“No,” Shiv said, hugging Lyshus fiercely. She let her mother into her mind enough to see how much she had suffered. Shi’a’na shivered and reached out with mind and body, soothing, reassuring. Lyshus made her nervous, but her love was still there.
Shiv wanted to fold herself into that love and let her mother take care of everything, but she was a queen, with a tribe of her own, and she could not afford such luxury.
“Perhaps that is the answer!” Reach said, catching the emotions flying between them. “With more members in her tribe, the bond between Shiv and Lyshus might not be so strong.”
Shiv pondered this, liking the idea. It was the purpose of a queen. “But…” She stroked Lyshus’s green hair. “What if they become as him?”
“Perhaps that happened because he was newly born. With an adult, it might be different.”
“And if it is not?” Shi’a’na asked. “If we only compound our problem?”
Reach spread her hands, and she was right. Anything was possible, and they would never know if they did not try.
“Then I will take my tribe and go into the swamp,” Shiv said. “We will be a small tribe, but we will be together, and no one will be nervous by our presence.”
She felt shame from Shi’a’na, a rare emotion indeed, but it did not lessen the fear. Shiv felt conflicted herself, angry with her mother for not giving her unconditional approval and understanding her from a queen’s perspective. Her bond with Lyshus made it hard to be angry with him for being able to touch her tree, but the thought of another queen doing so… She would be incensed.
Reach rested a hand on Shiv’s shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “I think you would go mad alone,” she said. “We will try all we can before you leave us to suffer.” Her tone was a little teasing, and Shiv felt that rush of conflict again, happy that Reach felt close enough to tease her and angry that no one shared her anguish. She wondered if she would ever have the luxury of a single emotion again.
“Now all we have to do is ask for volunteers,” Reach said. She and Shi’a’na exchanged a look. Shiv knew the meaning of that, too, and it added more anger. Shi’a’na’s tribe had been with her for generations, another thing that rarely happened. Drushka were supposed to mix and mingle among the queens, not bond with a single queen for birth after birth after birth.
But when Shi’a’na put out the call, two voices answered, those who had had a taste of their child but had found it unfulfilling because of his bond with Shiv.
Lyshus’s parents ran through the branches to stand anxiously before Shiv, hands intertwined, hungry eyes on their son. Even though he had changed, they still sought a bond with him. Their reverence for queens would not let them be angry with Shiv, and for some reason, that infuriated her more. She wanted their anger; she wanted all their emotions, and she realized then just how much she craved a larger tribe even as she reveled in her attachment to Lyshus alone. She wanted these two to be hers.
And she knew what to do because she was born to it. She stood and reached for her sapling that stood nearby, cradling Lyshus’s sleeping form with her other arm. She found a line in the bark and sharpened it with her mind so she could slide the edge of her hand along it, cutting into her skin. Reach began to hum, a song that venerated this moment. Lyshus’s parents’ eyes fixed on Shiv, their own greed apparent but also glazed over, all of them knowing this ritual without having to be told.
The parents took Shiv’s hand and lowered their mouths to the wound, drinking her blood. At the same time, their minds opened to Shiv, and she flowed into them, linking to them in a deeper way than when she had to go through Shi’a’na. Now, Shi’a’na was no longer part of them unless Shiv wished it.
Shi’a’na winced. No one had ever left her tribe before. Shiv felt her mind flowing around the gap, seeking a remedy. Luckily, Reach was there with her song, soothing the transition for everyone. Lyshus’s eyes flew open and met those of his parents. Shiv felt their thoughts flowing back and forth, welcoming each other, bonding through her, and it felt so right.
A tremor went through the parents’ limbs, and their faces turned from wondrous to confused. Shiv felt something within them, a change, and she despaired, for if they were going to become as Lyshus, they would be four queens, and how would there ever be enough trees?
The parents fell to their knees, and Shiv felt their agony. She dropped beside them, Lyshus tumbling from her arms. He began a high pitched keen. Shi’a’na cried out. Reach’s song changed in pitch, but the melody was confused, switching from one to another as she sought the source of the problem.
