by J. D. Lakey
Cheobawn risked another peek into the ambient. A many-headed monster raced at their heels. They were too close. Spurred on, she raced into the lead and picked up the pace, mercilessly asking her Pack to keep up.
When her feet landed on the packed earth of a wide trail, she very nearly missed it. She spun in a circle, disoriented by its sudden appearance and not sure which way to run.
Something flashed in the corner of her eye. She turned and stared in wonder. Lights. It could be only one thing. The Fathers had turned on the spotlights above the East Gate. Her knees went weak with her relief. They were nearly there.
She waited for her Pack, pushing each one towards the lights as they burst through the undergrowth and into the clear. Tam came last, behind Alain, who – through some miracle – was still on his feet.
A high-pitched squeal of something dying cut through the still air, then another and another.
Cheobawn looked up and met Tam’s eyes. Their trap had been sprung but it would be too much to hope that the spiders would kill all the fuzzies. She tugged frantically at Alain’s arm while Tam did the same on his side. They ran but their pace was maddeningly slow.
Disaster struck. Alain went down on his hands and knees. Tam cursed and stopped to help him up. Cheobawn reached down to help.
“Run!” Tam shouted, shoving her hands away. Cheobawn fell back, surprised by his hot fury. Tam grabbed Alain by the belt and hauled him to his feet, getting little help from Alain. Cheobawn grabbed Alain’s belt on her side and between the two of them, they managed to get him running again. Ahead of them, Connor tugged frantically at the faltering Megan.
“No, no, do not stop!” Cheobawn screamed at Megan. “You are not safe yet. Run, run!”
Megan glanced back at Cheobawn, a desperate grimace on her face but the older girl managed to find some hidden reserve inside herself and sped up again. Connor ran at Megan’s side encouraging her to pick up the pace. Somehow, she did. They raced together, down the trail.
A high pitched whistle rose up from the undergrowth not far behind them. The fuzzies were back on the scent trail. Alain needed no other goad. He shook their hands off and ran unaided, Cheobawn and Tam still hovering at his side, watchful. The adrenaline would only take him so far.
They broke out of the tree line and staggered down the lane between the fields. The sky was gloriously scarlet with the last rays of the sun. Cheobawn nearly laughed in relief.
Alain stumbled, catching his toe on nothing. He managed to right himself, but after that his gait was less a jog and more a lurching hobble. Tam pulled Alain’s arm over his shoulder and they ran on, Cheobawn guarding their back.
The whistling stopped, replaced by a restless chittering. The ravenous little eating machines hesitated just at the edge of the fields, confused by the Mothers’ psi wards that protected the dome and all its surrounds. Cheobawn stopped and turned, taking a tighter grip on her hook. As she did, her left arm brushed the hilt of Alain’s hunting knife where it still hung on her belt. She had forgotten it was there.
Cheobawn slid the long blade out of its sheath and gripped it awkwardly. She knew nothing of knife fighting. It had not occurred to her that she would ever need the skill. Now she cursed her ignorance.
She held it out in front of her but it seemed to be in the way of her hook so she reversed it, holding the blade so that the edge faced outward to guard her left forearm, like armor. Satisfied, Cheobawn looked toward their backtrail, trying to stay calm. The wards would not hold against a gang in a hunting frenzy. The scent trail was too hot in their noses.
Tam took note of her absence at his side. “What are you doing?” he yelled, stopping.
“Run! Get them home. You need time. I will give you that,” Cheobawn shouted. Alain did not hesitate. He turned and hobbled towards the gate as fast as he could. Tam stood his ground.
“I will stay and guard our back. Go help Alain,” shouted Tam furiously.
“I cannot carry Alain but I can fight,” Cheobawn said, her voice calm.
“You don’t need to do this. We can make it. All of us. Together.”
“Go!” Cheobawn screamed at him. Things shifted in the ambient. Blood lust outweighed caution. The fuzzies were coming.
