Jeanne G'Fellers - Sister Lost, Sister Found (28 page)

“There’re so many.” Rankil could not resist when she was led to the space made for her. “What’d you put in that tea?”

“Nothing that hasn’t already lost effect.” Garrziko eased her onto a bed stacked with generous pillows. Dee removed her boots. Beverlic was somewhere in the background, urging Rankil to, for once, listen to her inner needs. She needed rest, uninterrupted, dreamless slumber of the type she had experienced her first night with Granny Terry.

“What about Easton?” She heard herself mumble as they pulled a blanket to her shoulders.

“She’ll be here when you wake.” Garrziko watched as her patient returned to her curled position.

“But my post. The Barrier. I thought I would be allowed to leave.”

“You’re not a prisoner.” All but Garrziko had departed, and the healer again lounged, almost wilting into the chair at Rankil’s bedside. “And your post will be there when you return. You’re not the first nor will you be the last Powder Barrier trooper to inhabit this room on a temporary basis.”

“Oh. How many of them have been misplaced?”

“Just you.” Garrziko pulled a pilta from her robe, lit the leaf and inhaled before continuing. “Easton was never in the Barrier. She barely learned the Taelach tongue before she completely snapped.”

“Snapped? As in broke?”

“Her past overcame her present. And snapped is a cruel term, unprofessional of me really. She couldn’t help it, just as you cannot.”

“Am I to—snap?”

“Certainly not. Your illness has manifested as unceasing headaches, your mind’s cry for help. Easton had no noticeable symptoms. She was a diligent student, learning Taelach, even had a gentlewoman who fancied her.”

“What happened?”

“The young woman had a change of heart. Easton felt rejected, and it boiled inside her until it steamed over. She abducted the gentlewoman and demonstrated her distress in the only way she knew how. She killed the girl.”

“But I know better,” whispered Rankil.

“Do you? How many fights have you been in as of late? And I understand the last one was quite brutal, that it took three to pull you off your challenger. Easton thought she was in control, too. Then her early torment came back to complete the damage. It frequently does with misplaced sisters.”

“So how do I prevent it from returning to me?” Rankil was desperate to finish the conversation before sleep overtook her.

“We examine your past and recognize how it’s affecting your now.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

“It isn’t pleasant, but it is healing.” Garrziko flicked her pilta ashes into her hand then, with a comforting pat to Rankil’s arm, drew to her feet and loped to the door, calling back over her shoulder before she exited. “Sleep. If anyone deserves a respite, it’s you.”

In complete agreement, Rankil fell asleep before the door shut.

When experience is compared to experience, there is much to learn
.

—Sarah Garrziko

Easton Outbrook had a brilliant mind, one that rationalized murder as acceptable reciprocation, but a brilliant one nonetheless. The thick, amber glass blinder covering her eyes was locked about her head, preventing her phase from hurting those who tended her needs. The blinder, along with wrist and ankle tethers, kept her restrained during her first meeting with Rankil.

“Garrziko says you grew up like I did.” Easton blew at a strand of hair that lay across her binder. “Fun, wasn’t it?”

“Fun?” Rankil glanced up at Dee who stood behind Easton’s chair.

“Yeah, fun. Unpredictable, exciting.” Easton tilted her head back and forth, timed by some unheard beat. “Savage.”

“I’d hardly call my beginnings exciting.”

“Where’s this girl’s sense of adventure, Dee?” Easton ducked her head enough to brush the pestering hair from her face. “She’s too serious. Let me loose so I can make her laugh.”

“I doubt she’d enjoy your sense of humor,” responded Dee. “Besides, I still remember last cycle’s little incident.”

“Your fault.” Easton carefully crafted her words to remove any sense of blame. “You saw my chinstrap was loose and chose to ignore it.”

“I didn’t ignore it. You bit through the leather before I could get a replacement over your head.” Dee maintained a pleasant tone. “And we’re not here to discuss your escapades. We’re here—”

“I’m no idiot, Dee Dee,” shouted Easton, cracking her head against the chair back. “She’s here because she knows the game. She, like I, has played and won. We’re both victors. Comrades in disfigurement.”

