by M. J. Kelley
“We must find a way to work with them. Their forces in Naven are strong,” he said.
“We do not negotiate with bellogans.” Mother shot a glare at him.
“Excuse me, Madeer,” Stryoth spoke. “May I present to you and your distinguished guests Mistress Quinette Alteiri.”
Prala Fendo and his son stood, bowing to Quinette. “I’m pleased to introduce my son, Orkhor Fendo, defender of the South Island Barricade.” He gestured to Orkhor, who held out his right hand, palm up. Quinette placed her hand on his, palm down. Orkhor and Quinette bowed to Madeer Alteiri and Prala Fendo then walked down the corridor to the ceremony room. Stryoth followed and stood outside the doorway. The small room, furnished with only two plush cushions and a table, felt claustrophobic to Quinette. A young slave boy entered the room with a tray. Orkhor, as tradition required, helped Quinette to a seated position on one of the cushions.
“Are you comfortable?”
“Yes.” She felt about as comfortable as a slave being shipped off to the Farm.
The slave boy arranged a vessel—a pitcher filled with bright green liquid—and two cups on the table, then stood at attention in one corner of the room. The pitcher held the traditional somnifera juice, known to balance male and female sexual biochemistry, and avena essence, which calmed the nervous system. Orkhor poured the liquid into the vessel.
“I understand that you’re taking the Menktun soon,” he said.
“Yes.”
Her gaze met his as he stirred the juice. His smile, comforting and tranquil, reminded her of the last morning she had spent with Father, when he had asked her what she wanted to do with her life. She quickly averted her eyes.
“Why is such a lovely inlari melancholy?”
His question made her heart ache. She bit her lip in an attempt to keep the volatility inside her under control. What Father had forgotten was that inlaris were all born into their destiny, and nothing would ever change this fact.
Orkhor poured the juice into Quinette’s cup and set it in front of her. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk. I know this is uncomfortable . . . I’m also nervous, if that makes you feel better.”
She smiled at him and reached for the cup. He placed his pale hand over hers, and she paused.
“What’s that?” She pointed to a tattoo on the back of his hand, which was different from the ones used to mark slaves. This tattoo was intricate, with a hexagon shape containing rows of interlocking lines. Quinette had seen this pattern before.
“This?” He lifted his hand, examining the marking. “Oh, it’s the sign of the boleeron.”
“Boleeron?”
“Yes, the servants of the Black Star.”
“Why would you put that on your body?” She scrunched her nose at him.
“To never forget what we have survived and, if given the chance, to carry out retribution.”
While he was attractive and seemed kind, his response made her uncomfortable. She had heard Mother speak of the boleeron before and their appetite for destruction. She took a sip of the juice and endured an awkward silence.
The strange, silver object flashed to mind. It had the same markings as Orkhor’s tattoo. She tried to remember when she last had it, but if it belonged to the boleeron, she wondered how it got to Earth.
“Quinette, you seem upset. Are you all right?”
“I’m feeling tired. No more drink, please.”
Orkhor’s face fell. “Have I said or done something to displease you?”
“No, I have to apologize. My mind is elsewhere.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
If the boleeron were servants of the Black Star, the Rordorah, the destroyer, bringer of death, what was the odd device she had found? Panic spread like a virus in her mind. Though she had never seen one, she pictured the boleeron as gargantuan, with gnarled limbs, large claws, and gaping mouths filled with hundreds of knife-like teeth. Maybe the device was some kind of reconnaissance technology. Maybe millions of boleeron would soon descend on Earth with one goal in mind: the extinction of all life.
“No, thank you. I’d like to go lie down.” Quinette raised her hand to the slave boy who stood in the corner.
“Yes, mistress?”
“Please escort Orkhor back to the receiving room. Tell my mother I’m not feeling well.”