Shiv’s mind was on fire, screaming with agony as her tribemates writhed in pain. The call went out for more shawnessi, for Simon Lazlo, who was already on his way and who now sent his power ahead, looking for damage but finding none. Shiv heard his words through her mother: “Something’s changing them! It’s inside!”
What did that mean? Shiv grabbed them, trying to fight through their pain to ease it, to find the cause, but there was nothing, nothing. No wounds, no sickness. Their hair fell out in clumps, and she realized they were trying to change as Lyshus had, but since they were grown, it was not working.
“Their systems are rebelling,” Simon’s voice said. He was in the tree now, the branches winging him skyward until he was among them. “I can’t stop it.”
“Shawness, you must!” Shi’a’na’s voice, and she was in agony, too, connecting to Shiv, trying to ease her pain, to spread it amongst the other drushka so the suffering would be less.
Shiv tried to cut off the connection, to save others this misery, but she feared being alone with it. “Shi’a’na, please!”
Her mother’s helplessness surrounded her. They were doing all they could, but it would not be enough. The two bodies at her feet shuddered and bucked. Tiny tendrils of roots broke from their skin as if they were drushka and tree combined. Their eyes rolled back, sinking into their heads as their hair continued to fall, and tiny limbs took its place.
“It’s too fast, too fast,” Simon mumbled. He turned his power from them to Shiv, seeking to cut her off from their agony, and she breathed in relief even as she cried out for him to forget her and save them.
At last, Lyshus’s parents lay still, their lives faded as if they were hunks of wood. Shiv stared in horror. When Lyshus crawled into her lap, mewling, she hugged him close, rocking back and forth. Reach’s long limbs folded over both of them as she sang in a low voice, her sorrow like a balm.
“Shiv,” Simon whispered. “Pool, I’m so sorry.”
Shi’a’na was staring at the bodies, eyes wide, her mind seeking theirs and finding no answer. “Why, shawness, why did this happen?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been following what I could from your telepathic sending, but…” He swallowed. “I can try to find out.”
“Do so.”
Shi’a’na turned to Shiv, anguish and fear in her eyes, fear for the rest of her tribemates, but also for her daughter, for the life she would lead if no one else could ever join her tribe. Shiv cowered in Reach’s arms. She wanted to fling herself at her mother, but she would not be able to take Lyshus with her, and she needed him even more. She buried her face in Reach’s shoulder and wrapped herself in her pain.
Chapter Six
Horace fought the urge to put his head in his hands and groan out loud. At Cordelia’s insistence, he’d done a deep telepathic scan on the plains dwellers who’d attacked Pool’s tree, but so far, he’d only found a fanatical devotion to Naos. No telepathic tampering, not even a slight suggestion. Either Naos’s touch was far lighter than he’d ever expected, or these plains dwellers hadn’t been tampered with at all.
Lying along Pool’s branch in a sleeping line, the captives should have been radiating peacefulness, but more than one scowled in their sleep as if even their dreams were tainted with fervor. After the huge confrontation near Celeste where so many had died, Horace would have thought they’d grown tired of killing and fighting.
/> Like he had? Even with all the trouble lately, something in him still craved action. He’d thought more than once about how he’d nearly died in the swamp before a quick thinking paladin had pulled him out of the water, jerked the spear from his gut, and demanded he heal himself. He’d been too out of his mind with pain to do it at first, and he would have drowned without the paladin’s interference.
Afterward, when he’d healed the captives from Gale, he’d been thankful to be alive, exhausted, and looking forward to getting home again. When he’d finally returned home to something approaching normal, there’d been this…emptiness inside.
With a sigh, he stood and looked to the drushka who waited, watching the captives carefully. “Shawness?” one asked.
“Nothing,” he said. “They’re just…homicidal.”
The drushka spread his hands. Unlike female drushka, he had no poisonous claw, but the gesture was the same: anything was possible. “Some simply enjoy the kill.”
