CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The Costume, Again!

Taryn strode angrily through the street, ignoring the two agents that paced her just a short distance behind, on horses. In the three weeks since the attack they’d been watched closely. No one dared approach them now, and while she’d once have found the lack of attention welcome, now she found their fear even more wearisome.

Turning up her street, she walked to her house, ignoring the multitudes of vans, cars, trucks, police and the reporters. Microphones were shoved in her face like always, and a mighty clamor filled the air as people shouted and jostled for interviews.

“Get back,” her guards shouted, pushing up on either side of her and using their horses to shove aside the journalists and clear a path to her front door. “Clear a way there. Go on, back up!”

Taryn barely noticed anymore, every day now this had been a recurring theme. She’d spoken to as many people as she could on the first day, and the second, and talked fewer on the third and fewer still on the fourth, until finally falling quiet. She realized that there wouldn’t be any satisfying them, no matter how many interviews she gave.

She’d attended all the funerals for the fallen officers, of course, and that had been a rough affair. Standing there, unhurt while the widows and husbands buried their loved ones and knowing that they had died to protect her was not an experience she would ever want to repeat. All had been laid to rest within a day or two of each other, which gave her no respite from the constant pain.

The town had become literally flooded with police officers and agents. People talked, and she’d overheard that it looked much the same as after the Riot, with the numbers of state troopers and their own few officers patrolling ceaselessly along the streets.

So far, no one had found anything of Tenebrae Cultor, they’d apparently vanished from all sight. Even their prisoner hadn’t shed any light on the cult, for he’d somehow died while in custody. From what Taryn had heard from Ben, he’d apparently thrown himself off his bed and cut his own tongue off with his teeth in the middle of the night and drowned in his own blood, making no sound heard by his jailors.

Fanatics, she thought and shook her head with a shiver of fear. Never before had she encountered such reckless determination. What could she do against such enemies?

Fight them, of course, she told herself firmly. She could not give in to despair now, not when her friend was in such peril.

Sylvie had no less then twelve agents around her at all times, and such police as could be spared from the patrols were parked in front of her steps. Great concrete barriers had been placed on the curb, blocking any attempt to ram through the cars. No reporter or other person had been allowed past the blockade. All of this because she refused to go into hiding, pointing out rightly that she couldn’t hide anywhere, being, almost literally, one of a kind.

Of course, it’s hard to imagine anywhere being more safe then Red Leaf right now, Taryn mused as she walked through the front door, leaving her guard behind at last.
Her mother looked up from the stove as she came into the kitchen.

“Hello sweetie,” she said. “How was it today?”

“Not bad.” Taryn replied, setting down her bag and relaxing as much as she could. “Bill is still having trouble with his arm, he just isn’t getting the throw right, and Lucille keeps trying to outdo everyone else, but she’s so tiny she just ends up sending the javelin every which way.” She sighed. “The kids are eager, I’ll grant them that, but they aren’t as skilled as they think they are.”

Her mom laughed merrily.

“What?” Taryn asked, feeling the beginnings of a grin on her face, despite not knowing what was so funny.

“You!” her mother told her, “but you are just a year removed from them, and you’re calling them kids!”

Taryn froze, then started laughing helplessly.

“Oh, god!” she gasped, tears streaming down her face. “I hadn’t…but…they seem so much smaller than me!” she managed at last. “I just started calling them kids.”

“Oh, honey,” she said. “You’re just growing up.” She came and gave Taryn a hug.

“Thanks mom.” Taryn hugged her tightly.

After dinner, they washed up and moved to the living room to talk further. Her mom reclined in her favorite chair; the colorful floral print one. Taryn dropped to her belly, tucking her legs as she leaned against a large, stuffed cushion.

Their conversation drifted to her work with the javelin team, her mother’s attempts to secure a job to help pay the bills now that the insurance company had told them that, since her mother had become healthy again, they were stopping all payment.

“Fortunately we have a little extra from…before.” Her mother stumbled, “so it hasn’t been too bad, but that’s going to run out here pretty quick.”

“You mean from Nightshade.” Taryn told her calmly. “It’s all right mom, you can say it. I know you’re right, of course, but I was hoping my job will be able to pay the bills.”

“They’re a help, that’s for sure.” Her mom agreed, “but that’s your money sweetheart; I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself; you’ll need those funds yourself before long, when you want to get yourself a house and raise a family. Perhaps with Josh?” she added with a motherly smile.

Taryn smiled back, but inside she found herself conflicted; she did like Josh, a lot. And of course she wanted to have a family of her own someday, but she’d never imagined life without her mother. Before, she thought she’d be taking care of her as she lay in bed and withered from the disease that attacked her legs and lungs, and after the magic stone that cured her, she’d kept that assumption going, taking care of her mother as she’d always done. To realize that she no longer needed to was…unsettling, to say the least.

