Star Bridge (Chaterre Trilogy Book 1)

by Jeanne Foguth

  Individual rooms appeared randomly positioned from ground to the first branch. Each connected by semi-enclosed stairs that hugged the titanic tree.

  If someone disassembled the strange spiraling structure and laid it in a line, the house would probably be twenty yards wide and close to four hundred yards long.

  Whatever architect had designed it had the strangest taste Larwin had ever seen.

  And he liked it. Of course, he almost always liked unusual things.

  Nimri turned off the main path and followed a curving one, which led past the sprawling patches of assorted foliage. Larwin brushed past some tiny purple flowers. A rich spicy aroma wafted around him. Nimri ignored the amazing plants as she focused on a round door near the smoking chimney. As they neared the amazing structure, Larwin realized the door was an enormous slab with concentric rings. It looked heavy, but Nimri opened it with ease. The kazza made an excited sound and bounded inside. Nimri motioned for them to enter.

  The interior appeared as organic as the exterior, but what caught and held his attention was the smell of something even more delectable than the bits of food Nimri had shared.

  Larwin‘ s mouth watered. He dropped his haversack onto the soft green cushion of a chair crafted from twining branches. Turning, his thigh brushed against a round tabletop. Like the door, the top appeared to have been crafted from a single slab with bark skirting its six-foot-diameter. Crude bowls, rocks and bits of dried plants covered the surface. He sniffed, but the delicious odor wasn’t coming from anything displayed on the round surface. He peered under the slab at the base made from twisting branches, but saw no food.

  Larwin straightened and looked up at the ceiling, where bundles of dry plants hung suspended on rough cord. Looking closer, he realized there were a variety of plants, with foliage as varied as what grew near the trail. There were also dried flowers of every hue.

  Extraordinary. But not the source of the mouth-watering aroma.

  From around the curve, a woman said, “So, you’re home. Smelled the bread, did you? Well, my fine fellow, what have you done with Nimri?”

  “I’m right behind him, Bryta. I hope you’ve made enough for guests, because I’ve brought company.”

  “Where are you going to find company on that abandoned trail, especially at this time of night?” A smiling, rosy-cheeked, white-haired woman bustled into sight. She took one look at them, stopped dead in her tracks and blanched as white as GEA-4.

  Nimri quickly moved to the portly woman and gave her a big hug. Larwin heard Nimri murmur something before she stepped aside.

  Without moving her lips, Bryta uttered a string of syllables. The expression in her brownish eyes reminded Larwin of the way people looked at carriers of contagious disease—something between mortal fear and horror.

  Nimri grabbed Bryta’s arm and pulled her forward. Nimri gave GEA-4 a mind-numbing smile. “Bryta, this is Anthropoid. She looks odd, but doesn’t act ill. In fact, she’s stronger than you’d believe.”

  The whites of Bryta’s eyes expanded.

  “This is Larwin,” Nimri said. “I’m not certain why the Guardians materialized for me, but—”

  “They what?” The woman’s high-pitched tone sliced through his eardrums and ended in a thin high-pitched screech. Bryta stumbled backward until she collided with the bark wall. “They’re who? From where?” Bryta gawked at GEA-4. Larwin contemplated putting in earplugs.

  Nimri’s smile appeared strained, but her tone remained affectionate and soft. “I saw the Star Bridge Guardians. Bryta, they are molded into the side of Sacred Mountain. I’d never imagined anything like them.”

  Bryta flattened against the wall, much as the carvings on the mountain had been depicted.

  Nimri turned to face him and ignored Bryta’s behavior, which must not be odd on this world. “They tested me and I passed.” She smiled up at him. “Larwin looks exactly like one of the Guardians.” He glanced from her fearless face to Bryta’s eyes, which looked like burning black beads in a sea of glistening white.

  “Look at his chest.” Nimri recaptured his attention as she gestured to his heart. Her finger traced the outline of the Shadow Warrior’s emblem on his uniform. The woman’s stare switched to his chest; her mouth dropped open. Larwin wondered what Nimri was saying and if her deferential tone meant that she was pleased with him and his devotion to Kues. Or perhaps she was explaining that he’d made colonel at twenty-eight and was a member of the elite Shadow Warriors. The latter seemed more likely, since their attention focused on his insignia, but if so, how could she know? Unless she was a goddess, of course.

