May 23, 2013

Vinca changed in a commode in the Trade Quarter into the clothes she'd worn when she first landed on Dinc, stuffing the kirtle and petticoats and all that into a ruck she'd grabbed when she bolted from the Bishop's Palace. She didn't know if she could do it. She loved Mavi, she was even getting fond of the brat, for all she still had to fight a reflexive flinch when he lurched at her, giggling and happy because the sun was shining. All things considered, he was a pretty good kid.

Mavi's mother, on the other hand, seemed to be taking every chance she could to make Vinca's life hell, pointing up her shortcomings, what she didn't know about Pachem ways, and how this woman, or that woman, or any Dincani born Pachem woman would be a better wife for him than a kafirlər who couldn't even name the damn tenets of the faith. Even Nesim knew more than that.

Her prospective sister in laws weren't much better. They meant well, for the most part, but every last one of them was Dincani, Pachem born, and bred, and raised taking the culture and the religion for granted because it was all they'd known and they'd grown up knowing it. So what if she didn't know which god was patron of nail clippings,  

May 14, 2013

First, she collected the identag from the bank box, holding it in her hand as she walked, the alien plastic warming as she moved through the city. Next, she changed in a women's commode on the edge ove the Trade Quarter, changing out her yayliq for an abaya and a jhundi covering her face.

A boutique catering to prostitutes was her next stop, a woman covered in cloth entered a dressing room, a woman in the cargo pants, shirt and vest, her hair in straggly braids left the coffee shop next door. Both proprieters knew her, knew the money she gave, and that she bothered them seldom, let her store the clothes that covered her modesty. She scrubbed at her head, feeling oddly naked with her head uncovered. The identag hung on a line inside her shirt, her rank markings turned on and itching. It always itched for a day or two if she turned it on, or off.

She walked differently, in the cargo pants, easier, knowing the rent money was in the left knee pocket. If anyone was following her, one change, or the other, or the drunkard's walk she took to the storage vaults was probably enough to loose them. She paid the year's rent for the space, thumbprinting the contract in silence. “Been incountry?” the rental agent was chatty this year, a different one than last year.

She gave him a look that used to make recruits suck their thumbs at night, flat, impersonal, slid the signed tablet back, waiting while he stuttered into silence, and gave her a printout of the contract. She glanced at it, folded it up, put it away, and walked past him to the storage areas.

A decade ago, she had rented a cargo pod sized space, with power feed, paying extra for an input only datafeed. What she kept there waited, passive, patient, taking in data and power.

She opened the door and slipped inside. There was only a red telltale within the vault, it swept over her, pausing at her rank marking. She turned and pulled a telescoping retinal reader to the eye over the marking. Between them, her identity was established to the satisfaction of what waited for her.

The lights came up, still dim, but the spectrum that matched sunlight outside, and the Ploughshare hexa-4E20-mark90 Combat Suit (dec.) raised itself to its metal knees, the uncustomized cranial unit swiveling its auditory pickups at her, its cameras focusing on her. Faded red mottling decorated the armor plating, and the points for the weapons mounts were slightly brighter metal. She stripped down in the unheated room and pulled on the sensornet suit, matching the pickup points to the sub-dermal implants, grunting a little as she pulled it shut. The sensornet had been last fitted to her anatomy two children ago, and even with almost daily exercise, her body hadn't remained same as it was then.

The Ploughshare's telltales began flickering green and red as the sensornet suit began feeding data to the onboard systems. The suit reported her general health (good), and she stretched, shaking the kinks out. The suit opened its torso, and walked into the thoracic cavity, fitting herself into the harness and feeds, pulling the head unit down and locking it into place. A moment of claustrophobia passed, and she began getting the feeds back from the Ploughshare as it gave her the distilled information from the past year. She discarded some data the system considered significant, agreed with some, chased other data to the limits of the system. The Ploughshare had only a low priority vampire tap to the info system. There wasn't much that she and the combat suit's AI disagreed on, it'd spend over half her life fitting itself to the way she thought, and over half her life training her to observe and sift data.

The suit's systems sent a request to send a passive drone outsystem, to report her alive-and-well to Tasker's Battalion, or failing that, to the Unit itself. It would re-set the retrieval countdown, auto marked as two system years back to the full term. She agreed, and a flyspeck dispensed itself, settling on where she'd left her clothes. The suit's systems tracked the device, reminded her to come to within a kilometer upwind of a spaceship, or half a kilometer downwind. The drone would infiltrate a ship open to the atmosphere, attach itself to an unobtrusive clean surface, wait until it reached a system with a suitable level of EM activity, then insert its message into the mailstream. Standard protocol for undercover reporting.

The thoracic shielding slid closed, and she was enclosed in the suit. She ran through the power up checklist, agreed that the left knee needed maintenance, but it was still working within safety parameters.

Next she stood the system up, the ceiling frighteningly close to the cameras for the cranial unit. Next, she began the recalibration procedure, moving through a slow water kata that allowed the suit to re-adjust to the neural impulses her body fed it.

Next, she ran a second set of maintenance checks on the suit, the left knee hydraulics she already knew about. The light filters, the assorted joints and systems. All in all, it was midmorning before she was done, the sensornet suit wet with sweat, her bladder damn near full to bursting, but the combat suit was tuned and maintained and back to spec.

Reluctantly she shut it down, stripped out of the sensornet and set it to autoclean, re-dressed, and left the vault. She missed the intimacy of the Ploughshare mark90, the feeds and the easy power that the gave her, but she didn't miss what it'd done, what she'd done. “See you next year, Big Beast.”

“See you next year, Little Death.” The Ploughshare's voice was her own, filtered and anonymized, made neutral of gender and emotion. Then all but the telltale turned off.

May 13, 2013

“But Mother Sariah and Father Nesim took Little Nesim to his village, didn't you meet at least them?” the pregnant put her hand to her mouth, she seemed to find humor in damn near anything.

“No.” Vinca decided they didn't need to know why she was avoiding Mavi at the time. She laced her hands, carefully making a basket of them, not a club. “I didn't start taking care of the child until after Harvest Tide.” She still had problems calling the Kedai brat Mavi's son, though it was getting easier. It helped that the kid seemed to love his foster father.

“And they took him out in mid-Harvest, so there was that chance. None of us?” Cap and braids raised an eyebrow. “Well, said quickly, Sister Karli has introduced herself, her husband is Bishop Neron Gallegas, he is rather important, I suppose. Our blooming sister – “ she waved a hand at the scarf and round face, “is Goodwife Cana Jeremiah, no relation, although her husband did choose Jeremiah when it came time to pick once he'd grown past his teener years. He's a bishop as well, Bishop Tano Jeremiah. We have seven Bishops in the immediate family, twelve pastors, and assorted clerks and other functionaries, and that doesn't include the Gallegas and Jeremiah cousins.”

Vinca's head spun a little. “How many of you are there?”

“In the Bishop's Palace, perhaps a hundred.” The eldest – Goodwife Mora gestured at the crowd in the room. Vinca spotted Mavi looking a bit frazzled, chasing Nesim as he toddled after a cluster of other children “There are only fifty more in Ilk Payiz, unless your daughter-in-law has had hers, Sister Vatusia.”

Cap and braids … Goodwife Vatusia – Gallegas? shook her head sadly. “Not yet, and the doctor has her on bed rest, the poor girl's going mad with inactivity.”

May 12, 2013

“So.” The eldest held her hands before her waist, looking down at Vinca. “You're the one our Mavi picked.” Her expression went ill with the abstract flowers spattering the cloth of her hijab.

“She's rather short.” Another one said. This one wore a cap, plain and black edged, with yellow white braids showing beneath it. She looked down her nose, too, standing the tallest of them by half a head, for all she leaned heavier on her cane than the Archbishop did.

“Are you sure she didn't pick Mavi out? He is considered rather a catch, being the Archbishop's son after all.”

The oldest dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand. “Have you ever tried to convince him to do something he didn't want to do?”

“Maybe she's pregnant?” This one wore a turban as ornately wrapped as the Archbishop's, though it looked to be a printed fabric, not a fancy weave.

