Derelict

Who Can Endure His Fierce Anger?

Chapter Twenty-Three

The glow of the morning sun filtered through the trees, filling the grove with a soft, comforting light and a sense of peace in Rusk, the first he had felt in weeks. He liked trees, he decided. He felt safe here, he felt this was home. That there were trees here was an amazing thing. He had no idea who first came up with the irrigation idea-pumping water from deep within the caverns up to the surface-but it was genius. Not only did the trees grow but crops flourished and the clan was fed.

The pump however was a constant source of irritation with its continual need of maintenance and attention, but no more so than the men who tended it. Every time the irrigation crew leader tried to interest him in the intricacies of the water wheel and how it raised the precious liquid to the surface and how they could improve the functionality of the system using some technique cryptically entitled 'hydraulic engineering', he lost interest with amazing rapidity. Rusk cared nothing about the mechanics of how the water got to the surface; he only wanted the flow to continue uninterrupted.

The phrase 'hydraulic engineering' had puzzled him. And upon learning Caddo had been the source, he shook his head in dismay, pitying his former Tourinar for the delusions and flights of fancy he had foisted on himself.

Nevertheless, Blanchard Springs was a miracle. It sprung out of the Wastelands as a sign of defiance against the surrounding desolation, a small oasis of life in the midst of an inhospitable hell. It was the original and oldest of the cavern systems inhabited by the Rama, the others splitting off over the centuries to found new clans as the population grew. It was their way.

And he was glad to be home. Glad to have the Speck gone. Glad to have that filth cleansed from the clan. Glad to have regained control after a rocky trading season. Most of all, he was glad Caddo had seemingly disappeared. The man had been a thorn in his side for years, always too popular and loved by the clan to oust or banish. He could never quite grasp the reasoning behind the affection people felt for Caddo. It was strange.

And now he was gone.

His pleasant reverie was interrupted by the whining voice of his present Tourinar, a man who was not a thorn in the side but surely at least qualified as an annoying blister. A loyal, sycophant of an annoying blister, but a blister all the same.

"My Touri," called out Kemp. "I have been searching for you. No one knew where you were."

"I did not realize," replied Rusk through gritted teeth, "that I needed to report my whereabouts to any. And certainly not you."

"My apologies, my Touri," Kemp groveled. "I did not mean to imply anything of the sort. It's just... well, on patrol earlier, I... the signal rock was in place. There was a message." He held a folded section of parchment.

Rusk snatched the message from his hand, his earlier irritation now evaporated.

When he did not open it immediately, Kemp asked, "Will you not read it, my Touri?"

"I'm sure you have already examined the message," Rusk growled with his irritation returning in full force. "And you already know it is coded. I am certainly not in a spot where I can deal with this at present and I am certainly not in a mood to share this information with anyone unless I feel there is need. Do I make myself clear?"