Layela couldn’t break away from the Kilita’s orange eyes, seeing in them what she had seen for three complete days, visions that still haunted her and slowed her heart, the wretched depths of which she still could not fully block out. Three days, millions of different individuals, worlds, races, children and adults, all flashing by too quickly for her mind to grasp, for her memory to retain, only one oily darkness clinging to all of them: their final screams and last, desperate thoughts.
In those eyes, she had been forced to live countless deaths, countless different ways, spread through time and space.
In those eyes, she had seen and felt mortality stripped to its barest, souls screaming in the last wink, screaming for an afterlife. Their fates had never been revealed to Layela, her visions ending where life ended.
In those eyes, she had had her own mortality stripped away a thousand times, so harshly, so strongly, that she still believed sometimes that every released breath was her last.
And now, those eyes stared at her again, and she knew that there was no escape.
17
Well, well, what do we have here,” the Berganda mused, cocking her head sideways as she looked from Yoma to Layela. Yoma curled her hands into fists.
“Twins? How sweet!” Her eyes shone vivid green but, unlike Josmere’s, held no warmth in them.
“We’re to bring you into custody,” the Kilita said formally, but took no step toward them. Yoma chanced a glance at her sister. Layela’s inky blue eyes were wide and stared, unblinking, at the Kilita. What was wrong with her? Layela was hot-tempered, but she rarely lost her head so completely as to become a drooling idiot.
“So it was a twin,” the Kilita said, staring at the two. “That’s why she wouldn’t turn you in.” The man sounded infuriated at his own failure. “And I certainly tried to get the confession.”
Yoma’s eyes widened and her pulse quickened.
“I wonder if she would turn you in now,” the Kilita wondered, furrowing his brow, “were I to have her another three days.”
Yoma was gone before he finished speaking, her boiling rage exploding and ripping her last shred of control. She ran towards him screaming, ready to die for the chance to kill him, when two arms linked her from behind, and a whisper came in her ear, “I’m all right, Yoma. I’m all right, Yoma.” Layela repeated the words over and over again, clutching her sister like she would the only oxygen tank left in the vastness of space.
“I’m all right, Yoma.” Layela’s voice gained strength with each repetition, slowly draining the anger out of her sister. “Please, believe me.”
“I know you’re strong, Layl,” Yoma whispered, and Layela released her. Her eyes were no longer lost and wide, but set with a new purpose. They made Yoma’s heart swell and she looked away before Layela could see her unfamiliar tears.
Why did you have to follow me, Layela? All I want is for you to be safe.
“Three are too many and too dangerous,” the Berganda said to the Kilita.
“You’re the one that’s too dangerous,” Josmere hissed from behind the twins, having approached a bit closer.
The Berganda raised an eyebrow at Josmere, as though she was inferior, smirking at her before focusing on the twins again. Yoma heard her friend’s low swear, the sound like music to her ears. It felt good to have her two allies with her again, she had to admit.
“We’ve only been told to bring one,” the Berganda said, and the Kilita stiffened a bit.
“We also haven’t been ordered to dispose of anyone, Seela,” the Kilita said, his orange eyes flashing.
“But how will anyone know I slipped, Romero?” the woman mused, training her gun on Layela. Yoma jumped and pushed Layela out of the way as the bullet raced from the gun. She grunted as it hit her upper arm, blood spattering on Layela’s clothing.
She heard Layela scream and Josmere was on the move, but as Seela was about to fire again, the Kilita pushed her. A bullet flew past Seela’s face, grazing her cheek. Green blood oozed onto her perfect features.
Yoma was on her knees, facing her sister. Bullets were flying, but not from Seela’s gun.
“Are you all right?” Layela screamed, but Yoma could barely hear her. A shuttle had appeared above them, filling the alley with the loud drone of its engines. But the shots weren’t coming from the shuttle. A man stood in the doorway of the first shop, cloaked and clad in black, firing at the assassins. The Kilita withdrew quickly, carrying the Berganda.
