Authors: Jennette Green
“Thusa!” Her thirteen-year-old cousin grinned. “I’m glad you’re helping tonight. Matron was s’posed to help, but she had another attack.” With an unconcerned head toss, she flipped her long, pale gold braid over her shoulder.
Methusal managed a faint smile. Matron Olgith was known for her “spells.” She only did the work she wanted to do—mostly ordering others about.
Methusal pulled the metal water pump lever, and sprayed cold water onto the dishes. Then she scrubbed them with a foaming ball of lynnte weed. The mindless task soothed her troubled thoughts.
Aalicaa carefully dried the clean dishes and stacked them on nearby ledges. Kitchen duty fell to the young and the very old. Neither of these groups performed vital tasks, such as raising food, relaying messages between outlying communities, or being a teacher or hunter, so they performed lower tasks to fulfill their role within the community.
Only two weeks of school remained for Methusal. Soon she would have to choose a formal vocation. In fact, the apprentice mentors were already pressuring her to make a decision. She hadn’t told them why she felt so reluctant to commit.
Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Behran dumping his dirty utensils in the tubs. He glanced at her, but she pretended not to see. After a second, he strode out of her line of vision.
She thrust her hands into the cold, soapy water and attacked a large metal pot. Behran might think he held the winning hand in kaavl, and that he had succeeded in ambushing her attempt to discover information about the ore mine, but she’d prove him wrong. Petr, too. In fact, if Petr wouldn’t let her practice kaavl outdoors, she’d find a way to practice indoors. And she’d find the ore mine, too, and soon. Somehow, she’d find Renn’s killer.
* * * * *
As Methusal rinsed the last, squeaky clean plate, she watched Petr leave the dining hall in deep conversation with his political advisor, D’Wit. The shrewd, elderly doctor was Petr’s uncle and confidant. She wondered what they were talking about. The election? The Alliance? Or maybe Renn’s murder. She’d love to find out.
Kaavl.
With a smile, she wiped her hands on a towel. Petr would certainly disapprove of her newest plan, but he wouldn’t find out. She followed them out of the dining hall at a discreet distance, and she watched them slip down the Grand Staircase, and into the entrance hall. It was deserted at this time of the night, so obviously they wanted to have some privacy.
Little did they know she didn’t need to be near them to hear their whispers. This was thanks to one of her new kaavl talents that was uniquely her own—the last person who’d possessed it had been her ancestor Jotham, 200 years ago.
She sat on the topmost stair and pretended to retie her moccasin while she slipped into kaavl. Concentrating hard, she forced all unnecessary thoughts from her mind. Then she ran a quick test, to make sure her mind was solely focused into kaavl, and then, one by one, determined that she had gained complete control over her senses. Satisfied, she concentrated intensely on her environment.
She became sharply aware of the smooth stone of the stairs, the flickering lights down in the entrance hall, and then Petr and D’Wit’s faint voices tickled her ears. She focused harder, concentrating on the sounds, while at the same time trying to ignore her annoying conscience, which questioned the ethics of eavesdropping. Their voices grew distinct.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” muttered D’Wit.
“I’ve seen the outline of the document, and it will work out in my favor.”
“Can’t trust those Dehriens.”
“Kitran’s with me. The Dehrien can bring a lot to the table. It will help me build a stronger…”
A snarl, and the sudden scrabble of claws broke the quiet downstairs.
“What the…”
“Beasts!” D’Wit gasped, and screamed, “
Wild beasts!
”
Methusal scrambled down the stairs. Her flying feet slowed when she reached the bottom of the stairs. Other people thundered downstairs after her.
Beyond the metal gates, a pack of wild beasts, each one more than a length tall—the height of a man—paced, snarling. They stood on their hind legs, and their powerful haunches flexed as they slunk back and forth. Their shorter arms, which were punctuated by three fingered paws and long, vicious claws, twitched, as if wanting to reach inside the cave and yank out a warm body to devour. The animals, one by one, alternately lunged for the gates and then, whimpering, whirled away to protect their fiery red eyes from the entrance hall’s dim lights.
Wild beasts only slunk out of their gloomy caves at night. Never during the day, and never during a full moon, because their eyes could not tolerate bright light.
