Bhotta's Tears: Book Two of the Black Bead Chronicles (19 page)

Soon, in bennelk minds, turned out to be a relative term.

They left South Road, crossing over it and continued up the steep slope. By the time they hit the ridge line, the animals were blowing hard, but they did not stop. Cheobawn tightened her grip on the ruff under her fingers as the bennelk began to wind their way down towards the valley floor. Halfway down they emerged from the treeline onto yet another wide, well worn trail. This was surely Waterfall Trail.

Still the bennelk did not stop. They turned their noses south and broke into a run.

It was mid-morning when the animals finally slowed. They came to a halt at what seemed no more than a wide spot in the road.

What is this place,
she asked.
 

First Camp,
Herd Mother replied, waiting expectantly. A stream trickled down the side of the slope, pausing momentarily in a series of rock-lined pools before running across the trail and disappearing down the hill into a ravine. The unburdened bennelk were already standing shoulder to shoulder at the biggest and deepest pool, drinking deeply.
 

Cheobawn slid off Herd Mother’s back. Her legs nearly buckled. The effort of trying to cling to a broad back without aid of a saddle had pushed her muscles to their limit. She tottered across the clearing and climbed a set of steps cut into the slope leading up to a pool high above the bennelk’s reach. There, she knelt and buried her face in the clear water. Megan joined her, sinking down with a groan.

“Remind me to throttle you when we get home,” Megan moaned.

“How do the patrols do this, day in and day out?” Cheobawn said.

“I think I have blisters in places there should never be blisters,” Alain said, joining them.

We need the treats,
Herd Mother said patently. Cheobawn looked down at her.
 

The what?
 

Good food inside pods,
Herd Mother said, looking up.
 

Cheobawn followed her gaze. Half a dozen ropes dangled from sturdy branches high overhead, each holding a plasteel box. She let her eyes follow a rope up into the canopy and then back down to where it was slip knotted to a tree trunk. She got her feet and crossed to the nearest trunk.

Cheobawn tugged hard on the rope but the knot resisted her pull. Tam reached over her head and gave it a hard jerk. On the second jerk, the knot popped open.

Tam had a fist around the rope above his head, already prepared for that moment when the box wanted to come crashing out of the sky. He let the rope slide slowly through his fingers. Cheobawn crossed to the box as it thumped softly to the ground. Unlocking the catch, she found tins of trail rations and bags of feed nuggets.

She opened the feed bag and, using the measuring cup inside, she made a dozen little piles of nuggets in the middle of the trail. She soon learned to place the piles far enough apart that there would be no squabbling or jostling. It seemed a paltry amount but she thought it unwise to let them overeat so early in the journey.

Returning the cup to the box, she carefully resealed all the bags and locked the box once more. Tam hoisted it back into the air and tied it in place, leaving it as they had found it.

Nibbling on a handful of dried fruit, she checked the ambient. It did not press at her as it had been. Perhaps Bear knew that children and bennelk needed rest if they were to do what was required at the end of the day. She wandered through the herd, trailing her fingers along their coats, pressing her hands against their chests. When their hearts had stopped pounding and the their skin had cooled, she tugged on Herd Mother’s ruff, letting her know it was time to move again. Herd Mother did not argue, but merely dropped to her knees as if she too thought it was time to run again. Four bennelk dropped to their knees, offering up their backs to the other children. They were not the same animals they had ridden on the first leg of the journey. The herd was sharing out the labor. Clever.

Should I ride some other back,
she asked Herd Mother.
Do not tire yourself for me.
 

Herd Mother shook her head in amusement, still waiting on her knees for Cheobawn to mount. Cheobawn hesitated, thinking to argue, but found she did not have the strength nor the skill to argue with the massive animal before her. She mounted.

The herd sorted themselves out in a hierarchy that only they understood but as always, Herd Mother took the lead. They continued down the trail.

The journey became a blur of bennelk backs, muscle aches, and the endless forest. The trees grew thicker and taller the further south they traveled. The shadows under the canopy grew darker. She let go of her worry, trusting that Herd Mother knew what she was doing and let her mind wander.

