by Lea Kirk
~ * ~
An orange glow flickered through the narrow opening between the rocks. Gryf let the words from the Terrian songs wash over him. It was important they had this time. The bonding that brought them together tonight would keep them strong in the days and weeks to come. Thank the Mother that they were a resilient people.
Ora appeared out of the darkness and snuggled next to him on the flat rock just beyond the fire’s light. He draped his arm around her shoulders, and it was as if they were children again.
The Terrians sang about a white bloom of snow and blessing their home world forever. The words touched him, leaving lingering warmth in his soul. And hope.
“That is beautiful,” Ora murmured. “What are they doing?”
“Grieving.” And his heart grieved with them.
~ * ~
The next morning Alex headed up the path to the range with Nicky, Simone, and a handful of other Earthlings. Today would be exciting, and maybe even fun. She’d never shot a gun of any sort before, and to have someone as knowledgeable as Graig assess her minimal shooting skills was a not-to-be-missed opportunity. Hopefully she’d hit the target.
As they approached, Graig’s grey gaze swept them as if noting their arrival. The stubble on his head had grown out enough for the morning sun to catch the coppery-red color.
She stopped in front of him and gave him a matter-of-fact look. “Just remember, despite the whole ‘sora’ thing, don’t coddle me out there, okay?” The last thing she wanted was favoritism.
Graig’s ruddy-colored eyebrows shot up to his hairline, quite a feat for someone who sported the Matiran equivalent of a buzz-cut. The apple in his hand slipped and he made a sharp grab for it before it hit the dirt. His fingers curled around the fruit and his mask dropped quickly back in place. “I will remember.”
“Great, thanks.” Alex turned to continue up the path to the range with the others.
A tap at the back of her knee collapsed her leg under her. Her hands hit the hard packed dirt, and a surprised “oof”’ escaped her. He didn’t just…? Of course he did. What a stupid question.
She rolled over onto her bottom and glared up at the big, idiot Matiran. Graig bit into his apple. Even his steely eyes could not hide his amusement.
Well, hardy, har, har, Blue Man. “Shouldn’t you teach us self-defense basics before jumping to practical application?”
Graig chewed thoughtfully. Then he swallowed and held up one finger. “Lesson number one, never turn your back on your opponent.”
He stepped around her and strode between the rocks and into the range. A wheeze of disbelief escaped her parted lips. What a condescending little….
Nicky guffawed, picked up a small stone and waved it under her nose. “Snatch the pebble from my hand, Grasshopper.”
“Oh, shut up, Nicky.” She slapped his hand away.
Simone chuckled. “Nice to see you two are warming up to each other.”
“It’s a love/hate relationship.” Alex gained her feet, and dusted off first her hands, then her jeans. “I love to hate the man.”
That wasn’t exactly the truth. She had a good deal of respect for Graig, and it irked her when he treated her like a child.
~ * ~
Alex curled her lip and glared at her target. Three hours earlier, Graig had claimed that telums were a stealth weapon. Virtually silent when discharged, and deadly accurate. Then he’d tossed his apple core into the air and shot at it without looking. His telum had made a whispering sound as a tiny projectile, called a kagi, shot out. The apple core had disintegrated, its juicy mist dispersing in the light breeze.
Now it was almost lunchtime, and she had yet to hit the bullseye. Her reusable practice rounds—christened “puff balls” by the Earthlings—were all clustered at the lower right section of her target.
It seriously pissed her off.
“‘Clustering is not a bad thing, Alex.’” She mimicked Graig under her breath. Deadly accurate, my ass.
“Alex,” Graig called from behind her. “Let’s go.”
She looked over her shoulder at him. His fingers were entwined with Simone’s, a clear signal that he had lunch plans.
Well, hell with that. “How do I hit the center of the target?”
“Practice,” he replied. What an infuriating answer. “Dante is expecting you this afternoon.”
Alex blew a clump of overgrown bangs out of her eyes. “Even Dante knows that my medical knowledge isn’t going to help once Kotas finds me.”
