Bhyr: Science Fiction Romance (Alien Warrior Book 3)

by Penelope Fletcher

  Without a single joule of effort, I was two for three out of the survival trifecta of water, shelter and food.

  I calmed. ‘Shelter, then.’

  Deciding my next steps once I’d found a safe place to rest and worked through the worst of my panic was a better idea than following knee-jerk reactions…like bolting down the trail I kept gazing at with longing. What if Bhyr and the Horde were camped at the end of it? Shelter was the priority, not chasing after a maybe, and third sun had already set.

  Dithering for longer meant I risked wandering an arctic wilderness during the prime hunting time for nocturnal predators. ‘Direction?’ I turned a slow circle and took in my options. It helped. The dark spear of Last Mountain was visible from where I stood, its uppermost peaks wreathed in wispy clouds. Perfect. I had a solid bearing for the nest.

  The trail lead away from the landmark, however, and that made me hesitate.

  Wracked with indecision, I went with my gut, which told me to head towards the mountain. I could survive indefinitely at Bhyr’s nest. He was bound to show up at some point. I’d have a bunch of explaining to do after I tore him a new asshole for his latest heavy-handed stunt, and then kissed him all over.

  Confident of the overall plan, I pulled my hood up and headed in the direction I’d chosen. It took less than two hours before I hit an obstacle.

  The ground ended.

  A city-sized canyon as deep as a skyscraper lay between me and my destination. It was shaped like a butter bean, the earthen bowl sooty and layered with striations of rich purple and scattered with eroding rock formations. I now understood why the trail headed the other way. I’d have to walk around the canyon. I’d have to walk in the opposite direction to move forwards. It would take days. Days. Who the hell walked for days except pilgrims?

  I burst into tears. They puttered out when a barbed wind clawed me in the face. I huddled deeper into my hood.

  Wiping my chin, I sucked it up and turned around to retrace my steps. The day drew to an end, and the temperature plummeted. Snow fell in sparkling flakes to dust the tree boughs and encrust the pink leaves. It was difficult to appreciate the untouched majesty of Vøtkyr’s wilderness with as much reverence as it deserved, uneasy as I was. The air was so cold and dry each inhalation razored my throat. Even the wind was harsh, scouring my face until it felt red raw. I resisted the urge to duck my head, trudging on with squinted eyes on my wild surroundings. I grew increasingly anxious until, with the last slivers of daylight, I found a rock shelter with withered scrub bush at its borders. The overhang projected six feet, five feet off the ground, it’s rough walls standing seven feet apart.

  Exhausted, I crawled under its scant protection, the howls and feral noises too close for peace-of-mind. My skin pimpled with gooseflesh and twitched with cold as I removed my padded mittens to dig the largest hot rock from my pouch with numb fingers. It was the size of a ping pong ball. I smacked it against the floor until it emitted an otherworldly glow that radiated heat. I huddled over, back propped against the craggy wall.

  There was no skyglow.

  When darkness fell it was absolute. The stars pressed down in their billions. Slitted pupils of predators reflected the moonlight in eldritch gleams as they hunted unlucky prey across the tundras, but I was left undisturbed.

  During the darkest hours, the heavens twinkled. I relaxed enough to nap, but it was fitful and short.

  Snowbound at first light, I carved a shallow channel through the new fall with my arms, working up a sweat. I was reluctant to leave the shelter, but I had to press on. It was hard going. I lifted my legs past the knee to take a step in the snowdrifts, and set my feet down toes first in case the ground wasn’t solid.

  It was mostly flat snow over rolling hills, but there were occasional sinkholes and shifting patches of thin ice I suspected were caused by meltwater from a jökulhlaup, a body of water that had welled from a subglacial lake–like the one that surrounded Last Mountain–and pushed outward to create a flood that froze over. I’d seen the devastation one could cause on a trip to Iceland with university friends, safely ensconced in a helicopter and taking selfies on my mobile. I’d thought the natural wonder exciting at the time. Now, it was nothing but terrifying as I trudged over land riddled with treacherous evidence of the planet’s geothermal activity.

  The rotten-egg stink of sulphur had my eyes watering long before I discovered the hot spring it wafted from.

