Bhotta's Tears: Book Two of the Black Bead Chronicles (29 page)

“Bear Under the Mountain wants you to go home, Sam. Trust in that. You will be fine.” Cheobawn said serenely.

Sam shook his head as if to shake the idea of Bear out of his mind.

“There is no way to climb down an unexplored face without someone experienced to belay you as you descend,” Sam insisted. “Garro was my climbing partner. We trained together for a year. The Colonel was just a tourist, deep pockets along for the ride. We left most of the climbing equipment at the top of the cliff back where we started.” Sam looked from one impassive face to the next.

“I need you off my mountain,” Cheobawn said evenly. “This is the only way that is possible. We are going south.”

Sam looked around, hoping to find reason in someone else other than a seven-year-old girl convinced he was in the care of her Bear god.  

“It can’t be done. Explain it to her,” Sam begged of Tam.

“You had best figure it out and soon,” Tam said, “or I am going to send you home myself by throwing you off. The Lowlanders will think you died a fool’s death trying to go where you should not go.”

“Ch’che,” Sam begged, reaching out towards her.

Tam’s stick was loose and spinning in the blink of an eye. Cheobawn recoiled as the blade whistled through the air between them. Sam froze. The point of the weapon hung over his heart.

“I would kill you now,” Tam said trying to breathe around his rage, “but for the wishes of my Ear. I think that you should address me, from now on, if you want to speak. What is it you would like to say to the Little Mother?”

Sam opened his mouth but sounds did not come out.

“It has been decided,” Cheobawn said. “We go south.”

She turned the bennelk herd around. They did not want to go south. She had to beg and make many promises. Herd Mother finally agreed, although a bit grumpily.

They returned to the split in the trail, pausing long enough for Tam to hack a series of symbols in the bark of the widest and most visible tree trunk before turning south. She begged for speed from Herd Mother. Herd Mother reluctantly gave it to her.

The sun was well up in the sky by the time they broke into the open and skidded to a halt. Cheobawn tried to remember to breathe. The drop off into oblivion just never failed to impress her. She flashed a smile at Tam as she urged the herd on towards the lip.

The stone along the edge was slick with mist. Cheobawn stopped Herd Mother on the last of the dry land and let her eyes drink in the beauty of the infinite sky. The falls roared over the wall of the world, off to the left, the wind catching its spray and filling the air with the smell of cedar and oak and fern. Further out, over the Lowlands, the heat of the sun had burned the perpetual bank of clouds into ragged feathers, revealing a pale land underneath. She wanted to study the oddness of the world down below but she had very little time.

“Unload everything and let the herd go,” Cheobawn instructed as she slid off Herd Mother.

“Uh, how are we supposed to get home?” Alain asked doubtfully.

“I am sending them to guard Sybille. They will be back but hopefully not before they delay her a bit,” Cheobawn said as she picked her way to the edge of the rock to hang her bare toes off the edge. This was not like her dream. The place was different. The feelings of foreboding were nearly gone. She had broken the spell that had entangled them all and changed the future by coming here.

The wind rushing up the face of the rock wanted to lift her off and send her high in the sky. She spread her arms wide and laughed, feeling lighter than air. Someday, she promised herself, when she was braver, she would fly these winds.

Tam came to stand next to her, smiling. His gaze followed hers, out into the misty horizon, but he said nothing, content just to be at her side.

“The one called Sam wants most desperately to talk to you,” Tam said finally. “He says he is too hurt to climb and will surely die if you force him down. The ghost man wants to talk to you, too. He will not take no for an answer. I have told them if they insult you, they will die a long and horrible death.” He added the last as a reassurance. She smiled and turned to look over her shoulder. Sam stood ten paces away, Alain’s bladed stick holding him at bay. Bohea stood off to the side, making it clear that he wanted to be no part of Sam’s business. Connor hovered behind the ghost man, bladed stick at ready, careful to keep out of reach of those gloved hands.

She crossed the distance between them. It was Bohea she looked to first.

“Is what Sam said true? He is the expert climber and you are not? Could you do for him on the climb down what Garro did on the climb up?”

“We could,” Bohea said with a shrugged. “The boy underestimates his own skill. But to be honest, it is I who am not up to the long climb down.”

Cheobawn looked at him quizzically. “Here I was, thinking you were in some way immortal. Have we hurt you, after all?”