“I’m not your comrade in any regard.” Rankil rose from her seat. “There is no point in this. Dee, can I go?”

“Anytime you wish.” Dee unlocked the room’s metal reinforced door.

“Come back.” Easton bore her teeth in frustration. “Ah, damn you both for making me conform. All right, I’ll cease being obtuse if you’ll just stay a while.” Easton’s face became falsely complacent. “Come back, please. I get bored by myself.”

Rankil looked about Easton’s stark quarters then retook her seat as the door clicked locked behind her. “I suppose it would get lonely in here.”

“It’s called the Pit for a reason.” Easton relaxed in her restraints. “Your family big?” She asked in Autlach.

“Not overly.” Rankil responded in kind. “Three brothers, one sister. My uncle had the big family. Eight, no, nine. Quyley was carrying another when I left.”

“Auts breed like hoppers.” Easton shook the same annoying strand from her face. “How many you take out before you left?”

“Take out?”

“You know, exterminate, cut down, pick off. How many did you kill?”

“Why, none.” Rankil took Easton’s knitted brows for disappointment. “My father sent me to care for one of my elders. She was blind and—”

“And you killed her for sport.” Joy returned to Easton’s face.

“No, she was good to me.”

“Then what did you do to get revenge?” Easton pointed to herself. “I poisoned the well with nassie shit and dead hoppers. You should have seen it. They crawled about for days, clutching their bellies and moaning, begging me to help them when they couldn’t walk. I helped them all right.” Easton grinned in a malicious, twisted manner. “I gave them fresh, cool well water, as much as they could hold. Then I watched them die.” She glanced up at Dee. “A deal is a deal. Garrziko said—”

“Finish the tale,” said Dee in perfect Autlach.

“I believe I’ve heard enough—” began Rankil, but Dee cut her off as well.

“Easton will finish.”

“Easton doesn’t want to, you web-headed moron. Screw the both of you. Go away if it suits you. We could care less.” Easton bent her head to her chest and began speaking to herself.

“Then I’ll finish for you.”

“This ought to be interesting,” mumbled Easton, immediately back to her self-conversation.

“Easton buried them in the Aut manner,” Dee said in a mocking tone. “Then she came to the high hills and the Tekkroon. End of story.”

“Methodical, boring and so fucking wrong it hurts,” panted Easton. “I didn’t bury a damned one of them. I sat them around the table like I did every evening, cooked a meal, and then I sat at the table with them and ate.”

The strange confession rang true. Rankil had often envisioned herself equal to her siblings, eating alongside them. Easton was no different. She had just made it happen in her own manner, her own deranged, morbid manner.

“I never ate with my family,” said Rankil when Easton began fidgeting.

“Well, I did, and that’s not the half of it.” The chinstrap could not limit Easton’s grin. “I tried on everyone’s finest clothes, used all their combs, rolled in their beds and then,” Easton held her breath in anticipation, “then I did everything to them they had done to me, by whip, pole, chain and whatever else I could find I gave them lash for lash what they’d given me.”

Rankil remained silent, staring at her boots. Her constant headache, rested by a day and a half’s sleep, was reduced to a wishy-washy sensation between her ears. “I always wanted to do those things,” she said in Aut, then abruptly switched her speech to Taelach. “But I never thought of killing them.”

“Never?” queried Dee, still in Autlach, very close to her ear. “You never once considered it?”

Easton drew her mouth in annoyance. “She’s scared to admit it.”

“I’m scared of nothing!” Rankil drew up in her chair, locking eyes with Easton in a brief test of wills.

“Yes, you are!” Easton bounced against her ties. “You’re still scared shitless of your fucking Aut family. They’re days from here, but they still have a hold on you.”

“Shut up!” Rankil flew from her chair, her hands flexed for Easton’s ivory throat. Dee pulled her back into her chair.

