by Dana Davis
Marjordan’s fingers pulled at Cait’s wet hair and yanked her head around. “You went to the Shore Sanction alone and joined in a dig?”
“Yes, ma’am. I was careful, though. I took those clothes to fit in. Then I checked where all the others were from and told them I was from S9.”
She grinned. S9 was the roughest of the Shore Sanction areas. No one asked too many questions of those who lived there. Now that she thought about it, that’s probably what saved her from any men who might have decided to take advantage of her youthful body. That and the large sword she’d kept strapped to her back. Pride welled up in her for all her planning now that the danger was over.
“They accepted me, P-Marj, and I escaped with the Mask before anyone knew I was gone.” Marjordan’s fingers tightened around her hair but she ignored the pain. “I threw a scarf and saddlebag off the cliffs to make it look like I fell. They won’t search there, either. Too dangerous. They’ll figure Graypony ran off after my ‘accident’. The rain washed away my tracks, I’m sure of that. So they won’t be able to follow me even if they figure out what I’ve done.” She stiffly awaited the woman’s response.
Marjordan’s grip loosened and tender hands rinsed Cait’s hair in silence. Her primary had never been without words and the silence made her nervous.
“That was stupid.” Marjordan sounded more irritated than angry. One callused hand offered a clump of soap. “This is Hendrake’s fault. He taught you too quickly. I’m just grateful you didn’t get yourself raped or killed.”
“Then,” Caitlanna said carefully, “you’re not going to punish me?” Her primary knew very well the value of the Mask and the danger in stealing such a find. Especially from the Shore Sanction.
“It isn’t up to me. You placed the entire sanction at risk with this foolish stunt. The Elders will decide your punishment. I just hope they’ll be lenient when you give them the treasure. Provided it is the true Mask.”
Of course she had the real Mask. She wasn’t worried about that. But she hadn’t thought of the Elders. They could forbid her from ever becoming a finder. She could be at striker status the rest of her life. Or worse, the Elders could ban her from digs altogether. Anger at her own carelessness rose and she cursed.
“That won’t help,” Marjordan said calmly. “The Elders will be fair. You’re young and that’s in your favor.” But she didn’t sound as though she believed that.
Chapter 2
The Elders’ Ruling
Caitlanna trembled as she awaited the Elders’ decision. The rough wooden chair became more uncomfortable the longer she sat and she shifted her weight several times, keenly aware of the ticking, keyclock atop the stone table. Keyclocks were common and easy to repair if found with most of their parts intact. Every sub-sanction had at least one. Cait glanced around at the two warriors standing near the old, stone ruins of the Elder sub-sanction. She was grateful this was a private sentencing but shifted in her chair again and tugged at her leggings.
“Be still,” her primary warned.
“Striker Caitlanna Mullen,” the ruling Elder said as she stood behind the stone table. Cait’s heart caught in her throat. “You’ve placed M3 and the entire Mountain Sanction at risk of a retaliation raid with your actions. You disguised yourself and joined a foreign dig in Shore territory, leaving us in a precarious situation. Had you been found out, you might have been killed, thus forcing us into battle.” The Elder took in a deep breath and Caitlanna held hers. “But you were not caught,” the old woman continued. “And you’ve brought to us The Mask of Tamirella. A valuable find that has pleased us.”
Cait let out her breath and waited for her punishment, unable to stop her legs from trembling as she sat in the uncomfortable seat.
“You are young, still a striker, yet you’ve managed to do a finder’s job.” The Elder pursed her thin lips. “You and your primary will stand for sentencing.”
Marjordan stood, took Caitlanna’s arm, and pulled her to her feet. If not for the woman’s support, Cait thought her legs might fold beneath her.
The Elder’s eyes fell on Marjordan. “Healer Marjordan Mullen. Your charge has broken numerous laws and you will be held accountable. However, due to the unusual circumstances, we have decided on an offer that would not be made to any but a healer. This girl obviously has some talent and her small stature will be valuable to the excavation in the Southern Mountains. The terrain is harsh and there are mutant forests surrounding the site, but the archaeologists there are in need of a healer, especially one of your talent.
