Immersed: Interplanetary League, Book 2 Page 5

  “Are you Hakimu?”

  “No, I’m Telonia, but we are allies of the Hakimu.”

  “Allies?” Ilexa asked, surprised. “I thought the planets were united.”

  Thalia sighed as though a small child had asked a very obvious question. “Representatives from each tribe make up our central government, and we act as one in our dealings with other planets, but within our borders…it is more complex. Tribes have allies and enemies. Many of the alliances and feuds date back to before recorded history. Working with the tribes is similar to navigating a mine field.”

  “Nothing I read mentioned this,” Ilexa accused.

  “It is not something we share with outsiders. No IMEP participant has ever been given this much information about intertribal relations.”

  “I assume you are telling me this, because of my…relationship with the Hakimu tribe.”

  Thalia gave her a very put-upon look. “Of course.”

  “And the most important intertribal information you choose to instruct me in is courting rituals? Thank the Prophetess you are here to impart your wisdom.” Ilexa usually restrained the sarcastic words that floated through her mind, but the frustration of living in ignorance since her arrival had her on edge.

  “You are impertinent. I’ve read your application and seen a vid of your interview. I expected you to be a timid mouse. Perhaps you will prove more than I expected.”

  Ilexa’s temper flared. “I’m so pleased to have the opportunity to prove myself in your eyes.”

  Thalia looked amused, but ignored Ilexa’s anger. “As for courting rituals, they are the ones that pose the most danger to you.”

  “How?”

  “As I said before, many of our traditions predate written history. Some of those traditions involve courting and claiming.”

  “Claiming?”

  “Bride stealing.”

  Ilexa worried her lower lip, regretting her sarcasm. “Bride stealing?”

  “You are a member of the royal family of the wealthiest planet in the League. For that reason alone, you should be on guard.”

  Ilexa gritted her teeth at the woman’s misunderstanding of her status on N’yota. Her brother had married the Damaia, but it was the Damaia’s line that was “royal”. Ilexa was an in-law. “You mean I should warn my brother to expect a ransom demand?”

  “I said ‘bride stealing’ not ‘kidnapping’,” Thalia replied acidly. “With intertribal marriages, the wife becomes a member of her husband’s tribe. Even if the woman rejects the man, she remains a member of his tribe unless her birth tribe steals her back.”

  “You realize you are describing a barbaric practice that contravenes League tenets.”

  “If the women were forced to accept the marriage, the anti-indenture clause would be violated. However, forcibly changing a person’s tribal affiliation is not a League concern.”

  Ilexa inclined her head, forced to concede the point.

  “You need to be especially wary around other tribes, even those members invited into Hakimu holdings. Someone may abduct you regardless of whether he finds you attractive. The abduction would give his tribe a close tie to the N’yotan ruling House and increase his standing.”

  Regardless of whether he finds you attractive, Ilexa mimicked silently. Could the woman be more insulting if she tried? Ilexa took two deep breaths to help control her fury at the woman’s insult and at the idea that someone would take her simply to gain access to her family. “I assure you, abducting me will only enrage my family, not create a ‘close tie’.”

  “The bride stealer won’t understand that.”

  For a moment, Ilexa pictured Lia’s reaction to the news someone abducted her. It might almost be worth the kidnapping to watch Lia rain fury down on the idiot who took her sister-in-law and closest friend. “I assume I am safe from abduction within the tribe.”

  “Yes, but the rules of courtship are different.”

  “Different? I suppose not being kidnapped could be casually described as ‘different’,” Ilexa muttered.

  “Bride stealing is rare, but it happens. Usually a man courts a woman and convinces her to marry him and join his tribe. There are no restrictions on their conduct when courting.”

  “And courting within the tribe?”

  “The man approaches the woman’s father for permission to begin the process. He then tries to gain her attention by proving his skills as a warrior. If she favors him, they will start spending more time together. Eventually, she might consent to being his wife. However, until they wed, physical contact is strictly limited.”

