Bhotta's Tears: Book Two of the Black Bead Chronicles

by J. D. Lakey

  Nedella scowled down at all their cherubic smiles, not fooled in the least. “Gah! Enough. Finish up. Serving line closes in ten minutes. Don’t you have lessons or work details you need to be at?”

  With that parting shot, Nedella sailed gracefully away, her skirts swaying gently, her slippers sliding silently over the highly polished stone floor, pausing occasionally to swipe her ever present dish towel over the already pristine tables. Nedella’s apprentices would not have dared to leave so much as a fingerprint for her to find. She was a tough taskmaster, having no tolerance for fools. Which made the fact that there was a waiting list to get into her apprenticeship spots all the more puzzling. Cheobawn stared after the tall Mother, deep in thought, her lunch forgotten.

  Tam glanced up at the chronometer on the wall.

  “Move it,” he said, gathering up his tray. “We need to be in the stables by last bell. What do we all know about fenelk that we didn’t know before?”

  Connor jumped up with his tray and fell into step behind Tam. “They weigh around two tons and stand as tall as two grown men at the shoulder. You can’t ride one without a strong psi connection which is why girls become drovers. Boys become wranglers because the wranglers have to be big and strong to get the packs and saddles on them,” he said enthusiastically.

  “The healers cut off their dew claws at birth and remove the tusks and antlers when they are yearlings to keep them from killing their drovers by accident,” Alain added. “Being a drover used to be a lot more dangerous than it is now. The mortality rate was …”

  “Alain,” Tam growled, flicking his eyes towards Megan. Megan scowled at both of them.

  “The surgery is more to protect them from themselves in the close working conditions of the caravans,” she said, unfazed by Alain’s bloodthirsty admiration. “It is far more dangerous being a wrangler, because you have to work under their bellies, closer to the hind claws. Drovers are very rarely injured. Their psi link with their animals prevents it. Fenelk measure 3 : 3 on the psionic scales, receiving being about equal to sending. Not great but enough to establish a link so the drovers can get them to behave. Drover training involves classes in advanced meditation and visualization.”

  They dumped their trays and slid them into the wash bin slot. Cheobawn shoved the last couple of meat balls into her mouth and grabbed her roll before following behind. Tam looked back at her, waiting expectantly.

  “What?” she said around a mouthful of meat and bread.

  “Fenelk? You did study, right?”

  Cheobawn chewed slowly, stalling for time. Truth be told, she did not find fenelk that interesting. The domesticated ones, at least. The wild ones, out on the mountain, had minds filled with the simple pleasures of wandering the forests in search of grazing. Sometimes a predator would try to take one down but but few were big enough or stupid enough to want to brave two tons of enraged flesh armed with all sorts of horns, tusks, and claws. Even fuzzy gangs, the swarms of tiny animals that were no more than balls of fur with teeth, were leery of them and would only take a fenelk on if there was nothing else available. In the fall, the high meadows would ring with the bugling calls of the males, their minds gone all foggy with their hunger for a herd of females to boss around and protect against all rivals. She would listen to them, lying in her bed at night, until their minds grew dark with exhaustion.

  By comparison the caravan fenelk were just plain boring. They were all female, for one thing. The Fathers would ride out in the spring to capture a bull. The healers would milk him of his seed before releasing him back into the wild. The closest the dull minded domestic animals came to the pleasure of the rut was having the drovers insert the semen capsules, after Amabel injected them to counteract the anti-birth drugs that stopped their estrous cycles, a process she had witnessed in confused horror when she was four, while Amabel and Mora chatted on about the finer points of breeding over her head.

  No, fenelk were not fun. The stables hung in the ambient like a mind numbing vacuous void of mild contentment. Cheobawn suspected that if she opened up the gates in an attempt to set them free, they would ignore her and continue chewing with their noses buried in their mangers.

  Tam cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow. Alain nodded encouragingly behind his back as if to remind her of something. Cheobawn swallowed the wad of food in her mouth, reaching for something – anything - to say.

