Jeanne G'Fellers - Sister Lost, Sister Found (21 page)

The first man stared at Hestra for a moment then held her at arm’s length. “Not me. You do it. I can’t kill a babe, even a white witch.”

“Coward!” Archell’s captor shoved him to the ground and grabbed Hestra’s sling.

“No!” Archell lurched forward, wrapped his legs around the man holding Hestra, and jerked with all his might, sending the infant sliding down the far side of the drift. Her assailant fell behind her, tumbling head over heel, a target Rankil twice overshot before hitting. He fell prone and skidded into Hestra, knocking her further down the hill. The baby shrieked as her slide ended under a shrub, her cries more of cold and distress than any injury she’d received.

The noise brought the other Autlach to the top of the drift, his hands wrapped around Myrla’s throat. “I don’t know what you did, but put the noisemaker down before I break her neck.”

When Rankil complied, he ventured a glance at Archell. “Taelach witchery can’t be undone.”

Archell took small steps forward. “The only lies are from Autlach tongues—Acid with deceit—The Taelach wish to live in peace—They have no quarrel, no wish to cheat.”

“A singing idiot!” laughed the man, taking a backward step. “They’ve messed you up but good.”

He glanced again to Rankil. “Come up here, broadback, hands over your head.”

“I’ll do as you say,” she said in her fluent Autlach. “Do what you want with me but don’t hurt her.”

“Yours, is she?” The man loosened his grip enough for Myrla to gasp. “One of you is going to die for killing an Aut.” He gave Rankil an appraising glance. “But you’ll bring a higher price at the crystal mines, broadback, so I think I’ll kill the girl.” He pulled Myrla close to taste her neck. “But not quite yet.”

As the color drained from Myrla’s face, a rage like none other twisted in Rankil’s soul. She knew what Myrla felt, the disgust, the terror, the very terror. And, suddenly, Rankil found herself not in the snow but at Granny Terry’s. Tisph was pulling her head back with the belt, laughing at her helplessness. His hands became talons that scratched her back, his mouth burned her skin, his—

No!
Her mental blast brought their attacker to his knees. He took Myrla with him as he fell, grabbing her by the braid when she tried to break free.

No!
And Rankil was upon him, knocking him from Myrla with one hand as she placed her blade to his throat with the other. Tisph wouldn’t chase her any more. He would never catch her again, never touch her again, never—

“No, Rankil dankle!” Archell grabbed her knife wielding arm with his bound hands. “He isn’t worth the hurt.”

Rankil pulled from his grasp, raised the blade to strike, then stopped, bewildered and quivering on top of the Autlach. How had she gotten here? Where had this Aut come from? Sensing her confusion, the man pushed from beneath her to slide backward down the slope. Rankil let him go, staring through him as he turned and ran.

“Rankil?” Myrla touched her shoulder.

“No,” she replied in a whisper then she dropped the knife, rose to her feet, and stumbled down the hillside toward the cavern. It was winter and she was cold—nothing else made sense. Where were Jewel and Kaelan? Where was Archell? Myrla?

“Myrla!” She turned back to where she last remembered Myrla being only to find both she and Archell running toward her as Hestra screamed in Archell’s arms.

“Run!” Myrla caught Rankil’s hand in her own, pulling her forward. “For the Mother’s sake, run!”

Rankil numbly joined their race, stumbling again and again as Myrla urged her along. A rumbling rose behind them. By the time they neared the family cavern the noise had become deafening, like the roar of rushing floodwaters, interspersed with the snorts and knickers nassies always made at a full run. Rankil slowed enough to look back then turned back to her run, all but passing Myrla and Archell as the apocalyptic sound of sixty nassie hooves closed in on them.

“It’s him!” she cried when they reached the family cavern. “I saw him. We can’t win!”

“Yes, we can.” Myrla gathered the singed remains of Kaelan’s map bag then grabbed a handful of torches, lighting one from the burning scrolls.

“Come on.” Myrla took Rankil and Archell by the arms and led them deeper into the cavern. “We’re following Kaelan and Jewel. We’re going caving.”

