She wrinkled her nose. “Ahya, you are also unique, shawness.”
He smiled back, thinking of Horace, someone to be unique with. God, he wished they could be here together now, safe, with nothing to ponder but a couple of unique drushka. “Your little tree seems to be growing fast, too.”
“Ahya. Now that I have a tribe, it wants to fit my needs.”
That was probably some kind of evolutionary tag being triggered through the telepathic connection. He wondered if she’d let him scan the tree, wondered if it was polite to ask. “When Pool comes back, do you think you’ll stay with her, with your old tribe, or strike out on your own?”
She spread her hands, the gesture that meant anything was possible.
And it was late, with more work ahead of them in the morning. “Well, the one piece of advice I remember from new parents is: rest when you’re able. I think it applies to new drushkan queens, too.” He rose and patted her shoulder. “You’re not alone, Shiv, and I don’t just mean Lyshus.”
She rose and wrapped her arms around him, burying her head in his chest. He stiffened, then tried to relax, awkwardly patting her back. When he stopped, she didn’t step away. Her anxiety peaked.
He floundered, thoughts racing. “Shiv?”
“I have been…lying, shawness,” she said, voice muffled against him. “My people do not lie, but I have done it, and I am sorry!”
He patted her again, his own anxiety wrenching up. He tried to push it down, letting his power soothe them both. “About what?”
“With my hands, not my mouth, but it is the same. I have hidden the truth, and now I will be alone with only Lyshus. Shi’a’na will hate me!”
He held her tighter, feeling again how very young she was. “She won’t. She couldn’t. Tell me what you did, and I’ll help you fix it.”
“I dyed his hair with berries and ash.”
He tried to make sense of that and failed. “What?”
She leaned back and stared before taking his hand and leading him into the study, grabbing the lantern on her way. Lyshus had curled up on the floor, on the roots of the sapling, his feet resting on the rug. The branches leaned over him, shielding his small body. Shiv dipped her fingers in the water jug on the desk before crouching and rubbing Lyshus’s head. She held up her hand, fingers colored reddish brown.
Simon knelt and peered at the sleeping boy, eyes widening at the sight of short, vibrant green hair under the brown dye. “A drushkan…king? Is that possible?”
Shiv curled her hands into fists and led the way back into the sitting room. “It should not be. Perhaps this is another reason queens do not bear their own children. Their every tribe member will be a queen!”
“Or a king.”
“I do not know that word! Males are not queens!”
He didn’t argue, trying to think what this meant. Drushkan queens had awesome telepathic powers but were only connected to their tribes or each other. They were hubs of communication. An entire race of queens? What could that mean?
Shiv ran her hands over her short hair. She’d grown it out some from when he’d first seen her, maybe so she’d look more like Pool. She seemed to have grown a bit taller, too. “If this happens to all who become my tribe, I cannot accept anyone! But drushka are not meant to be a tribe of one. And we cannot rejoin Shi’a’na’s tribe. She will not accept Lyshus as a queen. No one will! He will be as doomed as I to never have a tribe!”
Simon sent another calming wave, but she seemed to be brushing them off. “You can stay here with us,” he said. “With humans, I mean. Me and Horace, Cordelia, Liam.”
At the mention of that name, her face turned down in sorrow. When she glanced at Simon again, she seemed desperate. “Can you change Lyshus, shawness? Make him normal? Even if I lose him as my tribe of one, he can return to Shi’a’na. He can forget me and be happy.”
Leaving her all alone. Like he’d been on the Atlas, when there was no choice but Dillon. He couldn’t help embracing her again and thinking about what she’d said, what she was willing to sacrifice, her very purpose. “I…can try, but if I do, I could hurt him, maybe even kill him. Messing with biology like that is what caused the smarter boggins, and you know how that turned out.”
She planted her forehead against him again. “What shall I do, shawness?”
She couldn’t hide Lyshus forever, but Simon was too far out of his depth to give good advice. They needed Pool. “We need to tell your mother when she gets back. Maybe she can figure out what to do.” He held her close. “I don’t think she’ll try to hurt you, but if anyone does, I’ll help you both.”
