She folded her wings and stumbled off along the river, inexplicably headed in the right direction. After a moment Bertran followed her, humping his body along behind her, finding this gallumphing progress weird but efficient.
Perhaps when they found Jory, he would decide whether it was worth it to go on living.
Behind them both, the sand lay level and still in the sunlight, no ripple betraying what still lay beneath.
For a time, it seemed to Zasper and Danivon that they would reach the wall before the things behind them caught up with them. For a time they thought they would get there without being observed by any of the people of Beanfields, either. There was open woodland much of the way, with good cover and solid footing, and they were making very good progress. Though they observed persons working in fields inland, though they could not avoid coming out into the open occasionally, as when fording streams, no one seemed to know they were there, no one got in their way, and they became almost convinced as the day wore on that they would come to the wall without trouble.
Then they reached a region where the trees had been cleared, a strip of bare, high land, where they could both see and be seen, and noticed behind them the telltale glitter of something coming very fast along the riverside.
“That’s bigger than it ought to be,” said Zasper soberly. “The things back there near the cavern were very small.”
Danivon moved rapidly into cover. “So maybe this is a bunch of them stuck together,” he said, telling more truth than he knew. What was coming behind was, indeed, a lot of them stuck together that were capable of coming apart again with fatal intent.
“What do you think guides it,” panted Zasper. “Heat detector?”
“Possibly. Or just sound. You’re breathing like a gaver in rut.”
“Courtesy, boy,” muttered Zasper. “Either case dictates evasive action.”
Danivon didn’t bother to reply. The standard formula applied. Get quiet. Get cool. Cool meant water. The river was a considerable distance to their right, through some badly cut up country, so they headed downhill at their best speed, praying there would be a stream at the bottom. Running water, if deep enough, would mask the heat of their bodies. Running water, if swift enough, would hide the sound of their breathing as well.
What they found was a murky pool, and not much of that.
“I hate mud puddles,” Zasper groaned to himself, busy cutting a large reed into a breathing tube. “Would you like to bet there will be at least a dozen chaffers in there?”
“No bet,” snarled Danivon, busy with a tube of his own.
They trampled about in the pool, muddying it still further, then slid into it with all their belongings, their heads among the reeds, each with a single finger wearing a detection tip extended to the surface of the water.
They detected the thing arriving. After a time they detected it departing. They waited, and it came back again.
“Tracker?” signaled Danivon with a finger on Zasper’s hand.
“Wait,” signaled Zasper in return. The thing went away for a second time. Again the thing came back.
“Tracker?” signaled Danivon again. “Smeller.”
“You go left, I’ll go right,” signaled Zasper, scarcely finishing before Danivon erupted from the pool beside him. Their weapons fired almost as one; the thing came apart into its constituent parts, some of which were very lively and quite deadly.
Sometime later, Danivon finished bandaging his leg, and Zasper the long cut along his ribs, which he had managed to stop bleeding but which nothing could stop hurting. He felt he had been sliced by a giant venomous insect.
“They’re getting nasty. There was a new kind of poison on those blades,” said Zasper, then more plaintively, “we’re filthy!”
“All to the good,” said Danivon, burrowing in his leg packs for something he had trouble finding. “Here. Native growth scent pads.”
Zasper rubbed the things over his hands, then strapped them over his boots. The device had tracked them by smell. If a breeze came up to dissipate the aroma of their passing—though they mostly smelled of mud at the moment—the scent pads would mask their footsteps and anything they touched with their hands. “The next one will be worse,” he commented. “You know that.”
Danivon merely grunted.
If there was another one, it did not follow them from the muddy pool. They saw things on their back trail, but nothing came close. Time went by; they began almost to relax, and it was with a good deal of shocked surprise that they came out of a narrow defile into a wider patch of woodland to be suddenly seized up by a company of Mother-dear’s sister guards.
As Danivon remarked later, even surprised as they were, they could have disposed of the sister guards if only they had had license to do so. Unfortunately, there was no complaint and disposition against the women of Beanfields.
Zasper, who had never been in Beanfields, tried to explain who they were and was knocked on the head.
“Boys do not speak until spoken to,” said the sister-in-charge. “You will have an opportunity soon enough to tell your story to Mother-dear herself. It was she who told us to watch for your coming.”
All their weapons were removed, except the ones the sisters did not find. All their belongings were taken away as well. They were escorted up a hill onto a rocky ridge above the nearest community and there locked into a small stone building and left alone.
“Who knew we were coming this way,” asked Danivon.
“Fringe. The twins. And the thing following us.”
“That’s what I thought too. So who told Mother-dear?”
“I doubt it was Fringe.”
Two cots stood along the walls of their jail, and Danivon fell onto one of them with a weary groan. He had not run so fast so far for the better part of a year, and every muscle protested.
He did a quick tally of the useful devices he still carried, considered immediate departure, and decided to defer escape until he’d had a chance to rest a bit. He conveyed this in a quick series of Enforcer gestures, at which Zasper nodded and lay down on the other cot, groaning in his turn. Chances were any conversation would be overheard. Since they could think of nothing harmless to say, they merely lay quiet, waiting upon the pleasure of Mother-dear.