  “Uh, one of the fenelk has toe rot. Vinara is worried about it. She doesn’t want to have to put it down because it is pregnant with twins. One of the fetuses is male. I don’t know why. Amabel usually makes sure the calves are female. Perhaps she is trying to breed a more docile bull. Vinara’s Pack brought in a fresh remuda from the high meadows. The tame ones talk to the wild ones, out there. They remember they were once free, hundreds of generations ago which makes them forget they are tame. They set the others off when they bring them in for caravan and everyone begins to misbehave. One of the wranglers got stepped on this morning. He is in the infirmary. He might lose a few toes.”

  Her Pack stared at her for a moment, digesting this information.

  “Not exactly what I had in mind,” Tam said, with an enigmatic nod, “but good information to have. Let’s go.”

  He jogged them across the plaza and down the avenue towards the South Gate, only stopping at the changing room to replace their village slippers with sturdy, hard-toed work boots.

  Chapter Eleven

  Tam exchanged his yellow token for a red one at the South Gate. Yellow was the apprentice’s color, given to those Packs who went out every day to work in the fields or stables or to perform maintenance duty. The guard, an oldpa named Bindle, took it with a grunt, waving them through after checking them against the apprentice lists.

  The stables, as with all domes, lay in the lee of the main dome, sheltered from the worst of the winter storms that blew in over the top of the Dragons Spine mountains. A modified half dome had been grown there, tightly spaced grill work replacing the transparent panels everywhere but overhead. The solidly built wooden barns all faced the central courtyard.

  Vinara stood in the middle of the stone-paved yard, scratching the jaw of a fenelk hitched to a post. A feed bag was hanging from its halter. It chewed contentedly, not bothering to look up as the Pack approached.

  The animal was the color of the deep cover under a forest canopy, its shaggy fur shades of sable. The boney plates on its head were a mottling of mossy green and bark brown. Next to the beast, Vinara looked tiny, though she was one of the tallest women in the dome. She could have walked under the beast’s belly without ducking her head.

  The drover noted their approach, watching them with her tawny eyes out of a face so sun browned it matched the color of her riding leathers. Even her hair, tightly braided to fall over each shoulder, got lost in the monochromatic sameness.

  Vinara tossed her head, sending the braids flying, planted her fists on her round hips, and threw back her shoulders. The leather stretched taut over the soft mounds of her breasts. On any other woman, this would have made her softer, more approachable. Not Vinara. There was a hint of a threat that if you displeased her she might grab you with one of those fists and toss you into a manure pile

  Tam led his Pack towards her. The head drover held up her hand as they drew nearer.

  “First lesson of animal husbandry,” Vinara called, her voice clear and strong even at a distance. “Never surprise your animals. They need to feel you, see you, smell you, and hear you. If you sneak up behind them, they will think you are a predator. One at a time, circle around to the front of the animal, clear your mind, thinking only calm thoughts and make this sound as you approach.” Vinara made a soft, guttural whuffing sound, blowing her breath out hard. The fenelk at her elbow shook its head and pushed at her back with the boney plate that ran from its horn stubs to the tip of its nose. “Well? We don’t have all day. The other apprentices are a week ahead of you and have already done the basics.”

  Alain and Connor l
ooked at each other and eased back one step. Tam gave them an acid look. Cheobawn made sure she was behind Alain.

  Really, she thought, whoever thought turning an animal the size of a tool shed into a saddle mount must have been having a heatstroke that day.

  Megan looked at her Pack and shook her head in disgust. She stepped forward, easing sideways until the fenelk caught sight of her and was tracking her with its eyes. Vinara nodded encouragingly. Megan approached, blowing out. It was more a wheeze than a whuff but the fenelk did not seem to care. It flicked its large ears forward and dropped its head down to Megan’s level, snuffling in interest. Megan slowly raised a hand and scratched the ruff along its jaw line.

  “Good, good,” Vinara said. “Stand over there, behind the post. Next.”

  Tam grabbed Cheobawn and shoved her forward. Cheobawn squeaked in surprise, glaring over her shoulder at him. Move it, his fingers said. She wrinkled her nose at him.

  Turning, she studied the creature in the center of the courtyard, trying to remember what Vinara had said.

