Dark Harvest

by Anitra Lynn McLeod

  Growing weary at the delay and cursing the shear size of the palace, Sterlave wondered, if he saved Kasmiri, did Ambo intend to have her killed? To that end, he asked, “How many know this about Kasmiri’s birth?”

  “Myself, Helton”—he swallowed hard before continuing—“Loban.”

  “Does Kasmiri?”

  Snickering, he said, “Of course, that’s how Loban forced her to give him the Harvester suite.”

  Sterlave released a tense breath at Ambo’s snide comment. She wasn’t working with Loban, he’d threatened her into doing what he wanted, or he’d reveal her secret. As relieved as he was, he couldn’t help but feel hurt. Why hadn’t she come to him for help? Did she honestly think he wouldn’t stand by her? But then, he could understand her reluctance, given her past, and the fact they hadn’t been together very long. For now, he pushed the problems away. He knew they would work out the details later.

  Sterlave marched Ambo along. He realized they were in the right place when he saw the shattered door.

  “In there.” Ambo pointed, then tried to back away.

  “Oh, no, you’re coming with me.” He wasn’t about to let Ambo close the portal behind him.

  Ambo struggled, but even sober he was no match for Sterlave. Lifting him by his collar, Sterlave forced him into the room on his tippy toes. Helton had the room of a servant. Cramped of size and lacking any luxuries, the room contained a bed, a small washbasin, and a cloth hung across the room to act as a closet. Within, Sterlave found the portal. Sparkling in roughly a manshaped oval, the doorway to the other world hovered about a foot off the floor.

  No way was Sterlave going to leap blindly into the unknown. Loban could be waiting on the other side ready to strike. After a moment’s consideration, Sterlave didn’t think he was because Loban wanted him to come. If all he wanted was to kill him, he could have snuck up on him a hundred times in the last few days. Loban wanted something specific. To talk? To make him beg? To make him watch Kasmiri die? Sterlave knew it could be any or all of those things. Straightening his shoulders, he readied himself to confront Loban.

  However, there was no reason to take undue chances. “Say hello to your friend for me.” Sterlave placed Ambo in front of the portal and kicked. Before disappearing, Ambo bellowed and clutched his wine. After a second, Sterlave gripped his weapon and leaped in after him.

  Wind whipped around him in a squeezing circle, causing him to clench his sword tightly to his chest. His pants offered little protection from the cold, but the sudden plunge into chaos was so shocking he barely felt the temperature change. As if spit out of the mouth of an angry beast, Sterlave stumbled out of the maelstrom, then fell to his knees on a smooth stone floor.

  Immediately, he leapt to his feet, assessing the situation. Ambo was huddled not far from him, mindlessly swaying and holding his wine. Crumpled on the floor, Kasmiri lay unmoving. Black hair tangled across her makeup-smeared face, her once-beautiful dress was tattered, and her feet were bare, bruised, and bloody. Fearing he was too late, his gut twisted. He suppressed his first instinct, which was to rush to her side. He needed to find Loban first. He glanced about the rest of the room.

  On the opposite side, Loban lolled in what looked like a throne carved into the very wall. Either the throne was small or Loban had grown; it was difficult to tell from this distance. Loban smiled and picked his pointed teeth with his slender, multijointed finger. Light avoided his burnished skin, which wasn’t really skin anymore but a hardened shell.

  Mesmerized by the gangly strangeness of him, Sterlave hardly registered the otherworldly colors of the room. With a start, he turned his gaze to Kasmiri. Had he raped her? Upon closer examination, he realized her dress was frayed but intact. When he saw her chest rise and fall with her breath, he almost sagged from relief.

  “Return to your knees.”

  Even though Loban’s misshapen mouth struggled to form the words, Sterlave still had no problem understanding him.

  Squaring his shoulders, Sterlave said, “I told you once, and I’ll tell you a thousand times, I will not kneel to you, no matter what you offer.”

  Loban laughed a sickening chortle that made Sterlave’s short-shorn hair stand on end. “Didn’t you take pleasure in your interlude with Chur? Judging by the stain on your pants, I’d say you thoroughly enjoyed my vision.”

  Sterlave refused to dignify his statement with a comment.

