Bright Shards (The Vardeshi Saga Book 2)

by Meg Pechenick

  “You’re . . . going into the water? Intentionally?”

  I had to smile. “It wouldn’t be much of a swim if I didn’t.”

  We were standing on the lowest in a series of steplike ledges that partially encircled the waterfall pool. I climbed up to the highest one, which was only a few feet above the water, and paused at its edge, willing a little more heat from the sun-warmed rock beneath my feet. Then I took a deep breath and dove in.

  When I broke the surface, half-laughing, half-gasping at the cold, my crewmates were visibly relieved. I paddled around a little, allowing my breathing and heart rate to settle. I’d swum in water colder than this, but not by much, and I had taken Daskar’s warning about my companions’ misguided altruism very much to heart. Then I ducked under again and swam a few strokes just beneath the surface, testing my strength and lung power, reveling in the silken glide of the water along my skin. It was perplexing to feel sensations so utterly familiar in a setting so impossibly strange. Swimming on Rikasa felt identical to swimming on Earth. The buoyancy of the water was a reprieve after days of heightened gravity, and the chill of the water relieved the ache in my sore muscles at once. And I already felt cleaner. I surfaced and swam back to my crewmates.

  Saresh was kneeling on the ledge, preparing to refill his water flask. He lowered a cautious hand into the water and instantly withdrew it. “Sigils and emblems. It’s like ice. Exactly how much recreation are you planning to endure?”

  “Are you kidding? I'm just getting started! You should come in.” I flicked water at him.

  He aimed a gentle splash at me in return. “Thank you, but I’ve had enough hydrotherapy for one year.”

  Hathan, beside him, said, “Eyvri gives hydrotherapy a whole new meaning.”

  “Khavi? How about you? Want to learn to swim?”

  He smiled but shook his head. “Old prejudices are the hardest to shift. And I confess that I don’t really see the appeal.”

  “Fair enough. But you should all keep in mind that the closest shower is still eleven days off.”

  “Two days,” Zey said, almost too quietly for me to hear him. I sent another, more forceful splash his way and laughed when he recoiled with a startled curse.

  The others were settling themselves down on sunny patches of rock. Sohra was taking her boots off. They were clearly amenable to staying a little longer. I pushed off from the ledge and swam a leisurely circuit of the island, then climbed up onto it. I walked in a slow circle around the tree. Each step left a wet footprint on the warm rock, an impermanent trace of my presence. I wished I’d brought a necklace or a bandana to hang on the tree, some emblem of humanity to leave behind where future visitors would be sure to see it. Inspiration struck. I returned to the far side of the island, to a place where some object, perhaps a stone falling from the mountain above, had impacted with sufficient force to crack the topmost layers of rock. I worked a few stones loose and stacked them into a vaguely humanoid figure. Finding nothing suitable for the head, I went back into the water, my breath hitching again at the cold, and dove down to retrieve a fist-sized blue crystal from the sand.

  My fingers had just closed around the stone when I saw a glimmer of movement in the shadows under a rock outcropping. I jerked backward in surprise, expelling half my lungful of stored air before I realized what I was looking at: a school of fish, each as long as my forearm, their triangular bodies as slender and translucent as panes of stained glass in delicate tints of blue and violet. I hadn’t noticed them at first because the light passed right through them. I watched their gentle drifting movements in fascination until dark spots danced before my eyes and I was forced to kick for the surface.

  My ears were ringing when I emerged. I set the crystal on top of the little figure and swam back across to where Sohra and Saresh were sitting with their feet in the water. “There are fish down there!” I said as I lifted myself out onto the ledge next to Sohra. “I didn’t even see them until they were right in front of me. They’re transparent!”

  Saresh leaned forward to look; Sohra immediately withdrew her feet from the water. “What did you build?” she asked.

  “It’s called an inukshuk. I used to make them all the time with my Canadian cousins. It’s a sign of human passage.” I began toweling myself dry.

  “Is the crystal meant to be symbolic of memory?” asked Saresh.

  I grinned. “It is now.”

