Damia could feel the pain emanating from him and, while she had always thought Teval was a dork, in that unguarded instant she learned that she had misjudged him badly. He’d had a little sister, just about the same age as Larak, when the Beetles came: he’d had a mother and father, and the Russian grandfather. Now he lived with an uncle who worked too hard to have much time for his nephew. It was like Afra to know more about Teval Rieseman than she, Damia Gwyn-Raven, had bothered to find out in the years they’d spent as classmates.
“Why don’t we study Russian as your language?” she suggested gently. “Then we’ll find out what this message says.”
It took them many months and they became good friends, tho’ still not without some quarrels, when they finally translated the one-line message. It read: “Friends don’t fight with rocks.”
* * *
“Let’s go hunt Beetle junk!” Damia suggested one day to Larak as Deneb VIII sweltered in an unusual heat wave.
“Uncle Rhodri said he’d found all the near stuff.” Larak, at eight, sometimes questioned his sister. It was so hot, he didn’t like the idea of hunting Beetle metal. It stank and, if you touched it, it went “sting-pzzzt.” He hated the feel.
“I need new stirrup leathers and that takes cash. Uncle Rhodri pays good for Beetle metal. And I don’t have enough money. Grandmother’s stingy.”
“I’ll lend you my cash,” Larak said, more so that he wouldn’t have to go hunting than because he was generous.
“No, Larak, that’s very nice of you, but I’d rather spend money I’ve earned. And, besides, if we keep sitting here, Gran’ll discover another nice cool job for us.” She could see that that appealed to her brother. They’d already been nabbed for some dirty, dusty garden chores.
“But we’re not supposed to hunt Beetle metal unless we tell Uncle Rhodri.”
“We’ll tell him when we find it so he can send the ’copter to collect it,” she replied.
“Do I get to ride in the ’copter again?” Larak began to be enthusiastic now. He’d been allowed to ride back in the big navy vehicle the last time they’d found some Beetle metal. He was going to learn how to fly a ’copter when he grew older.
“If we find metal, you might,” Damia replied, not specifically promising the treat but she saw the anticipatory shine of her brother’s eyes. “Okay, here’s what we do . . .”
It was, after all, easy to slip out of the Compound, even with backsacks carrying “provisions.” She’d got hand-lights as well as food and made Larak roll up a blanket, though he’d protested that it was too hot to need a blanket.
“Well, we might just need to stay the night,” Damia said in explanation. “I’ve food enough. And the forest’s always cooler.”
Larak agreed, though he demurred when she wanted him to bring a shirt, too.
“Against branch lash,” she said curtly. “Now, go get ready. And be quiet. You know what long ears Gran has and we don’t want her stopping us with more jobs to do. Meet me at the paddock.”
So Larak went “quietly” to gather the things his sister wanted him to get. Larak liked being with Damia. Which was more than he could say about the company of his older brother and sister. For all his efforts, Larak had never been able to establish a good rapport with his older brother. He had astutely identified Cera as the source of his older brother’s apathy. Since Damia was a lot of fun to be with, he’d given up on the other two. Anyway, Jeran was now on a probationary assignment to Deneb Tower, taking on-the-job training, and Cera, moping about the place without him, was no fun to be around at all.
They met at the paddock where the ponies drowsed in the heat of the afternoon.
“Now, we know there’s nothing to the east, south, or west of us because Uncle Rhodri says those directions are all clear of sting-pzzzt,” Damia said, “so we’ll go north, through the woods, which will be cooler. No one’s really done much that way. Not even Jeran when he organized his search party.” She was slightly contemptuous because Jeran had been so sure that he’d find tons of the stuff. “So, let’s be off!”
Taking Larak’s hand, she struck off across the paddock, and into the first of the trees.
They were panting from the heat, but the moment they got in the shade, they could feel an appreciable difference in the torrid heat of the day.
“Hey, it’s cooler,” he exclaimed, delighted.
“Told you it would be. Come on!”
