by J. D. Lakey
She found him, not in the village, but standing upon the wooden deck of a river schooner, reveling in the feel of the wind and the sun on his skin. He had only five stones left in the purse at his waist, the others having gone as gifts - one to the healer; one to the kind faced man who had first found him, broken and hurt, in the field; one to the Elder of the village that had hidden him from the hunters; and one to the Captain and crew of the boat upon which he now stood. Five was not a lot of bloodstones but it was enough to draw her thoughts to Sam, their pooled power effectively blocking out the sleepy murmurings of the other stones.
Sam was alive and well, his bones healed. She had settled around him and eased into his distracted mind as he studied the distant skyline. The place had a name. Dunauken he called it, the beauty of the towers of his home filling him with glorious relief. The city seemed naked, domeless as it was with nothing between it and the clouds and rain. His boat sailed for a long time past tall buildings before it came to the docks not far from the base of the tallest towers.
She had been there, in his mind, as the boat approached a dock full of men waiting to greet it. She had felt his joy when he recognized his father’s face. Her own heart had skipped a beat in harmonic communion with Sam’s when he saw the face of the man standing at his father’s elbow: Bohea.
Perhaps she screamed. Cheobawn had no memory of it. She found herself cowering in the corner of Mora’s office staring in horror at the sphere, her teeth chattering in shock. Seeing Bohea brought it all back for a moment; the smell of blood, the screams of the carrion feeders, the trumpeting calls of the bennelk, the cold, ruthless gaze of a ghost man who could and would do anything to get what he desired. She wanted to run but she needed to know what was happening to Sam. It had taken her such a long time to build up the courage to cross that distance and touch the bloodstone matrix again. She did not like what she saw through Sam’s eyes.
Bohea had the bag of stones in his hand, weighing it, a cold smile on his lips. There were men standing around them, warriors with warrior minds whose leash Bohea held. Sam knew this and was afraid even with his father standing at his side as his shield man.
Here was Bohea, the Ghostman, who moved pieces on a game board as big as the universe with cold calculation and no regret, standing so close she could touch him. He was missing the sparkly metal suit. Instead he wore a shirt and pants made of stiff black cloth. Even his strange cap, boots, and belt were black, the severity of this look relieved by only by the simple gold buttons at the shoulders and collar and the splash of multicolor over his heart. Was he real, here, she had wondered or was he a construct, his true shape kept safe somewhere far above their heads?
“Five?” Bohea had sneered, looking up a Sam, “Five is all you brought me?”
“Give them back,” Sam had said, frustration and fury roiling around in his gut. His father touched his arm, wishing him silent. The older man was more afraid of Bohea than Sam but that did not mean much. Sam was a notorious fool where Bohea was concerned.
“The Consortium has the right to confiscate contraband,” Bohea mused, watching Sam squirm under his gaze. “Especially dangerous contraband. If you wish to contest this lawful act, you can submit a tort petition with the local embassy of the Central Planet Consortium.” Bohea closed the bag and turned away, his men closing in around him as he retreated.
“They are mine!” Sam had yelled hotly, shaking off his father’s restraining hand. “I nearly died bringing them back.”
Bohea had stopped and turned back, a cold calculating look in his eyes. Cheobawn had cringed, fearing for Sam’s safety.
“Perhaps you are right,” Bohea had purred, his pleasure apparent. Sam was ever an easy mark for his cruel humor. “I will let you keep two, to show that the CPC is not without a sense of fairness. Call it payment for services rendered.” Bohea put a hand inside the bag. His fingers touched the stones and something cold and dark reached into Cheobawn’s mind. She recoiled, terror choking the breath out of her lungs, breaking the connection.
