by Melissa Mead
"Beautiful! Look, Little Cousin!” Miska unfolded the cloak enough to let the light fall on the baby's face. She broke into an impromptu dance, whirling and skipping over the brittle grass. “Almost as beautiful as you.” She gently traced the faint sandy lines on the baby's nose and cheekbones, kissed the minute nose. “Such delicate beauty marks. No one will ever call you Greeneyes, or Man-Face. Look; here's the Storytelling rock."
The rock formed a natural cradle of black-veined pink fieldstone, overlooking the valley. It still held a trace of the sun's warmth. Miska leaned back into it and settled the baby on her lap.
"We won't stay long. Just long enough to give your Mami some rest. Brrr! My grandfather used to tell me stories here all the time. But he was smart—he waited until it was warm!” She pulled the cloak's hood snugly about her face.
Miska pointed eastward, to where a pillar of rock stood dark against the twilit sky. “See? See the little lights on top, like Motes? There's the grand Human city, where he was born. They call us Cantrips there, he told me.” She turned slightly to the north, gesturing beyond the broad silver curve of the river below. “And down there's the little village, where Abri and the other P'raptoi have gone to trade.” The baby whimpered faintly. Miska rocked her gently.
"Are you hungry, dear one? Shhh. Yes, I know.” The fretful cries didn't stop. Miska studied her anxiously.
"I haven't got anything to give you, Little Cousin. Don't cry. Here, look!"
Most Kankenni had little trouble stepping from the First, physical world of the body to the Second World of the mind. Miska never let on just how disoriented she felt when objective reality and subjective perceptions switched places. Now she focused on the Motes until the world receded into the background. She felt the familiar sense of stepping over a mental threshold, a moment of unsteadiness, and the boundary was crossed.
The Second World equivalent of the Storytelling Rock was much like the place she knew, but somehow richer, reflecting her own love for this place, the memories woven about it. Here, the rock glittered with hidden colors. A twiggy bush, bare in Miska's world, held a single bud. The Motes here were bright as stars, clustering thickly about Miska and the baby. But to Miska's alarm, the baby looked no stronger here.
"By your leave, Wondermaker.” Miska murmured. Kneeling, she picked the bud, and then stepped back into the solid world.
The cold stone seemed colder, like jumping back into an icy pool after drying off by the fire. Miska settled the baby carefully on her lap, and held the bud out in both open hands. The Motes swarmed over it. Miska thought hard for a moment.
"Now watch, Little Cousin!"
She blew lightly on the bud. It popped open, releasing a cloud of butterflies no larger than buttons. White and gold and scarlet, lavender and pink and blue, they fluttered overhead and vanished like soap bubbles. The baby watched solemnly, wide eyes too large for her little face.
"Weren't they pretty? When you're bigger, I'll show you how to make button-flies, and tell you all the histories until you earn your own brown ribbon. I'll tell you stories of Moshi the Shapechanger ... and I'll tell you all the stories Doddi Jakki told me, about the Great Human City. But first, you need to grow stronger. When Abri gets back with supplies, I'll make your Mami something special."
"No fair! What have you got, Miska? I want some!"
"Kimo.” Miska sighed. She watched the half-grown boy scramble up the rocky slope, panting. His sooty hair straggled loose from a single black ribbon, and in the twilight his gray markings were indistinguishable from the smudges of grime on his face. He was scowling, as usual. “I'd give you a hand up, but I'm holding Illyana's baby. Would you like to see her?"
"No, I don't, and you wouldn't give me a hand. You never give me anything. What are you eating, hiding Outside?"
"Nothing. And I'm hardly hiding, Cousin. Every Kankenni outside the Caverns can see me up here."
"Then so can Humans, and you've got the baby out here. I'm going to tell the Elders,” he announced smugly. “Unless you give me something to eat."
Miska shifted the baby to her other hip. “There are no Humans within miles of here, Kimo. Midyora's in the Birthing Cavern, if you'd like to tell her where I am,” she offered, knowing that Kimo would never call her bluff. Any Elder Kimo told would first ask what Kimo himself was doing outside, and then put him to work. “She's been looking for you."
"The Birthing Cavern smells like blood.” Kimo wrinkled his nose. “I'm waiting for Mami. But I'll tell Midyora later, so you'd better give me something now."
