Killashandra Part 12

Lars eyed her with some interest. "Father's sent for an I.D.

verification. We're not so haphazard as all that in these islands, you know. There've been snoopers before. Father's got a sixth sense about the breed and that Corish tilted it. Oh, he says he came in on the Athena, and he sounded as if he'd made the trip on her." Then he added in another tone altogether, "I'm glad you worry about my safety."

He smoothed back her sun-bleached hair, fingering the strands before he patted them in place, his whole face softening as once more he fell in her thrall. Then he relaxed, lying back again, hands under his head, his eyes intent on her face, a very tender smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Anyway, everyone on Angel dislikes federal interference as much as we do. I studied under a master of heresy. My father. The duly appointed harbor master of the Angel Island archipelago and federal representative. If you can't lick 'em, join 'em."

"Your father's the harbor master?"

Surprise registered blankly on Lar's face. "Of course. Don't tell me you didn't know that?"

"I do. I didn't."

"So, if you really insist on going back to the City, you'll have to be very nice to me." He was smiling as he gently reached for her arms to bring her down to him.

"Oh?"

"Very nice to me."

"Are you able for it?"

He settled her into the curve of his arm, her head pillowed on his shoulder, his cheek against her hair.

"When you are, beloved." Then he yawned and, apparently, between one breath and the next, fell asleep. For another long moment, Killashandra heard the singing in her blood and for once did not regret its murmur. She repositioned her arm on his chest, placidly noting that the fine hairs across Lars's pectoral muscles stirred upright. Well, they had more energy than he or she did. She closed her eyes and was also claimed by sleep.

Shouts startled them awake: the cheerful calls and laughter of people fis.h.i.+ng on the beach. Killashandra couldn't hear what was so exciting, but Lars smiled.

"A yellowback school has been forced into the cove." He embraced her enthusiastically. "Once they've caught what's needed, we'll get our" -- he looked about for the angle of sunlight -- "our dinner. Hungry yet?"

"Hungry enough to go right out there bold-faced . . ." She made as if to rise, for her belly was almost painfully empty.

He pulled her back flat beside him, kissing her half-formed protest into silence. His eyes were unsmiling as he then gently stroked her cheek.

"My dear girl, with those bruises on you, I'd be hauled up in front of the Island Court and charged with rape."

"What about the marks on you?"

"You resisted my improper advances -- "

"And you made enough of those -- "

"Precisely what the bruises say. So, since I have a reputation to maintain in this community, we will remain secluded." He emphasized this decision with a gentle kiss. Then he stroked her hair back from her forehead his fingers lingering in the soft gold-streaked ma.s.s. "I don't wish to share you yet, share even the sight of you with anyone. If I believed the ancient tales of witchcraft, sorcery, and enchantment, I'd name you 'witch,' so I would. But you're not . . . though I am completely spell-bound .." His fingers became insistent, and his expression was an urgent appeal. "D'you think you could possibly bear me . . . if I'm very careful . . ."

She chuckled and linked hands behind his head to bring his lips to hers.

The fishers were long gone before they finally got around to fis.h.i.+ng. Together they waded out through the gentle tide.

"Stay here, Carrigana," Lars directed, "and make a basin of your skirt."

She did, first wringing water from the voluminous folds. Lars was thigh deep in the water when he suddenly bent down and scooping with both hands sent water, and fish, flying at her. She missed the first lot, laughing at her inept.i.tude, but neatly caught two fish in the second. After three more catches, she had to hold up her skirt lest the active yellowbacks flip out. Lars splashed back to inspect her catch, grinning at his success and her bemus.e.m.e.nt.

"This one's too small." He released it. "Two, four, six, seven. How many can you eat? Shall I get more?"

Before she could answer, he dove back toward his vantage point, and peered down into the clear water. With one last mighty heave, three big yellowbacks were sent flying in her direction. She cheered when she caught them in her skirt, closing the makes.h.i.+ft net and running awkwardly through the wavelets to the sh.o.r.e before any of the squirming fish could escape.

Helping her secure the bundle, Lars laughingly escorted her back to the bushes surrounding their secluded clearing.

"You clean 'em and I'll get firing, and see what else I can scrounge," he said as he held the bushes back for her to enter.

