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

by J. D. Lakey

  Alain heaved his bundle into the center of the pond. It fell with a great splash and sank into the shadows in the bottom of the pond, taking the smell of death with it. She smiled at him, thinking him ever so clever for thinking up this timely alternative to digging a hole. He smiled back and tousled her damp curls as he passed her on his way to see to Sam.

  An image of the bennelk moving down the trail in front of unseen followers drifted across her mind.

  She looked up. The herd stood still, noses high, sniffing the uncertain wind.

  She clicked her tongue in alarm. Her Pack grew instantly still, their eyes scanning the clearing.

  Move, Tam’s fingers said as he leaped to his feet. Grabbing her upper arm, he pulled her up and guided her towards the herd.

  The bennelk knelt readily, not alarmed enough to resent presenting a vulnerable flank to the unseen threat but more than happy to allow a rider to mount if it meant moving further down the game trail. Alain shushed Sam’s complaints as he cut the bonds on his wrists and shoved his arms into another of his shirts. Tam threw Cheobawn up on Herd Mother, not waiting for the animal to kneel. Megan was already mounted, her blade at the ready. Bohea, his ties also cut, was shoved unceremoniously up onto the back of his kneeling animal by Connor and then left to his own resources as Connor mounted his own animal. Tam checked the clearing one last time and then flicked a finger.

  Go, Mother, she said silently as Tam sprang to the back of his own mount.

  The herd, happy to comply, sorted itself out and paced single file down the game trail, their strides wide and quick.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  They traveled south, towards the Escarpment and Meetpoint dome. Tam’s fingers were busy as he tried to let the rest of the Pack in on the plan, explaining as best he could with the simple concepts of fingersign. Cheobawn let him deal with the questions flying silently between the members of her Pack as she tried to listen at their backtrail for the danger Herd Mother thought might be following them. It was hard to hear anything over the noise in the ambient. Old Father whispered contentedly from her pocket and the stones in Megan’s bag whispered back.

  Cheobawn could not resist the urge to slide her hand into her pocket and let her fingers caress the stone. When she touched it, she could feel the other stones, in the bag safely tucked away inside Megan’s tunic. Impressions flashed across her mind, intimate thoughts that were not her own. Cheobawn sent loving thoughts back down the threads of connection, smiling.

  Something nagged at her. She had overlooked something, forgotten something. The herd came to the place where the game trail split, one fork heading east across Badnite Creek, the other continuing south. The herd instinctively turned east. A happy thought filled the minds of the bennelk.

  Stop, stop, stop, Cheobawn thought frantically. Herd Mother snorted in alarm and planted her feet, stopping so abruptly that the other animals knocked against her and each other. The bennelk milled about, unsure and uneasy, anxious to continue.

  Dome full of herd and hay, Mother repeated, reassuring her. Safe with lost sisters.

  “What do you mean, lost sisters?” she said out loud. Then she knew. She cursed softly.

  “What?” Tam asked, not liking the desperate look on her face.

  “I was so busy listening behind us, I forgot to listen to where we are going. Sybille is at the Meetpoint dome.”

  “And this is bad, why?” Alain asked. “I, personally, would be glad for a few more trained warriors.”

  “If Sybille gets her hands on these two, they will never be allowed to leave.” Cheobawn said.

  Tam snorted. “Leave? I doubt very much they will survive the first few seconds. I don’t want to alarm you but you look like you have been rolled down a hill full of boulders. Hayrald is going skin me alive when he sees you. My only hope for survival will be that by the time he is done with those two, maybe he will be too tired to do more than yell at the rest of us.”

  “Maybe we can sneak around them. You know, circle wide around the dome and then head to the drop point. We could get rid of these two and then go back to the dome before Hayrald wakes up and comes looking,” suggested Megan.

  Cheobawn was willing to try anything. She was about to tell Herd Mother to move on when she caught the thoughts of the herd.

