Kaavl Conspiracy (5 page)

She rubbed her cheek against his fur. The animal’s love was so simple and uncomplicated. He, more than anyone else in the world, accepted her, just as she was.

After a few minutes passed, she felt a little better. Sensing this, the apte wriggled free and waddled to his food dish. Empty, of course. “Poor thing.” Methusal took down a bag of dried red tagma berries and shook the treat into his bowl. He ate eagerly and glanced over his shoulder with a satisfied, approving look in his eyes.

“I’m glad I can make you happy, Chup,” she smiled.

The cold breeze again swirled through the open ledge across the room. The soft green night beckoned, so she stepped out for a moment. Resting her elbows on the stone wall which enclosed the ledge, she glanced to the right, up the steep cliff to the top of the mountain. The green glow intensified as the large moon, Ryon, peeked over the mountain ridge. Without thinking, her hand slipped into her pocket and curled around her tablet necklace.

Renn had carried this in his pocket last night.

Renn.
Tears blurred her eyes. She still couldn’t believe he was gone. His body, at least. What about his soul? Was it gone forever, too? Or had God, The One she’d been taught to believe in as a child, take him to heaven, never to die? She wanted to believe this.

Methusal swallowed back the ache in her throat and studied the heavy, silvery object in her palm. Where had she lost it? How had it ended up in the ore mine?

Its silent surface reflected back green moonlight. A dark fleck in the corner caught her eye. Dried blood?

Horror choked off her quick breath.

She scrubbed her fingernail over it, and the fleck flew out over the wall and into the still night. It drifted in sweeps and swirls toward the plains floor. Kaavl kicked in, and her eyes followed the speck down the sheer bluffs until it disappeared into the black, bush dotted plain.

The dark landscape was still. Unnaturally so. It felt as if nature held her breath, waiting for violence to shred the peace. Methusal sharpened her hearing and listened for the snarl of wild beasts on the other side of the mountain, at the entrance gates. Claws scrabbled and an apte screamed.

With a shudder, Methusal retreated back inside and banged the shutters shut. She latched them. At least the beasts couldn’t climb the cliff to her home. As a child, that had been her most terrifying fear…until the night she’d seen them for the first time.

She still remembered those fiery red eyes glowing through the darkness, as the pack of wild beasts had leaped and clawed at the cliff that night. Specks of foam flew from their snarling mouths, which were illuminated by cave lamps, five lengths above them.

Her father had instructed her to watch, so she would see that the animals couldn’t climb to their rooms. Terrified, she had obeyed. And learned she was safe.

Thankfully, wild beasts were poor climbers. They hated moving water, too.

Methusal struck a brittle piece of firestick against the wall and lit several lamps. The mountain dwellers could avoid the wild beasts if they were careful. Rolbanis rarely hunted the nocturnal beasts. Even though bright lights blinded them, the beasts viciously attacked anyone who entered their dark lairs. Hunting parties who met a wild beast pack always brought home a dead hunter.

With a shiver, Methusal wrapped her arms around herself. She thought about Renn’s death again. The crop plateau was safe from wild beasts. A rushing stream separated it from the mountain, and sheer cliffs dropped away from two sides, and the third side was extremely steep, and no beast had made it to the crop plateau before. No, a wild beast probably had not attacked Renn on the cliff. Someone definitely must have pushed him.

But who? And what about the note in her apartment?

Something about the note had struck her as odd when she’d read it, but the shocking contents hadn’t allowed the impression to solidify into anything concrete. Now she couldn’t put her finger on what exactly had disturbed her, besides it being messier than Renn’s usual handwriting.

Too many questions, and no answers.

Even worse, the fact that her necklace was somehow linked to Renn’s murder made Methusal feel sick to her stomach, as if she was somehow partly responsible for his death. That was illogical, of course, but it didn’t make her feel any better. If she hadn’t carelessly lost her necklace in the first place, would any of this have happened?