“Oh, no. I am fine. More than fine. It is just that climbing down, as interesting as that might be in the technical sense, is just not possible. I fear I must beg off as I have more pressing duties. Mr. Wheelwright will just have to go it alone.”

Sam spat a string of virulent oaths at Bohea, calling him all sorts of unpleasant things but he did not launch himself at Bohea nor use the fists that hung impotently at his side. It was not because he was afraid of the Pack’s blades. There was something about Bohea that kept him still. It was not fear but something far stranger. She drew closer to Sam.

“If we picked the Bohea up and threw him over the edge, would he be alive when he hit the bottom?” Cheobawn asked Sam. Bohea laughed, delighted by the turnings of her mind. She was very close to the truth, that laugh told her.

Sam ignored him. “The suit keeps him safe. They told us, when we were in basic training, you cannot kill a suit so it was pointless to try. I used to think it was just so we wouldn’t frag the officers but I don’t know anymore.”

“We need to talk, Little Mother,” Bohea insisted. “The boy is just collateral damage. You should not grieve for him over much, just as you should not grieve for Garro.”

“Shut up!” Sam screamed. “If I live through this, the world will know what you did up here!”

Bohea met Sam’s glare, unfazed, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, his black eyes gone cold.

Cheobawn walked away from them, exhausted by their noise. She walked back to the pile of packs and equipment. Megan was busy sorting things out.

“How can you stand it,” Megan whispered. “They are giving me the worst headache.”

“I don’t know how it is possible but I don’t think they have Mothers in the Lowlands. There are no teachers to remind them to stay silent,” Cheobawn said, nodding in agreement.

“I am so glad girls are not allowed down the Escarpment. Could you imagine having to talk with them all day long?” Megan said, her eyes wide in horror.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I can,” Cheobawn said dryly. “Help me with the wing.”

“Ch’che! No!” squeaked Megan. “You are not flying that thing here. The winds will rip it apart.”

“It’s not for me. It’s for him,” she said, nodding at Sam.

“Oh. Oh, no. Ch’che. No,” Megan breathed. “You can’t be serious. Think of some other way to punish him, please.”

“You may want to cover your Ears and sing or something. The ambient is about to get a whole lot louder,” Cheobawn said grimly as she untied the kite from the packsaddle. “Oh, yeah. I need that bag of bloodstones.”

Megan handed them over. Cheobawn discussed the new plan with her friend and then, shouldering the long kite, she lugged it over to Sam. Megan trailed behind her with all the Lowlander packs on her arms.

Cheobawn set the wing bundle down near Sam and then returned to Megan’s side to take up some of the burden. Together, they dumped the contents of the packs into a great pile near the kite. Her task completed, Megan gave Sam a wide eyed look before she scampered away. The older girl had no wish to be near him, having caught a whiff of the stink of his future.

“There has been a change of plans. The good news is that I don’t want you to climb down the Escarpment by yourself, Sam. Kneel down, please.”

Sam stared at her, a puzzled frown on his face  - but did not move. Cheobawn sighed and looked at Alain.

Alain knocked the handle of his stick into the backs of Sam’s knees. Sam grunted as he collapsed onto all fours and then sat back to glare at his abuser.

“I am going to touch you. It won’t hurt.” Cheobawn said. Sam looked frightened. She looked up at Tam. Hold him, she said with a flick of her fingers.

Tam looked at Alain. They moved together, to flank Sam, each of them taking an arm. Running their hands down his arms they grasped his hands. It was not a strong grip but it did not have to be. If Sam struggled, he would break his own thumbs.

Do not hurt him,
she signed. Tam shrugged. It was up to Sam, whether he got hurt or not.
 

She was taller than Sam now but only by a finger’s width or two. It was easy to reach his face. She touched her fingers to his cheek, letting them travel back towards his ears until her palm pressed against his temples. Then, much like Herd Mother teaching her to ward, she gave him all she knew about flying the wing, right down to the feel of the muscles in her body as they reacted in flight. When she could do no more, she withdrew from his mind and stepped away. Tam and Alain let go and stepped away.

Sam was blinking hard, trying to refocus his eyes.

“What did you do to me?” he asked, shaking his head. It was as if he were trying to shake water from his ears.