Once Caitlanna realized they were offering a job and not punishment, it was all she could do to keep from squealing with joy.
“You may choose three others from your sub-sanction to accompany you. I suggest one or two warriors. A map will be provided and the purpose of this dig will be explained upon arrival, if you accept. Also, the charges against the girl will be dropped, and she’ll be allowed to gain finder status, provided the excavation is successful.” The Elder placed weathered hands on the table and leaned toward Marjordan. “We’ll take favor on you and provide your sub-sanction with supplies for the next two years if you accept these terms.”
Cait’s mind raced. The Elders had knowledge of things no one else did. They always provided what they promised. Two years was a long time, and she knew Marjordan wouldn’t pass up an opportunity like this, a chance to keep her people fed and clothed for such a length of time. Well-fed people meant healthier people, She knew that much about healing. Marjordan took in an audible breath, and Cait waited impatiently for her primary’s decision.
“We accept the job at the terms you’ve dictated, Elders,” Marjordan said. “As a healer, I cannot in good conscience refuse such an offer.”
“Very well, Healer Marjordan Mullen. You have two days to choose your group and take care of any business before you leave for the Southern Mountains. A rider will deliver a map and guide you as far as Lost River.” She turned to the other Elders seated at the table and waited for their nods. “This decision is final and this sentencing is closed. A warrior will escort you back to M3. Dismissed.” She then banged a large, polished rock once onto the stone table and sat.
Caitlanna let out a relieved breath then turned a smiling face to her primary, but Marjordan frowned and crossed to the horses.
“Some punishment,” Cait chimed as she sprinted after the woman. She could hardly believe her good fortune. The ancients were smiling on her for sure. “We get to go on a dig. Sounds like an important one, too. I knew the Elders would be pleased with the Mask.”
Marjordan turned on her. “You foolish girl.” Fire lit her eyes. “The dig is the punishment. Do you have any idea what lies beyond Lost River? If we survive the trek through the mutant’s territory, we’ll have Rotted City to worry about, not to mention numerous dagbeasts.” She mounted her horse.
Caitlanna had no idea. Her father had never talked about anything past Lost River. He’d simply told her that area wasn’t profitable. She never thought to question him. But she knew the horrific tales of Rotted City. “Then why did you agree?” She climbed into her saddle.
“I’m a healer, Cait. I go where I’m needed. I’d be foolish to refuse such an offer from the Elders. And M3 is close to M2. They can spare one of their healers for a while.” She shifted her weight. “I also promised my brother I’d take care of you.”
Guilt began to gnaw at Caitlanna’s stomach again, a familiar ache since her return, as she took in her primary’s words. It was her fault the woman would have to face the dangers ahead of them now. She lowered her eyes in obedience and swallowed back the sour taste than had risen in her throat. “I’m sorry, P-Marj.”
“I know you are. You’re impatient, Cait, just as your father was. You’re also young and impetuous. Lessons are hard and you’ll do well to learn them quickly.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She kicked Graypony into motion when her primary followed the warrior toward home. The ancients weren’t smiling on her after al
l.
The two rode silently on the way to M3 and the warrior turned back at the border of the sub-sanction clearing. Caitlanna had a sour stomach by the time they arrived at the house. She was determined to keep her mouth shut, though. Marjordan didn’t need to worry about anything else.
Quinpatrik tended the horses while Cait cleaned up and helped her primary start dinner.
“All done,” he said nearly an hour later, as he peered in from the open window to the kitchen.
“Thank you, Quin,” Marjordan said. “Stay for nighmeal. We have some things to discuss.”
“Sure. I’ll go wash up.” He disappeared.
Quinpatrik never turned down a meal. He had no primary, as he was already a full-grown last winter when his mother died from the lung fever. He lived in his mother’s house but spent most of his time assisting others in M3.
