Jeanne G'Fellers - No Sister of Mine (4 page)

“By the Maker, Quall! I’m warning you to behave yourself.” A hide scroll sailed across the room, narrowly missing Quall’s close-shorn head. She flinched and sank a little in her chair, a difficult feat for one of such fleshy dimensions.

“All right, Wreed. I was only funning her. It serves a purpose and you know it. My pupils always leave here thoughtful and respectful of their superiors.”

LaRenna had never known Grandmaster Quall to back down from anyone—before now. In her wildest dreams, she wouldn’t have imagined Quall bowing to the will of someone like the dainty Master Yeoman. Why, she was almost as small as LaRenna was herself!

“I agree with you, Quall.” The grudging admission chilled Wreed’s otherwise pleasant expression. “But I don’t always care for your tactics.”

Quall reached a ring-laden hand to pat the Yeoman’s forearm. “Point taken, my dear. I’ll mind my manners from here on out. Now, let’s tell the young woman why she’s here.”

Wreed shuffled through the mounded scrolls on her worktable. “There was no mistake, Third Kimshee Belsas. You weren’t on the posting list for a reason.” Smiling at her success, she held up her inkstained hand—“Here it is”—and passed a small signal recorder to LaRenna. “Believe it or not, I do use modern technology on occasion.”

LaRenna flipped up the viewer and pushed the replay marker. Surprisingly, the face of one of her raisers, Taelach of All Belsas Exzal, appeared on the thin crystalline screen. LaRenna remembered playing at Belsas’s feet when many such messages were sent and, until this moment, had always been envious of the far-off recipient. “LaRenna, my child, I request for you to take a special posting requiring all your abilities and talents. You are to report to First Kimshee Krell Middle on Langus for further details. I believe you are the only one capable of carrying this post to its needed fullness. This is hazardous duty, so you cannot be forced into accepting it. Please advise Grandmaster Quall of your decision. I am forever your proud raiser. Belsas out.”

Placing the recorder on the table, LaRenna cast the Master Yeoman an inquisitive look. The message had been exceptionally bare of decision-making information. “What does she mean by hazardous?”

“We can’t tell you much.” Quall’s hand continued its gentle grip on Wreed’s slender arm. “They’ve kept us in the dark as well. But nasty rumors are circulating about doings on Langus. Seems the locals are in a tizzy over the recent base expansion. Talk is of removing it, by force if necessary.”

LaRenna’s stare proved incredulous. “If it wasn’t for the presence of the base, the Iralians would have decimated Langus twenty passes ago! Look what they did to Myeflar.” She stood so quickly the force sent scrolls flying from the Yeoman’s desk.

“We’re aware of what happened during the initial Iralian invasion, Third Kimshee Belsas. Please sit down.” The Yeoman hissed recognition of Quall’s low chuckle as she retrieved her scattered scrolls. “It’s rumored that one of the Branded’s been sighted as well.”

“But they’re all confined inside the prison colony.”

“A few occasionally escape into the Jungleland clans,” shrugged Quall, still humored by the yeoman’s disorganization. “And there are still others who simply disappear. None of them has had the equipment to go off world thus far. Seems someone managed to rig up a launch. Probably smuggled it out of the colony piece by piece.”

“Correct.” Wreed swatted a scroll at Quall’s outstretched hand. “Not a word from you, Quall Marie Dawn. I know where everything on this table is as long as someone doesn’t upheave my system. LaRenna, you know as well as we do that the colony is forever having internal problems. I’ve seen many a good officer corrupted by the black market there. Whoever escaped definitely had high-placed backing.”

“And what am I to do about it?” asked LaRenna. “I haven’t completed Kimshee training.” Her superior’s blank expressions showed they knew nothing more. “What’s my option if I reject this post?”

Wreed sighed and retook her ink-spattered stylus. “There’s a training spot available with the new Kimshee posting at the number four cell charging station on Vartoch.”

Quall laughed heartily at LaRenna’s long frown. “I’ve yet to meet a Kimshee who embraces the idea of that post. Your things have been packed for you. The launch for Polmel leaves in an hour. You’ll be on Langus in two days.”

Foolish is she who shows the paleness of her face after the sun has risen for she will surely be burned.