  “Stop that!” Cheobawn yelled, slapping her mount’s shoulder, hoping to distract Herd Mother from what she was doing. “Stop talking to them. Oh, by all that is …“ Cheobawn looked down the trail. The bennelk in the dome were exhausted, as were their riders. Sybille had pushed them hard all night long and they had fallen into deep sleep not long after entering the dome.

  Now, with Herd Mother gathering her lost sisters up with her mind, the bennelk in the dome were awake and anxious to be outside. All the riders were up and moving. Vinara was with them. Cheobawn could taste her through the link she shared with Herd Mother. Vinara was not stupid. She would guess correctly at the source of her animals’ unease.

  Cheobawn looked up into her Pack’s eyes and shook her head in despair.

  “The bennelk in the dome can hear us. They are awake and restless. Sybille is up. She will not waste daylight, waiting for us to show up. If we go east, we will meet her on the trail.”

  “We can go south,” Connor suggested. They all turned to look at him.

  “What good would that do? We can’t cross the creek further south,” Alain said.

  “What if we brush out our tracks then get out of sight and wait. When they come looking for us they will follow our tracks and turn north. We can sneak around behind them and make a run towards the dome.” Connor said, obviously thinking out loud.

  “No,” Megan said firmly.

  “Why not? That was actually something of a good idea,” Alain said, sounding amazed.

  “We are not sending anyone we know up that trail, back into … that, without a warning.” Megan said, nodding northward, a grim look on her face.

  Tam looked back at Cheobawn.

  “It’s up to you. I personally do not want to play Hare and Hound with Sybille, if its all the same to you,” said her Alpha.

  “Nor do I,” Cheobawn agreed, shuddering at the thought. Sybille chasing them through the maze of game trails, getting more annoyed with every passing moment would be the stuff of nightmares. She chewed on her lower lip as she considered their two captives. Bohea met her gaze, knowing full well how his life hung in the balance, yet he was untouched by it. Sam looked confused but he was not so confused that he did not understand the gist of the conversation. Only now, after all that had happened, was he beginning to understand just how desperate his situation had become.

  She looked back at the boys.

  “Is there any way to leave a message telling Sybille which way to go? We need to tell her not to go towards the dead bhotta.”

  “Sure. We can blaze the bark of a tree,” Tam said, not quite seeing the point of doing so. She sighed. Explaining things to people consumed a lot of the time they did not have.

  “We go south, all the way, to the edge of the Escarpment. Then we let them climb down from there. By the time Sybille shows up, they will be long gone.”

  “Wait, wait. It doesn’t work that way,” Sam said, desperation tinging his voice. “You can’t just climb anywhere you want. It may be illegal but people climb the cliffs for sport. The entire face of the Escarpment has been mapped, every crack, every ledge, every resting spot. All the viable routes have been climbed time and again, the pitons already in place. No one has blazed a new route up the cliffs for over two decades. It would be suicidal to try to descend this close to Meetpoint Falls. The stone is rotten and the handholds too wet.”

  “Bear Under the Mountain wants you to go home, Sam. Trust in that. You will be fine.” Cheobawn said serenely.

  Sam shook his head as if to shake the idea of Bear out of his mind.

  “There is no way to climb down an unexplored face without someone experienced to belay you as you descend,” Sam insisted. �
�Garro was my climbing partner. We trained together for a year. The Colonel was just a tourist, deep pockets along for the ride. We left most of the climbing equipment at the top of the cliff back where we started.” Sam looked from one impassive face to the next.

  “I need you off my mountain,” Cheobawn said evenly. “This is the only way that is possible. We are going south.”

  Sam looked around, hoping to find reason in someone else other than a seven-year-old girl convinced he was in the care of her Bear god.

  “It can’t be done. Explain it to her,” Sam begged of Tam.

  “You had best figure it out and soon,” Tam said, “or I am going to send you home myself by throwing you off. The Lowlanders will think you died a fool’s death trying to go where you should not go.”

  “Ch’che,” Sam begged, reaching out towards her.

  Tam’s stick was loose and spinning in the blink of an eye. Cheobawn recoiled as the blade whistled through the air between them. Sam froze. The point of the weapon hung over his heart.