Caitlanna stirred the harerabbit stew over the kitchen fireplace and winced at the pain in her stomach. She had hoped the queasiness would’ve gone away by nighmeal. As bile crept up, she swallowed hard and stretched to take her mind from it.
“Cait?” Marjordan eyed her. “You feeling all right?” Caitlanna nodded without speaking and swallowed again. The woman was at her side immediately and took her hand from the large wooden spoon. “Don’t lie to me, girl.” Marjordan studied her face before pulling her out the kitchen door and onto the rough grass.
Cait couldn’t keep her stomach steady any longer and vomited. “I’m sorry,” she said through tears as her primary supported her.
“Don’t you be sorry. I should have realized.” Marjordan placed a hand on Caitlanna’s forehead. “You’re body’s reacting to everything that’s gone on lately.” Her voice was tender, that of a healer. “Can you make it back inside?”
“Mm-hm.” She spit and stood upright. “I feel better now. But I’m not hungry.”
“I’ll fix you some gingertea. That should settle your stomach. Then you’re going straight to bed. We can figure things out in the morning.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She allowed her primary to help her inside and into a chair in the main room, where she sat with eyes closed.
Quinpatrik entered through the front door. “Are you sick?”
“She’ll be fine, Quin,” Marjordan said before Cait could answer. “Drink this, slowly.” She gave Caitlanna a cup of steaming tea. “Just worry stomach.”
“Oh,” he said in an understanding voice. “Finder’s stomach.”
Marjordan chuckled. “Yes. Finder’s stomach.” She stroked Caitlanna’s hair. “Use the kindling bucket if you need to. We’ll be in the kitchen.”
Cait nodded and Quinpatrik squeezed her shoulder as he passed. She could hear the soft murmurs of their voices from her chair and knew her primary was offering him a part in the dig. She also knew he would accept. After she downed the tea, her stomach felt better and she leaned back, closing her eyes.
“Come on, Cait,” Marjordan said softly, waking her. “Let’s get you to bed.”
She didn’t argue and allowed the woman to lead her to her room and put her to bed. The sun was still up but she fell asleep almost immediately. Frightening images filled her dreams that night and she woke several times during before dawn.
Chapter 3
Lost River
The sun crept lower in the sky as the guide stopped Marjordan’s group and dismounted his horse. “We’ll camp here for the night. Then you’re on your own.” He looked across Lost River and frowned.
Cait and the others slipped off their mounts and stretched from the long ride. It had taken them nearly three days to reach Lost River. Marjordan had offered jobs to Finder Quinpatrik, who accepted immediately, and two M3 warriors, Whithelen and Ianandy. The latter also had experience as a tracker. Caitlanna had known them all since she could remember.
After the horses were unsaddled and fed, the group had their nighmeal of salted sheepmeat, fruits and tubers. Each passing day brought more heat than the previous one. Summer had arrived and the Southern Mountains received more sunny days than Caitlanna’s home. Despite the warm weather, the group sat around the fire for safety.
Cait chewed on a tuber and studied the forest just the other side of Lost River. Part of her hoped to see a mutant. She always stayed far from the forests and had never had a glimpse of one. Perhaps they would see one without being noticed. That way she could satisfy her curiosity and not become a sacrifice.
What imaginary thinking, you dumb girl, she chided herself.
“Cait,” Quinpatrik nudged her.
She had the feeling he’d said her name at least twice. “Huh?” Her straw hat slipped forward and she adjusted it.
“If you plan on becoming a finder, you’d better learn to follow a map.” He nodded toward the guide.
She already knew how to read a map—her father had taught her—but she got Quin’s message and focused on the guide’s instructions. Her stomach tightened when he mentioned the mutants and she glanced to the forest several times.
By the time they bedded down for the night, she was exhausted and had little trouble getting to sleep. Her primary slept near her by the fire and she took comfort in the woman’s presence.
The next morning brought more sunshine and slightly cooler weather than the previous day, but she knew the sun would heat things up quickly, despite the liberal shade the trees provided. The group sat around the sweltering fire and ate mornmeal together. The guide that had led them to Lost River looked uncomfortable and left soon after he’d eaten.
