Star Hunters (22 page)

“Don't need him, you got us.” Wame took hold of her wrist and shook her arm, radiating a deep and bitter jealousy. Kitosime looked at the others and sensed the same thing in them. “My dears.…” She turned helplessly from one to the other. “Oh, Meme Kalamah, there isn't time.” She crawled through the children to the stairs, keeping below the railing so her silhouette wouldn't show to the men in the field. “Come,” she said softly. “We can talk about this later. Now we have to deal with the Fa-men.” She went down the stairs, straightening up until she was once more walking erect. The children followed silently behind.

Kitosime slipped into the barn and stood watching the Fa-men in the great hay storage vault. Sniffer was prancing about the huddled wilding children, jabbing at them with the assegai, his shrill, unlovely voice raised in a wailing chant. Fa-kichwa sat a little apart, a small drum resting on his crossed legs. He was beating out the chant rhythm. In the feeble lamplight she could see that several children were bleeding and all of them were numb with terror, glassy-eyed, slack mouthed, slumped over. She closed her eyes, closed her hands into fists, summoned her courage. Then she arranged her features into her doll mask and stepped gracefully into the light. She moved in a gentle, swaying walk to stand in front of the Fa-Mchwa, one hand stretched out to him. “I have come,” she murmured.

Fa-kichwa frowned. “You come too early, lady. Go back to the house and wait.”

She went to her knees with a serpentine movement that brought sweat to his face. He'd kept his hands moving on the drum, but now the beat faltered. “Must I?” she said softly. “The dark frightens me.”

He rested his hand on the drumhead. “You came.”

“In fear. I can't go back, not alone.” Her breathing stilled. Would he tell her to stay or would he escort her back? Which was stronger, his fanaticism or his lust? She dropped her eyes modestly, bowed her head before him, displaying the gentle curve of her long neck.

The kichwa glanced at Sniffer. Then he stood. “Continue,” he said sternly. “I will return in a few minutes.”

Kitosime watched Sniffer from the corner of her eye, wondering if he would protest. But he shrugged and took up the chant again. Fa-kichwa thrust a hand at her. “Come.”

The walk back to the house was a nightmare. His hands moved over her body. His breathing was hoarse and rapid by the time they reached the kitchen. Fa-men were supposed to remain celibate before a fire but he'd forgotten everything beyond wanting her. He pushed her through the kitchen door and into the room that was lit by a single lamp and filled with swaying shadows. Kitosime started toward the door into the main house but he stopped her. “Here,” he said hoarsely. He pulled the broochpin from the rollknot of her dresscloth, pulled the cloth away from her body and tossed it to one side. Then he was on her, pushing her down, squeezing her breasts, mouth slobbering over her, kneeing her legs apart.

Cheo came out of the shadows and drove the butcher knife into his back. It went completely through the Fa-kichwa and scratched Kitosime between her ribs. Lost in a hurricane of blindrage, Cheo jerked the knife out and stabbed again and again, until Amea and the others pulled him off.

Kitosime shoved Fa-kiohwa's body off her and sat up, gasping and nauseated. She wiped absently at the trickle of blood, then huddled on her knees vomiting until she was shivering with exhaustion. Then Mara was beside her with a cool wet cloth. The girl bathed Kitosime's face and helped her to sit up. Between them, the two girls sponged the blood and stains from the woman's trembling body. Kitosime gradually stopped shaking. She looked into the anxious eyes and smiled, projected
APPRECIATION/LOVE
. She stood and took the dresscloth from Mara, twisted the rollknot into place. She looked around vaguely. “Anyone seen my broochpin?” S'kciliza shook her head and crawled about the floor looking for it.

Kitosime went to the silent boys. She folded Cheo in her arms and held his trembling body close for a long time. “You saved me from a terrible thing,” she said softly. “Thank you.” She examined the others. “You all right?”

Amea shrugged. Wame nodded. Liado said nothing, just stood shivering, eyes wild. Kitosime brushed her hand across her face. Worse than she'd expected. The killing had disturbed them deeply. With light touches she projected
COMFORT/LOVE/GOOD/ACCEPTANCE
and stroked them until some of the dark mood was gone. Liado leaned against her, relaxed now and heavy. She turned to the girls. “You could stay here.”

