When nobody could eat another bite, Lynn began to get up but stopped when Chell leaned back and lifted a finger to catch Chera’s attention.

  “I got word this afternoon that Base Camp Village wants a number of precisely cut rocks as soon as possible. They’ve decided to build a wall and gate around the Opal Cavern to protect it from vandals. Loraf and I could use your help if Mindik can spare you.”

  “How long would it take us to complete the job?” asked Chera.

  Chell frowned thoughtfully at the ceiling. “Three weeks.”

  “Good. I’ll do research in the mornings and work with you in the afternoons. Mindik wanted me to wait on an order of new picks anyway, because this mountain is ruining the ones we’ve been using. He says they lose their sharp edge because the rock on Slopes is so old and hard.”

  “How is Mindik?” Loraf asked.

  Chera laughed. “Need you ask? He’s on an exploration. Nothing matters to Mindik when he’s on an exploration except whatever he’s looking for—in this case, dead animal bones. An old mountain should have old bones in it, he thinks.”

  “What you mean to say is, the fossils of the animals who lived on Tarth a long time ago,” corrected Lynn, but Chell could tell his wife was thinking of something else, because her correction didn’t have much force behind it.

  “That’s what I said,” Chera assured his mother solemnly, “dead animal bones. Mindik can’t think about anything else.”

  “He ought to think more about Cherry,” Lynn blurted out her real thoughts, and Chell nodded in agreement, noting that the table-at-large was nodding along with him.

  Sylla remarked quietly, “I don’t see how Cherry can stand these long separations. Have they set a date for their wedding yet?”

  The table-at-large shook heads in a mournful no.

  “He isn’t thinking,” Lynn muttered and started clearing the table.

  There was a loud noise as everyone pushed back their chairs and jumped up to help, but Chell wasn’t surprised when Chera answered as smoothly as if there had been perfect peace and quiet. Nothing squelched their youngest son.

  He grabbed his plate with one hand, a serving dish with the other, and announced jauntily at the same time, “Oh, he’s thinking all right—about bones, you know.”

  “Mom, who’s that?” he asked in a different tone of voice after he had crossed the kitchen and put his dishes in the sink.

  Chell slid his own dish into the sink and peered out the window. It was darkening rapidly now and a foggy drizzle was making visibility even more difficult. He could barely make out the shapeless raincoat covering a short body that was trudging out to the well.

  His wife’s mouth twisted. “It’s Bumble. You haven’t forgotten your old school friend, have you?”

  “Bumble? You mean Bumbly Bell, don’t you?” Chera asked sharply.

  Lynn put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. Chera was the only person in the village who refused to use the nickname Bumbly Bell’s aunt and uncle had given her not long after they’d moved into her cottage.

  Four years ago Lynn had walked across the adjoining yards and found the girl’s parents dead at their kitchen table. Partial servings of scrambled eggs cooked with mushrooms—poisonous mushrooms—had been lying on their plates. Everyone in Parsleyville had gone into shock.

  Such a thing never happened to the mushroom-wise Stallis. Fortunately Bumbly Bell had been sleeping at a friend’s house the night before and hadn’t eaten breakfast at home. She’d heard the news at the same time everyone else heard it. Immediately her aunt and uncle had come to live with her, but the traumatized fourteen-year-old had deteriorated over the years from a bright active girl into a lethargic young woman.

  Chell and Lynn went out of their way to speak kindly to her. Often they invited their next door neighbors to supper and every evening they asked Keshua’s father, the Great One, to take care of her. What else could they do?

  Lynn grimaced. She liked to fix things. She didn’t like to admit there was nothing else she could do.

  “Bumble is an insulting name. The Fink gave it to her deliberately,” Chera continued his protest.

  “You shouldn’t call him a fink. His name is Finken,” Lynn responded automatically, still trying to come up with a solution to the problem.

  “Yeah, well, her name is Bumbly Bell,” countered Chera.

  “They nicknamed her Bumble because she’s always dropping things. Finken and Faso get annoyed,” Loraf pointed out as he came up behind them with an armload of dirty dishes.

