Star Bridge (Chaterre Trilogy Book 1)

by Jeanne Foguth

  As usual, there were no answers, just more questions.

  While Kazza contentedly lapped up his fourth bowl of minestrone, Nimri filled three mugs with soup and placed them on her favorite woven tray. Then, she broke a long loaf of bread into five pieces. She gave Kazza one, left a piece for Bryta and put the rest on the tray. She went outside and placed everything on her outdoor table.

  Larwin joined her before she called him. With amusement, she watched him sniff the minestrone as if it was the most delicious food imaginable, instead of an everyday breakfast.

  Nimri picked up Anthropoid’s portion, with the intent of taking it to her, but Larwin touched her hand and shook his head. Nimri glared at him, furious that he would deprive the poor woman of food, but his attention was on her arm. She yanked it back, flushing with the realization that she should have asked him instead of listening to Bryta. Perhaps she should put the itchy thing back on.

  When she picked up the food a second time, Larwin finally took his attention from her arm and pantomimed that Anthropoid didn’t eat food—that she used the sun’s energy for sustenance. He acted out his message three times before Nimri accepted it. Though she still didn’t believe it. Nimri turned to look at Anthropoid and knew she’d never heard of anyone so magical. To think, the guardian could exist on sunlight.

  Unbelievable to realize the poor woman wasn’t doing penance, as she’d suspected, but was gaining power.

  Nimri shook her head. She must have misunderstood. Yet there had been countless instances on the trail where Anthropoid’s strength had been demonstrated.

  Food forgotten, Nimri observed Anthropoid.

  Larwin tapped her forearm. Nimri looked at him. He’d eaten his own breakfast and Anthropoid’s. Larwin raised an eyebrow and pointed at her uneaten food. He’s a bottomless pit, just like Kazza. No longer hungry for mortal food, Nimri pushed it and her hunk of bread at him.

  Larwin drank the minestrone as if he’d been starving for the last millennium. Maybe he had.

  After he finished eating, Larwin returned to her garden and stared at her rosemary. First ginkgo; now rosemary, which were both for remembering. He must be considering which herbs he needed for her, especially after pantomiming the information about Anthropoid three times.

  How could she make him understand that the problem wasn’t her memory, it was her disbelief at what he had told her?

  Nimri closed her eyes and hoped he approved of her efforts, yet doubted he could understand any more than her great-grandfather had. Perhaps either he or Anthropoid would give up on trying to teach her how to be a protector and simply teach her the properties of some of the more exotic specimens in her garden, like guarana, which required warmth and tender care. Herbal remedies had been passed down to Nimri’s great-aunt Violet, Rolf’s sister, but Violet had died before passing on all her knowledge to Nimri. Bryta remembered bits and pieces of what her great-aunt Violet had used the plants for and how to process them, but not everything. Violet had revered guarana, but never explained why, before she died. Nimri had tried to determine the medical value of it and many of the other herbs, which resided in the old healer’s garden, so she could better care for her tribe.

  Her great-grandfather hadn’t known much about botany. In fact, she’d often sensed that he disdained her efforts to learn the plants’ purposes.

  Nimri picked up the tray and empty bowls, then carried them to the kitchen.

  Kazza was nowhere in sight, but Bryta sat at the kitchen table shelling peas into one of Quark Dagger’s beautiful tan and blue crocks. The bottom of the bowl was already covered.

  Nimri placed the mugs in the thyme-scented water. “Larwin explained that Anthropoid lives on the air’s energy.” A pea shot out of Bryta’s grasp, hit the wall, then bounced over the tiled floor. “I had no idea she was such a magical creature,” Nimri added, as she tried to get Bryta to understand the importance of their guests. “It’s no wonder she looks odd.”

  The bowl crashed to the floor. Nimri jumped. Miraculously unbroken, the bowl righted itself in the center of a pool of peas, which were rolling away like ripples from a pebble tossed into water.

  Bryta dropped to her knees and began collecting them. Nimri knelt to help her, but paid more attention to Bryta, who normally was fastidious about her appearance. Instead of her elegant coronet of braids, she’d left her hair loose. Worse, behind the curtain of disorderly gray and white, Bryta’s complexion appeared to be colorless.