That pleasure came too soon to allow them much rest. The sister guards escorted them down to the village plaza where Mother-dear (whether the only such or one of several) sat in a huge carved chair, her villager children clustered about her. She wore a vast flowered dress, like a tent, and her flesh overflowed the chair. Her breasts were like long balloons bulging from chest to abdomen, and her arms were braceleted and dimpled with fat. Around her stood her sister guards, muscular, slender women all. Only Mother-dear carried the great burden of flesh that signified her divinity.
The men only glanced at Mother-dear, their eyes drawn to the being beside her. It looked suspiciously like the thing they had destroyed at the mud pool.
“This messenger arrived earlier to tell us you were loose in Beanfields,” said Mother-dear, stroking Danivon’s arm. “Who is your mother, grown boy?” Her voice was concerned and maternal, like a local grandma concerned for the safety of a neighbor child.
“My mother is Lalla-balla, Mother-dear,” said Danivon in his most humble voice. “She is a Council Enforcer, as are we. She was supposed to be with us.”
The thing beside Mother-dear sparkled and shifted, listening to each word they said.
Mother-dear turned to Zasper. “And yours, old boy?”
“Lalla-balla, also, Mother-dear. My brother speaks truthfully. She was supposed to be with us.”
“Where is she?”
“We think a gaver took her,” said Zasper. “For she went to the river and did not return.” He felt tears on his cheeks and made no effort to wipe them away. They were honest tears, tears he had managed not to shed until now. Speaking his fears for Fringe had brought them to his cheeks unbidden.
“Does she have sisters who wil
l come to claim you?” Mother-dear asked in a more pleasant voice. She had seen the tears and was moved by them. These must be good boys to grieve for their mother so.
Zasper and Danivon shook their heads. Danivon said, “She does, Mother-dear, but it will take them some time to arrive after they know she is gone. She was on very important business for her mother. We beg that you take us as your boys and let us continue the duty our mother set us on.”
“You know our rules?”
Danivon sighed within. Oh, yes, he did indeed. “Yes, Mother-dear.”
“The fact that you are outlanders from Tolerance does not excuse your being loose without a mother. You know that?”
“Yes, Mother-dear.” Danivon swallowed resentment, watching the device from the corners of his eyes. It sat and glittered and shifted. What was it doing? Reporting back? Summoning others?
Mother-dear went on: “When your own mother’s sisters come to redeem you and pay the fine for your wandering loose, you may go on with their business. If so, well and good. Only if it is clear they will not come for you could I consider taking you as my boys. Even then, you would have to work off the fine before I could send you to complete your own mother’s task.” She looked them frankly up and down, as though deciding what work she might have them do. “You, grown boy, I would have blinded and take you as a lover. You are nicely built, and I have been wanting a new lover.”
“Blinded!” gulped Danivon, shocked out of his Enforcer poise. “Why blinded?”
“Blind boys make the best lovers for Mothers,” she said, preening. “They are not put off by the magnificence of what they see. And as for you,” she turned to Zasper. “I have no doubt you could be caponized to make an excellent kitchen boy.”
Zasper croaked, “Mother-dear, allow me to bring you a warning our mother told us of….”
“Old boy, hush. Boys do not warn Mothers. This is impudence, and if it is repeated, Mother will spank!” Mother-dear’s flesh quivered in outrage, and around her the sister guards bristled.
“May we at least go to the river to look for our mother?” begged Danivon. “She may be injured but alive, needing help.”
Mother-dear regarded him expressionlessly. Beside her the gadget glistened and quivered. “I will think on it,” she said at last. “I will consider it until morning.”
They were taken back up the hill, stumbling a little on the jagged rock of the outcropping, and returned to their room, though this time several guards were posted outside. Though the walls were of stone and the window barred, it was comfortable enough. Mother did not hurt her children unnecessarily. So the people of Beanfields were taught. Of course, when it was necessary, she did hurt them. Mother-dear would spank. They were taught that also.
“Likely Mother-dear has sent her sisters to look along the riverbank already,” said Danivon, gripping the window bars with both hands and shaking them as though to determine their strength. “They go at once to the aid of any woman in danger. But our mother …” He leaned close to Zasper’s ear. “Fringe wouldn’t have been on this side. You told her the destination of the Dove was on the east side, so she’d have been crossing over.”
“Beanfields women won’t cross over to Thrasis, that’s certain. There used to be some raiding between the two provinces, but we put an end to that decades ago,” Zasper whispered in return. “You don’t think it happened in Thrasis?”
Danivon shook his head, sniffing, pointing westward, mouthing, “There, quite some way. Not north of us at all.” “Then beyond the wall.” “I believe so.” “Noplace.”
Danivon laughed shortly, silently, and said aloud, “Noplace is safe, wouldn’t you say?”
“What was that thing doing down there?” whispered Zasper, drawing Danivon near him again.
“Spying. I read they don’t want to kill us but capture us! So, they’re making sure the women hold us until something else can arrive.”
“The network, you think?”
“What else? They’ve lost one set of captives. This time they want to bring up the whole armamentarium.”
