Peter, John, Ned, and the hearse driver acted as pallbearers, carrying the plain wooden coffin sedately down the steps, and then the little procession of wagons and horses followed the remains to the graveyard south of town, neatly clipped and surrounded by a white, picket fence with a broken gate that creaked in the wind. The graveyard overlooked a meadow where some years later there would be a murder. Nate Burgundy read some words, and the coffin was lowered into the ground while everyone looked solemn. Nate offered condolences, and Peter paid him a ten dollar gratuity for the service, then the rest of the people came by to mumble their sympathies before returning to interrupted lives. Peter stood by the grave, a light breeze blowing black hair over his face as Ned Bester came up to him and put a hand on his shoulder.
“My regrets, Mister Pelegeropoulis. Hardly knew the gentleman, but he must have been a good businessman. You never know about some people.”
“Any problems with the gold?” Peter peered into the blackness of the grave.
“No, the quote is firm. You say the word, it leaves for Reno in the morning. In your position, I’d keep half at least; gold is certain to go up.”
“Send it.”
They walked away from the gravesite, and towards an awaiting surrey. “When can I start remodeling?” said Peter.
“Right now. The business was yours this morning, and a lot of folks are anxious to see what you’ll do with it. I’ll grant you it’s in tough shape, but you did get it for a good price.”
“An honest price, you mean.” Peter laughed, and Ned looked at him nervously. “Oh I’ll get it fixed up good, especially in the kitchen. New ovens, and fresh bread every day, Greek style. Every drink you can think of. The Athens Bar and Grill—after Savas. Greek flavors will bring them in from Quincy and maybe even Reno when the word gets around. You like Greek food, Mister Bester?”
“That’s Ned. Yes, I do.”
“Opening night you’ve got a free meal coming at The Athens. My treat, Ned.”
The man laughed. “Why it’s sure nice doin’ business with you, Peter.”
They shook hands as they stopped at the gate, then Ned turned and shouted over his shoulder, “Coming, Bernice?”
A young woman was at a far corner of the graveyard, hunched over a pair of worn, stone markers, picking grass away from them with her hands and replacing some dried up flowers that had been lying there. She looked up at them sadly. “Are we leaving already?”
“I should get back.”
The woman hastily pulled more grass, then stood up. She was tall, large boned but lean-looking. Blonde hair fell down her back and around broad shoulders. She wore a long skirt cinched in at the waist, and a tight, lacy bodice that somehow made her look fragile despite her size. As she walked towards them, Ned turned and whispered, “Her folks are buried over there. Takes good care of everything.”
Her eyes were blue, cheekbones prominent above a generous mouth. As she came up to them Peter suddenly realized he was staring when she looked straight into his eyes and smiled. Ned put an arm around her shoulders, and said, “Bernice, I’d like you to meet Peter Pelegeropoulis, Crosley’s newest businessman. Bought the Granville place, and he’s turning it into a bar and grill. Peter, this is Bernie Ekstrom, and she is Ekstrom lumber and hardware in Crosley. Ask her for help, and you’ve got it.”
“Well, I’ll certainly need it with all the remodeling I have to do,” said Peter, fighting a dry throat.
The smile again. “Stock’s limited, but I’ll do what I can. Sorry about Mister Parkos. He came into the store a couple of times for little things. One of the most polite people I ever met. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you,” said Peter, “and thanks for coming today.” He held out a hand, and she took it in a firm grip that seemed to shoot fire into his arm and chest.
“I’m glad I did,” she said happily, “and I look forward to doing some business with you.”
“So do I,” said Peter.
CHAPTER TWELVE
DECEPTION AND MURDER
Maki arose early, moving quietly from the vestibule so as not to disturb his sleeping father after a continuous night of talking, and sharing of The Memories. His earlier anger and contempt had now dissolved to pity; he was convinced The Keeper did only what he felt was right, but suffered from the delusions of the very old. As future Keeper, he, Maki, had made the decision to be merciful; he would reinforce orders to Hidaig that his father should be spared from injury.
Maki had been suitably contrite in conversation with Anka, and they had coolly discussed the relative merits of Tenanken integrating with Hinchai in common communion, an act which he now admitted privately had already been done by most Tenanken many tens of thousands of years in the past, for the features of so many Hinchai enemies would pass anywhere as Tenanken. For Maki, the issue was not racial, but cultural and spiritual. It was Tahehto blood which carried the genetic memories binding the Tenanken together, a union intensified by exchanges of the mind-touch in which Hinchai perhaps received, but returned nothing. At the rate they were arriving, Hinchai would be dominant and the Tenanken culture would soon be extinct.
When he entered the main cavern, he saw only two cooking fires were burning, most of the band still sleeping after the feast of the previous evening. He walked around the top of the chamber, stopping and bowing formally as Tel came out of a fumarole, stooping over to avoid cutting her head on a crystal crust.
“Good morning, Mother.”
