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Marcus had never, ever seen this much snow. Ever. As he stepped out of the massive front entrance to the Star Riders estate, high in the mountains in Ilriam and well away from anywhere the Minbari considered civilized, the drifts came up to his waist. He was more than grateful for the thick clothing he’d been given just that morning by Neroon, in honour of what his hosts called Quarter Day.
It had taken Marcus some time to figure out the Minbari holiday calendar this far north; they celebrated the major Religious festivals, of course, but other than that their traditions were not very similar to those he’d known at the Ranger facility in Tuzanor. Those who lived on the northern continent had adapted to the encroaching ice age long before the southern continent had even begun to consider the changes it would mean for their world. They had eschewed a lot of the newer technology and building materials, entrenching their homes in the solid rock of the mountains and covering them in warm tapestries instead of cold crystal sculptures. It was a simpler life than the south, and a quieter one. Marcus thought that the small and ancient Star Riders Clan, with its tradition of taking in any whose heart called them to it, was particularly well suited to be the governing Clan of the area.
“Are you warm enough?” Neroon asked solicitously as they headed down the mostly cleared path that led out the gates of the estate and down the shallow slope of the lower part of the mountain into town. The largest population center to be found near the estate, only six thousand Minbari called it home.
Marcus grinned at him, his face standing out even more than usual against the black of his new clothing. The cold had brought a flush of colour to his cheeks, and his eyes sparkled brightly.
“More than, thank you.” He almost wished he could remove one of his gloves, just to feel the outside of his coat again; he’d never felt a softer, lusher fur. The animals of Minbar had developed their own defences to the encroaching ice, and garments made from their fur would be in high demand across the galaxy if any were ever let off the planet. But the government was smarter than to allow such an exhaustible resource to become the object of greed.
In addition to the coat, which covered him from neck to knees and overlapped in front, buttoning over his right side with large wooden buttons that would neither freeze nor break in the cold, Marcus had received a hat of the same fur – this he knew Neroon must have commissioned, because the Minbari lost very little heat out of their heads, and usually only wore a hood of some variety to keep the snow off. He’d also gotten new boots, knee-high and made of fur-lined leather that was both supple and comfortable, and gloves of the same that were so soft and well-made that he could have wielded his denn’bok in them and not even noticed he didn’t hold it in bare hands. In the all-black winter clothing, with thick black Minbari-style garments on underneath – he saw no reason to wear his uniform to a festival – only the Isil’zha at the throat of his coat gave any indication that he was not of the Warrior Caste.
“You’ll enjoy this,” Lennier commented, coming up beside him. Lennier was dressed similarly, but almost entirely in white, and was very easy to lose against the snow until he moved.
“Oh?” Marcus asked curiously. “I’ve been to festivals on your planet before, you know.”
Lennier chuckled, a sound Marcus hadn’t heard out of the young priest until they’d both come here. “Not like this. Up here, they hold to an older way of life, especially on the holy days. You’ve noticed that already, but I don’t think you’re ready for what it really means. You’d never know we’ve been travelling the stars for more than a thousand years, by the way these people live. Because no one lives in such a harsh climate unless their heart truly calls them here, they have been able to preserve a way of life that died out long ago in most other parts of Minbar.”
“I look forward to it,” Marcus smiled. “And maybe you can help me while we’re there?”
Lennier bowed slightly. “What assistance do you require?”
Marcus gestured to his wardrobe. “Neroon didn’t tell me gift-giving was part of this festival, and I didn’t get him anything. I need to find something suitable while we’re in town, and I need to do it without him seeing. Are you up for a little subterfuge?”
Lennier grinned, and nodded. “I am indeed. And I believe I know just the place. We can go together; Helacann also did not inform me of the import of the day, and I have never attended one of these festivals before.” Helacann was Lennier’s fiancé, a Worker Caste member of the Star Riders Clan and Neroon’s personal secretary. “They date from a time before Valen, and outside of a small contingent of priests who serve these northern towns, none of the Religious Caste observes them.”
“Why not?” Marcus asked. “I would have thought you’d approve of festivals.”
