by J. D. Lakey
Cheobawn picked her way carefully around the fat birds to the nearest bush and plucked a golden berry from a branch just before a small chikchik could claim it. The bird scolded her in half-hearted annoyance but Cheobawn ignored it, popping the berry into her mouth. Its flavor burst out onto her tongue, warm and sweet with just a small bite of bitter. She chewed slowly, trying to remember every nuance of the moment, then swallowed and smiled. There was a delightful fuzzy aftertaste that she did not remember from the gorgeberries she had eaten at home. Perhaps things always tasted better, plucked fresh off the tree.
She was tempted to stuff her mouth but starting the fun without the remainder of her Pack seemed rude. While she waited she gathered moss, lining her basket with it, to make a soft nest for the fernhen eggs she meant to collect on the return home.
By the time the rest of the children emerged from the green tunnel, wet, tired, and highly annoyed, she had shed her pack, boots, and gaiters and was digging her bare toes deep into the carpet of damp moss while nibbling on a handful of berries. Megan straightened with a groan, looking cross, her curls plastered to her sweaty face. Cheobawn grinned at her Pack and held out her hand.
“Hurry, before the birds get them all,” she said out loud, foregoing fingersign.
“Shhh,” hissed Megan.
“Don’t worry. The grass keeps the sound inside,” Cheobawn said. “We can relax and have fun.”
Alain and Connor did not need a second invitation. They shed their sticks and their gleaning baskets, dropping them as they ran towards the nearest bush. A small cloud of insects rose lazily from under their feet. Alain won the race, elbowing Connor aside with a growl. The smallest boy, resigned to being the low man in the hierarchy of his demi-Pack, switched direction mid stride and headed for the next bush. There were many bushes and many berries. Far too many for a trio of ravenous small boys to devour in one sitting. The contest for position could be postponed for one more day.
Tam and Megan, taking their rank seriously, followed more sedately, perhaps being more reluctant to be weaponless. Tam scowled after the boys as they wandered off into the grove, a worried look on his face.
“We are safe here,” Cheobawn reassured him, chewing on a berry. “Nothing big can get in past the tubegrass. Ask Megan.”
Megan shrugged.
“We are in a gray area,” she said.
“Huh?” The look on his face said something of his dislike of surprises.
“From the moment we deviated from the official foray plan, the ambient went gray. That means we are in a bit of danger, but only from the adults back at Home Dome. We are in trouble, but we knew that the minute we handed in our foray form.”
“But are we safe here?” Tam asked again.
“Hmm, depends,” the older girl said as she plucked a berry and placed it delicately in her mouth. She closed her eyes and sighed. Tam watched her, waiting. Megan opened her eyes to find Tam still waiting for an answer. She held out a berry.
“It depends on whether we are caught or not. It depends on how bad we are going to be punished when we get home. Try this. It’s just a gorgeberry. What could it hurt?” she asked him. Tam took it, making a visible effort to relax.
“Wow,” Tam said, chewing. “I don’t remember a berry ever tasting this good.”
“I know,” Megan agreed, popping a few more in her mouth.
“We should fill our baskets for everyone in the dome,” Tam said, dropping his basket off his shoulders and walking away as he shoved a handful of fruit into his mouth.
“We should,” agreed Megan, pulling a spray of berries off a branch. She wandered away, nibbling on them as she looked about the glen with wonder.
Tam picked up one of the engorged birds and put it on a branch. It fluffed its feathers and immediately went back to sleep. Megan picked up a jewel-winged flutterfly and placed it in her hair. Tam laughed and did the same with a beetle, its carapace flashing iridescent blue in the bright sunlight. Cheobawn followed the two alpha leaders and mimicked their play. She gingerly picked up a scarlet flutterfly and when it did not move to defend itself, she hung it from her ear and giggled when its little feet tickled. She adorned her other ear in kind and added a trio to the top of her head to create a brilliant crown.
