Spider Wars: Book Three of the Black Bead Chronicles (7 page)

Not everything slept. The
little warm blooded burrowers buried deep under the snow woke from
dreams of the green shoots of spring to raid their larders, nibbling
on their secret stashes of seeds, nuts, and dried blossoms before
curling around their newborn young, nursing them through the winter
using their own fat reserves garnered in the last frenzied days of
fall. They were safe from all the predators except the bat eared
foxes and the small hunting cats who could sense their motion under
layers and layers of powder snow and who had perfected the art of
snow diving as a winter hunting skill.

The wild herds had long
since retreated from the high meadows of the Dragon Spine, seeking
cover in the dense groves of the southern forests where they would
stay for as long as the storms howled out of the Waste. The sky
hunters, all their prey gone to ground, had flown south off the
Escarpment in search of warmer places to raise their young. Great
flocks of strange things flew out of the Waste at the start of
winter, driven south by the cold. A few settled to rest for a moment
in the trees around the dome before continuing south. Her teachers
said they flew until the land gave out, half the world away, which
was a wonder to Cheobawn, who had never gone further than the
Escarpment.

There were still great
hunters in the forests. Tree bears and dubeh leopards followed the
wild herds and would try the wards if hunger pressed on them hard
enough, but winter culled the herds and killed the weak, turning the
predators into carrion feeders. They were disinclined to exert
themselves in a real hunt and shied away from the spears of men.

Humans had other worries.
There were a thousand ways to die, each more scary than the last,
most of them involving snow and ice. There was pack snow, the safest
kind. It settled into a solid floor that supported all the walkers
except the fenelk who were massive enough to plow through it instead
of over it.

Slab snow was the kind that
clung to the mountainsides in massive sheets until Bear Under the
Mountain shook his hide, knocking it loose to send it thundering down
into valleys far below, the shock waves rippling through the world
even as far as Home Dome, waking her in the dead of night.

Watersnow fell wet and stuck
to anything cold, weighing it down, snapping saplings and branches
under its weight to bring them crashing down to the forest floor or
on top of the heads of the unwary.

There was sugar snow that
buried everything, offering no support for any heavy-footed creature
except humans with snowshoes.

Pleur snow was the most
dangerous kind. Light and dry, a product of the deep cold, it was
carried by the wind until it settled in hidden pockets where an
unwary step could trap you. Deep enough, such pockets could close
over your head, the powdered ice filling your lungs until you
drowned.

Then there were the storms
that encased the world in ice. Ogre storms, they were called. After
an ogre storm even the smallest of breezes would make the trees sing
like wind-chimes. If you ventured outside the dome you strapped ice
spikes to the bottoms of your boots to keep from falling. Phillius
liked to scare the underagers with the story of the boy who fell
after an ogre storm and just kept sliding until he fell off the
Escarpment. Cheobawn was almost certain this was a scary-tale to
teach the unwary, but she wore her spikes on those days all the same.

Cheobawn let the ambient go
and came back into herself as the walls of the tunnel fell away and
the firm, dry ground disappeared under packed snow and ice. Vinara
slowed the column to a more sedate pace better suited for feet with
soft pads and brittle claws. The bennelk put their noses down to pick
their way carefully over patches of sharp ice on the rutted parts of
the well-traveled trail. What little wind there was this day was out
of the northwest and bitter cold, burning exposed flesh and freezing
the breath in their throats. The bennelk balked under its onslaught
and had to be encouraged onward.

Cheobawn eased up next to
Connor as the column reformed its double line.

“
Well,” Connor said.
“What do you think?” It was the kind of vague question a male
might ask his Ear. Not a formal request for information but a gentle
nudge to remind her that not everyone could hear the world beyond the
limits of ordinary senses.

“
The Waste is empty north
of the Spine,” she said as she silently congratulated Cloud Eye on
her fine form and quick feet.

“
Uh… OK,” Connor said,
perhaps wondering what that had to do with rounding up cattle in the
lower hayfields. He cleared his throat. “You know that is
impossible, right? There are herds of snow deer a hundred miles long
hunted by packs of tusk cats and snow bears and sharp eagles. Not to
mention the white foxes and the tundra cats, and the ….”

Cheobawn stopped scratching
Cloud Eye’s shoulder and looked up. Of course, he was right. What
had she been thinking? She looked towards the tip of the spire called
White Dragon, her eyes trying to pierce the fabric of the world.

“
Ah, my mistake,” she
said. “They are all there but they are hiding. The Void of the
Hunter hangs over them. The animals of the Waste will not dare the
ambient until it has passed.”

The Void was a hunting skill
perfected by the apex predators of the Highreaches. It was a psychic
trick, an emptiness meant to entrap the unwary or ensnare the
weak-minded. Experienced woodsmen knew that if you were close enough
to feel the Void, you were too close.

“
Over the whole of the
Waste?” Connor repeated her words, still unable to grasp their
meaning. He bent towards her to look intently into her face. “A
hunting bhotta so big he can call down half a continent has created a
mind void powerful enough to silence millions of animals? Is that
right?”

Well, when you said it like
that, it sounded sort of crazy, she mused to herself. She tried to
look deeper, to see more clearly, to make her brain sort out what did
not want to be sorted.

“
You are right. That is
not possible, is it?” she said, her voice distant and strange to
her ears. “What is … ?”

Cloud Eye threw up her head
and rose on her hind legs, her long spiky antlers slicing at the air
above her as she trumpeted in alarm. Cheobawn stood in the stirrups
and pulled back hard on the reins. Refusing to settle, Cloud Eye
fought her, clawing at the air. Riders shouted curses around her.
Connor made a grab for her, thinking to pluck her to safety but his
fingers missed, skidding along the skirt panel of her duster.

