Kaavl Conspiracy (30 page)

“Why not?”

“Her father banished me. I wasn’t good enough for her. Apparently, she felt the same. So I left.”

“How awful!” Methusal touched his shoulder. “I didn’t know you had a family.”

“I don’t. She married another, and my son is dead these many years. Almost thirty years gone, now.”

“What happened?”

“My M’tilde did not tell him about me, his true father, until he was a man. He sought me out. But it wasn’t enough time. Not enough time at all.”

“Did he come here, to Rolban?”

“Yes. For a short while. And then he left. He was a wanderer, much like me. He died soon after in a wild beast attack.”

“How horrible.” And what heartbreak for poor Sims! The woman he loved had married someone else. His son was dead. He was alone in the world. She remembered seeing
him eating alone last night. “You may not have a son anymore,
but you could still have a family, if you’d like. An adopted one.”

A twinkle glimmered in his eyes. “What do you mean, my girl?”

Maybe she should ask her parents first, but she didn’t think they’d mind. “I just mean…maybe you’d like to sit with us sometimes. Our family is small, and I don’t have any grandparents. What I mean is…”

Sims smiled, and to Methusal’s surprise, his lips trembled
a little. “I’d be honored. It would be a pleasure to sit with you from time to time.”

“Terrific!” She grinned. “I’ll tell my parents. I know they’ll be thrilled.”

* * * * *

Kitran, Goric, and Methusal stood on the plateau. A warm wind slid through Methusal’s long hair. She saw Behran in the distance. He’d almost reached the bluffs.

Kitran said, “Do each of you understand the rules? The person who reaches the bluff and returns here first is the winner.”

“Does the winner need to capture the other person?” Methusal asked.

“Absolutely.”

Goric rolled his shoulders. Kitran lifted his hand and both contenders crouched, with one foot on the edge of the plateau
.

“Ready? Begin!”

Methusal and Goric shot down the steep hill, slipping and sliding on dirt and stray pebbles. Once they reached the plains, Goric took off at a sprint. He was wiry and fast. He also made a lot of noise. Methusal realized she’d never match his speed, but keeping track of him would be easy.

It soon became obvious that Goric intended to run straight to the bluffs. Maybe he planned to capture her on the return trip, after she’d tagged the bluffs. He’d silently lie in wait on the plain like he had last time, and capture her then. She couldn’t afford to let him get too far ahead.

Methusal pulled out one of the blue-banded, leather kaavl strips her mother had specially made for her. She wrapped one end around her hand, so she’d be ready when she needed it. She ran effortlessly, her breaths even and silent. In contrast, Goric, even though he steadily increased his lead, wheezed, and his moccasins scattered stones everywhere. Methusal had never heard such a noisy kaavl contender before. His racket convinced her even more that Goric hadn’t run at all during the Tri-level. Everyone would have heard him crashing across the plain!

Goric was two minutes ahead of her when he reached the far bluffs. Splashes told her he’d reached the stream. After he touched the bluff face he stopped for a minute, bent over, trying to catch his breath. Finally he headed back, toward her. She put on a burst of speed, skirted around him, and tagged the bluffs, too. Behran sat on a high boulder. She offered him a jaunty wave, and turned and sped back.

Now was her chance. She had to capture Goric before he escaped further into the plains and found a hiding spot. He’d already proven that he could hide in virtual silence, which would make him a worthy foe.

Goric’s footsteps stopped thirty lengths ahead.

Staying hidden behind scattered plains bushes, she cautiously slipped within visual range. He stood between two tagma bushes. His gaze darted about as he set up a trap with quick, jerky movements. He was nervous. Good.

Methusal cut directly ahead of him and swiftly flicked out her kaavl strip. It snapped around a nearby branch. She crouched, waiting, behind another thick bush.

Goric approached, and then paused. He’d seen her trap. He sprinted south, which was off course. She’d conserve her energy and head straight for the finish line.

A few minutes later, Goric swerved back on course. He passed her to the west.

