Widows of the Sun-Moon

by Barbara Ann Wright

  Nico cleared his throat. “They are not Engali, Seren.”

  “Then they may live or not.” She shrugged. “I don’t care either way.”

  Chapter Nine

  On her way to the Meeting Rock, Cordelia couldn’t help but think of how tenuous peace seemed. Her time with the plains dwellers had always felt a little hazy, as if she was waiting for something to happen, not unlike her time with the paladins before the Storm Lord’s arrival. But back then the waiting had made her feel anxious, as if she was missing out on something, and only her street fights with Liam made her feel calm again. Now part of her had enjoyed the peace with Wuran and her friends and family, and she was sorry to think it had ended.

  After her escape from the Svenal, she’d had an uncomfortable talk with Wuran, who was anxious to know if his children were safe and his allies were going to help him take revenge. He wanted to know why Cordelia hadn’t rescued the children when she escaped. She’d told him that Pool hadn’t been able to tell one plains dweller from another. She’d only taken Cordelia and those closest to her at the time. That seemed to mollify him for a bit, but when he kept demanding they seek out the Svenal camp, no matter that it was still dark, she had to calm him until Simon and Horace stumbled back to camp just before dawn.

  Simon had explained that the Svenal were sick, unable to have their own children, and Wuran raged that he didn’t care what was wrong with them. Simon claimed he had an idea how to make everyone happy: he and Horace would heal the Svenal, they’d give the children back, and no one had to fight.

  Wuran had said that wasn’t good enough. He’d stalked out of camp when day had fully dawned, saying he would call on his other allies. Cordelia felt as if she should prevent bloodshed if she could, yet again, a side she’d never seen herself on. People usually called on her when they wanted it.

  Liam had come to her after she stared at Wuran’s retreating figure and said, “I remember when fighting was what you lived for.”

  She kept herself from sighing. “We used to think killing was the only way to keep others alive. Now that we’ve got a chance for another way, shouldn’t we take it?”

  After another long look, he’d shrugged. “Yeah, my heart’s not in this fight, either. I want to save all my energy for you-know-who. I can talk to the Svenal if you want, bring them to the Meeting Rock, and we can try Simon’s plan.”

  It was her turn to stare at him, but he didn’t have a conniving bone in him. He’d always been honest about what he wanted, and he had no reason to piss the Svenal off or prolong this fight. And after all the shit his mother had always given him, he was hard to ruffle. Maybe he would make a good peacekeeper. “Take Reach. They need to see a drushka up close, to see what they’re up against if they decide to fight instead of talk.”

  So they’d gone with an escort, and the Svenal had listened. Liam had said they’d been angry, but still desperate. If they couldn’t be healed, they’d rather die than waste away with the generation they had. But after they’d spoken, there was still no more sign of Wuran.

  Pool’s tree stayed far back now, as it always did in these meetings. Cordelia walked with Simon, Horace, Samira, Mamet, Liam, Nettle, Reach, and several ex-paladins and drushkan warriors. Ahead of them at the Meeting Rock, the Svenal had brought their whole clan. Their tents were arrayed around the base of the jutting tor, but Cordelia wasn’t worried. Pool was close, and Cordelia could feel her watching through her roots, her drushka. If the Svenal decided to fight, they’d soon find themselves overwhelmed.

  A group of Svenal came out to meet them with their chafa, Onin, but there was another among their group that Simon identified as Pakesh, the half-yafanai who’d knocked Cordelia out. Onin sat cross-legged in the long grass rather than waiting for a tent. Maybe he wanted everything out in the open where everyone could see. She appreciated the same thing. He glared at Simon, at everyone, but it seemed he didn’t want to be the first to speak.

  The rest of them sat down, too. “I know you’re angry,” Simon said at last. “Lots of people are. Chafa, it wasn’t my intention to deceive you. I said I’d help, and I’ve come back to keep that promise. I only left because you abducted my friends.”

  Onin took a deep breath and put his hands on his knees. “You injured some of my people.”

  “But didn’t kill any,” Cordelia said. “And we don’t want to start now.”

  “The Svenal are strong!”

