Bhotta's Tears: Book Two of the Black Bead Chronicles (15 page)

The Coven would not release her to other duties until they were satisfied that she had told them all she knew. As a result, she fell into bed each evening mentally exhausted. If she dreamed of the Escarpment she did not remember it.

The day after Lastday, in the early morning of Sixthday, she got up with the sun and went hunting her Pack. She found them in one of the many training halls. They were practicing stick forms in the weapons training room. Tam looked up briefly and then looked away again, seemingly intent on causing bodily mayhem on his Pack. He was using two short sticks to their long ones but it was all Megan, Alain, and Connor could do to dance out of the way of his lethal slaps and jabs.

Cheobawn donned the heavily padded vest, the leg and arm guards, and put a soft helm on her head. Picking up a long stick from the rack, she joined the scrimmage. Tam turned as she approached, his sticks held at the ready. She had not warmed up. It was a fool’s mistake, one she knew she would regret later. Tam nodded his head, a scowl forming on his brow.

“None of your witch’s magic while we spar. I want to see what I kill,” he growled.

“Whatever is fair,” Cheobawn said, gliding around him. The other children backed off, leery of Tam’s sudden foul mood. Cheobawn jabbed but it was a feint. She spun around on one toe and managed to slip her stick under his guard, scoring a hit along his ribs. As punishment, he pummeled her helm with a double tap as he danced away. She felt his sticks even through the padding. He had not pulled his punches. Was he angry or just trying to
prove a point?
 

“You left your guard open. It does no good wounding an opponent if you get killed in the process.”

“It takes more than a few love taps to put me down,” she said, circling him again.

She feinted again. He did not fall for it. She smiled at him. His scowl darkened. She decided on a full frontal attack. Not subtle at all, this. She stepped in low, her stick spinning, tangling his short sticks long enough to head butt him in the midsection before spinning away again. Tam staggered backwards.

Cheobawn grinned at him. Shortness had certain advantages in sparring.

“Foul!” cried Megan in dismay as the other boys hooted in appreciation. “Play fair, Ch’che!” she scolded.

“Why? Where is the advantage in that?” Cheobawn said evenly, not taking her eyes off Tam.

Tam dropped his guard and tossed his sticks away.

“You want to fight, let’s fight,” he said, tossing his helm aside. His vest followed. Cheobawn was not one to turn down a challenge. She threw her stick to Alain and began to shed her own padding.

“Tam! No,” Megan screamed. Alain moved to intercede but Tam stopped him with a look. Cheobawn ignored them. As she tossed her helm aside, she began building spirals in her mind. After a week of practice and demonstration, this would be the ultimate test. If she could control the spirals in battle, she could control them anywhere.

Tam did not wait for her to sink into her stance. He dropped low, sweeping one leg out, meaning to topple her. She danced over the top of it and followed him as he spun away, a bubble of calm building in her mind. Tam blinked hard, his eyes flicking around the room, obviously blind. She pushed at him with the wavefront of her ward, eased it around him, and filled it with her good intentions. She wished him safe, happy, and content. The bubble became an endless fountain of light that filled her heart to bursting. She wanted to share this ecstasy with him but he did not react as she expected him to.

“So, even in this, you do not play fair,” he hissed, furious. The depth of his rage surprised her.

“Why are you angry? Is it because I abandoned you in the stable yard to face Sybille’s wrath on your own? Would it help if I said I was sorry?”

“Is this what Sigrid felt, here inside your heart?” he asked, his tone an accusation.

She cocked her head, trying to listen to a thing she did not quite understand.

“Are you jealous?” she asked, truly astounded. “Of Sigrid?” She began to laugh. It was the wrong thing to do. The ambient flashed with Tam’s feelings. The dominant feeling was not anger but hurt. Startled, she lost control. The spirals crashed into each other, falling into chaos. Tam closed his eyes, shutting off his heart as well. He turned and walked away from her. Cheobawn watched his back, confused.

“I do not love Sigrid the way I love you!” she shouted, feeling much maligned. Tam kept walking. “Nor could he hurt me as you can … as you do now.” she said in a barely audible whisper.

She felt Megan’s arm go around her shoulders and it was only then that she realized she was crying.

