by Dana Davis
She held the pot but her eyes stayed riveted on Paulucas. She hoped to be on next shift with the decoder after the finders had their turns. A sharp slap stung her arm and she jerked her head to Marjordan. She narrowed eyes on the woman momentarily before realizing what she was doing.
Marjordan pulled to her full height, which was more than a hand span taller than Cait, and offered a withering look. “Do you wish to be punished in front of your friends, girl?” she said in a dangerous voice.
“I’m sorry, P-Marj.” Cait lowered her eyes in obedience.
Her primary studied her in momentary silence before waving her toward the lake. She wasted no time and hurried away before Marjordan had a chance to change her mind. She had no desire to miss any shifts and knew well enough that would be her punishment for disobedience.
Her turn with the decoder seemed to take forever to arrive. She sat with Paulucas, watching carefully as he explained how to use the copper sphere. He’d deciphered enough of the tablet to believe that it was some sort of diary, but they still had no idea who carved it or exactly when.
“Do you understand?” he asked.
“Yes. This doesn’t look hard at all.” She held her hands out for the sphere.
“This part will be easy. The archaic letters will give us more trouble. The TAD will have to be adjusted three times for each letter in order to decipher those.” He grinned at her. “This isn’t as easy as it seems, Striker Caitlanna Mullen.”
She nodded and her mind drifted to the mutant with the bow and arrows. She’d had no opportunity to drill Ian about the incident. When she’d questioned her primary about the identity of the strange man, Marjordan had told her, in no uncertain terms, that it was none of her business. So, Caitlanna decided to try Paul. He might or might not know anything but she bet on the former. He conferred with Ianandy about warrior duties at least once a day. He had to know something.
“Finder?” she said. He was on finder duties now.
“Yes?”
“Can I ask you something?”
“You can ask. I won’t guarantee an answer.” He eyed her much the way he did his own sister at times, very parental.
“Well, then.” She swatted at an insect and shifted her weight on the stool. “I’ve been wondering about that mutant man. You know, the one who killed that warrior woman.” He stared expectantly at her but said nothing. “Who was he? And why did he help us? I thought the mutants’ only use of healthies like us was for sacrifice. And who was the woman?” She didn’t mention what she’d observed or overheard that day. “Was she a mutant, too?”
Paulucas folded his lips under briefly, until they all but disappeared. Then he cocked his head in thought. Brown eyes flecked with green gazed at Cait. “We think perhaps he was sending a message to someone here.”
She leaned toward him. “Who?” she uttered as she glanced around. “What kind of message?”
“Even if I know, girl, that’s full-grown business.”
His expression was one of finality and Cait prudently accepted his answer. What choice did she have? She knew there’d be other opportunities to learn more, if she remained patient. At times, Paulucas seemed more protective than her own primary, and she doused her frustration at being treated like a child.
Three more years. Only three more years.
She concentrated on the tablets and the TAD. Paul gave her a woodpen, a tin of berryink, and the strongcloth with the deciphered letters written on it. There were only a few completed words, mainly of one or two letters, and Cait realized what a tedious task this would be. But she didn’t mind in the least. In fact, she hoped to be the one to decipher many of the words. Perhaps she would translate some of the more important ones on her shift. The others would be impressed with her skills, and she would certainly come closer to finder status.
Paulucas grinned at Whit as he headed into the cave for his digging shift. Cait eyed the couple. They obviously had a secret they hadn’t shared with the group, yet. At least, not that she knew of. Perhaps they knew more about these tablets than they let on. Maybe Jenellen had told them something important that she hadn’t yet shared with her strikers.
Cait’s mind lingered on them briefly before beginning her task. She was to check each section of the tablets and compare the symbols with the ones on the sphere. She quickly discovered that each symbol had no less than three possible translations. Then they had to form words from those possible letters and hope they used the correct ones. Her hopes of deciphering very much on one shift dwindled enormously.
