by Dana Davis
“I promise, Finder. I don’t want to get caught in a cave-in any more than anyone else, here.” She didn’t intend to sound arrogant but it came out that way and Jenellen’s face hardened. This woman was definitely a seasoned finder, and Cait could already tell she would take no disrespect from her strikers.
Jen tightened her grip on Cait’s shoulders and leaned in. “I’ll let that slide because this is your first day with me. But if I hear that tone from you again, your face will sting.”
She lowered her eyes. “Yes, Finder.”
“Good.” Jen took the used lamp from Natjulie’s dusty hand and told her, “Go get something to eat and then rest.” The other girl left the cave. “Now’s your chance to prove your talent, Striker Caitlanna. I’ll be monitoring from here. Good luck.”
Cait hooked an empty bag over her shoulder, checked her tool belt and secured a water canteen onto it. She tied the tortoise shell hat on, checking it for a secure fit, then scooped up a burning clay lamp before crawling into the shaft. Several curved, metal plates, braced with thick beams, had been installed to secure the tunnel against another cave-in. Her lamp reflected off the shiny material, illuminating her way. She could see the flickering light at the dig area and crept toward it. The area wasn’t far but the cramped tunnel made it seem that way. She winced when her hand scraped across a sharp rock and chided herself for not putting on her gloves first.
Then she was out of the tunnel and in the less confined area of the dig site. There was just enough room for her to turn around without touching the walls. She could breathe easily and suspected an air duct. These caves were famous for them, since they’d been used for centuries after The Great War as living areas.
To her left, she could see the remains of the latest cave-in that had collapsed the other shaft and killed the previous healer. Thick wood planks had been lodged against the walls and low ceiling for support. Crossbars, nailed to the planks, added security. Caitlanna’s heart thudded against her ribs.
Stay calm, she told herself. She had never dug in such a dangerous place and the thought of suffocating under tons of rock nearly caused a panic in her. The Shore Sanction had been a different kind of threat. She wouldn’t have been killed there.
She pushed those thoughts away and focused on the markers to her right. Four brightly painted rocks guided her eyes to the place where Natjulie had been digging. Three clay lamps flickered shadows on the walls. A large pick lay nearby. The area was roomy enough for her to stand but she was the shortest of the group. She realized now why the Elders thought her size would be valuable to this dig. Even Nat would have to crouch in here.
“Striker?” Jenellen’s voice rang softly through the tunnel, jolting Cait from her thoughts.
The finder’s voice traveled extremely well despite the surrounding dirt, and she suspected the angle of the tunnel had something to do with that. “Sorry, Finder. Just getting my bearings,” she called back, careful not to speak too loudly for fear of bringing down rock. She knew the place was more stable than that or no one would be able to dig but she felt better keeping her voice low. She placed her lamp near the others.
“Don’t take too long.”
“Yes, Finder.” She took in a breath, slipped her bag off and placed it on a nearby rock, along with the water canteen. Then she donned her gloves and retrieved her trowel, pick, and brush from her belt. Her hands were steady as they cradled the familiar tools and she was suddenly at ease. She envisioned Hendrake at her side and went to work, cautiously digging and brushing through the dirt. Her goal was to make progress through the debris without damaging any artifacts, something she’d learned years ago from her skillful father.
As she worked, she relaxed her mind and focused on the pleasure of her trade. She worked deftly with experience beyond her years. The dusty smell of the cave reminded her of numerous digs she had been on with her father, and she smiled as pleasant memories flooded her mind.
“That’s very good, Lanna,” he had told her on her first dig. He was the only one ever to call her by that name.
She was apprentice age, ten, and felt proud assisting him. Of course, her father had taught her many things about modern archaeology long before that first dig. Sanction law forbade anyone younger than ten on a true dig so Hendrake had created a false site behind their home. He buried some of Caitlanna’s scarves and buttons along with animal bones and apple seeds, taught her what to look for, and how to uncover items without damaging them. By age twelve, she had attained striker status, the youngest age allowed and a year earlier than most.