  “See how the design resembles the Tramontain family crest? I think he’s either a Guardian or they materialized him to help me.” She smiled. “I think they wanted me to know he was sent to help our Tribe—that must be why he’s marked.”

  Bryta’s eyelids fluttered closed and she slid down the wall in a dead faint.

  Larwin wondered what was wrong with the women of this world.

  ~0~

  Nimri dropped to her knees and grabbed Bryta’s plump wrist. She felt several erratic beats before she dropped the limp hand onto the rumpled pink apron.

  Having the Guardian’s gift strapped around her arm made her feel awkward as a new-hatched bird. Nimri hoped they didn’t expect her to wear the ornamental tube indefinitely and wished she dared to take it off, at least while she examined Bryta.

  Behind her, Anthropoid said something, which sounded negative. The small woman, who Nimri suspected was a healer, didn’t sound upset. Nimri’s racing heart calmed and she recalled that she’d fainted when first confronted with the reality of legends.

  Obviously, Anthropoid and Larwin were accustomed to such greetings and were not worried because they considered the behavior normal.

  Moments later, Nimri put her fingers against Bryta’s wrist and perceived a strong, steady beat. Theory confirmed; she straightened out Bryta’s legs, then got up to serve the Guardians dinner; honey-yams and black bread if her nose wasn’t mistaken.

  Later, after her esteemed guests were settled for the night and as moon shadows browsed the interior, Nimri returned to the main room. She placed two steaming mugs of peppermint tea on the table, then knelt next to Bryta, who was a combination of housekeeper, companion and surrogate mother. “I know you’re awake. They’ve gone to bed. Open your eyes.”

  Was it a shadow, or was Bryta’s jaw stiff with gritted teeth?

  “I put them in Great-grandfather’s bedroom.”

  “Rolf’s room!” Bryta sat up so quickly that her forehead butted Nimri’s jaw. “But all the sacred relics are there!” Nimri jerked backward, landing hard on her backside. “Oh. I forgot who they were.” Bryta rubbed her temple.

  Nimri massaged her throbbing chin as they silently stared at each other. A long tense moment passed. Then, Nimri got to her feet. After she helped Bryta get up, they sat down in their favorite chairs, as if this was an ordinary evening and they were discussing the usual happenings.

  Yet nothing in her life felt normal or routine. It hadn’t been since she’d given her Great-grandfather her promise.

  Nimri’s fingertip traced the leaf impression on her mug’s verdant handle and tried to grasp everything that had happened in the five moon risings since Rolf’s spirit had been released by fire.

  Bryta took a sip of tea. “I never thought I’d see you, again.” She took another quick gulp. “Was it as horrible a trip as I imagined?” Bryta asked.

  Most of the hazards were something Nimri didn’t want to discuss, at least not so soon or when dear Bryta was covertly staring at the stairway, as if expecting an attack. Nimri cleared her throat. “Some parts were worse, some better.” She took a sip of the restorative brew. “What happened while I was fulfilling my obligation? Did you visit Lily and Tansy?”

  Upon hearing her granddaughter’s name, Bryta’s expression softened as she nodded. “Tansy told me that after we left the marketplace last Market Day, two Lost got into a fi
ght with Quark Dagger.”

  “He’s such a hot head.” Nimri fingered the mug Quark had designed for her and admired the way he had woven the clay into such a pleasing texture and leafy look. “What was it over this time? Glazes?” Bryta shook her head. “Design?” Again a negative shake. “What else is there for a potter to fight about?”

  “A remark.” Bryta took a sip of now tepid tea and settled into the cushions for a good gossip. “Tansy didn’t witness the start,” Bryta confided in her familiar whispery tone, which generally preceded a long recital of Tribal gossip. “She was trading some of your snakebite medicine with Otter for a pair of laying ducks.”

  “If I’m expected to protect the Tribe, I need to understand the problems.” Nimri fingered the mug and sighed, wishing there were a better way to do so than from Bryta’s seemingly endless chitchat. “I don’t need an explanation of why you don’t know something, I need the details you do know.”

