by J. D. Lakey
“I will tell you this. I wanted you to go looking into the Low … the weasel business, but no more. You will not find anything. There is nothing to find. There are things that only the Mothers know and they do not share.”
“How do you know this? Where did you go? By the Goddess! You didn’t ask Amabel did you?” Tam asked, eyes gone wide in horror at the thought. Cheobawn shook her head, her lips pressed together for fear that what she had told them so far might prove fatal.
“Did Brigit tell Raddoc about your table?” Alain asked, a worried look on his face.
Cheobawn shook her head again, glaring at her feet. She looked up.
“You will laugh. It was my own stupidity. I asked Brigit about the … weasels … this morning. She did not answer and I thought that was the end of it. I was wrong.”
“Did Mora come to the infirmary while Amabel was patching you up?” Megan asked suspiciously, her intuition dead on. Cheobawn nodded at her Packsister, grateful for her understanding.
“Do you know what happens in a Tribunal?” Cheobawn asked her.
“Sure. You go in front of the High Coven - I mean High Council - and they judge you. Why? Oh, Goddess …” the older girl gasped, her eyes gone wide as she figured it out.
“It is nothing nearly so civilized,” Cheobawn said calmly. “They are like five great, fat hunting cats playing with a stone lizard. Batting it around until it bleeds from a dozen wounds. Then when the lizard lies still, too spent to even run away, do they put it out of its misery? No. They walk away as if it meant nothing, as if the lizard bored them. Perhaps it did mean nothing but the lizard is still beaten, broken, and bleeding.” Much to her own surprise, Cheobawn began to cry.
“Don’t be sad, wee bit,” Tam said softly trying to gather her in his arms.
She pushed him away and wiped her eyes. “Gah! Get off! Do I look that pathetic? I was just feeling sorry for that stupid imaginary lizard.” she sniffed. “I’m starving. Did anyone save some of their lunch?”
Tam did not look convinced but he obliged her by dropping the subject, organizing a food hunt instead.
Between the lot of them, they managed to scrounge up half a bag of trail rations and a sad looking bog apple. She ate it, too hungry to be picky.
Her Pack watched her eat, odd looks on their faces. It was fear. She had scared them. It could not be helped.
Connor looked around his silent Pack. He had a particularly confused look on his face.
“So? What? Have they won?” he asked, disgusted with them all. “Cheobawn gets beat up by the Coven and we flutter around like a fenhen playing broke-wing? Are we going to keep on pretending we are obedient little rule-followers forever?”
Tam cleared his throat, all the while staring at his little Ear. Cheobawn ignored him, too intent on eating to look up. The Pack’s alpha smiled as if he were amused by something that was not meant to be amusing.
“What?” asked Alain uneasily, wary of that look from long, hard experience. Nothing good ever came after Tam got that look.
“It’s nothing. I was just remembering what Hayrald said to us before our first foray. About the nature of Cheobawn’s gift. I don’t think we have to go looking for trouble. Trouble will come hunting us.”
Cheobawn looked up at Tam’s face, trying gauge the emotions that lay under his smile. Peacemaking was all well and good, his smile seemed to say, but sometimes a warrior leapt into the fray just for the joy of doing battle. It was the thing, she realized, that they had most in common.
“I am going to remind you of this moment,” she growled, smiling.
“I know. Did I not just say it? I know.”
Chapter Nine
By the fifth day of their duty in the maintenance hut, Finn trusted them to leave them on their own all day. After seeing that they were all gainfully employed, he went out on errands. He seemed confident they had learned their lesson and would think twice about doing anything foolish.
Alain and Connor were busy dismantling and reassembling an electric motor pulled from a cart after the Shadowwall Pack had complained that it was running poorly. Megan and Cheobawn put the finishing touches on their wing assembly, Megan had found a scrap of spidersilk in the sewing rooms to use as a membrane and Cheobawn had helped her tack it in place.
As soon as Finn disappeared around the corner of the dome, Tam jumped up to follow.
“Stay here until I get back,” he said over his shoulder.