Goric continued to run, and she loped in pursuit. She’d bet he planned to lie in wait near the finishing plateau again. Yes. Long minutes later, Goric’s racket stopped twenty lengths from the plateau. Methusal smiled to herself. Simple, then. She’d head south like he had, and then swoop in directly behind him. He’d expect her from the east.

Methusal slowed to a walk when she was ten lengths south of Goric. She fanned out her hearing, listening for the sound of Goric’s breaths. He was quiet now, and she struggled to pinpoint his location. Overhead, flying beast wings whispered, and ahead a small beast skittered into its hole.

Finally, she heard Goric’s soft breaths, seven lengths ahead. She carried, and mentally took the leap to the source of the sound. He whispered, “Hurry up. Spring my trap, stupid girl.”

Stupid girl? The gall of him—the
cheater!
—to call her names. Oh, she’d get him. No traps. Just personal, one on one combat. Adrenaline pumped through her. Caution, too. Her impulsive plan was dangerous. She could lose everything if he sensed her coming. But the satisfaction of the win—of walking right up and capturing Goric without him suspecting she was even there… It was the ultimate humiliation for any kaavl player.

Holding a new kaavl strip at the ready, Methusal silently glided closer to her quarry. Pebbles lay scattered over the plain here, so it wasn’t easy to be quiet. Her concentration sharpened until her whole being was kaavl. Every nuance of input guided her path. The next stone was there…the breeze strengthened from the south… Leaves rustled.

Methusal swiftly and silently moved to within a length of him, and then hid behind a thick tagma bush. Goric peered east, and the breeze picked up.

It was now or never. Methusal circled west and crept up behind Goric. Half a length, one quarter of a length… She flicked out her kaavl strip, and the end curled around his torso. Before he could react, she’d flipped the long strip around him once, twice, then thrice.

“Hey!” Arms pinned to his sides, Goric struggled to his feet. “Where did you come from? You cheated!”

Kitran appeared. “She won, fair and square. Go to the plateau, Methusal. It’s clear who should have won second place at the Tri-Level Game.”

“No!” Goric protested. “I’m faster—didn’t you see? I outran her last time, and I did this time, too. I won the first game, fair and square!”

“You ran nowhere at the Tri-level,” Kitran voice sounded hard. “You run like a child. Crashing over rocks, tripping over pebbles. A Quatr-leveler knows more than you do. And a Quatr-leveler could have easily tracked your progress today. If you’d truly run the course last time, Behran or Methusal—most likely both—would have heard you, and captured you long before the finish line. Goric, you lose your second position. And I’m expelling you from kaavl entirely, for cheating.”

Goric’s face tightened into a mask of hatred. “You’ll regret it.”

“Really? Who’ll make me regret it?” Kitran towered over the other man by at least two handbreadths. “I’ll report your behavior to Petr. Any further dishonorable conduct will be disciplined. Maybe Motr will demote you to water irrigator.”

“Kaavl is a stupid game, anyway,” Goric spat. “Endlessly practicing for what? A stupid necklace? It’s a waste of time.” He ripped off Methusal’s kaavl strip and snarled at her, “I will not forget!” and stalked for Rolban.

Another enemy. Great. How many had she gained in the last week? Pogul, the Dehrien Chief, and now Goric. But none of them were nice men, were they? Someone had to have the guts to stand up to them.

Feeling a little better, Methusal ran for the finish line at the top of the kaavl plateau. She’d won! She’d earned second place for the Tri-level, and she’d go to Dehre and Tarst the day after tomorrow. Her spirit soared, and she felt like dancing. But with Kitran and Behran approaching, she decided against it. They might laugh at her.

* * * * *

Although Petr had told her to stop investigating, Methusal found herself sliding a glance at the Storst table
when she sat down to supper that night. A little earlier, Deccia
had reported that she’d investigated the ravine at ground level. Unfortunately, the skins weren’t there. Another dead end. What about Petr? Had he followed up on the lead she had provided?

A glance through the dining hall did not locate Liem. Was he still investigating? Although she wanted to find the true murderer, part of her hoped he’d quit, because all of the “clues” he’d found only seemed to point to her guilt.

