Artemis Invaded (15 page)

Could you have done anything about it?
Griffin thought.
From what I have seen, the defensive weaponry within this facility was thoroughly disabled. Even now, you can only show your displeasure by making the facility unpleasant.

He wanted to care more,
knew
he should care more, but he felt detached from everything other than this fascinating facility. Even with the damage it had taken, it was easily the most complete pre-war R & D complex he had ever seen.

Than anyone in the Kyley Domain has seen. Possibly than anyone in all the inhabited galaxy has seen. If my suspicions are correct and this facility was doing covert research, it may have been advanced even by the standards of those days. I press tabs, read instructions, piece through bits and pieces, and am all too aware that I am like a child who sits at the helm of an interstellar battle cruiser and imagines that he is in command. Even Leto does not seem to comprehend the half of what is here. Was her memory tampered with or was she created to keep this complex running and nothing more?

He found his thoughts drifting back to this puzzle, the question of whether or not Leto welcomed Adara becoming less and less important.

“Well, Leto. Adara may not be bonded to me, but I'd like it if you'd continue to give her access. Without functioning food synthesizers, I do need food and fresh water. Terrell cannot both assist me here, and take care of hunting and other such menial chores.”

“She will not stay here?”

“She will if I need an extra pair of hands,” Griffin replied sternly, “but otherwise, no, I don't think we will try your patience. Now, I'd like to go back to figuring out the operating system for this console. You say you remember the headset being used, but I haven't found the necessary access codes. Still, if the seegnur built in this complex as they did everywhere else, there will be an alternate means of access.”

“Very good, sir,” Leto replied. “Perhaps these manuals I located will be of use? Wise O'Rahilly was fond of detailed documentation. The reader is a primitive enough device that it is functional.”

If there was a certain smugness to the disembodied voice, Griffin found it very easy to ignore as he went to fetch the data reader.

*   *   *

The Old One did indeed have a means of getting over the artificial reef that barred access to the Haunted Islands by ship. Julyan had always assumed the reef was of the same width throughout—but it turned out that in at least one place it was narrow enough that a small boat could be dropped over. The currents that kept such small vessels from approaching on the seaward side were not a hazard within the reef.

This wasn't to say the experience wasn't frightening, since the boat couldn't simply be lowered over the side, but had to be swung out some distance using a device jury-rigged from the ropes and pulleys more often used to haul in heavily laden fishing nets. Once they were in the water, Julyan, of course, was the one set to the oars.

The waters within the artificial lagoon were seeded with carnivorous sharks, a fact Julyan was well aware of, since the sharks had done in a couple of the men who had decided that they didn't like the terms of the Old One's employment. He suspected—although he'd never asked—that the sharks had something to do with a couple of the women who had disappeared as well. Now they bumped lazily against the hull of the rowboat, attracted, no doubt, by the lingering smell of fish blood and guts permeating the wood. Captain Chankley kept a strong fleet, but not necessarily the tidiest.

A couple of times one of the sharks grabbed hold of an oar blade, mistaking it, no doubt, for a struggling fish. With unsurprising coolness, the Old One walloped these bolder fish with the end of the boathook, being careful not to draw blood, since that would send the sharks into a feeding frenzy. Seamus huddled in the bow, shivering slightly but otherwise showing no awareness of his surroundings.

Eventually, the bottom of the rowboat scraped against the sand and gravel of the shore. The Old One did not wait for Julyan to ship the oars, but leapt over the side into the shallows and, working with the surge of the waves, pulled the boat clear of the water. Once again, Julyan was reminded that, despite his somewhat effete appearance, the Old One was very strong.

“It was obviously necessary that we arrive here by night,” the Old One said softly. “However, I do not think it would be wise for us to begin our explorations until dawn. If, as I believe, someone else is now inhabiting this island, they may have laid traps. I would have.” He gave a slight, humorless smile. “Indeed, I did. Best we not run afoul of those either.”

