“Yulayan!” Her father’s voice coming from the wall speaker
make Yulayan jump. “Will you join your mother and me in the zagathuan?”
“Certainly, Ayzanai,” Yulayan said, closing her
terminal.
Her parents were waiting for her in the zagathuan? This
far into autumn, her mother wasn’t comfortable out of doors for any length of
time unless she wore heated clothing. On the other hand, it was her father’s
favorite space in all but the coldest winter months. Yulayan stood up and took
a deep breath to compose herself. This might well be the moment for which she
had been waiting and planning with growing impatience. She glanced at herself
in the mirror, to be sure her clothes looked tidy, and none of her agitation
showed on her face.
The person staring back at her looked obviously Wakanrean at
first glance. Her face, covered in dense golden fur, was triangular in shape,
with a curving arc of a nose and a wide mouth. Above her face, the longer crop
of silver-white hair that made up her headcrest was distinct from Terran hair
in that it never grew longer.
Yulayan closed her eyes as a childhood memory overwhelmed her
without warning. When she was small, her mother had tucked her into bed every
night. Yulayan could recall the sensory experience with aching clarity—the
silky feel of her mother’s long black hair brushing her own small furred face;
the sweetish scent of the perfume her mother sometimes wore; a smooth, naked
Terran face looming over her, brown eyes smiling fondly.
Yulayan opened her eyes and frowned at her own image. Her
eyes betrayed her Terran mother’s contribution to her genetic makeup more than
any other feature. Her irises were not only an odd mix of amber and brown
flecks in a murky greenish matrix, but they were too small. The whites of Wakanrean
eyes showed only at the extreme corners, and Yulayan could clearly see white on
either side of and even beneath her irises.
Her parents were waiting. Yulayan turned towards the door but
paused as she noticed her profile in the mirror. Above her tightly fitted red
trousers, not even the lose lines of her black tunic-style shirt could
completely hide the round swell of her breasts. Modest they might be, but in a
world where only nursing mothers had noticeable mammary characteristics, the
recent flowering of her breasts had left a bitter taste in Yulayan’s mouth. This
was too much to bear.
Yulayan felt a twinge of envy that Kifarao would never have
to suffer this indignity, and then chastised herself for her own callousness. Her
twin brother might have Wakanrean eyes, but his other features revealed his
heritage to even the most casual observer.
Conscious that she owed her parents the courtesy of
promptness, Yulayan walked rapidly through the short corridor that connected
her room to the main room, then exited the house through the sun room.
Yulayan found the chill autumn air bracing as she crossed the
lawn to the zagathuan. Located near the house and at some distance from
the high boundary wall that enclosed the entire property, the outdoor room was defined by a stone foundation
covered by a carpet of deep purple streaked with green and blue. The furniture
was similar to that of the main room—two large sofas, a handful of chairs, each
with a hassock, and assorted tables and appliances. Yulayan noted that the
sound system was off and counted this as another indication of her father’s
state of mind. Her father was a qatraharai, and almost always had music
playing when he relaxed in the zagathuan.
“Thank you for coming, Yulayan,” her father said, rising to
his feet. He stood next to the sofa where her mother still sat, and Yulayan
looked at him with pride.
Kuaron Du was a true Wakanrean. He was average height for his
species, but if the Terran woman beside him had stood up, the top of her head
would only have come up to his chin. His silver-white headcrest gleamed in the
bright sunshine, and the pupils of his amber eyes had narrowed to tiny dots. He
was barefoot, too, even in the autumn chill; the claws of his toes left tiny
scuff marks in the carpet. If his blue tunic and gray trousers were less
uniquely Wakanrean than his features, at least they weren’t blatantly Terran,
either.
“Certainly, Ayzanai,” Yulayan said, casting an appraising
glance at her mother. It seemed to her that her mother looked a trifle subdued.
She wore her black hair much shorter than she had in the past, barely long
enough to touch her collar, which made her look older to Yulayan. Today her
brown eyes were almost solemn. Even the dull red color of the fitted shirt and
trousers she wore emphasized her gloom—not quite mourning clothes, but close
enough to convey a somber mood.
