She gave him a fearful smile. “I’ll come back.”
After she left, Mamet followed Samira inside and stationed herself by the flap to stop anyone else coming in. Simon looked to Samira, taking in her worried frown. “They’ve captured more, haven’t they? Damn it!”
She nodded. “Another group of children.”
“That they might infect! Why don’t they listen to me? I need time!”
“They’re desperate,” Samira said. “This whole circle of life thing, birth and death, it’s very important to them.” She lifted her hands, dropped them. “I mean, it’s important to everyone, but to them, they…worship pregnancy.” She bit her lip. “That’s not the right word, but—”
“I know what you mean,” he said. If any group of people were unable to carry a pregnancy to term, he imagined they’d be frantic, but the Svenal had responded by attacking their neighbors and stealing any children they found, and it seemed they wouldn’t be happy until they had them all. All his pleas to stop and retreat from the rest of the plains dwellers and the Sun-Moon worshipers until he could help them fell on deaf ears. Even if Onin agreed, he doubted that would stop the rest of them.
“The new captives aren’t all children,” Mamet said.
He massaged his temples. “Pregnant women?”
Samira knelt. “Two adults. One of the guards told me one is a woman with a wooden sword, and the other has powers like Pakesh.”
He held his breath. They weren’t close enough to Gale for that to be a yafanai. It had to be someone among the renegades, and by the looks Samira was giving him, she had to suspect it was Horace, just as he did.
“Heads up,” Mamet said.
Onin pushed into the tent. His bloodshot eyes passed over all of them before settling on Simon. “You heard?”
“About those you could infect? Yes.”
He shut his eyes. “The rest of my clan wouldn’t hear me. You’ve been here a week. We’ve seen nothing new.”
Simon tried to keep his temper in check. He let his power flow over himself and gave Onin a jot to calm him down.
Onin sighed. “You must find a way to protect the new children.”
“If you returned them, I wouldn’t have to.”
Onin gave him a dark look but instead of responding, left the tent, the flap falling shut behind him.
Simon paced in a tight circle, Samira and Mamet watching him closely. The Svenal seemed to have no confidence in his abilities while at the same time having all the confidence in the world. Maybe they were comfortable believing in the dream of his powers, a fiction they could create around him rather than any actual ability he might have.
And now they’d caught a yafanai or someone yafanai-like, and if it was Horace, Simon had to help him escape.
“Should we flee?” Mamet said. “Take the new children with us?” When they both looked to her, she went a little pink. “I’m not afraid. It’s just…well, I believe in you, but they might not.” She shrugged. “They don’t know of your power, Samira. We could take them by surprise.”
They’d only managed to keep some secrets because Simon could shield them from Pakesh. Somehow, Onin had gotten his hands on some of the yafanai-maker drug and had fed it to one of his kinsman without the necessary training, making the sloppiest yafanai Simon had ever seen. Early yafanai had tried the same thing in Gale, and Simon remembered they’d had many of the same problems Pakesh had; those that hadn’t died outright. He used his abilities often without warning, reading random thoughts, throwing things around. If he’d been trained, if his brain had undergone the necessary nudges, he could be a genuine threat.
Simon sidled close to the tent flap and peeked out. Onin stood not too far away with one of the tribesman who watched Simon’s every move. He couldn’t quite hear what they were saying, but he felt Onin’s excitement, and as he turned, he caught the words, “Pakesh says he’s a healer, too.”
Simon’s heart thumped loudly. Well, that cemented it. “It’s Horace,” he said to Samira.
She grabbed his arm. “We have to rescue him.” More than altruism shone in her eyes. A hopeless romantic by nature, she wanted everyone to have a happily ever after.
“We have to be smart.”
“Who’s Horace?” Mamet asked.
“Simon’s true love,” Samira said before he could stop her. “They had a falling out, but now…”
“Ah,” Mamet said, a knowing look in her eye that claimed knowledge beyond her years. “You must rescue him, Simon. It’d go a long way toward pledging your heart.”
