Jeanne G'Fellers - Sister Lost, Sister Found (14 page)

“Myrla.”

“What about her?” Kaelan stopped estimating the chamber’s size and turned to Rankil.

“I like her.”

“I know that.”

“She’s always nice to me.”

“That’s because she likes you, too.”

“But—” Rankil’s face scrunched. “I think I’m scared of her.”

“I know.” Kaelan finished her estimation, dipped her stylus and noted her measurements.

“You do?”

“Perfectly normal at your age.”

“It is?”

“Yes. So are the thoughts I’m sure you’re having from time to time.”

“You?”

Kaelan glanced up with a grin. “They cannot be outgrown.”

“Don’t think I want to.” Rankil drew a lingering breath and tucked her chilled fingers into her underarms. Red mitts would be appreciated. “The thoughts are nice most of the time, almost sweet until I see”—she couldn’t bear saying Tisph’s name—“his face and then I get scared again but in a different way.”

“Then angry?” suggested Kaelan.

“Furious!”

“Memories can hurt, daughter, and you have some bitter ones to work through.” Kaelan picked up the torch and motioned Rankil to follow. “The nightmares will likely worsen before they get better, so will the anger. It’s your mind’s way of purging itself. It’s all right to cry about it. It’s all right to scream. But, it’s never appropriate to take it out on others.”

“Like I do Myrla?”

Kaelan’s tools were now away, and her attention centered on Rankil. “To some extent you’ve done it to us all.”

“I guess I’m jealous she had love and support when I didn’t.”

“You have it now.”

“So I could cry, and you wouldn’t be ashamed of me?”

“Not in the least.” Kaelan could see the emotion welling in Rankil’s eyes. “Here is probably the best place.”

“Why?” Rankil gulped back the lump in her throat.

“Myrla isn’t here to scare it back in you.”

“Oh.” First one, then a shrill line of angry wails escaped Rankil’s shuddering insides. Kaelan was there when her security was needed, wary but close when the fury threatened. The two sides of Rankil fought bitterly, her still dominant child clamoring for position against the adult presence that cried outrage, swearing revenge for what she had endured. It was good to scream, to bellow, curse and spit. She told Kaelan of the abuse, the ridicule. How she had been made to feel less than alive, left dirty until she knew no other way to be. She shed tears for the burns from the fire irons when she wasn’t quick enough, and sputtered how she’d avoided the barn at all costs, Tisph’s name unable to cross her lips. She would make them all pay. Somehow, some way, she would be vindicated.

Kaelan listened, asked a few critical questions but primarily listened, letting Rankil ramble and sob until she was spent. As one torch burned low, another was lit until only one remained in their sling. By then, Rankil sat in silence, her billions of thoughts expressed, her head empty once again.

“Did it help?” Kaelan’s question echoed in the nothing.

“Kind of.”

“Want to come mapping with me again?”

“Please.” Rankil became aware Kaelan’s arms surrounding her. She had supported her since childhood tears had won the struggle. Those arms had been there only when necessary, and Rankil knew they’d be there again. They had to be again. Her entire being required it. “Can I come tomorrow?”

“You’re welcome whenever you feel the need.”

Neither talked as they made their way back to the cavern mouth, the nothing in Rankil’s head turning into a nauseating headache which forced her to bed the minute they returned.

Kaelan instructed the others to leave Rankil alone, assuring them she would be improved by morning. Only Myrla dared draw near, her eyes a brilliant blue of compassion as she offered a doll.

“She helps.”

“She does?” Rankil’s eyes fixed on Myrla and the faded, cheery-faced comfort in her hands.

“Yeah, she’s the one I always hold when I’m scared.” Myrla tucked the doll into the crook of Rankil’s arm. “Take her. I bet she’ll work for you, too, if you’ll let her.”

“You think?” It no longer mattered if Myrla knew or not.

“I do care, Rankil.”

“I care about you, too. Be my friend?”

“Promise you won’t stay so mad at me?”

“I’ll try. Promise not to expect miracles?”

“Can I hope?”

“Sure.”