The Pack wandered through the grove, eating as they went, adorning the trees and themselves with stuporous wildlife. It became an endlessly amusing game. Alain and Connor disappeared in the direction of the sound of running water, chasing each other from bush to bush looking for the most perfect berry. Alain invariably won.
“This is so great, Cheobawn,” Tam sighed from around his tenth mouthful of berries. “I’ll let you take me out for fun anytime you want.”
Cheobawn opened her mouth to say thank you but then it occurred to her that the berries and the birds and the bugs were not the best part of her fun spot. Something was about to happen. She snapped off a handful of berry laden branches and began passing them out to the two Alphas, ignoring any question or protest. When everyone had a branch in each hand, she positioned them in just the right spots. Then she went to stand on her own patch of moss.
Cheobawn looked down at her feet, shifted them to what seemed the right place, and then held the branches out, trying to convince the ambient that she was a gorgeberry bush.
“What ever are we doing, Ch’che?” asked Megan.
“The berries are not the fun. The berries bring the fun. Do what I do.”
“What are we doing?” Tam asked Megan.
“I have no idea. Best to play along,” said Megan from around a mouthful of berries.
“Be a bush,” hissed Cheobawn. “Hurry, before it is too late.”
Megan looked at Tam and shrugged. She held out her branches.
“Megan, move your left foot over about a hands width,” instructed Cheobawn, listening to the place at Megan’s feet. Megan complied.
Tam, smiling indulgently, raised his arms into the air.
“Tam. Closer to the water. There. Now move your right foot a bit. Perfect,” Cheobawn instructed. Connor and Alain wandered back, berry stained and smiling.
“Whatcha doing?” Alain asked.
“Waiting,” Cheobawn whispered.
“For what?” Connor whispered back.
“For that,” said Cheobawn, pointing at the moss at her feet with her chin.
The moss was moving.
“By the Goddess!” Alain screeched, dancing off the moss to stand on the tip of a rock poking through gravel. Connor joined him. They clung to each other, wide-eyed and confused.
“Don’t move,” Cheobawn yelled sternly. “You will crush them. Hold still. They will climb in search of fruit.”
“Wee bit,” Tam said through clenched teeth, trying to sound calm. “What, exactly, is under the moss?”
“No idea,” Cheobawn said with a shrug. “Something fun,” she added encouragingly.
Tam closed his eyes and shook his head, looking grim but patient. Megan watched the heaving moss and then looked back at her small friend, an uncertain frown on her face.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” she asked.
“I don’t know their name. Laid as eggs before the first frost. Slept the winter through. Grow as the heat of the summer grows. Now they are being born. The heat awakens the sleepers and ripens the berries at the same time. They will climb to find food and then fly away.”
Megan looked over at Tam.
“Do you know what kind of bug does that?”
Tam shook his head, distracted by the sight of the moss breaking open at his feet. A pointed head with scissor-like jaws pushed its way clear and looked around with small, crimson eyes. Not an insect. A lizard.
“Oh, my …” breathed Megan. As if by unspoken signal, hundreds of heads now emerged.
“Don’t. Move,” hissed Cheobawn. A lizard by Tam’s foot struggled for a moment and then shook its way free of the moss. Its body was as long as her hand, its milky skin almost transparent. If they held still y
ou could almost see their hearts beating inside their chests.
“Glasslizards,” breathed Megan in wonder.
In a flash, the lizard was up Tam’s leg, pausing to cling to his belt. As if this was an unspoken signal, a thousand more reptiles struggled free and made the mad dash to the nearest thing that resembled a tree. That included five small children who were doing their best to behave tree-like without yelping in delight. Soon they all had at least three perched on the tops of their heads and another dozen jostling for space on each arm. The branches of the trees around them drooped under the weight of lizard flesh.
Cheobawn began to giggle. Tiny lizard toes tickled her skin and the grumpy look they gave her when they found no berries hanging from her nose delighted her. A small brawl was taking place around the berries on the branches in her hands. Megan yipped in pain and dropped one of her branches, shaking her hand. The displaced lizards, robbed of their perch, leapt into the air. The movement startled those around the tall girl and as if by consensus, all the lizards in the grove launched themselves into the air and spread their limbs wide.