"Midyora knows where we are.” Kimo's face fell. “Be patient. In a few weeks, there'll be tree-sugar, and I'll make you candy."
"But I'm hungry now!"
"I have my dose of chakhali, if you want that.” Miska watched Kimo's expression. Every Kankenni carried a tiny nugget of chocolate, as a last resort against shock. Miska thought the stimulant was delicious, and kept her piece tightly wrapped to hide the tantalizing scent. Kimo made a wry face.
"I don't want that awful, bitter stuff, you Human freak. I'm not sick; I'm starving. My stomach hurts. If I starve to death, it's your fault. You'll be sorry once I'm gone to the Last World.” He scraped up a handful of half-melted snow and dirt and flung it at Miska.
"Stop it, Kimo! You'll hit the baby!” Miska dodged the sloppy missile. Kimo hurled another fistful, this time with gravel in it. “Are you listening? Stop, before someone gets hurt!"
Kimo didn't stop. He was in a fury now, throwing snow, sticks, rocks and whatever else he could reach.
"It's not fair! You always help the babies, and you never help me. You're not even a real Kankenni, you green-eyed freak..."
"Kimo! What are you at? Leave Miska alone.” A third Kankenni came up the hill, shooting glances behind him. Like Kimo, he was slender and dark-haired, but his golden eyes were warm, and his straight black hair was neatly tied with bands of scarlet, yellow and pale blue. A bold russet blaze marked his pale face. He carried two sacks in one hand, a red-ribboned staff in the other.
"Abri!” Miska called, running toward him.
He dropped his burden and hugged her, even more tightly than usual. Unlike most Kankenni, he was almost as tall as she.
"Mmm ... You smell like evergreen,” Miska murmured.
"I had to crawl through a thicket of...” The baby, pressed between them, whimpered. Abri backed away and raised his hands in exaggerated shock, as though noticing the child for the first time.
"Miska, love! And you weren't even showing when I left!"
"You only left a week ago.” Miska laughed. “Don't be silly, Abri. You know it can't be ours."
Abri held her even more tightly. “Still—this one lived.” He smiled. “She looks just like her mother. See—her beauty marks are almost like Illyana's."
Kimo shoved up against the newcomer. “So what did you bring? Where's Mami? Where are the rest of the P'raptoi? Stop hugging her, Abri! What's in the bags? Give me some."
"Grain, Kimo.” Up close, Miska realized, he looked exhausted. He was no longer smiling—in fact, she could feel him trembling. “Take it to the Elders. Carefully. I need to talk to Miska. Go talk ... Go talk to Marki. He's looking for you."
"Is that all? I wanted peaches! I'll bet Mami got some. She's a better Trader than you. You're mean."
"There are no peaches yet. Even on the human ships. It's not even Greening Season."
Kimo pouted. “When I'm grown enough to Worldwalk, I'll go with Mami and the other P'raptoi, and I'll make you stay home!"
Abri sat down abruptly on the Storytelling Rock. All color had drained from his face, and his voice was chillingly flat. “Kimo, your mother's been hurt. Badly. The others are waiting by the forest entrance. Go."
"You're lying!” Now Kimo looked pale. Abri stood up and took the boy firmly by the shoulders.
"I would never, ever lie about such a thing. Go. Now.” Abri had begun to tremble.
Kimo started to open his mouth, saw Abri's expression, and cl
osed it again. With a strangled sob, he turned and pelted down the slope. Abri sat down again and buried his head in his hands. Miska laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"Is...” She stopped herself from saying anything so insulting as Is it true? “Is Naneri going to be all right?"
"I don't know, Dearest."
"What happened?"
Abri peered down into the valley, searching. Miska saw only brown grass and scrub, dotted with grimy snow. “There wasn't much to trade. This is a difficult season, even for humans. We got a few bags of parched corn, some of their coarser cloth, some dried fish, a few odds and ends for the Sharing. They seemed no warier of us than usual—when they did see us, that is. One kind, dim-sighted lady thought Marki was a lost child and tried to help him find his parents.” Abri grinned briefly. “Marki left an emerald in her pocket."
"He would.” Miska chuckled.
Something crackled faintly in the valley below. Abri jumped.
"Look down,” he mouthed.
