The Compass Rose - Gail Dayton

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likely, at least he could not plunge to his death over the side of the boat.

      “You seem a reasonable man, warrior—Stone, is it?” Suteny waited for an answer. Stone nodded and the other man went on. “When you are here with us, that is. Do you know what triggers these…little spells of time?” The lieutenant put his head outside the door and spoke in a voice of quiet authority before closing it again and turning back to Stone.

      Hunching his shoulders, Stone shook his head. He wished he knew. He wanted to be rid of it, his madness or whatever it might be.

      “Would you allow me to try calling you back?”

      Stone stared at the pale-skinned Adaran. “You wish to do this?”

      Suteny seemed surprised by Stone’s surprise. “It would make my job easier, would it not? If you could retain better possession of your senses.”

      “True.” Stone shrugged. “I see no reason why not. Try.”

      “Very well. We are agreed.”

      A knock sounded at the door and the lieutenant opened it to admit one of the other guards, young, with a dogged determination that made up for his lack of experience. He proceeded to attach a long chain to Stone’s ankle bonds and to the bolts holding the cabin’s bunk to the floor.

      “Is there anything else I can provide for your comfort?” Lieutenant Suteny asked. “Some reading material perhaps?”

      Stone shook his head, testing the chain’s length. “I can speak Adaran, but I can’t read it.” He’d tried to read the words on the general’s map.

      “Oh?” A single eyebrow arched high on Suteny’s forehead. “Pity.”

      Stone shrugged. He’d never been much for reading anyway. Not like Fox.

      Suteny watched him another long moment. It made Stone uneasy. As if the man was studying him. Preparing a report. He probably was. When they reached Arikon, he would likely be called upon to report to his superiors everything observed about their Tibran prisoner and whether he was too mad to be of any use. Stone would like to know the answer to that himself.

      Aisse was sitting in complete idleness on the back of the boat a short space apart from her mistress and the man. It was the second afternoon from the time she had been discovered and Aisse still did not understand what sort of service was expected of her. She didn’t understand much of anything in her new country.

      Kallista was the captain, but it did not seem to mean the same as it would in Tibre. She did not own the man. Nor did he own her. He protected her. He served her, carrying out duties Aisse had thought would be hers.

      When the man came that first night, while she was in her bath, Aisse had feared his purpose. But he had ignored her naked self to empty her bag on the floor and search it, then carried her clothing away. Aisse had been confused, then amused when she realized the man had been searching for weapons, things that could harm the captain. Then she remembered that in this place, women were indeed as dangerous as the men, if not more so.

      The man brought her new clothes, a tunic much like the old one and trousers to cover her legs, all the way to her waist. Aisse liked trousers. The man brought her to the cabin, gave her a blanket and a corner for sleeping. He gave her food and the words for food and blanket, for cup, bowl and spoon. But when she tried to begin her duties by putting away the captain’s things, he had growled and sent her away.

      He would not allow Aisse to touch anything belonging to either the captain or himself. He did not allow her to collect their food from the boat’s kitchen. He did not trust her. It was a strange feeling for Aisse, to be considered important enough for suspicion, worthy of distrust.

      She rested her head on her knees and wrapped her arms around her folded legs as she watched the captain and her man. She did not understand relations between men and women in this new country either. She had thought women ruled here—and they did, but not in a way Aisse could comprehend. She did not have words for the things she saw.

      The man argued with the captain. They did not shout, but spoke quietly through clenched teeth and glared lightning bolts at each other. It amazed Aisse that he would dare to argue, but dare he did and without any apparent fear of punishment. She did not understand. But that was not all that confused her.

      Aisse had thought the man did not make any demands for sex because he belonged to the captain. And he did in some way, but she did not know what it was. They slept side by side, their bodies touching, and they did not have sex. The man did not touch the captain save for when they slept and when he tied up her hair. He did not grope, squeeze, fondle, or anything at all.

      The captain touched him sometimes, on the hand or arm, or perhaps laid a hand on his shoulder. But not often. It didn’t make sense. Did she want the man or not? Did he want her? If he did, maybe Aisse could stop worrying over having to do sex.

      She was trying to puzzle the matter out when one of the boatmen approached her, the one who had ordered the others to bring her bath. He sat in the chair beside her, speaking his pretty language. She shrank into a smaller ball, struggling to pick out a word or two. She could not remember what she had learned. He was too close. He frightened her.

      “He means no harm,” the captain said. “He’s only saying how sorry he is you were hurt and that you must be very beautiful indeed, for even now you are beautiful.”

      Aisse made a face. Much good beauty had ever done her. Captain Varyl laughed. The boatman spoke again and she translated. “He says if there is any service he might do for you, you have only to ask.”

      “I want him to go away,” Aisse said, surprising herself with her bravado. “I will not do sex with him. But I want to say it myself. What are the words?”

      The captain had to have her man give the words to Aisse. The boatman did not look angry or frustrated when she said them, merely sad as he rose to do what she ordered.

      “He was not looking for sex,” the captain said. “He’s one of the boat captain’s iliasti. Didn’t you see his anklets?”

      Aisse looked as the boatman climbed the stairs to the foredeck and saw a pair of narrow gold bangles encircling one ankle, and three more shining from the other. “They mean he belongs to the captain?”

      “And she belongs to him and both of them to the rest of their ilian.”

      That word was in Adaran, like the other strange words she used. “What is that? Ilian?”

      “It means they are—are mates. Oathsworn to each other in the temple, joined by love in a family to raise their children. They all belong to each other.”

      Aisse shook her head. She was confused by more words than just ilian. Love was what a person owed the Rulers. How could love join someone? Family—that had to do with children, she thought. Aisse had no children, would never have them, so she wasn’t sure of that term. She understood swearing an oath and belonging. But one person belonged to another and the one who was owned could not then own the one who owned her. Could she?

      She frowned. “The boatman and the boat captain…love?”

      “Yes. And their ilian. It has six members. Didn’t you see? He wore five anklets, three on the right and two on the left. Three women and two other men. The captain wears five bracelets, two on the right and three on the left. They belong to their ilian and do not—don’t have sex with anyone else.”

      “Your man does not have an anklet.”

      The captain sighed. “Torchay is my bodyguard. Not my ilias. We are not bound in that way.”

      “Then who does he do sex with?” Should she worry after all?

      “Whoever he wishes, I suppose.” The captain’s face turned pink, but Aisse did not understand the reason for the blush. “And if she wishes it as well. Sex must be agreed to by all involved.”

      Aisse nodded. She could like that rule.

      The

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