by S. J. Ryan
Her expression seemed to be going different ways at once. “You mean, that's what the demon is like?”
“This is actually only half standard size. The one inside you is twice is big.”
“Oh. So . . . have you considered my offer? Let me keep the demon, and I will assist you.”
He wasn't sure what to say to her. He could have Ivan – his long-lost, beloved Ivan – return at any time and there was nothing she could do about it. On the other hand, he could sense how desperate she was to keep her 'demon.' She was putting up a tough front, but his years on the planet recognized that for what it was: the way that orphans expressed fear.
It suddenly occurred to him that he did the same thing, perhaps for the same reason.
“I'll go this far,” he said. “For now you keep him.”
While she watched out the window, Ivan Four transmitted recent telemetry to Ivan Beta and Matt Four learned. Her name was actually Lachela. She was indeed an orphan. She had lived most of her life at the Abbey of Klun. There she had been destined for child prostitution, if not for the grace of Ivan Four.
How many others had not been so fortunate? Filled with thundering anger, Matt Four resolved that he would personally raze every building at the Abbey of Klun, and wipe the Church that presumed to profess in his name from the face of this world.
First, of course, he would have to kill Athena.
“Matt Four,” Ivan Beta said. “Ivan Four reports that the transponder signal for the Pandora Beta seeder probe has reversed direction.”
He sat up straight. “Can he show me a tracking map?”
The AR window presented a stylized map of the city. Their own path was a green line superimposed upon the map, extending in real time from Athena's mansion toward the airfield. Granny's path was a red line that had reached the military airfield, and was doubling back toward the city. Her line was extending at a velocity considerably faster than their coach. It was heading due east in a straight line, cutting directly across the meandering pattern of streets, as if obstructions meant nothing . . . .
He knew the low droning noise as soon as he heard it. He projected his head out the window and looked up. Hundreds of meters above, the silhouette of a double-sausage wove through the clouds, navigation lights blinking, human shapes moving behind the windows, powerful headlights spearing through the kilometers ahead.
He subvocaled, “Ivan – both of you. Do you detect the kid's Ivan up there?”
“No, Matt Four,” they replied in unison.
“She said she was taking him with her. Maybe he's in a faraday cage.”
He pulled his head back inside and said to the girl: “Change of plans. We're going to the civilian field. Can you buy us tickets to Binti?”
She said warily, “That is the town by the Abbey.”
“We're not going to the Abbey. We're just going to the airfield to meet with some friends, and then we'll leave.” He didn't mention that from there they would chase Athena's dreadnaught across the Storm Barrier to the Other Side of the World.
But they weren't staying in Binti; the relief on her face was evident. She gave instructions to the driver and the coach diverted.
Matt noticed the long black case by her feet. “What's that?”
“A flute. The demon is teaching me to play. I hope to learn well enough to give lessons. I'd rather do that to make money than what I'm doing now.”
He was afraid to ask.
9.
Shortly after dawn, Carrot watched them from the woods as she panted all but silently. The pair were in the middle of the meadow, standing on hind legs and holding sticks in their paws. They were chattering in undulating vocalizations that were neither barks nor howls. Now and then they turned toward her, then quickly away. She wasn't sure if they saw her or not.
All that she was certain of, her nose told her: that despite differences, she and they were of the same kind.
“Areyousureshesthere,” the male undulated. “Idontseeher.”
“Ismellhershesclose,” the female undulated. “Norianstayhere. Seeifyoucanlureher. Imgoingtosneakuponherfrombehind.”
The female retreated and her scent faded. The male stood alone in the open.
The creature who watched from the shade of the woods wondered if she should approach him. No male would rebuke the companionship of a female, and without the other female to challenge her, she would be safe in his company. After all, why would a male harm a female?
Slowly she crept from the brush. He watched, motionless. She scented fear from him, and her head darted about as she sniffed for predators that might have alarmed him. She detected no threat. Yet he was afraid. It came to her: he was afraid of her. But why? Why would a male fear a female?
