For a moment, she thought Bryta would continue venting, but Bryta stooped over and yanked leaves off the plants as if they were weeds.
Nimri’s eyes began watering as mint permeated the air. Her sinuses purged and she swallowed a thick lump of mucus. Abruptly it seemed like the aroma intensified tenfold. Nimri hoped the ointment would work as well on Pearl as the main ingredient had on her.
“Well, I see I’ll have plenty to carry to Market tomorrow.” Bryta grumbled. “What’s worse, I’ll have extra barter to carry back, if I’m expected to cook for two more.”
Complaining about the additional food they needed to satisfy Larwin’s appetite seemed to cheer Bryta, but for once, Nimri found validity in her surrogate mother’s grumbling. Bryta wasn’t getting any younger and it was a steep climb back to their home. Worse, Larwin could out-eat Kazza and they hadn’t gone to market the previous week, due to Rolf’s failing health, so they needed ten times as much.
“Don’t worry about the load,” Nimri said. “I’m going with you.”
“You. But you hate the chaos of Market Day. I thought—”
Nimri shrugged. “Going is my responsibility since I was the one who invited our guests to stay, which is why we need extra supplies. Plus, I need to see firsthand how the Lost are acting...I need them to see me, too.” And even more, I need a plan.
An hour later, Nimri felt no closer to a solution than she had been when she realized that she had to do something about the Lost, but she had enough leaves to make cold syrup for the entire valley. In addition, she had collected the ingredients to make all the other medicines, which the people continually needed. Nimri picked up her basket and went into the kitchen to process the remedies she would take to Market.
Like it or not, competent or not, having accepted the staff or not, she was the Keeper of the Peace. Zurgon wouldn’t allow her to shirk her duty, neither would anyone else, especially not the enemy.
Nimri added a handful of twigs to the banked embers on the kitchen hearth and blew softly. A tiny white thread of smoke rose. She blew again and a flame appeared. Soon, the fire was going well, so she began stirring a mixture of herbs to combat the effects of congestion.
Bryta came in, sat down at the table and without a word started sorting menthe leaves. The next time Nimri looked back, Bryta stood on tiptoe atop the table as she hung a bundle of celery seed heads from the rafters.
As the eye-watering mixture approached boiling point, Larwin come around the curve from the main sitting room. His posture reminded her of Kazza’s stalking technique, and she admired the coordinated way he moved. Forgetting to stir, she marveled at the sheer masculine charisma Larwin exuded.
She turned her attention back to the pot when Anthropoid emerged next to him. The woman acted more devoted than any wife Nimri had ever seen.
When she glanced back, again, Larwin watched over Bryta’s shoulder, as she sorted bay leaves.
A hot droplet spattered her hand. Nimri took a branch and shoved the embers back, then stirred to cool the mixture.
Unable to help herself, she again glanced at the other three.
Hands quivering and eyes focused on her task, as if ignoring them would make them go away, Bryta grated camphor twigs. She gave a loud sniff. Experience had taught Nimri that the chore was impossible to do indoors.
Just as Nimri opened her mouth with the intention of suggesting she go outside, Bryta shrieked, threw down the shredder and surged to her feet. The chair toppled over backward, nearly hitting Larwin.
Larwin grabbed Bryta’s right shoulder and kept her from falling. Bryta screamed louder.
Nimri stared at them, wondering what was wrong with Bryta this time. Then, she noticed that Larwin had an odd little black box in his hand and was moving it over Bryta’s torso. While he touched the box, it wasn’t touching Bryta. Nimri couldn’t understand why Bryta screamed so loud since it clearly didn’t hurt Larwin.
Torn between the necessity of stirring the medicine for those who would eventually need it and helping Bryta, who obviously thought she was in immediate distress, left Nimri helpless to do anything but watch.
Bryta turned to Nimri, her expression panicked, but Nimri couldn’t see any problem other than the camphor on the table. Anthropoid stood still, staring at Bryta. Larwin seemed to be helping her or offering her the black box, which appeared slightly larger and lumpier than the silver package, which had contained rancid food.