The night was quite warm and the sand, while not precisely soft, could be sculpted into a bed far more comfortable than those in many a woodland camp in which Julyan had slept. They moved clear of the tideline, to where few scrubby trees stood. The Old One put Seamus on guard.

“I will need you alert come dawn,” he said to Julyan. “We shall both sleep until then.”

Julyan obeyed. One of the many things he had learned from Bruin was how to sleep restfully without fully relinquishing alertness. It was a gift possessed by most animals, lost by humans, who craved the temporary oblivion and the peculiar half-life of dreams. He also had cultivated a good internal alarm, dependent not on any sense of the passage of time but on maintaining an awareness of his surroundings. Thus it was that the sun was just tinting the sky grey and the birds were making their first querulous comments when he came fully awake.

The Old One was also stirring. He rolled gracefully to his feet, then unslung his small pack of supplies from an overhanging tree limb. Without a word, he pulled out provisions and a covered bottle of water, fairly sharing out three portions. They dined in silence. Wordlessly, the Old One commanded Seamus to take his turn at sleep. He then indicated that he would be gone for a short time and Julyan should remain.

When the Old One returned, he had clearly taken time to attend to his appearance. He wore a fresh shirt and his hair—still longer than he usually preferred—had been combed and pulled back into a neat queue. He motioned to Julyan, gesturing splashing water on his face.

Julyan went where he had been directed. While he peed against a convenient tree, he considered defying the Old One's hint that he should wash up. Then he grinned at himself. Had he been alone, he would have taken any chance to wash. Another of Bruin's lessons had been that a clean hunter was much more successful than one reeking of sweat and other odors that gave the prey warning.

You're only considering skipping because you don't like how the Old One orders you around as if you have fewer brains than Seamus,
he thought as he knelt next to the stream, washing both face and mouth.
Cut off your own nose to spite your face, as Mom would have said.

The sun was not far above the horizon when Julyan returned to the Old One, but there was ample light with which to see their surroundings. The Old One had pulled the rowboat the rest of the way up the beach, turned it upside down, then concealed it with dead branches to which leaves still clung. He swept away the marks with another branch, tossed it onto the pile and gave a satisfied grunt.

“That won't hide anything if someone searches,” he said, “but it will be ample to keep anyone out on the bay from spotting it. Now, where to begin?”

Julyan, rightly guessing that the Old One had been thinking aloud, did not bother to answer. If the Old One wanted advice, he asked for it directly.

“There is an entrance into the underground facility not far from here,” the Old One continued after a moment. “A minor one. That should serve us admirably.”

He turned. “Please, take point. You are far better than I am at spotting traps. We are heading in the direction of that wind-twisted pine, the tallest one in that cluster.”

Julyan nodded. He thought he remembered the entrance the Old One referred to, although as far as he recalled, it had never been used. The Old One really was like an fox, knowing all the ins and outs of his burrows. The only traps they encountered along the way were of the Old One's own making. Julyan was beginning to wonder if they'd returned to Spirit Bay on a wild goose chase. Maybe it was as Flamen's associates had thought, just another bit of the seegnur's old trash falling from the high orbits.

And the lights on the islands?
he asked himself.
Imagination. Or maybe there really are ghosts there, though I never saw any during the time we used the place as a base. Or maybe scavengers. There are those who would defy the prohibitions if they thought they had something to gain. Maybe even Captain Chankley or one of his lot. They might have learned some of the Old One's secrets, though they'd never tell him.

He was close to believing that one or more of these explanations must be true when they reached the entrance. The Old One waved for Julyan to keep watch, knelt, and moved aside the accumulated leaf litter with quick motions of his hands. Even then, one would need to know what to look for to recognize the hidden trapdoor, so well did the material blend in with the surrounding soil. The Old One worked a latch, moving slowly and carefully, so as to make as little noise as possible. Then he carefully raised the hatch a few inches, pausing to listen.