The Auts may outnumber us, but they can’t outsmart us.

—Harlis Davies

“Hush her up.” Blood roared in Rankil’s ears. “Give her another bottle or something.”

“She’s teething,” replied Myrla between pats to the baby’s back. “That, and she’s wet.”

“Didn’t you grab any wraps?” Rankil stepped to the edge of the torch light, hoping the dark would soothe the ache in her head. Kaelan had never taken her down this tunnel, choosing instead to map many of the surface caves. Rankil cursed the decision. Archell read her expression, took the map sling from her back, and draped it across his own.

“No use looking for what’s not there, Rankil dankle. We’ll push through. There’s nothing else that we can do.”

“But they’re better supplied than we are,” said Rankil. “We had the advantage of knowing where we were, until now.” She turned to Myrla. “Shut her up!”

“I’m trying!” Myrla pointed to their surroundings. “She’s as frightened as we are.”

“Try harder,” replied Rankil, clenching her hands to her head. “She’ll lead them to us.”

“What do you suggest I do?”

“You’re a gentlewoman. Don’t you know?”

Myrla stopped whispering to Hestra to glare. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Stop it!” Archell stepped between them. “Hestra needs changed. Rankil, take off your skirt.”

“Pardon?”

“Your overskirts can be wraps so Hestra can nap.”

“Oh.” She tore the cloth free and handed a square to Myrla. “Give me the dirty wrap, and I’ll hide it under a rock.”

Myrla changed the child, and soon Hestra cooed thanks. “That’s a baby.” She slid her into the carry sling and passed the soiled bundle to Rankil. “All set. Which way are we going?”

“Pick a tunnel.” Rankil waved at the passages as voices drifted their direction.

“Straight down the middle then.” Myrla marched forward, head held high in defiance of the unknown. Archell remained by her side while Rankil stayed behind to hold off some of the trackers. Gun in hand, she shot at the first two men into the convergence then rushed down the darkened tunnel her companions had entered.

“Douse the light, Archie. They’re getting close.”

“No, Rankil roo.” Archell grabbed her arm until she took up pace with his heated gait. “Myrla has a better idea.”

“But we don’t have time for—”

“Take her!” Myrla shoved the baby into Rankil’s arms. She took the torch from Archell, lit the last one in Rankil’s sling, and pushed the new flame back at him. “Smell the grease?” She told Rankil. “It’s the same stuff we use in our lanterns.”

“The stuff Jewel smeared on our heads?” Rankil smelled the unmistakable odor of petroleum.

“It sometimes bubbles up in the deeper caves.” Myrla pushed the others back and held her torch high over her head. “When I drop the torch, run.”

“But—” Rankil flattened herself against the side of the tunnel and pulled her cloak around Hestra. “They’ll be here any—”

Lights appeared around the nearest corner. “Great Mother! They’re here!” She froze as the torch dropped from Myrla’s fingers. Whether it was simple panic or the wrathful faces of those pursuing them that made her hesitate she couldn’t say, but her next conscious thought was of Myrla taking her by the hand as they ran. That handhold became their mutual lifeline as they followed Archell’s torch down tunnel after twisting tunnel. They weren’t sure how long they ran or how far, but in time Archell called a halt and the spent trio collapsed to the ground. Myrla used her own saliva and one of the wraps to clean the worst of the soot from Hestra’s eyes and mouth, then offered her the last bit of milk.

“They won’t be following us anymore, will they?” Rankil gasped.

“No.” Myrla locked apologetic eyes with her. “The slick could burn for days so unless they stumble across an intersecting tunnel, we’re safe.”

“Good to know.” Only then did Rankil dare a look around. They were in nothing more than a wide spot in the tunnel. It was cramped but would have to suffice. “Any idea what time of day it is?”

“Late enough for Archell’s stomach to be talking,” he observed.

“That could be anytime.” Rankil removed the torch from his hand. “Guess it doesn’t matter. It’s night in our world. The torch burned too quick when we ran with it. Maybe we should save what’s left and call it a night.”