  “You mean Fatso and the Fink,” muttered Chera.

  This time Lynn glared at him. “Chera! You will not talk about our neighbors in that way.”

  He subsided, but she saw his face as he glanced back out the window. It wasn’t a bit repentant.

  R

  Two days later Mindik straightened up on the western slope of the mountain he had chosen to explore, rubbed his back, and glanced around to see if anyone needed help. It was unlikely; they had been working on the surface of Slopes for almost four weeks now, and everyone knew what to do. Still, he liked to check periodically. He was the leader of this expedition, and it was his job to make sure everything was going smoothly.

  Botan waved from the north and Mindik waved back. He couldn’t see Pesom in her southeastern location, but one of the members of her group was waving. Wait, he was pointing. Two people were coming out of the forest at the bottom of the mountain.

  Mindik stared hard and then whistled under his breath. Climbing up the mountainside toward him were the chief directors of the Parsleyville Archives. They must have identified the animal Pesom had found.

  This was big! He had to bring the group together. Pesom especially deserved to hear the name of the creature she had found. Scrambling across the mountain, Mindik banged on the bell they had hung for emergencies. Maybe the news didn’t constitute an emergency, but he didn’t care. Everyone would want to hear this.

  The archival directors stayed a full hour. After Mindik had waved goodbye to them, he turned beaming toward Botan and Pesom.

  “Can you believe this?” he asked, trying hard to ignore the scowl on Pesom’s face.

  She had stayed very quiet throughout the archivists visit. Modest, he’d thought, trying hard to fool himself, but he’d known better. He, Pesom, and Botan had known each other since childhood. They could tell when one of them was upset, though he’d never seen such a scowl on Pesom’s face. Actually, he’d never seen any scowl on her face. She had always been known for her kind gentle ways, but at the moment the young woman in front of him didn’t look either kind or gentle.

  Furthermore, now the two visitors were gone, she was no longer staying quiet.

  “Spidergut is the most sickening name I can imagine. How dare they give such a name to my fossil!” she fumed.

  Botan tried to reason with her.

  “Somebody named the animal a long time ago, Pesom. The archivists only identified it. Spiderguts got their name because—”

  “Don’t tell me that nauseating reason again,” Pesom snapped before turning her back on her old friend.

  Botan shifted positions and stared at Mindik as if he expected him to come up with an explanation for their friend’s behavior.

  Mindik sighed. His jaw joint tightened. Both bodily reactions had begun around the time he’d started leading exploration groups. He had never sighed or clenched his jaw as a child. Now the joints around his mouth were often sore, and he had to hide sighs several times a week.

  “We’re almost through with the more promising sites on the outside of the mountain. In a week or two we can switch to caves. I can hardly wait to get inside Slopes,” he reminded his two team leaders, hoping to change Pesom’s mood.

  “Slopes of Death,” muttered Pesom, but she left to rejoin her group.

  Mindik winced at her use of the mountain’s full name. He didn’t know how this place had earned such an unsavory label, but he did know the mountain was old, very old.

  Slopes of Death didn’t slope very steeply now, though maybe it had years ago when it first received its name. A grassy area on the top of the mountain seemed like a place someone might choose for a picnic lunch. Interestingly enough no one did.

  On their occasional mornings off, the explorers stayed together in small comfortable bunches. Mindik had noticed the tendency but hadn’t said anything about it; neither had he said anything when someone shortened the mountain’s name to Slopes. Ostensibly the shortened name made it easier to say, but the real reason, as everyone knew, was to leave out the ugly part. In fact, he had switched to the shortened name along with everyone else.

  After all, the slopes were exactly where they were working.

  Soon though, they would be able to leave the surface of the mountain and start exploring its caves. Then everyone could forget the ominous name and what it might mean.

  Two

  Biscuits and Archery

  “We’d love to come for supper,” Faso assured Lynn heartily, licking her lips as if she could already taste the good food.

