by Ivy Cross
I make it nearly to the midpoint between my village and the main path to the Qarna before the day’s light fails completely. The night will be moonless, but the terrain is gentle enough to make my continued progress easy enough.
That will be my advantage.
The female had a sizable head start on me, but she will need to stop for the night. I should overtake her long before dawn.
The thought of that reunion causes me to pause, but I quickly push the distraction from my mind. What comes later has no bearing on the present.
My sense of direction cannot be faulted, and I am sure that I am keeping to the south path. But not even the stars shine to help show the way. Strange for this season.
I pull in a long breath and taste a metal tang in the air. Finally, it dawns on me what the buzz in my stomach should have told me long ago. A storm is brewing. And judging from the heaviness in my chest, it will be an angry one.
I mutter a curse and squint into the blackness that surrounds me. The wastes are not much for shelter of any kind. The plants that are stubborn enough to grow are stunted, sullen things that provide neither nutrition nor cover.
The winds start to swirl as the temperature falls and the first drops of rain begin to pelt against my bare shoulders and back. Hail comes next, stinging and chilling me in equal measures. In the space of a few breaths, the sky becomes a maelstrom of bright white fire and booming anger.
It will do me no favors to continue my search in the face of a storm such as this. I would be just as likely to pass blindly by my quarry or miss any sign she might leave behind.
I hunker down in the quickly forming mud and set my shoulders against the hammering ice. My skin is tough, so the hail will do no real damage. And I relish each icy lash as it comes. It serves to remind me of another lesson: always prepare for the hunt. This one may or may not have come from my father, it was too long ago to remember. But it is important regardless. I should have gathered supplies, even for what I suspected would be a short hunt. My hip pouch has a few necessities—the foot coverings I still wear, materials for a fire, oils for my blade and elixirs for my health—but aside from that and the blade on my hip, I brought nothing at all.
Even a simple cloak would have made this night more bearable.
A brilliant bolt of lightning explodes to the ground only a few hundred paces from my spot. In the flash, I can see the recently dry soil sucking in the rain and turning to glistening mud from its gluttony. And I can see the low hills to the east blanketed in the rains from the roiling gray storm clouds that are rushing in from the south.
But it is the structure on the west side of the path that draws my eye the most. It is a hide tent large enough for two or three people. I see no figures near it nor any signs of continued habitation, but the flash is brief, and any campers would be inside now because of the storm.
I stand to a crouch and stride slowly in the direction of the tent. The storm will cover any sounds of my approach—with this din, I could ride in undetected on the back of an enraged alderwere—but the flashes of lightning will give me shape to any eyes that may be there to look.
No Calji from the village would have cause to be out here. Something like that would have been mentioned to me as the head of the guard.
That just leaves the Qarna or defectors to the Qarna. Both enemies in my eyes.
Another crash of lightning illuminates the world just as I reach the structure. I wait, unmoving with my blade at the ready, for any sound or response from inside the tent. The thunder rolls in almost immediately after the flash, indicating the storm’s will is to stand its ground for a little longer.
With no response from those inside, I creep around to the front of the tent. The remains of a cookfire darken the ground a few paces from the entrance flap. It is a good sign. I would have noticed this fire burning for an evening meal long before my trek brought me near and long before the storm had begun.
Still, I must be vigilant. It makes little sense for the occupants to have left the structure intact—unless it is still in use, or they plan to make use of it once again.
As the storm rages down against the world, I use the tip of my blade to peel back the hide flap. I hold it open, only a hand’s width, until another flash of lightning comes and pours inside.
Empty.
I secure my blade on my hip and push through the flaps. The interior is warm and dry but, instead of a sense of relief, I feel only the needling fingers of dread. This camp confirms a Qarna presence in the immediate area. What could have drawn them out of their comfortable camp for the night?
I have a few ideas on the matter.
The flashes from outside are enough to get the lay of the tent. There are fur mats still by the back wall, but no other supplies remain, suggesting they had no intention of coming back this night, at least.
A tiny brightly colored object also catches my eyes. I pick up the small tube of cloth and turn it in my hand. It weighs almost nothing and is shaped like a tiny foot. A tiny human foot.
Very curious. I did not note such an article of clothing on Bailey. During our encounters, her tiny pink feet were as bare as my own.
Could the Qarna have encountered more of Bailey’s kind? It seems likely. And that also may explain their sudden absence from this camp.
But, with this storm raging, there is little I can do to track Bailey or the Qarna if they are even still in the area.
With thoughts of Bailey and the Qarna foremost in my mind, I hunker down onto the furs to let my skin dry. This place will provide welcome shelter for the storm, but there will be no rest for me this night.
Chapter 15 – Bailey
I pry open my sleep-caked eyes to see dull light filtering through the murky viewport on the hatch in front of me. I don’t remember the storm coming to an end, and I don’t remember falling asleep.
