Dark Matters_ Ghost Dance (Book 2) - Christie Golden [33]
"I don't understand," said Chakotay. "You said the baby had been claimed by the Crafters. Is he or she to be raised in a holy house of some sort?"
Now Soliss did look up, and grief warred with anger on his face. "The holiest house of all," he said. "The house of Nature itself. The child was born with a clubfoot. We are not permitted to keep such children. Yurula has taken it to the sacred mountain and left it there for the Crafters to take. They always do. At least," he added, "something always does. In my darker moments, I fear that it is not the Crafters, but their predatory children, the beasts of the woods. There are not many of them, but what there are, particularly the islaak, are fearsome. And prey is scarce these days."
Chakotay stared at the bleak expression. He felt the blood draining from his face. Now he recalled that every person he had seen here had been whole and straight. No blindness, no missing limbs, no twisted spines, nothing that one might expect from
what was essentially a primitive culture. There was no one who was even remotely homely among their number. Now he knew the reason for that.
The Culilann killed their imperfect children, and sweetened the horror with a sugary dusting of faith.
CHAPTER
9
JEKRI HAD SAID NOTHING, NOT EVEN TO VERRAK. BET-ter that he not know. That way, he could not be forced to tell. She, of all people, knew that if the Tal Shiar wanted to know something, it had the means to do so. She had merely told him that she was pursuing another lead and that she would be periodically out of contact over the next few days.
She had forgotten how beautiful the outskirts of the city of Tal K'shir were. Certainly, an effort had been made in the city to have the occasional garden or grassy area, but that was a pale imitation of the vast expanse of green, growing things that stretched to the horizon here, away from the city. She had seldom ventured beyond her offices and her vessel.
Sometimes she felt like a spider, wrapped securely in her web, thousands of tiny strands reaching from her to the outside. Jekri's intelligence officers were all individually selected for loyalty, intellect, and evidence that they knew how to think on their feet. She respected all of them and trusted most of them.
But she was on her own now, lingering over an ale in a tavern while the soft, muted light cast everything into comfortable shadow. In the corner, a single flute player piped a soft tune. In the heart of the city, it was cheaper to use computerized music; live performers were prohibitively expensive. But out here, the songs that came from a player's fingers cost very little. Outfitting the entire tavern with a computer system was not an option.
Despite the urgency of her mission, Jekri felt the tension melt off her shoulders like wax. Had it really been that long since she had put aside her uniform and spent some time simply sitting in a tavern?
The ale was strong. Surely that was it. Jekri took another sip, a small one, and her silver gaze flitted around the tavern for the hundredth time.
This tavern was the hotbed, her source had assured her. Jekri had rolled her eyes at the term. A handful of Romulans whispering in a tavern was hardly a "hotbed" of anything. She had dismissed the report, filing it away. Now, she was glad of the thoroughness of that intelligence gatherer. It could save her life.
Two Romulans, a male and a female, entered together. They tried to move casually, as if they were no more than a couple patronizing a tavern for a drink before dinner, or perhaps before something
more intimate. And they probably would have fooled anyone else, but Jekri had almost a sixth sense about deception. She had practiced it enough to recognize it in another's manner.
The laughter was too loud. The movements too free. And the way they kept looking about, although it was painfully