Damia led on, weaving her way due north, with little variation despite the press of trees. She signaled their first break when they crossed one of the logging roads. Revived by the rest and drinks from their travel bottles, they continued.
Larak would have liked to stop longer and enjoy the coolth, but Damia insisted that they wouldn’t find any Beetle metal this close to the Compound. And no Beetle metal meant no ’copter ride. Larak got to his feet and trudged along behind her.
When they came to a brook, gushing down a rocky bed, Larak did insist that he had to cool himself down. So they shucked out of their clothes and splashed about in the pool. Damia shared out one of their sandwiches and ordered him to fill his canteen again.
Shortly after they resumed their march, they broke through the forest into a lovely mountain pasture. They quartered this because Damia thought it the very spot where Beetle metal might have dropped. Then she had to explain to Larak, once more, how their mother and father had destroyed the Beetle ships, breaking them open and scattering the pieces far and wide, thus saving the whole world, and beyond.
By then they had reached forest again and, of course, had to sit to enjoy the coolth, have a cool drink, eat a few biscuits. The sun was lowering, but Damia knew they had a good few hours of daylight.
“We’ll find a cave, with a stream,” Damia told her brother as he gamely plodded on behind her. “We’ll have a great night out.”
“When’ll we find Beetle metal?” Larak asked plaintively.
“Why we could trip over it any time now.”
“I don’t want to trip over it.”
“Well, then, let’s just concentrate on locating some good sting-pzzzt’s, huh?”
Obediently Larak cast his mind about and that kept him occupied until the blister on his left heel began to do the stinging.
“I gotta stop, ’Mia. I gotta blister.”
“We’ll stop when I’ve found us a cave and a stream so you can stoop that blister cool,” Damia said, with a patient sigh over Larak’s blister.
She hoped he could hang on a while longer. She had no idea how far they had tramped, but it wasn’t far enough, for they hadn’t found Beetle metal yet. She was determined to find some. Meanwhile, raising her forearm, she rubbed her forehead dry of sweat and, shifting her backpack, went on.
Larak was a real trooper, she thought, when she saw him limping though he didn’t complain. He was the best brother. She was getting a bit anxious about a suitable camping site. Uncle Rhodri had taught all his young relatives basic woodsmanship when he’d organized his Beetle metal hunts.
They found the stream first, so Damia suggested that Larak take off his boots—the cold water would ease his blister—and they’d walk upstream until they found a campsite. Maybe not a cave, but a nice clearing.
By the time Larak had slipped and fallen into the stream four times, and bruised his toes, he was ready to quit just when they rounded a bend and found that an old rockslide had indeed formed a sort of cave.
“What if there’re animals?” Larak protested nervously, peering into the shadowed opening.
Damia had not considered that aspect and was miffed. Uncle Rhodri had shown them tapes of all the animals on Deneb, mainly small, but some had poisonous bites. Some nocturnal species could be most unpleasant, trying to creep into a camper’s sleepsac. But they only had blankets with them. Nevertheless, caution was advisable. She pulled the handlight from her belt and shone it into the cave. Carefully she looked in every corner. “See? Nothing there! Now, let’s get this camp organized. I’ll get us firewood, you can set
out our supper.”
The first attempt at fire starting did not go well. They had built it in the cave which immediately filled with smoke. So, against Damia’s better judgment, they built another fire, in front of the cave. Soon they had a good roaring blaze going. And none too soon, for night had fallen and the woods closed in about them, with only the gap above the stream to let in starlight.
They happily munched on the rest of their sandwiches before Damia grandiosely extracted a half sack of marshmallows from her sack, scrupulously divvying them up. Larak limped over to a sapling to pull long enough branches to roast the marshmallows on.
“Now,” Damia said, dropping her voice into the creepiest tone she could affect, “all we need is a good ghoulie story!” Just then her marshmallow fell off her stick. “Rats!”
“Rats aren’t very ghoulie!” Lark complained.
“Of course they’re not. I said ‘rats’ because I lost my marshmallow.”