Vinca began to feel a bit of sympathy for the rats the boz qu stalked. She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. These women were a part of Mavi's family. He'd be upset if she slaughtered them. At least the Pachem didn't consider private thoughts the sin that words or actions were.

“She'd not be here as his intended if she were pregnant.” Another one said. This one featured a scarf tied under her chin, emphasizing her round, friendly face. “She'd be here as a bride, Mother Sariah's approval bedamned.” She clasped her hands over her rounded stomach smugly.

A chorus of nodding heads followed that. “Mother Sariah does dote on her grandchildren.” Braids said.

The eldest looked at Vinca. “You're not pregnant, are you?”

“No.” Vinca resisted the urge to fold her arms. Goodwife Melton'd warned her it could be taken for aggression. She kept her arms loose at her side, her weight balanced on the balls of her feet, wishing she'd managed to talk Mavi into letting her wear her boots. The shoes were sturdy enough, but she doubted it'd heft a really good kick. “Are you?”

The pregnant one hid a giggle behind her hand. “Well struck. I think she drew blood on you, Sister Karli.”

The eldest sniffed. “Not much.” She extended one hand to Vinca. “I am Goodwife Karli Mora, my husband is young Mavi's eldest brother.” She said that as if she expected Vinca to know who that meant immediately.

Vinca didn't take it. “I haven't met any of Pastor Jeremiah's family.”

The hand fell. “None of them?”

May 11, 2013

The dozen or so women surrounded Mavi and Vinca when they came out of the Archbishop's study, Mavi's mother leaning on her husband's arm, both of them looking frail enough to blow over in a stiff wind. The Archbishop seemed to specialize in deceiving appearances, although she liked her prospective father-in-law. It took a strong man not to be stomped flat by a personality that forceful. She understood why Mavi'd taken the commoner name, when Grendel would make his tie to the Archbishop more obvious. “Oh dear.” Mavi stopped, his arm still around her shoulder.

“What's wrong.” She looked around for some new threat, but only saw a gathering of older women, converging on them. She looked up at him as his arm fell away. By now the women formed a rough circle around them, and the men in the room were moving away.

“I believe your son is looking for you, Young Brother,” the eldest of the women said, her hands clasped before her and her hair covered in a scarf that covered head and neck. She'd been told it was called a hijab, it looked itchy. Wrinkles etched her frown permanently around her mouth. “Why don't you go see to him?”

Mavi kissed Vinca on the forehead and patted her shoulder. “I'll make sure they have a place for you to sleep in the nursery while I'm gone,” and he slunk off, leaving her behind.

Vinka looked around the circle. They ranged in age from the eldest, she of the hijab and the permanent frown, to one who looked almost Mavi's age, with a scarf covering her head making her face look even rounder. Those were called yaliq, Vinca knew.

May 4, 2013

She was certainly going to try. From what she'd learned of Pachem ways, the sin was in the action of the sin, not the thought of it. So long as she kept to the thought, and not any kind of action. She followed Mavi into the ante room.

The Archbishop made her way to an imposing desk, seating herself behind it. “Close the door, Mavi.” The instant the door was closed, she turned on Vinca. “Explain yourself.” Vinca'd heard warmer tones from a drill instructor tearing recruits to shreds. “What is some ambitious qerib doing trying to pass herself off as my son's promised wife.”

“She doesn't have to.” Mavi put his hand on. “We are going to marry after HarvestTide, once she'd been affirmed as Pachem.”She was certainly going to try. From what she'd learned of Pachem ways, the sin was in the action of the sin, not the thought of it. So long as she kept to the thought, and not any kind of action. She followed Mavi into the ante room.

The Archbishop made her way to an imposing desk, seating herself behind it. “Close the door, Mavi.” The instant the door was closed, she turned on Vinca. “Explain yourself.” Vinca'd heard warmer tones from a drill instructor tearing recruits to shreds. “What is some ambitious qerib doing trying to pass herself off as my son's promised wife.”

“She doesn't have to.” Mavi put his hand on. “We are going to marry after HarvestTide, once she'd been affirmed as Pachem.”

May 2, 2013 and May 3, 2013

slacked off

May 1, 2013

(back up 2 paragraphs, not part of today's words)

“Mama.” Mavi raised his voice, keeping his arm around her shoulders as he strode through the room. Vinca had to skip every couple of steps to keep up.

“Yes, Mavi?” The Archbishop had retreated to an impressive chair, armed and with a footstool. She looked a bit drained, but smiling, surrounded by her family.

Mavi stepped behind her, sliding his arm around her neck, she started to stiffen, the stance, the arm position, was set up for a throttle hold, but he rested his chin on the top of her head, it wasn't a threat, it was affection. She leanedback against him. “Why is there no room in the Palace for Vinca?”

The Archbishop's smile was small, tight. “You didn't tell us you were bringing a guest with you, if we'd known I'd have ensured we had a place for her.”

“I didn't know I needed to, I thought you'd welcome her.” She heard the pain in his voice and touched his arm. “If not now, as Nesim's minder, then next year, as Pachem, and my wife.”

The Archbishop's mouth opened and closed, once, twice, and her face grew red, then pale, then gray. Mavi took Vinca's free hand, holding it. The old woman pushed herself to her feet, “I think we need privacy for this talk.” Her voice could've frozen the heart of a star. “You're not making sense.”

She picked up a cane that stood by her chair and began walking out of the room. Mavi released Vinca's throat and followed her, pulling her along. “You don't have to do this,” she said. “I'll be fine, I can probably – “

He stopped, turned and bent so his head was only an inch or so above hers. “Yes, I do. If I don't, she will select a wife for me and rule me all her days. Probably a widow.” He cupped her cheek. “You wouldn't abandon me to the widows, would you?” He said wistfully.

The widows were a worn joke by now, but she smiled at him, giving back the expected response. “Anything but the widows.” She looked past him, at his mother, glaring at them from a doorway into some kind of anteroom. “Your mother is waiting.”

“Your mother-in-law, after Harvest Tide,” he reminded her, walking again.

If she lasted out her self imposed year, to see if she could, if she decided he was worth becoming Pachem. She looked at his back, his shoulders, saw the bald spot she'd noticed first when he was bending over Nesim, changing a Stinky Boy diaper.

April 30, 2013

“Good.” he stood, carrying Gwennie to the bed and laying her down on her side. He didn't try to recover his banyan, he'd others, and she clutched like a drowning man clutched a rope.

She stiffened again, curling up and whimpering. The sound caught her maid's attention, “Good god.” She put her knee on the bed, bending over his wife. “M'lady, has that happened before?”

Gwennie nodded, and Fitz answered her. “At least twice.”

“Twice, have her waters broke?”

“Waters?” Fitz stood up. “She pissed herself if that's what you're thinking.” He gestured to the mess she'd made on the chair. “Over there.”

“Good god.” the sour crow repeated. “Drawing pains, m'lady, like you want to use the chamberpot, but can't?” She stroked back Gwennie's hair.

His wife nodded. The maid crawled off the bed and ran for the bellpull, tugging on it madly. “What's wrong?” Fitz demanded.

Good God, good God.” the sour crow ran to the bedroom door, throwing it open as a chamber maid came to it. “Send someone for the doctor.”

“It's time?” the chambermaid asked. At the crow's nod, she picked up her skirts and fled.

“What are you talking about?” Fitz caught her arm. “What time is it?”

“Your son's decided to come early.” The crow glared at him. “Probably brought on by your bothering her so near to it.” She looked down, then sneered at him.

Fitz's hand fisted to backhand the arrogant bitch, but he stopped himself. Gwennie cried out and flung out a blind hand, and the sour crow took it, “'Twill be well, my hinny.”

“Hu-hu-hurrrs.” Gwennie cried out.

“I know, doctor will be here soon, and then ye'll have a fine, sweet baby.”

Fitz left .

April 29, 2013

 “Vinca,” Mavi repeated, taking his hand from his mother's back and holding it out to her. “She has looking after Nesim since Planting Tide.”

