Otherworldly

by C F Rabbiosi

  Otherworldly: Kassien and Calypso’s Song

  Copyright ©Charity Rabbiosi 2018

  Published by Winterose Books

  Author Website: cfrabbiosi.com

  Let’s be friends on Facebook! Faith Rabbiosi

  Professionally edited and creatively developed by Pinpoint Editing

  Charity Rabbiosi asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities are entirely coincidental.

  Prologue

  ~Calypso~

  Year 2240

  From everything my people ever told me, I know I should be afraid.

  Trembling in the rocky dirt and colorful Hollow’s-Eve leaves, his corded arms lift me effortlessly, while his gaze pours with the weight of a thousand worlds. But from which one did he come?

  His appearance strays from all the stories of monsters the elders told as we stayed nestled within our hidden forest village, but there’s no mistake—this is a Koridon. Lurking beneath the beautiful skin flush against mine, his chest heaving, he emanates raw viciousness. He is devastating dominance compacted into one flawless, towering form.

  So why is it he who shakes as he sets his quicksilver eyes upon me? As he rips his gaze away, the male’s neck throbs, a sweet scent mixed with aggression that drifts into my senses. Perhaps his predatory gifts take the form of beauty, a song of the siren, his lure my fated poison. The ache between my legs and the sharp throbbing in my belly begin to fade, perhaps another facet of his lure so I may think myself healed and run, only to bleed to death at his feet.

  The crusted blood on my thighs cracks and powders into the air as I float through the night inside an embrace warm and intoxicating, like sinking feet into warm sand; it’s another strange illusion despite all the stories of these dangerous beasts that now roam the conquered Earth.

  The men from my village grow farther and farther away as he carries me, running like lightning across the forbidden land I once yearned to touch and breathe in so desperately. Liquid crimson shines in the moonlight upon their unmoving bodies, pieces of them where they shouldn’t be, but I feel nothing. Not even the spreading bruises they branded into my arms or the breeze that cools my tears. They were removed from life so quickly, so easily. Luck forever closes their wicked eyes while the beast who carries me will not let me die so easily.

  No, mine will be a prolonged, unnatural death as two worlds collide, one so wild with lust the other will be crushed in its frenzied ravaging. The next time my loved ones see me, I will be nothing more than a hideous, writhing piece of bloody meat.

  1

  ~Calypso~

  His lips taste…pleasant, soft, and yet the delivery of his affection is too rough, brushing against my mouth playfully. My back against the tree, I glance over Finn’s shoulder, plagued by the fact that my betrothed and I have wandered outside the settlement and its safety, but far more concerned that we might be caught stealing restricted kisses by my mother. Or his.

  As night falls, the men will be dragging their kills from the woods and the women scheduled for cooking today will be getting the ovens ready, while others will be finishing the sewing or putting the animals away. We will be missed, but as the day of our union closes in, this attractive boy with fall-in-the-face unruly locks and bright jade irises pulls me toward knowing my future mate more intimately.

  It eats me alive.

  Our small society has thrived despite the chaotic state of the world, and I know it’s because of our strict way of life. The rules we live by have helped our people survive when others have not.

  I just don’t understand why, and it’s hard to call it anything but survival. I wish so much that my people could venture outside the barrier without the horrible threat that lurks in our precious, overtaken world.

  As warm fingers push past the waistline of my plain cotton pants, I tense, remembering the harsh warnings from Mother. Forbidden to touch each other with such romantic intent before the eve of our union, I’m shaken and can’t help but let the feeling of his caress take me like I’ve dreamed night after night. His breath tickles across my jaw and, as he fumbles into my undergarments, a laugh is born from my throat. He jerks away from the outburst, searching through the lines of dying sunlight that flood pink fire through the trees.

  “I’m sorry.” Finn’s expression lights up, the hilariousness of our uncomfortable encounter sinking in. He reaches for my icy-blue tendrils and I flinch, my cheeks instantly burning—especially when he apologizes again.

