Off-Grid
The Tree House
The Ribbons had faded to mere pastel streaks against a pale celadon sky. Colemeno’s star had not yet cleared the top of the trees. Padi yos’Galan stood on the porch overlooking those trees, sipping what the Haosa styled the “morning wake up,” delighting in the cool, fragrant breeze against her cheek, and—thinking.
They were not pleasant thoughts, despite an evening of exploration with a delightful and attentive partner. That they were both inexperienced brought an aspect of levity to the enterprise, which surprisingly increased pleasure.
Truly, she thought, if her preferences were to rule the day—
But, there was the crux, wasn’t it? Her preferences were divided.
The lure of opening a new port, of becoming more skilled as a trader, and learning the fine points of negotiation—those struck at the core of who she was, who she aimed to become.
She had not anticipated finding something else that struck her so nearly. Surely, it was too soon to have formed a lasting tie, yet she could not deny that Tekelia had become dear to her, and this place, the house overlooking the untamed trees, the wind that carried the sweet scent of greenery on its back, the Ribbons that danced across the night sky, obscuring even the stars, had become—a haven.
That might be no more than inconvenient, since her work, and her necessities, were at the port, but the person who had also become a haven, and at the least a friend, was Speaker for the Haosa, who took calls from the very Warden of Civilization in the small hours of the morning, to discuss matters of importance to both.
Padi yos’Galan, she told herself, closing her eyes and sipping her wake-up, you have made an error.
“Padi?”
Tekelia’s voice was in her very ear. She opened her eyes and smiled.
“I am, I swear to you, awake. Only, this is so pleasant a prospect.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Tekelia turned to follow her gaze, and lifted an arm, pointing.
“Just down there—you see the glint?—is the river, and a wide, shady bank. We might visit one day, for a swim and a cold luncheon.”
Padi laughed softly.
“When we both have time.”
“Well—yes. But that’s bound to happen, eventually. Or do traders never stop working?”
“There are gaps, now and then. Understand, I have until lately been a ’prentice, and this concept of not working is very little encouraged by diligent masters.”
Tekelia laughed. “Naturally. Still, let us keep ourselves open to opportunity. An afternoon free of labor may come our way.”
It sounded—so delightful. Padi drank the rest of the wake-up, and turned toward the door.
“Allow me,” said Tekelia, taking the cup from her hand. In the next moment, it vanished, and would, Padi knew from experience, manifest in the sink, ready to be washed.
“I believe it is time for me to go, if I’m not to be late for the tour,” Padi said, unwillingly. “I’ll get my case.”
Tekelia went with her back into the house, and stood by while she made sure of the contents and order of her case.
“Will you be coming this evening?” Tekelia asked. “There is a village meeting, which will occupy me for a few hours, but you are very welcome to use the desk, or the porch, while I’m gone.”
Now is the time to rectify your error, she told herself sternly, and turned to face Tekelia.
“Time with you here is everything that is pleasant,” she said slowly. “But I fear we must call an end, my friend.”
Tekelia blinked.
“Must we?”
“I believe so. My work is at the port; my team is at the port. To make this house my base, as much as it calls to me—it is not supportable.”
“Because of the distance? But you know that all you have to do is call me. I will be pleased to take you anywhere you need to be.”
“Yes, but, Tekelia, that is a misuse of your melant’i. I should have seen it, but—” She hesitated.
An affair of pleasure must bow to the necessities of work, she told herself. She supposed this would not be the last time she would be obliged to explain this reality, but she very much wished that it were not necessary to do so now.
“I did not take proper care of you,” she managed. “Indeed, I did not see, until this morning, that of course I cannot make the very Speaker of the Haosa my taxicab. That is not seemly; and it makes your melant’i less than mine, when the case is far otherwise.”
“Ah, melant’i,” Tekelia said softly. “Can we not be equals?”
“We might,” she said slowly, “but not while one of us is commanded by the other.”
At the moment, one of Tekelia’s eyes was green, the other black, and the force of that mismatched gaze was not inconsiderable.
“If you do not wish to visit, then there’s nothing else to say,” Tekelia said, voice strained.
Padi drew a hard breath.
“If the universe were ordered to my wishes, I would come here, to this place, to see you, whenever my work allowed.”
“Hah. May I ask leave, then, to think on this? Or must we quit each other this moment?”
That, Padi thought, was a strike to the heart.
“Certainly, think on it,” she said, feeling a little breathless.
“I will.”
Tekelia extended a hand, and Padi met it, feeling strong fingers close warmly around hers.
“Come, I will bring you to the market square. Is that well for you?”
“Very well, I thank you.”
There came the now-familiar frisson, a smear of grey—and they stood, hand-in-hand next to the walled garden and its profusion of blossoms that was the centerpiece of the Port Market Square.
“Thank you,” Padi said.
Tekelia raised her hand, and she felt the pressure of warm lips against her knuckles.
“It is my pleasure to assist you.”
Her hand was released, and Tekelia stepped back.
“I will be thinking. In the meanwhile—profit on your day, Trader.”
There was a faint swirl, as of mist; the very slightest displacement of air.
Tekelia was gone.
You might have handled that better, Padi told herself, though she hadn’t any clear idea how.
She heard a familiar voice from beyond the garden.
Yes, well.
It was time to be about business.