Simon rolled his eyes. He wanted to see Horace again but from a distance first. He needed time to think of what to say, time to drink in the sight of Horace again, time to line up every apology, and time to see if Horace had another lover. He needed to know if it would be better if he left Horace alone.
But he couldn’t do that now. Horace had to have his micro powers back if Pakesh had sensed them. And since the Svenal already knew, Horace would probably try to help them, to maybe bargain for freedom for himself and whoever this woman with the wooden sword was.
Simon rubbed his jaw as he remembered one woman Horace had left Gale with, Cordelia Ross, who had a punch like an iron bar. “Oh, I hope it’s not her,” he muttered. But no matter who it was and what was happening, one thing was clear: they couldn’t let another healer rot here. “Let’s make a plan and wait for dark.”
It was only a few hours before darkness fell. Simon left the tent with Samira and Mamet, their guard wandering in their footsteps as they approached one of the cooking fires. They angled close to Pakesh’s tent, and Simon sensed him inside. He preferred to be alone most of the time. Though the Svenal used him, they weren’t exactly friendly toward him. With a little nudge of power, Simon caught Pakesh off guard and put him to sleep. He hadn’t managed to cure the Svenal, but his powers grew stronger every day.
Not many Svenal were out; they didn’t often hang around each other. Even though the illness had spread to all of them, they seemed to think themselves safer if they stayed separate, though some of those who’d lost children consoled themselves with their captives, something else that gave Simon the shivers.
Samira took a bowl of soup to their guard, and he eyed it warily, but he had to know it wasn’t poisoned. They didn’t even have anything to poison someone with, but as soon as the guard was distracted, Simon short-circuited him and sent him off to dreamland, too. Samira caught him, and she and Mamet hid him in the dark.
They headed toward the central tent where the captives were usually kept. The inside had been subdivided into what Simon thought of as prison cells, though there were no doors, just leather flaps that created a maze to everyone but the Svenal.
The guards at the entrance waved them past. Any new captives had to be seen by the healer, after all, though the looks they gave him reinforced Samira’s earlier thoughts that the Svenal were running out of patience. He turned down one hall, putting out a tendril of power, looking for an answering call. They passed a group of children, but Horace wasn’t among them. Simon kept going, but Onin turned the corner, bringing them up short.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“I’m…here to see the captives.”
Onin pointed behind them to where the children sat.
“Um, well.” Simon went through a myriad of horrible excuses. “Oh, screw it.” He hit Onin with his power and made him collapse. A woman rounded the corner behind them and called out.
“Well, that’s done it,” Samira said. They broke into a run, and as people came to see what was going on, Samira threw them with her power, sending them careening through leather walls until the tent began to sag overhead.
Simon kept searching as Mamet drew her bone sword, and cries began all around them. Finally, he felt an answering signal and headed for a familiar mind pattern in as straight a line as he could. He broke into a large space to find Horace and Cordelia Ross tied to stakes in the ground. She had a wooden sword that clung to h
er leg with wooden tendrils, and both were bound hand and foot.
Horace’s eyes went wide. “I knew that was you! Your powers are back.”
“I’ve come to rescue you!” He hoped it didn’t sound as ridiculous to everyone else as it did to him.
“So get rescuing,” Cordelia said.
“Right.” He darted for Horace and paused at his leather bonds. “Mamet, lend me your—”
“Look out!” Cordelia shouted.
Simon twisted to the side as one of the Svenal rushed him. Horace’s power blew past, squeezing the air from the man’s lungs and knocking him unconscious. Simon could only stare for a moment, wondering who had taught him that, but circumstance had probably done it.
“Simon, his knife!” Horace said.
“Right.” He sliced through Horace’s bonds just as Mamet cut Cordelia’s. Samira was holding the door, and when Simon pulled Horace to his feet, Horace grinned before his expression twisted into something more complicated, as if he didn’t know what to do or say.
“I wanted to say—” Simon started.
“Save it.” Cordelia lifted her own sword then staggered, her eyes going unfocused. Horace reached for her, but she shook him off. “Our ride’s here. They must’ve been tracking us.”