  “No, it’s all right.” I bring his touch back but his fingertips slip across my breast, sending a lightning bolt straight down to the desirous place between my legs.

  Now, his face flushes.

  This encounter is nothing like my dreams, the warm tingling that mounted and spiraled with the fantasy of us lying by the embers after everyone had gone to their sleeping quarters.

  This is something else. Exciting, but not what I had hoped.

  “We should get back.” He steps away with a quick swipe of his brow, and already I mourn the loss of his inspiring touch, strange as it was. He made me feel something, forcing light to crack through the shadowy depths of my dying insides.

  “Of course. Hopefully with all the excitement of tonight’s event, they’ll not notice our absence.” Once every full moon—since it became visible again—our village celebrates with a feast and storytelling. A book from times past is brought out, and a man and a woman, according to the schedule, read it aloud with gusto, acting out voices and creating movements to play out the scene. Last month, we started The Picture of Dorian Gray, and black-haired Alice had acted out the suicide of Dorian’s actress fiancée, Sibyl, while Finn’s best friend, Robin, had been chosen to read the scene. Alice grabbed our own Sibyl, who was named after the character, from the crowd and mourned over her body until the vain Dorian rose triumphantly, realizing it was in fact his painting that was to blame. This book, with its frayed brown leather, has been shared amongst our villages for a hundred years, but new ones arrive occasionally, brought to our invisible barrier by nomads who come to trade. The vagabonds venture out into the ruins of dangerous old cities of the world before, to find precious gifts to trade for food and clothing with the surviving villages spread out across the land.

  I love the stories that have been read aloud since I was a child. These books with their tough, leather-bound covers somehow survived after the war and are precious to our culture. When nothing was left, they taught us about our past, about who we are as a people. The language rolls off the tongue, and the way the people of my village talk, sometimes I hear the words of Shakespeare flowing from their mouths. I swear, a bit of Madam Bovary touches my own sentences, conveying a feeling of inadequacy in our language that, no matter what I say, can never truly convey what I’m trying to express. Though I wasn’t named for the discontent lady of the place called France, her story certainly touches my soul. I am also a prisoner wishing for exciting lands.

  Finn drags one more longing touch down my stomach before saying, “I really enjoyed this. Now, let’s run home.” My feet carry me through the low hanging branches and wild overgrowth as I struggle to keep up with Finn’s quickness. A male, he has the privilege of being permitted outside the barrier and would usually be with the hunting party now, but had stayed behind to help his mother with Glenda, his sick little sister. She has a breathing sickness and sometimes becomes so ashen from oxygen deprivation, she cannot get out of bed. Many of us, including myself, suffer from genetic damage after what happened to our world.

  With a misstep onto a rock, the forest
floor flies up at me and I hit the ground hard, right in front of the willow trees that mark our settlement. Jumping back up to my feet, I skitter into Finn’s back where he has stopped at the invisible entrance. Upon close inspection, the wall moves like liquid and passing through it sends a cold sensation through my body.

  The smoky aroma of meat drifts through the evening and, with that familiar smell, my heart skips a beat, yet the excitement is combined with a hint of fright.

  The punishment for any girl wandering out of bounds can be severe.

  Once, Jane, a married woman not much older than me, had been punished so severely for running out of the village’s barrier that she had to stay indoors for weeks. The next time she showed herself, it was with a limp at the full-shining orb celebration, just like the one tonight. Women must never be allowed to wander out into the wild, lest something sense their presence and attack. Not only would she be killed, but it could bring the monsters in to find us all. The chilling realization of our selfishness hits me hard. I wanted to be free so badly, just for a moment, that I put them all in danger. My mother. My best friend, Scarlet. Finn, even, the boy who cares for me despite my appearance. What have we done?