* * * * *

Honorable Presidente,

My mission proceeds on course. A menace was neutralized and blame placed on a kaavl threat. This trick was accomplished by using kaavl. I am able to roam Rolban at will, virtually undetected, by using
kaavl techniques. The more I learn of kaavl, the more I fear it is Koblan’s only weapon against which we have no defense. As I have previously reported
, their other weapons are so primitive as to be laughable. In fact, I am beginning to suspect kaavl may be as valuable as Rolban’s ore. However, I will not know this full truth until I find the 2
^nd
Book of Kaavl. Legend says that book explains all kaavl mysteries.

Are Dehrien legends to be believed? My ally is convinced—as I am—that the necklace is the only clue to the book’s location. Engravings in the necklace indicate the book must be hidden in Rolban. I will find it soon, and will bring this volume to Zindedi after I successfully complete my mission. Kaavl means power here, and I am convinced it will also strengthen our military, once I bring its secrets home.

Never fear; your multi-pronged attacks are prospering on all fronts, and will soon fester seeds of distrust and doubt within and outside Rolban. Soon Koblan will be yours. I will finish this report tomorrow, and send it to you.

* * * * *

Methusal struck a fire stick against a rough, rocky wall in her room, and touched a flaming tip to a lamp positioned over her low, cushioned bed pallet. She couldn’t stop thinking about kaavl, or the upcoming games. Since today was Seventhday, only two full days remained for her to practice, since the Kaavl Games would take place on Thirdday.

So far, she had kept her unusual kaavl skills a secret. She hoped they would give her an edge over Behran in the Tri-Level Game. Once and for all, she wanted to prove herself equal to him. How stunned he’d feel if she beat him in their first competition! At last, he would have to admit he’d been wrong to sneer at her all these years.

A flash of temper warmed her cheeks when she remembered his insults today. He
still
thought of her as that pestering thirteen year-old he’d first met
…who worshipped the ground I walked on.
Behran’s mocking words echoed through her mind.

What she wouldn’t give to rewrite history!

Unwelcome memories of the mortifying afternoon that had changed the entire course of her life scorched her mind.

She had been infatuated with the new Dehrien boy. And yes, a pest.

That horrible day, she’d followed Behran to the plateau on top of the mountain, where he’d retreated for solitude. Perching beside him, she’d begun to chatter, hoping to impress him with her knowledge of Rolban.

At that point Behran had scowled. He’d bluntly told her that he was sick of being followed everywhere, and although she was a nice
kid
, he was not interested in her, because she was too young, and because (he implied) her intellect was sorely below his.

Methusal had been stung to the quick. And furious. How dare he think he was better than she was?

She’d known Behran practiced the ancient art of kaavl—the process of highly sharpening the senses, coupled with intense concentration of the mind. Anger had pushed her to take the first step toward learning kaavl. She was not stupid, and meant to prove it to him. Better yet, she wanted to beat him squarely, one on one, at his own kaavl level.

Although only talented people could progress beyond the beginning kaavl level, also known as the Quint-level, or fifth level, Methusal soon discovered she was gifted in the art, and had caught up to her peers within a few short years.

Now she was an adult—eighteen—and her childish hurt at being rejected had of course healed. But she still burned to beat him in the annual Kaavl Games. Especially since Behran still held such a patronizing attitude toward her, and her kaavl abilities.

Changing into her thick, warm pajamas, Methusal blew out the lamp and slipped beneath the coverings. Tomorrow she’d ask Kitran to allow her to play in the Kaavl Games. Surely he wouldn’t disqualify her, like Petr had threatened.

* * * * *

Low, arguing voices roused Methusal from deep sleep a few hours later. Her parents rarely disagreed, so the intensity of their voices made her sit up on one elbow.

“I don’t like it!” Her father sounded vehement.

“We have to give him a chance. This might be a wonderful opportunity,” her mother murmured.

Were they still arguing about the Alliance? Methusal stifled a yawn.

“Petr’s going too fast. Why didn’t he bring this issue up earlier?” A firestick cracked against the wall. “He wants to make every decision by himself!”

“Erl, you’re going to wake Thusa.”

His voice lowered, but was still intense. “Something has to be done, don’t you see? Petr’s selling us out! Mark my words, Hanuh, this will be the end of Rolban’s freedom.”

