Fur and Fathers

Chapter Fifteen

“I am afraid for her.  It is not going well.”

The urgent message from Grenyal made Shiránnor open her eyes, but she had to shut them again quickly as the sweat running from her forehead stung them.

They had fought, fought ever since the first induced pangs began, but the small body under their hands was already weakened by grief.  There had been times when she thought that only the strength of the fighting spirit inside it was keeping the two together, but that spirit was already looking elsewhere; maybe only mother love was holding it back, that incalculable force that compels every creature that gives birth to sacrifice everything so their young will survive.

Grenyal and T'Pol were working, doing all they could to support and encourage a young woman who could only be aware of them at the uttermost limits of her consciousness.  The imperatives of labour had taken over, and now whatever remained of Hoshi’s world would have narrowed down to the sheer physical effort of giving birth.  Several other Skaira were in the cave with them, some lending their considerable mental power to the struggle to keep Hoshi safe, others – Grenyal’s infirmary assistants – ready to act as the situation should require.  Even Jerhazy was there in the capacity of Duty Priestess, keeping vigil so that nothing that was taking place should interrupt the proper business of the Shrine

“He is too close – too close!” the First Priestess groaned aloud.  She dashed a hand across her eyes to clear them and stared desperately at the straining woman in front of them.  She had tried everything, and it had not worked.  She could feel the connection, that bright and deadly thread, thrumming between the two of them.  Neither of them could release it.  She could break it by force, but that would have consequences.  What these might be was beyond her capacity to predict.

But – the realization slid into her mind – she hadn’t tried absolutely everything.

She jerked up and stared wildly at the Sacred Image.  The thought that had come into her head went against everything she had been taught about the Traditions.  It flew in the face of everything Skairesse held dear.  Never, ever, had a male set foot in the Shrine and lived to tell of what he had seen.  Fahinth herself had ordained it.

But if he saw nothing?

She pressed bloody hands to her face and stifled a whimper.  Mother, guide me!

There was no reply.

If I do wrong, I shall answer for it.  I can do no other.

She rose to her paws, pressing her hand briefly to Grenyal’s shoulder.  “A moment only.”

“We may not have many more of them.  Be swift.”

She hurried up the passage.  Half way along it, on the way to the outer world, was the Cave of the Waterfall.  It had taken all her authority to allow Trip to come thus far.  Normally the only male allowed to enter it would be the Emperor during the Feast of Fifty Years, and even he only briefly, that he should witness the Terror.

Candlelight bloomed on her vision. She emerged into the cave almost at the run, and the man seated beside the waterfall raised his head.

He had a mental connection to his wife; he knew that the situation was desperate.  His face was pale, haggard.  “We’re losin’ her, aren’t we?”

“It will come to that, if nothing changes.”  She crossed to him and took his hands.  “There is one thing more that we can try.”

“Anythin’.  Just tell me.”

She took a deep breath.  “You must risk your life to do this.  The only way I can save you is if you keep your eyes closed – that you do not open them for a single instant once you pass that doorway, no matter what the provocation.  Afterwards, they will search your mind; they have that right, and I cannot forbid it.  If they find one memory, they will kill you.  And they will kill me too, for having ordered it.”

He came to his feet like a released spring.  “Tell me what I have to do.”

“I will have to take you to him.”  She swallowed.  “It is dangerous.  I cannot explain how dangerous it is, even for me.  I would not attempt it anywhere but there, where the power of Skairesse is at its very greatest.  And when we are there with him – only during that time – can you open your eyes.”

“You’re sayin’ you can take me – to Malcolm?”

“Yes.  Do not be afraid; he looks just as he always did.  He will know you.  And he will listen to you.”

He shut his eyes briefly, then opened them and nodded.  He was afraid, but his trust in her made her want to weep.  And his Other, too, was trusting her, risking everything.  Truly, the Gods of these people created marvels!

“Give me your hand.  And remember, until I tell you, keep your eyes closed.  I will lead you safely.  No matter what you hear, do not look!”

He hesitated for an instant.  “Just to be on the safe side, couldn’t you blindfold me?”

She shook her head.  “It would not be sufficient.  The obedience must be voluntary, not imposed.  And there would always be the risk of – accidents.”  The spectre of a hand, slipping – supposedly by accident – was as clear in her mind as though she could see it.  “Men are not permitted where I am to take you. The very first of all First Priestesses said it: No man shall see this and live. Neither I nor anyone else can change that decree.  The only way you can escape that fate is if you see nothing.  Jerhazy is one of those who resist all change, resist everything they neither understand nor agree with.  She will not want you to circumvent that decree.  She will not wish you to be a man who enters and comes out alive, perhaps because in her eyes it is my secret desire that every man might be free to do so.  And that would be the gravest blasphemy possible.” She drew another, even deeper breath.  “Are you still ready and willing to continue?”

*               *               *

Her hand holding his was warm and steady, the pressure of her fingers carefully controlled.  He shut his eyes as they reached the doorway; there was no light down the tunnel anyway, at least not yet, but he was taking no chances.