A flicker of some unfathomable emotion flashed in his eyes. She’d found his Achilles heel. If she waited, he’d cave.
He murmured something to Simone and kissed the back of her hand. Simone nodded and moved to the entrance of the range.
Graig folded his arms over his chest and glowered at Alex. “Healing can be turned into a formidable weapon, if necessary.”
“If I use my Gift for premeditated murder, I will have nothing good left in me once this is over. I may or may not be the one to kill him, Graig, but I need to know that I can kill him. I don’t need to be a healer right now; I need to be a warrior.”
He regarded her with an unreadable expression. Then he dropped his arms and closed the space between them, stopping inches from her. Don’t step back; don’t step back.
“The night Kotas took you from the cell, the warrior was born, sora. Everyone in the cell saw this. Gryf, me, even Kotas.” He paused, then added. “Are you unaware how much he fears you?”
“If he fears me, then why—”
“Why will he search for you?” He finished her sentence. “Do you remember he referred to you as our ‘favored pet’?”
She wrinkled her nose. How could she forget?
“Kotas is not a fool. He can read a situation and turn it to his advantage better than most. You confronted him to protect another, marking yourself as strong, courageous, and noble. Everything he is not. He also recognized that you are his key to getting to Gryf, and that knowledge will one day override his common sense.”
Anger burned in her. Kotas must never get to Gryf. “Then teach me to defend myself so he can’t use me against Gryf.”
Graig’s hard grey eyes bore into her own, but she raised her chin. Gryf’s life might depend upon her ability to protect herself at some point, and she wasn’t going to fail him.
Resignation registered on Graig’s features. He shook his head and handed her his telum. “Five shots left. Go.”
She suppressed a grin as she took up the proper stance and aimed the telum at the target.
“Slow breath in, now out,” he instructed. “Relax. Good. Fire when ready.”
She sighted down the barrel of the alien weapon and pulled the trigger. Two rounds slammed into the target, higher than before, but still too far right. Maybe she was looking at this all wrong. She should view the target like a seasoned soldier. Like Gryf. She gave her shoulders a roll, then repositioned, aimed, and centered her vision on the target. Everything else receded to nothingness except the black dot. She blew out a slow release of breath between her lips.
Thump, thump, thump. Her last three shots hit dead center. Yes!
“Well done, sora.”
She bounced on her toes as she turned around. Gryf stood with Graig, and the smile on his face spoke volumes about how proud he was of her.
Graig held out his hand. “You may stay with Gryf until you can hit the center of the target consistently. But remember, no coming here alone, or without my approval. I will have my telum now.”
She presented Graig’s telum over her left arm, butt first per Matiran tradition. Then Graig turned away and strode toward Simone.
“Ridiculous rule,” she muttered.
“He is the magister of this range.” Gryf’s voice was also low, but amusement lit his eyes. “I’ve already exchanged the kagi with practice rounds in my telum. Six shots, then we’re going to go eat.”
Ten minutes later, her last eight rounds hit the bull’s eye. “That’s more li
ke it.”
“Well done.” Gryf hugged her shoulders, and she melted against him. “Now, for your next lesson, I’ll teach you how to count to six.”
A giggle bubbled up, and she met his gaze. Cripes, there they were again—those deep blue eyes that made her insides tingle. She licked her lips and studied his. “Before we leave, I think I need a refresher course.”
Gryf’s eyes turned a shade darker. “In what?”
Heat spread through her abdomen at the rough emotion in his voice. She lifted her face toward him. “This.”
Their lips met with an unexpected surge of emotion. Before now, all their kisses had been tender and slow. But this time a sharp edge of hunger drove her, as if she were a famished woman who’d walked into a Smorgasbord restaurant. And Gryf responded in kind. One hand at the back of her head held her in place as his tongue delved deep. The back of his shirt wadded in her fists and she flattened her breasts against him.
Gryf’s other hand slid along her spine to cup her bottom, drawing her against his hard need. Heat blazed through her at the feel of him so intimately nestled against her. Dampness spread between her legs, and a moan of need rasped in her throat.