  Further proof the area was unstable.

  I wrinkled my nose and pinched my nostrils. ‘Whew.’

  I hovered for a while, the warmth it gave off too useful to skip by without appreciating. I adjusted to the smell but avoided the pool all the same.

  Billowing gouts of steam and roiling bubbles warned me the water would scald me if I got splashed.

  Growing near the edge of the spring was an isolated grove of fruit trees. The sight was welcome in more ways than one. Food was great, but with trees of this size, there had to be a fresh water source nearby.

  My stomach rumbled.

  There was slim pickings on the ground, the deadfall either rotten mush or gnawed on by prey-creatures.

  Determined not to let the opportunity for fresh food pass, I jumped as high as I could to grab the lowest hanging branches. ‘Come to mama.’ I bashed the lichen-stained limbs to shake off the mustard-coloured gourds.

  It was risky, but they were similar to food Bhyr fed me.

  I sniffed them.

  They smelled amazing. I ate two, digging into the thick peel with my antler knife to reach the juicy flesh. Despite the tantalising smell, the taste and texture were disappointing, tart and gritty. Eh. The fruit allowed me to conserve my dried food supply, and was filling, so I gorged. The gourds were too heavy to carry as many as I’d like, so I settled for stuffing four into the deep scoop of my cape hood, repurposing it into a makeshift bag.

  Keeping the canyon within sight, I licked my fingers clean to save my freshwater store.

  Fragrant vegetation thickened and grew larger. Giant trees surrounded me on all sides, home to scurrying creatures that rustled the leaves as they skipped from bough to branch. As I suspected, a brook cut my path soon after and led me to a stream. Investigating further up the water source, I found it originated from underground, a cluster of rocks causing a natural filtration point. There were no hoof or paw prints on the embankment so far upstream. I didn’t have to worry about animals fouling the water with their waste.

  I filled my waterskin, drank my fill, then splashed my face, drying it on the inside of my cape. I had a brief worry over microbes in the water and imagined the horrible illnesses I might contract, but trusted Bhyr had had the foresight to have me inoculated against anything that would be life threatening.

  He’d given me hundreds of years of potential life. Vaccinations were simple in comparison.

  If he hadn’t there was nothing I could do about it.

  Refreshed, I spent a pleasant siesta on the bank catching my breath and rubbing my sore legs. I relaxed as much as I was able, keeping an eye on my surroundings.

  When the second sun set, it galvanised me to travel on, even if I was loathe to move.

  There weren’t too many flying bugs about, to my relief. I got bitten on my chin and the red bump itched like crazy, but I’d had worse from mosquitoes on Earth. Babi said I had sweet blood. I smiled sadly and wiped away a tear. Aside from the pests, migrating herds travelled in the distance and birds soared overhead. These animals noted my passing but left me alone. The nighttime predators wouldn’t afford me the same courtesy. My knife wouldn’t see me through the dark hours against the beasts Bhyr hunted with his warriors.

  I need another shelter to sleep in, I thought, stressed.

  It was odd to be alone after spending so much time with someone else. Memories I’d repressed since my abduction kept intruding. As if they sensed I had nothing better to do. They flickered in my mind’s eye, phantasms that refused to be ignored. I remembered the first time I glimpsed
Bhyr outside my window.

  Babi dying.

  Waking chained.

  Bhyr and I on our knees on the ice, grunting like animals.

  I processed, forcing myself to relive the terror and pain, wondering if there was anything I should have done different. The mental exercise combined with my physical efforts was oddly cathartic.

  Breathing hard, I trekked another hour before I came across a rock pile tucked into the lowest crease of a hill. A dead tree grew from the top of the mound. Its skeletal branches drooped to the ground. I spared the time to search the area and hit pay dirt: a cave concealed by a sunken boulder twice my height. I peeked inside, sniffing for spoor, expecting it to be claimed as a den. ‘Gah.’ I shouted into the dim hollow then hopped aside, in case something came charging out, and listened for movement. When nothing happened, I inched my way in, a hand pressed to the rough wall. ‘If anything is in here, don’t eat me.’ I grew confident when nothing lumbered out to try and maul me to death.

