Three Gnossiennes
by Mary Lou Mendum
(Not to be confused with Eric Satie's composition of the same name, which is available from the Classical Music Archives.)
II.
avec etonnement (with astonishment)
For a whole week, Tallin lived in cold dread that the next visitor passing through Dar's massive gates would be Sommerin's sheriff, serving a confiscation warrant. He hoped that Califf would have the sense to let him be taken, if that was necessary: he had no wish to die, but he had even less wish to see Dar destroyed. However, Califf was young and impetuous, and a loyal son who had already lost one parent. Tallin feared that when added to the natural Sime instinct to hoard Gens, these would prove an insurmountable barrier to the sensible course.
For these and other reasons, he did not confess his indiscretion to Califf, as he would have to Nilba. Instead, he tried to pretend that nothing was wrong, a task which strained his acting ability to the limits. He could never have managed it at all, if people hadn't been making allowances for his bereavement.
When he could stand the tension no longer, he fled to the hills again. At least there, he would be free to fret in peace, without raising questions that he had no desire to answer.
As he drew near the grassy clearing with its bubbling spring, however, he discovered that he was not the only pilgrim seeking its solace. The sounds of a shiltpron drifted through the trees, expertly played but lacking true enthusiasm, as if the player were distracted by something else. As Tallin paused, listening, the musician fumbled a run and paused, swearing imaginatively. When the swearing stopped, the notes were repeated at half tempo, with grim determination.
Tallin kept his nager subdued as he made his way through the last few trees and stepped onto the lush grass. Zilmor was seated on the mossy boulder, locked in mortal combat with her worn and battered shiltpron. This close, he could feel that the nageric modulations Zilmor was coaxing from the instrument's resonating tines were as forced and lifeless as the notes.
"Having a bad day?" he asked kindly, as he made his way to the pool with studied nonchalance and knelt to take a drink.
"Shenned turnover always messes up my...," Zilmor began in a distracted fashion, responding instinctively to the sympathy. Then her attention refocused on him, and she did a classic double take.
"Pet!" She scrambled to her feet, clutching her shiltpron protectively to her chest. Her expression was an odd mixture of fear and longing.
Tallin did his best to look and zlin completely harmless as he scooped a handful of water from the pool and drank. He was encouraged when Zilmor held her ground.
"Good morning," he greeted her with a friendly smile. The expression felt a bit strange; he hadn't had much to smile about, lately.
"Didn't mean ta take your special spot," Zilmor apologized, a bit nervously. "Things got so noisy at my place this mornin' that I couldn't hear myself play, so I came out here where it's quiet-like." She gave a wry chuckle. "Coulda saved myself the trouble. Can't manage a decent tune at all today."
She sidled a few steps further away. "I'll just be goin', now."
ne sortez pas (don't leave)
"Don't leave on my account," Tallin protested. He looked at the musician, hard-learned caution warring with a Companion's innate sympathy. It was so senseless for Zilmor to suffer, when it would require hardly any effort at all to set things right.
She grimaced at a fresh wave of discomfort, and Tallin forgot all about the dangers of allowing a junct to learn the true extent of his abilities.
"Perhaps I can help," he offered. "You're very tense. Sit down for a moment, and let me rub your shoulders."
Zilmor zlinned him closely, cautious but visibly tempted. The Companion waited patiently, and at last was rewarded with a jerky nod.
"All right." She walked stiffly over to the boulder and sat down again.
Tallin moved behind her, tutting in dismay over the knotted muscles in her neck and shoulders. She flinched slightly as his hands rested on her thin shoulders, obviously unused to having a Gen touch her. The Companion started rubbing lightly, coaxing her to relax. Gradually, he let his nager begin to reinforce his efforts, stabilizing the malaise which her turnover had caused.
Zilmor turned to look at him with astonishment. "That's amazin'! No wonder the perverts like havin' you around. Who'd a thought a Gen could do somethin' like that?"
Tallin chuckled. "Just one of my many talents," he said. "Although at the time I learned it, I had some rather different applications in mind."
Zilmor leaned forward eagerly. "Tell me."
