A black sea-hunter swooped down from the sky and picked one of the urns up in its huge claws, then dropped it, cawing in disgust. I laughed at its confusion. We turned our hebras around and walked them quietly back to where Tom waited at the bottom of the path.
He looked at each of us in turn, balancing easily on his mount, as if he belonged here near the wild sea rather than working in Artistos. “When my mom died, I scattered her ashes in Little Lace Lake. She used to take me there to picnic, the whole Lace Forest spread around us, and just the two of us to explore it. It wasn’t, perhaps, very safe. But I always felt alive there with her. It felt good to leave her there.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
Joseph said, “Perhaps it will always feel special to be here now.”
This was a kind thing for Tom to do, to help us get here, and to know we needed our own private moment to wish them well. As we wound up the steep trail single file, I felt lighter, as if the urn had weighed far more than it truly did. My throat was raw from singing our way to the sea, but still I hummed softly to Jinks, grateful to her for carrying me here.
Once we reached straight solid path, Joseph moved Legs into a slow gallop and I followed, Tom behind us this time. The sun warmed my back. Jinks’s thick hide began to darken with sweat. I thought perhaps we should slow down, but Joseph was too far ahead to hear me yell, and I didn’t want to be separated from him. Jinks strained, trying to keep up with Legs, but we continued to lose ground. Tom was just behind us and I heard him yell, “Slow down, I’m passing.”
The grass suddenly parted in front and to the left of Joseph. Legs reared and leaped right, away from the path, screaming. Jinks’s head flew up. The tawny coat of a paw-cat, tall as a man, flashed across the path. I stood in the stirrups, looking for its pack mates.
A second wave of disturbed grass approached Joseph from behind.
Jinks jerked to a halt, throwing me onto her long neck. She swiveled her head quickly, her eyes passing over me, searching the grass. I urged her forward, after Joseph, clamping my legs tightly around her middle. She reared up, but she came down running, obeying. I blessed her under my breath.
Tom and Sugar Wheat shot past us, running full out, Tom urging Sugar Wheat on. His hand was on his stunner. It wouldn’t do much good here; the cats would be hard targets racing through the tall thick grass.
I clung to the saddle and looked for Joseph. Legs’s head, Joseph’s bobbing ahead and behind, raced through the grass, parallel to the path but twenty meters off. Joseph struggled to pull the frightened hebra back to the path where they stood a better chance of outrunning the paw-cats. Hebras are faster than paw-cats, but the advantage means more in the open. The Grass Plains hide rocks and depressions and small streams that can trip and slow the big beasts. Tom was following the first paw-cat’s grass track, still far behind.
Jinks and I pounded down the path, drawing parallel to where Joseph and Tom raced through the grass.
Jinks darted left with a scream that almost drowned the paw-cat roar that filled my ears. I glimpsed a big female ten meters ahead of us. Jinks wheeled and we were in the grass, too. I held my breath, not wanting to draw Tom’s attention from Joseph. My hands shook with fear. Jinks was their natural prey. Paw-cats didn’t eat humans, but they killed us if we were in the way. The cat was huge, and every movement it made was the graceful flow of impending death.
I couldn’t look behind, just hold tightly to Jinks, leaning forward, urging her on. Jinks wasn’t fast for a hebra, but the cat’s next roar sounded farther away. Jinks veered to avoid a pile of rocks, then stumbled as her foot caught.
The cat gained on us.
I tried to turn Jinks to regain the path, but she fought me and I let her flee, trusting her. She jerked and turned, twisting away from a second cat, heading back for the rocks. She chose well; we raced past the first cat, still going the other way. It snarled and whirled, huge paw slashing. Pain like an electric shock flared through my right leg, and then we were past it, gone.
We raced away.
Jinks’s breath sounded labored and she slowed under me. I looked back, but couldn’t spot the cats behind us. I heard them though, close behind.
Rocks loomed in front of us again, maybe the same, maybe different: two or three large rocks and many smaller ones making a three-foot-tall hill. Jinks gathered herself to jump. I knew, even as we left the ground, that it was too high, that I was too heavy. Her right foreleg caught on the top stone. She twisted, screaming, and I glimpsed one of her eyes flashing with fear as I tumbled over, clearing the rocks, sharp grass sawing at me.