  “No sex,” Ilexa said baldly. Healers didn’t tiptoe around natural bodily functions.

  Her bluntness earned a glare from Thalia. “That is correct. Any woman who allows it is considered to have loose morals and is all but shunned. The man is considered without honor and no father would allow him to court his daughter. If the woman does not marry him, he will never wed or be a father himself. If the couple does marry, it can take years to overcome the stigma.”

  Ilexa sighed. “I am not here for romance. I’m here to learn from your medical techniques and to share healing.”

  “Romance has a way of finding us, especially when we hide from it.”

  Ilexa glanced at the timepiece on the wall. “I’m expected in the medical ward. It’s my first day of scheduled work, and I’m already late.”

  “You’re not expected for healing. The Prylivian tribal head is visiting, and the Malkia promised to introduce you to him. Your healing stunt has made you a minor celebrity, which gives the Hakimu a political coin that costs nothing while gaining something. In this case, strengthening relationships with the Prylivian.”

  “I am here to heal, not be paraded about like a prized animal,” Ilexa snapped, outraged.

  “As Hakimu, you are subject to the will of the Malkia. You will begin work tomorrow.”

  Thalia rose and gestured for Ilexa to follow. Slipping into her shoes, Ilexa muttered several of her brothers’ favorite curses under her breath.

  “I will be traveling on Dunia for a few more days to observe and offer counsel should it be needed by other IMEP participants. I’ll provide a way for you to contact me.”

  Ilexa assumed that meant her lessons in local culture had concluded. Aside from a fear of kidnapping, the woman had imparted little of value. Irritated, she followed the useless counselor down the hall.

  ***

  “Perhaps Ilexa can entertain my wife and daughter while we discuss the matters affecting our respective tribes.” The Prylivian tribal leader, Isher, couched his demand in the form of a request. “My wife has looked forward to meeting her.”

  “Ilexa is not scheduled in the medical ward until tomorrow. She will be happy to spend time with your family,” the Malkia assured him.

  Ilexa tensed, irritated at having decisions made for her. “I’d be delighted.”

  The Malkia and Isher didn’t even glance back as they left the two women alone. Despite her irritation, seeing Isher leave made Ilexa feel better. For the past ten minutes, he had demanded to know the “secrets” of healing and hadn’t believed it was a gift from the Goddess Havilla to a select few. He’d even implied he’d hire a healer to come teach his doctors the “trick”.

  Forcing a smile, she turned back to Isher’s wife. Bali wore her blonde hair in a complex style. Her flawless skin and clear blue eyes made her a true beauty and emphasized the age difference between her grizzled husband and herself. “How old is your daughter?”

  “Nine months,” Bali replied, and to Ilexa’s surprise, shoved the sleeping bundle into her arms.

  Ilexa juggled the baby who made no sound of protest. Her senses screamed at her, and she shot Bali a look of warning and suspicion. “This boy is no more than six months old and is very ill.”

  “Can you heal him?” Desperation and fear leaked from Bali.

  “I can’t make him a nine-month-old girl,” Ilexa replied, ice in her voice, intentionally misunders
tanding. She didn’t know what game Bali played, and she didn’t appreciate being forced into it.

  “My daughter is home with her nanny. I brought Zavian because you are his last chance. He has Falcha Disease. Can you heal him?”

  Her curiosity over Bali’s charade couldn’t hold a candle to her concern for the tiny life she held in her arms. She let her eyes unfocus and studied the still child. His aura still had a thin halo unaffected by the disease. She sensed his small body with a diagnostic “touch” and confirmed the Falcha. “He’s pretty far gone, but he has a good chance. I’ll need to heal him for at least a week before he’ll stabilize enough to turn over to your doctors for care.”

  “Can’t you heal him now? Like you fixed that boy’s arm,” Bali begged, showing none of the relief Ilexa expected.

  “No. His system needs to be reset. The disease altered his mitochondria. I have to undo it over time or it will shock his system, most likely killing him.”

