Finders-Seekers

by Gayle Greeno

  Earlier, Bard, Jenret, and the ghatti had patrolled the grounds, working over every centimeter of the barn’s interior before the bodies had been moved. Bard, economical and thorough with every movement, Jenret cautious and distant, hanging back at first, then taking the lead, casting across the stained and gouged earthen floor for any signs. Too many had trod in and out already, obliterating clues. But they had scouted some footprints foreign from their own. Two different pairs of boots, one with run-down heels, the other nearly new with their sharply defined edges, and scuff marks from soft-soled boots, more like moccasins, perhaps the flexible, high leather lace-ups that woodsmen wear. And when Doyce had entered reluctantly to hear this news, she had found Jenret braced on a stool, face burrowed deep in the comforting tan flank of a cow, methodically milking her. No one else had remembered to ease her discomfort on this of all mornings. How deft his hands were. Astounding, in fact, that someone she considered the epitome of a city man should know how to milk.

  Finally, sitting uncomfortably around the once hospitable kitchen table, drinking scalding strong cups of cha, they discussed what little they knew. The old man, Nathan Cummins’s father, now joined them, sobered by dint of cold water and a long walk, his arm slung over Harrap’s shoulder, the Shepherd dragging him along until his feet finally began to pace on their own. Hot, strong cha served to revive the rest, for they now realized that none of them knew precisely what, if anything, he had seen on his arrival with Ma’ow.

  The garrulity of liquor having deserted him, Cummins Senior, a retired hostler—they had learned his occupation but not his first name—would rather have been long gone from here. Doyce sympathized with his woebegone expression, knowing she too would rather be elsewhere.

  “Ma‘ow and me come bursting into the yard with the wagon and team. I’d been whippin’ for all I was worth. Ghatt’d yowled all the way like a steam whistle hooting and screeching, but then he fell silentlike. And just as we pulled in, three men came running out of the barn toward the wood. One acted bad hurt, the old’un, I’d say, because one of the others had him propped up, looped his arm round his neck. Other one carried something in his arms close an’ precious, looked like a white fur rug against the dark of his clothes, all’n black like the gen’mun here.” He swallowed cha in a mighty gulp and rolled his eyes at the heat, beads of sweat forming on his balding pate and forehead.

  He took another mouthful, sucked air through parted lips, his grimace making it clear he preferred it laced with rum. They wished theirs were as well, but the rum was gone and Asa kept none in the house. Asa never needed liquor to be drunk on life; even at Myllard’s he had quaffed Fala’s fruit punch or water.

  “Ma’ow tried to light off after them, but his legs give out. And I was afeared it was his heart again. Didn’t know what Nathan’d do to me if I come back with the ghatt dead. So I stayed by him a bit, then got the lantern and slipped real softlike into the barn, unshuttering the light just a crack. Could feel the ghatt with me, reading me, even though he wasn’t there beside me. You know what we saw.” He hunched his shoulders and stared at the table, as if the plain, homey comfort of the wood would erase the sight, dabbed a finger at the wet ring from the cup, unconsciously making patterns. Doyce poured another round of cha for everyone, and they all stared into their cups, as if the swirling leaves would pattern the answers they sought. Seek. Seeker.

  Unexpectedly, everything within her united, her brain reconciling itself with her body, the strange detachment gone. She held out her hand, fingers splayed, stared at it front and back, pressed her lips to the steady throbbing line of blue at her wrist that indicated life. Knew what she did, why she commanded the hand to move, to act, not react. Everything glowed new-minted to her, the pine tabletop, silvered gray and smooth from many scrubbings, yet veined with a harder grain, like pond ice with wind ripples frozen within. She ordered her hand to grasp the cup with its rose patternings of improbable birds and tropic flowers, lift it to her lips so that she could inhale the scent.

  The four men, so different: Bard, with his smooth, unlined maple-sugar skin and smoke-haze eyes sharing the kitchen space companionably yet gravely; she’d known him longest yet knew him least of all, just the surface. Pray that she would have time to rectify that, to know him and his twin as individuals as Oriel had. Harrap, broad chest and paunch straining his Shepherd’s robe, striving hard to give comfort yet in need of solace himself, still terrified from his unprecedented Bonding with Parm; old Cummins Senior, involved by accident and good-neighborliness, body wound tight with the need to extricate himself and his son’s precious ghatt to go home, duty done. And Jenret, deliberate and correct but remote, shielded as he struggled to decide whether to continue as a distant observer or return to the world his body so precisely inhabited, a choice she knew too well. Come back, you can’t escape it this way. Objectivity cannot cancel the pain, honest emotion can make it bearable, she wanted to say. But the unspoken words evoked a dangerous intimacy of feeling and he stood as a stranger to her.