Orkhor moped as he followed the slave. Quinette stood from the cushion and walked back to her chamber, flinging off the jewels, belt, and robe, leaving only her tunic in place. She heard someone shuffling behind her and guessed it was Mal.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” Mal asked, putting away the garments.
“No.”
Quinette sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor, rocking back and forth. Mal scuttled away.
“That was rude of you to shun Orkhor.”
Quinette looked up. Mother stood in the doorway.
“Mother, I think we’re all in danger . . .”
“What do you mean?”
“I believe I found some kind of boleeron device.”
“What? That’s impossible.” Mother looked as if she had smelled something foul.
“I don’t know what it is exactly, but it makes terrible noises and lights up.”
Mother put a hand to her mouth, then lowered it, “Where is it?”
“I . . . I’m trying to remember, but the last time I had it . . .”
“Quinette, we need to find it.” Mother sat down on the edge of the bed, laying her hands on Quinette’s.
Then she realized, by Mother’s reaction, it must be a reconnaissance device, and the boleeron were actively looking for the inlari. There was a real possibility that everyone on Earth was in danger. Without filtering her words she blurted out, “Before I tell you, can you please tell me what happened to Zet?” Her heart felt as if it were going to beat out of her chest, and her palms went clammy.
“Why are you asking about a bellogan?” Mother pulled her hands away. After a moment, Mother’s eyes went wide, as if she had been facing the Black Star itself. “No. You cannot care for him!”
Quinette burst into tears, unable to contain herself.
Mother grabbed Quinette’s arms, “Tell me where the device is now!”
“I . . . I . . . think it’s in the Essor.”
Mother activated the communicator on her wrist, “Prepare a transport to the Essor immediately.”
“Yes, Madeer,” a voice responded.
Quinette caught something out of the corner of her eye. Mal had just scrambled past her door.
She grasped against the smooth surface, her legs numb and heavy. There wasn’t anything to grip onto, so she pulled herself along, dragging her lower half. The pitch-blackness engulfed her, and she wondered if she had gone blind, but she had to find him. A small shaft of light in the distance grew larger and larger until it filled the vast space and she saw him. His mouth opened, and a scream pierced the air; her head vibrated like it was being sucked into a cyclone. Her body chilled, stiff and brittle like the Icelands she learned about on Naru. Uri appeared in front of him, his back to her, and shook his son; Zet’s head flopped back and forth. His warm, brown eyes rolled back into his head until they were white and vacant. Uri turned, a huge hole in his chest revealing bloody ribs and internal organs hanging from his body. She tried to scream, but there was no sound.
Quinette choked for air, opening her eyes. As her breath slowed, she realized she was still in her chamber. How long had she slept? She jumped up to check her communicator: 2018.
A few minutes later, Mal entered the room.
“I’m here to prepare your bath.” She lowered her shaven head.
Quinette paced the room, biting on her right thumbnail.
“Mistress?”
Mal. And the bath. Stryoth wouldn’t follow them into the bathing room. There was still time before curfew. If Mother wasn’t going to tell her what happened to Zet, she was going to find out on her own.
“Yes,
yes, yes. I’ll get ready,” Quinette responded.
Mal helped Quinette disrobe and don a soft cotton wrap. As the slave girl gathered the bath oils and loofah, Quinette grabbed her black tunic and leggings and stuffed them under her wrap. She scanned the chamber for her boots. Opening the closet, she rifled through sandals and other footwear.
“Can I help you find something?”
“My boots—help me find my boots!”
The girl scurried around the room, searching. She found them under the bed and handed them to Quinette, who stuffed them under her wrap, then led the way to the bathing room. Stryoth followed a distance behind them and positioned himself outside of the door to the bath.
As soon as Quinette was sure the door was closed, she dropped her cotton wrap and dressed in her black tunic and leggings. Mal, unaware, placed the oils around the sunken bath in the floor and turned on the water. Pulling on her boots, Quinette shifted her glance to the window facing West toward the Essor. Her plan was to slide through the small opening and hopefully fall into some bushes, since it was about a two-meter drop—otherwise it might be a painful landing.
