He shrugged, and his own mouth quirked. “We’re invited to dinner, but we have to bring our own food.”
Wauno just looked at him and smiled. Carrying the box, he went down the ramp and out.
I followed the others down the ramp and toward the light. Just for a moment I thought the figure waiting for us looked familiar; almost thought I could make the silhouette into the form of the woman I’d seen in the streets of Freaktown, a woman carrying a child.…
I blinked as we entered the corona of glare, and I saw a Hydran woman holding a child. I wavered, slowing—saw an old woman, her back bent by the weight of time, and the child in her arms: a Hydran child, not a human one.
The child’s eyes went wide at the sight of us appearing suddenly in the light, like angels. Or devils. She turned into a wriggling eel in the old woman’s grip. The old woman let her slide down. She disappeared from the patch of light as suddenly as we’d come into it. Everything happened without a word.
I took a deep breath. The air filled me with coldness. I tried to make myself believe that she’d run away from the sight of all of us, not just from me. I listened to the noises in the outer darkness, sounds made by things I didn’t know the names or even the shapes of, the murmuring voices of an alien night. The strange perfume of another world’s foliage was in the wind. I took a step deeper into the band of light.
Wauno moved past me, carrying the box of supplies. “Grandmother.” He stopped in front of the old woman and made a small bow, murmuring something I couldn’t make out. She bobbed her head in return and said the same thing. It sounded like “Namaste.” Her face was a netmap of time; its lines deepened as she smiled. A veil covered her eyes. It was transparent enough that I could look into them, but it gave her gaze an unnerving shadow of doubt.
Wauno stepped back, pointing us out to her; I heard our names leapfrog out of a stream of unintelligible Hydran speech.
She bent her head at me, still smiling, a smile so open I was sure it had to be hiding something. I just couldn’t tell what. She spoke to me, still in Hydran, with a look in her eyes that said she expected me to know what she was saying.
I looked at Wauno. “She only speaks Hydran?”
He shrugged. “She says she knew you were coming.”
I wondered whether she meant to the planet or just to dinner. “Namaste,” I murmured, and bobbed my head.
Grandmother nodded, as if she was satisfied. She looked past me at Kissindre, who looked uncertain, and at Ezra, who frowned, back at Wauno and at me, as if she was trying to read something into the way we stood together. She was probably reading more than that, but if she was, I couldn’t tell. At last she made a motion that included all of us. She led the way inside, moving slowly.
“What does namaste mean?” I asked Wauno as we followed her in.
“It means ‘We are one.’” He half smiled.
I watched Grandmother’s slow progress ahead of me, the heavy knot of white hair at the back of her neck bobbing with her motion. She wore a long tunic over loose pants, a style that I hadn’t seen on the other side of the river. Without the burden of the child weighing her down, her back was straight and strong. But still she moved slowly, almost stubbornly, as if it took an effort of will. I wondered how old she was.
I looked back at Wauno. “How did you learn to speak Hydran? There aren’t any files in Tau’s access—”
“Yes, there are.” He glanced at me.
I felt my hands tighten. “Can you get me into one?”
He nodded.
“What is this place?” We were following a long hallway lined with closed doors. The building had the sinuous, nonlinear feel of the Community Hall, but without the eye-popping decoration. “What was it? It’s old…” I could feel its age weighing on my thoughts the way the child had weighed down the old woman. “I—”
“Yes, it’s old,” Ezra muttered, behind my back. “Your perceptiveness continues to amaze me.”
“I guess you’d call it a monastery,” Wauno said, ignoring Ezra and the look I gave him. “A retreat. I can’t find a better word for it in our language. Nobody seems to remember how old it is. The data could be in the records somewhere, but a lot of the historical material has been lost. The religious tradition that it belonged to has almost died out. The building was abandoned for years.”
I wondered what sort of beliefs the original inhabitants of this place had held; what had made them lose faith and abandon it. “And now?” I asked as Grandmother stopped in front of a closed door. The door opened, although she didn’t touch it. I didn’t see an automatic sensor.