“I’ll tell you a story,” Larak declared, and launched into the telling of the Headless Horseman, which had scared him the first time he’d seen the tape. Larak was a good storyteller, so Damia didn’t mind hearing it again. Towards the end of his recitation, her attention wandered and her eyes darted to the edge of the dark. A light night breeze had come up and there was an odd scraping sound: a dim memory tugged at her.
“Now, you tell me one!” Larak demanded when he had finished.
“Soul-eaters,” Damia muttered to herself, for the scraping noise reminded her of her nightmare terror.
“Soul-eaters? What are they?” Larak’s eyes grew round.
“Nothing.” Damia gave a convulsive shudder. She really didn’t want to remember that awful dream.
“No, tell me!”
“That’s too scary and it’s not a story. I’ll think of another one, a better one.”
“No, I want to know about soul-eaters,” Larak insisted. “Where did you hear about them?”
Damia shook her head. “I didn’t hear. They came after me.”
“Sure!” Larak snorted derisively.
“When I was hit on the head,” Damia continued, more to herself. She sat on her haunches, not really wanting to, but nevertheless reconstructing her recollection. “It was dark. They were darker. They chittered like beetles on the outskirts and they tried to drag me away.” Her voice went shrill and she gripped her arms about her knees. “They were going to get me, to eat my soul! Chittering, chittering!” She had dropped her voice, not as part of a storyteller’s effect, but because she was succeeding in scaring herself with the memory.
“Damia! Stop it! You’re scaring me!” Larak threw his arms around her, his mouth trembling, his eyes watering with nervous tears. “Damia? Tell me this is a story. Tell me there aren’t any soul-eaters out here!”
But Damia had triggered the recollection and was trapped in it, talking her own way out as she had struggled in the dream. “They got me by the foot, then slithered up my leg, and always making this awful chittering. I could just make out a light. I knew that if I could only reach the light, I’d be safe. But they kept holding me back; they got my other foot and then I saw the light—”
“Light?”
She didn’t register the pure panic in Larak’s voice, didn’t see what he was doing. “Then, I reached the light and Afra had it! He turned them away! Turned them back! He scared them with his light and then he touched me with it and—” Her eyes refocused and she shook her head, shielded her eyes. There was much too much light, illuminating the cave behind her, the clearing around her. “Larak?”
Larak was at the edge of the clearing, a burning faggot in one hand, spreading the flame to every dry branch and root he could find. To make enough light to keep the soul-eaters at bay.
Larak!
* * *
More scared than singed, Angharad, Isthia assured her daughter-in-law when the situation was finally under control. Overhead a water-carrying ’copter made another pass at the remains of the forest fire. We pulled them out as soon as Damia’s scream woke us. She was too disoriented to ’port.
What caused the fire? Jeff wanted to know.
Larak. He used a firebrand to light the forest. Said something about soul-eaters and light. He was scared witless, Isthia replied. He’s sleeping now.
And Damia? Another voice, which Isthia placed as Afra’s, asked with some strain.
She’s all right, Isthia quickly reassured him. What time is it on Callisto?
Early, Jeff said with some acerbity.
I was awake. Couldn’t sleep, Afra replied, and a mental yawn followed. I’ll turn in now. Rowan, Jeff, Isthia. Isthia felt Afra’s touch fade out.
Well! the Rowan declared tetchily. When is that child going to stop playing her “tricks”? I really don’t want Ezro learning from that sort of example.
I think she’s been well and truly frightened, luv, was Jeff’s verdict.
I would remind you, Angharad, Isthia said, her tone stern, that Damia didn’t start the fire: Larak did. She has always looked out for her younger brother and protected him. Or have you forgotten the incident with the stone?
Anyway, Jeff interposed quickly, she’s due to start Tower training, so she’ll be too tired for nighttime treks. How far did you say she hiked? Isthia detected a note of admiration in her son’s tone.
Once she learns how to ’port over distance, the Rowan said thoughtfully, she could actually commute from here to Earth every day. Just as you do, Jeff.
