A Circle of Celebrations: The Complete Edition (10 page)

“Like the ancient Israelites did,” Carter said, with the lessons he had just heard in the seder. “We’ll smear the blood from the Paschal lamb over the doorposts. Rachel!” he called to the biologist, who had her small army of children hauling blankets and bed rolls onto a skid loader. “Can you get me some fire extinguishers?”

With something to give them hope, the colonists pulled together to help.

The chh’nhk drew closer. Anjanette gave Carter and Melody a running report on what buildings and structures the huge creatures were tearing apart next. Rachel brought not only three big, red, pump-style fire extinguishers, but an enormous mixing bowl with a spout. Mikael vacuumed out the fire-prevention chemical powder. Carter took a look inside. The canisters were dry and clean.

Holding the huge egg, Debri closed her eyes for a moment. If Carter hadn’t been well aware of her views, he would have thought she was praying. Then she struck the shell with the lid of one of the tanks. Albumen, clear and pale green in color, gushed into the big bowl, along with fat globules and some amorphous solids. Among them was a tiny creature, no more than two centimeters long, with bulbous eyes under translucent lids and goose-bumps that would one day have been pebbled hide: the fetus of a chh’nhk, curled around a ropy strand that must have been its umbilical cord. It had started to develop in the egg before it was put into the stasis bottle. Carter felt tears prick at his eyes.

“I’m sorry, little one,” Debri whispered. Rachel squeezed her arm with a sympathetic hand.

Even though this small embryo would have developed into one of the gigantic monsters tearing apart the settlement outside, Carter couldn’t help but see a helpless baby animal. This was the death of the First Born, the tenth and most terrible plague that God had visited upon the Egyptians to make them free the Israelites. Even God must have felt regret for doing it on behalf of his Chosen People, but sacrifices had to be made. Carter fished the small creature out of the bowl and handed it to Debri. Her fingers closed around it.

“We’ll take it from here,” he said. Together, he and Mikael beat the egg fluid into a homogenous mass and poured it into the extinguishers. “Now, all we have to do is spray it on our doorposts.”

O O O

Lieutenant Ottolino stood poised by the front door of the refectory with one of the canisters strapped to his back. His fastest and most agile guard, Corporal Lisa Neuhaus, also one of the Jewish congregants, had volunteered to take the second. Carter, clad in full riot gear, wore the third. They had been monitoring the chh’nhk herd while suiting up. The next target of the predators was this building, the chem lab, or the greenhouse. Either way, everyone had to be ready to move.

Most of the adults and all of the children huddled near the rear exit with Melody and the Visitors at their head. They were ready to flee into the nearest untouched building.

“You’re the co-leader,” Melody argued, through the communicator embedded in the padding of Carter’s heavy helmet. “You should leave this to the security personnel.”

Carter shook his head, though he knew she couldn’t see the gesture. “I have to. It was my idea. Just make sure everyone’s safe.”

Ottolino watched the video from the cameras on his wrist-mounted screen.

“Damn, they move fast,” he said. Carter watched in fascinated horror as the blue-skinned giant threw up its head, listening.

“It heard you,” Carter whispered. “It’s coming this way!”

“Move it out!” Ottolino ordered at once. “Fire over their heads unless you’re in imminent danger of death. Got that?”

“Yes, sir!” the guards chorused.

“Go, go, go!”

His second, Sergeant Randy Chen, burst out into the street, with the others in his wake. They surprised the chh’nhk by their sudden appearance, but the shock lasted only a moment. The huge leader scrambled to a halt, towering over the puny humans. It eyed the strange creatures in its path. Its triple-mouthed face nosed close. Then it opened its jaws, and sniffed hard. It let out a shriek that brought all of its smaller kin running.

Carter had never seen one up close and in the flesh like that, only partial specimens and video from drone cameras, let alone dozens. His mouth dried. He couldn’t move. They were going to eat him!

“Chen! Nonlethal response!” Ottolino bellowed.

“Yes, sir!” The soldier raised the barrel of his slugthrower into the air and let off six sharp blasts. The deafening reports blasted the air and echoed down the street. The chh’nhk fled from the sound and the bright blue muzzle flashes. The whole herd, large and small alike, stampeded back toward the hangar.

