Falcorans' Faith (31 page)

Gray and Jon prepared themselves for something bad, as much as possible.  When they were ready, they nodded.

“There were three of them,” Tristan said.  They looked at him in confusion.  “Three guards,” he said.  “
Three
.”

Gray stiffened, then dropped his head in abject hopelessness.  Jon threw his head back and squeezed his eyes shut as he struggled to hold back the rising tide of fury threatening to overwhelm him again.  He slipped, held on, slipped again, then felt his brothers reach for him, soothing him with their Water magic.  It was long minutes before he felt safe enough to relax and open his eyes again.

“Thank you, Brothers,” he said, panting slightly from the effort he’d just expended.  “I apologize.”

Tristan nodded absently.  “I confess, I cannot think of a way around this one.”

“Time,” Gray said, though there was no hope in his voice.  “She needs time.”

“
That
we can give her in abundance,” Tristan said.  He smiled when both of his brothers looked at him in surprise.  “She is our Arima.  Our first duty is to see to her care in all things, whether we are able to claim her or not.  I will never give up hoping that she will one day accept us.”

“It may take a long time,” Jon said, shoving back the mental images that threatened to tear his calm away again.  “It may take forever.”

“Then that is how long we will wait,” Tristan replied.

Chapter
Twenty-Three

Faith awoke the next morning still feeling tired.  Her eyes were puffy from all the tears she’d shed, and she felt mentally and emotionally drained from the previous night’s events.  She forced herself out of bed only because she had to care for Bubbles.  She’d just finished brushing the
raktsasa
when there was a knock on her door. 

She opened it cautiously, surprised to see Jon standing in the hall with a tray.  “Good morning, Faith,” he said.  He was smiling, but Faith felt his sadness.  “We thought you’d prefer to have breakfast in your room this morning.”

“Thank you,” she said, stepping aside to let him in.  He carried the tray to the table and put it down, then walked back to the door.

“You are still tired,” he said, gazing at her face for a moment.  “We’ll be going through the new jump point to Crian in just a few minutes.  It will take much of the day for the entire task force to pass through.  We’ll be scanning for unknown anomalies while we wait, but you have at least a few hours before we will need to call upon your talents.  Might I suggest a hot bath, perhaps a nap?”

“Thanks, Jon, that’s a good idea,” Faith said.  “And thank you for bringing breakfast.  That was thoughtful of you.”

“It was my pleasure,” Jon said.  He stepped through the door, then turned back for one moment.  “Faith,” he said, “please don’t worry.  We don’t expect anything from you.  All right?”

Faith nodded, but she hadn’t really been worried that they’d try to pressure her.  She knew them well enough now to know better than that.  Jon smiled again, then turned and walked away.  She closed the door, then went to the table, glad to see that someone, Jon probably, had understood that this was a morning when she needed coffee.  She poured herself a cup from the carafe on the tray and closed her eyes as she took a long sip.  She could almost feel the caffeine spreading slowly through her body.  She emptied the cup, then refilled it before turning to the food on the tray.   

When she was finished eating she sat and nursed the final cup of coffee while petting Bubbles.  Then she went into the bathroom and filled the tub with the hottest water she could stand.  She removed her clothes, automatically averting her gaze from the mirrors.  The moment she realized what she was doing she forced herself to look at her reflection.  It was time to stop avoiding.  Time to
really
face the truth, and accept it.

Chapter
Twenty-Four

Stalnek Winicke sat in his private office aboard the
Chameleon
, staring at the view screen set into the wall across from his desk.  The sun had just risen on the planet below where Kevlin walked slowly over the rough terrain, the camera on his lapel providing Stalnek with a clear, if sometimes shaky, image.  For once Stalnek held his temper in check, not even bothering to yell at his cousin and right hand man for his carelessness. 

He’d been looking forward to the excitement and relief from his fellow Brethren when he arrived on Onddo.  Instead, he’d watched Magoa, leader of the Narrasti, on this very same view screen as he’d told him that his people were no more.  Stalnek listened numbly as Magoa explained how the Brethren had died off, one by one, possibly due to an incompatibility with the food, water, or air of Onddo.  All that remained were the small, tent like dwellings that flapped in the wind, and a field of markers, each bearing a name. 

