Black Bead: Book One of the Black Bead Chronicles (7 page)

Megan looked over at Tam.

“Do you know what kind of bug does that?”

Tam shook his head, distracted by the sight of the moss breaking open at his feet. A pointed head with scissor-like jaws pushed its way clear and looked around with small, crimson eyes. Not an insect. A lizard.

“Oh, my …” breathed Megan. As if by unspoken signal, hundreds of heads now emerged.

“Don’t. Move,” hissed Cheobawn. A lizard by Tam’s foot struggled for a moment and then shook its way free of the moss. Its body was as long as her hand, its milky skin almost transparent. If they held still you could almost see their hearts beating inside their chests.

“Glasslizards,” breathed Megan in wonder.

In a flash, the lizard was up Tam’s leg, pausing to cling to his belt. As if this was an unspoken signal, a thousand more reptiles struggled free and made the mad dash to the nearest thing that resembled a tree. That included five small children who were doing their best to behave tree-like without yelping in delight. Soon they all had at least three perched on the tops of their heads and another dozen jostling for space on each arm. The branches of the trees around them drooped under the weight of lizard flesh.

Cheobawn began to giggle. Tiny lizard toes tickled her skin and the grumpy look they gave her when they found no berries hanging from her nose delighted her. A small brawl was taking place around the berries on the branches in her hands. Megan yipped in pain and dropped one of her branches, shaking her hand. The displaced lizards, robbed of their perch, leapt into the air. The movement startled those around the tall girl and as if by consensus, all the lizards in the grove launched themselves into the air and spread their limbs wide.

Cheobawn gasped in awe. This was why they were called glasslizards. A membrane as clear as glass, held taught between the front and back legs, spread wide to catch the air. They were gliders. She tilted her head up and threw her arms wide as she watched the pale blizzard of wings and tails fill the the brilliant blue sky. Her heart was so full of happiness it hurt to contain it. Unable to stop herself, she filled the ambient with her pleasure, laughing. Whether it was the sound of her delight or the bliss in her mind, the boys joined in.

Cheobawn looked over at Megan and caught the older girl staring at her, her face gone soft, her eyes wide, caught up in the little girl’s pleasure. Cheobawn cocked her head and raised an eyebrow, sending her friend a silent apology. A smile twitched at the corners of Megan’s mouth as if to tell her all was forgiven for this breach of manners.

Looking down, Cheobawn found a straggler still clinging to her shirt. She carefully plucked it off and held it captive in the palm of her hand to study it closely. The little heart fluttered inside its chest, sending blood coursing through all the tiny veins in its body. Muscles and bones moved under the skin, like an animated anatomy video. She tossed it into the air to watch it glide away then chased after others, catching them to hand feed them berries just for the pleasure of watching the berries slide down transparent throats.

When both children and lizards seemed to have had their fill of fun, the lizards leapt into the air and soared away into the blades of tubegrass.

“Oooh,” mewed Megan sadly, watching the last of the glasslizards leave from where she lay on the moss, the sun warming her upturned face, “Where are they going?”

“I remember reading that their summer range is in the high meadows,” Tam said, trying to keep his pet lizard captive for one more moment. The lizard could not be persuaded to stay, ignoring his proffered berry. Soon, Tam let it go. It leapt away, the sun flashing on the membranes of its wings. He sighed, happy and content, and lay back on the soft moss.

Alain nodded, heavy-eyed, in the shade of a gorgeberry bush.

“Do you think we can come back here when they return to lay their eggs?” Megan asked sleepily.

“That would be fun,” Tam said, nibbling lazily on the last of his berries.

Cheobawn did not want to waste a moment in sleep. She heard Connor whooping in delight further up the glen. The grove held more fun than just berries and lizards, it seemed. Leaving the others to rest in the heat of the midday, she ran towards the sound. At the far end of the grove a tumble of boulders hid a series of pools connected by miniature waterfalls. She found him waist-deep in the largest pool. He was rapidly ridding himself of all his soaked clothing and tossing it up on the bank.

Cheobawn laughed, feeling giddy and light-headed with happiness.

“No, no, you have it all backwards,” she yelled. “You take a bath after you get undressed, not before.”