Suddenly she felt a sting on her left leg. She twisted and saw a small, straight stick jutting from her thigh. Numbness spread along her leg and into her torso. In panic she tried to bolt, but it was too late – neither leg would move. She collapsed onto the grass, flailing arms.
She heard a stirring in the brush behind her. It was the other female, holding a curved stick in one hand and in the other hand another small, straight stick. How had the female stalked so near without being scented?
The creature that had been Carrot snarled and tried to claw at the approaching figure. But the paralysis had spread to her arms and she could not raise them. Her body was swathed in numbness. Sound and light grew faint.
Amid the gray clouds that splotched her vision, the male strode alongside, knelt and placed a hand to her forehead. Her eyelids drooped shut on their own.
She heard the undulations again, but this time she knew dimly that they meant something. She grasped the concept of words, though meaning yet escaped her.
“There has been no mutation of her basic genome,” said a new voice, a male voice that seemed to be inside her head. “The transformation is entirely due to alterations in epigenomic expression.”
“Can you help her?” asked the male she'd seen.
“Working on viral injector now.”
And then she fell asleep. When she opened her eyes, she remembered. She remembered she was Carrot. She remembered fighting Inoldia. She remembered giving up her mind to save her body. And most searingly of all, she remembered being a feral animal for a night and morning.
Carrot was lying in grass wet with dew. The sun was low, it was early morning. Norian and Mirian were crouched over her. She sat up and discovered that she was covered with a blanket. Which was good, she realized, because she could feel that, other than her boots, she was completely naked underneath.
“Matt gave you a partition?” Carrot asked Norian.
Norian nodded. “You refused it, so he offered it to me while we were aboard the airship. He suggested that as you were opposed to having an 'ivanlite,' I keep it secret unless it was needed.”
It was needed, Carrot thought. “How did you pass through the hedge?”
“The troll king gave us escort to a blacksmith, who allowed use of his tools.” Norian hefted a silver kedana. “Forged in haste from our remaining coins. Crude for a sword, yet efficient as a hatchet.”
Carrot turned to Mirian, who was holding the extracted arrow. “That was no ordinary arrow.”
“The potion the Roman agent used against you,” Mirian said. “I rubbed it over the shaft, along with a common herbal soporific.”
“You secretly kept the vial of a potion that has the power to incapacitate me.”
“Are you complaining?”
“No, no,” Carrot said, realizing with shame that she had almost been. “The two of you are quite brilliant. Thank – “ Carrot cringed from the throbbing of her thigh. The white cloth wrapping was stained red. “The wound hasn't closed yet.”
“The potion could be inhibiting your power to heal,” Norian said. “If it's like before, its effect will diminish with time. Now, how well can you walk?”
Carrot struggled to her feet, refusing help. Shivering, she clutched the blanket close to her shoul
ders. “Where are my clothes?”
Mirian shrugged. “You're asking us?”
Dimly, Carrot remembered her time as beast. There had been a moment when she had felt the discomfort and restriction of what seemed a second skin . . . it had shredded away easily.
“Mirian,” Norian said. “Give her your spare clothing.”
“All right,” Mirian replied. In a low voice: “But the shirt isn't going to fit.”
“She can have my other one.”
“She'll need your razor too.”
“Why do I need his razor?” Carrot asked.
Mirian stroked her cheeks and chin while staring at Carrot's face. Puzzled, Carrot mimicked Mirian. She felt the fuzz and muffled a shriek, cringing from Norian's gaze.
“Norian, I'll see to cleaning Carrot,” Mirian said. “Occupy yourself by standing over there and looking the other way.”
“That I will oblige,” Norian replied. Tossing over the shaving kit and spare shirt, he promptly about-faced.
