Call of the Goddess: A Bona Dea Novel (Stormflies Book 1) (24 page)

She let go of his hands at that moment and stepped back. “Oh, Quinn. I'm sorry. I shouldn't push you.”

“I want to—oh, how I want to stay tonight!” He emphasized his words with his hands clasped tightly together, reigned in close to his chest. “But you are the Protectress—the matriarch of the people. I have to respect that. I have to respect you to respect myself with you.”
I don't want to wreck the whole thing just yet,
he thought loudly, though she was certain he didn't mean for her to hear his thought.

“I understand. I will see you tomorrow morning?”

“Afternoon,” he designated. “I like to hike in the foothills in the mornings. I promised some friends I'd hike with them.”

“That sounds quite invigorating.” She too held her hands tightly together, resisting the urge to touch him again.

“Yes, it is. 'Til tomorrow.” He bowed and strode away quite quickly.

Axandra looked skyward to the emerging stars and breathed in the enjoyment.

4th Octember, 307

Overnight,
a string of storms raged to the southeast. Strong winds damaged villages in their path. Heavy rains brought flooding to small streams and rivers. In some places, hail as large as frost apples plummeted to the ground.

The Protectress was awakened in the wee hours of the morning by one of her Elite, Diane, with news of villages in trouble. Bursts of swirling wind blew wood-framed houses off of their foundations. More than half of a village known as Beeterton lay completely destroyed.

Knowing help was in short supply due to the sudden evacuations, Axandra left with the first group of Assistors. Ignoring Ty's protests, she rode on a bus with fourteen others. While the usual Assistors, those who volunteered regularly for such duties, tried to catch some sleep curled up on the soft seats, Axandra sat awake at the front of the bus. Her eyes followed the headlights cutting a path along a rain-washed road. Once, the bus got stuck in a new wash out. Everyone unloaded while they pushed the vehicle out onto harder ground.

Standing back a safe distance from the rocking machine, Axandra huddled inside her wool sweater and watched Soporus setting in the west, silhouetting the mountain peaks against her gray face. The planet loomed larger now, appearing to be the same size as the red moon, Zanita, two thumbs across at arm's length. In just three weeks, Soporus would dominate the sky.

As the Sister's brightness faded to the west, Axandra witnessed a cascade of meteors streak across the vista. The glowing fragments accompanied the Passing, an event the astronomers listed in their report. Soporus orbited the suns surrounded by a cloud of debris, probably remnants from the impact that robbed the planet of its atmosphere. The fragments rained down each imminent day of the Passing.

By the break of day, the Assistors reached Beeterton and lay their eyes upon the devastation. Splintered wood and broken stone lay strewn across the flat ground. Trees stood stripped bare of their leaves.

The townsfolk clustered in what used to be the town square. Each face looked lost and helpless. Children clung to their parents. Many people held hands with someone nearby, clinging to anything they had left. They stared at the chaos around them.

Surveying the village as she stepped off the bus, Axandra counted the homes still standing. Of some thirty buildings that formed the village, only five stone constructions remained, randomly placed about the village. Even these exhibited damaged, their windows broken and roof tiles missing.

The Assistors immediately began to unload food, water and supplies. The Protectress went straight to the people. The Principal met her just outside the loose circle of townsfolk. The woman's long face contorted between grief and gratefulness as she greeted her leader.

“Protectress! Your Honor, thank you for coming. We can't believe you are here in person.” The woman was near tears as she spoke. “You can't believe what happened here.” She led Axandra toward a single tent to one side of the square. The tent would soon become the coordinating point for the clean-up effort.

“Bursts came with the storms,” the Principal began to explain. “You can see the damage. Four perished—an entire family was killed when their house collapsed. The fourth was swept up by the wind and found beneath that large tree.” She pointed to a tremendous trunk that lay diagonally across a portion of the food silo. The body had already been removed, probably to one of the houses for cremation preparations.

“We grieve with you for your losses,” the Protectress said tenderly. From her pocket, she offered a handkerchief. Tears streamed down the woman's cheeks. “How many are injured?”

“Four dozen. Scrapes and bruises. No one seriously, thank goodness. Most hurried to stronger houses or basements to take shelter. But we only have a few basements.” The principal dabbed at her eyes and then wrung her hands as she looked around her village. “We rarely get storms like this.”

