Star Hunters (11 page)

Haribu seemed puzzled, expecting them to move on, and when they continued to sit, talking occasionally, he jabbed at them again and again, as the sun left the mountains behind and slid up into the greenish sky.

After a long silence, Aleytys said, “Your wife is lovely.”

Manoreh resented her words; she knew that immediately. He didn't like her talking about Kitosime. “Yes,” he said curtly.

Aleytys smiled, wiggled her toes, then yawned. “Point taken. Off limits.”

Reluctantly at first, then with words flooding out, he capitulated to her interest and his own worry. “Kitosime. I don't understand her. She's changed. She was always difficult. Wanted me to settle down, leave the Tembeat, take up my father's Holding.” He rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes. “This land. She wanted to get away from Kobe. I didn't realize. I never could talk to her. Never tried much. We quarreled. She was drugging herself. Fezza seed, I think. Hodarzu
FEELS
. We'll have to start training him soon, take him to the Tembeat, don't know how she'll take that, she hates the Tembeat. What's she going to do alone at the Holding? She's never done anything for herself except endless embroidery. How is she going to manage?”

Aleytys put her hand on his arm and snatched it back as the link intensified almost beyond bearing. “Don't be stupid, Manoreh. The Kitosime I saw in that car will do what she has to do to survive. If she has a little time and isn't forced to react on instinct, she'll figure out what she doesn't know. Believe me, it's not that hard. I was raised in a house a lot like this one. Like Kitosime I was forced out of a familiar pattern of life into something totally unknown to me.” She shivered. “Leave or be burned at the stake as a demon. The choice wasn't hard to make. I went into a wilderness alone with no training whatsoever. And I survived. Kitosime has her familiar house around her. But she won't fit back into the old life once this is over. You'll have to face that, Manoreh.”

He was startled and stared at her, his dismay flooding her. He felt her hurting and was immediately sorry, then annoyed as he felt her impatience.

“Don't worry, she won't be like me.” Aleytys chuckled. “You make very clear how much that thought charms you. However, I warn you, my friend, if you thought she was difficult before, just wait until she gets a taste of independence.” She shook her head. “It's habit-forming.”

Haribu began probing again, attracted by the sudden burst of strong emotion.

They sat in silence, side by side, shutting themselves away from Haribu and partially from each other. The sun crept higher and the air warmed.

“Do you have children?” Manoreh asked suddenly.

The pain was immediate and intense. She hadn't thought of Sharl for a long time; it did no good, only made her sick and aching with the loss of her baby. Manoreh's uncomprehending remorse broke into her pain. She sucked in a deep breath. “No problem,” she said. “I have a son. I haven't seen him for almost four years now. May never see him again. It's a long, complicated story. He's living with his father. He think I'm dead. He was asleep beside his half brother last time I saw him. My baby. I.…” She pushed at her hair. “I couldn't keep him. He almost died because of me. And there are still … my life is too complicated … unsteady. He's better off with his father. My cousin is his stepmother, a loving, gentle woman. Brothers and sisters to laugh and play with. A quiet healthy life.” She looked down then jumped to her feet and ran lightly down the stairs. By the Mother Well she turned and faced him, “Forget that. It's over and there's no changing what is and must be. And I'm hungry. Any more of those sandwiches?”

Manoreh came slowly down the steps, frowning, confused. “I thought you and the other Hunter were wed.”

Aleytys ran her fingers through her hair and laughed. “No indeed. He's my boss.” She danced to the patient faras and began working at the straps holding saddlebags shut. “I'm a poor, downtrodden apprentice, Manoreh, trying to earn my independence. Umph.” She touched the rough texture of a round loaf. “Don't you believe in wrapping these things?”

“He doesn't act like that.” He took the sandwich and held it while she brought out the last of the loaves.

“You're misreading. Watch that, friend.” She sank her teeth into the bread and tore off a mouthful. Then walked slowly back to the porch enjoying the taste of the food.

“I don't understand.”

Aleytys swallowed. “You're an empath and a strong one. But you let your rearing skew your reading.” She grinned at him. “I'm not complaining, mind you. If you knew how many times I've fallen over my own feet for the same reason.”

