Exile's Return by Gayle Greeno

Author:Gayle Greeno [Greeno, Gayle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: DAW
Published: 2010-03-01T07:00:00+00:00

She lounged in the back of the surrey, eyes downcast on the floorboards, her feet, content to ignore the countryside changing around her, becoming more and more familiar. Each farmstead, patchworked rolling hill, crossroad, the clustered houses of the village brought a pang of recognition. Had she been the only one to change? “It shouldn’t hurt so much to come home, ” she mindwhispered, “I didn’t think it would be like this.” Ever since they’d left the inn this morning she’d refused to take more than a covert interest in her surroundings, as if denying their presence repudiated their reality. Now she swore the surrey’s wheels revolved faster, hurtling her into the past, Cady and Davvy innocently and unwittingly conducting her backward to another life.

“Think about Matty and Kharm, where they’ll go after Gilboa,” Khar urged as she met F’een’s aware eyes looking back at them. She wasn’t sure how much the ghatt understood, still so young, so untried in the Spirals, but his empathy poured over her, striving to ease her distress.

Doyce swung her foot up, let her heel thunk down on the boards, Davvy startling in surprise. “Don’t want to. I’ve got other things on my mind right now!”

“I know.” Khar was wearying, tired of playing the game of distraction she’d played all morning and into the afternoon, including convincing Doyce to eat their hurried picnic lunch. A reminder of an inescapable truth: she was hungry again. Worth a try? “I’m hungry,” she announced, half-crouched to flee under the front seat in case she’d guessed wrong.

“You’re always hungry!” Doyce groused. “I swear being pregnant has made you hungrier than before, if such a thing’s possible.” She reflected on it for a moment. “It is possible, I know. Sorry. A hand slipped from the coat pocket where it had been hiding, tightly jammed, for most of the afternoon. Cradled in it was a crinkled, oiled paper packet, and a variety of smells assailed Khar’s nose, made her lick her chops at two of the smells. The briny, garlicky scent she ignored, hoping it hadn’t permeated the other tantalizing odors—cheese and, yes, nutter-butter! Unwrapping the package, Doyce began to munch the pickle, pried two sandwiched crackers apart so Khar could lick the nutter-butter and cheese. The ghatta did so, enthusiastically. And aware, as well, that she’d distracted Doyce a bit longer, diverted her from noticing the scene ahead.

A mantis-thin figure propped on two canes like vestigial limbs stood silhouetted on the rise to their right. A hitch and a shift, and the figure hung one cane over the crook of her arm, shadowed her eyes with her free hand to stare in their direction, into the setting sun behind them.

“Hello, the wagon!” The voice rose high, pitched to carry, and two shy mourning doves burst from cover, wings clattering their dismay. “Doyce! Is it you? Is it really you?” Clambering onto her knees on the seat, Doyce strained upward as much as possible without hitting the surrey’s roof. She jammed

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