Star Hunters (20 page)

During her brief struggle, Fa-kichwa had walked away carrying the small howling boy. Hodarzu's face squeezed into a mask of wrinkles; tears oozed from his tight shut eyes. Fa-kichwa ignored that and sat him down hard on the cold tiles. The boy tried to scramble to his feet and run to his mother, but the man slapped him hard across the face and pushed him back down.

Kitosime's face burned. Her hand tightened around the stones. She whispered to her son, “Be quiet, my baby, be quiet.” At the same time she projected
CALM/TRUST/QUIET
.

Hodarzu stopped crying abruptly and stared up at the man crouched over him. Bewildered, he looked around for his mother, not understanding what was happening. He'd never been struck before. He flinched as the Fa-kichwa's hand rose again, but the waves of
CALM
flowing from his mother comforted him, held him quiet.

“Sit there, boy,” Fa-kichwa said sternly. “Sniffer.”

The twisted little man scuttled over to him.

“You'll need Muwura.”

“Was some in water garden. Second found it, brought it.” Second thrust a rather withered branch from a small woody plant into his wrinkled claw.

Sniffer took it and sniffed at it. “Late in the year for a testing, but the muwura's still potent.” He held it up. Wingshaped gray-green leaves marched along a brown stem in matched pairs. He ran his thumb along the leaves. They quivered and curled up. Sniffer nodded, jerking his ugly head. “Potent enough,” he repeated.

Kitosime took a step forward and stopped as the Fireman grabbed her arm. When she stared at him, he dropped his hand, but shook his head warningly. “Don't interfere, lady.”

Kitosime was fighting a growing numbness born of terror and helplessness.

A warmth invaded her hand. The small lumps bruising her palm stirred. She stepped back until she was pressed against stone, the wall giving strength to her shaking body. She loosed her agonized grip a little as a new warmth spread up her arm and filled her with power. The air in the kitchen turned a rich gold before her eyes, shimmering like firelit water. The figures of the Fa-men dissolved into the golden haze, became black, oily quavers. The stones clicked against her palm in a quickening rhythm.

Her sight cleared. Hodarzu was staring up at the Fa-kichwa, his eyes huge and solemn in his small round face. He wasn't frightened any more. Kitosime could feel the power reaching out from her, calming him, folding him within its tender glow.

Fa-kichwa slapped him across the face again, shouted at him, leaned over until his scarred face almost touched the boy and made ugly animal noises at him.

Sniffer knelt beside Fa-kichwa. When Fa-kichwa sank back on his heels, Sniffer took over, shouting at Hodarzu, slapping him, squealing in his face. Hodarzu was puzzled by all this and a little frightened. But the feel of his mother surrounding him with warmth and comfort steadied him. He began to find the men funny. He started giggling at their antics.

Sniffer scowled and thrust the muwura into the boy's face.

Hodarzu giggled again. The golden glow enfolded him, kept him warm and safe.

The air shivered and shivered around Kitosime. The stones burned into her hand. She could feel her flesh charring. The pain filled her. She trembled. What was happening—what.…

Sniffer howled and thrust the muwura at Hodarzu again.

The stones clicked, burned. Kitosime sagged against the stone.

The frond was still, trembling only with the shaking of Sniffer's hand. The wing-shaped leaves spread out over the boy's laughing face.

Sniffer growled, sour with disappointment. He thrust the muwura again at the boy. Hodarzu reached for the leaves. Sniffer snatched them away and crushed the muwura in his hand. “The boy is clean,” he muttered.

The stones went dead. Kitosime's stiff fingers uncramped from around the pouch. She let her hand fall. For the first time she became aware of the coldness and roughness of the stone against her back and of the ache of her slowly relaxing muscles.

Fa-kichwa looked uneasy. Hodarzu was Kobe's grandson. What plans Kobe had for him..… His eyes flicked to Kitosime then back to the boy.

Kitosime straightened. This was a dangerous moment. Fa-kichwa was afraid and his fear made him unpredictable. She walked carefully to the center of the room and picked up Hodarzu. The boy clung to her, growing a little frightened now that the warmth was gone from around him. Suppressing the anger that flared from the ashes of her terror, she turned her back on the silent Fa-men and moved to the door, her body falling automatically into the Bighouse walk.