  Once I’d dried off, I spread my towel out in the sun, then shouldered my pack and went to change. Pulling sweaty clothes onto clean skin was viscerally distasteful but necessary. I had packed as lightly as I could: one set of hiking clothes, one set of camp clothes. It was crucial—for my crewmates’ sake as well as my own—to maintain that distinction. Maybe, if I was exceptionally lucky, we’d come to another swimming hole just at dusk on one of the days to come. With seven days left, it wasn’t out of the question.

  * * *

  On the eighth day we came across something better: not a mere swimming hole but a real lake, and a good-sized one at that. It completely filled the narrow valley that lay between the mountain we were descending and the one we meant to climb next, leaving only a narrow margin of passable ground. We had no choice but to go around it. I cast glances out at the water when I could spare my attention from watching my footing on the stony shore. Even to my eyes, it didn’t present a very enticing prospect for a swim. The day was overcast and cold; the water was dark and choppy, with here and there a wave curling over in a crest of white foam.

  We had been following the shoreline for twenty minutes or so when Hathan called a water break. Before I could unbuckle my pack, he said, “Eyvri, come with me. There’s something you should see.”

  I followed him down to the water’s edge. The sun had broken through; its reflection on the waves was dazzlingly bright. I had no idea what had drawn his attention.

  “Do you see it?” he asked.

  “See what?”

  He raised a hand to point. I squinted. Halfway across, I could just make out a square of metal reflecting the sunlight: a raft. High above it, a small black and white triangle snapped in the brisk wind. It took me a moment to place what I was seeing. Then recognition dawned. “Oh my God. It’s a flag. A special challenge.”

  “It’s for you,” he said.

  “How do you know?”

  “There’s no access from the far side. The rocks are too steep. And you’re the only one who can swim.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “Do you think you can reach it?”

  I looked up at the sun, which was already dipping toward the horizon, and out at the water again. The wind was blowing in toward our shore, which I took for a sign in my favor. “I think so. But I’d have to leave right now. There’s not a lot of daylight left. What do you think? Should I go for it? It might just be a colossal waste of time. I have no idea if the Echelon’s still angry at me for turning down their ship.”

  “If I were you, I’d want to find out.”

  “You want me to go.”

  “I want more information. There’s only one way to get it. But it’s your challenge, not mine. And a lot of guesswork went into designing it. Too much, maybe. The Echelon doesn’t know how far you can swim, or what qualifies as dangerously cold water for a human. You’re the only one who can assess the risk.”

  I took a last look at the flag. Then I dropped my pack on the stones and started to dig through it. Hathan began giving orders to set up camp. When I protested, he said, “Whatever happens, we’re not going any farther today.”

  After I found my swimsuit and my camp clothes, I started pulling out my cooking gear. Ahnir stopped me. “Go. I’ll have hot food ready when you get back.”

  I stepped into the shelter of the trees and changed into my swimsuit, my mind already on the challenge ahead. Hathan walked with me down to the water. I stepped in and swore under my breath.

  “Cold?” he said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Too cold?”
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  “I don’t think so.” I gritted my teeth and waded farther in. When the water reached my hips, I turned to look back at the shore. He was still standing there, alone, watching me. I lifted a hand, turned toward the open water, and dove in.

  It wasn’t too cold, or too far. But it was awfully close. I was in good shape, and I’d grown up swimming in icy New England lakes, but I had been starside for nine months. I fought the chop all the way to the raft. When I reached it, I swam around it twice before accepting the fact that there was no ladder. I scrabbled for a handhold on the slick surface, then hung by one arm until a chance swell lifted me high enough to hook a knee over the edge. Once out in the chilly air, I immediately started to shiver. I stamped around on the surface, trying to warm up, cursing the Echelon in every language I could think of. The flag was lashed to a pole rising from the center of the raft. It took a few tries before my numb fingers could undo the knot holding the line in place. I hauled the flag down and found the token attached to it, a metal ring about an inch in diameter. It gleamed like chrome in the fading light. I untied my bikini top and knotted the ring securely onto one strap before tying it again. Then I walked to the edge of the raft. I didn’t try to signal the shore. My crewmates’ eyesight was keener than mine; they would have seen the descending flag and understood its meaning. Already the domes of their tents glowed against the dark trees. I looked up into the sky and was marginally heartened to see a flash of green and a gleam of silver high overhead. There was a rescue craft hovering directly above my position. The Echelon was watching. I took a deep breath and dove into the water again.

