Doomseeds

by Tam Linsey

  Chapter Six

  Eily froze, matching their stares. There were others called Anne or Anna or even Hannah in the Holdout. Heard in conversation, the name had stopped jarring her long ago; she no longer expected to be confused with her twin sister. But these men spoke Ana’s name directly to her face. Her insides quivered. “What did you call me?”

  The men looked at each other then back at her. The taller one stepped forward, his smile transforming his handsome face into a stunning visage as he put a hand in front of him, palm down. “Our mistake. We thought we knew you.”

  The cadence of the Cannibal language sounded strange to her after six years at the Holdout. The reversions were only allowed to speak Haldanian. She studied the traders’ faces, trying to place them. Not much older than she was, with smooth, sun-darkened skin, traditional beads in the hair and around the neck, and chicory-brown eyes. They were obviously brothers. If they thought she was Ana, then they must have known her and Ana as children, but she had no recollection of them. How could they recognize her after so many years, not to mention her green skin? “I’m Eily. Are you from the Under Stone tribe? My sister and I were with them during our early years.”

  The tall one shook his head at his brother before speaking. “We’re traders, not of any tribe. I’m Jubal, and this is my brother Rann.”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t recall your faces or names.” Eily swallowed past the lump in her throat. “My twin sister Ana died many years ago. Taken by hunters.”

  The one called Rann grinned like a dog after a run, exposing every one of his teeth. “Twins!”

  Jubal elbowed his brother, hard.

  Rann shrugged away, scowling. “What? She should know her sister’s alive.”

  Spots of light exploded across Eily’s vision, and she thought her heart might actually leave her chest. Ana’s alive? How many times had she repeated that over the years? She’d stopped believing it a lifetime ago. The air felt too thick to breathe.

  The tall trader put a hand out again, as if to placate her. She swayed, and he put an arm around her waist to keep her from falling. Her hand flew up to catch herself against his bare chest, and she sucked in a breath at the solid, warm contact.

  Gid finished speaking with the gatekeeper and rushed to her side. Brows lowered in disapproval, he took her elbow and gently urged her away so he could address the traders. “Welcome to the Holdout,” he said in clumsy Haldanian, which was close enough to Cannibal to be understood. “Thank you for help. We trade soon.”

  Eily clutched Gid’s shoulder to steady herself. He turned and caught her under both elbows. “Eily?”

  “Ana’s alive.” Her voice cracked. After a few moments of his puzzled stare, she realized she’d spoken Cannibal. “Alive,” she repeated.

  He shook his head, still not understanding. “Go sit in the mini. Ijon is sending an Ops team. I guess he’s not happy about our adventure.”

  Her mind swam with longing for Ana’s shared laughter, the feel of her twin’s hand in hers, the bond of glances that spoke more than words. She silently thanked the Order’s God for answering her prayers. Behind the traders loomed the very gate where she’d last seen her sister’s thin green legs hanging over the shoulder of a retreating hunter.

  Eily sidestepped her betrothed and stumbled toward the traders, clutching at the beads hanging from Jubal’s neck. “You have to take me to her. Please!”

  The crunch of wide tires on gravel forestalled his answer, and he stared over her head, eyes wide and pupils tight. From behind her, she heard Ijon’s voice. “What’s this I hear of an uncharted lift? I know you people believe in self-sufficiency, but you could have caused a serious accident.”

  Gid said, “Eily, come away!”

  Rann focused on her with an intensity that made her shudder. He reached out and cupped the bare skin just above her elbow. The hint of a smile played at the corners of his mouth. “We’d be happy to take you to Ana.”

  Ijon joined the group. “Gid, is this your vehicle?”

  Gid greeted the liaison without taking his eyes off Eily. “I apologize, Ijon...”

  Eily let go of Jubal’s beads, pulled her arm from Rann’s grasp, and turned to the Protectorate liaison. That Ana was still alive was a miracle. Ijon would help. He wouldn’t leave one of their own people out there alone. “Ijon, they’ve seen my sister! Ana’s alive!”

  The liaison’s brow creased. “How can that be?”

