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The sun seemed hotter somehow as Jilla knelt in the garden, carefully irrigating the seedlings she had transplanted from the north side of the house. They would grow better here, and when adult would give beautiful shadings to the southern garden wall. She formed a picture of it in her mind, but it was shadowed with the dark ache that had suddenly come upon her late that morning. It had colored all she had done since. She had meditated, or attempted to, but couldn't shake it off and so continued her daily routine, determined to ignore it. It was illogical to allow herself to be consumed with worry with no facts.
Yet, the feeling intruded in a hundred ways; the sun was too hot, the soil resistant to her fingers, her day gown felt coarse against her skin, her hair seemed to brush the tips of her ears with an annoying itch, her eyes ached, her temples distantly throbbing. Dull foreboding tingled her senses, just at the edge of her awareness.
She sighed, shaking her head sharply to try and force it away. Perhaps she was over tired, or becoming ill. A break in routine for a short period of rest will not adversely disrupt the household, she told herself. She rose and went from the sunlit garden to the house's cooler shade. She was heading for her bedroom when T'Pon approached her. Grief and pain poured from the calm exterior and Jilla stilled the reaction within herself, though her own apprehension leapt fearfully at her mind.
"Jilla, there is a messenger from the Biology Laboratory," T'Pon said. "I was on my way to the garden to inform you." The dark, Vulcan eyes didn't flicker, her voice was strong - and Jilla nearly panicked at the fear that covered T'Pon's words. Still, she only nodded, walking slowly to the entryway.
She knew the young man who stood there, Salan, one of Selar's apprentices. He, too, radiated grief and sorrow. He held forth a hand in greeting. She returned it. His eyes fixed on hers. "Lady, we grieve with you," was all he said.
There was an anguished cry in Jilla's mind, a lost, hopeless entreaty. Within the confines of her heart, a plea went out to Aema, begging that it not be true. Only dark despair answered her. Her body was filled with horror, hysterical disbelief, anger, fear, pain and screaming desolation. None of it showed on her face. "Salan," she said, keeping her voice steady, "I am not bonded to he who is my husband as are Vulcan women. Tell me."
The young man almost blushed. "Forgive me, Lady. Selar Seliklrn was killed late this morning in an explosion and fire. His body has been shrouded and sent to your Clan Shrine. You must attend..."
"I know custom, Salan," Jilla interrupted. "I simply could not know of my husband's death and so wished confirmation. Your words were adequate. Peace to you." Jilla turned and walked back the way she had come. Her head thundered, pain searing along her veins. Emptiness threatened her sanity, madness swirling in her grey eyes. Yet her gait was steady and no tears fell. T'Pon waited for her.
"We must prepare the house for mourning," Jilla said. There was no trace of emotion in her voice, and for the first time in over four years, she felt approval and pride from Selar's mother.
Jilla prepared the wake herself. Since Selar had no children, T'Pon could have helped, but Jilla insisted she do it alone. She poured oil into the flame pots, one at each corner of the funeral area. She cleaned and polished then relit the small fire-shrine at the head of the raised slab. Flowers from her garden were placed in a bier before the slab, along with Selar's meditation gown, his betrothal rug, and the clothes he had worn at their wedding. She brought from the Clan's Place of Mating the six-sided gong that symbolized male, and hung it at the head of the slab. Behind it were the carved symbols of Vulcan and of Clan Vtkrgdantm, which she had also cleaned and polished. Only then did she summon the funeral guards to bring Selar's body to its altar.
Three days she knelt at the bier, deep in silent agony. T'Pon and Selik were beside her, not behind as they would have been were she and Selar properly bonded. She fasted, eating nothing, drinking only when Sarrn, the Clan Head, brought her water from Salaq, The River revered by all of Vulcan. On the third day, at sunset, the shrouded figure was anointed with the oil in the flame pots.
"As it was in the days of our fathers, as it will be in the days of our sons, return to the essence of Clan Vtkrgdantm, son Selar Seliklrn Selinlrn, Sarrnlrn."
Jilla did not move from her vigil as the light from the fire-shrine sent Selar's body to flame and smoke and ash.