—Taelach proverb

The faint rays of first dawn were peeking over the horizon when Krell Middle sank her bare toes into the cool white sands of the southern Langus shoreline. This was the ideal time to be out if one was Taelach. The fishing boats had already set out and morning call had yet to be sounded at the base on the hills above the shore, leaving the sands deserted. Once, Krell could become lost in soul searching and reflection in the ocean sounds on mornings like this, but not anymore. The echoes of growth invaded her meditations more and more. Construction progressed around the clock, work lights shining onto the dark, algae-heavy waters, diminishing the splendor of the coming morn.

Shadows from the grassy dunes danced and lengthened in the starlight. Saria Proper’s shadow passed over the sunrise, returning Langus briefly into night. The sand brush cracked against the rough canvas of Krell’s duty leggings as she climbed to the top of a small dune near the waterline. Once on top, she pulled a thick stem of grass, placed the salt-laden blade between her teeth, and sat on a boulder perched on the dune’s zenith.

They have a legitimate complaint.
Krell peered back toward the expanding base. The military had made itself too oppressive a presence for the agrarian mind. The Sarian base had almost tripled in size during the three passes she’d posted there. The rolling farmscapes of Saria Two’s only moon were fading into the starkness of a military compound. She wondered how different things would be if the Iralian threat didn’t exist.

Meditations complete, the day rapidly approaching, Krell focused on the critical tasks her new apprentice must accomplish. Would an inexperienced Kimshee be able to handle things effectively? Only time would tell. “So, LaRenna Belsas, let’s see who you’ve grown into.” Krell pulled a small data recorder from her pocket and flipped up the screen, scrolling until LaRenna’s records appeared. Nothing in particular stood out on the first few screens. There were only the standards: limited birth information, early schooling records—the usual. On the fifth screen, a weapons training log, Krell stopped. “Well, I’ll be.” She mused over what she saw. “If all goes well she’ll never have need of that skill.” The typical coursework of the Training Grounds appeared next. Above average scores, but nothing overly impressive, besides linguistics. Scores there indicated LaRenna’s astounding comprehension of all the Autlach dialects. The optional training proved fascinating as well. Advanced coursework in survival skills often proved the difference between life and death in the Kimshee trade. “Hmmm.” Krell read LaRenna’s disciplinary summary. “Belsas’s girl is every bit the spitfire I remember. Independence is one thing, recklessness quite another. We’ll see if she really has the makings of a Kimshee soon enough.”

The wake call blared its shrill alarm. Krell closed the recorder and leaned back, extending her arms above her head to remove the kinks. “And the day begins,” she sighed, twitching as a particularly deep scar complained about movement. “I’d best get going.” Cloak tight against the morning chill, she sprinted toward the Commons, pausing to brush the sand from her feet before she pulled on her boots. “Your recorder,” she grumbled, turning back. “It’s too damn early to think straight, much less socialize.” She snatched the recorder and returned to her run, scaling the rocky incline to the main path in three quick strides. “This Starnes fellow had best show.”

Taelach witch, Taelach witch, cooking in the fire.

Taelach witch, Taelach witch, make the flames dance higher.

Your deadly eyes will burn away and never hurt again.

Taelach witch, Taelach witch, die in Autlach flames.

—Autlach children’s rhyme

“Starnes! Bring me another.” Brandoff Creiloff narrowed her sapphire blue eyes and pointed to her empty glass.

Starnes stopped sweeping. Scornful of her relentless badgering, he frowned, pulled a dirty rag from his apron pocket, and dabbed at his forehead. “Look, I’m not open yet. Why don’t you go upstairs and get some sleep while it’s quiet? You could use it.”

Her eyes now slitted, Brandoff’s pale, leathered face puckered ever so slightly. “You haven’t looked in a reflecting board lately have you, portly? Now get me the damn drink!”

Starnes took another wine crystal to the table and poured two glasses, sitting to draw from one while Brandoff guzzled hers in a single swig. “The Regional Patrol will have my hide if they find you here,” he pleaded between sips of the sweet brew. “Please, Brandoff, go upstairs.”

She slid her wiry bare feet slid into his lap, rubbing them into his groin. “You love the danger of having me down here,” she tempted in a low, seductive voice.

Starnes pulled her foot into his palm and began massaging the heel. Only rarely did a Taelach volunteer to have sex with an Autlach but the experience, Starnes had heard, was unforgettable.

