Wicked Harvest

by Anitra Lynn McLeod

  “Even had you known the truth about your lack of tactile sensation during the Harvest ritual, you still would have fought for the right, for there are great benefits, yet never would you have agreed to give away your children.”

  “No, that I would not have agreed to.” Tension flared along the edge of his jaw as he trimmed the hard husk of the nicla to expose the red–orange flesh inside. “But even if I tell the truth I know, who would believe me? The only proof I have is a tome written in a language few understand anymore.”

  With a sigh, Enovese said, “And I doubt they will accept my translation. More likely they would take the book, destroy it, and then dispose of us both.”

  “Then we are right back where we were before.”

  Enovese considered and rejected several ideas. “We will need proof other than the Harvester tome.”

  A frown lowered his brows. “Yes, but proof from where? Clearly they’ve removed any mention of this from all the other texts, or you would have found out long before now.”

  Enovese set the table and they sat down. She picked at her food, too distracted to eat, but Chur ate heartily.

  With a wry frown, he said, “I am not truly hungry but for my training I must. How would it look at the Festival of Temptation if my uniform hung on me?” A burst of inspiration lit his face.

  When Enovese looked deep into Chur’s eyes, she saw a vision of herself, much older, yet still beautiful. “You see me in the future?” Such a thought filled her with hope. Even after all of this, did he intend to claim her?

  “At Ambo’s season party, I saw a woman and I thought perhaps she was your mother. I didn’t tell you for she was wealthy beyond measure and I worried that she had sold you.”

  Her heart leaped in her chest. “To look that much like me she must be my mother, which means she was a Harvester. What was her name?” Excitement caused her hands to tremble and she set her utensils aside.

  “I was trying to find out when Ambo dumped lete on me.” Chur rolled his eyes. “If I didn’t know better I would swear he did it on purpose.”

  “He couldn’t have known what you were thinking.”

  “I know. I just detest the man. He seems to impede my steps in everything I do.”

  Enovese thought Chur had good reason to dislike Ambo for not only his attacks on his uniform but also his despicable conduct during his bondmate’s mourning rites. “You must find out who this woman is.” Enovese considered her plate, then pushed it aside. “She could be the proof we need.”

  “What does she prove exactly?”

  “That paratanists come from Harvesters. The idea that parents willing to give their children away is a myth to hide the despicable truth. With the tome and this woman we have enough proof to at least get people to consider what we say.”

  “We?” He lifted his brows. “Now you intend to stand beside me? And exactly where, when, and how do you propose I break this information?”

  “I haven’t figured that out yet.”

  With a sigh of frustration, Chur stood from the table. He paced. His moves weren’t as vigorous. He set a contemplative tempo. Enovese cleared the table and then sat upon their bed. She wanted to stay out of his way but also she enjoyed watching him move. For a large man, he possessed incredible grace.

  “What is to prevent them from killing me? As popular as you seem to think I am, there wouldn’t be anything to stop them from disposing of me.”

  Using the deep breathing Chur had taught her, Enovese calmed her mind and body. “There must be a way and we will find it.”

  “You will find it.” Chur caught her gaze as he paced. “For one thing is certain: I must win the challenge. I cannot make a stand when my position is precarious, as it is now. And if I do not survive…well, then, my problems are over.”

  It took several deep breaths to dampen her anger. “Stop speaking to me of defeat. If you die your problems are not over, for your children will still exist in a world of horror.”

  He gritted his teeth. “You are right and I am sorry.” He caught her gaze and the harsh lines of his face softened. “Ah, Enovese, I did not even think of you.” With three strides, he was at her side and sat next to her on the bed. “I am a selfish man.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. When she failed to correct his self-assessment, he asked, “Forgive me?”

  “Yes.” She forgave him for focusing on himself and his children, because when she had first read the passage, she instantly thought only of herself. Her concern for Chur had come later. Her concern for the population of Diola had come only recently.