A sudden flare of anger from him that held a touch of the madness of blindrage informed her she'd made a mistake with her sympathy. He wasn't prepared to accept fellowship with a woman. “Sorry,” she said, “but you see what I mean.”

He stalked away, leaving her standing alone at the foot of the stairs. She saw him charge through the arch and vanish around the wall. “Well.” She climbed the stairs and sat down on the bench. “You'd better start adjusting a little, my friend, or Kitosime will shock you out of your feeble mind when you get back to her.” She took another bite from the sandwich and leaned back, chewing thoughtfully.

Chapter XII

The wildings came shyly into the courtyard. Two boys and a girl. Dirty faces, starved bodies, wearing a few rags. Kitosime stood on the porch and watched them sidle around in the morning shadows like small brown ghosts. Fragments of emotion blew across the court. Curiosity. Hunger. Fear. Uncertainty. Desire. And most of all a wistful hunger for affection and mothering.

Kitosime sat down on the top step and wondered what she should do. They were wildings. She didn't want Hodarzu around wildings. But they were children. And hungry. They drew together and huddled against the Mother Well, seeking support in physical contact. She leaned forward. “Don't be afraid,” she said, trying to keep her voice soft and welcoming. She smiled at them. Children. Her eyes lingered on the girl with a fascination she was reluctant to admit to herself. Girls weren't supposed to
FEEL
or go wild. But here was proof, if she'd needed it. She'd suppressed her own ability to
FEEL
, instinctively sensing its danger. She smiled again. “You must know I won't hurt you.”

Wide eyes watched her intently. The boys were bolder. After a few minutes they were grinning at her and edging toward her. The girl remained crouched by the well, watching her, suspicious, yet desperately wanting to trust, needing the warmth and affection she feared.

More urgent than all the complex and contradictory emotions there was the children's demanding hunger.

“Wait.” Kitosime walked slowly back across the porch, then fled through the house to the kitchen. The quick-bread she'd attempted earlier sat on the table. A little uneven in spots, but edible. Cheese and meat on a plate waiting for her own first meal. She hadn't tried anything more complicated yet. Hodarzu was still sleeping. She worried briefly about what to feed him.
Better start working on that soon
, she thought. Then she shrugged.
Later
. She cut open three loaves, fought with meat and cheese, hacking off ragged chunks. She put the crude sandwiches in a small basket, added a crock of milk and three mugs.

Wondering if the wildings had understood her enough to wait, she walked carefully through the house, carrying the basket and the crock. She paused just inside the door to order her emotions and quiet her breathing. Then she pushed it open and walked back to the steps.

They were still there, across the courtyard, watching her. She settled herself on the bottom step, holding the basket on her knees and looking at the children. At her smile they edged closer, eyes fixed on the basket. She rested her hand on the basket's edge. “Yes, I have food for you. I suppose you don't remember your names.”

The two boys came a bit closer. She could feel them wanting the food but still afraid of her. The girl sidled nearer but stayed several steps behind the boys. Kitosime could feel her terror and her cramping hunger. All the pain of her own childhood was there in the dirty, meager flesh of this small girl. Kitosime looked from one silver-green face to the next, feeling a growing excitement as an idea struck her. “I'll give you names.”

They eyed her warily, understanding none of the words and confused by her emotion.

The tallest boy was closest. She pointed at him. He shied but stayed where he was because there was no threat accompanying the gesture. “You will be Amea,” she said firmly. “Amea.”

He stared at her, no comprehension in his indigo eyes.

Kitosime sighed and turned to the smaller boy. “I'll call you Wame.” He was darker green than the other two, with only a hint of silver where the bone was close to the surface of the skin. There was a lively intelligence in his round face, but the name meant nothing at all to him. “Wame,” she repeated. She waited. Again no response.

When she spoke to the girl her voice was softer, more coaxing. “You will be S'kiliza. S'kiliza. S'kiliza. Ah, child, understand me. S'kiliza.”

The girl shifted uneasily, then she came slowly up and curved her skinny body against the largest boy's side.