“You should probably not argue with a Little Mother when she has her back up,” drawled Zeff as he stepped out of the maize, his pair of boar hounds close on his heels, Sigrid following after. They were both well-armored and well-armed, long swords in both hands. Even the hounds had spiked collars around their vulnerable throats.
Cheobawn crushed the relief that threatened to overwhelm her. She had no time for it. She shoved it down into the black hole in her soul along with all the other soft and vulnerable parts of herself. Bear Under the Mountain had given her a taste of death. She meant to deal it in kind. Tam should have run when he had the chance. Now it was too late.
Things moved in the maize.
The hounds growled softly but stayed to heel, watching Zeff in anticipation.
Cheobawn took a step away from the men, giving her blade clear space to swing.
“You know what’s out there, don’t you?” Zeff commented softly, somewhere close behind her left shoulder. Veteran of many a close battle, she trusted that he would keep clear of the range of her blades.
“Fuzzies. A spider or two. They do not like the dogs, but it will not stop them from coming.”
“No, it never does,” agreed Zeff. “How many, do ya think?”
“Small fuzzy gang. The spiders got half. Maybe eighteen or twenty, at the most,” she said, trying to track them all as they circled around her. “Maybe a half dozen spiders.”
“Spiders and fuzzies. All at once. You surpass yourself, Little Mother,” Zeff said with a small laugh.
“We have given them my scent. You can take Tam and Alain to safety. They will not follow you.”
“Where would be the fun in that?” Zeff said softly. He put two fingers in his mouth and let out a piercing whistle. The boar hounds leapt into the air and raced into the maize, roaring in pleasure. A fuzzy squealed and died and then another. A spider darted out of the maize at her, whether to attack or merely fleeing the sharp teeth of the hounds, she could not tell. Her hook sliced it in half, the parts tumbling past her as she stepped over them.
“Back up a bit, Little Mother. Let the dogs do their job,” suggested Zeff. Cheobawn could not fault the logic of that. She retreated, checking her surroundings with a quick glance. Sigrid’s blade was bloody, as was Tam’s. Beyond, under the glare of the dome lights, Alain had gained the safety of the gate supported by Phillius. He joined Megan and Connor, who had been caught up in the arms of the crowd of Elders who stood behind the safety of the gates.
Looking back towards the maize, she realized her eyes could only see the after image of the lights. A stupid mistake, that. She blinked hard, desperately trying to clear her vision. In that moment a shadow launched itself from the top of a maize stalk, aiming for her throat. Zeff’s blade cut it out of the air. The fuzzy dropped to the dirt at her feet, its lifespark gone, now nothing but a bit of bloody fur. She steeled her mind against the ambient, letting death’s dance take it without needing to watch. Peering about her for the next assault, she held herself ready.
Her eyes played tricks with the shadows as the glow in the western sky faded. She felt the handful of fuzzies – their intention a pressure wave against the walls around her mind – before she saw them, but it was already too late. Teeth and claws sank into the heavy hide of her boots and scrabbled ineffectually at her woolsey gaiters. One launched itself higher. She could not get her hook around in time so she batted wildly at it with her left arm. It squealed in pain, finding sharp steel instead of flesh, and tumbled away from her. Zeff finished it with a quick blow. The rest fell beneath her hook. Her blade hummed as she spun it through the air, its edge slicing through their brain pans like butter. She stamped her feet to shake off the remains, dislodging jaws that still bit even in death.
B
acking away, her eyes searching the shadows, she put distance between herself and the smell of carnage, her hook held high.
Nothing more came out of the maize. She stood, her body taught, ready, unmindful of the blood running down the handle of her hook to drip from her knuckles. She dared a quick check of the ambient. Too many deaths swirled there, making her blind.
The baying of the dogs marked their path as they ran down the last of the predators. Soon, the maize field was empty, the sound of the hunt growing faint. She smiled as she listened to Sigrid whooping fiercely as he trailed close behind the dogs, finishing off the wounded. His joy, as simple and innocent as that of the hounds, was infectious, an intoxicating pulse that tugged at the fabric of her being. She imagined herself as a wild creature, free to run under the night sky, to howl at the stars and tear at the throats of all who wished her harm.
