Cugacon entered the front room of the Sanctuary with a great deal of composure – more than he would have felt naturally if he had allowed his emotions to run away with him. His anger, simmering just below the boiling point, he had shoved back, in order to have this conversation with the healer. His sense of insult likewise was wrapped and bound tight. The mortification that he felt over what his father had done on his behalf, in his absence, and totally without his consultation or consent, he kept at arm’s length. None of these feelings had anything to do with this woman, with Kavala, he had to remind himself over and over. Elantok had been a bit circumspect in his account of how the Konti herself had taken the idea of this contract. Business-like was about as descriptive as Cuga’s father had been in relating Kavala’s demeanor. But Cugacon was a natural born skeptic, and he knew full well how many Nakivak felt about being ‘obliged’ to accept a contract, a random mate, and the subjugation of what they might wish for themselves to the greater good of propagating the Akalak race. Not all Nakivak felt disgruntled over their status, obviously. Some were in Riverfall expressly for the purpose of such contracts. His own mother had been such a one – viewing the exchange of services for compensation in a pragmatic way. But those females rescued by Akalak’s such as himself often saw things in quite a different light. He knew this. He had had ample opportunity to choose such a female after participating in such hunts – where the slavers became the prey and their hapless captives became prey of a different kind. He had thought long and hard about the whole spectrum of possibilities, when it came to trying to sire a son himself. And he had expressly rejected taking an unwilling Nakivak. That wasn’t the way to perpetuate their race, he firmly believed. Sons should not be born of slaves – and in the end, forced Nakivaks were exactly that.
That had been part of the reason that he had finally settled upon the purchase of a kelvic. It was another form of slavery, he could see that. But the kelvics bred far more easily than a human female, so there was less risk that the mother would end up suffering and then ultimately die anyway. And the kelvics from Ravok were bound to be looked upon as slaves anyway – their fate had already been determined. It was a case of, if he had not purchased Itsa, someone else would have. By taking her himself, he could know she would be treated well – as well as any free kelvic would have been – and her natural temperament was to bond with a master anyway. In Cugacon’s mind, that seemed far preferable to forcing an unwilling woman to bear his son. The option of finding a willing, available Konti to form a contract with were about nil – they were few and far between and quickly snapped up. With Itsa’s unforeseen illness, and death at the hands of the Akontak, Cugacon wasn’t sure what his next step would be. He needed time to think, time to mourn. For, though she had been his for only a few short months, he had in fact become attached to Itsa, despite having tried to avoid it. He wanted to be focused, detached and reserved, but he had found, somewhat surprisingly, that he could not. Trying always to keep his emotions contained – because of his latent fear of Eowe – Cugacon had come to think that he had been successful. He believed that he was the master of his feelings. Well – he was wrong, apparently.
When Raiha had so neatly and quickly snapped the little otter’s neck, Cugacon had felt some part of his heart flying away with Itsa’s spirit. Though ever calm on the outside, always determined to be the cool, collected warrior, Cuga had wept on the inside. He had carried the cooling body to the river, far, far upstream, and sat for many hours, pondering fate – Itsa’s, his own, his race’s. He had held the stiffening body in his lap, and then finally released it back to the water, watching what remained of Itsa slip into the river – something he should have thought to do when she was alive and happy. Then he had gone on the hunt – for Zith. He had no desire to hunt for food, but he felt a need to kill. That should have been enough to clue him in to the fact that he was not as self-possessed as he would have liked to think. But he was oblivious to the implications, and after ten days, having tracked down a Zith hunting party and dispatched the four hunters one by one, he had returned to Riverfall – and to the news of what Elantok had done in his absence.
That had been five days ago. Five very long, very infuriating, very contentious days – and nights. For the two, father and son, had argued long into the wee, small hours. Cugacon could not believe – literally – he had a hard time believing – that his father had gone to the animal healer and then to the Oathmaster and made this contract. Cugacon had found it outrageous – humilitating, exasperating, and totally outside the bounds of what he could accept. The first words out of his mouth – when he could actually speak past his astonishment – were that he would repudiate the contract. Elantok had sprung it on him late that night when he had finally returned from the grasslands. So there was no immediate recourse – but Cugacon was adamant that he would go straightway to the Oathmaster first thing the next day and cancel the arrangement – set Kavala free and allow her to choose her own path. Foolishness – Elantok had insisted. She was bound to accept anyone who approached her. He knew personally of at least fifteen others who would pounce as soon as Cugacon had signed a release – and he had listed them by name. Cannily so, for amongst them were at least three Cerulean, Akalak who he kept a watchful eye on in the guard towers. Ceruleans who Cugacon knew personally as well – and would know that even the remote possibility of delivering the Konti into such hands was to seal her to a fate of extreme abuse. Why throw away this opportunity in a futile rejection of a time honored and fully acceptable tradition? In the end, it would not serve any useful purpose – not even for the Konti healer.
