by Candy Rae
As the effect of the Smaha root wore off, Tara’s right arm throbbed hard where the Larg had bitten it open to the bone. She would have to remove the bandage Emily had put on soon to smear on some more but baulked at the thought. Emily was busy with the more seriously injured and she couldn’t bother her with what Tara considered was a small wound. It was bleeding though, the bandage was bright red in places and she felt sick. So she sat on Kolyei’s back, willing herself not to cry and berating herself for not doing something about it.
Kolyei stood still, concentrating on passing the necessary reports to and fro, not that it was so urgent now that the Larg were in full retreat. Linked with Kolyei, Tara listened in with growing weariness as she followed the story of the demise of the invasion.
She learnt of the deaths of both Bill and Geoff Armstrong but it was with a curious detachment, a light-headedness. Disjointed images swam in front of her as she followed the Larg’s retreat through Kolyei’s eyes.
She swayed in the saddle.
How long she sat there she could never remember afterwards but it must have been an hour, if not more.
She felt someone ride up beside her and raised her head a little. She saw a leg, a grimy and dusty leg, a leg sitting astride a Lind, one with the blue-striped pattern of pack Zanatei.
It’s from our pack, she thought dully, I think. Her vision was foggy.
A voice came out of nowhere, as if from a great distance, a voice filled with concern.
“Are you all right Tara?” asked Alan. “You look half-dead.”
With some effort she made sense of his words and raised a dirty and tear-stained face to his.
“I feel all wobbly,” she began, “and my arm hurts.”
She fainted then, though because she was attached to Kolyei’s back by the fighting harness she did not fall off. Kolyei too looked grey with exhaustion and in need of help. This Alan decided as he dismounted from Kiltya’s back in a hurry.
The large male was swaying on his paws. His fur was drenched in sweat and he was keeping his head from hitting the ground with much effort and force of will.
The only white senior still there was Mariya. She didn’t look to be in much better shape.
Alan took charge; it was his turn to repay the debt he considered he owed Tara.
“Both of you,” he commanded Mariya and Kolyei, “lie down before you fall.”
Kolyei relaxed and collapsed in a heap of legs and tail. Mariya sat down, careful of her old bones.
She looked surprised at being ordered about by one so young in seasons but was too tired to argue.
: Kolyei is exhausted : she managed to telepath to Kiltya. : You must join with me to keep communications open :
Kiltya edged over to her and sat down touching paw to paw. She looked pleased and proud to be asked for help by the most senior Lind of all.
Alan unbuckled the harness and pulled Tara off Kolyei’s back. She stirred.
“Is Kolyei hurt?”
“Nothing major,” replied Alan, “but you are bleeding.”
Tara didn’t hear him. She had lapsed into unconsciousness.
Alan carried her over to a natural wallow under a large allst tree and laid her down as carefully as he could.
Sorting the wound wasn’t easy for Alan. One edge of the bandage was stuck to Tara’s skin where the blood had dried. He decided to leave that bit and cut away the wet. He smeared Smaha over the wound and took a clean bandage from his med-pack, then remembering his first aid lessons, bandaged it up as tightly as he could.
Tara didn’t appear to be hurt anywhere else he noticed with relief. He made a pillow with his own cloak and rummaged around the nearby packs for hers, which he laid over her. Then he smeared the Smaha on Kolyei’s cuts, pushing him all ways to get at every part of him despite his groans of complaint.
He sat down beside Kiltya then in case a translation between Standard and Lindish was required.
Alan never took his eyes off Tara and got up regularly to check her colour and breathing. She didn’t wake but it was a natural sleep of the exhausted; towards dawn he fell asleep himself.
On the lower slopes of the hills to the south of the lines, Francis, Asya and the Vada kept at it well into the night. As he surveyed the field of victory whilst there was still light enough to see, Francis was in despair. Over a third of his beloved Vada were dead. It was scant comfort that their sacrifice and those of the Lind who fought with them had meant the difference between victory and defeat. Many of those fallen had been his friends. Asya too had lost many a pack-mate.
The hardest to bear were the deaths of some of the youngsters who had disobeyed his precise orders and taken part in the charge.
He passed the bodies of the twins Bill and Geoff. They, with Malya and Sindya, had died side by side, overcome by the sheer mass of Larg the Vada had hit during their desperate charge.