She came and stopped just outside of arms' reach. The Archbishop looked her down, then up, starting with ending with her hair. She turned back to Mavi. “She's qerib.” at least she hadn't said worse. Vinca'd heard a couple of them when the teeners were trying to goad her.

Mavi stepped around his mother and put a hand on her shoulder. “She is studying Pachem ways, to become one of us.”

The Archbishop looked like she'd found half a worm in her apple. “Oh.” she beckoned over the clerk. “Find a place for her. I leave it in your hands.” adroitly she freed Mavi's hand and led him away. “Your brothers and sisters have been asking for you. They want to see how your boy is doing. Did you know your niece Onaedo is expecting her first?”

Vinca looked at the travel box Mavi'd left behind, then at the clerk. “Any corner I can curl up in will be fine.” she managed a smile, and picked up the abandoned box. “Shall we put this away for the Pastor?”

The clerk looked dumfounded. “Oh, yes.” he nodded.

Mavi had a room with a crib in it, on the second floor, with high ceiling and large windows half curtained with sheers and restrained brocade. Vinca put the box on the bed, looked at the clerk, who dithered in the doorway. “You don't know where to put me, do you?”

“I'm afraid not. I've been thinking, and there isn't even a corner in the Palace that doesn't have three people in it already.”

“Even the attics?” She was perhaps half a decade older than the clerk, and felt a lifetime older.

The clerk sighed. “I'll see. We can see who has canceled. I am sorry, but quarters in the Bishop's Palace for the annual Chapter House – “ He brightened. “Could you come with me?”

The clerk led her to a cramped office and let her sit while he shuffled papers, riffling back and forth and muttering to himself. “No, not there. That's a room with men.” another half dozen pieces of paper moved and looked over. “No, we can't put another woman in there.”

He called in another clerk, this one barely past teener age and had a whispered conversation, sending the younger one off. Vinca got out Nesim's story book and opened it to a random page. Her reading comprehension was improving, but the child's book was still difficult for her. At least there were pictures. She crossed her legs, ignoring the clerk's gasp of horror and turned a page.

The younger clerk came back, and there were more whispers. The clerk who'd been dealing with her looked at her, sighed deeply.

“No room.” She didn't make a question of it.

“I'm afraid not, not even a corner.” He sounde apologetic.

She closed the book and stood, holding it out along with Nesim's diapers and supplies. “Could you see that the Pastor gets this then? I'll try to be back tomorrow to look after Nesim during the day. He'll probably be busy.” She hoped the city wasn't too crowded with the annual meeting.

Worse came to worst, she'd try the Trade section of the city, though she wasn't sure what they'd make of her Pachem clothes. She wondered if she could sleep in the warehouse space she'd rented for her half pod.

“I am sorry.” The clerk was starting to repeat himself. He'd stood, and he'd turned almost as pale as his turban.

“I'll see myself out.” She managed to keep a smile until she'd left the cubbyhole office, but let it fade once she was certain of her solitude.

She slipped out into the forecourt and looked at the street. She pulled up a mental map of the city and looked east. That way to the alver nahiyə, and probably a couple of mile. She'd done worse. At least she didn't have a pack, and nobody was shooting.

“Vinca?” She turned, seeing Mavi swing his legs out over the sill of a window on the ground floor, hopping down and striding over to her, frowning. “Where are you going?” He caught both her hands.

“There's no room, so I'm going to see what I can arrange on my own.” She squeezed his hands, and tried to tug her hands free. “I left Nesim's with the clerk who greeted us.”

“Nonsense.” He hugged her, and she inhaled his scent, while he rubbed the back of her head. “Come with me.” He put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her after him.

Back into the Palace again, to one side of the entry hall to a large room filled with people of all ages, including a herd of children that ran among the clusters of talking adults. She spotted Nesim in one of the pods of children, toddling after a pair of giggling girls who held onto his hands.

“Mother.” Mavi raised his voice, keeping his arm around her shoulders as he strode through the room. Vinca had to skip every couple of steps to keep up.

“Yes, Mavi?” The Archbishop had retreated to an impressive chair, armed and with a footstool. She looked a bit drained, but smiling, surrounded by her family.

April 28, 2013

 Vinca emptied the contents of Nesim's diaper into the commode and flushed it. On the table top, he picked at the strap holding him down and raised his feet into the air, squealing. “Another full load, Stinky Boy.” She rolled the diaper up and hoped there'd be a chance to wash it. She got out a fresh diaper, flicked it open and applied it to his rump. He laughed and squirmed and she almost jabbed him with the pin before she got it secured, and released him.

The dirty diaper went into a sealed bag, that went into the supply bag and she released the Kedai brat from the table, picking him up and holding his hand while they left the bathroom. He spotted Mavi before she did, talking to a taller, slender woman with her back to them. Her headcovering marked her as married, though the iron gray braids marching for the floor from beneath the scarf marked her as middle aged at the very least. Nesim squealed and tugged free of her hand, lurching across the floor for his father, who picked him up and sat him on one hip, still talking to the older woman. Vinca grinned at the sight, half wishing she hadn't said they'd wait the full year to see if she could acclimate to Dinc and learn Pachem ways. He saw her grin and smiled back, putting his hand on the woman's back. “Mother, I'd like you to meet someone.”

The woman turned, and Vinca saw the face she'd seen mouthing an incomprehensible greeting in the immigration chip, a bit more aged, a bit more stern, falling into a frown from the smile she'd been giving Mavi, before smoothing into a detached professionalism as she took in Vinca's lack of height and her hair, still not long enough to do more than hang shaggily in her face. Vinca admired the expression, even though it made her feel smaller than Nesim. “You've hired a child of your Parish to look after your son for your visit?”

The clerk, hovering nearby, almost squeaked. “No, Pastor Jeremiah – “

“No, Mother.” Mavi said. “This is Vinca.”

The professional expression turned into a near frown. “Who?”

April 27, 2013

 He put an arm around her shoulders, an extravagant display of affection, away from the Parish that knew them both and were tolerant of Vinca's odd ways. She grinned up at him, and let him steer them into the forecourt of the Archbishop's Palace, past the guards who spent more time herding children than anything else. They knew Pastor Jeremiah from his childhood, and one left her post to take them to the front door and open it, handing them off to a clerk who was expecting him, though not Vinca. Apparently the Palace was full, the entire family had brought everyone, as well as the regional Bishops arriving early for the annual Chapter House, and their family and staff.

Vinca shifted Nesim to her other hip. “I can stay with the kid, but right now, he needs his diaper changed.” She looked around. “Is there a place I can use?”

The clerk looked started, at Vinca's accent, her short, shaggy hair, or her request, Pastor Jeremiah couldn't tell. She hitched the bag with the boy's supplies.

“I'm afraid that 's not possible,” the clerk stumbled over the words. “You can change him in there.” He pointed to a bathroom.

Vinca vanished with his son and Pastor Jeremiah turned to the clerck. “She has looked after my son for me for half a year. If space is an issue, why can she not stay with him here?”

The clerk blushed, looking down at the mosaic on the floor. “I'm afraid space is so much an issue your son has been put in your room. Last year you looked after him yourself you see, we thought it would be thus again.”

“And an umarried woman staying in my room would be inappropriate.” Pastor Jeremiah said, hiding a smile. “Given our ages.”

Relieved, the clerk nodded, “You're not teeners out on the Edge, working on the terraforming.”

“No.” Pastor Jeremiah admitted. “We're not.” He thought of waking up beside Vinca their last morning in the Parish, the way she stretched against him and greeted him with a lazy smile and a leg over his hips, and a kiss that deepened and almost made them miss the lift ship. There were things that didn't need a teener's enthusiasm.

“If you'd a proper wife, there wouldn't be a scandal. An unmarried Pastor is unnatural.”

Pastor Jeremiah turned, looking at the stern faced woman who stood behind him. Her back was straight as a poker, her thinning iron gray hair hidden behind a head and throat covering hijab, and she looked at him disapprovingly.

“You're thinner, Mavi, aren't you eating right?” she demanded. “I've been checking your reports, you should be eating well.”