The moonless night made it difficult to count the number
of animals skulking beyond the light that pooled beyond the gates. But Methusal guessed there were ten or more.
“Blood hungry,” growled Barak, a short distance away. The massive, dark-haired man was Kitran’s brother.
More men crowded around Methusal. The small crowd allowed a healthy distance to remain between them and the metal gates, and the beasts roaming beyond.
“Last night whetted their appetite for fresh blood,” agreed another man.
Methusal shuddered. As if sensing her horror, a huge beast—at least a length and a half tall—lunged for the gate, and roared. She jerked back. Streams of saliva dripped from razor sharp fangs.
“I’ll get us some wild beast tonight.” A hunter strode forward, threading an arrow onto his bow.
“Fool!” D’Wit blocked his path. “The beasts feed on their own. They’ll be here all night if you kill one.”
“We should light more torches.” Methusal was surprised to discover that she had spoken. “It’ll scare them off. It’ll keep them away from the gate.” Although the gate had held strong for centuries, she, for one, didn’t want to find out what would happen if a whole pack of wild beasts attacked it now.
Petr frowned, but nodded to the hunter, who reluctantly lowered his bow. “And the rest of you get upstairs! The beasts see you and smell you. If they think they can eat you, they’ll try harder to get inside.”
The beast roared again.
Although the beasts frightened Methusal, they also fascinated her. They looked like her imaginings of the primordial beasts of ancient legends. Those carnivores had terrorized men all over the earth. In the present day, the wild beasts were the only natural predators of humans.
“Methusal!” Petr glowered at her.
When she turned to go, another snarling roar made her stride a little faster for the stairs. Unease prickled down her spine. Would the wild beasts stalk Rolban’s gates every night now? Would the gates hold?
She ran up the stairs, and when she reached the top, she remembered that she needed to find Kitran. Barak lumbered past her and entered the passageway.
“Barak! Have you seen Kitran?”
His brown gaze rested upon her. “No.” His brows bristled into a frown. “Made your decision yet? Going to work with me?” Barak was the chief crop tender for the plateau.
Exactly a subject she’d rather ignore for a few more days. But Barak’s frown made it clear she’d put him off long enough.
“I’ll decide tomorrow.”
“You’d better.” He strode down the hall.
Great. Now she was committed to make a decision.
But more important right now was finding Kitran.
A glance down into the entrance hall proved he wasn’t there. She slipped back into kaavl and headed down the main passageway, heading for the family compartments. Her moccasined feet whispered silently over the smooth stone floor. A kaavl skill she practiced at every opportunity.
Nonsmoking lamps lit her path, and were placed every four steps down the hall. Though the domed passageway was deserted, noisy laughter echoed from a cave branching to her right. She cast a quick glance into the gathering chamber as she passed.
A group of families sat huddled together, playing an intense, laughter filled game of
whaal
. A man leaped up and flung the winning, gold mottled card onto the stone table. Applause burst out. Methusal hurried on. Whaal was fun, but tonight she had no time for it.
To the left branched a dim passageway which led to the garment room, where her mother and Behran’s mother worked during the day. The supply room lay just beyond it. Old Sims managed it, and Renn had worked for him. Sims would be needing a new apprentice soon. Much as she didn’t want to face the reality of finding a job, she was about to graduate from school, and would need to decide upon an occupation soon.
She concentrated harder into kaavl, listening for Kitran’s distinct, gravelly rumble. Another gathering chamber lay ahead and one corridor over. She fanned out her hearing, searching for sounds. Quiet voices drew her attention in a northeasterly direction.
The voices grew distinct as she concentrated on the gathering room where women often met and stitched decorations onto garments and bed coverings. It wasn’t likely Kitran would be there, but still she should check…
“Hmmph!” That sounded like Petr’s aunt, Matron Olgith. “He’ll win the election, you can be sure of that.”
“He will if Liem drops out,” Behran’s mother, Poli, replied dryly. “Petr’s worried about losing. Haven’t you seen it?”
“He’ll
win
,” Matron Olgith asserted.
A small silence fell, and the tiny sound of needles poking into leather pricked Methusal’s ears.
