Artemis Awakening

by Lindskold, Jane

  “Now, much as it sours me to admit it, I need to have words with Adara the Huntress. Then I think I’ll sleep. If you don’t mind…”

  His tone made these words a dismissal. Sashi was happy enough to go, but the elder two were distinctly resentful. Adara swallowed a sigh as she imagined what they’d say when they joined the gossipy flock outside. No helping it, though … She wondered how many ears would be pressed to the door, how many pairs of eyes would peek in at the windows. Never mind, if they hoped to learn something more to fuel their malice, they’d be disappointed.

  When the three sisters had left, Terrell patted the chair Nancy had vacated.

  “Take a seat. I’ve heard some about how the battle ended, but most of it secondhand. You truly are not injured?”

  “Truly.”

  “And Bruin … He is well?”

  “His hair got a little scorched by the blast that caught you and Coal. He makes light of it, saying he needed to have his hair cropped anyhow.”

  “Good, then…” Terrell sipped his cider. “Helena tells me—reluctantly and with a great deal of bitterness—that this newcomer, Griffin Dane, was the one who pulled me clear both of the fire and of Coal.”

  “Yes. Griffin did. He’s been worried he hurt you by dragging you so fast.”

  “Not at all,” Terrell said. “If I collected a few more bruises, well, I would have more if Coal had stepped—or fallen—on me.”

  This last was self-evident, so Adara didn’t comment. Nor did she ask why Helena was bitter. Clearly, like Mistress Cheesemaker, she blamed Griffin for the arrival of the spider.

  “Adara.” Terrell swallowed hard. “Adara … Helena tells me that Bruin told Mistress Cheesemaker that Griffin Dane will be leaving Shepherd’s Call in a few days.”

  “Yes,” Adara confirmed. “Bruin and I—and of course Sand Shadow and Honeychild—will be escorting him. Bruin wants Griffin to speak with Bruin’s own teacher, the Old One Who Is Young, in Spirit Bay.”

  Terrell frowned. Factotums trained with the loremasters. He was clearly putting Bruin’s plan together with the metal spider and drawing conclusions of his own.

  “That one?” Terrell looked interested, but also apprehensive. “The one who knows more lore than the loremasters—although the loremasters often question his conclusions. That one. You’ll be asking Helena for horses?”

  “I will,” Adara agreed. “Only horses trained by such as her will tolerate Sand Shadow and Honeychild without a great deal of adjustment. Even if we were to walk as far as Blue Meadow, we could not hope to find steeds with such training. And—well, there are reasons for our moving more quickly than walking pace.”

  “On a long journey,” Terrell reminded her, “a horse does not go much faster than a human. You cannot gallop all day—not even canter or trot without alternating with a slower gait.”

  “True,” Adara said. “But a walking horse can carry a great deal more than a walking human. With horses we can bring our own supplies and not need to worry about stopping in every town.”

  Terrell nodded. “Good point. I have lived enough months in Shepherd’s Call to forget that Honeychild and Sand Shadow would not be welcomed in some places.”

  There was a note in his voice that told Adara that Terrell had something in mind, but she had learned from Bruin’s example to hold her peace. At the fringes of her mind, she could just feel Sand Shadow. The distance was too great for her to get any solid impression, but she sensed that the great cat was frustrated. Doubtless backtracking the spider’s trail had been as disappointing as they had dreaded.

  “Adara,” Terrell said at last, “when I first heard the rumors that Griffin Dane was no longer welcome here in Shepherd’s Call, I knew that I must go with him. I owe him some return on the risk he took to get me to safety.”

  Adara blinked. “You would go with us?”

  “Rather, I will go with him,” Terrell stated, “whether you go or not. I can’t say I like the man—even that I have much of a sense of him—but he ran into fire and beneath the hooves of a pain-maddened horse to pull me to safety. I cannot ignore the debt.”

  “Have you told Helena?”

  “I have. She is … less than happy. I believe she has gone up to the sheepfolds to ride herself calm and seek Bert’s counsel. However, although I came here to learn from her, there is no contract between us as between apprentice and master. Helena is anything but unfair. She may rage and trumpet, but she will come around. In the end, she will loan the horses you need, all the more willingly because I am going with you. Like many of the village elders, she wants Griffin Dane gone.”