“Is that box grounds for your fuss?” Nimri asked. Bryta ignored her. With her free hand, Nimri gestured for Bryta to stop. Bryta gave her a look of pure fury.
Nimri realized that somehow, since Rolf’s death, their roles had switched. Perhaps she had grown up when she’d faced her worst fear and kept her vow. Had her great-grandfather foreseen that the hardship of the mountain would help her grow up?
Larwin continued moving the dark box over Bryta. He frowned and brought it closer to his face. Then, he hit it.
Good. He’d punished the thing for whatever it had done to Bryta.
As his palm smacked it, again, Bryta eluded Larwin’s grasp. When the table separated them, Bryta warily watched the box and Larwin’s apparent frustration with it.
“This can’t be right,” he muttered in his unintelligible language. “Perhaps this one’s flesh is cooler.” He slapped the offending thing, again. “Perhaps there are two separate breeds, they simply appear similar,” Larwin muttered.
“Probabilities indicate they share the same heredity,” Anthropoid said.
With no real problem in sight, Nimri turned so she could continue stirring, yet see if Bryta had any serious problem; Bryta clutched the back of the chair Nimri had sat in when she dealt with Zurgon. Her plump fingers bit into the wood, while her attention focused on the disobedient black thing.
Nimri squinted at the odd object. As she watched, a small flat square section turned from black to white then small black symbols appeared. Since she was halfway across the room she couldn’t be certain, but the squiggles seemed like the symbols in the old books.
Her jaw sagged.
Was it possible they understood the symbols?
Did Anthropoid look through the old books and know the lessons?
The idea seemed incredible. Yet it made sense, since the books were said to have come from the old world, along with her ancestors, who had fled to save their lives.
To think that after all these centuries, someone might unlock the secret of the symbols! Nimri stared at Anthropoid in wonder, then recalled the theory she’d had about the woman being an ancient guardian and Bryta’s continual complaints about her interest in the books. Anthropoid and the manuscripts must be the same age. Of course Anthropoid would be able to understand them. Of course, she would be white as a moonflower, if she were over a millennium old. Nimri couldn’t believe she’d been so ignorant.
Nimri swallowed. Would Anthropoid share the knowledge?
Searing droplets of ointment splattered Nimri’s wrist. She quickly turned back to the pot and agitated the brew.
Larwin turned toward Nimri and extended the hand holding the box. Nimri tried to see the odd square part, but like the rest of the thing, it was black.
Had the color change and symbols been her imagination?
Except for stirring, Nimri stood perfectly still as Larwin held the box a hand’s breadth away from her torso and moved it in a zigzag pattern. She felt a vague tingle and didn’t know why Bryta had been so upset by the experience.
Just as the screen changed, Larwin held it close so she couldn’t see. Nimri bit her lip and wondered how to ask him for a peek. A Guardian had the right to withhold information; still, she had her duty, too, and status as the Tribe’s peacekeeper. If he or Anthropoid could teach her how to understand the symbols, it could help her immensely.
Larwin hissed and smacked the box with his palm. “Maybe my analyzer was damaged in the crash.” With that incomprehensible statement, he stomped out of the room.
Anthropoid followed him.
Nimri watched them leave. Her eyes stung from more than mint and camphor.
Bryta kept the table between herself and their guests, then edged toward Nimri’s side. Bryta’s right hand gripped her favorite cast-metal pan in a white-knuckled grip behind her ample back. Obviously, Bryta had intended to use it on Larwin if he hurt her. The image of fearful Bryta trying to protect the Keeper of the Peace with a skillet struck her as heartwarming even though it seemed ridiculous.
Nimri didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
The following dawn, Nimri quietly hummed to herself while she packed her market basket with small, sealed crockery jars filled with assorted medicines. She cushioned them with bundles of culinary herbs and poultice leaves to keep the jars from knocking against each other and chipping.
She didn’t know Larwin had crept up behind her until he said, “Good.”
Nimri whirled around so fast that she almost upset the basket. It took her a moment to realize his attention was focused on the window’s most translucent pane. It took another minute to comprehend that he’d spoken a word from her language. Granted, it was only one word, but good was a fine place to start. Did this mean he would actually speak to her? And, what was good? The view? The weather? The way she was packing the cures?
