Black Bead: Book One of the Black Bead Chronicles (12 page)

Cheobawn cast her attention down their back trail. She flinched, feeling sick. The fuzzies from the grove had grown tired of glasslizards. Picking up the scent of humans at the grove, they had followed. All the obstacles that slowed the children to a snails pace, forcing them into great curving detours, these things meant nothing to the small, light-bodied predators. They were coming, straight and true and they were coming fast.

Cheobawn suppressed her panic and tried to sense the mood of the gang and then wished she hadn’t. The stink of human made their mouths water and their little hearts beat with excitement. They remembered human flesh. Cheobawn choked, appalled at this memory. She tried to lie to their ambient, insisting the trail was old, their quarries long gone, but they would have none of it. The scent trail was everything to the little beasts, filling their minds to the exclusion of all else. This was their nature. The gang would not stop until they had run the trail to its end. She remembered suddenly that she knew this fact. She had learned it in another lifetime, when facts were just things to memorize in the safety of a classroom. It was from her old life, before she had come outside and found that facts had teeth and claws and could eat you if you were unwise.

They were in serious trouble. A grown man could outrun them but five foot-sore kids could not. It would be a terrible death. A bhotta or a treebear or a dubeh would kill you quick. A fuzzy gang would eat you slow, one little mouthful at a time. Was it a part of her cruel Bad Luck, that she had saved them from one death only to deliver them into one more horrifying? Tam and Megan saw the despair on her face.

What?
signed Tam.
 

Cheobawn was out of ideas. They needed to know.

Fuzzy gang. Less than a click. On our trail,
Cheobawn signed.
 

Alain had not seen the fingersign, his eyes closed in misery. Connor’s hiss of fear caught at his attention. He lifted his head to look desperately around. Signing a query, Connor answered. Cheobawn looked away from the panic that flashed in his eyes. Her own eyes found Megan’s.

Megan shuddered at the news but managed to keep whatever she was feeling out of the ambient. Cheobawn smiled at her best friend, heartened that the older girl seemed to be controlling the stress of being under the threat of imminent death a little better. Somehow it made Cheobawn feel better; less alone, perhaps.

Tam’s click caught at her attention. He pulled a piece of paper out of the thigh pocket of his shorts, an excited look on his face. Squinting down at it, he studied what lay there.

Cheobawn moved to his side to look. It was their foray form. Tam handed it to her.

Where are we?
he signed.
 

Cheobawn took the map and held it close to her eyes so that the lines filled her vision. She listened to the planet as it rolled through space and then rotated the map so that north pointed north. It took her a moment to sort out the lay of the land and match it to the map. Finally she had it. By the Goddess, she thought sadly, looking at the symbol for Home Dome, we were so close. She handed the map back and put her finger on the spot where they stood. Tam studied the map for a moment and then stabbed his finger on a red numbered box.

Take us there,
he signed.
 

She scowled at the red square. This would not get them any closer to home. In fact, the detour led them uphill and away from the dome, a terrible thing to ask of the exhausted Pack.

Why?
she asked.
 

Trust me,
Tam signed. Cheobawn studied his face. This was not a plea from a desperate boy. This was Tam, invoking his authority as Alpha. Trust. Why not? They had nothing more to lose.
 

She smiled. The burden of getting them all home safe seemed to lift a bit.

Chapter Eleven

Cheobawn sniffed the ambient behind them. The fuzzy gang flowed across the earth like water tumbling down the mountain, surmounting each obstacle it encountered in waves of furry flesh. The Pack had no time to waste. She turned and began to run in earnest, not caring how much noise they made this time. The need for speed outweighed the need for silence.

She probed the ambient in front of them while she ran, looking for what lay under that red square on the map, to make sure she had them going in the right direction. Horror shivered up her spine, making her stumble. She twisted, barely saving herself from a tumble and felt something give in her right knee. She refused to allow it to stop her. Instead, she lied to her body, making it believe it was the mountain bear; telling her bones to be stone; telling her legs to be trees; telling her muscles that they were as powerful as the hot plastic rock in the heart of the mountain. That seemed to work, though she was careful of how she stepped afterward, fearing to test the limits of this magic.