She raised her head and smiled. “Thank you, shawness, for offering the safety of your hands. Perhaps the humans will be my new tribe. Or perhaps someday, I will make a tree for Lyshus as Shi’a’na made for me, and we will live in the swamp together.” She leaned against the table and stared at nothing.
Simon wondered if she was thinking about how long queens—and probably kings—lived, about how long she and Lyshus would be alone together. Even if they stayed with the humans, they’d lose friends to their long lives.
But not him, not Horace. With their powers, they’d also live a long, long time. He tried not to think about it, preferring to focus on the now even with its host of problems. “You won’t be alone, no matter what. Remember that. Now, try to get some sleep.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Only if you sleep as well.”
As if prompted by her words, he yawned. It had to be getting close to daybreak. “Good idea.”
She went back into the study. As Simon went to bed on the pile of cushions, he knew he’d still be tired when morning came. That was all right. He’d just sleep a little later. The crops could wait. With that happy thought, he drifted off.
Around dawn, when Evan began to cry for breakfast, Simon remembered that children didn’t care what his plans were. He pulled a blanket over his head, wishing someone else would take care of the problem, but Mila hadn’t arrived yet.
The bedroom door creaked open. “Simon?” Pakesh whispered.
With a sigh, Simon sat up, rubbing his eyes. “The crying baby annihilated the need to whisper, Pakesh.” He used a bit of power to cleanse his fatigue. It helped, but after a hard day, his body wanted rest.
Pakesh moved into the room, a sheepish grin on his face. “Should I take Evan to Mila?”
“I will.” Since Pakesh was used to babies, he was no doubt used to seeing breastfeeding, but Simon didn’t want to take the chance that he’d gawk at Mila and make her so uncomfortable she never wanted to come back.
Simon stumbled into the bedroom. Little Paul was sitting up in the bed, pointing at the crib and sucking his fingers. “Baby crying.”
“Yes, thank you.” Simon picked up Evan, grabbed the candle Pakesh had lit, and headed into the hall, trying to soothe Evan as he went, though he didn’t much care if he woke the whole temple. They’d soon be swimming in babies; they should get used to it.
He found the right room after only one wrong turn. Simon cleansed some of Mila’s fatigue, too, and eased the pain in her breasts. She fed Evan as quickly as he would eat, then handed him back, giving Simon a grateful smile before turning back to her bed.
Simon changed the baby’s diaper before leaving, shutting Mila’s door behind him. He took the long walk to the outbuilding where the temple residents left their laundry and put the dirty diaper there. When he shuffled outside again, he breathed deep in the morning air of the courtyard.
Evan had already fallen asleep, and Simon took a moment to listen to a quiet Gale. The sky was a featureless gray, and he couldn’t see the horizon from inside the walls. The only people who’d be up at this hour would be bakers, maybe farmers…and people with small children. With a sigh, he wandered inside again, picking up some food from the kitchen before going back to Dillon’s room. Dillon probably hadn’t known where the kitchen or laundry was. Would he have taken care of a crying baby so early in the morning? Would fatherhood have c
hanged him at all? Probably not. Even with an armload of offspring, Dillon would have depended entirely upon everyone else to do the dirty work.
Everyone was awake by the time he got back. Pakesh and Shiv were probably used to getting up early, living outdoors. And if he remembered correctly, all children woke up at dawn because they always did whatever was horribly inconvenient for everyone else.
“Morning,” Simon said as he entered. He handed the baby to Pakesh and set out the fruit and rolls he’d snagged from the kitchen. The bread was at least a day old but hadn’t been thrown away. He imagined everyone was going to be stretching food as far as it would go.
Lyshus stared at the rolls. When Little Paul nibbled on one, Lyshus grabbed another and crammed the entire thing in his mouth. Shiv sat forward and fished it out, replacing it with a piece of fruit.
She handed the bread to Simon. “These I do not think we should eat, shawness, but I thank you for the fruit.”
He nodded and set the damp roll to the side. Maybe Little Paul would eat it.
