Gama and Hest: An Ahsenthe Cycle companion novella (The Ahsenthe Cycle)

by Razevich, Alexes

  No one looked at her as they passed. Females called to their sisters, males to their brothers, and they joined in packs, heading toward the gates. Gama followed a female group a while, trailing like a hatchling, invisible, forgotten in its slowness.

  Wall had thrown open the gate. Soumyo pushed at each other and elbowed their way to be first or next in line. The soft-gray of sorrow burned on Gama’s throat. When she couldn’t watch any longer, she turned and wandered through Reev, passing open space after open space where yesterday her corenta-kin had laughed and lived in harmony, and been part of a community.

  She returned to Reln’s dwelling alone.

  -=o=-

  Reln is coming, the dwelling sent.

  Gama pulled to her feet. She hadn’t seen or spoken with Reln since he’d failed to speak in Community Hall. She hurried to the receiving room, anxious to talk with him and hear his plans for those remaining in Reev. Their number would be smaller now. Work allotments would have to be changed. Some among them would need to master new skills.

  He’s not alone, the dwelling sent. Several are with him. We’ve talked it and talked it. It must be done, Gama. I am sorry.

  She slowed her steps, her neck warming. What — The dwelling opened its door before she could finish the question. Reln and five males who’d chosen to stay stood just beyond the threshold. Gama’s gaze shot to their throats, to gauge what sort of message might be coming. Reln’s spots were lit purple-gray — he was worried, concerned, but the others felt differently — their throats splotched gray-green in disgust and ocher with impatience. She put her hand over her own throat to hide the anxiety colors she knew glowed there.

  “I’m sorry, Gama,” Reln said. “This is no longer a place for you.”

  Confused, she dropped her hands to her sides and stared at him. She’d thought they’d grown close in harmony lately. She’d thought this dwelling would shelter her. Hadn’t Reln and it each said as much? Reln saw the colors on her throat and knew she was anxious and confused, but offered no words to comfort her. Gama barely kept her voice from shaking. “Home is gone, left with Hest. If you don’t want me here, maybe Community Hall will take me in.”

  “No,” Reln said, his voice firm. “Not Community Hall. Not anywhere in Reev.”

  A chill raced up her breastbone. “What are you saying?”

  “Reev will no longer shelter you or any female.” Reln’s voice softened. “It was a hard decision, Gama, but given all that’s happened, we few who remain as part of Reev feel it’s best that we be an all male corenta. Wall agrees, and Community Hall, the granaries — all of the remaining structures, in fact.”

  Do you? she sent privately to Reln’s dwelling. You’ve been kind since the night Hest and I first came to stay.

  I, too, am sorry, Gama. It was not an easy decision. The lumani returned in the night and spoke with Reln. They want male and female separated. If all the females are gone, the sky-creatures have promised to leave Reev alone. Best for us all if you go.

  She looked at the males standing with Reln. Each now showed the color of determination on his throat. There was no point in arguing, in trying to convince Reln that this separation was a scheme devised by the lumani for reasons of their own, like everything else the sky-creatures had done.

  Reln took a half step toward her. She hoped he would reach out and stroke her throat, offer some comfort at least, but he didn’t.

  “Reev has spoken with Kelroosh,” he said. “They have eight males who’ve chosen to stay, and about twenty or so females. Their males will come here. You and the other Reev females who’ve stayed may go to Kelroosh if you wish.”

  The shaking started in her arms, spread through her chest, and sped down her legs. Moments passed and she couldn’t speak. She huffed, trying to get the air needed to force out speech, and then, the words flew from her mouth. “If I wish? Where else would I go, Reln? Out by myself beside some stream? Maybe you think I could walk far enough to find an unclaimed orchard to call my own? That by myself I could build a dwelling before some beast found me? There’s no ‘If I wish’ here. No choice at all.”

  Her gaze flew from male face to male face — throat to throat. Reev was home. She’d emerged here, lived here all her years. She couldn’t leave.