She had never told anyone about touching Sam’s mind through the Old Father Bhotta’s bloodstone. Not Tam, not Alain or Connor. Not even Megan. She was not sure why. Even though talking to Lowlanders was forbidden, there was an intimacy between her and Sam, a bond formed in the awful fires that had raged hot and harsh through the ambient in that clearing around Old Father Bhotta’s cooling body that day. Talking about it was out of the question. She could not find the words to define what she felt, even to herself. The thing in her heart was fragile, like the flutterflies she used to make when she was a child, constructs made of leaves and spider web that tattered and fell apart at the merest breath of a breeze. Attempting to explain her connection to Sam with words would have crushed it. Some things were just too private to share.
Now she had a new reason to reach into forbidden minds. Cheobawn looked down at her reflection in the golden sphere. Bohea had three stones, the collective of his three now greater than Sam’s one. The balance of power in the stone matrix had changed. She had not dared touch the sphere after that last time for fear of where it would take her. Even now, with Bohea having delivered one to his enemies, it still left the Colonel with two stones. It was not a lot but it might be just enough pooled power to pull her away from Sam and towards Bohea’s own bloodstones.
Cheobawn took three long, deep breaths and lifted the golden sphere out of its box. A warm rush of information flowed across the surface of her mind but it was diffuse and vague. Setting the com-sphere in her lap, she put her palms flat against its side and listened harder. Very faintly, she felt Sam. His mind was all fuzzy and full of strange emotions. He lay abed but he was not alone. Curious, she opened up her mind and extended herself through the matrix. A piece of Sam’s mind not engaged in what he was doing turned with a snarl and slammed a wall down between them.
Cheobawn hiccuped in surprise and then giggled. Sam had found a woman to share his bed. She wondered if he had a Pack now. Could the woman be his new Ear? Could she stop worrying about him, now that he had someone to share his burden? She shook her head. Those were questions for another time.
“Ah,” whispered a voice, “at long last you have come. Welcome, Lady,”
Cheobawn froze. A violet skinned creature dressed in long flowing robes sat facing her upon the floor of Mora’s office, its long limbs folded in a parody of her own meditative pose. The creature was not human but perhaps it had once been. She could imagine Amabel concocting its body in her labs by bonding bits and pieces of bhotta and bennelk and sky hunter onto the living thread of a human. It had eyes and a nose and a mouth, mostly in the right places but the mouth was lipless and the nose broad and flatten. Its skin was naked and so pale it was nearly translucent, the veins underneaht causing the violet blush. Something that looked like scales adorned the sides of its chin and the apex of its hairless skull. Iridescent frills sprouted like moss growths from the side of its head where ears should have been. They moved almost of their own accord, waving gently in an unseen breeze. Cheobawn studied it. Each feature, taken by itself might have been grotesque but in combination it was almost beautiful. The mouth especially had a soft curve at the corners giving it a perpetual smile. She would have stayed to talk but she needed to talk to Bohea.
Cheobawn took her hands from the sphere. The image did not go away. She could feel her mind scrambling for explanation as reality wobbled around her before settling firmly back in place again. Cheobawn wondered vaguely if Menolly felt this way when her head was filled with temple smoke and the visions came of their own accord, overwriting the real world. The being bowed its head and gently curled the corners of its lipless mouth in a way that might have been a parody of a human grin.
“Hello,” Cheobawn said tentatively. “Are you a smoke dream?”
“No, sweet child, I am very real,” the being purred.
“I suppose I should believe you, though if you were a figment of my imagination, you would have to say that, wouldn’t you,” Che
obawn mused. “But I must admit my imagination could not have created anything quite as beautiful as you. You look real. Can I touch you?”
“No. Unfortunately, what you see is only a simulacrum; a signal, broadcast by me, received by the machine you now hold in your lap.”
“You did not go away when I stopped touching my sphere,” Cheobawn pointed out, trying to puzzle out the holes in this person’s explanation. “Are your arms so long that you can you reach down from your starship above me and touch this sphere?”
“I am neither near nor far. Time and distance are malleable things. My body sits upon a planet far across the galaxy from where you are, the connection between our stones no more than a conduit to convey our intentions. Once focused, we do not need the stones, do we, you and I?”