  “They knew her name. We have to find her!” She had no idea how Ana could be alive, but she wasn’t going to question how when the real issue was where.

  He looked at the traders in horror. “Is she a prisoner?”

  Jubal shook his staff so the baubles rattled. “We come to trade, not to create problems.”

  Ijon’s mouth turned into a hard line. “The Board will insist on speaking with you.”

  “We only saw her in passing.”

  Ijon signaled two Burn Operatives who’d traveled with him. “Help these men with their things. They’ll be our guests for a while.”

  Rann slid a foot backward. “We carry the trader staff.”

  Eily flapped her hands, grimacing as the tension escalated. She placed herself between the traders and the oncoming guards. “Wait! They said they would help! You don’t have to do this. They’ll take me to her.”

  Ijon shifted his gaze between her and the traders. “You can’t leave. If we let you leave, we have to allow every reversion to do the same.”

  “Eily!” Gid barked. “You’re breaking the Ordnung.”

  She trembled, but didn’t budge. Each breath shuddered in her chest. Please, Ijon, she begged with her eyes. “She’s one of us.”

  “There’s more at stake here than your sister. If the traders cooperate, we won’t delay them long.”

  She clenched her fists. There was no fighting the Protectorate machine. They would have their way. Ana has survived this long, another day or two won’t matter. But the reassurances did little to slow her racing heart. She looked to the traders. “He won’t harm you. Tell him what you know. Please.”

  Jubal had taken a step back as the guards approached. “We’re traders. We can’t take sides in tribal disputes. Your sister is safe. Her man’s a big man. He takes good care of her. They’re expecting a child.”

  A wave of nausea forced Eily to swallow back bile. UV alkaloids were toxic to unborn fetuses, and there would be little, if any, protection from the sun out on the Tox. “She’s pregnant?”

  Jubal lifted his brows and nodded, his attention flicking between her and the guards.

  Fighting tears, Eily turned to the liaison. “Ijon, if Ana’s pregnant, every moment in the sun counts. We have to get her back here and into one of the Gardens immediately.”

  Ijon scowled as he looked over the traders. “Does your tribe have more than one Flame Runna?”

  Rann thrust out his chest. “No.”

  The muscles in Jubal’s jaw twitched, but he shook his head silently in agreement.

  Ijon rubbed his forehead. “Take a duster team.”

  Eily smiled and closed her eyes a moment. Ijon was a good man. “Thank you.”

  “Duster?” Jubal asked.

  Eily said, “Flying machine.”

  Jubal shook his head slowly, mouth pursed. “We won’t show Flame Runnas where the tribes gather. Only you.”

  Ijon snorted. “Impossible!”

  “She would never go alone,” Gid said.

  Eily’s vision swam for what felt like the hundredth time that day. Of course they won’t take you to their camp. You’re a Flame Runna. The Protectorate was the enemy. Even the people at the Holdout, who lived under the Protectorate umbrella, didn’t trust the regime. But without a duster, she’d have to walk the Tox, protected only by these trader’s staves. Would their amnesty be enough to keep her—a woman marked as a Flame Runna—safe?

  Ana sacrificed herself for you. It’s your turn to take a chance for her.

  She looked past the traders
to the barren ground surrounding the Holdout. Voice shaking, she said, “I’ve already lost my sister once. I won’t lose her again.” She turned to Jubal. “Can we leave in the morning?”

  Despite Eily’s protests, the Flame Runnas escorted Jubal and Rann to a dome that looked like an enormous drop of water. Jubal gawked at his own reflection before being ushered inside, where he stared once again; the walls from this side were not reflective but translucent, allowing a view of the broad fields and brick houses. The rear wall was an opaque gray, broken in the center by a passageway deeper into the structure. To one side, a large, rectangular panel danced with pictures of moving Flame Runnas that shifted angles and faces like magic. Several Flame Runnas lounged on seats watching the panel but rose when the entourage entered.

  Jubal startled as the weight of his pack lifted behind him and one of the Flame Runnas slid the shoulder straps down his arms.

