“When you, Adara, showed signs of being adapted, I hoped no one would notice. You, however, were a determined little thing. There was no keeping you in if you wanted out—and you would insist on roaming about after dark. The bias against the adapted is not strong in Ridgewood. We are too close to those areas like Spirit Bay and Crystalaire that the seegnur frequented, and the seegnur favored the adapted. But I feared for you. What if the Old One took an interest in you? Would you, too, vanish?
“I confided in Akilles, showed him Blithe’s letters. Though it broke our hearts to do so, we decided the best way to protect you was to hide you in plain sight. Bruin trained hunters. Far from being biased against the adapted, he was adapted himself. Moreover, we learned that he protected his students as closely a mother bear does her cubs. If you could be safe anywhere, you would be safe there.”
“But,” Adara protested, “Bruin was the Old One’s own student. He revered him.”
“That is what we meant by hiding you in plain sight. In Bruin’s care, the Old One would know of you, but he would also know that he could not touch you without risking alienating one of his most prestigious and well-known followers—a man who was known for teaching and protecting the adapted.”
“I see.” Adara fell silent, feeling reality as she had always known it shifting and reshaping. “You never told me.”
Neenay shook her head. “We couldn’t, because Bruin was the Old One’s follower. We had no proof, only suspicions.”
“You cut me off,” Adara said, not able to rid herself of her lifelong belief.
“Did we?” Neenay smiled sadly, her fingers wrapping around the shuttle. “Did you see matters that way? We felt you cut us off. Since we needed you to bond with Bruin, for him to be your protector, we accepted this, but always with sorrow.”
Adara pressed her face into her hands. Her voice muffled, she said, “I … I’m glad you told me. I only wish … But I see … Yes.”
Surging to her feet, she crossed the room in what seemed to be one step and found Neenay on her feet, arms open wide.
“Mother!”
“My little girl … Welcome home. Welcome home.”
* * *
Something happened between Adara and her mother, Griffin thought, something that has cleared the air considerably. I’m glad. Adara was so tense on our way here. It’s good to have that gone, now that we’re leaving.
After several days at Adara’s family home, during which time they had completed laying in needed provisions and updating their information about the region, the three had set out in the direction of Crystalaire.
“At least the road is a good one,” Terrell said as he guided Midnight to point. “Since Crystalaire was regarded as a major resort, not just a stopover, the road was designed to accommodate heavier traffic.”
As so often, Griffin found that his expectations for a “good” road and those of the Artemesians differed markedly. True, this road was often wide enough for them to ride three abreast, with Sam ambling behind. However, although the surface was graveled, it was not paved. Deep ruts had been cut by hundreds of years of coach travel. Since axle sizes were standardized—a tradition dating back to the days of the seegnur—the ruts provided tracks though which wheeled traffic rolled.
The road bed, drainage ditches, and rest stops were piously maintained by local governments who collected tolls for the purpose. Griffin thought these groups must surely see the advantages of good roads to modern trade, but every tax and toll collector loudly proclaimed their labors as demonstrations of fidelity to the wishes of the absent seegnur.
Although they could have joined a larger group or hired bodyguards—something they were encouraged to do at several points along the way—they decided against it. The fewer people Griffin interacted with, the better, since he was still inclined to be curiously ignorant about the most routine things. Then there was the problem of Sand Shadow’s effect on domestic animals, most of whom were convinced she intended to eat them at the first opportunity.
“Besides,” Adara said, “if we joined a caravan, we’d likely end up taking care of them—especially if anyone learned that Terrell is a trained factotum. They probably wouldn’t even pay him.”
“Also,” Griffin added, “since we plan to leave the main road before we reach Crystalaire, the fewer to miss us, the better.”
Several days before, they had decided to head directly for Maiden’s Tear. As Terrell put it, “Why give anyone the opportunity to formally remind us that the area is restricted, or try to stop us?”
