Artemis Awakening (35 page)

He leaned forward. “I had thought I would need to wait until I created a key that more or less accidentally fit the lock. Now … Now … Perhaps you have brought the key with you. What do you say to this? We will go into the mountains and find our way into your shuttle. I believe you must have brought with you something that would enable you to counter the nanobots that slaughtered the machines. Only the suddenness of your landing kept you from taking it with you.

“We will go. We will retrieve it. We will awaken the dormant technologies. Then you can contact your orbiting ship and arrange for your freedom and I … I will be a step closer to achieving my dream of making Artemis the place she once was before greed and misery sealed her into silence.”

Interlude: Reluctant Dreamer

I don’t want to dream of you,

I’d much rather dream of her.

She’s sexy, supple, hot as fire …

I’ve even made her purr.

But unkind fate has mated me

To your colder fire.

Much as I would dream of her,

Your wish is my desire.

19

The Roots of Things

When Adara and Terrell announced their intention of moving out of the Sanctum and back over to the Trainers, the Old One surprised them both by asking if they—especially Terrell—would care to stay.

“As you know,” he said, offering them one of his rare smiles, “I have a great appreciation for those with training in the lore. Terrell, you have shown yourself exceptionally talented—and free from the more rigid dictums that limit so many who have followed that difficult course. And you, Adara, have an engaging curiosity. That, combined with your ability to see in the dark, have already provided a considerable advantage to my research.”

For the slightest of moments, Adara was tempted. Perhaps they were wrong to blame the Old One. Perhaps Julyan was acting on his own … And even if the Old One was guilty, wasn’t it easier to hunt the prey when one could keep a close watch on it?

That last thought was what convinced Adara that she, for one, was not going to stay in the Sanctum. Perhaps the Old One wanted to be able to keep a close eye on her and Terrell—at least until he was certain that they had no suspicions regarding him.

She inclined her head politely. “I appreciate your offer, good sir, but I have no desire to remain shut in. We’ll be based out of the Trainers,’ but I will be staying mostly out of doors. If you need my help on some difficult search, a message sent there will reach me.”

Terrell also declined, though his explanation for exactly why he would leave such an honored patron was rather incomplete. Adara wondered that someone with Terrell’s training in etiquette could not have managed something better.

She said as much to Terrell after he, Adara, and Sand Shadow had taken their leave of the Sanctum.

Grinning rather wickedly, Terrell confided, “Oh, I did that on purpose. Later, I went back to the Old One and, shuffling my feet a bit, I let on that I had been courting you since last summer, that I hoped that with Griffin gone—sad as that was—I had some hope of finally winning my suit.”

“Clever,” Adara said, “and even better because now the Old One will be inclined to see Griffin as your rival, not your friend.”

“My thought exactly,” Terrell said smugly. “In any case, lies rooted in truth are least likely to come back to trip one up.”

“Terrell…”

“I’ve never told you I’d given up, only that I was willing to wait and let you make up your mind. I’m still willing—and I don’t see that it hurts to remind you occasionally.”

“Fair enough. But my mind hasn’t changed. I’m not sure I’m in love with you or with Griffin. I’m not sure I’m capable of love at all.”

“You are.”

“Right now,” Adara said firmly, “what I am capable of is doing my best to find Griffin. We have two trails we can follow: Julyan and the people in that little fishing village. I also want to see if I can find my way into the place where the Old One kept his breeding stock before Winnie and Ring and the others made their escape.”

“What do you think you’ll find?”

“I don’t know, but I’ve been wondering. We’re pretty sure that place is deserted now. We know from Winnie that there were a good number of people there. How did the Old One move them out? Small groups? A mass shipping? One thing I’m sure of—he didn’t kill them all and start over. Humans are slow breeders. He’d be setting back his program by years, maybe even decades.”

“Fair enough,” Terrell said. “I’ll see what I can do in town. One good thing about our reason for staying on in Spirit Bay is that I have ample excuse for roaming around and talking to people while I shop for supplies to take back to Shepherd’s Call. Learning about that fishing village should be easy—people like to gossip about their competitors.