  Bryta leaned forward, as if to impart juicy nuggets of scandal. “First, the Lost degraded Quark’s work as inferior on every aspect. But Quark ignored them.” Bryta beamed. Nimri heaved an inward groan and motioned for her to continue. “Then B-Do came by with his lunch and they began making rude comments about her.”

  Nimri visualized B-Do’s disfigured face and understood why Quark had defended his wife from the Lost’s uncouth remarks.

  “Of course, he couldn’t stand by while they insulted his wife,” Bryta said.

  “So Quark threw the first punch.” Nimri wondered if both sides were trying to force her into action and test her power. Or lack thereof.

  “Two to one.” Bryta smiled smugly. “But Quark wiped them in the dirt. He should have burned them, like B-Do. Then they’d learn how rude remarks hurt.”

  Nimri’s jaw dropped.

  Bryta’s chin came up a notch before she blinked and dropped her gaze.

  Confrontation avoided Nimri’s spine relaxed against the moss-filled cushion. “I wish I’d been able to myst-mend her scars.” Saving B-Do’s life had only given her misery and made her the butt of ridicule. She sighed. “I understand why Quark did what he did, but I’m worried about the repercussions.”

  “Perhaps you could talk to Thunder Cartwright. Negotiate a treaty.” Bryta looked up, eyes bright with emotion. “You’re the only person in our history to see the Guardians. Convince the old man that you’re as powerful a foe as Rolf and make a treaty that will protect us for a lifetime.”

  Nimri snorted. “If I tried that, he’d squash me like a pesky mosquito.” She sipped her tea. “I’ve never understood why he didn’t attack when Great-grandfather became ill.”

  “Perhaps he’s uncertain of you.”

  “It’s said that he knows all that the birds see.”

  Bryta snorted with disdain.

  “Perhaps they have held back out of respect.”

  Bryta jerked, nearly spilling her tea at the idea that their Tribe’s worst enemy could have a decent motive for anything.

  Nimri chuckled. Lost had no respect. At least not for myst power. Her great-grandfather had told her over and over that they only worshiped tangible science. Nimri frowned. Whispered gossip claimed Cartwright spoke with birds and animals. Her frown deepened. Such behavior didn’t sound like someone who only worshiped science. She shook her head; many of the things Rolf had affirmed had never made sense. “They feared Rolf’s power to control the heavens,” Nimri uttered a belief she’d held for years, but had never dared to voice, “but I doubt if they respected him.”

  “Their tribe is only allowed on our side of the river on Market Day. Perhaps Cartwright doesn’t know, yet.” The fact that Rolf was only sick four days before he died hung unsaid. “Just because the Lost say he knows all, doesn’t make it so.”

  It had been nine days since he’d become ill. Five since he’d died. Two since Cartwright’s tribe would have brought back the news on Market Day. How many days until the first attack was mounted?

  Nimri swallowed. “Not even Rolf knew everything.” Bryta’s eyes widened with surprise over hearing something so slanderous. “Thunder Cartwright speaks to creatures. Some say that not only birds spy for him, but animals, as well.”

  Bryta’s eyes flicked to the shadows. “Hearsay.” Bryta scoffed.

  “So you say now, but you told me you’ve heard of his incredible skills from everyone.” Bryta hitched up her chin in what would have been a defiant gesture on someone without sagging jowls. “I believe he possesses the ability.” It would explain why she’d sensed her great–grandfather’s hatred covering a deeper emotion. “Most days, I think I can communicate with Kazza.”

  “Do you truly believe we’re doomed?” Bryta shakily put her mug on the table. Tea slopped. She pulled a small cloth from inside her sleeve. Her plump hand trembled as she sopped up the droplets.

  Nimri cleared her throat, then voiced the idea, which had germinated when she realized the pair intended to come home with her. “Maybe the Guardians sent Larwin and Anthropoid to save us.”

  “That’s unheard of,” Bryta said. “It’s your duty to protect the Tribe. No one can do it for you.”

  “I haven’t taken up the black staff—at least not usefully. And Larwin wears the Tramontain hawk or at least something close to it. Symbols go beyond other forms of communication and are meant to establish trust.” Nimri picked up a sassafras twig, worked it under the clear covering and scratched her itching arm. She wondered if her hope for help was presumptuous.

