by J. D. Lakey
“I missed you guys so much,” Cheobawn said as she hugged Megan again. “This winter has been just the worst without you.”
There was a sour look on Tam’s face as he silently laid a towel on the middle platform, sat down and laid another towel across his lap. Alain pulled Connor up to the top level and settled them both there. Megan pried Cheobawn’s arms from around her waist and sat on the bottom tier, pulling a towel over her lap and patting a towel on the bench beside her. Cheobawn found their uncharacteristic modesty curiously disturbing. They had seen each other naked every day since they had declared Pack. What was different?
She sat sideways on her towel so she could see them all at once. She wanted to drink in their familiar faces but found herself inexplicably puzzled. There was something different about them. Their features had not changed but something subtle had shifted under the surface of their skin.
“You two are in trouble. I can smell it,” Tam said glancing between the both of them, daring them to lie about it. “You have ten minutes. Start at the beginning and tell me what is going on.”
It ended up taking more than ten minutes, mostly because Connor and Cheobawn had differing views about the events of the day. Tam had to stop more than a few disagreements. In the midst of an argument that involved her fondness for Sigrid and Ramhorn Pack, Cheobawn reluctantly revealed Sigrid’s discovery of their secret trip to the Meetpoint dome. Megan looked dismayed. Tam’s scowl grew thunderously dark.
“Why would he question you about that?” Alain asked, puzzled, “when he knows the subject is forbidden between genders?”
“He wanted to be sure it was safe before he told me about the messages from Sam Wheelwright and Colonel Bohea,” Cheobawn said.
“I am going to kill Sigrid,” seethed Tam. “He had no right dredging up the old memories. Are you going to be alright, wee bit?” Megan reached out to touch Cheobawn’s cheek, deep concern on her face. They knew, more than anyone, what a toll the Meetpoint foray had taken on her peace of mind. It was Tam who had held her when the memories of blood and death swept like wildfire through her mind while her body trembled uncontrollably and the sweat poured from her cold skin. It was Megan who stroked her hair and sang to her, trying to get her to sleep when the promise of horrific dreams filled with death kept sleep at bay. It was Alain who racked his brains to think of new games that might distract her and engage her all at the same time so that she did not worry obsessively about her failings as an Ear who got people killed.
“I am fine,” Cheobawn said. “Really. I was glad to hear from Sam.” She recounted almost verbatim the conversation with Sigrid. Tam and Alain grew still and silent, the news contained in the messages not welcome at all.
“You didn’t tell me that part,” Connor said, the familiar look of annoyance on his face once more.
“I should have killed Sam when I had the chance,” Tam said, a snarl curling his lips back from his teeth.
“Lowlanders!” Alain spat, his hands turning into fists. “Their stink travels up the Escarpment, tainting everything.”
Cheobawn understood their rage. Sigrid’s familiarity, they could forgive. Sam, a forbidden Lowlander, broke all the bounds of polite society. Cheobawn kept talking, trying to distract them with her story. Connor grew quiet, his additions to her narrative growing less and less as she continued. She recounted the rest of the day, ending finally with Gudu smuggling them into the sauna.
“You are not going back out there tomorrow,” Tam said firmly when she finally stopped talking.
“I have to, don’t you see?” Cheobawn pleaded. “It’s my fault that Sigrid is hurt and Erin has to go out again without him.”
“Erin said she would not go out without you. I say we keep her to her word. Stay in, Ch’che,” Megan suggested. “A handful of cattle is not worth anyone’s life.”
Cheobawn did not want to start an argument with her packsister after being separated from her for so long. Hadn’t Brathum and his patrol died trying to retrieve a handful of cattle? And what was Star’s death but more of the same. Did their deaths have so little value?
“I’m on Megan’s side,” agreed Connor sleepily from the upper deck. “I love this smoke.”
Alain reached over and punched him in the shoulder. Connor sent a fist towards Alain’s head, but Alain slid around it and caught the younger boy around the neck. A wrestling match broke out on the top deck that involved a lot of goodhearted laughter and not a little bit of cursing. Cheobawn got up and paced the floor, an exercise in frustration as she could only go three paces in any direction.
