Bhotta's Tears: Book Two of the Black Bead Chronicles Page 3

  Seeing Alain reminded her that they needed to talk. She crossed to the bench in front of his locker and sat down.

  “My night table said oops this morning,” she said softly. Alain paused as he pulled on his underwear. A calculating gleam filled his eyes.

  “Did you get a security notice?”

  “No. I was using Brigit’s passcode but I didn’t wait around long enough to see if the table got pinged.”

  “What were you doing? You didn’t try to hack Phillius’s duty roster again, did you? He’s starting to get suspicious.”

  “Nah,” Cheobawn said, “I was in the general data base. Did you know the Coven has entire chunks of information locked down behind another set of passcodes?”

  “Huh? Like what? Personal files and medical records? Sure. The general population doesn’t get privilege to a lot of stuff,” Alain said, sliding into his shorts.

  “The data link thought I was Brigit, remember? She sits on the High Council. Why would Brigit need extra privileges just to see stuff? What does gender inappropriate mean?”

  Alain grunted. A funny looked crossed his face. He looked over at Tam and caught his leader’s eye. The Alpha, experienced with answering her more uncomfortable questions, knew that look. He untangled himself from Megan and snagged a towel off a shelf, wrapping it around his hips as he crossed the room.

  “What?” he asked, looking at Alain.

  “Ask Tam your question, wee bit,” Alain said.

  Cheobawn repeated the question carefully. Tam raised an eyebrow and looked up at Alain. Alain shrugged, a look passing between they two boys. Cheobawn hated that look. It meant they had a secret they were not willing to share. For some reason their hesitation annoyed her. Or maybe the tight feeling in the pit of her stomach, which had been with her since waking, was making her proddy. She pressed her lips together and tried not to snarl.

  It was a familiar problem, this. The world was trying to get her attention and her brain, without specific information, could only supply her with directionless generalities and a vague uneasiness. It made her feel stupid, like her head was full of seedpod fluff. Until she acquired the information that would fill in the gaps of her understanding she would worry at it, prodding the ache like a tongue probing a sore tooth.

  Megan came up behind Tam, scrubbing a towel through her short curls. She looked at Tam expectantly, waiting for him to answer the question. Tam flinched under the scrutiny of his two Ears.

  “Go on,” Megan said, her soft growl more of a warning than a request. “Tell us what gender inappropriate means.”

  “I can’t tell you,” Tam insisted. “You will just get upset. Let’s get going. We should have been in the North Gate changing room five minutes ago.”

  Cheobawn could not believe what she was hearing. Packmates shared everything. For some reason, Tam keeping a secret from her felt like betrayal.

  Her anxiety intensified. The dream seemed less innocent the more she thought about it, the clouds at her dream feet taking on a sinister quality. How could she set her mind at ease when everything she needed to know seemed to be cloaked in secrecy? Her lower lip trembled.

  Megan scowled at Tam.

  “Now look at what you’ve done,” she said.

  “Oh, by all that is …” sighed Tam. He squatted down to look his youngest Packmate in the eye. “Look. What’s the most important skill you bring to the Pack?”

  “My psi ability?” Cheobawn ventured.

  “That’s right. You’re my Ear. But things can interfere with your skill, right? Negative things, emotions and the like. All the demi-Packs have to study hard for years, learning to shield our minds, learning to be polite, learning the tricks, I mean, the methods that makes a Pack run flawlessly, and we have to pass all sorts of tests before we can ask a girl to be our Ear.” Tam grimaced and changed the direction of his explanation, having said more than he wanted. “You remember last year when I killed that stinging spider just before it tried to bite you?” Cheobawn nodded. “You told me yourself that its death scrambled your psi, making it hard to listen to the ambient, right?”

  “Yeah, but …” Cheobawn conceded. That was only partially true. It had, but only for a moment. She had gone on to kill her fair share of marauders, that night. “But Megan doesn’t have that problem.”

  “Megan,” said Megan dryly, “knows where she begins and the ambient ends, unlike someone I know. Plus, I haven’t adopted every living thing within five clicks as a personal pet.”