  “You were so easy.”

  Sterlave’s gut tightened. He knew to what Loban referred. If he thought such talk would unsettle him, he was correct, but it wasn’t going to stop him. Perhaps he didn’t confront Loban before because he was too frightened. He wasn’t now. Moreover, he didn’t care if Ambo, Kasmiri, or the entire population heard. Loban committed the wrong. Sterlave’s only mistake had been in not speaking up sooner.

  Realizing Loban wished to talk first, Sterlave lowered his sword. “After all this time you’re finally going to admit what you did to me.”

  “I did what you wanted me to do.” Without any clothing to cover him, Sterlave couldn’t help but notice Loban’s erection, especially when he casually stroked his hand along the length. Spikes protruded from conical bumps along the underside, lying flat as he stroked his hand down. The barbs prevented him from stroking upward, so he teased his fist to the base, lifted it away, and started down from the top. Rhythmically, he stroked while he talked. Loban’s transformation managed to outwardly express all the ugly that once lay hidden deep within.

  “I didn’t want you to rape me.” Sterlave’s words echoed in the hot air. So shocking was his accusation that Ambo lifted his head and considered the tableau before him. Drunken eyes finally swung toward Kasmiri. Tentatively, he crawled over to her.

  “You invited me in.” Loban’s fingertips clicked musically as he continued to stroke his prick.

  “To apologize.”

  Glittering Onic eyes narrowed. “To fuck.”

  Sterlave shook his head. Young and foolish, he’d actually believed the swaggering bully wanted to say he was sorry in private so the other recruits wouldn’t know his shame.

  “You didn’t even fight.” Loban gave himself one long, hard stroke while lifting his hips.

  “I was afraid.” Confronting the truth empowered him rather than shamed him. “You’d already beaten the sense out of me earlier that day. I thought if I fought, you’d kill me.” Even during the worst of the bullying in his village, Sterlave had never feared for his life, not like he did that night. As Loban used him in every way a man could, Sterlave alternately prayed for death and for Loban to climax, then go. Either way, he’d have peace.

  “You wanted me.” Loban flashed a wide, creepy smile. “I never heard any complaints.”

  “All I ever wanted was to be accepted. I thought when I came to the training rooms, I would find friendship, but all you showed me was brutality. I almost gave up, but one man showed me camaraderie. He reminded me that I was worthy of not only being the Harvester, but of being loved.” Sterlave owed Chur a debt of gratitude for what he’d done. Without him, he wouldn’t be standing here now. He would have given up, retreated into a shell, and ultimately failed. In the end, they would have sent him home with a mark of shame on his forehead, confirming what the villagers had always said about him. Without Chur, Sterlave would have become like Loban—a miserable creature so consumed by lust and a need for power that he would do anything to achieve his goals, even allowing himself to be possessed by a fauben.

  “Worthy of being loved?” After a burst of laughter, Loban mocked, “I thought you considered yourself a man, but obviously you have more in common with a woman. No wonder I slid into you without a struggle.” Loban spared Kasmiri a glance. “You certainly didn’t have any problems offering your willing ass up to her.”

  Sterlave didn’t question how Loban knew such a thing. If he were able to insert lust-driven fantasies into his mind, he could certainly steal information out of it. Again, Loban probed a spot that was not tender. Sterl
ave had no shame over what he’d done with Kasmiri. Given half a chance, he would do it again. They might have conflicts everywhere else in their life, but in bed, he and Kasmiri were of the same mind. Pleasure without pain and a fearless openness about their desires was the only way they would ever be. Sex wasn’t about who penetrated whom, but about providing pleasure. Together, they tempered their lust with great passion.

  In that moment, Sterlave grasped what Loban didn’t or couldn’t understand: the give and take of a loving relationship. To Loban, it was about power and dominance, taking and never giving. To Sterlave, it was about trust and sharing, taking and giving. What he’d always missed in his other relationships was the sense of safety he felt with Kasmiri. He could tell her anything, and she would not mock him. That Loban chose to do so spoke greatly about his own twisted mentality.

  Again, Sterlave wondered what would shape a man to be so brutal. Loban did not come into the world formed this way. Experiences crafted him into a bully who used sex to dominate those weaker than himself. With a start, Sterlave understood why Loban was the way he was.