Pastor Jeremiah hugged his mother, gently aware of her rank and age. “I am eating well enough.” He thought of a couple of Vinca's first attempts at cooking, and laughed. “Well, trying to. Nesim has started walking, and he's getting into everything.”

“Ah, that explains it.” Archbishop Sariah Grendel looked around. “And where is my special grandson. Don't say you left him in your Parish?”

“No, he's getting his diaper changed.” Pastor Jeremiah kissed his mother's cheek. “I wouldn't dream of leaving him home, you'd miss him too much.”

“That's my boy.” She beamed at him.

Vinca came from the bathroom, holding Nesim's hand.   

April 26, 2013

“Your mother is the what?” Vinca stopped in the middle of the street, almost dropping Nesim when he squirmed. She shifted his son up in her hold, making sure she had a good grip on him. “Again? I just changed you at the terminal.” she glared at Nesim, frowning.

Pastor Jeremiah glanced over his shoulder, then came back to stand over her protectively. “She's not that frightening, and she'll love you, because I do.” He tried to take her hand, but she jerked her hand free, stepping back, a look of horror on her face.

She shook her head. “I – I don't know about this. I mean, the archbishop?”

He nodded, and this time, she let him approach close enough to touch her, to cradle her jaw in his hand, to risk putting down his travel box, to put his hand on Nesim's back. “Her youngest, for my sins. The baby of the family.”

She looked up at him, having to tilt her head almost straight up. “But her surname is Grendel. You're a Jeremiah.”

“Papa is a Jeremiah, it's a more common name, I prefer it.” He drew a finger along her jawline, enjoying the way it felt. “I didn't wish to be known as one of the Archbishop's children when I chose the seminary instead of a vocation.” It'd still become known, but not immediately, and there was a sufficient lag that he'd been able to tell the difference between sycophants and friends. “Does it concern you, my kin?”

Her shrug turned her face into his palm. “Terrifies me, more like. Bad enough I'm getting a mother-in-law, but one who runs the whole world – ?”

He stepped closer to her, resting his head briefly atop her head, taking and giving comfort. “She guides our faith alone, and nothing more.” He inhaled the scent of her hair, then grimaced. “Nesim?”

She nodded, “Little Stinky Boy.”

He released her, picking up the box again. “Then we should hurry, and get to the palace quickly.”

She muttered something at his back, but it was softly spoken, and not in Dincani, though he was fairly certain it was something rude. He wondered if he should try and pry its meaning from her tonight, when they were alone.

If his family let them be alone. He'd not brought a woman with him when he traveled to Ilk Payiz for his mother's birthday, he wasn't quite certain how they'd react.

He dropped back so they were walking side by side, and brushed the back of his hand against her hand. “Love you.”

She looked at sideways, the way she had of looking up with her lashes veiling her eyes. It always made his heart beat a bit faster. “Love you too.”

April 25, 2013

evening at the doctor's office

April 24, 2013

“Oh.” She looked at the page number and flipped through to it. She looked as if she'd rather be almost anywhere but in Nesim's room, reading him a story before bedtime.

“You could go back to the Guesthouse,” he suggested. “I'm sure they'd be happy to welcome you, there's always room at the orgy.”

She shuddered. “No.”

Pastor Jeremiah smiled and left her to her task. The sound of her voice rising and falling accompanied him as he walked back to his study, and his quarterly report on the Parish. He had to report Goodwife Melton's passing, and how it'd happened, as well as the births of both Pachem and livestock, the estimated size of the flocks of feral boz cu and their direction. The Parish had lost some of the domestic pest control, but Timur Karimov and his older brother Onika had risked bloody noses and broken arms and netted a dozen yearlings, still with their feathers half-down. They'd make good ratters, once they were accustomed to humans and fully fledged.

He recorded the information for his report, including the names of the teeners outbound tomorrow or next week from the Parish, the ones currently making use of the Guesthouse. He recorded the names he'd be given, and where they and their guides planned to go It was amusing, he'd always thought qerib were more – open than Pachem, odd to find one driven away by teener behavior.

He heard a cough and looked up. Vinca walked into the study and put the book on the desk. “How did you end up with a Kedai son?” She stood back, half out of the light cast by his desk lamp, arms folded.

He bit back a retort at her rudeness, spreading his fingers wide against the top of his desk. To distract himself, he picked up the Child's History and stroked the cover. “You found the words difficult to read.” He didn't turn it into a question, his father had drawn his finger along beneath the words, teaching him to read, and he'd done that himself, to help set the letters in his mind. “Can you not read Dincani?”

April 23, 2013

Nesim, picked up a book and shoved it at Vinca. “Boo!” he said, as though that was enough to explain. She took it, looking at it curiously. He tried to climb up on the bench beside her, but wasn't strong enough, or tall enough, and fell back onto his rump on the floor. His face crumpled and he let out a wail.

Pastor Jeremiah started to come to his son's aid, but Vinca waved him off, sliding off the bench to sit beside the crying toddler. “Book?” she waved it in front of his face.

Nesim looked up and was distracted, grabbing at the book and crawling onto her lap. “Boo!”

“Yes. It's a book.” once the child was settled on her lap, she gave it to him. He opened it and slapped palms on facing pages.

“'Tory!”

The qerib looked at Pastor Jeremiah. “What?”

“He wants you to read him a story before bedtime.” Pastor Jeremiah explained. “I have been reading a tale every night.”

She muttered something under her breath. “Just pick one at random?”

He took the book from Nesim and went to the list. “He will pick the story he wants tonight if you read him the titles of the tales.” He gave her back the book.

She looked up at him with hooded eyes, then down at the book. “Well, kid, let's pick a story.” She bent over the book. “'Dinc for children, a history'.” She stumbled over the words, her finger tracing them. She huffed her breath stirring Nesim's hair.

“'How We Came to Be', 'How We Left Bindleshift', 'The First Archbishop'” She stumbled over the words, as though she wasn't quite familiar with the script, which was odd. Pastor Jeremiah had learned to read from that book, it wasn't that difficult, wasn't it?

“Me 'tory!” Nesim slapped his hands on the book.

Vinca looked at Pastor Jeremiah. “He means the tale 'How We Came to Be'. It's a story of the founding of the Pachem faith.”

April 22, 2013

Vinca held Letty on her lap and put an arm around Onnie. “Do you have your book?” Mavi always packed a storybook for the children, and they took turns reading to them. It was a tradition he'd started Nesim, and to reinforce Vinca's literacy in printed Dincani. She stumbled over some of it, but the kids were used to it. Onnie pulled it out of this possible sack, handed it to her. “Thank you. Where did Papa finish?”

Onnie leaned against her and mumbled, “H'we Come to Dinc”, pointing at the strip of thin leather that marked Mavi's place in the book.

Vinca opened it. “Ah. 'How the Pachem Fled Bindleshift for Peace, and Found It.'” It was, she thought, one of Onnie's favorite stories, just as it'd been Nesim's favorite. She found the beginning of the story and began moving her finger along, to mark her place and help Onnie know where they were.

'In the old days, the Pachem lived on the world of Bindleshift, among the people there, who were good folk, and bad folk, but where not Pachem.' she began.

She finished the first part of the tale, ending with the Archbishop of the Pachem on Bindleshift deciding that the strictures placed on them and theirs were too much, and they had to leave. Mavi returned with a pair of younger Pastors. “These are Pastors Spendov and Kestle. They've agreed to help us get our things to the palace.”

Vinca settled Letty on her arm and marked her place. She stood, tipping her head to them. “Thank you for the aid.”

Neither was married, their chins bare of beards, their heads bare of covering. She stood aside while the young men picked up the boxes, Letty on her arm, book in hand, Onnie standing close by her, arm around her waist. As they had in previous years, they walked along the front of the cathedral, to where the Archbishop's Gate was, fifteen feet wide, twenty feet tall, stone pillars with heavy iron bound gate, open wide and welcome, a quartet of guards, acted more like guides than any kind of security. There wasn't any need, really, Pachem carried weapons to hunt animals and predators, not each other. That was part of the problem they'd had with the government of Bindleshift. Mandatory military service wouldn't sit well with people who didn't even play fight.