At the Storst table, Deccia ate quietly and Aali scowled down into her food. Probably Petr had just lectured her about something.

“Hi.” Behran’s voice sent her gaze bouncing upwards, and he quirked an eyebrow. “Doing detective work?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” She spooned up mashed logne leaf.

“Weren’t you just spying on the Storsts?”

“Don’t be silly. I
was
wondering if Petr’s found any new clues, but I doubt it.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

She smiled. “Wouldn’t you like to know? Besides, he ordered us to stop investigating, or don’t you remember?”

“Oh, I know. Just wondering if you’d listen.”

“Yes. For now.”

“What discipline. Kitran would be proud of you.”

Was that mockery in voice? If so, she tried to ignore it. “What about you, Behran? Are you ready for the games?”

With a slow grin, he said, “I’m ready to take
you
on. You’d better practice hard tomorrow, because you’ll need all the help you can get.”

She managed not to roll her eyes. Behran,
Behran.
Pitiful, really, reverting to his old, annoying tricks. If he thought she’d lose her temper, he could think again.

She smiled as sweetly as she knew how. “If that’s the case, then maybe you’ll give me a few pointers.”

And that left him satisfactorily silent for a while.

Her parents arrived a bit later. Her mother sat down, but her father did not. He gently touched Hanuh’s back.

“Would you like tea for your headache?”

“Thank you.” Hanuh closed her eyes and rubbed at the frown between her brows. Erl strode for the drinks counter.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh, Thusa. I can’t explain it. I just feel…awful.”

The color on Hanuh’s face ebbed as Methusal watched. Within moments, she looked as pale as a ghost. She asked, “Is it a headache, or are you sensing something bad?” Sometimes her mother’s empathic abilities manifested in blinding headaches.

As if her words were a trigger, her mother gasped and she pressed her fingers harder into her temples. Her skin turned white.

“It’s something evil…someone evil.” She drew a slow breath. “Something awful is about to happen…Ah!” Her features contorted
. “Or…it
is
happening.
Now.
I…
I just don’t know.
” She gasped again. Tears slid down her cheeks. “Thusa…it’s
awful!
”

Methusal quickly wrapped her arms tightly around her mother. “Mama, what is it?” she whispered. “Who is it?”

“I don’t know.” Her mother choked on a sob. “I hate this…
gift
. I can’t help anyone!”

“Of course you’re helping.” She held her tighter, and wished she knew how to help. She’d never seen her mother so upset before. The closest she’d seen to this amount of distress had been the night someone had killed Renn. Heart in her throat, she said, “Mama…is it like…when Renn died?”

“It’s
worse!
” her mother gasped. “Much worse. I feel like I know this person very well… Thusa!” Terrified eyes turned to Methusal. “Don’t be alone, not for one minute, tonight. Do you hear me?”

“Y…”

“Do you
hear
me?
” Hanuh’s voice rose to a hysterical pitch.

Tears stung her eyes and Methusal pressed her forehead against her mother’s “I hear you, Mama. I’ll do what you say. I promise.”

“Good.” Hanuh’s shoulders shuddered, and she dissolved into deep, quiet sobs.

Erl hurried up and murmured, “Do you want to lie down, love?”

Hanuh clutched Methusal’s arm. “Promise me!”

“I promise, Mama.”

“I’ll walk her home,” Behran said quietly.

“Good!” Her mother seemed relieved by Behran’s words. Clutching Erl’s shoulder, she slowly stood and the two shuffled out of the dining room. Others watched her go, concern written on their faces. Deccia jumped up and ran after them. Her sister’s face looked pale, and Methusal wondered if she was feeling the same empathic premonition as their mother.

“I heard what she said,” Behran murmured. “Someone’s going to die.”

“Oh Behran!” Methusal stared at him with tears in her own eyes. “Who could it be?”

Secondday

No one had turned up dead yet.

Hanuh had not arisen yet that morning, so Methusal wasn’t sure how her mother felt today.

Methusal, however, felt nervous. She looked over her shoulder when she hurried the short distance to the dining hall that morning.