“This map shows a shallow area of the river,” Ianandy said. “We should have little trouble crossing.” The warrior’s tanned face showed light stubble. His cropped hair was so light that it appeared white against his tanned skin, making it difficult to distinguish the slight gray above his ears. The scar along the curve of his strong chin seemed to dance when he spoke. He was older than Marjordan, and the lines around his mouth and eyes deepened whenever he squinted or smiled.
“What about the mutants?” Warrior Whithelen said. She wore her black hair cropped, as did all warriors in the Mountain Sanction. Her skin, the color of a rich, dark tea, glistened with sweat. Whithelen also had a scar, but hers snaked across her right shoulder and disappeared underneath her leather tunic.
Cait remembered when Marjordan stitched that injury. It was just after Whit had received her warrior status and participated in what the healer referred to as a “foolish skirmish” with some of the warriors from M4. The warrior had caught a blade in the shoulder, leaving an injury that needed stitches. Marjordan had scolded the younger woman each time her needle and thread pierced the raw wound. Whithelen had winced a lot but never let out a cry of pain, which had amazed Cait.
“There’s no way around the forest.” Ianandy eyed the other warrior and rubbed at his head. “We’ll have to be careful and stay in clearings at night. Everyone will need to participate in watches.” Gray eyes found Caitlanna before moving on to Marjordan. “It should take about two days to get through the forest and another day to Rotted City. There’s a cave the other side of the city where we’ll spend the night. The dig site is about half a day’s travel beyond that.” He must have noticed Cait’s worry because he focused on her again. “Mutants usually stay away from groups. Just make sure nobody gets separated.”
He didn’t have to add anything to that last statement. Cait had no intention of getting caught by mutants and sacrificed to their gods. Her hand reached to her back and she fingered her father’s sword. Normally, she wouldn’t carry one until her nineteenth birthday, when she would be a full-grown. But since the Elders were giving her the chance to attain finder status, Marjordan allowed her to wear the weapon and told Ianandy to begin her training. She would never be a warrior, but all full-growns learned to fight in case they were needed in battle.
Her eyes found her primary. The woman shifted her own sword as she listened to the warrior’s words. Suddenly, Cait feared for her. She knew Marjordan could fight extremely well. She’d seen the woman
spar with Ian and Whit. But a healer’s main purpose was to mend wounds, not cause them. Though Marjordan was quick to slap someone down for disobedience, she would risk her own life to save another. That was part of the healer’s creed. Cait realized Ian was speaking to her.
“Let’s run a few practices before we set out,” the warrior said.
“Sure.” She got to her feet and tossed her hat on the ground behind her. Her bootlaces were loose and she retied them before drawing her sword.
The two sparred while the others packed up the horses. She found it difficult at first to balance the weight of the sword and make a productive swing. Her muscles were sore and shaky. She’d only been training a couple of days now and felt extremely awkward. Ian seemed so agile and quick. He used his weapon as though it were an extension of his arm, and Cait envied that talent.
“You have to block the way I showed you yesterday, Cait,” he told her. “Otherwise—“ He took a quick swing and stopped his blade a finger’s length from her neck.
She flinched. “I’m trying,” she finally said in frustration.
“Not good enough.” The warrior’s voice held no sympathy. “You want to be a finder. You must learn to defend yourself.”
“I know, I know.”
“Good. Then concentrate. Or we’ll use wooden sticks like in children’s play.”
Anything but that, Caitlanna thought.
He raised his sword again and brought it down toward her. This time she brought her own up in a block. The blades met with a crash of metal that shook her entire body and sent pain through her hands, where she already had several blisters.
“Ow,” she muttered. The stabbing pain told her that at least one blister on each hand had burst.
Ianandy ignored her protests and lunged, sword extended toward her belly. Cait was quick this time and swiped the advancing sword to the side with her own. She moved out of the way in case he decided to bring his weapon around toward her again. But he didn’t.