by Carol Buhler
**
We were just getting up from breakfast when I received a shrill cry for help from Aarnyon, in Jol’s voice. The brief view I received, through Aarnyon’s via Taggert’s eyes, showed Jol standing slumped and exhausted with still shapes on the ground around him.
“Where?” I asked urgently.
“Outside Samsville.” Taggert responded, not Jol.
“Call my brothers—and uncles. Guide them. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”
No one else had heard the call or the conversation. I took Kora by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Your brother’s in serious trouble. You stay here, please.”
Glancing at Wofdon, I caught his nod of willingness to house her. “Do you need help?” he asked.
“I’ll get it from nearby, unless I need more.” I strode outside, dressed in my house clothes, not a riding suit, and leapt on Aarnyon’s back. “Send word to Korola to meet me with appropriate wear.”
Aarnyon dipped his head slightly. I’d already heard him send the cry to Kaldon and my other brothers.
“Send word to Sardon and Bardon to be prepared.”
We flew like mad, Aarnyon’s long wings sweeping steadily, powerfully, carrying us in a straight line toward Samsville. Still, we had to rest. It would take us at least two days, and we’d arrive exhausted at that. We strategized and decided to wait to hear from Kaldon before practically killing ourselves to get there.
However, Aarynon didn’t slow his wing strokes until I felt his breath rasping and I almost slipped off from weakened muscles. I ordered him down. We’d reached the southern shore of the Sea. I flung myself off and lay trying to catch my breath. Aarnyon stood, head down, breathing deeply. His wings trembled as shoulder muscles quivered in pain.
In a moment, I jumped up and started to massage. A crippled reeth would not get me there, nor could I let Aarnyon suffer like he did. Gradually, the quivers receded, Aarnyon’s breathing became more regular, and he raised his head.
“Not another day like that!” I said sharply. “Your death is not on my agenda!”
“I didn’t realize I was pushing so hard,” he said apologetically. “We’ll use more sense as we go along.”
“Yes.”
“Kaldon’s there,” he continued, feeding me reports from the reeth on the ground. “Sammy, Jackson, Paul and four others from the town attacked Jol. Jackson’s father died during an attack by another group of humans who struck Samsville in search of wealth. Sam’s been wounded. Paul’s hatred enflamed the others and they decided to punish Jol for not stopping the raid. He didn’t know it was happening. As soon as he heard, he went to help, but too late. The assailants had vanished.”
“Jol appeared relatively unhurt in the vision Taggert sent.”
Aarnyon didn’t answer right away. I poked him. “Tell me.”
“Jol lost his temper, Kaldon says. He’s not badly hurt. However, Sammy, Jackson and Paul are unconscious. He beat them beyond necessity.”
I sat down and cried—in pain for my son. I knew what his temper was like. Under better control than mine, but ready to flare when unjustly accused. How will this end?
We forced ourselves to sleep as much as possible, to give our bodies a chance to repair overused muscles. My brothers had Jol back at my home; they’d flown the injured citizens of Samsville to a hospital in Johnstown, and my presence was not absolutely required, yet. However, Kaldon said both towns were furious.
“You need to be here when they come. I’m sure they will,” he assured me via his reeth-mate.
“I’ll be there by tomorrow evening,” I answered.
The next morning, I woke stiff and sore in every muscle. Aarnyon and I had not flown that hard in years—and neither of us was all that young anymore. He rolled his shoulders, then his hips. Snaps and crunches indicated pain in his joints.
“We’ll go slower today,” he said. His tone expressed how I felt—achy and exhausted.
~~
We arrived home to find that humans were camped around the Joe family household, just as my brother had predicted. I refused to see anyone until I had rested and spoken with Jol. The family rallied—all two-hundred-six of them were present, even my older half-sisters and their families—and kept the humans from storming the house. I could hardly believe the anger and hatred I saw as I stared out my bedroom window at the tents, campfires, and screaming people. They seemed to establish shifts so the noise kept up all night long.