Julyan, complacent in his conjectures, stiffened in shock when voices speaking some unknown language rose from the depths.

Interlude Six: Defiance

Without wings, I can fly.

Without eyes, light I spy.

Without ears, sound I feel.

Without tongue, tastes appeal.

Without legs, I can move.

What then is there left to prove?

 

7

Meeting of Minds

Adara gathered that she was less than welcome within Leto. If she were honest with herself, she felt relieved rather than insulted. She didn't like the stuffy, enclosed underground complex. Then, too, she felt certain that within Leto's confines she could never hope to make contact with Artemis—a task that was proving far more difficult than she had imagined it would be.

When I didn't want her in my head, she popped in and out at whim. Finding out about those blind spots seems to have unnerved her to the point that she doesn't want to “talk.” She's there, though. I can sense her nightmares.

So Adara spent most of her time outside, going into the complex only when Griffin needed an extra pair of hands or Adara's ability to see clearly with very little light. She was contemplating whether she needed to forage for something to augment the fish for dinner, or whether she should seek out a particularly dense cluster of mushrooms and try to reach Artemis, when an excited image from Sand Shadow burst into her mind.

Two men were lumbering their way up the steepest part of the trail to Maiden's Tear. A small boy walked behind them, his step light despite evident weariness. Each led a horse, the boy's doubling as a pack animal.

Behind the humans and horses ambled a large bear with golden brown fur. The bear paused every few paces to sniff the air, confirming that no threat was near—although to one who did not know bears, it might have looked as if she was hoping to sniff out something particularly tasty for dinner. Adara recognized the travelers at once. The man on point was her own mentor—and foster father—Bruin Hunter. The big, bald man behind him, head bent down, gaze apparently fastened on nothing more than the rise and fall of Bruin's soft-booted feet, was Ring. The boy was Bruin's student, Kipper. The bear was Honeychild, Bruin's demiurge.

Adara gave a startled cry. What was Bruin doing here? And Ring? Ring was the last person she thought would undertake such an arduous journey. Had he been driven to it by his peculiar gifts? Was Bruin his guide?

Adara considered telling Griffin and Terrell about the new arrivals, then decided to go meet Bruin and his companions alone. What if whatever had driven Ring was something he would prefer to keep from Griffin or Terrell? She could not imagine that the information was to be kept from her. If so, Ring would not have considered Bruin as a guide. Some, misled by Ring's peculiar manner of speech and awkward appearance, might make the mistake of thinking him slow-minded, but she was under no such illusion.

Action followed thought. Soon the huntress was sprinting down the slope to meet the new arrivals, intersecting Sand Shadow along the way. The puma sent her confident assertion that by now Honeychild would have scented them and passed the information along to Bruin.

For all that it was anticipated, the reunion was no less joyful. Adara had not seen Bruin since they had parted after their visit to Lynn's small community. Bruin had returned to Shepherd's Call with Kipper, his newest charge, while Adara and Terrell had turned in the direction of Spirit Bay to guide Griffin to the Old One Who is Young.

Fate and distance had kept them apart since. When Adara threw her arms around Bruin and felt his familiar bear hug in return, she realized her eyes were wet with tears.

“I've missed you, you old bear,” she said, releasing him and giving him a quick inspection. He looked much as he should, bearlike in build, his reddish-brown hair shaggy about his face, silvering at the tips. However, Adara thought that there were lines of worry, even of grief, that had not been on his weathered features before.

Adara turned to the others. “I'm glad to see you, too, Honeychild. Well met, Ring, Kipper…”

“Glad to see you, too, Adara,” Kipper said, his voice soft with awe. Adara didn't doubt that since their brief initial meeting he'd heard more about her, if not from Bruin, then both from the residents of Shepherd's Call and from Bruin's students. Adara could be humble, but she didn't see what good would be served by pretending that she wasn't well known in her own community—and for more than her adaptations. Most hunters were male. Huntresses, especially those with demiurges, were rare indeed.