Kitosime touched the crock of milk beside her, eyes thoughtful. “You spoke once,” she murmured. “Not so long ago.” As she placed mugs by the crock, the boys edged yet closer; the girl came reluctantly with them, still clinging to the largest boy. Kitosime lifted one of the round loaves. “Amea, this is for you.”

Both boys rushed toward her, grabbing for the bread.

She dropped it back with the others and hugged the basket tight to her breasts. “No!” She shook her head. Once again she looked from one to the other, demanding their attention. “No,” she said more softly. “Before you eat, you'll have to answer to your names.” Pointing to each in turn, she named them. Again and again she named them. Amea. Wame. S'kiliza. Their painful confusion and their clamoring hunger touched her like pats of fire, but she kept control of herself and repeated the lesson with iron patience. The sun crept upward and warmed the air in the courtyard as the children squatted on the painted tiles and struggled to understand what was being demanded of them.

Kitosime's shoulders ached and her voice grew hoarse. Her hand moved around the circle again. Again she repeated the names. A spark lighted suddenly in the smaller boy's eyes. He jumped to his feet and waited impatiently for her finger to come back to him and her voice to make the sound. “Wame,” she whispered.

He beat excitedly on his chest and nodded. He took a step toward her, still nodding. The other two tried to come with him, but he pushed them back and came eagerly up to her.

Shaking with triumph and tiredness she poured milk into one of the mugs and handed it to him, then gave him a sandwich, suppressing a shudder of distaste at the sight of his cracked fingernails, black with old dirt, and at a wicked half-healed scratch spiraling up his bone-thin arm.

He squatted beside her gulping the milk and nearly choking on the meat and bread. Kitosime closed her eyes a moment, then began the tedious naming once again.

The girl responded next, snatched the food and darted across the court to sit in the shadows on the far side, close to the arch where she felt more secure.

The oldest boy was the last, perhaps because he was older than the others and had spent the most time in the wild forgetting speech. Kitosime watched him, speaking the name she'd given him over and over, hoping for the slightest spark of understanding. Wondering, as she voiced the word, why wildings didn't speak. As far as she knew no one had ever asked himself that question or attempted to find the answer. It was a part of the shame of going wild, a part of returning to the animal. They could speak once. Why did they stop?

Finally the boy stepped forward. She couldn't be sure whether he really grasped the idea that Amea was his name, a sound belonging to him alone, or only responded when she called him because there was no one else left. He took the bread and milk and squatted beside Wame.

Both boys crammed their mouths full, gulped at the milk, the excess dribbling from the corners of their working mouths. Across the court the girl ate just as avidly at first, then glancing repeatedly at Kitosime out of shy-sly dark eyes, she disciplined her hunger and ate in quick small bites, quiet and neat.

Kitosime rose cautiously and moved slowly back into the house for a basin of warm water, some towels and a bar of soap. She settled herself back on the bottom step and waited until the wildings finished their food. Then she called them. Once again Wame was the first to respond. She took his hand gently. Then she began sponging away the grime and stains from his soft young skin.

He projected
PLEASURE
. and bent down so she could wash his face.

S'kiliza came eagerly to be washed, not waiting to be called. She thrust out grubby hands and projected
DESIRE
. And sighed with pleasure. And projected
PLEASURE
, once her hands, arms and face were clean. Amea wouldn't let Kitosime touch him, but he did take the rags and soap and wash himself.

Kitosime stood and walked slowly up onto the porch.
No turning back
, she thought. She pushed open the door and turned to face the children. Fumbling at old barriers she struggled to project
INVITATION/REASSURANCE
to them. They watched her silently. “Trust me,” she said huskily. “Look, I'll wedge the door open.” She knelt, found the triangular bit of wood kept next to the wall and shoved it under the door. Then she stood and tugged at the edge of the door, showing them how solidly it was braced open. “You'll be free to come and go.” She noted briefly how much speaking aloud sharpened the
REASSURANCE
she was still trying to project. “Come in,” she repeated. “There's no one here but my son and I and fee's asleep. You don't have to be afraid.” As she spoke she moved away from the great hall.