Fall of Angels (The Saga of Recluce #6)(131)

Nylan decided against mentioning Istril's slow-emerging abilities. He walked to the other tower window, and looked out past the folded-back shutters. "Why?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Ryba brushed the short dark hair out of her face. "We're stuck here. We need to prepare for the next generation. Interbreeding with the locals runs risks we don't even know about. With Merlin's death, you and Gerlich are the only ones with verifiably compatible genes. You're hung up on being with one person . . . which is ... reassuring ... for me, but not terribly effective. This way we can assure staggered pregnancies. Besides, we don't have many men. Look what happened to Mertin. At least now we've saved your genes."

"And so many girls?"

"I'm not about to let male brute force undo what we've built. There will be a few more sons, though."

"Stud value," said Nylan bitterly.

"Eventually, we'll have to bring in locals, but not until we've widened the gene pool enough, and until the girls are socialized the right way."

"The feminine Utopia."

"You've seen this planet. Boys are more fragile than girls; so more boys are born in times of stress. Put those together, and natural selection would have all our daughters barefoot and pregnant in fifteen years. Twenty at the outside. No, thank you."

Nylan could see dark gray clouds massing on the northern horizon, just above the western peaks. "You could have told me, rather than let me guess."

"I couldn't risk it." Ryba looked down at the floor, then to the cradle. "It's not you. You're basically a gentle man ... but... I know what works, and there's too much at stake. Do I tell you, when I know that I'll have a bright and talented daughter if I don't? Or that... I don't dare tell you that, either." She shook her head helplessly. "I know just enough."

"You're a captive of your visions. Life isn't just following what you know will work. Can't you dare to make it better?"

"I have," answered Ryba bleakly. "That's why three guards are dead. I saw myself being more brutal than in dealing with Mran, and I wouldn't do it. I wasn't quite that bad after Frelita died, but I should have been, because more guards died being careless, because people only respect force. You don't think I've tried? Or that it doesn't bother me?"

"It doesn't bother you enough."

"It bothers me a lot! I suggest, and, unless I've got a hand on a blade and madness in my eyes, half of them won't listen. You think I enjoy that?"

"But you do it. .."

"You don't see how much it upsets me, and you never will, and that's just another reason why I don't ever want many men around. And you're one of the best. Most of them are like Gerlich or that weasel Narliat."

Nylan shook his head. "I'm not them."

"No, you're not. What would you have me do? Don't give me generalities, either. What action do you want?"

"Don't turn me into a stud through artificial insemination."

"Fine. Will you promise me to bed three more guards- of my choice-late this summer?"

"I'm not like Gerlich."

"No. But we need children if Westwind is to survive. And if Westwind doesn't survive, most women on this planet won't have a life worth living."

"You need a purpose, don't you?" asked Nylan. "You have to have something that makes it all worthwhile."

"It took you this long to figure that out?" Ryba gave a harsh bark, not quite a laugh, and Dyliess murmured and turned on the coarse sheet. The marshal bent down and rocked the cradle. "I'm not satisfied with mere survival, and you aren't either, Nylan. You just won't admit it. You'll nearly kill yourself to build a tower that will last for centuries, but you won't admit it. You'll risk ridicule for being obsessed with building, but you won't admit you need a larger purpose, too." The marshal paused, then added, "You still didn't answer my question. You asked me to do something, and I said I would-if you'd give me an alternative."

"I don't know." Nylan looked down at Dyliess.

"I always thought men liked the idea of harems." Ryba shrugged. "Or we can keep on the way we are. It's a little messy, but..."

"I'm not Gerlich, and I need to think about it." With a last look at Dyliess, Nylan turned and walked down the steps- out through the big south door and out into the shadows that were falling from the cold north across the Roof of the World. His feet carried him to the smithy site, and the rocks and the mortar. At least what he built was solid. At least he could see what happened with mortar and stone and timber.

He needed to talk with Ayrlyn. He needed that, but not yet. Not yet.





LXXX



"THAT'S IT." NYLAN tapped the last wedge into place, ensuring that the fourth fir trunk would remain in place over the stone culvert. Ryba had declared that food and planting came first. So he'd done the bridge and culvert backward, putting the heavy rock riprap in place on both uphill and downhill sides of the culvert first, doing everything he could do alone until Saryn and the others could fell and bring him the trunks he needed.

"Last year, this was just bushes and grass," said Huldran, setting down a heavy stone just beyond the footings that held the bridge timbers. She looked down at the stone-lined channel. "Do you think we need this big a bridge?"