Selik carried the small urn with the ashes of his son at the head of the procession. The honor went to him; Jilla was not Selar's bondmate. Seven times the lands of the Clan were circled. Jilla's eyes stayed dry and clear, her body didn't tremble. Deference was given her, and pleased approval. She was Vulcan, she gave honor to Selar's name. At the great fire pit that was the center of the Place of Mating, the ashes were mixed with incense and scattered over the coals. Jilla was allowed to light them as Selik asked that the peace and strength and knowledge that had been his son continue on in the essence of the Clan. The fragrant smoke rose, filling the thin air.
Jilla walked back to the house she had shared with her husband alone.
The lyrette sang of loss and resigned sorrow as Jilla's fingers moved over the strings and tonal controls. She played an ancient piece composed by Surak himself, a difficult one she hadn't before tried to master. It was appropriate now. She was aware of T'Pon's entrance into the garden, but finished the intricate melody line before looking up.
"Yes, T'Pon?
"Selik and I wish to know your intentions," T'Pon said, and Jilla detected resolve and a hint of discomfort.
"Toward what?" Jilla asked.
"Your continued residence in our home and on Vulcan."
"I intend to keep my husband's home," Jilla replied.
"There is no need. And no precedence," T'Pon returned.
"No precedence?" Jilla was confused and beginning to feel more than uneasy.
"Your union was childless, Jilla," T'Pon explained. "Vulcan law will not recognize any further kinship." Her voice was strong and matter-of-fact. "As Selar's parents, Selik and I suggest you return to your home."
Jilla stood. "This is my home, T'Pon."
"A Vulcan wife cannot inherit from her husband unless there are offspring to consider," T'Pon said. "The family home returns to us."
Jilla found herself swallowing in nervous dread. "Under Indiian law," she said, "our marriage cannot be dissolved. I have no home there to return to."
"You are welcome to stay as our guest until other arrangements can be made."
"There are no other arrangements to be made," Jilla stated with admirable calm. "I am Selar's wife. By my custom..."
"Vulcan custom states a childless widow returns to her father's house. You have no kinship here," T'Pon stated back.
"I am his wife, the marriage is legal..."
"We have spoken to the Vulcan Council, Jilla. They will hear your arguments." T'Pon turned and left the garden. Jilla slowly sank back to the stone seat, dismayed, fearful, and frighteningly alone.
"Lady Vtkrgdantm, petition has been made to this Council for a ruling on the question of your remaining a citizen of the Household to which Selar Seliklrn was heir. We have deliberated on this matter. We have come to a decision."
Jilla faced the bench of the Council, her eyes on the face of the woman who spoke. T'Pau of Clan Xtmprosqzntwlfd was the Council's head. The Indiian had presented her case, knowing it wouldn't matter. As a member planet of the Federation, Vulcan acknowledged the legality of an off-world marriage. They did not, would not acknowledge its validity.
"By our custom, you were not wed. By our custom, there is no bond. By our custom, you have no place." T'Pau's voice was stern, strong and Jilla felt the unvoiced, unadmitted relief of Selik and T'Pon. "You are advised, Jilla Costain, to return to your home planet, as we cannot guarantee your function within Vulcan society. The Council has ruled."
The seven members rose and left without so much as an acknowledging nod.
"Daddy, come quick, it's Jilla!"
Jole Costain looked up from his work at Kera's excited voice. "A tape?" he called, rising from the workbench.
"No, it's subspace! From Vulcan!"
Jole quickly raced up the stairs fro his shop, wiping his hands on his coveralls. A sense of dread filled him. A communications link from Vulcan! The news must be important if it couldn't wait for a tape. A child? No, what would there be to dread about news of a grandchild? And why did he dread at all?
Karina met him at the terminal where nine-year-old Kera was chattering merrily away. On the screen, his eldest daughter's face looked distracted and weary. "Kera, hush! Let your sister say why she has called," he said. Kera fell silent. Karina grasped his arm, clasping their left palms together. It was two and a half minutes before Jilla nodded, listening to Kera's voice, and Jole realized Kera must have been talking for nearly that long. The transmission time between Vulcan and Indi and back was about five minutes. Another long two-and-a-half minutes, and Jilla spoke.