Running up hill took everything she had inside her and all she could steal from the flesh of the mountain but it was much worse for the Pack. The ambient behind her washed red with their agony. The children crested the ridge together, staggering as the ground flattened unexpectedly beneath their feet. Cheobawn did not pause. They ran on.

She very nearly did not see the warning sign in the failing light. One last ray of sunlight broke through the trunks of the giant cedars and glinted off a thin strand suspended between a gap in the trees. She skidded to a halt, holding up her hand, and stood trembling. It was almost painful being this close to the things that lay hidden under the ferns just beyond the web.

Stinging Spider webs,
she signed over her shoulder.
 

Tam came up the column of children to stand beside her. She pointed at the strand. He nodded.

Step exactly where I step,
he signed.
 

Now that she knew what to look for, the webs were easier to see. She followed Tam as he sidled close to the nearest strand where it stretched between two tree trunks. She tried to remember what she knew of stinging spiders. The webs, though large, stretching from the ground to well above her head and encompassing the trunks of nearly a dozen trees, were not in and of themselves dangerous. A child could easily break through the silk. It was the things waiting in the web’s heart that needed to be respected.

Tam stopped and picked up a small branch. Turning, he pointed at her hand. Cheobawn held out her right arm, puzzled. He untied the laces of her makeshift gaiter and tucked the leather lace into a pocket. Wrapping the woolsey scarf loosely around the twig, he drew back his arm and tossed it gently up and over the top of the closest web. The scarf unfurled in midair and drifted down to settle lightly on the top of the ferns ten paces beyond while the stick landed further in towards the center. A few fern fronds shuddered slightly around the stick. Cheobawn held her breath but nothing else untoward happened. Trees shed deadwood all the time, she reassured herself, a thing the spiders surely must have learned to ignore.

Tam caught her attention with a soft chirrup. Turning, he picked his way carefully around the tangled webs. Cheobawn followed, the Pack close on her heels. Tam walked the perimeter of the nest, circling around it until their back trail lay directly across from them. Cheobawn could just make out the pale spot of her woolsey scarf where it lay lightly across the tops of the ferns. She nearly laughed out loud at Tam’s cleverness. He was creating a scent line through the heart of the web array. She held out her left arm, offering him her other gaiter. Tam shook his head and turned. He ran fifty paces into the forest, away from the nest and the oncoming fuzzies.

Stopping, he turned and grabbed her left arm, undoing her other gaiter.

How close? How long?
he asked with the fingers of one hand as he loosened the lace with the other. Cheobawn lifted her head and listened.
 

Too close. Let’s go,
she said, trying to tug her arm free.
 

Stay,
he signed, pulling the scarf from her arm.
Count to fifty. Then run home. No matter what happens,
he signed, reinforcing his command with a stern stare.
 

Cheobawn stared at him, her heart twisting in her chest. He was going to get himself killed. To save them.

Cheobawn refused to let that happen. She nodded, not so much to tell him that she agreed but to let him know she understood. She turned, touched Megan’s arm and pointed her in the direction of home, trusting that the older girl’s psi would kick in once clear of the threat of the spiders and lead her to safety. Megan nodded. From the look on Megan’s face, Cheobawn knew the older girl was gathering up the threads of her Luck once more. Cheobawn smiled encouragingly.

Tam signed something she did not catch and then turning, ran back the way they had come.

Fifty count,
Cheobawn signed insistently at Connor,
then run.
Turning, she ran after Tam.
 

The light was failing them. She caught up with him, stopping him with a hand on his arm. Her fingers dug deep into his flesh as the ambient whispered terrible things to her. Panic was making her heart pound in her chest and her head ache with the flush of adrenaline.

Tam turned on her, a snarl on his face.
I said stay. Get back.
 

