Star Bridge (Chaterre Trilogy Book 1)

by Jeanne Foguth

  “Bryta, I was joking.” Nimri and Larwin edged past her and continued on, side by side down the lush forest trail and entered the richly scented shadows under the sequoia boughs. As the branches swayed overhead, sunlight appeared to dance over the ferns, moss and dirt path. Nimri would have been content if they never reached the settlement.

  “Yetis are not a joking matter,” Bryta said.

  Nimri glanced back. Bryta was still looking sharply at each shadow.

  “Yet-ease?” Larwin asked. Bryta’s head swiveled toward them, then her plump legs pelted down the earth track. She trotted past them and continued to pick up speed, her tunic flapping and her intricate braids falling.

  Nimri put her hand to her mouth to hold back her laugh. She reminded herself that Yetis were not funny. “Huge, ugly creatures,” Nimri said, with an involuntary shudder. “Horrible.”

  “Ah, like madrox.”

  “Whatever you say.” Nimri doubted if anything could be as awful and frightening as a Yeti.

  A butterfly landed on the tip of Kazza’s nose. He went very still, except for his crossing eyes. When he hunkered down to study a thick patch of moss, Bryta, now running faster than Nimri would ever have believed her capable of moving, disappeared behind a dense clump of tree ferns.

  Larwin pointed to a thick clump of chartreuse moss. Nimri told him everything she could remember about it, while he moved his odd black box over it.

  With Bryta gone, the peaceful seclusion of the trail wrapped around them. As they ambled downward, Nimri identified various plants for Larwin, then added anything she could think of that related to the specimen. He leaned close, as if he didn’t want to miss a single syllable. Had anyone ever paid such close attention to her? She didn’t think so, but knew that she would treasure the memory of this day for many seasons to come.

  After they climbed out of the last shallow, fern-filled ravine, Nimri heard the unmistakable sound of Market Day—shrieks of laughter, squawks of geese, the crow of a rooster, all underscored by the murmur of dozens of conversations. Kazza’s ears perked forward, his nose rose to sniff the air, then he sprinted away.

  With their destination so close, Nimri’s pace slowed and she tried, again, to think of an explanation for a grown man having a shorn head.

  Larwin slowed his pace to match hers. His back straightened and he kept glancing at the impenetrable shrubbery to their left, which stood twice his height. Obviously, he sensed that the village lay down the slope behind the dense leaves. Nimri wondered if he dreaded the next moments as much as she did.

  They rounded the base of the last sequoia and the path led straight down the gentle grade to the village’s center.

  Larwin stopped stock-still and surveyed the scene, eyes wide, as if he’d never seen a trade center.

  Nimri tried to see the scene the way he saw it, but everything looked normal to her. Breeze’s ducks were squawking in a woven cane pen, plus she had a large basket of eggs to exchange. Quark Dagger’s display of pottery looked like a beautiful rainbow of earthen tones. Flame didn’t have any fried pies, but she did have black bread. Kazza already was happily munching a loaf under the display table.

  Nimri’s mouth watered. Lest her stomach growl, she looked at the waterfront where a bark-clad boat was docking. One man tied up the craft while four more burly Lost disembarked. Something seemed off-kilter about them, but she couldn’t quite figure out what felt wrong. Nimri gave her head a tiny shake. The Lost were peculiar in general. They always appeared ragged and unkempt with their uneven haircuts and their wrap-around fringed tunics that were pieced together with odd bits of leather, instead of woven fabrics. For some reason, these five seemed particularly ominous, even though they moved around the various tables, joking and bartering, like everyone else. Frowning hard, she tried to figure out why they had caught her attention, but still, only the vague sense of unease came to mind.

  Only the Lost's rougher men came to Market Day and these were typical. One had a black mustache that hung down each side of his mouth and looked like black drool trying to stretch itself to his chest. Another had unusual hair, neither brown, nor red, but a dirty mixture of the colors. Half of them had beards, which bushed from their chins like unkempt briar patches. The last one looked clean, but he had such long fringes on his tunic that it reminded her of the shredded camphor from the evening before.

  Nimri wondered if they really were as vulgar and dirty as they appeared.

  The worrying group split up. Two bearded ones made a beeline toward Quark’s table. Nimri abruptly realized what was strange about the group—none of them carried a basket or bag. Worse, all were armed with vicious hunting knives.