“Most of the time Grandmother stays here alone. She’s an oyasin. It means something like ‘memory,’ or sometimes ‘lamp’: a keeper of the traditions.”
Grandmother disappeared through the doorway, and light suddenly filled the space beyond.
“What about the child we saw?” Kissindre asked softly.
I turned back in the doorway. Wauno gave one of his shrugs and said, “Sometimes people come out here from town, stay for a while, when they need to get away.”
From the conditions I’d seen there, a lot of people must need to get away from something in Freaktown. “How many people are here right now?”
He shook his head. “Don’t know. I’m not a mind reader.” He smiled, and went on in.
Grandmother sat waiting for us at a low table, its edges as freeform as everything else in this place. There were no seats, only kneeling mats. The light came from a bowl in the center of the table where a burning wick drifted in a quiet pool of lamp oil. The illumination it gave off made the room as bright as day to my eyes … Hydran eyes. The room probably seemed dark to the others. The lamp gave off a thin, spiraling tendril of smoke.
I felt myself relax finally, realizing that I’d gotten this far without anyone attacking me, without Grandmother driving me out—without being struck dead by some force I couldn’t even feel, the potential energy of millennia stored up in the walls of this place like heat lightning, waiting for something like me to set it off.
I took a deep breath, inhaling the warm, heavy odors that filled the room. The air was thick with spices like none I’d ever smelled before, except maybe a couple of nights ago, in a hole-in-the-wall Freaktown eatery. The smell of food made me remember how hungry I was. I settled onto a mat, looking across the table at the old woman. Her green eyes studied me, hardly blinking, as the others settled around me. I swallowed saliva, keeping my hands off the table surface until I learned what the rules were.
When we were all sitting, Grandmother began to speak again, gesturing toward the center of the dark, featureless wooden slab, where half a dozen small ceramic cups were laid out in a circle around a squat, amber-glass container of liquid. From the size of the cups, I guessed that the drink wasn’t water. Probably liquor, because alcohol affected humans and Hydrans pretty much the same way. Probably strong liquor.
“She wants each of us to take a cup,” Wauno said. Grandmother pointed at me.
I reached out, almost picked up the closest cup. But then I noticed that each cup was different. Each one had been formed and painted individually, given its own subtle character. I looked at them all, feeling everyone’s gaze settle on my hand while it hesitated in the air, and the seconds stretched. Ezra shifted his legs under him and sighed.
I reached for a cup on the far side of the circle, the one that I liked best. This was a test. I wondered what the choice told Grandmother about me, or whether the answer lay in the act of choosing itself, or whether it was really no test at all.
Kissindre’s hand hung in the air above the table. She glanced at me, then at Wauno, who nodded. She chose a cup, reaching past me to pick it up. Wauno took one next, slowly, thoughtfully. Ezra took the cup sitting in front of him, pulled it toward him, his impatience skreeking it a
long the tabletop.
Deep golden liquid appeared in my cup, in all our cups at once. Ezra jerked back. I heard Kissindre’s indrawn breath. Wauno looked into his cup like he didn’t see anything unusual. I wondered what it took to get a reaction out of him. I swallowed my surprise, hoping that at least it hadn’t been obvious to the humans in the room.
Grandmother chose a cup, using her hand, like everyone else. But I watched the cup change: empty one second, full the next. She lifted her cup. Wauno lifted his, and the rest of us followed him as she spoke words to the air. The words began to take on a singsong tone, shifting into what could have been a prayer. The tendril of pale smoke from the flame at the center of the table began to unravel like a silken rope into finer and finer strands. I sat breathing in the scent of the liquor in my cup, hypnotized, as the separate strands of smoke began to circle in the air.
The smoke images vanished, suddenly cut off, like the old woman’s song. The flame wavered and came back. The smoke rose straight up, undisturbed. Grandmother looked at me across the table; I held my breath. But her eyes released me again without accusing me of anything. She looked at Ezra for a long minute; I watched him ignore her. The smoke from the lamp suddenly looped sideways, as if there was a draft, and blew into his eyes. He coughed and waved his hands.