  Adara fought down an unexpected rush of anger. “Griffin Dane did nothing. Is a rabbit to blame when the puma hunts it?”

  “Not to blame,” Terrell replied. “I agree, but is this Griffin Dane innocent of the threat he offered?”

  “I think he was innocent,” Adara answered, “though now he blames himself. If Bruin and I were not delaying him so we can we make preparations, I think Griffin would have left here alone without so much as a loaf of bread or a bottle of water.”

  “You admire him?”

  Given Terrell’s interest in Adara, the question was fraught with hidden meanings, but Adara chose to reply only to what had been said.

  “I see qualities in him to admire.”

  “As do I…” Terrell gave a gusty sigh. “Then you will accept my coming with you?”

  “Gladly,” Adara said. She hated how Terrell’s blue eyes brightened, but she only spoke the truth. Factotums had been trained in the days of the seegnur to act as guides and facilitators for the visitors from afar. Those who still followed the profession were skilled in every aspect of comfortable travel. She would be an idiot not to welcome Terrell’s help. “Very gladly indeed.”

  * * *

  When they left Shepherd’s Call on the third day following the coming of the spider, once again Griffin Dane couldn’t help but think how much tougher the people of Artemis were than those he knew. Certainly, genetic modifications would help, but there was a philosophical acceptance that pain and injury were part of life that was rare on Sierra.

  Does this date to their lore? Perhaps because “seegnur” on holiday would not have liked to listen to whining? Or is it because they lack the pain-controlling drugs and nerve blocks that are routinely used at home? The training my parents insisted we all have—much as I hated that horrible school—did set our family apart.

  Terrell the Factotum remained stiff and sore from his injuries, but he insisted that he was beyond the point where idleness would speed his healing. Without any of the pain control or other medications Griffin had taken for granted, Terrell had been up and about by the second day. Today he was riding with relative ease.

  Griffin had been astonished by the man’s offer to come along with them. He’s asked Bruin’s advice and Bruin had pressed him to accept.

  “Adara and I are good enough on the trail—none better—but a factotum’s training is broader based. Terrell will be useful to you both when you come into contact with other settlements and after you arrive in Spirit Bay.”

  Griffin nodded. “I’ll take your word for that. How does a factotum make a living these days, now that there aren’t any seegnur to wait on?”

  “Many act as guides for merchant caravans or groups of travelers. They also work with the loremasters, spreading the lore to isolated regions, searching out promising children and nominating them for further education.” Bruin chuckled and scratched his belly. “Really, if the seegnur returned, they might need to book a factotum’s services in advance. The profession calls for physical endurance, and a willingness to absorb both practical skills and a great amount of knowledge. There aren’t many qualified.”

  The sincerity in Terrell’s clear blue eyes had left no doubt that his gratitude toward Griffin was genuine. However, noting how Terrell watched Adara when he thought the huntress wouldn’t notice, remembering Adara’s scream of grief and rage when Terrell had bee
n thrown, Griffin wondered if there wasn’t more to Terrell’s offer than archaic chivalry.

  Adara did not give Terrell much encouragement. She treated him and Griffin alike. Griffin didn’t know what to think of this. He knew he found Adara attractive. Those nights spent sleeping close came back to him at very inopportune times, but he was too aware of his dependence on her and Bruin—and even Terrell—to risk doing anything to offend her.

  But whatever the true reason for Terrell’s offer to accompany them, he was too valuable an asset to turn away. Even so, Griffin would only agree to let Terrell come along if the factotum was filled in on the truth regarding how Griffin had come to Artemis—and why he might be a magnet for further trouble.

  Terrell accepted the news with more ease than he might have if the metal spider had not made its attack. In a strange way, Griffin’s extraplanetary origins made recent events extraordinary rather than inexplicable. Terrell also agreed with Adara and Bruin that this information should be shared only when absolutely necessary.