Gutting fish was not one of Killashandra's favorite ch.o.r.es, but she had finished half the catch before she realized it, was.h.i.+ng them clean in the little brook. Lars was back as she slit the last one. In one crooked arm, he held twisted polly fronds that provided a quick hot fire, and another basket swung from his right hand. He found rocks by the stream to enclose their fire, hauled a frying sheet from the basket, and set out oil, seasonings bread, fruit, and another pot of the soft island cheese.

The quick tropical night had settled upon the island, enclosing them more securely in their clearing as they finished their supper, licking the last of the juices from their fingers.

"Going to be nice to me?" Lars asked, leering dramatically at her.

"Maybe I'll just stay in the islands." Killashandra surprised herself with the longing in her voice. "There's all I could possibly need just for the taking. . ."

"Even me?"

Killashandra looked up at him. Despite his light words, his voice held a curious entreaty.

"I would be a right foolish dolt to consider you part of the taking." She meant it, for quixotic though the man might appear, she sensed that Lars had an unshakeable integrity which she, or any other woman, would have to recognize and accept.

"We could stay in the islands, Carrigana, and make a go of the charter service." Lars, too, was caught in the same thrall which infected her resolve. "Sailing's never dull. The weather sees to that. It could be a good life, and I promise you wouldn't have to hack polly!" His fingers caressed her hands.

"Lars . . ." She had to set the record fair.

He covered her lips with his hand. "No, beloved, this is not the time for life-shaping decisions. This is the time for loving. Love me again!"

Chapter 12.

The idyll lasted another full day and into the early morning of the third, during which time Killashandra would have been quite willing to forego all the prestige of being a crystal singer to remain Lars's companion. A totally impossible, improbable, and impractical ambition. But she had every intention of enjoying his companions.h.i.+p as long as it was physically possible. She was haunted by memories of Carrik and, as such traumas can, they colored, and augmented, her responses to Lars.

It was the change in the weather which necessitated their return to society. The drop in barometric pressure woke Killashandra just before dawn. She lay, wide awake, Lars's lax arms draped about her, his legs overlapping hers, wondering what had returned her so abruptly to full consciousness. Then she smelled a change in weather on the early morning breeze. It had not occurred to Killashandra that her Ballybran symbiont would he agitated by other weather systems. And she pushed her sensitivity as far as she could, testing what the change might herald.

Storm, she decided, letting symbiotic instinct make the identification. And a heavy one. In these islands a hurricane more likely than not. A worrisome phenomenon for a reasonably flat land ma.s.s. No, there were heights on what Lars had termed the Head. She smiled, for yesterday, in between other felicitous activities, he had given her quite a history and geography lesson pertinent to the island economy.

"This island gets its name from the shape of the land ma.s.s," he explained and drew a shape on the wet sands with a sh.e.l.l. They had just emerged from a morning swim. "It was seen first from the exploratory probe and named long before any settlers landed here. There's even a sort of a halo of islets off the Head. We're at the Wingtip. The settlement lies in the wing curve . . . see . . . and the western heights are the wings, complete with the ridge principle. This side of the island is much lower than the body side. We've two separate viable harbors, north and south, the angel's outstretched hands completing the smaller, deeper one. My father's offices are there, as the backbone sometimes interferes with reception from the mainland. You can't see it from here because of Backbone Ridge, but there's rather an impressive old volcano topping the Head." He grinned mischievously, giving Killashandra an impression of the devilish child he must have been. "Some of us less reverent souls say the Angel blew her head when she knew who got possession of the planet. Not so, of course. It happened eons before we got here."

Angel was not the largest of the islands but Lars told her that she'd soon see that it was the best. The southern sea was littered Lars said, with all kinds of land ma.s.ses: some completely sterile, others bearing active volcanoes, and anything large enough to support polly plantations and other useful tropical vegetation did so.

"We were a race apart from the mainlanders, and we've remained so, Carrigana. They listen to what the Elders dish up for them, dulling their minds with all the pap that's performed. Islanders still have to have their wits about them. We may be easygoing and carefree, but we're not lazy or stupid."