When they reached the gate, Onnie let go and ran ahead, he saw some of his cousins already there in the fore court, and they were playing a game with a ball. Mavi paused in carrying to watch their son and shared a smile with her. He still remembered the child he'd been, and she loved him for it.

She tucked the book under her arm and took the box he was carrying. “Go on, you know you want to.”

“It's beneath my dignity,” he said wistfully, taking back the box. “And Leticia is heavy enough.”

“And you can play later, when your older brothers and nephews forget their dignity.”

The smile he flashed was small and secret and vanished quickly. “You are a scandalous woman, Goodwife Jeremiah.”

Vinca looked at the children, who'd welcomed Onnie into their ranks. “By now, there are at least twenty Goodwife Jeremiahs here.”

He sighed. “My family is prolific.”

“So they are, Pastor, and prone to joining the clergy.” She skipped ahead of the young Pastors to open the front doors to the Archbishop's Palace, so they wouldn't have to wait.  

April 21, 2013

Vinca returned by mid-morning, as promised, a bundle under her arm. Pastor Jeremiah stood from where he'd been reading a story to the children. “Mavi!?” She greeted him with a hug that had the keeper of the Guesthouse gasping, scandalized, and swung Onan up for a hug. “Hello son.” She put the bundle down, then let Onan down, picking up Leticia for a hug.

“No need to ask if you were successful.” He picked up the bundle, sniffed it. He did not know why she liked the stuff, but he'd learned to at least tolerate the way this coffee smelled, even if it tasted like the water that'd run through manure. “I am glad to see you return.” He hefted it. “It seems a bit light this year.”

She smiled. “I told you, next year.”

So she had. “Ah.” His heart compressed at the thought. He added the bundle of coffee to her smaller box. “So.” He picked up a mug that'd had tea in it, put it down, at a loss for what to say. After a decade of marriage, his wife could still do that to him.

She smiled up at him, touched his arm and looked at the front of the building, “We should get going. The nearest tram stop is at the end of the block, and if we miss this one, the next won't be for an hour.” She put down Leticia, picking up the heaviest of the boxes and heading for the exit, balancing it atop her head.

He picked up Leticia and handed a box to Onan, taking the last of the boxes, following her.

#

The tram dropped them by the cathedral entrance. Vinca smiled thanks to the people who helped them unload. Pastor Jeremiah left his family waiting at the entrance and went within, looking for someone to help him get their things to the Archbishop's palace. Within the building, he stopped, struck as always by the scents and the stillness of the sacred space. Air made faint susurrus noises as it traveled the space, stirring the incense and making dust motes dance in the morning sunlight that came through the narrow windows at the head and the sides of the building, at the far end, the altar stood, unostentatious, plain even, simple stone, carved with vines and flowers, the top coming to about his waist.

Here was where it had been placed, when the Pachem came to Dinc. The stone was from Bindleshift, had come with the Pachem from the other world, and Pastor Jeremiah bowed to it respecfully before passing it by in search of a clerk or another pastor.

April 20, 2013

buying stuff for 2 computers, building 1, home at 7am today

April 19, 2013

not viewable

April 18, 2013

Pastor Jeremiah woke about dawn, as he usually did, winter, summer. The sounds of the capital waking confused him for a moment, then memory supplied a reason. Mother's birthday and the lead up to the annual Chapter House. He turned onto his side and looked at the next bed, Onan took up only half the space, young boy curled into a bundle, hugging a pillow because they couldn't bring his pet long-dog, and, the pillow damp from drool, blankets tugged free of the bed and cocooning him. He smiled at his son, tracing Vinca's mark on him in the shape of his eyes, in the smile, half mischief, half sweet, that echoed hers, in his burrowing into and stealing all the covers he could.

He heard a step, soft footed, almost a whisper and propped himself up on his elbow as Vinca came in, sockfooted, a sleeping Letty bundled in blankets in her arms. “'Give you good morning, Goodwife.”

“'Give you good morning, Husband-mine.” She bent and put Letetia in the other end of the bed from Onan, tucking her in and standing over her until she settled, then she turned her attention to Onan, checking that he was well, tucking the blankets around one foot that stuck out.

She wore a yayliq, like a proper Pachem wife, and an apron over kirtle and petticoats, but she did not move like a proper Pachem wife, she never had, and he loved her for it, despite it. She straightened up, looking down at their children, a faint smile appearing and vanishing.

“You are going out.” It wasn't a question. They were in Ilk Payiz, and there were delights from other worlds to be bought. “There is coffee.”

“Yes, I am.” Her smile broadened into a grin. “And yes, there is.”

He nodded, sitting up. “Wait for me?” He reached for his socks, laying across the box at the foot of the bed.

She nodded. “I'll be downstairs,” and he knew she would. If she had meant to leave him sleeping, he'd not have heard her bringing Letty in. He dressed, but left off his cassock, choosing covering his head with an informal skullcap instead of his hat. Most likely he and Vinca were the only people awake in the Guesthouse, it was almost like being in the Pastorage, but not quite, he'd not go bareheaded, and he noticed neither had she.

Like Vinca, he didn't put on shoes when he finished dressing, but he carried them down in his hands. He hadn't her knack for walking silent.

She was just pouring a second cup of tea when he came into the dining room. She looked up, smiled, and held out the first cup. He sipped, she'd left it unsweetened, with only the natural flavor of the leaf, just as he liked it. She lifted her own cup and touched her it to her forehead. He matched the gesture, smiling at her. “You will be back by mid-morning?”

Another sip, and she nodded. “I've already packed up everything so we can leave when I get back.”

I wish you wouldn't go, trembled on the tip of his tongue, but he left it there. She returned, and when they were home there was no such worry of her not returning, and for nine-tenths of the time they were in the capital, he had no such worry. “Go quickly then, so you can return as quickly.”

She nodded. “I will.” She looked down into the cup as if for an oracle, then up at him. “I probably won't be able to have coffee next year.”

He perked up, she forswore her coffee only when she was pregnant, or nursing, and Leticia was weaned … ? “If you are – “

“No, but I think I will be, I think the three we have already are handful enough,” she looked into the middle distance, to the front of the building, then looked at him, both hands holding the cup. “But, you're right, and I'm agreeable to try for number four.”

Pastor Jeremiah put down his tea and took her in his arms, rubbing his cheek against her yayliq. “Let few become many, as we are granted them, children are a joy and a gift.”

She buried her face in his chest, her cup bumping into his back as she returned his hug. “Children are sleepless nights and heartache.”

“And yet, we've three, and a hope of a fourth.”

“Ours,” she said, with enough solemnity to suit a Bishop's Harvest-Tide speech, “are exceptionally well behaved children, when they aren't being mischief incarnate.”

They stood there, wrapped in each others' arms, until she stiffened, looking up. “Speaking of our oyun, I think one of them's waking.”

He let her go, and she put the cups in the sink to wash later, while he went back up stairs to see if it was Leticia, or Onan who'd woken.

April 17, 2013

 In the capital, there were Guesthouses in the fashion of the Parishes, one hall for women, one hall for men, common bathing facilities, a common kitchen and eating room, lockboxes for possessions, children staying with either parent. There were also Guesthouses that mimicked transitory dosses of the alver nahiyə, with a room for a person or a group, some with private facilities. Mavi always chose a Parish style guesthouse, moving between the different quarters of the city. This year, they were in Yağıntı Quarter, an hour by tram from the landing field, huddled up to the Trade Quarter.

Mavi settled them in a corner of the tram, nodding his thanks to the people who shuffled and made room for them and their luggage. He took Letty into his lap and let Vinca take Onnie into her lap. Both children were asleep before the tram reached the second stop. Mavi put his arm around Vinca and rested his chin briefly on her head. She patted his knee, once they were at the Guesthouse they could relax, wash, sleep, maybe even get something to eat. One of the other people on the tram, an older man, crumpled hat and shabby coat looked at them and smiled, maybe remembering when he was young and held hands in public.

