Geoffrey's Queen: A Mobious' Quest Novel

by Gwendolyn Druyor

  “Ko, your drum is small. Beautiful and really impressive for what you had to work with, yes, but this drum we made today is powerful. It uses the whole Dormounts as a sounding board.” I kicked my legs free and hauled myself up by my knees. “Someone is bound to hear it.”

  “You saw how the drum works.” He handed me the jug of water just out of my reach. “Two of us hold the membrane frame up while the third pounds at it with the wrapped tent poles. When there is only Yenay, he won’t be able to play that drum. He’ll be reduced to using mine.”

  I gave him the water jug and lay back down, my knees still tented and leaning against each other. I smiled at him. “Don’t worry, Uncle. We’ll send him two drumholders from Sapproach.” I yawned, letting in another concern, and blinked a fever solution before I fell asleep, “There’s no bridge, but Annie can fly over and get them.”

  ∞

  When we went back to Denver from the mountains I had to work. Geoffrey was still upset about Faite taking Kelly away. But he filled his time. Murphy gave him a job bartending when Geoffrey offered to carve him a new sign for the pub. Murph was a good guy. I guess I knew that but before the mountains I would still have expected him to take advantage of Geoffrey’s ignorance and take the hand-carved sign for five bucks. Instead he took the time to teach him a job.

  The colors of the world were dimmed for Geoffrey when Kelly left. But I saw them for the first time in years, after the mountains.

  Geoffrey helped me with my combat jobs. We fought all the time. We’d work out before Musketeers rehearsals or after classes. Sometimes we went to Cheesman Park to spar.

  ∞

  I ate everyone’s food at lunch. Yenay set down his bowl for a moment to refill his mug and I took it. I don’t know why. It was rude. He was clearly not finished. I drained the rest of his stew before he was done filling his mug. Ko watched me do it and he ladled some more from the pot into my own bowl. I finished that and then asked Geoffrey if he was going to finish his. He was distracted, making plans and didn’t answer, so I took the bowl from his hands and drained it. Ko gave me his hunk of bread, but it was too dry. I wanted water.

  “Nanda, are you okay?” Geoffrey looked up from his scribblings when Yenay punched him in the arm.

  I gulped down a few more draughts from the pitcher and wiped the waterfall from my chin, “Yeah, fine. Just a little hungry.”

  “Well, good. It’s about time you started eating for two. Does anyone else want more?” He pulled the pot from the fire and ignored Yenay’s hungry gaze. “There’s a couple spoonfuls left in the pot. May as well let Nanda have them.”

  I saw them giving each other looks and resented it. “I’m pregnant.” I shouted with my mouth full. “When you are carrying a baby around, then you can eat like a cow too!” I stormed off. Went back to get the water pitcher. And stormed off again.

  I packed my things all by myself. I folded up the tent and the poles, but I couldn’t fit them in the sac. They always fit before but I couldn’t get them to go. I finally stomped to the tree-entrance and threw the whole lot into the underground tunnels. Then I ran back through our central campsite and as far in the opposite direction to the fresh water pool and threw myself in.

  I was on fire. The flames were licking at my face, but they were in my stomach. My clothes were disintegrating, falling from my body like flesh. I saw the bodies piling around me as everyone else in Forte succumbed. I fell down the stairs and the flames went out for a moment, but then some forceful hands picked me up and I burned with his fire. I struggled but he wouldn’t let me go. He wanted me to burn!

  “Ko! Grab Yenay and tell him I need those herbs. Now!”

  I struck at him, but he pinned my arms to my sides. I kicked, and that almost knocked him over, but then another pair of hands wrapped a blanket around me.

  “You’re okay. Calm down, I’m going to take care of you. This is perfectly normal. You’re going to be all right.”

  I opened my eyes and looked up at my tormentors. “NO!”

  I screamed and resumed my struggles to get away from these flaming skeletons. The one had an eyeball hanging from its socket, dangling like a compass at the end of a stringy chain. The other eye was empty and crumbling. Their bones were flaking, shards falling into my face, my eyes, my hair. Geoffrey picked them out.