  When they left Shepherd’s Call, their company was eleven: four humans, four horses, a bear, a puma, and a singularly ornery mule to carry the heavier baggage. The mule—who was called Sam—was a difficult beast and would permit no one but Terrell to work with him.

  That an animal should be allowed an opinion was a new way of thinking for Griffin. He hadn’t had much difficulty stretching his mind around the idea that Sand Shadow was a person. Adara’s attitude toward the puma had made this clear from the start. Then, too, an enormous predator demanded a certain amount of respect. Once they struck out on the road and Honeychild was not a more or less drowsy heap of fur and appetite, Griffin found himself easily extending to the bear the attitude he had formed toward the puma.

  But that Sam the Mule and the four horses should be thought of in the same way took a little effort—perhaps because their assigned role was basically servile. Griffin’s horse was an aging chestnut mare named Molly. Molly was graced with a flaxen mane and tail. A wide white blaze went from beneath her forelock to between her nostrils.

  Even with only theoretical knowledge of how to ride a horse—Griffin had brainloaded a course on the subject on Sierra, since his research had indicated that horses had been common transportation on Artemis—Griffin could sit Molly with hardly more effort than he might his favorite reading chair. Molly obediently followed whatever lead the other horses set, leaving Griffin plenty of time to daydream.

  It wasn’t until their second day on the trail, when a sudden wind sent both Adara and Bruin’s mounts to dancing and crow-hopping, that Griffin accepted the truth. Molly wasn’t docile and obedient; she was a skilled professional who realized her rider was a complete incompetent. She maintained her poise in order to care for him, even when she would have preferred to act up. Humbled, that night Griffin gathered a bunch of young grass and sweet herbs for Molly by way of thanks.

  Terrell rode Midnight, a full brother to the late Coal, although gelded. One thing Griffin gathered early on was that stallions were not usual riding animals—they were too inclined to flirt with the mares and fight with other stallions. Most male horses were gelded, unless they showed promise as studs.

  Adara’s mount was a smoky roan named Tarnish after how her coat darkened from silver along her rump and barrel to thundercloud grey along her neck, mane, and tail. Tarnish’s face was ornamented with a blaze that widened as it flowed down from below her forelock to above her nostrils. Her independent temper was good for a horse who must carry Adara, for the huntress had a tendency to slip off her mount in order to scout, leaving the horse to take care of herself.

  The final member of the herd was the stout liver chestnut called Block who carried Bruin. Block’s basic sturdiness concealed a sharp temper. Indeed, Griffin rapidly learned that stolid-seeming Block was more likely to snap or kick than flashy Midnight.

  “All showing,” Terrell commented, “as Helena likes to say, that appearances are a lousy way to judge horseflesh.”

  The road to Blue Meadow was one wagon wide, the deep ruts in the dirt testifying to generations of traffic. Once they were a day out from Shepherd’s Call, the road was hardly more than an indication of the direction in which they should travel. When there was rain—as there was almost daily—the dirt became mud. That meant that every night the horse’s hooves needed cleaning. Griffin squared his shoulders and asked Terrell to teach him what was necessary.

  And here I am, he thought, as he gently eased dirt from the frog of Molly’s foot, who has been called one of the rising historians of my age, acting as junior groom and camp keeper.

  Although Griffin was aware of the irony, he was not unhappy. His plans had included a long stay on Artemis—or at least in orbit—while he did his initial research. In the course of his life, Griffin had learned that focusing on an immediate goal was better than brooding over an uncontrollable future. Right now, that goal was gaining the trust of allies who would help him. He could sense that his willingness to work had earned him the others’ respect. And, unlike a “real” groom, Griffin comforted himself with the hope his future held something more.

  * * *

  They were midway to Blue Meadow when they came upon a man hung against the trunk of a roadside hickory. Sand Shadow, who was advance scout, found him first and reported to Adara.

  “He’s alive,” Adara said as they urged their mounts to greater speed, “but unconscious. Sand Shadow says the man’s scent is familiar, although she doesn’t know why. She also smells dogs.”

  When they drew close to where Sand Shadow waited, Bruin spoke. “That’s Fred! He’s the one who was supposed to bring young Kipper to me. Seems I was right to worry.”