Mirian led Carrot to a cluster of concealing brush and trees by the nearby stream. Aware of the press of time, Carrot bathed, dressed, and groomed quickly. They returned to Norian. Mirian tapped his shoulder. He turned and, having both their attentions, Carrot said, “We must return to the keep and obtain the Box.”
“Carrot,” Norian said quietly. “It's not there.”
“How do you know?”
“We were there last night. Not hard to find, the road leads to it. There were no guards and the doors, both outer and inner, were open, so we went inside. Mirian tracked your scent to the room and we saw the dust pattern upon the table where the Box had been.”
“Are you sure it was the right room?”
“There was fresh blood splattered on floor and walls, as if from a fight. Mirian said some of it was yours, the rest of another woman – although not quite a human woman.”
“Who was the other?” Mirian asked. “Was it the 'Inoldia' you've spoken of?”
“Inoldia is dead,” Carrot replied, though she was no longer so certain.
“But aren't there creatures like her?” Norian asked. “Ten in all, I recall the story goes.”
“It wasn't any of them. They are older and not as strong. This was as strong as the Inoldia that I've fought before. It looked and sounded like her, but the scent – Mirian, you know what I mean. Appearances can deceive, but scents are true.”
“Not always,” Mirian said. “Yet, does it matter? She took the Box and we must retake it. That's what matters.”
They returned in haste to the road. It was deserted, and no sign of human life could be seen at motion within the town of Arcadia in the distance either. The travelers headed north, with Carrot the lagger for once, limping and trying hard not to wince.
Mirian blurted, “I whittled the arrow to as small as – ”
“This isn't your fault,” Carrot said. “Nor is it mine. It's the fault of the Pandora of Rome.”
Carrot nonetheless wondered what she might have done differently. If she had agreed to keep Ivan Lite, might she have been able to control her beast transformation? Part of her doubted it. The implant partition had its role in changing her back, but the transformation had to run its course, and Mirian's arrow had to paralyze her.
And even so, Carrot sensed that the Beast had somehow become smarter and . . . more alluring. She had never been aware of how much her worries and cares pained her, until she had been made free of them. She wondered if she could be brought back a second time.
A kilometer's travel north, and they passed through woods and viewed the peninsula at land's end once more. The keep's huge doors were cracked, hissing steam at the broken joints. Carrot quickened her stride, but noticed that Mirian had halted on the road and Norian was waiting for her. Carrot stopped too. And then she too caught the scent.
“It's recent,” Mirian said. “A few hours at most. Means it's not her coming-scent, it's her going-scent.”
Mirian met Carrot's gaze, and sniffed in a slow arc. She turned east and as if in trance, stepped off the road. They followed across brambles to a stream that flowed from south to north. Mirian strode into the chill water, unmindful as it poured into her calves-high boots. On the other bank, however, she halted, sniffed, and frowned.
“Lost the scent. How about you, Carrot?”
Carrot had barely had the scent on the other side of the stream. “No. Not a thing.”
“Perhaps we have lost her for good,” Norian said. “You say she is like your Inoldia, and your Inoldia is able to fly, is she not?”
“She must shed much of her own weight to do so,” Carrot said. “She would not be able to fly while carrying the additional weight of the Box.”
Mirian glanced at the stream. “She might have waded north or south a distance before coming out of the water. But if she did that, she is taking measures to mask and mislead, and there will be more tricks ahead, and that will make this difficult.”
Norian said to his wife, “What say you and I explore north along the bank, and Carrot goes – “
“No,” Carrot said. “That won't be necessary. I know exactly where she is.”
While they had been talking, she had been surveying the range to their east. In particular, the slope of a tree-covered mountain ridge whose peak was bare and sharp as Norian's razor. From a flat prominence, a winding trace of smoke ascended. As Britanians, they all knew at a glance the difference between volcano smoke and wood smoke. Someone had climbed the mountain and lit a campfire at the summit.
“She's signaling the Roman airship for pick-up,” Carrot said.
