by Lula Monk
If I ever have the chance to see her again.
With missing the walks around the Rim – however many she’d actually missed – she had not had the chance to even see Samantha, let alone converse with her. How would she even get new information to Samantha’s ears? Would any of it even matter, if Clea was forced to send what she discovers or thinks of through the grape vine until it finally gets to Samantha’s, probably getting distorted and twisted along the way”
I’ll figure it out, Clea told herself, taking another deep breath. I’ll have to.
Another thought occurred to her. She looked up at Ignis. “Why didn’t you think it would work?”
Ignis met her gaze again, his eyes strained with pain. “The stare only works on warriors on Incenda, the men and women who have soul weapons at their disposal and flames buried in their bodies.”
“And it doesn’t work on anyone else?”
“No.”
“But it almost worked on me?”
“I think so,” Ignis said hesitantly. “I could feel you succumbing, bending beneath my will. But you didn’t break.”
Clea thought about that for a moment. “If that was the case, it shouldn’t have worked on me.”
“I found myself attempting to force you to comply to my request,” Ignis admitted, “because it is a habit. But had I considered it beforehand, I wouldn’t have tried. Because such an attempt should have been futile.”
“I felt it, though,” Clea said. “I could feel it working.”
He shrugged, wincing at the action. He still had not learned that movement at this stage of healing was equitable to experiencing another stab of pain. But judging by the look on his face after this most recent movement, Clea would bet that he’d learn the lesson soon enough.
He has learned his lesson, Slep had said.
Clea twisted a braid around her finger, thinking. Just what lesson was it that the insectoid had been so eager to teach Ignis? What had the Ardan done to have deserved being treated so cruelly? She was dying to know.
Lying is a form of weakness, Ignis had said.
She used the Ardan’s personal belief to her advantage now. “Why did the big guy, Slep, think you needed to learn a lesson?”
Ignis’s gaze hardened. “Traitorous bastard.”
Clea furrowed her brows. “That doesn’t tell me anything, Ignis.”
“I thought,” he said hotly, getting worked up, “that Slep would be neutral. Would allow me to seek my revenge.” He took a labored breath. “Would not interfere.”
Clea squinted, struggling to follow the alien’s ramblings. His tongue still hadn’t grown back completely, and his words were malformed and awkward.
“That still doesn’t tell me much,” she said, prompting the Ardan. “What did he do?”
“He betrayed me!” Ignis roared, rising up from the pillows. “I had the princeling there before me, could see the glow of his damnable coal eye!” The flame alien wheezed. “I summoned forth my sword, knowing vengeance would be mine.”
His chest heaved, rising and falling slowly. Then, more softly, he said, “I thought I could avenge her at last.”
Clea had been listening closely the whole time he spoke, and though she had better success this time understanding the words he was trying to utter, she still could not understand his meaning.
“Slep is a prince?” she asked, trying to wrap her head around the giant insect being ruler of anywhere in particular other than this floating hunk of metal.
“Not Slep!” thundered Ignis. “Cyndar!”
That information still did not help Clea, for she knew not who this Cyndar was. But judging by the look on Ignis’s face, she knew better than to ask.
The air became charged, the ions shifting and becoming denser, like the way the space around one’s head felt when there was about to be an outpouring of static energy.
Clea cut her eyes over to the shallow pan of combustible fluid on the floor. She inhaled deeply, smelling the small droplets of fuel that had soaked into the sheets and Clea’s own clothes. It would take a single spark to set the entire room aflame. And while the Ardan would survive the blast – would probably even heal more quickly because of it – Clea surely would not.
“Calm down,” she said softly, her hands outstretched palms down, meaning to gently ease Ignis onto his back; the alien had sat up in his frenzy, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Everything is okay.”
“No!” Ignis roared, rising off the bed once more. He was still weak, still healing, but even at his diminished power, he as till more than a match for Clea. “I could have avenged her!”
The words escaped Clea’s mouth before she had the chance to rein them back in. “Avenge who?”
The hairs on Clea’s arms rose, and her fight or flight instincts engaged.
She leapt to her feet and made a dash for the cleansing chamber. If it could keep Ignis’s flames in, she prayed it could keep them out as well.
Just as she reached the door to the metal cubicle, the air in the room changed again. She slammed the door and secured the knob, crouching low on the floor in the middle of the cubicle, careful not to touch the wall.
Ignis roared.
The sound of fracturing metal and breaking glass assaulted Clea’s ears. Her darted around the metal cubical of the cleansing chamber, making sure the walls weren’t cracking. She could just imagine what was happening in the chamber proper. She’d seen the might of what Ignis’s flames could do. Had been at the eye of his storm when it raged.
The walls of the cleansing chamber began to change color, shifting from the dull gray of the metal into a bright and intense orange. The entire wall closest to the bed – closest to Ignis – began to glow orange.
Clea cowered as close as she could to the opposing wall, careful not to touch the melt there as well, for it too was hot enough to sear her flesh.
Ignis roared again, screaming and slamming and throwing things. Though what he had left to throw that hadn’t already been broken, Clea couldn’t possibly imagine. There had been very little in the room to begin with, even less after Slep had broken the chair she’d been trying to use to keep the insectoid at bay.
