Traveller's Refuge

by Anny Cook

  Dawn was barely a hint in the overcast sky when the driver of the car-carrier pulled into a truck stop on the edge of the Washington, D.C. metroplex. Trav patiently waited until he saw the driver seated at a window-side table in the twenty-four-hour restaurant. After the man ordered and got up to find a restroom, Trav slipped out of his hiding place, dropping down next to the truck. He waited a few minutes before walking to a small stand of trees behind the collection of trash bins in back of the restaurant.

  Once he was hidden deep in the trees, he slipped off his jacket, turned it inside out and slipped it back on. A collection of grimy motorcycle patches nearly disappeared against the scratched background of stained leather. Next he wrapped his head in a faded red bandana, slipped one silver skull earring through the hole in his left ear and toed off his running shoes, exchanging them for heavily scuffed black leather boots. A chain running from his jeans belt loop to his wallet completed his new appearance. As a final touch he put on a pair of wire-rimmed glasses with small clear oval lenses tinted gray.

  He thought longingly of a hot breakfast complete with eggs, bacon and hash browns but the risk was too great to spend that much time around people. A quick trip to the john followed by a cup of coffee and a package of cupcakes was going to be risky enough.

  “Now that has to be one of your more interesting disguises,” a soft voice drawled from the shadows behind him. “I thought Dance was good but I do believe you’ve outdone him this time.”

  Trav froze, trying to pinpoint the location of the speaker. A shadowy presence coalesced out of the darkness, though he couldn’t see him clearly. “Angie?”

  “That’s me.” The tall, dark-haired man stepped closer. “Boy, you have more luck than any ten Irishmen. Free’s got someone stashed at every truck stop between here and Baltimore.”

  “He must be really scraping the bottom if he put my own uncle on watch. What’s the reward up to?” Trav inquired curiously.

  “Two mil and counting. You don’t have much time so you better get in there and get something to eat. Shift change is in forty minutes and my replacement shows up early sometimes.” Angie squatted down on his haunches next to Trav’s baggage and gestured for him to move along. “I’ll keep an eye on your stuff while you’re gone. Make it snappy.”

  Without a word, Trav turned on his heel and moved around the dumpsters until he reached the far side of the restaurant. After one last searching glance around the open spaces surrounding the restaurant, he headed for the door. The secret to being unnoticeable was simple. Don’t look around. Act like you know where you’re going. Act like you have a purpose. Don’t make eye contact.

  As Trav opened the door, his eyes swept the entire area in a quick comprehensive survey. Without hesitation, he headed directly to the restrooms in the back of the small quick-mart. With relief, he saw that they were individual one-at-a-time rooms. Slipping inside, he locked the door and took care of business. Bathroom breaks were the biggest problem when a man—or woman—was on the run. It was the most vulnerable time, when your pants were down and you were unable to observe your surroundings. Guys had a marginal advantage because of the “standing-up vs. sitting-down” issue but eventually, no matter how tough the guy was, standing up wasn’t going to get the job done.

  Traveller cleaned up, as quickly as humanly possible, checking himself out in the blurry mirror hung over the dirty rust-stained sink. When the toilet ceased running, he turned off the light-blower switch and leaned against the cold door listening intently.

  “You think he’ll show?” The sleepy tenor voice came through with startling clarity.

  “Nah, I think he’s probably in Kansas by now.” The deeper growl was more alert but clearly disinterested. “Get your coffee and we’ll go find Angelo and send him home.”

  “I wish I knew what the hell this was all about.”

  “No, you don’t.” Deep Voice spoke with curt authority. “You don’t want to know. You don’t want to see. You weren’t even here, Kevin. Got that?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I got it. Shit, I just was thinking.”

  “Well, don’t think. Go pay for our coffee so we can get out of here.”

  “Can’t we take the time to get a sandwich? The restaurant sells those egg and bacon sandwiches on a bagel. I nearly starved yesterday.”

  “Fine, fine. Get one. Get two. Just hurry! I’ll wait for you in the van.”

  Trav listened to them walk away. Counting to three, he opened the door and slipped out, heading for the rear exit which passed the showers and bunks for the truckers. With a quick look around, he moved into the shadows of the trash bins, ducked into the woods and silently approached Angie.

  Angelo turned in his direction and shot him a curious look. “Back so soon?”

  “Yeah. You know someone named Kevin?”

  “Shit. Yeah, he’s my replacement. You saw him?”

  “Nope but I sure heard him. And FYI, he’s got company. I slipped out the back.”

  “What the hell is up?” Angie demanded fiercely.

  “I think that dear old Free is setting you up for a fall. I’ve got to beat feet, Uncle. Thanks for keeping an eye on my stuff.” Trav grabbed his bags and walked farther into the woods.

  “Trav? What the fuck is going on?”

  Turning on one heel, Traveller faced Angie and replied, “Mom and Dad. Free had them murdered. And Teacher. We’re pretty sure he got rid of Tracer and Raven. That’s what it’s all about. Go home, Angie. Keep your mouth shut and your eyes closed or he’ll add you to the list.” He turned away. “Get out of here, Ange. Don’t make them come looking for you.”