“What worries you, little bit?” Tam asked.
“The messages from Sam Wheelwright,” she said, sucking on her swollen lip. “I know you think it is the mad ramblings of a crazy Lowlander but it hangs like an enormous cloud in my mind. I cannot shake the idea we have overlooked something.”
“River Captain or not, the boy’s insults are not to be born. I will cut his throat if he ever tries to talk to you again,” Tam growled, his anger still simmering just under the surface.
“But we have a friend, now, down below the cliffs,” Cheobawn suggested tentatively. “One who could keep others from climbing the Escarpment or at least warn us when a threat is imminent.”
“See,” Connor said with a snort, “this is the consequence of telling her no when she says she wants a pet. She adopts every flea-bitten orphan she meets.”
“We have been doing just fine for over a thousand years without Lowlander interference in tribal matters. Why would we need such an alliance now?” Tam asked.
“It is not Lowlanders I worry about. Sam is just a confused boy,” Megan said. “It is the message from the Ghostman that seems ominous. What did Bohea mean by the one stone?”
“Sam’s bloodstones are a family. Linked stones to the one Cheobawn kept,” Alain reasoned. “Of the nine Sam managed to keep, he saved one for himself after giving one to his father. Where did the other seven go? Bohea said the Scerrons wanted one, as a reward for services rendered. Maybe that’s what he means. That the race of adepts that fly their starships now have a direct line of communication with the bloodstone that Mora has locked up in her office. They were all hot to talk to you before. Maybe they are inviting you to parlay.”
“Bohea did not care about the Scerrons,” Cheobawn said. She closed her eyes and tried to remember the minutia that surrounded Bohea in her memories. “He considered them lesser beings. Omegas. It was the war with the Spider people that concerned him most. I told him that one of the stones might solve his problems but I am almost certain he found my solution repugnant.”
“So, let’s pretend he changed his mind,” Tam said softly. He had that look on his face, the one that said his brain was gathering all the pieces of this puzzle and setting them in motion, trying to predict an outcome. “We have a space-faring spider who happens to be waging war against all the Spacers. What happens when they receive one of your bloodstones, Ch’che?”
“It was an invitation,” Cheobawn said, her voice barely audible. She looked away, afraid he would see the truth behind her eyes.
“Excuse me?” Tam said, his voice hard-edged. This was an old argument between them that she did not want to stir up again. “I think you said invitation. That’s right. I remember now. You invited a bunch of man-eating spiders to come live here.” Tam’s eyes glittered sternly from under his scowling brow.
“Not here. Orson’s Sea. They are aquatic,” she said in a very small voice, “most of the time.”
“Most,” Tam said loudly to the room at large. “Most of the time. If you were at war with someone, would you allow them to establish a foothold behind your battle lines? Anyone?”
“Only if it was a setup,” Alain mused. “A trap. Offer up a bait too attractive to refuse then pounce on them from all sides, cutting off any retreat, pounding them into oblivion. A War Master would never fall for it, though. Too obvious.”
“But you were positive they would take the bait, weren�
�t you Ch’che?” Tam observed. Cheobawn looked up into her Alpha’s eyes, her chest tight with remembered grief.
“There is too much magic tangled up in Sam’s bloodstones. Old Father Bhotta, Bear Under the Mountain, Star Woman,” she whispered, not flinching from Tam’s intense eyes. “Even my magic, as small as it is. Bohea’s wishes and desires would not have been able to stop the inevitable outcome of throwing those stones off the cliffs. The Spiders will come.”
“And Bohea will be prepared for that coming,” Tam said.
“Yes,” Cheobawn said through frozen lips. When you looked at the problem from Tam’s point of view, she was not nearly as clever as she thought, it seemed. It was not an easy thing, using living beings as pieces on a War board. They were prone to picking themselves up and walking off the playing field. Throwing Sam off the cliff had been just such a move. She had thought she was buying the tribes time before the unavoidable confrontation between the people of the domes and the Lowlanders but the exact opposite was coming true. They had less time than before. The mite on the back of the flea could no more shift a rock than a child could stop a war among the stars. She had been a fool to think otherwise.