What if
she
was the killer’s next target? She couldn’t help but remember the shove she’d received on the stairs the other day. Maybe it hadn’t been an accident, after all.

Logically, she was probably at the top of the murderer’s kill list. After all, she was investigating. A nervous killer probably made for a dangerous man. Look at Renn. He’d been investigating the thefts, too.

After plopping a lump of gluey porridge into her bowl, she slipped over to the Storsts’ table. Deccia and Aali sat alone. Deccia looked better than she had last night, and Methusal sat across from her.

“Good morning.”

Deccia returned the greeting, but Aali sat unusually silent
a short distance away, frowning to herself.

“My father said everything still seems fine,” Methusal said. She tried to inject an upbeat note into her voice. “So far, so good, right?”

“I hope so.” A frown settled between Deccia’s brows. “I still feel…off. But I feel sad now, more than scared, like I did last night.”

“Maybe the danger is over.”

“Maybe.”

“Timaeus is coming home today, right?”

“Yes.” A wistful smile tugged at Deccia’s lips.

“Will you talk to him?”

“If Father lets me.” She sounded cautiously optimistic.

A “bother Father” whispered down the table.

“What’s wrong with Aali?”

“I don’t know.” Deccia rolled her eyes. “She keeps picking fights with Father about everything—kaavl, the killer. I don’t know what she’s trying to prove.” The two gazed at the younger girl, as much like a sister to Methusal as to Deccia, but Aali scowled.

Methusal’s mind circled back to the killer. Much as she’d like to think about something else, fear kept knotting up her stomach. “Has Petr found more clues about Renn’s murder?”

“Of course not!” Aali snorted from down the table.

Deccia sent her a warning glance. “He doesn’t discuss it with us.”

“All Father cares about is winning the election,” Aali muttered.

“I promised him I’d stop investigating,” Methusal said. “But after my mother’s bad feeling last night, I think that would be stupid. She thinks I’m in danger. She could be right. The killer might see me as a threat, since I’ve spent so much time investigating. And after getting shoved down the stairs…”

“
What?
” Now she not only had Deccia’s full attention, but Aali’s, as well.

“I guess I forgot to tell you.” She recapped the story of the elbow in her back, and how Barak had saved her from a nasty fall. “I thought it was an accident then. But now I’m not so sure.”

Deccia’s eyebrows had climbed her forehead. “Sounds suspicious to me.”

Aali scooted closer. Her eyes gleamed. “We have to set a trap!”

“I wish we could, but how? I keep coming back to that ore mine authorization list. A big, dark haired man. An immigrant.”

“He may not be an immigrant,” Deccia reminded her. “We have to be fair. And we can’t overlook other possible suspects.”

“You’re right,” Methusal agreed, but she wasn’t happy to admit it. She wanted to narrow down the list, but without the immigrant qualifier, it remained too long. “Let’s list the immigrants first. Who meet the requirements?”

“Barak, Kitran, Verdnt…and one of the guards. Vogl,” Deccia remembered. “Didn’t you say he was the guard at the ore mine door, Thusa?”

“Yes.”

“Any others?”

“Two council members. Iric, who’s Lina’s father, and Pogul’s father,” Aali put in. “Pogul is a beast. His father probably is, too.”

“So, at least six men,” Deccia said.

“If we include native Rolbanis, the list would probably triple.”

Deccia shook her head. “It still doesn’t make sense. Why steal? Why kill Renn?”

“Renn probably figured out the thief’s identity.”

“Still, why would that be a motive for murder? Even if Renn had turned him in, the punishment for theft is six months in jail! Murder seems so extreme.”

“Don’t forget the Alliance.” Aali shoved her bowl aside. She’d barely touched her gray clump of porridge. “Why did Tarst steal our pots? I thought we were friends.”

“We are,” Methusal said. “I still think someone is stirring up trouble on purpose. Either to destroy the Alliance, or for some other reason.”

“Should I give our suspect list to Father? He might see something we don’t,” Deccia said.

Methusal nodded, but she didn’t think Petr would do anything with it. As far as she’d seen, her uncle had done precious little investigating on the case.

