Kaavl Conspiracy, page 27
Although Methusal was sorry her sister and Timaeus couldn’t see each other, at least Deccia had someone interested in her. She felt a pang of jealousy when she considered her sister’s ability to draw male attention. Timaeus, Verdnt….Why were so many men interested in her, and none in Methusal? They were both pretty—they were identical, for goodness’ sake. But Deccia’s personality was gentle and kind, whereas Methusal was prone to emotional outbursts, and only focused on one thing in life—kaavl. Evidently, those weren’t appealing characteristics to men.
She drew a quick breath. Why was she thinking about this? And what did she care, anyway? Her life was full enough now. Certainly, she didn’t need any man to complicate things even more.
* * * * *
Class was boring, as usual, but for the sake of staying on Verdnt’s good side, Methusal paid close attention. It was hard. Especially since after lunch she would get to challenge Goric. Excitement made her heart flutter. She slipped into kaavl, and carefully focused on Verdnt’s voice and several other sounds at the same time. Several times she was able to follow three isolated sounds at once. Her spirits lifted. She couldn’t wait to challenge Goric.
At the end of class Verdnt announced, “Tomorrow will be the last day of school for this class. You will receive your certificates of graduation at that time.”
Methusal added her cheers to the whoops of the class.
“What about the other class levels?” Daltha asked. “Is tomorrow their last day, too?”
“No. They’ll go to the end of the week. Deccia will finish up for me.” Verdnt directed a smile at Methusal’s sister, who offered a nervous looking one in return.
Several classmates turned to Deccia with smiles and congratulations. The experience would mean she’d get to teach her own class next year. Probably just the youngest children, but a real step forward for her. Methusal was happy for her. For her sister’s sake, however, she hoped Verdnt wouldn’t try to finagle any more time alone with her.
After class, she burst into the supply room with a smile. “Good morning, Sims!”
“Good morning, my girl.” His leathery face creased into a smile.
“I’ll finish copying this list right away,” Methusal promised, pulling the inventory sheets from the wall.
“Good, good,” Sims nodded. “I’m going to inspect the crops in a little while. Would you like to come with me?”
The prospect of bright, warm sunshine and a clear, cloudless blue sky beckoned almost overwhelmingly. Oh, to get out of this cave! She hadn’t been outside in almost a week. And since Petr was loosening his restrictions, he probably wouldn’t mind if she went outside with Sims now. Another thought came to mind. She could investigate that ravine. Maybe the thief had thrown the pelts into it last night.
“Yes. I’d like that.” She bent her head to the list. The sooner it was finished, the sooner she could go outside. And at noon she’d play Goric for the Tri-level.
An hour later, list completed, she headed down the hall after Sims and then up the narrow stone staircase, which led to the tableland on top of the mountain.
The plateau was rich in nutrients, and crop tenders tilled it to provide food for the community. Waste plant material from the summer’s crop was plowed under in the fall, and provided an even richer soil for the next spring. Each year one of the four fields was left fallow, allowing it to rest for one growing season.
Methusal stepped onto the flat tableland. She smelled Barak’s compost pit behind her, but tried to ignore it. She’d rather focus on the beautiful scenery.
The wide plateau stretched to the west for a short distance before it ended abruptly in a sheer cliff. The plateau stretched for a longer distance to the east, and provided room for three of the four fields. It ended just before the stream, and before the landscape erupted into the tall, rocky cliffs of the Rolban Mountains. The Rolban River rushed in a narrow stream between the plateau and the cliffs, and then cascaded in a waterfall to the floor of the plain. From there, the stream continued on and followed the bluffs south. It was the same stream that she would cross this afternoon for the kaavl game rematch.
The tall Rolbani mountain range partly encircled the valley to the south, and ended in the black bluffs, which were the halfway point for the Kaavl Games. To the north stretched another valley, which ended a good distance away in the Tarst Mountain Range.