  Had they come to fight with Quark?

  Her stomach clenched and her mouth felt dry. She didn’t know if she should turn around and run home so that she could stay out of the anticipated fight or hurry toward Quark’s table and try to head off the coming conflict.

  At least the knives were not drawn. Still, her stomach tightened. For the first time, she wished she had brought Rolf’s staff, even though it was useless in her hands. They wouldn’t know she could barely hold onto the slippery thing or that she couldn’t weld it.

  The one with the longest fringes started chatting with Tansy, Bryta’s granddaughter, who dimpled and smiled up at him through her thick lashes. Nimri looked around the crowded tables to see if Bryta had noticed Tansy’s antics. When Nimri didn’t see her, she gave a tiny sigh of thanksgiving and prayed that she wouldn’t hear that her granddaughter had treated the enemy pleasantly. If Bryta caught wind of it, she’d complain about it for a hundred seasons, and use it as a reason why they should totally ban the Lost from their side of the river.

  If the Lost would bring their women to market, there would be fewer problems.

  If the Chosen didn’t have the banishment law, they could build boats and cross the river themselves, then they might not feel so invaded.

  Larwin took a step toward the market, then walked faster, as if he was eager to barter.

  Nimri hurried to catch up.

  As they approached the bakery display, Kazza came out from under the table and grabbed another long loaf of his favorite braided bread. Flame, who looked particularly lovely, tickled his ears and crooned to him as he sprawled back in his shady spot. Kazza’s expression of bliss almost looked comical.

  “Flame, you spoil him.” Her best friend laughed. “You look wonderful,” Nimri said. “There’s something different about you. A radiance. Are you with child?”

  They both laughed and hugged each other.

  “Aren’t you nice,” Flame said. “Can’t I look radiant unless I’m—” Flame stopped and gave Larwin, who had begun moving the odd box across her, a startled look. “Who is he? What’s he doing?”

  “Try to stand still,” Nimri advised. “He did the same thing to Bryta, and me. There was only the slightest tingling. Sort of like the way Kazza’s whiskers tickle.”

  Flame stared at Larwin, through narrowed eyes. Nimri thought she heard the box hum, then realized Kazza was purring.

  “His name is Larwin,” Nimri said, using a calm tone. “He’s a traveler, who is staying with us.”

  Flame blinked in surprise. “Traveler? We haven’t had one of them since we were small.” Larwin gently gripped Flame’s arm to hold her still. Her mouth flattened for a moment, then she ignored the box. “Remember the old Lost woman who was almost too frail to walk? She was so nice.”

  They’d been in a forest glade picking berries when they’d heard someone singing. “Yes. She had that odd shawl.” Nimri’s eyes misted. She gulped. “I think I saw her bones on the Sacred Trail.” Nimri tried to swallow the sudden lump in her throat.

  Larwin finished with the box and glared at it. For once he didn’t hit it. But his expression looked like he wanted to. Assuming a box could misbehave, Nimri suspected it was still being disobedient.

  Nimri glanced to where she’d last seen the Lost. They were admiring one of Quark’s beau
tiful emerald green milk pictures. It didn’t look like they intended to fight—yet.

  “Would he like to eat one?” Flame whispered.

  Nimri looked back and saw Larwin moving the box over the bakery goods. “Sure. I have your burn ointment.” Nimri bent to get it out of the basket at Larwin’s feet.

  “Thanks,” Flame said, with a self-depreciating laugh. “I’m the clumsiest—”

  Someone screamed as if the world was ending.

  Nimri’s heart froze. She looked from the Lost, who appeared equally startled, to the docks, where the scream had come from.

  Sunlight blinded her. She shaded her eyes. Tansy was beating someone’s chest. Long fringes of his tunic whipped around her flailing hands. The man grabbed her forearms and tried to shove her into the bark boat. She screamed a second time.

  Nimri ran to help Tansy. Within an instant, she heard Kazza behind her.

  “No!” Tansy shrieked.

  “Get in,” the man said. He half picked Tansy up, and dangled her feet over the dinghy.

  Tansy shrieked. Her arms and legs flailed the air as she tried to beat off her attacker.

