QUILLER
Thunderbirds rumble in the distance, but for the most part the sea cave is calm and quiet this morning. Father Sun has not yet risen, so there’s still a faint green glow in the air. As I warm my hands before the village fire, I absently let my gaze drift over the soft bison and mammoth hides spread around the hearthstones. The longest hairs glint golden in the flickering light.
Last night, in my dreams, I found myself standing on top of the quest wall watching Jawbone climbing up below me. He was small and looked like he was having trouble. His fingers kept slipping from the handholds. Far below him, snow mounded the shore but the tops of the black boulders that killed Little Gull were visible. As I watched, my son cried out my name, started jerking, and fell straight down. He didn’t make another sound until his body struck the rocks.
I keep living that dream. I can’t get it out of my mind.
Behind me, conversations drift as people move about in their lodges. The voices of sleepy children ask about breakfast. An infant whimpers.
I glimpse RabbitEar when he ducks out of our lodge and heads toward me. He has a burly swagger, which makes the red salmon painted on the exterior suede of his cape appear to be leaping.
As he sits down on the hide beside me, he gives me a faint smile. “Did you get any sleep at all?”
“No. You?”
He exhales hard. “Couldn’t. After I crawled beneath the hides with Jawbone, he begged me to stay, so I just held him in my arms until he finally fell asleep. That was a couple of hands of time ago.”
“Was he asleep when you left?”
“I think so. Not sure. When I got up, he rolled over and buried his head deep beneath the hides.”
I hug myself. “At least he stopped crying.”
“Yes,” he says and clamps his jaw tight while he squints out at the ocean. “He wouldn’t tell me what his nightmare was about.”
I’ve felt cold before, but it’s nothing compared to the icy sense of foreboding that congeals in my heart at this moment. I stare at him. The flames have turned his eyes into amber gems. “I’m sure he dreamed the same thing I did. All night long, I watched our son fall off the cliff.”
He starts to say something consoling, but I raise a hand to stop him. “Don’t. After you say those words, you’ll just tell me we have to do this, and I have already agreed.”
RabbitEar clasps my fingers and draws them back to hold them over his heart. “When the time comes, I’ll wake our son and get him dressed. If he starts crying again, I’ll take care of it.”
“By telling him to be a man?” The question cuts.
He squeezes my hand so hard it hurts. “It will mean more coming from me, Quiller.”
Pulling my hand away, I clench it into a fist and rest it upon my drawn-up knee. I feel like all my veins have been opened and my strength is draining away into the crevices in the cave floor.
Quietly, my husband asks, “Did you pack the charm Elder Hoodwink made him to keep the evil spirits away?”
“Of course I did.” The tiny buffalo carved from gray soapstone is about the size of my thumb. “I tucked it in his belt pouch with an extra pair of bison-wool socks.”
I keep telling myself Jawbone can’t die, not after all the horrors he’s gone through in his life. Unfortunately, I’ve stood over the bodies of too many dead children to believe it.
War Leader Mink ducks out of his lodge carrying a pack and walks across the cave toward us. His long black braid hangs over his left shoulder. As he crouches across the fire, he sets the pack aside and his gaze goes back and forth between us. “Is there a problem?”
“No,” I answer coldly.
“Then why do you two look like you’re walking to your own executions? This is just a spirit quest. He’ll be all right.”
RabbitEar smiles. “In a couple of summers, when your sons are preparing for their first quests, I’m going to come out here and sit before the fire with you and remind you that you said that.”
“I certainly hope so,” Mink answers with conviction.
RabbitEar chuckles and gestures to Mink’s pack lying on the stone floor. “What’s in the pack?”
Mink drags it over and loosens the ties. “You’ve both been so obsessed with death, I know you’re unprepared for the trip.”
“We are not unprepared,” I say.
“Of course you are.” Mink pulls out a flat chunk of sandstone and two stilettos made from splits of mastodon femurs. They’re as long as his forearm. “When I’m done sharpening these, I want you to tuck them into your belts, just in case you need them. Most of the predators are up high in the mountains feasting on newborn mammoth and bison calves, but you’ll be hunted by a few.”
