Hereafter

by C. K. Crigger

  She turned thoughtful. “Although from what I understand, people nowadays don’t interact much, what with the lack of communication.” She faltered, adding wistfully, “Very different from the world I knew, with our Internet service and cell phones everywhere.”

  Bannion waved that away. “A hundred years gone. What happened then doesn’t mean anything to us now.”

  “Yes, except from what I can tell, everyone left is still fighting one another.” Lily swept on, “Which goes to show nobody learned anything from whatever disaster struck.” After days of denying the premise, saying it aloud didn’t make the facts any more believable. Not even reading Ginger’s journal, taken from the Bell family archives, helped make her situation real.

  “Doesn’t change the fact every clan in the country is going to be fighting overyou, Lily Turnbow. They’ll all want you throwing fireballs at their enemies.”

  “I have no intention of throwing fireballs at anyone,” Lily said.

  Bannion snorted. “No intention, huh? Until somebody, Mag or human, comes at you wanting your blood. Because that’s the other thing. If you’re not with them, they’ll want you dead.”

  That hadn’t escaped her. “Including Clan O’Quinn.”

  He gave a tiny, almost involuntary inclination of his head.

  Damn him. She knew that if the situation demanded it, she’d fight to live. She’d pretty well proved that already. And he knew it, too.

  “Well, shoot, boss,” Jacob said. “That don’t seem right.”

  The girl, Kira, didn’t seem too broken up, but she touched Jacob’s arm.

  Around them, the background of music and stamping feet ceased. People shifted, clothing rustled, voices whispered. One voice came clear. Pike, speaking to Neila. “Aw, c’mon, honey. What’s it going to hurt? Boss Trader Frin already asked her to come with us. Look at him. He’s spreading the news to his people quick as his tongue can wag.”

  Not such good news, considering her present company. Lily hadn’t answered the trader one way or another.

  Still, Lily wasn’t surprised when, over Neila’s protest, the clanswoman and Pike joined them. The trader’s caravan guard, big, blond, and battle-scarred, though still a good-looking man, gave her a thorough once-over. His regard was more invasive than Bannion’s had been, and she hadn’t thought that possible.

  “Miss Lily,” Pike said, spreading his smile over the entire group and acting as if he couldn’t sense the tension between them. “Frin thinks he has a little problem with what ya’ll were talking about. Wonder if you can fix it for him.”

  In fact, Frin had such an acute stutter, Lily wasn’t sure she understood him when he cornered her this afternoon and spoken his piece. And in view of Bannion’s…should she call it a threat?...she wished Pike had kept his mouth shut.

  Over by the stage, a woman was soloing on a hand drum. After a few beats, voices joined in practiced harmony. Beside her, Lily sensed Jacob’s discomfort. Poor kid. He’d taken pity on one he thought a fellow warrior, and been drawn into a situation beyond his expectations. Beyond hers, too, if only he knew.

  Lily took a breath. “I doubt it,” she told Pike curtly, then smiled at the kid. “Lets get closer to the music, Jake. That style is something new to me. Sounds like a cross between a powwow dance song and a Celtic round.”

  “A what?” Jacob asked, moving at her direction across the puncheon floor, their backs turned to the others. Bannion, having said his piece, and Pike, because he didn’t quite dare annoy the area sheriff, let them go without further comment.

  But if Lily had planned on that as a nifty exit strategy, her acting was spoiled when one of Bannion’s younger posse members, or patrollers or whatever they called themselves, popped up in the open doorway yelling his head off for the boss.

  “Nate says to tell you there’s a whole bunch of strangers coming, Mr. O’Quinn.” He sounded more excited than scared. “He says they’re Techs. And they have that Cross-up guy from Spokane Sector with them.”

  Jacob stopped. “Hooey! You stay here, Lily,” he said. “I gotta go get my bow.”

  “Your bow? What…?”

  “Gonna be trouble, I betcha.”

  Apparently he was right. Within a couple minutes, Bannion had assigned more scouts to work with Nate and gathered a squad of almost silent warriors around him. They left the barn, their speed just short of a trot. The music had come to a standstill at first warning. Folks stood silent, their faces stiff with tension. Lily felt herself withdrawing, alone, though surrounded by those left behind as they began talking to each other, ignoring her. More, they avoided even looking at her, almost as if she were invisible or didn’t exist.