Had she passed some sort of test?
Nimri’s knees felt weak and her heart thudded harder than when she’d nearly fallen to her death, yet he remained oblivious to her and silently stared out the window as if all that interested him was the approaching sunrise.
He had said “good,” hadn’t he? It hadn’t been her imagination, had it?
She felt certain he’d spoken to her. Nimri prayed that his change of conduct meant she had passed whatever tests he’d been giving her.
Had the box been part of his test?
Dawn’s first rays bathed Larwin’s face in a rainbow of light. Nimri swallowed and hoped he hadn’t noticed her addled reaction, hoped she sounded calm. Hoped she hadn’t been mistaken about him speaking to her. “You’re right it is beautiful.”
“Yes, beautiful.” He gave her a smile that made her heart skip a beat. Then he pointed to her basket. “You go?”
They were actually having a conversation. She hadn’t felt this wonderful since…since…never.
“Yes, today is Market Day.” He raised an eyebrow, a sure sign that he wanted her to demonstrate what she meant, but now that she had him talking, she didn’t want to go back to children’s games. Nimri put her hands up in frustration. “I can’t explain it.” She spoke slowly, syllable by syllable. “Would you like to come? Everyone both Chosen and Lost will be there.” Her words poured out faster. “Unless they are ill, of course, but no one has sent for me, so they must be fine.” He stared at her. “Everyone should be there.” Nimri realized she must have been prattling on, as her great-grandfather had always complained of. She snapped her mouth shut and waited respectfully.
Larwin frowned and appeared to consider her offer for an agonizingly long time. “Yes, I come.” He gave a decisive nod.
Nimri couldn’t contain her delight. If he’d been a friend, she would have hugged him, but he was a guardian, so she gave him her best smile. Then she realized he couldn’t possibly go anywhere in his outlandish silvery garment. “But you can’t wear those clothes.” He frowned at her. He looked bigger than her great-grandfather, but his tunics might work. “Come, you can wear Rolf’s things, but if your mate wants to come, I don’t know how I can hide her magical origins. You do want to go incognito, don’t you?” Larwin gave her a bewildered look. She was chattering, again.
“I go.” He looked at the stairway and smiled, as if expecting Anthropoid to appear, petite as a child and posture perfect, as Pearl. Nimri waited for his woman to pass them as she went out the back door to greet the morning light. But she didn’t come. Heat rose up Nimri’s neck, as Larwin continued to stare at the steps. He was used to Anthropoid’s looks and must think his mate looked beautiful. He couldn’t possibly know how eerie Anthropoid seemed to her and her tribe.
Nimri wet her lips. “Maybe she should come, then the Lost might fear my power.” Nimri grimaced and wished she had merely opened the invitation to his mate without adding the last bit.
Larwin frowned and looked down at his clothes. Then he turned to her and fingered her sky-blue tunic. When he looked her in the eye, she could tell that he understood how different he would look and the need for him to blend in as much as he could.
“More likely, they would either try to kill you or kidnap you,” Nimri confided. Larwin gave her an indecipherable look. “The Lost, not my tribe.” She hastened to add. Nimri decided she’d better drop the subject of the enemy, since it was impossible to be certain that Larwin and Anthropoid knew that the original refugees from the doomed world had split into adversarial tribes. Rolf had even hinted that other clans had splintered away from the initial group shortly after they had escaped certain death on Solterre. If they had been living in that cave for over a millennium, with only a rare supplicate making a pilgrimage to their summit, they might be trying to learn as much from her as she was from them. Nimri quickly pushed the unsettling thought aside. “Let’s get you dressed properly.”
When they entered Rolf’s bedroom, Anthropoid stood on the far side of the room, looking at a book. Amazingly, it had no pictures. The certainty that Anthropoid could understand the symbols intensified. Nimri wished she dared to ask the Guardian to teach her what the squiggles meant, but embarrassment prevented her from admitting that the knowledge had been lost.
