Army of the Goddess: A Bona Dea Novel (Stormflies Book 2) (19 page)

Instead, she chose the more difficult path, attempting to come to terms with the struggles presented to her. She could not change the past. She could only attempt to guide the future. She hoped the future would be easier to handle. Quinn promised to stand by her simply by remaining in her presence. She was fortunate to recognize him as a bulwark to her existence.

Whirling in the surreal events of her world being battered, she could not even begin to fathom that anything Casper proposed was true. The Stormflies of the present were difficult enough. Adding an alien race to the mix made her brain hurt with overwhelming intensity. This was the worst possible time to think that her people would accept another race into their midst, not with the current adversary chasing their tails. What would such a race be able to do for them, anyway? She struggled to believe that Casper wasn't suffering from delusions. She certainly had no intention of sharing his revelations.

In order to release her mind of these colliding thoughts, she decided the best route was to write in down. She rummaged in her satchel for her journal, took up a pen, and perched on the foot of the bed to begin.

Finally, the urgent rush to move injured victims and families to safe shelter waned. Dropping into a chair in Lelle's office, along with several other councilors, Sara Sunsun realized her tunic and pants exhibited stains of blood and soil, smears and spatter. Putting some past training to use, Sara assisted Healer Sampson suture a laceration in a teenager's scalp, and then set and bandaged a woman's open fracture of the tibia. Each of the other councilors went off to help a guard, a Healer, or set up cots from the store rooms. No one went without a job to do. Even Homer, notoriously lazy, put his arms and legs to the work organizing the limited space to maximize capacity, though he masked his actual work with his honed skills of delegation.

Given the early morning hour, the intensity of the emergency, and the lack of adequate sleep, Sara was not surprised to see numerous heads bob and eyes drift closed as the moment of stillness pounced on her counterparts. She was quite uncertain how she managed to keep her eyes open. Perhaps it was the anticipation of whatever calamity might materialize next, or maybe the ringing in her ears from the constant cacophony of sirens, voices, and pounding feet.

“We need to find you something clean to put on, dear,” Annie mothered as she passed by. “Carmen, what happened to your chin?”

“A rogue cot is all,” the young woman replied rubbing the bluish contusion with her thumb. “Just a bruise.”

“Paris is going to bring in some breakfast tea and granola to tide us over until a hot meal is ready,” Lelle announced in general. “I know you're all tired, but they are going to need help cooking and passing out meals.”

“I'll be happy to help,” Sara offered.

“Thank you, Councilor Sunsun. Before you go, I'd like to give you an update on the overall situation, which I just received from Commander Narone.”

Ears and eyes tuned eagerly to the Head-of-Council. Hoping they were able to read Annie's expression correctly, each looked forward to promising news.

“The fire in the Palace has been extinguished, so we are safe. Most of the fires in the city are out. Only five are still smoldering. Word coming from other villages tells us that the damage was not nearly as severe in those other areas. For the moment, the assaults have stopped. Scores of citizens are in detention. At this time, I don't have firm numbers of casualties. Unfortunately, the estimates project almost three hundred.” Lelle delivered the report as flatly as possible, squelching any emotional reaction within herself.

“So right now, we have a reprieve from the violence?” asked Carmen.

“For the moment, which gives people the opportunity to prepare for what we believe will be an inevitable second attack,” Lelle answered. “We just don't know how long we have. Please, if you can, get an hour of rest. If you have enough energy, please join Sara. They'll be waiting for you in the kitchen.”

Sara and Carmen appeared to be the only volunteers to help in the kitchen, to her disappointment but not to her surprise. Stopping by her own office to change into clean clothes that she always kept on hand for minor spills, Sara arrived in the kitchen and asked where to be put to work.

“You can take over kneading bread dough.” Andre, the chef, pointed to a large, flour-covered counter. “Poor Alice has been at it for an hour and a half.”

“Wonderful.” Washing up, Sara and Carmen took over the bread table. A row of bowls sat with mixed dough waiting to be massaged into loaves for baking. The temperature between the ovens and the activity quickly induced perspiration. The monotonous and innocuous motion allowed Sara to let her mind empty of everything terrible for a short while. In this room, everyone kept busy and quiet. Not a whisper of extraneous chit-chat met her ears, which was atypical of the kitchen staff. Determination to meet demand exuded from each soul. Three hundred seventy-five extra people found refuge within the Palace walls, and no one would be left hungry.

