Star Hunters (13 page)

“Ah no. Ah no. Ah no. No!” Radiating
FEAR, HORROR, ANGER
, Kitosime stumbled down the stairs reaching for her son. “No. You won't be wild. Noooo.…” Her foot caught in the hem of the dresscloth and she fell headlong on the tiles. For a moment shock paralyzed her, then she scrambled frantically to her feet and searched for her son.

The children had stopped their game, turned to face her briefly, mouths open in silent screams. As she fell, they wheeled and fled through the arch. Hodarzu fled with them. Kitosime ran to the arch, limping and awkward from the developing pain in her body. She stood rigid in the arch staring out at the silent empty fields, drowning in pain and fear, not her own fear alone, but the memory of the children's fear, of her own son's fear.

She walked heavily to the steps and sat down, looking slowly and blindly around.
My fault
, she thought.
My own stupid fault. I drove them off. Hodarzu
.… She was too shocked to cry.

A small hand touched her arm. She stiffened then lifted her head. S'kiliza stood beside her, indigo eyes troubled. She patted Kitosime's arm again and projected
COMFORT
. Then she pulled Hodarzu from behind her and pushed him toward Kitosime.

The small boy looked hesitantly at Kitosime, reaching toward her, whimpering. She swept him up and hugged him to her, radiating her joy. He snuggled against her, hiding his tear-stained face in the folds of her dresscloth. Then the wilding children were all around her, patting her, projecting their silent laughter, small dirty hands touching her repeatedly until she was the center of a whirlwind of emotion, sharing for a fragile moment their swift, free communion.

She laughed aloud and jumped to her feet, running into the center of the courtyard, still holding Hodarzu in her arms. She danced, wheeling around the Mother Well, the children wheeling and dancing with her. She felt freer than she could remember, the euphoria breaking through the rigid controls she held on her mind and body, so that for a brief time she was projecting and receiving, merging with the group in a flow of love and joy and hope and satisfaction that made nonsense of separate bodies, merging all in the sheer joy of unthinking physical movement.

But the barriers would not stay down. Panting, still laughing, relaxed until her muscles felt soft as cheese and even her bones felt warm inside, she hefted Hodarzu onto her shoulder and strolled toward the house.

At the stairs she felt a puzzling aura of expectancy building behind her. Hodarzu wriggled in her arms. “Down,” he demanded. She let him slide to the steps and turned to face the children.

They were standing by the Mother Well. Amea, Wame, S'kiliza. As she watched a strange boy came through the arch, hesitated, then walked to the Well. Two other children followed him, a small scowling boy and a girl.

Kitosime smiled. “Be welcome, children.”

The sense of expectancy increased. Six sets of eyes were on her, waiting for something to happen, asking her to do something.

“I don't understand.”

S'kiliza projected
IMPATIENCE
. She jerked Wame in front of her then dropped crosslegged on the tiles. She pantomimed holding something up then shook her finger at Wame. He shuffled, projected
PUZZLEMENT
over his glee. She shook her finger again. He projected
UNDERSTANDING
, then walked around to stand beside her facing the others. S'kiliza jumped to her feet and grinned at Kitosime.

Kitosime nodded. “Come here, little one.” When S'kiliza came to her, she hugged her and said, “You'll have to help me.” She looked over the girl's head toward the mountains.
When you come back I'll have a thing or two to show you, Manoreh my husband
. Aloud she said, “All right, we try. Amea, come here.”

The boy hesitated then came to her. The other three started to follow. Kitosime pushed S'kiliza forward. “Make them wait till they're called.” When S'kiliza looked puzzled, she pushed her hands forward repeatedly as if she were pushing the new wildings back. She pointed at the three and Wame and pushed again. S'kiliza's thin face lit up and she nodded. She pulled Amea back with her and stood proudly glaring at the newcomers.

“Amea,” Kitosime called again. The boy grinned and trotted over to stand beside her. S'kiliza and Wame stopped the others before they could move.

“Wame.” He gave a last look at the new ones and joined Amea.

“S'kiliza.” The girl came smiling to Kitosime and slid her hand into the older woman's.

