Inside the box was a large oval locket, carved from bone, that had belonged to her mother. Almost impossibly smooth, the thing felt warm, somehow, to the touch. Opened, the locket revealed two tiny drawings in ink. One side held a portrait of three girls—her mother and Sela, both about twelve, with Lana, perhaps fourteen, between them. The girls' faces were close, their shoulders pressed together.
The other side of the locket held a small sketch of her mother, much less detailed than the finely drawn image that faced it. A woman by then, Mai held her baby daughter close. Thea's infant head was buried in hermother's neck, only her hair visible, already in thick dark curls.
She had no memory of what it felt like to be held by her mother. She had no memory of her mother at all. Thea stared at the tiny drawing. And then, finally, she cried.
When Lana entered the greatroom through the dock door, Thea could tell that her aunt had heard about the council meeting.
“The bread has just been delivered,” Thea said quickly, nodding to the long loaves on the table, “and I'm soaking some greens for supper.”
“Wonderful.” Lana crossed the greatroom to her work-table and began to take little bundles of dried flower petals out of a small, coarsely woven sack. She stacked them in a pile next to her mortar and pestle.
Thea turned back to the large basin that was set deep into the counter at one end of the greatroom and stirred the dark leaves with one hand. “I'm going to wash before we eat—I didn't have a chance this morning.”
She left the greens in the basin and walked over to the washing chamber, where she carefully laid her fur on a low shelf and tucked her underthings beneath it. She had set the warmer to its highest setting, hoping it might mean less heat for Rowen's bath next door. She shivered as, unclothed, she took the three steps up to the tub. Submerging herself to her shoulders, she felt so embraced by the water that she started crying again.
A few moments later, Lana appeared in a long sleeveless tunic, holding a small vial filled with a bright orange liquid. Her eyes darted to the dial on the warmer, but she said nothing, for once, about rations. Instead she held up the vial.
“I thought you might try this out for me. I've been experimenting a little …”
Thea saw her aunt's face register her tears. Thea didn't cry often.
“I'm certain it didn't go as badly as that.” Lana sat down on the wide steps below the washtub.
“It did,” Thea said, pressing her fingertips to her eyelids, “it went as badly as it possibly could have. The council thinks I'm a spoiled child, and Rowen will have her way,and has the right to be angry at me besides, at least in the eyes of absolutely everyone.”
Lana's expression hardened slowly while Thea recounted the morning's words as well as she could remember them.
“You are not the person who disgraced the first line today,” Lana said when Thea finished. Her aunt's face was flushed and shining in the steamy heat of the washchamber, and there was a harshness to her voice. “There will be a few who have observed that, I promise you. Meanwhile, I am going to recommend a drop of this.” She held up the vial.
Lana's fine, dark hair was caught up in a loose knot, and the short collar of her tunic stood up around her long neck. Thea was reminded of Lana's beauty every once in a while, sometimes when a grower at a market stall pressed an extra something on her “for your aunt,” but mostly at times like this, when Lana was angry, her cheeks red and her dark eyes flashing. She let a few drops of bright orange liquid fall into the water, and a sharp scent of herbs surrounded Thea. The bath felt almost too hot now.
“Take a deep breath and clear your mind,” Lana said. “I'm going to sit with you to be sure you don't slip under. I'm not sure whether this essence induces sleep in such a concentration.”
Thea felt relaxed but quite awake and clear of mind.She tried to review the morning's events with less emotion, but could not shake the conviction that Rowen, her own grandmother, had deliberately goaded her. Why? She could only hope that Lana was right about others having seen it as well. By the time the bathwater cooled, she felt a little better.
After an early supper of greens and bread, Thea donned her fur and strapped on her skates again. It was time for work.
“You're not taking Peg?” Lana asked, gesturing behind them to the dock door, which led to the sleigh dock and the dogs' shelter. Lana always took her own companion, Aries, to the gardens with her. The dog loved the warmth of the heaters, and usually napped most of the day under the bright cropgrowth lights.
