His jaw clenches, his purple skin looking cool and grey beneath the clouds, which hang low. He clears his throat and there’s no mistaking the voice that speaks. It haunts me, but not like Bo’Raku, not in my dreams… this voice haunts me through the solar. It’s taken the place of my inner diatribe…
“Xhea, Kuana, pardon my entry. There is a break in the frost. We will honor Re’Okarru now with the chamar.”
“Now?”
His ridges flash a dark and sinister indigo. “Are you giving me cause to repeat myself, Xhea?”
I bite my lips together and clench my knees to keep my legs from wobbling. “No. I heard you. The chamar. I’ll get ready right away.” I’m nervous to look at him. The promise of punishment has my body rippling, tingling, pulsing. I can feel heavy weights in my breasts, the peaking of my nipples. This enormous pelt shrouding me feels like nothing at all.
Meanwhile, he is entirely devoid of expression. It irks me. “Do I have time to change?” I say when he doesn’t move.
“Hexa.”
I pause, thinking of the human tradition of wearing black to show mourning. I don’t have any black though. I only have the fur-lined suits Kuana brings me. “What should I wear?”
He doesn’t respond. At all. His silence is a little shocking. He just stares at me with his huge eyes, dark and glossy enough I can see my reflection suspended in them. I can also see other patterns swirling through their endlessness. It hurts to try to follow them, but I can’t look away. I don’t want to look away.
Behind me, Kuana perks up. “Forgive my interruption, but I can assist you with this, if it please you, Xhea.”
“That would be great. Thank you, Kuana.”
Though the air is thicker now and harder to move through. It’s hard to turn from him. I don’t understand it. Everything was okay before — not fine, but alright — but now it hurts again. The want I’ve felt these past solars has returned tenfold.
I go to Kuana in the back of the dome who holds up another fur suit and lays it gently on top of the closed chest she removed it from. When I reach her, her fingers deftly untie the clasp at my front and without warning, she pulls the pelt away from me, stripping me bare.
“Woah, woah,” I whisper, catching the pelt as it falls. I glance over my shoulder and see that Okkari is watching me with brutal intensity. He hasn’t turned away and it sends shivers racing through my bones and goosebumps rippling across my flesh. Unwanted wetness surges between my legs. I squeeze them together as tight as I can and it doesn’t help at all.
“Oh!” Kuana’s forehead is bright blue with little slivers of white and gold and silver. To make matters worse, she flutters, “I can leave you and the Okkari, if you’d like privacy to consummate your Xiveri bond…”
“No! Oh my stars, comets and curses, nox. No, Kuana. That’s so…awkward.” I flush so hard I’m sure I’ll burst into actual flames. And behind me Okkari isn’t saying anything. But that doesn’t mean he’s silent. No. He’s rumbling. I need Svera. I need her to tell me what this is because the painful sensation below my waist is anything but human. A hoarse moan chokes in my mouth and I quickly grab the fur-lined suit off the chest.
“Kuana, just hold up the pelt so I can change, please.”
“Nox,” comes the visceral rebuke from behind me. I glance back. He’s an even deeper purple and one foot is a little further forward than the other like he wants to come forward but is held in place by an invisible barrier. I meet his gaze and he shakes his head. Slowly. “Nox.”
I shiver and try to ignore him as Kuana helps me into the furs she’s laid out for me. These form sort of a pant with a skirt wrapped around them. Another fur engulfs my torso and finally, Kuana pulls a heavy shawl over my head that covers everything. I feel like a paper lamp shade, but when I turn towards the Okkari, he looks at me like I’m a moon — no, like I’m the moon in a strange and distant universe where there is only one.
Kuana yanks a fur hat on over my braids. The ends flow free, draping over my suit down to my breasts and slightly past them. When I turn and approach Okkari, I see him staring at those tips murderously and I wonder what they’ve done to offend him.
I open my mouth, but I can’t seem to find any words to ask. “I’m ready for the chamar now, Okkari,” I say instead.
He nods once and together we step outside and wait the moments it takes for Kuana to ready herself. “During the chamar, you will stand at my side,” he says and I don’t understand why he’s telling me this.