The respite was long enough for Carter to regain his wits. He started spraying the door of the refectory building with thin yellow goo. The viscous egg mass was thickening up. It didn’t want to come out of the nozzle, but he pumped the tank again and again to put as much air pressure behind it as he could.

“Go get the greenhouse,” Ottolino shouted to Neuhaus. “Cover the whole building. They might go around the back!”

“Yes, sir!” the young woman said. She ran along the side and disappeared in the darkness.

“Dr. Phillips, you finish up here,” the lieutenant said. “I’ll try and cover any of the buildings that they haven’t torn up yet! Get the whole perimeter. Can you do that? Sir? Can you? Are you okay?”

Carter nodded, not trusting his voice. He wondered if the Israelites had ever been as afraid as he was then.

God, if you were with Your children then, be with me now!

“Here they come again,” Chen called out. He and the remaining seventeen soldiers let off bursts from their weapons, always aiming high. The blue-skinned chh’nhk ducked their heads every time the guns sounded, but they smelled food. “Keep back! Keep away!”

The predators circled around, trying to get around the source of the painful noise. Carter, too, winced at the explosions, but he concentrated on pointing the nozzle of his tank as high on the wall as he could. Yellow droplets ran down. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, spreading goo on his face.

“Look out, they’re breaking through!” Chen shouted. “Permission to direct fire, sir!”

“Negative,” Ottolino said. “Unless they are a physical threat.”

The next cry was a shriek. “Direct threat, sir!”

Ottolino’s reply in Carter’s headset was drowned out by the screams behind him. A hail of gunfire hammered his eardrums. He dashed down the far side of the huge building, pumping as he went. At the seam where the refectory butted up against the clear plastic wall of the greenhouse, he ran almost flat into Neuhaus.

“Come on,” Carter said. “Let’s get the rest of the buildings on this side.”

The two of them split to run around one plascrete structure after another, until he felt the pump handle refuse to move. Neuhaus came around the far corner, smearing the wall with her gloved hand.

“I ran out, sir.”

“I think I have some more,” Carter said. He pumped hard and waggled the hose hard. The hollow sound in the metal tank told him his was empty, too. A few drops spattered the wall. They hurried to finish the job. “Come on, let’s get inside.”

Carter’s heart was in his throat as they cut behind the greenhouse to the rear door of the refectory. Melody opened the door to their pounding. Carter dropped his gear and ran to the front windows to look out.

He could no longer see the security team. “Ottolino, are you all right?” he shouted into his helmet mike.

“We’re okay,” the lieutenant said. “All but Chen … guess you could say the Pharaoh got him. I sprayed the rest of us. We’re down by the residence block. You’ve got to see what the chh’nhks are doing! It’s amazing.”

The Pharaoh
. That was a good description for the gigantic chh’nhk. Carter stared out of the windows. The predators reappeared, but instead of tearing up the buildings, they sniffed them carefully. The Pharaoh stalked toward the refectory. It ran its long face around the doorway, then withdrew, its eyes thoughtful. It went on to the next structure.

Instead of attacking the structures, the sauroids carefully avoided any of the structures that had been anointed with egg wash. One even chided another with a slap of its long paw when it accidentally tore into the corner of a near building that had been sprayed. They kept going, examining each building, and howling their disappointment.

Carter found himself holding his breath. Melody had her tablet in her hand. She kept scrolling up, watching one security camera after another.

“They’re gone!” she cried.

The settlers hugged one another and jumped up and down, screaming. Rachel threw her arms around as many of the children as she could.

“The egg worked!” Rachel said. “A miracle.”

“The Lord helps those who help themselves,” Anjanette said, with a smile. “If it was a miracle, it was one that had
lots
of help.”

The Visitors were delighted. “Why have we never tried that?” Mmm’dkk asked, all three of her mouths rounded with amusement. The four Visitors found themselves in the midst of a group hug.

“Obtaining the eggs is dangerous,” Lll’ppp’rrr said. “But it may be worthwhile. All of us are inspired by this ritual of yours. The story of the egg and the leg of the herdbeast, and the death of the firstborn. Most interesting. It is the first of your rituals that makes sense. This will become part of our teaching chants.”

“I’m honored, however you want to interpret it,” Rachel said, dipping her head. She turned and eyed Debri, who stood at the rear of the crowd that had returned to the refectory. “Now, you were saying? Passover is a useless holiday? It has no relevance in the modern day?”

The biologist pushed her way forward. Carter wondered if he was going to have to step between them again.