“I can't,” Thea said, feeling vaguely guilty. She really should have taken Peg for a swim in the lake today, rather than feeling sorry for herself all afternoon. Peg loved to swim. “I might not be home until morning. And Peg likes to sleep in her own bed.”
Lana looked up sharply. “Morning? Thea, please don't tell me you haven't met your hours.”
Thea winced. She'd hoped Lana wouldn't figure out that she was cutting things close. “It isn't a problem,” she said evenly. “The cycle ends tomorrow at four. I have to work nine hours before then. I have plenty of time.”
If Thea didn't meet her hours before the end of thecycle, she would lose her common privileges—her license to use the Mainway, the few “luxury” rations with which she could barter for sweets or trinkets, and her reading rights at the archive, among other things. She had never lost privileges, but had been known to get into a tight spot from time to time.
Lana's eyebrows came together. “I know you don't need to be reminded of this today, but appearances are important. And working through the night on the eve of the new cycle looks …”
“Lana, Dolan asked me to work late tonight. There's to be a whelping. Cassie's temperature dropped last night.”
“Oh. Well, then. Her first litter, is it? I hope things go well. You'll be home in time for breakfast?”
Thea smiled. “That's depending. Did you sneak any rushberries home today?”
“Thea!” There were already too many who believed that members of the first line got special treatment, especially when it came to extra rations. As a master gardener, Lana had daily access to some of the most coveted delicacies, like rushberries, and she was especially sensitive to the rumors. Sometimes Thea thought her aunt shorted the family a little just to prove her scruples.
“I'll have you know that was a fortnight's ration you gulped down this morning,” Lana said, indignant, “and it took work to save it.”
“I know.” Thea quickly hugged her aunt and stepped to the Mainway door. “I'll see you in the morning—for unsweetened riceflats.”
Lana smiled. “We might manage half-sweet.”
The Mainway pass was dimly lit now, as it was supper-time. Thea stepped onto the pass just as the door on her right was closing. Rowen's door. Her heart beat faster at just the thought of seeing her grandmother. She had better give Rowen a wide berth for a while. She wasn't sure she could be civil, and further antagonizing the Chief of Council would do her no good at all.
Before she could push off, Lana appeared in the doorway behind her.
“Thea, remember that tomorrow night we host the first-line supper. It's Ezra's birthday. No excuses. I'll need your help.” Her aunt let the door close behind her.
Thea suppressed a groan. She would be dining with Rowen tomorrow night.
She reached the Mainway quickly and started off in the direction of the breeding grounds, feeling a quick stab of reproach that she hadn't spared Cassie a thought all day. The young Chikchu was one of her special charges, and Thea herself had picked Cassie's mate. Dolan thought Thea had a knack for it, and it was true that her matchmaking had produced some beautiful litters in the past twelvemonth.
When Thea arrived at the breeding grounds, Cassie was already lying in her shallow whelping box, panting. Thea stroked the dog's face, and Cassie's tail thumped a greeting.
“Another hour or two?” she called, seeing Dolan emerge from the main house and start toward her, closely followed by Norma, a good-siz
ed black Chikchu.
Dolan nodded, carefully setting down a portable warmer near Cassie's bed. “She's doing well.” Unlike his sister, Sela, Dolan was a man of few words.
Norma settled next to him: The dog never let Dolan out of her sight. Wherever he went, she was at his heels. Dolan's own Chikchu companion preferred the company of other dogs, and could usually be found sitting among those in the main house infirmary. “He loves me in his own way,” Dolan always said.
Thea smiled as Dolan took a moment to rub Norma's flank. She was a troubled dog; Thea sometimes heard her whimpering in her sleep. Though Norma frequently got under his feet, Dolan never lost patience with her.
