Black Bead: Book One of the Black Bead Chronicles (6 page)

Megan scowled fiercely at her.

Stop!
the older girl signed, in no uncertain terms. Cheobawn reconsidered the fun of starting a sign argument with Connor and turned around to find Tam with his arms folded, tapping his fingers for effect.
 

Cheobawn smiled up at him innocently.

Ready?
he queried with a stern look. He did not wait for a reply. With a shake of his head, he turned and continued jogging up the trail, but at a slightly slower pace, shortening his stride so Cheobawn did not have to work so hard to keep up.
 

The trees thinned as they climbed, needletrees replacing the cedars and blackoaks. The thick blanket of dead leaves thinned to let grasses and sedges grow in the sunny places between stands of longpines. A golden furred treehopper scolded them from the safety of its perch, high above their heads. Tam stopped to point out tracks that crossed the trail heading up-slope. Sharp three-toed hooves had left deep marks in the soft clay.
Grunter,
Tam signed, touching a print. Overlaid atop the grunter’s prints was the mark of a large cat. The paw prints were twice the size of her hand and crossed the trail, heading up the mountain in the same direction as the herd of tusked grazers. Cheobawn scanned the branches overhead, fearful of an ambush, but Tam tugged at her ear to catch her attention.
 

Old spoor. Edges crumbling. More than a day. Long gone. We are safe,
he signed with a smile. She checked the ambient. Nothing hunted them there. She grinned sheepishly at Tam, feeling foolish. She had forgotten, for a moment, that she was anything but an ordinary girl
taking a stroll in a strange forest and that part of her job as Ear was to keep watch in the ambient. Tam returned her smile and then turned and led them on.
 

Somewhere well past the two click mark on the map in Cheobawn’s head, the trail curved upwards to follow the edge of a ravine that cut deeply into the side of the mountain. Tam paused and pulled out the map to check their location. Satisfied, he stepped off the path and jogged down a ridge line, taking care where he placed his feet on this unfamiliar and uneven ground. She noted his care and mimicked it. The mountain had no patience for the careless and the unwary, all the teachers said. Carelessness led to injury. Injury, this far from the dome, could become almost certain death.

It took a few strides to adjust her pace to the soft earth littered with stones and low growing sedges that wanted to catch at an unwary foot. Tam paused and glanced back. She grinned at him. He returned her smile, obviously pleased that he did not have to remind her to take care.

Not long after, a fernhen clucked in annoyance and fluttered, broken-winged, into a thicket. Cheobawn stopped to watch the mother fowl’s ruse. This was the same ploy used by the little pipers who nested under the melon leaves around Home Dome. Somewhere, probably very nearly under their feet, a nest full of eggs lay hidden. Cheobawn marked the place in her head for their return trip. Fernhen eggs were a precious delicacy. The Mothers on kitchen duty would be pleased.

At the bottom of the slope, a wall of tubegrass stopped them. This was not the tame stuff grown in the hedgerows inside the dome. The wild stands grew as high as four grown men and became so densely packed that one would be hard pressed to squeeze a hand through the stalks. Tam pulled out his map again, perhaps trying to find the best way around it. The rest of the Pack stopped and sipped from their waterskins.

They were very nearly there. Cheobawn could feel it. The happy bubbly feeling beckoned her onward. It was close. Very close. She felt more than heard the sound of trickling water coming from somewhere inside the dense copse. They needed to get inside the stand of tubegrass.

She touched the back of Tam’s hand and motioned him to follow. He raised his brows but then shrugged and motioned her on.

Chapter Six

 Cheobawn let the feelings in the ambient lead her off to the right and a little downhill. She did not check to see if anyone followed but was reassured by the sound of footfalls behind her. The feelings in the ambient drew her on.

The stand of grass was immense, at least a quarter of the size of the village dome. Half way around it she found what she was looking for. A tiny brook fought free of the thirsty tubegrass, trickling around a barricade of boulders and stalks in a dozen places before rejoining in a deep pool before continuing its journey down the mountain. The tubegrass roots could find no good purchase among the large stones, creating a tunnel through the tangle. Cheobawn stepped into the water and followed the flow uphill.

