by Ivy Cross
I fold my arms and remain silent. It may seem petty to pry the information from the man in this way, but Jaha will tell me what Jaha wishes to… and that will be Jaha’s version of the truth. It is far better to have more than one perspective on a situation such as this.
“Fine,” Krue spits. “The old man told us to lie about what happened. Well, lie about part of it, at least. Yrast is dead, but the female is not.”
“What!? Why lie about that?”
Krue shifts awkwardly in the doorway and glances over his shoulder before continuing. “Regar and his men had already arrived before we discovered the truth…”
“And Jaha told him of the additional female to sweeten the deal?”
“Of course he did,” Krue says. “He’s Jaha. Only now, we are one female short.”
“Okay, I get it,” I say, ending Krue’s suffering. “Your debt to me is forgiven.”
The pieces are set in there places now. I know Jaha well enough to see the story as clearly as if he had laid it all out for me himself. Telling Regar that one of the females had been slain is the lesser of two dishonors—Regar would see her death as a punishment fulfilled. But her escape would be seen only as Jaha’s incompetence. Not a good showing when the plan is to join forces.
I start to turn away from Krue, but the guard stands to attention and steps away from the hut’s entrance. Three warriors file out of the hut without a glance in Krue’s direction. Though I have never laid eyes upon him, it is easy to guess the leader of the three men is Regar.
In many ways, Regar appears the opposite of our own leader. He is youthful, large and formidable, and walks with confidence in his perceived power. As I watch, he brushes the long dark hair from his forehead, then barks a command at the two warriors in tow.
His eyes flit toward me for only a moment and then they glide past and down the path, almost as though he does not wish to lower himself through any kind of interaction.
This is when I see that he is not so different from Jaha. Just that half-glance is enough. There is a calculating shrewdness in Regar’s eyes and a purpose to his every move and action.
He is not a warrior. He is a showman.
I step aside and allow the Vanthae warriors to leave the front of the hut. As Krue hurries from the hut to join them, I fall into step with him.
“Where are you going?” Krue asks, casting me a look of disbelief. “Jaha has commanded your presence… he has a task for you.”
“I will waste no more time,” I respond. “I already know what he would have me do. And the sooner I start, the greater my chances of success.”
“How can you know already?”
I turn to Krue and sigh. Things would have been far easier had I slipped away under the cover of night—if I had accepted the female’s request and taken her to look for the rest of her kind…
“Because I know Jaha,” I say finally. “He wants me to track the escaped human and kill her. Tell him I have already begun.”
Chapter 13 – Bailey
I would give a thousand dollars for a pair of shoes.
Not even good shoes… Right now, I would be perfectly thrilled to have the cheapest, flimsiest pair of foot coverings known to man. I’d even settle for a pair of thick socks. A thousand bucks for anything to put on my aching, scratched and scraped feet. Of course, I don’t have any money, and it’s not like the natives are going to have much use for it anyway.
The trek through the forest to the Calji village was a veritable cakewalk compared to the trek away from it. Sure, I was winded and far slower than Mayna and Atrae might have liked. But then, the ground was soft and cool beneath my feet.
My first thought had been to retrace my steps back to the pod to look for any sign of what might have happened to Talia, but there was no way I could find my way back there without Atrae or Mayna guiding me. So, south was the only direction of travel that made any sense. Atrae said the village’s south exit was least used because of their conflict with the Qarna, so I figured I’d be less likely to run into any of the Calji. Plus, it’s as good a direction as any to continue looking for the others.
The terrain, however, leaves a hell of a lot to be desired.
Making it out of the village wasn’t even a challenge. I only caught sight of another living thing once, and that was only from a distance. Anyone I encountered would probably have tried to kill me on sight—a nonnative female caked to the elbows in blood doesn’t leave a lot of room for explanation. But, fortunately, the Calji village lived up to its reputation as a ghost town.
Once I was past the south perimeter, I was able to run—my version of running, at least—for the first hour or so beyond the village. After that, the ground went from moss-covered and pleasant to rock-covered and excruciating.
After killing the guard, my only thought was to escape, but now, with my feet rapidly turning to pulp, I think I should have risked it and looked for some kind of provisions…
The hardpan desert-like terrain that spreads out before me fits the looks of the archetypal desert to a tee. Orangish cracked land with almost no vegetation—only a few clumps of short wispy weeds poke up from the sandy soil at random intervals—and low, rocky hills for as far as I can see. But, as far as desert wastelands go, the temperature is fairly pleasant. So, that’s at least something in my favor.
I continue to crunch my way across the invisible southern path. It’s hard to say for sure, but I think I probably cleared a few miles in that first hour or so when the ground was still soft and the walking was much easier. Since then, maybe another mile or so? But still, I expected to see some sign of the Qarna village—smoke on the horizon, the hazy outline of some structures in the distance, something… The land is too flat and featureless to hide much of anything.
“Fuck!” Pain spikes through the bottom of one of my feet again. I pull it up to see another of the spiky little stones that look an awful lot like miniature naval mines. A trickle of bright red blood wells up and joins the rest of the red smear that now covers my entire sole.
