Exile's Return

by Gayle Greeno

  “Why are they grouchy?” Kharm wanted to know.

  “I don’t know exactly, ” he tried to remember what Granther had said, “though at the beginning they did suffer more from the Plumbs than other areas. But sourness is ... sort of contagious. Be around a sour person who doesn’t respond to cheerfulness, and you’re bound to turn sour in self-defense. ”

  “Not a good place for Jaak and Tah’m to settle, then. They might be convicted of cheerfulness.” They were closing the distance to the lights, and Kharm stayed near, as she always did when they entered a new town. He liked the earrings they both now wore, a badge showing they belonged to each other. Jaak’s ear-piercing abilities left something to be desired; he cautiously touched his right earlobe, hot and puffy to the touch. Was Kharm enough, though? “Can you cure sourness?”

  “I’m not sure, ” he confessed, wished the ghatta weren’t so profoundly curious, at least when he was so tired. “The eumedicos used to have injections and pills that cured all sorts of things, according to Granther. ”

  “Well, if we can’t dose them with cheerfulness, we can dose them with truth.”

  Except all too often truth was a bitter potion. At his joyous shout Matty looked, realized Manuel had run ahead, legs flashing birch white, and a man broke from the center of the gathering. Manuel embraced the man, almost toppling him, but the man finally set himself solidly and bear-hugged the Shepherd, hosting him into the air. “Matty, Jaak! Move yourselves.” Manuel sounded short of breath but happy. “I want you meet Samson Denellen, Denny.”

  “A greeting like that and my back’ll crack like kindling,” Jaak laughed. “Not sure I’ll relish shaking hands, either.” He pantomimed a crushed, boneless hand.

  The enthusiastic hug surprised Matty, nothing begrudging about it, outgoing, not gloomy. Had Ruysdael changed since he’d been away, or had Samson “Denny” Denellen cured it of its sourness? He approached diffidently, hating to interrupt the outpouring between the two men. “Matty, come on!” How he was beginning to dislike that command, feeling sour as one of Ruysdael’s finest. “It’s the Blessed Lady’s intercession! Denny’s Ruysdael’s Conciliator—from a half-hearted, half-wit Marauder to this! Surely the Lady swayed his heart. And he’d welcome your talents.”

  As Denny explained, Matty’s brain shrieked for deafness, his body shrinking with revulsion, not at the man himself but at the injustice he related. Just like Neu Bremen, the problem was ensuring the guilty was punished. But Matty experienced a gut-clenching desire for vengeance, longed not merely to right a tragic wrong, but to punish it as well. Only the Conciliator determined punishment, but Matty ached with Ruysdael’s citizens to take matters into their own hands. A compact, no-nonsense sort of man, Denny’s brown eyes flooded with pain as he admitted he couldn’t clearly determine the guilty party. His normally merry face tinged green, Jaak looked sick.

  “But do you believe that Kharm and I can truly uncover the truth?” It was crucial that Denny trust him—and, more importantly, trust Kharm.

  “Your father says you can and I believe him.” Denny rubbed a bald spot, the natural counterpart to Manuel’s tonsure. “He’s developed some peculiar ideas and beliefs of late, but they’re not all bad, not by a long shot. Just different, hard to grasp. Many things exist in this world. that I don’t understand because I don’t think deep enough, but that doesn’t stop them from being right, being true.”

  “But will the townspeople accept Kharm and me? Will they believe as you do?”

  Denny polished his head more urgently. “Believing in mindspeech is a strange thing, even more so with an animal. You see, they’ve lived beside Resonants here—we’ve a few leftovers, offspring of those not invited to Marchmont. They’re weak, but stronger than the paltry mindtrances eumedicos offer, not that I blame eumedicos for doing the best they can. Swear it’s easier having an artist live next to a Resonant than it is having an artist live next to a technician most times, less squabbling, less tiffs. Resonants keep themselves to themselves for the most part. No, mindspeech’s not a problem if you’re tactful in its use—it’s an animal having it that’s downright odd.”

  His eyes implored Manuel for guidance. “But that larchcat, that ... what? Ghatta’s a female, you say? Mayhap if we present it as a special gift conferred by the very planet itself ... something we’re privileged to share ... well, it’s worth a try. Even acts of faith can confer relief. Between your father and old Denny, here, we’ll convince them.”