  “I swear that I will do everything in my power to change what is, even if it costs me my life. Better death than disgrace.” He squeezed her tighter. “If I know this and fail to act, I have dishonored myself greatly. And as you said, my voice will be but the first.”

  Enovese had known for a long time that she loved Chur, but now, she admired him. He was more than the Harvester, more than a man; in her eyes, he was a hero. She loved and deeply respected him. He would fight for change, no matter what it cost him personally. He put the greater good above himself. Deep down in her heart, she knew she would have to make such a sacrifice herself.

  When she looked to the future, she no longer saw a happy ending to their relationship, not as she once had. She now realized she had been painfully naïve to think that Chur could whisk her away from the constraints of her position as a paratanist. She intended to stand with him and give a voice to all those who could not speak, for if she remained silent, she, like Chur, would dishonor herself greatly.

  As she sat beside Chur, idly tracing her finger along the thick hair on his thigh, she worried at the details. Determining the timing of the revelation was critical. It had to be a time when Chur had a captive audience. She pushed the problem to the back of her mind for now because they had other goals to accomplish first.

  “I think I should go to training today.” Chur stood. “Missing even one day could show weakness.” He flashed her a smile, but she realized it was more a baring of his teeth. “I wish to terrify them and make them strongly consider challenging me.”

  Enovese helped him wash then don his gear. “The Festival of Temptation starts in ten nights. Try to keep your face clear of bruises, but be sure to inflict them on the recruits.”

  Shock turned his blue eyes dark.

  “Do not look at me like that. I don’t want you to hurt them but mark them. If you stride in unmarked while they stumble in battered, it boosts your myth as the mighty, untouchable Harvester. You know the Festival of Temptation is all about appearances.”

  Two cycles before the Harvest, all the Harvest participants engaged in the Festival of Temptation where the sacrifices, the current Harvester, and the recruits attended an elaborate celebration in their honor. The virgins showed off their beauty, the Harvester could decide if one would suit for bonding, and the recruits might see a woman worth issuing a challenge to the death. The current magistrate, his staff, and all palace dignitaries would also attend. Among them would be the woman Chur had seen.

  “You think I should deliver this information there?” Chur shrugged his way into the cross-strap harness of his chest plate.

  Enovese adjusted the straps to fit snuggly but not tight over his shoulders. “No, I think you should terrify them in the training room and at the Festival. You should stride into the ballroom as if all are there to admire you.”

  With a chuckle, Chur stood taller. “I should be a horrifying monster barely contained by my finery.”

  Enovese nodded and adjusted the thick animal hide that cupped his left shoulder. For the Festival, he would wear his dress uniform and his ceremonial sword. Heavy and jewel encrusted, the weapon enhanced his size, and she noticed whenever he wore the sword he walked harder, his face turned harsher, and his eyes glowed with a ruthless entitlement. A similar change overcame him when he wore the blade for the Harvest.

  Enovese imagined a sacrifice seeing Chur for the first time at the
Festival of Temptation. Would they feel a rush of fear followed by a quivering anticipation? During the Festival, his black hair brushed the collar of his uniform. The soft curls framed his face, highlighting the summer-sky blue of his eyes and white twist of his scar. Deep black fabric contrasted the red piping that framed his chest scar. Would such a vision frighten or intrigue a young woman?

  Not all the virgins attended the Festival, so many saw Chur for the first time during the Harvest. How did they take his shaved head and chest, his partial nudity, muscles coated in oil, and eyes gleaming from arousal denied?

  “Enovese?”

  Chur’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. “I was thinking what a woman would feel upon seeing you for the first time at the Festival.”

  “Terror.” He responded with a definitive air. “I’m so much bigger than they are. I’m convinced they think I will manhandle them like a brute.” A wry smile lifted his lips. “But when I dance with them, the terror gives way to surprise that I am gentle.”

  Enovese remembered dancing with him and her own astonishment at not only his grace but also his tender touch. “Perhaps that dichotomy is what has led to your popularity: the brute with the benevolent nature.”