There was no draft. I smiled. Grandmother lifted her cup to us and said, “Namaste.”
I echoed it, along with Wauno and Kissindre. Grandmother took a sip; we followed one by one. I kept my first sip small, until I knew more about what I was drinking. It was strong, like I’d expected. I saw Kissindre’s eyes water; she raised her eyebrows and took another sip.
Ezra drank, finally, and started to cough again. I emptied my cup in one swallow; this time I did smile. My cup refilled itself. I didn’t drink it down this time, remembering I hadn’t eaten; remembering the smell of food and wondering again where it was, wishing it was on the table. There’d been a time when not eating all day was just how I lived, but I hadn’t lived like that for a while now.
The bottle and extra cups sitting in front of me on the table disappeared. For a heartbeat the table was empty, and then a torus-shaped bowl replaced them, with the lamp centered in its negative space. The lamp flame wavered, the smoke corkscrewed. I felt the gentle breath of air disturbed by an exchange of matter and energy. Grandmother smiled, nodding at me, and began to speak again.
I glanced at Wauno.
“Grandmother says it’s time to eat.” He pointed at the trencher filled with something that looked like stew. “She says you go first, because you’ve been hungry for a long time.” He gave me an odd look as he said it, as if he wasn’t any surer of what the words meant than I was.
I looked down at the table. There was no bowl in front of me, no utensil; only what I’d taken for serving spoons waiting in the trencher.
“We all eat out of the same bowl,” Wauno said. “It’s custom. Go ahead.”
I reached out, dug the pronged spoon into the dish. Everyone watched me like I was disarming a bomb as I brought it up to my mouth. I wondered whether Hydrans even used spoons. I ate a mouthful. The pungent mix of flavors, spicy and sweet-sour, filled my head until my memory overflowed.
I remember this. I remember— A room, but not this one … eyes, green like the old woman’s, green like mine, but in someone else’s face … a warm room sheltering me, and the warmth of my mother’s arms, her mind whispering my name with love … my one true name, which could only be spoken mind-to-mind.…
I swallowed, gasping, cleared my head with a burning mouthful of the nameless liquor. I sat blinking as the burn spread to my eyes.
My vision cleared, and I looked at Grandmother. She didn’t move or speak; she just kept watching me with veiled eyes, with her head cocked a little to one side.
“So how is it?” Wauno asked.
“Spicy,” I whispered. I dug another mouthful of stew out of the trencher. This time I kept my eyes fixed on the table, not listening for lost voices haunting the circuits of my brain. I swallowed the food and went on eating. Wauno joined me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kissindre down her second drink like a dose of medicine and reach for a spoon. She glanced at Ezra, who was still sitting beside her, looking like a man with a stick up his ass. He didn’t like freaks. I wondered how strong his reaction to all the visible use of psi really was. He wasn’t making any move to try the food. I wasn’t sure he’d taken more than a sip of the liquor.
“What’s in this?” he asked suddenly. “I know he’ll eat anything—” He jerked his head at me. “But most people have more sense.” He looked at Kissindre as though he expected her to agree with him.
Instead she brought the spoonful of food to her mouth and ate it. I watched her expression; slowly she smiled. “It’s good,” she said, still holding his gaze.
“I wouldn’t be in such a hurry to eat something I don’t know anything about,” he muttered.
“It’s just vegetables and spices,” Wauno said. “Some are traditional with the Hydrans, some they got from us. Nothing in their food ever bothered me. They’re vegetarians,” he repeated.
Ezra grimaced. “Manioc root is a vegetable, but if you don’t cook it right it’s a poison. Besides, this is unsanitary, everyone eating out of the same dish.” He waved a hand at the bowl. “And everything here is … alien.” I wondered what bothered him the most—the food, the way it was laid out, or how it had arrived on the table.
A new, smaller bowl appeared on the tabletop in front of him. It was full of stew. He jerked back as if it was alive.