Jinks screamed again, fear and then pain, and I knew at least one of the cats was on her.
I scrambled away. I’d be too low, I’d be lost in the grass and Tom and Joseph wouldn’t see me. The cats; the cats would find me.
I glanced back.
Nothing.
Which way was the path?
I ran, parting the grass, ignoring the sharp grass tips flailing my cheeks, my arms. The grass thinned in front of me and a smaller patch of rocks rose a meter and a half above the ground. A view. I leaped for the top, looking frantically around.
I’d been paralleling the path.
A cat’s scream from behind announced the kill, calling the pack to fresh meat.
I couldn’t see Joseph, but Tom stood in his saddle on Sugar Wheat, looking around, not far ahead of me. I waved my arms, and Tom’s head snapped around. A feral smile filled his face as he and Sugar Wheat barreled toward me. Tom leaned way down, holding out an arm. I grabbed it and he swung me up, hard, throwing me across the front of his saddle. The wide, low saddle bump dug into my side and I struggled to sit, managed a sideways position where I was in front of Tom, but between him and the saddle bump. “Joseph?” I called up to Tom.
“He’s safe.” Tom held me on with one hand, but every stride pushed breath from me, and it was all I could do to stay on, to breathe, and to not scream from the pain. The slash in my leg hurt. Joseph and Legs swung in noisily from the side, both breathing hard. Joseph’s white face searched mine. “Chelo—are you okay? What happened?”
Talking and breathing and bouncing, I managed, “They…got…Jinks.” I saw again the last look she’d given me, the fear in her eyes as she fell.
Legs and Sugar Wheat slowed. Moments later their hooves clattered on pavement. Safety. The cats were probably satisfied with one kill anyway, but the open expanse of pavement discouraged cats as well as grass. Paw-cats hated being in the open, being seen.
Tom stopped and climbed down, and I turned to sit properly in the saddle, gasping for breath. My side hurt from bumping up and down against the saddle, the claw mark in my leg screamed fire, and every bare spot of exposed skin was grass-cut. I couldn’t stop picturing poor Jinks, feeding paw-cats somewhere behind me.
Sweat streaked both hebras, and a long shallow slash curved down Legs’s flank, dripping blood. Joseph dismounted, too, and he and Tom walked together, leading Legs and Sugar Wheat. I wasn’t sure if I could walk at all yet, so I stayed up. My own leg dripped blood, matching Legs’s flank. Legs let out a long tremulous call and turned to look directly behind him. I swear he looked sad. “Do you think they know about Jinks?” I asked.
Joseph said, “Sure. They’re herd animals. They know about death, and when they’ve lost a family member.”
Tom reached a hand up to pat Legs on the neck. “And smart. Hebras are smarter than most animals in our databases. Not like us, but most of the animals from Deerfly didn’t communicate as well with each other, or us, as hebras seem to.”
We reached the watering station, and I slid off Sugar Wheat and sat on the warm concrete while they gave the hebras water. Joseph came over and helped me stand. “Are you all right?”
I nodded, testing my ability to walk by taking a few steps. I nearly fell. My right leg hurt, but it worked correctly, responded to my commands.
“I’m sorry,” Joseph said.
“Me, too.” I thought about t
he cats feeding on Jinks. Poor beautiful Jinks.
“That I wasn’t there to help you.”
Oh. “You were just ahead. If Tom hadn’t gotten there first, you would have been there.” My dry mouth had trouble forming words clearly, and I reached for my water bag and drew a mouthful.
Joseph turned to look at Tom, who stood by the water trough, rubbing Sugar Wheat’s nose. “I’m glad he was here. Maybe he will be all right for us.”
I smiled at that. “Maybe he will. He’s been good this trip.”
“He stunned at least one of the cats chasing me. It was close. That’s how Legs got scratched.”
“At least we’re all okay, everyone but Jinks. They started after you.”
He looked at me with a sudden tenderness in his eyes. “I couldn’t have stood losing you, too.”
