Widows of the Sun-Moon

by Barbara Ann Wright

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Liam said. “I hope you get the bastard.”

  The others glanced at him, but Samira licked her lips. “If you see our friend…” She gave a quick description, and Ap said they weren’t out to kill anyone but the Storm Lord. He didn’t add that he hoped this Simon Lazlo didn’t get in the way. They parted peacefully, though Ap noticed they watched his people until they were lost from sight.

  *

  Wuran scratched his head as the Deliquois moved on, but he didn’t speak until they were out of earshot. “How did his goddess speak with him beyond the grave?”

  Liam shook his head, remembering what Cordelia had told him about the Storm Lord attacking the Sun-Moon and some others in a field after Pool had first left Gale. There had been at least one dead body; it could have been their goddess. “I’m guessing someone else was using telepathy on them, but I don’t know who.”

  “Maybe the Sun-Moon,” Samira said. “All these so-called gods were at each other’s throats at one time or another.”

  “Or this man and his people are insane,” Wuran said.

  Liam shrugged. “I hate to say it, but they could be a good distraction.”

  “For getting Simon back!” Samira beamed, but he was thinking of a chance to strike at the Storm Lord. He didn’t think Ap and his people would care who killed the Storm Lord as long as it stayed done. Samira sighed, and her smile faded. “I feel bad for the kids.”

  “What can we do?” Wuran asked.

  She didn’t bring up taking the kids by force, a smart move. As someone who’d recently had his children kidnapped, Wuran wouldn’t be up for any plan that involved abduction.

  “I’ll take my clan and ride ahead to the Engali,” Wuran said. “I can warn them you might be coming close to their territory and tell them of all these strangers and weird goings-on.”

  “Or they might find themselves pulled into this gathering of clans near Celeste,” Liam said. “It’s a good idea.” And it would get the Uri far from the Svenal, which would benefit everyone, even with Onin dead.

  Once they returned to Pool’s tree, Wuran left. Pool packed up everyone, and once she heard about these new humans, she stayed closer to the Storm Lord’s trail, their scouts watching him closely to see what he might do. She had no doubt he would realize he was being followed, and if he turned his soldiers to deal with the Deliquois, she intended to be ready.

  “But we must still be cautious,” Pool warned.

  “But this is our chance!” Samira said. “There was no way to attack him in Gale, but if we can get his people to split up, the tree can handle him.”

  “Usta,” Reach said, “everyone knows your thirst for blood, but the tree cannot be used so hastily.”

  “I’m so sick of waiting!”

  “The Storm Lord’s weapons shredded my sister queens in the swamp,” Pool said, staring at Samira with cool green eyes. “I will not have the same done to me or my tribe.”

  Samira shut her mouth with a snap.

  “If the Storm Lord turns,” Liam said, “the Deliquois will be slaughtered.”

  Reach spread her hands. “Wuran asked them to travel with us, and they refused.”

  “They are not of our tribe,” Pool said.

  He nodded, though it sounded cold. Samira didn’t say anything, but she looked torn, as if she was thinking of the Deliquois on one hand and Simon on the other.

  Reach touched her arm. “Do not be ashamed, Usta. It is natural to care for one’s own above all others.”

  Samira shook her head. “If we can, I’d like to keep everyone alive and get Simon back.” She stared at the ground, redness growing in her cheeks. “I thought you were foolish to want to attack the Storm Lord before, but now…I’d like to give him a bloody nose.”

  “Me, too,” Liam said. “Pool’s plan is solid. We get as close to the Storm Lord’s army as we can, using drushka so his telepaths can’t read their minds, and we wait for his troops to make a move toward the Deliquois. If they do, we strike.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Gale’s army moved faster than Dillon expected. The paladins pulled wagons loaded with supplies and yafanai, their armor giving them nearly inexhaustible reserves. With luck, it would only take them three days to get to Celeste.

  Dillon enjoyed the feel of the powered suit on his body. He enjoyed the sight of the rolling hills and the fresh air. It sucked that he hadn’t caught up to any renegades or plains dwellers yet, but maybe they were all hiding. Wise, if boring.