Grandmother said something, poking her finger in Ezra’s direction while he sat glaring at the bowl, his look getting darker as he thought about it.
“Grandmother says you shouldn’t eat with us,” Wauno said, expressionless. “She says you’re sick.”
Ezra looked up at them, his mouth thinning.
“She says you should drink uslo tea. You’ll feel a lot better.” Wauno smiled. So did Grandmother.
“Must be a laxative,” I muttered.
“That’s it,” Ezra said, pushing up from the table. “I’m not taking any more of this. We did not come here to be made the butt of a joke by you, Wauno, or by a—” He broke off, glancing at Grandmother, glaring at me.
“By a what?” I put my spoon down.
“Stop it, for God’s sake.” Kissindre stopped me with a look. Ezra caught her arm, tried to pull her to her feet. She jerked free. “Ezra, sit down! I’m sorry.…” She twisted where she sat, looking from Wauno to Grandmother.
“Wauno, whether this was your idea or the freak’s, it stinks,” Ezra said, still standing. “I want you to take us back to Riverton, now.”
“Wait a minute,” Kissindre said, starting to get up.
“What did you call me?” I pushed to my feet beside her.
“You heard me.”
“Hey.” Wauno got up in one fluid motion, holding up his hand. “I’ll take anybody back who wants to go. You don’t have to go with him”—he looked at Kissindre—”if you don’t want to.”
She looked from me to Ezra, and I watched her face harden. “Yes, I do,” she said, and the words were like stones. She looked back at Grandmother, and murmured, “I hope.… Namaste.” She made a small bow, still remembering the ritual form, even now. She started after Ezra, who’d already left the room.
I ducked my head, still looking at Grandmother, and followed them out. I fought my anger, trying not to let it make me stupid, trying not to leave it hanging like a pall in the rooms behind me, where everyone would feel it choking them.…
When I got outside Ezra and Kissindre were shouting at each other. His face was red in the reflected light; hers was half in darkness.
I caught Ezra by the shoulder, pulling him around. “Cut it out,” I said. “Everyone can feel you—”
He pulled away from me, his face full of disgust or something uglier. “Keep your hands off me, you pervert, you—”
“Freak?” I said.
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“Freak!” he shouted, and his hands balled into fists. “You goddamn freak!”
“At least I’m not a goddamn asshole,” I said.
He lunged at me. I saw it coming, as if he was moving in slow motion; I could have been reading his mind, the move was so obvious. I stiff-armed him: he ran himself up on the heel of my hand and went down like I’d hit him with a rock.
I watched him writhe on the ground, bleeding and cursing; watched Kissindre drop down on her knees beside him, putting her hands on him, covering him with solicitude. “Oh, my God,” she was saying; while he held his face, groaning, “My node, he broke my node—”
Wauno came up beside me. He stood there, not saying anything, with his hands behind his back and his mouth pulled a little to one side.
Kissindre gave us a look I’d never seen her give to a sentient life-form before. “Help me, damn you!” she said.
Wauno moved forward and helped her get Ezra on his feet. He started them toward the transport; glanced back over his shoulder at me. “I’ll come back for you.”
“What?” I said. “Wait—”
“Grandmother wants you to stay,” he said. “She wants to talk to you. I’ll be back.”
Shit. I started after them. Kissindre looked back at me, and I stopped moving. I watched them get into the transport, watched it rise into the night, leaving me stranded.
“Now time can move forward again,” someone said behind me.
I swung around.
Grandmother. For just a moment, I thought she’d mindspoken me. But she hadn’t. “You speak Standard?” I blurted out the only question that seemed to be left in my head. I remembered that Wauno had translated her speech to us but not the other way around. I’d thought she was reading our minds, but she hadn’t needed to.
“Of course.” She smiled the same open contented smile, but suddenly it didn’t seem simple at all. “Now we can eat in peace.” She bent her head at me, inviting me back inside.
I followed her back through the warren of halls to the room where the food was waiting. As I crossed the threshold, the scent of it triggered more memories; for a moment I was crossing into a different room, somewhere else in spacetime—