“But what are we going to do with them?”
The drushka grinned, showing sharp teeth. “We should release them inside the swamp, ahya. Many dangerous creatures for them to fight, and they will have their fill.”
And it’d be nice to give the old drushka a pain in the neck since they’d given Gale so much trouble. But these plains dwellers wouldn’t make it anywhere near the old drushka. They’d get eaten by something long before that. He chuckled. Cordelia would probably look on that as a good idea.
“I’ll talk to Cordelia. Maybe we’ll take them into the plains and let them go while they’re asleep. If they come for us again…we’ll deal with them.”
“Ahya.” The drushka gestured to his fellows, and they continued to watch the sleeping captives.
“Will you ask Pool to put me down?” Horace asked, wishing he could tell her like Simon could. Maybe a connection to the drushka would help him find some peace as it seemed to have done with Simon. Maybe learning how to fight would give him something instead.
When one of Pool’s limbs lowered him to the ground, Horace spotted Jon Lea waiting near the trunk of the tree. Jon offered a hesitant smile, but when Horace gave him a cursory brush of power, Jon wasn’t nervous at all. It seemed his taciturn face just wasn’t used to smiling.
“Jon,” Horace said with a nod. “Are you following me again?”
Jon’s smile widened just a touch as he held his hands up. He’d relaxed slightly since the last time he’d been caught following Horace around. “Just wanted to make sure you were all right.”
“I can take care of myself.” Horace wanted to walk away, irritated, but something made him linger. After Horace had saved Jon’s life in the swamp, Jon had taken to following him out of a sense of obligation. Horace first thought there had to be more to it, that Jon was in love with him or something, but he detected no sexual feelings, just a keen sense of admiration.
“I know,” Jon said, but he still stood there as if knowing something and acting contrary to it was the most normal thing in the world.
Horace supposed it was, especially to someone who seemed new to feelings in general. Or maybe he was just new to acting on them.
“Walk with me,” Horace said, heading for the gates of Gale.
Jon fell in step beside him.
“Have you ever…” Horace paused, not knowing how to phrase his question, afraid of giving offense or maybe opening himself up, but if anyone was likely to react calmly, it was Jon. “After a fight, after you’ve gotten past the relief and the adrenaline, do you miss it? I mean, do you ever find the rest of life…boring?”
Jon took a breath and narrowed his eyes, apparently thinking. With difficulty, Horace kept himself from taking a peek inside Jon’s mind; that was illegal as well as immoral. He couldn’t expect honesty if he wasn’t willing to take a chance on it.
“After a few fights,” Jon said at last, “you remember how tired they make you. But if you feel like fighting is your purpose, you start to look for them, and it can be hard when you don’t have one.”
“The tired feeling passes too quickly for me,” Horace said. “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t like seeing my friends get hurt, and I’d never wish a physical struggle on anyone, even if I was there to heal them, but…”
“Maybe you’re looking for purpose,” Jon said. “Another job might help.”
“Scrubbing the barracks like a new recruit?” Horace asked with a smile.
Jon shrugged. “I like to build models.”
Horace had a sudden vision of taciturn Jon Lea’s room being filled with complex wooden models, a side of himself that many people probably didn’t know.
“I don’t think building things would give me the rush I’m craving,” Horace said.
“Then it probably won’t help if I keep listing hobbies.” Jon stopped in the street. “Take a swing at me.”
Horace took a step back. “What?”
“Take your best shot. I won’t hurt you.”
Horace glanced around. The street wasn’t very busy, but everyone would gawk at two people fighting. Someone swore as she dodged around them, and one of the merchants who’d stepped outside was eyeing them curiously. “I…don’t think…”
Jon glanced around, nodded, and walked away. “Follow me.”
Horace did, his heart rate picking up, and his excitement building. He didn’t know what would happen when they got where they were going, but he was looking forward to it in a way he hadn’t looked forward to anything in days.
Jon led him to the Paladin Keep and around the back, to a large field of grass with some wooden equipment and a dirt track. A training field.