  It was bigger than the shelter I’d used the night before. It rounded at the back. The smaller entrance would be easier to defend, too. The ceiling was high enough for me to stand, and the earthen floor compacted enough to get a decent night’s sleep. It wasn’t frozen over and the temperature was warmer than outside.

  It was the best I’d find before nightfall.

  ‘Home sweet home.’

  38

  Indira

  With hours to spare before dark, I returned to the stream. I’d sweated a fair bit during my hike and picked up leaves and slimy bracken in my hair. Mud spatters dirtied my cheeks from clambering up rocks and grime was a dark line under my fingernails. Not to mention the itchy crusts of salt from melting snow that had found its way through the layers of my furs.

  In preparation of my return to the cave, I dug out a pit half a foot in diameter with a stick that snapped twice, then headed back outside and gathered stones to line it. I fished out a pair of larger hot rocks from my waist pouch and knocked them together. They heated to scorching within seconds. I placed them in the middle of the pit and piled more stones on top. Soon the heap radiated warmth. I headed outside and inhaled. The air tasted like salt and needle thin green tea. It rushed cold into my lungs and left me feeling bright inside. The only comparisons I had to the earthy scent was the smell of clean concrete drenched by an unexpected downpour. The chirrup of insects calling down the moon reminded me of crickets singing in tall country grass, and the spindly trees with their white trunks and translucent thorny leaves propped up the dusky sky. It brought to mind the stark horizon of the Fens back on Earth in winter.

  I like it here.

  It was strange to prefer a different planet to the one you were born on. I focused on placing my feet on the ground.

  When did the homesickness disappear?

  At the stream, I unwrapped my boots, and left them on the bank. I slogged through the water. It was warmer than I’d expected, freezing instead of arctic. I was surprised at how well I’d adapted to the climate. I suspected Bhyr’s tinkering with my genes had something to do with it. There was slick underwater growth, algae, growing on a few larger stones, and turning the whole riverbed a vibrant purple. I avoided them, envisioning crushing the homes of teensy fish. I fiddled with the ties to my tunic, and turned, intending to throw it on top of my boots, but my overextended leg muscles decided enough was enough.

  I lost my balance.

  The riverbed gave way under me, pebbles slipping from beneath my foot and the current did the rest.

  I ended up flat on my back, a sharp pain scoring along my calf. Spluttering, I shoved my arms down along with my good leg and managed to find my footing. I lurched up, soaked to the skin. ‘Blast.’ I hobbled to the bank and dropped my ass onto a rock with a flat top. I took a deep breath to brace myself then glanced at my calf.

  I looked away, sucking quick, trembly breaths through my nose. It looked bad, but it was more frustration than pain that had me tearing up. A strip of brown skin was gone, the startlingly white flesh underneath irritated and swelling. It bled in red pinpricks, only a little, but it was so cold, I wasn’t surprised. ‘Could be worse.’ Shivers wracked my limbs, sending water droplets flying. I could return to the warming cave and dry out my clothes. I just had to get there without leaving behind a blood trail for every predator in a ten-mile radius to follow.

  After I’d cleaned the wound, I put my boots on, treating my injured leg with extra care. Come first sun, I’d forage for the thorny weed Bhyr used as a pain-reliever to cure my headaches. He’d mentioned its roots cleansed the blood. A natural antibiotic? It might help stave off infection as long as I didn’t dirty the wound further. I cringed at the knowledge I’d been wading in water. At least it wasn’t stagnant. I’d chosen a spot as far upstream as possible to avoid animal contamination, and hoped any microorganisms present wouldn’t harm me.

  It took me longer than I liked to retrace my steps. ‘Ow, ow, ow.’ My gait was stiff, my lower leg throbbing, and ice crusted my clothing.

  This adventure sucks.

  I whimpered in relief when I spied the distinctive skeleton tree that warded my sanctuary.

  The last hundred yards, I feared something picked up my trail. I kept a roving eye on my surroundings, but spotted no predator on the hunt.

  What I did spot was the plant I needed. Thin and trampled, but still good.

  I used my trusty knife as a trowel to rake up the root, a misshapen lump. I shoved it into my soggy pouch and quickened my limp. I worried again about leading something to my resting place, then put it out of my mind.