I do remember a half-formed phantom chasing me through some nondescript and unending tunnel in my feverish dreams. It’s more a sensation than an actual memory—an anxiety that something is close and barreling down on me. And that all I have to do is turn and look, and that will be enough for it to swoop down and snatch me with its enormous arms.
My back cracks like a shotgun blast as I stand from the chair and stretch. The dawn light through the viewport is enough for me to get a clearer look at the interior of the pod, but there are no real surprises. It’s the same as the one Talia and I came down in.
I decide to make a search of the place for any supplies that might be of use—something I didn’t have time to do in my pod. There are actually more cubbies and storage places than I first thought because most of them are almost invisibly set flush with the bulkheads.
Unfortunately, the more of them I pull open, the more completely useless—and completely unfathomable—junk I find. There are hundreds of colorful plastic squares in several of the compartments and transparent sacks of gel in a few of the others. It could be food or medicine for Lisic’s people. Then again, the stuff could be weird alien explosives or laxatives… Either way, I’m not putting them inside of me.
I pop open a long, narrow drawer set in the bulkhead directly between the two chairs. It’s full of brightly colored rubber tubes that are packaged by the pair in mesh sacks. They sort of look like oversized oven mitts with the thumbs removed.
“Well, that’s just great guys. Just what you want to see in an emergency escape pod… the most useless shit in the entire universe.”
I start to toss the weird rubber oven mitts back in the drawer when an idea strikes me. There are little clasps on the outer edges of the open ends. So, maybe… just maybe.
The mesh sack doesn’t put up a fight, and I pull out the pair of tubes. Maybe they were meant for the Kaeth’s hands, but I think they will work like thick rubber socks for me.
I tug them both on and cinch the clasps. They’re not the right shape for my feet, but the material is malleable enough to work with, and they seem like they’ll stay in place while I walk.
> “Better than nothing.” And a hell of a lot better than walking on that rocky ground with my ground-to-the-nubs bare feet.
I consider taking a few more pairs with me just in case, but I think they would probably only weigh me down. It’s not like I have a backpack to stow this junk in.
I do grab a handful of the colorful plastic squares and shove them in the pocket of my joggers. The things look useless, but maybe they’ll dazzle some of the natives. They might want them to make jewelry or decorations… and maybe they’d be willing to trade for them.
With that settled, I start back toward the exit hatch. Just in the brief time since I woke up, the pod’s interior has raised in temperature about twenty degrees and sweat is already dripping from my forehead.
I kneel to grab the hatch release but stop halfway down. A shadow moves across the viewport. It pauses for a moment, completely blotting out the light, then moves to the right side and disappears.
It’s hard to tell for sure, but the dark form looked like a person to me, not an animal. Of course, the Valat would probably look like that too, and they’re more beast than person…
The hatch opens outwardly, so it wouldn’t do any good to try to block it. I examine the release lever on this side, but I can’t tell if there is any way to keep the hatch from opening if someone finds the outside lever.
The shadow returns, and this time I hear muffled sounds that might be hushed voices. I press my ear to the cool surface of the hatch and listen… just in time for the person to bang on the other side. It’s a little like having my ear pressed up against a gong, and the shock sends me toppling back on my ass.
“Hello! Is someone in there?” It’s a female voice and, when I don’t answer immediately, I hear more of the muffled talking on the other side.
I try listening at the hatch again. This time I make out a fragment of conversation. Don’t know how and Maybe you were wrong. The words come from the original speaker and I can’t make out anything from the other person.
The rap at the door comes again, but this time I have my ear away before it does.
“We’re humans,” the voice says. “We came down in a pod just like you… If you’re in there, I can’t get your hatch open.” The voice fades off once again.
I hesitate for a moment longer, just watching the shadowy form on the other side. And then I make my decision and pop the release lever.
Silhouetted on the other side of the hatch is a short brunette with a messy pixie cut wearing a floral nightgown. She looks even more haggard than I feel. Dark crescents frame both of her red-tinged eyes, making her look a decade older than she probably is.
“Lara?” I say, after wracking my brain for a minute. I seem to remember something about her being a dental hygienist from Tampa. Or was it a gynecologist from Tempe?
“Cara.” The woman says with an apologetic grimace. “I was really hoping no one would be in here.”
“What’s that supposed to—”
A pair of thickly muscled and darkly tanned arms appear from the right side of the hatchway and yank Cara rudely aside. The woman hits the ground hard, but she doesn’t make a sound.
“Hey! What the fuck, asshole?”
The asshole in question steps into the open doorway, blotting out nearly all of the light from the other side. He has to squat his considerable bulk almost to the ground to get a look inside.
He looks similar to the Calji—definitely the same species, or at least an offshoot. But his face is hideously decorated with the bleached-white bones of small creatures. Tiny skulls and ribcages like from birds and lizards dangle from every inch of the man’s already brutal-looking face like some kind of perverse bead mask. Only, these strange bits of jewelry are pierced right into his flesh.