  Cordelia didn’t need the hand Simon laid on her arm to keep her from retorting. She knew bluster when she saw it.

  “There’s no need for violence,” Simon said. “I’ve…learned a few things since I saw you last. Please, let me see Sheila, and I’ll show you.”

  Cordelia didn’t even glance at Horace. If Simon didn’t want to reveal they were going to work together, she wasn’t going to tell anyone. Most likely, they already knew Horace had powers. Pakesh probably felt them; by the way he was staring at them, Cordelia guessed he was trying to figure out who could do what, but Horace and Simon combined might be blocking him.

  “You get one for free,” Cordelia said. “Then you release the kids you’ve stolen, and our healer will do the rest.”

  When Simon glanced at her, she raised an eyebrow, and he nodded.

  Onin sent someone back to the tents, and he led a young woman forward. She was pale and drawn and looked as if she’d lost weight when she should be gaining it.

  Simon shut his eyes, but Horace kept his open, and Cordelia felt a tingle pass over her scalp as they worked. “The fetus can’t fully attach, that’s the problem,” Simon mumbled.

  Horace said nothing but frowned a little, and Cordelia knew he was probably speaking telepathically.

  “Right, yes,” Simon said. “It’s in the blood. She can’t sustain the child, and…”

  Cordelia didn’t need that sentence finished. A species that couldn’t procreate would eventually die out. Question was, was it a natural disease or something that had been done to them?

  They sat in silence for a long time, both Simon and Horace frowning. Beads of sweat shone on both their faces, and Cordelia began to wonder if they could do anything, fix anything. Their power might have healed somewhat, but what if it never fully recovered? What if Simon had crippled their ability?

  Onin stared at them, too, as well as the young pregnant girl. Cordelia eased her legs out to the side, the better to stand quickly if anyone lunged. Onin would go for Simon and Horace first, she thought, as soon as he suspected they couldn’t do what they’d promised. Cordelia had only seen a look that desperate once before, on a woman frantic to avenge her wife’s murder. When the paladins had taken the murderer into custody instead, the woman had leaped at the paladins as if she needed to get her hands on someone’s throat.

  Onin fidgeted, and Cordelia tensed. His gaze shifted to hers, and he licked his lips. She let her hand fall close to her hip and the wooden blade.

  When Simon cried, “There it is!” everyone started and then stared. He took Sheila’s hand. “Yes, yes I see it now!”

  She gasped and gripped her belly. Onin tensed, but she said, “The pain is gone, Chafa.”

  He sprang to his feet, and Cordelia did the same, but there were tears in his eyes.

  Simon breathed deep. “Done. She’s cured.”

  She leapt to her feet, too, and threw her arms around Onin’s neck. “She’s moving! The baby is moving!”

  “He, actually,” Horace said softly. When Cordelia turned to him, he winked. Onin and Sheila didn’t seem to notice. They were too busy laughing and hugging and chattering like mad.

  Cordelia kept her face calm as Onin called for the rest of his tribe to come and be healed, but she said, “Not yet.”

  He blinked as if she’d just offered him a lifeline and then snatched it away before realization spread across his face. “Release the children,” he called.

  “We’ll give them a quick scan,” Simon said. “Make sure they’re not infected.”

  Cordelia nodded.
“Let’s see if we can find Wuran and head him off with the good news.”

  *

  Cordelia took the children in hand, leading them off across the plains. Simon trusted that she’d set things right. She seemed like one of those people who was always putting things right in one way or another. He let his hand dangle at his side, his fingers finding Horace’s before he told them to. That was silly, romantic stuff, the kind that would have had him rolling his eyes before, but when Horace turned a smile his way instead of a sneer, Simon’s contempt for himself blew out the window. Maybe that was love.

  Okay, too much. He coughed a little chuckle, and when Horace raised an eyebrow, Simon thought loudly, “I’ll tell you later.”

