by Mark Eller
"You are dead," she told them. "but you don't know it yet. The funeral will be held in twelve years. By then I'll have enough power and influence to bury you."
"You will both be dead long before then," Balandice said coldly. "I will see to that personally."
"Please do," Amanda told her. "Just remember that if Mister Turner or myself dies, the Clan are sworn to declare a feud. Your names and the names of every one of your family members will be on their list. On the other hand, your hired assassins might fail again. Do you like the idea of Aaron Turner coming after you? Do you have any defense against a man who can be anywhere in the blink of the eye? Every night, with all your doors and windows barred, you'll know that you're still not safe."
Amanda opened the door to leave, paused, and looked back. "Oh yes, I believe it was Miss Sporlain who had Mistress Camp killed. If I find out differently, I'll let Mister Turner know. Pray that you are all innocent of that murder."
With those words, she stepped out of the room, closed the door, and leaned against it. Her knees felt weak, shaky, but her voice and stance and words had been strong when strength had been needed. She had done the job she wanted to do, and she had spoken as she had been raised, not as an artificial construct spat out by the university system.
"A very foolish woman," Von Helsen's voice came through the door. "I believe we can dismiss her and her threats. We need to discuss the situation of Miss Sporlain."
Amanda nodded, enjoying his words. Von Helsen spoke slightingly of her, but his voice held a worried tone.
"Are you feeling okay?" a quiet voice asked Amanda.
Startled, she spun around to find Aaron watching her, concern in his eyes. Straightening, Amanda brushed at her sleeves, pushing them further down her wrists to hide the angry red marks left by her chains.
"Everything's fine," she said. "In fact, it's more than fine. This has been an absolutely wondrous day." Eyes narrowing, she focused on Aaron. "Why did you tattoo a pair of lips on your face?"
Foolish, foolish man. Could she not leave him alone for a moment? He definitely needed her to take care of him. No, even she was not enough. He needed an army to keep him out of trouble.
Men.
Leaning over, she kissed him.
He started. "What was that for?"
"Just paying back my promise, that's all." She studied him for a moment, then frowned and shook her head. Maybe an army wouldn't be enough. Part of her doubted Aaron Turner could ever be kept out of trouble. She had a strange feeling a good part of her life would be spent watching out for his welfare.
Her frown changed into a half-smile at the thought. Taking care of Aaron wouldn't be all that bad--not if she grew rich while doing it.
Chapter 29
Aaron's arms trembled and strained as he bench pressed too heavy a weight. The bar slowly rose until it extended to the full length of his reach. He bent his elbows, and the bar followed until it rested across his chest.
He pushed.
"URAAAAAGH!"
The bar trembled but refused to move. Aaron pushed with everything he had. Blood filled his face and his brain, threatening to explode his head. His arm muscles felt like they were trying to rip apart, but the bar only grew heavier. Breathing became difficult as the weights pressed tight against his chest.
Another set of hands joined his on the brass bar. Without his guidance, the weight raised with an ease that belied its weight and settled back into its nest.
Gasping, Aaron felt like his lungs were trying to push out of his mouth.
"You've done more than enough of that," a firm voice said. "Something is eating you. We need to talk about it."
Felicity Stromburg held out a hand. Aaron accepted her offer.
"I've been looking for you," he panted. "I need you."
"From the looks of it, something is eating at you pretty bad. Working out like that can get you hurt."
Aaron's breath began to slow, his chest's heaving eased. He shook his head.
"Connections," he said. "I need your connections. I want fifty people who can enforce my will on people living on my property."
Felicity frowned. "This doesn't seem like you. I'm sorry, but you're so angry that I sense nothing else. I need to know what's happening."
"Too much is happening."
Her frown deepened, and then she shrugged. "Well then, I suppose we had best get out of here. You need to sit down and drink some fluids." Bending down, she sniffed, and her frown turned into a grin. "Maybe not. You smell like you've quite a load in you already."