He takes a hunched step into the pod, and I scamper up against the back wall to get as far away as possible. The pod is tiny, so I don’t get very far away at all…
“Don’t take another step! I’m armed.” I shove a hand into my pocket and do my damnedest to pretend there’s something more in there than a handful of tiny plastic squares.
“Good.” The alien’s voice booms out like a foghorn. “I prefer to win my trophies in battle.”
“No, it’s not good.” I try, and likely fail, to keep the quaver out of my voice. “I have a fucking ray gun. One shot and you’ll be nothing but a pile of dust on the floor.”
He cocks his giant head to the side, causing the dozens of tiny bones to softly click and clack against one another. “I know not of ray gun.”
“Well, you’re about to. It’s an extremely powerful weapon that will burn you from the inside out. You’ll die screaming when I shoot you.”
The alien shifts his head to the other side, then scans his dark eyes across my body for a long moment. I know what he’s decided before he even says a word.
“Then shoot me, female,” he says, taking another step toward me.
Chapter 16 – Atrae
I find the strange metal structure not long after dawn. It looks like the oversized egg of a melka—only forged from some shiny metal. It is much smaller than a hut from my village, but it is larger than any metal object I have ever seen. Stranger still, it is embedded in the soil and ringed by scorch marks, almost as if it fell from the sky on a bed of flames.
I recognize its connection to the human female at once. Not only because of the object’s strangeness but also because it still holds her sweet scent. This must be one of the skyships Bailey mentioned. It makes little sense to me and makes me realize how little I really know about her and her people…
Still, I know she was here very recently.
And her scent is not the only one that lingers here. There is another—one pungent with a sickly musk and sour sweat. A male’s scent.
I stoop to examine the chaotic tracks left in the dirt at the egg-structure’s open door. The most obvious markings, heavy trenches carved into the now dry soil, were left by a large male wearing some kind of footwraps. He stomped around clumsily, nearly erasing the other lighter prints.
But there are still subtle signs of two others—far fainter indentations left by much smaller individuals. If either set of markings came from Bailey, and I believe one did, she must have found something to cover her feet.
I spare a last glance around the area, then start to move in the direction the tracks lead. They cannot have much of a lead on me now, but the more time I waste, the larger the gap becomes.
And if they make it to the Qarna village before I stop them… the situation becomes far more complicated.
I make it only a few paces when a splash of red amongst the tan soil catches my eye. There, half-lodged in the drying mud, is the bleached skull of a byrna with a smear of blood along the top ridge.
I scoop the tiny object from the dirt and turn it over, dreading what I know I will find. The sharp piercing hook is on the back just as I fear.
“Gods…”
The race to beat them to the Qarna village no longer matters. But I wish it were not so. Bailey was taken by one of the Nameless, the nomads without a true tribe. To a one, they are madmen and savages, depraved beyond imagining. They have no honor and kill for sport and bloodlust.
I have even heard tale of their kind feasting on the flesh of their victims.
It is a simple task to follow the heavy male’s clumsy tracks. Their path is generally south-east, branching them away from the Qarna village and toward the low hills that skirt the wastes. With the dread and nervous energy coursing through my veins, I make it there in half the time that would be usual.
I stop and scan the gray, rocky hills for any sign of movement. Almost nothing grows upon these hills, certainly nothing large enough to hide three people, and it does not take long to pick them out as they breast the nearest of hills. Barely three hundred paces from me now…
A large male, most definitely one of the Nameless, leads Bailey and another of her kind by lengths of rope looped around their necks. Even as I watch, the unknow
n female falters, dropping to her knees. The male turns and shouts something unintelligible, then lays a heavy backhand across the fallen female’s lips. He raises his hand for another blow, then drops it to his side as he catches sight of me.
I bolt in their direction.
The Nameless turns and runs, half dragging the two humans behind him.
“This is pointless! You cannot escape me.” I shout, closing the distance quickly. Even were the man alone, and not dragging two very slow human females behind him, there is no way he could match my speed. His bulk is considerable, and I imagine him a very formidable warrior… but he was not built for quickness.
The man turns and comes to a halt, letting out a loud grunt of outrage as I continue my approach.
“I had hoped to have these female things to my home by now,” he bellows. “But they are slow, stupid things that cannot understand the simplest of instructions.” He puts a hand behind his back and pulls out a vicious-looking blackstone cleaver. It has to be nearly as long as one of my legs, but it looks small in his massive hands.
“And now I have to waste time killing you, Caljira.” He uses the bastardized name for my people that other tribes sometimes sling as insult. Jira means weak.
“I have come for the females, Nameless.” I take a step forward and place my hand upon the hilt of my blade. “Release them and I will let you crawl back under whatever rock you call home.”
He takes a few lumbering steps in my direction, casually leaning his weapon against one massive shoulder. “Maybe this won’t be such a waste of time after all. I had planned to play with one of the females and feed on the other… but your flesh will feed the three of us until the next moon. More play to be had that way.”
I unsheathe my blade and hold my ground as he continues to walk toward me. For the first time I can remember, my curved sword seems far too small for the task ahead.