  Nimri ran onto the dock; grabbed the kidnapper and half –spun him around. The fringes on his sleeves whipped against her hand. “Let her go!”

  “No.”

  Tansy kicked his thigh. He grunted. Nimri yanked his arm. Kazza growled.

  The Lost jerked and looked at Kazza. Tansy wrenched free of his grasp. The floating dock tipped. Tansy yelped. The man lunged after her. Nimri yanked him back.

  Tansy somersaulted backward off the dock.

  She screamed. Her head hit the dinghy’s side with a terrible thud, ending her shriek.

  “Tansy!” The Lost roared like an enraged beast and pushed Nimri toward the water.

  Nimri kneed him in the groin as hard as she could, then kneed him in the jaw and knocked him down.

  Kazza leaped on the moaning man and sat on his chest. Muzzle to nose, he seemed to dare the man to get up.

  Nimri ran to help Tansy, but didn’t see her. She stopped and looked around. Larwin, who had followed her, was fighting two of the men who had come with the kidnapper. The other two, had their long bladed knives drawn, as they closed in on him from the rear.

  For a moment, she didn’t know if she should help Larwin or Tansy. Then, Larwin kicked one of the Lost in the jaw. The man tumbled backward. Larwin did something to the other’s arm and sent him flying headfirst at the gathering crowd.

  Nimri didn’t need to see more; she jumped into the water next to the spot where she’d last seen Tansy. The water was deeper and dirtier than it looked. She bent double, dove into the murky depths and frantically grabbed at shadows.

  She surfaced for a breath. Kazza still held the kidnapper, but his attention was on Larwin, who now had three of his attackers down and was fighting the last one. Amazing.

  Nimri dove, again, but this time, she closed her eyes and tried to sense Tansy’s presence. Then, she extended her right arm and felt…hair.

  Then a head.

  Nimri grabbed Tansy’s limp form and thrust her upward to the light. As they broke the surface between the boat and the dock, she wondered how she would get Tansy back onto the land without getting them bogged in the bank’s sucking mud. Larwin’s head and shoulders appeared over the dock’s edge. He reached down, grabbed Tansy under her armpits and plucked her from the water as easily as if she were a baby.

  Nimri heaved herself up. She landed on the rough wood with a sodden splat. Larwin laid Tansy on the dock, as if she were dead. Kazza got off the Lost and took a step toward the adolescent.

  The fringe-tunic man struggled to get up. For a moment, Nimri thought he still meant to kidnap Tansy. Whatever he intended, three of his companions grabbed him and hauled him toward their boat. The trio was so covered with dirt and trickles of blood that they looked like they’d been used to till a field. One bearded man’s cheek was turning dark with a bruise and he held his head at an odd angle. The three Lost leaned on each other for support and kept a wary eye on Larwin as they edged past him and made a beeline to their dinghy.

  The droopy mustache groaned loudly as he stepped down into the boat. The one with the bruised face collapsed in the bow as if moving two strides further was equivalent to a week’s worth of toil. The auburn haired one fumbled with the ropes, while the other two winced and moaned as they set the oars in their grooves. The one with the long black mustache tried to lift his oar to push the boat away from the dock.

  Before the mustache found the strength to push away, the last one dragged himself through the crowd that lined the bank five deep and got into the boat.

  Finally certain that the danger was past, Nimri turned her attention to Tansy. One good look at her wan complexion, motionless chest and the blood trickling across her forehead made Nimri taste bile.

  Larwin touched Tansy’s throat in gentle petting movement.

  Nimri felt rooted in place, yet a part of her noticed that Larwin looked fresh as when they’d started to Market. How could he fight so many of the Lost and not have a scratch? But his spotless tunic wasn’t her most pressing problem.

  Nimri crawled to Tansy. For the first time, she had a good look at the girl’s pale heart-shaped face. A large liver-colored goose egg on her temple oozed blood and looked serious. Nimri touched Tansy’s wrist. There wasn’t a pulse.

  Oh, no! What could she tell Bryta? Lily? Sandor? She’d known something bad was going to happen with that group when she realized they didn’t have market baskets. She should have stopped them before it was too late. Tansy’s death was her fault.

  Sobs clogged Nimri’s throat.

  Larwin, kneeling on the opposite side of Tansy, got out his odd box and moved it over Tansy’s chest.

