Targeted

by Evangeline Anderson

  “Oh, no.” Turra shook her head. “I am a female Kindred like Mother Chundra but I was born on Twin Moons. I was living on the Mother Ship among the humans when the Temple of Transformation sent out a call for priestesses. I answered…and here I am.” She spread her hands, smiling.

  “Very interesting.” Emily smiled politely and looked at the other priestess. “How about you?”

  “I am of the Ancient Ones,” Lit’aal said in a soft, musical voice. “I have always known of this place and one of my kin was a Khalla. She and I were very close and when her Tenrah came upon her I made the journey here to be with her. After that, I decided to stay and help other Khallas complete their Shifts as well.”

  “That’s sweet of you.” Emily felt a stab of uncertainty. “And your kin…is she okay?”

  “She is a full fledged Khalla traveling the world with her retinue now,” Lit’aal said, smiling a bit sadly Emily thought. “I almost never see her anymore but we try to spend at least a little time when she is here at the Temple.”

  “I’m glad she’s all right,” Emily said, giving her a relieved smile. After all she’d heard from Saskia about how some Khallas didn’t survive their Tenrahs, it was nice to hear about one who had lived through the process and was doing well.

  “Here we are,” Turra said as they came to a stop in front of a tall archway. “Try to calm yourself, Khalla-to-be and remove your shoes—we are about to enter a holy place.”

  Emily slipped off the low, comfortable shoes that Saskia had given her to go with the flowing green skirt and top and followed the two priestesses through a high, white archway.

  Inside the archway was the last thing she’d expected to find inside a building—a bunch of trees. Not just one or two potted plants either—a real forest of green and purple trees growing in two graceful groves. They marched in straight lines that led from the doorway all the way up to a twenty-foot tall, pure white marble statue at the end of the room.

  Emily took a deep breath and decided that this was where the honeysuckle and mint scent was coming from. There room was flooded with sunshine from skylights high above and there was a grassy path between the two lines of trees that led directly to the statue.

  “Come,” invited Lit’aal who, up until now, hadn’t said much. “Show your reverence to the Mother of All Life.”

  “I…um…” Emily didn’t want to insult their beliefs by telling them she didn’t believe in their religion so she allowed herself to be led up the grassy path to stand before the huge marble statue.

  The statue had a stern but kind face and Emily almost felt like it was really looking at her, which was silly. The two priestesses bowed low and she copied their actions somewhat awkwardly.

  Suddenly she felt an all too familiar surge inside her. It was the other, trying to come forward. Emily could feel her inside, waking as if from a long nap and then rushing up to look out of Emily’s eyes, to see the statue of the Goddess.

  “What?” she started to say. But what came out instead was, “Mother!”

  “Yes, the Goddess is the Mother of All Life,” Turra answered her involuntary exclamation.

  “Mother!” the other said again and Emily found she could not drag her eyes from the statue.

  No! She struggled with all her might. No, get back! Through main force of will, she somehow forced the other back down inside her. The effort left her breathless and shaky and she hoped the two priestesses couldn’t tell. Luckily, all three of them were still bowing which hid her face somewhat.

  “Mother…our mother,” whispered the other, but this time it was only inside Emily’s head.

  No, she thought again fiercely, addressing the entity inside her. No, you can’t just take over like that—I won’t let you! She felt the other shift restlessly and then go still. For the moment she was subdued but when might she rise again? Emily had the idea that the statue had somehow brought her back from wherever she’d been sleeping or dreaming—but why?

  “This is, of course, only a visage of the Mother,” Turra said as they all rose from their bows. “The true Mother of All Life is not simply a statue. She is real and near us at all times.”

  “Oh. Uh, of course,” Emily said weakly. “Look, I’m really tired and it’s been a long, crazy trip. Do you think there’s any way I could go lie down somewhere?”

  She didn’t really want a nap but she was exhausted after her internal struggle and it seemed like a convenient excuse to get away from the Sacred Grove. She was almost certain the statue was what had woken the other—Emily wanted to get the Hell away from it.