A tiny object caught her deft eyes and she pulled her thoughts to the present. As she gently brushed the dirt away, a colored bead stood out against the monotonous dirt surrounding it. She carefully removed her find and placed it on a nearby ragcloth.
****
At noonmeal, Jenellen called her out. Cait surveyed her work. She had recovered several pottery shards, six colored beads, and one metal tip of an ancient writing tool. This was a rich site, indeed. She’d never uncovered so much in such a short time. No evidence of the Mask, though. Not yet. She stood and stretched, rubbing at her sore neck.
Her progress through the debris had been slow and the dirt thick, but she’d widened the area at least a hands’ length. Using the large pick for the upper debris area helped speed up the process. There were no artifacts in that area, just years and years of dirt. But she had to be careful near the floor. This had been home to some ancient family or group of families from what she could tell, and that meant treasures, valuable treasures. She hoped she would find the Mask, if it existed. The thought of more than one seemed like a foreign idea to her. Part of her wondered if it was just a cruel joke. Punishment from the Elders. That thought vanished when her stomach rumbled.
“Striker?” Jenellen’s voice called down the tunnel.
Caitlanna jumped at the sudden noise. “Yes, Finder. I’m coming.” Sadly, her shift was over. After holstering her tools, she extinguished the dig lamps to save the animal fat and reluctantly retrieved her bag and half-empty canteen. Her back near her left shoulder felt a bit irritated but she ignored it. Her personal lamp was burning the last of its fat, and she scooped it up before backing out through the tunnel, until she stood in the open area of the cave.
“How’re you doing?” Jen was crouched on the floor, inspecting tools, and hadn’t even looked up.
Cait smiled at the finder’s obvious obsession with artifacts. “Good. I found several items but no Mask yet.” She offered her bag.
The finder stood and grinned. “You expected to recover it so soon?” She took the bag and placed it next to the tools.
“No.” Caitlanna chuckled. Her father had taught her better than that. “I’d like to continue after noonmeal.”
“You need to rest. Paulucas will take that shift.” Jen nodded to Nat’s brother, who was rotating a large harerabbit over the fire just outside the cave.
“But I’m the right size,” Cait protested as she eyed the man. He was even taller than Marjordan. Cait had gotten her small stature from her mother. “I can do it faster.”
“You’ll work alternating shifts.” Jenellen’s tone left no room for argument. She took the tortoise shell hat from Cait’s head, retrieved a full lamp, and started into the tunnel for the inspection.
“Yes, Finder.” Cait didn’t know whether the woman heard her. She took in a deep breath of the hot, fresh air as she walked outside to remove her gloves and striker belt. The sun nearly blinded her after being in the dim light of the cave, so she plucked her straw hat from a nearby rock and put it on.
Whithelen made her way to the fire with several pieces of wood. “Good shift?” She placed the wood on the fire.
“It’s a rich site. But I hope to have more luck my next shift.”
“If anyone can find that Mask, you can, Cait.” The warrior leaned toward her. “Hendrake would be proud of you, despite the risks you’ve taken lately.”
That comment gave lightness
to Caitlanna’s heart. Her father would have been proud. He hadn’t always stuck to the rules, either, when a rich find was at stake, but he had always been careful, and she planned to follow his example. “Thanks, Whit.”
The woman winked and started back toward the mounts.
“Looks good in there, Striker.” Jenellen stepped from the cave but her eyes were on the bag in her hands. “We might have a foot cleared by my shift.”
“Thank you, Finder.”
“I give praise where it’s due.” The woman sat on a stool and began sifting through the bag of artifacts.
Natjulie sprinted toward them from the tent. “Sam’s fever broke,” she said through a frenzied smile.
Cait grinned back at her. “That’s great. I told you my primary was one of the best healers.”
The girl squealed and tapped Cait’s arm a couple of times. “How’d the dig go?” She obviously tried to focus her thoughts.
