by Jane Fletcher

Katryn was still distracted back at the militia station as the initial reports were gathered. She answered questions when they were put to her, but volunteered nothing. Her first spontaneous words were on the walk to their quarters, when she said she wanted to visit the baths. Chip nodded, understanding the common and futile wish to metaphorically wash the blood from your hands.

Afterwards they again took dinner in the mess – there was no point paying for food Katryn would not taste. She ate each mouthful as if she was having to concentrate on working out how to swallow. Chip managed to keep an attempt at a conversation going, confined mainly to issues within the 23^rd squadron, although Katryn did little more than nod at the right places. Chip watched her in sympathy, remembering the first time she had killed someone. She had been five months in the rangers, a private in Sergeant O’Neil’s patrol.

It had been high summer. The patrol had spent four days on the trail of a gang of cattle thieves, and had finally overtaken them at dawn. Ash had called on the gang to surrender but they had come out fighting, and Chip, inexperienced, had been caught on her own, isolated when one of the gang rushed at her, waving an old sword that looked better suited for use as a meat-cleaver. The bandit’s clumsy swipe had been easily avoided, then Chip had moved in, ducking the back-swing and driving her own sword into the woman’s body.

Chip could not forget a single detail. It had been the classic stroke they teach new rangers, the point of her sword entered under the bandit’s ribcage, angled upwards to slice the heart and lungs. She fancied she could feel the texture of the flesh, transmitted though the hilt of her sword to her hand. There was the odd sound at the back of the dying woman’s throat, and unrelated details, the smell of mint-grass and cattle, the pattern of stitching on the woman’s shirt, the taste of dust in her mouth. The only thing Chip could not recall was the woman’s face. In her dreams for years after it had been a faceless corpse which had fallen against her and crumpled to the ground.

But Chip could remember her state of mind that night, the unrelenting rerunning of the fight through her head, the pointless questions. The rangers had handed the surviving members of the gang over to the militia in the nearest town. Afterwards Ash had dragged Chip to a tavern, bought a bottle of rough spirits and poured most of it down her throat. Years later, when Chip had also become a sergeant, the two of them had spoken about the incident. Ash had said getting drunk wasn’t a good way of coping with the reaction, but it was still a lot better than anything else she had come up with.

It had been a long time since the dead bandit had intruded into Chip’s dreams, but she still had only to close her eyes to revisit the scene. Chip flexed her hand, trying to dispel the tactile memory of the sword hilt, and the feeling of resistance as the blade had slid into the body. She looked across the table. Katryn’s eyes were fixed on her plate although it was doubtful if she saw it, or anything else in the mess-hall. The remains of her food were starting to congeal. It was obvious she would eat no more.

"Come on. I’m taking you to the inn." Chip said as she stood.

Katryn looked up. "I don’t know. I’m not sure I want…"

"Believe me. You want to come to the inn with me."

Katryn lacked the will to protest further, until they were seated in the tap-room and Chip placed a large shot of brandy next to Katryn’s tankard of beer. "I don’t drink spirits."

"You do tonight."

"No." Katryn shook her head. "You don’t understand… my gene-mother. I swore on her grave I’d never... She was murdered by a drunk... It wasn’t a outlaw, not even a petty-crook, just an ordinary woman who drank too much and lost control and killed someone… like me today." She was rambling.

"You weren’t out of control."

Katryn showed no sign of hearing. "It was like hitting a straw target. You’d think a person would be different. I can still feel the string on my fingers, the bow jerk as I loosed the arrow. And when it hit I felt that…" She clenched her fist. "…that… flash of triumph… like waiting for a judge to call bull’s-eye, and then she fell down and died. It was just like target practice, but a woman should be different."

"A woman is different – that’s why you’re sitting here with your head in pieces."

"It was so easy."

"I wouldn’t have said it was an easy shot. I know I couldn’t have managed it."

Katryn’s face twitched in a quick grimace. "The militia in the way didn’t help, but I couldn’t have missed at that range. She didn’t stand a chance."

Chip considered Katryn. It was said far too matter-of-factly to be boasting. It might be worth finding out just how good she was with a bow, but it could wait.

