Warrior of the Ages (Warriors of the Ages) (35 page)

“Okay. Have fun.”

It took effort to keep the smile off his face. Fun was not in the job description but with Beth around maybe he’d have the opportunity to taste it at least now and then.

TORCHES WERE BLAZING in the courtroom of the cave. The stone chamber felt pleasantly cool after the humid August night, and excited voices filled his ears before Kahtar took his place near The Mother of Cultuelle Khristos. The Elders were smiling. It looked like good news had been had in Scotland.

“You’ll be pleased, Kahtar.” Anwyn D’Aval greeted him with a smile. Seated casually on stone benches with The Elders of the clan, she motioned him closer.

“Berwick’s men were rogue. Orange and Father Wixen located Elders from Berwick’s clan in the Scottish lowlands. Their Old Guard sensed ours, and they were very forthcoming about their rogue warriors. Apologetic even.”

Elder, Orange Stoddard at 130 years old, still dressed like a young Quester in leather trousers and cotton blouse, his long grizzled grey hair tucked back in a pony tail. Orange was good friends with Kahtar’s biological grandfather and had called him Son as long as he’d been known as Kahtar. Orange’s guarded eyes warned Kahtar that he wasn’t quite as comfortable or optimistic as The Mother.

“Son? They were not nearly as welcoming once they learned we were a Christian clan. Yet Father Wixen still invited them here.”

Kahtar tensed, glancing at Father Wixen, trusting and kind old Priest that he was, he’d never seen a day of battle in his life. The chubby Elder shuffled to stand, sandals peeking out from beneath the monk-like robe he wore.

“We are the only Christian clan they’ve ever had contact with. They want to open communication. Most of the clans in their area are secluded. They are small, less than two thousand strong.”

Taking in the atmosphere in the cave as quickly as a battlefield, Kahtar knew his opposition would be vetoed. Having the benefit of millennia of mistakes was his past alone. Cultuelle Khristos was far too trusting, a trait he both loved and hated. Time so often annihilated the most trusting, yet this was their path, to minister to their own people as their faith demanded.

“When are they coming?” Kahtar kept his eyes on Orange to gauge his trepidation.

The Mother said, “Late August, after salmon have their first run in Scotland, they have a celebration to coincide with it. They’ll come after and they want to meet Beth.”

Orange didn’t look happy but Kahtar turned away from him, angrily confronting The Mother. “Why? What for?”

The only answer from her was a faint frown. Orange replied, “They are called Clan Berwick, and Clan Berwick is intensely curious about an Orphan of the Inquisition assimilated into a clan. They claim they want to make a formal apology to Beth. I suspect that apology is contingent upon how worthy they find her. I suspect they want to see if she deserves an apology or is responsible for Berwick’s death. Despite his sins, Berwick was the second son of their leader.”

“That is completely natural.” The Mother’s voice was soothing. “They will see that Beth is honorable, as are we, they will see that it is Berwick who broke the laws of being, not Beth, and most certainly not us.”

Kahtar and Orange spoke in unison. “It is a risk.”

The Mother nodded, but a hint of a smile played over her lips. “As is life.”

Kahtar’s experience was simply frustrating in the face of such childish naivety. Brutal frankness was all he had patience for, and he faced Anwyn.

“I’m certain they do want to examine Beth’s worthiness as you say. I’m also certain they come searching for an excuse to cause her harm. Mother, Beth killed the son of their leader! You can be certain they will be searching for a way to condemn our Christianity as being outside the laws of being too!”

Father Wixen huffed, while Orange Stoddard nodded in agreement. The Mother, however, simply put a hand on Kahtar’s arm, gently squeezing. Her fingers were cool even through the linen of his tunic.

“Likely, Kahtar, yet what will they see when they look at us? What will their hearts tell them? We do follow the laws of being. We have nothing to fear.”

“Sometimes you find what you want to see.”

“I know that, and should they prove that dishonorable, I know you will be prepared for that battle should it come.”

It took effort to bite back the frustration that filled his heart, and Anwyn grabbed hold of both his arms and looked up at him. Never had he permitted himself to raise his voice to her, but he couldn’t prevent the growl from escaping.

“Shall we battle with them in the streets of the village while Seekers and children watch?”

Ignoring the protests of the Elders, The Mother squeezed Kahtar’s arms tightly, her heart brushing against his, both loving and authoritative.

“We’ll welcome them within a veil with our Old Guard and Warriors of ilu, it will be protection enough should the worst come to pass. Remember, Kahtar, whatever they think of us, they follow the same laws we do. They will not expose us. It was their rogue warriors who endangered us in that respect. Give Clan Berwick a chance to be honorable.”