No, no no
, Cloud Eye
yelled into the ambient. Her alarm echoed back to her from a handful
of mounts up and down the line.
Young fawns are not allowed to
look into the eyes of the ice demons. Herd Mother has declared it the
rule and the law of the herd
.

Behave, young Mother
,
Cheobawn insisted, sawing at the reins to get her attention.

Do not call the ice
demons down upon our heads
, Cloud Eye begged, as she danced
sideways before returning to all fours.

I was just looking
,
Cheobawn thought crossly, scowling down at her intractable mount as
the young bennelk circled nervously, still too upset to rejoin the
column.

Looking is a river that
can flow in both directions
, Connor’s Kite Wing observed,
shaking her head roughly to remind her young rider who was in
control. Connor made a frantic grab as the leather reins slipped
through his mittened hands.

Without warning, Meshel put
his mount in her path. Cloud Eye’s front legs came up again but
only part way, as she twisted about to avoid collision. The Ramhorn
rider had his bladed stick in his hands. Cheobawn hissed, angered at
his aggressive interference and annoyed that someone could take alarm
at so little provocation. Harsh words died on her tongue as Cloud
Eye’s pivot revealed all the riders around her, weapons drawn, the
air alive with the flash of steel.

It was not Meshel, but
Sigrid, mounted on the bennelk named Star, who stood in her way when
she completed her turn and finally brought Cloud Eye to a standstill.
He too had his blade at the ready.

“
What comes at us, Little
Mother,” Sigrid asked, “to make your mount sound the alarm?”

Cheobawn cringed inside as
the eyes of the young Fathers and Mothers caged her in their circle
of judgment, her mind gone temporarily blank. She looked around,
wondering where Connor had gotten to when Kite Wing surged between
Cheobawn and the members of Ramhorn Pack, forcing their mounts to
back away. A look of alarm in Connor’s eyes made her suspect that
the move had not been wholly his idea. Had Kite Wing taken matters
into her own hands? Whichever was true, Connor was not one to let
this opportunity pass.

“
Back off,” snarled
Connor at the young Fathers. “You want to talk to Blackwind Pack,
you talk to me.” Cheobawn hid a smile behind her face mask. The boy
loved a good scrap.

“
Fine,” Sigrid said
calmly, “I ask, respectfully, why the alarm?”

“
What my Ear knows is not
your concern,” Connor said, thrusting out his chin at the tall boy.

Some of the riders took
exception to this rudeness. Sigrid ignored their angry mutterings.

“
We are out here at your
Ear’s request. I think we should know if we are about to walk into
danger.”

“
You know what you need to
know until the Elders wish it otherwise,” Connor said coldly,
glaring around at the sources of those mutters.

“
Perhaps you might explain
it to me, then, young Father,” Hayrald drawled as his mount
shouldered its way into the circle. He had drawn his double bladed
lance and though he kept its butt resting atop his boot, the haft
held tightly upright by his knee, the presence of the heavy weapon
and its wielder intimidated the group all the same.

“
What is the problem,
young Father?” Hayrald asked Sigrid. Sigrid jerked to attention,
his back suddenly straight, his eyes forward, his face carefully
devoid of expression. As if by magic, the tangle of riders sorted
itself out and rejoined the rest of the caravan as it turned up
Orchard Trail and headed north.

“
The Little Mother lost
control of her mount,” Sigrid reported. “Meshel caught it just as
it was bolting,”

Cheobawn squeaked in
outrage.

I was not running away
,
Cloud Eye said, affronted. Cheobawn patted her sympathetically.

I know you weren’t. You
were being very brave. Let me sort this out
, she said.

Hayrald ignored her. Instead
he eyed Sigrid.

“
If that is true,”
Hayrald said slowly, “then Blackwind Pack owes you their gratitude.
Good job, Alpha. Rejoin your Pack.”

Sigrid reined Star around
hard and kicked her into motion. Hayrald watched until Sigrid joined
the rest of the column before he turned his attention on Blackwind
Pack. More correctly, it was Connor he studied. Cheobawn was starting
to get annoyed. Was she invisible?

“
I would have you escorted
back to the stables but I need every hand to help with this round up.
Why is it, young scamp, that I find you in the center of every brawl
I encounter? Do you love my attention so much that you risk spending
the rest of the winter scrubbing the slime out of the intake valves
in the waterworks?”

“
I was just ….” Connor
started his defense but thought better of it. He sighed and repeated
his standard apology. “Sorry, First Prime. I will try to do better
next time.”

A dark cloud gathered behind
Hayrald’s eyes.

“
No, I don’t think you
will. I think you like being a screw-up because it is the only thing
you are good at,” Hayrald said, his voice hard. Cheobawn gasped at
the hurtful words. Connor did not flinch but what skin was visible
above his mask had taken on a ghostly pallor. “Explain yourself,
now,” the First Prime snapped, refusing to allow Connor to hide
behind his silence.

“
I was doing my job, First
Prime!” Connor shouted, his back rigidly at attention, his eyes on
the distant horizon. Connor was not as practiced at this kind of
confrontation as Sigrid nor was he as innately diplomatic as Tam. He
could not hide what he was feeling behind an emotionless mask. Eyes
snapping in rage, he turned his head to meet Hayrald’s glare head
on. “Because no one else wants to be bothered to do theirs,”
Connor added through clenched teeth.

“
What’s that supposed to
mean?” Hayrald growled ominously.

“
You know,” Connor
accused hotly. “The Elders, Mother and Father alike, have turned a
blind eye to what goes on in Blackwind Pack. Is your silence
disapproval or affirmation? To tell the truth, I don’t care. When
the teachers refuse to teach, the students have to live by their own
rules.”