The Shimmering

by Susan Kearney

  Her nerves drew taut. She really didn’t like the confidence in his tone. And the fact that this was a mock fight only reassured her a little.

  But she squared her shoulders and held her chin high, determined to play her part.

  Daveck tugged Sandra into the public square. His men guarded the perimeter, watching over the uneasy crowd that had come to watch the spectacle. Although Maglek’s daughter was one of their own, Lira was from an old and wealthy house. She’d been privately schooled, didn’t have to work, never went hungry, and wore only the finest of clothes. And many people here would enjoy what Daveck would do—he, however, was not one of them.

  His stomach churned. He reminded himself that his task was necessary, minor in the face of the gathering thunderstorms that flooded the land and ruined their crops. And as the ground itself shuddered beneath his feet, he knew he couldn’t delay.

  They climbed the steps to the platform. Lights focused on them. Cameras would record her every expression and blow it up on giant screens for the masses outside who couldn’t all squeeze within the square.

  He hadn’t spoken of what he must do because he needed her emotions to read true. And though her Earth customs would make the humiliation easier for her to bear than for a woman of Farii, it still would be difficult. Best to get it done.

  Placing a hand on her shoulder, he forced her to her knees. Eyes wide, head high, she stared at the crowd, unblinking. Waiting.

  Not wanting to miss one word, the crowd hushed.

  Daveck waited an extra few beats of silence, allowing the tension to gather. Pulling a dagger from his belt, he stated loudly. “My wife does not please me.”

  “And my husband does not please me,” Sandra spoke up. At her words, several women in the crowd gasped. Men cursed and snorted to show their outrage.

  Daveck restrained a grin. This woman was the most independent thinker he’d ever known. When he’d been inside her head, if she hadn’t been so feminine and filled with bright emotions, he might have mistaken her thoughts for those of . . . a warrior. After all, she’d fought many battles—with words.

  “Maglek’s poison has infested his daughter.”

  “Prove it,” she demanded, raising an eyebrow.

  “She did not come to the marriage joining with a pure heart.”

  “And how would you know the purity of my heart?” she countered.

  “See how she questions me? There is no trust in her.”

  “Trust must be earned.”

  “As a Sanroyai warrior, I speak the truth. This lady is unfit.” He raised his blade for all to see, and then held it to her neck. “As I made the ritual tribute, I renounce your wifely privileges.”

  “As far as I can see, being your wife has no privileges.”

  He raised the knife to her hair, slashed through the ties. Her long hair fell over her shoulders, rippled down her back, cascaded to her waist. Gathering her hair roughly in one hand, he lifted it from her neck, and then slashed it off at her nape. Sandra didn’t move. Didn’t utter a word of protest.

  The crowd went strangely silent.

  Then several women began to weep. Others murmured.

  Her beautiful hair fell to the dirt and she stared straight ahead unblinking, stoic. He hoped the crowd believed her reaction was shock.

  When he reached under her arm to lift her to her feet, she had no difficulty standing. Very careful not to so much as scratch her flesh, he tore the sleeves from her garment. He slashed several tears across the material—a sign of dishonor and humiliation.

  She didn’t move. And then she held out her hand, eyes glinting with annoyance. “My turn.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s my turn to use the knife.”

  She was going too far. But then it was his fault. Perhaps he should have explained. Maybe then she could have squeezed out a fake tear. For in reality, she looked much closer to stabbing him than she did to crying.

  “You ask for too much,” he refused her.

  “I’m not asking. Are you afraid I might draw blood?”

  By the Zorash, she was magnificent. And he’d wanted a spectacle—well, she’d given him one. If she’d wept like every other disgraced wife, it would never have caused the gossip to spread as far and wide as her bold behavior. He only prayed that those who knew Lira wouldn’t suspect that Sandra was an imposter.