Mara scowled. “No,” she said and looked for support to S'kiliza. S'kiliza sat up and shook her head. “We come,” she said.

“It's the Sniffer in the barn.”

“And wildings.” Mara smiled fiercely. “I go.”

“No!” Kitosime thrust out a hand. “Mara.…”

“No. What you do, mama 'Tosime, I do.” She lifted her chin and marched out of the kitchen. Kitosime snatched her broochpin from S'kiliza and ran after her, jabbing the pin through the rollknot as she ran.

Cheo growled, swept the others with angry eyes, then ran out with them following on his heels.

When Mara slipped into the barn, Sniffer was squatting beside the abandoned drum, eyes fixed on the dazed wildings. “Fa-kichwa say you come,” she gasped out. “Wildings. In the garden. He got, but need help.” She stood panting, a slender immature figure in her simple dresscloth, obviously excited. One glance at the wildings reassured Sniffer. They weren't going anywhere. He limped over to Mara, his short leg dragging badly.

“Where?” he shrilled.

“Follow.” She ran out.

When he plunged through the door, he tripped over S'kiliza crouched in front of the opening. Then the boys were on him. The knives flashed and he was quickly as dead as the Fa-kichwa. Kitosime came out of the shadows projecting
CALM/QUIET/PEACE
to damp the excitement, rage and terror surging through the children. She went from one to the other, stroking them, touching, patting, soothing. She was hating this. More and more she saw how the killing was hurting the children. Especially the older boys. She hugged Amea a long time, loving him, approving him, soothing the violent emotions that were tearing him apart, then did the same for Cheo.

When the children were finally calmed, she led them into the barn.

The wildings had begun to recover from their terror trance. They stopped working at the neck rope when they sensed the newcomers, stiffening again with fear.

Kitosime stopped. “Cheo,” she whispered. “Amea. Cut off that rope. Wame, the rest of you. Calm them. Don't let them run out of here in panic. Though the hounds are tied up in the courtyard, there are two Fa-men left out there.” She nodded toward the back of the barn.

With the resilience of youth, the boys grinned as they ran to free the wildings. The bloody knives cut the rope from their necks. Once free, the boys fluttered about in the swift fluid communing of the wildings.

Kitosime leaned against one of the supports.
Two more Fa-men. Do we have to kill them too? These are children, they shouldn't have to kill men
. She swung around against the wood, ignoring the prick of splinters stabbing into her skin. She knew the other two Fa-men had to die.
We live or they live
, she thought.
I wish
.… She touched the eyestones.
Manoreh, Manoreh, I begin to see why you couldn't bear to stay here. But I wish you were here now. If the boys have to kill again
.…

She moved back to the children. The new wildings were seated in a tight half circle. They were five boys, blood drying on their dirty hides. They stared at her, still wary of adults.

“Cheo, will they stay? They can go if they are careful, do they know that?”

“They know. Know too it better to stay. We kill Fa-men and they safe. Fa-men run them long time. They have three girls with them, but make girls go off. This one.…” Cheo pointed to a painfully thin boy with great luminous eyes. “He very strong
FEELER
. He say girls, they come after, are close.” Cheo grinned. “He surprised that we talk.” His pride swelled.

With an amused snort, Kitosime pinched his ear. “Should have named you Big-man-who-talks-too-much,” she murmured. Then she frowned at the wildings, wondering what to do with them. “We need some way to pull the other Fa-men in here. One at a time.”

S'kiliza tugged at her arm. “My turn,” she said. “I tell one that Fa-kichwa want him in here. Just like Mara. When he come in.…” She jerked her hand up and down.

While Kitosime was trying to decide what had to be done, she heard a keening whine that passed over the barn and swooped down until it sounded as if it was right outside. She wheeled to face the door, vibrating to a touch that was unbelievably familiar, unbelievably welcome.

Manoreh stood in the door, Faiseh behind him. Then he stepped inside, smiling at her.

When the night turned bright as day, Umeme nearly dropped the waterskin he and Havih had just filled at the trough in the stable's corral. He grabbed Havih and dropped flat, then crawled for the inky shadow at the end of the stable. The two boys pressed themselves against the wall and peered at the fading flare hanging above the eastern mountain peaks.