I suppress a smile. “Thank you.”
Mink arranges the sandstone on the hide before him and picks up the first stiletto. As he draws the tip across the stone, sharpening it, the stiletto makes a sharp grating sound. “Are you packed?”
“Yes, we’re packed.”
“Jawbone’s belt pouch is filled with the things he’ll need? And it’s not too heavy? You don’t want to off-balance him when he’s climbing.”
RabbitEar’s mouth quirks. “Is he your son or mine? Of course his pouch is correctly packed. Quiller packed it herself.”
“Ah, then I feel better. Quiller definitely did it right. Now, what have you forgotten?”
“How would I know? If I’ve forgotten it, it’s forgotten.”
“Did you put extra pairs of boots and gloves in his coat pocket in case he gets wet?”
“Quiller did.”
While they banter, I watch Elder Hoodwink walking across the cave with his walking stick. As though his hip hurts, he winces with each step.
“Pleasant morning to you, elder,” I greet.
“And to you, matron. It’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it? It will be a good day to walk your son to the quest wall.”
After inhaling a deep breath, I reply. “I hope so. Thank you for making him a protection charm.”
Hoodwink slumps down beside Mink and rests his walking stick at his side. “Did Jawbone cry in his sleep? Children usually do before a quest.”
“Yes. None of us slept. RabbitEar finally crawled beneath the hides and held him in his arms. It was the only way our son could rest.”
“Well, don’t worry about it. That’s normal.”
“I’m not sure the gods agree. The Ice Giants have been grinding and thundering against one another, and I have the feeling they’re telling me to pick another day for this spirit quest.”
Hoodwink fiddles with his walking stick, laying it out straighter at his side. “You’re not afraid to let Jawbone become a man, are you?”
“Of course not,” I say, but the question affects me strangely. The truth is, if I could keep Jawbone as a little boy for the rest of his life, I would. Just so I could hold him close and protect him. Once he becomes a man, he’ll have to face those dangers alone. “What scares me, elder, is that he’ll have one of his spells and lose his grip.”
“He won’t. Jawbone is a special boy. His spirit helper has been waiting for many summers to find Jawbone climbing the quest wall. You must let her find him.”
When I don’t respond, Hoodwink gives me a sad smile. “I remember your first quest, Quiller. We were far north in the Steppe Lands. You were younger than Jawbone, twelve summers. Your parents didn’t think you were old enough to undertake a quest, but you demanded the right to seek a spirit helper. Your mother wept the entire time you were gone.”
That makes me smile. “Yes, Father told me.”
I miss my mother and father. They were killed in one of the last raids by the Rust People, before we established an uneasy peace alliance.
“When you returned with two spirit helpers, Bull Bison and Sister Moon, she was so proud of you she could barely stand it.” Hoodwink exhales a white cloud of breath that drifts away in the breeze. “You will feel the same way in a few days.”
“The quest wall was different in the Steppe Lands, elder. It was gritty limestone, not slick basalt. It required less skill.”
“Please trust me. I promise you that a helper will find your son and take care of him. When he steps off the trail onto the cliff top, he will run into your arms cured and so happy you will . . .”
We all stiffen when we hear boots on the cliff trail that leads down into our sea cave. Rust People steps, heavy and rhythmic, pounding the trail with intent. In contrast, the steps of Sealion People are quick and light.
“It’s early for visitors.” Mink grips the stiletto he’s been sharpening and watches the three people in silver capes march out of the darkness. “Is that Sticks in the lead?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “With two Rust warriors to guard him. They’re carrying spears. I can see the polished spear points flashing in the zyme light.”
Sticks lifts a hand. “Greetings!”
No one responds.
Mink softly asks, “What’s he want?”
“We’ll know soon enough,” RabbitEar answers.