The floor underfoot was perfectly level, descending at a steady, gentle gradient, the air still and cool.  From the echoes he thought that the passageway wasn’t much higher than his head.  It was difficult not to reach out and brush his free hand along the sides to help orient himself.  Shiránnor walked almost silently beside him, but he could smell the warm, slightly resinous perfume from her hair and fur.

Light warmed his eyelids suddenly.

“We are there.  Step down just a very little.”

It was only a small step, a couple of centimeters.  He heard a hiss of indrawn breath, and then, unmistakably, growls.  More than one, filled with outrage and menace.

“Even this, you do for them?  Even this?”  The voice was hard with shock and loathing.

“I call to your mind the exact words of First Priestess Fahinth, Jerhazy.  ‘This which the Goddess has revealed to me, no man shall see and live.’  And behold, his eyes are closed.  And they will remain so.”

He kept still and silent with an effort.  He could hear Hoshi’s moaning breaths a little distance away.  T'Pol would be with her.  He felt the brush of his aduna’s mind, no more than that; the very brevity of the contact told him that she was controlling herself with all her strength so as not to distract him.

The air moved a little.  Breathing on his cheek told him that someone had come close and was staring at him with savage concentration.

“That will be verified afterwards,” the voice snarled almost in his ear.

“That is your right as Duty Priestess.  And if you find him guilty I offer my own life also in payment for the offence.”

The growls died away.

In the tense silence she led him forward, steering him lightly.  “Kneel, now.  Hoshi is here.”

He knelt carefully, anxious not to put his hands anywhere they might touch Hoshi and add to her suffering.  He was beside T'Pol.  Under the stench of sweat and blood he could smell the familiar spice of her skin, feel the slight warmth of her body.  Two fingers brushed the top of his free left hand ever so lightly, offering him her support.

“We will go to him now,” said Shiránnor very quietly.  “It will not hurt you, you will feel nothing.  What you see when you open your eyes may not be what he sees, however, so do not speak of it to him.  What you must do is to persuade him to let go.”

Trip tried to moisten his mouth, which was perfectly dry.  “I’ll give it my best shot.”

“That is all anyone can ever ask of you.”

He waited, his pulse jumping.  Might be an idea to take a deep breath, just in case –

The smell almost made him open his eyes wide in sheer surprise.  Cool sea air filled his lungs.  He inhaled  hugely, delighted by its familiarity.  The purity of it told him that it was very early morning, before the sun got up and began baking the long Florida beaches.

“Open your eyes.”

For a moment he couldn’t quite find the nerve.  Then, hell, he’s only dead.  I’ve seen him when the whole weapons system went down and he was madder’n a wet hen.

She’d been right.  Malcolm was still Malcolm, sitting on the sand in his Starfleet uniform, hunched up small and defensive, and wearing exactly the sort of worried scowl he’d worn when the weapons diagnostics wouldn’t come right.  Except that now it was ten times as fearsome.

“Bloody hell, this is all I need!”

“Believe me, buddy, it’s not exactly what I need either!  Even apart from the fact that it’s damned impossible anyway!” Awe fell off him.  He stepped forward, hands on hips, the identical scowl on his face.  “Now, what the hell are you playin’ at?”

“I don’t believe that what I’m doing exactly falls under the description of ‘playing’, Commandah.”  The British accent was still just as annoying.

Trip looked around.  The beach wasn’t Florida; it wasn’t anywhere he could possibly have described.  The stars were unimaginable.  Low on the horizon was a suggestion of the dawn, singing to him with words that would have broken his heart if he’d let himself listen to them.

He dragged his gaze back to Malcolm, and to the boat that rocked quietly at the edge of the water.

“I’m here to help ya, Malcolm,” he said more mildly.  “Seems to me you’ve gotten yourself into somethin’ you can’t get out of.”

“Believe you me, that may – ” he paused, and a spasm of awful pain passed across his face – “be taken care of shortly.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.  But it won’t be taken care of the way it oughtta be.  You know that.”

A furious grey glance flicked at him.  Reed hunched himself more tightly.  “She needs me.”

“Malcolm.  She needs to let you go.  ‘Cept that she doesn’t know that yet, so you’ve got to tell her.”

The smaller man uncoiled suddenly and jumped to his feet with startling speed.  “Who the hell are you to tell me what I have to inflict on my wife?” he hissed.

“Who am I?” Trip faced him calmly.  “I guess both of us know who I am.  You sure told Shiránnor plain enough when she asked.”

The words ricocheted silently between them in the empty, starlit space.  ‘HE’S MY BLOODY FRIEND!’

“Trip.  I can’t do it to her … I can’t.”

“You have to. ‘Cause you love her.  And you love your little girl, just like I loved Elizabeth.  But you’ve got the chance to save her, to save both of them.  Let Shiránnor help you.  Malcolm.  You can do this.  Please.”  He put out his hands without a moment’s thought and clasped the rigid shoulders for a moment before pulling him into a bone crushing hug, which was instantly returned.

“Say goodbye.”