“We’re friends then.” Myrla drifted into slumber in the caress of Rankil’s tousled hair, never stirring as Kaelan wrapped a blanket around the sleeping pair and tucked Myrla’s other doll in her arms.

“First comes friendship,” whispered Kaelan above Archell’s snore.

“Then, what we have,” Jewel said as she nuzzled a place in her partner’s shoulder and slept.

No one steals food for the thrill of anything more than survival.

—Olitti Judalaes

Soon after the Pass End Feast, someone began stealing game from Rankil’s snares. She followed the thief’s tracks again and again but always came back empty handed, the prints so small they all but disappeared. Kaelan’s attempts were no more fruitful. Whoever the culprit was, they took extreme measures to remain unseen.

“They’re only taking what they need,” said Kaelan between bites of leftover hopper leg. “There’s always plenty for our eating. But I would like to know who’s doing it.”

“I find it unnerving,” replied Jewel. “What if they’re watching us?”

“If they were interested, they’d have contacted us,” shrugged her broadback. “I say live and let live. They keep their distance, and we’ll keep ours.”

Jewel set down her mug. “But they could be the criminal element. Who else would live outside a compound or clan?”

“We are,” replied Kaelan, waving the hopper bone her direction. “Are you guilty of some crime I should be aware of?”

Jewel placed one hand on her hip and laughed, “Like I’d tell you.” She poured fresh tea and stoked the fire. “Did Myrla tell you the milker is going dry?”

“Archell did. The boy misses his morning cup.” Kaelan sipped from her mug and patted the ground mat. “Bring me that last chunk of leg then rest your wearies next to mine.”

“Gladly.” Jewel took a generous bite of the dark meat and handed Kaelan the remainder. “I don’t understand how the creature could be going dry. The evening milking is as much as ever, but the morning”—Jewel scratched under the edge of her head scarf—“there’s none to be had. It’s almost as if—”

“As if someone is beating us to it?” Kaelan glanced to where the livestock sheltered. “Could you brew me a strong pot before you go to bed?”

“I’ll brew for both of us. You’re not standing watch by yourself.”

“Serpent gentlewomen don’t stand watch.”

“It’s not safe for you to stand alone.” Jewel rose to her knees. “I’m sitting up with you.”

“This is not your call. I’ll take Rankil.”

“Oh, take a child over me why don’t you?” Jewel filled the teapot with fresh water.

“It’s either her or Archell, and he’s not a fighter.” Kaelan pointed to his snoring form. “He still has night terrors concerning his father. I’ll not give him more.”

“Rankil has them, too.” Jewel added several measures of ground leaves to the pot before she set it on the fire rock.

“Not as often.” Kaelan pulled her dagger to sharpen the blade.

“But they’re much more violent.” Jewel reminded her above the scraping. “Please, let them rest.”

“No, Jewel.”

“I’ll be awake worrying over you anyway.”

“No!”

“That’s all right, Jewel. I’m awake.” Rankil rolled to face the fire. “I can’t seem to sleep tonight anyway.” She reached for her boots. “Besides, I’m anxious to see who’s been robbing my snares.”

“You can’t sleep again?” Jewel bent to roll Rankil’s blanket furs. “If you don’t begin sleeping, Mother help me, I’ll pin you down and phase you out.” She stomped past Kaelan and tossed the bedding in a corner. “Honestly, Kae, I’d think you’d have the sense to let the taller, stronger members of the family do the protecting.”

“I am!” declared Kaelan. “That’s Rankil and me.”

“It’s not.” Jewel drew herself up proudly. “I’m the tallest next to you.”

“Stand next to Rankil.” Kaelan arranged them back to back then held her hands on the top of their heads. “Step away and see for yourself.”

Jewel laughed when she stepped away. “Bless your soul, Rankil, at this rate you’ll outgrow Kaelan. But”—she flexed a lean bicep— “it doesn’t answer the question of brawn.”

“Oh,” replied Kaelan so Jewel might not take offense, “I believe it does. Show her what we’ve been doing with our mapping time, daughter.”

“Can I?” Rankil’s eyes lit with pride.