"It helps."
"Getting drunk never helps anything. I'm taking you home and putting you in my bed. We'll talk when you're sober."
* * *
The tea was spiced with peppermint and chamomile. Aaron slid a sip down the back of his throat and closed his eyes for a moment. His shoulders were sore but felt loose as he lowered himself onto the massage table. Aaron's mind relaxed and the teacup fell from his hand as Felicity's fingers pressed into his muscles. She worked her hands from his shoulders down to the small of his back and up to his shoulders again. His mind relaxed further as it surrendered to an alcoholic fog.
Felicity's hands moved to his buttocks and on to his upper thighs.
"I often have trouble right around here," she admitted. "Some people think this is an invitation to play, but it's just an attempt to loosen the entire body so the mind can free itself for more important matters."
"Ummm," Aaron said. "I remember. You've no interest in sex. I'm not in the market either, so we make a perfect pair."
"Um-hmm." She dug a thumb into a section of tight muscle in his thigh. "So tell me, why haven't you looked into hiring a security company to help you with this? Plenty of them out there."
Aaron fought back a groan as she manipulated her fingers into his over-taut calf. "Won't work. They have too many scruples--and licensing considerations. I don't know what's going to happen, but things could get ugly. I need fifty mean people who love kids."
"Do you love her?" Felicity's hands worked on his calves, but her mind worked on his life. Aaron had no idea how she did it, but she always dug into his hidden parts.
"It's pointless," he told her. "Cathy's married, even if she doesn't live with her husband. Yeah, I'll probably outlive him, and we could get together then, but other considerations are getting in the way."
"Take a look at those considerations and see if there's a way around them. The answer might not come right away, but it should arrive sometime."
Her fingers, now covered with lotion, ran sensuously over his feet. Felicity's hands wrapped over and around his left foot, caressing and massaging until Aaron had no choice but to yawn. His eyes grew heavier, then closed.
"I'll see what I can do," her voice drifted to him. "It will be a few days. For now, get some sleep and see if an answer comes in your dreams. Sometimes, that works for me."
Sometimes truth came in dreams. Aaron slept and dreamed of gurgling babies and Sarah's smile. A sound, startling, and then babies crying, and Sarah moving with inhuman speed, the misty outline of a Talent Stone dangling from a chain around her neck. A shape, Beech, menacing and then fading before Sarah's fierce glare--gunfire and barrel flashes.
And then Aaron woke with a solution.
* * *
The smell of moist earth and broken worms filled his nostrils. Sunlight filtered down through the tree leaves surrounding him as he buried the shovel blade one more time. Lifting the black earth-filled blade, he deposited the shovelful on the heap he had already dug. The hole was more than three feet deep. He should reach his goal soon.
A complaining squirrel scampered around on a nearby tree trunk, changing its location to match Aaron's changing angle as he dug. Whenever Aaron leaned downward, the squirrel shifted on the trunk so only its quivering nose and one eye were visible.
Tunk.
Wood. He had reached the buried crate.
Thirty minutes later he cleared away the last dirt and pulled the cr
ate's lid free. Jefferson silver bars gleamed up at him. A massive fortune by ordinary standards; it was more than enough to meet his current needs for the next few years-- but that was not why he had come.
That reason lay beneath the silver bars.
Lifting the bars one by one, he laid them to the side. Beneath the bars was another box. Opening it, he looked down on more than two dozen wrapped items. He removed two, put the lid back on, and replaced the silver. After closing the lid, he reburied the crate, tamped the dirt down, and replaced the sod he had cut away.
Truthfully, Aaron had no need to be overly cautious. This place was so inaccessible that the chances of anyone finding it were slight. Then again, there was no reason to risk more than he had to.
Holding the packages, he stared at them. In his hands was the answer, but his mind had been too thick to see it until his body had been forced to relax.
"Okay," he whispered. "Now all I have to do is find her."