  I was hallucinating, helpless to know that they were just fever-imaginings. I thought that I was trapped in Forte when Fierell set it on fire. I thought that the men who set it on fire, the men who she locked in with the innocent victims, were just trying to throw me out of the way so they could reach the exit tunnel and escape. But even in the midst of my horror, I remembered that I had seen the end of the exit tunnel and I knew that it was cemented shut just as the entryway had been.

  ∞

  We had slept together—and I mean slept—in the bear rug room the night that we had found the cellar in Forte. I know we both lay there, awake for most of the night. I was numb with fear. I couldn’t have moved from his side even if my bladder had been pounding as hard as it is now. I slept soundly when I finally succumbed.

  When I woke again, at Geoffrey’s gentle insistence, the sun was well past the zenith and my queasy stomach was rumbling. We gathered what supplies we thought we’d need by the front gate of the castle. I took some local clothing and a pair of well-fitting boots from the closets. I would wear my clothes most of the time, I thought, but when we ran into other people I could change to fit in.

  Now I’m not even sure if my sandals are still smashed down in the bottom of my pack. As it was still quite cold out, we took blankets to wear, by my suggestion, in the fashion of Scottish highlanders.

  We were both dragging from hunger before we gathered the courage to go through the traveler’s antechamber to the hidden courtyard and kitchen. We fashioned a couple of carry-alls out of some skirts and filled them with food so that we would only have to make the one trip. We would have taken more if we had known how far we were going to travel without entering a town. We would have taken less if we had known how soon that night we would lose our appetites for good and all.

  We climbed out of the castle the way we’d climbed in, but on the north side. Geoffrey stood on my shoulders to gain the top of the wall, I threw our packs up to him and he dropped them to the other side and then hauled me up and over and stepped down onto my shoulders and we were out. I don’t know if anyone saw us. I’d bet not, considering how far we traveled before encountering the five again. But we didn’t care that night. We had our swords ready for the first few hours, just in case. The threat of a hand to hand battle was preferable to the death in the castle. Geoffrey led the way, of course and we set out north from the castle because he wanted to see the exit from the tunnel.

  Tree stumps littered the clearing for about a hundred yards from the castle wall before the forest began again. We stumbled about in the darkness as the stars shone weakly through the thick cover and neither moon was more than a sliver. About a half an hour after we reached the forest we found the exit from the tunnel. Geoffrey kept muttering that it shouldn’t be taking so long to find. It was a challenge because though he remembered the way well, the opening had been hidden.

  Rose bushes had been planted in front of the cavelike doorway and had it been summer, we might never have noticed the difference. I was the one who pointed out the odd rock formation. It looked like a cave rising out of ground that was otherwise free of interesting geology. Because the bushes were bare he saw through them the shape he had been searching for. He told me that the cave entrance was always covered with ivy in any case, but it was not so hindering as these thorny bushes. So, we dug them out in the starlight. We ripped the shallow roots from the ground and tossed the bushes aside. When the bushes were gone, Geoffrey brushed his hands off and swept the thick ivy aside.

  We ran. We ran mindlessly. We ran like we hadn’t run when we were being chased by the five. We ran to the river in the west where he cleaned my scratches and doused himself with ic
y water.

  Behind the ivy, the cave entrance had been sealed with a stone wall. The residents of burning Forte had been sealed into their tomb from both ends.

  I was too tired to cry anymore. I was too scared to move. I was too horrified to go on bothering to live. But Geoffrey went mad in the stream. He’d begun retching as he knelt to slap the cold water on his face and he knelt there still, heaving nothing into the soup of bloody vomit around his legs. I searched my brain. I tried desperately to find some thought that could make me want to fight my way through this nightmare. I had to move, I had to help him.

  But I was frozen where I sat, the image of all those people burning in that sealed tunnel smoldering behind my eyes. I flew through my memory to find some happy moment that could erase the sound of the screams in my ears, some simple time in America that would make me smile and hope for a future. That would make me smile! I giggled, madly, deep in my throat, my hands automatically reaching for imaginary strings and fretboard.

