Wild Thing (3 page)

'Have you finished, ’B?'  She refused the truth, turning away.  'Good.  Then I'm going to find where they've sent our daughter, and get her back.  With or without your help.  I'll-'

'She's not gone, yet.  They're waiting for your okay.'

'
What?'

'I stand by my vows to you, Shining Hair.  I always have, and I always will.  If you go, I will go too.'

'Then what are we waiting for?'  Refusing the doubts; refusing to even acknowledge them.

Her husband unfolded without his normal fluid grace as he stood, then limped across the small living space to his splayed-open artist's pad.  Picking it up, favoring his left side, he limped back to his wife still standing at the doorway.  A part of her, an old and well-trained part, realized he must have had some healing already, or he would not have been able to use his knee at all.

Flipping to the nearly-completed sketch, he held it up before her as he moved behind her, pulling her into his embrace.  It was a measure of the depth of their understanding that she knew this was no ploy.  There would be no more choke holds.

'Just look.  And listen to me.

'The Chief told the second vision to the whole tribe.  And they understood.  Yet they also understood your reaction.  And they decided.  They have already risked all their lives, all their dreams for the future, to aid us once.  And they spoke again, and decided to entrust all they have and all they strive for, to us, again.  To
you.
  To your decision.

'It's your decision, Shining Hair.  Let Happy Mouth be taken away.  Or take her, and go.

'They leave it in your hands.

'They ask
only
that you to take time to think, and feel, before you decide.'

Neither spoke, and abruptly, he felt the tension in her shatter.  She collapsed into his arms, an awful keening wrenched from deep within her.  Like she were dying.  Or their daughter was.

He made the call.

Outside their tepee, the wise-woman waited for them both.  As the mother moved to step angrily past, the blind shaman spoke.  Softly.  'Stay.  Do not say goodbye to her.'

'What?  That's crazy!  She's only
four years old
.'

'Will she suffer more knowing her parents gave her away, or if she can tell herself she was taken against their will?'

Shining Hair's fists clenched till the knuckles glowed white.  Then slowly, she nodded.

'Shining Hair.  Crazy Bee.'

Their desperate gazes snapped from each other, to the wise-woman's sad, blind eyes.

'Our Way is not violence.  We do not believe that death and bloodshed is ever a solution.'

They simply stared grimly back, growing still more angry at her, she Saw.  'Yet my second vision speaks of a powerful evil that moves unopposed.  Perhaps there is yet a reason for your daughter's terrible Way, a reason we are not wise enough to see.'

By their auras, the shaman saw her tiny seed of hope take root.  And at that moment, also sensed the child's painting clutched in the woman's hand, wisps of love curled through the paper: the sense of a child standing between her father and mother, the adult female figure gently swelling with the promise of life.

-

'Why are we going this way?  Where's mama?'

Not answering, the woman continued leading the child to the edge of the village.  A land skiff sat rigged and ready in the moon's clear light, the young warrior chosen to remove the child scowling beside it.

'Oh!  Look there, a land boat.  And the Chief!  Will
he
give me my growed-up name?'

The shaman had already been and gone, summoning a wind spirit to fill the sails of the small land yacht.  The woman and the girl reached the Chief, and the child risked a smile when they stopped.

He did not smile in return.  'Remember these words, child: a Human Being kills only for food.'

Confused, she repeated them solemnly.  She'd seen other naming ceremonies, for her older friends, and knew this was different.  More serious somehow.

She waited, a little bit scared.  Maybe she wasn't going to get a Bear name after all?

The Chief's large hand clasped around hers, leading her to the land skiff where Aunt High Mirror and one of the young hunters, Walks Straight, stood.  The adults didn't smile.  She looked around.  Where were her parents?

When they stopped, the Chief turned her to each of the four directions, then to the sky, and finally to the earth.  To each he spoke the words that took away her Child name, giving it into the care of those Powers.  When she had no name, he turned the girl child to him.  He looked tired.  Old.