“Will you take Evan as your son, shawness?” Shiv asked.
Simon looked to where Pakesh was putting Evan in the crib and fought down a wave of panic. “I don’t…I’m not really the fatherly type. At least, I never thought so.”
Shiv spread her hands. “I never thought I would have a tribe.”
He sighed and thought about months of nightly feedings and breathing the dawn air. Surely someone in Gale wanted a baby. “What happens to a drushkan child if all his relatives die?”
“The tribe cares for him unless he bonds closely with someone.”
By the dim light leaking around the shuttered windows, Simon watched Pakesh soothing Evan. He pictured himself or Horace doing the same. And Dillon had asked him to care for the boy. It didn’t really matter what Simon had been thinking when he’d said yes. He’d still said it.
Plus, Evan was the child of Gale’s ex-god. People might want to use him for their own ends. He needed protection. “I guess we’re stuck with each other for the time being.” But being a father? Guardian, maybe. Friend? One day. That was much easier to think about.
And he didn’t have to think about any of it right away. “I have to reexamine the fields around Gale, and Pakesh has to come with me. Can you watch Evan, Lyshus, and Little Paul alone?”
Shiv slapped her thighs. “I have never cared for a human infant. They seem fragile.” When Pakesh walked back into the room, she smiled. “Perhaps Pakesh can stay?”
Pakesh beamed at her until Simon cleared his throat. “Sorry, he has to stay close to me until we can get his powers fully under control.”
Pakesh’s smile faded, and he rubbed the back of his head. “Um, there’s probably someone here in the temple who’s cared for babies, someone who could help.”
“I’ll let Mila know you’ll be alone,” Simon said. “We’ll come check on you as often as we can. And I’ll try to find you some meat. I think Liam mentioned a hunting party.”
Shiv mumbled something about wishing she was going with them. Simon had to pretend not to hear. He and Pakesh took turns doing a light wash in the bedroom, but the only clothes they had to change into were Dillon’s. Simon ignored the ridiculous gold robes Dillon had once worn; his shirts and trousers were baggy on both Simon and Pakesh. And that wasn’t the only problem. Dillon’s scent clung to them as it clung to everything, even after washing. Simon only managed to wear Dillon’s shirt for five minutes before he banged on their neighbor’s door, begging for clothing. He had enough to deal with at the moment. He did not need to be reminded of Dillon every time he drew breath.
When Simon and Pakesh were finally ready, they strode through the temple. Once outside, Simon breathed the morning air again, letting it calm him.
“Look,” Pakesh said.
Simon followed his pointing finger to a high wall nearby. He blinked at the graffiti scrawled there, and it took a minute before the words came into focus.
“The Storm Lord lives!” it read, each letter at least four feet high. “The pretenders will burn!”
He read the words again, frowning. “What the hell?”
Something hanging above the graffiti shifted in the breeze. Simon gaped at the remains of a scorched effigy dangling from a gutter. It had no features left, but after another look at the words, he knew who it was supposed to be. There was only one pretend god in Gale these days, mending crops and telling people the Storm Lord was dead.
Simon was so glad he’d decided not to wear Dillon’s clothes. He would have ripped them off at the moment. And the sight of them would have made the graffiti artists even angrier, a pretend god in the real god’s clothes.
“What does it mean?” Pakesh asked.
Simon took a deep breath, fighting the rage that spread through him like cancer. He pointed. “Pull that…dummy down, will you, Pakesh?”
“I don’t think I can climb—”
“With your power, please.” He tried to keep his voice calm, but threats got his blood up. He wasn’t pretending to be anything. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Dillon had done plenty of wrong, and he’d been a prick while doing it, but it seemed some people were still loyal. “Focus on where the dummy meets the rope and give it a yank.” He tightened his hold on Pakesh’s power, helping to focus the force. Even so, when Pakesh narrowed his eyes and flexed his power, he snapped the rope and hurled the effigy at the ground so hard it splashed mud up the wall.
“I did it!” Pakesh cried before he clapped a hand over his mouth. The sound echoed in the quiet morning air.
