Alien Chronicles 3 - The Crystal Eye (14 page)

“Nashmarl!” she said sharply, hurrying to catch up with him.

Eluding her, he darted ahead of Harthril and pranced along, tipping back his head for another drink. Ampris broke into a hobbled run, favoring her bad leg, and caught him by one thin arm.

Shaking him, she jerked the water skin from his grasp, spilling a trail of the precious liquid in an arc across the ground. It darkened the dusty soil for only a few seconds, then dried up.

“You spilled it!” Nashmarl said angrily, twisting out of her grasp. “Not me. You did it.”

She stoppered the skin firmly, then turned on him. She was furious with his behavior, but she didn’t want to reprimand him in front of the whole group. “Come with me,” she said.

“I don’t want to.”

“Nashmarl—”

“I don’t want to!” he screamed at her. “This is where I always walk. Right behind the leader. You go back and eat dust all day. I’m staying here.”

Growling, she gripped him by his shoulder and marched him off, giving him a little push every time he stopped or tried to protest.

“You can’t make me walk back here with you,” Nashmarl said as they joined Foloth at the rear of the line. “I don’t belong here.”

“Shut up,” Foloth said. “You belong buried in a hole.”

The cubs glared at each other and exchanged insulting grimaces.

Ampris didn’t waste her breath arguing with him. She forced him to walk beside her, and pulled his hood up over his rounded head to protect him from the hot rays of the sun.

Nashmarl pulled his hood down again. “I don’t want to wear this. It’s hot. I’ll smother back here in the dust.”

“Shut up,” Foloth said to him in a quiet, fierce voice. “You have no right to walk up there at the head of the line, now that Mother’s been shamed.”

Ampris turned on them both. She was aware of many sets of ears flicked back in their direction, listening avidly to the scene they were creating, but the cubs had forced her to the limits of her patience. “Wait right there,” she said sharply. “What do you mean, shamed?”

Neither cub would meet her eyes.

“I have not been shamed,” she said.

“They canceled you as leader,” Nashmarl burst out as though he could no longer contain himself. “They won’t follow you anymore. They won’t take orders from you.”

“The vote was fair,” Ampris said, understanding now why he was in such a bad mood. “We’ve had different leaders before.”

“A long time ago,” Foloth muttered. “Not since you took over.”

“You killed Paket,” Nashmarl said to her, blame and resentment burning in his voice. He glared at her. “Thanks to you, we—”

“Nashmarl, you will not speak to me in that tone,” Ampris said, cutting him off. “My actions are not for you to judge.”

“But if you hadn’t gotten Paket in trouble, he wouldn’t be dead.” Nashmarl glared at her. “Everyone says so.”

Nashmarl’s words made her heart feel sliced open with fresh grief. Hiding her emotions, she met her son’s hot, accusatory gaze. “Paket made his own decisions. He came to help me of his own free will.”

“But you—”

“A patroller shot him,” she said sharply, too sharply. “I didn’t. Stop talking to me as though I did.”

Nashmarl’s mouth opened, but he said nothing else. His pale skin flushed pink from his jaws to the top of his skull.

At once, she was sorry for her harshness. She reached out and touched Nashmarl’s shoulder, but he shrugged away from her. “I know you loved Paket,” she said quietly. “I loved him too. I shall miss him deeply.”

Nashmarl’s green eyes blazed in his flattened face. “I don’t love nobody,” he muttered. “And nobody loves me.”

Quickening his pace, he moved forward.

“Nashmarl,” Ampris called after him. “You must stay with us.”

Nashmarl ignored her and defiantly positioned himself in the middle of the line, among the Kelth newcomers.

Sighing, Ampris let him stay there. Some battles, she realized, could not be won. Her moody, temperamental son had no reason to feel ashamed on her behalf, but she never knew what was going to upset him. Now she limped along and stared ahead at the rounded back of her son’s head, wishing he would stop being so stubborn and put up his hood. If his skin burned today, he would whimper and cry all night in pain.

When she glanced at Foloth, she saw the elder cub keeping pace with her easily. His wide mouth was set in a disapproving line. From time to time, he flicked a contemptuous glance her way.

“What is wrong with you?” she asked him finally.

“Nothing,” he replied coldly.

“Are you sure?”

