Grey Eagle - Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The next morning he woke slowly, noticing first his back, then the fact that it felt much better. He rolled from his stomach to his side, drawing the blanket over his shoulder...

He was in bed. A moment of sleepy panic quickly gave way to an inward smile. Sharsa must have come and put him in after he had gone to sleep. He didn't blame him for drugging him. It was sensible, and had definitely been harmless.

Sharsa came in and fetched him from his room, not speaking, as gentle as always. He brought him to the bathroom and left him. A tub of hot water, a towel, and clean clothes waited for him. Arion stripped and climbed in, pleased and grateful. He would have to talk with him...

The water was just beginning to cool when he heard voices in the front. Sharsa... and Raach. His fear hit him like a blow and he felt suddenly vulnerable. He climbed out and dressed, moving quietly, straining to hear what was said, but unable to catch it. By the time he was dressed they had gone outside.

Sharsa returned shortly, without Raach, spotting Arion standing in the hall. "Good morning, Arion."

Hey. His decision to speak choked and died.

Sharsa sighed heavily and shook his head. He went about his business then, ignoring him. He fed him, then took his arm and led him outside to the hovercraft. They rode in silence, into the city. It was not until they arrived that he realized where he was being taken.

A solitary building, low and squat, set back from the rest.

Sharsa climbed out and came over to Arion's side. He held his hand out, beckoning, but Arion shrank away, terrified. He was going to lock him up anyway. He raised his eyes to meet Sharsa's, present, pleading...

Sharsa's hand lowered, and he stared at Arion, fascinated, questioning.

Petrified, transfixed, he was trapped once again between Scylla and Charybdis.

Sharsa broke the spell, taking him gently by the arm, pulling. "I have to make my rounds, Arion. It'll be all right. Come on."

Retreating within, Arion allowed himself to be guided inside the building. Like a nightmare come to life, it was just as he remembered it, but this time Sharsa led him down a different hall.

Somewhere along the way another venator appeared. Arion listened, following easily. "Sharsa, Raach stopped by earlier and picked up some humans. Said you knew?"

"Yes, that's fine. They're his. Listen, I won't be able to spend much time today. Put Pirta in with the wrigglers for awhile. She likes to hold them."

"Sure. Do you want Kyp in with the older kids? He's feeling frisky today."

"No. He's getting too rough and he doesn't understand. Put Paal in with the kids and take Kyp outside for a bit."

"I'm doing."

They continued down the hall, stopping at a door. The presence of the door frightened him, for the simple reason that it was unusual. As they entered, however, his fear abruptly switched to shock.

The walls were painted in bright, vibrant patterns, swirls, and pictures. A dozen cribs lined the walls, and almost every crib held a human baby and several soft toys. The inner walls of the cribs were also colorful, but all in pastels. A young venator rose from a chair, glowering. "What are you bringing that in here for?" he hissed.

"Relax," answered Sharsa tersely. The youth glared, but didn't argue. Arion stayed close as Sharsa went around the nursery, lifting the babies one by one. Bright eyed, sleepy, cranky, smiling, each one seemed normal and healthy, responsive and aware. Arion felt a desperate urge to scoop them all up and run away...

Sharsa didn't speak to a single one, clucking and cooing instead, playing with the happy ones, soothing the troubled ones. One was especially cheerful, and Sharsa held the baby out to Arion.

"Are you crazy?" hissed the "nanny".

Sharsa's jaw set, but he smiled then, ignoring him, carrying the baby as he left the room. The nanny was muttering and sputtering, but Arion couldn't catch the words.

"Don't let him upset you," said Sharsa in the hallway. "He just worries about them. Here, hold it." He held the baby out again.

Arion gazed at the baby, wondering if it was a boy or a girl, but made no move. The child was doomed to grow up as a damat, and nothing Arion could do would prevent that. Sharsa returned the baby to the scowling nanny and they continued.

Another room, no door, but again the painted walls, though the colors here were much softer. Bright, colorful toys were strewn all around the room, and in the corners along the wall were piles of furs. A pack of perhaps a dozen children, three or four cycles old, charged the doorway, but hung back, just short.

Noisy and exuberant, they sounded like puppies, yapping and yammering. Sharsa stopped outside the doorway. "Sa!" he commanded. Pell-mell, they ran to the back wall, lining up against it, still squirming and wriggling in excitement. He smiled, took Arion by the arm, and led him through.

Halfway across the room he stopped and knelt down. "Kale. Ta." A little boy left the line and ran to Sharsa, jumping into open arms. Sharsa hugged him, tickled him, laughed with him.

"Kaleku. Kale, meer?" Sharsa fished a sweet out of his pocket and gave it to him. "Kaleku. Sa." He squirmed, and returned to the line. And so he went, calling each child by name, one by one. Halfway through, a little girl began to whimper. Sharsa looked up from the one he was holding. "Shimsa." The whimpering one scampered away to the bathroom, returning shortly.

