by J. D. Lakey
Tam stopped as a thought occurred to him. “Wait one second. The first Meetpoint foray isn’t for another month. There will be no river runners waiting at the base of the cliffs.”
“That’s why I have the com-ball,” Cheobawn said, pushing him back into motion. “I called Sam and told him to meet us. Once he figured out I was not a ghost he was very agreeable.”
“I thank the goddess everyday that she is not crawling around inside my head,” Connor said softly to Alain. “That Sam guy is made of rock, that he does not go into a screaming fit every time she does it.”
“I heard you,” Cheobawn said loudly, casting a smile over her shoulder at her Packmates.
“Didn’t say anything that I wasn’t ashamed of,” Connor called back, an impish smile on his face.
“It has all been precisely timed,” Cheobawn said. “We buried the eggs nearly thirty days ago. The temperature of the sand controls the hatching time. Once we set a day and time with Sam, we adjusted the heat so they would hatch today. Finn was brilliant. He’s run an air hose from the foundry into a bed we created out of sand borrowed from the glass-works. I have been checking on them every day. The babies say today is the day.”
Zeff and Breyden stood at the edge of the bed of pale sand. Both looked up at Blackwind’s approach, flashing Cheobawn their own quiet kind of smiles. Amabel and Sigrid had their heads together over a wooden cask, deep in discussion, Amabel dipping her instruments into the fluid inside, testing the salinity and temperature. The Maker of the Living Thread was rattling off a long string of instructions for Sigrid’s benefit. Sigrid listened intently, perhaps fearing to miss any point of care for the spiders. So much depended on their survival. The rest of Ramhorn Pack stood at the heads of a string of bennelk, trying to keep them calm. Being this close to a predator of Spider’s ilk was not to their liking. The animals were already saddled and laden for the long trek south to Meetpoint dome.
Steam rose from the hatching ground in the cool air. Spring had come early but here in the shadow of the greater dome, the air still had the hint of winter. A fluttering of fear touched her heart. Cheobawn let go of Tam’s hand, her pleasure at his release evaporating. The babies were afraid with the presence of so many humans.
“Stand back, all of you,” Cheobawn said. “Give me a moment.”
The sand heaved. Cheobawn felt her own strange heart lurch in anticipation. She was Nnursht standing guard over her clutch, thousands of years out of time. In her mind it was not day but night – a deep, dark night in which the twin moons crawled out of the sky to hide themselves below the horizon, taking their light with them. In her mind, or in her memory, she looked up to see the stars in all their splendid glory. Under her black claw tips, the children broke their shells with their egg claws and scrambled towards the air, desperate to survive. Nnursht wished them peace, singing the pattern of her soul into their crystalline minds to make sure the children would remember her, even after her passing. This was Nnursht’s song; a song of hot sandy beaches and a warm shallow sea where every net pulled in a fat fish or a juicy eel and the mudflats in the estuaries heaved with worms and shellfish that grew under the blankets of silt. The song had a chorus, the chorus telling of stars filled with brothers and sisters looking down from on high. She sang the song of seeking, of crawling up into the darkness and leaping off into the unknown. Then she added the new chorus, the final triumphant strain that told of coming home; at long last, coming home.
Calm yourselves, children, she thought. Allow these creatures to help you. Long is the journey to the warm seas and this vessel will take you there.
Cheobawn shook Spider free of her mind and looked up, nodding. Zeff, Sigrid and Breyden each donned a pair of ironsmith gloves and stooped to gather up the fragile spiders as they emerged from the sand. One by one they were dropped into the casks. Cheobawn counted. Twenty three in all. It was a paltry number. Too few, surely. So much hinged on the survival of every single baby. When they were all accounted for, Amabel placed the lids on the two casks and adjusted the canister of pressurize air attached there, studying the readouts on the gauges. It was primitive technology at best but the Mothers had rules about what went off the Escarpment, apparently. Cheobawn was not sure what harm would have come from putting a simple monitor crystal inside the cask with the babies so that she could watch over them on their ride down to the sea but she was not going to argue. She was lucky they had agreed to her plan as it was, as Amabel liked to remind her at least once a day.