It was not an easy path. She found herself clinging to the overhanging foliage to steady herself as she navigated her way over slippery stones and around moss-covered boulders. The undergrowth closed in over their heads, shutting out the sound of the forest beyond. The labored breathing of the children filled that silence.

Cheobawn was small but even she had trouble in spots. She pulled her hooked stick off her belt and hacked at the small stalks that blocked her way. The bigger children had a harder time of it. The sound of their bladed sticks rang as they enlarged the tunnel through which they crawled.

Eventually, the stream, along with all the rocks and boulders, disappeared under a deep blanket of gravel deposited by some ancient flood. Nothing but moss grew on this unstable ground. Cheobawn paused to stare in wonder at the protected glade that had formed inside the depths of the wild grass. She rose from her stooped crawl and stepped out into the open, smiling up at the blue sky overhead.

The ambient beckoned. She went exploring. The tubegrass would not grow in the gravel but other things flourished in the wet ground. A stand of gorgeberry bushes, laden with fruit, grew between the walls of grass. There were so many ripe berries, the smell saturated the air with their sweet perfume.

Cheobawn approached the closest bush cautiously. It seemed to be unnaturally animated. As she drew near, she could see why. Buzzy things of every description hovered in a thick cloud around the large bushes. Some skipped from berry to berry lapping up the sweet juice that oozed from bruised and crushed fruit, jousting for room at the best spots. Others clung to the leaves and twigs, exhausted from their feasting. Dozens of groggy birds – chikchiks, gnat catchers, blackbirds and more that Cheobawn did not recognize – roosted on the branches, heads tucked under their wings. Some, too exhausted to even cling to a branch, littered the moss under the trees. They flapped feebly and waddled away slowly as Cheobawn approached, chittering grumpily at being forced to move. She laughed, for it reminded her of the complaints of the oldmas reluctant to move out of their chairs when the evening bells rang reminding them that it was time to move to their beds.

Cheobawn picked her way carefully around the fat birds to the nearest bush and plucked a golden berry from a branch just before a small chikchik could claim it. The bird scolded her in half-hearted annoyance but Cheobawn ignored it, popping the berry into her mouth. Its flavor burst out onto her tongue, warm and sweet with just a small bite of bitter. She chewed slowly, trying to remember every nuance of the moment, then swallowed and smiled. There was a delightful fuzzy aftertaste that she did not remember from the gorgeberries she had eaten at home. Perhaps things always tasted better, plucked fresh off the tree.

She was tempted to stuff her mouth but starting the fun without the remainder of her Pack seemed rude. While she waited she gathered moss, lining her basket with it, to make a soft nest for the fernhen eggs she meant to collect on the return home.

By the time the rest of the children emerged from the green tunnel, wet, tired, and highly annoyed, she had shed her pack, boots, and gaiters and was digging her bare toes deep into the carpet of damp moss while nibbling on a handful of berries. Megan straightened with a groan, looking cross, her curls plastered to her sweaty face. Cheobawn grinned at her Pack and held out her hand.

“Hurry, before the birds get them all,” she said out loud, foregoing fingersign.

“Shhh,” hissed Megan.

“Don’t worry. The grass keeps the sound inside,” Cheobawn said. “We can relax and have fun.”

Alain and Connor did not need a second invitation. They shed their sticks and their gleaning baskets, dropping them as they ran towards the nearest bush. A small cloud of insects rose lazily from under their feet. Alain won the race, elbowing Connor aside with a growl. The smallest boy, resigned to being the low man in the hierarchy of his demi-Pack, switched direction mid stride and headed for the next bush. There were many bushes and many berries. Far too many for a trio of ravenous small boys to devour in one sitting. The contest for position could be postponed for one more day.

Tam and Megan, taking their rank seriously, followed more sedately, perhaps being more reluctant to be weaponless. Tam scowled after the boys as they wandered off into the grove, a worried look on his face.

“We are safe here,” Cheobawn reassured him, chewing on a berry. “Nothing big can get in past the tubegrass. Ask Megan.”

Megan shrugged.

“We are in a gray area,” she said.

“Huh?” The look on his face said something of his dislike of surprises.

“From the moment we deviated from the official foray plan, the ambient went gray. That means we are in a bit of danger, but only from the adults back at Home Dome. We are in trouble, but we knew that the minute we handed in our foray form.”