  “Well, there you go,” Tam said heartily, the emotion not quite ringing true. Cheobawn wondered what he was hiding. “The boys guard and protect and do the killing while the Ears listen. The Ears have a hard time killing while they are listening. The two skills seem to be mutually exclusive. Do you know what that means?”

  “I guess,” Cheobawn said doubtfully.

  “It means you can’t do one if you want to do the other,” Tam answered.

  “Why?” Cheobawn asked, honestly puzzled.

  “Uh,” Tam looked up at Megan for help.

  “Because,” said Megan, “One is a spiral inward and the other is the outward spiral. You can’t do both at the same time.”

  “Oh,” Cheobawn nodded, not totally understanding. She made a mental note to practice spiraling out and in at the same time. Being told a thing was impossible only goaded her to prove them wrong. Absolute statements drove her mad.

  “Huh?” grunted Tam, a confused look on his face. Alain and Connor mirrored his bewildered look.

  “The theory of the pan-dimensional flow of the psychic energy,” Megan explained with a grin, happy that she knew something that Tam did not. “One can focus it down into a pinpoint of intense power, allowing one to kill or one can expand it to include all things, so that you can Hear. It’s the first thing they teach little girls in meditation classes.”

  Cheobawn vaguely remembered spiraling being mentioned once in her meditation classes, but that did not mean much. She hated meditation class and hardly ever listened. Megan, four years her senior, was doing advanced studies.

  “So, there you have it,” Tam said, looking back at

  Cheobawn, “Ears don’t need to know stuff that boys know and boys don’t know everything that Ears know. That’s how it has to be. Did that answer your question?”

  “Sure, but what does that have to do with Lowlanders?” Cheobawn asked. Her eyes widened in sudden horror. “Do you kill Lowlanders?” she whispered, aghast.

  “Huh?” Tam looked up at Alain, totally lost at the conversation’s sudden change in direction.

  “She got into a restricted section of the hub crystalmind this morning. It triggered a security alert,” Alain admitted. Tam stood up, looking alarmed. “I don’t expect any backsplatter, but it’s too early to tell,” Alain hastened to add.

  “Why is information about Lowlanders gender restricted?” Megan asked having sorted out all the confusing threads of the conversation and come to the correct conclusion.

  “I don’t … I can’t,” Tam scowled, pressing his lips together.

  “Wait!” Cheobawn fixed her eyes on Megan. “You know there are people who live below the Escarpment? How come I have never heard about it until now?”

  Megan opened her mouth to say something, looked up at the boys, and then blushed so hard Cheobawn could almost feel the heat radiating off her red face. “Ah, well, Mothers, um… make jokes about… husbands, the husbands’ skills at…“ Megan made a vague gesture with her hands, “in the … bedroom, comparing them to …” Megan’s explanation petered out into thin air under the pointed scrutiny of Tam and Alain.

  Cheobawn waited patiently, not really understanding what could be so difficult to say.

  “I did not need to know that,” Alain breathed out in horror.

  “They do not! Do they?” Tam sputtered. “They talk about it behind our backs?”

  “Don’t take it so personal. It’s not like it is you they are talking about,” the older girl scoffed, annoyed at
being put on the spot.

  “Do what?” Connor insisted, frustrated with the whole conversation.

  “Are you guys talking about sex?” Cheobawn asked.

  “Oh, that,” Connor sniffed in disinterest. The older children laughed, though Cheobawn had only a vague idea why. She held up her hands, waving them into silence.

  “Stop, stop, stop. Why do Fathers want to kill Lowlanders? Are the Fathers jealous because the Mothers would rather play games with Lowlanders?”

  Megan blinked in surprise. Tam looked truly confused. Alain was trying to choke himself with his fist. Connor just shook his head, disgusted with all of them.

  “Ch’che,” Megan asked carefully, “What do you think happens when Mora brings one of the Husbands into her bedroom at night?”

  “I don’t know. They play games, take baths together, brush each other’s hair, stay up all night telling stories,” Cheobawn said, mentally ticking off all her favorite things to do when she had Megan over for sleepover.