This year the field to the west lay fallow. To the east, Barak’s team of crop tenders dotted the plateau, carefully irrigating the mounded rows of dirt by using water piped from the stream. Last year Behran and the other engineers had finished this system. Several people were needed at strategic spots throughout the fields to turn the water flow on and off, but that was a small chore compared to the task of carrying water, pail by pail, from the stream.
Several men unplugged pipes now, and water spurted from the tough, hollow wooden rods, which were elevated from the ground by intermittent wooden stands. The stands prevented the wood from rotting too quickly. That way the system would last longer, according to Behran. A few workers carefully adjusted the rods, making sure the crops received maximum water.
Barak strode their way, his face gleaming with sweat. He rubbed a dirty palm across his forehead, streaking it black.
“Sims!” he roared. “Good to see you. Come take a look at the fields. Those two will be planted with grain and that one with berries,” he thundered, pointing to the rich, freshly plowed earth. “We should have a great season this year—if that uncured grain sprouts.” His thick black brow knotted in a frown.
Barak forged ahead, towering a half head taller than the crew under his command. Methusal and Sims followed, meekly observing each feature Barak indicated.
As they headed east, toward the mountain, Methusal quickly spotted the waist high wall bordering the ravine. Quietly she wandered north, away from Barak and Sims, but was careful to stick to the path so she wouldn’t trample the newly planted seeds. She glanced over her shoulder. Barak and Sims crouched near a thin, spindly plant. They wouldn’t miss her for a minute.
At the gorge, she leaned over the edge and examined the ravine, was was cut into the black rock of the plateau. At the far edge of the bluff the crevasse was two lengths wide, but it narrowed to a point where Methusal stood. Where had that man stood when he’d thrown the grain over edge?
About here, in the middle? She peered over the rock wall. It was a sheer, twelve length drop before it ended in a cluster of black boulders far below. And to her left, to the north, stretched the flat plain. To her right, toward the narrow end of the chasm, the cliff cut down at a sharp angle—almost like a steep slide—and ended with the boulders. Maybe the thief had rolled the grain down that incline.
Were the stolen pelts down there right now? She struggled to see, but black shadows darkened the bottom of the gorge.
“Methusal,” Sims called. “We’re heading to the other field.”
“Coming.” She concentrated into kaavl. One particular dark lump looked a shade lighter than the other rocks. Unfortunately, she couldn’t tell if it was a roll of tied up pelts. Maybe she could ask Deccia to check. Her sister had said several times that she’d like to help with the investigation, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity. Especially since Methusal didn’t know when she’d have time to investigate the ravine at ground level, since the rematch with Goric was coming up so quickly. If the pelts were there, the quicker they were retrieved, the better. She’d send a message to Deccia as soon as she returned inside.
“What’re you looking at?” Barak bellowed. The amusement in his eyes reminded her of his brother, Kitran.
“It’s steep,” she commented.
“Cliffs are. Be careful.” The dry comment reminded her of almost falling down the stairs yesterday. And how Barak had saved her from a nasty accident.
Barak lumbered on, pointing out details of the crop plateau. Methusal had trouble keeping track of it all. She supposed that as she learned more about the job, Barak’s statistics would mean more to her.
By the end, they’d circled the entire plateau.
Methusal paused in the place where she knew Renn had fallen, and her gaze dropped to the rocky jumble below. A long way to fall. A shiver slid down her spine.
“Methusal?” Sims’ voice wavered from the staircase door.
Glad to be pulled from her gruesome thoughts, Methusal hurried to catch up. It was almost time for lunch. But she grimaced when she thought about it. Lunch didn’t vary much; tastelessness was its consistent quality. Maybe she should talk to Sims about that varied diet…
She followed Sims as he carefully climbed down to the second level. “Sims, could we preserve more varieties of foods for the winter? It’s boring eating the same things every day.”
Old Sims unfastened the circular lock to the supply room and motioned Methusal inside before answering her question.
“Grain, berries, nuts, and dried meats can be preserved,” he lectured kindly. “Luckily, logne leaves can be picked half of the year, but the other foods we eat, such as tubers and certain green vegetables, can only be harvested in the summer. We can preserve some of those, too, but most food needs to be eaten fresh.”