She had discovered an unexpected pleasure in listening to Lars ramble on, recognizing that his motive was as much self-indoctrination as explanation for her benefit. His voice was so beautifully modulated, uninhibited in its expressiveness that she could have listened to him for years. He made events out of small incidents, no matter that all were aimed at extolling the islands, subtly deprecating mainland ways. He was not, however, an impractical dreamer. Nor was his rebellion against mainland authority the ill-considered antagonism of the disillusioned.

"You sound as if you don't want to leave Optheria even if you are trying to pave the way off for these friends of yours," Killashandra was prompted to remark late that second evening as they finished a meal of steamed mollusks.

"I'm as well off here as I would be anywhere else in the galaxy."

"But your music -- "

"It was composed to be played on the Optherian organ and I doubt that any other government allows them to be used, even if the Elders and Masters would permit the design to be copied." He shrugged off that consideration .

"If you could compose that, you have a great gift -- "

Lars had laughed outright, ruffling her hair -- he seemed fascinated by the texture of her hair.

"Beloved Sungirl, that took no great gift, I a.s.sure you. Nor do I have the temperament to sit down and create music -- "

"Come on, Lars -- "

"No, seriously, I'm much happier at the tiller of a s.h.i.+p -- "

"And that voice of yours?"

He shrugged. "Fine for an island evening sing-song, my girl, but who bothers to sing on the Mainland?"

"But, if you get the others off the planet, why don't you go, too?

There are plenty of other planets that would make you a Stellar in a pico -- ".

"How would you know?"

"Well, there have to be!" Killashandra almost screamed in her frustration with the restrictions imposed by her role. "Or why are you trying to crack the restriction?"

"The height of altruism motivates me. Besides, Sunny, Theach and Bra.s.sner have valid contributions to make within the context of the galaxy.

And once a person has met Nahia, it's obvious why she must be let free.

Think of the good she could do."

Killashandra murmured something rea.s.suring since it was called for.

She felt an uncharacteristic pulse of jealousy at the reverence and awe in Lars's voice whenever he mentioned this Nahia. Lars had perfectly healthy contempt for Elder and Master alike, indeed all federal officials with the exception of his father. And while he spoke of the man with affection and respect, Nahia occupied a higher position. Quite a few times Killashandra noted a nearly imperceptible halt in the flow of Lars's words as if he exercised a subtle discretion, so subtle that all she caught was its echo.

Just as he had stopped short of admitting the abduction of the crystal singer. And, now that she understood his motivation, she marveled at his quick-witted opportunism. Did the others in his subversive group know what he had done? Had they approved of it? And what would the next step be? She could just imagine the furor caused in the Hept.i.te Guild! Or maybe she was supposed to rescue herself? Which she had.

Lars was weather-sensitive, too, for she had only just completed her a.n.a.lysis when he woke, equally alert. With a loving tug at her hair and a smile, he stood up, sniffing at the breeze now strong enough to ruffle his hair, turning slowly. He stopped when he faced in the direction she had.

"Hurricane making, Carrigana. Come, we'll have a lot to do."

Not so much that they didn't start the morning with a quick pa.s.sage at arms, not the least bit perfunctory despite the brevity. Then they had a quick swim, with Lars keeping a close watch on the dawn changes in the sky.

"Making up in the south so it'll be a bad blow." He stood for a moment as the active waves of the incoming tide flounced against his thighs. He looked southwest, frowning and, dissatisfied by his thoughts, started insh.o.r.e, taking her hand as if seeking comfort.

She thought nothing of his brief disappearance as she cleared up the camp site. Lars pushed his way past the bush screen, an odd smile on his face as he came up to her, two garlands of an exceptionally lovely blue and white flower in his hands. "This will serve," he said cryptically, gently draping one around her neck. The perfume was subtly erotic and she stood on tiptoe to kiss him for his thoughtfulness. "Now you must put mine on."

Smiling at his sweetness, she complied and he kissed her, exhaling a gust as if he had acquitted himself n.o.bly.

"C'mon now," and he gave her the basket, slung the blanket with their clothing over his shoulder, and grabbing her hand, led her back through the underbrush.