Some of what she’d been thinking must have shown on her face, because her mother had a strange smile on her face, though she said nothing.

Taryn smiled weakly. “I guess…I mean…” she stammered.

“It’s all right, sweety.” Her mother told her. “I understand. It just takes some getting used to, after all.”

“I guess.” Taryn shrugged.

“Well,” her mother said briskly, “that’s enough of that. “How is poor Sylvie?”

“Going nuts.” Taryn admitted. “She hates remaining inside all day, and she’s worried about her parents losing their jobs, what with them home all day now. To be frank, I think her mom is going to drive Sylvie up the wall with her constant checking on her every two minutes.”

“I hadn’t realized Anne had been that bad.” Her mother murmured thoughtfully, staring out the window. “But perhaps it isn’t that unexpected,” she spoke to herself, but Taryn could hear every word with her sensitive ears. “After all, she lost her son…but surely she can’t think she’ll lose Sylvie the same way…yet it might make her more…yes.” She nodded abruptly. “Of course it would. Poor Anne! And poor Sylvie! She’s such a stubborn girl.”

Taryn stayed quite, knowing full well how her friend was.

“Well,” her mom said, looking her up. “Perhaps I’ll drop by tomorrow and see how they’re doing.”

“I think they’ll like that.” Taryn agreed with relief.

Before her mom could speak, the phone rang abruptly.

Frowning, her mom reached automatically to answer it.

“Hello?” she asked into the mouthpiece.

A moment’s pause, then she asked, “and who shall I say is calling?” her voice laden with suspicion.

“One moment please.” She said.

Dropping the phone slightly, she covered the receiver with her hand.

“Honey, there’s someone named Franks on the line for you.”

Taryn wondered who that could be, then remembered the man from the shooting range.

“Oh!” she blurted, in surprise. “Running Cloud! I forgot all about…eep!” she held out her hand for the phone, which her mother handed promptly over.

“Mister Running Cloud! I’m sorry! I forgot to call you.” She said.

The deep, calm voice she remembered came to her ear. “That’s all right, Miss Grogan. You’ve been quite busy.”

“Yes. Thank you so much for that warshield, it really came in handy!” she said.

“Did it?” he sounded pleased. “I worked on that shield for two weeks, and grandfather insisted on blessing it himself. I’m glad to hear you had some use out of it.”
Taryn winced. “Yeah, it got tore up pretty bad though, I’m sorry.”

“What did you do to it?” he asked, his voice sounded curious and a trifle upset.

“Um, I used it in a gunfight.” She admitted.

There was silence on the other end of the line. “You used a spear and shield in a gunfight.” His voice sounded incredulous.

“Yeah.” Taryn admitted. “They were the only weapons I had on me at the time, and they worked great!”

“But the shield is only pine plank under boiled leather skins.” Running Cloud said incredulously. “There is no way it should have stopped any kind of bullet.”

“No, but it makes for a great bludgeon and stops fragments of debris from striking you.” Taryn told him.

“I see.” He said, even though his voice told her that quite plainly he didn’t.

Taryn sighed; she just couldn’t describe how she’d fought with any sort of detail; it had become a series of flashes, moments that she could remember and see, but nowhere near enough to be coherent when talking about it now.

She’d talked to Ben about it, and he told her not to worry about it; the memories would come back.

She trusted his judgment (he’d been in the Middle East after all), so she let the matter be.

“So what are you calling for?” she asked, both to break the silence and because she couldn’t actually remember what he’d wanted last time.

“Hmm? Oh. I wanted to talk to you about the use of your Native stage name.”

“I told you, I’m very sorry about that.” Taryn told him with a sigh. “It wasn’t my idea to go with Free Spirit, that name was forced on me. I’ve just used it because I thought it wasn’t quite tribal, and because the native getup was also part of my forced stage career, and I hadn’t been clever enough to actually create something different.”

“That isn’t what I meant.” The voice said dryly. “I wasn’t going to censure you about it, both because we know that the name was forced on you to begin with, but also because we have learned that you are part Native American.”

“Only one-sixteenth on my father’s side!” Taryn exclaimed.

“But still, you have some of our blood.” He insisted. “And you are helping bring awareness of our people again in ways that we have not been able to do.”

“What do you mean?” Taryn asked in surprise. “I haven’t said anything about the tribes, honest!”

“No, but your costume, the performances you gave in the circus and at the shooting range, they have sparked interest in our spear-making and culture that we long thought dead. Your very uniqueness has made learning about the First People exciting again, for you are seen as one of us, even if it is for show.” He explained.

“Wait, what are you saying?” Taryn demanded, lost and confused.

“We would like you to continue representing us.” Running Cloud said. “It would please the elders to, if you would come to be with us and learn about your heritage. We can teach you much.”

Taryn opened her mouth to protest that she wasn’t capable of doing something like that, but what came out instead was, “Could you teach my the spear?”