Stalnek had wondered, for just a moment, if he could have saved his people by accepting Xaqana-Ti’s offer of assistance.  A Xanti ship would have halved the travel time of the
Chameleon,
putting him on Onddo months earlier.  But, he hadn’t wanted to accept any more favors from the Xanti, and had chosen to remain on the much slower
Chameleon
instead. 

 “What now?” Stalnek asked himself softly as Kevlin walked through the deserted camp, passing one hut after another, some still intact, others in tatters.  “I am leader of no one.  My son is dead, my brother is dead, my nephew is dead, everyone is dead save for myself, Kevlin, and a handful of crew that are more human than Brethren.” 

As he continued to watch the screen, he wondered if his brother, Jarlek, had thought to leave a message for him.  Probably not, he thought.  Jarlek had been hopelessly stupid about such things.  He reached out and pressed a button.

“Kevlin,” he said into the mic.

“Yes, Stalnek?” Kevlin asked, panting slightly.

“Find Jarlek’s dwelling and search it for a message, diary, log, anything of that nature.”

“All right,” Kevlin replied.  “I’ll have to go into all of them since there’s nothing to indicate who lived where.”

 “Then go into all of them,” Stalnek snapped impatiently.  “I don’t care how long it takes.”  As he spoke a thought popped into his mind and his jaw dropped open in surprise at himself.  Why hadn’t he thought of this sooner?  Must be the shock, he decided.  He stabbed the button again.  “Kevlin, find the relics,” he said urgently, all thoughts of his dead people shoved aside.  “They have to be there somewhere.  I ordered Jarlek to bring them to Onddo and he wouldn’t have dared disobey me.”

“If they are here, we will find them,” Kevlin said. 

“See that you do,” Stalnek said.

Kevlin heard the strain in Stalnek’s voice, though he barely cared.  What difference did it make?  What difference did anything make?  Who cared if Jarlek left a message?  What could he possibly have said that would matter?  Who cared about the relics?  Of what use could they be to a race that no longer existed?  The Brethren were dead.  Ashes to ashes.  Dust to dust.

 “Mr. Kevlin,” a voice called to him.  He looked up to see Kronok, one of the crew of the
Chameleon
, standing at the entrance to one of the round tent-like structures.  “I think this was Mr. Jarlek’s dwelling.”

Kevlin nodded and veered toward him.  When he stepped inside the hut he felt anger begin to rise up in him, then quickly die.  What difference did it make that the highest ranking Brethren on this misbegotten world had spent his remaining days in a mean hut barely fit for the lowest ranked of them?

He looked around sadly, then opened the container at the foot of Jarlek’s bed and gazed at the contents.  A few articles of clothing.  A time piece that he recognized as belonging to Jarlek.  A hand terminal, and vox, both useless without power to run them.  Little else.  As he stared into the trunk it suddenly struck him that all of the objects were stacked together at one side, leaving the other half empty.

Kevlin sat down on the edge of the bed and thought.  He suspected that the empty half of the container had held the relics.  That was the most reasonable explanation.  It was now empty.  He reached up and tapped the comm link to the
Chameleon
.

“What?” Stalnek demanded. 

 “We’ve located Jarlek’s hut,” Kevlin said.  “There is an empty space in his foot locker that may have held the relics, but there’s no other sign of them.  I don’t see any messages, either.”

 “Check the other huts,” Stalnek ordered.  “Maybe someone took possession of them after Jarlek died.”

“Very well,” Kevlin said with a sigh.

“What is wrong with you?” Stalnek demanded angrily.

Kevlin took a deep breath and told himself to hold his tongue.  But his tongue didn’t listen.  “My sons are dead, Stalnek,” he said tiredly.  “My brothers are dead.  My nephews are dead. 
Everyone
is dead.  I am more concerned with that at the moment than I am with finding a collection of ancient junk.”