  And convince them they apparently had, Matty decided as they hurriedly finished eating, although no one had much appetite, given the wrongdoing to be judged. Now Matty found himself ushered through tight-packed bodies that contracted as they caught sight of Kharm. Wonder, curiosity, controlled longing greeted them, but neither sensed any hostility. “They’re desperate. Willing to chance anything different, anything to find the truth. This case gnaws at their hearts and souls, and they’d welcome sharing the burden. Too hard-headed, though, to passively accept persuasion without proof, and proof’s not easily found.”

  By now the rituals he’d devised in Neu Bremen with Rema and Flaven Pelsaert were almost second nature, and he appreciated their importance even more after seeing his father’s Bethel service. A ritual was like a river carving a channel for the faithful to follow. Tabard in place, Matty settled himself, laid the sword in position and drew it a hand-span from its sheath. Manuel handed him his staff, exhorting, “Remember you walk in the Lady’s footsteps.” Behind him, Denny cleared his throat, spoke the words that invoked his presence. Not identical to Rema’s but close enough. Comfort and discomfort at hearing them, knowing he and Kharm were on trial as well.

  A night wind flickered intermittently, laying its death-chill finger across vulnerable necks, making the torches flare in long streamers before snapping straight. It drove before it a sprinkle of rain and a crow cawed, raucous at the disturbance. Abruptly hostility engulfed him, his heart incensed that such vileness had revealed its face in Ruysdael, and he stared at those he’d search for the truth, grimly determined that justice would not elude him. But justice seemed a paltry term.

  “Never seek the truth in anger, never prejudge, even in your own mind.” Kharm looked not at him but at the circle of faces, and he forced himself to recover his poise, a calm dispassion. But to molest a young girl! The thought screamed through his brain. Why would a man force himself on someone who didn’t want him, a mere child at that?

  “Seeker Vandersma,” Samson Denellen moved beside a girl of perhaps eleven, willowy thin but budding, a hint of small, ripening breasts, curving hips a promise of future lushness. Dark blue eyes investigated nothingness, as if she were present in body but not in spirit, black hair curtaining her downturned face. “This is Priyani Vlaendren, and her grandmother, Mother Vlaen, we all call her.” Denny briefly touched the child’s head, as if to make her look up and acknowledge Matty; her body flinched, but nothing in her eyes changed. “She doesn’t ... she can’t seem to speak any longer.” Denny jerked his hand away as if her pain burned him, took a step back. “It’s as if she left her body untenanted, went somewhere else to live.

  “On your right is the plea-bringer, Bernard Osterkamp, nephew of Mother Vlaen, and first cousin once-removed of Priyani, or Yani as we call her. He accuses Aron Reyphin of raping the child, causing grievous bodily and mental harm. Further, he insists Mother Vlaen is not a fit custodian for the child, and that Yani should be placed in his care.”

  There was time, there was time, Matty assured himself. Take it slowly, get it right. Kharm would untangle the truth, but he had to discern the how and why of it, convince the others beyond doubt. Each needed the other to uncover the truth, resurrect it from its premature burial of silence and lies, restore it to life.

  “Mother Vlaen,” he kept his voice neutral, uninflected, “since I’m a stranger here, could you tell me as best you can what happened to Yani, and when, please?” Mother Vlaen looked about his granther’s age, although life apparently had tre
ated her more harshly. One of the original spacers, clearly, but all her superior training and knowledge from another world had handicapped her for this one, any sustaining grace destroyed, beaten down long ago by the pressures of daily life, her body wasted, white hair thin across her scalp. But the dark blue eyes showed more life than Yani’s, fire-bright with helpless rage as she restrained her granddaughter’s fluttering hand, aimless as a butterfly.

  “Three days past I sent Yani to fetch water from the stream, just as she always does each day. ’Twas near dark—latest I’d send her out alone—but we needed it for supper, for cha first thing the next morning.” Yani had leaned into her grandmother, and Mother Vlaen wrapped her arms around her, cradled her close to still her rocking. “Scared of the dark, she is, and didn’t come back, worry winding me tighter as night fell. Stood outside and called, but no answer. Finally couldn’t stand it any longer, got a torch and started looking.”

