Dark Matters_ Shadow of Heaven (Book 3) - Christie Golden [33]
He stared at her, caught up in the depths of her eyes. "I promise."
She swallowed hard. "I am Culil of Sumar-ka. I was trained to become mis from a young age, when I wandered into the village lost and seemingly broken. I underwent the Ordeal at age ten, Paris. I know what you went through. After that, the Sumar-ka adopted me when I told them of my parents' tragic deaths in the jungle. Except it was a lie. It was all a lie. My name is Trima, and I was born Culilann, but that is the only truth here."
She licked her Ups and continued. "I was raised Alilann. My family left me to be taken by the Crafters shortly after I was born. You see, I had a deformed mouth and no tongue. I would not be able to speak."
"Then-the Crafters are real!" It was surprising, but it went along with the theory he had proposed to Chakotay, that the Crafters were advanced aliens who appeared as gods to these people.
Trima shook her head. "No. The Alilann take the babies left on the sacred mountain. They recover them, heal their deformities, and raise them as Alilann. Except some they send back to the villages. To spy on the people who abandoned them. I am one such. My code name is The Silent One, because I could not speak. My task is to report to the Alilann on the very people who trust me the most. I tell them when Strangers have come, so that they may Recover them. I tell them when babies are left on the sacred mountain, so that they may rescue them."
Tom didn't know what to say. "It sounds like you're doing good things," he said lamely. "You're helping the Alilann save Eves."
"By betraying my own people!" Tears now began to trickle down her round, blue cheeks. She wiped at them angrily.
"But you're Alilann."
"For the first ten years of my life, yes. But ever since then, I've lived here. I am neither, Tom. I am somewhere in the middle. I am The Silent One, and I am Trima, Culil of Sumar-ka. I think some of the things the Culilann do are barbaric, awful. But I love how they live, how they create without even thinking it's anything special. The Alilann abhor things made by hand. They scorn music, and art, and growing then- own food. At some point I will be called back, and I don't know if I can live that way anymore."
Tom was silent, listening. There was nothing he could say to comfort this woman. Now he knew why she had tried so hard to appear icy and distant. She was wrestling with her emotions, her Culilann and Alilann halves. Better to not form attachments.
"It was easier when I was just the Sa-Culil. But then Matroci was murdered, and I don't know what to do now. I don't know if it's something that the Alilann have deliberately done, or if it's just a rogue acting on his own. But my people are in danger. / am in danger. And I just don't know what to do."
She buried her face in her hands and wept softly. Not knowing what else to do, Paris rose and went to her. Gently, he put his arm around her and guided her head to his chest. Her long, pale blue hair fell around them, covering them both. He let her weep. Trima had been strong for so long, keeping an enormous secret and trying to do what she thought was best for both her peoples. She deserved a few moments of simple, cleansing crying.
"I'll do what I can to help you," he whispered, "and it will all work out somehow. I promise."
CHAPTER 8
CAPTAIN'S LOG, SUPPLEMENTAL. WE HAVE RETURNED TO our quest with a renewed sense of urgency, now that we know the true depths of the danger we face. It is staggering in its scope. Our minds can barely comprehend the vastness of our own universe, let alone the tens of millions which are conceivably coexisting with it. The thought of all that destroyed, gone, is barely imaginable. But there is no reason to doubt Telek's statement, or Tialin's.
Not for the first time, I wish we had the luxury of a trained ship's counselor. But even if we did, I