Righteous Anger (Okal Rel Saga #2)

3.3: Descendant of a K'isk

Horth got up one morning, months after his arrival, to find the household in a tizzy over a summons from the reigning K'isk.

The High Seat, where the K'isk held court, was located in a city known simply as the capital, about two hours away by light plane. Zrenyl and Horth were to present themselves in ten days.

Suddenly, the casual rhythms of work and play ended. There were protocols to learn, statements to memorize, and clothes to choose. It reminded Horth of functions held on Fountain Court. Fortunately, here as there, most of the hard work fell to Zrenyl as the oldest brother.

Horth and Zrenyl flew to the capital, with Hill serving as navigator. He was also to act as their guide within the city once they arrived. Zer Hen came along to provide any necessary spiritual guidance.

The capital was an ecologically sustainable city of just over a million people, planned around a series of pedestrian-only rings with intersecting roads for vehicles. The palace grounds of the High Seat lay at the center, flanked by the campus of the zer seminary on one side and the Temple of San on the other. The surrounding town was divided into sections owned by the different royal families, like the Sarns, who claimed descent from one of San Nersal's children.

The palace itself had a grand façade used for ceremonial departures and arrivals but its most prominent feature was the challenge arena bulging out to one side in an open-air amphitheater.

Hill set the plane down on the outskirts of the capital at an airport named Zer-pol.

"What a thing to name an airport!" objected Zrenyl. "A doomed soul — too weak to fight back."

Hill stopped cold and gave Zrenyl a blank stare. Then he slapped his knee and laughed. "Hah! Is that what you Nersallians think of a zer-pol!"

Zrenyl frown. "A zer-pol proves his enemies okal'an'i by becoming their victim," he said stubbornly. "I'd say that's an unlucky name for any dock, even if it is only for atmospheric aircraft."

Zer Hen cleared his throat and spoke up. "Ah, but the thing is, you see, why does the sacrifice have such an impact? It's because a zer-pol is loved for exemplifying the pol virtues such as cooperation and trust. So you see, zer-pol is quite an appropriate name for a shared resource."

"Don't tell me any more," Zrenyl groaned. "It is starting to sound like one of Zer Sarn's lectures on the Mysteries and Errors!"

Horth noticed fellow travelers pause to look at him and Zrenyl. Sometimes parents even pointed them out to their children. But on the whole he felt sure that grandsons of the ruling Ava would have commanded more attention on Gelion than he and Zrenyl did on SanHome, which was puzzling given the books Kene had brought to Gelion.

A short drive in a hired car saw them to their lodgings at a place called an Away House, in the Sarn Sector, that was build around a large internal courtyard. It had eight suites, each with an external dining area arranged so residents could take in what was happening on the central exercise floor.

A sort of gymnastic dance was taking place in the courtyard when they arrived, but Horth knew better than to imagine any of the women performing barefoot in long, swishing skirts would be available. He had already learned that Nesaks performed for each other rather than delegating that role to courtesans.

The next morning, Horth, Zrenyl, Hill and Zer Hen were picked up by a car and driven to the K'isk's palace along one of the radial roads.

They got out at the grand entrance glimpsed from the air the day before, and passed up a long hall with a high ceiling that was lined with Guards of Honor who presented their swords in a ritual gesture as they passed. Horth thought the guards looked odd, because they were dressed in nothing but fighting trunks and sashes that displayed their house braids and colors.

The K'isk received Horth and Zrenyl in a huge stateroom surrounded by representatives of the twelve royal families of SanHome. A line of zers were also present, dressed in the robes of their various orders that indicated which Great Souls they favored.

The K'isk himself wore a heavy mantle of fur and leather over a costume very much like that of the semi-naked honor guards in the hall. Horth thought the K'isk had a brash air of youth and reckless arrogance about him for a grandfather, despite the ageless appearance of highborns or as Nesaks preferred to call them, eternals.

They did not stay long in the K'isk's presence and nothing was said beyond the phrases Zrenyl had rehearsed at Sarn Haven. Horth found the whole affair worse than a Demish reception. It was on the way out of the audience chamber that he learned something valuable.

"I'm glad that's done," huffed Zer Hen, brushing down his robes to dislodge crumbs of pastries he had sampled while waiting in a side chamber.

"It could have been worse," Hill agreed. "The High Seat has passed between the Ko and Sarn lines so often, K'isk Ko can't help but view Zrenyl as a title contender. Especially when there are zer-factions trying to revive the business of Beryl's children being conduits for the San soul. That sort of thing is bound to attract trouble."

"Indeed," Zen Hen said with a relieved sigh. "But not this time."

"What do you mean the Ko and Sarn lines?" asked Zrenyl. "Isn't the reigning K'isk a Sarn? I mean, he is my grandfather!"

"Technically," said Zer Hen, with a sigh of disappointment for humanity, "but biology will out, as the saying goes."

Zrenyl stopped cold six meters short of the outside doors. The rest of the party swung about him in a loose pinwheel.

"Technically!" Zrenyl bellowed. "What do you mean he's 'technically' my grandfather?"

Hill looked nervous. "Zrenyl, please! Not here! I'll explain it to you on the way home!"

"You'll explain it now!" demanded Zrenyl.

"All right!" Hill snapped, casting a self-conscious glance at the stone-still guards of honor. "You are the son of Beryl Nesak and she is a K'isk-child. But that was under a different K'isk. The title has changed hands since. Lots of times. A K'isk has to defend his title a lot more often than your father does. If he didn't the whole system would break down."

Zrenyl looked thunderstruck.

"Look, Zrenyl," Hill said, putting an arm around the young Nersallian's back. "It doesn't matter if you are descended from a live K'isk or a dead one. You are just as entitled to call yourself a Nesak prince and challenge for the High Seat if you want. That's why any reigning K'isk calls new contenders to the capital to get a look at them."

"What makes it all a bit more complex, in your case," Zer Hen added, "is the business of your mother being married to your father to attract important souls back into her line. There was a Sarn in the High Seat, you see, when that was done. And there are sympathizers in the zer'stan who think that you, or your descendants, ought to be K'isk — even now. Politics, you know." He smiled. "But let's get back to our rooms and order dinner. I think that would be the best thing, just now."

Zrenyl was sullen all the way back to the Away Home.

"I don't know what you are so upset about!" Hill told him, in exasperation. "You are still every bit as much the grandson of the K'isk as you would be if the man you met today had been your mother's sire. That's how it works on SanHome."

"It isn't how it works on Fountain Court!" Zrenyl fired back.

Horth said nothing. Ever since Zer Hen used the word politics he knew that he wasn't going to understand.

"Just be grateful nothing went wrong!" Hill urged Zrenyl.

But something had.