  He had Caroline and the other telepaths minding Lazlo, so Brown was in charge of the scouts and rear guard, and when she told him someone was following them, she seemed almost as eager as he was.

  “Any idea who?” Dillon asked. On some of his earlier missions, long before he’d come to Calamity, his soldiers had to worry about colonists sneaking after them, usually kids who wanted to join up, but he doubted that was the case now.

  “No, Storm Lord. I could take some telepaths and get a read.”

  “No need. Take a few troops and go have an old-fashioned look-see.”

  She nodded. “I’ll get some of the leathers out of the carts to watch our back and flanks. They could use the exercise.”

  “Everyone needs practice.” He wondered who the fuck could be back there, though. The renegades, most likely. He smiled. This day was getting better and better.

  As soon as she was gone, he asked Caroline to keep half an “ear” on them, just to be safe. She agreed, but he spotted a current of unhappiness in her stiff shoulders. She cast an angry glance Lazlo’s way, and he couldn’t blame her. Laz had been whiny lately. Dillon had considered leaving him behind, but he was too useful, and he’d straighten up given enough time. Shape up or ship out, as the old man had said, and from the look on Caroline’s face, she’d thought of plenty of places to ship him to, as long as they were hell and gone from her.

  Dillon called a break, not wanting to get ahead of the rest of the troops. Besides, with Brown taking the armors, there was no one to pull the wagons, and he damn sure wasn’t going to pull them himself. It was okay. Even though they were riding, the yafanai seemed to appreciate the stop. They walked around, stretching their backs and chitchatting. The servants handed out cups of water and snacks. Dillon leaned against Caroline’s cart and wondered if he should ask how she thought their son was doing or if that would only make her grumpier.

  “Hmm.” Caroline squinted to the west with the slightly constipated look of a telepath in action.

  “What is it?” Dillon asked.

  “Some of the paladins are coming back.”

  “Already?”

  “Brown found some people she didn’t recognize. They ran. Some of the paladins are chasing them, but there’s something else.” She shook her head. “I can’t get a clear read with…” She cast another glance at Lazlo.

  He nodded. “Ask Brown—”

  “Look out!” Lazlo cried.

  Dillon whirled around, freeing his sidearm. The rolling hills of grass hissed softly in the breeze. “What? Laz?”

  “I saw…” His hand dropped.

  Dillon waited. “What?”

  Lazlo didn’t answer, only mumbled something.

  Dillon leaned close to Caroline. “What happened there?”

  “Maybe he’s snapped.” She shrugged as if she had no pity. Or maybe she expected Laz to snap under the strain, but she didn’t know him. She looked where Lazlo had pointed and frowned. “I’m not getting anything, at least anything I’ve—”

  A small stone whizzed from the grass and smacked against her skull with a dull thwack. She toppled into the cart.

  Dillon crouched. “Everybody down!”

  Some obeyed. Others froze. Stones flew from the grass like swarming wasps, pelting yafanai and the remaining leathers with remarkable precision. Some bounced off invisible shields as the macro-psychokinetics sprang into action. Dillon lowered his visor and stood. The stones ricocheted off him with hard plinks, but they couldn�
�t hurt him.

  He reached for Caroline’s pulse, made sure she was alive, and then headed into the grass. “Laz, heal Caroline!”

  At the merest hint of movement, he fired off a shot and winged something that yelped. He jogged forward, but whoever it was vanished, leaving nothing but a spray of golden fluid to tell where it might have fallen. Not human, then. Probably drushka.

  Another rock bounced off his helmet, and he headed in that direction, using his targeting sensors and hurling a bolt of lightning. Another yelp, and another body gone when he arrived. He followed their retreating forms far into the grass, and it wasn’t until the wagons were out of sight that he realized he’d been drawn away. A stupid move, maybe, but as he’d proven, there wasn’t any way the drushka could hurt him.

  Of course, the wagons were another matter.