“I know. We have to keep each other safe.” I hugged him, hard, and then pulled back, looking into his eyes. They were clear and sharp, very alive. “Let’s go clean up.”
Joseph helped me wash my cuts and the wide claw slash, while Tom cleaned up Legs’s flank. We stayed at the spaceport for an hour, calming the hebras, calming ourselves. The wide road back from here was safer than the narrow road from the sea, but the spaceport was safer yet. Finally, the sun’s fall toward the horizon pushed us toward home. We needed to beat the dark.
I rode back to Artistos behind Joseph. I’d always been afraid something would happen to me, leaving Joseph to fend for himself. I held him tightly, glad we rode together. Two of us in a saddle meant for one was a close, cramped fit. I scanned the grass for signs of danger. We saw nothing worse than small birds and rodents and, once, a thin grass snake slithering across the path. Our shadows were long in front of us as we started up the switchbacks toward home.
The boundary bell sounded sweet as we passed inside, and we stopped and looked back. The sky was sun-painted: orange and gold with a hint of deep red. The darkening plains looked like water again from this height.
We arrived home an hour later, after rubbing down the hebras and tending Legs’s cut. Destiny, the largest of our seven moons, shone full enough to light the river path as we straggled home from the barns.
Surprisingly, we found Nava at the stove, stirring a pot of stew. The warm kitchen smelled like onion and pepper and djuri meat. She glanced up as we came in. “Stile caught two djuri and brought us meat. I thought it would be good to have a meal together.” I couldn’t remember her ever cooking anything elaborate. It felt good to be greeted with warm homemade food. She narrowed her eyes and frowned at me. “You’re walking wrong. What happened?”
Tom spoke up. “We lost Chelo’s hebra to a paw-cat.”
Nava arched an eyebrow. “It looks like you almost lost Chelo.”
I collapsed into a chair, suddenly feeling dizzy, as if all the adrenaline had leaked from my body into the warmth of the kitchen. My hands shook. “Bruises, and a scratch. Tom saved me from worse.”
Nava glanced over at Tom. Her voice sounded strained, slightly angry. “I told you to take more people with you. You could have gotten them killed.”
Nice of her to appreciate that we didn’t die.
Tom ignored her barb and set the table. We ate quietly. The stew tasted wonderful, but I could only manage a few bites. After dinner, Joseph helped me clean up with hot water, which stung so much I danced. He frowned at me when he was done. “Should I use some medi-tape?”
“No. Let it breathe.”
“All right. But have Paloma look at it tomorrow.”
I climbed into bed, sighing as the soft mattress cradled my sore body, and instantly drifted off.
Some time later, pain from the bruises in my side jolted me awake. My stomach growled, and the spicy taste of the stew filled my empty mouth. I watched Destiny’s trail of light across my wall for a long while, trying to will myself back to sleep. Finally, I pushed up and limped out my door. I heard Tom and Nava moving around the kitchen even though the night was half gone. Nava’s voice carried to me before I reached the doorway; I paused to listen. “You have to succeed soon. We need to finish fixing our security and I just can’t afford the resources to do it the slow way.”
Tom kept his voice low and I had to strain to hear his answer. “We managed before we had Joseph’s skills. He’s hurting, Nava, he felt his parents’ death.”
“They weren’t his parents,” she snapped.
“He thinks so. They thought so, too. Why did you agree to take them if you didn’t intend to be a parent? They need protection.”
“Hmmm…like going out onto the Grass Plains and almost getting killed?” A pot banged against the sink. “It’s more likely we’ll need protection from them. They’re growing up, getting stronger. What will we do with them as adults?”
I barely breathed.
“What do we need protection from?” Tom asked. “They trust us, they help.”
Nava’s voice was pitched low, but firm. “You know how strong they are. How much they can do. Look at that wild woman in the woods. Can you imagine what damage five of her—or seven—could cause?”
Tom laughed softly. “And you think they’re just going to rise up some night and revolt? Seven of them against all of us? They need the colony, and the colony needs them.”
I heard dishes in the sink. I’d have to go in or go back soon.