“You seem most adept with it already.” Running Cloud said dryly.

“Not really.” Taryn said. “I know a little, Halls didn’t have a clue about spear work, but she did know a lot about stick fighting in general.”

“I see.” Running Cloud mused.

He stayed silent on the other end for so long Taryn opened her mouth to ask and see if they’d lost connection when he spoke again.

“I will ask amongst our people, ans see if there can be found a teacher worthy of your ability.”

His sudden solemnity and formality startled her; a chill crept up her backs as she felt forces around her body pushing; delicate and invisible as the wind in the forest, and she wondered what it meant.

“I accept.” She heard herself say, while she looked inward to find the cause of the feeling.
Wait, what am I saying? Taryn jerked herself back to the present; both the feeling she’d been trying to capture and the moment past.

“All right. I’ll have something for you soon.” Running Cloud promised. “And I’ll speak to the elders; perhaps they might know someone with the skills that you seek.”

And before she could say anything else he hung up the phone.

“So, you are going to be traveling to the tribes?” her mother’s eyebrows disappeared underneath her hairline as she looked at Taryn.

“I guess so.” Taryn said. “Not really what I expected, to be honest with you.” She admitted, “but Running Cloud claims I’m sparking interest in the tribes like nothing they’ve seen before, and they want that interest to continue.” She said thoughtfully, “I suspect they’ll use the publicity I’ll get, especially if they can claim I’m one of them by birth and not just because someone painted me up and introduced me as such.”

Her mother shook her head. “I don’t like this.” She announced. “You shouldn’t be being used like this, it’s disgusting.”

“Yes, but it’s the way it works, mom.” Taryn soothed. “Besides, I’ll get a chance to learn more about the spear and how to use it to the max, which could be useful if I get attacked again.”

“I still want you to carry a gun.” Her mother said stubbornly, repeating herself in an argument they’d had before over and over. “Sylvie carries three with her, and I carry one as well; Taryn, spears aren’t used in fighting anyone anymore! They aren’t going to approach you with knives or swords and challenge you to a duel! They’ll shoot you from beyond your reach or knife you from some alley or in some crowd.” Her eyes filled with tears and she bit back a sob.

“Mom!” Taryn cried in alarm, hurrying over to wrap her in a tight hug. “I’ll be fine! I promise you, I can do a lot more with this spear then you might expect, even against folks with guns; remember how I handled it when the bastards attacked the police station?”

“Yes,” her mother sniffed, then glared sharply, “but watch your language, young lady!”

Taryn didn’t bother to point out the fact that, by any stretch of anyone’s imagination she would have to be considered an adult; she was eighteen after all, and felt older still from her experiences. Yet her mother would always consider her a child, and Taryn understood that.

“Sorry mom. What I’m trying to point out, however, is that my spear is more dangerous than people realize, and being part of my outfit these days, people expect me to have it, and so I always have an excuse to have it near. I don’t have that with any sort of gun, and my costume doesn’t leave me with many places to hide one.”

“You could carry a purse, and slide one in there.” Her mother pointed out.

“That’s true.” Taryn agreed. “But my character never carries a purse.”

“Well then, change her!” her mother snapped. “You aren’t set in stone! You can bloody well change, and part of that could be carrying around a native purse or something that you can carry a gun or pepper spray or something in!”

Taryn stepped back, shaken by her mother’s vehemence; and truth to tell, her excuses against carrying a gun were flimsy and pale, and she knew that; but in all her life Taryn had never carried a gun and for some reason the thought of having one with her at all times scared her more than she could put in words. Why that should be Taryn couldn’t say, even if she’d been asked.
But her mom had excellent points; the spear was a weapon that, though she could handle it surprisingly fast for its size and with an agility belied by its cumbersome appearance, the plain fact was she had to perform more steps to throw it than someone who drew and pulled a trigger.

Perhaps she could get a gun; she’d need a permit like Sylvie, of course, but Taryn doubted she would have any problem with that, especially if she asked Bengal for help.

Still, she came back to the feeling that, in an emergency, she would naturally go for her spear first, and the gun would be forgotten on her hip.

You won’t be able to tell that unless you are in that situation, she thought philosophically.

“All right mom,” she said soothingly, “I’ll try and apply for the permit to carry. Perhaps something like Sylvie’s so it doesn’t look out of place?”

“Actually,” her mom smiled with relief, glad she’d finally won, “I was thinking of something that had a magazine, so you can fire quicker than she could.”

Taryn shook her head. “You remember the competition?” she asked dryly.

Her mom laughed. “All right, so she might still be able to shoot faster than you, but having a magazine would let you be comparable to her at least!”

“If you say so mom.” Taryn shook her head.

“Oh, by the way, before I forget, when are these lessons of yours supposed to be?”

“I don’t know.” Taryn admitted. “He said he’d call me and arrange something.”