by Anny Cook
Merlyn spread butter on a slice of sunflower bread. “How did your discussion go with Rebaccah and Hamilton? How did she take the news about your parents?”
“How did you know she knew my parents?”
“Dancer. We knew both the McCrorys and the Taylors before we came to the valley. Actually, Jade and I met your parents a long time ago.”
“Well, it was awkward,” Dancer answered bluntly. “The first thing she asked about was my parents. Having to discuss murder right off the bat was a bad way to start a reunion.”
“Murder is always awkward,” Jade pointed out. “The murder of family members is also painful. You have had two years to absorb the worst of the horror. For Rebaccah, it happened this morning.”
Thinking about what she said while he slowly chewed his bread, Dancer finally nodded. “I don’t see what I could have done differently given the circumstances. Suddenly we were face-to-face and I was totally unprepared.”
Eppie snorted genteelly. “That is what’s actually bothering you. You weren’t in control. You can’t always be in control, Dancer.”
“Since I arrived in this valley, control hasn’t even been in my vocabulary except when I tie you to our bed!”
A deep silence fell over the kitchen. Merlyn fought to keep the smile off his face. Then losing the battle, he laughed so hard tears rolled down his cheeks. Soon, everyone but Dancer was laughing. At last Merlyn stopped and cleared his throat. Brushing the tears away with his hands, he observed, “Interesting technique. Does it work?”
“Not very well.”
“So you wouldn’t recommend it, eh?”
“It has its moments,” Dancer admitted.
Eppie decided it was a perfect time to change the subject. “Who was that very tall man escorting Samara around at the gathering?”
“Banisher Ewell,” Arturo replied abruptly. “He’s an archivist up at Talking Wall.”
“Really? He looked familiar. I wonder why he came to the gathering this year.”
Dai cleared his throat. “I believe he hopes to convince the council to set aside credits for permanent housing at Talking Wall. They’re still living in hurkas.”
“What?” Eppie’s appalled expression was echoed around the table. “But the archivists have been up there more than thirty years! There should be a complete village at Talking Wall by now!”
“There are no permanent buildings at this time,” Dai reiterated flatly. “I, for one, will support his cause. I believe there are about a hundred and twenty people at Talking Wall still living out in the open. Winter is especially hard on them. Hurkas cannot be heated. As for cooking and research, those are all done in pavilions. The only concession to bad weather is hanging the side coverings. But that certainly doesn’t keep out the cold and wind.”
“They also need a healer. It was our thought that perhaps Wolfe might consider that post when he completes his apprenticeship. Of course, they will need to build a clinic for him.” Merlyn left that thought hanging while he helped himself to another piece of bread.
Wolfe’s brow wrinkled in thought. “Who takes care of them now?”
“If it’s serious, Henry from Rebaccah’s Promise travels over there. Otherwise, there is a bonded couple with minor healing talent that deals with emergencies.” Dai pointed his spoon at Wolfe. “Neither of them have a tenth of the healer talent that you have already. And of course, there is no healer at Jump Stag Spring, either. You would have a large number of patients if you choose to take the position. In any case, you will have time to decide, as part of your training will be a weekly clinic at Talking Wall.”
“When will the council consider it?” Llyon asked quietly.
“Two more days. It would help if the Llewellyn family shows a united front,” Dai pointed out.
“We’ll be there,” Tyger announced.
“All of us will be there,” Dancer agreed. “I haven’t been in this valley more than a few eight-days and even I can see that this must be done.”
“Who’s the closest builder?” Eppie’s words fell in a pool of silence as everyone considered her question. “Summer building time is short. Perhaps we can also urge them to requisition builders to start immediately.”
Finally Dai reluctantly answered. “Stefan Cowal, here in Lost Market. If he goes to Talking Wall, the villagers here will have to do their own building until he completes the project.”
“Are there enough people here who know how to do that?” Dancer frowned at Dai. “Eppie mentioned at least two projects that are planned here in the village.”