  “We’re doomed—betrayed by our own Keeper of the Peace,” someone in the crowd said.

  Nimri clamped her teeth together and tried to ignore the truth her tribe had seen. Larwin continued dishonoring the dead with his nasty box. When he touched Tansy’s wound with the horrid thing, her fist clenched with the urge to slap the box into the water.

  But no one had the right to attack a Guardian. The crowd shifted ominously, as if wondering why their protector would allow a stranger to desecrate the dead.

  Unable to speak, Nimri turned her attention to the Lost. They were the ones who had caused this horror.

  The dinghy was two lengths into the river. Well out of range for any pathetic retribution she could dispense.

  When Nimri turned back, Larwin had his palms flat on Tansy’s chest. Suddenly he pushed down for all his worth. Tansy’s corpse quivered.

  Desecration!

  The crowd murmured in horror. “Why doesn’t the healer help Tansy?” someone asked.

  “Tansy is dead. I heard her head crack like a melon, when it hit the wharf. See how Nimri mourns? No one can raise the dead.”

  Larwin put all his weight against Tansy’s chest again, then lifted his hands, only to push again.

  Dismay transfixed Nimri.

  Kazza moved behind Larwin and placed his paw on Larwin’s shoulder.

  Suddenly, water spouted from Tansy’s mouth.

  The crowd gasped.

  Nimri’s jaw dropped.

  Then, Larwin did the most outrageous thing yet—he pinched Tansy’s nose with one hand, tilted her head back and grabbed her jaw with his other hand. Then, he clamped his mouth to hers. Next, he blew his breath into Tansy. Tansy’s chest rose. Stupefied by shock, Nimri stared motionless, unable to say or do anything.

  Breeze, near the front of the crowd, sank to the ground in a dead faint at the outrage she was witnessing.

  Larwin placed his hands on Tansy’s chest and pushed his breath out of her chest.

  Then he blew in, again.

  Nimri felt dizzy.

  Somewhere in the distance, she heard Kazza purring. Had everyone and everything gone loco and decided to have inappropriate reactions to death?

  The light dimmed.
Somehow, Nimri knew that she was on the verge of passing out. She put her head down so she couldn’t see, but she could still hear.

  “Then what is that stranger doing to her?”

  “Odd looking fellow. Perhaps he’s drying her body for the pyre.”

  “Looks more like he’s capturing her myst energy.”

  “He did come with Nimri.”

  Someone coughed.

  “He’s the one who taught those four a lesson. ‘Bout time someone did that.”

  Many murmured, but no one dared step closer.

  The blackness seemed to spin. Close by, someone groaned. If Tansy hadn’t been dead, Nimri would have thought it sounded like her.

  The crowd gasped and murmured Tansy’s name. Nimri thought she heard someone say Tansy was alive.

  Suddenly, she felt Kazza’s rough tongue lick her cheek from chin to forehead. The blackness cleared. Larwin’s fingers were at the base of Tansy’s jaw and Tansy’s eyes were open.

  Sacrilege!

  Tansy moved.

  Larwin removed his hand.

  Tansy’s eyes closed, and then she struggled to sit upright. The effort apparently was too much, too soon and she lay back down.

  Nimri thought she was hallucinating. Half the people in the crowd sank to their knees and silently stared at the dock. Just as Nimri decided she was dreaming, she heard a distant scream.

  Looking uphill, she saw Bryta running down the slope as if her apron had caught fire. Bryta barreled through the crowd as if they were chickens. Then, seeing Tansy dead on the dock, she stopped, bent over and gasped for breath.

  Nimri tried to find the energy to get up.

  Larwin sat Tansy up. Somehow, Tansy’s head turned and she winced with pain.

  Nimri hoped this was some horrible dream, but knew it wasn’t.

  Bryta took a deep breath and straightened. She stared at Tansy, who squinted back at her, pain in her unmatched pupils. Bryta’s face turned livid. “Ancients preserve Pearl for telling me Tansy was dead!” Bryta moved to Nimri’s side, knelt and touched Tansy’s hand.

  Tansy’s slim fingers wrapped around her grandmother’s plump ones. Nimri felt lightheaded. She closed her eyes and fought to analyze the impossible.