  “It’s for the best, Gama,” Reln said. “In time, you will see this is our way forward.”

  I doubt that, she thought-talked to Reln, and said aloud, “Can I at least gather my goods? Or would you send me to Kelroosh with only the hipwrap I’m wearing and nothing else?”

  “Of course.” Reln rubbed his hand over his scalp. “A sled will be brought. Your sisters are packing as well. You can meet them at the gate.”

  She looked at him a long moment, then turned and went to get her things.

  -=o=-

  She went to the small communiteria first and wrapped her cooking pots, personal bowls, tumblers, and spoons in a cloak she found hanging there — Prill’s. Gama supposed Prill didn’t want it anymore. Maybe Prill thought the lumani would hand out new ones. What was it Vonti had said? The lumani would provide for their every need.

  The room she’d shared with Hest and Prill was nearly empty now. Hest had taken everything that was his, as had Prill. It took little time to gather her hipwraps, foot casings, and cloaks. The tiny, misshapen bowl Hest had made from clay they’d dug one day on a riverbank sat in its spot near the head of her cot. Gama stared at it a long moment, then wrapped it separately in its own hipwrap — layers to keep it safe.

  When she returned to the receiving room only Reln was there, an empty sled next to him. They didn’t speak while she loaded her things, Reln watching but not offering to help. She knotted the rope that secured her goods to the sled tightly, stood, and looked at him, needing to say something — needing to hear him say something. Reln shook his head and pressed his lips in a tight line.

  Gama nodded, picked up the sled’s rope, and headed for the door.

  Iya was already at the gate when Gama arrived, and two older females she didn’t know well. There was no need to speak — their necks showed their despair. Why waste words when they could see everyone felt the same?

  Wall swung open the gate and they passed through, heading for Kelroosh, anchored a short distance away.

  In the space between the two corentas, Kelroosh’s males, pulling sleds of their own, headed toward Reev. When the males grew near, Gama looked away, to not witness the pale-blue of despair on their throats — flaming as brightly as she knew her own spots glowed.

  She turned her head and peered over her shoulder one last time at Reev, her home, the place where she’d been happy. Where she had loved and been loved. Hest, she thought, and felt the loss like a hole blown through her — sure that anyone who looked could see it.

  She tightened her grip around her sled’s rope pull. She didn’t want it — this despair and surrender. She eased close to Iya and put her free arm over her sister’s shoulders. Iya slid her free arm around Gama’s waist. They matched their pace and walked in harmony, their steps stronger together.

  A few females stood outside Kelroosh, waiting to greet the new arrivals. Gama looked up at the high, thick wall, at the large wooden gate, weathered but strong, that had opened to receive them.

  “This is a day of sorrow and joy,” Kinto, Kelroosh’s guide, said as Gama and her sisters passed into the corenta.

  Gama slowed her step. She should say something, thank Kinto for taking them in. She tried, but nothing seemed right. Kinto reached out and stroked her throat.

  The touch calmed and reassured Gama. She stood and looked around, Iya doing the same next to her. Kelroosh was bigger than Reev and many of its dwellings had left too, leaving large spaces of bare dirt between structures. So many spaces, so many of the kin gone.

  “The sorrow,” Kinto said.

  Gama nodded. Hest was her sorrow — smaller than Kinto’s loss, but no less painful.

  “The joy,” Kinto said, “is you and your sisters, whom we have gain
ed.”

  Gama breathed out long and loud, taking in as much as she could see of Kelroosh from that spot: brightly painted structures she guessed were dwellings, a large commons, a round dun-colored structure that might be a grain house, and in the distance what was likely their community hall. She saw the possibilities now — new dwellings built, new sisters loved. These females, the few of Reev and Kelroosh who would not believe the lumani’s false promises, who would not trade their way of life for safety, they were her new kin. She’d make a new life with them.

  They would go forward together.

  Acknowledgments

  Many thanks to Dan McNeil, Meg Xuemei, Randy Jackson, Richard Casey, and Sue Marschner, wonderful writers all, for their help in shaping this story. Special thanks to Christina Frey and Jay Howard, the best editors a writer could hope for.