  She hugged Yani harder, “This world’s a dangerous place for children, but I never suspected that kind of danger. Thought we’d left such sickness behind. She’d been on her way back, that much was clear, the bucket beside her, the earth wet where it spilled. And she lay there, lay there—”

  “Where was she lying, Mother Vlaen?” he interrupted to give her a moment to collect herself, and because he genuinely needed to know where the path ran, who lived near whom.

  “Just at the far edge of Aron Reyphin’s garden. He came running when I cried for help. She was sprawled there, her clothes half-ripped off, blood between her thighs, bruises and bite marks all over her body. Bad bruise on her head as well, where she’d been hit, her shirttail ripped off and stuffed in her mouth. Someone raped my baby, the only one I’ve left in this world!” Her eyes were large, black with pain, pleading with her nephew, Bernard Osterkamp, “And I’ll not let you snatch her from me! No matter what you say, I’ve raised her well, done the best I could, but no one could have expected this to happen.”

  “Kharm, can you see anything in Yani’s mind?” How could he obtain any direct evidence from the girl if she were mute? To ask them to believe Kharm could read her thoughts was asking a great deal, and everyone around her could say anything without fear of contradiction..

  “Poor little child, poor baby. Why do humans do things like that?” Kharm soft-footed to Yani, let her tail caress Yani’s wrist. Despite her grandmother’s soothing, the girl’s arms were bent at the elbows, fisted hands protruding in puny defense, as if this time she’d fend off her attacker. A blink, the first obvious one he’d seen her make, and she focused on the ghatta, a quiver of a smile, followed by blankness again. Fingers unclenched to encircle the tail. “She’s built a wall between herself and the truth, and she doesn’t want it touched, doesn’t want to remember. I can break it down, but it will hurt, destroy the fragile peace she’s found.” Kharm sat abruptly, her tail slipping from the girl’s fingers. “It’s as if someone’s helped her find a precarious peace, a foundation to build on before knocking down the walls holding the truth at bay. Can you humans do that?”

  It took him unawares. “Mayhap Manuel could. I’m beginning to believe he can do things I never thought about, that his faith confers a special strength. But generally, no, not that I know of—at least not any more. He spoke aloud now, something to break the silence, reassure them he understood. ”And the girl—” he stopped himself. She wasn’t an inanimate object, a thing, she possessed a name. ”Yani can’t name her attacker or point him out, may not even remember who attacked her, correct?” He switched back to Kharm, hoped that Tah’m was telling Jaak what was happening. A few more raindrops pelted, then stopped. ”How are we going to find out who attacked her? Have you read the minds of every male in Ruysdael over the age of eight to determine the truth? And that doesn’t account for the possibility of an outsider passing through. ”

  “We’ve plenty of ways to find out. That’s why you’re smart and I’m even smarter. If one person doesn’t tell you what you need to know, we’ve others to ask. Don’t be so impatient.” She relented, but not by much. “And in case you wondered, Mother Vlaen doesn’t know who did it, either. According to her mind, if she did, that man would be nutless by now.” Puzzlement overwhelmed the ghatta, “Why would she steal his nuts? Why would he have nuts, he’s not a squirrel?”

  “Not that kind!” Matty exploded internally, heard Jaak give a belated hoot that he hastily smothered. He explained, quickly and succinctly, what the expression meant and the ghatta’s eyes widened. Kharm might know his mind inside-out, but apparently that was one expression she’d never encountered. From the corner of his eye he caught Jaak whispering to Manuel, saw his father’s grim head shake of agreement.

  “Bernard Osterkamp, as plea-bringer in this case, would you enlighten me as to why you believe Aron Reyphin guilty?”

  Osterkamp resembled his granther’s description of a sour, churlish Ruysdaeler—so apparently they hadn’t all changed, despite Samson Denellen’s efforts. Grizzled red hair cut short so it bristled pugnaciously, eyes popping with suspicions, voiced and unvoiced, and an abundance of chest and arm hair that messily spilled from the front of his unbuttoned shirt and rolled-back sleeves. Odd, despite the cold, for him to be so uncovered, unconscious of the weather, the rain that occasionally stung. He radiated displeasure like an oven, the rain nearly sizzling as it struck him. Despite his size, his voice was high-pitched and whiny, relentless as a buzzing fly. “Aron Reyphin’s always had a yen for the child. Spends as much time or more with her than he does with his own brood. Catch his face when he didn’t know you saw and he’d be mooning over her as she played with the other children, practically leching after her.”