  “So you think baby lambs come from the sheep getting together at night and telling stories?” Connor asked, pity warring with scorn in his tone. Tam and Alain howled with laughter, but Megan was not amused. Her fists were getting tighter. One of them was about to get socked.

  “No,” snapped Cheobawn. “I am not stupid. I have been in the breeding sheds.”

  “Well, people have to do the same thing,” Connor informed her.

  “No they don’t,” Cheobawn insisted. “Amabel makes the babies in her lab and puts them inside the natalmothers.”

  The boys stopped laughing, suddenly sober at the reminder that Amabel, as the current Maker of the Living Thread, had final say in the birth and death of everyone under the dome.

  Megan smiled frostily at the boys and then turned a gentler smile on her small friend.

  “Well, you have it exactly right,” she said solemnly, “Mostly.”

  “Are Lowlanders good story tellers, do you think?” Cheobawn ventured, returning to the subject that most interested her.

  “You are such a dope,” snorted Connor. “None of us know anything about Lowlanders. It will never come up in any of our lessons.”

  The Pack turned as one and looked at him expectantly. Connor flushed, uncomfortable under their collective gaze.

  “What do you know, little brother?” asked Tam, an odd look on his face. Perhaps he was surprised that Connor kept secrets from him. Cheobawn thought this only fair. Tam should know what it felt like to be on the receiving end of secrets. Perhaps he would be less inclined to keep secrets from her from now on.

  “I overheard Sigrid talking to his Second,” Connor said. “Sigrid’s Ramhorn Pack is going on the next Meetpoint run. They have to attend private briefings with the First Fathers before they go down the Escarpment to meet the Lowland traders and they are not allowed to discuss anything they learn outside of those meetings.”

  “And you were going to tell me this … when?” Tam asked. “Are you my intelligence officer or not?” Connor opened his mouth to defend his impugned honor, but Megan interrupted their quarrel.

  “We trade with Lowlanders?” asked Megan, surprised.

  “Well, sure,” said Alain mused. “That would explain how we get the diatomic sand and the rare salts, I guess.”

  Cheobawn made another mental note. She had not honestly thought about the source all the boxes, tins, and bins of stuff sitting on the shelves in the Communal Pantry but, in retrospect, the truth was that everything came from somewhere. She had assumed, as with everything else, that it had been gathered by the tribe or exchanged with other tribes at the Trade Fairs. Now she knew that the domes held a Trade Fair down below Meetpoint dome and only Lowlanders were invited.

  “Shut up, Alain,” hissed Tam, a deeply worried look on his face. “Don’t say another word, you two,” he said, glaring at the boys. Turning towards Megan, he held out his hands, trying to placate the older girl’s rising anger. “I don’t know if we are allowed to talk about this with girls. Some things need to be kept from …”

  Megan was getting ready to sock him, but flinched and looked down at Cheobawn. Cheobawn grimaced, trying desperately to control what was roaring through her mind and obviously failing to keep it out of the ambient, judging by Megan’s reaction. She went blind for a moment, trying to sort out the turmoil inside her heart.

  For some reason, it terrified her her Pack knew next to nothing about the Lowlands. What else did they not know? There were too many secrets. Secrets were almost lies and lies were deadly if you were an Ear trying to stay alive. Did the Mothers keep an entire planet shrouded in secrecy for some reason? The unsettling vertigo returned, sending her thoughts tumbling through her mind. Until this moment, the world had been small, certain, and manageable. Now, great vistas of unknowable possibilities tugged at the safe borders of her existence. In the center of this infinite horizon, her ignorance was a weight that threatened to drown them all. How could she keep them all alive when the Coven had her hobbled so?

  A memory, half forgotten, flashed into her mind; the day of their first foray as they lay atop the rock spire, curled in a ball, terrified as the stone quaked with each blow from the treebear’s paws. It came back to her, now, every detail etched into her mind as real and as painfully vivid as if she were still there; the sounds of the bear’s grunts, the smell of black water bogs and pine trees, the texture of the stone under her face. She had worn the treebear that day, putting it on like a second skin, dancing it to her bidding, saving them all. The memory was not welcome. Nausea washed through her. She did not want to remember what it felt like to take over the mind of another.