  He handed her the knife, hilt first. For one second he thought she might request that he kneel. She didn’t. Instead she lifted her arms, placed the knife by his neck, and neatly cut off one lock. Unlike him, she didn’t let it fall to the ground. She captured his hair in her palm, clenched it tightly between her fingers.

  “I renounce your husbandly privileges,” she spoke clearly, then resheathed his knife in his belt and walked away, back straight, head high, shoulders squared.

  And as he watched her leave, he had to fight back a smile. After sharing her mind during the Shimmering, he’d known she was his match in every way. What surprised him . . . was that her courage stole his breath, healed old scars, and assuaged his soul.

  And he was about to let this woman—whom he admired more than any other—walk straight into danger.

  Chapter Ten

  DURING THE TWO-WEEK journey to Maglek’s residence, Sandra learned how to ride a gangra. The giant marsupials covered about eight miles an hour, even during slashing rainstorms that turned the roads into mud pits, and their steady gait made riding in their pouches an experience to which she’d soon adjusted. And the passing towns and villages with their odd combinations of modern sewage systems and wide boulevards and old-fashioned transportation fascinated her.

  The Farii people had no computers, phones, or fax machines, but generated electricity for heating and lighting. Daveck told her factories were underground and mostly automated, bringing resources from mines by maglev trains to manufacture many household goods. And yet she also saw children playing simple ball games with sticks, sheeplike creatures roaming the streets, and farmers carting their produce to local markets.

  After their public fight, she and Daveck both remained careful to retain an icy demeanor in the public inns where they spent their nights. But once alone, Daveck treated her so well that she was already dreading when her time on Farii would end.

  How ironic that she’d never found a man on Earth she’d gotten along so well with and then, on another planet, she’d met an alien who seemed to understand what she needed before she knew herself. Perhaps their mind-sharing during the Shimmering had brought them much closer. Perhaps it was their isolation from others during their journey. Or perhaps it was their sometimes tender, sometimes wild, but always wondrous lovemaking. She was falling for Daveck—falling hard.

  And the compromise that she’d always thought would stifle her independence wasn’t a problem very often. Daveck had a knack for discerning which Farii customs would irritate her and which she could accept, making the journey more of an adventure than a hardship. Commitment to his cause and to him was easier than she’d believed possible since his quest to find the Zorash had become her own—especially after she’d experienced fierce storms of fist-sized hail, and water spouts that sucked sea creatures from the deep and rained them down upon the travelers miles inland. She’d seen fields of stunted crops, the flooded lowlands, the mudslides in the hills that ruined the valleys below. Seen the city folk fighting over the few foodstuffs that were for sale at exorbitant prices. Tears came to her eyes at the sight of children so gaunt, their eyes seemed too mature for their sad faces.

  But as they neared Maglek’s residence, the scenery changed along with the weather. Armed patrols kept the masses from entering and only Lira’s status as Maglek’s daughter allowed them to pass where most others were turned back at the city gates. In the border lands, the skies grew sunny with predictable and gentle morning show
ers. Daveck told her that all of Farii had once been as prosperous—before the weather had changed. The land turned green, the crops thrived, and the children’s faces glowed—and yet, she sensed a fear in these people, a failure to greet strangers or look them in the eye, almost as if they were ashamed of their own prosperity when the rest of Farii suffered.

  And as they traveled, Sandra’s certainty that the Zorash was near grew stronger. It was almost as if she shared a connection with the alien totem and that it called to her on a level she didn’t understand but couldn’t deny. The compulsion to find the Zorash drove her so strongly that sometimes she wondered if her mind sharing during the Shimmering had caused Daveck’s quest to root into her brain. And sometimes she believed she alone had a direct connection to the Zorash—that the ancient device had chosen her and drawn her across the galaxy for a purpose all its own. When they finally arrived at Maglek’s residence, perched on the peak of a mountain that overlooked a tiny town, she filled with excitement, fear, and a sense of destiny—that she was meant to be here on this world, in this time and place.