I slept, then ate, then went looking for Jol and Taggert. Aarnyon told me they were in the stables, curled up in a back stall as if hiding from the family. I asked him to join me and we found them both asleep.
“Jol.” I shook gently. He looked frail to me, not at all as I’d seen him last before he left on his judicial tour of the lowland human cities. I suddenly wondered why he’d been anywhere near Samsville.
Taggert woke first, watching me with a gentle eye, even as it glowed slightly red with anxiety. I asked him why they’d returned to the town.
“Jackson sent word via a reeth he flagged down that he needed our help. The young one…” I understood he was referring to a fairly young colt. “…didn’t understand the dynamics and couldn’t read Jackson’s malicious intent. I knew as soon as we approached that all was not well.” He let out a deep, reeth snort. “I tried to turn away but Jol was adamant that we see what Jackson wanted. He’s missed his friend very much.”
Taggert rolled carefully away from Jol’s limp body and pushed himself to his feet. “As we landed, Jackson shouted that his father had been killed and that Jol had deserted him and his family. The humans attacked the second Jol touched the ground. He ordered me to stay out of it, but when all eight piled on top of him, I didn’t. I yanked the three away that were closest to me. They fled from my hooves.”
“Five others were beating him?”
“Screaming and striking, kicking, hitting him with sticks. Jol thrust himself upright and threw them off.” Instead of trying to describe the scene, Taggert displayed it to Aarnyon who sent it to me. The five men flew every which way when Jol jumped up. The first to recover was Paul, who scrambled back with hatred in his eyes. Jol struck him with a right fist that must have shattered the man’s jaw, but he didn’t go down. Jackson was rushing forward when Jol kicked Paul in the groin and swerved to dodge Jackson, thrusting out a foot to trip. With Paul and Jackson both down for the moment, Jol turned to face Sam, Jr. whose face radiated loathing.
I just couldn’t understand. Why the hatred?
Jol stopped Sam, Jr.’s attack by stepping aside and chopping at the man’s nape with the blade of his stiffened hand. I saw that he hadn’t struck to kill, but Sam went down hard, face first. When he pushed himself back up, his nose was twisted to one side and bleeding copiously.
Another of the men, unknown to me, rushed Jol next. My son thrust out a hip, grabbed the man’s incoming fist, and threw him across his body to land hard on his back. The air whooshed out of the man’s lungs and he lay still. A few minutes later, I saw him crawl away—didn’t see him again.
Sam tried to grab Jol’s wrists—a major mistake. Jol flung his arms apart and head-butted Sam on top of his already broken nose. He fell, unconscious.
Paul and Jackson hung back a moment, catching their breath. Jol tried to talk but only wheezing gasps escaped before they rushed him from two sides. Jol spun and kicked, connecting with Paul’s sternum. He fell backward and lay still a moment.
Jol continued his spin and flung himself at Jackson with hard punches to the man’s head. Jackson tried to turn and Jol kidney punched him. Screaming in agony, Jackson dropped.
Paul charged back, head lowered. My son jumped and caught Paul’s head in a vice between his calves. A twist as he fell wrenched Paul’s head to the right. I wasn’t sure he still lived—but Kaldon had reported none dead.
The last of Jackson’s cohorts must have fled because the fight ended when Paul stayed still. That’s the final picture Taggert had sent while I was still in
the north—Jol staggering to his feet, limp bodies around him.
I sank to my knees in reaction to the violent scenes. The abhorrence in the faces of the humans who had been Jol’s friends. The speed in which he reacted and the strength he used to defeat them. He amazed me even as I couldn’t understand.
A small shuffle raised my eyes. Jol stared at me, terror radiating. Fear of what I will do? Aarnyon sent me a negative. “Horror at what he did.”
I lunged forward and wrapped my arms around him, not stopping the tears from pouring down my cheeks, mingling with those from his eyes.
“Son, I love you. Don’t ever doubt it. We’ll get through this, together.”
