by J. D. Lakey
Sigrid said something that did not quite carry to the back bed. Gudu looked over at him, a concerned look on his face. Sigrid said something else. Gudu stepped on the stop pedal, coasting to a stop at an intersection in the great promenade.
“You sure?” Gudu asked, frowning at Sigrid. Sigrid nodded.
“OK, you two. Get out,” Gudu said over his shoulder.
“What? Cheobawn needs to get to the infirmary,” Connor protested. Talking triggered another coughing fit.
“Calm down, calm down,” Gudu said as he came around the back to help them out of the cart. “We’re going to take Bre’en’s advice and get you guys into some smoke but I gotta get Sigrid to the healers first. You guys squat down in the shrubbery by the path until I come get you, hear me? Don’t let any of the Elders see you.”
Cheobawn and Connor pushed their way through the box hedge and did as Gudu instructed.
“No coughing,” Gudu admonished, “I will be right back.”
Right back was a relative thing. Cheobawn settled onto the cool, damp earth under the bushes and tried to concentrate on forcing air into her irritated lungs. Sitting still made her cold. She shivered.
“You alright?” Connor asked as he put an arm around her and pulled her close.
“Hurts to breath deep,” she fretted softly.
“We were crazy to run like that. Deep cold burns like fire.” Connor grunted.
“I … I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I thought I was going to watch Sigrid die. I couldn’t. I just couldn’t let that happen without doing something.”
“Yeah, me too,” Connor said, wrapping his arms around her.
Gudu took forever but eventually the sound of plasteel tires sliding to a stop on the sidewalk in front of them made them pop their heads up to peer over the top of the well-manicured hedge.
“Well?” Gudu said, waving them over. “Hurry up and get in.”
As soon as they were settled in the cart bed Gudu stomped on the go-pedal, whipped the steering wheel around, and headed west towards the West Gate. Gudu’s cart only seemed to know two speeds: stop and fast. Eyes closed, Cheobawn clung with one hand to the side panels of the truck, the other hand clutched around Connor while he did the same
As the cart charged the great doors of the West Gate, Gudu rode it like a jousting bennelk, waiting until the last second to stomp on the pedals and pull back hard on the brake lever. The cart slid to a stop, the rear end spinning around until the cart faced the way it had come. Cheobawn wanted to scream, not sure if what she was feeling was terror or exhilaration but her sudden intake of air set her to coughing again. Connor joined her. Gudu jumped out and helped Blackwind Pack out of the truck.
“What are we doing?” Connor asked, holding fast to Cheobawn’s hand.
“Taking an oldma’s advice. If we nip this cough in the bud, you might be able to fool the elders into thinking you are fit enough for duty tomorrow,” Gudu said.
“You are going to do that trick one too many times, Gudu,” Eban said coldly as he walked over from the guard post, “and then someone will get hurt. What do you want?”
“Got any openings?” Gudu asked as he stepped around the temple acolyte, Blackwind Pack in tow. Eban tried to get between the young Father and the token board that showed how many groups had gone out the West Gate.
“The temple has the all the huts reserved on Restday,” Eban said, “You know that. Come back tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow these two will have full blown lung fever. Check again. You gotta have something set aside for the healers.”
“You,” Eban said pointedly, “are not a healer.”
“No, but I just came from the infirmary and they sent me here. I was standing guard on the South Gate when the foray came in. I had to corral Bre’en to watch my post so I could get Sigrid and these two some help. Sigrid took a bad fall and these two got lung burn,” he repeated.
“The Sacred Rituals are not to be interfered with,“Eban said, crossing his arms over his chest to stare at Gudu impassively.
“By the Blessed Goddess, Eban, can you be a human for once,” Gudu yelled. “We got a score of riders coming in out of the cold. If we wait for the infirmary to catch up, these two will start drowning in their own juices.”
Eban sniffed and turned to check the board.
“Alright,” he conceded reluctantly. “I have a small two-man hut. Number One. It won’t fit all three of you.”