  Griffin leapt off Molly and hurried to hold Fred steady while Terrell slashed through the ropes that dug into the man’s flesh. Fred had been tied so tightly against the tree’s bark that his struggles had rubbed raw patches in his exposed skin. He had the sort of wiry, knobbly build that, at best, would never have held much flesh. Now he was positively gaunt. When Griffin eased him down, Fred moaned in pain.

  Adara had been casting around for signs of what had happened.

  “There’s been too much rain for me to tell for certain,” she stated, “but I’m guessing Fred was attacked when he’d stopped for the night. I’ve camped here myself. It’s a common stop along the road between Blue Meadow and Shepherd’s Call. There’s not much sign left of the people who did this, but the indications are that they went south—not that that takes much thought. The road only goes two ways.”

  Terrell was kindling a fire in the stone ring that was—at least to Griffin’s way of seeing things—the only indication that anyone had ever camped here before. Griffin led the horses off the road, then removed his bedroll from behind Molly’s saddle.

  Bruin had been easing water between Fred’s lips. Then he spread brawny arms and carried the semiconscious man over to where Griffin had spread the bedroll next to the newly kindled fire.

  “Smart thinking,” Bruin grunted. Griffin was embarrassed by how good that brief praise felt. “We’ll need more water.”

  Griffin fetched water from a nearby stream while Terrell and Bruin carefully removed Fred’s tattered clothing. Adara had vanished, along with both Sand Shadow and Honeychild.

  Adara reappeared not too long after. “Found the trail. Wasn’t easy. If the ground hadn’t been so wet and if I hadn’t had Sand Shadow and Honeychild to help, I’m not sure even I could have located which way the attackers went.”

  “Not good,” Bruin said, “but not as much of a surprise as I would wish.”

  Terrell added. “Where are the demiurges?”

  “Following the trail farther,” Adara replied. “Honeychild wanted to nose out whatever was there in case it rains again and washes out the remaining scent. Sand Shadow stayed to protect her. How’s Fred?”

  Bruin answered. “Dehydrated. He’ll be hungry when he stops hurting. Nasty bump on his head, another under his jaw. Otherwise, he wasn’
t hurt.”

  Griffin offered, “How about I make broth from the leftovers of this morning’s rabbit?”

  “Good thought,” Bruin said.

  When Griffin headed for the cooking gear and leftover food, he found Terrell ahead of him, unstrapping various bundles from Sam the Mule’s back.

  “You know how to cook broth on a fire?” Terrell asked, as he handed Griffin the pack containing the cooking gear.

  Griffin gave a half-smile. “I wouldn’t have before my hike down the mountains with Adara.”

  “Ah…”

  There was no question that they would camp, even though many hours of daylight remained. Adara vanished again. Terrell settled the horses and Sam the Mule, then began putting up the tents.

  Adara returned as Terrell was pounding in the last tent peg, dragging behind her a very large, extremely bedraggled dog.

  “Saw the prints,” she explained as she tied her prize to tree where it could see Fred. “This one and at least one other were with Fred. This fellow has a hurt paw, so I was able to catch up to him. His partner may be skulking behind.”

  Once it realized it couldn’t break free, the dog alternated between growling at the strangers and whining anxiously in Fred’s direction.

  “Toss the dog some bread,” Bruin said to Griffin. “We’ll ignore him for a while. Once he sees we’re not harming Fred, he’ll calm down.”

  The dog accepted the bread. Then, growling softly, he settled as close as he could get to his unconscious master.

  By evening, Fred had come around enough to relate in small fragments, with many breaks between, what had happened.

  He’d traveled with a trade caravan as far as Blue Meadow. After assuring himself that there were no rumors of bandit activity, Fred had felt safe continuing to Shepherd’s Call on his own. That Kipper had been as excited about going to Bruin as he’d been apprehensive about staying in town had been the deciding factor.

  They’d traded for fresh horses in Blue Meadow and so had made good time. All seemed well right up until the moment Fred had been awakened by the sound of one of his dogs barking. The dogs might have been fine guards, but they were no match for what came into the little camp.