"Katryn, I know how you feel, we’ve all been through it. Drink the brandy. It blurs the mind so you can’t think straight, and when you’ve had enough you’ll sleep. You’ll wake up tomorrow feeling like shit. You’ll be sick and have a headache. It will be lunchtime before you’ll be in a fit state to worry about anyone else, and by then Clarinda Wright will have been dead a whole day, and you’ll have enough distance to be able to cope with it." Chip picked up the glass of brandy and held it out. "If your gene-mother were here tonight, she’d tell you to drink this."

Katryn met Chip’s gaze. For a while neither moved, then Katryn’s lips twisted as her eyes filled with tears. She reached out for the glass.

**********

At the end of the evening Chip had to half-carry Katryn back to the room. They staggered out of the inn and along the road. Katryn babbled some story from her childhood, a game of football which had become a fight. Clarinda’s name featured, though the recounting was so disjointed it was not clear whether she was the hero or the villain. Of course, Chip thought, that is one big difference. I had never met the bandit before, I never even knew her name; but Katryn grew up with the woman she killed. Chip wasn’t sure if it made things better or worse. At least there would be fewer unanswered questions.

Their irregular footsteps took them through the archway and across the main square of the compound. Their room was not much further. Katryn was still rambling. "Her fam’ly won’t wanna buy anymore bread… mama won’t be pleased… she never is w’ me… she and Cy…"Her voice ground to a halt and she slumped against a nearby wall.

Chip stood protectively close to ensure she didn’t fall. Abruptly Katryn’s shoulders started to shake with sobs. Without hesitation Chip wrapped her arms around Katryn and hugged her close, stroking her back. It was what she would have done for any ranger in similar distress, but Chip could not shake off the awareness it was Katryn she was holding. She tried to ignore the effect it was having on her, tried to stop herself enjoying the feel of Katryn’s body filling her arms, and she partially succeeded.

After a while Katryn calmed down but she still leaned against Chip. Her face was buried in Chip’s shoulder and at some stage her arms had wrapped around Chip’s waist. Cuddling like a pair of lovers. Chip mentally stamped on the thought. She tried to pull back slightly, ready to suggest they carry on walking, but Katryn’s grip remained firm and she began talking again. "I shouldn’t have joined the rangers. I can’t cope with it. I don’t like killing people."

"There’s no place in the rangers for anyone who does." Chip said firmly.

"I’m no good as a ranger."

"You’re doing fine."

Katryn moved her head slightly, burrowing into Chip’s neck. "It’s better in the 23^rd. In the 12^th… my sergeant there… her and me… we…" Katryn broke off, gulping air.

She was the affair that got you transferred. Chip surmised, but Katryn’s next words went in completely the opposite direction.

"I didn’t get on with her… not like you. I like you, you’re nice."

Katryn’s arms tightened around Chip, who was caught so completely off guard that she failed to react as one of Katryn’s hand slipped up under her jacket, while the other dropped down, pressing their hips hard together. Katryn’s head twisted, her lips brushed Chip’s throat and started to climb towards her mouth. The hand on Chip’s back was trying to pull her shirt free from her waistband. It was something that had to be stopped, Chip knew, if they weren’t to deeply regret it the next day. She didn’t know where she found the will-power, but somehow Chip managed to muster the resolve to peel Katryn off her.

Katryn stood swaying, fighting to focus her eyes. Her expression was surprised, then upset, and then surprised again. The final shift was one Chip recognised very well after eight years in the rangers. She was just able to get out of the way in time and direct Katryn’s head in a safe direction as the drunken woman threw up in the gutter. It was, Chip thought, a pretty good metaphor for her love-life in general.

Afterwards Chip manoeuvred Katryn into the latrine block and got her cleaned up. Katryn sat on a water butt, looking half dazed. "I’m sorry ma’am, I didn’t mean…"

Chip patted her shoulder. "I know you didn’t mean it. Come on. Time for sleep."

In the room Katryn collapsed on her bunk. As Chip removed Katryn’s boots and outer clothing she kept a firm hand on her thoughts, letting her eyes focus only on each button in turn. There was no way Chip would let herself sink to the level of getting an emotionally vulnerable subordinate drunk and then seducing her. Chip folded the clothes into a neat pile beside the bed.

"You don’t have to stop there." Katryn mumbled, indistinctly.

Chip turned her head, but Katryn’s eyes were closed, and within a few seconds it was obvious she was fast asleep. Chip tugged the blankets free and arranged them over Katryn, then stood, staring down at the sleeping face. For herself, Chip felt quite sober, she hadn’t attempted to match Katryn drink for drink.