Her night-sight wasn't as good as his. Still, Miska counted three humans, almost as shabbily dressed as her own people, in gray cloaks with black triangles on the backs. They stumbled blindly through the brush, cursing. A few words made it to her ears: Cursed Imps ... Should'a brought nets ... and lanterns ... Stupid Magic nonsense...
Abri began edging toward the Cavern entrance. Miska followed, holding the baby securely under her cloak and praying the child wouldn't cry. “Who are they?” she whispered.
Abri shrugged. “Surprised us on the way back. Did something to Naneri. The others took her back through the Second World, to the forest side. It's bad—her pain nearly threw us all back into the Solid World, and you know how stoic she is. They'll have brought her to Midyora."
Once away from the cliff, Abri relaxed a little. Miska studied his face.
"You played broken-wing for them, didn't you? Led the Humans away."
Abri looked embarrassed.
"I'm P'raptoi.” He shrugged. “The group comes first—you know that."
"I'm not surprised. Just don't do it again.” Miska gave him a quick kiss, and then paused. “Love, did you hear what they said? Imps. That means..."
"Us.” Abri nodded. “They were hunting Kankenni."
Chapter 2
The main archway to the Healing Cavern was crammed with bodies. Even Miska couldn't see over the swaying patchwork of black and blond heads. She slipped through a side tunnel into the Birthing Cavern.
Tanrin was back at his soon-to-be-wife's side. Both Kankenni looked up anxiously when Miska entered, their expressions shifting to mingled relief and concern once they recognized her.
"What's going on, Cousin?” Tanrin asked. “Is the baby all right?” His eyes were huge, his face nearly as white as his hair. “The P'raptoi came running in and dragged Midyora away, and just a moment ago, we heard Kimo screaming, but no one's told us anything."
"Little Cousin is fine,” Miska hastened to reassure them. She settled the baby gently in Illyana's arms. “Naneri's been hurt.” Miska left out the reason. She could no more lie outright than any other Kankenni, but there was no point in alarming her friends.
"Will she be all right? And poor Kimo!” Illyana hugged her own child tighter in sympathy.
"I haven't seen her. I'll try to find out. Although Naneri may not want me there. I'm not her favorite person, you know.” Miska smiled wryly.
"More pity to her.” But Illyana frowned all the same. The murmuring from outside grew louder, more urgent. “If you would go see, though..."
"Of course, Cousins."
If anything, the inner entrance was even more crowded. Kankenni jostled and shoved, pushing each other up against the rough stone walls, and even into the dividing tunnel. Some were crying. A child wailed thinly somewhere in the throng. All the cats had fled. From up ahead came a whiff of bitter smoke, the low rhythm of chanting, and a horrible animal moaning. Someone screamed, high and piercing. Kimo? Abri's voice, a brief harsh shout, then deathly silence. Miska pressed forward, gently, urgently. The crowd parted just enough to let her into the Healing Cavern.
The P'raptoi lined the walls, motionless and pale. Disciplined guards all, they made no disturbing noise, but their faces were stamped with grief and shock. Abri stood apart from the others, holding Kimo firmly by the arms. Kimo struggled and kicked, trying to reach the limp bundle on the cavern floor: Naneri, laid out on a pile of her comrades’ overcoats and cloaks. Midyora crouched over her, swabbing her forehead with a damp rag. Gentle though her touch was, Naneri writhed and moaned. Kimo shrieked.
"Mami! Mami! Let go, Abri! Mami, make him let go!” He looked up, saw Miska, and shrieked harder.
"Don't let her touch my Mami! Make her go away, Mami! She's mean. She'll hurt you. Make her go away..."
Midyora looked up, her face strained.
"Miska. Thank goodness. I need you.” The old healer motioned her over. “Hurry."
"What is it, Elder Cousin?” Cold fear ran through Miska. She'd never seen anything like this. The sight of cool, self-possessed Naneri sprawled helplessly on the floor chilled her. The few Motes hovering about Kimo's mother were tiny and faint. Miska held out the precious lump of chocolate from her pocket, but Midyora shook her head.
"That won't help her now. She's been poisoned.” Midyora held up a glittering, inch-long splinter. “I found this stuck into her left hand. It's something I don't recognize.” The old healer gestured to a spot at Naneri's side. “Sit there. I need someone with a familiar mind-path to trace the poison while I fight it, and Kimo's in no state to help."