  “Traveller!” Angelo softly called his nephew’s name. “You said that Free got rid of Tracer and Raven. You don’t think they’re really dead? The bodies in that burned-out car were positively identified, Trav.”

  “Yeah, they were,” Trav admitted from the gloomy woods as he stripped off his jacket and reversed the purple lining with the Ravens logo so it was on the outside. He toed off his boots and slipped on his Nikes. “But it doesn’t take much to switch dental records if you have enough pull, Angie.” Yanking the handkerchief from his head, he stuffed it in his pocket and slipped on a Ravens ball cap. “I spent six months tracking down every bit of rumor, innuendo and gossip I could find. I’m pretty sure he sent them to a couple of old enemies as a bribe.”

  Angelo whistled softly between his teeth. “Who?”

  “Rachid Ben Omani and Gautier Deniau.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Exactly. Given their proclivities, I’m guessing that Tracer went to Ben Omani and Raven went to Deniau,” Trav speculated grimly. “Rachid’s preference for young men is very well documented just as Gautier’s reputation for fucking young girls is well known.” He silently picked up his bags. “I’m going now, Uncle Angie.”

  Between one blink and the next, he was gone.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Angie continued his litany of curses as he made his way past the dumpsters to his car. He leaned against the hood and lit a cigarette as he considered the information Trav had piled on him. “Shit!”

  Kevin’s deep blue Chevy van nosed up behind Angelo’s dented green Toyota. He readily identified Kevin’s companion and silently cursed again. Carl DeMarko, the coldest son of a bitch on the planet. If Free had set him loose on Trav and Dance, they were in big trouble.

  Cautiously, he approached the other vehicle on Kevin’s side. “You’re early,” he observed with a yawn. “Couldn’t wait to be bored to death?”

  “Nah. Carl wanted to get here early so he could check it out. I take it that nothing happened?”

  “Two drunks got in a fight. That was about it.” Angelo pinched out his cigarette butt and tossed it into a battered rusty oil drum. “If you’re ready to take over, I’m going to get something to eat before I head home.”

  Chapter Three

  Two mornings later, sunrise broke across Mystic Valley, throwing beaming rays of light over the training field. Tyger and Llyon
danced the deadly Grimahr Dance against Arano and Arturo in the pearly mist rising from the wet grass. Arturo’s first-level students stood attentively outside the marked circle, intently studying the moves of the dancers as they demonstrated the flowing combinations of individual moves the students had practiced in class. The contrast between the two teams, Ty and Ly with their flaming red warrior braids and pale green shardas and Arano and Arturo, dark knights with snapping black braids and dark gray shardas, made it easy to pick out the ways each team worked together.

  Wolfe lounged against the wall of their training hall, well back from the action and absently watched the fluid movement in the circle while he wrestled with the knowledge Wrenna had dumped on him. As far as he could tell, she still hadn’t informed Dai or Llyon that she had begun schalzina. Wolfe struggled with the unpalatable choices he faced—to break her confidence and tell Dai himself—or accept the responsibility of serving as her healer. Neither choice was to his liking.

  On the field, Arturo flung up one muscular blue arm and shouted, “Hold!” The action stopped immediately and his fellow dancers relaxed around him. After a brief muttered conversation, Ty, Ly and Arano nodded and walked off the field, heading for the bridge over the river. Wordlessly, Wolfe joined them as they headed for the main house and breakfast.

  Llyon shot him a curious glance, quirked an eyebrow and waited for an answer. Wolfe shook his head in reply and broke off to go to the bedroom he shared with Hawke. He would have liked to bounce his dilemma off Llyon but Ly was no idiot. He would immediately deduce the details and how was that different from just telling him straight out? In any case, Llyon had strong feelings about Wolfe’s refusal to accept his healing skills. Certainly, he wouldn’t be a sympathetic ear.

  When Wolfe and Hawke joined the others in the kitchen for breakfast, he saw that his agonizing had been wasted after all. Wrenna sat at the table sipping on wachaz tea, the standard remedy to suppress early schalzina and stomach cramping. The strong scent of the tea filled the air, nearly overpowering the other familiar odors of baking bread and sizzling hopper slices on the griddle.

  From Wrenna’s rebellious, stiff posture, it was clear that she was annoyed to be the subject of discussion among the males milling around the kitchen. “I still don’t see where this is your business. Any of you!” she observed acidly, shaking her head for emphasis. Her loosely skewered topknot of fine red silken hair threatened to tumble down. Wolfe squelched every clamoring instinct and reached out to firmly anchor the thick braid into a neatly wrapped knot. Wrenna ignored his ministrations as she pointed out, “Not a single one of you can change the circumstances. And none of you can possibly empathize with the symptoms!”

  An embarrassed silence fell over the room. Wolfe delicately cleared his throat and carefully pointed out, “We love you. We’re concerned for you. It’s a built-in part of being a male sib.”

