Ignis

by Lula Monk

  Chapter 12

  Ignis

  Awareness came upon Ignis slowly. First at the edges of his mind, and then at the center of his being.

  His first thought was for the pain that radiated over his entire body, each and every nerve ending alight as though zapped by untold watts of electricity. Or maybe it was ice…

  He’d only ever felt the sensation of cold once, when the sole tear had slid down his cheek in this very room. He shifted his head, meaning to look down at his hands to see if that traitorous insect and the bastard princeling had encased his body in ice. But moving his head brought another sweeping wave of intense pain washing over him.

  It brought something else as well. The Earth woman’s presence.

  Hearing him groan in pain, Clea leaned forward, hovering in front of his field of vision as if she knew any movement would be agony.

  “Do you need anything?” she asked, her hands lightly flitting over Ignis’s body, shifting a bandage, peeling back a bit of fabric that had settled too closely to his ruined skin. Little, tender movements, careful and well-timed, meant to sooth his pain.

  “No,” he attempted to say. But the sound came out wrong. Mangled. Disjointed. Ill-formed.

  Panic began to creep up into Ignis’s mind. Why couldn’t he speak?

  He shifted his eyes to look at the dark woman still leaning over him, her dark braids tucked carefully into the collar of her shirt so they didn’t brush across his skin.

  Hearing him try to speak, she stopped her movements, easing onto the bed at his side, careful not to touch him.

  “Slep did… something to you,” she said, her eyes never leaving his. She didn’t pity him, though, that was the one emotion not visible on her face. Sorrow, disgust, anger... those were all showing across her face as if placed there like war paint. But pity… there was none. And for that, Ignis was grateful.

  “I’m tried to find out what it was they did, so I could treat you better, but those fucking Cephs don’t say anything. Nor would the Quadra, when he decided to show his ass up. Which, I would like to point out, has not been frequently.”

  How many rotations?

  Ignis tried to ask the question, but more malformed sounds escaped his lips. He moved to furrow his brow in confusion at the state of his mouth, but the action brought immediate pain.

  Clea disappeared from view, quickly reappearing a heartbeat later with a small white pill in one hand and a fuel-soaked towel in the other.

  The pill she placed gently between his ruined lips. The thing tasted horrible, and Ignis had the urge to spit it out. But such a thing was impossible, for to do so would require him to utilize muscles that were screaming while being still. Spitting out the pill seemed like a feat fit for the bravest of warriors, of which Ignis was loathe to admit he was not amongst their ranks at present.

  Instead, he tried to gently move the pill around with his tongue, but to his horror, he found that he had no tongue to move.

  He stared wide-eyed at Clea, who was already pressing the fuel-soaked clothe against his brow. When the fluid touched his flesh, it soothed him to the point of tears. He rolled his eyes back into his head, urging the moisture to dispense.

  I don’t know if it will affect me the same way as before, or if it will burn my flesh like…

  His nostrils flared, sending stabbing pain radiating out across his face and down into his sinuses. He moaned, trying to get Clea’s attention.

  “The pill is to make you rest,” she explained, dabbing at his broad chest now. “And the gasoline,” she said lifting the rag into his view, “is to help you heal. The Quadra said it would help, and I hope it does… I just had to take his word for it.”

  Ignis longed to ask her why he wasn’t in the medical bay, but he imagined he knew the answer.

  Pieces of memory floated into his mind, unbidden. His face pressed into a scalding puddle on the stone floor, burning droplets of water cascading across his body. But the water did not burn like fire… It burned like cold. Like ice. Fire would not have done this to him, would not have ruined his body and reduced him to little more than a newborn babe.

  He hadn’t realized it, but he’d been moaning in agony.

  The dark woman bid him to be silent, and he complied.

  “The pill should work soon,” she said confidently, her hand drifting down to pat the combustible fluid onto his body. Ignis’s eyes had started to drift closed, but then the woman’s hand began to flutter below his waist.