She covered her ears to block the sound, the force of the Ardan’s screams snaking into the cubicle and crowding her brain. And passed her hands, piercing her brain like an arrow, was the single word Ignis uttered in all of his raging.
Gylenda.
Chapter 14
Ignis
The mere memory of seeing Cyndar’s smug face, so similar to the way he’d looked on the battlefield that dark day, had sent Ignis into a rage.
It had been so hard to hold himself back, so difficult to keep the burning of his flames contained within his corporeal form. He thanked the gods that the Earth woman had had the sense to flee. As soon as he heard the door to the cleansing chamber slam, he’d let his flames go, swirling around the room, growing and expanding and commanding the small space.
And oh, how small that space was.
Back on Incenda, the full force of Ignis’s rage and grief would have been enough to send a lance of flame spiking into the air, high enough to fill the heavens. But here, in this room, his flames were condensed, forced to remain primarily in his body. He felt as if he were unable to get even a fraction of relief.
Not nearly enough as was necessary.
To supplement his rage, he began destroying the room. Ripping the legs off the table, distorting the tabletop under the force of his fists. He upended the bed, tossing the mattresses across the room. The ease with which they gave way under him was enough to smother his rage.
This was no way to attempt to soothe his soul. No way to get what his heart truly wanted: revenge for his murdered wife.
He shouted her name then, unable to contain her memory in his heart for a moment longer. He screamed it again and again and again, his flames reducing and receding with every utterance, with every syllable. At the last, he was lying prostrate on the floor, the stone beneath his che
ek cracked from the heat of his rage
He whispered her name against the charred floor.
“Gylenda.”
“Gylenda.”
Something cold and stark snaked its way out of his eye, sliding down his face to splash against the stone. He shifted his head and stared at the shimmering dot of liquid.
It was a tear. Again.
Ignis sat up, struggling to make his limbs obey his command. He lifted his arm and surveyed the flesh there. It was mostly healed, he was pleased to find. Letting his flames loose had encouraged his physical form to heal. But his body was weak. He needed rest.
The small drop of water on the floor glittered up at him in the light of the few intact bulbs recessed in the ceiling. The few he hadn’t destroyed in his rage.
How was it that he could cry?
Aside from the fact that Ardan’s were not permitted to weep, how was his body able to produce and leak fluid without injuring himself; because, upon closer inspection, Ignis was certain that this fluid was different than that which his body produced at other times. This fluid was simply water.
Water.
The antithesis of everything an Ardan was, there on the floor. Inches from his foot.
And he’d produced it with his own body.
The door to the cleansing chamber opened, creaking on its hinges.
Ignis turned to see the dark Earth woman, the whites of her eyes shining in her face. She held her arms protectively wrapped around her chest, her feet trying to find safe areas on the floor to walk. Areas not littered with broken glass and shards of metal.
“Fear me not, Earth woman,” Ignis said, limping over to the mattress lying askance on the floor. He eased onto their plushness, the charred and stretched material giving way under his weight. He sank to the floor, the mattress no longer able to do its intended purpose. “I am too tired to hurt you, even if I had the desire to do so.”
“It’s not you,” Clea said firmly. “It’s the room.”
Ignis looked around, taking in again the sight of the destruction he’d wrought. He shrugged, pleased that the movement did not bring him any pain now. “It can be cleaned.”
“It’s the smell,” Clea whispered, her feet still gingerly navigating the minefield of debris. “And color.”
Ignis surveyed the Earth woman, noticing the rapid thrumming of blood in her veins, the hectic way the arteries in her throat jumped with each pump of her heart. He looked at her arms; she was shaking.
“Flight or fight?” he asked.
“What?”
“Adrenaline.” He pointed in her general direction. “It’s making your body react. Demanding that you take action.”
“Neither,” said Clea, bending over to begin picking up the ruined pieces of the table. Ignis admired the way the stance accentuated the curve of her hips.
Wait for me, Ignis.
He shook the sound of his wife’s voice from his mind.
Clea stood suddenly, rage mottling her face. “Don’t do this again.”
Ignis was taken aback by the her harsh tone. He’d expected more whispering. More meekness. More weakness.
But she’s a fighter, isn’t she? he thought to himself. She is not weak.
“And why shouldn’t I?” he asked.
“I don’t like it.”
He barked out a laugh. “You say the words as if they should move me. They do not.”
“I don’t like all this…” she said gesturing to the room with her hand.
“Destruction? Remind me to leave you here when I take our offspring back to Incenda.” He leaned back, trying to get comfortable of the mattresses. An impossible task. He scanned the room for pillows but found none, his fire having incinerated them.
He glanced at the Earth woman, finding her jaw working back and forth. She was grinding her teeth, trying to contain her rage.
“You are so dense, you know that?”
“I’ve been told something similar.”
“And you still haven’t gotten it into your thick head that you can be a real asshole?”
Ignis’s spine went rigid at hearing that word coming from the dark woman’s mouth. “What did I say about that word?”
