by Sharon Joss
Her hand went to her mouth.
He had no memory of the rescue. His parents told him later, he’d been unconscious, emaciated, and severely dehydrated when Garrett led the police to the place where he’d been buried alive. His parents told him Garrett had dreamed of him calling out to him. In the dream, he recognized the place where his kidnapped younger brother had been buried inside an old packing crate. If not for the brothers’ psychic connection, Renly would have died in that crate. Garrett was a hero, they told him
The police asked him questions, but months passed before he regained his ability to speak. He would nod or shake his head, or write the answers to questions, but the therapists said his own fear and anger were blocking his speech. A police sketch artist came and worked with him to come up with a picture of the man, but never got it right. Unable to explain himself, he took the pencil from her and drew the image of Papa himself. He tried to show the hardness of the man’s face; the blackness of his eyes, the cruelty in his mouth, but he did not have the skills to capture the devil’s image on paper. His drawings were not good enough.
His parents had been so proud of Garrett; Renly could not say anything to destroy his brother’s new-found favor, and after all, he had saved him. He convinced his parents to send him to a private art school, and focused all his efforts into becoming an artist. In the beginning, he only wanted to learn to draw an image of Papa; something good enough to get him identified and arrested. His teachers told him he had real gift, but no matter how hard he tried, the image of Papa on the page would not come. In time, the joy of creation took over and he realized he had discovered his true calling, but he never spoke to Paul again. Until today.
“I was rescued after two weeks, but the police never caught him.” He stole my childhood. I was never the same. He could see the distress on K’Sati’s face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It’s not true,” Paul said. “He doesn’t remember any of it, but blames me anyway. I had nothing to do with it. Look at me! I’m the one who’s a prisoner here. Come on, Ren. This isn’t right and you know it. Cut me loose.”
“Where’s Garrett?”
“Cut me loose.”
“Tell me where he is, damn it!”
“Please, stop it.” K’Sati pushed him out of the way and kneeled beside Paul to untie him. A moment later, he was free.
“Thanks.” Paul massaged his wrists. “Okay, you win. Garrett’s prospecting a gold claim up in the Crags of Corrah. Are you happy now? He was supposed to meet me at the Gold Ball, but didn’t show up.”
Renly bit his lips to contain his emotions. Somehow, he already knew. Garret would be drawn to gold like a bee to honey. Neither dragon pox nor the forbidden zone would have stopped him.
“Why didn’t you just tell me?”
Paul snorted. “I saw you arrive at the ball. You must’ve seen the nuggets up for auction. Garrett planned to be there too.”
“You’re saying he’s one of those blasted mandragons?”
“What do you think?”
He was too late. “Take me to him.”
“He doesn’t want to see you, Ren. He won’t leave; you couldn’t pry him out of there with a crow bar.”
“I don’t believe you. He’ll listen to me.” He turned to K’Sati. “I told you he’s scum. He knows exactly where Garrett is.”
“He is not a criminal.”
“He stole two traggahs, remember? One of them was Golden Boy.” His own words sounded bitter to him.
She leveled her lovely gaze at him. “He didn’t know it was Golden Boy.”
“That’s right, I didn’t,” Paul chimed in. “It was just bad luck.”
“Funny how your bad luck always ends up as someone else’s problem.”
CHAPTER 21
The next morning, the three of them set out before second sunrise, heading south. K’Sati agreed to ride with them on Golden Boy for an hour before leaving turning toward the coast. The traggahs loped easily across the prairie in a ground-eating lope, but they were skittish this morning. Silverbeard, especially, shied at every pile of boulders and bit of shrub. Ahead of him, Paul appeared to be having the same problem with Neatfoot.
Renly sensed the traggah’s agitation, but could not understand the nature of the animal’s alarm. All three of the traggah seemed jumpy. No sooner had he decided to ask K’Sati about it than Paul flew backwards off of Neatfoot.
The crack of a high-powered rifle echoed off the rocks.