  “Did you cry when they raped you?” Sterlave let his arm hang lax. His words cut deeper than any blade.

  Jolted out of his stroking rhythm, Loban turned on his throne. “I never let them see me—” Cutting himself off, he calmed his voice and said, “I’m not weak like you.”

  With his response, Loban confirmed what had only been Sterlave’s suspicion. Probing further into the tender spot, he said, “They used you for their own vicious pleasure. You hated yourself for being weak. That’s why you are the way you are.” Deep in his heart, Sterlave knew the truth: Loban had suffered greatly at the hands of his villagers. He became one of them to protect his own fragile psyche.

  Unfurling himself like a great banner, Loban stood, placing his hands along what used to be his hips. His bulky haunches looked awkward but strong, looming his superior height over the entire room. Waves of heat billowed off Loban, giving his anger a palpable presence.

  Refusing to be intimidated, Sterlave asked, “How old were you the first time?”

  “I am not weak!” Loban snarled, exposing a mouthful of pointed teeth.

  Without raising his arm, Sterlave readied himself for battle by clutching his cirvant tightly. Dry heat enveloped him, sweating his hand against the hilt, but a fresh leather wrapping provided an excellent grip.

  “The gods have chosen me to embody their power! They would not select a weakling who let himself be used.”

  “You think your form is godlike?” Sterlave realized that Loban hadn’t meant to let the fallen one in; he’d been trying to attract the attention of the gods. Chur’s stunning transformation must have inspired him to take this dangerous path. “You lured in a fauben, not a god.”

  Onic eyes went wide as Loban’s body roiled. His arms and legs jerked frantically, as if something within fought desperately to break free. Sterlave took an involuntary step back. He flicked a glance to Ambo and Kasmiri, but Ambo had already pulled her away from the center of the room.

  “I am a god!” he shrieked. “I let you live so that you would kneel to me!” Leaping across the distance between them in two bounds, Loban stretched to his full height, and bellowed, “Go down on your knees before your master!”

  Fearless, Sterlave stood his ground. “I forgive you.”

  As if the words splashed cold water against his rage, Loban struck him so hard and fast he had no time to react. Sterlave flew sideways as Loban ripped four great slashes across his arm and chest. Blood streaked across the floor.

  Climbing slowly to his feet, Sterlave said, “That’s why you were so angry with me, because I forgave you. When I stopped the recruits from raping you and chose not to rape you myself, you were furious. Because you knew the truth; that I forgave you for what you did to me.”

  Panting breaths blew fire across Sterlave’s bloody flesh when Loban asked, “Why didn’t you seek revenge?”

  “Because if I did, I would become like you.” Sterlave couldn’t help but recoil at Loban’s form. “And I’d rather die than be like you.”

  Fire glittered in Loban’s eyes. “Then die!” Lifting his hand, he brought it down, swiping the razor tips across Sterlave’s chest.

  Thrusting his cirvant up, Sterlave fell back and stabbed the blade at Loban’s belly but missed.

  Lumbering over him, Loban smiled and lowered his face as if to bite. Sterlave shoved the sword as hard as he could at Loban’s belly, but the blade barely penetrated the thick hide of his skin, but then, the point slid inside his gut with sickening ease.

  Squealing, Loban lunged back as sparks of power glittered across the surface of the wound, forcing the gap wider.

  Sterlave scrambled to his feet and backed away. Searing pain burned along his wounds, but it was nothing compared to what Loban must feel.

  Loban’s feral cry was endless as he grasped uselessly at his ever-opening belly. His inhuman eyes sought out mercy, but Sterlave could offer him no comfort other than his forgiveness. As the shell pealed away, folding into the shimmering hole, Loban retook his human form. Huddled in blood, he clutched at the blade in his stomach. To Sterlave’s shock, Loban considered the hilt and laughed.

  “This is one of the weapons I repaired.”

  Sinking to his knees, Sterlave leaned over him.

  Blood oozed from Loban’s mouth when he laughed. “Now you kneel.” Sobering, he caught Sterlave’s gaze. Knowing the end was near, he whispered, “They raped me every day. My tears only prompted more brutality, as did my silence. When I summoned the courage to tell my father, he turned me out, repulsed by me. He called me ugly, worthless, and weak. I wanted to run, but there was nowhere I could run to.”