“Because they are seen as barbaric, from a time when we made war, Clan against Clan, down through the years. The Quarter, Mid, and Three-Quarter Winter Festivals were times of truce. According to the old calendar, the Festivals lasted two days each, and no one was permitted to fight. Marriages could be conducted, alliances secured, truces negotiated, all crowned by a feast on the final night. The Worker Caste would set out large fairs, and everyone would purchase those things there was no time for in war. That’s why the extravagant gifts; when you are more concerned with staying alive than with baubles, gifts between courting couples are nearly impossible. But on these days, when all fighting stopped, it was possible to take the time to gift one’s lover with something simply because it was beautiful.”
“It’s different than our ancient winter holidays,” Marcus commented. “Ours were almost always based on religion, either sun worship or worship of a given God.”
Lennier shrugged. “Minbar has never had much use for gods. We believe more strongly in the connectedness of the universe, and always have. So we had no need to worship the sun, any more than we would worship a rock or a blade of grass. It is all the stuff of stars, all the universe made manifest.”
“We’re almost there!” Fara interrupted them from a few feet ahead, squirming and kicking until Neroon swung her down off his shoulders and allowed her to run ahead. “Come on! You’re so slooooow!” she complained, eyes alight. It would be her first festival as well, and they hadn’t been able to calm her down for a week.
Marcus looked at the tolerantly amused smiles on the faces of the Minbari who walked with him, and decided that they needed another lesson in impulsiveness among adults. He’d not yet managed to make the frequent lessons stick, but he would someday.
Before Fara could figure out what he was about, he had seized her around the waist and turned her upside-down into a snowbank. She came up shrieking and spluttering and gave chase, her little legs pumping hard as she roared after Marcus down the last of the path into the village, laughter ringing out high and low as they played, catching each other with snowballs and dodging pedestrians at the outlying booths of the traditional outdoor market. The Minbari looked on with fond amusement, and a number of other children managed to escape their keepers and join in. If a few of the adults did as well, everyone pretended not to notice. On this day, Minbari dignity was perhaps not so important as the sense of community that had to exist among these people for them to survive.
“Your ma’fela is a child,” Ardiri commented, staying beside her brother as the family split up, moving to seek out their own particular treasures at the stalls.
“Hmm,” Neroon agreed. “Sometimes, yes. At least I shall never be bored.”
Ardiri laughed at that, and Neroon had to take a moment to thank the universe for thawing his younger sister’s attitude towards Marcus. Of all his family, she had raised the loudest and harshest objections to his choice of husband, and the first stages of their courtship had been rocky as Marcus struggled not to offend her and she watched, in anger and puzzlement, as her world was turned upside down by the presence of this strange alien who came to marry her brother against all law and tradition.
“You know I did not approve, when he first came to ask us if he could court you,” Ardiri began again, after a moment to examine some fine necklaces displayed on jewel-toned fabric.
“I know,” Neroon answered calmly. “It is your right. I do not ask you to accept my choice, Ardiri. I only ask that you understand that I must follow the calling of my heart, even if it leads me down a strange path.”
Ardiri snorted. “Understanding without acceptance? I think you’ve reversed one of our most quoted proverbs, brother.” She smiled a bit. “I could not accept, because I did not understand. Now, I begin to understand. No one could claim that the Star Riders do not take their own path through life.”
Neroon glanced over at their parents, where his mother had stopped at the temple to assist the priests in giving the holiday blessings. His father stood behind her as a dark shadow, the smile on his face enough to set anyone at ease about having a Warrior so close to the priests. No, he certainly wasn’t breaking family tradition by choosing to marry outside his Clan and Caste. Which, he reflected, was probably the only reason they’d been able to pull off a mostly-secret courtship to this stage. Only a few months remained before they would have completed all of the rituals, and then things would really get interesting. They would have to seek the permission of both the Warrior council of Elders and the Marka’ri Minsa to perform the actual marriage ritual, and the response was likely to be explosive.
“Anyway,” Ardiri continued, “I just wanted to say, because it’s Quarter Night and we’re supposed to heal old wounds and call truce to old fights, that I approve your choice. He’s a good man, and worthy to stand beside my brother.”
Neroon could only stare at her, touched. He’d truly never expected to gain anything more than her grudging assent; to have her give smiling approval to his marriage was one of the greatest gifts he could have received.
“Thank you,” he finally managed, bowing to her.
