Another world

I’d like to introduce you to the Shezlan. A major opponent in Depths to Come, I thought it might be pleasant to see them from their own point of view. The novel isn’t published, but it doesn’t hurt to share some of the world-building in the process!

Dalia’s hands shook, and she wiped them on the thighs of her pants to try to remove the nervous sweat. She gripped the metal door handle, marveling at how cold it was as she pushed the door open. The sound thundered loud enough to make her jump and yelp—even though she knew it was coming. Before Dalia even had a chance to get through the door, hands grabbed her. Yanked into the room, she was surrounded by her friends and family—so many families—and the shouting continued.

“Happy birthday!” Smiles met her in every direction, and she grinned back at them. Now that the traditional screaming was over, she could relax. Well-wishes pounded her back until she was almost breathless. She bounced on her tiptoes as they handed her from person to person for hugs and hand-shaking. The odd dance eventually released her; it dumped her into an open space where her parents stood facing her. They held one another’s hands and beamed with pride.

“Maya,” she greeted her mother and then included her father, “Peyo.” As one, they came forward and gave her a hug and stepped back. The hug was awkward and short-lived, so she remained standing where she was, hands folded neatly behind her and her head lowered.

“Dalia,” her mother said, “today, you are an adult. How does it feel?” Pride infused every tone of her mother’s voice but it kept the crisp enunciation and authority it always held. Her father always used gentle tones when speaking; frequently deferring to his mate. At the moment, he said nothing, but waited for her to answer.

“It feels much like yesterday. I must confess,” Dalia replied easily. She offered a slight bow and smile as she did so.

“This is the culmination of our two lines,” her mother continued, as if Dalia hadn’t answered, “my families—Uraot and Miran—and your father’s; Till and Cenorus. We carry those names and we joined them with our marriage to offer to you to carry through your life. Our marriage uplifted his family and strengthened mine. And so, we pass that strength and benefit onto you—Uraot Tilla Dalia.” Wary, Dalia straightened her spine, feeling a slight stiffness and ache where her ribs still hurt. “When I say today you are an adult, you took the first steps earlier this week. You performed your adulthood ritual, venturing out into the wild and defeating a liotrel by yourself, armed only with what you could create from the surrounding land.”

Just the mention of the great, shaggy beast brought the scene vividly back into Dalia’s thoughts. It had a rank musk, from being in a hot, dry environment and patches of fur occasionally soured by its own oils. The thing stood half again as tall as she, and it was just as cautious of its surroundings as she was. It took three days to scrape together enough supplies on the desolate savanna to finagle a way to kill it. The skin was thicker than her winter jacket, and it had great tusks that she tried—and failed—to avoid. The sharp glance interrupted her memory her mother shot a look at her torso. Somehow, Dalia manged to stand even straighter, ignoring the twinge of pain. Her mother had succeeded in her own adulthood ritual without an injury—a rare thing. Perhaps her younger brother would have more luck.

“That signaled you were ready to be considered an adult by our people,” her mother continued the lecture and then gestured to her father. Dalia would have missed the subtle cue, but she was already watching them with extra care. He picked up where his mate left off, but with a gentler inflection.

“It was the first step,” he explained, “the second being today. Today you are an adult, twenty-eight years of age. You’ve proved your responsibility at home, and now we’re giving you the chance to choose your future.”

Something about his wording threw Dalia off, and she shifted uneasily. “Choose my future? I have to choose right now?”

“Mm, yes,” her mother took the conversation back. “There’s only a few choices for someone like you.”

“What do you mean, someone like me?” Dalia liked this less and less.

“You come from two good family lines, Dalia, don’t be naïve. Your best choice is to marry, and marry well. Then produce at least two children of your own. If we secure you a marriage where we are the dominant line, then you will be the head of the household. Of course, they will base your profession on what marriage you can achieve in that case and how much time you will have. If you marry a higher family than ours, you might end up either supporting him domestically or taking a job that increases his political gain. At the very least, whatever you did to keep busy shouldn’t reduce his political viability!” Her mother shifted into ‘lecturing’ stance, hands on her hips and the deep auburn hair that was the one thing Dalia was pleased to have inherited almost glimmering.

Dalia shrugged. Her mother flushed, blending the deeply tanned skin with the ruddy stripes along the side of her face. Even irritated, her mother was striking, and Dalia knew she inherited most of her mother’s looks, if not her authority. Her implacable stubbornness she got from her father and it showed now.

“Dalia,” he chided her, “this isn’t so bad, really. I married up, and it’s worked out for me. Your mother isn’t as deeply into politics as some people we could marry you to, so I didn’t have to give up too much of my own interests. In return, I’m in a good position, we have a stable family home—your grandparents and cousins and all! Everyone in the families contributes.”

Dalia shifted her weight despite his soft voice. “What if I don’t want to marry?” Her mother’s outraged expression made her hastily add to her question. “I mean, not right now!”

Her father laid a hand on his mate’s shoulder, and she subsided. His stripes were a deep, burnished gold and Dalia had always regretted hers didn’t match his—but that’s just not how it worked. Against his darker skin, they practically glowed. Her parents certainly made a pretty couple. Her mother’s words shattered her contemplation.

“If you don’t marry, you can go into a profession we choose for you—one that would be politically and socially helpful to the family. There’s quite a long list, in fact. But they won’t permit you to begin a career that wouldn’t reflect well on us, or your future mate.”

Horror strangled her, fear gripping her throat until she couldn’t even manage a faint squeak to deny the idea of her parents handing her over to someone as mate—she wasn’t ready yet!—and worse yet, choosing her career for her!