Artemis Awakening (8 page)

“Wake, Griffin Dane,” Adara’s voice came, soft and near his ear. “I’ve brought some good cheese, a bit of bread, and a handful of early strawberries. While you eat, I will explain how I hope to get you into Bruin’s house unseen.”

*   *   *

After full dark, they crept down from the bluff. Adara kept a hand on Griffin’s arm, guiding him around obstacles. Once they were on the packed dirt road that went between the village and the surrounding fields, she could tell Griffin felt more sure on his feet. Adara was pleased with him. The road was not without ruts, but Griffin clearly trusted that she would set their path between them.

Sand Shadow padded silently in front, her presence assuring both that any wild creatures that prowled the night and the village dogs kept their distance and swallowed their growls. Bruin’s house lay alongside the river on the outskirts of Shepherd’s Call. Flickering lanterns and candlelight from windows showed that not all the villagers had gone to bed with the sun, but many structures were nothing more than dark forms against the star-filled night sky.

They were nearly to Bruin’s house when Sand Shadow flashed a warning image into Adara’s mind. As the puma did so, a resonant male voice spoke out of the darkness.

“Adara? Is that you?”

Adara let go of Griffin’s arm and stepped ahead. To her delight, Griffin froze in place. Perhaps from those few words, he had grasped that this man did not share Adara’s gift for seeing in the dark.

“Terrell,” Adara said, the single word an identification. “Yes, it is me. What are you doing roaming about at this hour?”

“I wanted to speak with you,” Terrell replied, “but there were so many people waiting when you arrived at Bruin’s. I tried to get your attention, but you never seemed to notice. Then when I went back, Bruin said you had gone out. I hoped…”

Adara flashed an image to Sand Shadow, an image of her distracting Terrell while Sand Shadow guided Griffin to Bruin. She felt the puma’s acknowledgment, then stepped closer to Terrell.

Her night vision did not show Terrell as he would be in the day, for colors were diminished, but she could see the basic outline: broad shoulders, slim hips, strong legs. The dark brown hair worn cut just above the shoulders fell in artful disarray, as usual. Her memory filled in the bright blue eyes, the high-bridged, narrow nose.

When Terrell had first come to Shepherd’s Call as student to Helena the Equestrian—who had retired there with her second husband, Bert, a man famous for the speed with which he could shear a sheep—the local girls had all but swooned. Terrell could hardly move ten paces from Helena’s stables without encountering some fair maiden making him a welcoming gift of a bunch of wildflowers or a ribbon with which to ornament the headstall of Coal, his favorite steed.

Even after the time for welcoming was long over, Terrell would have been a complete fool to deny he had admirers. Perversely, it was Adara—the woman the local swains had disdained as too strange—upon whom Terrell had fixed his fancy. With Terrell’s interest, the local youths had taken a second look, so that for the first time since Adara had been acknowledged not only adapted but a huntress, she found herself with nearly too many admirers.

“Nearly,” for too many meant that Adara need not make any choice, since no one was seen as favored. In any case, with the possible exception of Terrell himself, there was, in fact, no one she did favor.

Perhaps Terrell sensed this. Before Adara had left on this recent training trip, Terrell had attempted to press his suit. Adara had managed to avoid giving any sort of answer, but she did not think Terrell would always be put off so easily.

“You’re back earlier than expected,” Terrell said, his tone holding both caress and question. “I could hardly believe it when I heard that
Foam Dancer
had been seen on the river. Did you miss me?”

Adara could sense Sand Shadow beginning to guide Griffin down the side path that would take them to a door on the other side of Bruin’s house, a door that could be opened without exciting anyone’s attention. She knew she must distract Terrell a bit longer, for although he lacked her ability to see in the dark, he was naturally alert.

“I missed everyone,” she said, “as much as a hunter does, of course. We are solitary people, you know, especially cat-kind.”

Terrell snorted. “Even cats have mates, otherwise there would be no more cats. I have heard tell that in warmer climates there are cats larger even than Sand Shadow who live in packs like wolves, hunting together and raising their cubs in company.”