* * *
When Aaron approached Gerda the next day she was surrounded by the pungent smell of decayed plants and earth and so many other aromas that Aaron could not sort them out.
"I did not expect Death to come so soon." Gerda looked up with clouded eyes. Weeds and torn-up plants lay along the row she had been working on. Her garden patch was not large, but it was more than she could handle because of the bandages wrapped around her right thigh. An ugly gash marred her right cheek.
Aaron squatted beside her. "A new treaty, one favorable to the Thirty Clans, has been reached. I swear to you, Gerda, it will be enforced. I've seen to it."
Hands stilling, she looked doubtful. "I have heard this before."
"I made sure of it." Aaron insisted. "I own a large number of books--um--do you know what books are?"
"Yes. From Teacher."
"Isabella wants the information in those books very badly. I arranged matters so Isabella has to go through the Clan to get it. This time the Freelorn will be in control of the treaty's enforcement."
Gazing at her ruined garden, Gerda seemed to hear what Aaron said, but the words did not sink in. Her expression was thoughtful and sad and somehow lost.
"Books," she said absently. "There were books in the broch. A scout told me they found some up there just before I was killed."
Stunned apprehension ran through Aaron. Rising to his feet, he gazed around in search of other people. He had walked directly over to Gerda immediately upon transferring into Telven. He now realized she was the only person he had seen. Around them, the pathways were empty. The hills were bare of activity, and many of the fields lay fallow. Other fields were the black color of burned ash. From where he stood, he saw one of the longhouses, but its roof and part of its side were gone.
"Find others to enforce the treaty," Gerda said weakly. "The Freelorn are dying." She looked off into the distance. "Many have gone before me."
Black blood stained the bandages around her leg. Aaron realized that the confusing smells spoke of rotting flesh.
"Gerda," he asked gently, "Gerda, where are they? Where are the Freelorn? Where are they fighting?"
She pulled at another weed with shaking hands. "It's best to leave something good behind. I just wanted to leave something good behind."
Heat radiated off her skin; poison ran through her system. Nothing Aaron could do would save her. Not even Doc Gunther with his Talent Stone and Talent for healing could do more than ease her pain.
"Gerda. Gerda. Where are they Gerda? Where?"
She shook her head. "I don't--I don't remember. Broch--I think broch. Had to run for defense." Her head fell toward her chest. A pain-filled sob wrenched from her as her hand missed a weed and tugged a plant free. "Do something good," she whispered. "Just wanted to--."
When her strength finally gave out, she would fall to the ground and remain there until she died. Gerda might live for an hour, or a day, or even two days. Before the end she would be delirious and delusional. No one would care for her needs because Aaron Turner, her friend, had to be someplace else.
Aaron walked away while Gerda tried pulling one last weed with a shaking hand. He walked away and then turned back to face her, pulled free his revolver--
And shot her in the back of the head.
* * *
Arrows shot from the open windows. Some fell on raised shields; most missed their marks entirely. Guard members laughed and joked and pounded on wooden pins as they continued to assemble a catapult outside the broch.
Aaron counted forty-six bodies lying on the ground. Somebody released a victory cry. He looked up to see a woman's body fall from high in the broch, an arrow protruding from her eye.
His books were in that building, his books and the future of a people he had called friends and the future of children who had not yet had a chance to grow into adulthood. Inside that building was Patea, a little girl who once stuck a wad of rolled-up earwax in his mouth.
"Hey you! What are you--."
Grabbing his shoulder, a hand violently twisted him around. Sergeant Anderson's gaze bore into him before clearing with recognition. She relaxed.
"Mister Turner? Sir, I never thought to see you here. We never knew what happened to you."
Aaron returned her gaze sadly. "I've been looking at land," he said, voicing a not-complete lie. Back in Telven he had gathered Gerda in his arms and carried her up into the hills. Once there, he dug a hole and buried her in a shallow grave beneath the orange rays of a setting sun. When he finished, he looked at the wind waving grasses that stretched over the rolling hills and knew Gerda approved of his choice.