Sticks is the youngest Dog Soldier, almost twenty-four summers, but his strange alliance with Jorgensen has made him an influential man among the Rust nation. Lynx says this has caused a great deal of resentment among the six other Dog Soldiers, for Sticks has not even been initiated into the Dog Soldier society yet. He is considered a soldier in training. Thanissara, the eldest Dog Soldier at forty-five summers, leads the society.
As I examine Sticks, I’m struck again by his extreme height and the low dome of his skull. Truly, Dog Soldiers appear half-human. Around his neck he wears an ancient lump of rust suspended from a leather cord. My adopted children tell me it is an ancient weapon. As he walks, the lump sways, leaving a reddish-brown arc across the trayalon fabric of his silver shirt. I have learned this is a mark of status. Other Rust People come up and reverently touch that arc to gain some of its power.
Under his breath, Mink says, “I don’t like this.”
We all straighten when Jorgensen strides out of the darkness, walking ten paces behind the others. His eyes glow in the firelight just like a dog’s.
“Does he look older to you?” I say.
Elder Hoodwink answers, “His brown hair has far more white in it than the last time I saw him three moons ago. A lot more. His temples have gone entirely white.”
“Blessings to you.” Sticks marches directly to Elder Hoodwink and bows. “May we share your fire?”
“Of course.” Hoodwink gestures to the hides. “Please sit and warm yourselves.”
Sticks remains standing until Jorgensen sits down beside Hoodwink, then he seats himself just behind the Jemen’s shoulder. His eyes fill with awe when he looks at Jorgensen. He obviously worships the man.
Mink’s intent gaze follows the two warriors as they walk five paces away and stand overlooking Mother Ocean. “Why don’t they sit down by the fire with the rest of us?”
“They are not a necessary part of this discussion,” Sticks explains.
“I see. And what exactly are we discussing? Since our peoples made peace, we haven’t seen much of you, Sticks, and we’ve only seen Jorgensen from a distance at ritual celebrations.”
Sticks replies, “We came to speak with you about the blue faces. May we do that?”
Mink returns his attention to sharpening the stiletto, dragging the tip over the sandstone. “What about them?”
“The Blessed Jorgensen, the last of the Jemen, wishes to know if you visited the cave.”
I study Jorgensen, who seems happy to allow the Dog Soldier to speak for him. “Yes, I took a few people there. Why?”
“The evil there is very great. If any of you still feel ill, the Blessed Jorgensen wants to—”
Annoyed, I say, “Has Vice Admiral Jorgensen lost his voice? Is that why he can’t speak for himself?”
Jorgensen puts a hand on Sticks’ arm, and gives me a condescending smile. “Forgive me, matron. It’s the way of Rust People; they allow Dog Soldiers to act as intermediaries in all formal discussions.”
Suspicious, I tilt my head. “I thought this was a friendly visit. Is it a formal one?”
“Let me rephrase that.” Jorgensen pulls his cape forward to cover his knees. “It’s an important visit. If you are still ill, I have a . . . a spirit plant . . . that might help you.”
Mink gives the man a hostile look. “None of us are ill, so if that’s the only reason you’re here, I’ll have someone escort you back the way—”
“Actually,” Jorgensen says, “that’s not the reason I’m here.”
“I thought not,” Mink says.
The wrinkles across Jorgensen’s forehead deepen. When the wind gusts, he flips up the hood of his cape and clutches it closed beneath his chin. “War Leader, I came here to speak with you about your brother.”
“What about him?”
“Lynx is in desperate trouble.”
Mink’s brow furrows. “And he sent you to tell me?”
“He did not. For the simple reason that he doesn’t know he’s in trouble.”
Mink fingers the stiletto and waits for Jorgensen to get to the point. The longer the two men glare at each other, the more the feeling of danger grows.
I ask, “What kind of trouble?”
Without looking at me, Jorgensen replies, “The War Leader’s brother is falling into the trap of the evil device that killed all the people you saw in the blue caverns.”
I exchange a glance with Elder Hoodwink, who seems to be fascinated by this discussion.
Hoodwink asks, “What evil device? Are you talking about Quancee?”