The people on the tram helped them with the luggage and Mavi thanked them, waving as the tram left. He took the luggage in while Vinca held a sleepy Onnie against her side, and supported Letty by the rump as the little girl sprawled boneless as a rag against her.

He returned for the last of the luggage, and Vinca followed him. The guesthouse keeper was a spare woman, who took Letty and let Vinca carry the part of the luggage up. The women's hall was above the men's hall, both rooms housing a dozen cots, a room with sink and commodes off the kitchen and eating hall. The keeper gave Vinca a cot far from the entrance, “Do you co-sleep or do you need a crib for the little?”

“Co-sleep.” Vinca put a still sleeping Letty down, taking the key and unlocking the box at the foot of the bed to put her overnight bag inside. “Please, tell the Pastor I'll be here a bit, then be down to join him. Can I have a bowl to wash some of the dust off?”

“And a cup of water. It's been a dry spring so far.”

Vinca nodded her thanks.

April 16, 2013

“Would you be upset if I said 'I told you so'?” Mavi asked.

“Probably, but you'd be right, which would make me more upset.” She shifted Letty, and leaned against his chest. “Guest house tonight, the Palace tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” She felt Letty tugging on her yayliq again and stood up, catching the toddler's hands. She wasn't up to dealing with the Archbishop on top of most of the day in a liftship. “I should truss you up like a ham, little mischief. Maybe then I'd have less to worry about.”

“Mama, you can'do that.” Onnie insisted. “It'd be mean.”

“Ah, but I can think it.” Vinca nibbled on Letty's fingertips, growling like a groundbear and making her laugh. “It is our actions we must be judged by, and our actions and words we must answer for.”

She knew she'd gotten the homily correct when Mavi nodded, and felt a flush of pleasure undiminished by a decade of marriage, and two years more learning Pachem ways. She smiled back at him, and joined him at the window, watching the approach to the landing fields.

The liftship pilot made an announcement about turbulence, and she looked north, a spaceship shuttle stood atop a growing pillar of fire. The wave front hit the ship, but the pilot was good, and only a few glasses fell over, though some babies, Letty included, began crying when the sonic boom passed them. Vinca held her and swayed back and forth until she quieted, letting her know that Mama was here, Mama and Papa would keep the bad noises away, or at least keep them from doing more than making noise.

The ship docked, and they joined the slow moving throng for the terminal. After a decade, they'd a routine, they'd gather their luggage when they could, then Mavi left Vinca with the children with the luggage while he checked the schedules for the trams that would take them into the city proper.

Goodwife Sua found her there, Onnie sitting atop the pile, Letty on her shoulders, happily waving the yayliq around. She was followed by a man only slightly older than her, laden with luggage. “Hello again.” She still had a child attached to either hand. “Oh dear, again?”

“Again.” Vinca flushed and handed Letty to Onnie. “Hold onto her please, both hands.”

“Bəli mama.” Onnie grabbed hold of Letty's waist band as Vinca re-tied the yayliq. She supposed she ought to wear it with the knot at her chin not the nape of her neck, but it always felt like it'd choke her. It hadn't been much of a problem before Letty reached the grabby stage.

She took back Letty before Onan lost his grip or the little mischief managed to squirm free. “Did you see the shuttle lift?”

Goodman Sua shook his head sadly. “We went away from the windows, the noise might fright the boys.” He took off his hat briefly after putting down his bags. “May the ships take all the kafirlər back to the stars.” His mouth pursed in dislike. “Dinc doesn't need them or their foreign ways.”

Goodwife Sua tilted her head, shaking it. “My mother's mother's father came from the stars, and the foreign ways bring new medicine and seed for the fields.”

“And harvest worker who barely know weed from seed, and pick fights and drink too much.” He sighed explosively. “Pardon, Goodwife.”

“Did you have much trouble this past harvest?” Vinca asked. Something that'd happened last harvest tickled at the back of her mind. Qızıl Dayanır'd had an incident with one of the crews of migrant harvest-tide workers, but it'd been minor.

“A mostly qərib crew that broke equipment, then ran off with their pay and never finished the work.” the Goodwife said. “Our parish selected Pelin to come to Ilk Payiz to register a complaint with the Harvest-tide worker union about them.”

Vinca nodded. Qizil Dayanir's problems had been dealt with with a cracked head, a couple of nights locked in a shed and being sent back to the capital. It sounded like the Suas' Parish hadn't been so lucky.

“We lost a good tithe of the harvest.” Goodman Sua said, still irate. “It needs to be addressed. The Union is allowing too many kafirlər among the crews, and they're making trouble, nothing but trouble.”

Vinca nodded, looking around for Mavi in the crowds, she wished she didn't come up to people's' elbows for the most part. “Do you see your Papa, Onnie?”

He shook his head, but got to his feet on top of the boxes fearless of the thought of falling. She supposed that lack of fear was her genes coming out, though the shape of her son's face and mostly sweet disposition was his father all over again. “I see him, he's coming back mama.” He waved.

“Sit down then, he'll be here soon. You don't want to upset him by knocking over all the luggage, your nənə's gift is in there, and you know it's fragile.”

He nodded, sitting down reluctantly and drumming his heels against the box's side. She turned back to the Suas. “Have you checked the tram schedule to find out which station you should wait at?”

Goodman Sua nodded solemnly, “The Parish made the arrangement, our Pastor has us staying with kin of her Regional Bishop. He runs a guesthouse in Bahar Quarter. The Bishop is there, for the Archbishop's Annual Chapter Meeting.” He sounded impressed at the idea of sharing a guesthouse with one.

Vinca wanted to tell him it wasn't that much of an honor. She'd had a bishop guesting with her, and spent a week cleaning up before, and a month cleaning up afterwards. “We are staying at a guesthouse tonight, but tomorrow we start a week with kin.”

Mavi reached them, “We need to get to Station 3 quickly, the tram after this one won't be here for an hour.” He swung down Onan and began gathering bags. “Don't think I didn't see you standing up on top of them. We've spoken about you doing that.”

“Was looking to see where you were. Mama asked.” Onan picked up a pair of small boxes.

He gave her a Look that said 'we'll talk about that later'. Vinca coughed and made introductions to the Suas. Mavi bowed, his filled hands not suited to taking off his hat to greet a woman. Then they had to hurry, weaving through the crowd.

“You didn't tell me her husband was a Pastor.” Vinca heard Goodman Sua say as they hurried away.

“She didn't say. How was I to know?” She heard the goodwife say.

Vinca resisted the urge to turn back and tell them not only was Mavi a Pastor, she was one of the so disliked kafirlər. She didn't, it would reflect badly on her husband, and if the goodman couldn't tell she was offworld born and bred, he was a right fool, and it was wrong to point out the shortcomings of others.

April 15, 2013

Ilk Payiz hadn't changed much since the last time they'd visited. Vinca shifted Letty to her other hip and looked down at it. It was still a squat, mostly 'crete city, nestled upwind from the tiracet kvartal, where the ships came. The lift ship was coming in on the far side from the city, because the plan of the city had the local transport well separated from possible use by qərib. The founding Pachem weren't fools, after all. Droplets of green spoke of some sense at least, community gardens and parks and the like.

Mavi sighed, leaning on the plexi shielding the passengers from the winds of transit. “It's always so beautiful.” He hefted Onnie up a bit and pointed out where the Archbishop's palace complex was.

“It is hell.” Vinca put her wrist to her forehead, posing dramatically. “It's where my mother-in-law lives.”

“Yes dear.” Mavi sounded irritated. She'd probably milked that particular joke dry, or the trip was getting on his nerves too.

“I think they've washed the south facade, it looks brighter.” She offered. It'd been a long two days from Qızıl Dayanır, plagued with late rains and bad food and a pair of cranky children.

“Maybe it was the rain.”

Letty grew bored with watching out the window and tugged Vinca's yaliq off, waving it in the air and throwing it down. A well bearded man glared at her for the unseemly display, but didn't stoop to pick it up. She let Letty down and scooped up the scarf.

“I'll take her.” Mavi held his free arm out.