  “Wait, you can’t—”

  Another guard wrested Jubal’s staff from his grip. Jubal snatched at it, but the man retreated down one of the passageways. Beside him, Rann sputtered with indignation as his items were taken as well. Jubal thought about chasing down the man with his staff, but with ten or more Flame Runnas watching, he decided against it.

  “What’s going on?” one of the spectators called out. “Are we under attack?”

  The man who called himself Ijon put on what Jubal would call a trader’s smile. “Of course not. These men are our guests.”

  A guard behind Jubal pushed him—not roughly, but not gently, either—toward the passageway. Jubal’s pulse raced. Flame Runnas had no respect for the Peace or trader laws. Just play along. He let out a shaky breath and entered the corridor. At the end, a Flame Runna opened a door and thrust him into a small room with a single, translucent wall. He spun as Ijon entered and closed the door behind him. Two guards flanked the exit.

  “If you don’t give us our goods back, we’ll be sure no trader ventures to this place again.” Among the tribes, such a threat was huge, since without trade, they’d have to steal things like salt and other items they couldn’t make themselves. But neither the guards nor Ijon even blinked. Jubal looked around, realizing his brother wasn’t with him any more. “Where’s Rann?”

  “Please, have a seat. We’ll be questioning you separately.” Ijon moved around a large, sturdy table and settled into a bright blue chair.

  Jubal noticed a matching chair on his side of the table but didn’t sit. Through the wall, he could see the field beyond, but he had a feeling the glass wouldn’t break easily. He longed for a gulp of fresh air. Smile, Jubal. They want something. Be a trader. Without his staff, he felt naked. At least he kept his voice steady as he said, “Traders have amnesty. What is your toll?”

  “I assure you, we mean you no harm. Your goods will be returned once you’ve told us all you know.”

  “Traders cannot bother themselves with squabbles between tribes.” The same words spoken not so long ago by Pops tasted sour on Jubal’s tongue.

  A beep came from the table, and Ijon tapped the surface. Jubal reeled back as a green face appeared within the desktop. “Ijon, I hear you have news.”

  “We’re interrogating the cannibals now, Councilman. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Thank you.” The table went dark again.

  Jubal licked his lips. Flying like birds, magical kisses, and... whatever that floating face was. What other magic might the Flame Runnas possess? Could they discern lies? He intended to remain close lipped and hoped Rann would, too, but his insides roiled with doubt.

  “Jubal,” Ijon leaned forward, one elbow on the table. “I know it doesn’t look like it, but the Protectorate wants peace. We’ve suffered invasions from the tribes, and like you, we fight hunters when they attack. We even offer conversion—green skin—to people so they no longer have to suffer the Hunger. That’s how I became a Flame Runna.”

  Jubal narrowed his eyes. Ijon chose to take the magic? Sefe claimed Ana had been captured by Flame Runnas and changed against her will. He wondered if Eily had chosen or been forced. Ana had run away to find her tribe, but Eily was still here, so it stood to reason she’d taken the path of acceptance.

  Ijon continued speaking. “When I was a cannibal, long ago, traders were not forbidden from sharing news. That’s all we’re asking for. Have the tribes been hunting our dusters?”

  Traders dealt in news as often as goods, but there was no price that would make Jubal betray his people. Still, he had to give Ijon something if he wanted to get out of here alive.

  He shrugged. “On the Tox, hunters hunt, and Flame Runnas would be as fine a prize as any.”

  “Have you heard of new weapons among the tribes? Guns? The ability to shoot farther than the best arrows? Where are your people getting them?”

  Jubal laughed. “Oh, there are always tales of heroes who can send an arrow into the sun or outrun a windstorm. But I would never tell these tales as news.”

  Ijon raised a brow. “Humor me.”

  Jubal closed his eyes and sighed.

  Several well-known legends later, Ijon released him, and the guards escorted him outside. Apparently, Rann had held his tongue, for he was sitting at a wooden table beneath the largest tree Jubal had ever seen. The leaf canopy shaded the area from the afternoon sun, and their goods lay spread across the tabletop. “Is it all here?”

  Rann shrugged. “I just arrived. What did you tell them?”