16. Consequences
Aarnyon and I walked out alone to face the humans representing themselves as spokespeople. My family and our two hundred associated reeth ranged themselves along the patio and bluff, clearly visible to those camped below. Feeling he’d had enough of humans, we’d decided not to expose Jol to the scene. Korola and his brothers, Kardon and Josdon, had him more or less locked in his bedroom.
I stopped before a trio I’d never seen before. “I’m here to listen to your complaints.”
A short, husky, dark-haired fellow stepped forward, his bulging biceps straining the shirt he wore. “Your son liked to kill our mayor, Sam Jefferson, and his friends. We came to judge him and demand his punishment.”
“Were you there to witness the incident?”
My calm voice seemed to disconcert him. He scowled, his heavy eyebrows almost touching over his blunt, disfigured nose. He’s no stranger to fist fights.
“My son was!”
“I’ll hear from him, then.”
The man blustered, his companions shifting uncomfortably. I stood firm, waiting for the son to appear. Over my last several years of sitting judgment over human disputes, I’d discovered the value of being silent. Drove the instigators like this one crazy. They wanted to scream and beat their viewpoints into others with forceful words and actions. They never knew how to react to my quiet, stone-cold face.
Finally, the man turned and hollered into the crowd. “Hank—come tell this creature what you saw!” I controlled my flinch at the demeaning word.
The young man, built just like his father, made his way through the crowd. Unlike his father, I saw no belligerence in him. In fact, I felt he was reluctantly creeping toward us, urged on by the people he passed.
Taggert spoke directly into my head, by-passing Aarnyon, tone derogatory in the extreme. “The first one to flee. I didn’t even have a chance to kick at him.”
Before he reached his father, two other young men joined him. Taggert continued, “The other two that fled before the fight really started. I did land a forefoot on the back of the head of the one on the right. Don’t think I connected with the other one.”
The three stopped next to the mouthy leader, who punched his son on the arm. “Tell him what you saw.”
“Wait!” I said with a snap. “These three didn’t see anything. They fled before anything really happened.”
The boys blanched and tried to turn away. The father grabbed Hank. “You callin’ my son a liar?”
“I am if he says he saw that fight.”
“Pa,” Hank said desperately, “I told you this wouldn’t work.”
Hank’s father thrust his lower jaw at me and squinted his eyes in threat. “Prove it!”
Mentally, I asked Taggert to play the fight scene directly into the leader’s mind, and to share with the reeth arranged above us on the bluff. Aarnyon asked them to send the scene into anyone’s mind they could connect with.
“Ach!” the man yelled, holding his hands over his ears as if it would block the scene from running.
“Hold still and pay attention,” I said harshly. People throughout the crowd cried out. Some dropped to the ground and rolled like they’d been hit by lightning. Others, however, took it with wonder shining from their eyes.
“How’d you do that?” the man screeched.
“I didn’t.” I regained my still face and stared into the man’s eyes. “Our reeth-mates did. They showed you the scene as it happened. As you should have seen for yourselves, my son defended himself from that attack of yours.”
“You couldn’t have watched that fight,” someone hollered from the mob.
Raising my head, I scanned the throng trying to pinpoint the speaker. The voice had sounded familiar—but I recognized no one. Again, I said, “I didn’t. Jol’s reeth-mate was there. He shared what he saw with me, and with you. Reeth will not lie. Believe what you saw and be thankful your people weren’t killed in their cowardly strike at my son who was guilty of nothing.” I made my tone as scathing as possible. “Eight against one.”
“He didn’t stop those thieving raiders!” It was a woman who screamed this time.
“How could he have?” I raised my voice to be heard over the grumbles of support. “He was in Johnstown when they raided!”
“Sam said he refused to help!”
“Sam, or Sam, Jr.?” I shouted. “Listen again!” I asked Taggert and the others to share the call Jackson had sent asking for help. “He tricked a youngster into sending that message. Jol came as quickly as he could, only to be assaulted as soon as he arrived!”
“I don’t believe it!” The leader swirled and yelled at his followers to back him. They didn’t. I saw several backing away.