“Ah, you’re up early. I presumed you and your father would still be in conversation and memory, so I went outside to watch the sun rise. We will allow the children to play on the bluff today.”
“Do you think that’s wise? They might be seen by Hinchai who hunt the antlered ones this time of year.”
“It’s a risk, but they will wear Hinchai clothing, and a guard will be posted. It’s necessary they spend some time in sunlight to give their skin a more natural color.”
“I suppose, but the color fades quickly. Why not wait until they’re to integrate with the Hinchai? Surely that time is soon.”
Something flickered in Tel’s eyes for an instant. “That decision is up to Anka and Pegre. I have no idea when they will be leaving, but they become anxious. Even now they cook Hinchai foods over our fires; the odors are so delicious from many herbs and spices, and the variety of tastes is marvelous. The cooking skills of the Hinchai have developed far beyond ours, it seems. The caves and our isolation have held us back, yet in several ways I’ll miss this place: the coolness, quiet, the sparkle of firelight on the crystal ceilings. But it’s not a far distance, as long as my legs are good; I’ll return here when I can for my meditations, and your father for reinforcement of The Memories.”
Maki’s head was pounding. “I don’t understand,” he said, voice quavering. “You mean you’re leaving with the others? I thought you were staying here?”
“Oh, no, that’s all changed, now. While you were gone, your father put it to a vote of all Tenanken. The children and a few others are the first to leave. But thereafter, within a season or two, all else may join them if they choose to. It was put to a vote, Maki. Only a few have chosen to remain: the very old, near death, those who could not survive the climb to the bluff and down again. If you wish to stay, it’s your choice. Didn’t your father tell you that?”
“He said nothing about any of this! I assumed only a select few would be leaving.” Maki recognized the excitement in his voice, and fought for self-control. “I’m disappointed my father didn’t tell me about his own decision to leave; after all, I have returned to be near my parents, and now find I must make a new decision about my own future. It’s a surprise, Mother.”
“But it has upset you; I can see that. Your poor father, so happy to see his son again, and then forgetting to tell him about a major decision in our lives. It could not have been deliberate, and you will have time to consider your own future, with or without us. You control your own destiny, Maki. We might disagree with you, but w
e respect your right to choose your own way.”
She was probing his mind, digging for a response, but he had closed himself tightly, covering what was there with the vision of a waterfall. “I ask only that your choices will not interfere with the lives of others, or put them in danger of harm.”
“I’ll think about it, Mother. The caves are a dreary place, and I was thinking about that when we were camped outside in coolness, waking up to morning light and the smells of the trees. It’s a better life out there, especially for the children, but still I fear the Tenanken ways disappearing with our absorption into the Hinchai culture. That is the issue I must debate, and it will take some time. Father and I talked a lot about this, and in some ways he shares my fears. Surely you know this?”
“We’ve argued about it since the first days of The Plan. It is only in recent years Anka has become truly convinced integration is the only way to secure a future for the Tenanken. And certain sacrifices will be necessary. I have known that from the beginning, but it has seemed right to me. I have always been the advocate, while your father has been the scholar, relentlessly pursuing justification of The Plan and all the consequences. A great deal of thought, debate and planning has gone into this, Maki. I fail to see how anyone could ask for more.”
“As you say, individual decisions have been made. I will take more time to make mine. This conversation has been most helpful, Mother.”
“Good, then let us eat something to begin the day properly.” Tel put an arm around her son’s shoulders, and walked him around the top terrace of the great cavern until they came to a fire burning brightly within a ring of stones, sitting down cross-legged before it. Others had begun emerging from their sleeping quarters, and a heavy odor of wood smoke was in the air. The fire burned quickly into a pile of glowing embers, into which Tel placed yams and powdered sage wrapped in green leaves. Heating stones brought tea to a boil in minutes, and they drank it in silence as life stirred around them.
At a neighboring fire, Baela and her parents cooked their morning meal quickly, the little darting one running to and fro getting sticks and water and various seasonings for her mother, blue eyes ever wide and alert, blonde hair forever falling over her face. Maki watched her with more than casual interest, noting the lengthening, coltish legs, and budding breasts she made no efforts to hide. He caught her eye twice, but she turned away, embarrassed. Her father, Moog, noticed this the second time it happened, fixing an eye on Maki until the younger man returned his gaze to the fire, thinking, not for you, this little one, not even for a Keeper’s son, but for a tall, Hinchai male to make Hinchai babies when her time has come. He looked again, but now Baela’s mother Deda was also watching him. He shrugged his shoulders, and smiled feebly. No matter. When the time comes, I will be sure both of you are dead, and your daughter will bear the children of Tenanken warriors.
Tel quizzed him about his friends he knew she disliked so intensely. He explained that Dorald had been smitten by a female in Hidaig’s group, and was probably even now in her arms, while Han had decided he would seek a mate among those living near the point where the sun disappeared each evening. He had returned with Maki only to obtain his few personal possessions, and would leave within a day. Maki could see this news pleased his mother, for she had long despised his companions for their unkempt appearances, low intelligence and poor manners, and would now be rid of them forever.
