Jeanne G'Fellers - Sister Lost, Sister Found (31 page)

Myrla sobbed when it ended, falling hard against Recca in her own wish to die. The watch held down Genevic, who bellowed for Rankil to keep fighting.

“Bring my winnings.” Leonor extended her hand to Myrla.

Recca looked at Myrla, whose breath sounds were ragged and shallow. “She’s in no condition. I’m giving her to Wikkib.”

“But I’m the victor!” relented Leonor, stepping to the edge of the sands. “Give her to me, Recca. I’m to have her this night.”

“Not this night.” Wikkib called two others to assist her as everyone else retreated to the living cavern and their beds. “It’s late, Leonor.” Wikkib placed some of Myrla’s weight onto the women who aided her. “Myrla’s ill. I’ll care for her.”

“But she’s mine!” Leonor shook her head. “I defeated a challenger to get her. Nothing has changed. She’s still mine.”

“You killed her heart’s desire,” said Wikkib with a sympathetic stroke of Myrla’s head. She turned from Leonor, blocking her reach. “Besides, you’ve a body to prepare for the death rights. We can’t return it to the Tekkroon looking like it does. It would further the unfavorable light you’ve cast on the Serpents tonight.”

“Recca?” said Leonor in a beseeching tone. “What of my rights?”

“Clean the body,” Recca turned toward the cavern. “Then, go to bed. Alone. We’ll finalize our arrangement when Myrla rises from her stupor.”

“Let my objection be known, but I will abide by the clan leader’s wishes. Wake me if she comes to before dawn. Her place is with me.” Disappointed Leonor, her skull aching, several of her ribs quite possibly broken, stood over her victim while she watched the others drift toward the cavern.

“It’s not fair.” She dropped to one knee to inspect her handiwork. “This one’s a waste of shrouding. And where is the shrouding, anyway?” She looked up. “Hey, where is—”

Her query slid from a cry of surprise into an ear-piercing scream. Rankil, despite the blood and sand blocking her sight, had grasped Leonor by the belt and flipped her forward, into the fire.

“Can you feel the heat, girl?” She rose to watch her opponent’s dying gyrations. “Can you feel your death?” Leonor shrieked her answer, fully engulfed in flames as she rolled from the coals.

Recca called for water, but Leonor was gone before it could be brought.

Wikkib and the two others brought Myrla to Rankil, placing them together.

“The challenge is over when the victor holds her prize.” Wikkib placed Rankil’s arm around Myrla and stepped away. Rankil’s knees buckled with the weight, and she fell back with Myrla, thudding against Recca who lowered them to the sands.

“I’m sorry.” Rankil began drifting into unconsciousness. “Leonor was—”

“No match for a Barrier trooper with a misplaced sister’s beginnings.” Recca’s pinched her nose against the stench rising from Leonor’s doused remains. She called for the watch to bring Genevic, then handed the pair off as something near mourning clouded her eyes.

“Perhaps it is time for the Serpents to petition the Tekkroon for full membership. We’d be a small colony, strict in our ways but a fighting one nonetheless. Maybe then I’d cease losing my best warriors.” Recca turned to Wikkib.

“You’re too flaming independent to be a Serpent. Assist the young lovers home then find a place within the Tekkroon depths, preferably with someone who understands your liberated rationale.”

“Thank you.” Wikkib helped Genevic load Myrla and Rankil into the small, nassie-drawn cart Recca called for, then, Rankil’s head cradled in her lap, she rode toward the Gretchencliff colony, reciting an unusual verse she’d once heard, the words of which had never had meaning until that night.

“Note the winds of change for you never know what shores they’ll send you toward.”

Endings make for beginnings.

—Myrla Rankils

Rankil remained bedridden for two moon cycles then, much to her dismay, the next cycle’s movements were limited to short jaunts down the infirmary halls. “With assistance,” stressed Augustus. “And be slow about it. We cannot risk reopening those cracks in your skull. They are knitting exceptionally well.” Rankil would have ignored the restrictions had it not been for Myrla. Garrziko had successfully jarred her from her catatonia and since that point she had served as Rankil’s nurse, leaving only when Archell, Genevic or occasionally Dawn coaxed her out for exercise.

