Artemis Invaded (6 page)

Griffin looked at the three horses and Sam the Mule. Despite being dappled with blood, they were all calm now—all but Sam, who looked as if he was hoping for another fight.

“Helena the Equestrian does some very fine training,” he said.

Terrell grinned. “Now you know why they don't worry about travelling with a puma.”

Interlude: Generation

Germinating spore forms hyphae.

Hyphae (divided by septa)

Create mycelium.

Hyphal strings bring nourishment.

Fruiting bodies (cup, club, coral, capped, bell, shelf, jelly)

May emerge.

            And be eaten.

Mother/ Father/ Male/ Female

Enfruiting bodies

Create a child.

            To be eaten?

 

3

Maiden's Tear

After the encounter with the bandits, Adara decided to confide her mother's story to the others. After all, she might not be so lucky another time, and this was information they all should know. “I hadn't realized until this visit that my mother knew the Old One many years ago—before I was born, even.”

“She did?” Griffin asked. “Tell!”

Adara did, concluding, “I didn't tell my mother about what we found beneath Mender's Isle. I doubt that her friend Blithe was among those we rescued. I hadn't thought about it before but, other than Thalia the Stablekeeper, I don't recall any more mature women among those we rescued.”

“Me either,” Griffin admitted, “nor any mention of such, even when Julyan was offering me my choice of bedmates—and believe me, he could get very detailed about what was on offer when he chose. I think he was trying to learn if I had any kinks he could exploit.”

“Griffin, you probably have a better feeling for the Old One than either Adara or I do,” Terrell said. “Not only did you live there on Mender's Isle, but your view of him isn't colored by his legend the way ours is. Do you think the Old One killed his captive women once they stopped being useful?”

“It's very possible,” Griffin said, looking very unhappy. “He certainly couldn't turn them loose without risking his secret getting out. When you think about it, rumors among the women as to what fate awaited the noncooperative would have provided a powerful incentive to obey. On the other hand, perhaps the Old One let it be thought he did let them go free—the promise of freedom would also serve to control those who remained.”

Adara heard her voice tremble when she spoke. Her mother's story had made Blithe very real to her. “But, either way, you think they are probably dead.”

Griffin nodded. “The Old One had one use for them—as bearers of potentially adapted children. My understanding is that the children were reared communally—under controlled circumstances. He didn't want them to know their mothers, nor their mothers to know them.”

“The Old One probably kept a few like Winnie,” Terrell said, his voice rough, “even after they ceased to bear, in the hope that they would recover from the abuse and be able to bear again.”

“After all,” Adara added, her voice dripping with loathing, “Little Swimmer and Littler Swimmer were proof of Winnie's value as a brood mare. I've blamed my parents unfairly all these years. They did me a kindness when they sent me to Bruin.”

“My skin crawls,” Terrell said, brushing away imaginary bugs, “when I remember working side by side with the Old One, eating at his table, sleeping under his roof. I feel as if my skin should break out in a rash after exposure to such evil.”

“Ah,” Griffin replied softly, “but the Old One Who Is Young does not consider himself evil. He considers himself a scientist, a benefactor who seeks to lift the people of Artemis from the primitive morass into which they have been plunged through no fault of their own. He seeks to be their savior.”

“And if a few women and children die while he seeks the necessary key,” Adara finished, anger replacing the tremor in her voice, “what of it? More probably die each year from banditry in places where law has vanished. Or from natural disasters such as flood and fire. Think how many more would survive if the technology of the seegnur could be made useful again.”

“I don't want to twist my mind along such paths,” Terrell protested. “If I do, I'll have to dunk my head in cold water to clear it. What say I tell you a more pleasant tale or two to pass the time?”

“It certainly won't help to discuss the Old One further,” Griffin replied. “Maybe we're done with him.”

Adara didn't believe this for a moment, but she was willing to play along. “Terrell, tell the story about the farmer and the beans that grew chickens. I bet Griffin hasn't heard that one before.”