  “Did you observe this frequently, Osterkamp? How did you happen to be there often enough to notice?”

  “I’m in and out, doing chores, fixing this or that for Auntie Vlaen.” He cloaked himself with a long-suffering, put-upon expression, wearing his duty for all to see. “Someone has to take care of her and the little girl. I’m the only other family she’s got.” And not quite masked by his concern was the thought he could well do without that part of the family.

  “Just the old woman, not the girl.” And Kharm said nothing further.

  “Are you sure those looks Aron Reyphin cast in Yani’s direction were truly lustful? Or was he simply a father with enough love in his own heart to encompass another child in need of affection?” How did Osterkamp know so much about lustful looks?

  “Then ask Auntie Vlaen, ask him what he’s been doing over there practically day and night since Yani was hurt! Holding her close, whispering in her ear, stroking her. Got himself in the perfect position to take her whenever he wants now. And the old lady’s aiding and abetting him!” Bits of spittal exploded from his mouth, the pop eyes ablaze with something closely akin to jealousy. “You know what he is, don’t you? Beyond being a child molester, I mean. Thought we’d gotten rid of them all, but no, we’ve been holding a whole nest of them to our bosoms right here in Ruysdael. Reyphin and his whole family are Resonants!”

  Ejaculations and jeers from the crowd, but whether directed at Reyphin or Osterkamp, Matty was unsure. The mutterings died quickly as Denellen moved through, restoring order. “It’s him, isn’t it, Kharm? Osterkamp, I mean. You haven’t said so, but somehow I can sense it. As if he were a rutting bull pawing the ground, desperate to get where the

  heifers are. ” He recognized that lust a little, could acknowledge a touch of it as he remembered Kharm going into heat when he’d been staying with the Widow. Kharm had gone into heat again in Roermond, but it hadn’t been as bad; he’d been prepared for its effect on him, and she seemed to have taken her confinement better as well. Rather as if she knew it was worth the wait for Tah’m to mature. ”He’s dragging in Resonants to cloud the issue. ”

  “Yes, and he’s not going to confess. He feels no remorse, only wants it again and again and again. That’s why he wants to take Yani from Mother Vlaen. Have her at his beck and call, in his bed whenev
er he wants, and in the state she’s in, she won’t make much protest.” The ghatta was poised to spring at Osterkamp, her tail thrashing, ears laid tight, claws shredding the earth. “Help me, Matty! We have to prove it’s him beyond a shadow of doubt. Proving Reyphin innocent isn’t enough because he’ll still be out there, lurking, taking her or other children.”

  Osterkamp smirked, a triumphant grin that highlighted. a gap just behind the eye tooth on the upper right side. Somehow its lack made his expression even more leeringly wanton. “You do know what Resonants are, don’t you, Vandersma? Ought to, boy, your grandmother was one. Ask your father if you don’t believe me. Least she had the good sense to move to Marchmont, even if your grandfather stayed behind. ’Course, in all fairness to old Amyas, I don’t think he is one—no doubt his wife warped his mind into believing he loved her.”

  “I don’t think my heritage is at issue here, Osterkamp. Yes, I know a little of what Resonants are, but that’s past history.”

  “Thought you might, especially if you think to make us believe that larchcat can read minds, discern the truth.” Matty found himself fixated by the gap in his teeth, losing the thread of the conversation. “No doubt you’ve a touch of it yourself, like Reyphin and his brood here. Weren’t good enough to make the cut, go to Marchmont. Not real, true Resonants, but Gleaners, just able to glean bits and pieces out of peoples’ minds. Bothersome, troublesome, but not dead-dangerous like the others. Sure, Resonants could harvest a mind clean if they chose; you, you’re just after the leavings. Want to use that oversized cat as a front, fine with me, as long as you find Reyphin’s guilty.”

  Matty fought the urge to spit in Osterkamp’s face, at last turned toward Aron Reyphin, afraid his disgust still showed. The man, despite his own cares, looked back sympathetically, as if he sensed how Matty felt, wished he could ease the burden. “Mr. Reyphin, you’ve been spending a great deal of time with Yani and her grandmother since the incident took place?”