Carrot had little doubt. It was one of many smokey tendrils arising from the landscape that morning, but who else but her could carry wood to a mountaintop, and for what other purpose but hers would a fire be built there?
“If the Roman ship is in Britan,” Norian said, “then we have run out of time.”
The throbbing in Carrot's leg hadn't gone away, but it was all but forgotten as she charged across the plain toward the peak. After minutes, she noticed that Mirian and Norian were lagging. She stopped and waited.
“Slower, Carrot!” Mirian called between puffs. “I'm less than human at running for any distance!”
Carrot's face switched between her comrades and the peak. “The ship could come any time.”
Mirian swatted away her husband's hands. “Stop hovering! I'm not crippled!”
Watching Mirian, Carrot had an idea. “Mirian. The mixture of potion and herbs that you had on that arrow. Do you still have any left?”
“Better, I have a second arrow prepared.” Mirian reached into her quiver and displayed a small arrow nearly identical to what had punctured Carrot's leg. The arrow's tip was honed to a needle point, its shaft was grooved and moistened. “Do you think it'll work on her?”
“I will let you know. For now, you will stay here.” Seeing Mirian's expression, Carrot added, “No arguments. There is no time and Britan is at stake.”
She slipped off her backpack and accepted the arrow from Mirian, the silver kedana from Norian. Norian shed his backpack also, closed his eyes and gave his wife a tight hug.
“I am nothing without you,” Norian whispered.
“You are everything to me,” Mirian replied as gently. “You must come back, or I will die also.”
Carrot thought of how terribly she missed Matt. That much.
Norian let go and followed after Carrot. Carrot had to run slower than she wanted. It was at least a kilometer across the field, and Norian faltered as they neared the mountain's base. He climbed a few score meters, then collapsed in gulping spasms.
“Just a . . . moment . . . to rest.”
Carrot listened to his wheezes, saw his perspiration. The exhaustion in his eyes told her he had reached the limits of what was possible with ordinary human flesh. By the time he reached the summit – if he could – he would be no use in battle.
“Stay here,” she said. She glanced upward at the wisp that told of the pr
esence of her nemesis.
“Carrot, she's defeated you every time! You can't fight her alone!”
Carrot thought to say, It is my fate to fight her alone, but then she realized how untrue that was. She managed a smile. “I won't be alone. I will have Mirian with this arrow. I will have you with your lessons. And also – give me Ivan Lite.”
Norian puffed and nodded; they touched foreheads and a moment later, Ivan Lite said, “Greetings, Carrot. It is good to be inside you again.“
That is said the wrong way, Carrot thought, but let it pass.
She traded awkward half-bows with Norian, and thought of what to say to a man she had come to love almost as much as Matt and her father.
“Thank you, Teacher,” she said.
“Thank you, Student,” he replied.
She suddenly felt much lighter. She reflected his smile, bowed again, and set herself to climb.
The slope steepened and the trees gave way to slides of rubble. Carrot's ascent was more horizontal than vertical as she skirted and zing-zagged around the obstacles of boulders and outcroppings. It wasn't long before she tired almost as much as her companions. Never again, she thought, would she refer to a mountain of four hundred meters as 'small.'
“Ivan Lite,” she said aloud, as there was no reason to subvocal. “Can you enhance my strength in battle?”
“If you mean physical strength,” Ivan Lite replied, “the answer is no.”
“Can you speed my reactions?”
“If you are referring to hypermode, I do not possess that ability.”
“If I become a Beast again, can you help me keep my mind?”
“I can return you to your present state. Your mental facilities will be restored at that time.”
“That's not what I need. I need to be as strong as the beast, yet keep my own mind.”
“I do not have the ability to make that happen.”
“Is there anything you can help me with in battle?”
“As before, if a secondary personality pattern is imprinted over your primary one, I can undo it.”
Carrot considered that if things came to that, she would already be physically incapacitated, and helpless to do anything more.