  “What’s wrong?” Nimri asked gently. “Do they frighten you? Or is it something else? Are you ill?”

  “You frighten me,” Bryta said. Nimri saw tears streaming behind her loose locks. “You were raised to protect us, but you allow unknown dangers into your – our – home.”

  Bryta swiveled to face her, and pushed back her hair. Spots scarlet as cherries, wet as dew, appeared on her cheeks. The scent of peas was strong. “Rolf would never have done that. He would have, would have—”

  “Killed them while they were still an unknown,” Nimri said. “While they were a possible threat, but before he confirmed whether they were actually a menace or a friend.” Having the courage to finally voice her opinion made Nimri feel giddy with relief. She stared at Bryta, silently daring her to disagree.

  Bryta blinked and dropped her gaze to the floor. After taking several breaths, which restored some of her color, Bryta slowly nodded.

  Nimri picked up a pea and studied its perfection. “Bryta, I’m not my Great-grandfather. I don’t have the stomach for wholesale massacres, which I believe were rooted in the fear that our tribe might learn new ways—possibly better ways. What if we don't need to continue on as we have for the past millennium?”

  “What are you trying to say?” The tip of Bryta’s tongue wet her lips. “That you won’t protect us?” Her voice squeaked like a mouse.

  “No.” Nimri wondered how to phrase her half-formed thoughts. “I’m saying I don’t know if I can fulfill the duty or not, but I do know I won’t kill unless there is no other choice. I must honor my first vow - the one I took when I became our Tribe’s healer. The one where I swore to value all life.”

  “And if one of those filthy Lost kills you?” As always, Bryta’s tone was hostile when she mentioned their enemy.

  “Then I will have died for my beliefs and science will have proved stronger.”

  Bryta’s blue eyes were angry. “Which science isn’t.” She spat on the floor. “If you die, so do we all. The Lost won’t show mercy.”

  Nimri sighed. “I’ll reconsider my opinion, but won’t make any promises, because I can’t believe that even the Lost are that barbaric.”

  “You have always been blind to other’s flaws and always want to believe the best.” The knuckles on Bryta’s hand were white; the green ooze of smashed peas seeped between her fingers. “Do you know what Anthropoid was doing before she went outside?”

  “No.”

  “Touching the books Rolf left in the front room. Not only that, she was looking through them. Page by page.” Her fist shook. “How dare she!”

  “She’s magical,” Nimri said. Anthropoid always seemed to have a purpose for everything she did. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if she could read the manuscripts?” A bubble of hope grew within Nimri. “So much knowledge was forfeited when we lost the ability to decipher the symbols.”

  Bryta snorted as she rose. She washed her hands in the basin, then swept up the peas, as if they were too worthless to even put in the compost pit. A chill swept over Nimri. “Did you say anything to Anthropoid?” Nimri asked. Bryta raised her chin. “Did you forbid her from touching the manuscripts?”

  “No! I will not speak to such an abomination,” Bryta shouted. She took a deep breath. “I merely observed her and told you.” Bryta’s expression hardened as she looked fiercely at Nimri. When Nimri glared back, instead of accepting the guilt, Bryta looked out the window at Anthropoid. “Remember, magic can be evil as well as good. Never assume the best just because she’s painted herse
lf white.”

  “Fine, but don’t expect me to look for the worst, either.”

  Chapter Seven

  Despite her declaration, Nimri’s newfound conviction faltered when she harvested mullein leaves to make a potion for Pearl’s indigestion. What if Bryta was right to be suspicious? Nimri hunkered down behind the mullein and darted a look at Anthropoid, whose head followed the beams of light, like a sunflower. Only a supernatural being could do that from dawn to midday, every day and keep a snow-white complexion. Nimri plucked a few extra leaves to dry for winter use and chided herself for doubting her convictions about her guests. Soon, the mullein plant was a chartreuse nub in a circle of black loam. Nimri sat back on her heels and stared at the barren stalk.

  Beads of perspiration broke out on her forehead. Did Anthropoid perspire? She sneaked another peek, but it was just past the middle of the day and Anthropoid had left the garden. Larwin, barely visible in the forest’s shadow, touched, crushed and sniffed a ginseng leaf. Nimri squinted. At least he had a sheen of sweat on his face. There were also green smudges on his hands. His skin seemed normal. But why was he inspecting her garden with such intensity? Was he looking for something to relieve stress?