  He snapped his eyes open, moaning to get her attention.

  She came back into his field of view and laughed lightly. “I’m in awe of how big it is, if it makes you feel better. Though I have to be honest… it looked more impressive before the insect fucked you up.”

  The moisture was back in Ignis’s eyes once more. How bad did he look?

  He wasn’t a vain creature by any means, but his whole purpose of coming here was to mate with the Earth woman. To have offspring and help repopulate his home planet of Incenda. And thanks to Cyndar and Slep, his body was a joke, a network of nerves sending pain to his mind with every breath, and a thing over which the dark woman merely laughed.

  He could not see his body, but judging by the pain and his ruined speech, Ignis knew he was disfigured beyond comprehension.

  “It’s okay,” Clea said softly, gently pressing the rag soaked with fuel against his brow once more. “You already look a lot better than you did just a few days ago.”

  Ignis groaned. He did not know the term.

  As if knowing the source of his confusion, Clea squeezed her eyes shut and grimaced. “A few rotations ago,” she said, clarifying for him. She gave him a reassuring smile. “And seriously… It’s not that bad.”

  Her brown eyes were warm, comforting, and something about the look in them gave Ignis a small sense of peace. Or what little peace as could be his past the all-consuming pain his body was in.

  The Earth woman continued to treat his wounds, dabbing and pressing the rag against his entire body, gently and with great care.

  Ignis breathed a sigh of relief as the pain began to recede. Or perhaps he was just acclimating to it, because the act of sighing sent a sharp pain searing out of his chest and lancing down into his gut. Despite all of that, he found himself to be strangely content.

  His consciousness began to fade, the pill doing its job to send him into a delta sleep state, to speed his healing. As his awareness faded, his vision reduced to a singular point of light.

  And in that point of light was Clea.

  Chapter 13

  Clea

  On the fourth day, Ignis finally woke up for good.

  She had spent a long-ass time, dabbing and cleaning and pulling chunks of flesh from the Ardan’s body that were too necrotic to heal. All her waking time, it seemed. But in those extended hours when Ignis was sleeping so deeply he could not be roused even if she’d wanted to, Clea did something else too.

  She hid medical supplies.

  The Quadra who brought them was the same one who’d tended to her in the medical bay. Or at least, she thought it was the same one. She had no way of knowing, though. The creature did not speak to her, nor did it speak to the Ceph who guarded the portal. Apparently, the insectoid had given them clearance to her and Ignis’s room, because the portal did not stay open as Slep had implied it would; the Cephs in the corridor opened it when the Quadra came bearing fresh supplies and closed it when the creature left.

  Clea had a heft supply of the little white sleeping pills stocked up, hidden in a small pouch she’d made from the pocket of her pajama pants. The pocket she’d stuffed under the foot of the mattress. She didn’t know what they would do with the pills, but she figured the things would be more useful during the escape plan than on the ship.

  At any rate, she had them. The Quadra was more than willing to give her surplus pills, considering how large Ignis was and the extent of his injuries. But that was the only thing he would bring, other than combustible fuel. When Clea ha
d asked for antiseptic or gauze or anything of that nature – anything that might be helpful if a woman were to go into labor on the flight back to Earth, or if there were any injuries sustained during the escape – the Quadra refused.

  So, there she was, sitting in the one unbroken chair in the room, smelling like jet fuel and sweat, staring at the large alien warrior laying prostrate on the bed.

  With almost one hundred sleeping pills nestled safely under the mattress at his feet.

  To top it all off, there had been no guard to come and retrieve her for walks around the Rim. So she’d had no chance to help train the women, no chance to help them learn even the most basic of defensive moves.

  In the grand scheme of things, Clea had done virtually nothing to help Samantha and the revolution.

  Some help she’d end up being.

  She forced herself from the chair and paced the room, determined to exert some force of energy to help pull herself from her slump. There is no point in being negative. Negative won’t get you anywhere.