  After a few moments, she walked over to the coat rack and found a jacket, putting it on before slipping out through the big barn door where people gathered in knots. Drifting past them, the flame in the lantern one carried flickered. No one paid attention.

  This was the most freedom of movement she’d had since her arrival here. Reveling in her liberty, she glided toward the stable where the fighters were saddling their horses. Grim, they worked in silence.

  Bannion was there, talking with his cousin Nate. With them standing together, the similarity between them was obvious. Although, she decided thoughtfully, the resemblance may have stemmed more from the strong, tough aura surrounding both men than their physical looks. Nate, with his amber eyes and brown hair; Bannion with black hair and dark eyes.

  The big buckskin Bannion had been riding the day of the firefight was tacked up and ready to go. The horse tossed his head as she came close and laid a hand on his neck.

  “Easy, Nog,” Bannion said, as off-handed as though she weren’t standing there for him to notice. He waved as his cousin rode off ahead of the patrol. “Mount up,” he directed his posse.

  Jacob, looking eager for the fight ahead, checked his bow and supply of arrows before springing to the back of a nondescript bay. He must’ve been too nervous to pay her any attention, for his fierce smile went over her head.

  Within moments, the patrol was ready to go. She could only conclude by the speed of their preparations that they’d lots of practice. Shaking his fist in a follow-me gesture, Bannion rode out of the yard. Soon, men and horses had been swallowed up by the night. One by one, lanterns within the barn were doused, the helpers scattering to their homes.

  No one spoke to her. No one harried her. No one saw her.

  When she looked down, she couldn’t see herself, either. Not her feet. Not her arms and hands, although she felt her hands clench. And though she cried out in appalled fear, the sound was only in her mind.

  Chapter 16

  “What d’ya got for me, Dak?” Bannion steered the sweating scout into the center of the group of patrollers gathered around him. He wanted everyone, Rongo, Kira, House, and several of his older warriors to hear what Dak had to say. “Where are the Techs now? What’s their status?”

  Dak wore a self-satisfied grin. In running flat out the four miles from old Highway 20 located south of the compound, he hardly needed to catch his breath, conditioning Bannion freely acknowledged was due to Rondo’s training. One of the slight, fair-haired O’Quinns, Dak could easily outrun a horse through the woods and no spindle-shanked Mag—his words—stood a chance against him in a foot race.

  “I found’em about five miles out,” he said, “taking their time like this is a Sunday stroll. There’s a white flag waving at the head of the troop and their weapons are stowed, so it doesn’t appear they’re looking for a fight. Not right off, anyhow. Got a Cross-up man with’em, just like our outpost reported last night. It’s that dwarf guy, the one who calls himself Phil Barnes, the Screenmaster.’ He’s riding along in one of those rubber-tired sheepherder wagons. Even got a staircase up to the driver’s seat.” His lip curled over strong teeth. “Got four blooded nags hitched to it that look like they’re about to keel over.”

  Bannion grunted. “Nate, what do you know about The Screenmaster?”

  Nat
e, having met with Dak on his way in, had returned home only minutes ago after spending most of the day scrounging the titanium metal per Selkirk’s orders. Nate was designated, among his other duties and avocations, clan intelligence officer. He kept up with the news via a string of friendly contacts, and a few flyers that came into his hands. “Know your enemy,” was a favored mantra, a piece of the old-fashioned jargon he often used. If anyone knew about the Cross-up wheeling along with the Techs, it would be him.

  “Those horses white?” Nate asked Dak.

  “Would be if they weren’t hog dirty from the road.”

  The patrollers grunted their humor. Dust, sweat, and white horses didn’t mix well if one was trying to make an impression.

  Nate, mounted on the strong-looking red roan he called Pigeon, grinned. “Sounds like Barnes, all right. As I remember, he’s the one came out from around some little farm town in Oregon fifty or sixty years ago. A vicious little bastard. Been selling his talents to whoever pays the most in tithe. Tell the boss which Tech unit he’s with, Dak.”

  “Those crazy coots that put wind sails on their saicles.”

  “Them,” Bannion said on a note of disgust.