“But how …” Cheobawn looked down at the sphere in her lap. Bohea took three stones. One had gone to the Spiders. One had been promised to the race of the starship pilots. Bohea had the last but he was not an adept. Her heart sank through the floor. Her plan had failed utterly.
“You are a Scerron,” she said faintly.
“Yes, clever girl.” the Scerron said, “but you do not seem pleased by this. Is my presence such a disappointment?”
“I was hoping to talk to a man named Bohea. I don’t suppose you can tell me where he is?”
“Ah, I understand. Keeping in touch with old friends. Let me see if I can find him for you,” the being said, glancing off to the side at something that only it could see. It looked back at her finally. “Be patient. I have sent someone to wake him.”
“He is there with you?” Cheobawn asked, surprised. “I thought he might be here.”
“Oh, rest assured, he is there. He spends his time patrolling your local space and playing clever games with your planetary politics while he awaits your majority.”
“But …“ She shook her head, completely confused. “You sent someone off to wake him.”
“I am Scerron. Distance is not a factor when talking to my kin. Colonel Bohea’s ship is a battle cruiser capable of starflight. His pilot is one of my sisters,” she explained. “The time you must wait is the time it takes for the Colonel to get dressed, walk down the companionways of his ship to the navigation command center, and plug his body into the neural network.”
“Oh.” Cheobawn nodded, pretending she understood any of that. “You were there already. I did not have to wait for you to hear me. Did I interrupt a communication?”
“Your stone is never left alone, Lady,” the Scerron said with a graceful bow of her head. “It resides in the great temple in our capitol city, attended by a perpetual array of priestesses. Someone is always listening.”
“Listening?” Cheobawn asked blankly. “Listening for what?”
“Why, for you, Lady,” the being said with a graceful flutter of her long fingers.
“Why?”
“Because we expect great things of you.”
All sorts of emotions cascaded through Cheobawn’s mind, not the least of which was utter dismay. She wrapped her arms around herself and blinked back the tears.
“Oh, goddess, please don’t do that,” she breathed, “I do not know that I can bear the burden of anyone else’s expectations.”
“Lady, I have disturbed you,” the violet creature said, her ear gills fluttering in agitation, stripes of shadow moving across her skin. “How can I make amends?”
“I am only eight years old,” Cheobawn wailed in frustration, “I have not even moved into Pack Hall, yet. Mora thinks I am still a baby and maybe I am because I have a really hard time doing the right thing. Every time I think I have it figured out, things go horribly wrong. People are dead because of me, because of the things I have done, because of the things I have failed to do. You are wrong about me. Sigrid is wrong. Megan is wrong. I have no Luck but Bad. Why can't you just leave me alone?”
“You are a bright new star in our heavens, Lady. The flares of your birth struggles sweep across the universe, waking all who have the power to hear. Not all of them are as benevolent as we. You do not shield these beautiful energies and for us, it is very hard to look away. We wish you to stay safe so we will watch over you until you are strong enough to defend yourself. Who has died?” the Scerron asked. “What has happened?”
“I need to talk to Bohea,” Cheobawn yelled in frustration. “He has to stop this. The north grows cold from his bombardment and I am afraid that spring will never come.”
Chapter Ten
Cheobawn watched as the dusky shadows rippled in complicated patterns across the skin of the odd creature sitting on the floor in front of her. It consulted again with someone she could not see before returning her gaze.
“That is impossible. Your planet has been interdicted. The Consortium would not dare break that treaty. Who bombards you?” the Scerron priestess asked, the corners of her mouth not quite so bow shaped now.
“What …” Cheobawn puzzled over the words. “Interdicted. I do not understand.”
“The recent agreement between the Central Planet Consortium and my people is very clear. Interference on your planet has been restricted to pre-treaty levels and any contact with your people in particular, those beings who live in the mountain domes such as yourself, is strictly prohibited ….”
“Wait. Can you do that?” Cheobawn interrupted the violet being, a frown between her brows. “Decide for us, I mean, without our knowledge or consent? It is sort of rude, don’t you think, to treat us like babies.”