“But are we safe here?” Tam asked again.

“Hmm, depends,” the older girl said as she plucked a berry and placed it delicately in her mouth. She closed her eyes and sighed. Tam watched her, waiting. Megan opened her eyes to find Tam still waiting for an answer. She held out a berry.

“It depends on whether we are caught or not. It depends on how bad we are going to be punished when we get home. Try this. It’s just a gorgeberry. What could it hurt?” she asked him. Tam took it, making a visible effort to relax.

“Wow,” Tam said, chewing. “I don’t remember a berry ever tasting this good.”

“I know,” Megan agreed, popping a few more in her mouth.

“We should fill our baskets for everyone in the dome,” Tam said, dropping his basket off his shoulders and walking away as he shoved a handful of fruit into his mouth.

“We should,” agreed Megan, pulling a spray of berries off a branch. She wandered away, nibbling on them as she looked about the glen with wonder.

Tam picked up one of the engorged birds and put it on a branch. It fluffed its feathers and immediately went back to sleep. Megan picked up a jewel-winged flutterfly and placed it in her hair. Tam laughed and did the same with a beetle, its carapace flashing iridescent blue in the bright sunlight. Cheobawn followed the two alpha leaders and mimicked their play. She gingerly picked up a scarlet flutterfly and when it did not move to defend itself, she hung it from her ear and giggled when its little feet tickled. She adorned her other ear in kind and added a trio to the top of her head to create a brilliant crown.

The Pack wandered through the grove, eating as they went, adorning the trees and themselves with stuporous wildlife. It became an endlessly amusing game. Alain and Connor disappeared in the direction of the sound of running water, chasing each other from bush to bush looking for the most perfect berry. Alain invariably won.

“This is so great, Cheobawn,” Tam sighed from around his tenth mouthful of berries. “I’ll let you take me out for fun anytime you want.”

Cheobawn opened her mouth to say thank you but then it occurred to her that the berries and the birds and the bugs were not the best part of her fun spot. Something was about to happen. She snapped off a handful of berry laden branches and began passing them out to the two Alphas, ignoring any question or protest. When everyone had a branch in each hand, she positioned them in just the right spots. Then she went to stand on her own patch of moss.

Cheobawn looked down at her feet, shifted them to what seemed the right place, and then held the branches out, trying to convince the ambient that she was a gorgeberry bush.

“What ever are we doing, Ch’che?” asked Megan.

“The berries are not the fun. The berries bring the fun. Do what I do.”

“What are we doing?” Tam asked Megan.

“I have no idea. Best to play along,” said Megan from around a mouthful of berries.

“Be a bush,” hissed Cheobawn. “Hurry, before it is too late.”

Megan looked at Tam and shrugged. She held out her branches.

“Megan, move your left foot over about a hands width,” instructed Cheobawn, listening to the place at Megan’s feet. Megan complied.

Tam, smiling indulgently, raised his arms into the air.

“Tam. Closer to the water. There. Now move your right foot a bit. Perfect,” Cheobawn instructed. Connor and Alain wandered back, berry stained and smiling.

“Whatcha doing?” Alain asked.

“Waiting,” Cheobawn whispered.

“For what?” Connor whispered back.

“For that,” said Cheobawn, pointing at the moss at her feet with her chin.

The moss was moving.

“By the Goddess!” Alain screeched, dancing off the moss to stand on the tip of a rock poking through gravel. Connor joined him. They clung to each other, wide-eyed and confused.

“Don’t move,” Cheobawn yelled sternly. “You will crush them. Hold still. They will climb in search of fruit.”

“Wee bit,” Tam said through clenched teeth, trying to sound calm. “What, exactly, is under the moss?”

“No idea,” Cheobawn said with a shrug. “Something fun,” she added encouragingly.

Tam closed his eyes and shook his head, looking grim but patient. Megan watched the heaving moss and then looked back at her small friend, an uncertain frown on her face.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” she asked.

“I don’t know their name. Laid as eggs before the first frost. Slept the winter through. Grow as the heat of the summer grows. Now they are being born. The heat awakens the sleepers and ripens the berries at the same time. They will climb to find food and then fly away.”