by Bev Allen
“Are all colonial women as bloodthirsty?” he asked Lucien. “I do not kill without cause. You’re but a gwerl, with not a marriage to your wrist. Such decisions are not to be made by maidens of no worth.”
A smile of total triumph crossed her face and she stripped the glove from her left hand and held it out to him. On the underside of her wrist was tattooed half a dozen of the S shaped swirls marking a woman’s marriages.
“I am a maiden of the Lynx,” she said. “And I order you to kill him.”
Vlic’s face went completely blank and Lucien suddenly became very scared and took a tighter grip on his club. Jon had warned him there were tribal laws and customs he did not yet understand. Vlic was his friend, but he knew women held the reins of power amongst The People and in these seconds he wondered just how great the power was.
“I don’t know what passes for law and custom amongst the Lynx,” Vlic said, breaking the tension. “But amongst my people maidens do not give such orders, especially maidens with no more than six marriages when they are as old as you!”
Had he been in less of a state, Lucien would have enjoyed the expression on Stacey’s face at the ‘old’ very much indeed, but he was far too occupied by a combination of relief and gnawing anxiety about all she had said.
Vlic looked from one to the other.
“There is much here I do not understand and much that needs to be discussed,” he said. “And it’s getting late. Let’s find a camp site and then we can talk.”
“We should be getting back,” Lucien protested, but not with real conviction.
“No,” Vlic said. “It‘s more important I find the truth of all this.”
As Lucien was as anxious as Vlic to probe Stacey’s story and hopefully force it back down her throat, he put up no resistance.
They retrieved Stacey’s pack, bow and quiver from higher up the slope and went along the ridge until they found a place where a tree had been blown over in some storm a few years before. The resulting hollow made by the lifted root ball provided a sheltered place where they could rest and build a fire safe from casual eyes.
Stacey had cleaned herself up to the best of her ability and Lucien was surprised to see she was logically and sensibly equipped for life on the trail.
“How did you get here?” he asked, animosity forgotten for a moment.
“How do you think,” she replied. “I walked.”
“From The Settlement?”
She nodded. “Most of the way. I got a lift to The First Cataract; then I contacted my people and they sent a canoe for me. I explained the situation to my Elders and they gave me permission to seek my father.”
There may have been the slightest suggestion of a blush at this and had Lucien been paying more attention, he might have remembered the tribal shibboleth on telling the truth, but not necessarily the whole truth. However, he was preoccupied by the knowledge she had come alone. He disliked her, but felt a reluctant admiration for her field craft and stamina. It crossed his mind she was probably a much better woodsman than he was and Jon should have taken her and not him.
He silenced this thought by going on the offensive.
“What’s all this crap about you being a member of the Lynx tribe?”
“It’s not crap! I was married into them when I was twelve.”
“I don’t believe you!” Lucien scoffed.
“The People do not lie,” she replied in a way to make him long to slap her.
“They might not,” he returned, “but you’re …”
“Enough!” Vlic said. “Bickering will get us nowhere.”
This sudden rush of maturity would have surprised those who had heard his final battle with his soon to be ex-wife.
“We will use the stick as custom demands,” he told them, handing Stacey a straight, smooth piece of firewood. “Begin.”
She took the stick and sat considering what to say, until finally she said, “I’ve been coming here for years and years, ever since my father was appointed to The Tribal First Nation and the Colonial Resources Department.”
Her rather hard eyes softened and she ran her hand over the stick.
“I loved this place from the very first and when I was twelve, I nagged and nagged and nagged until Pa agreed I could spend the summer with the missionaries who are allowed above The First Cataract.”
“Wow,” Lucien sneered under his breath. “A whole summer full of hymns and praying.”
She glared at him and held up the stick, so he reluctantly clamped his mouth shut.
“I got to know a couple of hunters who came in to trade and they agreed to let me go back with them to visit their Elders.”
Despite himself Lucien was impressed, he could only speculate at what powers of persuasion she had used and he was deeply jealous, because he had not thought of the idea.
“I learnt a lot that first time,” she continued. “And I learnt to love this land and its people even more. When I got home and told Pa I thought he would go crazy, but he didn’t. If anything he seemed pleased. So pleased he let me go back the next summer and every holiday since.”
“Without telling The Guild,” Lucien guessed.
“He said it wasn’t necessary for them to know and …” She paused. “And at the time I thought it was nothing more than not wanting to end my pleasure. He even agreed to my marrying into the tribe once I’d explained exactly what it involved.” A small cynical smile twisted her lips. “He wouldn’t let me have my pearls tattooed onto my hands, but he was okay with my wrist because that could be hidden.”
She paused and gazed into the fire. A single tear rolled down her cheek.
“I should’ve guessed,” she said, half to herself. “If I’d given it enough thought I would’ve realised why.”
She sighed and brushed away the wetness on her face.
“It wasn’t until a couple of years ago he told me why he’d been so keen on my becoming a part of The People. The stupid arrogant old fool assumed I’d use my knowledge to aid him in his political wheeling and dealing.”