Eventually Chip turned away and pushed open the window. She hitched one leg up onto the sill. Wisps of thin cloud obscured half the sky, shielding the stars over Landfall, but the auras of both moons were visible through it. The fussy crescent of Laurel was low, brushing the rooftops, while the larger glowing orb of Hardie hung high overhead. The air was crisp. Chip leaned her head back against the window-frame and considered the town of her birth.

She was pleased she had returned to Landfall, it had given the chance to put her past in context. A process not so much of laying ghosts to rest, as finding out they no longer existed. The spirits had been exorcised years ago, she just hadn’t noticed until she went looking for them. Her family had no hold on her and the temple had no hold on her. She may have been running away from them to join the rangers, but she had ended up where she belonged.

Meeting Prudence had been the point of illumination. Chip had spoken to Katryn afterwards to prove to herself that she could, with a swelling sense of freedom. And Prudence had asked her, not if she was financially solvent, or in line for promotion, but if she was happy. It was a choice of question that said much about Prudence’s own situation.

Of course, happiness didn’t mean she had no problems. Chip shifted around, turning her back on the rooftops. Katryn was now snoring. Chip studied her outline in the moonlight. She remembered Katryn hugging her, trying to kiss her – and she had stopped Katryn. Chip groaned softly, but she had no regrets. Katryn had been drunk and upset, probably not even fully aware of who she was with. If Chip had taking advantage of Katryn’s situation she would never have forgiven herself. It would have been deeply wrong – an abuse of trust.

Chip sighed and let her eyes return to the scene outside the window. Of course it was just as well Katryn had been drunk, and hadn’t meant it, because if, by the grace of the Goddess, Katryn should ever come to return her feelings they would be doomed. It would be blatantly obvious to everyone it was more than a comradely sharing of a bed, and the ranger command would simply separate them. That would go badly against Katryn, to twice be transferred between squadrons.

A bitter grin at her own expense spread over Chip’s face – adding things up like there was ever a serious chance of it happening. With Katryn’s looks she could have just about anyone she wanted, and Chip had no expectation of ever coming towards the top of anyone’s list. It went without saying someone like Katryn would have to be blind drunk to take slightest interest in someone like her. And in that lay the only hope for a solution. Unrequited love would not last forever, someday it would fade. But until than, Chip knew she did love Katryn, with every scrap of her being.

**********

It was several days before Chip and Katryn were free to leave Landfall. They had to give evidence at the preliminary hearings against Drummond and Paulino, and provide swore testaments to the magistrate (fortunately not Chip’s sister) who would try the case. There was also a brief inquest into the death of Clarinda Wright.

When not occupied with these matters the pair of them spent their time in a wandering tour of Landfall. Chip even discovered in herself an odd affection for the city as she showed Katryn around. They accepted an invitation to dinner with Prudence and her family, to the delight of Chip‘s young nieces, who were overwhelmed to have two real live rangers in the house. Chip called in on three more of her sisters, the favourite ones, and ignored the rest – including her parents.

The best bit for her was an unexpected appearance from Sandy, her mother’s retired bodyguard. The elderly woman met Chip with tears in her eyes, words spilling form her mouth. "I was sorry to throw you out, you know I didn’t want to, but your mother ordered, and I couldn’t say no. But you shouldn’t have made off that night, you should have waited round the back. I came looking for you as soon as I could, searched half of Landfall. I knew you wouldn’t return to the sanctum, you always were too damned stubborn." The two of them had hugged and headed to the inn for an evening of drunken reminiscences. That night Katryn was the one to carry Chip back to their room.

October was half way gone by the time they left for Fort Krowe. Chip and Katryn made haste to rejoin the rest of their squadron, but rain and bad weather slowed them down. The trees along the road were covered in red and orange. As they got closer to the mountains they could see the snows were already beginning to creep down the slopes. It was going to be a long winter.

As they rode the last few kilometres to Fort Krowe Chip studied the cluster of buildings on the hillside above the town. "I wonder if the rest of the 23^rd will be here waiting for us?"

"Surely they’d have got back weeks ago?" Katryn said.

"I was thinking they may have been sent out again. We’ll never get to stay here all winter. I’ll bet the border divisions have already put in requests for reinforcements."

"Will they need it?"

"They will by spring." Chip turned to look at Katryn. "Have you had any encounters with snow-lions yet?"

"Yes, once." Katryn’s tone implied it was enough.

