Jeanne G'Fellers - Sisters Flight (13 page)

"Tell
me what you are to purchase," I said to the other Autlach. "You might
not survive if you don't do it." I nodded toward Evangeline as she dropped
the man's name into my mind. "You want to cooperate, don't
you—Frest?"

"How'd
you—oh, stars! Help! Yes. Yes!" Frest shook his head. "I'll tell you
the truth."

"You
sound like a man familiar with mind phases." Commander Stiles stepped up,
one hand wrapping her sword hilt, the other fingering a spent pilta. A brooding
look clouded her slim face.

"I've
run across you people more than once." Frest glanced up at the smoke and
sniffed. "Been sweet cured. Got any more of those?"

"Now,
what would your gagged friend say about your sharing smoke with a
Taelach?" Stiles opened her belt pouch.

"I
expect he'd see me dead." Frest grimaced. "Listen. I'm nothing to
you, just a poor farmer with too many kids. I took this job escorting slaves
for the money. I don't actually own any of you people. As I see it, a slave
would be just another body to feed and clothe. I've even traded with Taelachs
on occasion."

"I
thought I knew you from somewhere." Stiles lit a smoke from her smoldering
end piece then, after snuffing out her smoke, placed the new roll in the corner
of Frest's mouth. "His wife and daughters are weavers of fine cloth goods.
I believe my Annya has a shirt cut from their loom products. And the man isn't
lying when he says he's got kids. Never seen the like."

"Ask
him if his friend has children as well." Evangeline remained a dark
presence over the Autlachs.

"Yeah,"
Frest confirmed when asked. "He has five or six of his own. He believes
he's doing Raskhallak's bidding." Frest took a deep draw from his smoke.
"Me, I just wanted enough coinage to get my grain milled after
harvest."

"You
don't believe in Raskhallak?" In my experience, all Autlach men,
especially my father, were Raskhallak devotees, if for no other reason than the
dominance it granted them over their families.

"I
believe him too demanding." Frest shook his head as Evangeline searched
his mind for the emotions that accompanied lies.

"He
is believable." When she did the same to Reenvarl, she snarled against
what she encountered. "He is hateful of anything Taelach and intends on purchasing
a gentlewoman for himself. His wife promises to kill anything he brings
home."

"She's
not stupid," said Stiles, and I longed for half a reason to kick Reenvarl
senseless. "Few women would tolerate their husband's bondmaid sharing
their bed."

"Well,
there's one gentlewoman spared." I clenched my teeth as I repeated one of
Garrziko's calming meditations to myself.

The
distraction proved effective so I rose, eager to dismiss thoughts of Reenvarl's
suffering at my hands. "So, what now? Proceed as before?"

"Nope.
I've got a better idea." Stiles snatched Frest's smoke from his mouth, lit
a fresh roll from it, then shoved the pilta back between the Autlach's fidgety
lips. "Seven were going to the sale. Seven it will be."

"Perhaps
leaving with a few additions to help with our endeavors." Evangeline
jingled the money pouch on her hip. "Ask our friend Frest how many sisters
his group was to procure."

"Power
for a small barge," Frest readily volunteered. "More if we could
haggle them." However, Reenvarl reacted so violently to his companion's
willing participation that Stiles removed him from the immediate area, dragging
him to a spot between the duty cook and one of the Yauld.

"Should
we cook him?" the cook asked in far from fluent Autlach when Reenvarl was dropped
beside her.

"Cook
him, kiss him, make him your wife. I don't care, just keep him quiet and out of
our way." Stiles plodded off, leaving bug-eyed Reenvarl at the cook's
mercy.

"Wife?
Hmmm. Could be." The cook wrapped the cloth used to turn the spit around
Reenvarl's head, simulating the headscarf worn by some gentlewomen. The Yauld
reached forward, pinching his cheeks to a healthy blush.

"Nah."
The Yauld frowned.

"He's
too ugly." The cook removed the rag then pushed the Autlach onto his back.
"You want him?" She pointed from Reenvarl to the Yauld, who shook her
head and scooted away. "Then he should keep quiet." The cook placed
her pressed palms to one cheek and yawned. The Yauld, smiling insidiously at
the hint, turned toward Reenvarl, and he fell limp.