“No, no, that’s perfect,” Gudu said heartily, “I can’t stay. Gotta get back. A healer will come to check on them as soon as the rush stops at the infirmary.”
“Kids don’t belong out there tonight,” Eban fretted. “No noise, and stay clear of the other huts. There is a supply of menthaleaf in the storage shed.” He handed over the token and made a note in his log book before he palmed the gate control. Cheobawn smiled at him as Gudu pulled her through the widening gap in the doors. Eban returned her look with a scowl. She did not mind. The Temple acolytes were notoriously lacking in humor.
Cheobawn did not often come to this side of the dome. It seemed, of late, it was only when she was on detention duty and working for the Water Master. The dome sat on a rock shelf just above Badnite Creek here. A series of canals and pipe-works channeled water into and out of the dome by way of a large holding pond that had been dug into the stone just outside the West Gate. The West Road skirted the pond’s north edge and continued on, across the bridge and on into the west pastures. A modified dome, similar to the stable dome, covered the pond and the machinery that controlled the water flow, protecting it from weather and marauding creatures.
A string of wooden huts bordered the south side of the pond. They were forbidden to underagers, which had intrigued Cheobawn when she was six but once she found out their use entailed sitting for long hours inside a hot and dimly lit interior doing absolutely nothing, she had lost all interest.
Smoky torches studded the shoreline, giving off just enough light to let you pick your way along the gravel pathways. Gudu stopped at the first wooden hut. He plunged into its interior and started rummaging about in its contents. Cheobawn sucked in the cold air, the tightness in her chest easing. The air was cooler here than in the main dome, the automatic sensors on the mini-dome’s panels set to keep the interior temperature at just above freezing in the winter. This was something of a challenge because the temperature of the water coming out of the industrial cooling systems inside the dome was near to boiling. Icy water flowed from Badnite Creek through a series of flumes that dumped it, along with the dome’s hot water, into the pond. Balancing the flows involved a tricky set of calculations by the Water Master and his apprentices, the end product and the ultimate goal being the temperature of the water where the exit flume finally dumped its load back into Badnite Creek: the dome’s water had to match Badnite Creek’s temperature perfectly.
Gudu emerged finally, triumphantly holding up a cloth bag. Without another word, he herded them to the next wooden building, opened its small door, and shoved them into the dark interior. Gudu pressed a light switch and a dim ceiling panel lit the room. They stood in a tiny vestibule as long as the hut was wide but only a couple paces deep. A bench occupied each end, clothing hooks on the walls above them. Shelves full of bath towels flanked another small door.
“Strip down to skin,” he said softly as he punched a blue button on the top of a control panel. He entered in something on the pad underneath and then studied the information that steamed across the screen. “Either one of you done a sauna before?” He must have got his answer by the blank expressions on their faces. “No? You’ll need two or three towels apiece. One to sit on. The boards get hot.”
Cheobawn bent down to unbuckle her boots and another coughing spell overcame her. Gudu pushed her down on the seat and started flicking buckles, one after another, as fast as his fingers could travel.
“That cough needs loads of steam and as much of the smoke as you can stand. The longer you stay in, the faster you will heal. I
f you start overheating get out and jump in the pond for a few seconds.
“What?” Connor wheezed. “It’s like ice. Are you trying to kill us?”
“Trust me, I know what I am talking about,” he said. Gudu stood up and retrieved a device from a small basket high on a shelf. This he attached to Cheobawn’s ear lobe. “This is a core temperature sensor. It will beep if you get too hot.” He did the same to Connor’s ear. “Watch her temp. She's smaller and female. High temps will affect her first and make her wonky 'cause her brain will start cooking. Pay attention. You are going to sweat. Remember to drink when you get thirsty. That cistern holds water. Cups are stored under the bench seats here.”
When they were both naked and shivering in the cold, he opened the door and guided them in, handing them each an arm-full of towels. A small furnace topped with stones roared in one corner, a bucket full of water with a long-handled dipper next to it. The room was small, the benches stepping up only two tiers. Gudu upended his bag and dumped its contents onto the stones. A pile of dark, glossy leaves, freshly cut and too green to burn, fell onto the stones and began to smoke. He followed this with a dipper full of water. The stones hissed, steam boiling up off the hot stones. The air became laden with the slightly medicinal tang of menthaleaf.