Dolan was one person who wouldn't know about the morning's council meeting, and that was a relief. He kept to himself, spending most of his time at the breeding grounds. He refused even to foster apprentices. Some of the other chiefs were juggling more than a dozen young people, but Dolan would not relent. Unlike Mattias's elite posting as one of Chief Berling's chosen engineeringapprentices, Thea's position was a regular workpost, with no particular honor attached to it.
She fiddled with the heater, making sure it still blew warm. They would need it when the pups came. It was new, and Thea was glad the council understood that the breeding grounds were no place to cut corners.
“Sit with Cassie until your assembly arrives,” Dolan offered. “You can help me with the inventory later.” He broke into a smile. “I notice you may be here a while.”
Thea grinned up at the big man, who had taken a small lightslate from his pocket. He twisted a knob, and Thea's timelog glowed on its face.
“There's nowhere I would rather be,” she said playfully. “For the next nine hours, anyway.”
“Nine and a half.”
Thea laughed. She felt so protected here, so much at ease with Dolan and the dogs, that she sometimes wished she could let go of the rest of it, let go of the idea of expansion, and surfacing, and her mother's hopes. Dolan would be more than happy to turn the place over to her, in time. Who else did the man have? But it was impossible.
While Dolan, trailed by Norma, readied the open box that would hold the newborn pups, Thea spoke to Cassie in a soothing voice, telling her what a good job she was doing.
Cassie united all of the most important Chikchu traits—strength, intelligence, coordination, and loyalty. It had been a challenge for Thea to choose a worthy sire for her pups. She researched the Chikchu family lines for three afternoons at the archive before settling on Atlas, whose pups were known for their speed and gentle nature. The children paired with Cassie's litter would be lucky indeed, Thea thought, slipping a square of fur from a nearby stack under Cassie's head to make her more comfortable.
“Nothing's too good for Peg's sister, eh?” Dolan teased her from the door of the main house. Thea waved him off. Cassie was littermate to her own Peg, it was true, but Thea was loath to admit she had favorites.
A minute later he called again. “The assembly is arrived.”
The first assembly was one of her favorite things about working at the breeding grounds. Although a council committee officially assigned each child his or her Chikchu companion, it was almost always Thea who made the introductions.
She could just make out the slight forms of the children milling about behind Dolan, one of them nearly a head taller than the others. The main house would be humming with their excitement. “It won't do to keep them waiting,” she told Cassie. With a final pat, she stood and crossed the sands.
Thea knew that the taller boy was Perry. Though most everyone agreed that he was an unpleasant child, Perry had managed to play the coveted part of William at the Launch festivities two out of the past three years. Thea just didn't understand it: He had never once gotten the speeches right. She had a private theory about the boy, who bore a strong resemblance to Meriwether, Thea's tutor. Meriwether assigned the roles at Launch every year.
Of course, sires were a secret business. The women of Gracehope weren't allowed to bear the children of whomever they chose. When a woman wanted to have a child, she summoned the Angus. The Angus had a finely woven sack that she carried to her appointments, and she kept the book of sires, which told who had fathered whom.
“The Angus knows which bloodlines may cross and which must go their separate ways,” Thea's grandmother said, “and it's best to leave love out of it.” Thea thought it wasn't too different from how she bred the dogs, though she wasn't about to say that to Rowen.
Yet things were not always so simple—Lana had visited the Angus for years, but never had a baby. Her aunt didn't talk about it anymore, but Thea knew that she hadn't entirely given up—she still pounded her special herbs every night and drank them down in hot water before bed.
The children in the main house now stood shifting their weight from leg to leg, casting their eyes about the house and wondering, she knew, where the pups might be hiding themselves.
She and Dolan led them onto the sands where their companions, ten days old, huddled against their mother. The big Chikchu looked up at Thea comfortably; this was her fourth litter, and she knew that her pups would be returned before long.
One at a time, Thea solemnly introduced the children to their Chikchu pups, intoning, “I give you Phoenix, your one companion,” “I give you Ursa, your one companion,” as she handed each animal to reaching hands. All of the Chikchu were named after heavenly bodies; her Peg's full name was Pegasus. Perry ruined his introduction by smiling rudely up at Thea and asking, “But some have two companions, isn't that right?” Thea glared at him and moved on to the next child.