I’m not sure the galaxy is safe once Damia learns how to ’port distances.
The Rowan mulled that over. Well, I do feel that now is the time for Damia to return to Callisto and start using some of the skills she’s learned. Isthia, we’ve impinged on your good nature far too long . . .
Nonsense, Angharad. It’s been—educational, Isthia responded with a chuckle. Because of Damia, and Jeran and Cera and Larak, I got the Special School I wanted and Deneb is now actively looking for Talents to train.
Was that your reason for offering to take my children? the Rowan asked. She’d always known that Isthia had had some devious reason.
Not the main one, Angharad. There was Ian to be considered, too, you know.
Jeff guffawed. And he’s tested out a T-4. You did well by the brother!
What do you test out these days, Isthia? the Rowan asked.
I’ve never really wanted to know, Isthia replied smoothly.
Best leave with honors even, luv, Jeff said.
But I think it is time for us to give Damia the benefit of working in a busy Tower environment. Know that I—we—are deeply grateful to you, Isthia. And the Rowan was entirely sincere in that.
Isthia gracefully accepted the thanks, for she was as fond of the mother as she was of the daughter.
She’s starting to sprout since you were last here, Isthia told them.
So soon? Jeff mentally counted on his fingers.
Let’s say that she’s germinated, then, and should shortly sprout, Isthia amended her original statement.
Are there any suitable candidates there? Jeff wondered.
T-1’s? The Rowan’s tone was frankly contemptuous.
Love, when a woman’s fancy turns to men, she does not always stop to check their pedigree, Jeff remarked carefully. Isthia could feel the Rowan’s cheeks redden across the light years.
There are no candidates here, Jeff, Isthia said in response to the original question. In fact, with Larak here it’s as well you consider bringing Damia home.
Both parents were shocked.
Goodness! Isthia chuckled. You two think the worst things! I meant that Damia would be ambivalent about dating a boy if it might compromise the special relationship she and Larak have for each other. Tsk! Tsk!
I take your point, Jeff said, somewhat abashed. It would be easier for her first romance if she did not have to worry about the jealousy of her little brother.
Exactly, Isthia replied.
Jeff made his mind up. Very well, send her ba
ck when term is over. I’ll arrange for her continued education here. Not that it will be as good as what she could get on Deneb, of course, he added with a wink in his “voice.”
Of course!
It was only after contact was broken that Isthia recalled what she had wanted to ask Jeff. Or rather Afra. To intercede on her behalf with Capella to find a high T-rating who would teach on Deneb. There was something positive to be said for a methody upbringing. She hoped that a little more methody might rub off Afra onto Damia when she returned to Callisto. Isthia was rather sure that he’d have a hand in her education. From comments that Jeff had dropped and her own observations of Angharad, Afra was likely to have taught her the self-control she’d needed to run Callisto Tower as efficiently as she did. Jeff had provided the emotional security Angharad required.
Isthia sighed, remembering his father and wishing, as she often did, that Jerry was still alive. But he wasn’t and she was. And this wasn’t furthering the aims she had set herself for next year: delving more deeply into metamorphic manipulation. Unfortunately, Capellans didn’t believe in that.
CHAPTER
SIX
THE hands which were thrust into Afra’s view were no longer those of a small child but were still slender, graceful just like their owner.
“What do you think?” Damia asked, turning her hands palms up and palms down for his inspection. Afra looked up from where he had been kneeling, into the intense blue eyes in an oval face framed by long, raven black hair. Damia had let her hair go long in the four years since she had returned from Deneb.
“Think of what, witch?” he asked, flicking to her back the one strand of white that emphasized the blackness and lustre of her hair.
“This!” Damia stretched to her full height, running hands alongside her body. It was only then, with the girl standing boldly upright, one leg slightly before the other, that Afra realized she was not wearing her swimsuit. She quirked an eyebrow at him provocatively, daring him to look away. Afra responded by scrutinizing her body carefully from graceful neck, to firm breasts, to graceful hips, sculpted legs and finally to delicately boned long toes.
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