  “Fuck!” He didn’t know how many the yafanai could handle, but he didn’t want to lose any finding out. He turned back, but a snake hurtled from the grass and wrapped around his ankle.

  “Gah!” He tried to pull away, but the snake stretched, its long body hidden under the soil like a tree root. More of them shot upward and curled around him. He thought of carnivorous plants then remembered the walking tree. Drushkan trickery. With a quick flex of his power, he pumped lightning into the roots, and they shuddered but held tight. He shot at one and went for his blade with his free hand. They wouldn’t hold him for long.

  He yelped as they yanked him backward, overcoming his stabilizers with a harsh whine. Even with the armor, there were too many. As they jerked him underground, burying him in darkness, he cried out, the sound echoing inside his helmet.

  “Calm the fuck down,” he growled to himself. It was all right. His visor was down. He had enough air to get free as long as he stayed calm. With slow movements, he tried to wriggle for the surface, but a root caught his feet and dragged him back into place, releasing him before he could shock it again.

  Clever fucking bastards were waiting for him to run out of air. With the armor, it could take a while, but it would happen. He shifted upward. No movement. He shifted again, waiting for the next root to tug him down. He gave it a jolt but couldn’t tell if he did any damage, and he couldn’t keep it up forever.

  The drushka were probably packing the dirt above him, entombing him. Sweat trickled down his spine, and he shut his eyes so he wouldn’t see the darkness. He tried not to think of what it would feel like to suffocate, if he’d go to sleep or gasp for his last breath. The armor began to seem uncomfortably tight. He told himself he was imagining that. He couldn’t be crushed, but it was cold comfort.

  In his mind, he called for Caroline, for any of the telepaths. He kept his teeth clamped shut, not wanting to suffer the indignity of another scream.

  *

  Lazlo didn’t bother to get down and hide; none of the stones came near him. He knew he’d seen something! He was afraid for a moment that he’d gone insane enough to hallucinate, but now everyone could see. It gave him a happy little charge.

  He heard Dillon’s order to help Caroline, but as he looked at her, he knew that was the wrong thing to do. All his questions about Marcus had turned up nothing but a random death. No one else thought he was connected, but Caroline blamed him still. Maybe it wasn’t something he’d done but something he’d distracted her from doing? Well, Lazlo was determined not to be a distraction any longer. He’d let her sleep. A hazy memory of healing Dillon when he shouldn’t have swam through his memory, gone in an instant, but he knew he’d made the right choice.

  “Get down,” someone whispered.

  One of the yafanai was gesturing wildly, but Lazlo stared around him. The breeze felt cooler, the air more clear, and from high on the wagon, he saw someone sneaking through the grass: long-limbed, brown and gray people, their skin covered in tattoos. No, not tattoos. It was natural, like bark. He knew them. One reached the side of the wagon and grinned at him with sharp teeth.

  “I know you,” Lazlo whispered.

  The creature held out a hand; its fingers had an extra joint. Lazlo glanced around, but no one else seemed to notice. Maybe he was hallucinating, but when other Galeans tried to poke their heads up, another hail of stones made them duck again. Lazlo resisted the urge to laugh.

  “Come, shawness,” the creature said softly. “Your tribe awaits.”

  Bells and alarms were going off in his mind, but were they warning him to stay or go? Well, he knew what life among Dillon’s people was like, and Caroline wouldn’t stay unconscious forever. He slid down from the cart. Several human voices called out, but he ignored them and stared into the face of the maybe hallucination that seemed realer than Dillon. Oh well, if he was going to sink into psychosis, he might as well enjoy himself. The creature pulled him along, keeping both of them low as they retreated into the grass in the opposite direction Dillon had taken.

  The creature paused often, and Lazlo cast his senses back, sensing it as one of the micros healed Caroline. As soon as she was awake, he felt her telepathic call. She acted concerned for his safety, but he sensed her anger and frustration, as if she hoped something bad would happen to him even as she seemed guilty for thinking that.

  “Piss off,” he thought back.

  She pushed harder, trying to make her suggestions into commands.

  He winced and resisted the urge to rush back to her side. “What about Marcus?” he thought, hoping to distract her.

