Black Bead: Book One of the Black Bead Chronicles (2 page)

Megan answered Tam. Tam frowned and tried to argue. Megan folded her arms over her flat chest, a sure sign that she could not be persuaded. She spoke again, shaking her short, sun bleached curls away from her face.

Cheobawn dropped her eyes and studied her fingers where they lay buried in the cool earth. Here it comes, she thought sadly. Megan had stated her terms. Tam would argue and eventually say no. The boys always said no. Cheobawn sighed. One day, quite soon, Megan would follow her own internal needs and say yes. She needed a Pack as much as the boys needed a Little Mother to play Ear. Someday, soon, Cheobawn would be alone.

Cheobawn let her mind wander away, sinking it deep into the roots of the mountain underneath her hands, letting the cool darkness there ease the ache of her sorrow.

It was a surprise then, when a pair of shadows moved to block out the bright light streaming through the dome high over their heads. Cheobawn looked up into a pair of curious hazel eyes set in a kind face.

“Hello, Little Mother,” Tam said.

“Ch’che, this is Tam. He wants to ask you something,” Megan said, smiling encouragingly from behind Tam’s back.

Tam studied her. Cheobawn watched his eyes slide over the black bead set in her own omeh and then return to her face to meet her gaze. His expression did not betray his thoughts. Her estimation of him rose one more notch. Most people flinched from the implications of her black bead. His omeh, like Megan’s, already held a handful of honors, no mean feat for someone so young. Cheobawn’s omeh held nothing but her tribe designation and the hated black bead. With all those honors, he could have had his pick of any eligible girl in the village yet he came seeking Megan, who came burdened with a Black Bead child that she would not abandon.

Tam squatted down to Cheobawn’s level to speak to her. She did not care if the move was calculated or unconscious; it made him less intimidating. Perhaps, she thought to herself, I just might like you. She returned his gaze solemnly.

“My Pack needs an Ear, Little Mother. Megan says she’ll come but you have to come along, too. What do you say? Please say yes.”

Cheobawn blinked, surprised by the strange emotions those words triggered inside her. People did not have to be nice or polite to her when her Truemother was not around, so they generally were not. She glanced at Megan, who nodded, an excited little smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

Cheobawn looked down at her miniature world and pointed at one pebble after another.

“Stinging spiders, buzzy hive, fuzzy gang, fenelk, bhotta den, treebear,” Cheobawn recited. Then she pointed at the toys and flowers and the weed stalks. “Bloodstones, honeypots, hoppers, bog apples, fernhens, silk spiders.”

A blank expression crossed Tam’s face. At least he had the grace not to laugh out loud.

“That’s a nice game, Little Mother, but I want to go outside. Outside?,” he said the last loudly, as if she was hard of hearing.

Megan giggled. Cheobawn scowled at both of them and reached out to brush away her designs. Megan stooped quickly, catching her wrist before she could do too much damage.

“Don’t be silly. He didn’t understand your model. You have to be patient with boys,” saying the last as if that explained so much of life’s puzzles.

“Model? Map? That’s a map?” Tam asked, a light dawning in his brain.

“Do not be fooled by her size or her age. Amabel knew what she was doing when she made Ch’che. Mora did not want just any ordinary truedaughter. Now pay attention. This mound of sand,” Megan explained, pointing, “is the Home Dome. Those flowers are the gates. The lines are roads and trails. The rocks are bad things. The toys and such are good
things. North on the model is north in the real world. Do you need her to repeat the list?” Megan asked, testing him.
 

“No, wait,” Tam said, studying the things etched in the dust. After a moment he looked up and met Cheobawn’s steady gaze. His next question surprised her. “Did you make this for me? How did you know I was coming?”

Cheobawn snorted in disgust. Demi-Packs, despite all their lessons, seemed to view the psi abilities of Little Mothers in a singularly egocentric way.

“She makes them every morning. It helps her keep track of things,” Megan explained. “Go ahead. Ask her something else.”

“Like what?”

“Belief takes trust,” Cheobawn said cryptically, moving a stone.

“Huh?”

“She wants you to test her Ears,” Megan translated

patiently.

“A test? Oh,” he mused, thinking for a moment. “Alright. Say I wanted to go five clicks north of Home Dome along the Orchard Road. What is out there?”

