Arrows of Time - Kim Falconer [103]
‘What do you mean? The language is limited?’ she asked.
‘I think the language we use to frame our thoughts is imperfect; they all are. And in this case, it is unable to express the quality of the moment as we experience it. There is an answer here, but we aren’t asking the question.’
‘Are you saying our language is flawed?’
He shook his head. ‘Not flawed, but incomplete. Limited.’
‘In what way? Vocabulary, context, connotation?’
‘All those, but I was thinking more of hidden limitations.’
‘Which represent?’
‘The biases.’
‘Now we’re getting there,’ she whispered. She leaned back, taking a sip from her mug. The tea had gone cold, but she didn’t get up to refresh it. The sun was slanting in from the west, rays of golden light splashing over the table and landing on his hand as it held the edge of the chart. She studied his fingers, long and smooth, gracefully curved, holding the paper as if it were a flower, or a rare bird. She coughed. ‘What would those biases be, Teg?’
He kept his eye on her until the hairs on the back of her neck rose. ‘The obvious ones are social,’ he said, returning his attention to the chart. ‘The expectations and assumptions of our various clans and circles.’
‘Examples?’
His lips curled. ‘Propriety.’ He winked. ‘Particularly when in the presence of one’s mentor.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘Interesting thread, Teg. What else?’
‘Gender issues.’ He held her gaze.
‘Historically or currently?’
‘Historically for starters. In Earth’s past, the denigration of women has been widespread. A few centuries ago things were changing for females—for both genders really—and a non-gendered equality started to form. That was before the wars and ASSIST-mediated controls. After that, the Hammer of Witches…’ He made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat ‘Was revived, sending humanity into the Dark Ages, again.’ He kept his eyes on hers. ‘How’d you ever survive?’
She straightened. ‘You don’t want to know.’
‘I do. Really.’
She flicked crumbs from the tablecloth. ‘Later, maybe. Please continue.’
‘On Gaela, it’s different—genders are equal, at least in the temples, though race is not.’
‘Interesting, isn’t it? On Gaela I come into my own as a woman and a witch, but there as a Lupin you’re considered as other.’
‘Everywhere I’m other,’ he said, his voice a whisper.
‘Not at Temple Los Loma.’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Never here, in my sacred space.’
He brightened. ‘No, not here…not with you.’
She drained her mug and stood. ‘Done and well done. Time for a break. You’ve been cooped up for hours.’
‘I don’t mind.’ He turned to the window; the sun was a deep red, merging with the horizon. ‘It’ll be a good night for hunting. No wind.’
‘The north hills?’
‘Aye. Join me?’
She followed his gaze. ‘I’d like that.’
His head turned slowly to her, the smile barely perceptible on his face. ‘Lead the way.’
An’ Lawrence studied his familiar. She paced under the palm fronds, her coat dappled by the noonday sun. Scylla, my beauty, what’s wrong?
She didn’t answer, but her bobtail twitched.
Are you sensing danger? He asked the question softly, a gentle touch to her mind. It was like brushing up against a beehive.
Shush, Rowan. I’m trying to hear him. It’s very faint. Very far away.
An’ Lawrence stiffened. Who’s very far away? Scylla?
‘I thought you were going to make us some tea?’ Kreshkali said, looking up from her books. She blinked at An’ Lawrence, letting her eyes drift past him to his familiar. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Something’s up with Scylla,’ he said.
‘Can you be more specific?’
‘She’s trying to hear someone.’ He dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘She wants us to be quiet.’
They were in Kreshkali’s apartment, on the ground floor of Temple Los Loma, the southern side of the manor. The day was hot and the breeze did little to displace the thick air, even though the doors and windows were open. Heat waves wafted up from the ground and the potted plants drooped.
‘She’s going to pace a trench in my garden,