Cheobawn crossed to Sigrid’s side to touch his hand. “I cannot thank you enough for what you are doing.”
“I would have resented being excluded from this, the final act, Little Mother,” Sigrid said gently.
“So much rides upon the success of this. Do not forget to give Sam my message, I beg you,” she said.
“It is unseemly, Little Mother,” Sigrid said, leaning down to whisper his protest. “He is a Lowlander.”
“It is how Lowlanders speak to each other,” she said with a shrug. “Motherless as they are, you must pity him instead of being angry.”
Amabel, satisfied that the spider children would survive the long voyage, called Sigrid back to her side. Sigrid grimaced, a look only she could see, and then turned to return to the Mother’s side.
Cheobawn crossed to Cloud Eye. The bennelk stood calmly waiting, not even a twitch of an ear betraying her disapproval of this venture. Cheobawn caressed her velvet nose and pressed her face against the bony plates of her forehead while Zeff helped Sigrid lift the casks onto Cloud Eye’s pack saddle. The other bennelk flicked their ears nervously, shudders running through the muscles of their sides as they controlled their battle urges and consented to be held still by their riders.
They are small. We could smash them all with no effort, Cloud Eye said stubbornly.
Stop. Do you want Spider to send more eggs down upon our heads? We must do this so that our forests stay free of Spiders.
The mind of the ice demons are too strange. I do not trust anything they have to say. Neither should you, Cloud Eye said, her concern hanging heavy on her thoughts.
They remember everything. It makes me glad that thoughts sometimes slip out of my head like water never to return, Cheobawn said smiling. Your bravery makes me very proud. Your greatness will rival Herd Mother’s someday.
You are like a biting fly, Cloud Eye said with a snort and a flick of her ears. What choice had I?
Cheobawn laughed. She had been rather persistent. Herd Mother had given her reluctant approval but would only release her youngest daughters from the herd for what she considered a dangerous foray. Cloud Eye, having already killed her share of spider babies, seemed the most pragmatic about carrying the little beasts on her back.
When the casks were settled and Ramhorn Pack had climbed into their saddles and wrapped the reins around their fists, Cheobawn saluted Sigrid and turned back towards the dome. Her Pack stood watching her. She laughed as something strange bubbled up around her heart. Joy. Joy had come back to her after being a stranger for so long. Hugging each of them in turn, she turned them back towards the West Gate.
“What message have you sent to Sam?” Tam asked as he fell into step by her side. “What did Sigrid mean?” Tam’s tone was too even, his face suspiciously empty of expression. Cheobawn smiled, suddenly understanding why girls liked to tease boys.
“Poor Sam,” Cheobawn said with a sigh as she glanced at her Alpha out of the corner of her eye. “He is doomed. I have taken him into my heart and there he shall stay, cursed as I am cursed, by the chaos of my inception. Sigrid must tell him of my love and gratitude. I am in his debt and now he will know that I am only a thought away should he need my help.”
“What?” Tam asked, a scowl forming on his brow. “Have we added a new member to our Pack?”
Connor whooped and leap up into the air. “Yes! At last I am no longer junior most. Sam is now Omega.” Alain tried to punch Connor in the shoulder but Connor danced out of reach and gri
nned impishly at his packmate, taunting him with a flick of his chin. Alain smiled and pretended he had not seen the challenge.
“He has no training and no manners,” Megan said, her manner cool. She had never liked Sam. His Lowlander brain was far too loud and unshielded in the ambient.
“You pity a Lowlander? Have you no pity for the rest of us?” Alain said, his own joy creating cracks in the hard finish that had surrounded him since he stepped out of the Temple.
Cheobawn snorted in disdain. “What paltry warriors you would be if you could not stand your ground in the face of the maelstrom of my chaos. Have I not trained you better?” An impish grin crossed her face. She leapt forward and sprinted towards the door. “Last one to the dining hall gets no berry crisp,” she called over her shoulder. Connor whooped in delight and pelted after her. Tam exchanged long suffering looks with Alain and Megan. Alain shrugged and set out after Connor, intent on overtaking him. Megan laughed and tugged Tam into motion. It was hard to tell who tumbled through the doors of the dining room last. It did not matter. Nedella had cleaned out the last of her hidden stock of berries from her larder in celebration of this day. There was plenty of berry crisp for everyone.