Havih nudged Umeme. “What's that?”

“Don't know.” Umeme frowned thoughtfully. “Here.” He thrust the waterskin at Havih. “Take this up into the loft and make sure the rest keep quiet. I'm going on the roof to take a look.”

He waited until Havih had slipped around the corner, then began climbing the extended edges of the wall. As he flipped onto the roof, he saw two Chwerevamen trot past, heading for the nearest energy gun. He frowned, wondered if that might cause problems for him and the other boys. After a minute he began working his way along the roof then up the shingles to the peak. At the top he looked around.

The last traces of the flare were washed into a faint cloud behind the mountains. He blinked, vaguely disturbed. There was a calm in the air that bothered him until he noticed the absence of the shrill, intermittent hum from the psi-screen. He examined the screen more closely. No more pulsing flickers. Then he strained toward the hare ring. For a moment he saw no change, then a hare staggered and collapsed against another already stretched out stiff on the ground.
They're dead
, he thought.
The Hunters did it. They're dead
.

He heard a growing murmur as the streets began to fill. Beneath him Chwereva compound was stirring. There were men now at each of the four guns. Hastily he slid down the roof, flipped over the edge, and half fell down the side of the stable to the ground. He hesitated in the shadow as several Chwerevamen trotted past, heading for the front gate, then he darted around the corner and through the small side door.

In the loft he found the boys steaming with curiosity. The concentrated emotion almost flattened him. “Hey,” he hissed. “Let me breathe.” He climbed onto a mound of hay. “Hares are dead. Or almost,” he said. As they leaped up, mouths open, he glared at them. “Quiet! We aren't out of this yet. We're all that's left of the Tembeat. You want to see the Director's death wasted. Or the teachers'?” When they calmed down, he said, “Havih, what's our first goal?”

“Sneak over the wall, get out of the city, steal a boat.” Havih grinned, and bowed to them all.

“Anrah, what's next?”

“We sail to the coast, then out to the islands. We pick an island where not too many people are.”

“Ketreh?”

“Find a place with water and maybe a house, or build a house. Start the Tembeat again.”

Umeme could feel their excitement rising. He projected
CALM/ASSURANCE
as best he could and when they quieted, said, “All right. Get your stuff. Havih, take care of the ropes. Ketreh, help him. We got to get out of here now. Kiwanji's waking up. Especially we got to get over the wall fast and quiet. Don't want the Chwerevamen to get after us with those guns. We go over near where the cistern is. Some shadow there. Got it? Good. Five minutes. Let's go.”

The line of boys slipped rapidly down the doubled rope, jerked it loose, then drifted through the clots of men, unnoticed in the growing confusion. They wound quickly through the streets, working toward the western side of the city where the river curved past.

A shout broke through the confused noise of the streets. At first it was a jumble of sound, then men came running into the center of the city yelling excitedly, “The hares. The hares are dead. The hares are dead!
THE HARES ARE DEAD
!”

The boys leaped over the low wall and ran for the river, moving along the riverside piers, scanning the boats tied up there. Most were the great flat-bottomed barges that had brought the clans here from the holdings, but here and there they saw smaller boats, ranging from one-man rowboats to more elaborate day-sailers. Umeme stopped beside a neat eight-meter craft. “This is good,” he said. “Climb in. Havih, you pick out two to help and get the sail set. I'll take the tiller for the first bit. The rest of you, haul your gear in and get yourselves stowed.” He stepped over the side quickly and sat beside the tiller, while the boys scurried.

They had the sail up in a few minutes. The boat was a little crowded with the fifteen boys and all their gear, but they paid no attention to discomfort, laughing and joking, released at last from their enforced silence. Umeme smiled, feeling the same release from tension, but being in charge, he couldn't let down too much. Ketreh flopped down beside him, the boom sheet in one hand. “We're ready,” he said.

“Wait a minute.” Havih jumped onto the rough dock and darted up the slope. He came back almost immediately, a hare body dangling from his hand. “Wanted to see what killed 'em,” he gasped. He tumbled into the boat, rocking it precariously, then crawled back to Umeme.

Umeme grunted. “Time to go. Qareh, get the bow line. Lerzu, the one by your elbow. Ketreh, pay out that sheet a little so the sail can catch some air.”