A harsh bugle shattered that spell. Zeff had his horn to his mouth, recalling the hunters. She shivered as the weight of her own small life crashed back into her mind, filling the void. For the first time since the glasslizard grove, she remembered she was just a little girl like every other little girl in the world.
Just for a moment, as her heart fluttered in her chest, her vision flashed to gray. She reached for the ambient but found nothing. Dismay filled her. Was there a limit to how long one could run on borrowed flesh? She could hear Mora in the back of her mind, scolding her for being so foolish.
Cheobawn shook her head to clear her vision or perhaps to clear her mind of the ghost voices. She looked around. The bright coppery smell of blood hung heavy on the still night air. What now? Was it done? What came next? She looked back at Tam. Her alpha slumped where he stood, his bladed stick planted in the soil like a staff. He leaned heavily into it, as if it were the only thing holding him up. Perhaps feeling her gaze, he lifted his head and met her eyes. There was no victory in that look, nor any triumph in his face. The clever boy full of strategies and logic, the fierce boy who played to win, this boy was gone. Only exhaustion remained. They still lived, but the game had pushed him beyond the place where it seemed to matter. It was done, his eyes told her.
So, she thought, with a soft sigh. The sun can set, the moons can rise, and the forest can go back to being no fit place for human, man or child. Best of all, the lives of four children no longer rested on her next move.
Cheobawn let go of it all, remembering too late to keep just enough energy to get her safely home and into bed.
The world swirled around her, the ground tilting under her feet.
Bear Under the Mountain harrumphed grumpily, its mood caught somewhere between pleasure and disappointment.
Are you not pleased? she asked it.
The mountain bear twitched its great pelt as the blood of spider and fuzzy drained down into the earth to join the rivers of blood that coursed hot and thick there under the surface. She flinched from that answer.
You did not kill us, she whispered defiantly. We beat you, fairly.
Bear smiled a canny smile and closed his eyes, content to wait.
Cheobawn did not remember hitting the ground.
Chapter Twelve
Cheobawn slept the clock around and woke ravenous. The Mothers fed her, giving her only broth and bread. She did not complain, eating most of it before falling back into a deep sleep.
On the second day, they gave her a rich stew. She managed to eat two bowls full before her stomach protested. Amabel consulted with the other healers and then reluctantly let her get out of bed, annoyed that Cheobawn seemed so healthy. She tottered from bed to lavatory and back again, bent over like an ancient oldma, trying to work the stiffness out of her muscles. She did not complain about this or her sore feet or the twinge in her knee. It seemed a reasonable price to pay for such a hard won foray.
The next morning Mora’s wives all agreed that she might get better faster if she went back to her old routine, so Mora sent Cheobawn off to classes. The other children stared at her and whispered behind their hands, which was nothing new. The teachers were kind and considerate and attentive where they had never been before. She fled them all as soon as she could, hiding in the tubegrass plantings on the edge of the playground at recess. Megan did not come to school that day. There was a new helper, a woman whose belly was just showing the hint of a baby bulge, who sat in the shade a lot and did not know to come looking for her under the grass when the return bell rang.
Cheobawn waited for everyone to leave and then she curled up on the cool earth and fell asleep.
She opened her eyes to something tickling her nose and found Tam squatting beside her, caressing her face with a grass stalk. She stared at him sadly.
“You did not come,” she said accusingly.
“We tried. We went to the infirmary, but Amabel said no and then we went to your apartment but Mora said no and today, before weapons drills, Hayrald said absolutely not, so here we are anyway,” Tam said.
And here they all were, indeed. She looked up and found Megan, Connor and Alain looking at her over Tam’s shoulders, anxious and concerned. She surprised herself by not being annoyed at their attention, as she had been with Mora and the Coven and Da and all the teachers.