Firm hands grasped her upper arms and Gryf separated their bodies, his breathing ragged and harsh. Was he really stopping when things were just getting started?
“Compa,” he murmured. “We must stop now before this goes too far.”
“Gryf….” His name hung between them, half plea, half moan.
“No, Alexandra, I would never show you such disrespect.”
But she wanted him to disrespect the hell out of her. Right here, right now. She opened her mouth to tell him so, and her stomach growled in a noisy protest of her neglect.
Their gazes met. Awkward. A giggle escaped her, and Gryf’s deep laughter mingled with her own. His hand brushed back an errant strand of her hair.
“Midday meal is probably over, but perhaps Maria has saved us something.”
“Maria always saves us something, even if it’s beef jerky from 7-Eleven.”
Gryf tipped his head to one side. “Seven eleven?”
Alex gave him a wide grin. “Never mind. Let’s go.”
Chapter Seventeen
Doing laundry was a relative term. Alex balanced on the rock, her knees aching. It was more like a really good rinsing, with a scrub brush to remove dirt and stains. Two weeks of warm, sunny days had melted most of the snow, but the chilly river water bit through her fingers to the bone. Alex held up the dark grey Matiran uniform she was working on. Just a rinsing revived it to almost new.
“Whatever this material is, I want all my clothes made out of it.”
“Byssys,” Alta Imifa, a young, blonde crewwoman from Athens informed her. “It is a produced fiber on Matir, mimicking a natural fiber called bys.”
“For this, I would join the fleet.” Alex shoved the uniform back into the icy water for a final rinse.
Ora tossed a camp shirt over the rope line. “What an interesting idea—Terrians joining the Matiran fleet. We can never have too many healers, Alex. You should think on this.”
Alex squeezed the uniform a section at a time. Damn, her fingers hurt. “I don’t think so.” She had other things to worry about, like what to do about the prophecy thing and watching her back for that whack-job Kotas. A chill trickled down her spine.
Ora waved her hand in the air as if to dismiss the entire conversation. “May I ask you something?”
“Sure, as long as you stop eyeballing me like I’m a puzzle that needs solving.”
Alta laughed. “She has you figured out already, ma’am.”
Ora flashed a grin. “Alex, have you...mm, pressed palms with Gryf?”
“Huh?” Sometimes talking to Ora was like trying to balance on a tightrope in a windstorm.
“Karise told me it did not happen in the cell,” Alta volunteered.
“Truly?” Ora didn’t even glance in Alex’s direction. Almost like she wasn’t sitting here listening. “Why not, do you suppose?”
Alta shrugged one slender shoulder. “There was danger of being discovered.”
“But pressing palms is not detectable, like eno anim.”
“Gee, I hate to interrupt this riveting conversation,” Alex laced her voice with heavy sarcasm, “but what are you talking about? What’s palm pressing?”
“The correct English translation would be Promise of Faith,” Alta said.
“Yes, so it would be,” Ora agreed. “Truly, you do not know of this?”
Alex raised her brows. “Things are a little different on Earth, Ora.”
The hand wave again. Must be an Ora trademark gesture. “Maybe Terrians call it something else. Hear me, Alex—when a woman chooses a man for a relationship, she approaches him in a public forum. She raises her right hand, and waits for him to notice her. Most times he does so quickly, because she will have voiced her intention in advance, but not always.”
“Okay,” Alex let the word out slowly. “What happens when he sees her?”
“If he wants to pursue a courtship, which he usually does, he will raise his left hand and wait for the woman to approach,” Ora continued, her eyes alight. “The woman then presses her right hand to his left. Once done, no other woman can claim the man unless the courtship is called off.”
“So, courtship is like an engagement? An agreement to marry?”
The two Matiran women exchanged awkward looks, then Alta shook her head. “It is more like a public declaration that you are together. A devotion to each other and your relationship.”