Simon clapped his shoulder. “Well done.” He focused on the graffiti. It’d been a long time since he’d used his power on anything that wasn’t alive, but he’d once shaped tiny metal needles with his mind. He could do this. He focused on the paint, let himself feel the wood behind it. The paint didn’t belong, so all he had to do was warp the wood so…
Bits of paint rained down like snowflakes. Simon exhaled and felt sweat stand out on his forehead. Precision took more concentration than he remembered.
“Amazing!” Pakesh said.
“Thanks, but I’ll stick to healing in the future.”
“Who did this?” Pakesh picked up the effigy and frowned at it before putting it in a nearby rubbish pile. “What did it say?”
“A vague threat about me, not important.” He wondered what more they could do. Pakesh could thumb through nearby minds, but the culprits were probably long gone. And such prying would not only be illegal in Gale; it would test Pakesh’s control to the limit.
Simon tried to focus on other things instead. “Come on. We’ve got work to do.”
With one more worried look at the wall, Pakesh followed.
Simon stopped first at the temporary well Pool had dug outside of town. To his surprise, Private Jacobs was already there, speaking to the workers who shored up the well’s sides.
She smiled when she saw him. “I was just on my way to see if you were up, Doc. Off to see the plants?”
“You can call me Simon, you know.”
She shrugged. “I’ve been calling people by their last names or titles for a long time, and I like it that way.” She leaned close. “My unfortunate first name is Meriwether. Even my last girlfriend called me Jacobs.”
He snorted a laugh. “Meriwether has a certain ring.”
“Yeah, one that says ‘playground punching bag.’” She turned and gestured one of the workers forward. “This is Clem. He’s been helping clean up the water.”
A ruddy-faced man put two fingers to his forehead as if in salute. “The water’s still cloudy, Doc, but we’re straining it before passing it out. I wish the queen drushka could have stayed longer.” He looked up at the bright blue sky. “Or that we’d get some more rain.” He gave Simon a sideways glance. “With a little less force, please.”
Simon grinned. It sounded like a restaurant order. “I can’t help you there, Clem.” He watched the work for a few seconds. Clem waited, watching him, and Simon
wondered if something else was expected. “Seems as if you’ve got a good system going here.”
“The workers are good’uns.” He beamed. “By the time people come looking for their morning water, we should have it.”
Simon nodded but couldn’t help doubting. As the sun was rising, the moisture had become trapped against the ground, stifling them in humidity. Simon supposed that was good because the water they’d collected wouldn’t evaporate, but it was going to turn Gale into a pressure cooker. People would need to drink more to stay cool.
But there was nothing he could do about the weather, as he’d said. He wondered briefly if any of the workers had been doing any nighttime effigy burning, but most of them paid him no mind, focused on their task.
He said his good-byes, and Jacobs followed him to the fields. Once he was among the dirt and plants, Simon kicked his shoes off and sank his toes into the soil. He sent his power out among the plants, bolstering, maturing, shooing away insects and any hints of disease. His happiest times on the Atlas had been among plants, and he sighed now, relaxing in the feel of them. They didn’t thank him, but they also didn’t argue or have demands.
And they didn’t hang effigies. With another sigh, Simon came back to himself and looked at Jacobs. She scanned the area around them, one hand to her forehead. Her blond hair was matted by sweat. Simon sent a cooling wave over them all before he called her over.
She smiled, her eyes kind before they turned hard as he told her about the effigy and graffiti. At last, she rubbed her chin. “I was afraid of something like this. I’ve heard grumbling.”
Simon’s stomach turned over. He’d hoped it had been an isolated incident. “Maybe the grumblers did the deed.”
“Maybe. You need to keep both eyes open, Doc.”
He sensed genuine concern, and it made him shift uncomfortably. “Not to offend you,” he said carefully, “but I have to ask, why do you care about me at all?”
She blinked. “I was there when you healed the whole town.”
“But you seem to take my safety…personally.” When she stared, he cleared his throat. “Like I said, no offense. I’m just curious.”
Children of the Healer Page 16
