Jeanne G'Fellers - Sisters Flight (8 page)

"Trooper
Commander Stiles checking in. Are you receiving?" I removed Stiles's
finger from the talk button.

"Muffled,"
came the response, Myrla again.

"Hold
the com a little farther from your mouth." I showed her with my unit.
"Try again."

"Stiles
reporting. All is normal."

"Reading
you clearly," said Myrla in such a pleasant tone I had to smile.

"Harlis,
if you'd—" I began.

"Yes,
yes, Trooper Rankil." Harlis held her com to her mouth then pulled it
back, frowning. "Be it known that I don't fancy all these whatzits and
thingamabobs that have popped up as of late."

"It
is
known, Harlis." Stiles coughed to disguise her chuckle.

"Hmph."
Harlis tried to sound insulted, but a grin leeched around her com unit.
"Harlis Davies reporting. Am I being received?"

"Loud
and clear," Genevic spoke again.

"Master
Kimshee Evangeline. All proceeding well." Evangeline looked up to see the
others' flustered looks. "I learned from your examples."

"Call
received and acknowledged," Genevic responded, beating Myrla to the com.
"That's all four. Gotta save power. Anything else before we sign
off?"

I
glanced to my superiors who all three shook their heads. "Just one
thing." I held the com as close to my mouth as I dared. "Love ya,
My."

"What
about me?" asked Genevic in a whine that broadcast over all the units.

"Shut
up, Gen. You're embarrassing me." I could hear Myrla say much the same in
the background.

"Give
your response, Myrla, then we'll depart." Stiles toyed with her corn's
talk button, creating a popping sound. "And in the future, the com is for
necessary talk only."

"I
believe that was necessary," observed Evangeline. "Maybe not for us
but certainly for them."

"Indeed,"
said Harlis. "Finalize things, Trooper Rankil. Others are waiting."

"Yes,
Harlis." I turned my back to the group and waited until I heard all the
other units click off. "My?"

"Genevic's
stepped out for a moment."

"Good.
You're picking up things pretty quickly."

"Your
manuals helped a lot."

"You
know them better than I do." I wasn't sure how to address Archell's
delivery, so I did so directly. "I got the helmet."

"Shame
on you for hiding it."

"I
deserve that."

"Yes,
you do." She paused. "Report often so I can hear your voice."

"I
will."

Myrla
paused again as neither of us wanted to break the tie.

"Good-bye
sounds so final."

"No
good-byes. How about, see you soon?"

"The
sooner the better. I love you."

"Love
you, too. We're heading out."

"Signing
off."

"Here
as well." And that was the last time Myrla and I spoke for many wintery
nights.

Chapter
Six

Journey

Apprentice:
The way has become difficult and I am tired. Can't we stop and rest?

Master:
You must not think of the way as difficult or of yourself as tired. This
allows doubt. Do not succumb to it. Instead, think of how far you have traveled
and how well you have managed thus far.

Apprentice:
Do such thoughts bring relief?

Master:
It will direct you from the negative and you will cease to dwell on what
causes pain. Positive thoughts produce positive results, my child. Negativity
produces nothing but itself.

Rankil

We
marched in silence, heel-to-toe fashion, an occasional curse then a warning
from the front when the tunnel became narrow or the ceiling low. We camped in a
similar way with only a small, smokeless fire, back to back for comfort and
warmth among the ropes that had been fixed into the stone surrounding the
covered opening we were to emerge from at twilight. After my turn at watch, I
slept propped against one of the Yauld, my head drooped against my chest.

Sometime
during the drowsy late-morning hours, Evangeline woke me. "Come, Trooper
Rankil, it is time for your paints."

"What?"
I might have been tired, but I was quickly alert and on my feet, following
Evangeline into the glow of a single lantern. Stiles sat in the light,
shivering in her undershirt as one of the Yauld smeared her lower arms, face
and neck with a pungent brown grease paint that stained the skin tan. Another
Kimshee sat behind her, combing the same substance through her hair. The effect
was staggering, as was the stench.

"Don't
get too comfortable standing there, kid." Stiles's eyes watered.
"You're next." Laughing quietly, Evangeline pushed me into a sitting
position before Laszlo. Evangeline's apprentice had already been darkened, her
shoulder length waves so heavy with grease that her hair hung straight and in
the clumps typical of the unbathed Autlach soldier.

"Shed
your top layers and your helmet." Laszlo stirred the paint pot in her lap.

"What
a stink!" Stiles protested. "Don't know what all's in it," she
continued with a wheeze, "but I'm not sure I want to if the smell is any
indicator."

"The
smell
is
the indicator." Evangeline undid my hair binder, drew a
palm full of grease from Laszlo's pot and began to work it into my hair.
"I have become accustomed to the malodor, but you are right, it is
positively rank." She reached forward, pulling my braids into the mix of
hair and stink. "No insult intended in my choice of Old Tongue
terminology."

"None
taken." I sniffed, overwhelmed by the grease's ammonia edge. "I'm
used to it."

Evangeline
paused to find a comb. "I suppose we all become so. And, for your
information, the fumes serve a two-fold purpose."

"Well,
fill us in so we don't think our wearing nassie crap is in vain," Stiles
said as she redressed.

"One,
the ingredient that produces the odor also serves as a binding agent, keeping
the stain on the skin for several days no matter your sweat." Evangeline
reached out, smoothing over a pale patch on Stiles's forehead. "Second,
the scent keeps others at a distance."

"Except
the insects." I grumbled as Laszlo coated my face. "I just hope the
smell washes off."

"It
fades in time." Laszlo turned my head with her splinted arm. "And
bugs aren't a problem this time of pass."