Memories of what must have been an epic discussion chased across her face, but she controlled herself and her expression hardened.
“That was when I first found out about your bloody father,” she snapped at Lucien. “And all his little schemes.”
“What the hell has my father got to do with any of this?” Lucien demanded, still in the dark, but with a feeling he knew where the light was hiding and not wanting to go there.
“Like I have to explain it to you,” she sneered. “Marcus Devlin’s brat! Do me a favour, you little bastard.”
Whatever Lucien was going to say next, and he was going to say a great deal, was stopped by Vlic.
“Tell me what you know of Lucien’s father, gwerl.”
She smirked at Lucien.
“Where do I begin? Marcus Devlin would have you believe he’s an honest business man, trading legitimately. He’s suave and sophisticated and he has a beautiful wife and a beautiful home and all the local social climbing matrons adore him.”
As Lucien recognised this word picture of his father, he said nothing.
“What they don’t know is he’s also a crook to his backbone, ambitious, ruthless and without scruples. He left the world he knew and felt most comfortable in, not to find a new home for his wife and child, but because the authorities were getting a little too close for comfort.”
She smiled sweetly at Lucien.
“It was all that surplus war stock,” she said. “I agree it was a pity to waste it, but he should have been just a tiny bit pickier about who he was selling it to.”
Lucien said nothing; a few overheard snippets of information had suddenly taken on a whole new meaning.
“So he came here to front an organisation with plans to exploit this planet for the benefit of a select few, including of course, himself. On paper he is a licensed trader in tribal artefacts, luxury goods for the luxury market. In reality he was a conjugate for every illegal operation o
n the planet.”
“How do you know all this?” Vlic asked.
“I know because my bloody father is in it up to his neck,” she replied. “He thinks he’s found a legitimate way to help break down unwelcome trade barriers. The trouble is, he has no idea what he’s signed up for and I’m pretty certain he’d be scared witless if he knew the truth. That’s why I need to find him and get him out of this mess, before he’s ruined at best or killed at worst.”
“Out of what mess?” Lucien demanded.
“This business with the bride, of course,” Stacey replied.
“But you said he was tied up with my father,” Lucien protested.
“Give me strength! Who the bloody hell do you think is behind all this?”
His jaw dropped, but she either did not believe his astonishment, or chose not to believe it.
“If I’d got the TLO apprenticeship, which I should’ve done, I might’ve been able to stop all this before it began, with Harabin’s help, but you came along and fucking ruined it.”
“I didn’t know!” he protested.
“Yes, you did,” she accused. “You and your father. He made sure you’d get it. I don’t know where he put the pressure, but I’ll find out.”
“Dad never wanted me to be a TLO,” Lucien protested. “I begged him when I was younger, but he always said it was a waste of time and not a career with prospects. No-one was more surprised than me when Jon said he’d agreed.”
“I don’t believe you,” she replied. “He saw a chance to get you on the inside and he took it.”
“Maybe,” Lucien agreed after some thought. “If he’s what you say he is. But it wasn’t planned and it was my idea to apply when I did, not his. Hell! I lived rough for three months after I went to that board. We had a row and I walked out and I sure as hell wasn’t going to crawl back. I’ve not seen him in months and months.”
She did not want to believe him, but there was a note of such sincerity in his voice, she was reluctantly beginning to have doubts.
“How do you know all these things, gwerl?” Vlic asked.
She shrugged. “My father is useless when it comes to keeping his mouth shut, especially after he’s had a couple of drinks.” She flushed a deep crimson and looked very uncomfortable. “I suspect he may have told someone about tribal marriage custom.”
The full implications of this were not lost on the tribal boy.
“You told him?” Vlic said in horror, “You told an outsider?”
She gave a gasp and put her head down onto her knees, her shoulders shaking with sobs.
“I was very young,” she gulped. “I didn’t realise telling my father every wonderful thing that happened was wrong.”
The boys watched uncomfortably until she had control of her emotions, both thought they should say or do something to comfort her, but neither could think of anything.
Both were relieved when her head came up and her face was once again set into a stiff, controlled mask.
“I didn’t know he was using me,” she said. “I need to put things right.”
Vlic nodded. “That is a right and proper thing,” he said.
All three were silent for a while; then a thought struck Vlic.
“It was a long and dangerous road to come alone, gwerl,” he said, a hint of admiration in his voice. “How did you know where to come?”
“Yeah,” Lucien said, suddenly suspicious “How?”
“I broke into my father’s files,” she replied. “And there have been some rumours running up and down the river about a place where dubious trading is going on. I put two and two together.”
“So you’ve not been further,” Lucien said, “You don’t know if your father is there.”
“No, but …”
“So you’ve no proof!” he said, triumphantly, “of anything you’ve said.”
For a second it seemed as if she would fly at him or scream in rage, but instead she drew a deep breath and said, “No, I’ve no proof, but I’ll bet my life my father is at some sort of camp site further up this stream.”
