That left Karal more confused than enlightened. 'All kyree are neuters? And where do the Kal'enedral come into it?'
It took Tarrn a few moments to explain that, no, all kyree were not neuters, but that the neuters tended to be the scholars, tale-spinners, poets, and historians. Then it took him a bit longer to explain the oaths of the Sworn, and how the Goddess herself rendered them literally sexless, which was why it was so very difficult for anyone to be accepted by Her into Her service.
Karal was not precisely appalled, but he was certainly baffled. 'I can't imagine why anyone would want to be Sworn!' he said to the kyree, 'I mean, I beg your pardon, but—'
:Don't apologize; I don't regret being neuter, and over the years I've often considered myself fortunate not to have to put up with what you do,: Tarrn replied thoughtfully. :As for the Sworn, whether Swordsworn or Goddess-sworn, I can well imagine any number of circumstances where a human would find the burden of sexuality intolerable. Such tales that brought them to that condition may be sad, even horrible, but at least among the Shin'a'in they have a refuge. And for some—well if their life has been spent entirely in the sphere of the intellectual, then there is no sacrifice.:
Karal took a moment to look for An'desha, and finally found him, deep in conference with—Lo'isha and another black-clad Shin'a'in. 'I suppose I can think of at least one case where memories might be intolerable,' he said slowly.
Tarrn followed his gaze. :The thought had occurred to me as well. If we live...:
If. There was that word again, the one he thought about all the time, but did his best not to mention. 'Are we likely not to?' he asked soberly.
As if called by his gaze, An'desha left the other Shin'a'in and walked over to them, just in time to catch Tarrn's reply.
:I don't know.: Tarrn was quite sober. :I came here knowing that there was a good chance we would not, and so did Lyam. It is possible that what we record will serve to help others cope with the next Cataclysm in another millennia or two. Or it may help the survivors of this one. It seems that the only way we can be assured of survival is through the mechanism you yourself suggested.:
'Divine intervention?' he said, dryly. 'Ah, but there's a catch. We can't count on it; if we do, we certainly won't get it.'
An'desha nodded as he sat down beside Karal. 'That is the way of things with the Star-Eyed, at least, and this is the heart of Her land. If we were to call upon anyone, it should be Kal'enel. But Lo'isha says that She has been silent of late, as if She is no more certain of what is to come than we are.'
:So what are we to do?: Tarrn asked. :When the gods themselves are silent, what is a mortal to do?:
'I don't know,' An'desha admitted.
'You might try calling on old friends,' suggested a helpful voice from above their heads, as brilliant golden light flooded down upon them.
Tarrn Jumped straight up in the air and came down with his eyes wide and his hackles up. Lyam, whose head was just poking up out of the hatchway leading to the stair to the workroom, had to grab for the edge of the hatch to keep from falling. Even Karal, who had seen this phenomenon before, and An'desha, to whom it was familiar, gaped with astonishment as they rose to their feet.
Swooping down from the ceiling in a spiraling dance that involved Firesong's ecstatic firebird Aya, were a pair of man-sized hawks with feathers of flame. They landed with the grace of a dancer and the weightlessness of a puff of down, and the moment they touched the ground, they transformed into a man and a woman who still had a suggestion of bird about them. The man was dressed as a Shin'a'in shaman, but the woman was all Hawkbrother.
The Shin'a'in present all reacted the same way; they did not drop to their knees or grovel, but went rigid with the profoundest respect, and with naked worship in their eyes.
:What—is—this?: Tarrn managed, every hair on his body standing straight out.
'I am Dawnfire, and this is Tre'valen,' the woman said, looking down at Tarrn with a smile. Her eyes were open wide, as were his, and they were perhaps the strangest thing of all about the two, for those eyes were the bright-spangled black of a star-filled night sky. 'We're old friends of An'desha.'
Altra and Florian appeared from one of the farther rooms, and made their way across the floor to the little gathering, and it seemed that they were the only creatures in the building capable of moving. They paused a few paces away from the bright creatures, and both made little bows of greeting in unison.