  The way back was harder. The wind was rising, and it had swung around to push me away from the beach. Several times I was swamped by large waves and swallowed water. I bobbed on the surface, coughing, until I got my breath back. When I reached the calmer water near shore, I put my head down and swam blindly until the ground came up under me. Then I stood up. Rikasa’s gravity slapped me down like a giant hand, shocking after the weightlessness of water, and I fell. Someone’s arm locked around me: Hathan’s. I looked down. We were knee-deep in the water. He had waded in, still in his hiking boots, to help me. I was too cold and tired to feel anything beyond simple relief at his touch. I stumbled and nearly fell again on the way into camp. Sohra and Khiva helped me out of my wet swimsuit and toweled me off. I felt no self-consciousness then either. The resistance of pulling dry clothing onto still-damp skin was almost too much for my strength. Ahnir had made spaghetti and hot cocoa. I silently ate and drank everything he put in front of me. Then I fell into my sleeping bag and into an oblivion that felt like dark water.

  * * *

  When I woke again, it was full daylight. I crawled out of my dome and was shocked to see how far up the sky the sun had already traveled. Mine was the only tent still set up. I retrieved my pack and began sorting through my gear. Zey brought me my thermos, which held still-scalding coffee that had probably been made hours ago. “Why didn’t anyone wake me up?” I demanded. “We should be miles away from here by now!”

  “Hathan said to let you sleep. I think he’s worried about you.”

  Hathan’s first words to me when I found him in a shady spot on the beach confirmed Zey’s assertion. “The challenge was a mistake,” he said. “It was too risky. I should never have encouraged you to do it. I knew it the moment you were out of reach. I tried to call you back, but you didn’t hear me.”

  I patted the top of my pack, where I had stowed my now-dry bikini top, the chrome ring still knotted into the strap. “I got it though.”

  “I hope it was worth the trouble,” he said grimly.

  “How much time do you think it’ll buy us?”

  “It could be five seconds—or five hours. We won’t know until the finish.”

  I stood up and shrugged into my pack. “Then we’d better get there.”

  * * *

  The next few days passed swiftly by. We spent the twelfth day climbing up alongside a brook, or more precisely a chain of tiny waterfalls, that threaded its way up a gradually narrowing seam between two mountains. The climb was grueling work, as much vertical as horizontal, and it had taken us most of the day. Mist-slick rock scrambles gave way to narrow ledges rendered nearly impassable by the vegetation already fighting for purchase there. I had passed one or two promising swimming holes without even pausing. Stopping midclimb would be pointless; the knowledge of more elevation to come would rob the swim of any enjoyment. I had scrapes on my knees and my palms, the muscles in my thighs were jumping with fatigue, and it was disheartening to haul myself over each rise only to see another beyond it. I was worried, too, about what Saresh and Khiva would find on their scouting run. Hathan had sent them ahead twenty minutes ago with orders to seek out a level place to camp for the night. What if they couldn’t find one? I was all too conscious of Rikasa’s tiny red-gold sun racing down the sky toward the horizon. A night spent up here on the mountain, the eight of us strung out in ones and twos across a series of tiny ledges, would be hellish.

  I hauled myself and my thirty pounds of gear up onto the next rock and hesitated, still on my hands and knees, trying to summon the energy to stand. Hathan was already scaling the next tumble of boulders. “Are you all right?” he called back to me.

  “Fine,” I gasped. “Water break?”

  He vaulted up onto the topmost slab and cast a cursory glance around before replying. “If you can make it this far, you’ll have a better view.”