  “But you have to heal him now. You have to.”

  “Perhaps you should explain what is going on and why the subterfuge.”

  “Zavian is my cousin’s son. She brought him to me when she learned I would be coming to the Hakimu seat. My husband would never have allowed me to bring him, so I pretended he was our daughter.”

  “Why couldn’t you just bring him?” Ilexa assumed it was some cultural taboo. She wanted to throttle Thalia for leaving her twisting in the wind.

  “My cousin married the son of the Quixivon leader.” Bali hissed at Ilexa’s blank face. “He’s the grandson and potential successor to the Quixivon chieftain.”

  “And he can’t go outside the tribe for treatment?” she guessed.

  Bali’s expression said she thought Ilexa was an idiot. “The Quixivon and Hakimu are blood enemies.”

  “Surely no one would deny treatment of a child?”

  “The Quixivon can’t ask. To do so means begging from an enemy and surrendering all honor. Even if they could ask, what’s to stop the Hakimu from killing him once they have their hands on him?”

  “Me,” Ilexa replied, but her mind was racing.

  “You have to heal him today.”

  “It’s not possible.” Ilexa elected not to debate the child’s safety with the Hakimu. Her first concern was saving Zavian. To do that, he had to stay. “We need something to wrap up that you can carry home as your daughter.”

  Hope lit Bali’s eyes for the first time. “You’ll help us?” Her eyes dimmed. “But how will you explain his presence?”

  “Leave that to me,” Ilexa said, rising. “First we need to get you home undetected. I’ll contact you when he can leave. You’ll have to bring your ‘daughter’ back under some pretense.”

  “I can do that.”

  Two hours later, the Prylivian delegation left. Bali waved before climbing into the transport, cradling a carefully bundled vase.

  Ilexa waved back before hurrying to the medical ward. She needed to find Quatres.

  Chapter Five

  “Quixivon warriors are approaching our borders en masse,” the Malkia announced to the war council.

  Fifteen warriors jerked upright in their seats, and immediately began talking over one another.

  “What?”

  “Why?”

  “How dare they!”

  “Those jackals—”

  “Enough.” The Malkia didn’t raise her voice, but the word lashed across the room, leaving silence behind.

  Thane leaned forward. “Are they flying a flag?”

  “One of war,” Rhys replied grimly. While the man remained silent in meetings where the Malkia handled intra-tribal disputes, he held the highest warrior position and led the war council.

  “Have they made any contact at all?” Gerund demanded.

  “None.”

  “Then according to tradition, they will send an envoy with their demand for our surrender and a declaration of our alleged transgression that led to this act,” Gerund stated.

  “Do we have any theories as to what provoked them?” Thane tried to find his mental footing. War between blood enemies hadn’t occurred in centuries. He’d trained for war, seen more than his share when serving as a League soldier. He’d never imagined he’d face it on his homeworld, but here he was. The Hakimu were at war with the Quixivon.

  “Direct dealings with the Quixivon have not occurred in decades. We have not held clashing positions in the Intertribal Council for even longer,” the Malkia informed them quietly.

  “Which begs the question, what do they expect to accomplish with this action?” a younger warrior asked. “They must want something and are using this as a pretense to either negotiate for it or try to take it from us.”

  “Perhaps,” the Malkia said. “Or a Hakimu has given insult and not informed his or her family head. I expect the envoy to arrive within two hours. I am announcing that anyone who may have caused or have knowledge of this situation may come to me without repercussions. If possible, I will keep his or her name private. The more knowledge we have, the stronger our position.”

  Murmurs began to swell at the implication of disloyalty from within the tribe. Thane fixed his gaze on the Malkia. She wore the serene expression she always did at council meetings, but there was something uneasy about her. Something he couldn’t name or identify, but it made his gut clench all the same.

  If the Malkia was worried, it meant she couldn’t anticipate the Quixivon’s reasoning in attacking the Hakimu. Being unable to anticipate an enemy left them in a weakened state. His mind raced. Defense of the holding suddenly seemed much more difficult than when he drilled for defending against an attack.