“It might be a good thing. Rolban’s been independent for two hundred years. Maybe it’s time we developed a closer Alliance with Dehre and Tarst. It could benefit us.”

“It’ll benefit
them
,” he growled. “The Dehriens are decades
behind us, always scavenging for their food, and preyed upon by the beasts! If they weren’t so lazy and shiftless, they wouldn’t need an
Alliance
with us.”

“We’ve heard reports that they’re starving. Shouldn’t we help them?”

“I’m not against helping them, if we had extra food, which we don’t. I’m against
trusting
them. This is just how the Great War started. Dehriens were starving, and a drought had gone on for three years, just like it has now. Their Chief decided to attack us, with Tarst’s help, so they could steal our water and croplands for themselves.”

“We’re friends with the Tarst now,” Hanuh pointed out. “You’re good friends with Pan Patn, their Chief, for goodness sake. And we trade with them, because they’re so close—only a day’s run from here. What difference would an Alliance make?”

“I trust Pan,” Erl said grimly, “but not the Dehriens.”

“Because you know Pan. You messengered together for years. Maybe if you got to know Dehre’s Chief, you would come to trust him, too.”

“The Dehriens haven’t changed. I tell you, Hanuh, I don’t trust them. We’re safe now. Let’s keep it that way.”

“What are you afraid they’ll do?”

He gave a sharp laugh. “Soon as that treaty is signed they’ll send more Dehriens to Rolban. Security is an issue. And what about thefts? If I didn’t know better, I’d think it had already started—skins missing from your garment room, and plates and utensils missing from the kitchen. Too many strange things are happening, and I don’t like it.” Agitated pacing reached Methusal’s ears. “I don’t like it one bit. Sounds just like Dehrien tricks!”

“Erl. You’re being judgmental. Look at the Amils, for goodness sakes. They’re from Dehre, but they’re not dishonest or…”

“That is exactly my point!”

“What is your point?” She sounded bewildered.

“The Amils left the plains
because
the Dehriens are so lazy and backward. They knew our community was more advanced, so they wanted to move here. And they were willing to work hard to do it. Petr’s making a huge mistake. Haven’t we learned from the past? How can we ally ourselves with those dirty, stealing scoundrels? And their Chief is coming here Secondday? Who arranged that? I don’t like any of this one bit…”

“Erl,” Hanuh broke in. “If you’re so worried, then call another Council meeting.”

“Maybe I will,” he muttered. “The Council needs to realize that if we sign that Alliance, that’s it. We’ve given our word, and we’ll be honor-bound to keep it. We can’t agree to it too quickly.”

“I agree,” Hanuh said. “But don’t you think the fear and distrust from the Great War have gone on long enough? Maybe it’s time for a change. Just think about it. Maybe the new Alliance will benefit us all.”

“What do you sense about the Alliance?”

A long silence elapsed. “I don’t know. I’m trying to be logical, Erl. But I’ve honestly been having a bad feeling about something else all night.”

“Like last night, when Renn died?”

“Yes. But I think it’s because Petr accused Thusa of murder…” Hanuh’s voice caught.

A rustle of movement, and Erl murmured, “Everything will be all right.”

“How?” she whispered. “You
know
the penalty for murder is death.”

Dehre

Firstday

Hendra had smelled
the acrid, burning fires again last night.

As dawn streaked the far horizon red and gold, she tossed the leather bucket down into the well. It was one of the few wells still working in Dehre. It fell a long way, and then she heard a faint splash.

Her cousin hadn’t answered her questions about the fires last night, and that made her feel uneasy.

Hendra tugged on the rope. The bucket felt light. Hand over hand, she pulled it up. Half full. And dirty. The food situation was worse. How would the orphans ever survive? How would she? Still five passes of the moon to wait until the cold, rainy season began again. If they were lucky, the nearing hot season might bring a few rain showers.

Water still flowed in the Rolban Mountains, runners said. And Mentàll had recently used Tarst’s timber to construct a dam to divert a portion of the Tarst River south. If only that Tarst River offshoot wasn’t a half day’s walk north. But at least now they wouldn’t die of thirst, anyway. And if Dehre had seed grain, they could grow crops near the river, too. But Hendra feared they had none.