Merlyn shrugged. “The villagers will have to pitch in and finish those projects if Stefan goes. That’s what we did before Stefan came to Lost Market. We’ve just been spoiled because he’s taken over the planning and organization but certainly we know how to do it.”
“Stefan has agreed to apprentice Panther after the gathering,” Arturo reminded them. “It’s my thought that this might be a good thing if we can arrange his tutoring.”
Dai squinted in thought as he considered the inhabitants at Talking Wall. “There is a retired schoolteacher there. He was an excellent teacher. And he could no doubt use the extra credits. What was his name? Marc, Marco—no, Markus. Yes, that’s it. Markus Bell.”
“As soon as the council makes a decision, I will write to him,” Merlyn said. “Actually, I think that I might talk to Ban about apprenticing Falcon. If he agrees, then Markus could tutor both boys.”
“The house would be very empty,” Jade said unhappily.
“No, I don’t think so. Dancer and Eppie will be here with their baby. There won’t be time to build new domes until next spring. And I expect that Trav and Wrenna will also be bonded soon.” Merlyn clasped her hand in his. “We will barely have room for another generation of children by Midwinter. Our new babies will be here by then. Llynx will be here in the evenings. It’s also time for Cougar and Gazelle to take more responsibilities. You’ll not be lonely, sweetheart. Not at all.”
* * * * *
As sunset neared, Bishop stumbled to a halt and wearily dumped his burdens on the ground. There was nothing to distinguish this flat arid spot from any other around him. No stones, no trees, no water—just grassy barren open plain.
He didn’t dare sit down. Almost certainly, if he sat down he wouldn’t get up again. Numbly, he picked up the rolled hurka and opened the fastenings. It required willow whips to support the dome and there were none available but he planned to use it as a ground cloth to sleep on. He spread it out, carefully stacked his other belongings on one side and spread out his bedroll on the other side.
Then he sat down on his bedroll and sighed. First things first, he thought. He needed to check the blisters on his feet. Then he would dig something out of the pack to eat. After that, he suspected he would sleep like the dead.
When he removed the sandals and socks and partially unwound the bandages, the blisters didn’t look bad at all. He decided to leave them alone for the night and change the bandages the next morning. He wrapped them up and pulled the socks back on.
In the pack, he discovered some carefully wrapped bars that resembled energy bars from out-valley. They weren’t his first choice for dinner but choice wasn’t on the current menu, it seemed. Hungrily he devoured one, finding it surprisingly tasty. Then he washed it down with a couple of cautious sips of water. Tomorrow he would have to find fresh water. He stared off into the distance at the dark rock which was his target. It seemed just as far away now as it had this morning. He fervently hoped it was within a reasonable walking distance for tomorrow. Crazily, he had weird visions of walking toward an ever-receding destination he never reached. Shaking his head, he repacked everything and stretched out on his bedroll as the sun finally went down.
Before the stars began to twinkle in the twilight, he slept.
In the predawn darkness, he slowly clawed his way free from dreams that haunted him with never-ending chase scenes. Faceless men pursued him through unfamiliar dreamscapes wit
h strange plants and odd animals stared at him from black corners. With a strangled shout, he sat up, heart pounding and abruptly wide awake. He shivered with cold and damp, realizing belatedly that he’d fallen asleep on top of his bedroll.
“Is all well, Uncle?” a quiet voice inquired from the dark.
For long moments the dream returned as terror roared through his mind. His heart pounded so loudly he could hear nothing other than the thumping in his chest. And then he recognized his nephew’s calm tones. Cautiously he ventured, “Hawke?”
“Yes?”
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Surely you didn’t believe I would send you off to explore on your own?” There was a hint of humor in his nephew’s voice. “There are many dangerous pitfalls, Uncle. My father wouldn’t forgive me if my banishment killed you.”
“I’m not so sure about that. He wasn’t very happy with me this morning.”