“Tell me what you can about Julyan. I’m not going to want to ask about him by name, but I can ask indirectly. Other than hunting and seducing the love of my life, what interests did he have?”

Adara acceded, though her heart ached as she dredged up buried memories. She faithfully repeated every little detail she could remember, from quirks about food (Julyan had hated both honey and cherries, a bad thing for someone who lived in Bruin’s home), to mannerisms, to games he had liked, to his love for music.

“Singing, eh?” Terrell said when she finished. “I might be able to make something of that. You say he was good?”

“Very,” Adara said. “And he loved to perform.”

“So it’s possible that, unless his entire life here has been lived in concealment, that Julyan might be known in some of the local taverns. Did he have a piece or two he particularly liked?”

Wincing slightly, Adara sang:

“My love is like a panther swift.

I caught her in my snare.

And after I had captured her,

I left her hanging there.

“My love is like a rabbit fleet.

I caught her in a trap.

And after I had captured her,

I gave her heart a snap.”

Terrell cocked an eyebrow. “That’s a pretty tune. The lyrics certainly aren’t of the common sort. Yes. I can use that.”

He fell silent, obviously planning his approach with much the same care that Adara would a complex hunt. She respected this and kept silent, but the little tune—with lyrics she had written to Julyan’s order—kept echoing through her mind. She was sure Julyan still sang it. There was a vanity that would make him reluctant to reject something so perfect for his voice and style, even though he had rejected the love that inspired it.

*   *   *

Griffin wondered how he would have reacted to the Old One’s vision if he had not first learned about the cost to those who would provide the breeding stock for these new seegnur.

But you’d be less than honest,
he thought,
if you didn’t admit you’re tempted, eh, Griffin Dane? After the crash you gave up on the shuttle and all it contains. Now here is a man who is determined to excavate it—and who has the resources to do so, who has the means of giving you back the stars.

A new thought interrupted this tempting vision.
Who says the Old One is going to include you in his plans except as a resource—a sort of database to tell him what various things are? Returning to the stars is your dream. Is it his? I doubt it. The Old One must know that away from Artemis he would cease to be a power. He would be little more than a curiosity. He might even find himself imprisoned in some lab somewhere, mined for the secret of his longevity as he mines his subjects for their adaptations.

The more Griffin considered this point, the less certain he felt that the Old One intended to work with Griffin as any sort of equal. Indeed, the very fact that the Old One had been willing to speak so freely to Griffin might be taken as an indication of the exact opposite—that Griffin, assumed dead and drowned by the few friends he had made here on Artemis—would remain dead.

Then all the more important that I show myself willing if I am to have any freedom at all.

So Griffin flung himself into his assigned research with fevered intensity. He saw the Old One with enough frequency to be assured that the planned trip into the mountains above Shepherd’s Call had not yet begun. Of one thing Griffin felt certain—the Old One would lead that expedition himself. Not only wouldn’t he wish anyone else to make the discoveries, it would be the best way of assuring local cooperation, for the Old One had no reason to believe that Bruin was anything but his faithful follower.

The Old One must not go or, if he does, I must go with him, be there to mislead him, to distract him with my helpfulness. Best if he didn’t go at all. How to manage it?

Worry pounded in Griffin’s head, background to all he did, a song of desperation verging upon insanity.

*   *   *

“The village is called Chankly’s Harbor,” Terrell reported to Adara a few days after they had departed the Sanctum. “The head of the clan is Captain Bore Chankly. The Chankly clan doesn’t have the best reputation locally. The former family head—Bore’s father—was a drunk who turned most of the catch into booze. Bore Chankly took over after his father was injured during a nasty storm—except there are those who say the damage wasn’t caused by the storm but by Bore himself.

“Since then family fortunes have risen, but not their reputation. It’s said most of their catch comes from raiding others’ nets and traps. They’ve staked out fishing grounds for themselves. Any who trespass find holes in their nets—or their hulls.”

“Let me guess,” Adara said. “Their favored fishing grounds are between their private harbor and the Haunted Islands.”