The Companion studied his rapt audience for a moment. Shen, he thought defensively. If knowing I was responsible for Yosum Forst's death didn't send her to the authorities, nothing will. Besides, I owe her for her silence.
"Very well," he agreed, making himself comfortable beside her on the sun-warmed rock. "I told you that I had decided to stay at Dar over the winter, and to study anything which might help me escape when the weather cleared. One of the things I was most worried about was escaping detection by Simes while I was on the road. Consequently, I worked hard to learn to control my nager. I discovered I had a certain talent for it...and more to the point, so did my erstwhile captor, Nilba."
dans une grande bonte (with great kindness)
Tallin lay curled on a bed of hay, nose deep in a Genlan reading primer. Below him, cows patiently chewed their cud, and horses dozed slack-hipped, occasionally rousing enough to stamp a hoof. They were glad to be in the warm barn, sheltered from the cold wind and half-frozen slush outside.
Tallin was more interested in the barn's privacy than its comfort, however. With grim determination, supplemented by the thick dictionary by his side, he had managed to work his way through the first twenty pages of the introductory reader. When he had first set out to master the language of the Wild Gens, he had been thinking in terms of weeks. After all, how complicated could a language used solely by Gens be?
He was discovering just how complicated.
One of the minor complications was that he couldn't allow anyone at Dar to know just how much work he was putting into the project. As far as anyone knew, the shiny new band on his finger declared his intention to remain at the Householding for the rest of his life. His demonstrated willingness to throw himself into his lessons and chores had averted too close an investigation of his motives and intentions. After all, where else was there for a young Gen to go? It was a long way to the Border.
Tallin finished the last paragraph on the page with a sense of real accomplishment, then made the mistake of turning the page to continue. There were three new words in the first sentence alone. With a sigh, he reached for the dictionary.
"You're studying hard," an amused voice observed.
Tallin set the dictionary aside with a sigh of ill-disguised relief as Nilba stepped off the ladder into the hayloft. "It beats staring out the window," he observed. "Although I'm not sure by how much."
His attempt at humor was rewarded by a silvery peal of laughter, which was probably more than it deserved. "Actually, I was hoping to interest you in a different field of study." She sat down beside him in the sweetly scented hay, and picked up one faded green stalk. She worried it with her tentacles as she asked, "Have you ever thought of studying to be a Companion?"
"Why, no, I haven't," Tallin admitted, honestly enough. "I thought that such work required a selyn capacity and nageric control far beyond what most Gens can hope to achieve."
Tallin had met a few of the Dar Companions briefly, but he had only a vague idea what they actually did. Nor had he wasted much time wondering. Companions worked with channels, and he doubted there were many channels in Gen Territory.
"Father thinks you could develop the capacity," Nilba said, "and Pollis says that you have very good control of your nager, on a basic level."
Tallin blinked. The irascible old channel who taught the Householding's young Gens how to avoid provoking Simes had never said anything of the sort where he could hear. Quite the opposite.
"Are you sure?" he asked. "Just this morning, he told me that he was ready to give up a hopeless task, and that he would have to turn me over to Sectuib if anything was to be done with me."
Nilba's even white teeth gleamed as she smiled. "Well, there you are. He'd never bother Father unless he thought you had more potential than he could train."
"He really thinks I could be a Companion?" Tallin asked again, still trying to get his mind around the concept. Taking on a new course of study was not part of his agenda at the moment. On the other hand, it might not be wise to refuse.
None of Dar's Simes had been rude enough to mention it to his face, but he was all too aware that legally, he was rated among the House's livestock, with exactly the same rights as the horses and cows stabled beneath him. Even if the ambrov Dar were willing to overlook that technicality, each Sime he passed was a reminder that he was Gen, and thus by definition less than they were. Perhaps when he was living in Gen Territory, without Simes, he would be free to hold his head up again.
"I know it seems a lot to take on," Nilba said, with an open sympathy that somehow avoided being condescending. "You've only been here six weeks. That's hardly enough time to get used to the idea of being a Gen at all, and you're still learning your way around Dar as well. As a general rule, early training is critical to developing a Companion's full potential, but it's more important that you be sure. Take what time you require to think about it."