Adara explained that if they were caught a claim of ignorance would be of no help to either Terrell or herself. Both hunters and factotum were indoctrinated as to the restricted areas, especially those in their immediate vicinity, so they would know to avoid them. Griffin might not be penalized, but he would certainly not be permitted to proceed to Maiden’s Tear.
No one said, although Griffin was certain they all thought it, that the Old One might have influence in the town and use it to have them detained. Given the length of the Old One’s life, it was impossible to know who might be in his debt or how far his influence had spread.
Although Crystalaire was the final destination for many of the travelers, traffic did thin out the higher they went, as merchants stopped along the way to sell their wares in villages or small holdings. They hadn’t seen anyone on the road for over a day, when the arrow impaled itself in the road only a few yards in front of Terrell and Midnight.
“Dismount. Step away from the horses and gear,” shouted a harsh voice from the cliff above. “Don’t try anything or the next arrow won’t miss.”
“Do as he says,” Terrell ordered, dismounting. He muttered something incomprehensible. Griffin had thought he’d heard all the curse words Terrell knew. This one must have been particularly vile. Even Molly pricked up her ears and stamped.
“Now back away from the horses,” continued the harsh voice. “Raise your hands. Keep them away from your weapons. I’m coming down with a few men, but we’ll have you covered.”
As they backed away, hands raised, Terrell spoke, his lips hardly moving. “Let them get down here. Once they’re in the middle of us, any archers will be useless. They’re not going to want to risk hurting the animals in any case.”
Adara’s expression was grim. “Sand Shadow was napping. It’ll take her a bit to reach us. However, they’ll find me harder to disarm than they imagine.”
A rattle of gravel heralded the descent of their attackers.
Griffin risked a quick question. “Do we try to take them out?”
“Only on my signal,” Terrell said.
Griffin understood. A factotum was trained to deal with such contingencies. Terrell would know best how to judge if this was a fight they could win or whether they needed to let the thieves “win”—only to learn how badly they had lost later.
The bandits emerged in a body from a cleft in the cliff, neatly hidden by a cluster of some small-leafed shrub. Griffin had wondered if they might have been hired by Julyan or the Old One, but discarded the idea once he got a look at them. They were a shabby lot, scarred and battered. They might serve as cannon fodder but, based on the organization he’d seen on Mender’s Isle, the Old One would never choose such riffraff for an important job.
He’d come himself before using men like these.
The bandit leader was a lean, wiry man with a vivid white scar from the left side of his forehead, down across his nose, and trailing to an end across his right cheek. He carried a narrow blade, somewhere in length between a short sword and a long dagger. Like many of the men on Artemis, he wore his hair long, but it was dressed in a tight braid, coiled so that it would not provide a convenient handhold in a brawl.
His band—five had descended—was equally unsavory. Two were big, broad, dark of hair and eye—probably brothers. One held a sword, the other a spiked club; both men looked ready to fight. The other two held long knives and weren’t nearly as impressive. One had a patch o
ver his right eye. The other limped.
Scarface cast a covetous eye over the three horses and mule. “I think we’ll accept the lot. The horses are noticeable, but we can drive them across the mountains and sell them there. Might keep the mule. Useful beasts, mules. Easier to feed than horses, too.”
“And us?” Terrell said, sounding very nervous. “You’ll let us go?”
“You’re more noticeable than the horses,” Scarface said, “more talkative, too. Be dicey trying to sell you. We can clear out with the goods and be gone before you can go screaming to the law in Crystalaire.”
For a long moment, Scarface’s gaze lingered speculatively on Adara, then dropped, seeing something in those amber eyes that made him reconsider whatever he had been contemplating.
“Patch, Dunny,” he ordered. “Grab the black and the roan first. Me, Bruiser, and Smasher will cover these kind donors to the poor, in case they regret their charity.”