Frest
was having a better time with us. His feet remained bound, but a mug of tea
warmed his hands. Ration biscuits were at his side, but he ignored these and
the mug in his hand as he worried over his future. "Reenvarl will tell our
boss of all this."

"He
won't remember a thing." I drew my hand across my forehead.

"And
just who is your boss anyway?" Stiles dunked her biscuit into her tea,
softening the coarse bread.

"Well,"
said Frest after a moment. "That's the stickler. You see—"

"Mother
be damned!" Before Evangeline and I could react, Stiles had knocked Frest
back and pushed her boot heel into his throat. "You work for
Longpass!"

Frest's
hot tea soaked through his tunic front. "Yes!" he shrieked. "But
I didn't know he was behind the hiring until I'd signed on. You don't squelch
on a deal with Longpass." Frest pushed against Stiles's boot leather.
"I didn't have a choice. You have to believe me." He grew quiet as
Stiles increased the pressure.

"He
speaks the truth." Evangeline placed her hand on Stiles's shoulder, urging
her to disengage. "Don't take your hatred for Longpass out on this man. He
is innocent of treachery."

"He's
Aut, a crime in itself if you ask the families of the murdered." Stiles
removed her foot and sank to her knees beside Frest. "But that sounds
similar to something an Aut would say about us, doesn't it?" Stiles lay
her hands to her face for a moment then, sighing, looked to Frest who blanched
when their eyes met. "You are but a kind soul trying to survive within the
same belief system that keeps my people oppressed. My apologies."

"It's
never been my crusade." A little color returned to Frest's tanned cheeks.
He coughed and cleared this throat before continuing. "Longpass drafts his
men wherever he finds them, raids our farms whenever he needs supplies. He took
my eldest boy and two nassies last moon cycle." Frest nodded thanks to the
sister who'd refilled his drink. "I took the job as much for the coinage
as the hope of seeing him. They post boys at the mine to harden them. Make your
team five in number, and I'll assist you however I can."

"There
were seven in you party." I reminded him when Evangeline held up seven
fingers. I couldn't decide whether she was that quick a study or if there were
that many similarities between the Yauld Autlach and the local tongue. The
answer came in a voice for me alone.

A
little of both, I suppose. Something you are capable of as well.
Evangeline winked at me and I again felt drawn to her.
And you inadvertently projected what Frest said. I understood little of what
he spoke.

"Did
I?" Though I was enchanted by Evangeline and her sudden mental appearances
and disappearances, I turned my attention back to Frest. "You were
saying?"

"I
said five will be six if you add me." Frest ventured a cross glance which
I returned with a scowl. "I can say we lost the seventh to bad water and
request my boy as a replacement. I want him away from that mine before Longpass
turns him into a murderer." Frest pointed at Evangeline and her people.
"Besides, a good portion of your group is from far off by their odd
Taelach, and, saving you and maybe your commander, everyone else has too much
of an accent to be effective speakers. Help me and I'll help you."

I
looked over to Stiles who scratched her head then looked to Evangeline who
shrugged. "We have nothing to lose by doing as he suggests. Just inform
him he dies by phase if he betrays us."

"You've
killed with phase?" asked Stiles, and I shared her inquiry. We Tekkroons
occasionally manipulated, even punished through thought, but to kill with one's
mind seemed impossible.

"I
have done it many times." Evangeline turned away to waken Laszlo for her
scheduled meal. "The ability to kill silently is a necessity for the
Kimshee."

"Somehow,
I don't doubt her for an instant," Stiles mumbled as I translated
Evangeline's warning to Frest. He repeated our requirements, spoke his
acceptance to the terms, then held out his bound feet.

"Can't
do a thing tied up like I am." I leaned forward to cut his bindings.
"Thank you, umm, what're you called again?"

"I
never said," I said curtly as I drained my mug of cold tea.

Frest
hurried to swallow the biscuit in his mouth. "You look local. Are you from
the Danston Maraloosh compound?"