Cheobawn gasped in awe. This was why they were called glasslizards. A membrane as clear as glass, held taught between the front and back legs, spread wide to catch the air. They were gliders. She tilted her head up and threw her arms wide as she watched the pale blizzard of wings and tails fill the the brilliant blue sky. Her heart was so full of happiness it hurt to contain it. Unable to stop herself, she filled the ambient with her pleasure, laughing. Whether it was the sound of her delight or the bliss in her mind, the boys joined in.
Cheobawn looked over at Megan and caught the older girl staring at her, her face gone soft, her eyes wide, caught up in the little girl’s pleasure. Cheobawn cocked her head and raised an eyebrow, sending her friend a silent apology. A smile twitched at the corners of Megan’s mouth as if to tell her all was forgiven for this breach of manners.
Looking down, Cheobawn found a straggler still clinging to her shirt. She carefully plucked it off and held it captive in the palm of her hand to study it closely. The little heart fluttered inside its chest, sending blood coursing through all the tiny veins in its body. Muscles and bones moved under the skin, like an animated anatomy video. She tossed it into the air to watch it glide away then chased after others, catching them to hand feed them berries just for the pleasure of watching the berries slide down transparent throats.
When both children and lizards seemed to have had their fill of fun, the lizards leapt into the air and soared away into the blades of tubegrass.
“Oooh,” mewed Megan sadly, watching the last of the glasslizards leave from where she lay on the moss, the sun warming her upturned face, “Where are they going?”
“I remember reading that their summer range is in the high meadows,” Tam said, trying to keep his pet lizard captive for one more moment. The lizard could not be persuaded to stay, ignoring his proffered berry. Soon, Tam let it go. It leapt away, the sun flashing on the membranes of its wings. He sighed, happy and content, and lay back on the soft moss.
Alain nodded, heavy-eyed, in the shade of a gorgeberry bush.
“Do you think we can come back here when they return to lay their eggs?” Megan asked sleepily.
“That would be fun,” Tam said, nibbling lazily on the last of his berries.
Cheobawn did not want to waste a moment in sleep. She heard Connor whooping in delight further up the glen. The grove held more fun than just berries and lizards, it seemed. Leaving the others to rest in the heat of the midday, she ran towards the sound. At the far end of the grove a tumble of boulders hid a series of pools connected by miniature waterfalls. She found him waist-deep in the largest pool. He was rapidly ridding himself of all his soaked clothing and tossing it up on the bank.
Cheobawn laughed, feeling giddy and light-headed with happiness.
“No, no, you have it all backwards,” she yelled. “You take a bath after you get undressed, not before.”
“Come in. It’s perfect!” shouted Connor.
Cheobawn shed her clothes, leaving them on a flat rock high above the wet and jumped into the water, naked except for her omeh.
Connor had lied. Having only just emerged from the bowels of the mountain, the water was shockingly cold after the heat of the sunny summer afternoon. She rose to the surface and let out a strangled screech. Connor grinned at her, his teeth chattering. She splashed water in his direction as payment for tricking her. An all-out war ensued to see who could douse the other more. When they could no longer feel their fingers and Connors lips had taken on an alarming shade of blue, they called a truce and hauled themselves out to dry, bellies pressed flat onto the heat of the nearby boulders. Cheobawn hugged the stone, letting it bake her while she listened absently to the ambient. The midday air hung heavy over the grove as the lizards buzzed softly somewhere out in the tall grass and the birds in the gorgeberry bushes chirped at each other, too lazy to even sing their songs properly.
Cheobawn opened one sleepy eye and found Connor’s eyes fixed on her omeh, a slightly befuddled look on his face.
“Can I ask you something?” Connor said, propping his chin on his fist, as if holding his head up was very hard work.