  They chatted a few minutes longer. Then Lynn walked down her neighbor’s porch steps and across the yard toward her own home, all the while questioning the wisdom of having them over for supper while Chera was there. He had such a bad attitude toward Faso and Finken, but then again, he’d been friends with Bumble. Maybe he could brighten up the poor girl. It was possible Keshua wanted to work through her son for Bumble’s good. That makes it worth the risk.

  “Be polite when they come,” she told him at lunch.

  Chera swallowed the last bite of his sandwich without responding. His face must have taken on an ominous cast, because his mother took an involuntary step backwards when she saw it. He didn’t change his expression for the better. If anything, he worsened it, but Lynn did not back up any further.

  “Be polite for Bumble’s sake. She needs a friend, but if you antagonize her aunt and uncle, they won’t let you near her,” she insisted in what was obvious strategy to insure his cooperation.

  “Bumbly Bell’s not a child anymore. She can choose her own friends,” he objected sharply.

  “She’s more a child than an adult,” Lynn disagreed, her mouth twisting in a way Chera hated to see.

  He blamed Fatso and the Fink. His mother did not usually take steps backward or make defeatist mouth movements.

  Lynn continued, “You’ve been gone so often over the past few years that you haven’t noticed, but everyone else has. The poor girl works hard around the cabin, but she’s not mentally alert.”

  “Yeah, Bumbly Bell does ALL of the work around there as far as I can tell,” he grumbled, but his face softened despite himself and he saw his mother smile hopefully.

  At suppertime Lynn could hear her neighbors talking when they came outside onto their porch. At least she could hear Faso and Finken talking, and she went over to the window to watch them.

  The sound of the front door opening and closing carried easily through the clear mountain air, as Bumble went back indoors, returning with Faso’s shawl. Spring evenings could be chilly in the Stalli Mountains.

  Chera, who had been slouching in the sitting area of their kitchen, joined his mother at the window, where he stared fixedly at their three neighbors. Lynn watched him uneasily out of the corner of her eyes. When she glanced back out the window, Faso was in the process of easing herself down the steps.

  Sunshine stood up on the cushioned seat of a porch chair and stretched, as if the cat meant to follow the old woman. She lifted a paw, dangled it in the air a few seconds, and then curled up again in the chair. Lynn didn’t know what had made the cat decide not to come, but she did know the decision wasn’t based on the green dog bouncing up and down on the porch under Lynn’s window.

  Sunshine and Stupo had worked out their relationship a long time ago. While it was regrettably true that the dog had shown an inclination toward kitten chasing in his younger days, he had developed wiser habits after the maturing cat had outgrown him. When their paths crossed these days, dog and cat sniffed at each other with friendly tolerance.

  “Not worth the effort,” Sunshine was indicating in a bored manner right now as she yawned widely and re-cuddled her head between her paws.

  Lynn read the body language easily and started to comment on it but stopped. Her youngest son wasn’t in the mood to be interested in a cat’s body language. On the other hand, he was nodding his head approvingly at the increased volume of Stupo’s barking as their neighbors approached.

  “Fatso waddles and the Fink struts,” he muttered.

  He didn’t say anything about Bumble, Lynn noticed, though the awkward girl stumbled twice.

  “Chera,” she scolded automatically.

  “I know, I know,” he responded, pushing away from the window.

  Much to her delight, Lynn had found several large melvefish in the family fish trap that morning. She’d encrusted the fillets with a mixture of bread crumbs and ground nuts, before frying them to a beautiful golden brown. She’d also made a salad with fresh spring lettuce and carrots from her garden, and had ruthlessly cleared their asparagus bed. The asparagus tips were so small and tender they hardly needed to be chewed.

  Chera stayed unusually quiet most of the evening.

  “Good biscuits, Mom,” he finally commented toward the end of the meal, staring pointedly at the empty breadbasket near Faso.

  It wasn’t hard to read his mind. If their neighbor waddled when she went back home, it would be because she had eaten close to a dozen biscuits, each of them dripping with butter and honey. Such behavior would have earned any of Lynn’s boys a definite reprimand. Faso, however, being company was safe from criticism.