When the line was completed, Sharsa sat down, smiling, looking up and down the line. They were all smiling, fidgeting, clearly in joyful agony. "Ta!" Like a wave they broke, descending on Sharsa, jumping, tumbling, squealing. He looked up, smiling. Arion swallowed.

His gaze shifted, and Arion turned his head as well. The venator from the hallway stood at the doorway, holding Yavin's hand. He paused, then sent him in. He came slowly, a smile flickering at his mouth when he looked at Sharsa but disappearing when he looked at Arion.

"Should I keep him a little longer?" asked the venator from the door.

"No, this is fine. I'll handle it." He sat quietly, almost oblivious to the children pummeling him, increasing their efforts to regain his attention.

Yavin stopped in front of Sharsa, but his eyes were now fixed on Arion, wary and tense. "Paalku," said Sharsa softly. "Tch tch, Paal."

Yavin/Paal looked at Sharsa, solemn. Arion dropped his eyes, looking away.

Suddenly, Sharsa nabbed Yavin, growling softly, playful. Startled, he soon smiled, squirming and giggling. Sharsa released him then and stood up.

He came to Arion and Yavin dropped back, though the other children continued to mill at his feet. They too fell back as he reached the doorway. Once again he took Arion by the arm, then led him through.

Round the corner and down the hall, they stopped in front of yet another doorway, no door. The walls were blank, but the entrance turned an abrupt corner, concealing the room itself.

"Arion, I'm going to have a friend of mine look at your ribs. He'll be as gentle as he can, and he's going to put a statopatch on if you need it."

Briefly, Arion met his eyes, calm, silent. Sharsa took his arm and led him in. "Cradaach, you here?"

"Sharsa. This the one?" The very deep voice belonged to the largest venator Arion had ever seen, his fur an unusual brown dapple rather than the average solid chestnut or Sharsa's standard brindle.

"This is him."

"He looks pretty alert to me."

"Yes," Sharsa agreed, smiling. "It's a very recent improvement."

"Well good, good. Take his shirt off for me and I'll have a look at him."

Sharsa complied, asking, "Is there anything better we can do for his back?"

"What have you been using?"

"Keer salve."

He grunted. "That's as good as anything else. They seem to be healing well." He frowned then, examining his ribs, but it disappeared as he knelt down and looked in Arion's face. One hand on the opposite side and one hand on the ribs, he gently fingered the area, watching Arion's face closely.

"There's one broken rib, maybe one cracked one," he said, releasing him and standing, "but it's been repeatedly abused to get that bruise." He paused, but Sharsa said nothing, so he turned and opened a drawer, pulling out a statopatch kit. "He's very gentle," he said then, in a conversational tone.

Sharsa smiled slightly, looking at Arion. "Yes. But he didn't used to be."

He grunted, though whether it signaled acceptance or disapproval, Arion couldn't tell. Nevertheless, he found himself automatically liking the gentle veterinarian, a fact which surprised him. How long had Sharsa battled for acceptance and been refused, yet Cradaach received it almost instantly?

But then, he chided himself, Cradaach seemed to think he was a damat, whereas Sharsa knew him to be a Cedrychad. At least he used to be. He wondered why Sharsa wasn't telling him the truth of his identity. Would his attitude change much if he knew? Probably. Might not even be willing to treat him at all.

The warmth he had felt guttered and died as he remembered once more that his only safety lay in remaining a nothing.

"Sharsa," said Cradaach softly, "you're losing him again... Tch tch, fella. I'm only trying to help. Tch tch tch tch..."

Arion closed his eyes, trying not to cringe as Cradaach stroked his shoulder with the back of his hand.

Sharsa came over, gently raising his chin. But he refused the eye contact, and for the first time, pulled away. "He never did like to be touched," said Sharsa, the disappointment strong in his voice.

Cradaach grunted again. "Never had enough of it then... I'm done now," he said, stepping back.

"Thank you, Cradaach."

"Sure. What am I going to do? Say no? Just don't let whoever it was have him back."

"No. He's mine now," he said, giving Arion his shirt.

"Good enough then."

Out the door and down a new hall, and on. It was easier now to keep up, the patch an incredible comfort. A pause at a doorway and through. A short corridor, pause, and into a room.

Inside were a number of men, four of them with the close-cropped hairstyle of Lenis, one with longer hair. They came forward as a group, slow and suspicious.

"This is Arion," said Sharsa calmly. "He's had a rough time and I thought being with other humans might help him feel better."

"Oh, so, we're good for something after all?" asked one of the Lenisats.

"That's up to you," said Sharsa with his familiar softness. Arion looked around the room. It was a larger version of the marshmallow room, except this one sported a separate bathroom and the men had a number of small belongings cached here and there. The ventilation/video holes lined the walls near the ceiling.

He dropped his eyes as the man with longer hair walked up to stand close in front of him. "Welcome to the rejects, chum," he said with a fair hint of bitterness. Arion fidgeted slightly, uncomfortable. A short angry laugh. "What kind of game is this, Sharsa?"