“Sure,” Cheobawn said. Here it comes, she thought, the questions she could not answer.
“You are the best Ear ever. How did you manage to … ya know?”
“How did I mess up my Choosingday?”
“Yeah,” Connor said, the look on his face one of honest puzzlement. “You can see across five clicks of forest and find a swarm of glasslizards on hatching day. How could you not see into two stupid boxes? No offense intended but the Choosingday psi test is so easy even half the boys can pass it.”
Perhaps the sunshine and laughter had softened the walls around her heart. Perhaps it was because Connor had played with her with child-like abandon, as no other child of the domes ever had. Perhaps it was the way he asked, without judgment or revulsion. Perhaps she owed her Pack an explanation. Perhaps friends were supposed to share their most intimate secrets, secrets never ever shared with another living soul.
“I hate dolls,” Cheobawn said simply. This was not the whole truth, being only the first layer of a very complicated secret, but it was a start.
“Huh? What do dolls have to do with taking a dead simple test? Pick the good, leave the bad. How hard is that?”
“I wanted a pet, but Mora always gave me dolls, instead. I was mad at her that day and they did not know that I could see into the boxes.”
Connor began to giggle.
“They gave you a choice between a doll and … what? Acid Scorpions?”
“A fuzzy,” she corrected.
“No! Really?” he laughed, “Don’t tell me that given a choice between a doll and a vicious little fur-ball with teeth, you chose the fur-ball?”
“I was three,” Cheobawn growled at him, turning her face away and pretending to sleep. Connor was trying not to laugh, but was not doing a very good job of it. She could hear muffled hiccups coming out from around the fist he must have buried in his mouth.
Cheobawn turned over and stared up at the deep blue sky.
“I wasn’t going to open the box,” she lied, pasting a grumpy look on her face.
“No,” sighed Connor in a strangled voice. “I should hope not.”
Cheobawn let a small smile play across the corners of her mouth as she let herself remember that day for the first time in a very long while. Choosingday was the test when Amabel, the domes resident Maker of the Living Thread, found out if the thing she had created inside her labs had been bred true. A feast day, full of celebration, that hid a brutal heart. A test Cheobawn had failed miserably, winning the dubious honor of wearing a black bead in her omeh for the rest of her life.
Bits and pieces of the ceremony still clung tenaciously to the dark corners of her mind. She remembered Hayrald clearly. He had been the rock she had clung to. Like a stone wall, he had been there, standing between
her and the knives of the Coven. She remembered Mora. Mora had been furious.
“You should have been there. The look on Mora’s face …”
Connor rolled over and fell off his rock, howling with laughter. Cheobawn scowled at him. It had not been funny. But now, in retrospect, from Connor’s point of view, it bordered on ludicrous. His laughter became infectious. She joined in, laughing until her sides hurt and she had to beg Connor to stop more than once. At last, Connor wiped his eyes and lay back on his rock, sighing with contentment.
“You are one weird little kid, did you know that?” Connor said sleepily from behind closed eyelids. “I am glad we are Packmates.”
Cheobawn turned her head and stared at his relaxed profile. What did one say to a person who had just taken a lead weight off her heart and set her free?
“Thank you,” she said softly.
Chapter Seven
Cheobawn woke with a start and stared up at the sky, her heart thumping madly in her chest. Something was wrong. Something in the ambient desperately needed her attention.
She felt funny. A fuzzy taste coated her tongue and a dull headache hung at the back of her skull. Was she catching a cold? She lifted her head. Pain lanced through her brain and set off skyrockets behind her eyes. She groaned and rolled off the rock, holding her temples to keep them from exploding. Sucking in great gulps of air to force down the rising nausea, she dug the fingers of her perception deep into the energy of the mountain, drawing it into herself. The world wobbled and tried to right itself. It was hard. Harder than it should have been. The shards of light flickering behind her closed eyes made it hard to think. She stole from the flesh of the world to burn away her illness and when she thought she could do it without throwing up, she stood and looked around.