  I had no energy to attempt to do anything about it. If it came down to it, I’d defend my shelter as best I could.

  I tossed a few pebbles into the cave to make sure it was still uninhabited. I staggered in after a few beats then dropped into a squat that ended up a dodgy lean to the side as my leg slid out. The pit let off waves of heat. I tucked my waterskin as close to it as I dared then gritted my teeth and pushed onto my feet. I peeled off my furs and spread them out. I brushed off as much of the ice as my stinging hands could stand, then left them alone. The hairs were waterproof. The saturated inner layer was the problem, but hopefully, it would be dry by morning. Without my wet clothes, I was warmer. I checked on my calf and found the gash had crusted over.

  I used a splash of warmed water to wash my hands then dribbled a fair amount over my leg. I hacked open one of the gourds and ate the pulp. ‘Ooh, yum.’ Either it was riper than the one I’d tried before or I was hungrier. I rinsed it, added more hot water and steeped the leaves into a whitish tea.

  Gagging, I forced myself finish the entire concoction. It hadn’t tasted mouldy when Bhyr gave it to me.

  I swigged a little more water, then hefted the waterskin to judge its contents and drank more. Mouth nice and moist, I cut off a thumb-sized piece of root and stuffed it between my teeth. I chewed until I had a mash then smeared it on my cut. The sting it caused eased into numbness.

  Happy with how it looked, I wrapped my leg with a torn piece of my cape then called it quits. I needed sleep, but my plan to use my furs as makeshift pallet was a bust.

  The floor was hard and radiated cold. ‘God, give me a break.’ I cried until my face was blotchy and my nose stuffy.

  My sniffles became an ear popping yawn.

  I scooted closer to the hot rocks and curled up on my side, arm tucked under my head. It was dusty and uncomfortable, but I was dry and not freezing. I had half a bladder of water left and another dose of tea and root mash. My belly was full.

  I felt terrible, but things were far from the worst.

  Bhyr said I couldn’t survive out here on my own.

  Maybe he was right.

  If my leg was worse in the morning, I’d be in serious trouble. I slept until I felt something crawling across my face.

  My lashes sprang open.

  A hairy ball the size of my fist skittered over my cheek.

  I slapped at it in panic and it burp
ed a foul smelling gas. It bounced off my chin then scurried from the cave. I reared up and covered my nose. I could taste it. I lunged for my waterskin and drank in throat filling gulps. I rubbed my fingers over my lips. ‘Gross.’

  Stiff and aching from my night on the hard ground, I eased up to huddle at the cave mouth and get the lay of the land. The sky outside was a few shades lighter. I’d slept the night without waking.

  I glanced down, then did a double take. My leg looked good. Better than good. I bent my knee and tucked my heel near my bottom. It brought my calf to the side, so I could get a closer look. I prodded the edge of the cut. There was minimal swelling, the skin around it was a normal temperature and had scabbed into a brown lump.

  I inhaled trying to smell if it had turned putrid, but only caught traces of damp rock and my own sweat.

  My head cocked, eyebrows pulling together.

  It looked smaller?

  So my exhaustion the day before had made it seem a larger gash than it was in reality? I tutted at myself. The root mash. For a natural remedy, it worked wonders.

  I washed the remaining root free from speckles of soil then reapplied the poultice.

  There had been no adverse effects, and I made a note to forage more in case I had another accident.

  The air in the cave was warm, the hot rocks going strong. I steeped the last of the horrid tea, then choked it down without complaint.

  I’d felt little in the way of aches and pains since I’d drank it. I suspected it also worked as a mild sedative. I’d slept too well on the hard ground for it to be otherwise. I shrugged. Its benefits far outweighed a negative that would be useful in a different situation.

  I ate the last of the gourd pulp raw.

  Licking tart juice from my fingers, I knee walked over to my furs and used my clean hand to fluff the hairs and stroke the smooth inner hide. Bone dry. Pleased, I washed my hand then used the water I had left to wash my face, armpits and crotch. I was mostly clean from my dunk in the stream, but the routine helped me forget I was lost and alone.