Free In Silence Waiting by Nikki McCormack Page A

though passing caravans have reinforced it over the years. In my crossings, I’ve watched humans pile some of those stones, taking false comfort from the fortification. The wall will not hinder dust storms or lir, the true perils of the New Gobi.
    One brute checks my collar before removing the manacles. The other assists Laurin in arranging wagons for the night. The brute leads me away from the activity then shoves me to the ground. Swallowing sour rage, I right myself and shake, covering him with a fine spray of red dust. His irritated scowl does nothing to slake my fury. I crouch, press my palms into the dust, and wait.
    It is one thing to be treated thus by humans. They have the prestige of being the creators of my kind. The brute is an engineered mutant.
    When anger fades to a dull throb in my veins, I stretch out my sense and encounter something west of the rocks, no more than five kilometers away. A chill moves through me as I make careful contact. It is lir. The presence seethes with malevolence. Turning all of my ability toward it, I separate its pack mind into nine individual creatures.
    It is easy to touch lir with my sense, perhaps because they communicate with a form of telepathy themselves. This ability makes them sensitive to my presence and the pack mind becomes alert, aware of me. I maintain contact, waiting for the pack to lose interest in my presence. If I pull away too fast, I risk drawing their attention to the camp.
    At the edge of my awareness, I hear the high-pitched laughter and squeals of children playing among the onlookers. Someone reprimands them gently. The brute snarls a warning. I must focus on the lir until they settle enough for me to withdraw. A shriek of laughter assaults my ears and I flinch, but my focus remains. Then something slams into my side and my sense snaps back to my physical self. In the last seconds of contact, there is a change in the lir. The pack mind is going hunting.
    Molten, animal rage severs the last tendrils of my self-control. I lash out at the careless child, needing to defend my space and punish someone for the danger they have put us all in. My claws slash instead into the leg of a man who has grabbed the child. Through the fresh tears in his pants, I see four deep gashes open in his upper thigh. For a second, the flesh is stunned, then blood gushes forth, thick and red. The heady aroma stirs buried instincts and confusion mixes with my anger and fear.
    I have committed a terrible offense. I struggle against the chain, terrified of the punishment this will bring. The brute holds on tight while the wounded man scrambles back, howling in pain. Someone grabs the screaming child. Laurin appears with a gun in hand.
    There is a frozen instant in which I meet his eyes. He doesn’t know about the lir yet. He levels the gun and fires once. I jump at the impact and sedative begins to race through me. There isn’t time to react to the pain before I sink to the ground. The world spins and nausea twists my stomach in knots. The initial assault of the sedative eases then and unnatural sleep pulls at me.
    “You simpleminded idiots!”
    Laurin yells at the crowd, the sound coming from across a great distance. The drug sends me into a mental stupor. With obsessive interest, I notice a stream of drool running from my mouth is creating a dark spot, like blood, in the red dust.
    Laurin stops his magnificent tirade to stare down at me, eyes full of disgust. I know the look well. Through it, I have come to understand hate.
    If I wanted to…
    My gaze slides listlessly to the others, those we shepherd across this waste like herd beasts. They also stare. Their eyes hold fear and hatred. They are him. Different faces and names mean nothing. I hate them all.
    If I wanted to, I could still warn him.
    I close my eyes.
    He curses and kicks dust in my face.
    It lessens my guilt.

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    Even with the sedative pulsing through me like a fever, I smell the blood of the wounded man. The lir will