Adara had heard of these as well, for Bruin was a thorough teacher, one who insisted his pupil learn about creatures and ecosystems far beyond what might be expected to be her hunting range. She did not admit her knowledge, though, for to do so would be to seem receptive to Terrell’s argument.

It is my fault,
she thought,
that I slept with him last midsummer. His attentions were so sweet and he was so persistent … and the night so warm and the moon so bright.

Despite the consequences, Adara could not bring herself to regret her action. She might still choose Terrell as a mate. There were many advantages. Above and beyond his considerable charm, she could not dismiss the fact that Terrell’s profession as a factotum meant he would likely do a great deal of traveling. She would like to see more of the world …

She felt Terrell waiting for her to reply. “I would like to see these wolf-cats someday. Lions … Plains lions. Maned lions. Those are the names for them.”

“I will take you there,” Terrell murmured, nuzzling her throat. “We could travel together, just the two of us. Who would dare bother factotum and huntress together?”

Adara felt the flash of Sand Shadow telling her that Griffin was safely inside Bruin’s house.

None too soon … I’m already all on edge from these nights of sleeping beside Griffin with only good sense as chaperone. This is not the time to invite other complications!

She twisted free of Terrell’s embrace.

“I have my duties,” she said, “and you yours. There is much I need to learn. Surely such discussions can wait.”

“Wait, wait, wait…” Terrell protested. “You are forever saying that! We will be learning all our lives.”

“Hunters cultivate patience,” Adara replied stiffly.

She heard Terrell mutter something less than kind but chose to ignore the words. Sometimes he forgot just how keen her hearing was.

“I’m going inside,” she said. “Sweet dreams.”

“Good night,” came the stiff reply. “Good night.”

*   *   *

Adara found Griffin and Bruin seated together in the central room of Bruin’s house. Sand Shadow appeared to be absorbed with working free the clasp of one of her earrings, but the glint of amusement Adara felt when she entered the room told her that the puma was perfectly aware of what had passed outside.

The other side of the fire was occupied by the considerable bulk of Honeychild. Bruin’s demiurge was a bear, her brown fur touched with red and gold. Usually, she was a roly-poly creature, so rounded and cuddly-looking that small children ran up to her without fear. Now, however, newly awakened from her winter’s hibernation, she was lean, her fur patchy, her mood short-tempered.

Bruin had apparently decided to soothe that temper by giving the bear a large chunk of the honeycomb Adara had brought down from the mountains. Now the bear was sleepily licking the sticky stuff off her fur. She rumbled a contented greeting to Adara as the huntress padded in.

Bruin had saved a piece of the honeycomb for himself. It sat upon a round bluish-grey pottery dish alongside a chunk of fresh bread. Tea steamed from a chubby pot in the same glaze, and Bruin nodded invitation for Adara to fill the remaining empty mug. As she moved to do so, Griffin started up from where he was sitting in the basket chair that matched Bruin’s favorite.

“Let me, Adara,” he said. Then, “I’ve taken your seat.”

Adara shook her head. “Not at all. I usually sit nearer the floor. Bruin says I’m too young to need a chair.”

Bruin chuckled. “She’s not fibbing, Griffin Dane. I’m old and fat and lazy, my hunting days nearly gone by. Young folk need to cultivate flexible limbs, especially those who choose to hunt with the cats.”

Perhaps by the standards of his youth Bruin was old and fat, but to Adara he was little changed from the man who had taken her on when she was only five and her parents, certain now of her adapted nature, sought a teacher who could help her take advantage of whatever changes occurred.

At least that was what they had said at the time. Adara had never quite gotten over the feeling that her family—especially her mother—were scared of her and wanted to be rid of the wildness she brought into their settled farming croft.

Bruin was not a tall man, but no one would call him small. Really, the best word to describe him was bear-like. He possessed a bear’s broad chest and torso, with arms and legs that were relatively short. Whether to cultivate the resemblance to a bear or because that was how his hair grew naturally, Bruin wore his reddish-brown mass without the more usual ponytail. His beard was of moderate length, but its generally untidy cut only added to the bearishness of his appearance.