  “I am sorry, Khalla-to-be. But there is no time now for napping,” Turra said as she led Emily back down the aisle and out of the sacred area. “Before you rest we must ready you for the ceremony.”

  “The ceremony? What ceremony?” Emily asked, bewildered.

  “Why the ceremony where your chosen mate will be decided, of course,” Lit’aal said. “You will want to look beautiful for that, of course—think of all the candidates hoping to be chosen.”

  “There doesn’t really need to be a ceremony,” Emily protested as they led her out of the Sacred Grove and down another long hallway. “I already know who I’m going to pick. I don’t want the other guys to get their hopes up.”

  “Oh, you will not be choosing yourself.” Lit’aal shook her head. “Mother Chundra will have the final say.”

  “But she said they would consider my wishes!” Emily felt a stab of panic and inside her, the other shifted restlessly too. Clearly neither of them wanted anyone but Tragar.

  “Of course she will,” Turra said soothingly. “Very often a Khalla-to-be is allowed to have the male she wishes.”

  “Very often isn’t good enough,” Emily protested. “I only want Tragar! He found me and told me what I was. He protected me. He understands me—understands what I’ve been through and he doesn’t judge me for it.”

  Inside she was imagining trying to tell some other guy about the rape—the very thought made her feel sick and shaky all over. How could she let anyone else know what had been done to her? They wouldn’t understand, she was sure of it. She could imagine the look of pity and revulsion in their eyes as she tried to explain why her Tenrah had been so late in coming and how she didn’t feel comfortable being touched or having sex…

  And that was another thing. If the High Priestess gave her some other guy for her chosen mate, Emily was pretty sure she was expected to have sex with him at some point. I can’t…I can’t do that! she thought frantically. She might have been able to handle it with Tragar, although she had a feeling it wouldn’t be easy. But with a complete stranger? No way—huh-uh. Not happening.

  “What is not happening?” Lit’aal looked at her, a confused expression on her face and Emily realized she had spoken aloud.

  “I’m not going with any guy but Tragar—that’s what’s not happening,” she said, lifting her chin defiantly. “I don’t want to be with some stranger on my freaking honeymoon night!”

  “I do not know what the moon has to do with your chosen mate but be assured that when the time comes for you to lie with him, your Kit’tara will be so eager it will not matter who he is,” Turra said firmly. “Besides, all the candidates for chosen mate are very handsome—you need not fear that you will be assigned one who is not to your liking.”

  “You don’t understand—nobody is to my liking but Tragar,” Emily snapped. Damn it, what part of “I don’t want to sleep with a stranger” did these two not understand?

  “We can speak of it later,” Lit’aal said. “For now, here are your rooms.”

  They entered a set of tall white double doors that looked to Emily like they were carved from some kind of bone or ivory. Slender white columns rose up to the impossibly high ceiling which Emily had to crane her neck to see.

  “Wow,” she murmured, walking further into the room. It was an apartment out of a fairy tale.

  A simple yet elegant piece of furniture that looked like a chaise lounge wa
s drawn up before a firepit filled with pale pink fire-bubbles. Fuzzy, white fur rugs were scattered over the polished gray marble floor and to one side of the firepit was a large sunken tub that seemed to be filled with water and white flower blossoms. On the other side was a vast round bed circled completely with overstuffed, cylindrical pillows which made Emily think of the pillow forts she and Anna used to build when they were kids. Everything except for the gray marble floor and the pink fire-bubbles was white, pristine, and very intimidating.

  “Do you like your rooms, Khalla-to-be?” Turra asked, smiling. “This is but a taste of the life that awaits you. Everywhere a Khalla goes she is feasted and pampered. Everyone wants to see her and be seen with her. From the richest to the poorest, every citizen everywhere will love you and speak your name with reverence and awe.”

  “Really?” Emily shook her head in disbelief. “But…why?”

  “A Khalla brings life and health and happiness everywhere she goes,” Lit’aal explained softly. “Her touch is healing—it is even said she may bring someone back from the brink of death if she wishes.”

  “But that is forbidden,” Turra said. “The power of life and death is granted only to the Goddess. Even a Khalla may not circumvent death.”