  Her anger slipped into rage and, she sent a telepathic spike designed to knock him out, but his shields were up and ready, his own power strengthening his mind so she couldn’t overload it. The micro added his power to hers, trying to bludgeon a way past Lazlo’s shields. He grunted under their assault and slowed the creature down. He couldn’t run and fight. The creature grabbed his arm, and Lazlo sent his power over it by accident, feeling its connection to sun and soil, all the rhythms of flora that were so familiar, botanist that he was at heart. He’d felt something like this before. He knew these creatures. Drushka.

  It drew its arm back, making a sucking sound. “Shawness?”

  Caroline stabbed his brain again, and he snarled. “I have to get away. I can’t walk. They’re…”

  The drushka lifted him, snaking one arm over his legs and the other under his back. It leapt up and ran, ignoring any cries from behind. A wave of force sent them stumbling, but the drushka didn’t fall. Caroline’s attacks grew panicked, hammering, using the micro to add to her mental battering ram. She still aimed to wound, but it seemed she’d stopped caring if she accidentally killed.

  Oh, if she wanted a real fight…

  Lazlo tried to shut down her power center but found that fortified by the micro. He switched and aimed for her body instead, attacking her heart, her brain, her spine. Her pain rocketed through him as her scream echoed through the plains. The force attacks vanished as he used her distraction to thump the powers of those around her, but nothing matched the pain in her voice. He had enough time to hope he hadn’t killed her before they were over a hill and out of sight.

  *

  Samira couldn’t believe their luck. Not only had the armored paladins chased the Deliquois people, as Pool hoped they would, but they’d left the Storm Lord alone, making him far easier to ambush. Pool had been afraid she’d have to bury all his troops at once.

  Even better, the drushka had managed to whisk Simon away. Now she just had to keep the armors busy so Simon could get clear, and Pool could kill the Storm Lord. The leathers were still chasing the Deliquois, but the armors had turned back. She hid in the long grass with some of the drushka and waited until the drushka fired slings, making the paladins turn with guns drawn. Samira hit them with a force wall, sending them tumbling over. Liam told them the armor wouldn’t function without the batteries, so groups of drushka swarmed over the soldiers, seeking to unplug their power cells and leave them to flop on the ground.

  Some soldiers flung the drushka away like rag dolls. An armored swing could shatter them, and none of them could
dodge a bullet, so they hit and then leapt for cover again. As one paladin freed himself and took aim, Samira gave him a psychokinetic shove. When another drushka went flying, Samira caught him in midair and set him on the ground.

  “Usta!” One of the drushka heaved a battery her way. She caught it with her power and dropped it near her feet. Another drushka grabbed it and ran, heading for Pool. Three more came her way, and she sent them all hurrying behind her. If they couldn’t take captives, they could at least rob the soldiers of their greatest weapons. That way they could never hurt Simon or anyone else again.

  *

  Caroline’s world became pain and fear. She could feel the yafanai working on her, trying to heal her, but nothing could take away the cramps that flooded her body, curling her limbs into themselves and sending spikes of agony through her torso and back.

  “Organ failure!” she heard one of them say.

  “What the fuck did he do to her?”

  Simon Lazlo had done this, set off some kind of cascade of agony, her body rebelling against itself, killing her.

  Fear tried to overrule the pain. Evan. What would happen to him? She couldn’t leave him alone! But he would have the Storm Lord, wouldn’t he? The thought should have been a comfort, but there was just so much pain.

  They were trying different things now, equally useless, and one of the other telepaths was trying to access her thoughts, but she denied them entry, not wanting anyone to feel this agony, not wanting even the chance that her son would someday know what she experienced at her death. She tried to say his name and failed.

  “What is she saying?” someone asked.

  She put out a brief, telepathic call, trying to tell them this was all Simon Lazlo’s fault, that he needed to be stopped, or he would drag all of them down, including the Storm Lord, but they all cried out, and she knew she had to be sending her pain and little else.

  Still, one of them said, “Something about the Storm Lord?”