Nilba, or at least her father, had the right to order his life at a whim: to work him, breed him, or kill him as they pleased. Still, it seemed to Tallin that he was being given a genuine choice. If he declined this training, no one would force it on him. The respect that this implied for his right to self-determination was a kindness that he had never thought to receive from a Sime.
Nilba was observing him gravely as he considered, her innate dignity unruffled by having to await a Gen's pleasure. There was something very appealing about such self-confidence, and about Nilba herself. Pervert or no, she was certainly more appealing to him than any of the young female Gens who shared his classes.
It wouldn't really hurt his plans to learn more of the sorts of skills Pollis had taught him, he rationalized. It was a long way to the Border, and the more he could control his field, the better his chances would be of avoiding capture. If the worst happened, it would be convenient to be able to survive Sime attack. And the study itself would provide protective coloration, diverting any awkward questions about his future intentions.
"I don't know if I share your confidence that I'd make a good Companion, but I'm willing to try," he said at last. "After all, it has to be better than a career as a second-rate burglar."
He was rewarded by silvery laughter.
plus intimement (more intimately)
"I was kidding myself, of course," Tallin said, with the perspective of nearly twenty years as a working Companion. "Nilba was...very attractive, as a channel and as a woman. I was just the right age to respond to both, and too inexperienced to understand what was happening."
"Youngsters," Zilmor agreed. "So caught up in romantic ballads that they try to live 'em."
The Companion grinned. "At that time, the only ballads I wanted to emulate were the ones about the heroic Border-hoppers--although I wasn't planning to come back. Still, I found what Nilba and her father taught me fascinating, much more so than Genlan grammar."
The musician snorted. "What wouldn't be?"
"Oh, I can think of a few things. Going over the tax forms, for instance." This witticism was greeted with a blank face, and Tallin was forcibly reminded that in Zilmor's world, Gens were taxable goods, not taxpayers.
"By midwinter, I was working regular shifts in the infirmary," he continued after a moment. "It was simple tasks, mostly, but I always left knowing that at least one person was healthier, or more comfortable, because of what I'd done. That wasn't something I'd ever had before, not even before my mother died. And when it was Nilba whom I'd helped--well, what young man doesn't dream of having an opportunity to have a charming young woman owe him a debt of gratitude?"
Zilmor chuckled. "Took advantage of the situation, did you?"
"No, I was a stubborn youngster, and there was a principle involved. I wasn't going to be anybody's property, and that meant Gen Territory, as far as I was concerned. Even if the life I'd have there wasn't nearly as interesting as the one Dar offered."
Tallin sobered. "I did almost change my mind shortly after midwinter, when I served my first real transfer."
Zilmor zlinned him curiously. "The Gens I've known'd rather do just about anythin' else."
"They wouldn't feel that way if they had any idea what it was like." The Companion struggled to find words which could communicate his meaning to this unrepentant junct, who had never known any transfer that wasn't wrested from the edge of terror and death. "It's all the relief and pleasure that a Sime experiences, but in addition there's a rightness, a healing, a sense that you're setting the world right."
Zilmor's bewildered expression prompted him to try a metaphor that the musician was more likely to understand.
"It's like getting up on stage in front of a crowd of people who have no hope, no prospects, nothing to fall back on, and they're ready to tear the place apart, and you with it. And then your music persuades them to set their cares aside, and gives them the strength to go on. Only it's better, because the effect doesn't end when you stop playing."
"Oh," said Zilmor, very softly.
avec une legere intimite (with a light intimacy)
"So that's why you stay on this side of the Border, despite everything," she continued. "No hassle's worth givin' that up."
Tallin looked at her searchingly, judging her sincerity as well as a Gen might.
"You really mean that," he said, with a touch of wonder. Many born Householders never understood a Companion's calling so clearly. They saw only the outward trappings: the power, the prestige, the privileges. This junct, who lived with the very worst junct society had to offer, had grasped the essence of his vocation. She had also, he noticed, lost her fear of him.
"Course I mean it, Pet." She patted his arm absently in reassurance, then looked down into the quiet pool. "Most of the time, the folks I play for see my music as nuthin' but a way to get drunk quicker, while buyin' less porstan. Nothin' wrong with that, really. I'm an entertainer, and folks require a good time, every little while."