“Mistress, I’m confused . . .” Mal wrung her hands.
“I need you to keep the water running, at least until I’m out, okay?” Quinette said, pulling the straps tight on her boots.
“I . . . I don’t understand.”
Quinette huffed, “I’m sneaking out, and you are going to cover for me. I won’t be long. I need to find someone.”
Mal helped Quinette off the floor after she had strapped her second boot tight. “Please forgive me mistress, but are you going to the Essor?”
“How do you know that?”
“I overheard you talking with your mother . . . I’m sorry, please don’t punish me!” Mal cowered.
Quinette cringed. She would deal with Mal later. Right now she had to get out.
“Stop, I’m not going to punish you. Get on your hands and knees, I can’t reach the window.”
Mal got down on the floor like a dog, and Quinette stepped on her back. She was able to reach the latch to open the window. With all her strength, she kicked her legs up. She felt Mal push her dangling leg up to the ledge, then she swung her legs so she was sitting on the windowsill.
“Thank you,” she whispered, turning to face inside the room.
“Good luck, mistress,” she heard Mal say as she launched herself through the window and to the ground.
There were no bushes, and she landed hard on her backside. After catching her breath from having the wind knocked out of her, she dusted herself off and scanned the area. The remaining light of the day was fading fast, so she quickly edged through compound’s center and hid behind an ATV parked in front of the Inlarah fountain built to honor her ancestors. Water trickled from the nearly four-meter-high planet at the top, accentuating the falling stars beneath.
Inlari bustled by in groups, followed by their slaves, all hurrying to get inside before curfew. A band of soldiers marched through the square. Quinette tensed as they passed, even though she was well hidden. Once there was a break, she ran toward the fields beneath a forest of kauri trees. She crouched under a massive tree and waited for the sky to turn purple, amber, and then deep blue.
Under darkness, she walked toward the first row of shacks until she saw a silhouetted figure moving toward her. In her haste, she had forgotten to take her communicator or any kind of weapon, so she surveyed the area around her. She spotted a thick branch, picked it up, and held it out, ready to attack. The figure stepped into the faint glow of a half moon.
“Mal? What? How?”
“I went through the window too . . . I . . . I thought I might be able to help you.”
“You shouldn’t be here. Stryoth will find out . . .”
“Before I climbed out the window, I announced that we were going to do a seaweed treatment on your body to keep your skin supple, and that it would take hours. He won’t know we’re gone.”
Quinette paused and thought this through. She shook her head, about to speak, but Mal spoke first. “Since Uri was killed there have been nightly sweeps every hour by the Parhata. We must be escorted to our shacks, even to use the loo. Anything out of the ordinary results in force. I know the Parhata follow a specific pattern. I feared for your safety, which is why I came to help you . . . and, I know where Zet is.”
Time was slipping away, and her choices were limited: go back and never see Zet again, or continue on and risk getting caught? If the boleeron were coming, what was the risk anyway? They might all be dead soon. She recalled her father’s last question to her:“What do you want from your life?” She wanted to be free, like her father. Free from a destiny that felt unnatural—just as it had felt unnatural to see Zet as a slave. She realized humans were just as capable of inyata as the inlari. She wanted to be free to love whomever she chose. And she chose Zet. She didn’t know how, but they would get out of Lakarta and live life on their own terms.
Quinette nodded, and they continued. The path became harder to discern, and without her communicator, Quinette could hardly see where they were going. Mal led them to a large building at the eastern edge of the Essor. The structure was made of metal instead of salvaged wood, with no windows. Rust covered the dilapidated roof, and the walls had weathered with age and the elements. Quinette wondered if it had been here for centuries. Mal slid the door open, then waved at Quinette to follow. Inside, she smelled musty earth and rotten vegetables, but lack of light offered only shadows and shapes.
“Mal?”