IT HAD BEEN a disappointment to wake late in the morning and find Kahtar gone. Then it was an annoyance to have to race down the stairs, through the great room hung with weapons and other dark items. Dozens of shades flickered at the edges of her mind as Beth passed. She shoved them away in her rush to the privy. Loitering in the bathhouse she dressed for the day, choosing the same blue dress she’d worn the very first time she’d met Kahtar. Unwilling to reenter the house and risk shades, she loitered outside, impatient and hungry. The silence under the veil was strange, no white noise, no hum of electricity. Birds and insects were the only sounds her ears could pick out. It was hot and humid, even on the shady porch. The cabin smelled like cedar and resin and if her stomach wasn’t grumbling, and if a cool drink had been handy, it would have been very pleasant.

When Honor Monroe showed up, she dashed across the driveway to hug him. Picking her up, he swung her in circles and kissed her lips several times. It was comfortable, almost like kissing and hugging her Dad. Honor’s heart made her think of skipping along a path when she was little. When Axel Palmer and his three cousins stepped from the dark rectangle near the bushes, it wasn’t as exciting to see them. Their hearts weren’t the same as Honor’s, and she wondered why they came when she was living with Kahtar. When they produced a picnic lunch, some enthusiasm kindled at the thought of good, clean food, and she followed them to the pond.

Sitting in the shade of willow trees, near the smooth cool water, felt like a tropical vacation. There was lemonade with ice, fat sandwiches thick with cucumber and cream cheese, tomatoes so sweet that they ate them like apples and playfully argued over the last couple. Awarded both, Beth shamelessly ate them and then helped herself to far more than her share of fresh berries slathered in whipped cream. Bloated, she dropped into the hammock with Honor. When Axel offered her a long, stick-like cookie made of crushed almonds, and filled with a sticky apricot mixture, it took concerted effort to force it down.

It was almost blissful, wrapped up with Honor as he gently swung them to and fro. Insects droned, frogs jumped, Wolves nosed noisily through the remnants of the picnic lunch, slurping down every stray morsel. The Palmers continued to expound upon Abstracts, a topic they obviously never tired of. Beth half dozed on and off, her ears constantly alert for the arrival of Kahtar.

Waking with a start, dusk met Beth’s eyes. All four Palmer men waited for her to untangle from Honor and they each spoke their farewells in the traditional Cultuelle Khristo’s fashion, with a kiss on the lips. Unused to the tradition, Beth flushed redder and redder as they kissed her. The Palmers waited their turn at her lips before reiterating their declarations without any sense of embarrassment or even competition.

“You know,” Honor told her after the Palmers departed, “I wish I could add my declaration to your pile. It’s no use though I just want to be your best friend forever.”

“If those four were as honest with themselves as you are, they’d see the same thing. Your declaration I can return. Honor Monroe? Will you be my best friend forever?”

“You know I will,” he teased, leaning to kiss her mouth again and run his hand once more through her hair. “When I someday find a wife, I hope she’ll be understanding, because I’ll always want to hold your hand first. Though, I don’t think she will be, if we judge by his reaction.” Lowering his voice Honor motioned with his head back towards the house. “Kahtar took one look at you sleeping in the hammock with me and stormed up to the house.”

WOLVES STUCK WITH her, waiting outside the privy while Beth freshened up, and then running in frantic circles around her as she made her way up to the house. Sitting on the porch, with one big foot propped on the railing, Kahtar was sharpening a knife. Even in the deepening dusk, his scowl was evident, and he didn’t return her greeting. Nor did he remove his pile of tools from the chair beside him and Beth was forced to take a chair further away.

Dark descended and still Kahtar didn’t speak, nor did he light a lantern. Mosquitoes materialized to chew on Beth’s bare arms and legs. Kicking her heels off, she pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around them, miserably swatting at the insects.

Finally Kahtar broke his silence, gruff, “Why don’t you go inside?”

“I don’t like to go in there,” she admitted, “That room with the stuff…did something bad happen with the clan today?”

“No. They did locate Berwick’s clan in Scotland though. Apparently he’d gone rogue and taken warriors with him.”

She considered that for awhile. “What is Berwick’s clan going to do about what I did to him?”

Running a cloth up the length of a long blade he sighed. “Clan Berwick—as they’re called—they want to meet you, to apologize for what their rogue warrior did to you.”

“You don’t believe that. You’re mad because Cultuelle Khristos agreed to it.”

Kahtar bristled, and shrugged, refusing to respond, so much for being able to ask him anything.

“Kahtar, if you have something to say, just say it. Are you worried that Berwick’s clan is going to hunt me down and kill me or are you mad because I had a picnic with a bunch of guys who think they’re in love with me?”

Tension seemed to crackle off of him. He didn’t answer and ran the cloth furiously up and down his blade. That answered the question. It wasn’t the action of a man worried for his girlfriend’s life.

“Look, I can’t help it if the Palmers come around, can I?”