Pathways - Jeri Taylor [203]
“Tuvok. Do not make me call you again.” This voice was not silken. It was hard and glittering as a diamond, slicing through the vaporous dream world as easily as a blade carves through ripe fruit.
“I am awake, Mother,” said Tuvok, defying reason once again by hoping that this pronouncement would satisfy T’Meni and make her leave the room, allowing him to drift once more into that opulent corridor and move inevitably toward the singing voice.
“I did not tell thee to wake, I told thee to rise.”
Tuvok’s eyes snapped open and he sat up instantly. His mother’s use of the formal mode was not to be ignored. The Eldest of a house could use it with any of her family, of course, but T’Meni was not the Eldest Mother—that honor fell to his great-aunt Elieth. Why had his mother chosen the formal mode at this hour of the morning?
He rose to his feet and peered at her in the darkness. One rosy finger of light had begun to snake its way down the mountains beyond the desert, and it cast some small illumination into Tuvok’s room. The chamber was sparsely furnished, for he preferred a clean, uncluttered look, and did not wish to complicate his life with an accumulation of material objects.
His mother stood before him, tall and slender, head held erect, black eyes glinting beneath delicately upswept brows, dark skin shining in the growing light. It occurred to him— as it did almost every time he looked at her—that he resembled his mother more than he did his father, with chiseled features, finely tipped ears, and a rounded hairline. His mother at ninety-three was still a formidably handsome woman, and a formidably powerful one as well. Even though her aunt Elieth commanded the title, most people in the family accorded T’Meni all the respect of an Eldest Mother. Something about her seemed to demand it.
Tuvok regarded her curiously, reached out to touch her mind but found it sealed against his inquiry. “No, Tuvok,” he heard her chide. “Thee wilt not probe for answers now. Dress and come to the table. Thy questions will be answered.”
He nodded briskly at her, though perplexity consumed him. This was most curious and inexplicable behavior on her part. What could it mean? His mind considered possibilities and rejected them instantaneously. Nothing in his twenty years’ experience with his mother provided a satisfactory answer for this unusual conduct.
He bathed and dressed quickly, and by the time he had descended to the first level of their home, light from Vulcan’s primary white star (its lesser stars, a white and a red dwarf, tumbled about the giant mother star like gemstones) had turned the desert into a blazon of red and illuminated the high-ceilinged, spacious rooms of the house.
His mother sat at the table, as did his father, Sunak, which was almost as surprising as the extraordinary beginnings of this day. His father was usually at the temple at this hour, meditating with the priests. In another year, Tuvok would be able to join him, for he would have passed the trial of his manhood and could retire with the adults to the temple sanctuary. It was a privilege he had been dreaming of for most of his life.
His mother nodded him into a chair and Tuvok sat, resting his hands on the polished marble of the tabletop. It was a rare, green-veined stone, much prized on Vulcan, an heirloom that had been in his family for at least eleven generations. Tuvok had always loved the feel of it, glacial, precise, and unyielding. As a small child he made almost a fetish of running his fingers over it, knowing that each time, it would feel exactly the same. Its immutability was soothing.
The cool touch of the marble helped settle the disquieting sense of puzzlement