  “True.” Lit’aal bowed her head penitently. “I spoke unwisely. I only wanted Emily to know what she will be capable of as soon as her Kit’tara comes forward.”

  “What if I don’t want her to come forward?” Emily asked, turning towards the other girl. “What if I don’t want to lose myself just to become this wonderful, magical being who can heal people with a touch but isn’t allowed to?”

  “It is the Khalla’s blood or nectar which heals,” Turra corrected her. “But to answer your question, Khalla-to-be, you will not be able to stop your Kit’tara from coming forward once you enter your fourth stage or Hel. And indeed, why would you want to? The Kit’tara is like what the Earthlings call a butterfly—you are the outer shell or chrysalis if you wish. When there is no more need for the chrysalis, the butterfly breaks free and emerges.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Emily muttered. The priestess seemed to be saying she was nothing but an ugly cocoon that would be discarded as soon as the real star—the beautiful butterfly Kit’tara—broke free. Emily wasn’t in love with that idea at all. It was both frightening and insulting. But before she could open her mouth to say so, Lit’aal was leading her to the white chaise lounge which was sitting in front of the fire-bubble pit and urging her to sit down.

  “Please, make yourself comfortable Khalla-to-be,” she murmured. “You must be hungry and tired after your long trip.”

  As a matter of fact, she was right. Emily was incredibly tired after all the emotions she’d gone through lately and she was also very hungry. The protein paste and bars, which were all Tragar kept in his ship, sustained her but she never actually felt full from eating them.

  “I am a little hungry,” she admitted.

  “Wonderful! Then recline at your ease,” Turra said, smiling. “Lit’aal and I will serve you the Feast of Becoming.”

  “Um, okay.” Emily wasn’t sure what kind of food was involved in such a feast but she was so hungry she was certain anything besides protein paste would seem like ambrosia.

  “Here we are.” Lit’aal pushed a wooden tray on wheels in front of Emily. On the tray was an elegant green clay pot carved with all kinds of mysterious looking symbols. Some of them looked like animals—strange ones that had beaks like parrots and tails like monkeys. But many of the symbols looked like eyes.

  Weird, Emily thought. But the delicious smelling steam that rose from the clay pot when Lit’aal took off the top made her forget all about the strange symbols.

  “The Soup of Far Seeing,” Turra said loftily. “Here, Khalla-to-be, you must imbibe it in this manner.” She handed Emily a wide, curving straw that was twisted into many loops and swirls. Emily took it doubtfully.

  “A crazy straw? You want me to eat the soup with a crazy straw?”

  “That is a zlicket—it is the traditional instrument of imbibing for this course of the feast.”

  “All right.” Emily shrugged and put the wide end of the straw down into the steaming clay pot of soup. The broth was thin but cloudy so though she could feel the straw bumping against different ingredients, she couldn’t really see any of them. Still, it smelled really good and she was hungry enough not to be picky. Carefully, she sucked at the straw, trying not to burn her mouth.

  “Do not worry that you will scorch your tongue,” Lit’aal told her, smiling. “The zlicket will cool the soup by the time it reaches your mouth.”

  “Thank you.” Emily smiled at her and sucked with more confidence. Suddenly her mouth was flooded with meaty, flavorful broth. It tasted like the richest, most delicious beef stew Emily had ever had but there was a wilder note in it too—some kind of spice that made her think of curry. “Mmm!” She sipped again. “Delicious!”

  “The Temple chefs will be gratified to hear that their creation pleases you,” Turra told her. “They have been preparing this feast for you since we were first notified of your impending arrival.”

  “That’s very nice of them—please thank them for me,” Emily said. “Or maybe I could go and thank them myself? Where’s the kitchen around here, anyway?”

  “Oh, no, Khalla-to-be.” Turra looked shocked. “A Khalla does not debase herself by speaking to such common, low workers. It will be honor enough for them to know that their food was eaten by an exalted one such as yourself.”

  “I’m really not that exalted,” Emily protested, taking another sip. “I mean, I’m just a kindergarten teacher. Or I was before Tragar found me.”