Unable to stop themselves, Lucien and Vlic exchanged a glance.
“You’ve been there!” she gasped.
“May have,” Lucien replied. “But we didn’t see your father or mine, hot stuff, so you can bet your fucking life on what you like.”
He was angry with her and not for all the obvious reasons. Lucien did not like his father and he was ambivalent about whether he felt any love for him. He did not much like his mother either at times, but he did have a mild affection for her, possibly, if he was honest, deep affection.
He had always felt an uneasy sense of guilt over this, bother by his lack of feelings for his father, wondering if it was wrong and something he should try and correct when he had the time and the tools.
Had Marcus ever treated him as Jon did? Talked to him, cared for him, wanted him to be better than he was and tried to help him to be so?
He remembered the rows that began when he was old enough to answer back, arguments that invariably started over his love for nature and the outdoors.
When he was small every little treasure he brought home from his exploring had been jeered at, held up to ridicule and destroyed. And he had been mocked and held up to ridicule as well.
Once it made him cry, but in time he found his best defence was to throw himself more and more into everything Marcus despised and fight back by provocations such as skipping school to go camping, ignoring every punishment and laughing in the face of disdain.
Stacey was making him remember odd visitors late at night, and some of his mother’s jewellery, the pearl and gold pieces she had shown him once when he was little, but never worn.
For the first time in his life he thought of the things decorating their house, things he saw so often they had no meaning to him. It had been nearly a year since he had been home, but the picture of the lynx in the hall came into his mind; he knew now it was a totem hide and should not have left the men’s house where it had once hung.
It had never previously occurred to him that the Devlin's lived a lavish life style without obvious means of support. At least his parents lived it, he had been off in the woods as much as he could, but there were servants and good clothes and dinner parties; the house had every luxury the colony could provide, far more than any of his school friends had and they were not poor.
He had never once seen his father do anything he would class as work; he did not even lock himself away in his study for hours at a time.
And what about the long absences? Times when even his mother did not know where Marcus had gone and there were no explanations or stories when he came back.
When his father did speak about the planet, it was a constant monologue of complaint about the lack of opportunities and the amount of money to be made from exploiting something.
Finally there was the tribal figure he had once seen walking away from the house. Looking back, he knew they had been dressed in tribal costume, but they had not been the real thing.
The real possibility that his father might be involved began to eat at him.
“If you tell me your father had nothing to do with this, Lucien, I will believe you,” Vlic said, who had been watching his friend for a while and had seen the thoughtful expression.
“I wouldn’t,” Stacey murmured under her breath.
“No,” Lucien said. “Neither would I.”
Vlic and Stacey stared at him.
“I don’t know,” he said, slowly. “Maybe he is in it, maybe he isn’t. But I guess it wouldn’t surprise me if he was.”
Stacey’s jaw dropped and Vlic’s eye brows shot up.
“But,” Lucien continued, “I know nothing about it. And I wouldn’t have supported him if I had. In fact ...”
He paused, considering how to put it.
“I’ll testify against him if it turns out to be true and I’ll do everything I can to help Jon and the Guild put him away.”
Stacey opened
her mouth to repudiate this, but Vlic caught her arm.
“He tells the truth, gwerl.”
“How do you know?” she snapped. “And for god’s sake stop calling me gwerl, my name is Stacey.”
“I know, Stacey, because I am of The People and we know when the truth is misused. He speaks the truth and what is more, you know he is.”
She considered Lucien for a moment. “Maybe,” she said at last. “What now?”
“We go back,” Vlic replied. “And report all of this. What you’ve said and what we’ve found. But not until tomorrow. It will be dusk soon. And I don’t fancy trying to walk this ridge by night.”
None of them realised how long they had talked and after a brief debate, they decided to camp for the night.
They were all short on food and there was not light enough to hunt, but between them they had enough for a few mouthfuls each. Vlic got a fire going and found some leaves to make a tea.
Stacey offered to collect more wood while she went to answer a call of nature and Lucien made his way down the slope to fetch more water.
Chapter 16
It was peaceful by the stream and Lucien eventually found a relatively dry spot where he could kneel.
He needed time to think and to calm his troubled mind by re-establishing his bonds with everything wild and wonderful. An iridescent dragonfly hovering over the still water in the fading sunlight caught his eye. He watched it as it dipped its tail into the water, laying egg after egg.
Absorbed in the study of things he loved, he forgot all time and he never heard any sound. The first warning he had of danger was a hand in the small of his back.
He tipped forward completely unbalanced; lost his grip on the canteens and tumbled head first into the stream.
He struggled to get up and face his attacker, but an iron hand gripped the hair on the top of his head and forced his face under the water.
Fighting for his life, Lucien desperately tried to rip his head away, but could not feel the bottom of the stream to give him purchase, so his arms just flailed in the water uselessly. The need to breathe was becoming stronger and more desperate and he began to panic as he realised soon he was involuntarily going to suck in a lung full of water and death would follow swiftly.