Tracker and the Spy

by D. Jackson Leigh

  “That’s what I think.” Jael shrugged. “It’s not part of her thoughts I’ve ever been invited to read.” Jael’s hands were warm as she absently slid them along Alyssa’s arms, her eyes distant and sad. “I sincerely hope Kyle somehow has gotten past that barrier. Even so, Tan still has to forgive herself.”

  Alyssa thought about the emotions she’d read from Kyle the night they’d left for San Pedro Sula. Kyle had been in a deep discussion with Furcho when Alyssa and Jael entered the meadow, and the emotions rolling off Kyle were raw and angry—directed inward rather than toward anyone present. “I think we all need forgiveness at some point.”

  ❖

  Furcho instinctively breathed slow and easy, not too deep so the pain in his chest remained only a dull ache as he floated toward awareness. His eyelids were heavy, too heavy. Maybe he’d sleep awhile longer. The tap, tap, tap was persistent, drawing him. Not tapping. Dripping. Something dripping on his hand. Images of the alley in Brasília flashed through his mind. Kicking to get out of the taxi, an explosion, running, burning in his chest, Raven chanting over Uri, blood everywhere. He gasped, bringing a vicious stab of pain. A cool hand stroked his forehead.

  “Breathe slow, small breaths.”

  The soft words were music in his ear. Each breath brought a familiar scent, her scent. Something soft that hovered between powdery and sweet, like sandalwood. He let his body float with the medications still coursing through his blood, and the pain receded. He worked his mouth, but no words came out and his eyes still wouldn’t open. Flashes of a plane ride and then Tan bending over him. Bullet. She was going to take a bullet out of his chest. The dripping was back, along his arm now.

  He tried again. “Water.” He was surprised when a few chips of ice slid into his mouth. He’d barely recognized the word he groaned out. But Nicole always knew what he needed. He blinked, feeling stronger, more lucid with every second. Nicole. Sun and stars, her tear-streaked face had never looked more beautiful to him. Ah, that explained the dripping.

  “Don’t cry.” His voice sounded like sandpaper. He swallowed. “Nothing vital was injured. I can still have children.”

  “I can’t believe that’s the first thing you’d think about.” Nicole laughed softly, wiping at the tears on her cheeks. “Wait. Yes, I can.”

  Furcho tried to raise his hand to touch her cheek and grimaced when the movement knifed pain through his side. The sniper’s bullet had entered the back of his shoulder, nicked his lung and broken a few ribs. Nicole’s warm hands wrapped around his, forestalling any further attempt. He wished for the strength to pull her down next to him on the bed so he could hold her in his arms. “You’re wrong. The first thought when I opened my eyes was how lucky I was to find the most beautiful woman in the world at my bedside.”

  Nicole’s tears began again. “I could have lost you, Furcho. I had an uneasy feeling when you were leaving, so I—” She dropped her chin to her chest and clung to his hand as she sobbed. “When I asked Uri…I never meant—” She looked up at him, her blue eyes pale with grief. “I keep telling myself I shouldn’t have made him promise to watch out for you. I loved Uri, but I’m glad it’s not you on that pyre tonight.” She looked away from him. “And I hate myself for being glad.”

  “Nicole, sweetheart, look at me.” He waited until she hesitantly met his gaze. “Everything is as it should be. Uri made a brave, selfless sacrifice few souls ever have the opportunity to make. I haven’t forgotten that we talked about this when I first arrived, before my surgery.”

  Nicole looked down at her hand still entwined with Furcho’s. “We didn’t have a chance to talk about all of it.” She wiped away her tears with her free hand, a small smile forming as she cast a shy glance his way. “Uri was the only one who knew how important it was for you to come back…to us.”

  “I knew it was important…wait—” Us? Maybe the medication was still making his mind fuzzy. “Us? Who are you talking about?”

  Nicole licked her lips, hesitating as though making a decision. Finally, she laid her hand on her stomach and held his gaze. “Me and our child.”

  He swallowed. His throat was dry again. “I’m going to be a papa?”

  She nodded, watching him.