There was a pause. Then Hawke observed, “This valley is my father’s home. But for many years he has been here without any family of his own. Mama has Rebaccah but Papa had no one. Is it so strange that he would want you to stay? Instead, you make no secret of your desire to leave as soon as possible. And so he is angry and hurt.”
“Then why isn’t he around?” Bishop demanded in frustration. “I’m sick of all the weird shit. When I ask questions, the answers don’t make sense. What the hell are they doing in those bonding cottages that is so frigging important?”
Hawke sighed. “Sex is not so very different from out-valley, I think. But reproduction—creating a child is very, very different in the valley. The effects of pregnancy on the mother can be quite serious. It is the male bond mate’s primary responsibility to be there for her. Mama is pregnant with two babies and that means that her well-being is even more important. Would you have him abandon her to her fate so that he can be with you?”
“Of course not!”
“It will only be a few more eight-days. Then they will return to the family dome. In the meantime, if you decide to return to Lost Market, Dai or Llyon will explain the entire process in vivid detail.”
Bishop snorted at Hawke’s sarcastic wit. “Not a fan of the process, I take it?”
“No, just not particularly worried about it at this time.”
“No female in your sights?” Bishop asked curiously.
“Do you remember how it was with Papa and Mama? How they were bonded from the time Mama was a little girl?”
Shifting on his bedroll, Bishop peered at Hawke in the dim light of dawn. “Yeah, I remember.”
“Well, it is the same with my mate. She is very young so it will be a long time before our bonding ceremony.” Hawke shrugged. “In the meantime, there are many other things to do.”
“Like leading your hopeless uncle around by the hand?”
“Or perhaps simply spending time getting to know a new relative,” Hawke said softly. “Shall I look at those blisters on your feet before we start the day?”
Smiling at his own foolishness, Bishop nodded. “Why not? I can’t feel any sillier than I do now.”
* * * * *
As the last stars faded into dawn, Jiph silently passed Bishop’s encampment, furiously avoiding the sleepy men as they packed up. Jiph had been within arm’s length of Bishop when he woke, heart pounding from the nightmare. Even then, Jiph was prepared to carry out his plan but Hawke’s soft inquiry in the dark stayed Jiph’s hand. He was quite sure that his life would be forfeit if he continued with his plan. Angry at the delay, he slipped away to his own camp, swiftly packed up and headed for the water hole. He needed to be there and gone by the time Bishop and his companions arrived. As for Bishop—there would be other opportunities.
* * * * *
Early morning sun filtered through the trees, lighting the front garden and poking through the living room windows at Samara’s house. Ban silently watched the furnishings and objects in the room take on shape and substance as the sun rose. He considered Samara’s words from the evening before and smiled at the evidence of genetic stubbornness. Clearly, he was his father’s son.
Looking back over the years, he wondered when he moved from teenaged rebellion to hidebound willfulness. It wasn’t as though he didn’t keep in shape and maintain his warrior skills. Every single day he performed the difficult graceful moves that made up the Grimahr Dance. He had infinite respect for the warriors among his friends, so why did he resist taking the vows? He didn’t know.
With an impatient shake of his head, he sat up and yawned. Time to rise and go out into the garden. If he hurried he would have time to complete his exercises before Samara was up. Swiftly, he dressed, finished his morning routine in the bathing room and padded out to the front porch barefooted. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the morning scents of mint and basil from Samara’s herb garden. Then with a smile, he went down to the small grassy yard and began the slow movements to loosen and warm his muscles.
Samara peeked out her bedroom window when she heard him walk onto the porch. He stood in the yard stretching and bending with the loose grace of a hunting packit. After a few minutes, he began the ritual movements of the dance, movements she’d seen hundreds of times while watching the classes on the practice field. In some indefinable way, Ban made the graceful exercises his own.
With a deep sigh, she gathered her clean meerlim and went to take her morning shower under the waterfall. By the time she finished Ban would no doubt be ready for breakfast. In the bathing room, she unraveled the braid that fell well below her butt and shook her head until a wavy curtain of golden brown covered her back like a soft cape. After spending the day before at the gathering her hair had a dusty film that could only be removed with a vigorous brushing. She seized her brush and ran it through the long strands until they were shining threads of gold. Then she twisted the mass up in a knot on top of her head.
