by J. D. Sonne
Get hold of yourself, she admonished herself fiercely. You’ve had your little tantrum and should feel better. The virul did not know and neither did anyone else. Nothing has changed and your little feelings went unnoticed.
The self-talk mollified her somewhat, and she crawled out of her tent and asked the female for another loaf and some honey. This time she sat at the hearth and enjoyed the fire while she ate and calmed down. Her mind now more rational, she thought about the virul’s story.
Her emotional explosion aside, she had no idea why this story got to her. All her life, she had seen such treatment of viruls, and much worse, and at her own hand. Why now? Especially given that she was a prisoner and living in depleted circumstances and being ill-treated. It made absolutely no sense.
Then she grudgingly contradicted herself. No, she was not being ill-treated. Now that she was here, she was being fed, clothed (she ran her hand over the buckskins that one of the females had sewn for her), and even sheltered. It was true that she had scars on her wrists and ankles from her earlier bonds, and the virul had knocked her out with her shackles when he effected his escape and took her as a prisoner, but neither he nor anyone else had hit her since. And that, even after she had almost killed one of their numbers. But then, their lack of retribution against her could also be construed as weakness. Was there a difference between being kind and being weak?
She pressed her hands against her forehead. She was so confused. She had to have a clear mind to escape, and this miasma of pity for her captors wasn’t helping her much.
Some conundra could be cured only by sleep, so she crept back into her hut, wearily brushing aside the detritus of bread scattered about, and curled into a fetal ball under rough animal skins.
Chapter Seven
“Quiet, or he’ll know to snuffle in our direction.”
“Snuffle?” Rane whispered and started to laugh, but stifled at his look. The beast grazing in the meadow lifted it head, its placid chewing uninterrupted by the motion. “It looks like a cow.”
“That is no cow,” Landman hissed. “And, if it becomes riled, it has the means to rip your head off.”
“A rabid beast that chews its cud,” Rane whispered. “And why have I never seen one of these in my sector?”
“Because they are dangerous, and because they taste good,” Landman said. “Now be quiet. I am going to take a shot.”
Rane leaned on her side and watched him take an arrow, draw the bow string back so that it almost touched his eye and let go. But her mind was doing much more than assessing his aim. For many days now, her virul was showing her many facets of life here among the renegades: dipping cup flowers into clear streams that lent a taste of nectar to the sweet water; harvesting sap from the sugar tree with hollow awls to flavor their breads; and the thrill of climbing the blue quartz of the glade walls. She was sure that it was all a tactic to make her more compliant, more agreeable, but she went along, not seeing much of an alternative. Sometimes the experiences were enjoyable enough that she almost forgot that she was a captive, but not quite.
She marveled that the gut of the string never quivered during his aim. She had not seen technique like that since her training, and that only among the finest of archers on the faculty. It seemed that every day this virul did something that surprised her. The thunder of hooves brought another surprise. It seemed that he had hit the beast, but only wounded it. And it was mad.
She rose to run, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her down. Quickly he pulled another arrow out of his pouch and let it go. This time, it hit the beast fully in one eye and it buckled, ploughing into the ground, not five trough lengths from the berm where they had hidden themselves. In fact, momentum of the beast’s fall had Rane rising again and retreating another few lengths, to Landman’s intense amusement.
“You can stop laughing now,” Rane said dryly, brushing herself off. “If you were as good a shot as all that, I would not have to have beaten such a retreat.”
Still chuckling, he observed, “You are fast, I’ll give you that. The last time I saw anything move that fast, it was my dog with scuprat quills in its behind.”
“Well, shall we dress the beast?” Rane said, changing the subject and beginning to climb over the berm toward the fallen animal.
Landman pulled her down. “We have to wait for a few pours. You will soon see the reason they call that thing a needlebeast.”
Rane shrugged and resumed her place next to him but immediately jumped at the horrific sound that came from the kill.
It was not a scream exactly, but rather a wail that pulsed with a strange throbbing sound, like the sound of steam popping from a geyser, but in intermittent bursts. She peered over the berm and was astonished to see little jagged projectiles shooting out of the hide of the beast. Thousands spurted into the air at an unhealthy height, some launching twenty troughlengths into the air.
“A formidable weapon,” Landman said, “for all that the thing is dead. You asked why you do not have them in your sector—now you know why.”
“But you said that they tasted good.”
“Oh, yes. They are a great delicacy, but your Titleds, by their hunting them down nigh to extinction, have assured a very healthy black market for their meat. I’m sure you have needlebeast meat often, only no one told you what it was.”
There were only a few shafts emitting from the beast now and after a few more pours, the carcass was silent and seemed to be deflating.
“Come on!” Landman said, beckoning her over the berm. “We only have a few seconds before the meat goes bad. That is another reason that this beast is not bred. Harvesting the meat is a very touchy proposition. One has to be quick.”
And quick he was. As if in a dance, he hurled about the beast, his knife stripping flesh here, sawing there until he had a healthy pile of various cuts that did not tempt Rane in the least. Perhaps they were a delicacy if cooked, but in their present bloodied state, not to mention all the punctures rending the crimson mess, it was difficult for her to keep from retching.