  Sterlave knew the Plete region spent most cycles shrouded in chilling mists. Little grew, which meant there was even less to hunt. The inhabitants survived by trading in goods and mining minerals. They prided themselves on the strength of their men and the beauty of their women.

  “I thought I was destined to be a dran’greth, a man who earns his keep by providing pleasure to other men. But one day I realized I was not a boy. A recruiter came, looking for those who would enter the Harvester training. When I stood to compete, they laughed.” Bitterness ate up his face. “When I beat them all down, they stopped laughing.”

  Despite everything he’d done, Sterlave understood that he and Loban had a common childhood. They both were unwanted, rejected, and traumatized. The male villagers hadn’t raped Sterlave, but once he matured, the women used him just as surely as the men used Loban. He’d never felt human, only an object worth what he could provide. The comparison was uncomfortable but no less true. By the grace of the gods, Sterlave had not become like Loban.

  “I guess I never stopped trying to beat them down.” Loban’s eyes watered with self-pity. “Do you really forgive me?”

  “For what you did to me.” Sterlave nodded. “I cannot offer forgiveness for the others you hurt.”

  Wincing, Loban’s eyes misted over. “I thought the voice, the power, was of the gods. I had no idea it was a fauben.” He laughed without mirth. “I guess the gods found me as unworthy as my father.”

  The spark in his eyes sputtered, then died.

  Sterlave stood. He took no pride in killing; he’d done only what was necessary. When he turned, he found Kasmiri struggling to lift herself. Pointing, she muttered something, then collapsed. Whipping his head around, Sterlave saw Ambo just before he slipped into the portal and disappeared. By the time Sterlave ran across the room, he was too late.

  Ambo had closed the doorway.

  26

  Kasmiri simply couldn’t understand why her arms wouldn’t do what she wanted them to do. After a moment, she couldn’t even remember why she was trying to get up. Exhausted, she fell onto her back, looking up at the perfectly smooth ceiling. It hadn’t been that long ago that she’d been on her back waiting for the Harvester. As if summoned, Sterlave’s face came into focus.

  J
oy greater than any she’d ever known filled her heart. He was here, by her side, when she needed him most. She tried to speak, but tears welled up, and her throat was raw from screaming. In a panic, she tried to sit, to see where the creature was, but Sterlave held her back. She relaxed because she knew he wouldn’t let anything hurt her, not her powerful bondmate, her champion, her one true love.

  He had come to save her.

  He cupped her face tenderly and kissed her lips. She tasted blood, sweat, and tears. When he pulled back, he lifted her into his arms.

  “I’ve got to get you somewhere cooler.”

  Holding her close to his bare chest, she became aware of his scent. Masculine with sweat, she startled when she smelled blood. So much blood. Turning her head, she saw huge gashes along his chest. She would have struggled to be let down but didn’t want to cause him any more pain. Her lies had done enough of that.

  Sterlave stood still for a moment, looking about the strange carved room. “There’s no door.”

  Kasmiri wondered why he didn’t just return through the opening. Then she remembered why she’d been trying to get up; stealthily, Ambo was making his way toward the portal. If he wasn’t planning to do something wrong, he wouldn’t be sneaking. She knew he would close the doorway once he was on the other side, leaving her and Sterlave trapped with the creature.

  When she looked about, she saw the naked body of a well-formed man with pale skin and copper hair. A short sword protruded from his belly.

  Sterlave saw her looking, and said, “His name was Loban.”

  The name meant nothing to her.

  “He was the monster that tormented you.”

  Again, she looked, baffled as to how one who appeared so normal could become something so vile. Slowly and succinctly, Sterlave explained about the sacrifice, the fauben, the anointed weapon, and his painful and tangled history with the man on the floor. Listening intently, Kasmiri was glad that he was dead, because she would have killed him herself for what he’d done to Sterlave. Her mate’s strength truly impressed her. A lesser man would have let the rape destroy him, but not Sterlave. He rose above it and continued to welcome the world with open arms. If only she could learn that most valuable skill.