“Come on,” the man screamed. He didn’t look much friendlier; dark hair streaked with grey highlighted the perfect scar running from forehead to chin on the right side of his face. But he wasn’t firing at them, so Yoma was more inclined to trust him.
“It’s the Malavants!” Layela screamed, laughing, as the shuttle landed near the man in black, blocking them from the fleeing assassins. The door opened and a woman with wild red hair motioned for them to get on. The man in black was on the other side already, firing a few more shots at the retreating assassins.
“You know them?” Yoma screamed to be heard. Didn’t these people believe in modern sound filtering equipment?
“They’re friends, I think.” Layela shouted. “Well, they’re not enemies, anyway!” Layela looked down at her sister’s arm, where blood was trickling down. It wasn’t bad. She had felt worse.
“Let’s get you healed up,” Layela said and Yoma smiled in agreement. Layela got up and Yoma followed for a few steps. But then she turned on her heel and ran in the other direction. The man in black had left the shop door open, and Yoma guessed that there would be a back exit through it.
She thought she heard Layela scream her name once, but the sound was ripped from her as the shuttle quickly took off, the sounds of law enforcement all that remained in the dreary air.
Yoma ran through the shop, out the other side, and kept running until the throbbing in her arm demanded attention, and the ache in her heart felt like it would never heal. She had been given one last chance to hug Layela and say goodbye. But that had been taken away from her, too.
All that she had left was the future, and the memories to keep her warm in the night.
Stay safe, Layela.
She had lost her again. She had been within her grasp, and she had lost her. Why hadn’t Layela insisted that her sister run ahead of her? Why, why did Yoma keep abandoning her when she needed her most?
Not true. She felt it in her heart, knew she was thinking out of anger, but the frustration was hard to quench.
“You didn’t have to hit me,” Avienne said, massaging her left shoulder.
“You didn’t have to stop me from reaching my sister,” Layela retorted with none of the fire she had felt just seconds earlier. Yoma was gone.
“You didn’t have to steal our shuttle!” Ardin interjected from the controls.
“You didn’t have to kidnap us!” Josmere spat.
“You didn’t have to spit on me,” the man in black deadpanned from beside Josmere, with what Layela hoped was a sense of humour.
“Sorry,” Josmere said, although her tone certainly didn’t convey the emotion. “Who are you, anyway?”
“Zortan.” The man sat back, content, as if deciding his answer was good enough.
“He’s the man who hired us to bring you to Lockor,” Avienne added. “And this is as chatty as he gets.”
“What do you want with us,” Layela asked, narrowing her eyes. The man was strong, she knew instinctively, and she doubted age had rusted his warrior instincts. He had a gun secured to his belt, and a large, old sword strapped to his back. Not exactly common space-faring weaponry.
“With her,” Zortan said, nodding towards Josmere, “nothing. But with you,” he continued, looking at Layela, “I simply wish to protect you from those who would seek to harm you.”
Shadows fell in the shuttle as Ardin expertly navigated into the Destiny’s docking bay.
“Who might they be?” Josmere asked before Layela could, her words punctuated by the thud o
f the shuttle touching ground.
“We’ll all know soon enough,” Zortan said, jumping lightly to his feet the second Avienne opened the shuttle door. Without another word, Zortan walked swiftly towards the bay exit. Avienne stared for a moment before following. “I guess I’ll show his highness to his room,” she mumbled as she left.
Layela and Josmere stepped off. Ardin intercepted Layela. “Don’t ever do that again,” he said, piercing her with his eyes. “I meant what I said. I’m not here to hurt you.”
“I know,” Layela whispered, meeting his gaze, unflinching. She didn’t realize how close he stood to her until Josmere cleared her throat.
Layela blushed and stepped back.
“Your room is still available,” Ardin said, as he looked down at his flashing comm unit. He walked quickly away, calling back, “No lock, no key, but you have to give me a reason to trust you!”
The door closed and he was gone.
“Layela,” Josmere said, looking towards the bay doors. “Let’s go to our room.” The Berganda sighed and ruffled her hair uncharacteristically. “I think it’s time that we both see what this vision is all about.”