Cheobawn sat up, drinking in the sight of them as she brushed the grass clippings from her hair. They all looked thinner. Alain’s knee was in a plasteel brace. Connor’s foot had been shoved into an adult slipper to accommodate the bandages. Megan had deep shadows under her eyes. Worry lines seemed to have permanently etched themselves into Tam’s ten year old face, making him seem less beautiful but more wise.
Cheobawn noticed something else. Megan wore new clothes. Her shorts were muddy brown and the tunic a dusky green, identical to the boys’ clothes. This explained Megan’s
absence on the playground. Megan had officially declared her Pack status. Her time was no longer her own. From now on she would study, train, and work alongside her Packmates. Cheobawn tried hard not to be sad at the change.
“I thought you were mad at me,” she said softly.
“What? Why would we be mad?” Tam laughed.
“You saved us,” Alain reminded her.
“You were amazing,” Megan added.
Cheobawn shook her head.
“I messed up. I nearly got you killed about a million times. I forgot too many things. Important things. I forgot that a Pack works together and takes care of each other. And then at the end, I totally forgot the most important part.”
“What part?” Tam asked, puzzlement warring with amusement on his face.
“I was so busy worrying about the big scary things out in the woods that I totally forgot about the scary things at home. What did you tell Hayrald?”
Alain shook his head, smiling in amazement, he and Connor exchanging knowing looks.
“That was one of the things we came over here to ask you,” Tam said. “You first. What did you tell Hayrald?”
“Nothing,” Cheobawn said. “I was afraid to talk to him, so I didn’t. Or Mora either.”
Connor laughed out loud and slapped Alain on the back.
“Told you,” he crowed. “You owe me.”
Tam looked a little concerned.
“I am afraid to ask. When you say nothing, you mean you did not tell them anything about our foray, right?”
“No,” Cheobawn said, shaking her head, “I pretended I forgot how to talk.”
The older children looked at each other and burst into howls of laughter.
“What is so funny?” asked Cheobawn, frowning.
“You,” Megan said. “You have Mora and Amabel and Hayrald walking around thinking you are as fragile as eggshell.”
“Yeah,” Connor added, “they are all mad at us, like we broke you or something.”
“We should come up with a good lie,” Cheobawn suggested, deeply concerned that they had born the brunt of her bad decisions for three whole days.
“That leads me to the other thing we needed to ask you,” Tam said. “Do you still want
to be a part of our Pack?”
Cheobawn felt the hard little ball of sadness inside her chest begin to melt.
“Yes, please,” she said from the bottom of her heart.
“Good, because we have a foray report to write,” Tam said, pulling a form out of his pocket and unfolding it, “and it’s already days overdue. Phillius is going to have my liver for breakfast if I don’t get something down in writing by the end of the day. You are the only one who can help me.”
Cheobawn smiled, happier than she ever remembered being. This was Tam; business first, niceties after. Cheobawn crawled out of her bower to look at the map printed on the report form, hungry to see its curved lines and precise labels. Truth be told, she had locked the memories of the journey away, unwilling to deal with them on her own. They were beginning to blur like a half-remembered dream. She was losing track of what had been real and what she had imagined while deep within the arms of Bear Under the Mountain.
“Why have you waited so long to write your report?” Cheobawn asked, curious.
“Because, Little Mother, after being interrogated almost non-stop for the past three days, singly and as a group, by just about every Elder in the village, we have all come to the same conclusion,” Tam said brightly, “Not one of us has a clue as to what happened out there.”
“You were there,” Cheobawn reminded them all.
“Yeah, well, about that …” drawled Alain.
“See, between being sick and scared and totally lost, none of us has been able to draw a clear picture of where we were and what we did,” Tam explained.
“You changed direction so often, I was pretty sure we were going in circles,” Connor nodded.
“The Elders keep treating us like we are hysterical little kids who saw a crawler under the bed,” snorted Alain in disgust.
“It’s embarrassing,” agreed Connor.