Arien shrugged. “Don’t see why not.” He climbed into the saddle and reached for his hand. “Put your foot in the stirrup. I’ll pull you up behind me.”
Esta, grateful for the pants and boots she had been given to replace the RewFaaran uniform, spoke to Patch in a soft voice, gripped the reins, and mounted.
Arien grinned. “You ride?”
“Of course. Everyone at home learns to ride when they’re younger than Charid. I’ve missed it since moving to Tahellive.”
She looked back at the ship. Tyler stood, framed in the doorway.
Charid waved. “Bye, Tyler. Come visit if you can.” He wrapped his arms around Arien. “I’m ready. Let’s go!”
The ride through fields and trees soothed the tension accumulated in Esta’s mind and body from sun cycles on the run. Patch proved to be calm and easy to handle. Esta felt a kinship, a partnership with her mount, that reminded her of being on El QuilTran before the RomPeer’s soldiers invaded.
Mid-turning, they trotted onto a narrow track beside a river and slowed to an easy walk. The sounds of rushing water, the occasional bird, and trees rustling in a soft breeze lulled her into memory. Katareen, Daar, Kuparak… Where are you? Mylos? Have you rescued Rayn?
Arien stopped, dismounted, and helped Charid down.
“Momee, we’re almost there.” Charid’s voice brought her attention back to Persow, to the small boy who thought of her as his maman.
Patch stopped beside Streek and dropped her head to nibble tender green shoots. Esta jumped to the ground.
Grabbing her hand, Charid pulled her to the river’s bank and pointed. “Look. See the bridge. After we cross it, we’re almost home. Arien says the village nearby is called Geela. I can’t wait!” He pranced back to their escort. “Can we go now?”
Arien rummaged through a saddle bag and produced three packets of nuts and dried fruit. “Momee and I need a break. Let’s have a snack and rest. Then we’ll go meet the Perskee family.”
His packet in hand, Charid wandered to the river bank.
Arien tied the horses to a bush and joined Esta on a fallen log. “You look different.”
She crunched a nut. “Different?”
“Younger, less harried. I think Persow’s good for you.”
She savored a piece of fruit before replying. “I’m not on the run, right?”
He nodded.
“That’s what agrees with me. Tell me about the Perskee family. Do they have children?”
Arien watched Charid pitching stones in the river. “They’re about your age and have been joined for several sun cycles. One of the reasons they are eager to adopt Charid is their inability to have children of their own. They’re good, honest people. Mont has a passion for agriculture and animal husbandry. Their farm is well-kept and well-managed. Catha is a teacher in the village school and a local mystic. You’ll meet them soon. Let the questions wait. I don’t want to color your perceptions.” He stood and brushed off his pants. “Ready to go, Charid?”
The eager child scrambled up the bank and ran to Arien. “Oh yes. Can I ride in front this time?”
Arien laughed. “You bet.” He untied Streek, helped Charid up, and mounted behind him. With a soft click of his tongue, he urged the piebald into an ambling walk.
Esta stroked Patch’s neck, put a foot in the stirrup, and threw her leg over the horse’s back. She listened intently. No one pursued them. Patch lifted her head, gave a soft whinny, and followed Streek along the narrow track to the bridge. When they reached the far side, pine trees gave way to cultivated fields, in the midst of which sat a house and outbuildings surrounded by deciduous trees.
Arien led them along a well-used trail. As they drew nearer the house, the door flew open. A woman ran across the porch and down the steps. A man hurried from an outbuilding and joined her. Streek flipped his tail and broke into a trot. Patch nickered and picked up her pace.
Esta smiled at the petite woman who rubbed Patch’s nose and then grabbed the reins while Esta dismounted. The man, almost as petite as his mate, helped Charid down and steadied Streek for Arien. At first, no one spoke. Catha beamed when Charid offered his hand.
“I’m Charid Darine. I love your horses.”
She took his small hand between hers. “I’m Catha Perskee.” She grinned “I love them, too.” She released his hand drew her mate to her side. “This is Mont.”