“On a religious basis, no,” Debri said, with a pugnacious lift of her chin. “On a scientific basis, perhaps … it could represent our delivery from danger. A passing over of a peril. In a purely historical sense, of course.”

Rachel crowed and threw her arms around the tall woman. Debri looked uncomfortable at first, but accepted the embrace.

“Welcome to the congregation,” Rachel said.

***

Lammas Night

Sunflower

Vinory dreamed again of the sunflower: tall, yellow-fringed, with a strong, thick stalk bowing slightly under the weight of its heavy head. Everything about the dream flower seemed normal, except that instead of tracking the sun throughout the day, its face followed her.

There were plenty of sunflowers in the garden outside, but why would she dream about them instead of the roses or asters or herbs? All of this place was new to her. She had come here only a few days ago. Glad for the promise of shelter against the coming winter, Vinory had not questioned too closely the circumstances under which the position of village wonder worker became vacant. Otherwise, she might have shouldered her pack and pressed on farther down the road, regardless of the holes in her boots.

Now, those boots had fresh, entire soles, and winter receded to far away in the future. Moreover, there were whole woolen blankets on the feather bed, also blessedly hers, and free of vermin, thank all gods! The three-room cottage was not merely nice, but sound, well-proportioned, and well built. It smelled of dry herbs and dust, but what of that? Half an hour’s sweeping and dusting, and some of her own herbs scattered on the air or boiled for the scent had driven away the ghost of dead parsley and sage. The headman’s wife had made her guesting gift of oats, tea, honey, salt, a new loaf, some dried meat, and a small crock of wine, with the promise of good food every day. Whatever she needed, they would give. Somewhere, they told her, there was a black and white cat for company, but he tended to go about his business as he chose. This could be a nice sinecure, all the benefits to stay with her, or go, as she chose, if only Vinory would at least stay through until spring. The people of Twin Streams had no one else to weave the spells to protect them from the storm or the spirits who rode it. Their last mage had died in the spring. Vinory was a gift to them from the gods, and they treated her as such.

The dream symbol of the sunflower kept preying at her mind. This was no ordinary bloom. It had a distinctively masculine presence, teasing at her with a faint, fresh-washed scent and the insouciant flaunting of mature sexuality. Did a god’s presence touch the house?

If such a visitation was troubling her, she wanted to see it off! Vinory needed a whole mind and a whole heart to take care of the villagers. Some of them had been saving up a list of spells and nostrums they needed against the time that this cottage would house a mage again. Vinory would be busy from morning ’til night for weeks to come.

“Good morning, Mistress Vinory,” the headman said when she came to take care of his youngest daughter, who was suffering from night terrors. Bilisa also had a head cold and was breaking out in webbing between her toes and fingers from handling an enchanted frog, but those were quietish maladies, not calculated to make her scream in the dark and wake the house.

“Now, think of something bright,” Vinory told the girl, a mite of six, with big dark eyes and long braids framing a pale, moon-shaped face. “Something that gleams. Keep it in your mind.” Vinory spun a disk of metal between her fingers, gathering sunlight from the beams that came in the window to store in the girl’s mind. “Think of yellow, like buttercups and primroses.”

And sunflowers,
a quiet voice said in the back of her mind.

O O O

When the girl’s mind was eased and her other problems treated, Vinory returned to her cottage and hearth. She mustn’t start thinking of the cottage as hers, she warned herself, as she started a pot of porridge to cook. The mage-born really belonged nowhere in this world. They were only loosely tied to physical existence. Love of possessions made it more difficult to travel across the Veil to accomplish their spells and curses. But how easily she could get used to earthly comforts! Her cup and bowl, spoon and knife looked very homey on the mantel beside the goods of the departed Master Samon. The reflection the mirror showed her had silver threads showing near the scalp in the black wings of her hair; and fine lines ran in patterns on her weathered skin beside her dark blue eyes and the corners of her mouth. Her body would one day grow old. Would this not be a nice place to stay until the time came when she abandoned it? Hastily, she put the thought aside.

Next to the hearth was a wooden chest that Vinory hadn’t dared to open as yet. It was unlocked, and the hasp was flipped upward as if its owner had been about to open it when … The villagers said that the last mage had died unexpectedly. Could it have been poison, or was the latch made of a deadly metal? Vinory prayed to be shown the truth, whispering a few words to the void.