Ardiri grinned, and impulsively wrapped him in a very human hug, gaining stares of shock from those near enough to notice it. Minbari didn’t have the same need for casual contact that humans seemed to, and had never developed the habit of touching in public. Occasionally one would see a married or courting couple with their arms linked, and of course parents held onto their children, but such a flying hug had rarely been seen. As they pulled apart, and those who stared recognized them as the Star Riders heirs, nods of approval went around. It was good that those who could have such an impact on the lives of others in the area healed whatever rift had been between them. Even if they did so in a decidedly unusual fashion.
Not far away, Marcus had finally managed to catch a slightly more worn-down Fara, and swung her up onto his shoulders so she could bury her small hands in his furry hat. She seemed to be amused doing so, so he left her to it while he and Lennier made their way among the booths.
“The problem is,” Marcus said, as if continuing an earlier conversation, “I don’t know what to get for him! The man has everything.”
Lennier chuckled. “Helacann is somewhat easier to buy for, I admit. He’s a lowly secretary of the Worker Caste, rather than the heir to one of the five Warrior Clans.”
Marcus nodded. “Exactly! What do you buy for the Warrior who has everything? Especially that’s in my budget; Rangers aren’t exactly the highest-earning people on Minbar.”
Lennier spotted a promising stall out of the corner of his eye, and dragged Marcus after him as he wove through the crowd to get there. “Well, I don’t know what to get for Neroon, but this is perfect! Antique crystal well-pens, and hand-made paper! We don’t even see these very often at the temple!” he bent down, inspecting the quality of the work, and was amazed again.
“Important documents up here are always written out this way,” the shopkeeper informed him, smelling a sale coming. “Many people also use calligraphy as a hobby, on long winter nights. I have a variety of coloured inks, if you would care to examine those.”
Lennier was clearly in raptures. Marcus chuckled. “I’m not sure whether you or Helacann will end up getting more use out of it, if you do buy a set.”
“We can always make use of it together,” Lennier countered. “Which do you think would suit him best?”
“My dear Lennier, he’s your ma’fela, not mine. I have enough trouble doing my own shopping. But he seems partial to blue, and there’s a lovely sapphire set just to your left.”
The shopkeeper nodded to him, then did a brief double take and looked again. Marcus waited for the inevitable comment about his ancestry, but to his surprise, the man restrained himself.
“You speak Minbari well,” he said instead. “Not many foreigners manage to get the right mix of the three dialects.”
“I’ve been here a while,” Marcus answered. It was the truth; just not all of it.
The shopkeeper nodded. “You are staying with the Star Riders?”
Marcus nodded. “Neroon is showing me some of your customs.”
“Not many call Neroon of the Star Riders friend,” the shopkeeper commented. “You are fortunate, Anla’shok. He must see something very great in you, to set aside his hatred of humans. It is a good thing for the entire Ilriam region, that the Star Riders heir has lost some of his grief and anger over the death of his older sister. A good thing for us all. I welcome you most sincerely.”
Marcus blinked in surprise, but bowed his thanks. Lennier made his purchases swiftly, and as they moved away, the young priest smiled at his friend. “I told you that most Minbari are only people, no better or worse than most, who do not hate an entire race blindly. Such hate only comes from great pain, such as Neroon’s, or great stupidity, such as that found in most governing bodies. The people, who are the ones whose minds and hearts you must change to live here happily, are already disposed to think of you as just another person.”
Marcus nodded thoughtfully. “Every time I start to think that our differences are insurmountable, I’m reminded that we’re also mostly the same.”
“Speaking of similarities,” Lennier said, looking off to one side, “I think I see something for Neroon. Come on, we’ll go have a look, and then we’d best let the squirming one off and find someplace for her to run again.”
Marcus chuckled, adjusted Fara on his shoulders, and followed Lennier’s lead.
Later that night, after they’d returned to the estate and helped put the children to bed, Neroon knocked softly on the door to Marcus’ rooms. Marcus let him in, and got them both cups of not-quite-cider before joining him on the couch.
“How did you enjoy the festival?” Neroon asked, reaching over to take his hand, a very intimate gesture by Minbari standards. Marcus caressed Neroon’s fingers lightly with his as he thought through his reply.
