The Lost Tribes

(the first half of)Chapter I

Colse’s neck was getting sore.

The home world of the Lost Tribes was not a planet often visited by offworlders, as they were, while not explicitly unfriendly, very careful in regulating who walked among them. They were also particular about where they walked, and for how long; facts evidenced by the document of permission Colse had pinned inside his shirt which explicitly outlined both the duration of his stay, and where he was allowed to visit.

That was not especially annoying. The thing that was really bothering to Colse was how everyone he passed on the street seemed to know instinctively that he was not one of them. He had made a point of dressing in their typical attire, and walked with the casually quick gate specific to members of the lost tribe, but it was clearly apparent from the looks he received as he meandered slowly down the street that he was noticed. And his attempts to be friendly, to at least acknowledge those whose eyes locked with him had gotten him little more than a sore neck from nodding.

This was, in point of fact, the fourth time Colse had been on this planet. That in itself was nearly a record. The fact that he had been expressly invited onto the planet for three of his visits . . . that was a record. This, however, was far from a joyful occasion for Colse.

A young, but very tall man in black cloak stood in front of the door. Though Colse could have sworn they had never met, the man seemed to recognize him on sight and, nodding, pulled the door open for him.

“You are expected, Viss Colse. In the central chamber.”

The central chamber was not as easy to find as most people would anticipate.

The Lost Tribes placed a notable emphasis on the importance of family. And this emphasis could be seen in almost all aspects of life on their homeworld, including architecture: The largest building on the planet was the capital meeting hall, but the second, third, fourth . . . hell, all the way down to the twenty-eighth largest buildings were the residences of the larger, more prosperous families.

While the House of Phasha was not on that list, it was probably one of the hundred largest buildings on the planet. Had he not known the way to the central chamber, it could have taken him hours to find his way through the veritable labyrinth. Even knowing where it was, though, it took him seven minutes to get there from the front door.

“You made it.”

It took a concerted effort for Colse to not jump out of his skin. The House of Phasha was, architecturally, a remarkable, and a bizarre place. The entrance to the central chamber was particularly notable. The room itself was actually under the hallway. Upon entering one could turn either right or left and take a sloping walkway down to the room. It was designed such that once in the room one could hear the footsteps of anyone approaching, and, should one choose, arise right next to them, unheard, as soon as they entered.

“Lorr.”

The two of them walked slowly into the central chamber. Colse exacerbating the ache in his neck further as he acknowledged each of the men in the room before turning towards one of the many magnificent pieces of art that decorated the room. The art itself, as everyone knew, was only there as a pretense for those who wished to have a private conversation. Lorr, standing next to Colse, allowed a few seconds to pass in silence before addressing the trader again.

“I trust you were not too long detained in customs?”

“No. They were prepared for my arrival and rushed me through.”

The young boy nodded, expressionless. “Very kind of them, seeing as how our family is no longer capable of returning any favors.”

“So it’s true then. She’s dead.”

The boy nodded solemnly. “Her end was sudden. Unexpected.” The youth sighed with a weight rarely heard in one so young, “Would that we could give her death the meditation and mourning it deserves. Unfortunately her untimely end is also the end of our line. We must spend this time securing our personal futures.”

Colse raised an eyebrow. “The Lady Phasha mentioned the possibility of the ‘death of the line’ to me on my last visit, but she didn’t explain what that meant. Or why it was a possibility.”

The boy offered a sad smile, “Our society is matrilineal. Mother was the last living female in the house of Phasha. When she died our house lost its status as a ‘House’. This has both social and legal repercussions. In the territory of the Lost Tribes a House can legally possess an infinite amount of wealth, while an individual may only lay personal claim to a finite amount. Not an unreasonably small amount, but not as large an amount as one might desire. Upon her death we were given fifteen solar days to settle all accounts. Three days remain. After that, whatever wealth cannot be spread among those of us still alive will revert to the state. Meaning that most of my unmarried kin are currently seeking marriages while they can still offer good dowries.”

Colse couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle at that. “And those of you who are too young?”

“Only Mi’Char and Klattas are below the legal age for engagement. Mi’Char’s father’s family has agreed to take him in. Klattas, on the other hand, will likely become a ward of the state.”

“What about you?”

Lorr shrugged, “I’ve had several engagement offers.”

The offworld trader swallowed his surprise. The customs of the Lost Tribes were never what one expected. “So you’re weighing your options?”

“Not yet. And I do not wish to.”

“Oh?”

“Twenty years ago, on your first visit to my world, you had nothing. It was, for all intents and purposes a miracle that you were able to get a pass to set foot on our soil. And the simple truth of the matter is that without the aid of my mother you would not have been able to stay here long enough for those seeking you to give up pursuit.”

Colse winced. He had hoped the truth about his visit had died with the woman who had helped him.

“This is true. And I am grateful.”

“Good. Because I need a favor.”

“What kind of favor?”

Lorr contemplated. “The kind of favor that could be both of our undoings.”

“Lorr, Viss Colse, we are ready to begin.”

“We’ll continue this tonight. After evening meal.”

Colse slid into his chair. Lorr, young as he was, was not given to melodramatics. Whatever he wanted was going to be pretty big. Pretty dangerous. But then, he was right: Colse owed his mother a debt of gratitude he had never and would never be able to repay.

One thing was for certain: there was no way Colse was going to be able to give the family memorial and reading of the will the attention it deserved with the question of what Lorr wanted weighing on his mind.