“I've got her.” Vinca gripped the toddler's hands around two handfuls of her skirt. “Hold tight, baby.” She stood up unknotting the scarf and tying it around her hair, half angered, half embarrassed by its length.

“That nev – “ Mavi started, when Letty spotted something at child-height and bolted for the other end of the passenger compartment. Vinca took off after her, yaliq in hand, until she caught the pestilent brat almost at the stairs to the lower level. The thought of her daughter tripping down those stairs made her blood run cold.

“They are always so quick, aren't they?” a woman about ten years younger than Vinca with a child dangling on either hand said. Her yaliq was a bit off kilter, but she looked better than Vinca felt.

Vinca swallowed fear, irritation, and managed half a smile. “Yes, they are.” She stood, holding Letty on her hip like a bundle of laundry, which made the toddler giggle and kick her feet in the air. “You blink, they're at the other end of the Parish.”

The other woman nodded. “Goodwife Sua, these – “ she nodded to each in turn “ – are Ira and Nesim.”

“Twins?”

Goodwife Sua nodded. “And four times the mischief.”

“Goodwife Jeremiah. This – “ she righted Letty and let the toddler look at the other woman. “is Leticia.”

Letty took one look at the other woman and hid her face against Vinca. Vinca shared a last smile over the foibles of children and went back to Mavi. “I bow to your superior judgment.” Once he had their daughter in hand, Vinca put the scarf back on. She'd felt half naked without it, strange, she didn't feel that way at home when she was in the garden in the morning. “I'm wishing we'd stopped with Onnie.”

“She is a handful.” Letty grabbed onto her father's beard and tugged. “Ow!”

Her head covered, she took the baby back. “She gets more trouble than Nesim ever did.” She tapped her daughter's nose. “You should be called Nadinclik.” 

April 14, 2013 (part 2)

“I hope he knows what he's asking.” Vinca looked at her image in the mirror and grimaced. “I look like something made out of spun fluff. Ick.” She tugged her petticoat up to grimace at the delicate ivory slippers and the silk stockings she had on. She really missed the wool ones, but silk stocking were traditional for Pachem brides, and they were sticklers for tradition. Except she qualified as one of them now. “Even if I freeze my damn toes off.” It was coming on for winter, it was cold out, damnit. “Should've waited until spring.”

“Vinca?” Goodwife Rice held up another petticoats, this one bright red. It was fertility or some such. They all had a meaning, silk stockings for walking lightly on the earth, low heeled slippers so she could step of them and onto Mavi's shoes, because he'd support her from now on, a half dozen petticoats, all different colors, gold for riches, blue for loyalty, red for fertility, green for health, purple for dignity or some such, and the final petticoat white, for purity.

Even if the bride was about to pop out a kid, like the new Goodwife Fairuza Bourden, married this past spring, and her son showing up five days later. Goodwife Rice tugged on the ties for the petticoat. “A pity you haven't more of a waist, or a bit more height. We had to take the hems up a good half foot.”

“I am what – “ Vinca grunted as the ties cut in a bit sharply. “I am.”

The final petticoat came down over Vinca's head. “At least I don't have to stand on a stool to dress you.”

Vinca batted away the older woman's hands and tied the last petticoat off herself. “I helped with all those hems, so quit complaining. If I'd my way we'd have done this in the capital, a little paperwork, some words, and bang, Done.” She took an experimental breath, and found that still worked.

As expected, that sent Goodwife Rice, and all the other goodwives helping Vinca get ready for the wedding off on a rant fit for a drill sergeant, but it distracted them, and she was able to get a couple more bits of clothes on, even it if twas just a pair of silver wrist cuffs, left her by Goodwife Melton, so she wouldn't come to the marriage a pauper. They circled her and helped her put on her shirt, the front heavy with embroidered flowers in multi-colored silk, the sleeves billowing because she wasn't going to drag them through the food today, nor was she going to spill anything on it, at least she hoped not. It seemed like a hundred tiny buttons had to be fastened up, a dozen on each cuff. An apron stiff with more embroidered flowers went on over the petticoats, because the creamy white overgown they put her in was open down the front, and the fancy apron showed in the split between the edges, and the lacing only cinched in her waist. At least it was wool.

The elder Goodwife Bourden held a wreath of wires and little glass flowers. “It's a shame about your hair.”

“Yeah, well. It's clean at least.” A year hadn't been enough to grow her hair long enough to be a Pachem woman's 'crowning glory' It'd barely grown long enough to tie back, never mind put up in waist length braids.

And after today, it'd be covered in public anyway, as a married woman. Vinca sat down and let them pin the wreath to the top of her head, let them drape ribbons down her back, because she hadn't the hair to drape.

Goodwife Rice offered her a cup of something. Vinca took a swig and gasped, “What the hells is that?” It hit her stomach like a bomb and spread out like a wildfire.

“A bit of poteen.” Goodwife Rice took the cup back, “something to make the day go a bit easier.”

“I have another swallow of that and it'll go so easy I'm sleeping through it.” Vinca stood. “That stuff's potent.”

Goodwife Rice smiled slyly. “But are you nervous any more?”

Vinca shook her head. “I never was nervous. Just terrified.”

“Ready?” someone asked, and Vinca swallowed, then nodded.

“Let's get this show on the road.”

Theyd dressed Vinca in the women's hall of the guesthouse, as they'd dressed Mavi in the Pastorage. She walked down the stairs to the community hall, it was the only place in the parish large enough to hold most of the people who wanted to see the show. It wasn't every day a Pastor got married hereabouts. It wasn't every day the Pastor's mother performed the ceremony.

The Goodwives opened the door into the hall and she was her future mother-in-law, still looking a bit like she'd found half a worm in her apple, but there, showing matching embroidered flowers and creamy white clothes, was Mavi. Nesim must've fussed, he was in his father's arms, watching her with uncanny golden eyes, one hand fisted and shoved mostly into his mouth. Vinca looked at Mavi and grinned, trust the kiddle to get into the middle of everything. He spotted her and grinned ruefully as she walked toward them.

Nesim spotted her and reached out with both hands, grabbing at the air. “Ah!” A ripple of laughter went through the crowd.

She joined them at the front of the room and let Nesim catch two of her fingers, grinning at them both. “Ready?” Mavi asked.

“As I'm ever like to be.” She reached up, tugged him down into range, gave him a peck on the cheek. “Ready, Pastor?”

“As I am ever like to be.” He grinned at her, and turned with her to face his mother, the Bishop.

April 14, 2013

not viewable

April 13, 2013

Gwynneth lay abed, but sat up when Fitz came into the dim lit room. “Good evening.” He had a cup of brandy, still mostly filled, and he swirled it as he walked over to the bed. She watched him, he could feel it, though her eyes were merely darker shadows in her pale face. “You disappoint me.”

“Duh-duh--” she closed her eyes and grimaced. “Duh-disappoint you?”

“Yes.” he put down the drink and took her hand, tugging lightly on it to help her stand. “I didn't expect that when I sent for you.” He gestured to her swollen belly. “Good God, we've not even been wed a year.”

She looked down, stroked it, then shot a startled look up at him again. “Aay-aay--” again, closed eyes, again, the grimace, as though she had to fight to get the words out. “Aay-eight m-months.” She looked up at him, “we have been wed eight months,” the words spilled out, almost atop each other. “Yuh-you said a word.”

“I have said many words.” He picked up his glass, led her to where the fire glowed sullen red, warming the room, but not giving enough in the way of light to do much. Someone, Gwynneth's maid perhaps, had set a chair and a stool before it, doubtless so she could toast her toes if she wished. “Which one in particular?”

He took the chair for himself, and hooked the stool closer. There was no table near enough, so he put the glass down on the carpet, and tugged on her hand, pointing at the stool with his other hand. She sat, and he put a knee to either side of her, watching her with hooded eyes. She glanced at him, then looked away, at the fire. “Fuh-fuh--.”

“Fuck?” He leaned forward, grasping her chin and forcing her to turn and look at him. “That is what I'd been planning on doing with you, my dear, if you hadn't turned up so roundly fecund.”