The conversation dies as villagers begin to emerge from lodges, dragging children by the hands. The adults glance at us, then lead the children to the far side of the cave where they can empty their night water. The constant ocean spray that bathes that place keeps it tidy. One little girl skips at her mother’s side, laughing, but most of the children glance worriedly at us, as do their parents. They have, of course, been listening to the strains of conversation carried to the lodges by the wind. Not only that, Rust People make all of us nervous. It has not been that long since their last attack killed many of our loved ones.
“Yes, I am,” Jorgensen finally answers.
Mink’s brows lower. “How do you know Quancee killed them?”
“I was there when it happened. My wife and children are in the caverns.”
“Really?” Mink smiles. “So you truly are over one thousand summers old? I know that’s what Sticks and the other Dog Soldiers believe, but—”
“When Quancee tires of your brother,” Jorgensen cuts him off, “it’s going to swat Lynx like a gnat. I’m sure you don’t want that any more than I do.”
“Lynx says Quancee is as gentle as a mouse.”
“He’s a fool.” Sticks leans forward, and his dark skin gleams with firelight. “Please, listen. I lived in Quancee’s cave. Believe me, the device is malignant and deceiving Lynx into doing its bidding. In the end—”
“And when did you last see Lynx?”
“Well, it—it’s been several moons, but the Blessed Jorgensen saw him just a few days ago, and he’s definitely under the device’s spell.”
“Spell?” Mink’s black brows lift. “Sounds like you’re accusing Quancee of witchery.”
“We are. The Blessed Jorgensen says the only way to break the spell is to drag Lynx away from it and force him to accept the spirit plants offered by the Vice Admiral. We all want him to be cured.”
Lowering his stiletto to the sharpening stone, Mink grinds it across the surface again. The sound is so ragged, it makes my teeth ache. “I’m not dragging Lynx anywhere.”
“But he’s your brother. It’s your duty to care for him.”
I can’t help it. I raise my voice to shout, “I’m quickly tiring of this game you’re playing. Tell me what you—”
Hoodwink reaches out to lightly touch my arm. “They are our guests. Let’s hear them out.”
Mink turns to Hoodwink. “Elder, I agree with Quiller. It’s time they get to the point. I want to know how they benefit. If I bring Lynx back here against his will, what does Jorgensen gain?”
Elder Hoodwink peers at Sticks and Jorgensen. “Can you answer the War Leader’s question?”
“Gain?” Sticks looks mystified. “The Blessed Jorgensen doesn’t gain anything.”
Mink balances the stiletto on his knee. “The Vice Admiral obviously needs to get Lynx out of the way so he can achieve some goal. What is it?”
Jorgensen sits so still his unnatural eyes catch the flame reflections and hold them like mirrors. “Honestly, I need to dismantle the computer, but your brother won’t allow it.”
“Why do you need to dismantle Quancee?”
Jorgensen pauses. “Quancee must cease to function.”
“You mean you want to kill Quancee?”
“It’s not alive,” Jorgensen says as though exasperated. “It can’t be killed. I know Lynx has told you it’s alive, but it isn’t. I assure you, it’s nothing but a conglomeration of mechanical components.”
Mink starts flipping the stiletto in the firelight. It’s a gesture full of meaning. The bone glints and flashes and ends up in his fist vaguely aimed in Jorgensen’s direction. “Why is it so important to you that Quancee ‘cease to function’?”
When a gust of wind flutters my hair over my face, I have to tuck it behind my ears before I can see Jorgensen staring at Mink through half-lidded eyes.
“It’s more evil than I can possibly explain to—”
“To someone like me?” Mink asks.
“Not just you, War Leader. Trying to explain quantum phenomena to anyone among your species is difficult at best. Every time I try, you think I’m talking about magic or witchery. You can’t grasp even the most rudimentary elements of the discussion.”
I gruffly slam a stick of wood onto the fire, which makes everyone jump when sparks whirl toward the cave roof. “Then try again.”
“Matron, I assure you it would be a waste of my efforts.”