  Cursing Vardeshi strength and Rikasan gravity, I pushed myself to my feet and trudged to the next cluster of boulders. I stood paralyzed in front of them for a long time, unable to commit to an approach, a sure sign of exhaustion. When I was nearly to the top, Hathan leaned down and offered me his hand. I took it without hesitation. He locked his fingers around my wrist and pulled me up the rest of the way. “See?” he said as he let go. “I told you the view was better.”

  I looked around incredulously. “I don’t believe it. We made it!”

  It had been impossible to tell from just a few feet below, but we had at last reached level ground. We were standing on the edge of a plateau between two mountain peaks. Before us lay the source of the stream we had been following all day: an alpine lake, tiny and crystalline. A sheer rock face rose out of the water on one side, but a narrow crescent of pebbled beach ran along the other, flanked by scarlet trees. Beyond the lake, a wooded slope rose gently up to a narrow pass between the peaks.

  Hathan took out his map. “If I’ve charted our position correctly, we should be able to see the Perch from the far side of that pass. I think it’s located on the near side of this mountain range.” He traced it with his finger. “By tomorrow morning, we’ll know whether we still have a shot.”

  My entire body ached for rest, but I forced myself to ask the question: “Shouldn’t we go look tonight?”

  “To what end? You’re not going any farther today, no matter what we see.”

  “No,” I conceded. I was keeping myself upright mainly by force of will. There was no question of my descending the far side of the mountain we had just scaled—in the dark, no less.

  There were murmurs of admiration and triumph behind us as our crewmates gained the plateau. It was gratifying to know the climb had taxed them too, at least enough to make them glad to leave it behind. We stopped for a few minutes to drink water and adjust our layers. When we moved on, it was in the distinctly laissez-faire attitude of weary hikers with camp firmly in their sights: pack straps unclipped, water flasks in hand.

  We hadn’t gone far when Saresh and Khiva came jogging down the beach to inform us that there were plenty of good-sized campsites scattered among the trees. We followed them to the nearest of these, where Hathan designated sleeping areas for men and women to either side of a clearing with ample space for Ahnir’s communal tent dome.

  A remarkably short time later, I was wading into the icy shallows of the lake, flanked by Khiva and Sohra. It was the first time I had bathed in company
with my crewmates. I had swum alone at the first swimming hole; at the lake where I had retrieved the challenge token, I had still been fast asleep in my tent when everyone else bathed. As I had done before, I wore my bikini. The others wore the standard-issue technical undergarments furnished by Requisitions. These were predictably gray and conservative, and also, Khiva said, quick to dry. In spite of the underwear, which to my eyes provided more than adequate coverage, Hathan had directed the women to bathe separately from the men. The idea was so quaintly Victorian I actually laughed out loud when he said it. Not until I saw the looks my crewmates were giving me, half-amused, half-alarmed, did I realize he meant it. “Oh,” I said. “You weren’t kidding.”

  “It’s standard policy during soilside training exercises,” he explained, “to maintain discipline, just as with the tents.”

  “Sure.” Privately I doubted that all the brandy on Rikasa, if it were magically to materialize at our campsite, would so much as dent my companions’ self-control. Certainly it would take more than a few minutes of decorous splashing around in appallingly cold water. But I couldn’t argue the point any longer, not without making it abundantly clear to everyone listening that my real agenda was to see what the male contingent of Team Ascendant had been issued for underwear. I let it go, but the laughter was still in me, and I couldn’t resist a final comment. “It’s a good thing you guys weren’t on my last camping trip in college. Not much discipline there.”

  “Go on,” Zey asked obligingly.

  “We were backpacking in the White Mountains, just before graduation. It was supposed to be really cold, and for most of the trip, it was. But on the last day it turned warm all of a sudden. We stopped for lunch next to this beautiful river, and nobody had a swimsuit, but we all wanted to swim.” I shrugged. “So . . . we swam.”

  “And then hiked out in wet clothes,” Hathan said.

  “Oh,” I said blithely, “our clothes stayed dry.”

  I knew the exact moment he grasped the implication by his quick glance away and the indigo flush that darkened his cheekbones. I laughed again. It was getting easier, being friends with him. If that was what we were doing. To me it still felt like flirting.