  Soon, blood was thrumming in her ears, the rapid moving of her legs working her pulse up into a frenzy. It was a difficult feat to achieve in the small space of their room. But she did it.

  She found herself falling into the old patterns, the memory of the moves emblazoned in her muscles like cellular memory. She swung her arms out, her fists swinging in the air in the moves that she knew best. She practiced crouches and swings, bobs and weaves.

  Clea worked herself into a sweat, the exertion feeling good and right to her body and muscles. She took a scrap of fabric that she’d had left over from her make-shift pouch and tied her braids back. Another hour or so of training, and she felt the sweet release of feeling her body tired. Of feeling as if she’d worked herself fully.

  At least she thought it was an hour. And she thought she’d been tending to Ignis for four days. But there was no way to tell the passage of time. For all she knew, she’d been cooped up in here for a week Or maybe it was only a couple days. The passage of time was extra strange, when one considered the fact that there was no sun. No darkening and brightening of the starfield outside the wide transparent wall.

  Clea swung her fist again and again, grunting as she sparred with the air.

  Hearing a smile chuckle behind her, Clea whirled, sweat sliding down the small of her back.

  The Ardan was propped up in bed, smirking at her.

  Clea frowned at him, perplexed. “How long have you been awake?”

  Ignis moved to shrug, but the motion caused him enough pain that he promptly ceased the attempt. Wincing, he said, “A while.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Didn’t want to disturb you,” he said. He grunted, shifting on his elbows to lean back against the large mound of pillows Clea had carefully stacked behind his head while he was sleeping. “You seemed engaged in what you were doing.”

  “I was,” Clea said, wiping her hand hastily over her lip. She was coated in sweat, small drops of moisture sliding over her body and making her shiver. Something about pouring sweat always reminded her of being covered in bugs. The feeling was extra disconcerting now, knowing that the insectoid Slep was somewhere on the Hub, probably clanging its mandibles angrily and thinking of the two creatures aboard the space station who had pissed it off the most recently: Clea and Ignis.

  “I would have rather you said something,” she said.

  “Well, I’m saying it now,” said Ignis, groaning.

  Remembering herself, Clea abandoned her stance and hurried across the room, the gasoline-soaked rag already in her hand again. She knelt beside the bed, her hands working quickly to dab the fluid over Ignis’s ruined skin. She averted her gaze, the sight of him drawing up memories too painful to dwell on right now. She had to keep her head in the game. Had to stay focused.

  Caring for Ignis and finding more ways to contribute to their escape plan was the only thing she needed to worry about.

  “Do I look that hideous?” asked Ignis, his tone sharp and angry.

  Clea almost flinched at hearing him speak, so strong and commanding was his voice. But something under the surface struck her as well, the barely registerable traces of sorrow and embarrassment enough to force Clea to remember her new mantra.

  Give him the benefit of the doubt.

  She’d promised the red-eyed woman she would give Ignis a chance, would smother her own prejudices enough so she could try to find something salvageable in his personality. Something that would make mating with him seem like a less harrowing and daunting task.

  “It’s not you,” she said softly, re-saturating the rag in the shallow pan of combustible fluid on the floor. She pressed the fabric to the wide expanse of flesh at his neck, the muscles beneath quivering under her touch. In truth, his skin was healing a lot faster than she’d ever thought possible. It was as if the Ardan’s body absorbed the combustible fluid like some magic salve that was speeding his healing progress to such a degree that the majority of the boils and blisters had all but disappeared. The long strips of flesh that had sloughed off in the trauma of whatever he had endured – both during his torture at the hands of Slep and the strips of skin that tore away with the Ceph’s tentacles as well as Samantha and Clea’s sides – all of that flesh had already regenerated, the fresh, new pink skin concealing his meat and marrow.

  If only Kyesha had had the chance for something to work so well.

  Clea blinked her eyes quickly, moving her hand down to dab at the fire alien’s broad shoulders.