Cheobawn clung to his arm, undaunted by his rage. Out of the corner of her eye she caught the glint of something down low in the ferns near his feet. The now familiar feeling of too much power flowing through the ambient took her and held her. The world became etched in hard-edged light.

She tugged him aside instinctively, without knowing why. Her boot caught at something in the undergrowth. A silk snag line. She froze, easing away from it while pushing Tam behind her, guiding him away from things he could no longer see with the naked eye in the failing light.

Traps,
her fingers said.
Follow me.
 

Tam grimaced in apology.

Hand on his elbow, she got him as close as she dared to the heart of the nest and pulled him to a stop. He stooped and chose a stick from the litter on the forest floor. Once again, the stick with its woolsey flag sailed over the web. The lacy fronds in the heart of the nest shivered.

Tam pushed her back. They retreated until he tugged her to a halt ten paces back. He picked up a short, heavy branch and pulled one of the leather laces from the depths of a thigh pocket and began wrapping it carefully around the middle of the branch.

Something moved under the ferns in the heart of the web complex. Cheobawn shuddered. By the Goddess, she hated spiders.

A high pitched, excited whistle caught at her heart and made her forget spiders and webs and stingers.

There was no mistaking the sound of a fuzzy gang on the hunt. The teaching videos did not do it justice. The high thin sound echoed eerily off the trunks of the trees, disguising numbers and exact direction. All the animals of the mountain knew this sound. It was meant to act as a goad, driving prey before them until the target gave up or ran until its heart burst from exhaustion. Few willingly chose to die the death of a thousand bites. The little fuzzies relied on this and used it effectively in their hunting strategies.

Cheobawn looked anxiously into Tam’s calm face. Time was running out for them. He was busy knotting the second leather lace to the end of the first. Stepping away from Cheobawn, he set it into motion, spinning the branch by its leash above his head until the air hummed with its passage. At just the right moment, he let it go. Branch and lace arced through the air and fell, landing with a loud thump in the center of the nest.

Cheobawn was not prepared for the violent reaction that followed. A dozen enormous black orbs the size of a fernhen rose out their dens and scurried about upon a tangle of legs as long as her arm. Horror sucked the air out of her lungs. She knew a stinger as long as her hand lay hidden under the belly of the heavily armored insect, sharp enough to pierce the toughest hide, long enough to penetrate the thickest fur. She shoved a fist in her mouth to keep from screaming and stumbled backwards.

Something dark darted at her from under the ferns near her feet. She did not have time to react, but suddenly Tam was there, catching her up by the collar of her tunic to jerk her away as he buried the blade of his stick in the center of the black body, pinning it to the ground. The spider’s legs scrabbled for purchase in the soft duff. It was still trying to push its broken carapace towards her even as it died. Cheobawn moaned, unable to contain her horror any longer. Tam wrenched his weapon free and leaped away, pulling her with him. Dark blood flowed freely from the wound and the spider shuddered and died.

Death washed the ambient, a fierce thing that drowned out all else. Cheobawn felt it and in feeling it, could not shake it loose from her mind. She tried to keep it out but she had borrowed too heavily from the flesh of the mountain and Bear Under the Mountain relished death as much as it rejoiced in life. She had no power to resist his fierce pleasure at the spider’s passing.

Tam signed something. She could not make her mind understand the flurry of fingers.

Tam bent down and caught at her chin, bringing his face close so that all else was blocked from her vision.

“We are almost there, wee bit,” he whispered desperately. “Keep it together. Just for a few more minutes. Take us home.”

Cheobawn blinked. His eyes were her lifeline. She reached out and touched his cheek. That touch was everything. His need for her, his need for her Good Luck washed through her, pushing Bear out of her mind.

She nodded. “Home,” she said.

Tam smiled grimly and grabbed her hand, the strength of his grip grinding her bones together as he jerked her around and forced her to follow. The pain gave her focus. She got her feet under her and scrambled frantically to keep pace.