On the day of Rankil’s discharge from the infirmary, Archell arranged for a cart to carry them home. As they rode, he commented on the dreary atmosphere in the grotto appointed them.

“It’s a new complex, Rankil Roo. It’s sparse but it will do.” He shrugged and squinted in what those who loved him knew as a signal of serious conversation. “It’s first level, too, since Augustus said you weren’t to walk far.”

“Or do much else,” murmured Rankil with a longing glance to Myrla. “Personally, I believe she’s being overcautious.” The cart’s right wheel caught on a rock as she spoke, rattling her tender noggin until she winced. “But maybe she does have a point.”

“Poor Rankil.” Myrla extended her arm across the back of the driver’s bench, creating a cushion Rankil could rest against. Rankil settled back and kept her eyes closed the remainder of the short trip, meditating away the discomfort.

“We’re here.” Archell announced their arrival in an excited tone he lowered when he looked back at his cousin’s face. “Sorry, Rankil dankle.”

“I’m glad to be home, too, Archie,” she said in a quiet laugh. “Help Myrla out first. I’ll be along in a moment.”

“He’ll do no such thing.” Myrla slid from the cart and extended her arm again. “I’ve been caring for most all your needs for four cycles now so it’s my arm you should lean on. This is, after all, our homecoming.”

“So it is.” Rankil knew Myrla well enough not to object, besides, Archell didn’t seem to mind. He was already to the grotto’s door, pulling the latch. He was seldom excited about anything, but this day he seemed ecstatic, one might say deviously so. Rankil wondered what he was hiding.

“Wait.” Rankil paused just outside the threshold to catch her breath.

“You all right?” Myrla looked up. Rankil smiled back at her then with a sudden burst of energy, tossed her walking cane to the side, scooped Myrla into her arms, and stepped across the threshold. “Rankil!” shrieked Myrla, still in the air, “Augustus said—”

“No more healer’s talk, My. We’re home.” Rankil placed her on her feet, and then looked about their new home.

“Dreary?” Delighted, she settled into the cushioned chair Archell pushed her toward. “You lied to us, Archie. How unlike you.”

“A little clever lie,” he said with a grin. “If we’d asked you would have denied.”

“Who’s we?” inquired Myrla, fingering the curtains hanging over the grotto’s glass window. The home was far from sparsely furnished. In fact, it was lavishly appointed, every inch of floor covered by a fluffy rug of some sort. And the walls! The typical dark stone walls had been whitewashed, highlighting the delicate landscapes painted on them. There was a bedroom and a spacious main room with a kitchen, complete with table and chairs. The sitting area they were in was at the room’s opposite end, and it was plushest of all, furnished with a pair of large chairs flanked by a small table, a lounger of rich red velvet, and a set of shelves stacked high with precious hide scrolls. There were dozens, no, hundreds of scrolls! And there were blank hides for writing and delicate porcelain knickknacks. But most importantly, Kaelan and Jewel’s image which Rankil had saved during her separation from Myrla had been framed and placed eyelevel on the shelves.

“Archie?” Myrla turned to him with tears in her eyes. “Who did all this? Who is we?”

“
We
would be the lot of us.” Harlis stood in the doorway. Medrabbi and Elreese peeked over her shoulder and Genevic stood behind them, waving her arms. “You, my young friends,” Harlis took a seat on the lounger, “You have become quite the celebrities.”

“Celebrities?” Myrla stood behind Rankil’s chair, one hand on her lover’s shoulder.

“Yes, celebrities. Your romance has become the stuff of Tekkroon legend as well as trooper Rankil’s discovery of the downed spacecraft,” Harlis chuckled. “Why that little find has advanced us by centuries.”

“You mean you’ve figured out all those thingamabobs?” Rankil tilted her head with interest.

“Me?” Harlis laughed merrily. “Not me. I’m far too cranky and close-minded for such modish thinking. I leave such doings for others.” A small, throat-clearing sound turned Harlis’s gaze toward the door. Wikkib had pushed to the front of the crowded doorway and was standing, one hand on her hip, looking expectantly at the Tekkroon clan leader. Her hair was short, all but as short as Harlis’s and she wore hide leggings, which perfectly matched the low-cut Tekkroon top she wore.

