By the time Chilaili began to slow down, picking her way with great care, John was panting and Bessany was in visible distress. At length, Chilaili held up one large, furred hand and they halted. She slithered forward on her belly, motioning them to join her. John crept up beside her and Bessany slid forward next to him. They found themselves peering down into a narrow defile, no more than five meters across at its greatest width and nearly fifteen meters deep. At the bottom, he could see a dark, shadowed place where a cave opened out from the steep limestone cliff. A few tall, spindly conifers grew up from the bottom, providing enough coverage that the narrow crack in the earth probably wasn’t very noticeable, even from the air. It was a fiendishly effective spot to hide a clan’s winter nest.
Chilaili gestured for them to move back, away from the lip of the overhang. He nodded, scooting on his belly in the snow. Bessany and Chilaili did the same, then the Tersae touched the side of her head, where a tiny, hidden earphone rested inside her aural canal. She would be able to hear anything John, Bessany, or Rapier said to her. Chilaili pulled an elaborate cloak from her pack and touched a tiny camera lens hidden amongst the animal talons and teeth, strips of fur, and what looked like bunches of dried herbs. The camera was so small, John couldn’t see it and he knew exactly where to look.
John slid equipment out of his own pack, testing his own earphone and tapping the microphone in the hood of his parka to be sure she was receiving him properly. Bessany did the same and Chilaili nodded. They double-checked the signal from Chilaili’s camera to be sure his palm unit was picking up a clear picture, then he handed over the analog canister, along with the spray sealant and a smoke grenade. The Tersae tucked them into pouches they’d rigged on her weapons belt, hidden beneath the voluminous folds of her cloak.
Chilaili covered his hand briefly with her own, whether to offer reassurance or to draw courage from the contact, he wasn’t sure, since her hand was shaking violently. She repeated the gesture with Bessany, who gave her a quick smile. Chilaili’s alien eyes flickered briefly with some strong emotion he couldn’t read, then she rose and moved swiftly away through the trees, cloak billowing.
John traced her progress on the tiny screen on his palm unit. She climbed down a path which had been swept clean of snow, taking great care with her handholds on the limestone walls, and reached bottom safely without being challenged. She pushed aside a snugly fitted screen, allowing a wafting scent of woodsmoke and alien cooking odors to drift up through the cold air. John’s pulse thudded raggedly in his ears. Bessany reached over and gripped his gloved hand.
For good or ill, there was no backing out now.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chilaili was afraid.
She hadn’t been this frightened since the day her mother’s mangled body had been carried home. The responsibility which had descended so crushingly on her young shoulders that day was as nothing compared with the weight of responsibility she carried now. If she failed . . .
Then it would be a very short failure.
The moment she stepped past the screen, Chilaili was engulfed by shrieking hatchlings. They danced joyously around her, welcoming her home with shrill cries, so overjoyed by her return, they overcame their awe of the katori cloak. Smiling and patting heads with her free hand, she took advantage of the outcry she’d known would greet her return. Chilaili angled the nozzle of the largest canister she carried to project slightly beyond the edge of her cloak. She drew a deep, ragged breath—and plunged the release mechanism.
The hiss was completely drowned out by the yelling hatchlings. Chilaili waded into the main living cavern, spewing the stuff into the air as she walked. An invisible cloud spread out above the heads of the little ones, forcibly ejected by the humans’ special container—such a fragile barrier between all she loved and hideous death. The canister turned cold against her fur, then the hissing stopped. An instant later, Sooleawa threw herself into Chilaili’s arms.
“Mother!” she cried, trembling violently. “I’ve been so afraid! When you didn’t come and didn’t come . . .”
“Hush, precious one,” she soothed, taking her daughter’s face in both hands and smoothing her fur. “I’m home now.”
But not, her mind whispered, safely. Honored Great-Grandmothers, watch over us . . .
Sooleawa smiled, then Chilaili greeted the clan’s ruling Grandmothers, the mothers heavy with eggs not yet laid, and the huntresses who would not be leaving for at least another day, to attack an empty research station. In the shadows, the males too old to go to war greeted her with pleasure, nodding from where they sat brooding their daughters’ and granddaughters’ eggs. Given her long absence, they doubtless looked forward to the poultices and tisanes she would prepare to soothe their aching bones and stiffened muscles.
Even the akule greeted her with simple, warm joy. “We feared the worst, Chilaili,” he said earnestly, taking her hands briefly in his. “Trying to travel through such a storm . . . Thank the Ones Above, you are safe. The ritual went well?”
She nodded, not trusting her voice to speak the lie.
“All is well, then. The war party set out for the larger human nest nearly a full day ago. If the Ones Above look kindly on them, they will reach that nest within another two days and destroy it.”
Chilaili nodded again, still unable to speak. The humans and their ogre—their Bolo, she corrected herself—could have killed the entire war party at any time, without ever coming close enough for the warriors to fire a single shot or lob a single bomb in self-defense. Insanity, to fight such an enemy. The canisters under her cloak—one empty, two waiting for the right moment—were so heavy, they dragged at her spirit as well as the pouches she had slipped them into.
“Sooleawa,” she said tiredly, “could you bring me a cup of something hot to drink? I’m chilled clear through.”
“Of course, Mother!”
The girl scampered off and Chilaili turned in a slow circle, allowing the humans a good view of the cavern through the device hidden on her cloak. “There are too many empty hearths,” she said quietly, glancing from one living space to the next, each family’s spot marked by the outlines of cooking hearths and sleeping furs. “Never have we sent so many of our clan to battle.” She shook her head and let out a deep and weary sigh. “Is there news from other clans?”
Great-Grandmother Anevay gestured for Chilaili to sit beside her. She sank down onto a pile of sleeping furs arranged next to the old woman’s hearth. Anevay offered her a bowl of savory wurpa stew, smoking hot from the fire.
“Yes, katori,” she said as Chilaili began to eat, “there is news from the other clans. Grim news, all of it. We have not dared use our Oracle. The akule has heard explosions and screams through ours, every time a clan has used theirs to plead for help. These devils we fight are merciless.” The ancient matriarch shook her head sadly. “You were right, Chilaili, to warn us that we fight an enemy more deadly than we could comprehend. But in all honesty, what else can we do?”
Chilaili couldn’t answer that question.
Not yet.
“The Ones Above have not spoken at all, then?” she asked.
“No,” Kestejoo sighed, joining them. “We have not heard their voices since the beginning of the war.”
The akule looked as tired as she felt. In his own way, Chilaili realized, he felt the burden of this war as heavily as she did. She feared what he would do when the Bolo launched the second phase of their desperate plan. Fortunately, Sooleawa returned with a steaming cupful of ijwa tea, distracting her from that worry. Chilaili sipped gratefully, although the sloshing liquid revealed the shameful unsteadiness of her hands.
“You’re trembling, Chilaili,” Kestejoo said worriedly. “Are you all right?”
She nodded. “I have fasted for many days, is all. And the trip back through the deep snow was exhausting.” That, at least, was honest enough. “The stew and the tea will restore my strength.”
They did help, in fact. The taste of wurpa stew and mellow ijwa tea soothed her jangled nerves with their simple familiarity, reminding her that she was home for however long a time remained to them. The humans had shared their food unstintingly, but she had found human fare unsettling in its strangeness. It was so good to be back amongst her own kind, to see her beloved daughter’s face, it was all she could do to swallow past the constriction in her throat.