Chapter Nineteen
Cheobawn woke. Cool air drifted through the half open shutters of the window over her bed. Was it the moon that had disturbed her sleep or the sounds coming from Tam’s sleeping chamber? Megan was bunking with Tam instead of sleeping in her own cot this night but it seemed that not a lot of sleeping was taking place. This elicited only a mild curiosity on her part, nothing more. It was to be expected of newly trained temple students, Zeff had warned her. He had seemed concerned that she might feel lonely or left out.
Cheobawn had other worries. She slipped silently off her cot and eased the louvered doors of her sleep chamber open. The common room was empty, Eiocha’s bright light streaming through the southern windows. Her bare feet padded silently across the wooden floor as she wound her way around the clutter of the room until she stood in front of the map table. Using a handy chair, she clambered onto its surface and pulled the golden sphere out of its cradle. Sitting cross legged on the map, she placed Old Father Bhotta’s bloodstone in the hollow made by her crossed legs, took a long slow breath, and pressed her hands against the golden skin of the ball.
She stood in the misty room. Oud opened her eyes and looked up, a gentle smile on her face.
Hello, again, little one, Oud said with a slight bow of her long violet body. How pleased I am to talk to you again. How may I serve you?
I need to talk to the Lowlander boy again, Cheobawn said.
Ah, let me wake a sister to establish trinity or perhaps two so that we can use a quintet for added boost. The Lowlander is dreadfully ungifted.
And Spider, holding a sister-stone to mine, has access to this circle. Thank you for blocking that. Cheobawn said. Something else occurred to her. Do you tell Bohea of our conversations?
I cannot lie, Oud said sadly.
Oh, Cheobawn said, worried but not sure if it mattered enough to change what she was about to do.
But I do not volunteer information unless asked, Oud said with a sly smile. Cheobawn grinned, delighted by this peek into Oud’s impish nature.
That is good to know, Cheobawn said.
Ah, we have found him. He has moved since we last talked.
The misty room disappeared. She stood upon the deck of a river schooner. The wind was at her back, the masts full of sail, their ropes singing under the strain of pulling the ship up river. Sam was studying the set of the sail and the lie of the dark banks on either side of him, his eyes in constant motion. She studied the lines of his face. The large moon, Eiocha, hung high in the sky, casting everything but the water into stark planes of light and shadow. He seemed older, somehow. The suffering of his ordeal below the Escarpment had etched permanent lines around his mouth and eyes. It suddenly occurred to her that he had been beautiful once. But no more. His nose was no longer perfect, having grown a lump or two from all the abuse it had weathered. There was a scar that ran along the edge of his jaw. She had not noticed it the last time they had talked but the light of the moon cast the imperfection into deep relief. The innocent boy was gone. A strong man sat in his place. She decided she trusted the man more than the boy.
She shook her head at the flights of fancy her mind was taking. She had business to do here.
Perhaps she made a noise or perhaps he caught the movement of her form out of the corner of his eye. Sam turned and stared at her. Cheobawn smiled and came to sit next to him behind the great wheel.
“Are you real or am I very drunk and imagining this?” Sam asked.
“I love your ship, Sam,” she said, looking up at the white sails, their moonlit shapes brilliant against the night sky. “If I were a Lowlander, I’d sail the river all the time, night and day.”
“I risk life and limb sailing at night. My crew is near to mutiny. Your deadline is almost impossible to make. What do you want now? Did I not roust my crew out in the dead of night and set sail, my hold empty, with no more than a day’s notice? My father is back home in Dunauken questioning my sanity.”
“I promised you a bag of bloodstones for your service,” Cheobawn pouted.
“Yes, but I am beginning to think I should have asked for more. Tell me the truth. What is the cargo you wish me to carry so secretly downriver?”