"Why
do you ask?" I suddenly became aware of the tension in my shoulders.
Not
now,
I told myself.
Control.

"My
boy," he said. "The one I want back is betrothed to a girl from the
same compound Danston Maraloosh's eldest daughter married into. Stars, what a
mess that turned into."

"It
doesn't concern me." I rinsed my mug with snow and placed it back in my
pack. There my hands remained, stroking my extra blade.
Not now. Not now,
I
repeated as my mind threatened to wander. "They're not my family."

"Nonsense,"
interjected Frest. "I've traded with Danston Maraloosh on several
occasions. You look too much like him not to be his. Seems your sister Tessa
took off with her husband's eldest son. Oh, what is that boy's name?"

"I
wouldn't know." Jinwall was his name. I clasped the blade but kept my
hands in the bag. Who would I use it on? Him? Myself? Neither seemed logical,
but at the same time both options seemed satisfying. I knew I was on the verge
of a flashback so I tried focusing my small energy reserve on staying in the
present, just as Evangeline had instructed. Without her assistance, however, I
was slipping faster than I could control. No matter how I tried, I simply could
not disengage from the memories. The child inside me, the hurt one, was lashing
out at the very mention of her abusers. "Why should I care? I'm not one of
them."

Control.
Evangeline pushed the same energy
into me she had earlier, but the ugliness inside me twisted it, turning it into
unfounded anger.

"Yes,
you are," he said upon discovering my birth family's long-hidden secret.
"You're the runaway Danston tore the countryside apart looking for some
passes back. He never mentioned you were his by blood."

"He
wouldn't," I said in a low voice. The rage brewing inside me now
threatened to spill out.
Not now. Not now.
And the child inside me cried
louder. Auts had hurt her. Now she could return the pain.

"True
enough." Frest rose and shook out his legs. "He claims you killed his
brother Tisph."

The
name, the man, the agony, descended on me full force. I gripped my blade
tighter as the lines between the present and past began to blur. Oh, how the
child—how I—longed to silence the pain he brought!

Control,
Trooper Rankil.
Evangeline bent
beside me, placing her hand into the bag and over mine. "Is this the blade
you were telling me about?" She pushed a heavy phase into me, and both the
child and I couldn't help but briefly relax. In that instant she swept the
blade from my grip and stood, twirling it in her fingers as she tested the
balance. "Nice." She passed the blade to Stiles. "Feel the lightness."

Stiles
bounced the blade in her hand. "One of the better trooper blades I've come
across," she said then, with an easy toss, lodged the blade to its hilt in
the soft wood of a tree some ten meters away. "Mind if I try it out for a
while?"

"I'm
sure she doesn't," said Evangeline when I remained silent. "Walk with
me a moment, Trooper Rankil." She touched my shoulder and I numbly obeyed,
following her a short distance from camp. There, out of the sight of others,
she dropped to her knees, pulling me down beside her.
Are you aware of what
you were about to do?

Ease
the pain,
I mind mumbled. Truthfully,
I wished to forget Tisph and was willing to get that wish any way possible.

And
killing yourself or someone else will do that?
Evangeline sat cross-legged before me and took my
hand, gripping hard when I pulled away.
Your pain has become unbearable. I
felt it rising when we first met, but I hesitated because of your age and
connection to Myrla. Now it is splitting you so completely in two that I must
intercede.

Help?
I remember hearing myself say as the
child in me screamed for attention.

J
will
help you to reconcile.
Before I could rise from my fog enough to fully
understand, Evangeline had turned me as she had Laszlo and drawn me into her
lap. She pulled her cloak around me, and in that swaddling, a wave of peace and
pleasure washed over me.
Precious woman. Precious hurting child.
I
floated in a mental place deeper than I had ever experienced even with Myrla.
It was similar but different, pleasurable but with an undercurrent of pain I
could not ignore and Evangeline did not try to mask. She surrounded me
physically as she pierced my mind, reaching deep within me to the ugliness, to
the child I kept caged.
Share what makes you ache. Share what drives you far
from home so that it may not again.