Francis hadn’t been as close to the twins as some of the others but he had liked the two boys and was nearly as upset and filled with anger as when Faddei had told him about the murder of their family. The entire Armstrong family had now been wiped out and all because of the Larg. Closer to home were the deaths of Moira and Andei – Francis dreaded telling her mother; her father had died during the space storm on the Argyll.
He thought of young Peter back at the domta busy making welcome-home presents for the other eleven.
Francis himself found the body of young Thomas Wylie lying in the bloody soil, still strapped on to Stasya’s back, his sightless eyes staring. The boy had fought; his sword was still gripped tight in his lifeless hand. It was covered with drying blood.
The lad’s face was strangely peaceful in the dusk-light, the only evidence that he was dead the whiteness of his face and the thin line of dried blood that had trickled from his mouth. Stasya herself was still alive but very badly wounded. Blood seeped from a large gash in her chest and there were many smaller gashes on her side where Larg fangs had bitten deep.
At Francis’s approach she raised her head and looked at him out of haunted and pain-filled eyes.
Francis could barely make out what she was trying to say.
“Thomas has gone to the blue pastures. I follow him.”
Asya hung her head.
“No Stasya,” babbled Francis, “we’ll get healers here, I’ve got some numbing root it’ll stop the pain. You mustn’t die.” Francis began to apply the salve. But Asya understood what Stasya was saying. The young female did not want to continue life without Thomas.
“We stay with you,” she promised her pack-mate.
Francis had an agonised look on his face.
It was at that point that Francis fully understood what the act of vadeln-pairing actually meant. Few Lind who were paired with a human would wish to continue to live if their life-partner died. He also knew, he didn’t know how, that this would be the case the other way round, the bond was so strong.
It was up to him to respect Stasya’s wishes. He settled down beside her with Asya and gave the dying female as much comfort as he could. Asya’s mind linked with her pack-mate and she brought Francis in on the link. The Vada Commander felt Stasya lose consciousness as her lifeblood seeped away. Then there was an emptiness where she had been and he realised that she was gone.
“We will bury them together,” said Francis quietly as he eased his cramped muscles. “They were a brave pair.”
“Yes,” said Asya, also quietly. “The names will be added to the honour chant. They will be sung about for many moons to come.”
Francis wondered aloud how Emily would take the news. She had been growing fond of young Thomas and, whatever the two children had been planning, he knew that Stasya and Ilyei had been hoping to make a four before many moons had passed.
“Ilyei knows. He is very sad. He will tell Emily. They have each other. Steven and Alanya died during our charge too.”
That did it. For the first time in his adult life, the hard Francis McAllister, one time ship’s troublemaker and the bane of ev
ery petty officer’s life, burst into loud and bitter tears. Victory was not sweet. War was hell.
“Was it worth it?” he asked.
“Yes. If we had lost battle we would all be dead, if not this sun then next. You must be proud.”
After these words, Asya fell silent, waiting for Francis to understand. She sent a message to Faddei at the medical station, knowing that Francis needed Laura, but she was too busy to come.
Francis pulled himself together with a grunt of effort, and leaving the young bodies, rose stiffly and went to the aid of those still alive. They were his Vada. He must be there for them. Asya felt very proud of her man, very proud indeed.
It was full night before an exhausted Laura and Faddei picked their way through the battlefield towards them. She had been helping with the operations on the badly injured. Many would survive this time that would otherwise have not. Lind paws could not hold needles and sew but the human medics had hands that could, the stocks of surgical gel having run out some hours previously.
Her fingers bleeding from the pressure from the surgical needles, eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion and from crying for those whom she had not been able to save, Laura fell into Francis’s arms. They rocked against each other for some time, both taking and giving comfort.
“If our baby is a boy, I think we shall call him Thomas,” she said.
“Baby?” he asked. “What baby?”
“Our baby, silly,” she answered. “I’ve known for over a month now. You had enough to cope with and I was needed here, on the battlefield with the Holad. I was scared that you would refuse to let me come if you knew.”
“You are quite right,” said Francis, tenderly taking her into his arms.
Asya and Faddei looked at each other, tails wagging. Their humans could look to the future now. Perhaps it was time they too started a family. Despite her hurts, Asya looked at her mate provocatively from under her eyelashes. Faddei returned her look with one of his own.
* * * * *