“This planet will become a battlefield,” Tam said.
“No, I don’t think … oh.“She made a small noise as a sudden thought pushing all the air out of her lungs. She looked up at the sky through all the layers of wood and dome and air.
Tam straightened, alarmed. “Ch’che, what …”
“Shut up, Tam,” Connor said, interrupting his truebrother. He poked his mop of ebony hair over the edge of the top tier and peered down at her, blinking owlishly. “Give her a minute. She always says the most amazing things when she gets that look on her face.”
“A shadow hangs in the sky over the northern pole,” Cheobawn said faintly. “There are things, strange things, lighter than air but colder than ice, like frozen light falling to earth. The cold is no accident. The storms are a weapon and a tool. A battle looms.” She shuddered as a wave of dread washed over her. Her legs suddenly felt soft as jelly. She fell to her knees as she met Tam’s eyes once more. “This is all my fault. I think I killed Brathum and Star.” Hot tears filled her eyes and spilled over to run down her cheeks. She shook her head but the tears would not stop. Cheobawn covered her face and wept in earnest.
Tam swore viciously as he jumped down next to her and gathered her up in his arms.
“That’s silly. You didn’t kill anyone. Why would you think that?” he said, holding her tight. Megan was there as well, patting her head and murmuring the familiar sounds of comfort she remembered from when she was little.
“Connor said I should have listened to Herd Mother from the beginning.” Cheobawn sobbed. “She knows. She has always known. Those balls of light are her ice demons. The smoke leopard is not fleeing the storms or the cold. It fears the demons hidden in the winds.”
“That is not your fault,” Megan said firmly. “None of this is your fault.”
“The thing in the sky is here because I made it come,” Cheobawn wailed. “Sigrid thinks I am a hero but I am just a little girl. Just a Black Bead with Bad Luck who gets people killed.”
“Never say that!” Megan hissed, pulling her away from Tam and shaking her hard. “You are not Bad Luck. Do you hear me? Never doubt your gift. I know you. You are good. You hold all of creation in your heart and bleed for every bit of it. Nothing bad can come from that love, do you understand? Nothing.”
Cheobawn looked up at her friend in surprise as her head bobbed with each shake.
“Megan,” Alain said casually, “I think you made your point. You may want to let go a bit so the blood can reach her fingers.
Megan eased her fingers out of Cheobawn’s soft flesh. Tam drew her back into his arms.
“You did not make this mess,” Tam said, rubbing her arms to get the circulation going again. “The Spider wars started a long time before anyone alive now was born. Bohea had no right trying to involve you in it. You are my little Ear and there is one thing I am absolutely sure of. You know what you know when the time is right to know it. You need to trust your gift as much as I do.”
Cheobawn hiccuped as she tried to wipe away her tears with her hands. Megan pushed her hands away, using a towel to better purpose.
“So where does that leave us?” Alain asked, trying to steer the conversation out of its deep waters. “We’ve got a shadow changing the weather of an entire planet. The biggest question I have is this: whose is it?”
“I vote for Shpiders,” Connor said, his words slightly slurred. He was lying on his back drawing invisible pictures in the air above his head. Alain looked down at him, a worried frown between his brows.
“Maybe,” Tam said. “But if I were Bohea, I would be creating the biggest leg trap in the universe. I would need a place to hide the battalions meant to spring into action once the trap has been triggered. What better place than a blizzard as big as a planet?”
“There are millions of people living on this world,” Megan said doubtfully. “We will all starve to death if he keeps this up. Surely the Spacers would not risk …”
“There are thousands of colonies,” Cheobawn said sadly. “So many that they could afford to lose a few. I did not get the impression that Bohea put any great value on the people of this planet.”
“Collateral damage,” Tam said, nodding. “A War Master can’t be afraid to lose a few pieces.”
“Goddess,” hissed Megan, “can you be any colder? This is our own flesh and bone that we are talking about.”