A quieter voice said, “I understand why Liem would drop out, but I hope he doesn’t. He has so many great ideas. Like rotating schedules for guards…”
“Nonsense!” Matron Olgith’s strident voice echoed in the rock chamber, and the decibel made Methusal wince. “If guards needed rotation, Petr would see to it. Rolban has never been run better. Last thing we need is a Chief distracted by petty issues.”
Silence fell. Apparently, no one wanted to speak against Petr’s aunt.
A moment later, someone gasped softly. Maybe she had pricked her thumb.
Methusal wondered if Liem would step down from the election in order to mourn his son. If so, Petr would surely win, and become Chief again. Verdnt was his only remaining opposition. The teacher had presented a few good ideas too, but he was a former Dehrien. He probably wouldn’t receive many votes for his first election.
Well, Kitran clearly wasn’t in the gathering chamber. Her steps slowed. So now what should she do? She didn’t really want to go to his private compartment, especially if he wasn’t alone. The good news was, if she hadn’t found him, then neither had Petr. And the wild beasts would probably keep the Chief busy for quite a while tonight. Finding Kitran first thing tomorrow morning might be her best bet. Well, after breakfast and class…
Methusal relaxed her concentration. Maybe she hadn’t found Kitran, but she had accomplished another goal. Twice tonight, she had successfully practiced one of her two secret kaavl skills. The other skill—carrying—she’d practice on another day.
No one knew that she could hear conversations corridors away, blocked by rock. Certainly Behran didn’t. The talent was rare, as was carrying, which was the feat of mentally placing herself in a physical location, and then hearing everything around her as if she actually stood right there. She could extend her extraordinary hearing from that point. In fact, her ancestor, Mahre, the Old Kaavl Master, was the first
to possess both skills at the same time. Mahre was the founder
of kaavl, and was revered as the most brilliant kaavl player of all time. He’d written the honored kaavl texts,
1
st
Book of Kaavl,
and the missing
2
nd
Book of Kaavl
, and had lived 300 years ago, during the First Great War.
Jotham, an ancestor who had lived 100 years later, had possessed a few of Mahre’s skills, but he had died young, during the Great War with Dehre and Tarst. No one knew how great he might have become in kaavl, if he had lived. Since Jotham’s death, no one in Methusal’s family had possessed any of Mahre’s legendary skills. Methusal was the first. This fact both thrilled and troubled her, because legend also said that extraordinary kaavl skills only manifested themselves in times of war. But legends were fables, right? War was nowhere in sight. Instead, a peaceful Alliance with Dehre loomed on the horizon.
Methusal hoped, more than anything, that her unique kaavl skills would help her win the Tri-Level Game against Behran.
Where the passageway forked she turned right, and headed down a narrow wing which led to her family’s living quarters. The door handle to her compartment pushed down easily, and she slipped inside the Maahr’s living quarters and shut the smooth wooden door behind her.
Cold air swirled into the cave from the unshuttered ledge across the room. Methusal crossed to close it, but a small
chirrup
made her look down.
Round, furry Chup Chup pressed up against her foot, and his imploring dark eyes stared up at her. “Oh, Chup Chup.” She dropped to the floor and hugged him close. The soft, fluffy animal snuffled at her nose. She’d rescued the apte from a flying beast six winters ago. He’d suffered two broken legs and terrible, deep cuts, but he’d survived and thrived. He was old, gray, and chubby now, but he was whole-heartedly devoted to Methusal.
As a rule he didn’t like being held, but he forbore it now. He seemed to sense that she was upset. All of a sudden, she wanted to cry. All of the horrible things and obstacles pressing in on her seemed overwhelming: Renn’s horrible, awful death, Petr’s accusations, maybe missing out on the Tri-level…
“Sometimes life is so hard, Chup,” she whispered.
The beast
chirruped
softly in her ear. He didn’t wiggle at all. Tears slipped down her cheeks. Chup Chup knew how tough life could be. Did he understand how she felt, even a little? The improbability that he understood what troubled her brought a wry smile to her lips. But even if Chup Chup didn’t understand, he did sense how she felt, and he cared.