The Forlorn(92)

The boy wished an obliging river monster would come and swallow him, seat and all. "I . . . I just needed a diversion . . ." he stuttered, dry-mouthed.

"Oh, am I just a diversion?" she whispered.

"God, do I only open my mouth to change feet?" he groaned. "Ow! What did you do that for?"

She'd leaned over and bitten him on the shoulder, quite hard. "For peeking. Or should I say staring. And for your unflattering memory of the size of my breasts. Just because you have a preference for overendowed milch cows." She thrust her chest forward as she said it.

"Who was lying on my bunk wearing nothing but a bit of warm perfume then?" he asked, vaguely indignant, confused by the hand stroking the bitten shoulder. "Anyway, I remember perfectly." He swallowed. "I looked at them for a long time. They were just perfect."

She bit him again. "That's for staring." Then she kissed the spot. "And that's for the . . . compliment. Cay. Just put an arm around me. I didn't love my father, but he was there . . . and I'm all alone now."

A confused boy-man put his arm around her. "Only if you promise not to bite."

She snuggled in closer. "Well, I suppose that leaves me several other interesting options."

She lay silent against him for a while. After a few minutes Keilin dared a movement of the hand, soft and stroking. No response. He listened to her breathing. Deep and regular. He spoke her name quietly. Still no response. The cloud had broken and the stars stared down. Keilin sat there, ground his teeth, and looked up at the stars, suppressing a howl of frustration with difficulty. He lowered her onto his unrolled bedding, and tucked it round her. He supposed they had been awake for nearly forty stressful hours, but just a few more minutes . . .

He looked down at the sleeping girl, and said quietly to himself. "So you're in my bed, again. Fat lot of good it's doing me." He felt the bites on his shoulder, and tried to think about something else for the rest of his watch. He was not very successful.

Morning brought them a cold, clear sky, and an hour downstream, the start of the great delta. It took several hours to cross the main channel and enter the maze of narrow twisting waterways of reeds and tufted rushes that winter had killed, but not yet stripped and blown down. The winter wind scythed among them, whistling and rattling. And all the channels looked alike. They might have spent several weeks wandering them if they'd not come on a marshman who, suitably bribed, showed them the way, and provided a lunch of smoked eel and gumbo.

Keilin found the complex seafood flavors in the gumbo delectable, although Cap moaned that it was tasteless. S'kith ate with slowness and precision, chewing and tasting. Bey had half a plateful in silence. He didn't even seem to notice what he was eating. Keilin resolved to find out what was wrong, but a very distracting small personage dragged his attention away.

S'kith, however, was not so easily distracted. They'd stopped on a small island to eat and stretch their legs, and he walked over to where Bey was sitting, staring off into space. "You do not eat."

"Yah. Now bug off, Morkthy. Just leave me alone, see."

"But the food is very good. Not as good as yours, but still good. What is wrong?"

"You like my food now, do you? Not still worried that it's hot?" Bey managed to stir some interest.

"No. I have learned that this does enhance the flavors, and also it warms the body. But what is wrong?"

"Not your problem, Morkthy . . . Just worrying about my boy." Beywulf sighed, and took a wary look to see if Cap was sitting well out of earshot. "See, I've followed Cap for seven years. He's a hero to my people for what he's done for our children. Damned good in combat he is too. But . . . he was ready to spend young Keil's life, just like that, back on that quayside. Damn core sections are worth more to him than all of us put together. Now, he's going to take an army against your kind. An' my son'll be one of them. He'll be killed." Bey looked briefly toward Cap again. There was plain and fancy murder in his eyes. The message was clear. If this man was dead . . .

"They are not my kind. The Morkth are the creatures that make humans into less than animals. I hate and fear them in ways that you cannot even begin to understand. I would kill them all. I would kill them for my children's sake. But not at the expense of any of my children."

"Your children, Morkthy—I mean S'kith—did you get some on those girls in Port Lockry, or is there something I don't know about?"

"I had at least 11,312 children still alive when I left the hive. A few will have died. The hives swap human broodstock, as well as children. Some of my own will be in FirstHive."