I can’t keep this up.
I scan the landscape again. The sun is nearly gone, but there is still enough light to see much of my featureless surroundings. I just need to find somewhere close to wait out the night and rest my battered feet—an outcropping or even a large boulder, anything to give me some kind of shelter.
My shoulders slump. The darkening hills are much too far away for me to even consider. Everything else is just more of the same barren land. And if I simply sit down in the dirt where I am, I’m going to be a sitting duck for a Calji search party or anything looking for a meal in the middle of the night.
I am just about to give up and drop to the dirt in defeat when something new catches my eye. It’s only there for a second and then it’s gone. But I’m certain I saw it—a bright light or reflection on what I think is the east side of my path.
“Don’t you dare be a fucking mirage.” I set off in the direction of the light, practically tiptoeing to avoid any more of the painful rocks. “Please don’t be…”
About two minutes later, I’m certain it’s not a mirage. The last bits of sunlight seem to be playing off something reflective further along in a low section of the terrain. It may only be a shiny rock, but I don’t have anywhere else to go.
Two more of the pain-in-the-ass rocks, then I can finally see what I’m headed toward. My breath catches in my chest. I ignore the protests of my feet and start to run. It’s one of the other pods.
Distance out here must work differently because it still takes me an hour to reach it. The sun is completely gone, but the metal pod still gleams in the low light. The ground is scorched darker in a rough circle all around the perimeter of the escape pod.
“Hello?” I touch the cold metal, then give it a couple hard raps with my fist. The hatch is closed tight, and there’s no sign to tell me if the occupants ever came out.
When Lisic shepherded us to the pods—what now seems like a lifetime ago—he opened them by runn
ing his clawed hand along the dark pad set at the hatch’s side. Now, maybe there was something more elaborate than a simple touch going on—for all I know the thing was bio-coded to his skin or something—but it seems like a safe place to start.
I run my fingers across the smooth dark pad and wait a beat. Then another.
Nothing happens.
I try pounding again, but if someone inside hears me, I sure can’t hear their response. There’s a round window set high in the top of the hatch, but it’s no help either. I’m not tall enough to get a good angle to see down inside where the women would be, and the glass-like material is clouded over to boot.
“Just my luck. I finally find another pod and I can’t even get inside…”
Still, I guess it makes a shelter of sorts for the night. It won’t protect me from the elements or beasties, but the bulk of the pod might hide me from sight… at least a little.
Sitting with my back against the hatch, the relief from being off my pained feet combines with the soft, intermittent thrum from the pod to lull me to the edge of sleep in a matter of seconds. The slight vibration comes through the skin of the pod at even intervals—buzz, buzz, tap, buzz, buzz, tap—but it seems to weaken as it continues. It’s like some system inside is giving its dying breath.
The thought makes me turn and look back at the hatch again. Maybe the electrical system is depleted or damaged. That could be why the door pad wouldn’t respond.
I slide my hands over every surface on and around the pod’s hatch. The light of the day is completely gone now, and even at this range, I can barely make out the indistinct features of the craft.
For several minutes I grope the chilly metal like a preschooler finger painting on a wall. But, eventually, I find what I’m hoping for—a small circular indentation about a foot up from the bottom of the hatch. This thing wasn’t designed by humans, but some kinds of logic are universal. Like having an emergency release for a hatch when there’s no more power.
I press in on the little depression and, after a low pop, a larger section of the pod’s exterior hull comes open like a tiny secret door. Inside, there’s a hand-sized lever. Well, hand-sized for a creature much larger than me.
I pull on the grip part of the lever, first with one hand and then with both, but it only budges a tiny bit. “Nope. After the trouble I had finding you, you do not get to act like a stubborn ass.”
Once I’m sure the inanimate object has been thoroughly chastised, I brace both of my feet against the bottom of the hull and pull on the bastard lever for all I’m worth.
And there’s a pop. First from my lower back, then from the hatch release lever. I fall back onto my ass and watch the pod’s exit hatch drop open a couple of inches.
“I’ll take it,” I say, standing back up and pulling the hatch open fully.
Inside, it’s even darker. No surprise there. The air is stale and smells a little like burnt wires… but that’s a hell of a lot better than decaying human flesh.
“Hey, anyone home?” I squint into the inky blackness, but I can’t make out a thing. “Back to groping in the dark, I guess.”
I have a good memory of roughly were the seats should be, and it only takes me a few seconds to establish they are both unoccupied. I breathe out a long sigh of relief. I really didn’t want to find a dead body in here.
At the same time, I feel a little deflated. Someone was here, obviously, and I have missed them. This couldn’t have been Mel and Veronica’s pod—they said something about coming down in the forest. And that means the occupants are still out here in the wilds somewhere… or they made it to the Qarna village.
Judging from my own experience, I’m not sure which of those scenarios would be better. The Valat and other creepy crawlies are going to be a hell of a thing to deal with without so much as some pepper spray to keep them away. But then again, the more civilized natives aren’t that much better.
God, why couldn’t things just be simple for once?