“Rankil just came from the infirmary. For the Mother’s sake, give her some space.”

“You both know Wikkib.” The grin never left Harlis’s face. “Come sit a moment, my love, I’m just finishing up.”

“That’s good to hear, considering the wait outside.” Wikkib pushed the door closed, then shared the lounger with Harlis, placing one hand upon her knee when she sat. “You were saying?”

“I was going to say a word or two about their new home. Plush, isn’t it?”

“Very much so,” agreed Wikkib. “But, as I have discovered, much of the Tekkroon live in luxury that I, until recently, had only dreamed of.”

“It’s the utmost in Tekkroon housing, running hot and cold water with drainage, two steam elements for cooking, lanterns that burn piped-in fuel, and best of all,” Harlis pointed to the small door at the rear of the main room’s kitchen area, “something I believe to be the greatest Tekkroon, quite possibly the greatest Taelach achievement ever—an indoor privy.”

Archell laughed at the young couple’s astonishment. “Augustus doesn’t want Rankil walking too much.”

“Are we the only ones with such luxuries?” Rankil felt unworthy her new accommodations.

“No,” said Harlis, “but you are among the first. Currently only new constructions have such advantages, but with a quadrupling in the building rate there’ll soon be many living as you are.”

“Quadrupled building rate?” exclaimed Rankil. “I know the Tekkroon population is growing but—”

“You were incapacitated in the infirmary for over three moon cycles.” Myrla reminded her. “A lot happened in that time.”

“That much?”

“And more,” said Wikkib. “The clans are converging, becoming one force, but Myrla will update you in due time, I am sure. Harlis, I say we leave the updating to others and say our good-byes.”

“But—”

“Your dinner is waiting at home.”

“Oh, then perhaps we should go.” Harlis, her eyes lit with clear amusement, followed Wikkib to the door. She helped Wikkib with her cloak, then on the threshold with one hand low on Wikkib’s hip, turned. “If anyone had ever told me Serpent gentlewomen were such delightful hotheads I would have encouraged Recca to join the Tekks long ago. Seems we both have our hands full, trooper Rankil.”

“I know just what you mean.” Rankil kissed the hand Myrla rested upon her shoulder then greeted their next visitors, Medrabbi and Elreese.

Elreese held out two loaves of black bread to them. “May your home always be filled with Tekkroon bounty,” she said, and then motioned to Medrabbi, who produced a crystal of aged Gretchencliff wine from her cloak.

“And may your life be overflowing with the Mother’s spirit.” Medrabbi placed the crystal and bread on the dining table. “We won’t monopolize your time. We only wished to see you settled.”

“We are overwhelmed by the generosity,” said Rankil. “Thank you.”

“Yes,” added Myrla. “Thank you ever so much.”

“You’re quite welcome.” Elreese took Myrla by the arm. “Have you seen the bedroom yet?”

“I haven’t had the opportunity.”

“Well, take a moment now.” Elreese whisked her into the bedroom and pulled the divider curtain. “Is your shoulder healing okay?” she whispered.

Myrla pulled back her collar to show the new inking. “It hardly hurts at all.”

“I don’t see any places I missed. What does Rankil think of it?”

“She hasn’t seen it.” Myrla took a second to peer about the room. It was a pleasant space, and she looked forward to the night.

“She hasn’t seen it?” remarked Elreese in surprise. “Has the new already worn off?”

“No,” said Myrla with a faint blush. “But there’s little privacy in the infirmary.”

“Say no more. Medrabbi spent more than enough time there herself when we were young.” Elreese glanced about. “It is a nice space. Big enough for a cradle should you take a notion.”

“Maybe someday. I think Rankil and I need time to ourselves first.” Myrla smoothed the double bedroll over the sleeping platform.

“How different things would be had the Serpents not reclaimed you when they did.” Elreese tossed the new hull pillows to the head of the platform.

“Hestra has good raisers now,” replied Myrla with a bit of sorrow in her tone. “She doesn’t remember either of us.” Rankil’s soft chuckle rose from the next room, lifting her spirits. “I suppose it’s for the best.”

“You say that in a most reflective, resigned manner,” Elreese allowed, resting her backside against the clothing box. “There will be other children should you want them.”