  What was first? Let it see you. Cheobawn sidled cautiously sideways, trying to think invisible thoughts. The fenelk caught sight of her and turned its head, its ears up. Cheobawn froze. Something brushed against her mind. Cheobawn reached out to taste it.

  The fenelk was confused. Between its poor vision and the overabundance of scents in the courtyard, it was reduced to checking the ambient to confirm her identity. Cheobawn thought silent thoughts and took one slow, cautious step towards it.

  The fenelk jerked its head high, its nostrils flaring, its ears flat against its skull. Vinara’s hand snapped out to catch the halter rope, an imprecation on her lips. The motion alarmed the animal further. It stamped its immense feet and squealed in alarm. Cheobawn caught a whiff of what the animal was thinking in the ambient. Something moved like a predator, stalking the herd. Cheobawn spun around, her eyes searching for an intruder, the animal’s fear a contagion that wanted to infect her mind. Her body responded unconsciously to the unknown threat, her heart pounding in her chest, her muscles frozen.

  She sent a questing thought out into the mountain’s ambient, checking to see what had dared the wards and slipped past the patrols. Cheobawn found nothing.

  Confused, she cocked her head at the alarmed pack animal, trying to see what it saw. There was something leopard-like stalking them in the stable yard, trying to disguise itself by walking on its hind legs. The fenelk was not fooled by this subterfuge. It could taste the wildness of the mountain in its mind.

  The image of a small bipedal form with platinum fur flashed across her mind. Irritation replaced anxiety in Cheobawn’s head as understanding dawned.

  The fenelk tossed its head. The halter rope slipped out of Vinara’s hand and snapped taut, the hitching post making an ominous groaning noise.

  “That’s me, you idiot,” Cheobawn yelled at it in disgust. The fenelk did not believe her, kicking out with a hind leg in panic.

  “Back away!” Vinara barked at her, as the drover leapt up and grabbed the fenelk by the ear. By the sheer force of her own weight, she dragged the animal’s head down all the while murmuring soothing nonsense into its ear as she struggled to keep it calm.

  Cheobawn scowled, wanting to argue but Tam caught her around the waist and carried her over to the dark shadows of the nearest barn door where he dropped her unceremoniously into the sawdust beyond the lintel. Megan and the boys stood frozen, unsure whether to follow or stay and placate the Master Drover.

  “By all that is holy, Cheobawn. What was that? Are you trying to sabotage us before we even begin?”

  Cheobawn glared at him. This was all his fault, thinking fenelk would be pleasant creatures to be around.

  “They are stupid, mindless beasts,” Cheobawn hissed at him. She looked over his shoulder, glaring at the beast. “And I am not a leopard,” she shouted at it. The fenelk shook its head, trying to dislodge Vinara, not convinced.

  “Into the barn and out of sight. Now!” yelled Vinara, the fenelk trying valiantly to toss her loose. Tam grabbed Cheobawn by the arm and stalked down the aisle between the stalls. Half way down he found a tack box and shoved her down onto it.

  “Stay put,” he said, his jaw set in anger. She glared back at him, her own jaw thrust out belligerently.

  “Gladly,” she hissed at him.

  “Don’t move until I come fetch you, understand?” he growled.

  “Fine by me!” she yelled. Tam turned on his heel and stomped away. Cheobawn crossed her arms and kicked her heels against the side of the box. Well, that went well, she thought crossly. She listened to the ambient. The fenelk, convinced it had scared off its stalker, settled almost at once. Idiot animal, Cheobawn thought, snorting in disgust. She sat, feeling much abused, listening to the vague rumble of voices out in the courtyard.

  Cheobawn kicked the tack box a few more times and then got up and moved to the side until she could see her Pack framed in the barn door. The bright light of the yard did not reach very far into the shadowed aisle, so she could observe without being seen.

  The lesson continued without her. Vinara let the boys approach one at a time. The fenelk did nothing more than flick an ear. Stupid, stupid animal. Cheobawn snarled in frustration.