Cheobawn rose up onto her hands and knees and very carefully extended a winding line and then put a handful of rocks just off the left hand side of the trail.

“Dubeh leopards,” she said. “A mom and her cubs.”

Tam stared at the little pile of stones and then looked back at her, obviously thinking hard.

“Mora gets all the field reports every morning. Who is to say she did not read them and is just drawing from memory?” he suggested to Megan.

Cheobawn smiled slyly at him, daring him to believe that.

“Do not torment him, Ch’che,” the older girl scolded. To Tam she said, “The reports go to the office of the First Mother, not to her living quarters.”

“My truemother keeps her comscreen locked against me. Every time I figure out her pass code, she changes it,” Cheobawn sniffed in annoyance.

Tam studied them both, trying to see if the two girls were playing some sort of game at his expense. Megan blinked innocently at him. Cheobawn continued moving the pieces in her miniature world. He looked down, distracted by the movement, perhaps wishing he had paid more attention to her descriptions of the markers.

Cheobawn moved a pair of stones and decided to take pity on him.
 

“Fenelk mother and her yearling calf,” she said, tapping the pebbles to the west of the sand mound. “She smells the fuzzy gang and moves up the mountain, putting distance between herself and them. She need not worry. Fuzzies have full bellies. They found the treebear’s den last night and will not eat again for days,” Cheobawn assured him.

“How does she do that?” Tam asked. “They never told me that the Ears could be this accurate.”

“That’s nothing,” Megan said, purposefully ignoring his question. “Current ambient is easy. Watch this. She’s amazing. Ch’che, show me the mountain at day’s end.”

Cheobawn put her hand out and then paused. The day slipped away from her and fell into disarray. How curious. This had never happened to her before. The days of the Windfall tribe were as predictable as the sunrise. She chewed on her bottom lip and pondered the source of such uncertainty.

A thought came to her from out of nowhere. Since she was obviously about to go outside, out beyond the edges of the
well patrolled perimeter of the village, the presence of her future self altered the map. The more she tried to see the future, her own future, the more chaotic it became.
 

“Ch’che?” Megan prompted, concerned.

“Well, that was impressive,” commented Tam, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Shhh,” Megan hissed. “Ch’che, is there something wrong?”

“I am out there. All possibilities exist in me,” Cheobawn said vaguely, trying to sort out the infinite number of futures running through her head.

“Huh?” said Megan.

“You are one spooky little kid, did you know that?” commented Tam.

Cheobawn stood up and brushed the dirt off her grubby knees. This was exciting. She wanted to hurry up and find out what her future self was up to.

Tam and Megan did not move. They squatted in the dust and stared up at her with their mouths open.

“Well? Are we going outside or not?” Cheobawn asked impatiently.

“Unh,” grunted Tam, shaking his head, “Sure, why not?”

Cheobawn grinned at them both and stepped around them to saunter over to the gate. The two boys eyed her uncertainly and then looked up as Tam approached.

“Connor, Alain, this is Megan and Cheobawn. They are coming with us,” Tam said by way of introductions. Alain’s omeh marked him as Firewalker tribe. She did not need to see his collar to know this. His auburn hair, flashing coppery in the bright light, had been a dead give away. Cheobawn thought his hair beautiful despite the Mothers’ amusement. Flash without substance, Amabel had sniffed in disdain, but Amabel was not prone to frivolity and perhaps found the bright colors not suited to the weight of the office of Maker of the Living Thread.

Mora, behind closed doors, had been amused as well, but here stood Alain, traded one for one, made Son of the Heart to replace a Son of the Flesh, proof perhaps that Mothers could be seduced by more than logic when it came to picking the future husbands of the dome.

Connor, the smallest of the boys, was Waterwall tribe, just like Tam. He was a shorter, rougher boned version of Tam’s golden skinned darkness. She did not remember him from Tam’s caravan, so he surely must be younger, by a year or two. He did not have as many honor beads as Tam or Alain but he was still young enough for that not to matter.

The one called Alain stared at the beaded collar around her own neck.

“But she’s … She’s the …” he sputtered, groping for a word that did not offend.

Cheobawn kept her hands by her side, resisting the instinctive urge to cover the large black bead set in the center of her omeh. Instead, she lifted her chin proudly, as if to offer them a better view of her collar.