*   *   *

Julyan Hunter was finding his association with the Old One uniquely trying. He agreed that disguising who they were was crucial, but he found the roles the Old One had suggested exceedingly distasteful.

After you had associated with the Old One for a while, it was easy to forget how young he appeared to be. Indeed, after a time, one forgot his slim build, his boyishly fresh skin, utterly unlined by time, forgot that he never grew a beard. Instead, one only saw those grey eyes, so cool, so calmly appraising, holding within them the calculations of hundreds of years.

Now, although the Old One's hair remained uncommonly short (although longer than it had been and styled differently) and his eyes just as grey, his build just as slim, Julyan bet that not a single one of his former associates would recognize him. Before, the Old One had moved with a contained grace that wordlessly testified that he had long ago mastered his body. Now, not only had the Old One adopted the fidgety manner of a much younger person, he positively fluttered, moving his hands constantly, gazing up coyly through lashes that Julyan had never before noticed were quite long. Where the Old One's habitual expression had been cool and ironical, now he simpered, pursing his lips and giggling girlishly.

Julyan would have been ashamed for his employer were he not more ashamed for himself. If the Old One was playing the boy toy, then Julyan must play the sort of man who would keep such a creature about him. His brown hair had been bleached almost white, so that he looked like an older man struggling to appear younger. With a surprisingly deft hand, the Old One had stained the incipient lines around Julyan's eyes and mouth so they appeared to be deeper. He had replaced the close-fitting hunting leathers Julyan preferred with baggy tunics and trousers that effectively hid Julyan's well-muscled body.

“I suppose,” Julyan said, looking in horror at his reflection, “you want me to slouch.”

“No need,” the Old One said. “That would be helpful, of course but, if you forget, any who see you will assume you are acting the part of the strutting cock.”

The reason for this particular set of disguises went beyond concealing the pair from those who might wish to bring them in for questioning. The Old One had added a third member to their group, a boy of about eleven. Although Seamus was actually not a bad-looking boy, with curling brown hair, full lips, and eyes of such a dark blue they almost looked black, his complete lack of affect made him seem plain, even washed out. Seamus was very thin, with long fingers and toes. Although he was shooting up toward adult height, he carried himself so limply that he seemed smaller.

If the Old One posed as Julyan's (or Ryan, as he was now called) current favorite, Seamus was a catamite in training. But the Old One was not dragging Seamus along for any reason so simple. Indeed, he claimed to have gone beyond sexual desire of any sort and, in all the time they had been associated, Julyan had seen nothing to give lie to that claim. Even the most sensual of the women the Old One kept captive had been viewed clinically, her blood line and the adaptations hidden within the only items of interest.

Seamus had been one of the near successes of the Old One's breeding program, possessing a form of telepathy. However, Seamus could not communicate with just anyone. Instead, he single-mindedly fixed his attention on one person only. The first of these had initially been one of the children's caretakers, a man who had come into the Old One's circle from a community that had shunned the adapted. This man's gifts were minor enough—an uncontrolled telekinesis that manifested in poltergeist activity when he was under stress. Noisy and wild though they were, small children did not unbalance this man in the least, so the Old One had used him as a nursery minder while seeking the right mate with which to crossbreed him.

However, when the Old One realized the nature of Seamus's adaptation, even proven telekinesis was not enough to keep the unfortunate man alive. He had been killed so the bond would be broken. Then the Old One let Seamus see no one but him until the boy bonded with him. Success—but only after a fashion—for, whether he had been born that way or whether the shock of his first bond-mate's death had damaged his mind, Seamus never progressed mentally beyond about five years old.

Sometimes, Julyan thought the Old One was actually pleased about this, for a five-year-old was much easier to control, although harder to train. Training was necessary, for their telepathic ability depended completely on Seamus. The Old One claimed no adaptations for himself—other than his unique immortality. Over time, Seamus was taught to respond to certain signals. Only in response to them would he dare touch the Old One's mind. Harsh punishments for early errors now made it impossible for Seamus to probe the Old One's mind beyond accepting messages and sending replies.