“Besides,” purred Brandoff, “you’re being well paid for your services.”

Starnes snickered and gently kissed each toe of the foot he held. His hand inched across her ankle to rub on the lean paleness of her calf. “I don’t know if the pay counts for much, but the benefits could certainly be pleasant for us both.” He continued his massage, slowly sliding up her leg and underneath her leggings.

Brandoff let a quiet “hmmpfh” and tried to relax into the Autlach’s touch. When the sensation proved undesirable, she jerked from his hands and tugged the legging back down. “Enough.”

Infuriated, Starnes reached forward and grabbed her streaked hair. “Listen here, you stripe-headed witch, if you don’t want it then don’t lead me on like that.” He recaptured her leg and drew it back into his lap. Brandoff didn’t resist but smiled at him, her eyes glimmering amusement as a blinding pain shot down his arms. His hold loosened as he fell, taut with agony, to the floor.

“Cance would kill you if she even thought you’d tried this.” Brandoff’s upswept grin tensed. “Or maybe I’ll just do it myself. You’re not necessary to our plan. There are any number of holes we can work from.” She glanced away, releasing the painful mind phase that paralyzed him.

Starnes rose, arms cradled to his sides, not heeding the pain, only angered by it. “Don’t you threaten me! You know how easy it’d be for me to report you both. All I”—movement in the doorway stalled his speech.

“You must fancy a slow and torturous death, Barman Bane.” Cance Creiloff pulled back the heavy cloak hood enveloping her lean face Two long, crescent moon shaped marks twisted down her neck, giving the surrounding flesh a deathlike translucence.

“Dearest Cance.” Starnes put on his sweetest smile. “I meant no harm. Your blood sibling’s good looks can tend to overwhelm a man is all.”

“That so?” Cance sniffed, then glanced to her haggard twin. “What do you think of that, Brannie?”

“No Taelach with half a mind fucks an Aut man,” came the derider from the longer haired of the duo, “and your women come to us when they want things done right.” Brandoff spread two fingers and licked the space between them. “But Aut men are always good for a laugh or two. Personally, I like seeing their faces when they realize their mistake. But by then”—she bared her teeth, shattering all of Starnes’s false concepts—“it’s too late for them and damn entertaining for me.” Brandoff righted the fallen chair and motioned Cance to sit. “Well?”

“In a moment.” Cance blinked hard, flicking her eyes from deep brown to her twin’s gem tone. She fixed them on Starnes, sending searing pain that sent him to the floor again. “I believe we . . . were . . . about . . . here. Weren’t we, Starnie my boy?”

Starnes’s skin prickled as the familiar burning sensation raged through him ten times worse than before. “Pleeaase! I meant no harm. It’ll never happen again. NEVER!”

Cance expanded her mind phase to strangle out his pleading. “Don’t you just hate a groveler?” She smiled drolly. “Not sure I believe him. How ’bout it, Brandoff? Think he’ll behave?”

Brandoff kicked at him, jabbing her toes into his cheek. “He will if he knows what’s good for him. Just remember, you bastard, next time I will finish our little game and it won’t be your arms I phase the pain into.” Brandoff turned away. “Eh, let him go, Cancelynn. He’s turning colors.”

“As you wish.” Cance broke the mind-hold then downed the wine in Starnes’s glass. Starnes remained on the floor, relieved, yet gasping for breath.

“Well?” Brandoff questioned again.

“Hold another minute and I’ll tell you.” Starnes braced for another assault when Cance turned to his direction. “Relax, Starnie.” She laughed. “Get your wrap.” She produced a banded roll of currency from her waist pouch, tossing it to him as he struggled for footing.

“What’s this for?” His throat was parched, sponged dry from the closeness of a likely fatal seduction.

“You’re a businessman, aren’t you? Go to the Common Stores and get some supplies. We must keep up our professional appearance.” Cance undid her heavy cloak and let it fall across her chair back. Her muscled shoulders and upper arms had been hidden under the garment and now held Starnes’s regard. He shivered. “Lock up behind you,” Cance said then raised a hand for him to wait. “Oh, and Starnes, don’t worry. We’ll keep an eye on that ailing father of yours while you’re away. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to the old man. Would we, Brandoff?”