  That was another thing. He never thought he’d be used to speaking mind to mind with someone, but ever since their powers had let them entwine so completely, it seemed natural. Simon couldn’t read Horace’s mind, but Horace could project his own thoughts as words, and the tingle constantly passing over Simon’s scalp told him that Horace was listening for surface thoughts, “loud” thoughts. The only time they’d shut it off was during Pakesh’s clumsy attempts to scan them. The boy was a battering ram of power, but so unfocused, he was easy to brush away if they were expecting it.

  Simon needed Horace as close as possible as they healed the Svenal. Simon was better at using his stronger powers, but he hadn’t had much to cure on the Atlas. Horace was used to wounds and illnesses. Even before augmentation, he’d been seeing to the sick. And with Simon’s greater knowledge of biology, they knew what to look for. Scanning the women and trying to get ahead of the disease had been so frustrating; Horace made him see there was no getting ahead of it. It was everywhere, integrated. The invader had become part of the whole, just like Horace had said. The thing to do was to scan the uninfected and look for the differences. It was only then they’d been able to spot an insidious pathogen, but they didn’t know if it was a naturally occurring disease that humans had stumbled upon on this planet, or if it was something that’d been engineered. There weren’t many people who could do such a thing; there were no germ labs on Calamity. The only people with the power to make a disease were Dué, Simon, or now Horace, and Simon was pretty sure he and Horace hadn’t done it.

  Onin approached them again, leading many of his clan, all of them shifting and fidgeting. Simon had focused his efforts on the pregnant women last time, but the disease was part of all of them. They’d all have to be scanned.

  “Are you the second patient, Chafa?” Simon asked. “We’ll check everyone, but now that we know what we’re looking for, it should go faster.”

  Onin nodded and rubbed his hands together. “I have a request.”

  Simon almost said, “Besides healing your entire tribe,” but Horace gave him a warning squeeze.

  “My mind bender,” Onin said, looking at Pakesh. “What’s wrong with him? Sometimes, he seems crazy.”

  Horace cleared his throat, but Simon said, “He ate some powder you stole from Gale, and now you want him fixed?”

  “Simon,” Horace said, “easy.”

  Onin stared, but he must have seen the folly of holding things back. “We knew some of your people had power, and…”

  Simon nodded. He was surprised no one else had tried it. “Someday, I want to hear the story of how you got your hands on it, but for now, what do you want me to do?”

  “Can you heal him?”

  Horace rubbed his forehead. “He ate it?”

  Onin nodded.

  “How much?”

  Onin held his hands apart, but it was difficult to tell whether he meant the container the drug came in or the amount itself. It looked to be several ounces. He couldn’t have eaten all of it at one time, or he’d be dead.

  Horace nodded as if he’d heard that thought. “Cleansing him would take too much time, might even kill him depending on how the drug has changed him.” He sighed and added mentally, “It might be easier to change his brain like we would a trained yafanai. At least then he’d be able to control himself.”

  “No matter what we do,” Simon said aloud, “we aren’t staying after we heal the disease. If you want us to help Pakesh, he’ll have to come with us.”

  Onin rubbed his chin. “Begin the healing, please.”

  Time dropped away as Simon entwined his senses with Horace’s. He tried to block the memories of when they’d joined for more intimate reasons and keep himself focused, but they kept bubbling to the surface.

  Horace’s amusement was a bright bloom. “Keep your mind on the mission.”

  With precise attacks, they overpowered the illness, going cell by cell, changing it into something each person could dump from their system. They sat on a rock together, Simon letting his eyes slip shut and knowing Horace kept his open. The drushka were watching, as well as Samira and Mamet. The joy of the Svenal twined around them, and as silly as it sounded, it felt like a great big blanket of happiness spreading to the horizon.

  Almost. On the edges of Simon’s thoughts was a black cloud, and he didn’t know who or what it could be. He felt determination and anger and had time for the thought that some people were never happy before booms and screams shattered his attention. He opened his eyes to see pieces of Meeting Rock break from the top and rain down on the Svenal camp.

  He stood slowly with those around him, staring in wide-eyed horror before the booms came again, and more rock came crashing down.

  “What?” Horace said. “What is—”

  “Get down!” Simon cried. “Everyone down. Take cover, take cover!” He dragged Horace with him and hoped everyone was doing the same.