Tom continued. “Try building bridges with them. Jenna hasn’t done any harm since just after the rest of them took off. She’s helped us.”
“Tom, she killed my father.”
I hadn’t known that. Tom’s voice was pitched very low as he said, “But Chelo and Joseph didn’t. Besides, you know it probably wasn’t Jenna.”
“If it wasn’t her, it was one of her kind.”
I heard footsteps coming toward the door, and rushed quietly back to my room, my hunger forgotten.
5
The Roamers’ Return
I didn’t get back to the science guild the next day either. Everyone worked together to protect the harvest and finish repairing damaged buildings, fences, barns, and pipes. So I dragged through bagging flour at the mill, my leg stiff, my head running over and over the conversation I’d overheard the night before. No wonder Nava had such a terrible time with us. I knew the emptiness of losing a father. Twice over. But how did that change the rift between her and me? Between Nava and all of us? The long day brought me no answers, just hands sticky with sweat and flour.
As soon as the end-of-shift bell rang, instead of walking home across the river to Artistos, I went behind the mill and crossed to the open space behind the wood shop and the smelter. The freight yard had already emptied out. The buildings were squat and utilitarian, metal or stone with no decoration.
The data networks ensure little privacy exists in Artistos, but we had adopted the freight yard as a relatively quiet place to meet. Here, the data net and warning bells nestled far out in the edge of forest, to avoid false alarms triggered by the normal activities of loading and unloading ore and cut wood, of moving materials, and so on.
Raw trunks of golden brown near-elm lay neatly stacked to dry along one fence. Large bins of reddish iron ore and black coal stood near the smelter. I walked across the open space, and pushed through the low branches of a tent tree on the far side, left standing for a shady lunch spot. Three long flat benches with no backs sat halfway between the trunk and the curtain of diamond-shaped foliage.
Minutes later, Bryan parted the long branches, stepping over and squeezing my side so hard I yelped. “Watch out—I’m bruised.” I laughed up at him, wrinkling my nose. “You smell like the hebra barns.”
He smiled down at me, but his soft brown eyes looked worried. “I heard about Jinks. And I saw Legs’s gash. Are you all right?”
“A little shaky.”
I stepped back and rolled up my pants leg. He looked me over, his eyes widening as he noticed the many tiny grass-cuts and then the tip of the long cat scratch. “You look pretty beat-up.”
“It will he
al.” And it would. We altered healed fast.
“So how’s Joseph? Was he hurt yesterday?”
I pursed my lips, seeing the darkness that haunted Joseph’s eyes, the way it lifted just when he climbed on Legs. “Actually, until the paw-cat attack, we had a pretty good day.” We sat side by side on one of the benches, close, but not touching. “Tom was with us, and he was kind to us both. And later, when the paw-cats nearly ate us, he may very well have saved us both.” I shivered, remembering. “But Nava got mad at him for it afterward.”
He raised an eyebrow. “For saving you?”
I sighed. “Not exactly. I think she’s depending on Tom to get Joseph back to work, and I suspect a paw-cat encounter didn’t seem like just the thing to convince Joseph to overcome his fears.”
“Ahhhh…” He stared up at the top of the tree. Points of sunlight fell between the leaves and danced on his cheeks. “And what do you think will?”
I shook my head. “Did I tell you Kayleen and I saw Jenna a few days ago? She told me to heal Joseph because he’s the key. But she didn’t suggest what he’s the key to.”
Bryan looked thoughtful. “It must have something to do with the way he reads data.” We’d often wondered why we six had been designed with the particular gifts we had. Stories of the war told us many of our parents appeared more altered than we were. There were tales of marksmen who could kill from great distances, of whole camps able to outrun and outhide and outshoot the original humans. One story told of two men with six arms each, another of a human who ran on all fours and used both hands and feet as weapons. Campfire stories, but they made us wonder why we seemed so normal.
Bryan paced, looking a bit like a paw-cat himself. “She probably meant the key to figuring something out. She uses riddles to goad us into learning new things. Remember how she tricked Kayleen into trying to beat Joseph at data stream games?”
The Silver Ship and the Sea Page 6