“Tell me,” she asked, curling her bare legs under her. ‘’If I offered you retribution for all the offenses ever done to you by Colonel Bohea and all of Spacer kind, would you be brave enough to take it?”
Sam swore long and hard. Cheobawn waited.
“Is it a weapon? Do the Highlanders now wage war against us? Who else among my people have you seduced to your side?”
“There is only you, sweet Sam,” she said. “Without you, we are all doomed. Can you not find it in your power to help me?”
“I am here, am I not?” he snorted in disgust. “Against my own better judgment.”
“You will be given two wooden casks. Take them to Orson’s Sea. Do not open them until you are well away from the shores and far from prying eyes. Then, when it can be unobserved by anyone, break the casks open and dump the children of my heart into the water.”
“Children?” Sam said, shaking his head in confusion. “I am drowning Highland children?”
“They are wee things. Twenty-three in all. Spider children. They just want to come home, Sam. It is such a small favor to ask.”
“Spiders. Spiders?” he said. Something bloomed behind his eyes as if the word triggered an unpleasant memory. “Spider. Oh, by all the gods, this is not what I think it is. Is it? We are at war, Ch’che! What are you thinking? I lost friends in the battle over Halide Five. You have no idea what I went through. What I did. What I was forced to do to stay alive. The spiders came out of the dark like ghosts in a horrible nightmare and launched a cloud of spines that melted the ship wherever they touched. They very nearly took us all out. No. No. Absolutely not.”
“That is what the Bohea said,” Cheobawn said as she pasted a sad look on her face and bent her head to study the buttons on her pajama top. “He was quite furious.”
“Was he?” Sam said, eying her as if she had suddenly sprouted fangs.
Cheobawn looked up at him from under her eyelashes, a smile playing on her lips.
“Revenge. Think on that for a moment. It would not be immediate. No one would notice for years and years until one day, in the darkest part of the night, spiders would rise from the ocean to take back the beaches. By that time it will be too late. Bohea would have to acknowledge that the game was lost, on this planet at least. Spider is not so different from us that it would not be grateful for those who give it aid. It would reward those who align themselves with the proper side. What would you give to take your planet back from Spacer control? Do you want to be free? I can give you that. I can give you revenge for all the wrongs done to you and yours.”
“You ar
e a cancer inside my soul,” Sam said. He grimaced as he threw back his head to stare up at the stars.
“Yes, I am sorry for that. I do not know how to make it better,” she whispered. “We are doomed to be intertwined forever, you and I.”
“A bag of bloodstones,” Sam said, looking back into her face. “Medium to low quality so that their sale will cause no more than a ripple when I sell them on the black-market. Forty or more. I have expenses. My gods cursed holds are empty.”
Cheobawn nodded solemnly. “And revenge served long and cold,” she said, her voice soft and low like the wind in the rigging.
“I will be at Meetpoint by midday.” There was a hard gleam in his eyes where there had been dull acceptance before.
“The young Fathers will come down the cliffs at twilight, no later,” Cheobawn said. “Remember; do not open the casks until you are well out to sea. The babies are fragile but deadly poisonous. Do not dare to touch them.”
“I know,” Sam said. “I was there, in the corridors of the frigate when they peeled back the hull and filled the ship with hard vacuum. They tried to take our ship.”
Cheobawn looked at him in dismay. Deep was the hurt behind those words. “It was not Spider who put you in harm’s way. Remember that.”
“My grandfather was a boy when the first starships arrived,” Sam said softly. “We had not believed in them, even though the old teaching tales insisted they existed. But there they were, hanging in the night sky, as big and as bright as Little Moon. They were greeted like saviors, heroes come to return us to the glory of the old Accord but that turned to fear when they demanded tribute. The gunships settled upon the marshlands, turning the land to glass. Who could fight such power? My great grandfather was part of the delegation that went out to meet the Spacers. Take everything we own, but do not take our children, he begged. But we had nothing they wanted. So they took the best of us, the young and the strong and the brave and made us into killers.” Sam turned the glare of his mad eyes in her direction. “Revenge,” he whispered. “I will hold you to your promise.”