It was the work of just minutes to turn on the water and step under the warm shower. She smiled at the sheer luxury of cleaning her body under the waterfall. Too soon, she had to turn off the water and leave the pleasure of the shower to dry and dress. There were chores to finish before she could leave for the gathering. She slipped her meerlim on and brushed her hair one more time before braiding it so she could wind it into the topknot she normally wore.
When she opened the bathing room door, she could see Ban sitting in the kitchen, drinking a mug of tea. Clearly, it was time to prepare breakfast. “I hoped to be cooking before you finished your exercises,” she exclaimed as she went into the kitchen. “Good morning! Did you sleep well?”
“I did. And I’m in no hurry for breakfast. Sit and have a mug of tea.”
“I made an egg and hopper pie last night while you were showering. Let me fetch it from the spring house and start it baking. Then I’ll have plenty of time to visit.”
He stood up at once. “Egg and hopper pie? I’ll go get it. I haven’t had egg and hopper pie in a very long time!” He whisked out the back door and down the stairs before she could blink.
Well, she thought. Obviously he was happy with her breakfast choice. While he was gone, she lit the hot rocks in the oven so it would begin to heat and then set about peeling and slicing ripe quoltanias for a fruit salad.
Chapter Thirteen
Bishop Returns to Lost Market
Two eight-days later Bishop wearily approached Lost Market in the silent company of Hawke, Mali and Jonas. He was footsore and discouraged but thoroughly convinced that the valley inhabitants knew what they were talking about when they said there was no exit. Obviously, the only way out was the same as the way in. And that appeared to be closed off too.
He hated to admit it but he was looking forward to the privacy of his bedroom and his bathroom. Too much togetherness made him edgy. A half-moon spent in the company of his casually efficient young companions was an eye-opening experience. They were comfortable with living on the land but extremely cautious. At no point did they forget that there were dangers everywhere. I
n spite of himself, Bishop found that he was impressed.
As they moved around the far perimeter of the valley, the young men took turns pointing out things he would have otherwise missed. It was ruthlessly impressed upon him that he was ill-prepared to wander off on his own and by the end of their time-out away from the village he realized that even the safety of the village was merely an illusion. No wonder even the youngest warrior trainee was always armed with a knife. Children here were taught caution from the time they were walking.
Outside the Llewellyn domes the men separated. Mali and Jonas walked away with softly spoken farewells. Hawke led the way into the kitchen where Arturo was preparing dinner.
“Ah, you’ve returned! How did it go?”
Bishop yawned mightily. “How did it go? I suppose I learned what I was supposed to learn.”
“You look tired and no doubt you will want to clean up before you rest. Shall I make you a sandwich before you bathe?” Arturo asked with absent concern as he pummeled and folded dough in a huge bowl.
“No. You have enough to do.” Bishop’s eyes watered as he yawned again. “I tell you what. I’m going to go take a shower and a nap. Please send someone to wake me when it’s time to eat.”
Nodding briskly, Arturo agreed, “I can do that. Now take your things please and get out of my kitchen.” He turned the dough out on the floured table and kneaded it a couple more times before placing it in another oiled wooden bowl.
Hawke leaned against the wooden cabinet with his arms folded across his chest and watched Arturo with bright-eyed interest. “Pizza?”
“Pizza. Since Dancer showed me how to make it, it’s become a favorite of the family.” Arturo fetched a cutting board, two lengths of sausage, peppers, some of the dark fanilver mushrooms and two tiny drackas. With swift strokes, he sliced the meat and dumped it into a wide cast-iron pot. The sausage sizzled in the pan, filling the kitchen with a tantalizing aroma.
Hawke inhaled blissfully. “I’ll be back in a few minutes to help you. I need a quick shower first.”
