Kherishdar's Exception, Episode 27: Brother

I wound my way back through the tranquil night, amid softly glowing lanterns, and breezes that smelled sweet like flowers, and resinous like incense, and the worldweight was soft on my limbs and I was home.

…and then I reached Qevellen, and remembered all the things I had not yet resolved, and my wrists grew tense, and my shoulders, and I sighed. At least the hour would spare me the enthusiastic welcome of my Housemates. Both artists and Guardians liked mornings.

Despite my misgivings, it felt good to touch the gate again. I traced the tset—you remember the word, aunera? A ritual knife? Because this was once the house of the first Shame of Kherishdar, and ‘Tset’ was his nickname—and passed up the path, and into the darkened front chamber. All quiet, and only a low lamp in the family room beyond. A good sign. Again, I pulled off my boots and left them against the wall before tiptoeing to the kitchen.

I was pouring myself a cup of tea when a silhouette redoubled the density of the shadows at the door. Do you also say that people who live with one another become a little like one another, aunera? Maybe that’s why he didn’t surprise me. I chanced an intimacy to match the one already awarded and called him brother. “Lorani. Either come in or go to bed, but don’t skulk.”

Kor laughed, quiet. “Really, Haraa?”

“Admit it,” I said. “You do. Like a hunting beast.”

“I admit to no such thing.” But he was smiling, I could hear it in his voice. “Pour me a cup, then, qirini, and tell me how it went.”

I exhaled noisily. “It was… strange.”

“To be expected.”

“Yes. But even expecting strangeness you can’t prepare for it without knowing its shape.” I plucked another cup from the tea service and paused at the sight of the thin crisps. Eating alone hadn’t had any appeal. In company, though… it had been a long ride. And I liked these particularly, a very delicate cookie perfumed with a floral tincture. I brought the plate and poured for Kor, who’d found me a tray.

“The family room would be more comfortable,” he said.

“Fine. But you’re carrying.”

He chuckled. “Lead the way, Haraa.”

The private family room where we’d played District was a different place after the household had gone to bed. A little too empty, even with Kor filling it, but Kor could take up as much space as he wanted; he could withdraw to a corner, unseen, or expand until a hall was too small to hold him. That is, for those of you keeping track, a form of esar: dushel, presence, but knowing exactly how much of your weight to throw around… to borrow one of your metaphors. Tonight he kept his burning intimate, like a candle, and I sat close and noticed myself doing it.

He noticed me noticing too, and gave me one of those little brow twitches that meant he was amused, but also challenging me. It made me laugh. I had thought the aunera challenging, and they were. But I lived with the most challenging Ai-Naidari in the empire.

“Maybe,” I said to him, “all the work I do with the aunera is preparation for dealing with you.”

“Maybe,” he said, mouth curving into a smile, and there was mischief in it. “Tell me about it.”

I did, then, and it was a much different experience from telling Thirukedi. Both of them were superlative listeners, but Kor’s attention was far more… less… how do I even describe! Thirukedi is a god, and beyond any casual intimacy. Kor, no matter his mantle, is still an Ai-Naidari. Even more, he was on the gateworld; he’d met the particular humans I mentioned.

“So,” he said over his tea, “how was it, in the end? To execute your new ishas?”

“I liked it,” I admitted. “And that worries me.”

“To enjoy one’s work is natural.”

“If one’s work is natural itself,” I said. “But what’s natural about understanding aliens?”

“Are they are not part of nature?”

“No,” I said firmly. And laughed. “Not part of our world, anyway. Our universe. I like them, though. Is that strange?”

His reply then was cagey, I thought; he had his eyes lowered to the surface of his tea as he lifted his cup, and I knew he didn’t need to watch his hand. “We like many things that are not Ai-Naidari.”

“Yes. We like them as things, not as people.” I shook my head. “The aunera are definitely people. Just…”

He looked up, met my eyes. Which is probably why I blurted the next line.

“I’m afraid I like them because I like how they make me feel. Which is superior.”

His face was a smooth mask as he set his cup back down. “They lack Civilization.”

“Oh, stop that,” I said, nettled. “Don’t be inscrutable Shame at me. I don’t need you analyzing me. I already know it was an awful thing to say.”

Kor’s eyes widened and… he started laughing. A real laugh, surprised out of him, and he’d let me see it.

I admit it, aunera… I felt a little smug.

“All right, Haraa,” Kor said finally, wiping his eyes. “I’ll do my best. But I can’t always stop.”

“I doubt that,” I said. “O master of self-control. But really, I don’t need you to tell me it’s disgusting to enjoy people because they give you a chance to congratulate yourself for all the virtues you perceive they’re lacking. The only possible excuse I have is that we don’t think of aunera as people. But that doesn’t work, does it? When they are people. Just… not people-people.” I paused, ears flicking back. “It gets ugly in our language, doesn’t it.”

“Is it any better in theirs?” he asked.

“It’s… different,” I said. “But I suspect their language—languages—are as capable of ugliness as ours. And beauty too.”

“And have you found beauty in their language?”

“Let me show you.”