"Father, Mother," she said and Jole thought her voice sounded dulled and empty. Karina's grip on his arm tightened. "Selar is dead." Kera screamed, Karina gasping with shocked grief. Tears sprang to Jole's eyes. Jilla's voice continued. "Under Vulcan law I cannot claim his home or lands. I have no place to go - " The calm broke, Jilla's head bowing on the screen. "Daddy, I am alone!" she whispered.
"Aema, have mercy on Your child!" Karina cried. Jole pulled her into his arms as Kera latched onto her mother's legs.
"I will call a ship immediately, Jilla," Jole managed through his tears. "Wait for me."
The transmission ended five minutes later with Jilla's silent nod. Jole swept his youngest daughter into his embrace, and all three wept for sister and daughter.
Jilla stood in the garden, saying a final farewell to the joy and peace she had known there. She had her belongings packed - so few after nearly five years! Clothes, her tools, the tapes of her work - and Selar's lyrette. How Selik had fought her for it! Yet it could not be denied. Selar had given it to her as a gift, reward for her skill in making it sing so sweetly. No petition to the Council could rob her of a gift, thought it robbed her of all else.
She shaded her eyes, looking toward the Clan Mating Lands. Do you dwell there, my husband, with the essence of your fathers? She shook her head, gently cradling her left hand. No, I cannot believe it. You wait for me at Court, though your death was not consecrated as it should have been. Aema will forgive your customs. Wait for me, Selar. I trust I will not be long.
She turned, through with the useless, empty goodbye. She gathered her things and left the house to wait at the transport station. She bid Selik and T'Pon neither peace nor long life - nor farewell.
"Child, you have grown cold in five years," Jole remarked. Jilla bowed her head in acknowledgement. She had embraced her father, love and need breaking through the reserve that was now her nature, but then stood back, calm and tearless even as his eyes echoed the crushing grief inside her. She wanted so much to tell him - but she kept her ears hidden and gave no explanation for her demeanor.
"I mourn my husband's death in Vulcan fashion, Father," was all she said. Jole searched her face uneasily, then spoke in a tone soft and understanding, yet full of warning.
"You are Indiian, Jilla, no matter the marriage you made. I understand and approve of your attempt to adapt yourself to Selar's ways. That is, after all, our custom. But daughter - " he paused. "You must never lose your own heritage completely. You agree with Vulcan control, it seems good to you, but it can trap you. Don't be ashamed of what you feel, you can never be Vulcan. You will need release of your emotions. Don't be afraid to let it happen, even if it's only in the privacy of your own heart."
In answer, Jilla held out her left hand. "I am Aeman still," she said.
Jole sighed, embracing her again. "You are so young, Jilla. Your life will not be easy. You have long years of widowhood before you. It would have been better for you on Vulcan. On Indi..."
"No, Father," she interrupted. "I will not return, I am no child, I have no home on Indi."
"True, daughter, but...."
"I chose my husband. I chose my path. Had I known I would not be allowed..."
"Starfleet!" Jole broke in.
"Father?"
"It's perfect!" Jole enthused. "You were working toward it before your marriage, your skills shouldn't be wasted. They always have need of engineers of your potential. Starfleet, Jilla!"
Jilla slowly considered. It would be hard work - and she did not need empty days and nights. The medical examination - would show an enhanced dexterity invaluable in an engineer, slightly but not unattractively malformed ears, brain patterns that called upon more of the total available synapses, uncommon but not miraculous or improbable. She would live and work among other species and be subjected to widely differing emotional patterns - and her altered nature would be lost in a hundred differing cultures. Starfleet. There was no where else she could go.
She raised her eyes to her father's.
"Yes," she said. "Starfleet."
After two weeks of proficiency testing initiated at the request of Ambassador Costain, and with assignment to extra classes in military procedure, Starfleet Academy recorded the admission, as a first year upperclassman, of Jilla Costain Majiir.
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