"It's no game, Silas," he said sighing. "Just be good to him. Maybe you can make each other feel better." He walked out the door.

"You dumping him and leaving, just like that?" asked another.

"I should be able to stay a bit at lunchtime. I'll be back then." He left.

Arion stood still as they grouped around him. "So what'd you do to get yourself here?" asked Silas.

With Sharsa's eyes lining the ceiling, he didn't dare speak, so he met their eyes, looking from one to the other, present...

"He's a lousy damat," said Silas with surprised disgust. They turned and walked away, uninterested. Arion began to follow, but Silas shoved him back, glaring.

Depressed, he retired to a vacant wall and sat, trying to believe that it was better this way. He drew up one knee, resting his chin on his hands. He watched the men and wondered if Sharsa would leave him here after lunch as well, or if he was simply waiting, watching for him to expose himself.

His depression deepened. He felt quite sure that he wasn't dying, convinced that he would be feeling worse rather than better, but he found no comfort in the thought. If he had to remain a true nothing in all respects...

At last he rose, walking slowly towards the group where they sat in a circle, playing cards. He stood at the edge, unsure what to do. He knew only that he had to reach out, somehow, or he truly was a nothing...

"Beat it, kyon," said Silas.

"Easy does it," said a Lenisat who hadn't spoken before.

"Bah! Maybe you're used t' people bein' on their side, but I'm not."

"Mr. High and Mighty!" retorted another, giving him a shove. "You think you're so wonderful! Why are you so quick to hate him then?"

Silas rose angrily, the Lenisat following suit. "I don't trust 'im, that's why. He's either a damat or a spy. You're just too dense t' see it."

"I'm dense?" he answered angrily, shoving him again, getting shoved in return. Arion stepped between them, a hand on either man's chest.

"Say," growled Silas, suddenly grabbing Arion's wrist. "Where'd you get this?" he asked, looking at the star sapphire ring. Arion opened his mouth, then closed it again, silent, gazing at him levelly.

"Maybe it's his," said the quiet one.

"His? Stick t' what ya know," Silas said contemptuously. "This here's a 'signia ring for one o' 'r fighters. A Cedrychad," he declared bitterly, turning to Arion again. "A Cedrychad would never've given in. He followed Sharsa in here like 'is pet dog."

He glared at Arion, his anger growing. "He took it."

Arion opened his mouth again, still at a loss.

"They'd never've given it to a damat. He's a spy. And when he gets out, he'll be tellin' Sharsa everything we say. Well ya can tell 'im this!" He swung suddenly, and Arion instinctively blocked.

"No," Arion whispered, trying not to move his lips. "Wait... You don't understand..."

"What'd I tell ya?" he hissed triumphantly. "Dirty lousy kyon!"

All but one jumped him then, and he struggled, alarmed, unwilling to strike back. He glanced briefly at the quiet one, who stood staring, distressed but helpless. They pushed him to the floor and began pummeling him, venting fears and frustrations.

He cried out as a blow landed against his rib. "Wait..." But anything further was cut off by a kick to his belly, taking his breath away. Despairing, he retreated into the nothingness...

A flurry, the men scattering, and Sharsa was there... He gathered Arion in his arms, saying something, but the words were lost. Blind, he clung to Sharsa's shirt, struggling to breathe, each inward gasp a vicious stab in his rib...

"...and you're trying to kill him!" Sharsa was yelling, furious.

"Yeah!" spat Silas. "Just like he must've killed the Cedrychad t' get 'is ring! We don't want your spy."

"Fool!" growled Sharsa, gently releasing Arion and rising. "He is Cedrychad!" He grabbed him, shaking him, and raised his hand -

"No! Don't!" Arion cried out in anguish, half rising. "He's just - " He fell silent as everyone froze, staring at him. "They're just scared," he finished softly, blanching, pieces settling within his mind even as his fear rose. He dropped his eyes, leaning against the wall as Sharsa came towards him.

"All right, Arion. I won't hurt him. Come on, I'll take you out of here." He sagged, flushing, but stood when Sharsa took his arm, following meekly as he escorted him to the door. A pause, and he glanced briefly at Silas, but was unable to meet his eyes. He had no way to explain, no excuse for a Cedrychad to have given in.

Another pause at the end of the corridor, and on. He followed blindly, knowing they were returning to the marshmallow room now.

He looked at Sharsa, startled as they walked out into the lobby and to the front door. Sharsa opened the door and held it, waiting. "You're not locking me up?" he asked, his voice thick.

"No," he answered, apparently surprised by the question. "We're going back to my house," he added.

Arion stood still, shocked, unable to think...

"Come on," Sharsa said gently, taking his arm. "Let's go."

Arion followed dazedly, totally unhorsed. No promise? Sharsa looked at him occasionally as they traveled, but he said nothing.

When they arrived, Arion climbed out without waiting. Inside the house, he went straight to his room, but stopped in the hallway, afraid to go in. Sharsa appeared beside him. "Go ahead. It's okay," he said quietly. Arion walked in and lied down on the bed, his back to Sharsa.