  The Ardan reached up suddenly, wrapping his hand around Clea’s wrist like an iron vice. It was obvious the action caused him great pain; his breathing had quickened, and the flesh of his forearms and the knuckles of his hands cracked open and bled, the freshly grown skin not strong enough to withstand the strain.

  Clea met his eyes, her own blazing just as angrily as his.

  “Let go of me,” she said, her voice strained. She spoke the words through gritted teeth, afraid of what other words might escape if she opened her mouth fully.

  Give him the benefit of the doubt.

  Ignis did as she requested, drawing his lips into a sneer.

  Clea threw the rag in her hand into the shallow pan, rubbing at her wrist with her clean hand. She surveyed the flesh there. He had gripped her so roughly and with such strength, she was sure it would leave a bruise later.

  “Save your tears for me, Earth woman,” said Ignis, drawing her attention back to his scared face. “I have no need of them.”

  “They weren’t for you, you conceited asshole.”

  Ignis frowned at her. “If the sight of me isn’t enough to bring the bullheaded Clea to tears, what is?”

  She turned her face from him, afraid her eyes would betray her. The alien couldn’t know her story by looking at her face, but she wouldn’t give him the chance to try.

  “It’s nothing,” she said. She willed her tears to go away. No part of her wanted to tell Ignis about Kyesha. Regardless of whether she was giving him the benefit of the doubt, that long-ago night was too painful to discuss.

  “What is it, then?” Ignis demanded, his voice low and gravely. “Are you so weak as to be driven to lie?”

  Clea narrowed her eyes at him. “Lying is not weakness. But no, I am not lying.”

  “There you are wrong, Earth woman. There is no greater weakness than telling a lie. A person of real strength would not balk at the truth.”

  “You don’t disgust me, Ignis, and that’s the truth,” she said, reminding herself to breathe slowly. She couldn’t get worked up. Not now. She was too close to the brink, too close to sliding into self-pity and anguish and despair. She took another shaky breath. “I’m not upset about you. Just leave it at that.”

  The Ardan stared at her, his gaze demanding that she continue to speak. And Clea was surprised to find that she was compelled to do as the alien’s stare commanded.

  She felt the sensation of memories long buried bubbling in her mind. There
was no part of her that truly wanted to tell Ignis her heart’s deepest sorrow, and yet the longer she looked in his eyes, she found herself wanting to bear her soul.

  Her heart pounded, each beat squeezing tighter and tighter in her chest.

  “Please,” she whispered, tears brimming her eyes once more. “Don’t make me.”

  Ignis broke the contact of their gaze. Staring at the blanket, he said, “I apologize.”

  As soon as the Ardan’s eyes were no longer locked on hers, Clea’s mind cleared, the dark memories she would rather forget settling back to the floor of her mind, out of her immediate awareness. She blinked rapidly, not comprehend what had just occurred.

  “How did you do that?” she asked, her voice restrained. She knew if she puzzled over that mental connection she and Ignis had just shared for too long, she could easily see herself becoming hysterical.

  But that wouldn’t work. That wouldn’t suit her purposes. She wasn’t in a place where she could fall apart completely.

  “I’m sorry,” the alien said again, his voice still strong but laced with regret. “I didn’t know if would work on you.”

  “If what would work on me?”

  “My gaze,” Ignis said. “It’s a privilege of all Ardan Commanders, the kings of Incenda. When we encounter one of our own kind who are undesirous of falling in line – of following orders – we can assert our will over them. Find the smallest part of their minds that want to follow our commands and exploit it. Bringing it to the surface of their minds, making the idea of doing our bidding seem as if it were their own.”

  “I see,” said Clea, though she wasn’t sure she fully understood.

  Ignis slowly swung his head back to face her, wincing at the effort. “Men who think the idea is their own are more likely to execute the necessary steps.”

  Clea thought about that phrase for a moment. She had no doubt it was true. Perhaps she and Samantha could use this to their advantage.