“She won’t rest until you prove yourself.” Kaelan chuckled as Rankil lifted Jewel and tossed her carry sack manner over her shoulder. “That says it all, doesn’t it?”

“What have you been doing with this girl?” demanded Jewel when she’d regained her footing.

“We’ve been having stone rolling races.” Rankil tied on her leg sheath and slid in her knife. “I won yesterday.”

“You did?” Jewel cocked her head at Kaelan’s humbled nod. “And I thought mapping was your sole occupation as of late.”

“Glass blower, mapper, stone roller, I have many talents.” Kaelan pulled on her cloak and set a head wrap about her ears. “Tonight, it’s guard duty with another broadback. You finished with Rankil’s cloak, my dear, or does she need a fur to fight the cold?”

“It’s finished save for the bottom hem.” Jewel drew the dark gray bundle from the sewing pile and draped it across Rankil’s shoulders.

“It’s hopper lined!” Rankil fingered the garment’s supple insides. “So soft.” She sniffed and turned away, ashamed of the happy tears stinging her eyes. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. You’ve provided more than enough pelts to line all our cloaks.” Jewel tossed Rankil her head wrap and red mitts. “You can keep yourself awake by hemming. Your stitches are always even.” She held out the thread and bone needle. “I wish my sewing was as clean.”

Rankil shoved the items into her pocket. “You become an expert when mistakes earn you lashes.”

“You don’t have to put in the hem if you don’t want to,” said Jewel quickly.

“I’ll do it. It is my cloak.” Rankil patted her pocket then turned to Kaelan. “I’m ready when you are.”

“Then let’s go.” Kaelan led the way to the cavern entrance, pausing long enough to speak back to Jewel. “Finish brewing us a pot then get to bed, my pet.”

“Don’t worry your stubbly head about me,” called Jewel. “I’m a big girl. Oh, and Rankil?”

“Yes?”

“Drop a stitch if it suits your fancy.”

“I just might.”

The nassies saw their nocturnal companions as a chance for attention and set about baying for a pat on the head. Kaelan gave each animal an affectionate scratch while Rankil mounded clean bedding straw. The milker’s new colt tugged against his picket in hopes of a second scratch.

“Greedy,” teased Rankil as she patted the creature between the eyes.

“They’re gluttons for attention.” Kaelan scratched the colt’s coarse ear welts and set the torch into a bracket. “Don’t make yourself too comfortable. We aren’t here to sleep.” She spread the hay wider before settling into it. “Want some help with that hem? I’m fair with a needle myself.”

“I’ve only the one.”

“Make that two.” Kaelan pulled a tack needle from the stack of riding pads. “You’ll never finish before the torch burns out. Let me help.”

“If you insist.” Rankil threaded her needle then passed the spool. “Where’d you learn to sew?”

“From Eeham, the gentlewoman who raised me.” Kaelan wet the thread point and pushed it through the eye.

“You didn’t have a broadback raiser?”

“Nope.”

“That’s acceptable?”

“Sure,” said Kaelan, taking up the cloak’s other side. “Single raisers aren’t uncommon among the Taelach. Many times it is due to an untimely death, but occasionally, like with Eeham, one chooses to raise a daughter on her own. Lee, her life mate, died a few passes before I was born.”

Rankil was silent for a moment as she stitched. “Did you miss having a broadback to talk to?”

“I always had someone to talk to. There were many who tried to get in Eeham’s good graces through me.” Kaelan pushed away a straw poking her side. “They came and went, but Recca was always there for me.”

“The clan leader?”

“She hasn’t always been clan leader.” Kaelan chuckled. “When I was young, she was a metal smith. She still does it from time to time—beautiful work, fine detail and craftsmanship. She hoped I’d take a shine to it as well.”

“You didn’t?” Rankil pricked her finger and shoved it into her mouth to dull the sting.

“I prefer glass blowing and potting. The work is more delicate.” Kaelan jerked the wet digit from Rankil’s mouth, examined the finger, and shoved it back into her mouth. “Don’t sew yourself to it, daughter. You won’t appreciate the fur come summer.”