Colonel Dunkat Groosh fought back his annoyance. He didn’t want to have to set foot on this ugly little planet, but he had little choice but to pursue this matter personally.
Layela Delamores’ trail had grown cold on Thalos IV. Her rescuers had flown her to the docks, and then...nothing. He pushed his thoughts of failure away one by one, except for the final one, the destruction of Sunrise Flowers. It would come back to haunt him, he knew, and so he kept it as close as he would keep his fiercest enemy.
The ships strewn within the Veruvian docks were from all destinations and ages, not one seemed more important than the last. The inspection team followed at a respectful distance, as though afraid of eliciting his ire.
Merchants lowered their eyes out of respect and fear. The insignia of Solari, coupled with his high rank, were enough to deter even the most curious. And had they heard his name, a name passed from father to son for countless generations, a family unbroken by dishonour for centuries, he knew they would cower further. Dunkat bore his father’s name with pride. He looked forward to uttering it to Layela’s so-called rescuers.
They walked for almost an hour. Dunkat insisted on proceeding on foot to get acquainted with his surroundings. They left the outdoor docks and walked into the enclosed ones, a maze of metal housing ships for longer-term stay. Or for remaining unseen.
From behind him, the inspector cleared his throat. “We believe they were spotted entering that ship, Colonel.” Only a small fraction of the vessel he pointed to was visible, its dark panelling dull in the dim blue lights. Dunkat barely gave it a second glance; he already knew she would be unmarked, no doubt a smuggling ship.
“Contact them, Inspector,” Dunkat said, not turning to look at the man. “Tell them we request permission to board. And, if they refuse,” he added, “then lock them down and gas them.”
The man swallowed hard, and hailed them.
Dunkat waited patiently, letting each of his muscles relax in preparation for action. He had no intention of leaving without his prize, no matter the cost.
“This is government inspection team 542, please open your docking bay,” the comm unit hummed.
“This contract is starting to be more trouble than it’s worth,” Cailan said, leaning into his seat.
He pushed two entry numbers on his side-arm panel. “Avienne, Ardin, take care of them and show them what they need to see to get them out of our hair, without hassle.”
A second passed and Avienne’s voice came over the speaker. “I’ll head there now,” her voice was crisp and clear like a fresh winter morning, even with the static. “Ardin’s on his way to the bridge with a guest who insists on seeing you.”
The line went dead and Travan looked at Cailan with what the captain now knew was the engineer’s sceptical look, although anyone else would simply see a blank expression.
“This mission just keeps on getting more interesting,” the engineer offered and Cailan allowed himself a chuckle. Travan was not known for his sense of humour, but Cailan knew the old engineer had more of one than most people. He just chose not to display it.
“Captain,” Ardin said as he stepped on the bridge, but Cailan’s eyes were drawn immediately to the tall man behind him. He was dark, older, and something dangerous sparked in his eyes. Cailan would still have recognized him, had he a hundred more years and a thousand more scars on him.
The old engineer hissed, and Cailan knew he, too, had recognized the newcomer. Ardin looked from one to the other in surprise. He was too young to remember the man who stood behind him, but swift enough to realize he might be dangerous. Ardin stepped to the side.
Cailan stood slowly. Had he been a superstitious man who believed ghosts could return from the dead, he would have played out this scenario a hundred times in his head and been ready for its eventuality. But, he had not believed in ghosts.
“Captain Cailan,” the tall man said, bowing his head slightly with respect. Cailan nodded in return, choosing not to salute. It had been too long since he had been required to do so, and he found himself too rusty to lift his hand to anyone in that manner.
“My condolences for Captain Malavant,” the man continued, nodding to Ardin. The young man’s eyes widened with shock.
“He’d have been happy to see you, Captain Mistolta,” Cailan said. “He never did fully understand the little…mix up.”
Zortan nodded, offering no explanation.