“Now,” Jon said. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to strike back.”
Horace’s irritation spiked. When would people finally learn, really, that he could take care of himself? It didn’t matter if Jon struck back or not, with his powers—
“No telepathy,” Jon said as if reading his mind. Horace’s face must have shown his feelings more than he intended. “No micro stuff. Just you and me. Take a shot.”
Horace put his fists up. Jon didn’t follow suit, so Horace took a halfhearted swipe at his chin.
Jon moved his head out of the way, and Horace hit empty air. “Keep your shoulders square, and turn a bit to the side, like this.” He shifted his stance. Horace followed suit, and when Jon invited a hit again, Horace put a bit more force behind it. Again, Jon evaded easily. As Horace’s excitement built again, he tried harder, but Jon barely had to move to stay ahead of him, giving advice in his even tone.
When Horace’s energy began to flag, he pushed harder, resisting the urge to reach for his power. As he began to slow, Jon’s tone shifted, becoming louder, more insistent, the tone he no doubt used when training recruits.
“Push!” Jon shouted. “Come on! Punch! One, two, one, two.”
Horace grunted and tried to hit with one fist then the other until he stumbled. Jon caught him and lowered him to the ground. “That’s enough.”
Horace breathed hard. “Am I…allowed to use…powers now?”
Jon nodded with that same tiny smile. Horace used his powers to refresh himself and give Jon a little bump, though Jon barely needed it.
“How do you feel?” Jon asked.
“Better.”
“Keep some of the tired. It might calm you down to live through a few sore muscles.”
Horace barked a laugh. Maybe that was his problem: his powers made fighting too easy. “Thank you, Jon.”
“Anytime. We can practice on the regular if you want. You should spar with someone knowledgeable until your form improves.”
Horace sneaked a micro tendril his way to see if he was teasing, but no. Horace’s form was terrible, but Jon’s words made it seem as if he could be better. That made him indescribably happy. “I should go report to Cordelia now,” Horace said. “She’s offered to show me some stuff, too.”
“She’s a good teacher.” Jon stood and reached as if he was going to offer Horace a hand, then
dropped it. Horace chuckled and stood. So, Jon was finally learning he wasn’t helpless. It was a start.
* * *
Cordelia supposed she should be grateful Horace had solved one mystery. The Naos captives weren’t part of any telepathic plot, just murderers on a rampage, and she had no idea what to do with them. Pool couldn’t keep them captive forever. Rather, Cordelia didn’t want her to. Gale wasn’t the police force of the world. And Cordelia couldn’t execute an entire group of people for nearly attacking her. She’d tried talking to them, convincing them that Gale wanted to be left alone, but she didn’t have Liam’s charisma.
The drushka watched for his return, but so far, no luck.
The captives shouted at her and threatened her, even when shown Simon’s power. In the end, Cordelia had no choice but to take Horace’s suggestion to knock them out, take them far into the plains, and drop them off. It was another stumbling block in her plan to go get Liam back. She had the drushka warn Wuran, letting him know these people might be coming through. She wasn’t surprised when Wuran brought his entire clan closer to Gale so they could all keep an eye on one another.
Cordelia wanted to press on and go after Liam, but Simon and Pool convinced her to wait, to give Liam a chance to make an alliance. It wouldn’t do Patricia any good to torture or kill him. And Gale was still shaken by recent events. They needed their paladins to stay put for a little while.
As a few days passed, the pall of anticipation hanging over Gale lessened. Naos hadn’t come, and people still had to live their lives. Crops needed to be tended; people needed to be fed, and life had to continue. Cordelia met with Simon, Pool, and the others to plan for Naos’s eventual arrival, but they kept coming back to not knowing what to do. The best option they’d come up with was to have the yafanai and Simon unite their powers as fast as they could through Cordelia, then launch a spiritual attack. They’d try to keep Naos as far from Gale as possible. While that was happening, the paladins and the drushka would attack her physically.
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