  Finally, Mahafny, looking more open, more human, more perturbed and troubled than she’d ever seen her. What had brought Mahafny here, pushed her to the point that these past two days had awakened her to the fact that her stable, scientific world of disciplined order could crumble as rapidly and unpredictably as any other human’s life did? A wave of pity for them all swept over Doyce. But no, pity indicated superiority, and she was anything other than that, anything and everything but.

  “Where are the ghatti?” she asked, her question unpremeditated but bursting ahead of all others.

  Bard set his cup down. “Out burying Wwar’m and the ghatten. They insisted on doing it themselves, I don’t know where. It seemed right to let them.” He looked to her for agreement and anticipated her next question. “The other little one is doing as well as can be expected. He’s tucked in the hamper by the stove. Ma’ow says there’s not another nursing ghatta within leagues, though Nathan’s hound whelped three days past. It’s not perfect, but it’s the best we can do if she’ll accept him.”

  She spread her hands, palms upward in supplication. “Lady knows what he’ll be like after he Bonds, if he Bonds.”

  “If he has the strength to survive this, perhaps one of the best you’ve ever had.” As if realizing that she of all people had no right to be an authority on ghatti, Mahafny rushed ahead. “Human or ghatti, breeding always tells.”

  Khar, M’wa, and Rawn marched through the kitchen door, their bodies protectively flanking a fourth ghatt. Registering their presence, the group swung around as one and Doyce gasped. Encrusted in dried mud up to its belly, its coat ragtagged with burrs and leaf and stem fragments, the ghatt in the middle wavered on its feet, emaciated, ribs poking out, its spine a necklace of bumps down its back. Saam! Saam, exhausted but alive after what had clearly been a long and arduous trek.

  She threw herself out of her chair, knelt to hug him against her thighs, casting her mind out and waiting, craving the sound of his mindspeech, but she heard nothing. No communication, no voice. She slid down a smooth, impenetrable wall of silence, no cracks or holds of recognition to sustain a hesitant grasp.

  “No, he still can‘t,” Khar interjected. “But he felt something was wrong over an oct ago and started traveling. Slipped away from Mem’now in the night. He can’t explain what or how he knew, just that he did, and that he had to come as if he were dragged at the end of a rope. He says he’s sorry to burden you, but could he have a bowl of milk?”

  Jenret dippered milk from the fresh bucket he’d brought in, and, much to Saam’s dismay after he had drunk, Bard scooped him up and deposited him in a washtub where the ghatt stood belly deep in warm water left from the kettle.

  “It’s the only way. can’t have him licking it all off and filling himself with mud,” Bard apologized to the room at large as he scrubbed and rinsed. Eyes pinched tight, whiskers flat against his screwed-up muzzle, Saam balanced on tiptoes to raise himself as far above the offending water as possib
le, stoically making no move to escape. With the exception of Rawn, the other ghatti shared his expression of discomfort, and Doyce remembered stories she’d heard that the large black ghatt had been trained as a fisher ghatt.

  “Now what do we plan to do about all this?” Jenret’s frustration hammered at them, and everyone turned. “Go back as a delegation and inform Headquarters? Too many things have been happening too rapidly: Oriel’s death and disfigurement, Saam’s loss of speech—yes, Doyce, I attended the funeral, though you didn’t see me. What condolences can you really offer at a time like that? I left as soon as the service finished. But I heard the gossip then and in town over the next few days, if it’s gossip to share your fears about things that make no sense happening to those you love, and Oriel was loved by so many. The whole town whispered the secret, and the part of the secret that grew, expanded with each telling, said that we Seekers were stymied by what had happened to one of our own.

  “Then Parm’s new bonding with Harrap and Georges Barbet’s defection; and now this, the cold-blooded murder of three people, one an ex-Seeker, and two ghatti. I don’t know if they’re related, but isn’t it uncanny that they’ve all occurred in such a short time and in such proximity to each other? We really aren’t that distant from where Oriel died, if we aimed straight at it instead of following the circuit perimeter.” Jenret sat rigid on the edge of his seat, ready to pounce and attack anyone who disagreed with him.