“We will have everything right again soon,” the Protectress promised, offering her words with sincerity to help calm the woman.

From here, Axandra moved among the other residents, helping pass out water and rations. She visited with nearly everyone, from the oldest to the youngest. The youngest was an infant just hours old. The mother went into labor due to the stress of the disaster and now she had a baby girl. Axandra enjoyed holding the baby for a few minutes. The parents insisted, hoping to bring luck to the child through the Protectress' purported mystic touch. She paid them the honor, though not certain what luck she would bring.

As Axandra visited, she felt the despair around her begin to lift. The faces of the victims changed from sadness to hope.

Soon everyone helped in the clean-up. Donning long pants, a sleeveless shirt and wide-brimmed hat, Axandra put her arm-power to the cause. The first task consisted of setting up rows of tents. A large tent was erected and furnished with tables to give a sheltered place to gather out of the sun and wind. It provided a place to eat, to receive healing treatment and to just congregate.

Smaller tents offered places to sleep. Many of the victims would live in these tents until they could organize more suitable, even if temporary, accommodations. More of these tents would house the Assistors as long as needed.

After this Axandra moved on to sorting piles of debris that used to be buildings, while others went to inspect grain fields and collect any usable food. The debris was sifted into piles of salvage for the rebuilding and piles of recycling, soon to be collected by electric-powered drays. Other Assistors joined her at her pile, lifting and hauling. They worked for hours. The Assistors chatted with each other amiably, tempering the laborious work with songs and jokes. Axandra did not join them in conversation. Finding her offish, the workers moved to different areas of the town. Eventually she worked this block alone.

On two carts, she sorted terracotta roof tiles. Whole tiles she placed on one cart to be moved aside with the reclaimed materials. Broken tiles went into a second cart. Soon the fragments would be dumped into a recycling bin, broken up and reprocessed into new tiles, eventually making their way back here for the new houses.

About mid-afternoon, another busload of Assistors arrived. She glanced over at the bus briefly when she heard the tires crunch dirt and debris. The newcomers began to unload before the vehicle reached a full stop. People shouted greetings across the camp.

Refocusing on her task, Axandra thought of nothing. She emptied her mind of everything except the dwindling pile in front of her and the warm suns bronzing her skin. The work was back-breaking. She began to feel sore in muscles she hadn't known existed. Still she kept working.

Stepping into the midst of a collapsed room, she bent to lift a wooden stick of furniture with her gloved hands, only to find it heavier than she expected. Struggling, she tugged multiple times to work it free.

A dual shadow came from behind her, falling across her back and arms. Her skin suddenly felt cooler with the suns blocked.

“Let me help you with that,” said a man. He joined her in lifting and carrying the piece to another cart.

“Thank you,” Axandra said, turning to her assistant. She felt stunned to find Quinn standing there. “You? What are you doing here?”

“Helping my fellow humans,” Quinn boasted. “I heard more help was needed here, so I hopped on the next bus. Dear, you look exhausted. You need to take a break.”

Knowing what he'd say next, Axandra shook her head and turned back to her pile to keep working. “I can't right now,” she said firmly. “There's too much to do.” She hoisted another whole tile onto her cart, knowing that if she stopped moving, she would feel the need to sit and then she might not get up again.

Quinn's arrival threw a stone into the still surface of her mind and the ripples churned up the worries she suppressed with physical labor. She stood still next to the cart, staring at her gloved hands. Quinn's footsteps crunched over the rubble as he approached behind her.

“Are you all right?” he asked in a whisper.

Her body began to tremble. “No,” she rasped, her voice choked by the tightness in her throat. She could not fight the grimace that contorted her mouth and eyes, nor could she stop the hot tears that streamed down her cheeks. Hiding beneath her hat, she didn't want anyone to see. Her purpose was to give them hope and assurance.

“Let's take a little walk,” Quinn coaxed, his hands on her shoulders to steer her away from the active part of the ruined village. One of the Elite began to follow them. The two guards were the only ones anywhere near her as she worked. Everyone else left her alone.

“Do you mind, fella?” Quinn confronted the guard.

“Ben, it's all right,” Axandra said in a gravelly voice, signally the guard to back off.

“Madam, Ty gave us strict orders—”

“I have had enough of Ty Narone and his orders!” she hissed, glaring up at Ben with burning, tear-filled eyes. “Leave me alone!” Turning on her heel, she hurried away from both of them at a half-run, stopping only when shielded from the villagers by the broad trunk of a naked tree. Above her the stripped branches hung broken and twisted, exposing the bright taupe of wounded wood. She leaned against the rough bark and covered her face.