  She was feeling much maligned, abandoned here on her own, when Vinara’s apprentices finally arrived to join Vinara at the fenelk’s side. Cheobawn felt the blood drain from her face. It was the Ramhorn Pack. Cheobawn counted heads. There was Sigrid, Meshel, and Erin, his alpha Ear. Then came Breyden, Sigrid’s beta male, Iroc, his fourth, and Soral, his beta female. They gathered in the bright, shiny square of light at the end of the row of stalls next to Blackwind Pack.

  This surely was not a coincidence that this particular Pack was here, learning how to handle fenelk. The Ramhorn Pack must be training for the Meetpoint run. They were here to learn to survive a caravan ride to the edge of the Escarpment so that Sigrid, Meshel, Iroc, and Breyden could descend the cliffs with the older Fathers to parlay with the Lowlanders.

  So much for all her good intentions of keeping her Pack out of trouble and far, far away from all things that stank of Lowlanders. Cheobawn ran her fingers through her curls, cursing their strange luck. Was this why her dreams kept taking her back to the lip of the Escarpment? Were they a warning about sticking her nose into places it did not belong?

  She watched as Sigrid came to stand next to Tam. She spotted the split second of recognition as her Alpha glanced up. There it was; that momentary pause as the body froze, the adrenaline pumping, the heart jumping in the chest, the brain totally consumed with assessing the danger. In half a breath’s time, it was over. Tam nodded at Sigrid. Lovely, brave, and smart Tam, such a cool head in the worst of situations. She could not see his expression but she watched as he casually turned his face towards her. He could not see her, lost in the gloom, otherwise she would have jumped up and down and waved her arms. Run, she wished at him with all her heart. Run before Mora finds out we are here. Run before the High Council finds out we are snooping about in Lowlander business. But Tam was wiser than she about these things. He would put a polite look on his face and play at being a good apprentice until he could extricate his team from this messy situation without drawing undue notice.

  Vinara jerked down on the long ruff that grew along the fenelk’s lower jaw. With a rumbling protest, it tucked its forelegs, dropping to its knees in the fore then onto its hocks to the aft. Finally, with a loud groan, it settled onto its belly. The drover disappeared for a moment and returned with a blanket and an enormous saddle, tossing them one after the other onto the shoulders of the immense animal. The ensuing lecture was long and tedious. Cheobawn could hear none of it.

  Cheobawn chewed on her lower lip, thinking hard. How much trouble were they in? Did Mora know that she was here, with the Meetpoint team? If not now, she would soon. How could she not? All the duty rosters crossed the First Mother’s desk eventually. If she ran home to explain the coincidence would Mor
a believe them innocent? Cheobawn shook her head. Even from her point of view, it looked like they had intentionally inserted themselves into the business of the High Council after being specifically warned away. No matter how you looked at it, it would seem as if Blackwind Pack was challenging the First Mother’s authority. This was a far more serious offense than all the childish misadventures she had ever gotten into. Had the warning been public and official Mora would have been forced to react to such a challenge but it had been made during a secret meeting in the back room of the infirmary with only the High Coven as witness. Did secret warnings carry the same weight as public instruction? Did that make the current situation more grave or less? It was all so confusing.

  Cheobawn worried at the problem of their fate, trying to convince herself that she was overreacting. Then a shadow crossed the square of light at the barn doors. Sybille’s lithe, lanky form was unmistakable. Cheobawn squeaked softly as her heart skipped a beat. She retreated, sliding quickly and silently into the darkest shadows at the end of the aisle. Pressing her back against the wall of a stall, she tried to calm her mind.

  Why was Sybille here, now? Had the Coven sent her? This was the worst kind of luck. She closed her eyes and checked the ambient, trying to gauge the threat.

  The ambient was … strange. Fluid. How could the ambient feel like a puddle of water? She cocked her head, listening harder. The liquid feeling oozed around her, surrounding her.

  What was she worried about? She was safe. No one could see her here in the deep shadows. But wait. There were deeper shadows inside. They called to her, those shadows. Without consciously thinking about it, she reached up to unlatch the stall door. As quick as a blink, she was inside, the door pulled tightly closed behind her. The ambient purred, pleased, the psi sound almost tangible.