He looked up at her then with a flash of the anger he seldom unleashed. “You spoil him! You let him get away with everything.”

I spoil you both,
she thought.
Too much.
“Why must you be so jealous of each other?” she asked. “Nashmarl is grieving for Paket. Leave him be.”

“See?” Foloth said in a what’s-the-use tone. “You always take up for him. What about the water he wasted, and the—”

“Let me worry about that,” Ampris said.

“But—”

“Foloth,” she said in warning, and he fell into mutinous silence.

By mid-morning, the sun was a bronze orb in the sky that tried to bake the life from them. Trudging along in the heat, Ampris panted heavily and resisted the urge to relieve her thirst from the water skin. She felt as though her brain were melting. Beside her, Foloth lagged, clearly in physical distress, but saying nothing.

Finally Harthril called a halt, and they stopped. In any direction Ampris looked, she could see only the flat vista of the mesa with the sky arching overhead. No clouds, no trees, nothing to cast any shade. Still worried about shuttles, Ampris watched the sky. It remained empty. She smelled no smoke on the wind today, and felt slightly reassured. If the patrollers had finished burning all the fields, perhaps they were gone for good.

Luax, out scouting ahead, returned and conferred with Harthril, who then came and addressed them all.

“The edge of mesa is close, very close, if we go that way.” He pointed in a direction perpendicular to the one they’d been headed. “Very steep off side. Very hard. Luax found trails, thinks we can follow if we be careful. Come. We get off mesa, then we can make camp and rest well. Come.”

With moans and complaints, they climbed to their feet and started trudging in the new direction that Luax indicated.

But there was more noise now coming from the middle of the line where the Kelths walked. In a few minutes, raucous yipping broke out, which was swiftly silenced. Nashmarl left them and came loping back awkwardly to Ampris, his flattened face flushed with outrage.

More shrill yips of laughter came from the Kelths, and Nashmarl whipped his head around to glare at them, then took his place beside Ampris.

He would not look at her, but he stayed close at her side. She gazed down at her ill-formed cub, so stiff and anguished, so obviously once again the butt of ridicule. With all her mother’s heart she wished she could gather him in her arms and comfort him the way she had when he was small.

But Ampris did nothing, said nothing, knowing her questions would drive him away again. Instead, she pulled up his hood to protect his tender skin from the sun. Nashmarl growled and jerked it off immediately. After a moment, however, he pulled it up and retied the ends around his throat.

She sighed silently, wishing she knew why Nashmarl made everything harder for himself. There seemed to be nothing she could do to help him.

“Those Kelths,” he said, muttering low as though he couldn’t hold back the words any longer. “Those
slaves.”

“They’re not slaves now,” Ampris corrected him gently.

Nashmarl shot her a look of green-eyed fury. “Ought to be, as stupid as they are.”

“Frenshala is not stupid.”

“Oh, her,” he said with a blink. “I’m not talking about
her.
Steegin is so—”

“Which one is Steegin?” Ampris asked.

“The dirty one,” he said with loathing. “The one with all the scars. She
looks
at me, Mother.”

Ampris’s heart sank, but she kept her outward calm. “Yes? It’s no offense to look at each other.”

“You always say that,” he retorted scornfully. “But no one makes fun of
you.”

Ampris let her ears droop. What could she say? It was true.

“She doesn’t belong here with us,” Nashmarl muttered, kicking the ground with every other step. “She has no right to say—”

“What did she say?” Ampris asked. “If necessary I will speak to Frenshala tonight and ask her to—”

“That won’t do any good!” Nashmarl said impatiently. “You always want to talk, but you never
do
anything!”

“What do you want me to do?” Ampris asked him.

He stared up at her, meeting her gaze for the first time. His green eyes blazed with a combination of anger, indignation, hurt, and something darker, something she did not want to see.

“I want you to make them go away,” he said, his voice rough with intensity. “Make them leave us.
Shun
them from our camp.”

Ampris blinked in dismay. “They can’t be left on their own. Not until they are taught to hunt and—”

“I knew you’d say that!” he broke in furiously. “I knew you’d take their side instead of mine. You always do!”

“But, Nashmarl, be reasonable. It isn’t taking sides to—”

“Never mind!” he shouted at her, his face a dull crimson beneath its sparse fur. “I’ll deal with this myself.”