But a curious thing happened when Patch and Dunny laid hold of the bridles. Neither horse stirred a step, not even when slapped sharply on the rump. Griffin saw Midnight bracing his hind legs as if enjoying this game. Not even when Scarface had Patch and Dunny trade places with Bruiser and Smasher would the horses move an inch.
Scarface looked narrowly at Terrell. “You’re being Mister Clever, are you? Have some command to make them stand?” He strode over to Terrell and pressed his knife into the factotum’s throat. “Well, uncommand them then, else you’ll be wearing a necklace of blood.”
Terrell’s voice shook very convincingly. “Very well. Don’t cut me! Drowsing nursing chair!”
The effect of the nonsense phrase was astonishing. Not only did the horses move—they attacked. Spinning in place, Midnight kicked out and caught Bruiser in the chest so hard that he flew across the road and crashed into the cliff face. Tarnish reared, dragging Smasher, who held his bridle, nearly off his feet. Then he arched his neck and bit the man on his shoulder. Gentle Molly squealed and backed away, but Sam the Mule let loose with every ounce of orneriness in his soul and charged straight at Scarface.
“Now!” Terrell yelled, pulling out his belt knife and running toward Patch.
“I’m for above,” Adara replied, vanishing up the cliff trail faster than any human should be able to climb. Screaming from above dispelled any lingering apprehension regarding arrows—and announced that Sand Shadow had rejoined them.
Dunny was angling toward Molly. Griffin drew his knife, wishing that he had a nerve burner. Still, he wasn’t about to let his horse be hurt or stolen.
“Drop the knife,” he barked. “You’re not getting away, so you might as well surrender.”
What Dunny might have done next Griffin would never know, for Molly—overcoming her fear when she saw “her” human in danger—reared and brought her forehooves down, smashing the man’s head and right shoulder. Then she snorted and backed away, reminding Griffin of a dainty lady who didn’t want to admit to a capacity for violence.
Griffin finished the downed man. Saving him would have been near impossible back in the Kyley Dominion. Here on Artemis … Impossible.
Over to one side, Sam the Mule was stomping on Scarface with every evidence of satisfaction. The hole Tarnish had bitten in Smasher’s shoulder had hit something vital. The bandit was a dead and very bloody mess.
Terrell had finished Patch and was now inspecting Bruiser. Seeing Griffin’s inquiring expression, he said curtly, “Broken back,” and cut the man’s throat.
Adara and Sand Shadow came down the trail. “Three,” she said. “All dead now. Judging from the stuff we found, no doubt that they were bandits. My guess is that they were probably moving west when they got a glimpse of us and decided that one more job couldn’t hurt. We’d better bury them. Otherwise, the bodies are going to draw attention.”
“And we don’t want that,” Terrell agreed. “Not so close to Maiden’s Tear.”
Griffin looked at the three horses and Sam the Mule. Despite being dappled with blood, they were all calm now—all but Sam, who looked as if he was hoping for another fight.
“Helena the Equestrian does some very fine training,” he said.
Terrell grinned. “Now you know why they don’t worry about travelling with a puma.”
Interlude: Generation
Germinating spore forms hyphae.
Hyphae (divided by septa)
Create mycelium.
Hyphal strings bring nourishment.
Fruiting bodies (cup, club, coral, capped, bell, shelf, jelly)
May emerge.
And be eaten.
Mother/ Father/ Male/ Female
Enfruiting bodies
Create a child.
To be eaten?
3
Maiden’s Tear
After the encounter with the bandits, Adara decided to confide her mother’s story to the others. After all, she might not be so lucky another time, and this was information they all should know. “I hadn’t realized until this visit that my mother knew the Old One many years ago—before I was born, even.”
“She did?” Griffin asked. “Tell!”
Adara did, concluding, “I didn’t tell my mother about what we found beneath Mender’s Isle. I doubt that her friend Blithe was among those we rescued. I hadn’t thought about it before but, other than Thalia the Stablekeeper, I don’t recall any more mature women among those we rescued.”