  Faso chuckled merrily. “I’ve always had a weakness for good bread. Your biscuits are better than Bumble’s, Lynn. Maybe you could tell her how you do them sometime.”

  Lynn smiled at the girl. “I’d love to. Why don’t you come over tomorrow morning, Bumble? I can show you better than I can tell you, and we’ll have a good time too.”

  Finken and Faso stiffened in their chairs. Bumble stared down at her plate.

  “It’s not—” began her uncle testily, but Chera took over the conversation.

  “What a great idea! If you two make biscuits tomorrow morning, I can taste test them at lunch. I’ll look forward to it, but we’re not through with supper yet, are we, Mom? Don’t we have a pound cake for dessert?”

  “Yes,” Lynn admitted, “only how on Tarth did you know? I made it after lunch yesterday so the smell would be gone before you got home. Then I hid it in the cupboard so you wouldn’t do a little taste testing on it last night. Honestly, Chera, I think you know there are sweets in this kitchen before you come through the door.”

  Her son declared solemnly, “I do. A certain aura floats out the windows. It’s no use trying to hide anything from me, Mom. I can sense what the aura is saying.”

  Chell snorted. “Ha! He snoops through the cupboards after you go to bed, Lynn. I caught him at it last night.”

  “And what were you doing in the kitchen that time of night, Dad?” Chera asked.

  “Not telling,” answered his father briefly and grinned.

  “Snooping! There’s more than one taste tester in this family,” Chera informed his mother.

  “I know,” Lynn dryly said, going to a side cupboard and drawing out a large crusty pound cake.

  “She can’t come for long,” continued Finken as if he hadn’t heard any of their banter. His lips had pursed together into a point as if they wanted to peck someone.

  Faso had her gaze fixed on the cake, but she backed up her husband.

  “Bumble has chores to do and it takes her more time than most people to do them. She’s slow, you know. She’ll break something too. You can count on it. That’s why we call her Bumble.”

  Faso laughed heartily and Chera’s face took on its ominous cast. Lynn quickly intervened.

  “Tomorrow morning then, Bumble,” she stated brightly.

  The young woman stared at the piece of cake on her plate without responding. It was after they’d said their goodbyes and were heading out the door, that her eyes met Lynn’s in a brief glance. Then she turned and followed her aunt and uncle home.

  Lynn didn’t know what the glance was supposed to mean, but she did know it made the sides of her mouth twist so hard they hurt. Quickly she reached for an apron.

  Chera told her, “I’ll clean up. I need to do something. Did you see how they treated her? She doesn’t have a chance around them.”

  Lynn didn’t respond. She had always thought Faso and Finken were strict but loving toward their niece. But tonight—

  “Let Chera take care of things. You and I can sit on the back porch,” Chell suggested from behind her, and she turned to put her arms around him.

  Lynn often hugged her husband, but she didn’t often press her face against his shoulder. She could tell he was surprised, and she knew without looking his forehead had creased.

  “It’s Bumble, isn’t it?” he asked, as if he already knew the answer. He steered her outside to where Stupo had already taken his customary place at the foot of her chair.

  Lynn had always cared deeply about weak helpless people.

  “It’s a good trait. You have a kind heart,” Chell had told her more than once.

  Maneuvering around the small dog who was managing once again to be everywhere she wanted to put her feet, Lynn dropped into the chair. Deep feelings and kind hearts were all very well and good, but it was what Keshua had told her years ago that put backbone into caring as far as she was concerned.

  “Learn to trust me. All your life, Lynn, that’s what I want you to do. Learn to trust me.”

  So do it, she ordered herself, relaxing against the back of the chair and taking a deep breath of the fresh mountain air.

  R

  “Hand me the pick,” Finken ordered sharply.

  He often spoke sharply when he was working on an especially beautiful gem. It was meticulous work only an expert could do right. His wife gave him the pick, and then leaned forward over the yellow cat in her lap so she could watch him work. When he had freed the small purple stone from its rough rock enclosure, they both sat back and breathed easier.