"They’re nasty."

"I know. A ranger in another patrol was killed by them."

Chip’s face became grim. "It can happen."

They learnt the 23^rd was still billeted at Fort Krowe and had been back from Redridge for two weeks. Chip and Katryn arrived just in time to unsaddle their horses and give a full briefing to Captain LeCoup and Lieutenant Ritche before dinner. Their arrival in the mess-hall was greeted by friendly shouts and light-hearted banter. Chip slipped into her place on the C patrol table with strangely mixed feelings. It was good to be surrounded by all her comrades, and it would be less strain to no longer be forced into such close personal contact with Katryn, but she was not sure if less strain was really want she wanted. Katryn’s company was the most enjoyable torment she had ever known. However she was so busy talking she did not have time to think about it, everyone wanted to hear of what had happened in Landfall.

After the meal Kim caught up with Chip by the door. "I need to have a word with you."

"In the tavern of your choice?" Chip suggested.

Kim shook her head. "Not the right venue."

"What is it?" Chip was apprehensive at the expression on Kim’s face.

"Not here. Come over to my room."

Chip followed her friend across the parade ground to B patrol’s bunk-house. As sergeant Kim had a small private room at the end. Kim closed the door and sat down on the edge of her bed, leaving the padded lid of the chest opposite for Chip. Her expression was serious.

"You got my note about Katryn?" Kim asked.

"Yes, thanks, but she hadn’t, strictly speaking, been lying. I challenged her and…"

Kim interrupted. "Yes. I know. When we got back here Ritche looked at her records. I admit it was something I hadn’t thought of." She paused. "Nine years in the militia. Did she tell you why she left?"

"No. I didn’t ask."

Kim looked faintly uncomfortable. "Did you get on well?"

Chip couldn’t help smiling. "Are you trying to find out if we slept together?"

"Not quite that simple. But since you’ve raised the issue…?"

Chip shook her head.

"Do you still want to?"

"Kim!" Chip protested, mainly from confusion. "Where is this going?"

Kim combed her fingers though her hair. "I just wondered, how you got on. What you made of her as a person. How you would sum her up."

"I like her." Chip caught her lip in her teeth. "And since you asked, yes I do still want to sleep with her, but I’m not planning on doing it."

"She didn’t tell you why she left the militia after nine years?"

"No. I’ve already told you that."

"Did she tell you why she was transferred from the 12^th?"

"No."

"Do you think she’s been completely honest with you? Is she trustworthy?"

Chip hesitated before answering. "I think she’s still holding something back. But I trust her."

A frown appeared on Kim’s face. She pinched the bridge of her nose as if trying to ease it, or to muster her thoughts. At last she began, "Ash has some contacts in Eastern Division – she’s got contacts everywhere. She sent a letter to a friend there, to see what was known about Katryn… why she was transferred. Ash got a letter back yesterday morning. What it said was…" Kim sighed and looked at Chip. "It said she murdered her patrol sergeant… stabbed her in the back."

"What…!" Chip shouted in disbelief and then slumped back in her seat. "Oh, come on Kim, be sensible. If she’d murdered someone she’d have been strung up by the neck, not transferred to another squadron."

"What Ash’s friend said was that everyone knew she’d done it, but it couldn’t be proved. She’d have been lynched if she’d stayed in the 12^th, so they had to move her."

"How could anyone know she’d done it if there was no proof?"

"Apparently there was no direct evidence, but the sergeant was found with a trail-knife in her back, and Katryn was the only one with the opportunity to put it there."

"If there had been any sort of case to answer they wouldn’t have let her go."

"Logically you’re right." Kim conceded. "But we don’t know the circumstances. That’s why I asked for your impression of her."

Chip closed her eyes and covered her face with her hands, thinking. Eventually she dropped her arms and looked up. "She didn’t do it."

"You sound very sure."

"I am."

"Why?"

"In Landfall… you heard she killed one of the bandits – a pretty neat shot with a bow. I saw her reaction. It was the first time she’d ever killed anyone."

"Are you sure it wasn’t just a prod to a guilty conscience?"

"Yes." Chip answered simply.

"It’s not exactly conclusive proof."

"That puts it level with the evidence against her. She didn’t do it, I’d stake my life on it."

"It might come to that if she’s in the habit of sticking knives into her patrol sergeant."

