Local Custom by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee Read Free Book Online

head. He would go, of course; it was the nature of things. They would resolve this misunderstanding; she would change her son's surname and he would be easy again. They would be friends. But sooner or later Er Thom would go, back to his round of worlds and trade-routes. She would take up again the rhythm of her hectic life . . . 

    There was no sound from the living room. Had he gone already? If he was still here, why hadn't he come to find her?

    She glanced at the pull-out, stepped over to make sure the bed-bars were secure, then she took a deep breath and went into the living room.

    He was sitting on the edge of the sofa, hands folded on his lap, bright head bent. At her approach he stood and came forward, eyes on her face.

    "Anne? I ask pardon. It was not my intent to—to cause you pain. My temper is—not good. And it was a shock, I did not see . . .  Of course you would not know that there are not so many yos'Galans; that a message sent to me by name, to Liad or to Dutiful Passage, would reach me. I am at fault. It had not occurred to me to leave you my beamcode . . . " And who leaves such , he asked himself, for one who has taken nubiath'a?

    She tried a small smile; it felt odd on her face. "Maybe this time you can leave me the code, then. I'll contact you, if something—important—happens. All right?"

    "No." He took her lifeless fingers in his, tried to massage warmth into them. "Anne, it cannot continue so—"

    She snatched her hand away. "Because he's named yos'Galan? I'll change that—I've said I would! You have no right—Er Thom—" She raised her hand to her throat, fingers seeking the comfort that no longer hung there; she felt tears rising.

    "Er Thom, don't you have somewhere else you need to be? You came here for a purpose, didn't you? Business?" Her voice was sharp and he nearly flinched. Instead, he reached up and took her face between his hands.

    "I came to see you," he said, speaking very slowly, as clearly and as plainly as he knew how, so there could be no possible misunderstanding. "I came with no other purpose than to speak with you." Tears spilled over, soaking his fingertips, startling them both.

    "Anne? Anne, no, only listen—"

    She pulled away, dashing at her eyes.

    "Er Thom, please go away."

    He froze, staring at her. Would she send him away with all that lay, unresolved, between them? It was her right, certainly. He was none of her kin, to demand she open her door to him. But the child was named yos'Galan.

    Anne wiped at her face, shook her head, mouth wobbling.

    "Please, Er Thom. You're—my dear, we're still friends. But I don't think I can listen now. I'm—I need to be by myself for a little while . . . "

    Reprieve. He licked his lips.

    "I may come again? When?"

    The tears wouldn't stop. They seemed to come from a hole in her chest that went on and on, forever. "When? I don't—this evening. After dinner." What was she saying? "Er Thom . . . "

    "Yes." He moved, spinning away from her, plucking his jacket from the back of the easy chair and letting himself out the door.

    For perhaps an entire minute, Anne stared at the place where he had been. Then the full force of her grief caught her and she bent double, sobbing.

Chapter Six
 
Any slight—no matter how small—requires balancing, lest the value of one's melant'i be lessened.

Balance is an important, and intricate, part of Liaden culture, with the severity of rebuttal figured individually by each debt-partner, in accordance with his or her own melant'i. For instance, one Liaden might balance an insult by demanding you surrender your dessert to him at a society dinner, whereas another individual might calculate balance of that same insult to require a death.

Balance-death is, admittedly, rare. But it is best always to speak softly, bow low and never give a Liaden cause to think he has been slighted.

    —From "A Terran's Guide to Liad"

     

    IT WAS A CRISP, bright day of the kind that