And so it began. Hours and hours . . . and more hours, of wrangling, back and forth. Days, and nights, and days again – when the two were not otherwise engaged in their duties. After three days of this, Cugacon had taken to avoiding his father as much as possible – spending even more time working out and training. Elantok had finally eased off, feeling enough words had been exchanged and that it was time to let them all sink in to his son’s thick head. Cuga had at least been persuaded to wait – forty-eight hours – before he stormed off to the tower. This would give Elantok time to finesse making sure the ‘appropriate’ substitutes were alerted to what was in the wind, should the Nakivak become available again. It was a subterfuge on the older Akalak’s part, of course – though he would have tried to do this if he was really convinced his son would give Kavala up. But he was a firm believer in the adage that time brings reason, and he felt sure, in his heart, he could finally make his son see that reason. Cugacon was still determined to let the healer have her freedom, brief though it might be. He wanted no part of this forced servitude, no matter what form it took. But he agreed with Elantok – if she was under contract to him, and he wanted to sever that legal union, he should do so in a way that did not in any way reflect badly upon her, as she was innocent of anything, other than being unlucky enough to have been caught by slavers out on the grass. Cugacon also had some sensibility to his family’s reputation, and did not want it to seem that he and his father were as divisive on this matter as they in fact were. So, he would wait. On the third day, he had kept himself busy, and spoken not at all to his father, until that night when they had gone over the same ground and gone to bed weary of each other, Elantok pleading that he had yet to finalize his covert conversations with a few choice friends. On the fourth day, the day before this one, a stony silence had prevailed and Cugacon had given his father a deadline. On the morrow, he would go to the Oathmaster, arrangements in place or no. He suspected that Elantok was simply stalling.
That evening, Cugacon had walked out of their home and wandered about the city. Though there were never enough of them, still, boys were to be seen everywhere. The evening was a pleasant one, and people were out and about in the last hour before dark. With the ever present roar of the waterfall as a backdrop, Cugacon had descended through the terraced city, watching his fellow residents. So predominatly male. Sp predominantly Akalak. The random females, mostly human or kelvic, or Konti, stood out – not like a sore thumb but like beautiful flowers, gracing the city with their presence. The children who laughed and ran and played about their homes were like sunshine in a shifting pattern of shade and cloud – rays that spelled hope for his race. Roaming with no particular destination, Cugacon felt a great sadness. His race was at risk of dying out completely. His own family even more so. If only there were more females willing to come to Riverfall – more willing to take an Akalak mate. If only there were more solutions. He wondered if there might be – he wondered how hard the council had tried, in the years since the Valterrian. How long had it been since they had really tried to reach for other options – or had enslaving those they ‘rescued’ become too easy?
Reaching no conclusions, he walked on, his feet taking their own course. But it must have been one chosen by his heart – or perhaps his head – or, perhaps for once the two were working in concert. For he found himself on a road he knew, though he had only been this way once before, two weeks ago. At a widening in the road down to the Sanctuary, he had paused, looking down on the compound. Lights had been lit by this point, warding off the darkness, beacons to those seeking whatever the shelter had to offer, keeping guard against those who might mean it harm. He thought of Kavala, and he thought of himself. Was he someone that she would see as coming to do her harm? Or would she welcome his need for her services, just as she had been wanting to help before, with Itsa? It dawned on him, that he didn’t know. He couldn’t trust his father’s rendition of the interview he’d had with the healer. Though Cugacon himself was opposed in all ways to the idea of forcing himself upon any female – he realized that it might not be that way. The Konti might be Nakivak more willingly than he might suppose. He didn’t know much about her, other than what Elantok had pressed upon him. But he did know she had built up a reputation in the city, and with his people. She seemed quite settled here. He had heard no negatives about her former contractual situation – nothing to lead him to believe that she had had to be forced to it, in the tower. Of course, that wouldn’t necessarily be a matter of public knowledge. If his father had any such information he certainly had not mentioned it to Cugacon. Perhaps Kavala was willing to do this. Cuga, for the first time, had to admit that, in reality, he had mad a lot of assumptions about the healer, based only on his own beliefs and preferences. If he really wanted to do that which would not negatively impact her, did he not owe it to her to find out what she wanted? Looking down upon the lights of the Santuary, he had decided that this much he would do – out of respect for her. In payment of her concern and sympathy for Itsa. And to set his own mind at ease. On the morrow, before he went to the Oathmaster, he would talk to Kavala.
So, as difficult as he knew this conversation was going to be, he pushed all emotions aside and concentrated on being succinct and frank. Entering the front room, he waited a moment before a worker he did not know came out from a room behind the counter. Inquiring after the healer, without stating why he wished to see her, Cuga composed himself to wait patiently for the worker to fetch Kavala.