  Jubal lowered his brows and tilted his head to indicate the nearby guards. Ijon had released Jubal from the building but made it very clear he and Rann would not have freedom while they were here. “He asked for stories, so I told him the ballad of ‘Hugh on High.”

  “Brilliant!” Rann chortled, then hiccoughed. “I just kept telling them I didn’t know anything.”

  Picking up a bag of bitters, Jubal jostled the contents. Should he blame Rann or the Flame Runnas for the decreased weight?

  Rann rolled his eyes. “I needed a drink to calm down.”

  Jubal laid the bota on the table next to some pouches of salt and brushed his hands across the other items, cataloguing what had been in the packs. Nothing appeared to be missing. Satisfied, he raised his gaze to the surrounding fields, taking a deep breath. This place not only looked different, it smelled different, too, with a new scent hitting him every time the breeze shifted. The fields were strangely free of amarantox and verdant with unfamiliar plants. Animals that looked like fat deer wandered inside a fenced area in the distance. Overhead, small birds twittered among the tree branches.

  “Think they’ll let us take the woman?” Rann asked.

  Jubal scowled at him. “Hush.”

  His brother rolled his eyes again and looked straight at the guards. “They’re too far away to hear.”

  “How much did you drink?”

  Rann bolted to his feet and planted his hands on the table with a thud. “Stop bossing me around, little brother.”

  “You already screwed things up with the One Tree.”

  Rann glowered at him in silence, breathing hard. After a moment he settled himself back onto the bench. “Sefe would love a matching Flame Runna woman. Maybe she would be enough to free Pops.”

  Jubal sat next to him and lowered his head as if looking at his merchandise. “One Flame Runna’s not enough.”

  From the south, where several brick dwellings clustered, a man approached on foot. He wore dark clothing nearly identical to that worn by Gid, his black leggings pale with dust at the hems and held up by straps over his shoulders. He stopped at their table and nodded, his gray beard brushing the front of his long-sleeved blue tunic. “My name is Brother John.”

  Jubal nodded in greeting, his smile firmly in place. “I’m Jubal, and this is my brother Rann. My father traded here many seasons ago.”

  “Good, you know our way, then?”

  Jubal raised his brows and glanced at Rann. “Pops never mentioned anything unusual.”

  “We ask you always for peace. And modesty.
Please not talk to women. They will not trade.”

  Jubal kept his face neutral. He’d visited tribes where women were kept tightly controlled, and he never liked them. But this explained Gid’s attempts to command Eily—not that she’d heeded him. Perhaps Flame Runnas were new here and still learning the ways. “Do you have any slaves for trade?”

  John remained expressionless, but Jubal’s years of trading helped him catch the tiny twitch of distaste around the man’s mouth and the flare of his nostrils. “We have no need of such oppression here.”

  Jubal grimaced and bowed his head. “My apologies. I didn’t know if your ways had changed since the Flame Runnas arrived. They weren’t here when my father traded with you.”

  “Only six winters past the Blattvolk came.”

  “Blattvolk. That’s what you call the green people?”

  “Yes. But they call themselves the Haldanian Protectorate.”

  Flame Runnas, Blattvolk, Haldanian—how many names could one people have? Granted, they were a powerful group... “Out on the Tox, they burn everything. You’re lucky they let you live.”

  John crossed his arms. “We raised our hands in surrender. Now they keep cannibals away. Is Gotte’s Wille. Talk no more of Haldanian Protectorate.” A huge wagon pulled by equally huge four-legged creatures taller than a man arrived. Three men hopped from their perches atop the wheeled structure and began unloading planks of wood.

  Rann pointed to the animals, mouth agape. “What are those?”

  Brother John smiled. “Horses.”

  “They would feed a tribe for an entire moon!”

  “We do not eat our horses. But we will have much food tonight.” John walked away to help the men at the wagon. He spoke over his shoulder as he left. “The salt trader already came here this year. Not much trade now. But stay tonight as our guests.”

  Jubal looked from the goods spread across the table to the men who now erected long tables using the planks. Did etiquette require him and Rann to help? He wasn’t sure. The nearby Flame Runna guards remained impassive. Rann bent close enough for his breath to tickle Jubal’s ear. “No slaves? Now what do we do?”