  Soldiers guarded the only route to Maglek’s residence, a gated road too steep for the gangras to travel. The soldiers disarmed Daveck, who handed over his weapons without protest. From this point they would walk, escorted by Maglek’s men, who clearly had no fondness for the Sanroyai warrior, and their suspicion of him worried her.

  The three-story residence made of concrete-like material and silver reflective glass looked surprisingly modern, with sweeping balconies that overlooked the prosperous lands and cities in a panoramic view. Maglek’s soldiers directed them to an elevator on the lower level of the home, then left them alone.

  Sandra steeled herself to meet Lira’s father, wishing she had more information about their relationship. However, not even Fexel had been able to shed much light on when father and daughter had last seen one another—never mind any history between them. And while her sense of the Zorash was stronger than ever since her journey began, she also sensed a darkness, a dampening of the Zorash, almost as if Maglek cast a black shadow over the totem’s essence.

  When the elevator door opened with a swish, a short man with dark gray hair and a goatee, black eyes, and untamed eyebrows waited for them to exit. Maglek. Even if she hadn’t recognized him from a portrait, Sandra would have known his identity from the aura of power that emanated from the man, a power so strong he didn’t bother keeping his guards close—as if he possessed a mental superiority that could overpower Daveck’s warrior skills. Which meant he was probably drawing on power from the Zorash.

  With her pulse fluttering, it wasn’t difficult to make her voice sound frantic. “Father. Thank you for—”

  “Why have you come?” Maglek’s intelligent eyes dismissed her and settled on Daveck.

  Daveck kept his tone impersonal. “As prescribed by Farii law, I’m offering her to you before I sell her to the border tribes.”

  “Her mother brought me no pleasure. I’m not surprised her whelp is no different.” Maglek insulted her and yet, Sandra glimpsed anger there, enough to raise her hopes that Maglek might take Lira’s side and allow her to stay long enough to search for the Zorash.

  Daveck didn’t so much as glance in her direction and kept his tone impersonal. “With the credits from her sale, I will be able to buy badly needed food for my people.”

  “Idiot. You’ve brought me damaged goods. With her hair shorn, I’ll have to keep her for years before I can sell her for a decent price.” Maglek motioned for his guards to step forward. “Take the Sanroyai to rot in my dungeons.”

  Daveck raised an eyebrow. “I came here according to our law. You have no right to make me a prisoner.”

  Maglek glowered. “Did you think I would not guess at your plan to force me into an alliance by marrying my daughter? Well, Maglek isn’t interested in sharing his power or his wealth with the likes of a Sanroyai warrior. Take him away so Maglek doesn’t have to look at him.”

  Sandra kept her eyes down so Maglek couldn’t read her roiling emotions. If he recognized her anger and attributed it to its true cause, a woman’s worth being measured by the length of her hair, he might suspect all was not as it seemed. Their plan was working and Maglek seemingly had no clue of the real reason for their marriage. His odd way of speaking of himself in the third person annoyed her, but she was relieved that he seemed to be accepting their story that the marriage was unsuccessful.

  Sandra reminded herself not to grow too confident. Maglek hadn’t achieved his position of power by acting stupidly. She couldn’t afford to assume that greed and cunning detracted from his intelligence. And with Daveck locked up, she was on her own, at least physically—but mentally she sensed a link of support that didn’t diminish as the guards escorted him to the dungeons.

  “Thank you, Father.”

  “Silence.” Maglek back-handed her across the face so hard, he split her lip and she tasted blood. “Say another word and I’ll give you to the first passing beggar for his own personal slave.”

  It took every ounce of determination not to spit her blood in his face. Instead, she hung her head, kept her eyes downcast, sick that this monster would treat his own daughter with such brutality. No wonder Lira had left.

  I’m still here. Lira’s aura appeared to Sandra as clearly as the day she’d arrived on Farii.

  Sandra wondered if she’d finally lost it. After being dragged from Earth, finding herself in a new body, wedding Daveck, and facing Maglek, she’d finally gone insane.