  Her praise caused him to roll his eyes and remark, “You would do well as a poet, Enovese. For one who can turn monster to man is a master of words.”

  “You say that you are no poet, but you, too, have a way with words.” His statement sparked an idea that merged with the problems at the back of her mind. She would do well to read what the poets had written about Chur Zenge. Insight into his myth might yield an answer to their dilemma. She needed to find a way to exploit his myth to his benefit.

  Chur sighed and tilted her face to his. “I see the wheels spinning in your mind.” He kissed her cheek. “I will leave you to your thoughts.”

  Before he could turn away, Enovese captured his face in her hands and kissed his mouth. He deepened the kiss, pulling her against his armor-clad body. Muscle, animal hide, and metal pressed into her yielding form, reassuring her with his strength. As he pulled away, Enovese feared their time together grew short.

  22

  Chur breathed a sigh of relief that the ritual of control was over for another night. He stood on his private balcony, nude, hard, looking over the meticulously manicured lands surrounding the palace. As the time of the Harvest drew close, the garden below swelled with bounty. Fruits and vegetables rambled over the ground or high upon trellises, slowly growing in the fading light. From his vantage point, they appeared as tiny houses, fit for only the wee people. The image lifted a smile that turned to a grimace. Nightmares of his children in cribs, crying for comfort and ruthlessly ignored, filled his slumber with cold terror.

  He turned his gaze to the fields where grains nodded and bounced on the light breeze that carried wisps of salt and fish from the Valry Sea. He found the scent soothing, for the essence of the sea made him think of renewal and rebirth. Even when the cold came and gripped the land in icy tufts of snow, the smell of the Valry offered a promise that life would come to the land again.

  Tandalsul, the twin suns, had just dipped below the Onic Mountains, almost perfectly aligned into a cleft between two peaks known as the Temptation crevasse. Tomorrow night, the suns would nestle directly between the mounds, heralding the start of the Festival of Temptation. Whoever had designed the palace had placed the Harvester rooms in alignment to view that moment. As the suns descended, they cast the clouds in reddish purple, an oddly angry color amid so much serene beauty.

  Chur’s body ached from brutal training sessions and his mind jumbled with too many thoughts. Enovese’s torment only added to the pounding in his head, as if he had too much blood to be contained within his flesh. She had offered the blue lotion, but he’d declined. Somehow, the familiar punishment soothed him for such was a basic part of his duty. A sigh escaped him as he thought back to the words Enovese had flung in anger cycles ago, accusing him of cowering behind duty for he feared making his own decisions. He found himself clinging to duty again. Much like the torment of lust denied, focusing his mind to his responsibilities soothed with well-known constraints.

  Simultaneous feelings of anger, fear, and disgust paced his every moment. From his dreams to his waking moments, he had no respite. During training, his focus had been so sharp as to render him a brutal machine. He took down any who faced him with vicious efficiency but such was borne of fear. For the first time, Chur didn’t believe he would prevail at the challenge. Sterlave seemed to grow ever more powerful and dangerous. His muscles bulged, his eyes narrowed, his movements were both fluid and deadly. Dueling during mock battles had left them at a draw, for neither could seem to gain advantage over the other. It pained Chur to be at odds with a man he genuinely respected and even cared for. The only solace he gained was that Sterlave’s gaze reflected the same fearful determination.

  Anger often gripped Chur when he returned to his rooms, for he felt he’d gained nothing during his training. Helton had been curiously absent. When Helton did make an appearance, he clung close to Loban and focused all his attention there. Chur found his behavior odd because Loban had unofficially withdrawn from the challenge. Chur consoled himself with the thought Helton perhaps did not wish to take a side between him and Sterlave. However, such a thought did not soothe the sting of Helton’s abandonment. Usually, Chur could not shake Helton during the last few cycles before the Harvest. Now, he could barely catch his gaze for a brief acknowledgment before Helton twisted away, giving Chur his back. Helton’s behavior only reinforced that he had turned against Chur. What had Chur done to alienate Helton? Had his questions about the rituals irked Helton for Chur had dared to broach into paratanist territory? Chur now realized he should have kept his concerns to himself. A Harvester was brawn not brains, brute strength not mental finesse. Perhaps what angered Helton the most was that he believed Chur should have chosen a bondmate from the last Harvest. In not doing so, Chur had inadvertently ruined Helton’s plans, whatever they may be.