"I owe her my life as it is; that thug would have killed me if Katryn hadn’t shot her first. But you weren’t there, you didn’t see how it affected her. I tell you, she’s never killed anyone else."

Kim pursed her lips. "The letter also said there were rumours she’d left the militia to escape some trouble that was catching up with her."

"Rumours?" Chip made the question a challenge.

Kim gave a dismissive wave of the hand for a reply.

"Who else knows what was in the letter?"

"Just Ash and me. We wanted to wait until you got back."

Chip stood up. "Okay. I’ll try and get some answers."

"How?"

"Like before. I’m going to ask her."

"You already have." Kim pointed out.

"This time I’m going to ask for the complete story. Nothing less than the whole truth."

**********

Katryn was in the C patrol bunk-house when Chip entered, talking to Lee Horte and some others from the patrol. They were asking about the raid on Drummond’s, and Katryn was clearly being modest about her archery skills.

"Here she is at last." Lee exclaimed, spotting Chip. "We were about to head off to a tavern, but thought we’d see what you were doing."

"It’s okay. I have something I need to sort out up here."

"You’re trying to tell us we needn’t have wasted valuable drinking time waiting for you?" Lee joked ironically. "Okay, let’s go. We’ll be in the Cat and Fiddle if you have time later." She went to the door with the rest of the patrol trailing behind.

"Um… Private Nagata." Chip spoke up. "I’ll need you to stay here as well."

"Yes ma’am." Katryn stopped immediately. Like the others she had a ranger’s thick winter cloak around her shoulders. After a quick, questioning glance at Chip she took it off and hung it in her locker.

Once the others had gone Chip indicated the door to her room. "We’ll talk in there."

All the four bunk-houses were identical in layout, including the sergeant’s accommodation. The room wasn’t large; the bed completely filled one wall. The only other furniture was a cupboard, a low chest with padded lid that served as a seat, and a small folding table, which was currently collapsed against a wall. Chip pointed Katryn to the chest. She considered remaining standing herself, but in the end sat on the edge of her bed, reversing her position from the conversation in Kim’s room. Katryn waited for Chip to start talking, her expression was mystified, but Chip fancied there was apprehension as well.

It took some time for Chip to find the words. "It’s just occurred to me, although I’ve twice accepted your assurance you haven’t been court-martialled, I’ve never actually asked you why you were transferred from the 12^th." Katryn’s eye widened slightly, but she said nothing. "And now I’ve heard some rumours concerning a dead sergeant."

"I didn’t murder her." Katryn interjected.

"Was it murder?"

"Yes ma’am, but it wasn’t by me."

"You make it sound as if someone has accused you."

"Someone did. But I wasn’t charged."

"You haven’t mentioned this before."

"No, ma’am." Katryn clenched her teeth, but then went on talking. "I didn’t think it was a good way to introduce myself. To tell people as soon as I met them I’d been transferred because some people thought I’d murdered my previous sergeant."

"It was going to come out eventually."

"I know." Katryn’s eyes dropped to the floor. "I’ve not been wasting much effort worrying about my long-term future."

Chip studied Katryn’s face. She remembered her first impressions of Katryn, the hopelessness and the fear, which she now understood. It had not merely been apprehension at meeting strangers in an unfavourable situation, it was the knowledge things would get worse, not better. The rumours would catch up, and no squadron was going to respond well to a murderer in their midst – certainly not one who had killed another ranger.

Chip decided to push things a little bit further. "I’ve also heard you had to flee from the militia, which is why you applied to the rangers."

This time Katryn looked confused. She shook her head. "No, ma’am. That’s just people making things up." Then despair swept over her face. For a moment it seemed her composure would collapse completely, but she brought herself back under control.

"So why don’t you tell me the full story?" Chip spoke more softly.

"It isn’t straight forward."

"It doesn’t matter. Take your time. But this is your chance to tell me everything. I don’t want to be back here in another month, asking for explanations of the next set of rumours."

Katryn turned her face and stared at the darkened glass of the window. Her expression held the hopeless despair of their first meeting, her hands were balled in fists in her lap, but after several ragged breaths she nodded unevenly. "Okay, but I’m not sure where to start."

"Why don’t you start with why you left the militia after nine years?"

Katryn nodded again. Her face was now calm, resigned, almost relived. "That would be in August last year. There was a heat wave at the start of the month. I guess it all began with me doing a night patrol with another colleague …"

END OF PART ONE

continued in part two, chapter 8

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