  “No wonder those horses are done in,” House said, showing just a touch of admiration. “Pretty hard to keep up with saicles.”

  “Maybe on the flat,” Rongo said, “or downhill, but they ain’t worth a shit going up a mountains.”

  “Neither are four horses on a heavy rig like Screenmaster’s,” Dak said. “Uphill, downhill, or anywhere in-between.”

  Bannion held up his hand before differing opinions escalated into a discussion they had no time for. “Could be worse. The saiclers’ll try to talk you to death before they shank you in the back, but they don’t generally carry a lot of armament.”

  “Eh, boss,” Nate said, “Dak says they’re pretty well loaded down this time. They’ve got five four-wheel carts they’re hauling along, and they’re stacked high.”

  “With what?”

  Dak answered for himself. “Don’t know for sure. They got tarps over them.”

  Scanning his patrollers, Bannion issued a call for volunteers. “Who wants to find out what they’re carrying?”

  “I’ll go,” House said.

  “As will I.” Kira waved her hand, earning Bannion’s wink of approval.

  “Both of you,” he decided. “Watch each other’s back. Don’t take any chances. What’s this Screenmaster guy’s specialty, Nate? Do you know?”

  “He sets a shield of some kind our metal points can’t penetrate.” Nate shook his head. “Intel is that he’s a cocky SOB, but fat as an old boar and slower than molasses in January.”

  Kira stared at him. “Slower than what?”

  Nate shrugged. “Molasses. Read it somewhere. Don’t know what molasses is for sure, but I get what it means.” The roan he rode stirred restively.

  “You’re the only one,” House muttered.

  “Means he’sreal slow,” Nate explained. “If it comes to a fight, we want to get our licks in before he has a chance to set his shields.”

  “Good to know.” Bannion nodded at House and Kira. “Patrollers, get moving. Stay out of the saicler’s and that Screenmaster’s sight. Report in two hours. If you’re not back by then, we’ll be coming after you.”

  “Gotcha, boss.” House spun his horse, gigging it into a trot. Kira trailed him as they set out through the woods along the same shortcut Dak had used on foot.

  Bannion watched a moment before pointing at Dak. “I’m borrowing you from Nate. Get yourself a horse and follow them. I want you on hand at the Tech caravan in case anything goes wrong with House and Shandy. Keep’em out of trouble if you can.”

  Dak nodded and jogged off to find a mount.

  “Now what?” Fingers on the hilt of his sword, Rongo showed yellowed teeth in a grin. “You plannin’ on taking these saiclers on, boss?”

  “Up to them. We’ll try talking to them first. Pick a crew, Rongo. I want the road blocked at Wolf Point. And use all due haste. They may have scouts ahead of the main body and I don’t want them getting there before we do.”

  “You got it.” Rongo called out a dozen names and thirty seconds later his party galloped off at a tangent from the direction House and Kira had taken.

  This left Bannion, Nate, and a couple of the youngsters from the meadow fight to bring up the rear. More warriors had been assigned duty at the compound, in case these Techs and their Cross-up proved more hostile and harder to fight than anyone expected. Others were watching the old road north and some of the bigger easterly trails for anyone trying to slip in through an unexpected direction.

  Bannion swung Nog around. “Nate, come with me.”

  Riding abreast, the pair loped toward the clan compound. Bannion’s mind raced. Grateful for Nate’s customary silence, this brief interval gave him time to plan his strategy and stir his enthusiasm for leading his people into battle. Again. They’d barely settled into winter quarters and here they were, preparing for yet another scuffle. All within the first ten-day home. All that damn Cross-up woman’s fault.

  His mood was grim as, back at the compound, they pulled up in front of Selkirk’s house, seat of authority in clan Bell-O’Quinn. Trouble of some kind had been bound to come, given the rebirth of Lily Turnbow. The bigger, more sophisticated clans, whether Techs, Cits or Stayers, each wanted a piece of any newly resurrected Cross-up. But he’d hoped it wouldn’t happen so soon. These Cross-up people often didn’t make it through the first month. If no one helped them, they most likely died within that time. Or somebody aced them. Those few that survived were fighters. And angry. Coupled with their unexpected and un-natural powers, that made them doubly dangerous.