Through the back door arrived a cart laden with supplies, all packages marked for the Council Street neighborhood pantry. Most of the residents of Council Street were at the Palace. Obviously, the kitchen required more food than was stored in the Palace larder to feed all these people.

Andre wrote down the contents on a clipboard, categorizing the ingredients by food group. “Alice, dear. Start boiling the sweetstalks and pull out the baking dishes. We can make ten pans of sweetstalk casserole, minus the breadcrumbs. Half the milk as long as it isn't too thick.”

“Yes, chef,” Alice acknowledged, taking a crate of frozen sweet stalks to the stove.

“Seth, start washing these apples and berries,” the chef ordered. This was the most talking done in over half an hour.

“We've got another cart coming from Mill Street,” the delivery man informed. “Once we unload this one, we'll return to Council Street.”

“The Council apartment stock is useable, I hope. All of us are here and we're not leaving, so feel free to take what you need,” Sara offered.

“Oh yes, Councilor,” the man acknowledged once he realized who had given permission. “Thank you. We'll see what's there.”

I still need another meal for today, as quickly as you can. And a few more volunteers if you can find them,” Andre implored, desperation lacing his voice.

“The canning kitchen is organizing to cook meals as well,” said the young man. With an empty cart, he headed out the door once again. “I'll see what's prepared that they can spare.”

With a dozen rounds shaped on an oven board, Sara paused to wipe her brow on a dishtowel. So much for her clean clothes, now pale with flour. Once she finished here, a shower was in order.

Reinforcements arrived about thirty minutes later, fresh volunteers to work on preparing lunch and dinner.

“Councilors. Thank you for your help,” the chef said gratefully. “I'm going to send you off now, if you'll do one last thing. Take these meals down to the bunker for your colleagues. The Protectress' meal is marked separately.”

“We'd be glad to. It's about time we got some rest.” Carmen agreed, accepting a heavy tray in her arms. “We'll be back in our chairs before we know it.”

Sara took the other tray. Together they made their way to the lift. Using a key to unlock the lower floors, Sara activated the button to the bunker. Hardly anyone knew the lift existed, as it was tucked away beneath the main staircase and masked by potted plants. Nevertheless, certain precautions existed to prevent unwanted mishaps.

Arriving in the main room of the bunker secured by two guards, the two women found the room mostly unoccupied. Casper sat at the table, appearing almost as though he'd never moved, and Mark Osander manned a desk to one side of the room. After furiously scribbling on a sheet of paper, he folded some parchment in thirds and slipped it into an envelope. His expression was concentrated and intense. From past experience, Sara knew not to ask.

Instead, she found a packet for Casper, grabbed a fork and delivered breakfast to the old man with a quiet whisper of explanation. Casper accepted graciously and carefully opened the hot foil.

Rising, Mark slipped his envelope into his robe, which at some point he had liberated from the Council room. Sara realized someone had brought down all of their official robes, probably to protect them from accidental damage in the overcrowded room.

“Good morning, Mark. We brought breakfast for everyone.” Sara greeted, minding her own business about the letter.

“Thank you.” He took a packet and disappeared down the hallway toward the bunks.

“Carmen, why don't you see if anyone else is awake. I'm going to check on the Protectress,” Sara instructed. Knocking softly on the door to the Protectress' room, Sara waited for some sign.

The door opened and Axandra squeezed through and closed it quietly. “Quinn is asleep. I don't want to bother him.”

“Did you get any rest?” Sara asked, though she suspected the opposite.

“A little. It's hard to sleep. You obviously haven't. Sorry,” Axandra apologized.

“I'm sure I look awful,” Sara accepted gracefully. “I brought down breakfast. Did anything wonderful happen while we were otherwise occupied? Any miracles, epiphanies, that sort of thing?” Sara tried to sound upbeat and positive and realized she ended up sounding ridiculously pathetic.

“Well, no,” Axandra responded evasively, avoiding eye contact as she moved toward the main room. “Nothing like that. But perhaps the future will answer those wishes. I'm starving.”

“I'll eat with you. Then I have got to take a bath and sleep, if I can get away with it.” Sara offered. “I don't know who else is up. Oh good morning, Homer, Maris.

The two elder Councilors managed three-fingered waves while they grabbed food. Maris brought over a carafe of water and glasses.

“Your Honor,” Homer addressed, gesturing at the larger food packet with her title written across the top.

“Thank you.”

“I hope we find something to take care of these bastards soon,” Homer cursed, landing in a chair, fork in hand like a shovel. “I'm too old for this kind of nightmare. Maybe Franny's little guest will tell us something.”