When the facility under Mender's Isle had been raided, Seamus had been living with an old man a few hours' brisk walk from Spirit Bay. The Old One had been experimenting with having the boy check in with him at set times, testing the distance over which they could communicate clearly. At this point, the link was solid to a few miles, as far as many hunters could maintain with their demiurges.

If Julyan found the Old One's current persona revolting, Seamus made his skin crawl. When the Old One was near, the boy kept his round, blue-eyed gaze fastened on him with what most probably thought was adoration, but which Julyan knew was raw terror. If the Old One didn't need him, Seamus lapsed into docile passivity.

And I'm supposed to sexually desire either of them?
Julyan thought in disgust.
I can't imagine it. Maybe any who see our little “family” will think those two are the couple and I am their guardian.

When he dared, he dropped hints that this was so, but Julyan wondered if his denials did him more harm than good.

Once they left their hideaway near Spirit Bay, they made a leisurely journey to Crystalaire. Although the town was full—summer being the peak fishing season—a house on the outskirts of town proved to have a nice cottage on the grounds that they could use. Julyan suspected that the Old One owned the entire estate, but he had learned not to ask questions.

“Next we will make a few enquiries, listen for rumors,” the Old One said. “Two handsome men and an interesting-looking woman will not have passed without notice.”

“And if they weren't seen?”

“Then we will know they went directly to Maiden's Tear,” the Old One replied calmly. “You will have ample opportunity to discard the role of Ryan and go forth in secret as Julyan Hunter. For now we stalk our prey, but not interfere. It seems only right to give them an opportunity to replace my Sanctum with a new stronghold of the seegnur's lore.”

*   *   *

“What was Maiden's Tear called before?” Griffin asked as they led their mounts up a particularly steep bit of trail—it had ceased to be anything that could be called a “road” days before.

“Before what?” Terrell asked.

“Before the slaughter of the seegnur,” Griffin said. “Didn't the name come from that, from some murdered maiden or something? Maybe that bride whose marriage was never to be?”

Terrell shook his head. “As far as I know, the area was called Maiden's Tear before then. The story I heard was that the name had to do with sisters who were separated … I don't remember why. I'm not certain the legend ever said. Anyhow, when the pair was separated, one twin wept so copiously that a lake was formed.”

“Pretty tale,” Adara commented. “Though from the maps Bruin showed me during my training, I'd guess that the fact that the lake is teardrop-shaped probably had something to do with the name as well.”

She didn't add that for several nights now her dreams had been filled with the sound of weeping. Doubtless her mind was still adjusting to the information her mother had given her. It was frightening to realize how close to becoming one of those pitiful women they each had been. Adara wondered if Jor had indeed drowned at sea or if he had been among the adapted men whom the Old One had given a “refuge” that was little more than a prison. If so and if he had survived all those years, he had likely drowned.

The memory of the bodies they had pulled from beneath Mender's Isle still haunted Adara. She'd never know how many of those men had been willing collaborators and how many dupes—for the Old One had recruited from among the adapted who had found themselves unwelcome in general society. Since the Old One had kept the women and children isolated from the majority of the men, the Swimmers, who, along with their mother, Winnie, had stayed behind to help explore the submerged facility, had not known much about the men whose bodies they helped drag to the outer world.

So many died, yet the worst of them got away,
Adara thought.
Julyan and the Old One escaped. I wouldn't be surprised if the others who escaped were the ones willing to climb to safety on the bodies of their drowning comrades.

They took the last part of the climb to Maiden's Tear in easy stages, for Griffin felt the air too thin in his lungs. Griffin pushed himself hard, never insisting on riding when Molly needed a break, instead walking alongside her, so by the end of each day's travel, he looked drawn.