It was true that she had two companions. Her mother's Chikchu had refused to leave Thea's side after Mai's death. Lana said it was a great relief to everyone that Gru didn't choose to starve herself to death, as some Chikchu did after losing their human companions. Thea and Gru were said to have been quite a sight, the not-yet-walking baby dwarfed by the huge gray dog. Thea could still remember clutching handfuls of Gru's fur as she learned to walk, and then skate. But Gru was never playful. Theaoften felt that she had one companion, Peg, and two aunts: Lana and Gru.
Showing the children how to properly hold their tiny pups, she led the newly joined pairs to sit in a group on the sand. Then Thea spoke about the history of the Chikchu as faithful companions to their people, first in the cold world above and then, after settlement, in Gracehope. She never said anything too important during the first assembly. She knew that the children couldn't really pay attention in the excitement of first seeing their companions, who were now scrambling around comically on the sands.
Thea watched sympathetically as the children reluctantly returned the pups to their mother. She reminded the group of their visiting privileges and then gently propelled them back toward the main house. In a few weeks they would take their companions home with them, bound for life.
Perry was so besotted with his little black-and-white pup that Thea had to shove him along. Perhaps there was hope for him after all. After lavishing praise and thanks upon pups and mother, Thea returned to Cassie.
Cassie panted and stood from time to time, turning a tight circle inside the box and then settling down again. Dolan brought over two large lightglobes, each set at half-light.
“It's going quickly,” Thea said. “She's ready.”
Dolan nodded. “I'll watch this time, if you don't mind.”
Thea blinked, not sure whether to believe. “I … I'm to birth her?”
“I'll be right here.” Dolan settled on the ground. Norma lay down beside him.
There was no time for Thea to feel honored—or fearful. She turned back to Cassie. “All right, let's meet those beautiful strong pups of yours.”
The first pup was pure white. Just like Peg, Thea thought, feeling a quick stab of love for her own companion. Cassie raised her head to lick her new daughter clean, and the pup started breathing on her own. She suckled for a few minutes while Cassie rested, but Thea soon moved the newborn into the heated be
d that would hold the pups until the whole litter was ready to return to the whelping box.
The next six births went smoothly. By the time Cassie started the breathing of pup number seven, Thea was elated.
“Seven pups! I haven't seen a litter of seven pups in a twelvemonth, have you?”
Dolan shook his head, smiling broadly. Thea allowed herself a long sigh as she helped the last pup find his mother's milk. Then something brought her up short.
The sounds were so faint she hadn't noticed them at first: a faint keening, like a high-pitched hum that stopped and then started again.
“Cassie is signaling!” she said.
Thea had to stay completely motionless to hear the exhausted Chikchu. She closed her eyes and focused on the pattern of sound that emerged, the distinct rising and falling of tone that was perceptible only to ear adepts like herself. Thea was tired, too, and she had to listen through the entire sequence several times before she understood.
Another.
“She's not finished!” Thea cried. Dolan stood up. But despite Thea's best efforts and encouragement, no pup emerged. Thea was sure now that there was another pup. Cassie's eyes fluttered open and closed as she struggled to maintain consciousness.
“She's too tired,” Dolan said, hovering but not yet taking control.
Thea unclasped her bracelets, scattering them to the sands and cursing herself for not having done so earlier. She was losing time.
Putting one hand against Cassie's shoulder, she reached into the sticky warmth of the dog with the other. She felt the still body of the last pup and brought it carefully out into the air. Half the size of the others, he lay limp in Thea's hand, not breathing. Dolan silently handed her a clean square of fur and she wiped the tiny dog down with it. Then Thea stretched the pup out across her forearm, stroking its head and back with more pressure. She could feel the animal's heart beating faintly against her wristas she urged it to live, vaguely aware of Dolan standing perfectly still beside her.
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