  Selkirk opened the door, waving Nate and him into the house almost before they could hitch their horses to the porch rail.

  “Who and how many?” he asked. “Do I need to draw the folks in from the outlying areas?”

  Bannion shrugged, leaving it to Nate to answer. “Wouldn’t hurt if they were to pack their stuff and be ready,”

  “Dammit.” Selkirk scowled. “They’ve hardly had a chance to unpack. Are you looking for a siege?”

  “Not if I can help it.” Bannion hesitated. “I’m taking the Cross-up woman to Wolf Point with Nate and me. See how she reacts when she meets another of her kind.”

  Nate leveled a questioning stare on him, but didn’t protest.

  Selkirk was not so reticent. “That could be a little chancy, couldn’t it? What if Screenmaster recruits her somehow? They get together, they can do a lot of damage.”

  “Better out there in the open than in the compound,” Bannion said. “And I only know one way to learn what she’ll do. She makes one wrong move and I’ll take her out. Or Nate will.” He didn’t ask, didn’t discuss. It was an offhand order from the war leader, one to be taken seriously.

  “What do you consider a wrong move, boss?”

  The formality of Nate’s address brought Bannion’s stare around to fix on him. “You don’t agree?”

  “Didn’t say that. But now that you mention it…she’s not a bad person, Bannion.”

  “How the hell do you know?”

  “I’ve talked to her, a little. She’s all right.”

  A sharp chopping motion of Bannion’s hand stopped Nate. “We’re not going to argue, cousin. Get a mount saddled and fetch her. We haven’t got all day.”

  Nate saluted as he left, the gesture almost mocking.

  “Don’t ride him too hard,” Selkirk warned as their cousin quietly closed the door behind him. “Or he’s apt to disappear on one of his winter jaunts just when we need him most.”

  “He won’t leave. Not with this going on.” Bannion sat down on one of Selkirk’s cushioned chairs and closed his eyes for a moment. No sleep and likely a battle to come. A man rested whatever minutes he found. “Nate knows we need him. He can sense if anything starts to go wrong and he’ll grab her. Give us the time we need. Even if he do
esn’t like the idea.”

  “You know him best.” Selkirk’s brow rose questioningly. “Think she can ride?”

  “She can if she’s who she says she is.” Truth be told, he was used to the idea, deny it how he may. The old photograph had passed from hand-to-hand amongst the clan for everyone to see. The evidence was clear. The name of Heathen had already been familiar to every child born into the clan. Those newly accepted for citizenship were learning. It only remained to see if Lily Turnbow retained any ties to the O’Quinn people. If not—

  He’d take her out. He or Nate. And though Nate might protest, he’d do whatever he had to. Nate was family.

  Chapter 17

  Lily huddled beneath the blankets sheathing her narrow bed, shivering with cold. She knew it was very early, daylight just a thought in the morning sky. Wide awake, after startling awake by crying out in her sleep, a heavy, strange feeling had settled over her. It felt a lot like impending doom.

  Last night. What had that been? How had she—

  “Uh!” Forcing that thought away, she stuck both arms out from the beneath the covers and ran a hand over the disfiguring scar the terrorist’s thrust had left on the left one. Drawing her fingernails over the ragged keloid, the ridge rose in a raw strip of nerves. Last night, when she got back...home, for lack of a better word, she hadn’t been sure she was real. She couldn’t get that strange sense of disconnect out of her mind.

  Tucking her arms under the blankets again, she savored the warmth. Her room in the infirmary had Spartan comforts at best; the sheets rough, the blankets coarse and thin. The only reason the towels in the bathroom were soft is because they’d been washed a thousand times. She smiled ruefully. Damn, but her moods had changed since this…whatever it was…had happened. Fairly sunny of disposition before, she found herself grouchy these days, as full of complaint as a princess who’d lost her tiara. For shame. This wasn’t her first time facing rough circumstances, distrust, and dislike. That was part of her profession. She ought to be used to it. What had happened to her toughness?

  Stirred by a feeling she couldn’t name, Lily sat up and stretched, thrusting her feet over the side of the cot, touching the floor. Immediately, goose bumps popped up on her exposed skin. Odd how she felt the cold so much more than she ever had before.