"The
words 'in time' don't help any." I frowned when Laszlo swatted my hand
away from my watering eyes.

"It'll
make them swell."

"Take
her word for it." Stiles pointed to the slight bump beneath her left lid.

I
dropped my hand and let my eyes water as Laszlo covered my upper face and moved
on to my jaw and neck.

"Master
Evangeline?" Laszlo hesitated at my scar line. "Should I cover it or
leave it?"

"Let
me see." Evangeline pulled my head back. "The paint used on Stiles is
lighter hue. Use it over the scar. That should sufficiently blend it away. Just
be careful when combining the edges. The effect should look natural." She
righted my head then resumed combing. "The scar will attract attention.
Hiding it will draw looks away from your face, critical since we cannot cover
the blueness of your eyes."

I
grunted my reply, unable to say more as Laszlo had spread paint across my lips,
darkening them as well. If it smelled bad and burned my eyes, I could just
imagine the taste. My mouth soured. Laszlo wiped the concoction from my lips
then leaned back, dabbing a little here and there to even the color.

"Finished."
Laszlo cleaned her hands on a rag.

"Fair
job, especially from a distance." Stiles turned to wake the next in line
for painting.

"Trooper
Rankil is finished." Evangeline caught Stiles by the shoulder. "But
you are not."

"What
else is there?" Stiles looked down at her clothing. "I look like an
Aut and smell like I've rolled in one of their barns."

"But
your stance and walk reveal the sister underneath," said Evangeline as she
made an evaluating circle around Stiles. "Taelachs are tall. We walk
proud. Autlach soldiers are shorter and walk as though they've lost their only
friend." Evangeline slumped her shoulders and loped around the passageway.
"See the difference?"

"Not
all Auts walk that way," I commented, mindful of my father's squared away
movements.

"You
shouldn't," said Stiles. "You're to be our buyer. But underpaid,
overworked soldiers and guards do." She ambled about in the same
round-shoulder, careless manner as Evangeline. "You Yauld have it down to an
art."

"This
is a Kimshee practice," said Evangeline, jerking her thumb toward her
chest. "And
we
do have it down to an art. It is a necessity in the
Kimshee trade."

Stiles
blinked and smirked. "Not ashamed to admit it either, are you?"

"Not
in the least." Evangeline helped Stiles perfect her Autlach gait,
instructing her to dirty up her clothing, having her drag her cloak along the
ground and brush grease paint then spittle-moistened dirt onto her boots until
the leather became splotchy. "Our Autlach do not dye hides. I suppose
yours do not either?"

I
shook my head when Stiles looked in my direction. The dying of hides, for some
reason I couldn't remember, was unacceptable to the Autlach deity Raskhallak.

"Excellent.
Now you can wake the remaining troopers."

Evangeline
began to remove her upper garments. "Laszlo, assist me."

"Yes,
Master Evangeline." She took Evangeline's cloak and over tunic then stood
tiptoe to spread grease paint across her master's high cheekbones.

More
than one weapon was drawn on me when we woke the others, confirming the
effectiveness of our disguise. What followed were several troopers' colorful
descriptions of the grease paint's vile smell, but when Stiles ordered them,
they obeyed as loyal troopers did. I grabbed each one as soon as they were
redressed, demonstrating the appropriate walk, helping them dirty up their
clothing. Everything was prepared when dusk came. Everyone was made Autlach
dark, and then everyone ate a ration share while Evangeline and Stiles briefed
us.

The
lead climber, a scrawny Kimshee Evangeline referred to as her group's tunnel
rat, pushed the cover stone to the side, poked her head through, then after
calling the all clear, disappeared onto the moonlit surface. Soon we'd all
climbed onto the surface where we adjusted our eyes to the fading sunlight and
drew our cloaks against the cold. We re-covered the opening and began walking,
zigzagging down the pitched slope of the mountain that protected the Tekkroon,
until we came to the banks of the rushing Clearwater River. We camped in the
center of a large thicket so the bushes and saplings could absorb the worst of
the winds. The Yauld didn't speak as they huddled together, at least not
openly. Evangeline told me she had warned them of the Tekkroon custom of no casual
conversing through the phase. Only Laszlo dared not heed the warning.

You're
trying not to think about something that happened recently.
Her mental energy burst through my head when I was
dozing and lost in thought.
And you're doing a bad job of it.

What?
I shook off the pleasurable rush that
accompanied her interruption then turned to face her.

I
didn't mean to startle you.
Laszlo tilted her
head.
I'm simply puzzled by your resistance to think about something that is
obviously troubling you.

I
was trying to sleep.

Well,
you weren’t
succeeding. Your mind
was too focused. Who s Easton?

You
were picking my thoughts?
I glared at
her.
The Tekkroon are private people.
I pushed back with my mind,
encouraging Laszlo to disengage.
We prefer to save phasing for our loved
ones. Now, if you
'
ll
excuse me, I would like to get some sleep.

But—

Laszlo!
My mind became even more crowded as
Evangeline dropped in. I could feel her anger, but it didn't have the painful
mental pinch that she gave her apprentice.
What did I tell the group?

But
—

Apologize.

I
was just
—Laszlo flinched as she
received another pinch.
Yes, Master Evangeline.
She hung her head.
Pm
sorry, Trooper Rankil.

Do
not repeat the error.
Evangeline
replaced her mental presence with her physical, hood drawn against the icy wind
as she sat next to me. "Laszlo's curiosity can get the better of her at
times."

"It's
all right. I was just surprised to discover her presence." I pulled my
cloak tighter and tucked my blanket about my feet.