“Where are you going, just in case I have to lie for you,” Alain said, assuming the worst.
Tam smiled, shaking his head. “It’s a surprise,” he said. “I don’t want to spoil it. Wait and see.”
Lunch came and went. Tam had still not returned. Megan decided they needed to test their wing, so she took it outside. Standing well clear of the building, she threw it like a spear. It fell with a soft thud into the dust, the sails between the membranes not finding enough air to fully extend the collapsible struts.
“Well, that was fun,” she said dryly.
“Maybe adding the tail made it too heavy,” Cheobawn ventured, staring sadly at their invention. It looked like a pale skyhunter had fallen out of the sky.
“Maybe it just needs a running start,” Megan said. She picked it up and spread the struts once more. Lifting it high over her head, she ran down the dirt road. The wind filled the sails and the struts stiffened, the memory steel in the joints responding to the added energy by spreading themselves wide. The tall girl tossed the kite into the air.
Cheobawn watched the mechanism critically. It had taken her most of a day to get the extruder to make the joints for her. Finn, at loose ends with all his apprentices being out in the fields either harvesting or maintaining equipment, had been more than glad to help by explaining the menus in the extruder’s complex programming. He shared that strange quality common to all Masters, a passionate love of his craft and the ability to expound for hours about the simplest subjects. All Cheobawn had to do was look interested, nod occasionally, and pretend she knew what he was saying. She didn’t - not really. She got tangled up in the words. It helped to listen with one ear open in the ambient as Finn had a very visual mind. Shapes, colors, and strings of numbers streamed out of his head when he was trying to explain something. It was as if Finn made you learn just by sheer force of will. She and Finn passed hours in this way; him talking while she absorbed his passion from the ambient.
The kite had amused Finn. He had called it pretty.
The wing hovered for a moment after Megan threw it, before falling into the dust once more. Megan picked it up and lugged it forlornly back to where Cheobawn stood. Cheobawn, not about to give up, looked around.
“Give it here. I have an idea,” she said, taking the wing from Megan. She carried it over to a stack of green lumber curing under its protective tarp. Tossing it up on top, she followed, free climbing up the stack using the tie down ropes for handholds.
“You are just going to throw it off, right?” Megan insisted.
“Oh yeah, sure,” Cheobawn said, standing on the back edge of the stack. She set her toes, lifted the wing above her head, her hands around the main struts, helping them stay rigid. Then she put her nose into the wind and sprinted down the long stack of wood.
“Cheobawn, no!” yelled Megan, as if she knew what her small friend was going to do before she did herself. Perhaps she did. Cheobawn felt the wind resistance vibrate through her hands as she picked up speed. It seemed a shame to let go when she reached the end of the pile, so she didn’t. Instead she leaped off into the air with a whoop of joy.
Megan’s was not the only voice shouting at her as she half fell, half flew down to the ground but she did not have time to listen. She was too busy watching the wing over her head. In the few seconds of flight, she saw what they had done right and began planning their next wing design.
At the very last moment, she remembered to roll as she landed but she forgot to let go of the wing. She tumbled, tangled up in spidersilk and plasteel
struts. A joint gave way with a sharp pop followed by the unmistakable sound of ripping silk. She didn’t care. It was worth it. Cheobawn rolled out from under the ruined wing, laughing in delight.
“Did you see that?” she yelled excitedly. “That was so amazing. We need to make the next one bigger and find somewhere higher to jump …”
“Absolutely not,” Tam snapped, his voice slicing through the fun like a knife.
Tam was back. Cheobawn beamed up at him, glad that he had seen her fly. Surely he could see the fun possibilities in such a toy. Sure, he was mad, now. She had scared him. But after he got over the shock he would come around.
But right now, Tam’s face reminded her of Mora’s face when her mother thought Cheobawn was being particularly dense. He turned away, his glare finding Megan.
“I thought you said you were building a kite.”
“We were. I was, at least. Who knew she was inventing a new way to kill herself,” Megan said with an apologetic shrug.