  “Go first. It’s safe.” Finn nudges me forward and, as I cross over, he crouches and waits. A whistle sounds in the distance, the hunting party signaling their return with deer and rabbit, the rest of the feast. Moving slow, I round the pond, last light making it appear a muddy green, and sit near its marshy side. My fingertips trail the water’s surface and suddenly, it turns into an abysmal ocean full of monstrous sea creatures. They call to me, their beautiful sounds a haunting melody, and I long to go to them. I imagine being wrapped in tentacles with tiny suction cups that drag me down into depths so unfathomable I am transformed into one of them and live out my days in a new world, exploring endlessly, every day an adventure as I chase the whale…

  Several women move in and out of the line of female domiciles and bustle through the main square, carrying wood, chasing the little ones or laying out blankets for the storytelling. On special nights like this one, we all wrap up our jobs early to help with the celebration. Tonight, I am supposed to be preparing a steamed vegetable tray with Momma. Avoiding any interaction with my village mates, I make my way into the little bungalow where we live.

  “Calypso!” Momma greets me with a big knife waving through the air, and I slam the door shut. As my thoughts go blank, she wipes the blade along the stained apron that overlays her figure-fitting gown, the sound of boiling water in the background. “You were supposed to prepare the potatoes.” Her kind voice is possessed by anger, not a sound I’m used to, and it drives my guilt deeper into the cavernous hole in my gut that grows bigger day by day. Brown peels lay all over the table and, unable to form the lies that must be uttered, I rush to clean them up. Avoiding her powerful gaze, Jane limps through my thoughts, springing terror across my core. My mother would fight to protect me no matter my wrong-doings, but she could never stop the heads of our society from punishing me.

  Since I can remember, the one thing that has been driven into my brain is to never leave the compound. I think it’s the dreams I’ve been waking from in a sweat every morning. Intense sensation, sharply pleasurable yet somehow painful seizes me between my legs when my eyes crack open in the morning light. Before fully lucid, I reach for something, maybe someone. I can still feel the soft brush of hair against my skin, the foreign sizzle of a kiss upon my lips, and the ghost of a powerful grip into my shining thighs.

  I woke, and I was never the same again. So when Finn asked me to meet him in secret, I wanted to. I wanted him to search for my pulse and find me alive with his touch. And maybe he would feel it too, my incredible appreciation for him being so accepting of his arranged marriage to an unnatural mate. For his kindness, I would risk myself again and again if it would please him for even a minute.

  Momma’s good nature resurfaces, evident in the glimmer of her almond eyes, and I relax enough to utter, “I am so sorry. It was Finn.”

  She puts a hand to her chest, the one with the knife in it. “What of him?” She brims with curiosity, the heat of it warming the little cabin. Her dark, gold-flecked eyes absorb my every move as she waits for me to break the suspense.

  “We wanted to talk about our upcoming union.” More like explore each other a little to see what we may find, but the lie doesn’t feel as uncomfortable when so close to the truth.

  “I can understand that,” she says, grabbing a carrot to slice. She moves the handle up and down quickly then tosses the orange pieces into a steaming pot.

  Her quick reply surprises me, and I stutter with disbelief. “He, he um, actually fancies me.” I spin in a circle and swipe my hands down my front. “He really does, despite my unusual appearance.”

  “Of course he does!” She sets the knife down and wipes her hands before taking mine. “Your unique eyes and hair—it makes you that much more beautiful.”

  Oh, Momma. She was the beautiful one. As if on cue, the fire sparks and silhouettes her petite frame and sets her porcelain skin aglow. I’m tall and slender, but not nearly as feminine. My chillingly light eyes catch in the reflection of the window behind the stove. Steam swirling around a face I never recognize, those icy blues suck away any beauty I might possess. I look away quickly. “We spoke a bit about our union and how strange it felt, even though we’ve always known we would be wed eventually…To someone the leaders had chosen.”

  She lets out an understanding groan and reaches a soothing arm over my shoulders. “Getting matched is exciting growing up. I remember.” A strange glint dances behind her expression. “I am happy Finn was chosen for you. He is a good man.”