In the doorway she turned, “This house is yours, Fa-men. By Kobe's will, I must have it so. For my honor I must ask that you leave me in peace with the children.” She gently stroked Hodarzu's back. “You will confirm to Old Man that his grandson tested free of taint?”

Fa-kichwa looked relieved. “I will confirm.” His voice was harsh, stern as he regained his fanatic's certainty of his righteousness.

She walked out and left him looking around. Before the door closed behind her, he was pouring a cup of cha for himself.

Kitosime walked swiftly toward the stairs. His breath hot on her shoulder, Hodarzu murmured, “Bad mans. Silly mans.” Then he stirred in her arms, disturbed by her anger and fear.

She began climbing the stairs, humming softly, rubbing her hand along his back, soothing him into drowsiness. As she elbowed the dormitory door open, she murmured, “A nice nap, Toto. Maybe when you wake, the bad men will be gone. Gone.” She laid him on his bed and pulled the cover over him. She knelt on the floor beside him, humming again, projecting
SLEEPINESS/CALM/TENDERNESS
. She touched his small face gently, smoothed her hands over his small form until he fell deep asleep.

She drew her knees up and leaned against the wall, sitting between two narrow beds in the rows of narrow beds. She examined her hands. Shaking. So tired. She lifted high her left hand that still burned where the eyestones had touched it. She brought it close to her face, examined it. The flesh was unmarked. “I am the vessel,” she murmured. “Through me earth speaks, sky speaks.” It was a terrifying thing to think, let alone express in words, but she was too tired to accept that terror within herself. Too many fears had worn out her mind and body. She closed her eyes and drowsed a little while beside her sleeping son.

But her rest was disturbed by nightmare. Reluctantly she opened aching eyes.
The girls … They should be waiting in the garden … I don't trust those beasts … I should go down now … and the boys in the shrine … when will those beasts leave? When will they leave … and will they come back … How many times will they come back … How much longer until I can't hold them off … We have to leave this place … soon … but where to go … Where can we go that they won't follow? And how can we get away?

Her thoughts began to circle again into nightmare. She jerked herself upright and rubbed at her eyes.
The girls, got to go down
.

She struggled to her feet and stood swaying with weariness. Hodarzu slept deeply. She bent over him briefly, touched his soft cheek. She caught a glimpse of herself mirrored in window glass. There was an anguish in the twisted features that troubled her. Her mask was dissolved. She smoothed her hand across her face. Eyes on the ghost image in the glass, she arranged her features into the emptiness of her elegant mask. Then she glided noiselessly out the door, stopping briefly to take a last look at her son, and went down the stairs. When she passed the kitchen, she heard the voices. “Go home, beasts,” she whispered, but she turned aside and almost ran through the house to the water garden,

Aleytys felt the power ripped out of her; like a tiderace it tore down the link, passing through Manoreh and out again until she felt the out-puff of the explosion, saw through Manoreh's eyes the flaring out of the goldcircle, the slow-motion destruction of the lab, heard through his ears the final crashing of the controller and the screams of the wounded. Then the vision slammed to blackness. Manoreh was unconscious.
Not dead
, she thought,
I feel him alive, I feel his heart beat
. Then she leaped from the bed and danced around the room as a wild exuberance consumed her. “We did it! We did it!” She laughed and whirled about then threw herself back on the bed, bouncing and giggling.

The door whooshed open and Kell was standing there, his face contorted with rage. He crossed the room in great leaps, bounding grotesquely. He pulled her to her feet. His fist slammed into her ribs. Pain exploded through her. He began to beat her face and breasts, stomach and legs. At first she resisted, lifting her hands to fend him off, struggled, tried to break away. Then there was only pain, nothing but pain. Her strength was nothing against his metal skeleton. She was locked in her head, locked away from the talents.
Harskari, help me
, she cried out into the darkness.
Help me
. When no answer reached her, she tried to let go of consciousness. Her tough Vryhh-bred body defeated her. Pain, endless pain. No subtle torture this, just endless brute pain … bones broke … she was bleeding inside … face a rum … bones shattered … splintered shoulder … rib stabbing through a lung … bleeding, torn inside … and her body would not loose its stubborn hold on life and consciousness.