After introductions, Mont, Arien, and Charid led the horses to the barn to be unsaddled, groomed, and fed. Catha gave Esta a tour of the rambling two-story house. They ended up in the homey kitchen, where she fixed steaming cups of Persowan duckberry tea and sat down at the table opposite Esta.
“I know your true name is Floree. Do I call you that, or would you prefer Esta?”
“Esta would be best for Charid’s sake. Floree might trigger memories.” She hesitated.
Catha nodded. “Arien told us parts of his story. He said you would provide the details you feel are important.” She poured more tea and cradled the cup between her hands. Staring into the steam, she blew. The amorphous cloud shifted to form a wolf, shifted again to a galee, and evaporated. “When Charid’s hand touched mine, I sensed the depth of his knowledge. If you choose to leave him with us, I will make sure he is trained in the arts of DiMensionery.” She put her mug on the table. “Shall we join the men? They are done grooming the horses.”
Esta smiled. “You’re telepathic.”
Her hostess nodded. “Persowans use telepathy to communicate with people they know and care about. We are a small but magical planet. You and Charid will fit right in.”
The next morning, after promising he would return in six moon cycles, Arien returned to the jumper.
Charid watched him go, then flashed her a knowing smile. “When he comes back, you will leave me, won’t you Momee?”
They walked to the small garden Catha had cultivated near the edge of the fields. Sitting on the ground in the middle of blue horns and yellow knots, she let the rush of emotion rising at the thought of leaving him ebb, and exhaled. “If you and I decide you will be happy here, I want to return to our home planet. I don’t want to leave you, Charid, but you cannot go where I must go.”
Mobile features expressed his mixed emotions. He sketched a pattern in the dirt.
Esta looked closer. “SaHal’s mystic insignia.”
He nodded. “I do not remember much of my life before Meti Chala II. I do remember a girl telling me that my grandsire’s knowledge would reemerge when I was safe.” He brushed away all traces of the pattern. “I’m safe here. Mont and Catha will take care of me.” He knee-walked to her side and kissed her cheek. “Don’t worry, I won’t ever forget you.” His brow creased and smoothed. “Someday when I remember, I’ll know your real name.” He hugged her. “I love you, Momee.”
The turnings flew by. Esta told Mont and Catha much of Charid’s story. Some things she left undisclosed, those which would endanger them or others.
One morning, Catha joined her on the porch swing. “I don’t believe the necklace is safe here. We have an ancient mystic who resides in the mountains to the north. I encourage you to entrust it to her care.”
An image of a waterfall amidst shimmering rainbows formed in Esta’s mind. “Its magnificent. How will I find it?”
“I suggest you shape shift and fly a straight line from here north to the back of Rainbow Gorge. Gloryum will meet you there. She will let me know when Charid is ready, and I’ll take him to meet her.”
Esta did not question Catha’s wisdom. Following midday meal, she shifted and flew to the gorge. Gloryum awaited her arrival, took the necklace and a poem Esta had written, and placed them in a small wooden box. They spoke long into the night of many things. When Esta flew back to the farm at dawn, any doubts she might have had about returning to El Stroma were gone. The Perskees would take good care of Charid. Someday, he would become a VarTerel. She knew he would achieve his destiny. Pursuing her destiny must now become her focus.
&nbs
p; Two moon cycles later, Arien arrived at the farm. Supper that night, though merry, contained an undercurrent of anticipation. The next morning Charid bid her goodbye.
He hugged her and whispered, “Remember, I will never forget you, Momee.” He shook Arien’s hand. “Take good care of her. And thank you for finding Catha and Mont for me.”
Arien shook the hand. “You stay safe.”
Mont accompanied them to the field where the jumper craft waited. He dismounted and hugged Esta. “Thank you for giving Catha and me the gift of parenting. We love Charid. We won’t let anything happen to him.” He shook Arien’s hand, placed his foot in the stirrup, and swung into the saddle. Leading Patch and Streek, he urged his horse into a gallop and headed back to the farm, his wife, and his son.
Arien brushed a tear from her cheek. “What do you think, Floree, should we go home?”
She pulled her gaze from Mont’s disappearing form. “Floree…” She inhaled. “It’s been a long time since anyone called me by my real name.” Thoughts focused on the future, she boarded the jumper craft and began the journey back to El Stroma.