“Boys can be prickly, sometimes. He will come around,” the older girl said.

“I hate boys,” Cheobawn hissed, scrubbing her face. “I do not understand why girls like them so much.”

Megan sighed and tugged her along as the boys headed towards the showers, their practice obviously done.

They showered in silence. Alain and Connor did not talk to her, not wanting to risk incurring their Alpha’s displeasure. Megan tried to make small talk but stopped when she got no response. After they dressed, they trooped silently towards the Common Rooms and breakfast, Cheobawn in the rear.

Cheobawn stared at their backs. She hated being angry. It exhausted her and made her feel stupid. The effort of carrying it around in her heart became too much. She let it drain away. Without the anger, she could think.

They filled their trays, piling them high with smoked meats, maize cakes drizzled with honey, and thick sliced bread slathered with butter. Filling their mugs with cold cider, they filed over to an empty table. Tam sat on the end of a bench, Megan next to him. Alain took the spot opposite Tam, as usual, while Connor sat to his right. Cheobawn had a choice of sitting next to Megan, out of Tam’s line of sight or by Connor. She chose neither. She shoved Alain’s tray down and hooked her hip onto the end of his bench, forcing both boys to move over. Tam refused to look at her.

Cheobawn stabbed a fork into a piece of grunter bacon and bit off nearly half. She chewed, staring at Tam, waiting for the words to come. She swallowed and put the other half of the bacon in her mouth. When that was done, she was ready.

“Fear makes you angry. This I understand. But I do not understand the source of your fear. Do you think my heart is so small that I can only love one person at a time? Are you jealous of Alain and Connor? Are you jealous of Megan?”

Tam looked up, his eyes glittering.

“Sigrid is not Pack. We cannot compete and win against him in the team standings if you do not remember that.”

“Sigrid’s Pack matriculated into the Elder Conclave. They no longer compete in the Pack competitions,” she said, puzzled.
 

“I know that!” he hissed in frustration, “but do you? Must I worry about your allegiance?”

Cheobawn stared at him, nonplussed.

“Tam,” Megan begged. Cheobawn wondered what she wished at him. Sanity?

Cheobawn jammed her fork into a smoked chop.

“You dare question my loyalties to my Pack? After all I … we have …”

“We all know that Mora has other plans for you,” Tam hissed, “It has been made perfectly clear. But I thought your rage would keep you safe, keep her from seducing you to her side. But no. Here it is almost a fiveday since we have seen you. Where have you been, wee bit? Off to the courts of the queens, learning how to rule? I chose two Ears that day, not Megan and her tag-along, if you will remember.”

Megan gasped, shocked. Alain had his head down, stirring a congealing puddle of gravy on his tray. Connor sat frozen and wide eyed.

Cheobawn cringed inside. Was he right? Had she enjoyed this week way too much? Had being the center of attention seduced her? Was being listened to for once an intoxicating experience like heady wine? She considered Tam for a moment. He did not flinch from her gaze, feeling righteous in his anger. But there was something more to his displeasure than Dome politics. She let go of her annoyance so that she could better hear what Tam needed her to say.

Again, it occurred to her that Tam carried inside himself a seven-year-old boy who had something to prove to a world full of Mothers bent on judging him.

“Sigrid and you are nothing alike. You know that, right?” she said softly.

Tam’s face became an expressionless mask. She touched close to the center of his hurt, it seemed.

“Sigrid’s Pack is going to Meetpoint not because they are the best but because they are the most expendable. This is how Mora’s mind works. What goes down the cliffs might not ever come back. She would never risk what she can least afford to lose.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better, knowing that Mora loves Sigrid least? The coldness of a Mother’s heart is legendary,” he scoffed.

Megan lifted her head, her nostrils flaring, her eyes wide, insulted, perhaps, by Tam’s blanket condemnation of all Mothers. Tam’s passion, always his greatest asset, could be a sword that cut both ways sometimes. Cheobawn held up her hand, wishing her packsister calm.

“Do you make your heart go cold before you go hunting?” Cheobawn asked him reasonably, leaning over the table to stare intently into Tam’s angry eyes, “Is it a passionless thing, choosing a bow over a bladed stick? Do you love your lance more than your long knife? No. They are tools. Sigrid is a rock. He will stand without protest in the place Mora sets for him. He will let the waves crash against him until they beat him down or Mora releases him. That is why Sigrid was chosen to meet the Lowlanders. You are a tool for a different task. Stoic submission is not in your nature.”