“Might as well.” Myrla yawned as she wiped the oily film from her lips. “Hestra’s asleep.” She placed the infant back in her carrier and bound it to her chest for warmth. “Good thing the deeper caverns stay a constant temperature.”

“But it’s still a bit damp. Maybe we’ll be warmer together.” She pulled Myrla into her lap, shielding them both from the cool humidity. “Think what you will of my excuse,” she whispered.

Archell sighed but didn’t say a word.

“Night, Archie.”

“Night, Rankil dankle, Myrla and Hestra, too.”

Rankil ground out the torch.

“Explain your presence!” Unknown hands slung Archell and Rankil into opposite sides of the tunnel as others pulled Myrla up a little more kindly, letting her shade her eyes from the glaring torchlight. “Do you have any idea of the damage you’ve caused?”

Myrla squinted toward the loudest voice. The accent was odd, perhaps one of the Autlach dialects she’d never heard. “We didn’t mean any harm.” She stuttered in her best Autlach. “We were being followed by bandits. The fire stopped them from getting to us. We are sorry.”

A rumble rose from their captors and the voice eased to more of a parental tone. “Well, you shouldn’t be caving so young. Especially with a baby.” They brought Archell and Rankil to Myrla’s side.

“Quite an accent you have,” continued the voice. “Dark coloring, too. You must be from the southlands. Which one of these fellows is your husband?”

“I am!” Rankil dropped her voice as she wrapped her arms about Myrla and the baby. “Like my wife said, we were being pursued. The caves were our only hope. We dropped a torch when we were running and the next thing we knew fire was everywhere.”

“Apology accepted,” the voice replied. “We’ll chalk it up to youthful stupidity.” A well-fed Autlach with long gray hair and a bristling beard moved into the light. “Would you like a guide out of here?”

“We could use a hand.” Rankil’s protective grasp loosened. Someone removed the torches from their faces while someone else produced a water skin.

“Drink up.”

Their rescuers took congenial, though removed, spots facing them. Except for the heavy Autlach, their faces remained cloaked and well out of the direct light.

“Tell us about these attackers,” said a gruff tenor in the group. “Were any of them familiar?”

“Longpass.” Archell took a second swig to quench his thirst. “Bad man.”

“We know him,” assured the voice. “Rapist, murderer, bandit, and every bit of it done in the name of Raskhallak. You were lucky to escape.”

Myrla, remaining silent so her accent wouldn’t again come into question, rinsed and refilled Hestra’s bottle with water. Despite her efforts, a few drops spilled across her hand as she poured, leaving a smudge which caused the tenor voice to burst into laughter.

“A bottle when you should be nursing? And your complexion, young woman, it’s streaking!” The tenor jerked up Myrla’s cuff, revealing the ivory flesh of her forearm. “I think we can end the shadow games and make proper introductions.” Before Rankil could become defensive, the tenor threw back her hood, revealing a rolling smile, razor short hair, loop upon loop of battle braid and ocean blue eyes which added to her good-humored face.

She cleared her voice. “Hello, my sister. My name is Jefflynn, supervisor of the gas well you destroyed today. You’ve managed to find a new way to pierce the Tekkroon border, something many have died attempting.” Jefflynn cleared her throat again. “Stars, but it’s hard to keep that voice up,” she said to her companions as they lowered their hoods.

Several of the other Taelachs chuckled and Jefflynn’s Autlach companion laughed heartedly. “There
are
a few things the Taelach can’t do well, sis, and copying a male Aut’s voice happens one of them.” He smiled jovially. “Now what about our three fire starters and their little one?”

“I don’t like taking outsiders straight in like this,” replied Jefflynn as she looked down the passageway. “And Medrabbi will probably have my hide for it, but, seeing as we can’t just leave them here, I don’t see any other way.” She shrugged her shoulders and motioned for them to follow her.

“Come on, everyone. Let’s show these people how the Tekkroon get things done.”

Fear comes in many forms—fear of death, fear of pain, however, fear of change is by far the most prominent.