The girl put one small hand to his cheek, trying to cheer him up.  But the gesture only seemed to make him sadder.

'You are no longer Happy Mouth.'  The ritual words fell heavily from his lips.  'You are no longer alive to the Sky Corn community.  Your parents are dead to you.'

Her eyes widened, and her hand fell away.

'You go now to the white man's lands, so you will take a name for the white man.  You will take the name
Sara
.'

She shook her head once, slowly, then stood stunned, shocked into immobility, trying to absorb the meaning of the Chief's words.

He handed the young hunter a folded white paper and reminded him what to do when they reached the lands of the
Wasichus
.  Walks Straight nodded curtly, then circled the skiff, checking the brakes and squeezing its tires in a final inspection before leaping up and over the side.  Swinging past the rigging lines, he hoisted the mainsail while the Chief lifted the girl and placed her on a seat.

'Where's mama?'

'Your mother is dead to you now, Sara.  We can not have killers here.'

She struggled to understand.

Walks Straight checked the reef in the sails.  Releasing the brakes as he eased out the boom, cloth billowed taut as it caught the wind and the skiff pulled away, jolting over the rough ground and quickly gathering speed.

'I didn't kill anything, grandfather!'  Sara screamed back, her small face straining over the lip of the hull.

Drops of moonlit silver glistened on suddenly-pale cheeks, sparkling faintly as Night swallowed the land yacht.

'But you will, Sara.  You will,' he whispered sadly into the wind.
 

PART I

(Four years later)

Chapter 1 

Enough
, thought Dr Alex Harmon, and draped the spell delicately over the Mother Superior's mind.  Paging through student records in the grim office of the orphanage, he watched from the corner of his eye, amused, as she forced her teeth to unclench – again.  But now, he heard her outraged thoughts as though they echoed in his own mind:
«Browsing through my children's files like they're items in a shopping catalog!»

Dust motes glimmered in the watery sunlight, drifting through the room's still air.  Seated at the other side of her heavy oaken desk, he felt the weight of the nun's stare.

He looked up, unable to keep the hint of a smile from his lips.  'Really, sister, this would have been so much easier for us both if you kept your records online.'

'My first concern is caring for my children, Dr Harmon,' she snapped.  With his spell still running, he also picked up the following thought:
«Not in making it easy for corporations to examine them
.
»

He raised one eyebrow, puzzled by her mis-identification.  But all he said aloud was 'None of your charges seem to have tested positive for any sign of Unfolding.  Statistically, I would-'

'You won't find anyone with magical potential in the orphanage records.'

He was no longer amused.  'Sister, I did ask to see the records of
all
the children here.  If you recheck the papers I presented, you'll see that I have permission-'

'You won't find anyone with magical potential because there
are
none, doctor.  Any that test positive are auctioned off to corporations like Asgard or Medigene by the government.  Or taken by the government itself.'

'Really:
auctioned
off?'

'That's what the “normal procedure” amounts to, yes,' she snapped.

About to reply, a sudden thought made him pause: was
this
why his research request had been granted – they thought there was nothing
to
grant?  Still, if his theories were correct, he only needed to find a child with just a bud of potential, to be able to Unfold them into full magical ability.  Calmly, he returned to studying the orphanage records.

He noted the nun slide the second form in front of her again, and heard the echo of her thoughts as she re-read the paragraph which had disturbed her so much. 
«The adoption of (blank) by Dr Alexander Harmon has been duly investigated and approved… custody being granted herewith.»

When he'd presented her with his documentation he'd watched, at first appalled by the certainty with which she had challenged its validity with Govnet; but soon delighted by her dismay when that challenge had been rejected.

Even then, though, she had refused to accept the validity of the automated response.  'After all, “Doctor,” you could have hacked the government site,' she had stated, then insisted on making a direct link to someone in Child Affairs.  So they had both had to suffer through a period of mind-numbing ’20's German “neurock” hold-music interspersed with jarring reminders that “a service representative will be available shortly.”  A period during which she refused to allow him to begin examining her records.  Eventually, however, she spoke to a pleasant young woman who assured her that, no, everything was perfectly in order.  One minute later Mother Superior Mary Provïc had disconnected, and reluctantly handed over her
paper
records.

