Read Online The Marann by Sky Warrior Book Publishing - Free Book Online Page B

turn to shrug.
“We’ve tried to root racism out of ourselves for centuries. It
never dies—some people even think the other races in the Trade
Alliance are inferior—but it would be unfair to say we haven’t made
progress.”
    “Skin color, hair color, Tolari are
all the same,” the Sural said, “but we find our cultural
differences highly entertaining.”
    “Hmm,” she said.
    He raised an eyebrow at
her.
    “Does anyone find Suralia...
entertaining?” she asked.
    His mouth twitched. “Not while I
live,” he answered.
    Marianne laughed. The Sural watched
her, mild amusement crossing his face.
    “We do have a reputation,” he
continued.
    “For what?”
    “Coldness.”
    Marianne bit her tongue.
    “Speak your thoughts,
proctor.”
    “Um,” she said. “I can see
why.”
    He cocked his head.
    “I mean—well—you all walk around
looking disinterested and impassive most of the time, except during
your festivals. You in particular—you’re pretty
emotionless.”
    The Sural lifted an eyebrow. “We are
what we are. But I admit the plateau is a colder place now than it
was in my grandmother’s day.”
    Marianne’s breath caught. “What
happened to cause that?”
    “The last attack. Everyone in the
stronghold died.”
    That explained the gloom. “Oh.” She
rocked back on her heels. “Forgive me.”
    He waved it away with a hand and
started to pace. “You would call it two generations ago,” he said.
“We have strengthened Suralia’s defenses since that day. Another
such attack could not succeed.”
    She bit her lip, a nasty sensation
crawling up her spine, as the reality of Tolari interprovincial
conflict smacked her in the face. He glanced over at
her.
    “Have no concern, proctor,” he added.
“My enemies in the ruling caste seldom make an attempt on me now.
But even could an attack succeed, an invading ruler is more likely
to capture and hold you than to harm you.” He eyed her. “You are
not one of us. Capture would not dishonor you.”
    “That’s not comforting,” she
said.
    “Human worry is needless. We prepare
and do what needs to be done. And what needs to be done, perhaps,
is to search my personal library for books in Detrali.” He bowed,
mouth twitching, and strode off.
    Marianne dug into the books he brought
back. It helped her mood to occupy her mind as the weather grew
colder and the stronghold became entombed in ice and snow, but the
dark and the cold grew pervasive and unsettling. Without the solace
of the gardens and the chattering flutters, Marianne fell into a
continuous gloomy mood.
    She attributed it to the short days at
first. The sun was in the sky for perhaps eight hours, rising after
the morning meal and setting by the evening meal. After some
thought, she realized she had been on Tolar for something more than
a standard year, cut off from almost all contact with the ship. She
had grown lonely, much to her own surprise. She’d never experienced
much loneliness. School, college, and then her job as a high school
teacher had kept her busy, and the social interactions of the
teacher’s break room, Tuesday night bowling, and, to a lesser
extent, volunteer work and language practice in the Babel cloud’s
virtual parks and cafés, had fulfilled her slight needs—but none of
those could be had on Tolar.
    To her frustration, she couldn’t find
a way to socialize with the stronghold’s other inhabitants. Both
status and rank mattered to them. No one in the keep had anything
like Marianne’s combination of false rank and no status, and they
didn’t know how to respond to her. She had no common ground on
which to strike up a friendship with the women among the servants,
guards, nurses or cooks.
    The Sural may have been content to
live in splendid isolation, but she felt alone and cut off. And he
seemed to sense it.
    “Proctor, something oppresses you,” he
said, broaching the topic during the evening meal. They ate alone
in the refectory.
    “I’m fine,” she