“Come in. It’s perfect!” shouted Connor.

Cheobawn shed her clothes, leaving them on a flat rock high above the wet and jumped into the water, naked except for her omeh.

Connor had lied. Having only just emerged from the bowels of the mountain, the water was shockingly cold after the heat of the sunny summer afternoon. She rose to the surface and let out a strangled screech. Connor grinned at her, his teeth chattering. She splashed water in his direction as payment for tricking her. An all-out war ensued to see who could douse the other more. When they could no longer feel their fingers and Connors lips had taken on an alarming shade of blue, they called a truce and hauled themselves out to dry,  bellies pressed flat onto the heat of the nearby boulders. Cheobawn hugged the stone, letting it bake her while she listened absently to the ambient. The midday air hung heavy over the grove as the lizards buzzed softly somewhere out in the tall grass and the birds in the gorgeberry bushes chirped at each other, too lazy to even sing their songs properly.

Cheobawn opened one sleepy eye and found Connor’s eyes fixed on her omeh, a slightly befuddled look on his face.

“Can I ask you something?” Connor said, propping his chin on his fist, as if holding his head up was very hard work.

“Sure,” Cheobawn said. Here it comes, she thought, the questions she could not answer.

“You are the best Ear ever. How did you manage to … ya know?”
 

“How did I mess up my Choosingday?”

“Yeah,” Connor said, the look on his face one of honest puzzlement. “You can see across five clicks of forest and find a swarm of glasslizards on hatching day. How could you not see into two stupid boxes? No offense intended but the Choosingday psi test is so easy even half the boys can pass it.”

Perhaps the sunshine and laughter had softened the walls around her heart. Perhaps it was because Connor had played with her with child-like abandon, as no other child of the domes ever had. Perhaps it was the way he asked, without judgment or revulsion. Perhaps she owed her Pack an explanation. Perhaps friends were supposed to share their most intimate secrets, secrets never ever shared with another living soul.

“I hate dolls,” Cheobawn said simply. This was not the whole truth, being only the first layer of a very complicated secret, but it was a start.

“Huh? What do dolls have to do with taking a dead simple test? Pick the good, leave the bad. How hard is that?”

“I wanted a pet, but Mora always gave me dolls, instead. I was mad at her that day and they did not know that I could see into the boxes.”

Connor began to giggle.

“They gave you a choice between a doll and … what? Acid Scorpions?”

“A fuzzy,” she corrected.

“No! Really?” he laughed, “Don’t tell me that given a choice between a doll and a vicious little fur-ball with teeth, you chose the fur-ball?”

“I was three,” Cheobawn growled at him, turning her face away and pretending to sleep. Connor was trying not to laugh, but was not doing a very good job of it. She could hear muffled hiccups coming out from around the fist he must have buried in his mouth.

Cheobawn turned over and stared up at the deep blue sky.

“I wasn’t going to open the box,” she lied, pasting a grumpy look on her face.

“No,” sighed Connor in a strangled voice. “I should hope not.”

Cheobawn let a small smile play across the corners of her mouth as she let herself remember that day for the first time in a very long while. Choosingday was the test when Amabel, the domes resident Maker of the Living Thread, found out if the thing she had created inside her labs had been bred true. A feast day, full of celebration, that hid a brutal heart. A test Cheobawn had failed miserably, winning the dubious honor of wearing a black bead in her omeh for the rest of her life.

Bits and pieces of the ceremony still clung tenaciously to the dark corners of her mind. She remembered Hayrald clearly. He had been the rock she had clung to. Like a stone wall, he had been there, standing between her and the knives of the Coven. She remembered Mora. Mora had been furious.

“You should have been there. The look on Mora’s face …”

Connor rolled over and fell off his rock, howling with laughter. Cheobawn scowled at him. It had not been funny. But now, in retrospect, from Connor’s point of view, it bordered on ludicrous. His laughter became infectious. She joined in, laughing until her sides hurt and she had to beg Connor to stop more than once. At last, Connor wiped his eyes and lay back on his rock, sighing with contentment.

“You
are one weird little kid, did you know that?” Connor said sleepily from behind closed eyelids. “I am glad we are Packmates.”
 