One man, tall and lanky, shouted, “You all know how angry Paul’s been. But that don’t justify what they tried to do to that don. I ain’t gonna be part of this here crazy lynch party, no more.” He strode toward a tent and immediately started dismantling it. Most followed him, leaving Hank’s father blustering alone. He finally left and by nightfall, we had our home empty of humans even though the grassy plain just below our bluff was trampled and squashed.
I breathed a sigh of relief on one hand, but felt a growing anxiety. We’d revealed too much of reeth abilities in that confrontation.
~~
Two days later, Korola insisted on visiting Jemima and Sam, alone, to try to understand what had gone wrong in Samsville. I attempted forbidding her to go, vainly. Whenever she set her mind to something, I’d never been able to stop her—one of the reasons I loved her so. Meek, she’d never been.
Still, the kids and I, along with Kaldon and his oldest, followed up high, maintaining reeth invisibility. We figured Korola and Bennget could hold off any type of attack long enough for us to arrive and help, unless there were guns. I’d never believed Sam would allow guns in his town—but he hadn’t been in charge lately. Another encouraging factor was that Jackson and Paul hadn’t employed guns on Jol. Surely, the current residents will not shoot at Korola.
I watched, heart in mouth, as she landed. No troubles. She stayed inside Jemima’s home for at least two hours. I was frantic with worry by the time she left. No one even approached the house, or her. Relieved, we followed her home, anxious to hear her report.
“Jemima apologizes for young Sam’s actions. Our Sam is too weak to influence the boys any longer, and with young Sam following Jackson and Paul’s every lead, they’ve been worried about the village as a whole. Paul was definitely a bad influence—has been, Jemima said, all his life. But when Jackson went along with him, Sam just sort of fell into place, despite her arguments. She’s glad she’s kept their other children away from that trio.”
Korola sighed, her eyes sad. “She admitted she was relieved that young Sam’s in the hospital in Johnstown and hopes he’ll return with a better attitude. She’s visited him several times and insisted to the nurses that the three don’t spend time together while healing. She thinks keeping them apart is working on changing young Sam’s outlook.”
She glanced at our son listening without a word, still and drained. “The current loosely arranged town council, meeting in Sam’s sickroom, is planning to force Paul out of town, if he comes back. His mother and the younger children will be welcome to stay even though Paul’s convinced them to hate J
ol.”
“How badly was young Sam hurt?” I asked. I knew it upset our son to listen to the condemnation of his earlier friend. However, I thought that bond had been cut completely during the assault.
“His nose was broken—we knew that, and his neck is out of alignment which gives him a great deal of pain, Jemima says. His wrists were strained when he tried to catch Jol’s arms. But, he doesn’t have internal injuries so he should heal relatively well.” Korola smirked. “Won’t be quite so handsome, Jemima said.”
“And Jackson?” Jol’s voice was very quiet.
“He has injury to his kidneys which is causing swelling in his feet and ankles and shortness of breath. The doctors say he will have to stay longer than young Sam as they monitor the healing process. But, it’s not life threatening, unless he doesn’t take care of himself in the future.”
We didn’t ask after Paul. He’d live. That’s all I cared about.
**
Not even a week passed before Jemima sent word that Sam was in a very bad way and we should come immediately if we wanted to say good-bye. Korola and I went. Sam gripped my hand weakly and smiled. “Sorry I can’t hang around and straighten these people out,” he whispered.
“We’ll do it for you.” I held back the tears as he closed his eyes. Within minutes, he stopped breathing.
We returned for the funeral and did what we could to comfort Jemima and her family. Sam, Jr. was there, his head and neck in a brace to keep them steady. He didn’t look at me; I said nothing to him.
As they lowered Sam’s coffin into the grave, I said good-bye to my one human friend, even as I wished I’d never met him.
17. Changes and Robbers
No one had success finding the men who’d robbed Samsville. I thought they’d have left some sort of trace, but by using air-cars, which they had to have done, we couldn’t even track them. We found their path away from the town—it cut off abruptly in a dip about one hundred yards away from the northern-most house. No one had heard air-cars land. No one had heard them take off.