Sergeant Anderson beamed. Her face was dirty and smudged, and her clothing was torn. They stood on a charnel ground where some of her charges had died and more were dying. Soldiers lay in a row. Clan were piled at the base of the tower, and yet she smiled.
"There'll be more than enough land to go around soon. Once we get these blighters cleared out, this area will be safe for decent folks."
"No," Aaron said, feeling lost and grim. He looked at the bodies, and the unfinished catapult, and the broch where his friends prepared for death. He looked to the soldiers and saw a mistake so enormous that it would eventually kill tens of thousands.
His to do. Always, it was his to do.
"Sir?" Sergeant Anderson looked puzzled.
"It won't be safe," Aaron said. "The land won't be open for settling. There have been changes. A new treaty has been struck, and Colonel Wheeler is to be arrested for treason."
Sergeant Anderson shook her head. "No, sir. Oh no, sir. That can't be right. Colonel Wheeler assured us--."
"I have a letter," Aaron said. "I was going to deliver it in a few days but..." He waved a weak hand toward the carnage.
"COLONEL!" Sergeant Anderson's bellow drew the attention of everyone nearby.
Colonel Wheeler was there almost before the echoes died away. "Aaron Turner! How are you, boy? How do you like our little war?"
"You're starting a large war," Aaron told her.
"What? By killing off these few? Don't worry about it, lad. War is my business."
"These people belong to the Freelorn Clan." He felt wooden, like his soul was ash. "If you do this, the Freelorns will declare war against all of Isabella."
"Nonsense. All the savages will do is run. That's what they did after we wiped out their settlement outside of First Chance. That's what they will do here."
"They were a hodgepod of disparate clans," Aaron said, feeling cold. "These are the Freelorn, one of the largest clans left."
Sergeant Anderson broke in. "He says there's a new treaty."
Silently, Aaron handed his letter over. Colonel Wheeler took it, shook it out, and read it slowly. Her eyes were thoughtful when she finished.
"How many savages belong to this bunch of Clan?" she asked finally.
"Thousands," Aaron said. "Tens of thousands."
She nodded. "And you think the entire nation will declare war if we kill these few off?"
"I know it
."
"Well then, I don't see a problem. Sergeant Anderson."
Sergeant Anderson snapped to attention. "Ma'am!"
"Place Mister Turner under arrest for consorting with the enemy. We will execute him this evening after supper. Don't worry about the rest of it. No treaty will hold while a full-scale war is going on."
"Sorry, Mister Turner," Sergeant Anderson said. "I have to arrest you and then kill you. It's not personal."
"And neither is what I'm about to do," Aaron told her, knowing that his crime would be terrible beyond belief.
Flicker
* * *
More than six thousand horned lemmings were in the herd he found while falling through the sky. Sick at heart, Aaron focused on a cloud floating closer to the herd, transferred, and focused on another landmark while he fell, until he finally translated to the ground a hundred yards from the herd.
The horned lemmings were as he remembered. Sleek and graceful, deadly and insane.
Aaron lifted his .38. He sighted carefully, allowed his gaze to rest on the long-horned males, then on a particularly ugly short-horned female. Shifting his aim, he prayed for the salvation of his soul and shot a calf through the stomach.
"Braaaaaagh!"
As if they were all connected on a single string, every male in the herd turned and charged at Aaron while the females formed a protective circle around their young charges. A sea of pointed horns raced toward him.
Flicker
He appeared more than two miles away. Some destructive instinct led them unerringly toward him. Aaron looked toward his retreat, picked an area he had scouted earlier, and prayed his plan would work.
He had been told the horned lemmings were intelligent and vicious. Nothing dared threaten them, not even human hunters.
Nothing except Aaron Turner.
He had a long way to pull them. More than fifteen miles. Aaron hoped the animals had enough stamina and perseverance to complete the journey.