Page 53 of Warrior's Captive
She turned to him. “You do realize I’m beneath you socially?”
Tai’ri stared at her. “What are you talking about?”
“On my homeworld, my class would be considered at least Tier below yours.”
He sneered. “Human vakshit.” He slung an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry about that here. If you want to please my mother, eat her food and let her talk about breathing techniques during labor. Or ancient water birth practices. We’ve all heard it all, so our eyes glaze over. If you look interested, she’ll love you forever.”
With that advice they entered an elevator embedded in the mountain which lowered them into the house.
The doors slid open and a shock of riot and sound spilled out.
“Oh, God.”
This floor of the home was open, designed in muted earth tones with flashes of jewel bright accents. Low couches, reclining chairs and seating areas with small tables scattered throughout. The ceiling was pulled back and flowed into a windowless wall that let in both air and the city view. As she glanced up, swirling stars floated in the glass, throwing an ethereal light throughout the room.
“Courage,” he said.
“Viv!” Daobah pushed through the crowd and came forward, knocking Tai’ri’s arm off her shoulders. “Welcome to this madness. Poor soul. Everyone is talking about you.”
“Baba,” Tai’ri rebuked.
“Whaaa? Go skulk somewhere.”
Daobah led her through the crowd, pausing every few feet to name relatives or intercept a child. Proving personal space was a cultural thing, people nodded at Vivian, smiled, and even gave their little one fingered waves, but didn’t approach. Tai’ri hovered at her side, his hands rubbing up and down her shoulders, the line of his body tense.
“The marks are riding you hard, aren’t they?” Daobah remarked, glancing at him.
“What?” Vivian said. “What do you mean?”
Tai’ri gave his sister, who scowled at him, a look.
“Nevermind,” Daobah said. “I talk a lot. If you hadn’t noticed.” She grabbed Vivian’s hand and resumed pulling her along. “Viv, I’ll take you to meet the Matrons.”
“Who?” Vivian heard the capitalization of the word.
Tai’ri trailed behind. “Mother, The Aunts, Grandmothers, and Great-Aunts.”
“I—how many are there of you?” She looked around, feeling as if she was sinking into a giant vat of helplessness. “There are so many.”
“We’re fertile and horny,” Daobah said.
“Is that why the family business is birthing?” Vivian asked, glad for a startling minute that she didn’t have younger sisters.
“Yup. People come to us cause they hope the fecundity will rub off. And the only thing that rubs off is dry c—”
“Daobah.” Tai’ri’s tone was steely now. “We are in company with children. Mind your speech.”
She snorted. “As if you can grow up in this family and not know all about everything by the time you’re off the tit. The Matrons. The Pit.”
Daobah stopped in front of an inset circle of the same warm blonde as the rest of the room. Several women lounged on a wide, circular couch, trays of food and drink scattered at feet and elbows.
If these women were Matrons, it proved human suspicions that the Yadeshi aged very, very slowly. Their hair and skin did not appear to lose pigment, but some of the women bore more pronounced lines around eyes and mouth, and moved slower, spoke quieter.
One woman rose from the couch, her dark hair softened with red and wound around her hair in a multitude of thick braids. Strands of polished stones similar to those on Tai’ri’s wrists dangled from her earlobes.
“Son,” she said as Tai’ri descended into the . . . pit. He bent his head so she could kiss his forehead, though she wasn’t much shorter than he. She wore narrow wine red trousers and a duster that swept to the floor edged in brown and gold. “And this must be Vivian. Come, sit, daughter, we won’t stand on ceremony for now.”
That sounded ominous.