  “So many wounded,” Horace said. “What’s happening?”

  “Rail guns,” He’d never seen them, but he knew what they were, just like he knew what that black spot was. The guns sounded again, and Horace clapped his hands over his head. Someone else screamed, and Simon cried, “I told everyone to stay down!” But they couldn’t stay that way forever, and Simon felt powers reaching for him, Dillon’s telepaths, who’d be telling the soldiers where to aim.

  His bile rose, and he clung to Horace. “It’s Dillon. Can you feel his telepaths? Tell them I’m coming.”

  Samira grabbed his ankle. “You can’t!”

  “He won’t kill me. Please, do it, Horace.”

  He felt Horace use his powers, and the gunfire stopped. Shakily, Simon stood as those around him called to him to stay down. He looked into the distance, where the soldiers were mere specks, but they wouldn’t need to be close with all their tech.

  “I’m coming with you,” several people said at once.

  He turned to see Horace, Samira, and Mamet standing as well as several of the drushka. “No, Horace, please, tend the wounded. And I don’t think he’ll do well seeing drushka. Samira…”

  She shook her head. “I’m coming with you. He knows who I am.”

  Well, he might remember her body, but not her name, not exactly. He couldn’t remember what he’d never bothered to learn.

  “Simon—” Horace started.

  “Please,” Simon said as he stepped close, planting a quick kiss on Horace’s lips. “I don’t want him near you.”

  Horace gripped his hand. “I’ll be watching. If he does anything, I’ll come running.”

  Simon smiled softly, not willing to admit his terror. “I’m more powerful than he is.” And it was true, even if his powers hadn’t fully recovered. He’d always been the more powerful one. He just hadn’t wanted to admit it. As he walked over the hill, he kept telling himself that over and over and over again.

  He headed toward the soldiers at a steady gait, gesturing for Samira and Mamet to stay behind him. Dillon waited until the three of them had crested a hill, probably until he could see they weren’t surrounded by a plains dweller escort. He stood, obscured by armor, but Simon knew it was him. He expected anger or surprise, not the big smile that took over Dillon’s face or the shaky step forward, the grin faltering as Dillon said, “Tell me y
ou’re not her.”

  Simon stuttered to a halt. “Um, I’m not her. I’m me.”

  The grin came rushing back, tugging Simon’s own lips into a smile. “Simon.”

  Simon brayed a laugh and fought the urge to clap a hand over his mouth. He always picked the worst times to guffaw. “I see you remember, but let’s stick to Laz, shall we?” It was familiar and comfortable, and it let him remember how they’d left things.

  Dillon turned to his paladins and waved at them to stay put. He jerked his head to the side, signaling a little way from the others. Simon gave a look to Samira that he hoped conveyed, “Please don’t let me get dragged back into this shit.”

  She gave him a nod and a reassuring smile, crossing her arms and radiating the idea that she wasn’t going anywhere, no matter what.

  “So,” Dillon said once they were out of earshot.

  “Let me stop you right there.”

  Dillon quirked an eyebrow. “With so?”

  “I know what you’re thinking. You found out a lot of people are gathering on your doorstep, you thought it had something to do with you, so you attacked first. You probably didn’t even intend to ask questions later.”

  Dillon shrugged, still with that same old smugness, and Simon felt any good feelings he remembered dissolving. “If it’s not about me, what’s it about?”

  Simon resisted the urge to snarl and lay all the blame Dillon deserved at his feet. After all, the idea was to get Dillon the hell out of there as quickly as possible. “It’s an internal dispute between the plains dwellers. There’s a disease…” Too late, he realized he should have lied, should have been thinking of a lie all the time. Any talk of curing diseases would point back to his powers. He told himself to keep still, to not react. Hoping the pause didn’t show, he started talking again. “Some of the renegades know about my background in biology. They asked for my advice.”

  Dillon’s gaze flicked toward Meeting Rock, and Simon could feel his excitement building. Damn, damn, damn. He knew Dillon, but Dillon knew him, too, knew what a pause could mean, knew that Simon couldn’t set up a lab in the middle of the plains, so all his knowledge would be worthless without power.