“So we can’t change anything?” It was a depressing thought to have to accept the tasteless boredom of the winter foods. Or maybe it was just Matron Olgith’s cooking that needed improvement.
Sympathy flickered across the old man’s face. “Believe me, I wish we could spice up our meals, too. Long ago, I lived in Quasr, to the north. We had a nice variety of foods there. It’s a coastal village, as you know.”
Methusal nodded.
“The climate is mild. Tubers and all sorts of plants and flowers grow there year round.”
“Maybe we could trade with them.”
“Yes. Maybe.” He fell silent.
“Why were you in Quasr, Sims?”
“Oh.” He started. His smile looked sad. “I grew up there. Met the love of my life, a spunky girl.” He chuckled and his smile softened. “Yes. The love of my life. She gave me a son, but I didn’t know about him until much later.”
“Why not?”
“Her father banished me. I wasn’t good enough for her. Apparently, she felt the same. So I left.”
“How awful!” Methusal touched his shoulder. “I didn’t know you had a family.”
“I don’t. She married another, and my son is dead these many years. Almost thirty years gone, now.”
“What happened?”
“My M’tilde did not tell him about me, his true father, until he was a man. He sought me out. But it wasn’t enough time. Not enough time at all.”
“Did he come here, to Rolban?”
“Yes. For a short while. And then he left. He was a wanderer, much like me. He died soon after in a wild beast attack.”
“How horrible.” And what heartbreak for poor Sims! The woman he loved had married someone else. His son was dead. He was alone in the world. She remembered seeing him eating alone last night. “You may not have a son anymore, but you could still have a family, if you’d like. An adopted one.”
A twinkle glimmered in his eyes. “What do you mean, my girl?”
Maybe she should ask her parents first, but she didn’t think they’d mind. “I just mean…maybe you’d like to sit with us sometimes. Our family is small, and I don’t have any grandparents. What I mean is…”
Sims smiled, and to Methusal’s surprise, his lips trembled a little. “I’d be honored. It would be a pleasure to sit with you from time to time.”
“Terrific!” She grinned. “I’ll tell my parents. I know they’ll be thrilled.”
* * * * *
Kitran, Goric, and Methusal stood on the plateau. A warm wind slid through Methusal’s long hair. She saw Behran in the distance. He’d almost reached the bluffs.
Kitran said, “Do each of you understand the rules? The person who reaches the bluff and returns here first is the winner.”
“Does the winner need to capture the other person?” Methusal asked.
“Absolutely.”
Goric rolled his shoulders. Kitran lifted his hand and both contenders crouched, with one foot on the edge of the plateau.
“Ready? Begin!”
Methusal and Goric shot down the steep hill, slipping and sliding on dirt and stray pebbles. Once they reached the plains, Goric took off at a sprint. He was wiry and fast. He also made a lot of noise. Methusal realized she’d never match his speed, but keeping track of him would be easy.
It soon became obvious that Goric intended to run straight to the bluffs. Maybe he planned to capture her on the return trip, after she’d tagged the bluffs. He’d silently lie in wait on the plain like he had last time, and capture her then. She couldn’t afford to let him get too far ahead.
Methusal pulled out one of the blue-banded, leather kaavl strips her mother had specially made for her. She wrapped one end around her hand, so she’d be ready when she needed it. She ran effortlessly, her breaths even and silent. In contrast, Goric, even though he steadily increased his lead, wheezed, and his moccasins scattered stones everywhere. Methusal had never heard such a noisy kaavl contender before. His racket convinced her even more that Goric hadn’t run at all during the Tri-level. Everyone would have heard him crashing across the plain!
Goric was two minutes ahead of her when he reached the far bluffs. Splashes told her he’d reached the stream. After he touched the bluff face he stopped for a minute, bent over, trying to catch his breath. Finally he headed back, toward her. She put on a burst of speed, skirted around him, and tagged the bluffs, too. Behran sat on a high boulder. She offered him a jaunty wave, and turned and sped back.