It was then that she noticed the canopy over their heads was oddly silent. Were there predators about that kept the small things quiet? She tried to listen to the ambient. Bear Under the Mountain, busy elsewhere, did not press at her there perhaps because she was doing as he wanted. Star Woman and Eater of the Worlds were content, confident that she was walking blindly into their arms. The tunnel vision of her psi sense had eased a bit. She could hear the forest around her. No predator revealed itself as a cause for the silence. The unnatural quiet made her shiver. It was as if Bear’s tense anxiety lived in the minds of all the wild things, making them stay hidden, close to den and burrow. She closed her mind to the ambient, not wanting to be infected with its unease.

When the sun was directly overhead, the herd stopped again.

Let me guess. This is Second Camp,
she asked Herd Mother dryly. Herd Mother agreed, thinking her clever. Cheobawn snorted in amusement and dismounted.
 

There was more of a formal watering trough at this camp, fed by a hollow pipe that had been sunk into the side of a ravine. It seemed to be a natural spring. The flow out of the pipe was cold, clean and steady. The water fell into a u-shaped cut in the rocky slope, at a height handy for the bennelk.

Cheobawn looked up and was not surprised to see the boxes over their heads.

“They are called bear boxes. The treebears are too heavy to climb out on the branches and the boxes are impervious to anything smaller that might want to get into them,” Tam said, jerking on the nearest rope.
 

She looked up at him. He had not asked all the questions she knew she would have asked in his place. Was he still angry with her?

“You think me careless of our lives, I know, but I am not so careless as Mora would be, nor nearly so bloody minded. I want to save us and this is the only way I know how.”

He stared down into her eyes.

“Tell me what you see, Little Mother. Let me in. Let me take some of your burden,” he said softly so only her ears could hear.

“Truth? I am blind,” she said, her mind shying away from the ambient. “Death dances around me but I refuse to give up anything to it. I will not let it win. Not in this. Not in anything.”

Tam considered her.

“I will not say I understand but I will repeat what you must surely know. I am your blade and your shield. Let me do my job.”

She returned his gaze but could think of nothing to say that would not harm them both, so she said nothing.

Repeating the feeding routine from First Camp, she fed the bennelk, measuring out only as much food as would fit in the measuring scoop. When the animals seemed rested, they moved on.

They reached the third camp around mid afternoon. Cheobawn slid off Herd Mother. Her legs would not support her. She ended up in a heap in the dust. Herd Mother nuzzled her, concerned. Alain pushed the large nose away and stooped to help her up, supporting her tottering steps to the watering pool while Tam and Connor set about feeding the animals.

How much longer?
Cheobawn asked, not sure if she could get back up on that broad back one more time.
 

Soon,
the Mother of her mind reassured her. She relayed that to the others but no one had the energy to laugh.
 

It took longer for the bennelk to cool down. Cheobawn lay in the shade, her head on Megan’s lap, and watched as the boys groomed the coats of the tired animals, using curry combs found in the depths of one of the bear boxes. The bennelk seemed to appreciate this attention, their heads dipping down to the ground, their lids half closed in pleasure.

Cheobawn dozed.

Bear Under the Mountain was dancing the mountain into motion all around her. Things, near and far, moved to intercept her. She woke with a start and looked up into Megan’s face. Megan, sunlight turning her curls into a golden halo, raised one finely arched brow, a query on her face.

“They found our tracks on the East Road. They know we have the bennelk. Mora has guessed our intent. Sybille and a handful of Fathers have just left the dome, riding the remaining bennelk who were locked in their stalls and could not kick their way free.”

“What does that mean to us?” Megan asked, her face solemn and lovely in the filtered light of the dense canopy. Cheobawn reached out to brush a tangled curl from her friend’s brow.

“We have less of a head start than I had hoped for. They are nine hours behind us but their animals carry adult weight. They have no spare mounts to change to when theirs become too tired. I think perhaps they will not travel as fast as we did. Twelve hours is the best we can hope for, barring anything Bear Under the Mountain might throw in their path.”