Her tentacles caressed the shiltpron absently as she continued. "Still, sometimes a song'll get through, make 'em think a bit, an' I know I've made a difference. Reminded a fella who's mad enough to beat his woman 'bout the special things that made him pick her in the first place, or a parent that her kids are precious, even if they do whine. It makes it worth keepin' on."
"It does indeed," the Companion agreed. It was a lesson that he had been relearning himself, as he faced the empty hole in his life where Nilba had been.
"So you changed your mind and stayed on so you could help people?"
"Not just then," Tallin answered, with a certain grimness. "First came the plague."
sans orgueil (without arrogance)
"It had been brought to this continent the year before, by a ship from the south that sought refuge in a Gen fishing village called Poplar Harbor, " the Companion said. "Or so the Gen authorities determined later. It was a new sickness: fever and swellings, and a cough that couldn't be stopped. The rains were late, where they came at all, and times were hard. It spread quickly among those who wandered the roads, desperate to find work of any kind so they could feed themselves and their children."
"I suppose Wild Gens do have a struggle, tryin' to feed such appetites," Zilmor agreed. Under the sympathy, there was a touch of Sime smugness.
"It wasn't only in Gen Territory that the crops failed," Tallin pointed out. "Nivet was also affected. The food shortages caused Gen shortages at the Pens, and both licensed and unlicensed raiding became common. They had an easy time of it, with so many Gens wandering about--and why should they worry about a bit of a cough in a Gen who's going to be killed anyway?"
"They brought back sick Gens?"
"And became sick themselves. This particular plague didn't care whether its victims were Gen or Sime. At its height, here in Sommerin, people were dying too quickly for proper burials to be arranged, and citizens were being thrown into the kill trenches." Tallin closed his eyes for a moment, remembering.
"That sounds as bad as the sickness my mother told me about, that took all her family back in Tormin when I was a baby. The Great Dyin', she called it."
"It _was_ the Great Dying," Tallin corrected.
Zilmor gasped. "But that was..." Her lips moved silently as she calculated.
"Twenty-one years ago," the Companion said, as matter-of-factly as he could. He knew better than most what a junct lifestyle combined with poor nutrition and hard living did to a Sime's life span. Still, Zilmor looked older than he did, even though she was technically young enough to be his daughter. Barring accidents, she would die of old age in at most five or six more years, while he could realistically expect to live another twenty.
"The plague hit Sommerin not long after it ravaged Tormin," he continued his tale, setting aside the unwelcome thought of decades without Nilba. "Dar's casualties weren't as heavy as in some sections of the city proper, but they were bad enough. Among the dead were Nilba's father, and his Companion. Nilba's own regular Companion, Lanyll, was bedridden for months, and never fully recovered. Nilba was so brave, setting aside her losses in order to save as many others as she could, and then taking on the burden of running the entire Householding. When she asked me to fill in as her Companion, I couldn't refuse, even though it cut into the time I could spend on my own studies. I agreed; temporarily, I thought."
"And just how temporary did it turn out to be?" Zilmor asked, winking.
"About twenty-one years, and still counting," Tallin admitted. "I would never have believed it, at the time."
"You still kept to your dream of Border hoppin'?"
"Yes, and it took a solid dose of nightmare to convince me otherwise." The Companion was not unaware of the avid curiosity that this statement evoked, but the duties he had fled would not take care of themselves. "Look, the shadows are lengthening. I really must get back home."
"But, Pet, you still haven't told me what changed your mind about runnin' away," Zilmor wheedled, restraining him with a pair of tentacles around his wrist as he tried to stand up.
"Another time," Tallin promised. He looked pointedly at his wrist, until the musician sighed.
"All right, Pet," she agreed, with visible reluctance. She let him go, then bent to pick up her shiltpron. "I still gotta get that new ballad worked out, so's I don't lose customers who want to hear the latest."
But as Tallin made his way through the trees, the song that echoed behind him was a mournful lament about the Great Dying.
This concludes Part II of "3 Gnossiennes". Before you go on, how about taking another five minutes and posting your comments on the story to date on the message board?
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