  The Malkia rose, and out of respect, the men followed suit.

  “Warriors, the lives of those in your tribe rest with your skills.”

  “Prepare the defenses,” Rhys ordered, and the men filed out of the room, double time.

  The Hakimu warriors operated like a well-tuned instrument. Knowing his men would do their jobs allowed Thane to pause for precious seconds. He exchanged a look with Rhys. In that brief glance, the two men shared more than they could with words. In Rhys’s eyes, he saw the man’s worry and resolve. Fury suffused Thane, and he spun away, storming out of the Council room, determined to prevent the Quixivon from harming his tribe.

  Two hours later, he stood to the left and slightly behind the Malkia, while Rhys flanked her from the other side. They watched in silence as the Quixivon delegate made the slow trek to where they stood. He approached alone and on foot according to ancient tradition. Thane watched him with narrowed eyes, hoping for some insight into what brought the current events to pass.

  Rhys lowered the binoculars and let out a low whistle. Quietly, so the tribe members standing a few feet behind them wouldn’t hear, he said, “The delegate is Creary.”

  “What the hell is going on?” Thane whispered in response, staggered by Rhys’s announcement. What was the heir apparent to the Quixivon chieftain doing acting as delegate?

  “Thane!”

  He turned to see Ilexa threading her way through tribal elders. Though “threading” wasn’t quite the right word. The elders parted for her, providing a straight path to him. Despite the gravity of the situation, he felt more annoyance at the elders than at Ilexa. Since the healing, many of the tribe had become fearful, believing her to be a witch. Others viewed her as being blessed by the Deity. Either reaction guaranteed people giving her a wide berth.

  She wore the IMEP uniform that never failed to stir his blood, and from the look of it, she was cold. She all but skidded to a halt in front of him.

  “This is not a good time,” he told her, stating the obvious. “Return to the medical ward or your chamber.”

  “No one will tell me what is going on.”

  The sheer selfishness of that statement stunned him, before anger surged. “Believe it or not, princess, this is not about you.” Ilexa’s head jerked back as though he’d slapped her, and he felt a twinge of guilt. He softened his
voice, and said, “We have been challenged by another tribe. The situation is serious, and I do not have time to discuss it with you.”

  He tried to turn, but Ilexa clamped onto his arm, alarm shining in her eyes. “Which tribe?”

  Thane’s stomach clenched at the distress in her voice, and he had the embarrassing urge to comfort her. His tribe faced a serious threat, and he wanted to step away from his position and comfort her. He silently cursed the Malkia for effectively pulling him out of his denial, and forcing him to deal with the feelings that had roared to life once freed. Angry with himself for his weakness and at her for causing it, he pulled his arm free, turned his back on her and tossed an order over his shoulder. “Return to medical.”

  Ilexa began speaking behind him, but he tuned her out. He watched as Creary came over the rise, having made record time.

  The man’s irate roar echoed off the cliffs. “Give me back my son.”

  In the shocked silence that followed, Ilexa managed to shove herself between Thane and the Malkia. The entire assembly of tribal elders heard her authoritative response.

  “No.”

  Creary had shouted his demand while cresting the apex of the Hakimu holding. Still several meters away, the man began to run, charging Ilexa.

  Thane and Rhys recovered from their shock simultaneously and tackled Creary before he could reach her.

  “Get off me,” Creary bellowed. “Give me my son.”

  Thane and Rhys struggled to hold the man immobile, and by focusing all their attention on the threat, they missed Ilexa’s approach. She knelt down in front of the delegate, and Thane wished for a third arm or a doppelganger—something to knock her back. And then to knock the sense back into her. Assuming she had ever had any sense. What the hell had she done this time?

  “Your son will not be healed for another day. I’d prefer two to be safe.”

  Creary stopped struggling. The man stared at her in shock. “He’s alive.”