Aali was right.
They
needed to do something—maybe set a trap—but how, where, and when? Tomorrow she’d leave for the Inter-Community Games in Dehre. “Maybe I’ll find clues in Dehre or Tarst. Runners must be a part of the scheme.”

“What will you do? Interrogate them?”

“I don’t know. I’ll look for stolen items, at least.” And if she found them…then what?

Aali jumped up. “Time for class.”

“Our last class ever,” Methusal grinned.

“Lucky! We still have to go for the rest of the week.”

As they picked up their breakfast dishes, Deccia said, “Are you excited about the IC Games?” She dumped her dishes in the bin.

“Yes. I can’t wait to see Dehre and Tarst. And I can’t wait to compete with Behran again.” Methusal’s dishes fell with a loud clatter into the bin.

“I thought you two were getting along now.”

“We are, for the most part. But last night he went all obnoxious again. He said I’d have to work hard to beat him.”

Deccia smiled. “He wants to keep you on edge. Maybe he’s trying to keep the competition exciting.”

“Probably. He certainly wins at being annoying.”

Verdnt took Deccia aside as they stepped into the classroom, so Methusal made her way to her desk alone. The last day of class! She could hardly believe it.

What would Verdnt talk about today? The elections? According to Deccia, he was brimming with ideas, and itching to discuss them in class. The very idea made her eyes glaze, and a yawn worked at the corner of her mouth.

“What did he want?” she asked when Deccia finally broke free.

A tiny frown puckered her brow. “He wants me to put in extra work time this morning, since he’ll be leaving for the Games tomorrow. He wants to discuss the lesson plans for the younger classes.”

“Remember, meet in a public place. Don’t go to his compartment.”

“Honestly, I’m not worried about that right now. It’s the idea of teaching all by myself that scares me. I’m not sure I’m ready for this.”

“You’ll do fine.”

But Deccia didn’t look so sure.

To Methusal’s relief, the last class was mercifully short. Verdnt called each graduating student up to the head of the class, said a few positive words over him or her, and handed over a graduation parchment. He had plenty of glowing things to say about Deccia, but only one for Methusal.

“You’re one of the smartest students I’ve ever taught. Try to apply those smarts to real life.”

Methusal shot him a sideways glance. That was a backhanded compliment, if ever she’d heard one. He regarded her steadily. Subtle dislike lurked in his unsmiling gaze.

He didn’t like her. For some strange reason, that hurt her feelings. Well, maybe she hadn’t always paid close attention in class, but she had tried. And she’d always completed her homework on time. She felt judged, and unfairly, too.

She accepted the white parchment. Her name was written
in black ink script, and so was “Congratulations on your graduation!” Verdnt’s name and Petr’s name were scrawled across the bottom. She sent Verdnt a look that mirrored his own. “Thanks.”

Something black flashed in his eyes, and Methusal quickly returned to her seat. What was wrong with her? Did she really want to gain another enemy? Maybe she’d better listen to Verdnt and brush up on her “real life” smarts.

* * * * *

That afternoon Sims released Methusal from supply room duty early so she could practice for the Inter-Community Games.

It felt wonderful to be outside again. Methusal climbed to her favorite kaavl plateau and shut all distractions from her mind. Excitement licked through her. Tomorrow their Rolbani team would travel to Dehre. They would participate in Kaavl Games that afternoon, and then travel to Tarst the next day.

Her stomach lurched with excitement. Soon her sheltered
world would expand.

But one thing was for certain: Methusal was not looking forward to seeing the Dehrien Chief again. A shiver slid through her when she remembered the last time she’d seen him, in the dining room. And worse, the dream.

Methusal forced her thoughts away from the dangerous Chief and reviewed what little she knew about Dehre and Tarst. After the Great War, each community had retreated to its own, mutually agreed upon territory, and had left the others strictly alone. The Peace Plan had worked. Not wanting to tamper with success, the villagers had decided to remain isolated, except for sending runners to relay messages to one another. Relations had relaxed with Tarst, however, since Erl and Tarst’s Chief, Pan Patn, had become friends forty years ago, during their messenger days. Gradual trust had built over the years. She wondered what would happen now, since Rolban’s stolen pots had been found in Tarst.