  “Caldonia.” A fierce brightness lit my eyes.

  “Caldonia.” I picked him up and dragged him out of his vomit.

  I let him collapse again upstream and cleaned him off. I gave him water, which he vomited up with his next muscle contraction, so I punched him in the stomach to shock those muscles out of that routine and fed him more water, which he kept down. I pulled him to his feet and made him walk with me. I dragged him until his legs moved. I held him up until his feet began taking weight. I led him until he walked steadily. Then I walked beside him.

  We walked all night. And the next day we walked until we collapsed at the foot of a weeping willow as the angry red sky gave way to a field of stars.

  Twenty-two

  Edling Geoffrey of Kaveg’s journal

  November 6

  Rocky Mountains, CO America

  We found our plateau. I’m writing by starlight since the moon set an hour ago. We almost didn’t make it here. Nanda didn’t want to hike up the road and finding the way without it turned out to be more of a challenge than she expected. We arrived just as the sun was painting the tips of the western peaks with orange.

  We built a small fire with difficulty despite all of our fancy American gadgets and heated up some bland, precooked beans and franks. For dessert, Nanda sliced open two bananas, slathered some peanut butter in them and stuck chocolate chips and baby marshmallows in the mess. She wrapped the two nanners in silver paper and stuck them directly into the fire.

  I got the honor of pulling them out and scorching my fingers when she said that they were finished. She let hers cool for the length of one bad knock knock joke and then pulled out a spoon and went to it. It was with more reserve that I approached the dessert. Remember, I’ve had her bread pudding.

  “Why aren’t you eating?” She asked with her mouth open, trying to cool the mush.

  “I’m contemplating.”

  “Yes?” She raised one brow at me. She was lying by the fire with her head on my backsac, the foil-wrapped banana resting on her chest. Her brow was actually hidden by a tuft of her thick red hair. I knew it was arched from the glint in her eyes.

  “I’m contemplating... the stars.”

  Her lips pursed in a pout and then she tilted her chin up and stared at the bright blackness above, counting the constellations as the dessert cooled on her tongue.

  “So you’re saying you’re distracted from my cooking by a few sparkly balls of gas?”

  I looked around for something to defend myself with as I answered. “By anything I can find.”

  She leaned up slightly on her elbow, not so far as to disturb her food, and gave me the evil eye. In the dancing, uncertain light of our fire I could almost see the responses flickering through her brain.

  “Kelly would eat it,” she finally taunted.

  Too easy. “Yes, but Kelly would spend the entire night trying to pick out the marshmallows and chocolate and trying not to get any banana mixed up with the peanut butter. I haven’t got the time. I’m exhausted. If only I weren’t so tickered out—"

  “Tuckered.”

  “so tuckered out from—"

  “Oh no. Don’t you dare—"

  “such a long, long—"

  “I knew exactly where we were. If you hadn’t—"

  “If I hadn’t refused to swim across an icy river racing down the mountainside? I’ve done with rushing rivers for my lifetime. And I’m definitely done with your shortcuts.”

  And that is how I ended up sleeping with nutty banana in my hair.

  I washed it out the next day while the sun was high in a small pool of rainwater accumulated during the night. This morning we packed up and headed up the mountain looking for a new campsite. I’m out of shape. I was thrilled to see the plateau last night, yes because it is ours, but more because it meant we could stop climbing.

  

  In the Dormounts I raced up and down dragonbacks all day long searching for game to keep Annie from starving. I appreciated the activity. We had enough chores that we didn’t notice sore muscles. And the change of pace was welcome after nursing Nanda through her fever and then. . . her recovery. During the fever I did nothing but search for more of the leaves that Yenay had left for us and try to keep her in water and sanity.

  Yenay and I had stockpiled wood for the fire and I used some of that to build a raised sleeping platform to get Nanda off of the rough ground. She wanted none on top of her so I piled our blankets under her for padding. At first I also tried to hunt to find protein for Nanda. I was fine with vegetables from the garden and the nuts and fruits I stockpiled in the easier first days after Yenay and Ko left, but Nanda was so weak and dizzy, she needed more.