K’Sati was already sliding off of Golden Boy and racing after Neatfoot. He sawed at Silverbeard’s reins, and slid to the ground. Instinctively keeping his head low, he raced to where Paul had fallen, dragging Silverbeard along behind him. He grabbed Paul by the shoulder of his jacket and dragged him over to the boulder where K’Sati held the agitated traggahs.
“I’m hit.” Paul held his hand tightly to his jaw. Blood dripped freely from behind his bony fingers. “Where did that come from?”
Renly reached into his pack and grabbed a sterile pad out of his first aid kit. “Here.” He caught a quick glimpse of a deep, blood-filled furrow along the jaw line as he clapped it to Paul’s jaw.
“They’re coming!” K’Sati shouted.
He peeked over the rock to where she was pointing. In the distance, three great clouds of dust rose from the steps like dust devils; directly ahead of them.
“That has to be Wayne,” K’Sati eyes gleamed with unshed tears, but she sounded calm. “Only hovercraft sleds kick up that much dust. They must have camped at the trailhead leading back to the coast. They were waiting for me.”
He stared at her. She seemed unsurprised; resigned. “Why are they shooting at us?”
She shook her head. “They want Golden Boy. If I bring him out, I think they will let you go.”
“Are you kidding, they just shot Paul!”
She continued as if he hadn’t said anything. “The sleds are slow. The traggahs can easily outrun them.” She gave him a steady look. “The sleds cannot follow you into the mountains.”
She was talking about the forbidden zone. He tried to judge the distance peaks on the horizon. “You can’t be thinking about going out there. They’ll kill you.”
“I’m with Ren on this, K’Sati.” Paul pulled a packet of dream dust out of his pocked and shook it onto his tongue. He made a face, but did not spit it out. “Those boys are playing for keeps.”
“Not if I have Golden Boy with me. He is the one they want. They will not shoot if he is standing next to me.”
Renly ran his hand through his hair. He couldn’t just let her face them alone, but they had no weapons. There had to be something they could do. “Come with us. We’ll leave Golden Boy tied up here.”
Her eyes met his for just a moment. She gave him a puzzled expression, but nodded.
They wrapped Golden Boy’s reins around a heavy stone; not enough to hold him for long, but just enough to keep him there until the sleds got close enough to see him.
He helped Paul to his feet. The man wasn’t much more than skin and bones. “No tricks, man. Take us to Garrett or I’ll leave you here for them.”
“Yeah,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “But I’m telling you, he won’t leave.”
“Doesn’t matter what you think.”
He helped Paul up behind K’Sati on Neatfoot.
The traggahs all tensed, their ears perked at the approaching group. Neatfoot stamped and snorted, shaking her head. “If we are going to leave, now is the time,” K’Sati warned.
The angry shouts of the men grew closer.
He swung himself up onto Silverbeard’s broad back; noticing as he did, how quickly he’d gotten used to riding this strange alien beast.
As one, they raced across the high plains toward the distant crags of the forbidden zone. Two shots rang out behind them, but Renly kept his head low, pressed to Silverbeard’s powerful neck. He heard Golden Boy’s shrill whistle call after them when he realized he was left behind. A moment
later, they heard nothing but the emptiness of the prairie.
CHAPTER 22
The wind rose steadily as the morning progressed. By mid-day, sand-toothed winds buffeted them with enough force to abrade even the toughest bare skin. They cut strips off the blanket Paul had brought, and wrapped them around their knuckles and faces for protection.
A quarter of a mile ahead of him K’Sati and Paul rode Neatfoot; their heads swathed in a bit of blanket to fend off the worst of the biting winds. The two of them together probably weighed less than he and his heavy pack. He knew he was putting Silverbeard at a disadvantage, but Renly could not bring himself to discard it.
Silverbeard alerted him to the group of three wolf-like creatures tracking them. The traggah’s ears went back, and he gave an angry squeal, as if to challenge them to attack. Renly spotted two apace just behind them, while a third moved up quickly on the left.