“Start on the lower bench, work your way to the top. Use standard focused breathing. Don’t ignore the sensors when they beep. When you get that hot, the plunge into the pond is the best rush ever. Keep the room steamy. The more steam the better. I gotta go. I need a plausible story when they come looking for you. I am going to say I dropped you off at the infirmary. Sigrid is going to claim the same. Don’t make any noise and I figure you got a handful of hours before the Elders put all the pieces together and think to ask Eban. Keep your head down and keep quiet.” With that he pulled the door closed.
“Goddess, I thought he’d never leave,” Connor said as he laid a towel on the finely-sanded wood of the bench. Cheobawn was too tired to smile at his attempt at humor. She followed his lead, putting her towel on the other end of the lower seat and sat down. She forced herself to breath in the fumes. Connor threw another cup of water on the stones and settled onto the bench, tucking his feet under his knees in the traditional posture of deep meditation. The air grew hotter and heavier. Cheobawn copied her packmate’s pose, resting her wrists on her knees as she tried to concentrate on the silence around them.
The heat made her sleepy. She leaned back and hissed in pain. The wood, while not burning hot, was uncomfortable to bare skin.
“Spread a towel on the upper deck so you can lie down. I’ll feed the stones,” Connor said softly. She did as he said and was asleep in moments. If she dreamed, she did not remember.
Chapter Eight
“Wake up, Ch’che,” Connor said softly against her ear. Something was beeping. “We gotta go take a swim.”
She blinked groggily, her lids incredibly heavy. It was so much easier to keep them closed.
“Come on. Get up,” he said, pulling roughly at her arm, trying to lever her up. She obliged, too exhausted to fight him.
“What’s beeping?” she asked looking around blearily.
“That would be you, Little Mother,” Connor laughed. He pulled her to her feet and helped her down the risers and out the door.
“Oh, my…” Cheobawn said breathlessly as he opened the outer door. Her skin was on fire and the cold air felt wonderful.
“Run,” Connor barked, jerking her into motion. Hand in hand, they ran barefoot down to the small dock in front of their hut, pounded down its length, and launched themselves off the end, screaming like banshee lizards. The frigid water closed over their heads, sucking all the heat out of their skin instantaneously. She came up hooting in exhilaration, Connor not far away. They splashed about, laughing, but soon her teeth began to chatter. It was time for the next round of steamy smoke. They found the bottom with their feet, staggered up the bank, and raced back to the hut.
“Let’s do that again,” Cheobawn said, a huge grin on her face. Connor’s grin matched hers. He opened the sauna door and then paused.
“I almost forgot. Gotta drink,” he said. He poured to cups full of water and handed her one. “Drink all that and then we can go at it again.”
Cheobawn drained it in one breath. Connor laughed, shaking his head.
“If you get stomach cramps and vomit, I am making you clean it up,” he said sternly.
Cheobawn was about to reply when the sound of laughter drifted up from the pond.
“Shh,” Connor said as he opened the exterior door just a crack and pressed his eye into the gap.
“Who is it?” Cheobawn whispered, craning her neck to see over his shoulder. “Wait, I know that laugh.” The tones of the indistinct banter, followed by a splash and yells of pleasure were painfully familiar.
“Megan,” breathed Cheobawn, pushing at Connor to open the door wider and go out to their packmates.
“No,” hissed Connor, wrapping his arms around her to hold her back. “We are not supposed to be here. The temple students cannot communicate with the outside world until they are done with their training.”
“Connor, please,” she begged as she twisted in his arms, “just for a minute. Just a hug. Just a touch. I can’t stand being this close and not being able to talk to them.”
Connor tightened his hold on her. It was instinctive, the thing she did next. She pistoned her feet into the floor and exploded upwards. Her head connected with his chin and suddenly she was free, running naked across the cold ground towards the sounds of splashing coming from the end of the next pier.