Apparently, a bureaucratic bungle of enormous proportions had occurred.  But it would be all for naught unless–

Ah-ha!
  Extracting some papers from the file, he leaned back in his chair.  For a moment he met the nun's gaze, keeping the triumph from his face as he settled back to examine his find.

He kept part of his attention on her thoughts – highly illegal, but such an advantage in negotiations. 
«Sara,»
she was thinking. 
«
Of course.  Full of energy, always in trouble – yet beyond that, something somehow odd about her.  Yes, of course it would be Sara.»

Harmon looked up, calmly meeting the Mother Superior's cold stare and began prodding.  'Well, sister, I think I may have found… who I came for.  I'm sure you won't mind having Sara sent for?'

He searched the folder he held for a surname, but found none.  'Just “Sara,” sister?  Isn't that a little unorthodox?'

'It was clearly indicated on the paperwork provided by her people that “Sara” was her full and complete name.'  Her annoyance at that unorthodoxy was clear in both her body language and her thoughts.

Without shifting her glare from him she stabbed a button on her ancient intercom.  'Sister Augustine: please have someone bring Sara to me as soon as possible.'

A brief electrical crackle accompanied the response.  'Umm.  I'll see what I can do.'

Harmon raised one eyebrow at the doubt in Sister Augustine's voice, but the mother superior pointedly ignored him, swinging her chair around and shifting her gaze to the decayed dockyard outside the window.  Harmon saw her shoulders relax as she turned. 
«Let's see how
you
deal with our attic-haunting little eight-year-old demon
.
»

A few minutes passed.

'Of course, I
will
need some time alone with Sara, before I can make my final decision,' he said.

The mother superior swung back round to him, taking a great deal of satisfaction in her reply. 
'Not
while the young lady is in
my
care you won't.  Out of the question, Dr Harmon.'

Sensing she wanted a fight, Harmon simply inclined his head and smiled.  'As you wish, sister.'  Steepling his fingers he settled back into his chair, while she glared at him once more before turning her back to look out the window.

Silence descended.  It hung heavily in the room as uncomfortable minutes inched past.

Ten minutes passed; fifteen.  At last he could no longer contain his impatience.  'Sister, I am a very busy man.  Is there a problem?  Do you not know where your charges are?'

The nun spun her chair back to face him.  'Please don't let us keep you here, doctor.  I'm sure there are other orphanages in which to do your
shopping
.'

Needled, but hiding the fact, he sat back in his chair.  'I can wait.  I was simply expressing surprise that you are having such difficulty in locating one of your charges.'

'As I said, please don't let us detain you.'

He shook his head, not deigning to answer.  He would be doing the girl a favor, removing her from such ineptitude.

Silence descended again.  The nun made a show of taking back her records and re-filing them.  Harmon hardly needed the telepathy spell to tell she disliked being in a position of weakness, and her thoughts confirmed his assessment. 
«
Really, the girl is impossible!  Perhaps this is for the best, after all.»

Harmon began tapping a slow beat on the arm of his chair, pretending to be unaware of just how much it irritated her.

At last there was a gentle rap on the door, before it burst open an instant later.  A small, colorfully dressed girl arrowed into the room, flapping her arms and startling him backward in his chair.

'AAAARK!  AARK!'  She raced once around him before coming to a halt and folding her hands under her armpits.  She glared at him, then cocked her head to one side: 'Aaark.'  Long black hair, a round face.  Alert amber-flecked eyes, brown skin, freshly-grubby pink jeans.

The mother superior's open mouth closed, and she collected herself with a visible effort.  'Sara!  If you don't start behaving like a young lady rather than some crazy thing,
at once,
it will be six of the best!'