A ceremony of naming
, Kitosime thought.
A rite for rejoining an abandoned world
. She trembled with a vision of the future, of reclaiming more and more of the wildings. Sighing, she let her eyes move over the three new children. Two boys and a girl. The tallest and oldest of the boys looked as shy and wary as the spotted chul cat. She pointed a finger at him. “Cheo. Your name will be Cheo.” She turned to the smaller boy. His left hand was curled crookedly with a long braided scar curving up from his thumb to a great gouge out of his shoulder muscle. He had a closed, cold look, not quite hostile now. He was waiting, judging. “Liado.” She tried to put all the warmth and acceptance she could in her voice. “Your name is Liado.”

The wilding girl stood very straight, looking back at her with an odd combination of yearning and hostility. The yearning intensified as her dark eyes glanced at S'kiliza leaning against Kitosime, her head pressed into the curve of Kitosime's hip.

Kitosime smiled at her. “Mara,” she said. “You are Mara.”

As before, she went around the circle and named them again and again, evoking no spark of understanding in the blank animal eyes watching her. Her hand continued to move, pointing to one after the other as she named them. Finally she stopped and looked at them. They were beginning to smudge into shadow as the sunset colors faded from the sky. “Well,” she said. “We try now. Cheo,” she called. “Cheo, come here.”

None of the wildings moved. S'kiliza stirred impatiently. A small growling sound burst from her. Kitosime looked down, startled. “So you really can speak,” she whispered. “Meme Kalamah grant, you'll be talking again.” She closed her eyes a moment, trying to hold on to a measure of calm. Then she called again, “Cheo, come here.”

She could feel S'kiliza dancing impatiently beside her. Wame pressed into her other side, jiggling nervously, projecting
IMPATIENCE
at the new ones. Kitosime noted with some surprise that neither was projecting any kind of summoning—another indication of the importance of this ceremony to them. Amea was less passionately involved. He was sitting on the top step waiting patiently for the thing to end.

“Cheo,” she called as a pair of almost synchronized
Che's
sounded from the children beside her. “Cheo, come,” she called once more, echoed on each side by the children, “Che' co'.”

The boy took a hesitant step forward. S'kiliza and Wame vibrated with excitement. Then he walked over to them. Kitosime smiled at him. She reached out. He winced away from her hand, but stood quiet as she smoothed her palm down his cheek and onto his shoulder, a gentle caress that matched the smile on her face and the
GLADNESS
she was projecting. Then he walked around her and went to sit beside Amea on the top step.

Kitosime fixed her eyes on the small boy. “Liado,” she said quietly. “Come here.”

“'Ado co', 'Ado co', 'Ado co'.” The two children were jumping up and down excitedly, echoing her, speaking more easily now.

The boy broke suddenly and ran to her, burying his head against her, shaking all over. She stroked gently the matted, greasy hair, saying his name softly over and over until his shuddering stopped. Then he pulled away and went to stand silently beside Wame.

Mara stood drowned in shadow, a lonely, wary figure. Kitosime tightened her lips, annoyed at herself and at the conditioning that made her put the boys first without thinking. She saw Mara wince and move back, hurt by the emotion but unwilling to run out alone into the darkness. Kitosime projected
WARMTH
as best she could. She waited until Mara stopped moving about then called, “Mara, come here.”

She heard giggling on each side and “Mar' co', Mar' co'.”

Mara walked with slow pride toward them. Kitosime could feel her urgency and appreciate the self-control it took not to break and run like Liado. She could also see the remnants of Bighouse training and wondered how the child had escaped. Her need must have been terrible. Mara stopped in front of her. Kitosime extended her hand, palm up. Mara laid her palm on it. “Be welcome, sister,” Kitosime said quietly. “You honor my house.”

Mara recognized the sounds and smiled shyly. Kitosime felt the small hand trembling on hers. She held out her arms. Mara came into them, pressing her body against Kitosime's, shaking as badly as Liado, weeping and fearful and filled with a tentative joy.

When Mara had quieted, Kitosime worked herself free and walked tiredly up the stairs onto the porch with the six wildings and a silent Hodarzu trailing behind her. As she pushed open the front door, she wondered how her soup was doing.
Looks like I'll need it and the bread and cheese too
.