  Mahafny cleared her throat. “Without dealing with the cause, which we can’t know, but concentrating only on the relationship—if there is any—I fear I can tie one strand together.” She reached gingerly into the pocket of her white coat, now stained by the long ride and the morning’s labors. “I apologize for not mentioning it sooner, but it slipped my mind in the press of things.” Pulling her hand clear of her pocket, she displayed a sharp, lethal-looking instrument on her palm, and the others craned to see better.

  Staring at it critically, Jenret commented, “It doesn’t look near big enough to have inflicted the wounds on Asa and Wwar’m. Sharp enough, yes, but not easy to wield in a fight. Whatever it is, it’s meant for more delicate work.”

  “It’s a trepanning instrument,” Doyce stated levelly, gauging Mahafny’s unruffled expression, trying to read her intent. “Where did you get it?”

  “What’s a trepanning instrument?” Puzzled, Harrap stretched a tentative finger toward the gleaming instrument, wary of the edge.

  “It’s used to open the skull to relieve pressure on the brain or to reveal a blood clot.” She answered without looking at Harrap, refusing to take her eyes off the eumedico’s face. “Now where did you get it?”

  The older woman’s mouth twisted in a frown. “I found it when I went into the barn the first time. When I knelt to examine Asa I nearly sliced my knee open. I didn’t think, just picked it up and popped it in my pocket.”

  “It’s not from your own surgical kit?” The distrust welled up inside her. What business drew Mahafny to Cyanberry yesterday, only to become involved with Harrap and Parm? Why had she rushed here to bear witness to the deaths of Asa and the ghatti? Why was a eumedico so irrevocably enmeshed in Seeker affairs and troubles?

  “Doyce, enough!” Jenret commanded. His black-clad arm sketched an elegant sweep that brought Mahafny back within the compass of people around the table. “Then, madam, I take it this instrument could be used to ... remove a brain?”

  “No, but it would help expose it, beginning the process.”

  “Then it seems likely that the three men Cummins here saw running away hadn’t finished with their task. If he and the old ghatt hadn’t arrived when they did, the bodies would have been further desecrated.” Standing, his dark presence riveted their attention. “Is there more we should know?”

  With an underhand toss, Mahafny flipped the trepanning instrument onto the table where it landed with a thunk, everyone’s eyes involuntarily following the motion as the shining tool came to rest. “Doyce can tell you about the other possibility.”

  Damn her, damn her beyond the furthest reaches of the Lady’s starry realm, Doyce exploded savagely but silently. The wonder teacher, ever full of new and striking insights, capable of expanding the boundaries of their meager knowledge! And treading now at a boundary where she didn’t belong!

  “Well, Doyce?” And worse, Jenret taking his cues from Mahafny, model student to the model teacher.

  “Some of the wounds on Asa’s body and on Wwar’m’s were atypical. Not consistent with the apparent instrument or instruments used—a sword or knife.” Her words were reluctant and, she hoped, somewhat obscure.

  “Girl, say what you mean. We know already.” Everyone except Mahafny and the old man started and stared at Ma’ow, curled beside the hamper containing the ghatten. “I’ve lived a long, long life, too long by our counting, and now I’ve had to live to see this.... There is a rogue ghatt loose, allying himself with humans no better than he. I sniffed his sign on the doorjamb as soon as we arrived. The others smelled it, too.” The ghatt spat weakly, and the other ghatti shifted and twitched.

  Body low in deference, Khar hesitated, then spoke. “Was it wise, venerable one, to tell them? It is something. we must avenge ourselves.”

  “It is too much alone. You are too young, you have not spiraled high enough to understand how much is at stake. Evil flowers in both races, ours and theirs, and it will take both Seekers and Bondmates to destroy it.”

  With growing despair, Doyce released her breath. She had seen, had known, and denied her senses. And if one evil mind existed amongst the ghatti, could others be hidden as well? Insane to damn the entire breed because of one flawed mind, like saying that one human thief or murderer sullied and discredited the whole human race. But humans did not view the ghatti as they viewed other members of their own race. Swan Maclough had worried about the ghatti being viewed as frauds, discredited, no longer trusted to know the Truth, but it boded even worse if a ghatti could pervert the Truth, destroy and kill in conjunction with its Bondmate. The danger of dishonor, disbandment—and death—had increased a hundredfold if the public learned of this perversion. Her course was clear now—find the truth or die trying, not wait for it to find her on this parody of a circuit.