  If so, were his concerns about his own tension or hers? Maybe he was interested because she had given a dose to Bryta, earlier. He had yet to share a conversation with her, but she needed to know why he’d come.

  Nimri’s mouth flattened with the knowledge that even with Rolf dead, she still avoided confrontations. She got to her feet and brushed the dirt from her hands. Picking up her basket and squaring her shoulders, she went to find out what Larwin expected from her.

  He dropped the foliage and moved in her direction. They met near her menthe patch. She opened her mouth to ask why he had come to her, then realized she didn’t speak the sacred language and snapped her jaws shut. To stall for time, she stooped and picked a sprig of chocolate mint. She crushed it between her forefinger and thumb, then held it up to his nose. “Menthe.” It felt stupid to name the simple plant for him.

  Larwin sniffed and involuntarily smiled. “Men-th-a.” He carefully enunciated each syllable.

  Perhaps he wanted her to display the knowledge she’d already attained, and further test her abilities by pretending not to understand the language. Rolf had always found strange ways of testing her, too. Pantomiming as she spoke, Nimri said, “Yes. Its smell relieves headaches. Menthe stimulates the appetite.” She rubbed her stomach and licked her lips. “And when made into an oil, it relieves muscle pain.”

  “Menthe.” Larwin gave Nimri a broad smile, as he took the sprig from her and tasted it.

  What if the only thought she’d shared was that mint is good to eat? Nimri smiled back, uncertain if she’d passed the test or even if he’d understood the benefits she’d just described. Larwin bent and picked a foxglove leaf. When it looked like he intended to eat it, she screamed, “No!” Nimri caught his forearm, stopping it a finger’s width from his mouth. “Digitalis. Fixes bad hearts. Kills healthy people.” She dramatized a heart attack.

  Larwin gaped at the leaf then dropped it. His expression reminded Nimri of the horror she’d seen on Flame’s face when they’d seen a snake eat a baby bunny. As Nimri wondered what to say and how to show her respect, after having been so bold, Bryta rushed out the kitchen door and frantically gestured for Nimri to come inside.

  Bryta kept looking back at the empty doorway as if demons had invaded her kitchen, while smoothing her hair as if she feared someone inside would see her disheveled.

  What had Kazza done this time?

  Or, in light of Bryta’s most recent complaints, what had their guests done that Bryta had either observed, imagined or discovered?

  If Bryta kept on extolling Rolf’s questionable justice and continued complaining about Larwin and Anthropoid, Nimri didn’t know what she would do. Nimri acknowledged Bryta with a jaunty wave, and hoped Larwin didn’t see her hand tremble. Then, she turned to Larwin and gestured that he should not to eat any more plants until she returned. Judging by his look of horror at the idea, her warning was unnecessary.

  As soon as Nimri came close enough, Bryta grabbed her upper arm, hauled her behind a quince bush, leaned close and whispered, “I went upstairs and saw that sick white one looking at Rolf’s sacred books! Again!” Nimri’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t know what to do, so came to get you.” Nimri opened her mouth to tell Bryta to stop complaining and let Anthropoid do whatever she wished. But Bryta rushed on to add, “And as I passed the front window, I saw Zurgon coming up the path.”

  “The Chief Elder is coming here?” Nimri was horrified to hear her own voice turn shrill. “To me? Why?”

  Wringing her hands in distress, Bryta stepped around the shrub and sneaked a glance at the front door. Her expression looked like she expected a Yeti to attack her at any moment, but it was doubtful if Zurgon would demand anything more than tea from Bryta.

  Nimri knew she wouldn’t be so lucky.

  Bryta ducked back behind the quince. Her trembling hands twisted her cleaning smock into a wad. “It has to be about the Lost.” She sneaked another quick peek around the quince. “He must be coming to get you so you will perform your duty.”