The decisions Cailan had made in his youth, decisions for which he hoped time had forgiven him, kept creeping up on him in his old age. He sighed; he wanted little more than a peaceful existence. Cailan looked toward Ardin, his dead friend’s son, and felt as if the chasm that had always been widening under his feet would swallow all of Destiny. He wondered what Layela Delamores looked like. He pictured her like her mother.
He focused on Zortan again. “Captain Malavant believed in you to the end, even if it cost him his life.” Captain Mistolta returned his gaze. His eyes were black coals that ignited the old fires within Cailan.
“What?” Ardin asked, looking to Cailan. The old captain wished the youth wasn’t here. Ardin wasn’t aware that his father had died in the line of duty, or even that he had had a duty. For all Ardin knew, they had always been smugglers, and the ship had always been so worn. He noticed Travan had moved closer to Zortan, a fact he was certain had not escaped the captain of the Royal Guards.
He wanted to throw Zortan in prison. The orders to do so, issued twenty years ago, remained fresh in his mind. Those orders had cost them all so much. But time had passed, and the need to know what secrets Zortan held outweighed the old orders. Cailan’s loyalty to Radin Malavant was still strong, reinforced every day by the strength of his greatest legacy: Avienne and Ardin.
Cailan knew why Zortan had chosen the Destiny for this mission and why he chose to be here now. He didn’t understand his sense of timing but, then again, Cailan was old enough to realize that many of the greatest questions of his life would go unanswered. In the meantime, he knew what needed to be done.
“To Mirial?” Cailan asked Zortan, with the informality of a question between friends. The captain looked deep into Cailan’s eyes, but Cailan did not flinch. Destiny was Cailan’s legacy and he had no intention of letting her go. Not without a fight.
He knew very little of Zortan, only that Radin and he had been like family once. That would have to do.
“Yes, but first we have to pick up someone else,” Zortan replied politely.
“Oh?” Cailan asked. At this point, he was sure, nothing else could surprise him.
“Yoma, Layela Delamores’ twin.”
Cailan was wrong; he was surprised.
Travan chuckled and Cailan wondered what was going through the old engineer’s mind. Maybe it was just joy of knowing that, after almost twenty years of exile, they were finally head
ed home.
18
Josmere’s eyes shone in the half-light, the Berganda slowly uncovering her hands as she looked intently at Layela. The flower girl saw the flutter of unspoken words in those eyes, a jumbled mixture of apology and question. But Josmere voiced nothing, and Layela did not inquire.
Determination glowed in Josmere’s deep eyes and in her every graceful movement, the same determination that always empowered the Berganda before a dangerous caper. Layela was the one to break the silence.
“What changed your mind?” her whisper fell into the whirlpools of Josmere’s eyes, their depth amplified by the lack of the characteristic shrug.
“I guess being home confirmed one thing,” her own voice was also a whisper, soothing Layela’s nervous senses. “You and Yoma are the only family I have left. And I don’t intend to lose either one of you.”
“I’m sorry I doubted you,” Layela said as she lifted her hands, breathing deeply to open up her mind.
“I’m sorry I doubted you, too,” Josmere whispered, words long awaited. As the green arms extended to reach her own, Layela stared at her fragile-looking limbs and knew with certainty: I saw your death too, Josmere. The death of all Berganda.
She took a deep breath. Josmere paused and waited, their fingers barely an inch apart. Layela took another deep breath, closing her eyes and pushing those visions of death far away, as she had done for a long time. They were the only visions she never wished to see again, and the only ones that, amplified by a Kilita’s powers, still revisited her in little taunting pieces. It was enough to keep her from ever forgetting the feeling of her own mortality, stripped away from her a million times in what felt like a million years. Burning, flesh ripping, limbs breaking, drowning, falling...she had died every way, a million different lives becoming her own and then being torn away.
Instead, she focused on the darkness that had haunted her dreams for over a week; the darkness that had sent Yoma running. She held it in her mind, calling forth the only thing she knew of it, the only power she knew the vision possessed. Cold sweat trickled down her back as she invoked the terror again.
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