  The people of my village have always been kind to me, but Scarlet is my dearest friend. Our fathers were close before he died, and I think that started our friendship. Sometimes after learning hours we would admire the boys as they swam in the pond, ran through the grass and practiced fighting amongst each other. We whispered about the ones we hoped to be matched with one day. Scarlet wanted Finn, wished for him her whole life, and I had wished him for her.

  As we sat in the divided rows of our age group for the revealing ceremony, her eyes misted with tears when Finn was chosen for me. My entire body lit with flames, upset for my friend, but also because I was sure he would be disgusted with the choice. Finn’s gaze heated my skin as our leader Tiberius spoke of marriage and what it meant to our people. I didn’t comprehend a word of it, blood crashing against my temples and trying so hard to melt into the center of the earth. Finally, I forced myself to look his way. Though a playful punch was thrown into his shoulder and a few jeers sounded from the boys beside him, he did not appear unhappy. His smile wasn’t just polite, it was fascinated.

  Enjoying Momma’s embrace and basking in the most genuine place on earth, I can’t hold back the hot stinging beneath my lids. “Why must we be matched? In Romeo and Juliet, they weren’t supposed to be together, and yet they had to be.”

  She shakes her head and lets me go. “We know quite well what happened to them, don’t we, little love?” She stabs through one of the vegetables in the pot and I take my place beside her as steam plumes upward. “Is that what you want? A dangerous love, so volatile it’s worth dying over?”

  We prepare a large platter with carrots, potatoes, zucchini and roasted tomatoes and all the while I’m grinning, because that kind of love strikes beautiful notes of happiness up and down my spine.

  “Ehhh.” She swings her hips into me and knocks me off balance. “Books are not real. But they are fun. The fantasy of it. I suppose this one holds a good lesson, anyway. Always listen to your mother, or heed the consequences.” Her playful twinkle conveys the opposite.

  “But the stories, they must have some basis in fact…otherwise, why do I feel exactly like the characters do?”

  “Just try to remember why we do things a certain way, can you do that?” Her knife gleams menacingly from the counter top and comforts my da
rk thoughts, but there is no forgetting the oppressive life we lead here. Its invisible walls close in and crush into my skin, beckoning the thing inside me to claw its way out.

  “The best thing you can do, my beautiful daughter, is enjoy what you have been given and learn what the books have taught us to live a better life.” She flings a forgotten carrot up by its stem and bites its tip off. “Gardening, medical science, animal breeding, building.”

  Dropping onto my creaky bed, I grip the quilt Momma helped me sew and focus on the glowing moon. “So…we do not need love?”

  Another sigh. “You know why we can’t allow it. If our men and women were always creating a big love nest of pheromones. we’d be found by them. But,” she picks the tray up and moves toward the door, “it’s impossible to fight human nature. That’s why we let you marry, although we cannot lose ourselves to the feeling. We have to fight it and settle for balance.”

  Everything she reminds me of makes perfect sense, but no amount of understanding can stop the old slashes across my thighs from reincarnating with forgotten soreness. I’ve finally come of age to be given a mate and, like all the joined couples, we must live apart, allowed only one night together per season—a night chosen when the women are less likely to conceive because there isn’t enough food for everyone here as it is. This doesn’t matter for me, however. My genetic abnormalities prevent me from breeding.

  “Momma, I’m sorry…” My hand flies up to cover the blasted tears, and she quickly places the tray aside to comfort me.

  I can’t let her. The little room already closes in on me, rules, limits, denial of my deepest desires…I bear its weight as long as I can for my mother, but it crushes my bones, and I have to run.

  2

  ~Calypso~

  Momma watches as I stumble over to the counter, sputtering another apology. She understands. She feels the strange, unnatural pull of this life too. Some days, the desirous flicker splashing her lovely features as she misses my father is too hard to ignore. She lets me storm out into the night.