Even though the villages chose to remain isolated from their neighbors, immigrants were accepted from time to time. Each was carefully screened before being accepted as a permanent resident.

That was why the Alliance was so significant—as was the twenty member merchant delegation arriving from Dehre on Sixthday. Methusal wouldn’t be present for their arrival, since she’d be in Tarst. Apparently, the delegation would bring vases of wild beast oil to trade. Soon Rolbani gatherers would harvest logne leaves to trade.

A
screech
and the flapping of wings overhead jolted her into the present. Time to begin.

She closed her eyes, concentrating on her hearing and the gentle caress of the breeze rippling over her face. The light wind blew from the north. By automatically calculating these facts, combined with her sensory input, she could determine exactly where each sound originated. Relaxing, she concentrated more fully.

Wings rushed fifty lengths overhead. A whip beast slithered over the plains twenty-three lengths south. Behind her, a scrabble of rocks tumbled down the plateau. A grown man, climbing rapidly.

Eyes open, she turned to face the intruder.

Kitran’s head popped over the ledge.

“Methusal!” He hesitated. Surprise flickered across his unsmiling face. Then his shoulders and the remainder of his large body slowly stepped into view. “I didn’t know you were up here.”

“I’m practicing.” But Kitran could see that. Why else would she be on the plateau?

“I’d planned to do the same.” His black gaze swept by her to scan the plain below. “Maybe I’ll run first.” His gaze returned to her. “Are you ready for the games?”

“I think so.”

“Good.” His dark eyes bored into her, and seemed to search into her very soul. “Have you given more thought to rising to the second level?”

Kitran’s new kaavl theories and her conversation with Behran in the dark kitchen several nights ago returned to mind. She’d have to make a decision soon. Follow Kitran’s teachings? Or abandon kaavl altogether?

Or remain at the Tri-level? It might be better to retire completely.

But Kitran was waiting, and her gaze fell before his. “I haven’t decided. Not yet.”

His black brow raised, but conveyed no discernable emotion. “It’s up to you, Methusal, but I want you to decide soon. I’m starting a new, introductory Bi-level class in two weeks. I’ve decided you and Behran can sit in on it.”

That was an honor, since she hadn’t achieved the Bi-level
yet. She nodded, and Kitran moved to the edge of the plateau.
“See you tomorrow then, at sunup in the dining room.”

“Okay.” Her instructor vanished and then reappeared, sprinting west across the plain. Watching him, Methusal felt sure Kitran would win the Primary levels in both Dehre and Tarst. As he should. He’d dedicated his entire life to kaavl.

She resumed practice, but felt troubled now, because she wasn’t sure if it would be any easier to decide about the Bi-level in two weeks.

After practicing on the plateau for a while, Methusal’s senses felt sharpened enough to take her run. Although she could certainly run west as Kitran had, she decided to sprint south for a change of pace. She wanted to enjoy her last solitary run before the games tomorrow.

She ran down the hill and took off, running easily, breathing lightly. The breeze felt fresh and cool. Flying beasts circled and cawed overhead. Several whips slithered several lengths to the southeast. The scent of tagma leaves gave way to another smell…of blood. Of death.

Methusal slowed down. The smell was strong. If it was a small animal, she should almost be upon it. But she saw nothing. It must be a larger animal then, and further away. If it was a wild beast, other animals might be feasting on its remains right now. She should be careful.

She listened carefully. Snarling slurps reached her ears. Wolmites; ahead twenty lengths.

Heart pounding, she slowed down still more. Should she head back? Wolmites usually didn’t attack humans, but if their food was threatened…

Something made Methusal continue on. She moved silently, staying downwind of the beasts.

She saw the wolmites, two of them, nuzzling something that lay sprawled against a prickly tagma bush. It was large, but not big enough to be a full grown wild beast. An adolescent, then. Methusal scanned for the wild beast’s claws, trying to determine the dead beast’s age. But she saw no
claws. Instead she saw a bloody moccasin, attached to a human
leg.