“Me either,” Griffin admitted, “nor any mention of such, even when Julyan was offering me my choice of bedmates—and believe me, he could get very detailed about what was on offer when he chose. I think he was trying to learn if I had any kinks he could exploit.”
“Griffin, you probably have a better feeling for the Old One than either Adara or I do,” Terrell said. “Not only did you live there on Mender’s Isle, but your view of him isn’t colored by his legend the way ours is. Do you think the Old One killed his captive women once they stopped being useful?”
“It’s very possible,” Griffin said, looking very unhappy. “He certainly couldn’t turn them loose without risking his secret getting out. When you think about it, rumors among the women as to what fate awaited the noncooperative would have provided a powerful incentive to obey. On the other hand, perhaps the Old One let it be thought he did let them go free—the promise of freedom would also serve to control those who remained.”
Adara heard her voice tremble when she spoke. Her mother’s story had made Blithe very real to her. “But, either way, you think they are probably dead.”
Griffin nodded. “The Old One had one use for them—as bearers of potentially adapted children. My understanding is that the children were reared communally—under controlled circumstances. He didn’t want them to know their mothers, nor their mothers to know them.”
“The Old One probably kept a few like Winnie,” Terrell said, his voice rough, “even after they ceased to bear, in the hope that they would recover from the abuse and be able to bear again.”
“After all,” Adara added, her voice dripping with loathing, “Little Swimmer and Littler Swimmer were proof of Winnie’s value as a brood mare. I’ve blamed my parents unfairly all these years. They did me a kindness when they sent me to Bruin.”
“My skin crawls,” Terrell said, brushing away imaginary bugs, “when I remember working side by side with the Old One, eating at his table, sleeping under his roof. I feel as if my skin should break out in a rash after exposure to such evil.”
“Ah,” Griffin replied softly, “but the Old One Who Is Young does not consider himself evil. He considers himself a scientist, a benefactor who seeks to lift the people of Artemis from the primitive morass into which they have been plunged through no fault of their own. He seeks to be their savior.”
“And if a few women and children die while he seeks the necessary key,” Adara finished, anger replacing the tremor in her voice, “what of it? More probably die each year from banditry in places where law has vanished. Or from natural disasters such as
flood and fire. Think how many more would survive if the technology of the seegnur could be made useful again.”
“I don’t want to twist my mind along such paths,” Terrell protested. “If I do, I’ll have to dunk my head in cold water to clear it. What say I tell you a more pleasant tale or two to pass the time?”
“It certainly won’t help to discuss the Old One further,” Griffin replied. “Maybe we’re done with him.”
Adara didn’t believe this for a moment, but she was willing to play along. “Terrell, tell the story about the farmer and the beans that grew chickens. I bet Griffin hasn’t heard that one before.”
* * *
Julyan Hunter was finding his association with the Old One uniquely trying. He agreed that disguising who they were was crucial, but he found the roles the Old One had suggested exceedingly distasteful.
After you had associated with the Old One for a while, it was easy to forget how young he appeared to be. Indeed, after a time, one forgot his slim build, his boyishly fresh skin, utterly unlined by time, forgot that he never grew a beard. Instead, one only saw those grey eyes, so cool, so calmly appraising, holding within them the calculations of hundreds of years.
Now, although the Old One’s hair remained uncommonly short (although longer than it had been and styled differently) and his eyes just as grey, his build just as slim, Julyan bet that not a single one of his former associates would recognize him. Before, the Old One had moved with a contained grace that wordlessly testified that he had long ago mastered his body. Now, not only had the Old One adopted the fidgety manner of a much younger person, he positively fluttered, moving his hands constantly, gazing up coyly through lashes that Julyan had never before noticed were quite long. Where the Old One’s habitual expression had been cool and ironical, now he simpered, pursing his lips and giggling girlishly.
Artemis Invaded Page 4