Connor tackled her. Caught up in his arms, they tumbled, Connor twisting in midair so that she landed on top of him as they hit the ground. A soft curse escaped from his lips. She tried to roll off him but he rolled with her and somehow regained his footing. Fingers locked around her arm, he pulled her to her feet, jerking her up the slope until he dragged her back into the hut. She fought him all the way, hissing in pain at the bruising grip on her arm but that was the only sound she made. She, too, knew the finer points of silent combat. She tried to grab the door frame of the first door but missed. He opened the interior door and tossed her bodily back into the heat. She sprawled against the lower platform. By the time she had gathered herself up and spun around, Connor had the door shut. He fell on her, pushing her down again to put his hand over her mouth. She bit down hard. He swore softly as he tried to shove his fist down her throat to break the grip of her teeth on the flesh of his hand. It suddenly dawned on her that this hut was not their hut. She stopped struggling.
“By all that is holy, Ch’che,” he hissed furiously in her ear, “you got what you asked for. Stop fighting me.”
She opened her mouth. Connor jerked away from her, swear words hissing softly out of his mouth like a slow leak out of a steam engine. She licked the blood from the split in her lip and looked around. This hut was longer and taller. There were three tiers of platforms, not two. And the sprinkling of leaves on the hot stones was not menthaleaf but something sweeter.
“Your back is bleeding,” Cheobawn said.
“Oh, really? What a god’s cursed surprise,” Connor said plunging his hand into the bucket of water by the stove. Cheobawn picked up one of the towels lying discarded on the wooden bench and began gently wiping the dirt and gravel out of his scratches. “Why can you never, ever do what I tell you?” he asked bitterly.
“Because it still surprises me when you are right,” she said honestly.
Connor opened his mouth to say something equally cutting and then thought better of it. He shook his head ruefully.
“To be perfectly honest,” he said finally, “it surprises me too.”
Cheobawn smiled and looked around again.
“How did you know that this was their hut?”
“I don’t,” Connor said grabbing another towel to daub at the blood seeping out of the wound between finger and thumb.
“What!” Cheobawn screec
hed softly. She spun around at the sound of voices in the vestibule just outside the door. “Oh goddess …“
Tam opened the door and froze, his face inscrutable.
“Hey, Tam,” Cheobawn said tentatively.
“This isn’t what it seems,” Connor began.
“Really?” Tam said, opening the door wider and stepping aside to let Alain and Megan in before he closed the door a little bit more firmly than was necessary. “I see two junior members of my Pack in a place they know is strictly forbidden. Wait. Is that blood? Have you two been fighting?”
Cheobawn ignored Tam’s ill humor. She launched herself at Megan and hugged her as hard as she could.
“Fighting? Us?” Connor said innocently, “Nah, we just came from a sparring match. Decided to take a sauna and work out the kinks. We were next door and heard you talking so we thought we would stop by for a second to say hi,” Connor said nonchalantly.
Tam glared at his Third, believing none of it. Alain lifted the towel off Connor’s hand to inspect the wound. Megan pried Cheobawn’s arms from around her waist and took hold of her chin to inspect her mouth. The older girl sighed in long-suffering resignation and grabbed another towel to wipe away the evidence of carnage. Cheobawn sucked on her lip and grinned up at her packsister.
“You let her get her teeth into you? Have I taught you nothing?” Alain said, tsking over the oozing punctures. “That’s going to get infected unless you put something on it. Humans have filthy mouths.”
“Your leaves smell better than ours,” said Cheobawn with a soft cough. The bubbling in her chest had almost disappeared. Bless the oldmas and their ancient remedies.
“Oh goddess,” Megan said looking around in alarm. “Tam, they can’t stay.”
“Why not?” Alain asked. “A few minutes won’t hurt them.”
“What is in your smoke?” Connor asked suspiciously.
“Nothing. It just helps you relax and let go so you can meditate better,” Megan said evasively. Connor sniffed deep, then let his breath out with a long sigh.