  “I would kill you now,” Tam said trying to breathe around his rage, “but for the wishes of my Ear. I think that you should address me, from now on, if you want to speak. What is it you would like to say to the Little Mother?”

  Sam opened his mouth but sounds did not come out.

  “It has been decided,” Cheobawn said. “We go south.”

  She turned the bennelk herd around. They did not want to go south. She had to beg and make many promises. Herd Mother finally agreed, although a bit grumpily.

  They returned to the split in the trail, pausing long enough for Tam to hack a series of symbols in the bark of the widest and most visible tree trunk before turning south. She begged for speed from Herd Mother. Herd Mother reluctantly gave it to her.

  The sun was well up in the sky by the time they broke into the open and skidded to a halt. Cheobawn tried to remember to breathe. The drop off into oblivion just never failed to impress her. She flashed a smile at Tam as she urged the herd on towards the lip.

  The stone along the edge was slick with mist. Cheobawn stopped Herd Mother on the last of the dry land and let her eyes drink in the beauty of the infinite sky. The falls roared over the wall of the world, off to the left, the wind catching its spray and filling the air with the smell of cedar and oak and fern. Further out, over the Lowlands, the heat of the sun had burned the perpetual bank of clouds into ragged feathers, revealing a pale land underneath. She wanted to study the oddness of the world down below but she had very little time.

  “Unload everything and let the herd go,” Cheobawn instructed as she slid off Herd Mother.

  “Uh, how are we supposed to get home?” Alain asked doubtfully.

  “I am sending them to guard Sybille. They will be back but hopefully not before they delay her a bit,” Cheobawn said as she picked her way to the edge of the rock to hang her bare toes off the edge. This was not like her dream. The place was different. The feelings of foreboding were nearly gone. She had broken the spell that had entangled them all and changed the future by coming here.

  The wind rushing up the face of the rock wanted to lift her off and send her high in the sky. She spread her arms wide and laughed, feeling lighter than air. Someday, she promised herself, when she was braver, she would fly these winds.

  Tam came to stand next to her, smiling. His gaze followed hers, out into the misty horizon, but he said nothing, content just to be at her side.

  “The one called Sam wants most desperately to talk to you,” Tam said finally. “He says he is too hurt to climb and will surely die if you force him down. The ghost man wants to talk to you, too. He will not take no for an answer. I have told them if they insult you, they will die a long and horrible death.” He added the last as a reassurance. She smiled and turned to look over her shoulder. Sam stood ten paces away, Alain’s bladed stick holding him at bay. Bohea stood off to the side, making it clear that he wanted to be no part of Sam’s business. Connor hovered behind the ghost man, bladed stick at ready, careful to keep out of reach of those gloved hands.

  She crossed the distance between them. It was Bohea she looked to first.

  “Is what Sam said true? He is the expert climber and you are not? Could you do for him on the climb down what Garro did on the climb up?”

  “We could,” Bohea said with a shrugged. “The boy underestimates his own skill. But to be honest, it is I who am not up to the long climb down.”

  Cheobawn looked at him quizzically. “Here I was, thinking you were in some way immortal. Have we hurt you, after all?”

  “Oh, no. I am fine. More than fine. It is just that climbing down, as interesting as that might be in the technical sense, is just not possible. I fear I must beg off as I have more pressing duties. Mr. Wheelwright will just have to go it alone.”

  Sam spat a string of virulent oaths at Bohea, calling him all sorts of unpleasant things but he did not launch himself at Bohea nor use the fists that hung impotently at his side. It was not because he was afraid of the Pack’s blades. There was something about Bohea that kept him still. It was not fear but something far stranger. She drew closer to Sam.

  “If we picked the Bohea up and threw him over the edge, would he be alive when he hit the bottom?” Cheobawn asked Sam. Bohea laughed, delighted by the turnings of her mind. She was very close to the truth, that laugh told her.

  Sam ignored him. “The suit keeps him safe. They told us, when we were in basic training, you cannot kill a suit so it was pointless to try. I used to think it was just so we wouldn’t frag the officers but I don’t know anymore.”