“… an excellent Ear,” Tam finished the sentence, glaring at Alain as he held the gate open for the girls.

“Why do we need two girls?” whined the one named Connor. “The rules only say we need one.”

“Because I can outrun you, out climb you, out wrestle you, and beat you at bladed sticks,” growled Megan, pushing her face close to Connor’s. “If she does not go, I do not go. Got a problem with that?”

Connor looked up at her with a dark scowl on his face, obviously wanting to take her up on that challenge. The boy had a suicidal streak, thought Cheobawn, or maybe he had not seen Megan on the skirmish floor. Tam punched him in the shoulder, redirecting his attention to where it needed to be.

“We need them both. They are a team like we are a team. Cheobawn is six and doesn’t qualify as a Pack guide. We need Megan to get her past the gate guards,” Tam said firmly. “Besides, Megan has been outside the dome a million times on harvester forays and knows the terrain close to the dome by heart. Let’s go.”

Alain opened his mouth to object but Tam gave him no opportunity. Instead, the Pack leader pivoted on his heel and marched down the promenade back the way they had come. The others had no choice but to follow.

Chapter Two

Tam led his odd little procession across the Central Plaza. Cheobawn watched the faces of the people they passed. There were stares yet no one stopped them or yelled at Cheobawn to get on home. By the time they reached the Pack Hall, she started to relax a little.

Phillius, Mora’s Third Prime, sat dozing behind the desk in the common room. He opened one eye as they entered. The appearance of Cheobawn in the group wiped the bored expression from his face. He sat up abruptly, a half uttered oath on his lips.

Tam planted himself in front of the desk and opened his mouth to say something. Phillius stopped him with a look and a wave of his hand. Tam pressed his lips together tensely and waited as the Third Prime touched the comscreen in front of him and waited for a response.

“What?” the harassed sounding voice of the Hayrald, the First Prime, snapped out of the speaker.

“Sent Tam out to fill out his Pack. You’ll never guess who he brought back.” Phillius said brightly.
 

“By the Goddess, Phil, I do not have time for games,” Hayrald growled. “Tell me why I should care?”

“He came back with Megan and Cheobawn.”

There was a long silence. Cheobawn held her breath.

“I’ll get back to you,” Cheobawn’s Da said tensely and the com went dead. Cheobawn bit her lower lip. This surely could not be good. She fully expected Hayrald to come storming through the door in the next few minutes.

Phillius looked at Tam and shook his head.

“You are one hard-headed boy, Tam Waterwall. Can you never go at life along the easy road?” Phillius asked not unkindly.

“Easy is boring, Father,” Tam said, his bravado not entirely convincing to Cheobawn’s ears. “Nobody ever became great by taking the easy road.”

“Yeah, but they managed to stay alive. Do you have a death wish? Hayrald will skin you personally if anything happens to her.”

Tam frowned. He set his gaze on a spot on the wall behind the older man’s left shoulder and drew himself up to his full height.

“I know what I am doing, sir,” he said stubbornly.

“No,” Phillius said firmly, “I don’t think you do, but you surely are about to find out.”

Tam did not choose to argue further. He fell into a stony silence.

“Phillius, you there?” Hayrald’s voice crackled over the comlink. “Take me off speaker and put in an earbud.”

Phillius touched the screen, opened the top drawer of his desk and rummaged around for a few moments. His search yielded results of a dubious nature. Phillius brushed the crumbs off a rather crushed looking earbud and shoved it into his ear.

“Go ahead,” he said and then listened for a moment. The children watched his face as it went through a rapid series of emotions and then settled on no emotion at all. Cheobawn recognized that look. She had grown up sitting at Mora’s knee, watching the men of the village accept the decrees handed down from the chair of the First Mother. Here it was, on Phillius’s face, the look of someone swallowing their dismay like bitter medicine.

Hayrald had not come for her, to drag her back to school. That meant only one thing. Hayrald had talked to her Truemother. She recognized the nuances in Phillius’s manner. Mora’s instructions had not been well received. Cheobawn prepared herself for the worst.

“Yes, sir,” Phillius said finally. He took the earbud out, tossed it back where it came from and slammed the drawer shut with a little more force than was necessary. Then he started keying in information on his screen as he rattled off instructions.