  She rarely complained but she also rarely made any effort to make herself comfortable. That scared me. But I was also scared to leave her alone long enough to hunt and later, even to tend the garden as it needed.

  On the first morning that I woke to find a deer standing outside our tent, I felt lucky. I killed it and began it smoking over a wet fire. That was the third sun of her fever, the second morning after Ko and Yenay left us. That evening, when I returned from gathering water and purple-furred leaves, a desperately mangled hawk lay dying outside the tent. I was confused. But I cleaned it up and used it to start a stock for stew.

  The next morning when Nanda had finally fallen into an exhausted sleep, I crept out in the early morning light to relieve myself at the pit just beyond the freshwater pool. As I was returning, I was treated to the sight of the littlest unfathomably huge fire-spewing dragon attempting to carefully set a struggling unicorn down in the clearing in front of the tent. The unicorn was a gruff old biddy and she was not happy with the flight. Annie was having some difficulty keeping out of reach of the horn. I would have simply dropped the beast but I got the distinct impression that the dragon was actually trying not to hurt the creature.

  I watched the ridiculous scene from a distance and waited until Annie had successfully completed her mission, the unicorn having knocked itself unconscious on a claw, before I emerged from my half-crouched hiding position. I took the unicorn away and tied it securely to a tree near the garden. Remembering Nanda’s reaction when I tried to kill the dam and calf in Forte, I didn’t have the heart to add this grandam to our stew.

  And so it went. For five sunrises Nanda raged in her fever, I fought to pull her through it, and Annie avoided me but for delivery of these gory presents. She also watered the garden. And once tried to get an eyeball down to the flap of the tent while she thought I was off purple flower picking. I caught her at it and shooed her away, waving my arms like she was a wild crow stealing from the garden.

  Then on the night of the fifth day, Nanda’s fever shot up and no wet cloths or soothing talk would calm her. I poured water over her body to cool her down. I pulled the light sheet from her and soaked her clothing. Her stomach had softened with the fever, giving her some relief from the weight but causing me to fear for the baby. I saw the bulge had lowered. It no
longer curved up under her breasts. The crest was well below her navel and while I stared, wondering what to do, a contraction rippled across the wet fabric clinging to her flesh. Nanda screamed.

  “I’m still here. Take my hand. You’re going to be okay.”

  She tore at the blanket under her and arched her back. Her feet scrambled to grab purchase and push herself away from the pain. When her head hit a support pole, the tent came down and one of her feet slipped from the platform’s edge knocking over the one full water jug. I caught her before she rolled off the platform and covered her as the tent poles fell down on top of us. I was struck on my back by the pole she knocked free in her struggling. The second pole spanked me, and I saw the third falling at her face. I leaned forward to protect her and got it smack on the base of my skull.

  When the starry blackness had cleared from my eyes, the tarp had settled around us and Nanda’s belly had stopped dancing. I blinked a few times and then carefully crawled out to an edge of the tarp. I dragged it back and lifted it off of Nanda. She was glowing with heat. Her eyes were shut and I was thrilled to see, finally, beads of perspiration on her forehead. I looked for the water pitcher which was lying on its side. I soaked a corner of the sheet in the little water that remained in the bottom and trailed it along her lips. She sucked thirstily at the cloth and reached her hand out for more but there was none.

  “I’ll be back.” I gathered up the two pitchers. “I’m not leaving you. I’ll be right back.”

  I looked around for any immediate dangers. There was nothing in our camp except the fire and our simmering stew. No large animals had ever wandered in and the sky was clear. I looked Nanda over one last time and ran to the freshwater pool. I heard her screams again as the second pitcher was bubbling full. I pulled it from the water and carried it against my chest, racing to get back to the tent. The first pitcher sat where it was, forgotten. Cool water splashed my face and soaked my shirt. My head was jarred by my heedless race over the rough ground. I stumbled once but caught myself, shook the water from my eyes, and raced on. So concentrated was I on getting back to comfort Nanda, that I didn’t register the change in timbre of her screams until I reached sight of our camp. Nor had I felt the great wind until then.