When her meal was finished, Baela raced from the cavern for another day in the sun. Tel smiled as the lithe figure darted past her, shaking her head in mock exasperation at Moog and Deda, who simply smiled back. But Maki was suddenly struck with a disquieting feeling urging him to move. He excused himself, making his way across the cavern and up the exit tunnel to the small grotto which was his sleeping area. Han’s traveling roll lay by the exit, neatly tied, but he was not there. Still feeling uneasy, Maki crawled into the grotto and checked his own belongings: skins and furs for a bed, all neatly in place, the pointing weapon rolled up in a skin to one side of the bed, the hand weapon in a bundle beneath it. All seemed undisturbed, and the feeling left him as quickly as it had come. But he had sensed something, a thought or feeling, something dangerous. From whom?
At that instant he heard the crackle of branches as someone pushed their way through the entrance, and he scrambled quickly from his quarters to find Han tying his traveling bundle at his waist. “Ah, it’s you. Did you see anyone outside?”
“Only Baela, up that way, climbing on the rocks. Nobody else, but mostly I was getting water in the lower grotto. Why?”
“No reason,” said Maki quickly. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes. I’ve enough food here for three days.”
“I’ll deliver more to you. Be sure to stay out of sight, but keep on constant watch for Hidaig. They will travel by night. As soon as they arrive, come to me here in the grotto, but only then. Understand?”
Han nodded vigorously. “I’ll come at night, and call you from outside.”
Maki grasped him by both shoulders, holding him at arm’s length. “We are brothers. Go, now.”
When Han had left, Maki went back to the grotto, changing the position of his bed so he could lie facing the entrance with ears to hear the slightest sound. He found a few pebbles, and was sprinkling them in a pattern on the floor, a pattern that could be disturbed by an unknown intruder, and then the uneasy feeling was on him again like an invisible hand, speeding his heart so he grunted in surprise, standing up and banging his head against the low ceiling. As pain spread over his scalp, the clutching sensation inside him was gone again, leaving him troubled. He sat down and breathed deeply, willing the pain away, and trying to think. Never before had he experienced such symptoms, yet there was something familiar about them in a subtle way, something close to his everyday life, the power of it misleading him to think—
It was there again, only now there was no disquiet because he had discovered an intention, and with effort he forced into his mind the image of first the tunnel beyond the great cavern, and himself climbing the sloping floor, torchlight showing the way, then the sight of the valley in full daylight as if he were sitting on an outside ledge. Beads of sweat burst forth on his forehead with the effort, but then he felt release, and scrambled from the grotto to a wide fumarole across the tunnel, sloping upwards, from which he could see his sleeping area. He crouched there and waited, ready to spring, ready to kill, holding an image of the valley firmly but easily in his mind.
Waiting seemed eternal. He had hoped for something to happen quickly, but there was not even a sound save distant laughter and shouting from the great cavern. His legs became cramped, and he shifted his weight. Twice he thought he felt something, but both times it was gone quickly, leaving him feeling frustrated and a bit silly curled up in his tiny hideaway. All feeling has ceased to exist in his legs, and he was about to shift his weight again when he heard a twig snap, then branches moving against each other as the entrance opened, and a narrow beam of sunlight fell on his sleeping place. A shadow moved in and out of the light, and then the entrance was again closed.
Maki kept his vision firm, and stifled a cry of surprise.
It was Baela.
She moved towards the grotto hunched over, eyes wide with excitement. Her bare feet made no sound on the rock as she pirouetted on one foot to glance down the tunnel and back again, then she was down on hands and knees, scrambling into his sleeping quarters and somehow avoiding the pattern of pebbles he had placed there. Carefully, and silently, she searched his bedding, finding both weapons and then rewrapping them, leaving nothing apparently disturbed. He waited for her to take something, and felt disappointed when she did not, but the invasion of his privacy and discovery of the weapons was enough to kindle a dangerous anger in him, and so when he moved it was like a mountain cat striking for the kill, and she only had time to turn her head slightly before he was on her, one hand clamping down tightly over her mouth, the other pulling her arm far up behind her back and drivi
ng her face-first into his bedding.
“What brings you to my bed, little one?” he growled into her ear. She made a muffled groan, and breath exploded from her nostrils, but otherwise there was no motion beneath his heavy weight, no panicky thrashing about, and so he held her down with a knee while reaching for a small, hide bag ordinarily used for carrying dried meat. When his hand came off her mouth he heard a sharp intake of breath as she prepared to scream, then crammed the hide in as hard as he could and tied it in place with a leather thong crushing her golden hair to the back of her head. With another thong he tied her hands together at the small of her back, then flipped her over and straddled her feather-light body as she looked straight up into his eyes, drowning him in their blueness, and his groin was instantly aching from the hardness of an erection. He spread her legs, pressing against her, but there was no reaction; the blue eyes looked steadily into his without sign of fear or panic.
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