“Precious, aren’t we?” Landman said, observing her squeamish reaction. “There. That is all I can manage. One only has about five pours before the meat is only good for a poison delivery system. “
I’ll have to remember that, Rane thought. But there is no way I am ever going near one of these things again. And I am certainly never going to butcher one!
“Here, help me,” Landman said, tossing her a bag. He started heaping the meat into the pouch he produced from his belt. “Put the meat into this!”
With distaste, she took the bag and turning her finger and thumb into a useless pincher, she took the tiniest pieces possible and dropped them in. The kill was interesting, and even the aftermath of needles absorbing, but this? Meat had always been prepared for her and handling it raw was truly gagging.
“Oh, by all the waters,” he said impatiently. “We’ll be here all day! Grab it with both hands!”
Rane made a face at him, but complied as the afternoon thunder was beginning to roll down from the sky along with a few gentle pinpricks of rain. She glanced up, letting a few splashes of her namesake wash her face, then resumed the nasty task.
Finally, with bags full of meat, they made their muddy way back to the camp. As they trudged along, Rane sensed that Landman had something to say. Several intakes of breath from him indicated as much, but he stayed silent for many turns of the path. Then he spoke.
“So, what will happen?”
Although the query seemed quite cryptic, Rane knew exactly what he meant and saw no point in being coy. “Some will die, and some will be reduced into servitude.”
“Perhaps they will never come,” Landman said, the hope in his voice tinged with doubt.
“Perhaps,” Rane agreed. “And perhaps I will escape.” And then she did something she had no intention of doing. She laughed, and the laugh horrified her.
Landman stopped his trudge and looked at her, the smile on his face very uncertain. He
said, “Escape is not possible.”
The ice in his tone silenced the ridiculous mirth, and they resumed their walk together. After a few pours, Rane said, “You have taught me many things, and while I do not like being a prisoner, I do not think I could ever be part of killing this camp. You have many strange ideas, and if those ideas spread, it would probably not be good for our world. At least that is what its history has shown. But--you have taught me many things.”
Landman stopped again and grabbed her arm, turning her toward him. He looked her full in the face for many moments and she felt that quizzical flip careen through her innards, as when she had wondered about the doings between the viruls and females in their tents. She wrenched her arm away and walked ahead of him all the way back to camp.
His sloppy, mud-squelching footfalls sounded behind her the entire way but a raucous cachinnate supplanted the sound as they entered the commune. Landman ran ahead of her through the natural arbor arch, and she heard him shout several greetings interspersed with violent laughter.
She had never seen anyone leave or enter the camp since her arrival, so the milling group gladhanding each other was an absorbing scene for her. She hovered near the fringe of the group, content to observe, not wanting to attract attention to herself. She suspected that renegade viruls might not be very warm to the presence of a Lead. Not only that, but if any of them were viruls with whom she had had dealings in her sector, she might have to defend herself. She searched all their faces, but none looked familiar.
“Here you are!” Landman thundered as he clapped the three men on the back. “But where is Scout?”
“He is crouching back in the woods, yonder!” One of them said. “Got a bad scuprat, I think. I told him it didn’t look right, but he insisted on eating it.”
At that moment, Landman seemed to remember her. Turning from them, he addressed her.
“Rane, here are some of our comrades. They have been away. Terran, Chun and Bruse. This is Rane.”
Warily, the three obviously well-traveled viruls approached her, and stopped when the one called Chun turned to Landman and said, “But she is a lead. What is a lead doing here?”
Immediately the four cast hostile stares at Rane, their open stances closing against her. Rane hadn’t realized that her former position would be that obvious, but it only took a few seconds for them to assess the difference between her and the other females of the camp. Her bearing was much more aggressive than the obsequious stooping posture of the females. Her buckskin had been tailored to her specifications, trousers and jerkin following her form unlike the shambling shifts worn by the others. In fact, the female Shad at first had presented her with such a shift which Rane had eschewed, then outlined her preference which Shad had followed with a strange enthusiasm, creating the truly stunning and practical leather ensemble which Rane wore now.
Rane hoped her smile conveyed as much insolence as she felt. She said nothing, however, wanting to see how Landman handled his friends. It was possible he would betray her, allowing them to vent their frustration at past slights on her. Not that they would have an easy time of it. In fact, she was almost sure that she could kill most of them before they brought her down.
Landman’s lack of concern reassured her somewhat, but she still kept a mental inventory of their obvious training deficiencies. Enmity, not finesse, ruled their poses and instantly she understood that she was wrong in her early assessment: she would kill all of them before they could harm her. Rane added Landman’s face to her study of her situation, and she saw fear cross his features—fear for his comrades, not for her.
“Relax! Relax,” Landman admonished. “Rane, here, is directing the building of the waterwork. It is coming along very well. Come and see! Oh, but here is Scout!”