Though the sun was not yet up over the horizon, there was considerable activity on the beach when they arrived. Torches were lit outside all the waterfront buildings, and torchlit groups of scurrying people pushed handcarts Bobbing lights on the harbor, too, indicated crews on their way to anch.o.r.ed s.h.i.+ps. The schooner was gone but Killashandra had not really expected to find the big s.h.i.+p still at Angel Island.

"Where can they take the boats?"

"Around to the Back. We'll just check to see how much time there is before the wind rises. There'll be a lot to do before we can take the Pearl Fisher to the safe mooring."

Killashandra glanced up and down the picturesque waterfront, for the first time seeing just how vulnerable it was. The first line of buildings was only four hundred meters from the high-tide mark. Wouldn't they be just swept away in hurricane driven tides?

"They often are," Lars startled her by saying as they strode purposefully toward the settlement. "But mostly polly floats. After the last big blow, Morchal salvaged the complete roof. It was floating in the bay, he just dried it out and reset it."

"I should help Keralaw," Killashandra suggested tentatively, not really wanting to leave his side but ignorant of what island protocol expected of her in the emergency. Lars's hand tightened on her elbow.

"If I know Keralaw she has matters well in hand. I'm not risking you from my side for an instant, Carrigana. I thought I'd made that plain."

Killashandra almost bridled at the possessive tone of his voice but part of her rather liked the chauvinism. She had too hearty a respect for storm not to wish to be in the safest place during one. Common sense told her that was likely to be in Lars Dahl's company.

Men and women were filing in and out of the tavern. Lars and Killashandra entered and found a veritable command post. The bar was now dispensing equipment and gear which Killashandra could not readily identify. Along the back wall, the huge vdr screen was active, showing a satellite picture of the growing storm swirling in from the south.

Estimated times of arrival of the first heavy winds, high tide, the eye, and the counter winds were all listed in the upper left hand corner. Other cryptic information, displayed in a band across the top of the screen, did not mean much to her but evidently conveyed intelligence to the people in the bar. Including Lars.

"Lars, Olav's on line for you," called the tallest of the men behind the bar, and he jerked his head toward a side door. The fellow paused in his dispensations, and Killashandra was aware of his scrutiny as she followed Lars to the room indicated.

However rustic the tavern looked from the outside, this room was crammed with sophisticated equipment, a good deal of it meteorological, though not as complex as instrumentation in the Weather Room of the Hept.i.te Guild. And all of it printing out or displaying rapidly changing information.

"Lars?" A young man turned from the scanner in front of him and, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g his face in an anxious expression almost pounced on the new arrival "What are you going to do -- "

Lars held up his hand, cutting off the rest of that sentence, and the young man noticed the garland. He threw an almost panic stricken look at Killashandra.

"Tanny, this is Carrigana. And there's nothing I can do with this storm blowing up." Lars was scrutinizing the duplicate vdr satellite picture as he spoke. "The worst of it will pa.s.s due east. Don't worry about the things you can't change!" He gave Tanny a clout on the shoulder but the worried expression did not entirely alter Killashandra kept the silly social smile on her face as Tanny accorded her the briefest of nods. She had a very good idea what, or rather whom, they were discussing so obliquely. Her. Still trapped, they thought, on that chip of an island.

"Tanny's my partner, Carrigana, and one of the best sailors on Angel," Lars added, though his attention was still claimed by the swirling cloud ma.s.s.

"What if the direction changes, Lars?" Tanny refused to be rea.s.sured. "You know what the southern blows are like . . ." He made an exaggerated gesture with both arms, nearly socking a pa.s.sing islander, who ducked in time.

"Tanny, there is nothing we can do. There's a great big polly on the island that's survived hurricanes and high tides since man took the archipelago. We'll go have a look as soon as the blow's gone. All right?"

Lars didn't wait for Tanny's agreement, guiding Killashandra back into the main room. He paused at the counter, waiting his turn, and receiving a small handset. 'A light one will do me fine, Bart," he added and Bart set a small antigrav unit on the counter. "Most of what I own is either on the Pearl or on its way back to me from the City. Grab a couple of those ration packs, will you, Carrigana," he added as they walked out on the broad verandah where additional emergency supplies were being pa.s.sed out. "Might not need them but it's less for them to pack to the Ridge."