As Bruin had aged, both hair and beard had begun to silver, although very strangely, starting at the tips rather than the roots, so that people whispered he actually was a grizzly bear made human. As far as Adara knew, the whispers pleased her mentor rather than otherwise.

She settled onto her cushion and let the warmth of the tea soak into her fingers as the conversation resumed.

“Griffin, your shuttle crashing seems very odd to me,” Bruin said. “Does such commonly happen? It seems that you would hardly trust yourself to the chill void between the stars if your ships were so unreliable.”

Griffin shook his head. “No. It isn’t common. In fact, the models I chose—both of ship and shuttle—were selected because variations have long been in use, the flaws detected and removed. I fear I may have fallen victim to elements I did not believe would be present in the upper atmosphere.”

The last word was not one Adara knew, but she could figure it out from context. Griffin had told her he intended to scout the planet from the highest reaches before coming down.

“I think,” Bruin said, “that this is a complicated tale. No seegnur has been to Artemis since the death of machines. Yet you speak as if you knew something of what you thought you would find. Can you explain?”

Griffin nodded. “I’d like to, but isn’t it rather late? I slept through the afternoon, but Adara and you…”

“Tell,” Bruin said. “Usually, I am very fond of sleep, but morning will come all too soon and, with morning, a need to explain you. If we are to do that, we must understand more.”

Interlude: TVC1500

Motion. Achieved. Target scent faint. Not by scent alone does one track. Signature present, unique, unmistakable.

Motion with purpose, purpose apt alternative for haste. Awareness of singing in the winds, a song of reinforcement?

Purpose flares. Reinforcement undesired, in violation of the purpose. No alternative to haste. Must hasten. Must hasten.

Haste!

5

The Beginning of the End

“Where should I begin?” Griffin asked. “How much does your lore remember of the last days of the seegnur on Artemis?”

Bruin’s laugh was a great, rumbly thing. “How can we know how much the lore remembers and how much we have surmised? Oh, yes, I realize that saying the lore is anything less than truth would greatly offend the loremasters, but I am an old hunter and I know that tales are like game trails. The older they are the more muddled they become. Begin your tale where you think it begins. Adara and I are of a patient sort. You will not bore us.”

Griffin realized with some surprise that this was true—of Adara at least. He must assume she had learned the value of patience from her teacher. Griffin himself was so accustomed to his brothers rolling their eyes when he got excited over some point of history, of his sisters admiring an artifact for its beauty or value rather than for what it told, that he had grown reluctant to share his theories.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll begin at the beginning of the end. From what Adara has told me, your lore has preserved that Artemis was a planet created for the entertainment of a very wealthy, very privileged minority.”

He sighed and leaned back against the comfortable cushions that lined the basket chair. “I’m not sure that any of us today can understand the heights of technology which the old empire had reached. I can assure you that no culture known today—at least as far as I have been able to learn—has the ability to move planets around and reshape them as Artemis was moved and shaped. The closest we can manage is moving an asteroid…”

He saw from the cant of Adara’s head, the mildly puzzled line that appeared between Bruin’s bushy brows, that “asteroid” was an unfamiliar word.

“An asteroid is a rock that floats in the void. It is much smaller than a planet, too small to hold life. Where I come from, asteroids are sometimes moved to make them easier to mine.”

“Mine?” Bruin asked.

Griffin nodded. “Often asteroids hold quantities of valuable minerals or water. However, moving one is a major task, not to be undertaken lightly.”

Bruin shook his head, although whether in wonder or disbelief Griffin could not be certain. “I would think not. I am tempted to ask more, but perhaps first we should return to what you called ‘the beginning of the end.’”

“Right,” Griffin said. He flashed a grin. “Sorry. I tend to go off on tangents. Stop me if I completely lose you.”

He shifted so that he could look into the flames burning within the hearth, away from the myriad distractions offered by his two companions, their animal associates, the shape and form of the furnishings in the room, from the reminder of just how much here was alien. By contrast, the history of that long-ago empire was a familiar thing, the beating heart of many years of study. Resisting the urge to say “once upon a time,” he began.