Breathing hard, Kell dropped her onto the bed. She could not see, eyes flooded with sticky blood. She could hear him moving, hear the breath hissing through his teeth. A warm liquid splashed over her, stinging the cuts, a familiar acrid smell. He was urinating on her. She retched; in spite of the pain, she spat out sour fluid from her stomach. Moaned. Moved her head feebly.

She heard a short, sharp yelp. Another. Low-voiced cursing in a language she didn't know—the whisper of feet moving away across the rug. Then the claustrophobic tightening around her head was gone. “Heal yourself, mud.” His voice was taut with pain. She wondered vaguely about that, then began weaving a forceweb around her shattered body. Before she tightened it she tapped the black water, used the power to block off the pain, then pulled the web taut and let the water flow to heal. The web worked, shaped, remolded the shards of bone and the torn and bruised body. Inside and out, the web and the water restored her physical integrity. And the pain of the healing was greater than the wounding—pain was fire burning her, an agony so intense she died a thousand times because she could not possibly endure it, but she did endure it. The moment the healing was finished, she wove another web about the inhibitor coiled like a viper around her spine and flung it through the still open door.

After the vibration of the small explosion died, she heard Kell laugh shrilly. “So be it, mud,” he said. His voice was harsh. “Come here.”

She sat up slowly and rubbed her eyes open. He was in the pneumochair, his broken hands cradled in his lap. She looked at them and understood. In his fury he'd forgotten his fragility and been careless with his blows.

“Come here,” he said. “Heal these.” He lifted his hands, then let them drop.

She slid off the bed, her eyes fixed on his. In spite of all the horror he woke in her, she was drawn irresistibly toward him. More than in anything else, she found her reality in her healing gift. It was the one thing that had never wholly betrayed her. The need to use the gift was like a craving for drugs. She touched the Vryhh's hands carefully, unconcerned for his evil and the harm he intended her. The need drove her. She reached for her water and let it flow into him until the withered flesh was whole again and the chalky bones mended.

Before he could move, she was on her feet and away. She glanced briefly at the door then ignored it. The battle was joined between them now and wouldn't end until one was defeated. She retreated until her back was against the wall, then faced him, excitement glittering through her. She was breathing rapidly, her heart slammed in her throat. She gathered herself and hurled a force hammer at him.

Off balance, he barely deflected her thrust. He settled back in the chair and tossed a blanketing blackness over her.

It smothered her, tightening, strangling. She slashed at it with rage knives and pain knives, shredded it, threw shimmering silver rage knives at him.

All deflected. Countered by a stinking ooze of envy, hatred, malice that sickened her and sapped her will to resist. He bent forward, using physical presence to heighten the pressure on her. She fumbled. His greenstone eyes glittered. She burned. Clean red and blue flames caught at the ooze, smoldered, struggled, then flared it to ash. Clean ash. She gathered the flames and threw them at him.

Deflected. He seemed to grow stronger as if he drank her strength. He gathered in the shattered flames that drifted around him, sucked them one by one into his body. He seemed to expand. A giant. Towering over her. Pressing down on her. Flame hair writhing about his white face. Green eyes cold, filled with a cold, cold hatred. Cold slowed her, emptied her of rage, of the will to fight.

Cold … she shivered … terror … helplessness … he was too strong … knew too much … too old. She dropped to her knees, crouched shivering … ice layered over her, began pressing down on her, enclosing her.

The diadem chimed. The room filled with its glow. Shadith's purple eyes snapped open. “Lee, fool, you're striking at his strength. The exoskeleton. Hit his power source. Pin him to that chair with the weight of the metal!”

Amber eyes opened. Harskari said briskly, “Strike, daughter. We will defend.”

Black eyes. Swardheld. “Get him, freyka.” He grinned and lifted his great two-handed sword. Symbolic only, still it gave her a sense of strength she could lean against and fueled her confidence in herself.

Kell sneered and pressed harder, still supremely confident of a quick and thorough victory. His brilliant green eyes grew larger as he beat at her, slamming his force against her, tap-tap-tap, easy, at first then harder and harder until her head jerked in rhythm with it.