The new wildings hesitated at the door. Kitosime smiled at them and kicked the wedge in place. “Don't worry, little ones. You can come and go as you will.” S'kiliza giggled and ran to the door. She tugged at it to show the others how it would stay open.

When the children had been washed, fed the thick savory soup whose taste made Kitosime smile with pride, along with the bread and cheese, and finally coaxed to bed in the dormitory, Hodarzu with them, Kitosime began to relax. She was still too keyed up to sleep, so she climbed the Manstairs to the roofwalk.

The moonring was in its narrow phase, not giving much light. She looked out over the plain and again felt the quiet pleasure in being alone. She sat down behind the railing, leaning back against one of the shrine posts. The night breeze coiled around her, touching her with a pleasant coolness. Wisps of clouds were blowing across the sky and beginning to pile up.
A storm tomorrow
, she thought.
Or late tonight
.

She felt a stirring on her breast. With an exclamation of disgust she slapped at herself, then gasped in surprise. Not a bug. The eyestones were moving in the neck pouch. She'd forgotten them. She closed her hand over the pouch and felt a warmth through the thin leather. The wind blew colder over her. She crackled with energy, could feel small snappings where her hair touched the shrine behind her. Then the power slipped out of her and she was only tired and a little frightened. Hastily she jumped to her feet and hurried down the stairs to her room.

The watuk grunted and swung over the top of the gate, ignoring the glass shards that tore at his flesh. He hung for a moment, blood sliding down his arms. Face set in a snarl, eyes glazed, breath rasping between his teeth, he was anesthetized by the fury of his blindrage. He dropped, falling badly. One leg buckled under him. Again he ignored the pain as he pushed up and limped to the counterweight. He set bloody palms on the stone and shoved. The gate slammed open and the mob surged in, its silence broken now by growls and wordless roars.

The silence and emptiness of the courtyard defeated them temporarily. They milled about, searching for something to vent their rage on. Then one watuk howled and ran at the Tembeat building. He swung an ax against the great front door, sinking the blade several inches into the wood. He jerked it loose and swung again. With an ululating growl the watuk mob converged on the building, breaking in the windows, wrenching off shutters, pouring inside to carry on their destruction. They tore down hangings, threw books in piles on the floor, tossed on armloads of clothing and anything else flammable they could lay hands on, then they set fire to these piles.

The Director watched the black, oily smoke coil out the broken windows and shivered at the howling.
Animals
, he thought. He glanced down the length of the stable loft.
Six men. Seven, counting me. Not enough. Not near enough
. The stable was a-strong solid building, a good place to defend with its thick walls and the slit windows lined down one side. He checked his rifle again, leaned it against the wall, then tucked the spare ammunition into a neat pile beside the butt. He looked at his teachers. Six men reclaimed from the wild. Sheltered here because they had no place outside. Saved from Fa-fires to be torn apart by a mob of bigots in blindrage. For a moment he felt a useless old man. He closed his eyes, sunk in a black depression that sucked out his strength. He was old, far too old. Old and futile.

Then he thought of the boys hiding somewhere in the Chwereva complex behind him. And the Rangers Zart, Adeleneh and Surin still out mapping and exploring the land on the far side of the Jinolimas. And Faiseh and Manoreh. He chuckled softly. That thick-head Dallan hadn't understood what Manoreh was after. His need to swallow the ghost was real, but he used it to get out of Kiwanji with a groundcar in spite of the general prohibition, used it to put his nose on Haribu's trail. The old man wished them luck, hoped the Hunters would prove as good as men said they were.
Six teachers and one old legend
. He laughed aloud, drawing surprised looks from the others. He didn't bother trying to explain.
An old legend
. They all sang his songs, told wild tales of his achievements. And forgot him entirely. Angaleh the wanderer. Poet and maker of songs. A disturber of the peace better pushed into myth where he couldn't prick people into questioning the basic assumptions of this society. Now he was the Director. After twenty years he'd almost forgotten who he was once. No one had called him by name in all those years. And now he was going to die.
I'd rather be out with Manoreh
, he thought.
But so it goes
.