The wind howled outside suddenly, making her gasp with its ferocity. But she saw no black spots or shining, sickly greenness on or about the lock or the chest to suggest that it would do her harm. She reached for it again.

It seemed to her that a warm hand brushed hers when she pushed the heavy lid open.
Cobwebs,
Vinory told herself.
You’re imagining things.

To her delight the chest was full of books. That made sense. It was placed handily so one could reach for a book and read by firelight. Vinory hummed with pleasure as she took the clothbound volumes out one by one and laid them on the fleece that served as a hearth mat. There was a
Geographicus Mundi
, a handsome herbal in Latin, and several books of charms and spells. Some of the books were handwritten, all in the same strong, beautiful hand, and peppered with tiny illuminations. Among the goods on the wall shelves were pots of paint and brushes made of twigs and hair. Had these drawings been the work of Samon? Then he was a scholar and an artist! She was sorry now not to have met him. And now these lovely things were hers to use. Vinory felt an unexpected sensation of warmth, as if the house gave her its blessing.

O O O

The dream of the sunflower came again that night. The seed-heavy head leaned closer to her; its leaves rustling, whispering. If the flower had had eyes, it would be looking deep into her soul. The image grew larger until it took up all of her mind’s eye. Vinory woke in the dark, panting with fear. It wasn’t that she disliked sunflowers, she told herself, except that the damned shells kept getting stuck between her teeth, but what was the meaning of the recurring dream? She sought peace as she concentrated on it.

Her mind had to be affected by some stimulus around her. Vinory thought again of the unseen hand that had touched her when she opened the box of books. It was almost as if someone had brushed her arm lovingly. She put her hands up into the shadows, feeling, sensing. The air was empty, as it was supposed to be.

Movement near the fire startled her. Vinory sat upright to see what had thrown that shadow against the wall. No one else was in the room with her. It must be the cat, she told herself.

No.
The thought came unbidden. Vinory started.

There
was
a consciousness here. Who—or what—was it? Vinory crawled from her bed and flung a cloak around her, determined to learn more. From her basket, she took a thin copper ring and a thread, and crouched by the fire. She set the pendulum spinning, catching glints from the faint embers.

“Are you malevolent? Do you mean me harm?” she asked the pendulum. Without hesitation, the ring began to rock back and forth. No. Twice. And the shadow fluttered into the light again.

“Who are you?”

That question the pendulum could not answer. The intruder could have been from anywhere and any time in the beyond. Vinory reached outward with all the delicate fingers of consciousness that she used to touch the other side of the Veil. The presence seemed to have a connectedness to the place in which it was now. Was it an entity called here by the previous owner of the cottage, or an unfortunate spirit tied here by who knew what bonds? She couldn’t guess what had gone before. Perhaps in the daylight she could peruse the books and notebooks for a clue.

An unexpected rush of air flowed past her cheek and brushed her hair. Chilled, Vinory crept back to bed and tucked the blankets around her.

O O O

She treated the presence with careful reverence, in case it was the tendril of a god’s mind. When Vinory rose in the morning, she greeted it, and put the first crumbs and drops of her breakfast on a dish to one side as an offering. If it was not a god, then it had another name, and she meant to find it out. As she worked on a charm for a spinning wheel for Lenda, the village fine-weaver, they chatted idly.

“What sort of man was Samon?” Vinory asked, tying threads together through the spokes of the wheel.

“Oh, he was a fine-looking man,” Lenda said, rocking her plump self back on her three-legged stool. “Not as big as some, but with white skin like a girl’s, and dark eyes and lashes that looked painted on. I wanted to picture him as a tapestry, but he wouldn’t let me make an image of him. Said it tied him down.”

“That’s true,” Vinory said. “How did Samon die?”

“Caught a chill sitting up for six nights in a row to cure a sick child,” Lenda said. “Or at least, that’s what I thought it must be. The next day, I was bringing him food, and found him. I thought he was sleeping, but he was dead. Not a mark on him. Such a shock it was.” Lenda clicked her tongue.

“Six nights! Such devotion to healercraft,” Vinory said, impressed. “He must have been most caring.”

“Oh, well, any man would do the same, since it was
his
child,” Lenda said, peering at the mage-woman under her heavy lids. “The girl he got it on was too young to marry, our headman said, but plenty old enough for dalliance among the daisies at the spring planting, in Samon’s eye. Said it was the god’s doing. He shouldn’t have taken her, but what could the parents say? You can’t make a cow back into a heifer.”