“What is this bear?”

Cheobawn thought about ignoring the question. It did no one any good if she revealed the depth of her own insanity. But this was Megan asking.

“I thought it was something I imagined but Herd Mother knows him, too. If you put all the life around us into one body and gave it a mind, it would be Bear Under the Mountain.”

Megan nodded, an odd look in her eyes.

“Do you think I am crazy?” Cheobawn whispered.

“No, no. Why would you say that? Have I not watched you grow up? I, more than anyone, know how your brain works. I am frightened for you, because your gift creates a wall between you and the rest of us who can only guess at what you see. You make us seem blind.”

Cheobawn sighed. Megan would never lie to her nor would she put a nice gloss on unpleasant facts. This was the best she would get from her heartsister. Acceptance tempered with sadness.

Tam squatted beside them.

“We need to move,” he said softly. “The animals are ready.”

Cheobawn sat up. Tam helped them both to their feet. Cheobawn was glad for the help. Her body felt as if it was a thousand years old, the muscles stiff, the joints creaking. Tam tossed her up onto Herd Mother’s back when it became apparent she was having a hard time getting her limbs to obey her.

The sun sank toward the horizon as they rode on. The bennelk’s smooth gate turned to a labored, jarring trot as the day drew to a close. She wished with all her might for this to end.

The relief was palpable in the ambient when they broke free of the trees and spotted the small dome constructed not far from the edge of the Escarpment. They had arrived at Meetpoint Camp, at last.

Cheobawn sat up and stared. The world just seemed to end. She tried to make her brain work but the bottom of her stomach dropped out and her knuckles grew white as she instinctively clenched Herd Mother’s ruff.

Stop, stop,
she said, as the herd picked up the pace and began to jog towards the edge.
 

Food, rest,
Mother insisted.
 

It was the roar of Badnite Creek Falls, filtering up the slope through the trees to the right that finally drew her eyes away from the edge. The sound gave depth to a world that seemed to float upon clouds.

The children had little time to admire the terrible beauty here at the end of the world. The riderless animals crowded close to the great doors of the dome, jostling each other, ill tempered in their exhaustion. Tam slid down. The other children followed his lead and clung to each other, as tired as the bennelk. Herd Mother shouldered her way through her sisters to stand with her nose pressed expectantly against the dome gate. Tam found the security panel and palmed the door switch. The doors slid open. The animals pushed at each other, trying to be the first ones in and it took a bit of squealing and a few hard nips before they manged to sort themselves out and file in one by one.

The Pack waited, out of way of the small stampede. After the last dusty rump disappeared into the dome, the children peered in cautiously. The entire floor of the dome was covered in deep straw and sawdust. Rope mangers hung everywhere, stuffed full of hay. In the center of the dome, a circular stone trough caught the water that bubbled out of a vertical pipe sunk into the stone of the cliff top, the overflow disappearing somewhere under the floor. Tam shooed them all inside. After a quick inspection of the interior of the dome, he seemed satisfied that all they needed lay inside the protection of the dome. Palming the security switch, he closed the doors, locking them in for the night. Cheobawn looked up in time to see the enviromatics open up the venting panels in the ceiling. She could only assume the body heat of the bennelk triggered the sensors. Clever engineering never ceased to impress her.

An open platform ringed the interior wall of the dome at a height just high enough to be above the reach of an inquisitive fenelk nose. Megan found a looped chain. She pulled on it and a ladder dropped down from the edge of the platform. Scrambling up to explore, the Pack discovered sleeping pallets, supply boxes, and cook stoves. Even exhausted as she was, Cheobawn could not rest until the animals were taken care of. She hunted through the bags until she found the bennelk’s food nuggets. Dragging the heavy bag back down the ladder, she made sure each one received a triple measure. Alain found the curry combs and Connor found something that looked like a woodcarver’s awl that he said was for cleaning out claws and toe pads. Only after she was sure the herd was settled did she return to the platform. Tam had found a large pot in one of the storage boxes. It sat, simmering over a charcoal fire, filling the air with a smell that made her mouth water.