Spirit Walk_ Old Wounds (Book 1) - Christie Golden [15]
Well, he thought, a man can hope.
He had actually thought he might eventually get used to all this, physically if not emotionally, but he’d had no such luck. Even B’Elanna, half-human as she was, had a tougher time with it than the other Klingons who had come on pilgrimage to the sacred planet of Boreth in search of visions of Kahless.
Paris had always felt that B’Elanna needed to better integrate her Klingon self with her human self, but he worried about the toll this particular form of integration was taking on her. Still, when they had finished their required prayer sessions and meetings and meditations, and they were alone in their quarters with their incredibly gorgeous six-month-old daughter Miral, there was an aura of peace surrounding his wife that touched his heart.
He just hoped that she would get what she needed from Boreth sooner rather than later.
Paris found he missed being on a ship. More to the point, he missed his friends and having something useful to do with his time. He was well aware that he was here under special dispensation until such time as Starfleet needed him or B’Elanna chose to leave. And it wasn’t that he was ungrateful for the privilege. For a while there, Tom respected Klingon tradition more than his wife did. But he didn’t want to be on Boreth as “B’Elanna Torres’s husband” any more than she would want to be on a ship only as “Tom Paris’s wife.”
When the sound of a massive gong shuddered along Paris’s bones, it was all he could do not to shout, “Hooray!” Unsteadily he got to his feet and helped B’Elanna to hers. It was time for the next round of supplicants to enter the lava caves and experience heat- and chemical-induced delusions. He wished them many happy visions.
They said no word as they made their way from the lava pits up the winding stairs to the room that served as Boreth’s nursery. They were not the only parents who felt the call to go on pilgrimage, and Tom was surprised and pleased to discover that the Klingons had no problems accommodating young children. There were eight of them in residence now. Most of the children were old enough to amuse themselves, but there were a few who were still very young and needed looking after. At six months, Miral was the youngest “pilgrim.”
Tom had to smother a smile as he nodded to Kularg, the gruff, grizzled warrior who minded the children. The Klingons so often surprised him. Just when you thought you had them stereotyped as proud, honorable, sometimes overly zealous warriors, they’d play the “family is important” card and make babysitting nearly as honorable as beheading someone who insulted you.
Tom and B’Elanna bowed slightly. Kularg accepted the honor with fierce eyes.
“I honor you for your commitment to the future generations,” B’Elanna said formally.
“The honor is mine, to shape the future,” Kularg replied in his deep rumble.
They gathered up their daughter and went to their quarters. The minute the heavy wooden door was closed behind them Tom expelled a great breath.
“By Kahless’s beard,” he said, inventing an oath, “I’m thirsty. You?”
He poured mugs of water for them both. B’Elanna grabbed hers and gulped down half of it in answer. He drank his own greedily and poured himself a second mug. Try as he might to wash them clean, the cups always seemed to have the faintest hint of bloodwine about them. Probably because if any proper Klingon saw them drinking water instead of that popular beverage they’d insult their parents.
My dad can take whatever insult a Klingon can dish out, he thought. I’m drinking the damn water.
Their room, like much of the monastery, was comparatively new. It had been painstakingly reconstructed after the monastery had been razed in the coup attempt against Martok. B’Elanna had told him that while everything belowground had escaped relatively undamaged—including an apparently impressive library—the ancient monastery had been leveled. Tom was surprised that so much had been achieved in such a short time. Some parts of the monastery were still