“Where else would I be?”
He exhales, shoulders dropping slightly as if in relief and I cringe. He still doesn’t trust me. I still haven’t proven myself to him.
“I will stand at your side.”
I don’t miss the way his left hand twitches towards me as I step up to his side. “Xhivey. Then we will go now.”
The wind is calm, but the white that falls does so in big pieces, the size of my whole chest. I have a hard time walking through them, but eventually we work our way around the valley floor past the homes, past the training arena, past the place where the Hurr work, past the caves where the trackers practice their craft, past the medics and the granary, past several other doorways and entrances containing facilities I have yet to explore.
Walking becomes easier as we start an incline. The sounds become less muted and I slowly realize that we aren’t alone. A shadow appears up ahead through the enormous, airy sheets of white that fall, and then another. And then I start to make out the sound of footsteps behind us and slightly to the left. Many footsteps. The valley winds dramatically through the craggy, black screa hills, twisting this way and that, so it’s hard to see others for more than a few moments before they disappear behind the next bend, or we do.
Eventually though, an eerie hush settles over us and as we follow the next curve, the valley comes to its finish. There’s an entrance where the two hillsides meet, a great hole in the side of the rock where the white cannot reach it. People — I mean beings — nox, the tribe, the community — draw nearer to it. It’s the first time I’ve seen so many gathered.
Old and young, some with black hair, others with white, others like the Okkari’s and something in between. Skin in all emerald shades, from violet to lime to rust, but most prevalently their faces beam from above their fur-suits in shades of cobalt and charcoal. The Okkari’s shade is rather unique among them. I look up at him now, having to crane my neck to see his face. When I do, I’m shocked to see him already looking at me.
“I have been informed that Kuana briefly instructed you on the procedure for the chamar,” he says, “You will tell me if this is correct.”
“Hexa, she has. She’s been doing a great job. I only hope that I can remember everything and honor the tribe.”
He blinks twice in quick succession. “You will.”
“I don’t know about that.” I remember Kuana’s words and the dishonor I have caused him and exhale in a rush, “So I pass the torch that’s handed to me and once the body is lowered into the grave, I place my stone after Kuana does. Then you.”
“Hexa.”
“Where do I find the stone?”
“You will follow my lead. All will be clear. I will not allow you to dishonor yourself.”
Too late for that, I think, but I don’t voice it. I don’t say anything. Because all this time I thought Jaxal was teaching me how to be strong, and though my body might be stronger, my heart is weaker than it ever has been. They call me their warrior Xhea, but I’m a coward. Kuaku was right all along — they deserve better.
“Thank you, Okkari,” I whisper.
The lip of the cave entrance has risen up over us now, towering high overhead. So vast it makes me feel like an insect staring up and imagining the cosmos. My gloved hand flexes towards the Okkari’s, wanting to hold onto something to anchor myself, but I restrain myself at the last moment.
Instead, I make sure to walk at his side as we approach the gathering crowd. Packed in under the awning of th
e cave entrance, even though they face away from us, their shoulders angle our way and they watch us as we walk. They’re staring at me harder even than they’re staring at him. I’m not surprised. After all, I’m the reason they’re all here. Re’Okkari would still be alive if I hadn’t been so vindictive.
Self-hatred hits hard and all I can do is roll my shoulders back and stare straight ahead, trying my best to mimic the Okkari’s stance and attitude. Before us, the silent crowd parts. Their shuffling feet and rustling fur suits are the only sounds besides the fire crackling in huge screa basins carved directly into the stone walls. It gets warmer the further we walk. Never quite reaching a state of real heat, it’s definitely not cold by the time we reach the front of the congregation. There, a long stretch of dirt extends to the back of the cave, which is trapped by shadows too dense for light to penetrate. And between us and that darkness are dozens of mounds. Maybe hundreds of them. Maybe thousands.
Stacked stones form cairns that remind me of graves on the human colony, but only when they’re fresh. The sand comes strong, burying the graves by the end of the solar they were laid. Here, the graves are permanent, immortalized. Each mound representing someone who will never be forgotten by the passage of time because their stones remain. Their stones proved they existed.