Rolban had seed grain. If only they weren’t still enemies with Dehre… Not for the first time, Hendra hoped Rolban would accept the Alliance her cousin would present soon. Hopefully, the suspicious fires would play no part in it. Should she confront Mentàll again about the fires? Or trust him, as she had done for all of her life?

She trudged toward the orphanage, where she helped every morning, and paused to let a skinny child pass. Last year’s hot, dry summer and the apte beasts had decimated their grain crop. And the cold winter had killed the new seeds they’d tried to plant. Now summer was about to begin again, but the remaining grain was long gone. Had any been kept for planting crops? If so, it must be hidden, or the starving people would have found it and eaten it long ago.

Hendra and the children survived on wild beast meat and the sparse tagma berries the hunters searched for days to find. Not for the first time, she wondered if they would eventually starve to death. The Alliance had to pass. It just had to.

“Hendra!” She jumped at the sudden shout.

Jascr, her oldest brother, loped to catch up with her. Everything in her urged her to run, and she walked a little faster.

Jascr tried to grab her arm, but she instantly spun out of reach, thankful for her rudimentary kaavl training at the Quatr-level—a giant step above the Quint-level, which she had struggled for years to master. A shudder rippled through her; a reaction to his brief touch. Jascr saw it. Pleasure glittered in his eyes. With his black hair and black, cruel eyes, Jascr looked just like their father and two other brothers. Hendra looked nothing like any of them, and felt both blessed and cursed by that fact.

“Time to listen to me, little
sister.
”

She prayed for the emotionless wall to wrap her heart in ice, to freeze her emotions; to protect her, as it usually did, but nothing happened.

Hendra struggled to harden her features into a dead, expressionless mask. “You have no authority over me, Jascr. I don’t live in your tent.”

His lips curled into a sneer. “You cannot live in our cousin’s tent forever.”

“I have my own tent.”

“Wortn will take you in marriage.”

Horror made her blink. “I will not take him.” Outwardly, Hendra was glad she sounded cool and confident, but inside, she quaked. It took every shred of courage to meet her brother’s gaze and stand her ground.

Jascr snarled, “If you lived in my tent, you would do as I say!”

Childhood memories stabbed like a thousand knives through her heart. Much as Hendra tried to forget, she could not. Not ever. But if Jascr sensed how deep her terror still ran, he would seize that power, and rule her by intimidation; she knew that very well.

As steadily as she could, Hendra said, “You would not allow me to live in your tent when Father died. Remember?” How grateful she’d been for that rejection! Although Mentàll may be a cold, and quite possibly dangerous man, he left her alone. She would live no other way.

“You
must
marry!” Jascr’s voice rose into an ugly shout. “It is natural. The way of women.”

Hendra shuddered at the thought of a man possessing complete control over her. “I will
never
marry.”

A violent cuff caught the side of her head. Pain exploded, and with it overwhelming, choking terror.

Jascr grabbed her shoulder, but Hendra twisted free. She
cringed back like a defenseless apte, forgetting all of the basic
Quatr-level kaavl skills she’d learned.

Her brother kicked the bucket out of her hand. The meager amount of water
spilled into tiny rivulets over the dry, cracked earth. In less than a second, the dusty earth sucked it dry. “I am your oldest brother and closest kinsman! You
will
marry Wortn.”

Hendra wanted to run, but refused to give her brother the satisfaction. With a hard gulp of fear, she turned and walked away as fast as she could. Helpless tears slipped down her cheeks. Her brother had won, once again. His vicious chuckle followed her. Gasping, she strode faster for her own tent now, instead of for the orphanage. In her cousin’s tent, under his protection, she would be safe. She ducked inside and huddled into a dark corner, despising her own frightened sobs, and yet unable to stop them.

Wortn was Jascr’s friend. And she knew Jascr owed him money and pelts. No doubt he wanted to trade her life as payment for his debts. But she would
never
submit. She would rather die.