“Oh,” Vinory said, disappointed. “Too true.” The wretch. Her image of a lost scholar and saint tarnished around the edges. Technically Samon had been correct. Mere mortals could not dictate whom the god said should play the spring queen in the planting dance, but one could temper his whim by leaving unwed children out of the range of choice. Had the god stayed around too long after the dance, and swept Samon away while leaving a thought-shadow in his place?

“No, indeed,” Lenda said, reminiscing. She sounded fond of him, as she stared past Vinory through the door at the bright autumn sunshine. “Couldn’t keep his hands to himself, no, not if they were tied behind him. He needed a strong woman to keep him in line. Not that women here aren’t of sound mind,” she added, warningly, in case Vinory would think they were all vow-loose, “but none
wanted
to say no to him.”

I could,
Vinory thought.

The presence teased at her the next day as she rooted through the cottage’s storerooms. It seemed to have a courtier’s manners, going here and there with her, moving aside while she was walking, crouching close as she knelt to examine a box or basket. It certainly was not a god, since when Vinory had chosen to ward herself the night before, she was not troubled by the dreams or the mysterious touch. Instead, Vinory could feel the presence hammering unhappily at the wards she had set up, pleading to come in until she drew a veil across her thoughts so she could sleep. Who or what could the presence be?

“I don’t know whether it would have been a pleasure to know you or not, Master Samon!” Vinory said, sorting through a bag of dyed threads. “Dallying with children, though I grant you lived up to your responsibilities afterward. You stood right on the fulcrum of the Great Balance, didn’t you?” The presence said nothing, but she was beginning to feel that it might indeed be Samon lingering there.

What
had
taken his life? Over the years, she had sat up many nights with patients. Sometimes she’d caught what disease they had, but she always manifested the usual symptoms. The women said there were no signs at all, and yet Samon’s soul had fled. Vinory’s mind spun with unanswerable questions. Could Samon have been ripped from his body by some powerful force? A curse? Could what happened to him happen to Vinory? Should she flee this place while she could? No wonder the townsfolk were so desperately glad to have her stay.

When she went to bed that night, she surrounded herself with wards and protections so thick that the cat couldn’t find a place on the bed. He hunkered down next to it, grumbling.

The next morning, the sun poked a gleaming finger through the curtains of the cottage window and tickled Vinory’s nose until she woke up with a sneeze.

Goodness,
she thought
. I hope I’m not coming down with Bilisa’s cold.
A few experimental sniffs proved that her nose was clear. That was a relief.

The cottage was tidied nearly to the homey stage. Vinory though that today she would ask the fuller or the blacksmith for a little polishing sand to shine up the fine metalwork that decorated the doors and cupboard fastenings. That would be the finishing touch that would make all perfect. She could perform some small service for the craftsmen in exchange, but so far everyone had been too shy to ask their due. The courtesy would pass soon enough, Vinory knew, so she would keep offering so as not to seem arrogant in her power.

Vinory thought a slice of meat and some broth boiled from the dried meat would taste nice this morning. The black and white cat wound between her feet while she put the pot onto the fire and made her toilet for the day. She gave him a piece of the meat. He gulped it down and begged for more.

“There, now,” she said, picking up a cloth to swing the hook holding the pot out of the fire, and flicked it at him. “You’ve had your bounty. Go and catch something for yourself. Fresh meat’s better for you anyhow.” The cat sat down and nonchalantly washed his shoulder to prove to her that he didn’t care. Smiling, Vinory ladled broth into her bowl and took it and the remains of the loaf to the table.

Beside her plate was a yellow flower. Vinory hadn’t noticed it before, but that did not mean it hadn’t been there when she arose. She was touched by the gesture, thinking that a villager had decided to show her a kindness by leaving her a posy of autumn flowers. Then she took a close look at the bloom. It was a daffodil. Another sunflower, not heavy with autumn, but fresh with the dew of springtime. She’d always known it as a gage of the laughing young god, in his youngest and most playful incarnation. And yet, she reminded herself that the dancer was also faithless, flitting from woman to woman, whoever would have him. There were no daffodils in the village. They withered by May. July was long past their season. Who had reached through time for this lovely thing?