The power of this place rushes over me like a wave, so hard I can’t stand. I reach out, scrambling to grab hold of something. Finding his arm, my fingers snake down past his wrist and take his hand. He doesn’t react, or if he does, I don’t see it. I’m staring straight ahead at the patch of dirt that has been dug up. Lying there, as if in sleep, is Re’Okkari.
He lies face up, his eyes covered with two small, flat stones that frighten me. Why does he travel to the Great Ocean of the After blind? I can feel Kuana’s presence as she steps in place beside me, but I still feel panic when Okkari surges ahead. He breaks the contact of our hand long enough to retrieve two stones from a collection near Re’Okkari’s grave. He hands me one of them. Removing my gloves as he has, I take it, and with my free hand, I take his.
This time, I feel him jolt beside me as I lace my fingers with his, but he doesn’t move or look at me or break the connection. Instead, he keeps his face forward and we watch as, villagers approach the grave one-by-one to lay their stones on Re’Okkari’s body. Time passes slowly, but eventually the cairn grows taller, forming a clipped peak awaiting its apex. It stands just as proud and jutting as the others.
My heart summersaults in my chest when Tre’Hurr and Va’El make their way to the cairn. Va’El is no longer limping, which is a relief, and when I manage to catch his gaze, he gives me a very subtle nod. I return it along with a half-smile before casting that same humbled, torn expression at Tre’Hurr next. She smiles back at me sadly before the pair folds into the crowd. Before long, Kuana, the Okkari and I are the last one’s left.
Kuana returns from placing her stone and a reverent hush settles over the crowd. All is still. I inhale quietly. Steady…steady… I wait, but the Okkari seems to hesitate, and I realize quickly it’s likely because our hands are still linked and I don’t want to release him. I’m scared. Petrified. So when I move forward, I tug him with me. He pauses on the first step, then joins me, falling into line at my side.
The cairn is high now — up to his chest and my forehead. My shawl stretches as I place my stone beside his. Our fingers glance as I do. I look up at him and he is looking down at me and all I want him to know in that moment is that I’m sorry, so sorry for everything. I thought I was here to kill aliens, but the death of one feels like death to me too.
The Okkari jerks, his ridges hinting at color before he stiffens and the color dies. He turns from me then to face the village stretched out before us in a mass of stoic mourning. Though they may not be an expressive people, I can still feel the desolation of this place. The bitterness. The love.
“Re’Okkari was a brave warrior.” The Okkari’s voice is deep and more melodic than it has a right to be. He speaks loudly, but without shouting, and it sends splashes of ice rattling down my spine, followed almost immediately by a warmth that makes it possible to overcome.
“He fought honorably until the end in defense of our Xhea, and in defense of our home. His sacrifice will not be forgotten. Not only does our Xhea live, but the hevarr will provide sustenance to the entire village through the coming icefalls and make it possible for us to thrive through the storms. May the Xaneru within Re’Okkari go now to reunite with the Xana of the universe. We will raise our torches now to help light his path…”
“Wait.” The word punches out of me on a breath. I can feel a fresh tension thrumming through the throngs, though it’s nothing in comparison to the tension of Okkari beside me. I look up into his gaze pleadingly, and when he blinks that’s the only concession I know I’ll get. I take it. What am I doing? Something. Anything I can.
I take a step forward, releasing the Okkari’s hand so that he and Re’Okarri’s cairn are behind me while I face the village. The entire village. What am I doing? I look to Kuana and even though she is utterly expressionless, as they all are, the sight of her bolsters my confidence.
I inhale deep into my belly and say, “Kuana, would you translate for me?”
She blinks with her too wide eyes and a breath of color crosses her forehead before it fades. After a split instant’s hesitation, she approaches me and bows at the waist. “It is an honor, my Xhea.”
“Thank you, Kuana.” I turn then and my bones feel like glass as I lift my voice and do the unthinkable — I address all of the aliens at the same time and with the express purpose of honoring one of them. Maybe all of them.