“Yep. And that has folks puzzled because those have never been waters known for good fishing. Too turbulent, for one. However, Captain Chankly isn’t hurting for money. It’s rumored that he’s found a wreck on one of those shoals or maybe some seegnur artifacts. But people don’t like to talk about the Chanklys. Nasty things happen to people who gossip too much about where Captain Chankly gets his money.”

Adara grinned. “You seem to have done well enough.”

“Although you seem immune,” Terrell countered, “I am actually a very charming fellow. And I didn’t get all of this in one place—not by far. I started by asking about who was best to buy from, hinting that I’d been given such a good offer by one of the Chankly crews that I doubted the quality. The rest came from there.”

“Take care if you’re wandering around at night,” Adara warned. “Sounds like you’re setting yourself up for some of those ‘nasty things’ that happen to those who ask too many questions.”

“I am,” Terrell assured her. “The Trainers are more than happy to loan me a bear hound or so if I go out. That’s nearly as good as having Sand Shadow with me.”

The puma made a sound between a purr and a growl, her version of an ironic chuckle.

Adara scratched the puma under her chin. “We haven’t been so successful. We’re keeping an eye on Chankly’s Harbor. Thus far there’s no sign of anything unusual. They don’t even seem to be doing much fishing. I’m getting frustrated.”

“No luck finding a way into that facility?”

“Not so far, yet I’m sure there must be a way. Ring and Winnie got out, so we can get in.”

She could see from Terrell’s expression that he didn’t think that was necessarily true. Indeed, she herself could think of ways any entrance could be completely sealed—massive amounts of dirt or rock from a “landslide” would do the job.

But those would make it very hard for the Old One to return and I cannot believe he would want that. If the place was of the seegnur’s making, then the Old One might hide it, but he would never destroy it.

Bolstered by her conclusions, Adara returned to the hunt. She reviewed Lynn’s description over and over again. There had been an inlet. A large rock shelf had been associated with the place. She’d found both. Eventually, she accepted that her own awe for the Old One, no matter how much she had tried to hide it from herself, had worked against her.

I have been acting as if he were some sort of wizard—or worse, the seegnur of old—capable of hiding a city behind a wall of fog and mist. Think like a hunter! There must have been ways for food to be brought in, water, an underground place would have needed fresh air …

Two nights later, Adara found the way in. There was a waterfall—so natural in its course, so small and insignificant in its flow—that time and again she had overlooked it. Behind the water, she found more space than there should be. Searching by touch, she came upon a crevice so narrow she needed to pass through sideways. Beyond that crevice was a passage cut by tools far more sophisticated than any she knew.

Seegnur work.

Griffin has told us often enough how the seegnur were like foxes, always building hidden exits from their dens. This must have been one such. I cannot believe they chose to get soaked every time they went in or out.

The passage appeared to end after a dozen or so paces. Once Adara would have been fooled, but that was before she had helped Griffin and the rest explore the Sanctum. The passage “end” proved to be a door similar to those commonly used there. Griffin had shown them how to operate the fail-safe that allowed the door to be opened without power.

Adara wondered that a door allowing access to the outer world had not been more carefully locked. Her answer came in the form of a huge blackened mark that all but obscured a panel near the door.

I see. When the raiders came, they burned away the more complex lock. Later, they did not take time to replace a mechanism that would not work without power in any case. After all, the primitives of Artemis would not be able to figure out seegnur locks.

She prowled forward, alert for traps. The lore from the days after the slaughter of the seegnur was filled with tales of the unfortunate who had fallen afoul of dangers left by the seegnur for their enemies. Then there were the traps the Old One himself might have left for Lynn or her allies.

Sand Shadow remained outside while Adara made the initial check. Eventually, Adara indicated the puma could join her. Once past the crevice—which Sand Shadow would have no trouble with—the corridors were quite wide enough for both of them. The puma arrived, plushy fur like damp velvet, and rubbed her head against Adara in approval. To her nose, the place smelled strongly of humans: old scent, but of young and old, many females, many young.