As soon as Larwin saw Anthropoid, he switched to their intimate speech. “The language program works, and I can understand some of what Nimri says, but it’s inadequate for serious conversation. Can you finish the program today?”
Obviously, they didn’t want her to understand, Nimri busied herself with finding Larwin something to wear. She squinted at Rolf’s favorite burgundy tunic, but the shoulders were so narrow that she’d have to rip off the sleeves for Larwin; even then, he would probably feel like a sausage. She dug deeper into the chest.
“Colonel Atano, your inquiry is inadequate,” Anthropoid said.
“Figures,” Larwin said. “I think Nimri intends to take me to an emporium. Surely there will be more aliens and opportunity to study them.”
Anthropoid turned a page. “My solar cells need to recharge.”
Nimri looked up from the clothing her great grandfather had accumulated over recent years and squinted at Larwin, until all she saw was a black silhouette against the window. Larwin looked considerably larger than Rolf. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
Then she remembered that bones shrank with age. She also knew her great-grandfather kept everything.
Nimri shut Rolf’s newest chest and dug into his oldest clothing-box. Near the bottom, she found a tunic, which had once been white, but now appeared ivory. She shook it out and held it up. It might fit. Next, she chose a navy pair of britches, which looked like they had never been worn. A glance at Larwin’s boot-clad feet left her guessing at what size foot-wear he would need, but she felt certain that Rolf’s moccasin would never fit. She chose a sturdy pair of woven sword-leaf sandals, as a compromise.
Nimri handed the clothing to Larwin. He tossed them onto the closest stack of books. Then he did something to the shirt he wore. The silvery fabric opened to reveal solid muscles, skin and some tantalizing hair.
Cheeks flaming, Nimri dashed out the door before more was exposed.
When Larwin came downstairs alone, Nimri noticed that while there was ample room in the shirt’s body, it was four fingers too narrow on each shoulder and the sleeves, which were supposed to come to the wrists, only came to Larwin’s elbows.
The pants fit, but should have been two fingers longer.
At least the sandals fit.
Before she lost her nerve, she took a step closer, grabbed a lace holding on the sleeve and pulled. When it didn’t budge, she yanked harder. The lace came out slowly,
then faster. Finally, the sleeve slipped down. She thought she heard Larwin give a soft sigh of relief. My, but he gave off a lot of heat. She fought the urge to fan herself as she quickly unfastened the other sleeve. Nimri felt flushed by the time it lay on the floor. Thankfully she didn’t need to find a cloak to fit Larwin since the warm weather held. Perhaps the heat hadn’t been from her own disobedient thoughts, but from the gentle breeze coming in the open door.
Nimri stepped back to survey her work. The outfit would pass, as long as Larwin stayed inconspicuous.
She chewed her lower lip and studied his short hair. There was no camouflage for that. She’d simply have to think of an explanation. Perhaps if she came up with a good enough one, others would cut their hair. As she pondered the problem, Bryta entered with the basket full of embroidered hand towels that she intended to barter. Upon seeing Larwin dressed in normal clothing, she stopped and gave Nimri a confused look.
“He’s coming with us,” Nimri said.
Bryta’s mouth transformed into a tiny o, but she didn’t make a sound. Nimri quickly went into the kitchen to get her own basket.
Larwin insisted on carrying everything, but even that gallantry didn’t win Bryta’s respect. Nose high, she strutted down the gorge path, as if she was the Head Woman and they were her followers. Though Nimri rolled her eyes to Sacred Mountain, she found secret pleasure walking with Larwin, who continued to take delight in everything new. She told herself that his child-like appreciation helped her see things in a new way.
As they passed Rolf’s funeral pyre, Kazza playfully chased several chrome yellow butterflies off a tuft of vibrant orange nasturtium, Nimri laughed. “Whenever he does that, I pretend he’s protecting us from roving Yetis.”
“Yetis!” Bryta stopped as if struck and swiveled to look back at them. “You think the horrid Lost are hiding in the shrubbery with their vile pets?” Her gaze darted to the encroaching forest. “Yetis eat flesh, you know.”
Star Bridge (Chaterre Trilogy Book 1) Page 11