Words burn as they spill out of me. Raw and shameless, I confess, “I built a cairn for my best friend’s mother. She died giving birth to a hybrid human-Dra’Kesh child. That child is now the Rakukanna.”
Kuana inhales so deeply I can feel the air shift between us. She raises her voice loud and it wobbles only once. The crowd is silent, but I haven’t been stopped or dismissed. I keep going. “It was the first cairn I ever helped build. I’ve built many more since. We humans have known much suffering. For a long time I have blamed the whole of Voraxia for that suffering, including you here on Nobu.
“But to have condemned the whole because of the actions of a few is wrong. And to have brought any amount of reciprocal suffering onto you, is even more so. I am honored by the actions of Re’Okkari, Va’El, Ka’Okkari, the other hunters and trackers who took down the hevarr, fighting like beasts themselves. And I am deeply, deeply honored by our Okkari who delivered the fatal blow.” I swallow hard and wait for Kuana to catch up to me. As I do, I dare a glance over my shoulder to see the Okkari standing there with his hands at his sides. He’s stiff. Blank as a void.
“This fatal blow was made, in part, by Re’Okkari’s sacrifice and his honor to the tribe. To the Okkari and to me. I know I don’t know your culture and customs yet, but I am learning. In the meantime, it is my wish now to honor Re’Okkari in the only way I know how.
“I never sang the mourning song — Svera, the advisor to the Rakukanna always did the honor. But I will try for you now. I will try for Re’Okkari so that he may know he was cherished as he finds his way to the Great Ocean of the After, where he will find his peace.”
Kuana finishes and I gently tap her arm. She need not translate this. I close my eyes and think of my mother, my father, Svera, Miari, Jaxal, Kuana, the Okkari. I let everything else fall away. Every fear, every hope, every hate. And I sing.
15
Kinan
Her voice carries through the cavern, haunting in its melody and utterly captivating. I am still, emotions locked down so that my ridges remain colorless though the same cannot be said for so many with us here. This is a somber, stoic place and yet I see ridges now in almost every shade. Many greys represent their grief, but also very many more blues. It pleases the people to hear her sing. Slightly off-key though she may be, the depth of her intention is known as she sings
of loss and salvation, redemption and grace.
As her song concludes, ridged foreheads tip forward slightly, and then bow a little deeper. She returns to my side and laces her five fingers with my six. I hold her hand firmly, not wishing to disrupt the honor my people give her, but wishing that she knows just what an honor it is. Is this acceptance? Not just the tribe’s acceptance of her, but her acceptance of the tribe? Is this too much to hope for?
I do not know, but catch sight of Va’El and Tre’Hurr beaming at their Xhea now. Hurr and several of the other females who participated in the Run on the Mountain are nearby and wear similar expressions of joy. I feel dangerously moved by what is unfolding before me. So many breaks in tradition all at once, yet we are somehow all here together, worshipping at the same altar, honoring the same warrior, and we are one.
There is no human and Voraxian. There is only honor and grace. As my warrior Xhea turns to look at me, I can see in her eyes the guidance she seeks, but I can also see the water rivulets dotting the hairs on her lower eyelids. They land with fat explosions on the crests of her cheeks, looking just like rain. She may not wear grey, but her grief for Re’Okkari’s death is clear all the same.
Before I can stop myself, I too bow to her. Tilting my head forward in an utterly indecent display by an Okkari before his people, I show my tribe just what it is that I think of what she has done here on this day and I show her that I accept what she has done — the inadvertent consequence of her actions, poorly planned — and in exchange for the honor she gives, I offer her forgiveness. A chance to find and create her own form of redemption.
Continuing with the chamar, I take the torch that is brought to me and ensure that my Xhea does the same. Together, we step forward and light the unlit staffs of those before us. She begins with Kuana while I light the torches of Hurr and her mate. The twin flames of our torches soon spawn a kingdom of light, the staffs of all hundreds of members of the tribe soon creating a new world, illuminated in color. The cairns come to life, looking like cities built by shadow dwellers who worship and collect fallen moons. Just built, Re’Okkari’s stands the highest among them.
Taken to Nobu: A SciFi Alien Romance (Xiveri Mates Book II) Page 17