Didn’t the guy ever make the first move on anything? “And you think I should do this with Gryf?”
“He is a highly eligible, unattached male.” Ora gave her a pointed look. “If another woman is interested, and he turns her down in favor of you, you could have unintentionally made an enemy.”
Wow, Matirans grew their women to be aggressive. “Why would any woman try this with an anim tros, though?”
Ora shrugged. “I’m not saying they would, necessarily. However, I do know that the gesture would mean an awful lot to Gryf.”
Oh. Well, there was that.
~ * ~
An hour later, Alex perched on a stool in the infirmary. Remnants of the conversation with Ora and Alta spun through her mind making it difficult to stay focused on the current conversation: do other Earthlings carry the Matiran Gift gene?
Alex gave Dante a speculative look. “I bet Nicky has a Gift too.”
But her brother insisted he had no interest in finding out if he carried the potential. What was wrong with him? Who in their right mind would pass up an opportunity to help others?
“You would do best to let him be on the matter, Alex.” Dante’s expression suggested she refocus her thoughts. “If he has a Gift, it will activate itself in due time, as yours did.”
That’s not what she wanted to hear. “I know, Dante. It’s just, well, I don’t want to be the only one. I feel like a freak.”
Dante reached for her hands, holding them between his. “You are not a freak, Alex. And you will not be the only Gifted Terrian. Give it time.”
“You sound like my mom. Has anyone else shown signs of having the Gift?”
“No.” He squeezed then released her hands. “Not yet.”
“Hey, Doc?” Duck’s bulk filled the entryway.
“Hello, Duck,” Dante greeted him. “What can we do for you?”
Duck took a step in, fingering his battered camo baseball cap in his hands. “I was wonderin’, bein’ ya have that power t’ make things better, if’n….” He dropped off with a helpless look.
“Do you require Healing?” Dante asked him.
“Well, in a way.”
Duck must want to talk to Dante privately, and her presence was hindering progress. “I should go.”
“No.” Duck shook his head. “You c’n stay, missy. You have th’ power too, an’ you need learnin’ t’ use it.” Duck looked back to Dante with ren
ewed purpose. “It’s my eyes, Doc. They ain’t good. That’s why folks call me Duck. They say, ‘If ya go ahuntin’ with Duncan MacKay, make sure ya duck!’ An’ it’s true. I miss more times ’n I hit th’ target. Traps is a whole lot easier ’n shootin’.”
“I understand your concern.” Dante nodded. “I am not sure if can help, but I would be happy to check your eyes for you. If I can fix them, I will.”
The tension on Duck’s face melted into relief, and he lowered himself on a stool. Standing next to him, Dante placed his right hand over the grizzled Terrian’s eyes. “Follow please, disipula.”
Alex laid her own hand on Dante’s shoulder, and allowed her Gift to flow through her. The best part of her education: observing as her mentor made his examinations. Whether human or Matiran, the internal workings of their bodies fascinated her like red lasers fascinated cats.
“Do you see it, Alex?” Dante asked.
“I do. It’s like his eyes are wired incorrectly.”
“Exactly.” He straightened. “I can fix this, Duncan. The procedure will take about five minutes, however I will need to put you into the Sleep. Would you be all right with that?”
Duck’s wide grin lit his face. “I’d be obliged, Doc. When?”
“Now would be fine.”
A few minutes later, Duck was snoring on a cot.
“Are you excited, Alex?” Dante gave her a knowing look.
“You bet I am.” Excited, giddy. She was about to assist in her first surgical procedure using her Gift to Heal. How could she not feel this way?
~ * ~
Alex paced in front of the entrance to the main cave. All the joy from helping Duck this afternoon was fading with the setting sun. Her gut churned, and she clenched and unclenched her hands. What if she couldn’t go through with the palm pressing?
Maria and her assistants hurried passed, delicious aromas wafting from the cast iron pots they carried to the waiting camp refugees. The rich, meaty aroma lingered on the evening air, and a low rumble emitted from Alex’s stomach. Can’t blame that on nerves.