Reddish-grey, with dark mask and a thick coat, they looked a bit like a cross between a short-legged German shepherd and a badger, but bigger. Much bigger. With a cunning, toothy grin and surprising speed. He guessed them to be the rahgs K’Sati had told him about. He hunched tight as a limpet over Silverbeard’s neck. K’Sati and Paul were too far away to hear him, even without the blowing gale. The traggah seemed more angry than afraid; bucking a bit and shaking his head, he gave a high-pitched squeal, as if to say, you want a piece of this, come on then!
Renly eased the stonewood club out from beneath his belt, and gave it a few experimental swings. While he’d never played polo on a team like Garrett, he’d fooled around with the game enough to have a feel for using a mallet while riding at a fast gallop on horseback. The club was heavier than a polo mallet, but on the other hand, the rahgs were a lot bigger target than the little wooden balls he’d played with as a boy.
A rahg darted in, snapping at Silverbeard’s foreleg.
“Easy boy,” Renly gripped the traggah’s mane tightly in one hand, and raised the club into the strike position; with the business end of the club at the top of the arc. He felt Silverbeard tense beneath him. If the traggah stumbled and he fell off, he had no doubt that the three rahgs would tear him to pieces. He had no idea how Silverbeard would react to the swinging of the club, but he had no choice. “Steady.”
He spun his wrist forward, letting the burled weight at the end of the club do the work. Silverbeard veered to the right as the club swung past his head, but he kept his seat. A miss.
Their attacker dropped back, wary of the club now. All three rahgs moved a bit further away from them, but maintained their pace; neither gaining nor losing ground. Beneath him, he Silverbeard’s pace flattened out as the traggah relaxed; his ears swiveled alertly.
A mile or so later, the game changed. This time, the rahgs switched position, and the attack came from the right, almost as if they’d figured out he was left-handed.
This time, he twisted himself across Silverbeard’s back, bringing his head and shoulders to the right side, holding the club vertical, but out of the way of his mount’s head. The rahg raced in low, his yellow teeth looking to slash at a foreleg. Renly leaned as far as he dared, and lowered his head directly over the rahg as he dropped the knotted club and followed through with the shot, being careful to keep the club clear of Silverbeard.
The rahg yipped and peeled off, but he knew he’d missed him again.
A moment later, the rahg was back. He darted in again without warning, but this time, Renly didn’t miss. He swung the club and was rewarded by a satisfying crunch of bone. The limp body of the dead rahg went tumbling behind them.
Silverbeard whistled and squealed, and the other two rahgs immediately gave up their pursuit. An hour later, a pack of five more rahgs approached, but quickly faded away into the grass when he shook the club at them.
* * *
By late afternoon, the wind changed direction again and came howling in from the north. The traggahs slowed to a trot, and squinted against the gale, their long eyelashes effectively serving to protect their vision, even as Renly was forced to cover his with the woven scrap of blanket.
Paul and K’Sati had stopped, and as he rode up, she told him they were going to make camp in a shallow basin for the night. The traggahs slaked their thirst from a tiny spring, they quenched theirs from the wineskin of water Paul had brought. While the traggahs grazed, oblivious to the near-hurricane conditions, they ate a cold meal of dried food from Paul’s pack. The winds made a fire impossible, so they huddled together for warmth.
He changed the bandage on Paul’s jaw, although the sight of the wound made him queasy. Paul didn’t even flinch. Although the wound did not appear to be deep, the bullet appeared to have been deflected by the lower jawbone, a portion of which was now visible through the skin. The resulting scar would no doubt be disfiguring, even if the wound healed without infection.
As the darkness descended, he noticed lights on the far horizon and asked K’Sati about them.
She paled. “Two sleds. They have sensors on them. In the traggah roundups, they use them to find the herds, but I think they are using them to track us.”
“They’ve got Golden Boy. Why are they still coming after us?”
She began to tremble. “They must have sent Golden Boy back to the stables on one of the sleds. Those two are hunting us. Me, at any rate.”
His stomach lurched. “Why?”
“Because Wayne Strickland is not the forgiving type.” Paul emptied another packet of dream dust into his mouth. In spite of his revulsion for the man’s addiction to it, he didn’t have the heart to take his drug from him. The dust seemed to alleviate most of his pain. “His bosses probably blamed him for this little fiasco. He knows they’ll send ‘im back to the mines if he doesn’t fix it. He’s not going to let K’Sati get away from him.”