“Oh, come on,” Cheobawn said in exasperation, as she brushed the dust out of her hair. “It worked. Did you see how far I went? I was just too heavy, is all. We need a bigger wing surface to accommodate more weight.”
“I’ll help you build the next one,“ volunteered Connor, a gleam of interest in his eyes. “What do you think? Twice as big?”
“At least,” agreed Cheobawn enthusiastically, spreading the wing to its full length. At twice her height it had seemed enormous and more than adequate. So much for guessing.
“More like five times as big. Let me do the math on it,“ Alain said, kicking the kite, obviously intrigued by the problem.
“Nobody is building another death machine,” Tam said firmly. “This is our last day on Maintenance duty. I’ve pulled a few strings. We start stable duty the day after Restday.”
The Pack turned and stared at him, speechless.
“You are kidding, right?” Alain breathed out in disbelief. “You want us to muck out the stables for a week?”
“This is your surprise?” Megan asked in horror. “Punishment duty?”
Tam shook his head in frustration. This was obviously not going the way he had intended.
“Just because you don’t like to do things doesn’t make it a punishment. Stable duty is a sought after vocation. The apprenticeship spots are hard to get. You have to show real talent for handling animals. I thought that if Cheobawn could not have a pet, then maybe she could have the next best thing and learn to work with the fenelk.”
“I wanted something to sleep with,” Cheobawn said faintly, horrified that he thought a beast the size of a small hut could be any substitute for a dog. Alain sniggered.
“They have nasty tempers and their feet are twice as big as her head. She is going to get squished, for sure,” Connor said in delighted anticipation. Cheobawn punched him in the shoulder. Tam scowled, ignoring them all.
“I talked to Vinara, the head drover. I told her Megan was interested in becoming a drover. They just started training a new group of apprentices so she said we can audit the sessions to see if animal husbandry was a specialty we wanted to study.”
“Only girls can become drovers. What are we supposed to do while the girls learn how to ride?” Alain asked, acidly.
“I don’t even like fenelk,“ Megan said, to no one in particular.
“There is more to stable duty than just riding,” Tam said, his growing annoyance apparent in his voice.
“Yeah? Like what?” asked Connor.
“Like … Tell you what. Why don’t you look it up for yourselves. You’ve got two and a half days. Study up on the subject of caravans, fenelk, and proper ways to load pack saddles in your spare time so you don’t all come off looking like a bunch of bubble heads come Firstday.”
With that Tam turned and stalked back towards the North Gate, muttering under his breath. Connor scampered after him. Megan shrugged fatalistically and fell in step behind them. She had learned to pick her battles with Tam in the last year. This was obviously one she did not think she could win.
Cheobawn watched them leave and then looked forlornly down at her wing. It really had worked. Now she would have no chance to prove it. Why would no one ever listen to her? She nudged it with her toe, trying really hard not to be angry about the unfairness of the whole affair. Being the youngest and the smallest was sometimes more burden than benefit.
Alain joined her, studying the kite.
“The way the struts popped open, right there at the end, that was brilliant. Did you think that up all on your own?” he asked, stooping down to spread the wing between his fingers. “Too bad the silk tore.”
“It would have been fine if I hadn’t used it as a landing pad,” she said, annoyed with herself.
Alain gathered the kite up, folding the struts back against each other, moving them slowly so as not to trigger the memory steel, being careful of the broken section. He stood, tucking it under his arm and then held out his hand to Cheobawn. Cheobawn scowled up at him but finally relented and took his hand.
“Do you mind if I take this and study it? I am suddenly inspired to learn about airfoils.”
“Whatever,” Cheobawn said, scuffing her toes in the fine dust. She was trying hard not to feel offended by Tam’s brutish manners but was not very successful.
“He thought it would please you, the stable duty,” Alain said softly as they walked slowly back to the dome.
“Yeah? I’ll bet he thinks I should act grateful even if I am not.” she growled. Alain was silent for a moment, perhaps not wishing to annoy her further. He finally broke the silence as they approached the gate.