  Much love to Chris, Colin, and Larkin Razevich, who make every day a joy.

  Cover art by Tony Honkawa, Tony Honkawa Design

  About the Author

  Alexes Razevich was born in New York and grew up in Orange County, California. She attended California State University San Francisco where she earned a degree in Creative Writing. After a successful career on the fringe of the electronics industry, including stints as Director of Marketing for a major trade show management company and as an editor for Electronic Engineering Times, she returned to her first love — fiction. She lives in Southern California with her husband. When she isn’t writing, she can usually be found playing hockey or traveling somewhere she hasn’t been before.

  Alexes is always happy to hear from readers and welcomes new friends on Facebook and Twitter.

  Email: LxsRaz@yahoo.com

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/lxsraz

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AlexesRazevichAuthor

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  Website: http://www.alexesrazevich.com/

  Also by Alexes Razevich

  Khe (The Ahsenthe Cycle, Book 1)

  Ashes and Rain (The Ahsenthe Cycle, Book 2)

  Shadowline Drift: A Metaphysical Thriller

  Khe Sample

  OUTSIDE CHIMBALAY KLER

  PRESENT TIME

  “Shun the sweetly fragranced flower of desire, for the fruit is poisoned.”

  —The Rules of a Good Life

  Behind me the beasts whistle—three short, low-pitched notes—the pack members on the hunt, calling to each other. There are seven of them, each one-half again as tall as me. They run faster than I can, moving with a cruel grace on feathered, thickly muscled legs, a blur of red and white, like two-legged flames. If they’d seen me earlier, before I made it down the hills and this close to the gate, I’d be in their bellies.

  I know the stench of the beasts’ foul breath. The calculating looks in their large black eyes. I’ve seen the damage their barbed teeth and pincher-clawed hands do to flesh. Beasts like these hunted me when I first came to the wilderness and thought it would be my sanctuary. I know better now.

  My breath, harsh and ragged, makes white puffs in the air. Thin sheets of ice crackle beneath my feet. I spread my toes as wide as they will go, for balance. My cloak flares behind me as I run across the plain.

  The city is tantalizingly near, agonizingly far. Chimbalay rises straight up from the plain, its black glass towers protected by a massive stone wall and a silver metal gate, ten levels high at least. The gate is closed. I have to get inside. For safety from the beasts. To find the orindles, who are my only hope.

  The beasts whistle again, their call changed, a sound so low it’s almost a rumble. They’re spreading out. All twenty-four emotion spots on my neck tingle. I run, my heart knocking against my chest.

  A noise like a great rising storm tears across the plain. I’m both afraid to look and afraid not to. I slow a little and glance toward the sound. Down the plain, something hard edged and solid is moving in my direction. I can’t tell its speed or what it might be. I focus on the gate, running faster, concentrating on my goal.

  Beasts whistle to the right and left. Two run past me, to get in front and press me back to their companions.

  The sound of the wind grows louder, the moving thing coming nearer. The whistles of the beasts change, rising in pitch and coming closer together. The calls come so quickly that they are almost a continuous sound—one voice springing from seven points, fighting to be heard over the wail of the raging wind in the still air.

  I don’t want to slow again to look, but anxiety makes me. I must know what the beasts are doing. Glancing over my shoulder, I see one and then another beast stopped, staring at the thing coming down the plain. The thing hovers a handsbreadth above the land, streaming toward the open space between Chimbalay and me, the way vehicles move. But this is no vehicle. It’s close enough now that I can make out the protective outer mud wall and some of the buildings behind it.

  A corenta.

  My breath sticks in my throat. I’ve never seen one of the mobile trading villages on the move before. I’ve never been in an anchored one. Simanca made sure we were protected from that evil. I can’t worry about the corenta now. Reaching the gate is all that matters.