  “That life is over for you now,” Turra said, smiling. “Soon you will be exalted among all females—a goddess in mortal form.”

  “Um…I guess.” Emily still wasn’t quite sure what being a Khalla actually entailed. To hear Turra talk about it, it sounded like these women were kind of like rock stars, touring the world with an entourage and performing for hordes of grateful, worshipful fans wherever they went. That kind of life didn’t appeal to her shy, retiring nature at all but she wasn’t at all sure how she was going to tell Mother Chundra that.

  “You’ll love it, Khalla-to-be.” Turra’s green eyes gleamed with excitement. “You’ll see—it will not matter who you are mated to because you will spend all your time being adored.”

  “That doesn’t exactly sound like my cup of tea,” Emily said carefully. “If I’m always on the road, when will I ever have time for my husband…er mate and kids?”

  “Oh, Khallas do not have children,” Lit’aal said, shaking her head. “Some say that they used to, many ages ago but now, well, it has been over a hundred years since any Khalla gave birth.”

  “Are you sure about that?” A little part of Emily’s heart seemed to die. Before she’d been resigned to never having kids because she couldn’t stand the idea of having sex. But now she and Tragar were getting so comfortable together, she was almost certain she would be able to do the deed—as long as she was doing it with him. And she loved kids—why else would she become a kindergarten teacher? The thought of having Tragar’s baby had even flitted briefly across her mind. And now her two attendants were yanking away her dream before it could even fully form in her head.

  “I am sorry, Khalla-to-be, but it is so.” Lit’aal looked sorry for her. “But as Turra says, you would scarcely have time for children anyway. A Khalla is joined to the people she serves, even more than her chosen mate. She is an ambassador of good will from the Temple and all eyes are upon her ceaselessly.”

  This job was sounding worse and worse but Emily didn’t know how to say that. Clearly to her two priestess helpers, it was the best gig in the entire planet. If you don’t mind being in the public eye constantly. Ugh! To cover her confusion, she took another big sip of the soup. But something stopped the flow before she could get half a mouthful. Frowning, she sucked harder. Was something stuck in the stra
w? Pulling it out of the deep clay pot she started to examine it and gasped.

  The straw was made of some kind of stretchy, transparent material that wasn’t quite plastic but didn’t seem organic either. Lodged in its lower half, just below the first curve, was a bulging blue eyeball which seemed to be staring at her.

  “Oh my God!” Emily nearly dropped the straw in a sudden surge of revulsion. “What the Hell is that?” she demanded, staring at the eye which still seemed to be looking back.

  “A chiroth eye of course.” Turra spoke as though it was no big deal. “That is what the Soup of Far Seeing is made of—it enables a Khalla-to-be to harness her inner vision. Would you like to eat one of the eyes? It is said that those who do have waking dreams that often portend the future.”

  “No, I don’t want to eat an eyeball,” Emily exclaimed. “I mean…” She took a deep breath and put the straw back in the soup so she couldn’t see the eye. “No thank you. I’m sorry—that just surprised me is all. We don’t…have that kind of stew on the planet where I come from.”

  “Because you come from a planet with no other Khallas,” Lit’aal said soothingly. “Only a Khalla or a Khalla-to-be may partake of this dish without dying.”

  “What?” Emily was freaked out all over again. “Are you telling me it’s poison?”

  “Only to one who is not a Khalla,” Turra said.

  “Well…that’s nice, I guess.” Emily swallowed. “But you know, I believe I’ve had enough for now. Thank you so much.”

  “You’re very welcome,” Turra said as Lit’aal whisked the green clay pot away. “It’s wise of you not to fill up on soup. You must have room for each of the courses.”

  “There’s more?” Emily asked apprehensively.

  “Of course. Here, my Khalla-to-be, is the Tureen of Oration.”

  “The what?” Emily asked, as Lit’aal put another steaming dish down in front of her. It was a broad, oval shaped dish made of some green metal and it appeared to contain a kind of bubbling, cheesy casserole.

  “The Tureen of Oration. A Khalla must always be able to address her followers in an eloquent and charming manner,” Turra said.