“Bones and stones,” crowed Connor, “and a ball of Maker’s thread, that’s what little boys are made of.” The children’s rhyme made him giggle.
“We need to get them out of here,” Alain said pulling Connor to his feet. Connor tottered towards Tam but he forgot he was two risers up and walked off the edge like it wasn’t there. Megan leapt over the top of Tam and Cheobawn, getting under him just in time. Tam was at her side in the next moment and they lowered him to the floor. The fluid speed of their motion had been breathtaking. Cheobawn resisted the urge to clap in appreciation. Deep meditation and retreat seemed to have served a secondary purpose.
“What’s wrong with Connor?” Cheobawn asked, standing up to peer down at him in the dime light.
“Father Father come tumbling down,” sang Connor, “Mother’s kisses will bless your crown.”
“He’s just tired,” Tam said, helping Megan get Connor to his feet. Connor closed one eye and tried to see where his feet were, nearly tipping over again. Tam opened the door and tugged him out into the cool vestibule where he propped him up against the wall while filled a mug with water.
Megan and Alain shooed their littlest packmate out of the sweet smoke. Cheobawn sucked in the cool, clean air and tried to shake the fuzziness out of her head while Alain opened the outer door and poked his head out to reconnoiter.
“All clear,” he said. “Stay in the shadows. Don’t stop to dress. Just grab your stuff and run. Tell Eban that the healers must have forgotten you. Walk away until you are out of his sight then head to the Pack Hall.”
“Wait,” Cheobawn said, confused, “What are we supposed to do about the ice demons?”
“You are an Ear, Ch’che,” Megan said as she brushed her little friend’s sweat-soaked curls off her face. “You have reported to your Pack. Your duty has ended. Connor needs to take that report to the duty officer. Let the Elders deal with it.”
“And stay inside the dome tomorrow,” Tam said, pouring what water Connor did not drink over the top of his head. Connor gasped and shook his sodden hair, showering all of them.
Cheobawn pressed her lips together. This was not the answer she wanted to hear.
Chapter Nine
Eban stared suspiciously down at the two shivering kids who had just wormed their way through the opening in the great doors of the West Gate. They had only been able to slip into the first thin layer of their silk underwear before the door opened. N
either had had time to put on their boots or riding leathers.
“You are supposed to get dressed before you leave the hut,” he said in exasperation. “And why would a healer send you out for smoke therapy and not check up on your progress? Are you sure they know you are here?”
They both did their best to look innocent and forlorn. Cheobawn even managed to sigh sadly. Connor’s face was oddly rubbery; he was having a hard time keeping his mouth from sliding down into a grotesque caricature of sadness.
“They were awfully busy,” Cheobawn said as she accidentally on purpose shoved her elbow into Connors ribs as hard as she could. “What with the drovers and wranglers coming in from the cold. We were the worst so they sent us off first. Maybe they forgot.”
Connor scowled at her as he rubbed his side.
“Let me call the infirmary. They will send someone to pick you up,” Eban said, picking up his com unit.
“Don’t do that. It will make them look bad, forgetting us, I mean,” she said hastily. “I don’t want to get them in trouble with Amabel. Do you think we could borrow a cart? I don’t think Connor is feeling well.”
“You are too short to drive a cart, Little Mother. Connor? What about you?”
“Hmm?” Connor asked, his eyebrows sliding too high on his forehead.
“Are you well enough to drive a cart?” Eban asked, his annoyance rising.
“Not a problem,” Connor nodded looking around for the cart, confused by its absence.
Eban studied him for a moment and then threw up his hands and went to get their transportation.
“Pull it together,” Cheobawn spat softly at her packmate. “Just a bit longer and you can sleep this off.”
“Are you hungry?” he asked. “I am starving. Let’s go to dinner. Nedella was making apple crisp this morning. You could smell it all over the dome.”
Cheobawn’s mouth watered at the thought. Lunch had been trail rations in the stable yard and tea had been crackers and ice cold water on the back of a bennelk. She glanced up at the chronometer set in the gate post.