A tree root erupted from the ground, and Mamet jumped back with a strangled cry. It arced to Cordelia, and she bit her lip but grabbed it and closed her eyes. Simon felt her nerves jump as something passed between her and the root before she opened her eyes again. “Everybody, brace yourselves.”
“What about the Uri children?” Horace asked.
The tent was still sagging. The Svenal were crying out, hurrying toward them. “The Svenal aren’t hurting them!” Samira said. “They can wait.”
More roots erupted around them, and Simon yelped as one curled around his waist. He shut his mouth as the root pulled him under the soil, and then he was flying through the dirt, the roots undulating around him, digging a hole so they could pass him along, but it was hard to focus on such thoughts, so much easier to scream inside his own mind and listen to the panic of Samira and Mamet and the comforting voice of Horace assuring him that everything was going to be okay.
*
Cordelia breathed deep as she surfaced. As the others breached, the young plains dweller drew her sword and spun in a rough circle as if fighting off invisible attackers while she coughed and hacked, cursing.
Cordelia got under her swing and plucked the sword from her grasp with a simple twist. “Calm down, kiddo.”
The girl rubbed the dirt from her face and coughed some more. “What was… Give me my sword!”
Cordelia nodded over her shoulder where the Anushi tree loomed against the night sky, small fires alight among her branches. One of those lights rushed toward them, and the tree set Pool on the ground, a candle in her grip.
“Pool, queen of the drushka, this is…” She gestured to the plains dweller.
“M…Mamet.” She took a breath. “Mamet of the Engali…Madam Tree.”
Pool chuckled. “Sa, are you all right?”
“We’re all fine.” She tossed the sword back, and Mamet fumbled with it but didn’t cut her own hand off. After another marvel-filled look, she moved to stand with Simon Lazlo and the friend he’d called Samira.
Drushka hopped down from the tree, and Nettle’s long arms slipped around Cordelia, pulling her close.
“I knew you’d find me,” Cordelia said.
“The queen did, not I, though I searched. She is far faster.”
“I guess talking like a drushka can be useful after all.”
Nettle wrinkled her nose and kissed Cordelia’s neck. “We must move.”
“Come on,” Cordelia said as she stepped back. “Everybody into the tree. The Svenal will be after us.”
The newcomers balked at first, but their faces relaxed into smiles once they were aboard, and the tree began to move, its long roots propelling it along, digging into the soil as more roots undulated along the ground. Cordelia caressed the sword at her hip. The Svenal had tried to take it from her numerous times, but it wouldn’t let go. Even when she’d been unconscious, it had clung to her.
Pool leaned close to Cordelia’s ear. “Is that not shawness Simon? The one shawness Horace sometimes speaks of?”
“It is.”
“Did Horace not wish to kill him?”
“A few times. I think we’ve all been there.”
When Pool sucked her teeth, Cordelia added, “With humans, saying a thing and doing it are different. We like to tell ourselves we’d be happy or angry if something happened, but we won’t know until it does.”
“So Horace has forgiven him?”
“Maybe, maybe not. After the shine of seeing him again wears off, I guess we’ll have to see.” She sighed. “And it seems they’ve both got their powers back.” And that might lead the Storm Lord right into their laps, but at least they’d have powerful people to face him with.
Liam slid down from a higher branch, Shiv beside him. He pulled Cordelia close until she pushed him away with a laugh.
“When I woke up,” he said, “And you weren’t there…” His face creased in pain, and she knew he was thinking of all the people they’d lost.
She punched his shoulder lightly. “You knew I was kicking ass somewhere else.”
He sighed a laugh and hugged her again. Shiv gave her another hug before she moved to Horace and held him close, too. She peered at the newcomers and said, “Are you not shawness Simon, who stole Horace’s powers from him and made him cry?” Everyone went silent and watched them. Shiv snarled, her hands curling and uncurling, clawed fingers flexing. “Humans cry when they are very sad, and I do not like to see my friends sad.”
“I’m sorry,” Simon said. “Really.”