  He grinned and squeezed her hand. “This is better than any medicine.”

  “Really?”

  “We have to be bonded. I mean, I knew we were soul mates the first time I saw you, but I mean legally.”

  Nicole cocked her head, pretending a haughty look that fell just short of convincing. “Warriors. Are you asking or telling me?”

  “I’ll get down on one knee if you want.” Furcho moved his legs a bit and picked at the blanket pulled halfway up his chest as though he was going to get out of bed.

  Nicole laughed, not fooled by his weak display. “How about if I do the kneeling and propose to you instead? I don’t want you to get dizzy and fall.” Her gaze wandered pointedly downward from his chest. “You could damage something essential, and I’m sure I’ll want more children later.”

  He widened his eyes in mock horror. “What if we just mutually agree and seal it with a kiss?”

  Nicole’s eyes were soft with affection as she bent over the bed. Furcho reached with his good arm to pull her close, and their souls melded as their lips met in a long, probing kiss.

  “I’m an even better surgeon than I thought. I’d say the patient is making a miraculous recovery.”

  Nicole groaned, her face flushing as she straightened to reveal Tan and Jael standing just inside the doorway. Furcho grinned at them. “I’m going to be a papa.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Juanita prattled endlessly while Kyle washed pots, glad for something mindless to occupy her hands since she couldn’t think of anything other than Tan. Had she picked up the message she’d left for her yesterday evening? It was a long flight back to the valley camp. Even if Phyrrhos weren’t heavily pregnant, it would take more than one night. How long would she have to rest before Tan could return? Would she return? Or would they send another of The Guard whose dragon horse wasn’t fat and about to foal?

  Kyle rinsed the last pan, braced both hands against the trough that had been rigged as an outdoor sink, and stretched her aching back. She was too tall and the sink’s level too low. She hated everything about being a spy in The Natural Order camp—the deceit, the way the men treated the women like servants, watching the spirits of the young girls being crushed as they were schooled to respond submissively, and even the sensitive boys being pushed aside rather than valued like the more aggressive boys. Submitting was hard enough for her, but it was even harder not to defend these young people whose souls might be irrevocably scarred.

  “Oh my. I’ve just been talking my head off about The Prophet, when I should have been helping you,” Juanita said. “I’m so sorry, Kylie.”

  Kyle gave the shorter woman a one-armed hug. At least her chatter had kept Kyle from having to engage in a conversation with anyone. It let her spend the time thinking about Tan. “It’s okay. I was so caught up listening to you I didn’t realize I’d washed them all until I was rinsing the last one.” She offered Juanita the hand-blower. “But if you’d like to dry and store them, I wouldn’t mind grabbing a shower. I’m still not feeling all that great. I’d like to stop by the first-aid station for something to settle my stomach, shower, and climb into bed early with a book.”

  “Sure, sure. You go ahead.” Juanita yelled at a dark-haired girl who’d been wiping the same table for the past hour while she talked with two young male believers. “Luisa. Stop flirting and get over here. Help me dry these pots and put them away.”

  Kyle untied the rubber apron that had kept her clothes dry while she labored and hung it on a hook at the end of the sink.

  Luisa sauntered over, eyeing Kyle. “Where’s she going?”

  Fists on her hips, Juanita gave the girl a steely stare. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Kylie washed all these pots even though she isn’t feeling well.
Now she’s going to the first-aid station.”

  “Excuse me,” Kyle said, moving to slip past Luisa. A hand on her forearm stopped her.

  “One of my friends is interested in meeting you. They’re going to save seats for us at the singing tonight. Your stomach should be better by then, no?”

  Luisa’s tone clearly wasn’t a question, but Kyle gently tugged her arm free. “Tell your friends I’m honored but decline.”

  “Maybe you don’t understand. My friends have secured very important jobs with The Prophet.”

  Juanita’s eyes widened. “Really?”