  You’ve done better than I could have done, Lira assured her. The Zorash is in the garden. Tonight during Maglek’s evening meal, you must steal the Zorash.

  It can’t be that simple.

  Fail and you will die.

  Lira disappeared, but her message stayed with Sandra as Maglek roughly gripped her arm, shoving her into a room so hard she fell and cracked her knee against the stone floor. He slammed the door behind her, arrogantly assuming that she’d follow his orders. But as soon as the pain in her knee receded, she scrambled to the door, tested her situation. He hadn’t bothered to lock it.

  Even if her knee swelled to twice its size, even if she had to crawl and drag her leg behind her, tonight, she would go to the garden. In his arrogance, Maglek had made a mistake. He’d underestimated his “daughter.”

  Chapter Eleven

  DAVECK TRUDGED with his shoulders slumped in defeat, dragged his steps and kept his head down, hoping his body attitude would convey meekness to his guards. However, after he heard Maglek strike Sandra, mastering his fury and maintaining his submissive demeanor took every speck of Sanroyai control. He vowed Maglek would pay a hundredfold for every pain he caused Sandra.

  And meanwhile he harnessed his rage, waiting for the opportunity to take out his guards. He couldn’t allow them to lock him inside the dungeons. Because once there—escape would become much more difficult.

  They took a stairwell and he tensed to make his move, but a contingent of men entered the steps from another level and Daveck delayed his attack. The two groups passed, the other group of men avoiding Daveck’s gaze—as if his bad luck could rub off on them.

  Patience.

  He waited until they left the stairwell and headed down a long hallway with dim lighting and many closed doors. The stale air reeked of unwashed bodies, urine, and . . . fear. Behind a door he heard a muffled high-pitched scream. Beside him, the guards didn’t so much as flinch, as if torture and misery were a common occurrence.

  Up ahead, two more guards stood outside a massive metal-barred door. Once they locked Daveck inside, escape would be impossible. With four armed men against his two bare fists, he had to make securing a weapon his first priority. Yet, there was no place to take cover. Nowhere to duck and hide. No weapon to steal.

  He had no choice. If he was going to make a move—it would have to be now. Daveck called
upon his Sanroyai skills, automatically forming a battle stance that allowed him to shift, attack, or defend with minimal effort. With fingers extended and curled slightly to parry or slice, he spun, kicked, and took out one guard with his foot, another with his left hand, the third with his right. But the fourth guard slammed in a blow to Daveck’s head. Luckily the guard didn’t go for his blaster. A mistake. Daveck ducked with the force of the blow, deflecting most of the damage, then caught the guy with a hammer strike to the temple.

  AT FIRST SANDRA worried she wouldn’t know when the dinner hour arrived. No one brought her any food, but then she smelled the scent of cooking meat and concluded she should soon begin her search for the Zorash.

  Before she could exit her room, her door opened. Her pulse rocketed, and fear tightened her throat at the thought that she’d waited too long and lost her opportunity.

  She raised her eyes to see Daveck. Relief and happiness lightened her spirit. She hadn’t realized how much she’d hated the idea of leaving this room and exploring on her own until he’d showed up sporting a black eye and several cuts. He’d never looked so good.

  Ignoring the pain in her injured knee, Sandra hobbled over to him, flung her arms around him, nestled against his chest, and took comfort from the strong beat of his heart and the solid feel of his powerful body. His arms closed around her and despite their dangerous circumstances, for one moment, she felt safe, as if she’d come home and belonged.

  “You all right?” They both asked one another at the same time.

  She recovered first, pulling back and wincing at the sight of an ugly, oozing gash behind his ear. “I banged up my knee but I can walk. You look like you’ve been in a war.”

  He pressed a hand gun into her palm. “I escaped shortly after I left you, but I had to hide in a closet until the shift change. We need to go now—before they discover I’m not locked up.”

  “The Zorash is in the garden,” she told him.