Quinn's footsteps followed. At the moment, he was the only person she wanted to see.

Axandra took off her woven hat and looked up at him from her seat on the gnarled roots of the tree. He crouched down next to her and quietly put an arm around her shoulders. He sat there patiently, saying nothing but, just by way of his presence, offering to listen.

When she could control her voice again, she began. “I couldn't sleep the entire way here,” she said. She spoke softly, even though she sensed no one else around. “I kept going over things in my head, worrying about how to take care of these people on top of everything else. Now we've lost their homes and most of their food. Where are they going to go? When can we rebuild this? I don't know these things. I can hear those questions in their minds and they keep looking at me to give them some indication. But I can't.” Talking calmed her breathing and the tears stopped flowing. Her eyes stung with fatigue. The muscles in her arms and legs loosened up, becoming more like jelly than muscles. Every part of her ached. “All I can give them is my labor.”

“Axandra,” Quinn said, speaking her name as though the sound were a treasure to him, a secret only he could speak. He patted her bent knee. “Do you see all of these people? Every one of them will do whatever is in their power to put everything right again. And they will work until it's finished. And each of them knows that they have a limit to what they can give. Each one has a family to care for at home. Some will get tired of lifting and hauling. Others will come to replace them. They do this because they know that alone, one person can't do everything. Only together can things be accomplished. You—the embodiment of everything our people believe in—you have forgotten this. You try to do everything yourself and you never ask for help.”

“I don't have anyone to ask,” she lamented. “I'm alone.”

He chuckled at her expense. “It seems to me that there are about six hundred thousand people on this planet. Surely one of them can be helpful.”

“Only you.” Hearing her own words, she went rigid with surprise. She hadn't expected to say those two words together and mean it the way it sounded. She had just admitted something that seemed very profound to her own soul.

When she was with Quinn, she didn't feel alone.

“Well, like I said,” Quinn responded as though the matter was settled. “I guess I'm right, then. There is one.”

An awkward moment of silence passed between them.

“So, can I help you over to the baths to get cleaned up?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

“If I weren't so exhausted, I'd think you were being very forward.”

“I am being forward,” Quinn admitted, getting to his feet with a grunt. “But don't worry about any indiscretions. Frankly, you stink right now.”

The reaction he got from her was laughter. The sound began as a small chuckle. Like a leak in the dam, the chuckles broke through into all out guffaws, a deep therapeutic gut-busting that went on for several minutes. He couldn't help but join in and together they released frustrations and worries. At last, when they just couldn't laugh anymore, she leaned into his arms and sighed.

+++

7th Octember

After three days,
Quinn decided that it was time for him to finish his intended trip. With the new evacuation orders, he decided he would ready his house for refugees of the tides.

“I really think I should let someone else have the place,” he said over their last meal together. “There's a young couple that just got married last month. They are on the waiting list for the next available house. I should give it to them. I'm hardly ever there anyway.”

“Where will you call home?” Axandra asked, somewhat distressed about anyone cutting their ties to a place. She had done so twice. First when she ran away, and secondly when she left Gammerton so abruptly. She regretted the cuts now more than she ever expected to.

“My mother lives in North Compass,” Quinn told her reassuringly. “That's my true home anyway, where I was born and where I grew up.”

A large group gathered together for dinner this evening, all collected under the large tent. The wind blew in from the north, bringing in the arctic chill reminiscent of winter. When the suns went down, the chill bit at the skin.

“That's very generous of you,” she praised half-heartedly.

“You don't approve?” he pried.

“No, I don't,” Axandra answered honestly. “Everyone should have a place to retreat to, somewhere to 'hang your hat,' as they say.”

“I hang my hat wherever I find a hook,” Quinn retorted. “I don't feel at home when I'm in Lazzonir unless my friends are visiting. I travel all over. I have friends in many places. To me, it's the people, not the place.”

After they ate their meal, Quinn tapped on Axandra's shoulder and they sneaked out of the tent quietly, escaping the eyes of almost everyone except a small girl who watched the Protectress since dinner started. Axandra flashed the girl a playful smile. In turn, the girl smiled, giggled, and shyly hid her face in a blanket.