Before she could stop him, he hurried away, glancing back only once to yell, “No wonder you aren’t leader anymore!”

Ampris watched him go, his elbows jutting out awkwardly, his head stuck forward on his thin neck. He was fuming, endearing, and hopeless. She didn’t know whether to go after him or to leave him alone.

“You should have handled this, Mother,” Foloth said softly.

She met his critical dark brown eyes. “You and Nashmarl are growing up. It’s time you both learned how to manage on your own. If I handle everything for Nashmarl, he will never acquire the social skills he needs to get along with others.”

Foloth’s eyes narrowed. “He has no social skills. He never will. He’ll only make things worse. He always does. Then I’ll get to suffer the consequences.”

“Nashmarl’s problems with Steegin have nothing to do with you,” Ampris said sharply.

“Don’t they?”

“No, they don’t,” she said.

He opened his mouth to argue, but she silenced him with an upraised hand. “Enough, Foloth,” she said with her ears back. “Your brother does not need your interference.”

By now the group had reached the edge of the mesa. They paused there, staring down at a steep and treacherous descent. “No!” Tantha said fiercely. “That is no trail. Only a fehtan could go down this way.”

Luax reached out as though to touch her shoulder. “I will help you with your cubs—”

Tantha snapped at her hand with a savage snarl, and only Luax’s quick reflexes saved her from being bitten. With ears back and teeth bared, Tantha glared at her. “Get away from me! Why help me now? You did not care before.”

Luax’s rill turned indigo in anger. “Liar,” she said with equal fierceness. “You would not let yourself be helped when you were birthing. You were crazy, dangerous. You snapped and tried to bite everyone until we were forced to leave you.”

Tantha blinked at this denial. For a moment she looked bewildered, as though she did not remember. Ampris watched her with compassion, knowing Luax was probably telling the truth. At her best, Tantha was edgy and unpredictable. During her birthing, she must have been a monster.

“Enough rest,” Harthril said, breaking the tense silence. “I will show you the trail. Come.”

He started down the treacherous descent, followed by Luax. One by one, in single file, they all followed, picking a slow, careful way along a steep switchback. The footing of loose shale shifted and rattled, spinning off stones that plummeted deep into canyons far below.

Gritting her teeth as she lowered herself, uncertain whether her bad leg could support her, Ampris wanted to grab both Harthril and Luax by their rills and shake some sense into them. A lone and desperate hunter might take such a dangerous trail into the rough, precipitous terrain falling below them; but to bring a group of this kind, burdened with newborns, elderly, and the injured, along such a trail was madness.

Elrabin and Velia could not keep their place in line. The other Kelths stepped around them and kept going. Elrabin sank to his haunches, his head hanging low.

Worried about him, Ampris stopped and gripped his shoulder. “Hey, old friend,” she said lightly to mask her concern. “Are you trying to make camp here?”

Velia hovered on the trail just ahead of Elrabin, teetering a little and looking frightened. Her fur was matted with sweat and dust. Her light brown eyes looked dull with exhaustion. “Why must we go this way?” she whined. “I don’t like it. We can’t do it.”

Elrabin was rubbing his head beneath his bandage. Gently Ampris took his hand and forced it away from his wound.

He lifted his gaze to her and quirked her half a smile. Despite his obvious exhaustion, his eyes held some of their familiar sly gleam. “Yeah, yeah, can’t be camping here,” he said in response to her teasing remark. “You’re right, Goldie. Bad spot.”

“Better keep going,” she said gently.

Velia struggled with their bundles, one of which slipped off her shoulder, and nearly lost her balance. Crying out, she flailed her arms and teetered dangerously on the narrow trail before she managed to steady herself.

Ampris hurried to her. Gripping her arm firmly, Ampris stripped the bundles off Velia’s shoulders and crouched on the ground while she untied their laces.

Velia bent over her in instant fury, snapping at her ears. “What you be doing?” she demanded. “You leave our things be!”

“Velia, hush,” Elrabin said wearily. “Ampris is helping.”

“Don’t need her help. Don’t need—”

“Velia,” he said with more sharpness, and his mate fell silent.

She continued to hover over Ampris, her sharp teeth close to Ampris’s ear, her breath hot with suspicion. Ignoring Velia, Ampris retied the bundles into a more efficient shape and lashed them together.