Rane watched as the fourth of the party trudged into the camp and tried to keep her face plain when she recognized rat. The last thing she knew, rat had been in the infirmary, but that was months ago. Apparently, he had escaped, knew Landman and had a life totally separate from that of the sector. She wondered not only about the history of his escape and the full nature of his association with this camp, but also what he would do when he recognized her. If the new arrivals were suspicious of her now, what would they do when they found out she had beaten their companion nigh to death? She waited.
Rat looked sick and miserable as he shuffled toward the group, but his face brightened when he saw Landman. “It is good to see you,” rat said as he embraced his leader. “But, I’m afraid I’m not going to be much good for a couple of days!”
“No matter! We can do without you for a while,” Landman reassured him. “Come! I want you to meet someone!”
Rane was filled with great anticipation as she watched rat turn toward her, a pleasant smile on his face that turned to stone in an effort to conceal his recognition. On Rane’s part, there was such a temptation for her to grin with joyous amusement that she found it difficult to straighten her face, but she managed. It seemed important to let him make the first overture, whether verbal or physical, positive or negative. She almost hoped for outright aggression from rat—it would make things a little easier as she would know where she stood. If he were smart—and she doubted that—he would pretend not to know her and bide his time so he could murder her later.
As she waited, she could tell by his face that he was struggling with the same decision, his eyes hardening then seeming to lighten with the solution. To her immense surprise, he extended his hand and said, “Welcome, you seem to be a lead! That is interesting.”
Rane thought, so, he is going to play. We’ll see about that.
“Yes,” Chun said, “She is a lead, and I don’t think she should be here.”
As I said,” Landman sighed, “she is helping us to build our waterwork, and if you’ll give her a chance, you will see that she will be a great asset to our camp.”
“If she doesn’t murder us all in our sleep or try to take over,” Chun murmured.
Rane felt that anything she would say would only make things worse, so she opted for silence and decided to let Landman do the talking. His comrades wouldn’t accept her on her word anyway, but they might on Landman’s.
“And this waterwork is a wonder, I tell you,” Landman went on in excitement. “It is going to make a big difference in how we live. Come and see!”
The tension deflated at their obvious interest in a waterwork, and their eager faces turned toward Landman’s gesture toward the direction of the construction site. Rat, however, threw a hard glance at Rane before he allowed himself to be led off in the direction of the waterwork.
Rane followed, amused, but resolved to find some kind of weapon to accompany her sleep that night. It was still light which meant that the sounds of tools were still echoing off the sturdy trunks that surrounded the small party as it approached the site. The new arrivals inspired many workers to drop their tools and rush at them with fervent greetings. Rane’s entry into the work glade quelled the exchange a little, but when it became apparent that she would offer no remonstrance, the reunion increased in volume.
“So how did the raid go?” One of the workers asked. “Did the rescue go as planned?”
The uniform shush that followed would have been almost comical to Rane had the import of the information not been so monstrous. So, raids were going out from this community! She felt the ice of dread wash through her body. She should have tried harder to get away. Regardless of the difficulties her mind had hashed over again and again during her imprisonment here—she should have tried to get away!
There was no way she could have pretended not to hear. She was not a trough-length from the group when the foolish virul had asked the question. She had to think quickly or they would curtail her freedom again, thinking this information would make her a flee risk.
“Rescue?” She scoffed, insinuating herself into the exchange. “Viruls cannot rescue anything or anyone, for that matter!” She took on the tone that proved easiest, that of arrogance. �
��Raids! Rescue!” Then, she started to laugh. “You viruls are incapable of anything so intricate as a planned rescue.” She continued laughing. “Not only that,” she went on, “but who is there to rescue around here? Ha, ha, ha, HA,HA,HA!”
To her immense relief, Landman, her virul, joined in, obviously to cover the stupid virul’s remark. The others, looking around sheepishly, soon added their uncertain mirth to the noise.
“Now, let’s stop sharing fairy stories,” Rane said, wiping tears from her cheeks and gasping to contain her façade of amusement, “and get back to work. Landman, I think you had better start them on the new sector of troughing today.” She turned away and muttered loudly, “Rescue!” And started laughing again.
She decided not to accompany the group to the waterwork as she had some thinking to do. As she walked away from the site back to her hut in camp, her mind turned the scene over and over. She hoped her dismissive attitude had been convincing, because if it were not, she would soon be shackled in the hateful chains that she had worked so hard to be free of. And then there was the issue of rat.
She wondered if rat’s presence in the camp were a result of a rescue party like the one mentioned by the unguarded virul. Were marauders from this camp rescuing viruls in the sector? From where? Titled’s estates? Criminal Virul detention? She felt stupid for not having heard of such rescues. Had the Titleds kept such incidents from the Leads?
Ice crystals were forming in the cold air, and she pulled an animal skin from her hut and wrapped it around herself as she sat at the fire. Shad brought her a warm porridge and hank of bread which she dipped in the mush and ate voraciously. She had to figure out how to get intelligence on these raids, but how she was going to protect herself against rat? She stared out at the hearth fires throughout the camp, the females bustling about, preparing dinner, chasing children and winding down the day. She specifically watched Shad stoke Landman’s fire and stir the iron pot of mush and felt an idea brush her mind.