I’m not sure why, but my mind keeps going back to Atrae. He’s haunted by his past—maybe driven half-crazy by it—but I can feel that he’s different from the others somehow. Or maybe that’s only some strong wishful thinking on my part. I mean, the only time since I’ve been on this planet that I have felt remotely comfortable—remotely safe—was when I was with him.
I just wish things had turned out differently. No big revelation there, I guess. Given better options—like being by Atrae’s side—I’m pretty sure no one would choose killing a gross would-be rapist and then running off into the wastes of an alien planet alone and with no plan…
I jump as something taps hard against the partly open hatch. I turn in the darkness and brace myself for someone or something to rip the hatch open and attack, but the tap comes again and then becomes a regular beat against the whole exterior of the pod.
“Didn’t figure I’d need to worry about bad weather in the middle of what looks like a friggin’ desert.” My voice comforts me a little and makes the pitch-black pod feel a little less claustrophobic—a little less like a coffin.
I push the hatch open a few more inches and look outside. Large beads of rain mixed with hail pelt down against the ground and pod. As I watch, the first brilliant white flashes of lightning flash the whole world back to daylight a half-second at a time, illuminating the cracked hardpan long enough for me to see it turn to dark mud.
A shudder passes through me at the thought of being out there in that without any shelter. “Very fucking close,” I say to my new home. I snap the hatch closed, first confirming the presence of a release switch on this side, and make myself comfortable in one of the two oversized chairs. Nothing like a freak storm to make one appreciate a good roof over the head.
The chair isn’t the most comfortable—a little too hard and a little too not shaped for a human’s ass—but it gets me off my tortured feet, and that’s enough for me.
I start to drift off almost immediately as I watch the murky hatch viewport strobe with the lightning outside. Before I succumb completely, my mind goes back to Atrae. Wherever he went, I wonder if he got caught in this storm… Doubtful, he could probably smell it on the winds from fifty miles off.
The thought of him scenting the wind—his strong, perfectly formed nose angled toward the sky—puts a little smile on my face as the dark fingers of sleep pull me under.
Chapter 14 – Atrae
The female’s trail from my village is easy to pick up. She is light, and her bare feet leave little evidence behind. But the blood of the guard she killed, Yrast, is speckled onto the ground in a straight line toward the south side of the village.
The scene at Yrast’s hut was unexpectedly brutal. His throat had been slashed precisely and efficiently—a single thrust had ended such a formidable warrior. Formidable, but not well-liked. Not liked at all, as far as I am concerned. Yrast was a man concerned only with his own base needs, and lately, he had been more brazen about expressing his desire to join with the Qarna.
It is customary to think of the dead as better than they were, but I cannot say I am surprised by the manner of his death. And seeing him there, dead in a pool of blood and clutching his cock, I could not help thinking it a fitting end for such a despicable man.
So, no great loss there. But, still, Jaha will have seen it as a slight against him. Yrast was one of his subjects—one of his guards, no less. The circumstances are of little consequence.
That Bailey had to be the one to see him to that end is unfortunate. But I now see she is a formidable warrior in her own right. Her fragile, beautiful form conceals something wholly unexpected. Something hard and unforgiving. Something with claws.
The day’s light is fading by the time I reach the border of the waste. I tug a pair of footwraps from my pouch and cinch them onto my feet. The terrain beyond this point can be harsh even for my leathery soles.
I cannot imagine how the delicate female is fairing.
I chuckle inwardly at my mistake. This one is not s
o delicate as I once thought.
The blood trail faded long ago, and my only choice is the continue due south until I pick up her trail again. My hope is that she will continue on the south path. From her perspective, it is likely the only choice—she knows what is on both ends of the path, and she knows nothing else of the area. But if her sense of direction is poor, or she thinks she is being tracked, she may veer from the course, which could make my task quite difficult…
Under different circumstances, this kind of pursuit would be enjoyable for me. The hunt, whether for person or beast, is the purest way to pit one against another. There is no separation between the two participants—time, distance, they do not matter. The pursued can feel the pursuers breath on her neck at every turn. And the pursuer can smell the scent of his elusive quarry just beyond every obstacle.
When I was young, before my father fell, I thought this game was set between predator and prey. The thought made me feel strong like I was an unstoppable force stalking after some hapless and weak opponent—beast or warrior, it would not matter. But my father corrected that in me early and made me better for it.
“There is no predator. There is no prey. There is only you… and another who will do just as much to survive as you will to see that it does not. Believe otherwise and you will see your roles reversed.” His words echo in my mind as clearly as the day he spoke them.
Those words alone may have been enough to set me on the straight path, but my father was never a man of half-actions. He roused me from a dead sleep one night of my seventh cycle, pushed a sharpened spear shaft into my hand, and set me on the path of an alderwere with the blood fever.
“You or him,” were his only words to me on that night.
I run my hand down the jagged scar on my left thigh, the memory bringing to life the bright pain of the beast’s claws. There had been a pursuer and the pursued that night, but there certainly had not been a predator and his prey—only two beings wanting to survive the ordeal that tangled them together.