“She’s right.” Dee grasped Rankil’s fist in mid-air, sending it smashing against the chair arm. “I’m not the enemy. Your fear is. Admit to it, and it’ll be easier to handle.”

“I’m not scared! I could outfight any of one of them!” Rankil’s right hand remained clenched.

“But all of them?” Dee whispered in her ear. “All at once? You knew what would have happened if you’d lashed out, and fear of that situation is what kept you from doing so.”

Rankil stared ahead. “Most of them I could have fought one at a time, all my brothers together. My father Danston would have been tough, but never . . . I never could . . .”

“Never could what?” Dee pinned Rankil’s arms to the chair. “Never could what?”

“I couldn’t fight off my uncle!” Rankil fell limp in her seat. All her strength was gone, and she was once again in need of rescue. The scars on her face and arm throbbed. “He had me facedown on a bedroll, whipped me until I couldn’t move and then . . . then . . .” The realization of what had happened came hurtling back. She’d longed to die, wished to die, but she’d been spared. Spared by Archell!

“Archell saved me. He killed Tisph. Killed his father for me.”

“For love of you.” Dee released her grip. “And you say you have no one to love you. Sounds to me that Archell has given you the ultimate in love. Where is he now?”

“Yeah.” A seldom seen lucidity flared in Easton’s eyes. “Not half-bad for a damned Aut.”

“He’s winnolla under Lisajohn, Bowriver’s music maestro.” Rankil sniffed. “I need to speak to him. I have to thank him.”

“And you will.” Dee fished for her keys. “Good job, Easton. Your reward will come tomorrow.”

“It will or I’ll pinch your little head off,” hissed Easton in full return to her typical status. Then her expression switched again, and she looked at Rankil. “Kid, you think you had it so rough, don’t you? Well, I had three uncles, and I didn’t have an Archell.”

“I suppose I was lucky.”

“Damn right you were,” Easton mumbled then she began to shake. First, she appeared near tears, but then a laugh rose from her, a bitter, hollow laugh that soon became uncontrollable.

“Look at me!” she shrieked. “Telling someone they should thank an Aut, a fucking man at that!” She let loose a scream of lost control then pulled a dangling lock, tearing it from her head. “Nice or not, girl, don’t ever turn your back on him or any other Aut.” Easton’s vacant gaze followed the lock to the floor, where it lingered, fixed on the blood droplets which clung to the roots. “’Cause you’ll bleed if you do.”

Quit searching. You’ll find what you need when you really need it.

—Rankil Danston

Rankil’s nineteenth summer found her again in the hills with Archell, the duo filling their bellies with fresh berries. Mountain berries were tarter than those they’d grown up eating, but that was all right. Berries were berries, and they were far from the only available food source. Not knowing her actual birth date, Rankil had proclaimed the breezy summer day her claiming anniversary and was taking advantage of the off day. Archell had requested the holiday as well and was picking over a laden bush, searching for the ripest fruits.

“Berry time, Archell?” Rankil lobbed a sunburst berry at his tunic.

“Yes, Rankil dankle, berry time.” He returned the throw, splatting a rotten berry against her elbow.

“Did it have to be a sour berry?” she moaned, flicking the seeds from her sleeve. “I’ll never get the stain out.”

“Save yourself pain, have Abbyegale wash the stain.” He popped a handful of berries into his mouth.

“Abbyegale is my friend, Archell, a friend who won’t do my laundry under any circumstances. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“And Clarrina and Quinnway?”

“Friends, too, though Quinnway longs for more.”

“Quinnway’s looking for in ways?” Archell teased his snow-headed cousin. Rankil always dodged the approaches of eligible gentlewomen. She remained polite but resistant to them all, saying her heart and mind weren’t ready for it.

“Quinnway volunteered to scrub the battle sweat from my back. That tell you anything?”

“Yes,” he laughed, pummeling her with another berry. “Quinnway is still single, which makes Archell want to mingle.”