“N-n-n-no.” she shook her head, tearing free of his hold. “That word, thu-thu-the last one. Ay-ay-I don't know what it means. Pu-pu-plu-pluh-hease.”

He took pity on her, stroking her swollen gut. “It means this, my dreadfully fertile bride, I'll be terrified to couple with you in the normal fashion, if this is what happens with only a month of making the beast with two backs with you.”

April 13, 2013

At least she could still wear her boots. Vinca looked at the clothes she'd lain out for the trip and wished she hadn't given Mavi her word. But she had, so she started putting them on. The outermost layer was dark gray wool and a lighter gray shirt, the black socks reached halfway up her thighs and tied off to a belt that went under her skirts.

Mavi came in when she'd barely started, tying the stockings to the belt. “Do you need help?”

“I know how to get dressed.” She got the socks secured and tugged on the second layer of shirt. The Pachem wore too many clothes. Shift then belt and socks, second shirt, under skirt, the wool overdress and an apron over that. There was no satisfaction in knowing that as a Pastor, Mavi had to wear more clothes than her.

“You're not doing it right.” He came into the room and sat on the bed. She'd dressed Nasim already, and the toddler'd gone back to sleep already, drooling on the pillow. Storing energy for later, probably.

“What?” She remembered the kid barely in time to stifle her voice to a squeak.

“Come here.” He gestured her over, and stood her between his knees. He tugged her close and pressed a kiss to the space between her breasts. “You're frightened, aren't you?” He settled his hands at the base of her spine.

“I am not.” She put her hands on her hips, glaring down at him.

He leaned his head against her. “Yes you are, I can feel your heart racing.”

“That's not fear.” She held his head close and kissed his bald spot. “So what am I doing wrong?”

He hugged her, then began tugging on her shirt. “You're putting them on in the wrong order.”

The correct order, apparently was socks, smock, drawers, shirt, underskirt, then overdress and the clean white apron he'd bought for her yesterday in the city. She fingered the drawnwork on the lower edge and wondered how long it would stay clean with Nesim at a grabby age. He helped her dress, pausing from time to time to make sure the clothes fit. While she was lacing up the overdress, he picked up the hem, flipping it up and examining where she'd turned it up. She was skinny as Goodwife Melton had been, but she was a good decimeter shorter, and that meant folding it up and hemming it. At least she'd matched the thread color. Goodwife Melton's eldest granddaughter had helped, trying not to be too obvious in her amusement at Zinca's incompetence.

“So I can't sew.”

He fingered a darker spot where she'd stabbed herself and bled all over the cloth. The stain had set, unfortunately, although it didn't show on the outside. “She thought well of you.”

“She just didn't want to give Goodwife Rice more fodder for gossip.” Vinca knotted the laces and tucked them down inside the dress. “That's all there is to it.” But she smoothed the skirts down and remembered the old woman and her wheezing laugh.

“Goodwife Rice sees two chicks scratching in the dust and will tell a windstorm.” He released her skirt and picked up Nesim. “Shall we get going?” The toddler yawned and thumped his head against Mavi's shoulder.

“Guess so.” She rubbed her hair, and wished she could cover it to hide its length, but Pachem women only covered their heads when they married. She didn't qualify.

She looked at Mavi's back, at the sleepy child draped bonelessly on his shoulder, at the way theskirts of his cassock moved and flared as he walked, well, not until autumn.

April 11, 2013

Vinca could see this trip was a bad idea. She knew it when the invitation came with the fortnightly lift ship, knew when Mavi said she and Nesim would accompany him. “You sure you want me to do that?” She handed him a cup of tea and made sure Nesim had a biscuit, then retreated to the stove to check on the wash water. Not hot enough.

“Yes.” he followed her to the stove and stroked the nape of her neck. “And you're avoiding,” he fluffed her hair, then stroked it smooth.

She nodded. His hand continued down her back, then around at the bottom edge of her ribs and inside her shirt.

“Why? They're my family, they should see you, get to know you.” He cupped her breast. “I'd have it done before we have more children than just Nesim.” his thumb began stroking.

She covered his hand, stilling it. “I'd still rather not go.”

“But you'll go.” He rested his head on top of hers. “Because I ask.” He settled his other hand at her waist, holding her lightly against him. “As a member of the parish, you should be obedient to the requests of your pastor.” He began stroking again. She arched against his hand.

“Is that what you call it?” She arched against his hand. “an obedient request?”

“As often as I can, until we are wed.”

Nesim chose then to throw the half eaten biscuit at them. It missed, but fell into the wash water. Mavi released her and laughed, “He is determined to keep me working.” He kissed the toddler's forehead.

“And your tea was getting cold.” She leaned on the stove, fishing the biscuit out. Still not washing hot. “Go do your reports, Pastor.” she waved him off. “Tell your family you'll be there for the reunion.”

“And you'll accompany us?” Something in his voice made her look up.

He stood in the doorway looking wistfully at her, waiting for her answer, fingers gripping the tea mug so tightly his hand trembled. She nodded, still thinking it was a bad idea.

April 10, 2013

She'd resisted the call of the starlight for three nights, after the first time, the first night she spent in the village Guesthouse. The third time, she only lasted a night, working her kata until she was tired enough to fall into the bed and into sleep almost immediately. She worked hard during the day, but still, at night, lay awake, trying to sleep until the dawn started to lighten the eastern sky.

Finally she gave up, creeping down to the hall and running a kata in the empty room, basic at first, earth, water, fire, then finally air, repeating them until she felt comfortable with them, and then moving on to the more advanced ones, stone, rain, sparks and wind, repeating them, as well, until they flowed, one into the other, and she could return to the room she'd been assigned, sponge off the sweat that'd built up, and fall asleep. There was a void within the kata, a peace when she let her mind shut off and let her body move, fingers and hands and arms posed just so, the everyday miracle of the body moving, feet shifting and weight balancing. She could feel her center returning a little more each night, until the night she felt someone watching her, transitioning from rain back to water, ending the kata and letting her hands fall, spilling the water away and returning to herself.

The pastor was watching her, the same way he'd been watching her the morning he caught her sleeping in her garden, and without even a blanket. She tried not to go into an attack stance, and stood upright, hands at her side, near parade rest, but avoiding it, barely. He was a Pachem, he probably wouldn't understand she wasn't trying to offend. As he had that morning, he held his hands clasped in front of his waist, watching her with a look of mild curiosity. She couldn't resist glancing, and yes, he did. He swallowed, and she wondered if he was blushing.

“So, you're our ghost.” He said, having swallowed a second time.

“What?” She shifted her weight to one hip, the prickling and heat on her skin wasn't just from the exercise she'd just finished. “I didn't mean to – I tried to wait until I thought everyone was asleep, you seem to all go to bed so early.”

“Not everyone. He thought you were a spirit, a jinn.” He took a step into the room.

“I couldn't sleep.” Vinca shrugged. “It helps me sleep.”

“So you – dance?” He made a gesture to the room. “At least there is space for it here. I do not think the parish would be ready for you to dance out on the green. Not dressed like that.”

“I wouldn't do that.” She said quickly, then caught the grin he was trying to hide. “Fuck,” she muttered, folding her arms, hunching her shoulders defensively. Caught.

“I will tell the person who saw you what happened.” He took a seat on one of the chairs she'd put to the side of the room. “Be at peace.”

“Thank you. I'll stop doing it.” At least, she'd stop doing her katas until she'd checked. Maybe she could hand sheets and block the windows.

He shook his head. “He won't bother you, I'll explain it to him.”

She nodded absently. “Good night then.” Her path out of the room led past him, she steeled herself and walked past him. She didn't know why she felt so damn body shy around him. He was just a man, a bit taller than some, scrawnier than others, nothing remarkable.

Then he reached out as she passed, stroking his hand down her arm and ending the touch holding her hand. She stopped looking down at him, while the world stopped around them, cocooning them in stillness. His smile grew slowly, surrounded her, surrounded them, she took a step towards him, her thigh bumping against his knee, her hand rising as he tugged on it.

He kissed the palm of her hand, still smiling at her. “Sleep well.” He released her hand.

She fled.