  As he shared time with Enovese, he discovered a profound feeling of disgust ate away at his pride. Putting an end to the paratanist selection ritual consumed Enovese. She worked tirelessly in an effort to find a way to inform others without destroying everyone in the process. She seemed oblivious to what such a revelation would cost her. She shrugged it off, willing to cast herself into the ceremonial fires if it would bring forth change. His disgust came when he realized he did not feel the same. He had sworn to her he would do anything—death before disgrace—but now he wanted to take his impassioned words back. He wished he did not know the truth. He wanted Enovese to let go, forget, so that he, too, could attempt to distance himself from the horrible situation. Disgust borne of fear for he did not think he had the power to fight against an ancient and terrifying ritual. Duty beckoned to him, for he should not worry at the outcome of the rituals. He wished his heart would grow calloused, uncaring, so that uncertainties over what he could not change would release him from anguish. He could not save his children. He did not believe he had the fortitude to fight a powerful and faceless enemy, for how did one battle the ancients and their rituals? Chur had always felt powerful in his form and his position, but now he felt utterly impotent, and such disgusted him.

  A tap against the glass pulled him from his thoughts. Enovese motioned him inside for his evening meal. Usually he ate before the ritual of control, but his growling belly helped distract him from climax. He’d retreated to the balcony to escape the luscious scent of Enovese. The ritual stimulated her, making her wet, infusing her robe with an aroma of passion. Her natural perfume added another layer of torment to his aroused state. If nightmares about his children didn’t distress him, dreams of Enovese did. They had agreed that during the ritual they would not share a bed, for after the first night he’d awoken with her in his arms, his stiff cock seeking the wetness between her legs. Tonight was his last night of agony, for tomorrow, after the Festival of Temptation, Enovese wo
uld bring him to a shattering climax.

  Chur couldn’t wait for release, but he wasn’t looking forward to the Festival. He found the entire affair tedious. Virgins batting their lashes, engaging in coy conversations that often left him more irritated than intrigued. They often gossiped about people and schemes he knew nothing about. Frankly, he did not think the young ladies knew much about them either, for his simplest question left them baffled. Chur suspected their parents put them up to dropping names to impress him with their connections, thus making them appear more desirous as mates. The frustration he felt during the Harvest possessed him during the Festival. None interested him. Not once had he gazed upon a sacrifice and known deep in his heart that she was the one he’d longed for.

  Until Enovese.

  He startled at the thought and placed his hands against the cool stone railing. Without any enhancements, Enovese had commanded his attention during not only the Harvest but also all the time since. Beyond her stunning beauty, her thoughts and beliefs held him in a trance. She was brave. She was bold. She saw what she wanted and would do all in her power to achieve her goals. When he’d thrown blocks in her path, she either plowed through them or climbed over them. Driven by forces he deeply admired, Enovese refused to accept the limits of her position.

  While they were making love he’d boldly laid his claim to her, for he could not bear the thought of another man knowing her as he had, but now, he realized, his feelings went far deeper than simple sexual possession. Somehow, Chur had fallen in love with Enovese. The feeling came over him so inexorably he had no idea how it had started or when the tide had turned, he only knew the truth of it down to his soul. Enovese swore he was her bondmate, that she would have no other, and now he felt the same way.

  Chur turned and looked through the glass. Beyond his ghostly reflection, Enovese sat at the table, reading over the tome, waiting for him. Tendrils of harvest-colored hair spilled out of the braid at the back of her neck and teased around her face, which was dipped low in concentration. With a delicate dab of her fingertip to her tongue, she turned the page.