“Hadn’t we better break out of here, then?” Zasper mouthed silently.
“There’s that.” Danivon stretched out on the bed. “We need some rest. This is as comfortable a place as we’re likely to find.”
Zasper gripped him by the arm. “That’s as may be, boy, but the thing knows we’re here. So, if we rest, we rest somewhere else, right?”
“Oh, very well,” sighed Danivon. “How would you suggest?”
“Something to get the guard in here.”
“Why not take out the lock and surprise them?”
“If you’re equipped to do that.”
“Always equipped to do that,” said Danivon, busy taking one of his boots apart. The hollow heel disclosed a number of small shiny devices, and one of them applied to the door hummed only briefly before the grating swung silently open. They emerged into an open foyer to find their belongings stacked against the outer wall of their cell.
“Poor Mother-dear,” whispered Zasper, stowing his paraphernalia about his person. “I fear she will not like her visitors.”
“I didn’t really want to be blinded,” Danivon replied, restoring his boot to its usual conformation. “Though if expected to make love to Mother-dear, I could appreciate the advantages of that state.”
He took up his arms, his pack, and sneaked a look around the door. There were two guards, he signaled, as he popped back to point at Zasper and himself, then in two directions, meaning, You take that one, I’ll take this one.
Zasper nodded wearily. Too old for this, he thought sadly. Really too old for this.
When Danivon went to the left, Zasper went obediently to the right….
And confronted the silvery killer he had last seen with Mother-dear in the village below.
It came at him in a rush, giving him time only for one muffled shout before it fell apart into several pieces, five he thought dazedly, three before and two … two where? He tried to get his back against the wall, but one of the creatures was between him and it. He took that one out with the weapon in his hand, stumbled across it as he turned, the wall now behind him, to confront two others. One down, two in view, two where? Or had there only been four to start with? His hand swept from left to right, and the two confronting him shrieked in high, metallic voices, not killed but crippled.
Danivon shouted that he was coming.
Zasper never heard the thing that dropped on him from above.
He was rolling and yelling when Danivon came around the corner; he was still yelling when Danivon peeled the creature away from his head.
“One more,” he gasped. “One more, somewhere.”
“I got it, Zasp,” Danivon muttered as he fumbled for the med kit at his belt. Zasper’s head was a bloody mess. “It was on the roof, but I got it.”
“Never saw it,” Zasper said, wondering why he couldn’t see. “Blood in my eyes.”
There was no blood in his eyes. Everywhere else, but not in his eyes.
“Came at me from above. Dropped down on me.”
“They can climb like spiders.” Danivon found the capsule he was looking for and clapped it between his hands, watching the resultant cloud of powder settle onto the sliced flesh and make a film there. The bleeding stopped, almost miraculously.
“Cold,” said Zasper.
Danivon shrugged out of his coat and wrapped it around the older man. “A little shock is all,” he murmured. “It’ll pass.”
“Too old for this.” Zasper’s eyes fell shut.
Danivon gathered Zasper into his arms and held him, sharing his own warmth. He rocked gently, letting the healing film do its work. It had the universal antidote in it, just in case there had been some kind of venom on those things….
Time passed. Zasper didn’t seem to be better. His breathing was more labored.
Danivon fumbled with the kit again. More of the antidote. That would do it. He injected, then gathered Zasper into hi
s arms once more.
“Dan….”
“Yes, Zas. I’m right here.”
“Should get away.”
“When you can move, Zas. We’ve got time.”
Time passed.
“Dan….”
“Zasper.”
“Fringe. If you find Fringe … She …”
“I’ll take care of her. I promise.”
“You can’t.” He struggled to say more, getting it out one agonized word at a time. “She’s not your … Jory will. You get her to Jory.”
“I’ll see to it, Zas.”
“Good. Good boy.”
A pained and incredulous screaming from the village below brought Danivon to himself sometime later. He was sitting on the ground, Zasper still cradled in his arms, the med kit open at his side, its contents including all the empty vials of universal antidote scattered about. The screaming had gone on for some time before Danivon realized that Zasper had stopped breathing a considerable time before.
Danivon rose, dry-eyed, took his coat from around Zasper’s body and put it on, took the badge from Zasper’s shoulder and put it away carefully among his own belongings along with all of Zasper’s weapons. He stumbled several times, his foot turning on the empty vials of antidote that, so it seemed, had not in fact been at all universal.
Zasper’s belt kit included incendiaries. All Enforcers carried them. No Enforcer wanted his body to fall into the hands of those who might not respect it. Nasty things could be done with recently dead bodies, nasty high-tech things and nasty low-tech things.
Danivon tucked the incendiaries down both sides of Zasper’s body and pulled the caps away. Then he left, without looking back. Enforcers didn’t look back. Better to remember the peaceful face than the white-hot flame. All this was drill. He’d done it in drill. He’d done it for colleagues before too. He’d always expected that someone would do it for him.
The screams from the village were fading. Obviously something deadly had arrived in Beanfields. He wiped his mouth, where a bitterness had gathered, and ran away from the village, down the backside of the stone outcropping to where it joined a ridge line stretching to the west, a wandering spine of stone making a high road for his weary feet.