“Shiv,” Horace started.
She waved at him to be quiet. Her little tree wasn’t with her, but it was probably near. “Horace is my friend.”
“I’m glad he has such protective friends,” Simon said hurriedly. Samira and Mamet made a block behind him.
“Shiv, please,” Horace said.
She bristled, but Pool called, “Come away, daughter. Let the humans settle themselves.”
Shiv pointed a long finger in Simon’s face. “You must make all your apologies, shawness. You must say it so that he believes it.” She spread her hands. “Then and only then may you bite each other’s ears.” Simon gawked at her, but Shiv only leaned close to Horace. “Call upon me, shawness, if you tire of his words, or if they do not please you.”
He gave her a kiss on the temple, and she moved to join Cordelia, who kept down the urge to laugh. When the tree stopped for the night, Horace and Simon wandered away by themselves. Samira and Mamet sat alone, too, but by the way curious drushka and humans clustered around them, they wouldn’t be alone for long.
Liam leaned close to Cordelia and nodded after Horace and Simon. “Think that’s going to get naughty?”
She laughed. “Who knows? Horace could punch him.”
Shiv frowned. “Do you think he will call if he cannot punch hard enough?”
Liam hugged her close. “I think you’ll be the first one he calls for.”
“Shawness Horace is of our tribe,” Shiv said, still with the fierce look. “He should cry no longer.”
Cordelia thought maybe one more cry was in order, as long as it was the good kind. Horace wasn’t one to be cruel or hold a grudge, but there would have to be words between those two, maybe some punching, maybe something naughty, but something that would put an end to the past or at least a beginning to the future.
*
The stars stretched like a beautiful sparkling canopy overhead, making Simon forget about his troubles, forget about everything but the man beside him. He was happy and nervous and so excited he was almost giddy. He’d pressed down all memory of Horace and the moments they’d shared, their kiss on the roof, their parting caresses in Gale, but now those memories came flooding back. But
he also kept remembering Horace’s face after Simon had burned out their powers: the hurt, the betrayal.
“I’m sorry,” Simon said. “Horace, I’m so sorry. I thought it was the right thing to do. I thought it would keep you safe.”
He could barely make out Horace’s features, but he didn’t need his eyes. With his power, he never did. Horace was also a tangle of emotions, but through the hurt and anger, Simon detected a hint of joy. He tried to turn his power away, to not pry.
“You hurt me, Simon. Not just physically. If you’d given your reasons, I might have agreed—”
“There wasn’t time!”
“So, if you could go back, knowing you’d have to face me again one day and you couldn’t just run away, would you hurt me again?”
Simon paused, wanting to think, to search for some other way. “I’d have to.”
Horace turned away, and Simon curled his hands into fists as he fought not to use his power and see what Horace was feeling. Instead, he sat on a low rock, one of many that glowed white under the starlight.
“If you’ll excuse the terrible pun,” he said, “living with Dillon was like living with a live wire. Exciting, yes, and as long as there’s just a little bit of current, it feels wonderful, invigorating. You don’t see the danger. It took me a while on the Atlas to realize just how dangerous he is, how little he’ll give and how much he’ll take. And even after I knew, I couldn’t let go because there was nowhere to go. It wasn’t until I was here that I could finally leave.” He felt tears gathering but willed them away. He’d shed enough tears over Dillon to fill a well.
“It doesn’t matter who you are,” Simon said, “or how good you are at reading people, or how powerful you are. He can trick anyone and bleed them dry.”
“You don’t think I’m smart enough to have figured that out?” Horace said. “When I found out he was a murderer, I left. I would never have worked for him, never would have given him anything.”
“You say that,” Simon said, feeling his anger grow, “but you don’t know!” He surged to his feet and paced. “It doesn’t matter how smart you are because you’re not cruel, Horace! No one is as cruel as he is. And if all his pretty words, all his crumbs of friendship weren’t enough to sway you, he would find another way! He’d go through your friends, your family. He would twist and warp until he made you think he was all you had!”
Widows of the Sun-Moon Page 10