Chapter 14
Danger at Dawn
Caitlanna slept fitfully, dreaming about the ancients. She stood in Rotted City and watched the sky as several large balls of fire hurled through the air toward her. They were beautiful as sprays of orange flames streaked behind in great arcs. A small child ran crying for his mother. These balls were weapons and, as Cait looked around the city, there was massive destruction everywhere. Then only smoke and ruins met her eyes and her heart pounded with fear. She was alone except for the crackling sound of fire, and sweat crept down her temples as heat from the weapons overtook the sky. In the distance, she heard dagbeasts but couldn’t take her gaze from the fiery balls. Suddenly, several dagbeasts stood just feet from her, baring vicious teeth. She sweat profusely. A fireball smashed into the ground nearby just as one of the beasts lunged at her throat. She gasped and felt someone’s hands on her.
“Cait, wake up.” A woman’s voice sounded urgent. “Now, girl. Wake up.”
Someone shook her and she jolted awake. “P-Marj?” she said in breathy voice. Despite her rapid heartbeat, she still felt as though she were in a daze.
“We’ve got dagbeasts. Get your sword.”
That was all Marjordan needed to say to pull her from the sleep fog. She grabbed her sword and stumbled to her feet, searching the dawn for peril.
“Get in a circle around the fire,” Ian ordered.
She took a place between her primary and Quinpatrik, facing outward. The warmth of the fire at her back offered little comfort when a dagbeast howled nearby. Then she saw the beasts, four of them. She wondered if they were the same ones that had trapped the group on the hill all those weeks ago, but one of those shadowy creatures had been small. These four were large, probably as tall on hind legs as she was. She held her heavy sword with both hands in front of her body, legs apart and knees bent. A stance Ianandy had taught her.
The dagbeasts paced and growled, baring teeth. The sound set Cait’s neck hairs on end and she fought down a shiver. Then before she realized what was happening, one of the dagbeasts barked and the four attacked.
She heard Ianandy yell something but the rushing sound in her ears was too loud. As she turned toward the advancing shadows, intense pain shot through her right calf and she screamed. Shouts and vicious growls filled the dawn. Someone else cried out? Was it Marjordan? The beasts seemed to be everywhere. Cait’s leg burned. Where was Marjordan? She couldn’t see anything but a flurry of fur and teeth. Would the beasts kill her? Anger at the thought of dying replaced fear and her arms seemed to move on their own. As a dagbeast lunged for her, she swung the sword in a blind rage. She made contact with something and heard an agonizing yelp. Fire burned through her leg and she fought down bitter nausea. She brought her weapon down toward the beast again. This time she found only hard ground that rattled her body.
Again and again, she struck blindly, not knowing what she hit, until her strength began to leak away. The others around her now moved as though in a dream and her eyes found Whithelen. The warrior stood beside her, mouth moving. She couldn’t hear the words. Then darkness spun around her and she fell against the hard ground.
****
Cait’s right calf burned and she thought for a moment she was dreaming, but the pain grew worse as she pulled toward consciousness. She cried and reached down toward her leg, keeping her eyes shut against the bitter nausea.
“Hold her,” Marjordan’s voice ordered.
&nb
sp; Several hands grasped her and forced her down onto her side. A stabbing pain pulsed through her calf and she cried out. Then another. What was happening? Why wasn’t Marjordan taking the pain away? She struggled, trying desperately to get away from the assaults on her leg but the hands held her fast. She groaned. Another stab. She kept her eyes closed through a series of attacks and cried out until she was hoarse.
Someone stroked her hair.
“Almost finished, Cait,” Marjordan said. “Keep her still.”
Another stabbing pain and Cait screamed. This time she wrenched her eyes open. Whit, Jenellen, and Sam leaned over her, restraining her. Natjulie sat at her head, stroking her hair. Blankets hung from branches above and around her. The healer’s tent. Ianandy paced nearby, sword in hand. The assaults finally stopped and she lifted her head slightly, but her side position made that awkward. Paul and Quin knelt at her feet, keeping her legs still, while Marjordan concentrated on something.