“Of course not. This treaty was negotiated with the full knowledge and consent of your ruling council who dictated the terms. What is the nature of this bombardment?”
Cheobawn’s mind reeled once again. Mora knew. How could that be? Only the Fathers went down to meet the river traders at Meetpoint. Yet somehow Mora had managed to parlay with foreigners all the while pretending that things like Lowlanders, Spacers, Scerrons, and Spiders did not exist. She tried to follow the lies and half lies and circles of secrets nested inside secrets but her head started aching. For some unknown reason she found her eyes turning to the upper shelf with its array of black boxes. Tainted stones. Bloodstones of suspect provenance. Were they linked to things other than tribes and domes? Had Mora sent com-spheres down the Escarpment with the intent of establishing treaties outside of the tribal matrices? Who knew of this other than Mora?
“Lady,” pleaded the Scerron, “How can I keep you safe if you will not talk to me?”
“Help me? How can you help me? Mora is beyond your influence and you cannot stop the Spiders,” Cheobawn sighed as she pulled her eyes away from the dead black boxes and met the strange eyes. “Not with cold or wind or snow. They will come no matter what you do. Call off your ice demons.”
“I do not understand, Lady,” the alien said. She held her hand out towards Cheobawn. “Give me what you know. Perhaps I can put a different name on it.”
“You are not here,” Cheobawn said, confused by the hand hovering before her. It looked so real and she was very tempted to reach out and investigate.
“No, not in physical form,” the Scerron agreed. “Call it a symbolic gesture. Distance has no meaning between people such as you and I. Open your mind and try to touch my hand. It is not hard. Just follow the lines in the bloodstone that connect you to me.”
Cheobawn looked down at the golden sphere in her lap.
“I supposed that makes sense,” she said doubtfully as she placed one palm flat against the ball and looked up at the hand hovering just above it. Cheobawn reached out and touched the illusion with the tip of her finger.
Mora’s office disappeared. She found herself standing in a great white room, the walls and ceiling lost in mist, her hand resting in the palm of the violet Scerron.
“You are safe, Lady,” the Scerron said, her soft fingers stroking Cheobawn’s hand. “My name is Oud. This is a name that only exists here, in this place, between you and me.”
“My name is Cheobawn Blackwind but you can call me Ch’ch
e if you want. How is it that I can feel your touch now? Did you move through space? Or did I?”
“Neither, Lady,” Oud said with a laugh. “Our physical bodies still sit where we left them. That which you perceive as a body is merely a construct you created around the point of consciousness you inserted into the bloodstone matrix. It looks and feels like your physical body because that is what is most familiar to you.”
Cheobawn reached out with her free hand and ran her fingers over the violet skin on the alien’s arm. It was smooth and hairless and cool to the touch.
“Do you feel like this or am I inventing the feel of your skin to make you more real?”
“Clever, clever girl,” Oud said gently. “Pretend that it is real, and perhaps it will be.” Its fingers traced the pulse in Cheobawn’s wrist and then followed it up to the crook of her arm. Bending down to her level, she looked into Cheobawn’s eyes. Oud had amazing eyes. They looked like beaten gold and glittered from within. “I need you to think about these things you call ice demons,” she instructed. “Try to give the memories shape and form.”
How did one explain the catastrophe of an entire winter with mere thoughts, Cheobawn wondered? She thought about the beginning; the first storm. The mists in the white room shifted and the Dragon Spine appeared under a blue sky. Cheobawn looked down at her feet. She stood next to Oud upon the apex of the dome; a shocking violation of the village rules. A cool wind that smelled faintly of the sea coiled around her from behind before continuing on towards the mountains. As she watched the Spine, a line of clouds rose up from behind them, roiling and seething in a long ominous wall of white before spilling over the ridge line and running like water down into the valleys, swallowing everything in its path.
“This was the first storm. Eight Fathers died this day along with a sixth of the dome’s cattle,” Cheobawn said. “Herd Mother warned me about the ice demons but I did not understand what she was saying and I was too afraid to tell anyone else.”