Allie's War Season One (122 page)

Chandre stared at her tan skin, her own, darker hands resting on her hips.

Cass knew where the seer’s mind had likely gone...to Allie, and what Allie would say if Chandre let this happen.

A lot of the seers had been sensitive lately, after the thing with Maygar.

“Are you sure?” Chandre said. “It will hurt you...more than me.” She gestured around at the other seers in the barn, who watched the proceedings with no small amount of curiosity.

“...More than any of them. And it is a seer’s mark.”

Cass focused on a butterfly fluttering through a shaft of sunlight. She watched it dip and circle lazily, as if confused by the dust-filled beams.

Chandre frowned, tapping her shoulder with one dark finger.

“It will hurt,” she repeated. “It will hurt a
lot
. The ink they use...it is not human ink. It is treated, Cassie. It burns, like acid, so it will last through our longer lives.”

Seeing that Cass was already impatient, she raised her voice.

“They use more of it on this mark, as it is religious to us. It will scar...”

Cass smiled wryly at this, turning on her with a raised eyebrow. “I have a few scars already, Chan. At least this one, I’m putting there myself.”

Chandre’s frown deepened.

“It is a seer’s mark,” she repeated. “You are a fool to wear it.”

Cass folded her arms under her breasts, pushing them up slightly. “I’m not asking to be a member of the club. I’m just asking to wear one of your t-shirts...figuratively speaking.”

“But why?” Chandre said. “It puts you in danger...unnecessarily!”

“Well, that’s the point, right? I’m not going to hide behind my human status.”

Chandre waved off the males by the wall as some nodded, murmuring in approval to Cass’ words.

“...It is stupid,” she said. “Worse than that, it is worm logic. Not the logic of
my
people.” She glared around at the other seers, daring them to disagree. “...a people who
have
to hide, who make a lifetime of not being seen.”

“Well,” Cass said, throwing her hands up. “I’m not one of ‘your’ people. As you feel the need to remind me constantly...”

Frowning once more, Chandre stared at her. Her dark-red eyes slid perceptibly out of focus, which told Cass she was probably reading her again. Biting her lip, she waited for the seer to be finished, trying to remind herself that this was the other’s way of showing concern.

Clicking out, Chandre folded her arms, clearing her throat.

“Your friend,” she said stiffly. “...Alyson. She is my friend, too.”

Cass snorted. “Pathetic, Chan. I mean, really.”

“You would have her hate me? She is the Bridge!”

“Great. And your precious Bridge believes in
free will,
in case you hadn’t noticed. She’s never tried to talk me out of anything I wanted to do. Well,” she said, folding her arms tighter. “Except Jack...and she was right about that.”

Laughter rose in pockets around the room.

Chandre paused to glare the others into silence.

Cass remembered they were speaking Prexci and felt a little swell of pride that hers was good enough to carry on a conversation...much less an argument…in front of a bunch of infiltrators. Staring her down a last time, Chandre shrugged, motioning for the man standing behind her to proceed. Cass caught the subtle gesture she made to the male seer though, telling him to move slowly. It occurred to Cass that the infiltrator thought she’d ask him to stop before the mark was finished, if it hurt enough.

Biting her lip, she plunked down defiantly in the chair next to the tattoo artist’s stool.

“Don’t expect me to be sympathetic later,” Chandre said.

Cass was surprised to hear real emotion in the seer’s voice.

“You want to kill yourself?” she said. “Go ahead, worm. Fine with me. Enough worms in this world already...don’t need another one. A dumb one, too...”

Cass rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help smiling, just a little.

The male with the organic tattooing needle looked dubious as well, but he stepped forward when Chandre motioned him sharply the second time. He wore a leather apron where he sat on a low stool by the chair the other seers had lined up behind, waiting their turn to sit in front of him. Cass tried not to look at the bloody rags strewn around his feet on the barn floor.

She knew it would hurt. She’d seen the young seers crying during their turns under the needle. Chandre made her watch a half-dozen getting marked ahead of her, so she’d see how much it hurt.

The seer with the tattoo needle glanced at Chandre again.

“You’ll take responsibility?” he asked the hunter.

But that was too much.

Cass rolled her eyes. “No. The Bridge will eat your spleen. And I’ll watch...laughing. Laughing and singing my ‘I hate seers’ song...”

The other seers laughed louder at this, until Chandre glared them all into silence.

Cass rearranged herself on the chair, holding out her arm. Carefully, the male leaned over her skin, aligning the needle before giving a last glance to Chandre.

Steeling herself, Cass held her arm still, the way she’d seen the other seers do it. Before the needle lowered all the way, a young male approached silently on Cass’ other side. He bowed respectfully, asking permission with his eyes.

Cass nodded, feeling a rush of gratitude.

“Thanks. That would be great.”

He positioned himself behind the chair to hold her still, pressing his shoulder into hers and gripping her arm. The seer holding the needle gave Chandre a last, fleeting look. Then he pressed the end of the organic metal to her skin.