Clea flinched at his tone, but she stood up straight a heartbeat later. “And precisely why should I give a fuck about your feelings if you don’t give a fuck about mine?”
“Feelings?” Ignis said, laughing. “There is no room in life for the consideration of feelings.”
“Oh?” Clea asked, her eyebrow quirking. She crossed her arms again, her stance now defiant. Firm. Stubborn. “And this little pity party you just had – the one in which you completely trashed our room, I might add – isn’t about your feelings for someone named… Gylenda?”
She said his wife’s name in a singsong voice. A mocking voice.
It was almost too much to be born.
Had she been a species of his equal, or at least nearer his equal, Ignis would have challenged her. Demanded that she defend her slight with her sword. But the Earth woman wasn’t an Ardan, and he did need to learn to be gentler if he was to ever hope of wooing her to bed. To plant his offspring in her.
And then I can get out of this damnable place and get back to Incenda.
It took all his effort to restrain himself, to keep his flames at bay. And his next words came out strained. “Do not speak that name again. “
“Pick,” Clea demanded. “I can call you an asshole, or I can say Gy–”
“Don’t!” Ignis began, his voice raised. He took a deep breath, urging himself to be calm. “Don’t say her name. Please.”
The Earth woman lowered her arms, her stance softening. Ignis breathed a sigh of relief. He knew this look. She would relent.
“Fine,” Clea said, stepping towards him. “But…”
Ignis jerked his head up to look at her. He had not expected a ‘but.’
“You have to give me some leeway in some things.”
Ignis’s brow furrowed. “Like what?”
“I can call you an asshole whenever I want.”
We don’t always get what we want, do we, asshole?
Ignis shook his head, dispersing the sound of his wife’s voice from his head. “Fine. If you agree not to speak that name again, I will permit you to call me whatever you wish.”
“Good,” said Clea. She stood over him still, glowering down at him.
“Is there something else you need?” asked Ignis. He didn’t actually care, but he was hoping he could solve whatever her issue was… help her get what she needed so she would leave him alone. He desperately needed to sleep. Unleashing his flames had drained the energy from his still healing body. “I will do whatever you require.”
“You never answered me earlier,” Clea said, staring down at him. “Why did Slep want to punish you?”
Ignis felt the flames alone his spine burning, urging him to release them once more at the memory of the insectoid’s great treachery. But he couldn’t do it again; his body was too weak, and the Earth woman too close. She had taken the time to nurse him back to health, had spent a long time tending to his body, gently administering combustible fluid to aid in his healing. He did not want to repay her kindness with more displays of rage. Besides, he needed her to breed with, to produce his offspring. He needed her alive.
But more than that, he needed her to trust him. And trust came through the sharing of sorrows, the sharing of burdens. In allowing someone to share in one’s worries and hardships.
And honesty was part of that sharing.
“I already told you,” Ignis said, the words coming out angrier than he had intended. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I saw him, the baca. Cyndar. He was just standing there on the other side of the core, flanked on both sides by his damnable bodyguards.”
Clea nodded slowly, but the action did nothing to convince Ignis she understood his words.
“Cyndar is… an enemy.”
“Why?”
His spine burned, spreadin
g down both arms and making his hands tingle. “He killed someone I love.”
Not loved. Love. For he would always love his wife.
“Gy–,” Clea paused, catching herself from speaking the name she’d been forbidden to speak. “Is it about her?”
Ignis lowered and lifted his head slowly, not even possessing the energy for a proper nod.
“Is this Cyndar person from one of the other planets in your galaxy?”
“The Adrasta Galaxy, yes. He is the heir-apparent to the Smoldian throne.”
The dark woman pulled her braids over one shoulder, a hand reaching up to curl the ends around her fingers. “If he is the heir, how is it that he is a bastard? Have the Ardans reduced the Smolds’ numbers to the degree that they were forced to make just anyone king?”
“No,” Ignis said, his eyes drooping. “It is their species… they are…”
His eyes closed, consciousness fading from his awareness. Everything was receding. Sound, sensation, even memory was failing him. He struggled to open his eyes, unaware even of where he was or what was happening. His body was exhausted, worn beyond the point of reason. He’d been a fool for using his flames. His body wasn’t ready, no matter how much his flames wanted to be free.
Someone parted his lips, placing a small, bitter pill onto his tongue. The same hand closed his mouth, and a voice instructed him to swallow.
The voice was calm, caring. Like one of the Quadras in the medical bay. But the voice wasn’t just some random creature in the Knowledge and Triage Sector. Even in his stupor, Ignis knew that he was in his room.
And he knew the voice was Clea’s.
Ignis did as he was told, swallowing the pill and relishing the feel of more memory falling away, leaving him in a void of nothingness. There were moments when he forgot even who he was, or to what race of warrior he belonged. The details of Ignis, and Ardan, and Incenda, and flames became abstract as well, with him not associating any particular term with himself.
But as a rag traced over his brow, dabbing and gently letting fluid soak into his flesh, Ignis knew the hand that wielded it. He knew well the name of his savior, the person who he’d not given much consideration as a creature in her own right.