“Um, I'm sorry, everyone. Franny passed away shortly after you all left,” Axandra informed, the blood draining from her face. She realized nobody knew. In all the chaos, who would have the mind to tell anyone?

“What? Dammit!” Homer flew from the table to the room where Franny lay at rest.

Sara offered a comforting hand on Axandra's shoulder. “Oh no. Madam, I'm sorry. Was anyone with her?”

Axandra nodded lightly. “Quinn and I. She didn't die alone. Unfortunately, there was already too much damage done.”

“What happened to the parasite?” Maris questioned warily, her eyes darting to the corners of the room.

“We captured it. Gage took it with him when he left.”

“Those damned things are sneaky. We'd better keep an eye out for another one. Franny wasn't at every meeting.” Maris referred to the still alleged leak of information being passed to the Stormfly hive. Most likely Franny had a great deal to do with that.

A man's sobs floated into the room, causing them all to quiet for a respectful moment. Sara had no idea Homer and Franny were so close emotionally. She'd never seen them talk outside of Council sessions. Nor did she believe Homer capable of such outpourings of sorrow. Undoubtedly, the dark, ominous days would draw out unusual behaviors from most everyone, infected by a parasite or not. Extreme stress could dramatically alter a person's personality. Homer appeared to be a prime example.

“We're all still at risk,” Maris continued. “Not one of us is safe from them, not even here. Too bad for Franny. I wonder how long she's had it. She's our leak for sure.”

“Long enough,” Axandra stated quietly, her eyes staring through the table. Sara wanted to attribute the evasive, indirect language to exhaustion, but unfortunately she suspected something significant had taken place in the absence of the Council. Perhaps Quinn could be persuaded to share some details, if she could get him alone later.

Whooping sounds from the corridor heralded the arrival of Tannin Keys and Grant Hughes, younger council members elected during the last public vote.

“It's pouring down rain!” Tannin cheered, his voice filling every nook of the room with tenor sound. “The fires will be completely out in no time!”

“The Stormflies are not active in the rain,” said Casper, who otherwise remained a spectator to the conversations.

“What? How would you now that?” Maris' voice bore an accusatory tone. Casper so often observed with little interaction or interference. He could be doing so in league with the Stormflies. Now that one councilor had been shown as an infected agent, others could exist in their ranks.

“Observation,” Casper explained sagaciously. “All known incidents reported occurred on clear evenings or nights.”

“That doesn't mean they can't operate in the rain. They just haven't.” Maris argued, discounting the informal data. “Perhaps they just don't like to get wet. I don't.”

“Let's hope Casper's right and that it rains for a week,” Sara intercepted any further accusatory flings. Everyone was agitated due to sleeplessness and stress. No one could have had more than four or five hours in the last thirty-six. “Everyone should eat, clean-up, and rest until Head-of-Council Lelle calls us to work again.”

Fortunately, Sara garnered enough respect that they all listened and dove into the food—either that or they were all just hungry enough that eating overpowered their natural tendencies to ramble on.

Shortly after each finished their meal, a queue formed for the two showers. Sara consumed her breakfast slowly and waited for the line to diminish. Homer returned to the table when only Sara and Casper remained. He averted his red-rimmed eyes by ducking his head behind his hand while he feebly took a few bites.

“We grieve with you, Homer,” Sara offered softly.

He said nothing in return, but managed to acknowledge with a trembling wave of his fingers.

+++

The rain poured steadily from the atmosphere until almost one in the afternoon, a deluge from clouds dark enough to cause moonflowers to bloom prematurely. Gusty winds accompanied the gully-washer, bowing tree limbs at steep curves. Only the most sheltered embers in the house fires would continue smoldering to spite the drowning droplets. Soon, even the smoke washed from the air.

Under a silvery gray sky, the rain dwindled and stopped. The air remained scented with moisture once again. Tunes from amphibians and kites echoed throughout the plains where shallow watering holes temporarily appeared and the cycle of life ensued.

After finally taking decent rest, the Protectress and councilors emerged from the bunker to survey the damage. From the hilltop courtyard, their eyes observed blackened scars throughout the city. The obscenely charred skeletons of family homes slumped like corpses. Entire blocks sat decimated by flames. Litter lay soaked along the streets. A glimpse of movement drew attention to a site where the dead were collected for identification and claim. A two dozen bodies were visible from this vantage point, each shrouded by someone's handmade quilt or sheet donated to the deceased.