  “What is that thing?”

  “I’m really not certain.”

  “Then why wear it?”

  Nimri chuckled. “Because I’m not certain.” Bryta’s mouth flattened. “I fell into the Star Bridge.” Bryta’s jaw dropped. “It was quite a long fall and I must have landed on my arm. Anyway, I got knocked out and when I came to, Anthropoid and Larwin were there. Anthropoid had realigned the bones and put this on.” Nimri looked down at the annoying bandage and kept scratching. “At least I think that's what they told me.”

  “Haven’t you mended the bones, yet?” Nimri nodded. Bryta gave her a smug look. “Well, I don’t think anyone would expect you to keep wearing such an ugly thing.”

  “So, you don’t think it’s any sort of symbol?”

  “When others break a bone and reset it, they tie things to it to keep it in place, until they can get to you and you can begin the mending process.” Bryta gave her a penetrating look. “If you’re asking me, I think the longer you keep that thing on, the more incompetent they’ll consider you.”

  Nimri blanched, then thrust her arm toward Bryta. “Can you untie this lash?”

  Bryta’s pudgy fingers worked at the leather, but it didn’t budge. She got up and went to the kitchen; a moment later, returning with a knife. Even the sharp blade had a difficult time getting through it, but once the lashing was gone, the other two items were a snap to remove.

  Nimri sighed with relief. “Thanks.” Bryta twisted a small square of saffron cloth, a sure sign something bothered her. “What are you thinking about?”

  “No one on this side has ever seen Thunder Cartwright.” Bryta glanced around, peering into the shadows, then leaned closer and whispered, “But years ago, I heard a description of him and this Larwin could pass.”

  Perhaps he had, years ago, but everyone knew that Cartwright was an old man; perhaps as old as Rolf. “What are you suggesting?” She grinned, unable to resist teasing Bryta. “That the Lost’s protector is pretending to be a Guardian and is here, not to aid me, but to kill me in my sleep?” Nimri sobered and grasped Bryta’s hands. “If he wanted me dead, Larwin could have killed me on the trail. Or even easier, simply left me in The Star Bridge. Instead, he and Anthropoid helped me. I’m not certain I could have made it back without them.”

  “Perhaps he needs you alive—he can gain control over our Tribe through you—then extract revenge or whatever he wants at his leisure.”

  Nimri gulped. Treachery was something Rolf would have done. Since Bryta ha
d been his housekeeper and cook for decades, Nimri didn’t know why she was so shocked that Bryta had thought of something so devious. “Bryta, you need to rest. So do I.”

  Bryta silently studied her for a moment, then sighed and got up. She looked ready to add a final parting remark. Instead she stomped out of the room.

  Nimri was left alone with a half-drunk mug of peppermint tea and a stomachache no herbal drink could heal.

  Chapter Six

  A deep constant rumbling woke Larwin. It seemed close. In fact, the bed vibrated. He lay still and inhaled heavy, fragrant air. Groggily, he realized he was dreaming. With a sigh, he burrowed deeper under the cozy covers and returned to memories of his part in conquering Golterre.

  Excitement permeated the barracks beneath the launch bay, where raw recruits were quartered. Some showed their tension in tone and movement, but Larwin followed the example of the ranking officers and pretended a calm he didn’t feel. A steady rumbling underscored the memory. It seemed out of place. So did the strange scent of an arboretum.

  He tried to roll over, but a heavy, immovable weight covered his chest. He tried to knock the immobilizing blanket aside, but his arms wouldn’t move. Larwin steadied his breathing and tried to recall if he had been hurt in action, which would explain why he was strapped to a gurney.

  It was difficult to think about anything except his military battles, life on Guerreterre and the things he missed most, like his sister, Tem-aki.

  Suddenly, the soft blanket was whipped aside and wet sandpaper scraped across his face. Larwin opened his eyes, but closed them when sunlight blinded him. Still, one glimpse identified his enormous assailant.

  He rolled away from the cat’s huge silhouette and jumped off the bed. He landed lower than expected and stumbled. Barely missing a beat, Larwin whirled to face his attacker.