The Persowan moon, a shimmering pearlescent ball, hovered above the Perskees’ farm. Charid slipped down the stairs and out the front door. Walking to the edge of the fields, he let the stillness seep into his soul. He placed a hand on his heart and gazed up at the celestial beauty overhead. You are out there somewhere, Momee. I remember my promise.
A moment of dizziness claimed him. Surging memories from another time flooded his mind. His grandsire spoke, whispered his secrets, urged Charid to embrace the moment. A ball of white light filled his vision and exploded into moon beams. Forêst sat in the field, his eyes bright, his shadow long behind him. Charid started forward. Four paws carried him to the alpha’s side. Lifting his head, he howled his delight.
From the upstairs window, Catha squeezed Mont’s hand and smiled.
31
Jaradee’s Legacy
Part 3 - Conflict
“ R ayn! Rayn!” The words whispering through her brain woke her. A covert gaze searched the room. Nothing moved. Her dorm-mates slept. So many female children captured as she had been, but none who carried the secrets she carried. Her gaze crept to the empty desk near the door. The matron had long since gone to bed.
She pulled the sheeting under her chin and pretended to sleep. How many times in the past nine sun cycles had dreams of her previous life awakened her, left her shaking with the fear she had spoken the name out loud—spoken what must stay hidden?
Even after so long, the SorTech came twice a moon cycle to question her, to use The Box in the hopes she might drop her guard. Hatred kept it rock firm. She had seen a Rompeerial Klutarse bury his knife in her maman’s womb…in the place where she and her birth-mate had gestated, arms around each other. The shock of her maman’s murder had left her numb. Better numb, she had learned, than living the emotions.
Soon after they brought her to the children’s compound, the SorTech had told her the Klutarse had found and killed him —her birth-mate, the one with whom she was destined to save her people, the Eleo Preda.
She squirmed on the narrow bed. The strangeness resting between her legs forced her thoughts a new direction. Four turnings ago, she had bled the first bleed of womanhood. Most of her dorm-mates longed for the time when they would become a woman. She did not. The transfer to the ConSortisanes’ Communal Residence meant the unthinkable—she must become a consort to Lusktar Rados, and she would never be able to sneak away.
Remembering hammered the walls she had built around her true self. She squeezed her eyes shut. When the SorTech had told her of her birth-mate’s death, she had spent turnings in denial. Certain he lived, she tried to run away, to find somewhere safe to do a mind search. She hid in a merchant’s wagon. Unaware he carried the RomPeer’s possession, he had taken her beyond the walls. She had found time to search for him . The merchant lived only long enough to cross the park.
Captured and returned to the compound, she savored the brief knowledge her escape had provided. He lived. Guilt almost destroyed her joy. She chose to ignore it, to forget the merchant had lost his life because she snuck into his wagon, only to have the guilt resurface the turning her birth-mate’s energy signature ended.
It had been a cold turning in Chunarrie, cold and wet and miserable. The matron sat huddled by the fire. The other girls engaged in silent play. She had, as she so often did, slipped away to a little-used lookout in the high wall surrounding the Rompeerial grounds. During one of her solitary sojourns, she had discovered it and the life existing beyond the walls. From this vantage point, several important things had come to her notice; but on this turning, she was unaware of anything but the soul deep loss of part of herself. He no longer existed. The merchant had died for nothing. She was alone—bereft of hope and desirous of death.
In that moment of despair, a fleeting mind touch left her gasping. His tukoolo perched in a tree nearby. Aquila guarded her. Stuffing the knowledge into her mental fortress, she stole back to the dormitory, curled up on her bed, and slept the light sleep of one who must always be on guard.
On subsequent sojourns, she discovered another from her previous life. He emerged from the shadows: tall, black, and beautiful. Momee had loved him. He had fought for her the turning of her death—killed her killers. Now, he stood garbed in the slave garments of the RomPeer, his amber eyes searching the wall.
The morning bell screamed its wake-up message. The matron’s assistants prowled between the cots, shaking awake anyone unfortunate enough to still be beneath the sheets.
A nurse strode up to Rayn’s cot and yanked the covers away. “It’s time to check your bleed, Mari.”