Cait chuckled. “Good. Found a few more artifacts.” She placed her belt on a nearby rock.
“Oh, good.”
Nat seemed unusually chipper and Caitlanna laughed again.
“What?” the girl protested.
“Nothing. I mean, you’re so different from yesterday.”
“I know. I’m just glad Sam’s getting better.”
Cait glanced at Nat’s brother but he was focused on the cooking harerabbit. She leaned toward the other girl. “You like Sam. In a sexual way.”
Nat’s eyes widened slightly then her face reddened. “Is it that obvious?”
“Yes. To me anyway.” The two giggled.
“What’s going on?” Marjordan came from the direction of the tent. Her face looked drawn but content.
Caitlanna knew that look. The patient would recover.
“These two children are discussing boys,” Jen said, eyeing them with a bit of humor. Her attention went immediately back to the artifacts.
“Oh, I see. Well, as long as they only discuss the topic.”
“P-Marj,” Cait protested. She glanced around for Quinpatrik but he was out of earshot.
However, Paulucas stepped from the fire. “Don’t worry, Healer,” he said. “My sister knows what I’ll do to any boy who gets too close to her.” Nat’s face hardened but she kept her mouth shut. “I’ll be glad to look out for your charge, as well.”
“That would be very nice, Paul.” Marjordan gave Cait a look that dared her to object. She waited a moment.
Cait glared at her but held her tongue. She knew better than to challenge her primary when she’d just come from a worrisome healing. Marjordan’s temper was always short, and Cait would be slapped down in an instant. Besides, she had no intention of embarrassing herself in front of her newly acquired friends.
Nat must have thought the same because she simply gave her brother a sour look and twirled her hair as he wandered toward the horses. Then she flipped her braid defiantly in his direction and stomped to the fire.
When her primary narrowed eyes on her, Cait decided to change the subject, hoping to distract the woman. “So, Sam will recover?” Her instincts paid off and Marjordan took the bait.
“Yes, he will.” Marjordan glanced back at the tent. “His fever’s down and there’s no infection.”
“Good.” She reached back to rub at the irritation near her left shoulder blade, twisting her body.
“Cait, your tunic is torn.” Marjordan moved her around to inspect her back. “You’ve hurt yourself. Wait here while I get my bag.”
“You need water?” Jenellen said.
“Thank you.” The healer crossed to the tent, while Jen snatched up a bowl and headed for the lake.
Cait turned to Natjulie, who had a worried look on her face. “Is it that bad?” She remembered scraping up against the rocks in the cave but hadn’t thought anything of it.
The other girl stepped to her. “Nah. Looks pretty minor.”
“Good.” She was afraid she’d get pulled from her next shift and she silently cursed.
She knew better than to haphazardly lean against walls on a dig but she’d been distracted. The Mask called to her, pulled at her to find it, something her father had warned her about. He had called the urge Finder’s Fever, and it could become an obsession. Cait had seen Finder’s Fever in her father several times. She felt the Fever stirring in her even now. She wanted to get back in the cave, even with the risk of cave-ins and further injuries.
“Sit down over here,” Marjordan said as she returned and pulled Cait to a stool. “Take off your tunic.”
She sat facing the cave and began unlacing the front of her tunic. Her primary would keep the men away but she still felt self-conscious. And she didn’t dare disobey a healer! Especially her own primary. She secretly wondered what Quinpatrik would think of her small breasts. Would he think they were too small and childlike? Or would Cait’s body attract him the way one lifemate attracts another. She glanced back when someone walked up.
“Jen,” Marjordan said, taking the bowl of water. “Would you?” Her eyes flickered toward the men at the horses.
“I’ll take care of them.” She disappeared.
“Jenellen will keep the men away, Cait. Off with it.” She pulled the tunic off and began washing the injury.
Caitlanna winced and, by the sting, knew her primary was using a hock-heal mixture. The medicine, a healer’s good friend, was versatile and used for a variety of external and internal wounds. She sucked in a breath at the pain and pulled her shoulder forward, away from the irritation.