  The gate is near enough that I can see the words “Chimbalay Kler—Region Seat, Gambly One Region” carved on it in letters nearly as tall as I am. The beast between the corenta and me suddenly stops, throws back its great shaggy-feathered head, and howls in fear.

  I keep running.

  The corenta keeps coming. The beasts wail and scatter. I would flee from the corenta too, if the safety of Chimbalay were not at hand. I pound against the closed gate, shouting, “Open up!”

  The corenta, tiny compared to the massive ring of Chimbalay, settles itself on the plain, not far behind me. Not nearly far enough for comfort. They say not only the doumanas, but also the plants, beasts, and structures in a corenta are alive and conscious. They say the doumanas there have no faith in the creator. The skin on my neck burns as my emotion spots flare gray-green in revulsion. I bang my fist against the gate.

  What will I say if someone opens the gate? Perhaps “My name is Khe. I’ve come from Lunge commune to see the orindles, in hope that they can cure me.” Which is the truth, though saying it will probably get me taken for a babbler and driven away. Who could believe that a country doumana who’d only been off her commune for mating and one other time could find her way to Chimbalay?

  Snow begins to fall, swirling around my legs. I pull my cloak tight around me. The creator, in its wisdom, made us smooth, without hair, fur, or feathers to come between us and the touch of the world. The beasts and birds are luckier. They are warmer during Barren Season.

  The corenta at my back makes me nervous. My emotion spots flare blue-red, showing how I feel to any who might see me, though no one does. The corenta gate begins to open. I bang my fist harder against Chimbalay’s massive gate, calling, “Let me in! Let me in!”

  Metal hinges squeal gently as the two halves of the huge gate glide apart. I shove my body through the opening to get inside and am driven back by dozens of doumanas shoving their way out. They push against me, seeming more irritated than alarmed at the sight of a ragged female standing in the gateway.

  My neck feels alternately hot and cold. My emotion spots flare gray-brown, showing my horror. The doumanas’ emotion spots can’t be seen at all. Each wears a stiff, high-necked collar that, except for a slim V in the front, completely conceals her throat. The collars hang down below the hollow at the base of their throats and extend at the sides out over their shoulders.

  The creator gave us emotion spots so that all who see us would know the truth of our hearts. To cover your spots is anathema. What manner of place have I come to?

  The place of the orindles, I remind myself. I fight my way against the flood of doumanas and into the kler.

  Are any of these doumanas orindles? Does this one passing me now hold the knowledge for my salvation? Is that one pushing her way through the throng she who can return m
y life? Are the orindles the best among us, as Simanca said, or evil, as the babbler claimed?

  Am I as mad as a babbler myself to have come to Chimbalay? A sharp loneliness stabs my chest. I miss Lunge commune, where my sisters still rise each morning and go to the fields. The place I ran from, and yearn for.

  The place to which I can never return.

  Ashes and Rain Sample

  One

  A thick, gray silence smothered the world. Silence, and the smell of dirt — wet, sweet, and deep.

  “Khe,” Pradat said.

  Soil — rich and loamy — crumbling between my fingers.

  “Are you all right, Khe?”

  “Fine,” I said.

  The chair beneath me was generously padded and probably comfortable, maybe even comforting, in a different situation. I sat with my back straight, knees together, feet dangling above the wood-planked floor. My nerves hummed and my skin itched from nervous sweat. I coughed into my fist.

  “Do you need water?” Pradat adjusted her machines, small black orbs covered with spindly silver tubes that pinpointed colored lights on my body, and clearstone bowls of purple-red or clear liquids that pumped into my arms. She’d brought her tools with her from Chimbalay to Kelroosh, where I lived now with my new sisters, Azlii and Nez.

  “No,” I said. Better to stifle the cough and finish the treatment sooner — and hear Pradat’s judgment on whether it was working or not.

  It would have been easier for me to go to Pradat, but the doumanas — the females of our kind — of Chimbalay had no love for me. I didn’t blame them; I’d reduced much of their city to ashes when my sisters and I destroyed the lumani, who had been the secret rulers of our world.