  “We need to talk, Little Mother,” Bohea insisted. “The boy is just collateral damage. You should not grieve for him over much, just as you should not grieve for Garro.”

  “Shut up!” Sam screamed. “If I live through this, the world will know what you did up here!”

  Bohea met Sam’s glare, unfazed, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, his black eyes gone cold.

  Cheobawn walked away from them, exhausted by their noise. She walked back to the pile of packs and equipment. Megan was busy sorting things out.

  “How can you stand it,” Megan whispered. “They are giving me the worst headache.”

  “I don’t know how it is possible but I don’t think they have Mothers in the Lowlands. There are no teachers to remind them to stay silent,” Cheobawn said, nodding in agreement.

  “I am so glad girls are not allowed down the Escarpment. Could you imagine having to talk with them all day long?” Megan said, her eyes wide in horror.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I can,” Cheobawn said dryly. “Help me with the wing.”

  “Ch’che! No!” squeaked Megan. “You are not flying that thing here. The winds will rip it apart.”

  “It’s not for me. It’s for him,” she said, nodding at Sam.

  “Oh. Oh, no. Ch’che. No,” Megan breathed. “You can’t be serious. Think of some other way to punish him, please.”

  “You may want to cover your Ears and sing or something. The ambient is about to get a whole lot louder,” Cheobawn said grimly as she untied the kite from the packsaddle. “Oh, yeah. I need that bag of bloodstones.”

  Megan handed them over. Cheobawn discussed the new plan with her friend and then, shouldering the long kite, she lugged it over to Sam. Megan trailed behind her with all the Lowlander packs on her arms.

  Cheobawn set the wing bundle down near Sam and then returned to Megan’s side to take up some of the burden. Together, they dumped the contents of the packs into a great pile near the kite. Her task completed, Megan gave Sam a wide eyed look before she scampered away. The older girl had no wish to be near him, having caught a whiff of the stink of his future.

  “There has been a change of plans. The good news is that I don’t want you to climb down the Escarpment by yourself, Sam. Kneel down, please.”

  Sam stared at her, a puzzled frown on his face - but did not move. Cheobawn sighed and looked at Alain.

&nbs
p; Alain knocked the handle of his stick into the backs of Sam’s knees. Sam grunted as he collapsed onto all fours and then sat back to glare at his abuser.

  “I am going to touch you. It won’t hurt.” Cheobawn said. Sam looked frightened. She looked up at Tam. Hold him, she said with a flick of her fingers.

  Tam looked at Alain. They moved together, to flank Sam, each of them taking an arm. Running their hands down his arms they grasped his hands. It was not a strong grip but it did not have to be. If Sam struggled, he would break his own thumbs.

  Do not hurt him, she signed. Tam shrugged. It was up to Sam, whether he got hurt or not.

  She was taller than Sam now but only by a finger’s width or two. It was easy to reach his face. She touched her fingers to his cheek, letting them travel back towards his ears until her palm pressed against his temples. Then, much like Herd Mother teaching her to ward, she gave him all she knew about flying the wing, right down to the feel of the muscles in her body as they reacted in flight. When she could do no more, she withdrew from his mind and stepped away. Tam and Alain let go and stepped away.

  Sam was blinking hard, trying to refocus his eyes.

  “What did you do to me?” he asked, shaking his head. It was as if he were trying to shake water from his ears.

  “I gave you a memory,” Cheobawn said. She took the satchel of stones from her shoulder and held it up for him to see.

  “You know what is in this, don’t you?” she asked softly.

  “Bloodstones,” Sam said as he rose to his feet. He was starting to sweat. Perhaps she had left too much of herself in his mind or perhaps he was smart enough to know he was not going to like what came next.

  “That’s right. Bloodstones. Forty-six perfect stones. Can you feel them? If you listen hard enough, they will talk to you. All that you killed rests inside these stones, singing their sorrow out into the world.”

  Sam shook his head. “I do not believe as you believe,” he said desperately.