A switch flipped, and bright lights flooded her eyes. Blinking, she could make out a group of humans staring at her. None of them were Zet, only three burly men and one woman.
Mal flashed an unsettling smile at Quinette.
“I don’t understand,” Quinette said. “What is going on?”
Arms grabbed her from behind. She struggled, but someone pressed a cloth over her nose and mouth—the last thing she remembered.
“What do you think it is? Is it inlari technology?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
The words the men spoke pounded in her temples. When she tried to lift her head, she felt the room spin. She couldn’t rub her temples because her arms were tied together behind her back. Her eyes focused on the group of humans across the room. They sat on wooden boxes, huddled around something she couldn’t see.
“Someone untie me! I demand to be released!”
Mal rose from the group and sauntered over. She crouched in front of Quinette so they were eye to eye. “I’m sorry mistress, but I can’t do that. You are the key to a larger plan.”
“What plan?”
“Like I’m going to tell you.”
Yelling drew their attention to a commotion outside the building. Mal stood. The screams gave way to an explosion.
“The Parhata are here,” said the woman across the room.
“Once they discover we have her, they will listen to us,” a stout man responded. “Get their attention and let them know!”
The tall man with the beard shoved the door open and stepped into the chaos outside. Mal appeared calm as she turned back to Quinette.
“Where is Zet? He would never take part in something like this. Please tell me where he is.”
“Zet is dead.”
Quinette’s mouth went dry, and the air whooshed from her body in a sharp exhale. “No.”
“He and the rest of his family were sent to the Farm. Your mother thought it would send a message to us,” Mal said, as if she were trying to inflict the maximum amount of pain with her words. “We received the message. Now your mother is going to have to deal with the Resistance.”
“No! You lie!” Quinette struggled to free herself, kicking Mal in the shins.
“Get her under control!” The other woman bounded over to Mal and Quinette. Quinette screamed. She flailed her arms and kicked her feet as the two women grappled with her. Quinette’s knee hit the
woman in the chest, knocking her down. Attempting to pin her, Mal took hold of Quinette’s arms as the other woman recovered and grabbed one of Quinette’s feet. A blast shattered the door and part of the wall, leaving a gaping hole. Quinette and the humans halted as a berserker entered.
The two men on the other side of the room threw the boxes they’d been sitting on at the beast. The berserker fired its snapper gun, filling their torsos with metal. Blood splattered across the walls, and the men fell to the ground. Mal screamed, and the berserker shifted its steely gaze to Quinette, who was being held down by the woman. The beast lunged at them then grabbed the woman’s right arm, holding the snapper gun to her torso and squeezing the trigger. Mal scrambled to her feet, attempting to flee, but the berserker readied its gun.
“Mistress, please do something!” Mal inched backward.
The berserker paused for a moment, glancing from Quinette and back to Mal. Then he fired. Blood erupted from her gaping wounds, and she fell forward, landing at Quinette’s feet with a thud.
An inlari soldier wearing armor peeked into the hole in the wall and scanned the room. “Mistress Alteiri!” He stomped past the bodies and the berserker.
Quinette stared at Mal’s body, too stunned to acknowledge the soldier. Her eyes fixed on the blood pooling around Mal. The soldier motioned to the berserker, who sliced the ropes off of Quinette’s wrists with its claws like they were thread.
“Madeer, Mistress Alteiri is here!” the soldier said into his communicator.
“What?” the Madeer shrieked.
“They had her tied up, like a captive.”
“I’m on my way!”
Quinette snapped back from her daze and grabbed the soldier’s communicator off his wrist. “Mother, did you send Zet to the Farm? Is he still alive?”
“Quinette? Are you all right?”
“Answer me!”
“Hold on. I’m almost there.”
Quinette heard the communicator click. The soldier held out his hand, and she gave it back to him. A few moments later, Mother entered the blown out building with two soldiers. She surveyed the room and nodded to the soldiers, who started picking through the rubble.