“I gave you a memory,” Cheobawn said. She took the satchel of stones from her shoulder and held it up for him to see.

“You know what is in this, don’t you?” she asked softly.

“Bloodstones,” Sam said as he rose to his feet. He was starting to sweat. Perhaps she had left too much of herself in his mind or perhaps he was smart enough to know he was not going to like what came next.

“That’s right. Bloodstones. Forty-six perfect stones. Can you feel them? If you listen hard enough, they will talk to you. All that you killed rests inside these stones, singing their sorrow out into the world.”

Sam shook his head. “I do not believe as you believe,” he said desperately.

“I know that. You are all messed up inside your head. There are walls where none should exist and no walls where there should be many. But no matter. I have taught you how to fly. You are leaving this place and never coming back.”

“Gods,” Sam whispered, confused, “if you are going to throw me off the cliff, just do it.”

“We won’t throw you. You are going to jump,” she said, handing him the satchel of stones.

Chapter Twenty Six

She flicked a fingersign at the boys.
Watch him,
it said. Then she returned to the wing and began to unfurl it.
 

“What? No, wait. I am sorry,” Sam said, clutching the satchel of stones to his chest. “I am sorry for everything we did. Let me stay. I can be of use. I know things that you need to know. I can teach you. I can help you when you deal with the traders,” Sam begged, his eyes traveling around the circle of faces that watch him. “Please don’t kill me.”

Cheobawn gave the wing a hard shake. The joints snapped open, the spines spread wide, and the spidersilk began to hum in the wind. She managed to hold it steady while she kicked her toe through the pile of climbing equipment, looking for something that would work as a belt. She found some webbing, similar to the plasteel webbing of her own belt. It would do. She bent to retrieve it. The wing bucked in the air, anxious to be off doing what it did best. She pulled it back and picked up the webbing. It came, pulling more webbing with it. They just might be able to cut it down and make it work.

Sam stared at the wing as she approached him, his eyes wide with horror.

“I am not jumping off this cliff using that,” he said in no uncertain terms.

Cheobawn ignored him. She held up the webbing.

“What is this?” she asked.

“A body harness,” Sam said faintly, barely glancing down, transfixed as he was by the wing.

“Put it on. I want to see.”

Tam had to drag the satchel from Sam’s white-knuckled hands. With a little encouragement from Alain’s stick, Sam put the harness on. What at first glance had seemed a jumble of straps and buckles turned into a beautifully made web that cradled his entire torso. It even had a place to attach the wing’s hooks. Cheobawn looked over at Alain, hoping he had noticed. Alain was already taking mental pictures and making notes. Their next wing was going to be so much better. Smiling, she looked back at Sam.

“OK. I am going to hand you the wing and hook it to your belt, uh, your body harness,” she said. “Empty your mind. As your hands touch the struts, your body is going to remember how they work. When you think you are ready, I want you to ease out into the wind on the edge and jump. Any questions?”

“Please don’t make me do this,” Sam whispered.

Cheobawn ignored him. She brought the wing to his back. The two boys had to force Sam’s arms up. He did not want to close his hands around the struts or put his fingers in the sheaths. Cheobawn attached the suspension hook to his belt and then walked around him, grinning. The wing sang in his hands.

“I do envy you this,” she said, taking the satchel back from Tam and hanging it around Sam’s neck. “You are going to have so much fun.” She tugged on his harness and pulled him closer to the edge. Sam gasped as the wing bucked in his hands for a moment. Cheobawn watched his face, watched him remember flying, watched as he automatically adjust the declination of the wing surface to reduce the lift forces.

“Ah, it is coming to you,” she said softly, just loud enough to be heard over the rush of the air around them. “You know how to fly this thing, don’t you?”

“Gods curse you,” he swore, his voice hollow as he stared out at the empty sky. “Get out of my head, witch.” Cheobawn did not take offense at his impotent protest.

“Yes, you know now. Listen to me carefully, Samwell Wheelwright. The wing will only take you so far. It was designed to carry less weight. You cannot fly to the edges of Orson’s Sea as you might wish to. Gravity will be your enemy all the way down. I am sorry for that. But I will give you two choices. I will take the stones from you, toss them off the cliff, and let you take whatever equipment you need to help you survive on your journey back to your people.” She paused to let that thought sink in before she continued. “Or you can carry only the stones. Choose.”