  Luisa lifted her chin and looked down her nose at Juanita. “Did you think I was polishing that table for an hour over two buffoons? The Prophet has chosen a group of men he says will become the business leaders at the City of Light that is being built on the Third Continent. Each has a different area of expertise. That’s where The Prophet’s headed when he leaves here. They’ll go with him and are permitted to take their families or even a girlfriend with them.” She jabbed her thumb toward her own chest. “I’m going to that City of Light.” She looked at Kyle. “You can stay in this sweaty old town that stinks of sewage and death if you want.”

  Kyle hesitated. She needed to think this through. These men would have valuable information, but associating with them would take her too close to Cyrus. She couldn’t predict what her father would do if he saw her. “I’d feel terrible if my stomach problem is a virus and they caught it from me. Can you please give them my apologies? Perhaps another time.”

  Luisa stared at her, the fact that she’d touched Kyle suddenly dawning in her eyes.

  “Sure. I’ll tell them. But don’t blame me if they find someone more interesting before tomorrow.”

  Kyle offered a weak smile. “I’ll have to take that chance.” She stifled a laugh as she heard water running the minute she wheeled and started for the first-aid station. Luisa’s harsh stage whisper carried over the low noise of the kitchen area.

  “Why didn’t you tell me she had a contagious illness?”

  Kyle made a quick stop by the aid station—pay attention to details when protecting your cover, Tan said—and was sorting through this new information about a City of Light on her way to pick up her toiletries for a shower. Should she go by the shop and try to get another message to Tan? She’d been cautioned about sending anything via the d-net, but they’d lose valuable time if she waited days for Tan to return. Maybe one of Tan’s networks could dig up more on this city, like a location.

  She was so deep in thought, she never saw the hand that closed over her mouth or the assailant who pinned her forearms against her body, jerked her into an alley, and dragged her behind a large trash compactor. Her arms trapped, she twisted her body as a distraction and stomped downward in search of her attacker’s foot. When the clever assailant shifted to avoid injury, Kyle kicked backward instead of going for the other foot. A pained grunt confirmed contact with a leg.

  “Kyle, stop. It’s me.”

  She froze mid-twist. Her lungs stilled mid-breath. And her heart seized mid-beat. It couldn’t be. Could it?

  “Mom?” The word was muffled under the hand still clamped over her mouth.

  “Stars, I’m so glad to see you.”

  Suddenly released, Kyle spun and fell into the gaze as blue as her own. Then she dove into her mother’s arms and sobbed into her shoulder like a child.

  “I’m so sorry it’s taken me this long to find you. It’s going to be okay, honey. I need your help, but we’re going to fix this.”

  Kyle’s tears ended as quickly as they burst forth, but she lingered a moment longer to savor the familiar stroke of her mother’s hand through her hair. She briefly mourned the child she’d been, the one whose mother always fixed problems for her. But that child was gone. She was an adult now, with a lot of other adults depending on her. She sighed and straightened, then pulled the tail of her blouse from her skirt.

  “Kyle. Do not wipe your nose on your shirt.”

  Kyle stared at her, then raised an eyebrow, and they both laughed.

  “Didn’t I teach you anything?” Laine smiled, affection shining in her eyes as she dug into her pocket and handed over a handkerchief. “Use this. It’s clean.”

  “Sorry, Mom.” She took the offered handkerchief. “How’d you find me?” She gestured to her clothing. “Have trouble recognizing me?”

  Laine brushed a strand of hair back from Kyle’s face. “I’d recognize that boyish stride even in an evening gown.” Her smile faded, and she nervously scanned the alley. “Chance. Fate. I don’t know. I’ve been tracking your father, and I was in Killeen when I heard a bunch of believers were coming here to meet him.”

  “He’s not my father.” The words were bitter in Kyle’s mouth. “Cyrus the madman is here, but the man you married left us years ago.”

  She saw no judgment yet no sympathy in Laine’s eyes. “He’s sick, Kyle. He’s been sick for a long time. I have the medication he needs.”

  Kyle paced a few steps away, then back, stopping only when her face was inches from her mother’s. They were the same height now, dark-haired, blue-eyed bookends. The few strands of gray at Laine’s temples and fine lines of age beginning to crease her face were their only difference. “So you’re here to save him?”