“It was similar to midwinter fairs on earth that I’ve attended, but different in some ways. The kinds of things sold, the foods, the way people acted. I found it… nice. Calm, comforting, and very happy. The people here care for each other, but they also care for strangers. I liked it very much,” he finally settled on.
Neroon smiled. “I’m glad. You’ll attend many such things, when we are married. It’s good for the town to know that the Star Riders are not aloof from them, that we are part of the community. They’re beholden to us, but we are not their lords and masters, and we have always taken pains to keep it that way.”
“They seemed glad that you are home, and happy,” Marcus observed.
“I… have not always been the most pleasant company, in recent years,” Neroon admitted. “I loved my sister very much, Marcus. And she was Aunt Alaann’s heir. She would have been matriarch of the entire Clan one day. Her death was a great loss to our Clan, and to me. Now there are no Warrior women in direct line of descent, so the leadership of our Clan will fall to me. Many people were uncomfortable with the idea of a male Clan heir; they wanted a matriarch to follow Alaann. It has not been an easy time. They will be much relieved if Fara chooses the Warrior Caste, and we have a matriarch again. I think, for the villagers, it has been a long time since they saw a group of my family without the shadows of many troubles clinging to us.”
“As with the King, so with the land,” Marcus quoted.
“Precisely,” Neroon agreed. “But this is not the time to speak of my sister. What else did you think of the festival?”
“I liked the lights,” Marcus said. Coloured lights had been hung along every walkway, and set amongst the branches of trees and on particular landmarks. Not bright and primary like Christmas lights on earth, but more muted pastels that glowed handsomely against the snow. “And the ice sculptures and ice bells. We have little like it on earth, and certainly nothing on Arisia. It was enchanting.”
Neroon smiled again. “I shall have to remember this penchant you have for – what is it I heard one of the Anla’shok call them? Fairy lights?”
Marcus blinked at him, shocked, then burst out laughing. The confusion on Neroon’s face only made him laugh harder. “Oh! I’m sorry, but one of these days I simply have to teach you earth slang!” he gasped.
Neroon shrugged, and simply waited for the giggles to abate. “I am glad that I amuse you,” he said in his driest voice.
“You do,” Marcus smiled, leaning in to give him a quick kiss. “And speaking of amusement, I have something to give you. Lennier assured me that the custom of giving frivolous gifts to one you’re courting goes both ways, so here.” He pulled a small wrapped package out of a fold in his robes and offered it to Neroon.
Neroon took it tentatively, by now well acquainted with his ma’fela’s slightly offbeat sense of humour.
“Oh come on, it won’t bite,” Marcus chided him.
“Hard,” he added, just as Neroon ripped off the first layer of cloth, and received a dark look in response.
The softening of Neroon’s gaze as he unwrapped the final layer more than made up for his glare, though, and Marcus was doubly glad that Lennier was so good at spotting out of the way treasures.
“Marcus, this is beautiful. Where did you find such a thing?” Neroon asked. “And how did you think to gift me with it?”
Marcus shook his head. “The second was easy, ah’cala. I have often thought that in another life, our souls might have travelled together as soul-seekers, viewing the wonders of the universe. I couldn’t get anything for you as a Warrior, because you already have everything a Warrior could possibly require. But I know your heart sometimes calls you to the Religious side of a debate, as mine does, so I thought this would be appropriate.”
Neroon set his gift very gently down on the table before the couch, and leaned over. “It’s perfect,” he assured Marcus, before leaning in for a lingering kiss.
On the table, exquisitely etched into subtly shaded glass, a figure in the full uniform of a Warrior knelt before an altar and received the cloak of a priest from a white-robed figure who bore the insignia of the Tha’Domo order and a denn’bok at its waist. The blending of Warrior and Priest in both individuals was incomparable, and the subtle indications that they were much more than acquaintances, obvious only if you looked closely, gave the entire scene a depth and impact that he’d rarely seen in any form of art. The artist who had made it had told Marcus that it was the work of a lifetime, and she wouldn’t part with it until Marcus told her whom it was for. Then the old woman had smiled a secret smile, and said that the piece had always belonged to the Star Riders.
As Marcus and Neroon relaxed into each other, trading quiet words and gestures, the light from a dozen candles made the etching come to life, and it seemed for a moment – just a moment – as if the frozen figures smiled in approval.