“Junk?” Stalnek demanded.  “You call the relics of our people
junk
?”

“We have no people, Stalnek,” Kevlin reminded him.  “They are relics of no one.”

 “Stop being so damned maudlin,” Stalnek replied, his anger fading to disgust.  “We’re alive.  That’s what matters.  Now find those relics.”

 “Fine,” Kevlin said.  He disconnected, then took the camera button off of his lapel and handed it to Kronok.  “Take this and go tell the others to search each hut for the relics,” he said. 

“Yes, Mr. Kevlin,” Kronok said, attaching the button camera to his own lapel. 

After Kronok was gone Kevlin continued to sit on the edge of what had once been his cousin Jarlek’s bed for a time, then he rose to his feet and left the hut.  He stood silently as he watched the three crewmen go methodically from hut to hut in their search.  After a while, he asked one of them for the location of the burial ground.  The man told him, and Kevlin turned toward it.

“Would you like me to accompany you, Mr. Kevlin?” Kronok asked, faint worry in his tone.

“No, thank you,” Kevlin replied.  “Continue with your task.”

Kevlin turned his back on the encampment and, following the directions he’d received, headed toward the burial ground nearby.  It wasn’t very large, just a small plot of land holding neat rows of small white plaques stuck into the ground over the ash filled urns buried beneath.  Starting with the first one, he read each plaque, remembering each face that went with each name.  A flash of light hit the corner of his eye and he brushed his hand along the side of his face absently, as though waving an insect away.  A moment later, it happened again, and then a third time.  Only after the fourth flash did it penetrate his grief.  He looked up, turning toward a nearby mountain of large boulders.  The flash hit his eye once again as he watched. 

He stared at the boulders for a long minute, thinking.  Then, for reasons he wasn’t altogether sure of, he began walking toward them.  Once he reached the edge of the rock mound, he paused to look behind him.  The crewmen were still in the huts, and he was alone.  He could not climb the boulders without risking a broken neck, so he walked around it to the far side instead.  When he’d gone far enough that he could no longer see the field of graves, he looked up, then fell to his knees in shock when he saw his nephew, Darck. 

 “Uncle,” Darck said, leaping down from the top of a large boulder and going to his knees in front of Kevlin.  “Are you all right?”

“Yes, yes,” Kevlin gasped.  “You’re alive.”

“Yes,” Darck said solemnly.  “But I must ask...no...beg, that you not tell anyone.”

“But...why?” Kevlin asked, letting Darck help him to his feet. 

“Have you time to hear this?” Darck asked, glancing in the direction of the encampment.

“Yes, I have time,” Kevlin said.  “Nor will I repeat anything you say if you want it kept secret.”

 “Thank you, Uncle,” Darck said.  Speaking quickly, Darck told the story of all that had happened to the Brethren over the past year.  As he listened, Kevlin realized that this was a very different young man than the one he had known.  Before long, Kevlin realized just how much his nephew had changed, and why.

“I am risking the lives of many, including my own children, to tell you that your sons still live,” Darck said when he was finished.  “They are mated, happy, and soon to be fathers themselves.  It was, perhaps, foolish of me to take such a risk, but you have always been a good man, and I don’t want you to suffer.  Also, my father had the pleasure of knowing I was happy.  It didn’t seem fair to keep that knowledge from you. “

“Thank you, Darck,” Kevlin said, gripping his nephew’s arm tightly.  “I cannot tell you what this gift means to me.”

“Stalnek cannot know, Uncle,” Darck said.  “The Brethren exist no more, but he will never accept that.  Our futures lie here.”

“Agreed,” Kevlin said.  “Stalnek believes that everyone is dead, and there is no reason to alter that belief.  His concern right now is for the relics.”

“I have them,” Darck admitted.  “Father gave them to me shortly before he died.”

 “This is not good,” Kevlin said.  “Not good at all.”

“Why are you so worried?” Darck asked.  “Stalnek can have no way of knowing where they are.”