Expressionless, Rayn scuffed her feet over the tile floor, kept her mind blank, and stared unseeing at the dormitory wall. Remaining unreadable, she had learned early in her stay, also meant she was often unseen. Since her arrival, she had neither spoken nor let her captors know she could hear, thus allowing her attention to remain fixed on the fortress in her mind. She smiled inwardly. Assuming her deafness to be a reality, others spoke in front of her—shared important information—dropped tidbits she could use to her benefit.
The nurse grabbed her arm. “Stop shuffling.” She gave her a shake. “You are the most frustrating girl. How they expect to train an imbecile to be anything other than a kitchen wench is a mystery.” Half dragging her, the woman propelled her into a small room across the hall. The short examination revealed the end of her bleed.
The nurse’s grim expression softened. “Tomorrow, you will no longer be my responsibility. If you could hear, I would tell you some things to ease your journey.” She returned her to the dormitory, regarded her for a long moment, and sighed. “Poor Mari. I wonder what will become of you?”
Quiet footsteps retreated.
Refusing to think of herself as Mari or poor, Rayn glared at the nurse’s back. Soon, I will be no one’s responsibility, and no one will call me poor Mari ever again.
The turning passed like thick honey dripping from the comb. Breakfast, sewing, music, drawing, midday meal, study time, and evening meal dragged by. Bells chimed the beginning of each new time-circle until at last a reverberating song announced the end of the turning.
Rayn lay on her cot, pulled the pillow over her head, and pretended to sleep. The distant chiming of middle night nudged her to move. A peek informed her the young nursing assistant at Matron’s desk slept. Inching the pillow beneath the sheeting, she slipped from the cot and molded its lumpiness into the shape of a body.
Tummy to floor, she inched her way under one cot, and then the next until she lay a short distance from the door. The nurse straightened and surveyed the dorm. A wide-mouthed yawn ended in a relaxed slump against the chair. Eyelids drooped. Head nodded. The nurse jerked awake, yawned again, and, pillowing her head on folded arms, gave in to sleep.
The desire to run for it made Rayn’s legs twitch. Forcing herself to remain motionless, she listened
for the single chime that tolled on the circle plus half. Silence held her still. The chime sounded. The nurse snored.
Crawling to the open door, she crept into the hall and achieved standing in one silent movement. Unheard and unseen, she made her way to the lookout. On the far side of the park, the man from her other life waited, just as he had waited every night since they first made eye contact. His message flooded her mind and went blank.
Removing a brick from the floor, she pulled out a pair of dark pants and a shirt, rubber-soled shoes, and a man’s close-fitting cap. A grim smile almost made an appearance. She had learned of the loose brick and the hiding place beneath it because the gardeners ignored the deaf, mute girl from the children’s residence. The clothing came her way in a similar fashion. A conversation heard by a child who could not hear.
Scrambling out of her night dress, she stuffed it in the recess, stepped into the pants, shrugged on the shirt, and shoved her feet into the shoes. With deft movements, she tucked her long, dark hair under the cap. Mind blanked, she crept from the lookout.
Night-stillness hung over the grounds. Guards patrolled. An occasional figure strolled. One shadow skulked from tree to tree, from building to building. A soft whistle stopped her. Her gaze traveled the trees lining the wide drive.
“I’m here.” An arm’s length away, amber eyes in an ebony face studied her. “Don’t speak or think. SorTech close.”
He turned and sprinted away from the drive. Using her excitement to overcome her unforeseen trepidation, she followed. The Rompeerial gardens opened in front of them. Without a backward glance, the man dodged onto a narrow path, trotted across a stretch of manicured lawn, and circumvented a small building. As she rounded the corner, he shaped a smoky galee and soared over the wall. She stopped. Stifling a startled cry, she accepted Aquila’s tether and shifted form. Strong galee wings lifted her domeward, over the wall, away from those she hated. Aquila flanked her to one side; a smoky galee to the other. A fourth galee took the lead. Diving over the lip of the mesa, it glided downward, swooped over a lake, and landed in human form in the midst of trees on the canyon floor.
The UnFolding Collection Three Page 87