“Zeff’s dog, Lady, likes to catch the little treehoppers,” Alain mused.
“Huh? What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Nothing. It’s just that she likes to bring them back to Zeff, sometimes alive, sometimes half eaten. She puts them at his feet. Zeff says she is trying to teach him to hunt because she thinks he is a little slow when it comes to catching his own dinner. He never yells at her. He just thanks her kindly and then disposes of the bodies when she is not looking.”
Cheobawn scowled at the ground, digesting this. Alain was still talking about Tam, it seemed.
“So I am to pretend I like the gift while I suffer in silence?” she asked doubtfully.
“Perhaps. But Tam is not a dog. Instead of yelling about what you don’t like, maybe you should let him know what would please you more so that next time he wants to shower you with gifts he will be closer to the mark.”
Cheobawn cocked her head, listening to the possibilities behind this suggestion. Were all Packs like this, everyone dancing around each other, trying to create good feelings without triggering the bad? She only had intimate knowledge of Mora’s Pack. That was not a good example, what with Mora being bossy and Hayrald having to obey her. A thought sucked the breath out of her lungs. Would she and Tam become like Mora and Hayrald when they got old? Cheobawn pressed her lips together, wishing with all her might that would not come to pass.
Chapter Ten
On Firstday, after the Pack had seen to their chores, lessons, training, and practice sessions and Cheobawn had done the same with her class of the underagers, they all met up in the Common Room for lunch. The older children were halfway through lunch when Cheobawn filled up her plate in the serving line and then slid, breathless, onto the bench next to Alain. Without any preamble, she shoved a whole fruit tart into her mouth.
“Pie is for dessert. Eat your meat first,” Megan sighed in exasperation.
“Mmmph,” Cheobawn said, picking up another pie as she chewed and swallowed.
“They aren’t as good cold,” Connor interpreted for her, taking a bite out of one of his own. Purple juice ran down his chin. “Ya gotta eat them while the innards are still hot and runny to get the full effect.”
Cheobawn gulped down her pie and grinned a purple grin at him. Connor giggled.
“I love berry season. Nedella bakes the best pies,
” Cheobawn said, taking a deep sniff of the pie in her hand. “It will be Darknight Eve before we see berry pies again. The Mothers hoard the preserves in the lock boxes in the Pantries and only bring them out for feast days.”
“Good thing. You little kids would just eat them until you got sick,” Tam observed, as he polished off his third roll after cleaning up the gravy on his plate with it.
“Who are you calling little?” growled Connor, waving his fork in a very aggressive manner.
His timing was unfortunate. Nedella, who happened to be passing by on one of her many surveys of the dinning room, stopped and flicked Connor in the ear with a finger. Connor yelped. Cheobawn blinked in surprise. She had not heard her coming nor had she been aware of the Master chef’s presence until the last moment. It was almost magical, the stealth by which the tall Mother navigated her domain. To Cheobawn, it was one of her most admirable qualities, taking second only to her berry tarts.
“None of that in my dinning room, Little Father. Mind your manners. Animals eat out back and don’t get dessert, as you may well remember,” Nedella said sternly.
“Thank you, Mother,” Tam said as Connor rubbed his abused ear. “I have a hard time keeping the young ones in line.” He sounded like an oldpa. Cheobawn ducked her head down and tried not to giggle until Nedella had passed.
“I see you, Cheobawn,” Nedella growled “Don’t be giving me any of your airs. I’ve seen you eat when Mora isn’t around, like the food is going to get up and run away if you don’t shove it in fast enough. You’d think Mora starved you which I know is not true. You better listen to your Alpha if you want to make your Pack proud.”
Cheobawn sat up straight, threw her shoulders back, and tried to make sure her elbows were nowhere near the edge of the table as she blinked innocently at the scowling cook.
“Yes, Mother, I will try to do better. Thank you for the reminder,” she said politely. She knew she had the tone and the facial expression just right. It helped to practice in front of the mirror, saying the words over and over again. That phrase had gotten her out of many a sticky situation with an Elder.