Affronted, I reach for the war club tied to my belt beneath my cape, draw it out, and rest it across my lap.
Mink glances at me, smiles. “That’s fine, Jorgensen, but I’m a little confused. Why would you think I’d help you?”
Jorgensen seems to be rethinking his approach. Finally, he gives Mink a solicitous nod. “I understand. You see me as an ancient god fallen to earth. You’re afraid—”
“You’re mistaken.” Mink shakes his head. “No one among the Sealion People sees you as an ancient god. As a matter of fact, we don’t know what you are. Despite the fact that this Dog Soldier”—he offhandedly gestures to Sticks—“thinks you are some kind of sacred relic, to Sealion People you’re just a mildly interesting curiosity wandering through our world.”
Jorgensen casually spreads his hands. “That’s acceptable, so long as you believe that I mean you no harm. All I want to do is repair Quancee so that it functions again.”
“Repair her? But I thought you wanted to dismantle her,” I say.
Jorgensen clutches his hood beneath his chin and nods. “Yes. I have to dismantle it, find the parts that work, and reassemble the device into something functional. I’m trying to fix it.”
“Then why is Lynx an obstacle? He must want Quancee to be repaired, as well.”
“No. He doesn’t. Lynx knows that after Quancee murdered all those people in the cavern of blue faces, it shut down, but he believes it’s because the device was heartsick over the deaths. I assure you that’s wrong. Quancee malfunctioned. It thought its job was done. That’s why it shut down. Since that day, its systems have continued to deteriorate. You must understand, Quancee is the most powerful weapon my people ever created. As it deteriorates, it ‘thinks’ incorrectly. It can’t distinguish between a threat and an innocent act. If I can’t dismantle it . . . well, there’s no telling what it might do.”
Mink studies Jorgensen, then his brow furrows, as though considering the words. “The only reason I can think of that Lynx would oppose you is that he believes you’re lying.”
“I am not, War Leader. He just doesn’t understand the device as well as I do.”
In the uneasy pause, Elder Hoodwink shifts his sore knee to a more comfortable position and massages it. It’s ten heartbeats before he says, “As I understand it, Lynx is Quancee’s caretaker now. It’s his decision, isn’t it?”
The two warriors standing out on the lip of the cave turn to look at the fire, and I see their hands clutch their spears more tightly. Is this discussion taking longer than they’d thought it would?
Jorgensen’s nostrils flare. “Lynx is an incompetent caretaker. None of you realizes how dangerous Quancee is. In the wrong hands, its powers can be wielded to kill everything alive on this planet, and he refuses to turn over control to me—”
“Well, you’re right about that,” Mink says with a hard-edged smile. “Lynx is incompetent. He’s the worst hunter and warrior I have ever seen. On the other hand, the last person I’d want to wield Quancee’s powers is you, Vice Admiral.”
“War Leader . . .” Jorgensen bows his head and starts lacing and unlacing his fingers in his lap. “If you don’t listen to me, your brother is going to die. Along with the rest of us.”
The silence stretches while the men glare at one another.
Finally, Mink flips the stiletto to point directly at Jorgensen’s chest. It’s no longer a thinly veiled threat, and Jorgensen knows it; his strange blue eyes narrow. “I’ve listened to you. Now I want you to listen to me. Make no mistake, Blessed Jorgensen, if anything unfortunate should happen to my brother, I will find you.”
The muffled roar of waves rises from the ocean below the sea cave.
Jorgensen lets out a chilling laugh. “You have no idea what you’re saying. Quancee, as a personality, is crumbling. It must be eliminated before it completely decoheres. If I don’t act soon, our world is doomed.”
Mink looks around at the other people in the circle. None of us has any notion of what ‘decoheres’ means, and Jorgensen shows no signs that he’s planning to explain. “Well, I’m done. Anyone else wish to comment?”
RabbitEar and I shake our heads and turn to Elder Hoodwink.
“Yes,” Hoodwink says. “I have one more question for the Blessed Jorgensen.”
“Of course,” Jorgensen answers.