Cheobawn turned her head and stared at his relaxed profile. What did one say to a person who had just taken a lead weight off her heart and set her free?

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Chapter Seven

Cheobawn woke with a start and stared up at the sky, her heart thumping madly in her chest. Something was wrong. Something in the ambient desperately needed her attention.

She felt funny. A fuzzy taste coated her tongue and a dull headache hung at the back of her skull. Was she catching a cold? She lifted her head. Pain lanced through her brain and set off skyrockets behind her eyes. She groaned and rolled off the rock, holding her temples to keep them from exploding. Sucking in great gulps of air to force down the rising nausea, she dug the fingers of her perception deep into the energy of the mountain, drawing it into herself. The world wobbled and tried to right itself. It was hard. Harder than it should have been. The shards of light flickering behind her closed eyes made it hard to think. She stole from the flesh of the world to burn away her illness and when she thought she could do it without throwing up, she stood and looked around.

Connor snored loudly from the next rock. She kicked
him in the hip with her big toe.
 

“Wake up.”

Connor snorted but did not wake. Instead, he rolled over and continued sleeping.

This was all wrong, so very wrong. She was getting really, really scared. The mountain’s ambient fluttered inside her chest like a candle guttering in a strong wind. She closed her eyes and tasted things one by one. She tasted the spring, then the moss and the trees and the lizards. Her imagination filled in the gaps of her understanding. She was suddenly filled with an absolute certainty that they had overstayed their welcome upon the side of the great mountain bear and that the monster was about to shake them all off.

Terror filled her. She lifted her face to the sky and opened her eyes wide to see what the mountain wanted to tell her. She moaned as she realized what was wrong.

While they had been sleeping the sun had fallen out of zenith and was now nearly touching the tops of the tubegrass. Late! Night was coming and they were hours from Home Dome.

She grabbed Connor’s shoulder and shook him roughly. His head rolled drunkenly to the side as his eyes opened a crack and tried to focus on her.

“Get up! It’s time to go,” she yelled.

“Huh? What are you going on about?” Connor asked groggily. She grabbed his arm and rolled him off the rock into the soggy moss.

“Hey!” he yelled, getting annoyed. Annoyance was not enough, she realized. She needed him angry. She slapped him. Connor roared and sent a fist flying at her head. She dodged it, but just barely, leaping away when he tried to come after her.

“We slept too long!” she shouted at him, “Get dressed! Fast!”

Connor stared in horror at the pale sky.

“Where are the others? Why did they let us sleep so long?” he asked, fury warring with terror.

Cheobawn looked downstream, suddenly wondering the same thing. She pulled on her tunic and shorts, shoved her feet into her boot liners, slipped them into her boots without lacing them up and then scooped up her hook. She looked over at Connor. He had on his damp pants and shirt but he was struggling with his soggy boots.

“No time. Tie them later,” she hissed, gathering up what she could find of his equipment and shoving it into his hands. She pulled him to his feet and handed him his bladed stick. When she was sure he would follow her, she turned and raced through the trees, hunting for the rest of her friends.

Tam sat hunched over, his head in his hands. Alain was busy throwing up behind a boulder. Megan, thank the goddess, was on her feet, albeit looking a little unsteady. She was staring in horror at the sky, whimpering.

Cheobawn grabbed the older girl by the hand but Megan jerked away, a look of utter panic on her face. Cheobawn knew what lay behind that look. Megan was listening to her Luck and finding only darkness.

“We have to leave! You have to get us home,” Cheobawn said urgently, grabbing the older girl’s arms and shaking them roughly.

“There is no place to go. Do you feel it? The world has turned into ice. We are dead,” Megan whispered in panic. She spun around, a look of madness in her eyes as if she was trying to see through the walls of the grove.

Cheobawn wanted to weep in despair, but it was a luxury she could not afford. In the ambient, the great monster, Bear Under the Mountain, chased the clouds across her sky mind.
Be fierce, little hopper,
it whispered. Fierce was not kind, she thought back at her imaginary companion, nor was it nice. Amused, the mountain bear agreed. Blocking Megan’s feelings from her heart, she abandoned her friend and went looking for someone who would save them.