He began to work, and every seer in the place fell silent.

Cass had only ever dealt with pain like that at one other time in her life…under Terian. Still, she found something familiar there, enough to allow her to brace her mind and her body against what otherwise would have been agony. It grew steadily worse as more of the acid-like ink got under her skin, until it felt like her arm was on fire and being eaten at the same time. Still, she found something oddly satisfying in the fact that she’d experienced worse before.

A lot worse.

Worse than most of these badass seers had ever seen.

She bit her lip, eyes tearing, but didn’t struggle against the male seer’s hold. She didn’t make a sound, not even when he pulled the needle away, ripping away part of her skin.

She watched him change the color of the ink, filling the organic holder with a pale blue.

Then he started again. That time, it hurt more.

But still, not as bad as she’d dealt with. She was better than the pain, even then.

By the end, she stared up from the chair at the light flooding through the barn doors, watching the birds flit to and fro, feeling the seer’s fingers on her arm as well as the white-hot end of the organic needle.

About an hour later, the seer hung the needle up on the metal stand.

Dabbing her skin, he winced a little when Cass moaned, fighting not to pull away. She’d gotten so relaxed under the steady fire of the needle itself, the dabbing of the blood caught her off guard, since it was a different kind of pain. She made herself look over when he dropped another blood-soaked rag to the sawdust-covered floor. Then her eyes fell to her arm, staring at the blue and white sword and sun burned into her skin.

She staggered slowly to her feet, and the young seer caught her around the waist, holding her up. She bowed to the tattoo artist, a little stiffly, but with her hands in the proper position.

The male seers cheered, stomping their feet on the wooden floor.

When she turned in surprise, they cheered louder, whistling and applauding.

Stepping closer, Chandre looked at the tattoo, and frowned. Cass had almost forgotten she was there, waiting. Now she saw that the seer had stood there the entire time, unmoving, while the organic needle marked her.

Peering down at the fine lines of the tattoo, and the color already visible under the red flesh, Cass smiled. Blowing on it a little and wincing, she bowed again in thanks to the old seer, then to the male who assisted by holding her arm.

Then, grinning, she raised both of her arms in a victory salute to the other seers in the barn.

Laughing, the males cheered louder, thumping the wooden floor with their feet.

“Shut up!” Chandre yelled.

They did. Cass grinned at her, but it didn’t change Chandre’s expression, which remained worried, and faintly upset. Ignoring the rest of them, she began speaking to Cass rapidly by motioning with her hands, then seemed to remember that she was human and switched seamlessly to verbal.

“...Be sure to cover it tonight,” she finished in English. “I have a crème for this…it is herbal, so it won’t hurt you. I’ll bring it by later, and some tea. And drink lots of water...at least three or four glasses...”

Stepping closer, Cass caressed the muscular seer’s arm.

The males in the room quieted, staring at them.

“So I’m a dumb worm now, huh?” Cass said.

Chandre’s jaw tightened. “I did not deny you.”

Cass smiled. She tossed back her dyed red hair. “No,” she said. “You didn’t.” She squeezed the seer’s arm, kissing her on the cheek. “You coming by later?”

Chandre nodded, gesturing affirmative. She didn’t meet her eyes, though.

Releasing her, Cass walked past the line of male seers to the doorway.

She ignored the stares. If ever there was a town with a shortage of females, it was Seertown. Some of those by the wall had already propositioned her...politely, of course, given her relationship to the Bridge...but they hadn’t just been testing the waters, either.

If nothing else, she’d never suffer from a sex shortage here, even with the ugly scar on her face.

It didn’t help really, knowing that.

CASS SAT AT a table in a rooftop cafe, smoking a hand-rolled hiri.

She listened to rain hitting the corrugated tin roof.

It rained a lot in Seertown. More than Seattle...more than Portland, even, where her cousins lived. Mist would float into the valley between rains as well, making the buildings and even the colorful prayer flags invisible. But when the sun was out, rarely did she see anyplace so colorful, with skies such a deep, fathomless blue. In that sense, it reminded her of San Francisco.

She’d been sitting there for what felt like hours, with only the old human who owned the place coming up periodically to replace her cup of chai. He let her play the record player, which had a motley stack of vinyl left behind from tourists and oddball pilgrims.

Right then, she had on the Stooges.

It had been Maygar’s favorite record...at least of human music.

She glanced down at her upper arm, blowing lightly on the sun and sword tattoo that stood out on her skin. The colors seemed to brighten every day, growing sharper as the red of her skin faded. The flames around the sun’s orb also got more detailed.

Chan was still angry about it, of course, although she’d stopped grumbling overtly.

She’d been getting more possessive lately, Cass noticed.

It didn’t help, what had happened to Grent. He got back about a week after Revik, practically dragged there bodily by the other Adhipan seers following a burial ceremony for his mate in Sikkim. Cass even wondered if they’d deliberately waited until Revik had wandered back on his own…instead of having Revik bring Grent back to Seertown himself.