Then Cait felt a cool compress against her burning calf and she sighed. Her head lolled back onto Nat’s hands.
Marjordan said in a calming voice, the voice of a healer, “I’m just going to wrap your injury, Cait. Lie still.”
She closed her eyes again as tears trickled into her hair. Hands gently rolled her onto her back and released her. Her leg still burned but not like before and she opened her eyes again.
Marjordan stood and moved into her view. She gave a bowl and bloody rag to Jenellen. The finder offered Cait a quick wink then left the tent, followed by the others.
Afterwards, Marjordan knelt and wiped Cait’s face with a cool, damp cloth. “You’re going to be fine.” Dark eyes searched her face.
She swallowed hard. The nausea subsided and her mind cleared. She remembered the dagbeasts. “What happened?” she said, surprised at the hoarseness in her voice.
“You took a nasty bite.” Her primary smiled. “But you killed the dagbeast. It took several stitches to get your wounds sealed but the bleeding’s stopped.”
“Stitches,” she uttered to herself. The repetitive stabs. She never wanted to feel that kind of pain again. She tried to sit up but felt unusually weak. Marjordan assisted, keeping a firm hold, until she assured the woman she wouldn’t fall over in a faint. “Was anyone else injured?” She had seen everyone but she just wanted to be sure. There’d been so many cries during the attack.
“A few scratches and bruises but nothing serious.”
Ianandy entered and gave a brief smile.
“Did you check them?” Marjordan said in a grave voice.
“Yes. No sign of the Froth. I think they were just looking for food. Hunger would make them desperate enough to attack, even with a fire and armed humans.”
Marjordan let out a long breath. “Good.” Relief colored her voice but her eyes held concern.
Cait realized what the two meant and her heart pounded in her ears. “I’m not going to get ill, am I?”
The Froth was vicious and nearly everyone bitten by an animal with the disease experienced a painful, maddening death. It could be weeks before they’d know for sure. That’s how long an infected person took to show signs of the disease. She shivered.
“I don’t think so. But I want to keep you close, just to be sure.”
“You can’t heal the Froth, P-Marj.” Panic threatened her thoughts.
The woman placed a hand on her shoulder. “I know that. But there’s no sign of it in the dagbeasts. Even if you contracted it, not everyone dies from it. You’re a strong, healthy girl, Cait.”
She knew her primary was attempting to comfort her so she decided to go along. As much for her own sanity as anything else. “You’re right. If the dagbeasts don’t have the Froth then I’m going to be fine.” She forced a smile. “Were they all killed?” she said to Ian.
The warrior nodded. “Even a dagbeast is no match for a sword.”
Jen entered with a steaming cup.
“Thank you.” Marjordan took the cup and held it out to Caitlanna. “I want you to drink this sedative. You need to rest.”
She reluctantly took the drink and brought it to her lips. The three full-growns watched as she sipped the hot, slightly sweet liquid. “What about the tablets?” she said in between swallows. “I can still use a TAD.”
Marjordan chuckled. “Girl, you are going to be the death of me. Rest first. Then you can worry about those damn tablets.” She raised a humorous brow.
Cait giggled and glanced down at her wrapped leg. “Guess you’re right. I’ve got the Finder’s Fever pretty bad.” She was surprised at her own levity.
The three full-growns laughed, bringing the others to the tent. Marjordan told them what they found so funny and all joined in on the merriment. Soon, despite her throbbing leg, Cait felt drowsy.
Marjordan gently lowered her to the ground and tucked blankets around her. “Sleep now, my Cait.”
And Caitlanna slept.
Chapter 15
Close Quarters
Over the next two weeks, most of the clay tablets had been deciphered, leaving only a few of the archaic ones. Several of the words, they discovered, had been misspelled. Once they figured that out, the task went quicker.
Cait sat near the fire with the others to eat a nighmeal of roasted harerabbit and tubers. Nat and Sam sat near her on the ground and played a game of Stick and Rock. The girl had regained much of her playfulness and Cait was relieved, especially since the young couple had become good friends to her.
