In Silence Waiting (3 page)

I understand that, through my sense, I somehow shared with Mariss what really happened the night Imara died. She doesn’t speak of it, but our rapport is stronger than ever. I lead the survivors toward the city of Anupk, my thoughts invested in understanding what I accomplished that night. If I can share images and emotions with others as I did with the pack mind and Mariss, perhaps I can open new doors for my kind, earn them new freedoms.

After several days, the domed roofs that make up the hazy skyline of Anupk come into view like a mirage on the horizon. Mariss smiles proudly as whoops of excitement ring out through the noticeably shrunken wagon train. I try to enjoy her smile, but old fears return. While those around me call for greater speed, my legs feel weighted and I slow.

Mariss takes my hand and holds it tight. “Don’t worry.”

It is all she says. It isn’t much, but I walk with her, my healing wound forcing a limp. It will heal. Mariss has seen to that.

We continue until it’s too dark to travel safely. We will reach the city tomorrow. I bed down near Mariss, but worries keep me awake. After a time, she rolls over and rises on her elbow, scowling at me.

“Must you project your fears on me all night?”

I gape at her, confused, and pull my sense in close.

“That’s better.” She nods and turns back over. Her words drift back to me. “I will see to you, cynta.”

Again, she offers vague reassurance, but I care only for her first words. Projecting my fears? Had I been? I learned much from the extended contact with the lir that I hadn’t known possible. It’s exciting to consider. I don’t sleep much that night, nor do I dwell on my fears again.

The city of Anupk stands protected from the New Gobi by a high wall. One guarded gateway provides access to the occasional traffic. When it is time to enter the city, Mariss approaches the gate with me to give a report and tally as Laurin would have.

We stop before a small open fronted building attached to the wall with a rough-hewn table at the entrance. Behind it sits a rotund man who smells of sour milk and sweat. He eyes Mariss, licking pudgy lips, then scowls pointedly at my unbound wrists and neck.

He raises one greasy black eyebrow. “Wagon Master?”

In an effort to ease my nerves, I touch on Mariss with my area sense and project the fondness that I have for her. She offers a smile over one should before replying.

“Mariss Endirik.”

“This cynta looks like Laurin Rend’s.”

“Yes.” She thrusts confidence before her like a shield. “I claim ownership by right of New Gobi Decree 15, On the Passing of Ownership by Right of Presence at Time of Loss.”

It surprises me to hear her cite the decree. She knows more than I expected about this profession. The realization is disconcerting.

The greasy brow rises higher as though seeking to merge with his receding hairline. “How did Laurin pass?”

“He and his brutes were taken in a Lir attack.”

His eyes jump to me.

Before he can ask, Mariss continues. “There was an incident and the cynta had to be sedated. It was unable to warn Laurin of the lir.”

Either the truth of that never passed to her or she chooses to ignore it. If I knew which, I might be more at ease.

“After which Laurin was killed in the resulting lir attack and you took over.” The man starts to write something in his logbook

Mariss clears her throat.

He looks up at her impatiently, his hand poised over the book.

“No. Merk Daggart took over the wagon train. However, he ignored our need of the cynta and we suffered a second lir attack.”

The eyebrow is creeping further and further up his forehead with a mesmerizing degree of mobility.

“After his passing, I took the control of the wagon train and the cynta.”

The man and Mariss stare at one another for a time before the restlessness of those in the wagon train draws his attention. He shakes his head and makes some notes. He asks for a start and end trip tally.

She answers his questions and signs the log then we step aside to admit the caravan. A Wagon Master always ensures the safe arrival of their wagon train before entering the city. She seems to know this and waits patiently with me. When the last wagon is in, it is our turn to enter the city. The squat man hands Mariss a stack of papers.

“Take these to the Wagon Masters Hall. If you wish to sell the cynta or,” he raises his greasy eyebrow again, “if you wish to ply the trade, these papers grant you ownership.”

She nods, accepting the papers. “Thank you.”

When we turn toward the gate, he clears his throat expectantly. She turns back, impatience and a touch of uncertainty flowing off her now.

“The cynta must be shackled before you enter the city.”

My throat constricts.

Mariss shrugs. “The shackles were lost in the desert.”

“Here…” He reaches under the table and pulls out a rusty collar with leash and wrist manacles. “You can use these to get into town and purchase a new set. You’ll need to check them back tomorrow.” He sets them on the table and makes a note in his log.

She takes the set and key. A mindless terror oozes through me. She turns to me with the set, touching my arm gently. I knew it would come to this, but part of me dared to hope otherwise. I can’t enter the city unbound. If I run, I might survive in the desert, but I will be alone. I think back to the moment Mariss gave me the gift she is now taking away. It must have been a great leap of faith for her. I can run or I can trust her as she trusted me then.

I hold out my wrists. By the time the shackles and collar are upon me, I am trembling.

Taking my hand Mariss turns it palm up and sets the key and the end of the leash into it, folding my clawed fingers around them.

The gate guard stands suddenly, bumping the table with his bulk. “You can’t do that!”

She faces him calmly. “Is there a law stating that cynta cannot hold their leash and key?”

The man gawks, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly like a fish out of water. He finally shakes his head.

She smiles acid sweetness at him and hands him a few coins. “For your trouble.” She then turns and we enter the city together. “Perhaps…” she glances at me “…It’s time you had a name.”

I grin in return and bask in the pleasure that flows off her.

People watch us enter, their alarm bombarding my sense. Other wagon masters observe us, their expressions guarded. I smile at them all, showing my long tapered canines, and swing the key by my side.

Mariss glances at me once and laughs.

Other cynta in the city watch enviously. To them I project hope. Some are surprised. A few smile guardedly. It’s time for change.

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For more about Nikki McCormack visit
http://nikkimccormack.com
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Novel:
The Girl and the Clockwork Cat

Short Work:
Making Monsters