  She’d reached the same conclusion. Nimri forced herself to straighten her spine and square her shoulders. Given the ability, she would have done anything for her people, but realistically, she was only capable of being their healer. No matter what Zurgon wanted, he and the Tribe were bound to be disappointed. Even if she’d been able to control the weather, she knew she’d never be able to indiscriminately murder in the name of peace.

  Larwin sniffed a sprig of lavender. Though edible, he didn’t taste it. Could it be that he didn’t know the values of the herbs, or had he been testing her, earlier?

  In the distance, there was a purposeful knock on the door.

  “He’s here.” Bryta whimpered. “What will you do?” Bryta’s white knuckled hands knotted the fabric of her cleaning smock and her sobbing increased.

  “Is Anthropoid damaging the books?”

  “No,” Bryta said. “Looking at them, but who knows what a person as odd as she is will do.”

  “Fine,” Nimri said. “Then Zurgon is my most pressing problem.” She softly added, “He’s only a man.” A powerful man, who could turn her life into a misery, but he was still only a man. He’ll understand I’m only a woman—not a shaman to keep the peace. The thought sounded feeble, but with no other option, Nimri lifted her chin and entered the kitchen.

  As Nimri entered the back door, she paused and closed her eyes to adjust from the bright midday light. When she opened them, Zurgon was seated at the table, sipping a mug of tea, and looking at her as if weighing her worth. He had become the highest-ranking member of the Chosen Tribe when Rolf died, and obviously believed he no longer needed to wait on anyone’s stoop.

  Nimri’s stomach and heart leapt in fright. She wasn’t sure, but she thought her entire body jumped before she came to a dead stop. “Zurgon. I thought I heard someone knock.” She squinted in the dim room, hoping to judge his attitude by his expression, but his face became as blank as his eyes had been alert.

  Nimri felt Bryta behind her wringing her apron into a lump. Somehow the knowledge helped Nimri find a kernel of calmness to center herself on.

  Zurgon put down the mug and rose to his feet. “Nimri, I have come to offer my condolences to you for your loss. Rolf’s passing is terrible for the Tribe, but it’s particularly hard for you.” He lifted a thin, blue-veined hand and offered her a seat at her own table.

  “Thank you.” Nimri took the seat facing him and focused on the serene kernel of courage amidst the flurry of butterflies in her stomach. With every breath, her nerve seemed to shrink and spawn a dozen more butterflies.

  Zurgon sat down as if wet noodles held his skeleton together. Nimri suspected his arthritis was acting up, but didn’t mention it. Zurgon and Rolf were alike in many ways. Years ago, she’d learned it was bet
ter to allow them to direct the conversation and pretend they were right.

  His pale green stare made her back prickle. Nimri wished she dared to look away. It would be easier to study his beaded amulet, his snow-white hair or even scrutinize the pattern of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

  But when faced with an unknown or an enemy, she’d been taught to keep her attention on their eyes.

  Bryta shoved a mug of tea in front of Nimri. When the brew slopped over the edge, Zurgon frowned at Bryta. Bryta quickly cleaned up the mess with the skirt of her rumpled smock. Zurgon’s scowl deepened, Bryta sprinted out of the room as if pursued by a swarm of bees. The corner of Zurgon’s lips twitched. “Bryta has acted like an overwrought yard-bird since she was a child.” Zurgon laughed softly.

  Nimri felt a surge of loathing for the man, who found intimidation rewarding, but she refused to be baited into a childish display of temper. Instead, she took a sip of tea. Raising her chin, she forced herself to remain as aloof as the Chief Elder. “You didn’t journey all this way to discuss Bryta’s personality, did you?”

  “No, I came to remind you that the Tribe needs you.”

  “I know, bu—”

  “The Lost push harder each day. They desire our land for they have destroyed their own in their greed for digging up worthless minerals.” Zurgon’s fist hit the table. It took all Nimri’s control not to jump or flinch. “As Rolf’s heir and protector of our land, you must quell them. You must take up the staff and be seen protecting the village.”

  Nimri swallowed. How did he know she hadn’t been able to touch it? It was a question she dare not ask, for it would reveal too much. “How do we know they’ve ruined their land?” Zurgon gave her an exasperated look. “From Sacred Mountain, I could see the entire valley. Their side may lack trees, but it didn’t look ravaged. The fields looked tended.”