“I will not die for Mora and I will never be her mindless toady,” he said, a dangerous smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Cheobawn mimicked that smile. What he said rang true in her mind and a few pieces of the puzzle of their lives clicked into place.

“No,” she said with absolute certainty, “ours is the far harder path. Mora expects us to live. Against all odds and beyond reason.”

Alain muttered an oath.

“Why does that sound like a curse instead of a blessing?” he said with a shudder.

“Because it is,” Tam said grimly.

Megan snorted in disgust. “Boys. Always whining about the extra hard work that comes with being the best Pack under the dome. I am not afraid if Cheobawn is not.”

Cheobawn smiled at her friend, grateful for her scathing comment that effectively derailed Tam’s anger.

“Well, boyos,” Tam said dryly, “I think the girls have just challenged our honor. Are we going to prove them wrong?”

“Does this mean we have to work harder than we already are?” Connor asked in despair. “I don’t get enough sleep as it is.”

“No whining!” Alain growled, punching him in the shoulder.

“Ouch. I like whining. It is the only recreation I have time for,” Connor growled sullenly as he rubbed his arm.

Breakfast settled into a comfortable silence as their forks made short work of their mounds of food. As they polished off the last of their cider, Tam looked up at Cheobawn.

“We have a surprise.”

“Wait, what? I thought you were mad at me all week.”

“Mora thinks she can have you but we know what you like more than she does,” he said cryptically as he rose to dispose of his tray. She followed him, intrigued, as her Pack - grins pulling at the corners of their mouths - sauntered after.

Tam led them to the North Gate, exchanging a yellow tag for a red one.

“What have you been doing all week without me?” she asked, curious. When Tam strolled towards the maintenance sheds, she was truly confused. “You hated working for Finn.”

“Hate is a strong word,” Alain said. “There is no glamor in greasing axles and changing batteries, to be sure. But when the outcome has so much promise, who can resist?”

“Nothing you are saying makes any sense,” she said crossly.
 

“Just wait, silly,” Megan said.

Finn looked up as they filed into his workshop.

“Come to try your hand at flying, have you?” he asked, his face scrunched up oddly. He was smiling, she realized. His face was unsure of itself, the act long forgotten.

Cheobawn stopped at Finn’s side and stood with him as the boys pulled a tightly wrapped bundle off a high shelf. They carried it out to just beyond the edge of the fused ground that surrounded the hut. She followed, trying to suss out the nature of the odd bundle. It did not seem to be extremely heavy and it was not very long, being a head shorter than Tam was tall and about the diameter of a grown man’s arm. Alain untied the cords that held everything in place and dumped the contents of the rough-spun cloth sack out into the dust. With great care, he began to unfold it. The process seemed endless. When it was six times as long as it had been in the sack, he stepped to the midpoint, picked it up with one hand, lifted it high, and shook it roughly above his head. Ribs popped open and silk unfurled. It was her wing only it was now enormous.

Cheobawn let out a whoop of delight as she ran to stand under it, staring up in awe. The spidersilk was colored like hunter’s camo but instead of shades of green and brown, the silk dyes were a bleed of soft blues and creams. It was beautiful. She ran her fingers over it, noting the network of reinforced threads running in a grid through the finer silk.

“Megan, how did you do this so quickly? I thought it would take weeks to reset a loom and gather the right gauge threads. You are amazing!”

“Well, thank you all the same but it turns out we already weave this kind of cloth. I found it in the store rooms. It’s listed in the ledgers as balloon cloth. Finn turned me on to it.”

Finn squatted down beside her and looked up with a critical eye at the spine and ribs of the almost magical creature in Alain’s hand. He did not seem displeased.

“We can make cloth balloons? Is that even possible?” Cheobawn said in wonder. Sunlight, filtered through the silk turned the light under the immense wing into liquid gold. It erased the wrinkles on Finn’s face and made the other children’s skin glow as they all looked up.

“Finn helped us a lot. He pulled your original design out of the extruder memory and helped us improve on it,” Megan said.