  When Wrenna turned her head to look up at him, her eyes met his and after a brief war, hers fell first. “It would help a lot if everyone didn’t make such an issue of it,” she admitted grudgingly. “It’s difficult enough when such a personal feminine problem is so public. Now I know how Eppie felt when she was waiting for Dancer. I don’t walk around discussing every instance when one of you has an erection!”

  “Maybe you should,” Dai said with a brief twitch of his lips. “It would be more honest than ignoring it.” Her brothers shifted uneasily under the healer’s sharp green eyes. Then Dai shot a glittering rapier glance at Wolfe. “I will see you after breakfast in your papa’s office, Wolfe. We have much to discuss. As for the rest of you…”

  “I’m sure we all have somewhere to be,” Tyger interjected hastily. “Hawke and I have a meeting about a loom—”

  “I have patients to visit—” Ly offered immediately.

  “I’ll be at Silence’s, helping her get rid of Homer’s stuff—” Arano jumped up and started passing out the platters as Dai filled them with steaming peekie eggs and hopper slices.

  Arturo slipped into the kitchen just as Dai finished up. Silently, he sat next to Arano and applied himself to the task of eating. After a thoughtful look at his bowed head, Dai merely asked, “Will you be available to fix breakfast for the younglings, Arturo?”

  With a curt nod, Arturo agreed.

  “I will wake them before I meet with Wolfe. Since your papa has taken your mama down to my retreat to rest, I believe that eating in two shifts will work best. Any objections?” he inquired mildly. Merlyn and Jade didn’t rear stupid children. Everyone concentrated on eating.

  Hawke finished first, of course. It seemed that there wasn’t enough food in the entire valley to keep him full during his current growth spurt. Without a word, Dai took his platter and filled it again. When he handed it back, Hawke noticed belatedly that his younger sister was missing. “Where is Robyn this morning?”

  “She’s gone down to Ciara’s for a week of training. I sent her down to Dai’s Hamlet because Ciara offered to include her in her class on infusions for pain and headache. Since she doesn’t have the class very often, I thought it best to accept Ciara’s suggestion, even though Robyn’s needed here because your parents are gone. While she’s down there she can find out what color glazes Ciara needs on her salve pots. Arturo has volunteered to help cook. I would appreciate it very much if the rest of you help when your schedules permit.”

  There was some hasty mental reshuffling of personal schedules to accommodate the changed family circumstances and then some more reshuffling when Dai added, “I don’t want Wrenna in the hot kitchen. Heat will make her schalzina symptoms worse.”

  Wrenna thought to object but changed her mind when she saw the determined expression on Dai’s face. The old silver-haired healer had kept the valley residents in line for over thirty years. In a place where the average adult male was well over six and a half feet, no one intimidated like Dai despite his short five-foot stature. Truthfully, she admitted, she hated cooking and she hated the clinging heat in the kitchen and she hated doing dishes. Prudently, she sipped her tea and kept quiet.

  Once breakfast was finished, she sidled out the side door and headed down toward the river to her pottery dome, trying to keep her legs apart as she walked. Schalzina brought with it a constant state of damp arousal. Her wet thighs rubbed uncomfortably together. Her thin meerlim always had damp stains on the skirt. Mama said that was one of the few drawbacks to the lack of underwear in the valley. Wrenna shuddered with distaste at the idea of cloth rubbing against her sensitive labia.

  The entire moon before had been stormy with heavy cold rains after Eppie and Dancer’s bonding storm but now the weather was back to the normal stifling heat of summer. In another eight-day, it would be Mid-Summer. Usually, there was a festival with the summer market and picnic over in the training field. All of the bonded women prepared their best sweet dishes and there was a competition. Entire families arrived from all over the valley and camped on the field in lightweight hurkas.

  She wondered who would judge the competitions this year. Mama and Papa were away on retreat down at Dai’s Retreat. Llyon and Tyger were mostly in seclusion because they had sworn a covenant bond the same night of the bonding storm. Of course, Eppie and Dancer were also in seclusion. After all, their bonding ritual was the reason for the bonding storm!

  She hummed as she spent some time sorting through the extra pots, vases, jugs and dishes she had prepared for sale at the market day. Most years, she made enough barter credits to make up over half her yearly credits. There were three market days per year—spring, summer and fall. Summer market day was the largest and had the most participants. With most of the villages in the valley isolated and far apart, the market days were opportunities to acquire or sell items that were unavailable the rest of the year. Tyger offered fine lengths of cloth. Llyon usually had extra small pots of commonly used salves. Arano and Arturo spent the late winter and spring tanning skins from their trapping. At least they always had until Arturo was attacked earlier this spri
ng.

  When she was satisfied that her proposed offerings were the best of her inventory, she set up supplies and prepared to make the deep baking pans Dan the baker had ordered—fifteen round bread pans for the chewy sunflower bread he made, twenty narrow oval pans for the dark pungent wachaz loaves and eight flat baking plates for the flat barbahla bread. The baking dishes were the last of her current orders to be completed and if her schalzina was any indication, it was none too soon. Once Traveller arrived in the valley, they would bond and enter their three moons of seclusion.