  The others sat without stirring, waited for her to speak, to confirm Ma’ow’s words. “You were right, Mahafny, the ghatti verify your suspicions. I apologize for doubting you. And I’ll tell you all this much more: Khar and I are not riding back to Headquarters, we’re going to ride after them. The trail can’t be that cold, and once we find them....” Her hands convulsed, wringing at empty air.

  Not the cold trail after Oriel’s death, not the mindless repetition of a circuit, feeling like a clapperless bell, needing to be struck by outside forces for a chime of recognition. She felt a tocsin of anticipation and danger pealing in her blood. Honor—hers, the Seekers Veritas‘s, Khar’s, the ghatti’s ... and Oriel’s. I cannot run away and hide this time. It’s not simply my involvement, there are too many others I hold dear. Find Asa’s and Wwar’m’s killers and I’ll have Oriel’s as well, the answer I promised Oriel I’d find. Not to suffer in ignorance but to know the truth. “We leave now!”

  “But not alone; right, Bard?” Jenret loomed dark beside her, closer than she liked, his presence shadowing the wild singing joy of solitary danger. She retreated a step to regain her strength of anticipation but held her ground. “There were three of them and one ghatt, although one of them may have been hurt. You don’t know where you’re traveling or how far or what you’ll face, and you must not face it alone if you’re to succeed. And succeed we must.”

  “But the Seeker General gave me the charge! Oriel was my friend, my lover! Saam is Oriel’s Bond and my friend as well. I’ll take Saam with us if he will, but that’s all I’ll drag into danger, no others! I can bear no responsibility for other lives, only my own.” She stoppered her shout and rubbed nervous hands along her temples, twisting her hair back behind her ears, and then, low and wa
rning, “Not you, and not Bard!”

  Bard’s neck corded with tension, his face tight-drawn with some inner conflict. “Jenret has the right of it, you must not go alone. The Seeker General’s charge to find the truth involved six Seekers, and I am proud to be one of the six.

  “But I must go back to Byrta, I must! When you first had Khar call me to succor Harrap and Parm, I had already had a message from Byrta. Not through M‘wa and P’wa, but directly.” Embarrassment and pride twisted his features into a lopsided grimace, but growing pride smoothed his discomfort at the intimate revelation. “You know we are twins, that we are so close as to be one sometimes. I heard her cry, shared her pain when her horse shied at a partridge that broke cover and she was thrown. Her leg is badly broken. When she heard the news, she insisted I ride ahead to Harrap, but I promised to return as quickly as I could! I could not even reach Harrap before I raced here! I am being pulled farther and farther away when she needs me most!” Supple golden-tan hands swept outward to encompass his thoughts. “I could not anticipate that I would be a part of this, but what could I do! I must serve! I will serve! But now I must see her—even for just a little while—and then I will catch up with you. Her pain courses through me as if it were mine!” Mute appeal as he begged their understanding.

  “I know, Bard, I know. No other reason could keep you from my side. You both loved Oriel, too. Go see to Byrta, make sure she’s well, then ride like the wind to Headquarters and give them a full report, ask their advice while I ride on. Have the Seeker General caution all the ghatti about what they transmit over the mindnet, for we don’t know who might be listening.” She trapped one of Bard’s agitated, thin hands and held it tightly for a moment to emphasize her concern. “Give Byrta my love.”

  Jenret prowled and poked through the cupboards, doors creaking at his touch. He jerked them open savagely, twisting the knobs as if snapping the necks of quail. Most yielded to his touch, balking him of his anger, but the last door creaked and stuck, and he yanked at it, felt its resistance as winged vibration, beating, beating, echoing through his hands, up his arms and neck until it reached his temples, no escape until he finally slammed it against the wall. The internal quivering that had assailed him since early that morning began to subside, absorbed by the sympathetic vibrations of the door. It eased him toward normality; he gathered food, supplies, scooped various items against his chest, into the crook of his arm, preparing. “That’s one you’ve disposed of very providentially, Doyce, but you haven’t disposed of Rawn and me.” A lock of dark hair had sprung loose again, making him look like a rakish brigand bent on bending her to his will by brute force or charm, whichever proved needful. “You can forbid me to join you, but you can’t stop me from following you. And one morning you may wake up and discover that you are following me!”