  Why was her traitorous brain dredging it all up again? Did it pertain to this problem? Was that to be her only recourse when things got ugly? Was that to be her fate, solving all her problems using the strategy of desperation which required no skill or subtly? It was like trying to slice mushrooms with an ax. It got the job done but the results were barely palatable. Could she do that again? Dare she? She had forgotten who she was when she was inside the treebear. If it were not for Tam, perhaps she would be out there still, in her treebear skin, no longer human.

  The great monster, Bear Under the Mountain, heard her distress. It rolled over in its sleep, sending a tendril of a thought up out of the dark cold places under her feet, wanting to play again. She stomped that door closed, refusing it entrance.

  She came out of her fugue to find Tam sitting beside her, his arm around her shoulders.

  “What troubles you, wee bit?” he asked softly. She put her icy hands on his smooth cheeks.

  “Are you my Pack?“ she asked softly. “Though I have no right to call myself Cheobawn Blackwind yet, if I tell you we need to go somewhere, will you go, I wonder?”

  “What kind of question is that? Of course. You are my Ear.”

  “How far would you go? I am afraid and it takes a lot to make me afraid. Wouldn’t that make me some kind of unnatural monster, to ask you to follow me?”

  “Tell me what is worrying you. Let me set your mind at ease, Little Mother.” Tam whispered softly, his confidence unshakable.

  “Something comes at us from below the Escarpment, but I cannot put a face on it and I do not know what to do.”

  “Lowlanders! Are we going to Meetpoint at the end of the summer?” Connor asked, a hungry look on his face. Tam opened his mouth to deny it, but then looked at Cheobawn.

  “What do you say, Little Mother?,” he asked softly.

  Cheobawn shook her head.

  “I am in the dark. There are too many secrets,” she choked out.

  “Do we need to learn about Lowlanders? I can try to hack the crystalmind hub for you,” Alain offered helpfully.

  “No! Stop it, all of you. Wait,” Tam ordered firmly, “I will see what I can do. Give me a couple of days. I will ask around and if I think it is safe to tell you, I will let you know what I find out. Alright?”

  “Safe?” Megan breathed in outrage. “Who are you to deci
de?”

  “By the Goddess, Megan,” Tam snapped in frustration. “I cannot risk the safety of the Pack because you girls think you need to know something the Elders have restricted for a purpose. The rulings from the High Council are not always arbitrary, you know.”

  “Alright, alright. Calm down,” the older girl said, holding up her hands in surrender, not liking to anger Tam. “Lets go pick some melons.”

  “Alright, wee bit? Can you wait?” Tam asked.

  “OK,” Cheobawn agreed, but only to set his mind at ease.

  They scrambled to get dressed and then streamed out the door. Alain fell into step next to Cheobawn.

  “I’d avoid using your night table for a while,” he said out of the corner of his mouth. “Just to be safe, use only your own passcode until I find out if the coast is clear.”

  Cheobawn nodded to appease him, but made no verbal contract. She was not totally sure she could keep that promise. Tam had a day, maybe two, to ask his questions. If there were monsters lurking beyond the edge of the Escarpment, testing the limits of their prison, then she wanted to be prepared when they found her.

  Chapter Three

  Cheobawn stood up and leaned over backwards to ease the ache in the back of her legs. She looked off in the distance, noting the dozens of backs stooped over in the heat. Harvesting the melon fields was miserable work. Late summer meant cloudless skies and dry heat that sucked the moisture out of the air. Even though it was still early morning, the sun beat through the thin fabric of her summer-weight tunic and sweat beaded under the band of her straw hat to trickle down the sides of her face.

  The elders had blocked the irrigation lines days before to dry out the fields in order to facilitate the harvest. Now the ground was so dry that fine dust puffed into the air with every step and settled on her clothes and skin, turning the sweat into mud. On top of that discomfort was the constant contact with the melon leaves and the fine, itchy hairs that covered them. She wanted to wipe the sweat off her face and scratch at every bit of exposed skin, but did not dare for fear of smearing grit into her eyes and driving the hairs deeper into her skin. It was best to keep focused on the job.