There were still no signs of the Froth in anyone. Even a scratch from an infected dagbeast could transmit the deadly disease. Quin, Sam and Nat all sustained minor wounds from the fight, so Marjordan kept a close eye on them as well. Cait’s leg healed nicely and her primary agreed to remove the stitches in a few days, provided she stopped scratching the area, but she couldn’t help herself. Her calf itched and the backs of her hands were tender from Marjordan’s numerous slaps.
Everyone seemed healthy and in good spirits despite everything that had happened, except for the constant squabbling between Nat and Sam. For some reason, the girl had become unusually competitive.
“I win!” Natjulie’s arms flew up in victory. She had a fierce look of determination on her face.
“You cheat, little sister,” Paulucas reprimanded. Then he smirked.
“I do not. Sam’s just not as good a player.”
“I would have won,” the boy protested, “if you hadn’t talked me into redoing that last play.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have knocked that stick with your foot.”
“It was an accident.”
“If you two don’t stop this bantering,” Marjordan said in a harsh voice. “I’ll find a few pisspots for you to scrub.” She flipped her long braid behind her back.
The two winced. Cait knew her primary had heard enough squabbling. The two strikers had been at odds with each other for three days. She suspected close working quarters and fighting their urges to mate had a great deal to do with the tension.
Jenellen stood. “That does it.” As usual, she was dusty from the caves. Cait watched her with interest. “Nat, you’ll take shifts with Cait again. Sam, you can dig with me or Quin.”
Despite their annoyance of each other the past few days, the two gave stunned looks to one another and inched closer together. Sam opened his mouth to protest.
Jen stopped him with an upraised hand. “That’s final, Strikers. I won’t have this dig disrupted with childish emotions.” She stormed toward the lake before either party could respond.
“Now you’ve done it,” Cait said to the pair.
“Be still, girl,” Marjordan ordered.
“Yes, ma’am.” She lowered her eyes until she was sure her primary had looked away then she peeked at Natjulie. The girl’s face had turned from shock to anger.
“Finish your meals,” Marjordan said in annoyance. “Now,” she added in a dangerous voice when no one immediately obeyed. She waited until all had taken a mouthful of food then she stood
, stretched and rubbed at her neck.
There wasn’t much conversation the rest of the meal and by the time they bedded down, Cait was ready for sleep. Unfortunately, she was agitated by her itching calf and quietly scratched around the area, careful not to disturb the stitches. A sharp slap stung the back of her hand and she sucked in a breath. Marjordan had rolled over to face her. The two were only a couple of feet apart. Cait was so involved with relieving her itch that she hadn’t even heard the woman stir.
“If you continue to irritate that leg,” Marjordan threatened, “I’ll tie your hands behind your back.”
Cait started to snicker but the look on her primary’s face stopped her. “When will this infernal itching stop?”
“When you heal. Do I need to find a piece of rope?”
“No, ma’am,” she spouted quickly. She feared Marjordan would make good on her threat, so she turned onto her back and tucked her hands under her buttocks.
Her primary seemed satisfied and rolled away from her. Soon she heard steady breathing and knew Marjordan was asleep. She closed her eyes and forced her thoughts onto something besides her leg. Visions of Quinpatrik filled her head. That would never do, but every time she tried to force her thoughts to something, he popped into her head and her woman parts throbbed. Perhaps tied hands wouldn’t be so bad after all.
“Cait?” a barely audible voice said, and she twisted her head to look at Natjulie. “Cait, you awake?”
“Yes.” Her eyes darted to Marjordan but the woman slept.
“I need to talk.”
“Can’t it wait until morning?” She let out a vicious yawn.
Nat scooted to her side. “You have to help me.”
She waited, wondering at the urgency in the girl’s voice, and had a suspicion of what Nat wanted.
“I need to convince Jenellen to put me back on shift with Sam.”
She’d been right. “Good luck.” She glanced at the finder, who appeared to be sleeping.
“I’m serious.”