Now was her chance. She had to capture Goric before he escaped further into the plains and found a hiding spot. He’d already proven that he could hide in virtual silence, which would make him a worthy foe.
Goric’s footsteps stopped thirty lengths ahead.
Staying hidden behind scattered plains bushes, she cautiously slipped within visual range. He stood between two tagma bushes. His gaze darted about as he set up a trap with quick, jerky movements. He was nervous. Good.
Methusal cut directly ahead of him and swiftly flicked out her kaavl strip. It snapped around a nearby branch. She crouched, waiting, behind another thick bush.
Goric approached, and then paused. He’d seen her trap. He sprinted south, which was off course. She’d conserve her energy and head straight for the finish line.
A few minutes later, Goric swerved back on course. He passed her to the west.
Goric continued to run, and she loped in pursuit. She’d bet he planned to lie in wait near the finishing plateau again. Yes. Long minutes later, Goric’s racket stopped twenty lengths from the plateau. Methusal smiled to herself. Simple, then. She’d head south like he had, and then swoop in directly behind him. He’d expect her from the east.
Methusal slowed to a walk when she was ten lengths south of Goric. She fanned out her hearing, listening for the sound of Goric’s breaths. He was quiet now, and she struggled to pinpoint his location. Overhead, flying beast wings whispered, and ahead a small beast skittered into its hole.
Finally, she heard Goric’s soft breaths, seven lengths ahead. She carried, and mentally took the leap to the source of the sound. He whispered, “Hurry up. Spring my trap, stupid girl.”
Stupid girl? The gall of him—the cheater!—to call her names. Oh, she’d get him. No traps. Just personal, one on one combat. Adrenaline pumped through her. Caution, too. Her impulsive plan was dangerous. She could lose everything if he sensed her coming. But the satisfaction of the win—of walking right up and capturing Goric without him suspecting she was even there… It was the ultimate humiliation for any kaavl player.
Holding a new kaavl strip at the ready, Methusal silently glided closer to her quarry. Pebbles lay scattered over the plain here, so it wasn’t easy to be quiet. Her concentration sharpened until her whole being was kaavl. Every nuance of input guided her path. The next stone was there…the breeze strengthened from the south… Leaves rustled.
Methusal swiftly and silently moved to within a length of him, and then hid behind a thick tagma bush. Goric peered east, and the breeze picked up.
It was now or never. Methusal circled west and crept up behind Goric. Half a length, one quarter of a length… She flicked out her kaavl strip, and the end curled around his torso. Before he could react, she’d flipped the long strip around him once, twice, then thrice.
“Hey!” Arms pinned to his sides, Goric struggled to his feet. “Where did you come from? You cheated!”
Kitran appeared. “She won, fair and square. Go to the plateau, Methusal. It’s clear who should have won second place at the Tri-Level Game.”
“No!” Goric protested. “I’m faster—didn’t you see? I outran her last time, and I did this time, too. I won the first game, fair and square!”
“You ran nowhere at the Tri-level,” Kitran voice sounded hard. “You run like a child. Crashing over rocks, tripping over pebbles. A Quatr-leveler knows more than you do. And a Quatr-leveler could have easily tracked your progress today. If you’d truly run the course last time, Behran or Methusal—most likely both—would have heard you, and captured you long before the finish line. Goric, you lose your second position. And I’m expelling you from kaavl entirely, for cheating.”
Goric’s face tightened into a mask of hatred. “You’ll regret it.”
“Really? Who’ll make me regret it?” Kitran towered over the other man by at least two handbreadths. “I’ll report your behavior to Petr. Any further dishonorable conduct will be disciplined. Maybe Motr will demote you to water irrigator.”
“Kaavl is a stupid game, anyway,” Goric spat. “Endlessly practicing for what? A stupid necklace? It’s a waste of time.” He ripped off Methusal’s kaavl strip and snarled at her, “I will not forget!” and stalked for Rolban.
Another enemy. Great. How many had she gained in the last week? Pogul, the Dehrien Chief, and now Goric. But none of them were nice men, were they? Someone had to have the guts to stand up to them.