“You’re the one to blame, not K’Sati!”
“Paul is right.” K’Sati wrapped her arms around herself. “I should have known that turning over Golden Boy would not stop Wayne from coming after me. Those sleds run on battery. They are not fast, but we will never hear them coming. Distances are deceiving out here on the steppes. ”
“How long until we reach the mountains?”
K’Sati didn’t know, and Paul was too looped to answer.
As exhausted as he was, Renly volunteered for the first watch. Both Paul and K’Sati looked worse off than he felt. Beating off the rahgs had given him a second wind; a sense of pride. It wasn’t much, but he felt stronger than he had since arriving on this godforsaken planet.
The traggahs bedded down on either side of them, further sheltering them from the howling winds. While Paul and K’Sati slept, Renly leaned up against Silverbeard’s snoring back and stared at the lights in the distance.
Sometime later, he was startled awake by a warm breath on his neck. He scrambled to his feet. An entire herd of shaggy-coated traggahs surrounded them. The curious sniffer was a youngling; his breath still sweet with the milk of his mother. Silverbeard and Neatfoot gave a low gurgle of sleepy recognition, and the entire herd settled down to sleep around them. Several other traggahs sniffed him over carefully as well, before finding a place to settle. This must be their ancestral clan, he realized.
The wind dropped, and the air was heavy with cold, but surrounded as he was by the heat and security of the long-coated herd, Renly slept.
* * *
The next morning, the herd moved toward the mountains, and they followed. Renly worried about the lack of water, but K’Sati assured him that the traggahs would lead them to water before the end of the day.
Unlike their flight the previous day, the herd moved at a leisurely pace; grazing every step of the way, while the younglings gamboled and played games of tag, never straying far from their mothers and aunts. The young traggah who had woken him the night before seemed especially curious. She butted him playfully with her nubby forehead, licked his skin and nibbled at whatever bits of clothing she could sample. The younglings, with their soft grey fuzzy
coats, blended perfectly into the grey-green grass when they lay down to sleep.
Renly pulled out his sketchpad. The sight of the younglings sleeping in the feathery grasses without a worry in the world touched him. As they slept, he sketched them and observed the behaviors of the herd. He noticed how every member of the herd casually edged close to the sleeping babies at one time or another and carefully sniffed the sleeping calves. Even Silverbeard seemed fascinated and took deep snuffling breaths of each of the sleeping younglings.
He had never been interested in the outdoors; nor had he ever attempted an animal portrait, but he was well-pleased with this pencil sketches. When K’Sati commented on his drawing of Silverbeard, he blushed at the compliment, as he had not done since art school days.
A little after noon, the herd led them to a low rock formation, which had been invisible until they were almost on top of it. Jagged black stones overhung the small pool where a steady burble of water seeped to the surface. K’Sati told him the traggahs used their sense of smell and something called herd memory to find water.
Once they’d filled their skins with the icy water, Renly was eager to move on, but K’Sati forestalled him.
“The herd is good camouflage for us. From a distance, they look like another stone formation. Wayne and his men will never think we are travelling with a wild herd.”
Renly stroked the long matted coat of Silverbeard’s mother. There had been no introductions, and he didn’t know her name, but there was a, un-nameable shape of her name in his head. Her youngling was the curious, friendly one. Clearly the dominant female of the herd, she had somehow adopted him. The idea charmed him.
As they travelled, she took up a position just forward of Silverbeard’s left shoulder, and thus, walked right beside them. At night, when she bedded down, she made sure Renly and her youngling were both sheltered between her and Silverbeard. He didn’t understand it, but knew, somehow, that he had been accepted into the herd by way of his bonding with Silverbeard. Again, no words had been exchanged, but the feeling of belonging to this extended clan was undeniable. K’Sati was right. There was a sentience about the traggahs that transcended what he’d experienced with animals, even horses and dogs, on Earth.