  Laine shifted back, surprise flickering across her face. “I’m here to try.”

  Kyle spit her words out, never wavering as she held her mother’s gaze. “I’m here to torch him into his next life.”

  Laine cupped Kyle’s face. “I can’t let you do that, Kyle. You don’t know everything yet.”

  “I know about Thomas.” She wrenched away from Laine’s grasp. “Lots of men lose children, and they don’t go mad.”

  “Kyle.” Laine reached for her again, but she jerked away.

  “No father chains his own daughter to a tree and leaves her there day and night, giving her the minimum food and water needed to exist to make her cave to his insane ideas. No father would force his daughter to marry a stranger so she could be legally raped to bear children.”

  Laine gasped. “He didn’t.”

  “I spent a month chained to that tree in the rain and heat and cold, day and night. But I’d have killed any man who tried to put his hands on me.”

  Anger was an inferno burning her inside and out. If medication changed him back to a sane man, he’d probably never have to take responsibility for what he’d done. He’d never pay for the people who’d died because his followers had hoarded medicines or starved because they had no food. He’d never pay for the boy whose hand was chopped off as a bloody message when he and Simon fled the dragon-horse army. She didn’t care if a believer walked past the alley and saw her. She no longer cared about messages and protocol. Kyle held her hands out to her sides, palms up, and ignited a roiling blue-white fireball in each.

  “He believes in judgment, and I’ve waited long enough. Today will be his.” She would live with the consequences. This was her right.

  ❖

  Alyssa stood before Uri’s pyre, a soft breeze dancing along the long hem and sleeves of her gauzy purple robe. Han had presented her with the First Advocate’s stole—a ten-centimeter band of snowy-white silk embroidered in glittering gold that draped over her shoulders and hung to her knees—only hours before. This was an Advocate’s funeral, not a warrior’s pyre, and her first official ceremony as First Advocate.

  The night was silent except for the occasional restless snort from a dragon horse. She scanned the left half of the torch-lit training field. Next to each of the more than fifty beasts stood a bonded warrior dressed in formal battleskin. The Guard stood in formation on her right. At their command front was Jael, beautiful and fierce, and Specter, still as a statue. She swallowed and fortified her shields. Jael didn’t need to hear her sudden fear that the pyre behind her could one day be her mate’s. She was relieved for the distraction of the approaching trio.

  Azar walked slowly, his wings unfurled a
nd canted back as though he were holding Furcho in place. A sling cradled Furcho’s right arm to his chest, but he held onto one protective wing with his free hand. Diego and Nicole flanked Azar on either side.

  They stopped where Bero waited for Diego, next to the right front corner spot always for reserved for Furcho, Third Warrior. Azar knelt low on his front legs, and Furcho carefully dismounted. Diego and Nicole were instantly at his side, and Toni appeared out of the crowd that ringed the field with a chair. Furcho shook his head but sat when Jael sent a pointed glare—and Alyssa suspected a telepathic command—his way.

  “Warriors.” The army shifted to parade rest at Second’s command.

  Then Nicole, tears already streaking her cheeks, came to her side. She set Uri’s familiar shoulder pack at Alyssa’s feet and opened it to hand up his Advocate’s stole. Alyssa fingered the material, then laid a hand on Nicole’s bowed head. She’d struggled with what to say until the soundless sobs that were shaking her young assistant’s shoulders also shook the words from her frozen brain. She raised her head and straightened her shoulders.

  “We are not here to mourn but to celebrate the life and certain ascension of the soul we have known in this life as Advocate Uri.” She paused, almost surprised at the strength in her voice as it carried across the field. Her confidence growing, she lowered her shields and poured forth the joy she felt for having known this soul.

  “Uri was the embodiment of The Collective. He would have preferred to go through life quietly in the background, yet his physical size always drew notice. He had the strength to be a great warrior, but his spirit was too gentle to raise a hand against any human or beast. And, while Uri gave his life in ultimate sacrifice as a sworn Advocate for peace, he also acted with the bravery of a warrior honoring a vow to protect the life of a friend.”