Hoodwink says, “I don’t understand. Why has it taken you so long?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s been a long while since Sticks claims he saw you change from a wolf into a man. In all that time, you’ve never before come to ask anything of Sealion People. Why now? If Quancee is as dangerous as you say, why didn’t you seek out our help to destroy her two summers ago?”
“I didn’t realize until recently how close Quancee is to falling apart. Lynx never allows me to get close to the device. Now it’s almost too late.”
Mink gets to his feet and gestures to the trail that angles up the cliff face. “All right. Thanks. Do you need help finding your way home?”
Jorgensen rises with wind whipping his cape around his body. He takes time to meet the eyes of each person sitting around the fire. “Remember that I warned you. When reality starts to flutter before your eyes, it will be too late.”
“What does that mean?” Hoodwink asks.
Jorgensen turns and stalks up the dark trail. Sticks leaps to follow, and the two guards trot to fall in line behind them. We can hear Jorgensen speaking hoarsely to Sticks as they vanish beyond the halo of firelight.
I wait until they are beyond hearing range. “Sounds like they’re plotting.”
Mink sighs and tests the stiletto’s sharp point on his thumb, then tosses it to me. “You might want to keep that close.”
I catch the weapon and slip it through my belt. “I think that’s a good idea.”
At the top of the trail, I glimpse four dark shapes standing against the glittering background of the Ice Giant Mountains. The glaciers have turned pale yellow with the rising of Father Sun, but black veins of crevasses carve the slopes. Along one of the lower game trails, dire wolves lope. I faintly hear their howls above the crackling fire and roar of the waves. “What do you think his next move will be?”
“I’m still trying to figure out what he really wants,” Mink says. “Did anyone else notice that he seems desperate? He hid it well, but—”
“Yes. Why?”
“Just wondering if Lynx is somehow responsible.”
“How could Lynx—”
“It’s not Lynx.” Hoodwink frowns toward the figures still standing at the top of the cliff. As the sky brightens, the men are clearer, huddled in a circle. Jorgensen waves his hands in wild gestures. “It’s Quancee. One of us has to warn Lynx.”
“I’ll be happy to do it,” I say with a huge sense of relief, “but it means delaying Jawbone’s qu—”
“It’s my responsibility.” Firelight reflects in Mink’s unblinking eyes as he watches the man waving his hands on the cliff top. The drifting clouds are shading pink. “I’ll do it, though I suspect my brother already knows.”
Hoodwink tightens the fingers laced in his lap. “What I don’t understand is why Jorgensen came to us. He could simply enlist a few Rust warriors to drag Lynx away from Quancee and kill him.”
“Perhaps Lynx could kill them with a word, as Sticks claims he can,” RabbitEar says.
“Nonsense. Sticks tells such lies because he wants people to fear Lynx.”
“I do fear Lynx.” RabbitEar makes an awkward gesture. “Don’t you?”
I don’t reply, but the answer must be clear on my face. We all know Lynx has changed. None of us can be certain what Lynx might do if attacked. In the old days, I could imagine him throwing up his hands and scurrying for the high country as fast as his feet would carry him. But today? Each time I see him, I shrink away. I know it hurts him, but I can’t help it. There’s something uncomfortably alien about him. It’s as though my soul senses a predator hidden behind his eyes. A predator watching me, sizing me up, planning how to hunt me.
I’ve always wondered if it’s really Quancee looking out through Lynx’s eyes. At the thought, a chill goes through me.
RabbitEar says, “I need to go wake Jawbone and get him dressed. We have to be at the quest wall by noon at the latest.”
“Thank you,” I reply.
As I watch RabbitEar swagger toward our lodge, my concerns shift to our sick son. My nightmare replays: I hear Jawbone scream my name and see him fall.
“Quiller?” Mink shakes a finger at me. “Don’t be surprised if you see Jorgensen or Sticks on your journey to the quest wall. Capturing and holding you hostage would be a powerful incentive for Lynx to give him what he wants.”
“No one will ever take me captive again, Mink. Not alive, anyway.”