“I know this burns but you need to sit still.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She concentrated on the tear in her tunic. There was dried blood surrounding the ripped cloth, and she cursed under her breath. Then another thought made her pulse quicken. “I won’t need stitches, will I?” Though she trusted Natjulie’s earlier opinion, the girl was no healer.
“No. You’ve just a few scratches but I want to bandage you. I don’t want to chance infection.”
She feared what her primary would say next and held her breath.
“I want you to stay out of the dust for the rest of today,” Marjordan told her. “We’ll see how this looks tomorrow. If there’s no infection, you can continue digging.”
A scream of frustration started deep inside and Cait gritted her teeth against it. Then a sigh made its way out of her mouth and she dropped her shoulders in defeat.
“Arms up.” Marjordan ignored her posture.
Something cool pressed against her wound. Her primary wrapped a long cloth around her chest, just above her exposed breasts, to secure the bandage.
“You’re done, Cait. Wash carefully at the lake and I’ll bring you a fresh tunic.” Marjordan took the bloodied clothing. “Don’t get the bandage wet.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Cait, with Nat shielding her, she made her way to the lake and tried to quell the frustration that built with every step.
Chapter 9
Dig Days
The next two days were uneventful. Cait’s scratches were healing nicely and she took her shifts, careful to keep away from jutting rocks and debris. She didn’t intend to miss any more dig time. The need to find the Mask deepened within her as each shift came and went.
Though the finders took credit for all of the artifacts found, they shared profits with the strikers, warriors and healers on the dig. Paulucas would be paid twice for his rare services as both finder and warrior. The Elders had decreed that finder payment for this Mask would be equally divided between the three finders, no matter who discovered it. And if Cait could excavate it, she would automatically gain finder status, not to mention a handsome cut of whatever the Mask brought.
The area had been widened enough for two people, which sped up digging, and she was grateful for Finder’s Fever. Quin’s presence couldn’t distract her now, though they often worked shifts together. Jenellen seemed impressed with her work and praised her after each inspection of the site, which also lifted her spirits.
Bet
ween shifts, she busied herself with weapon training. Her father’s sword felt better in her hands each time she practiced, and her roughening palms kept more blisters from forming. Her attacks and blocks improved but she wondered if she would ever be as good as a warrior. She also wondered whether she would be able to kill a person if the need arose. Of course, that wouldn’t matter if she became a renowned finder. With enough wealth, she could hire the most talented warriors to protect her and her sub-sanction. She smiled at that thought.
“Ow!” she cried when Ianandy slapped her arm. She gave him a sour look as one hand adjusted her straw hat.
“That could’ve been my sword, Cait,” he reprimanded. “Then you’d have no arm to complain about.”
Immediately, her mind flashed to the little mutant girl in the forest. Babies born without limbs were abandoned to the forests but she’d never heard what happened to people who lost body parts later in life. Many in her sub-sanction had scars and wounds from various accidents or small battles, but no one had lost a limb that she knew about. She eyed the warrior.
“If I lost an arm, would I be given to the mutants?” She also wondered if they would sacrifice her to their gods for a chance at being healthy.
“Of course not, girl,” Ian said. “You weren’t born a mutant, Cait. Slicing off your arm wouldn’t change the fact that you’re a healthy.”
She lowered her sword. “But what about healthies who get the disfigurement disease? They’re always sent away.” The disease usually struck within a family and the victims lost use of their limbs as their bodies twisted with the onset of adolescence. She knew this, though she had never witnessed it.
“That’s because they’re not really healthies. They’re born mutants but their bodies keep the disease hidden. Sometimes for years. Eventually, the disease shows itself and they must live with their own kind.” He pointed his sword at her. “Are we going to flap our jowls all day or do you want to prepare for finder status?”
“Sorry, Warrior.” Cait still had questions but she pushed them away for a later time.