“Kifarao will be here in a moment,” Kuaron said.
The kitchen servoid approached, but Yulayan waved it away. She
was too excited to eat or drink anything.
“Here’s Farao,” her mother said, as the sun room door opened
again. “Sit down, Yulayan.”
Yulayan sank into a chair and watched her brother walk across
the lawn to join them. She knew from his movements that he was as anxious as
she was about this family meeting. The way he ran one hand over the black hair
of his headcrest was a sure sign that he was nervous. Yulayan had an epiphany
as she studied her brother’s face.
It wasn’t any one feature that damned him as half Terran; it
was the combination of subtle differences in the shape of his face, his mouth,
his nose, his ears. There was just too much variation from the Wakanrean norm
for him to pass as truly native to the planet. Not even the pure Wakanreaness
of his amber eyes could save him.
“Ayzanai,” Kifarao
said, with a nod to their father, “Elazanai,” another nod to their
mother. “I’m here as you asked.”
“Sit down, please,” their father said.
He waited until Kifarao was comfortable to speak again, and
when he did, he looked first to Dina.
She nodded, and Yulayan saw that she held something in her
hands. She was twisting whatever is was back and forth as if she wanted to
break it apart, but it was too strong for her.
“I’m sure you both have some idea of why we’ve called you
here,” Kuaron said. It hadn’t been phrased as a question, but he waited, as if
he expected a reply.
Yulayan gave Kifarao a moment, but when he said nothing, she
spoke up. “One of us—Farao or I—must become yarunai—so
that we don’t risk becoming shahgunrahai with each other.” She added the
explanation in a tone that mimicked politeness, but the tiny frown on her
father’s face told her that he had interpreted her condescension correctly.
Her mother wasn’t so forbearing as to remain silent at
borderline insolence. “We know how shahgunrah works, thank you, Yulayan,”
she said.
Yulayan felt her face grow hot. She knew it was a Terran
trait, and she was thankful blushes weren’t visible on a Wakanrean face. It
always made her blush to be reminded that, Terran as she was, her mother had
experienced shahgunrah within minutes of meeting her father.
“As you said,” her father said, “one of you must become yarunai.
We waited as long as we could because your mother wanted you both to finish
basic school here in Wisuta, but your doctors have confirmed that you’re both
on the cusp of maturity. To wait any longer is to court disaster. One of you
must leave immediately—within a day or two.”
Her father added the qualification when her mother started in
alarm. Her mother was obviously unhappy about complying with this universal
custom of her adopted world.
“We’ve called you here together for two reasons,” her father
went on. “The first is because of yarun, and the second is because
tradition dictates that today is the day that you finally assume the
responsibility that destiny has allotted you.”
He nodded to his shahgunrahai, and Dina held out what
she had twisted in her hands.
Yulayan caught the glint of silver and felt a surge of
excitement. She glanced at the base of her father’s throat where a silver heicha
was clipped onto his chest fur. Engraved on the oval surface was a lopsided
polygon, the mark of Paruian, and a smaller glyph, in ancient Wisutan script,
that represented ancestry.
Her father looked grave. “I know you both have always
understood that this day would come, but I know from my own experience how
different your life will be after today. It is no insignificant thing to wear
this heicha. Everyone will look at you differently once they see Paruian’s
mark. You may even find that you look at yourself differently.”
If they’re looking at the heicha, Yulayan thought to
herself, they won’t notice my eyes.
“I know you’ve heard many times how much consternation and
dissension your birth caused here on Wakanreo,” her father was saying. Yulayan had
heard it all before, but she made herself listen respectfully. “Aside from the
unprecedented phenomenon of a natural hybrid birth, there were those who
expressed shock at the idea that the blood of Paruian had mingled with the
blood of a Terran. You were almost to your second birthday before the Disciples
of Paruian decided that you were indeed true descendants of Paruian. Your
mother and I have kept these for you since that day.”
He held out his hand, and Yulayan saw two silver heichas,
exactly like his own.
She drew in a breath as her father stepped nearer.
“And now I give them to you,” he said, bending down to clip
one of the heichas to the fur at the base of Yulayan’s throat.