"If Naneri will allow me."
"She'll let you, or she'll die. Hold her left hand, and put your other hand here, over her heart."
Naneri's wounded hand was swollen, purple, and icy. Miska cradled it gently. She placed her other hand over Naneri's heart, and Naneri's eyes flew open.
"Kimo,” she rasped. Her lips were dark. With chocolate, or blood?
"Abri is with him, Cousin. I'm here to help."
"Don't touch me.” Naneri turned her face away. The movement threw her body into another racking contortion. A crimson ribbon unraveled from her double braid and snaked across her throat. Kimo screamed.
"She called me! She needs me! Let me go!” he wailed.
"Hush, Kimo. I need Miska to help me,” said Midyora quietly.
"But Mami doesn't want her. She said so!"
"Kimo, I want to help her,” said Miska. “I'll do the best I can. Please, try to be quiet and not upset her.” Miska tried to keep her voice from shaking as much as her hands.
Midyora knelt and waited for the spasm to subside. Miska silently unfastened her cloak and draped the soft fabric over the old woman's bony legs. Once Naneri lay still again, the Elder Healer cradled her patient's head in her lap, while Miska moved back to her original place.
"Are you ready, child?"
Miska swallowed hard, nodded. Trying her hardest not to stumble, she crossed the border again.
There was nothing but darkness in Naneri's corner of the Second World. Miska couldn't see Kimo or Abri or any of the other Kankenni. The air tasted faintly metallic, and felt almost too heavy to breathe. Naneri was a shadow webbed in a tracery of red lines, radiating outward from her pulsing heart. Nearest the wounded hand, the lines were turning a sickly yellow. Naneri's thready pulse throbbed beneath Miska's hands. With each beat, the yellow lines spread outward. Midyora was a comet, blazing through the toxic web, but more threads crept in as soon as she'd passed. Miska held the wounded hand more firmly, and let her own body slip into a Second World state: dreamlike, insubstantial, shaped more by thought and emotion than by bone and flesh. Wherever a spiderlike tendril crept back, Miska was there, pressing gently with invisible fingertips.
The poison spread like water trickling down a sandy hill. There was a new trail ... and there. Miska reached, pinched off the new flow ... and five more rivulets sprang up. It divided ... spread ... divided again. There ... and there ... and there. She c
ould barely feel the fading pulse. Naneri's body was stone, cooling beneath her frantic hands. The red was turning yellow. Just on the edge of hearing, low moans echoed through the Second World. Then a higher-pitched cry, like a wounded kitten. Kimo. He really was still just a boy, and fatherless. Well, she would help him this time. Find the poison, push it back. Pay no attention to the sounds outside, or her own stiff and cramping body. She was light, she was thought. Reach and press, there, and there...
"Miska, stop.” Midyora's voice, tight and stern, reached through the darkness to her ears.
"No.” There was no stopping. The venomous lines weren't stopping—they were clawing toward Naneri's heart. There ... and there. All she could see were the lines. Her own hands were clear ... clear as water, to wash the poison away. The pulse was fainter still. Miska reached for it, pressing back the encroaching threads. There was another ... and another. The sickly yellow was everywhere, brighter and brighter, filling her vision. Miska poured all her strength into the clear flood, a bright tidal wave of healing.
Then everything went dark.
* * * *
There were faces in the cavern walls. Miska studied them through half-closed eyes. Faces in flowstone. Distorted, pained faces, with dark eyes, and twisted, leering mouths ... No, that was wrong. There were only lumps and hollows in the stone, and traces of minerals ... Sulfur, maybe. Yellow lines. That was bad...
"Miska, love? Are you awake?"
Had she been sleeping? She was lying down. Funny . She'd been doing something important ... Miska stretched, and sudden pain cramped her left leg. It felt bruised. The shock woke her fully, and brought memory back in a rush.
"Naneri! Where is she? Where is Kimo?” She sat up, only to find Abri gently restraining her, and Midyora frowning over her. She lay on the floor of the Healing Cavern, and all the other mats were empty.
"I told you to stop, child. You'll have headaches all day, for certain."
"I don't really. Well, not much. My leg is sore, for some reason. But I'll be fine soon. You should be with Naneri."