“Quit your job. Stay here with me,” he murmured in her ear.
Chapter Twenty One
Shaman Achi
Morning sunlight lit the way. Tired from the trip, Razi walked beside Sima, his eyes roving over the gathering of Unangi people at either side of the worn path. They stared right back at him, their expressions full of curiosity. He didn’t feel like he was coming home, though. Rather, he felt the jungle was a place of mystery and darkness, a wild venue where magic danced just beyond his reach, a magic he once understood and accepted.
Thick leaves swayed in the humid wind. Bugs buzzed in the underbrush. No one said a word. Shrill birdcalls sounded every so often from deeper in the jungle. He wondered what other creatures lurked unseen. His memories didn’t bring him any solace, for they were old and mostly forgotten, cast aside in order to adapt to his life as a ward of Hicklan.
Lensi walked ahead of them, her head held high, her long, auburn hair tousling every so often. Drumbeats began when they neared the wooden steps leading to the ancient hut. The structure appeared ready to topple to one side, its roof leaning. Smoke drifted from the stone chimney in a hazy gray line. Razi heard the shaman inside, his voice a cadence of mutterings. A wave of familiarity swept over him; a rush of images of a dark hut, a gnarled hand, runes, scents of boiling stew...it overwhelmed him and he stopped.
“What’s wrong?” Sima asked. She turned on him, frowning. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.
“Bad memories.” He cleared his throat and glanced back at the long lines of tribespeople. “Maybe I should wait out here. I don’t like this place. I’m missing toilets and running water.”
“Nonsense.” She tugged his arm. “This is no time for jokes.”
Reluctantly, he followed. They had to bow their heads to enter the shadowy building. A hearth centered the room, and beside it, the shaman huddled over his stones and sticks…or were they bones? Razi squinted. “Bones.” He shook his head, but held his tongue. The house smelled like his childhood, earthy and innocent.
The wiry shaman stood, held his head up high and smiled a snaggle-toothed grin. “I am Achi, shaman to the Unanagi. You will sit.”
Lensi edged close to the wrinkled man, placed a hand on his shoulder in kinship and seated herself on the woven mat. “They told me you only speak Unangi.”
He winked at her and waited for the others to take their place. Gradually, his black eyes caught on Razi. He fingered his chin. “Ah. This one has returned.”
Razi nodded, settling in beside Sima. His fingers twined in hers. “Yes.” He didn’t want to be here anymore or have this ancient man blather on about him returning to the Unangi.
“You liked the ways of the city.” The shaman curled his legs into a knot. He heaved out a sigh and grasped the collection of divining tools before him. With both hands, he cupped the assortment and shook hard. Rattles and clinks echoed in the small space. “You have forgotten your place.”
Razi elbowed Sima, but said nothing. The last thing he needed was voodoo talk. He didn’t believe in any sort of magic bullshit like these simple people did, and he didn’t want a guilt trip for leaving either.
“Let us see where your future lies, son of Araturu.”
His mother’s name sent chills down his spine. “How could you—”
The shaman tossed his charms onto the mat where they fell into place. “Shh.” He waved a hand. “Let us see.” Ancient eyes studied. Fingers explored over a short nap of hair, scratching. “Soon, you will come from the darkness. You will make a choice you don’t like.”
Razi shrugged. “Look, old one. I’m not here for a psychic reading. This is my wife, Sima. She’s the daughter of someone important. If you want your people to live, talk to her and figure out how to have some sway in the fucked up government on this planet. As for this darkness and losing my way, that’s a crock. My family was starving and I sold myself to the Corp so my sisters wouldn’t have to.” He stood, backed to the door and shot Lensi and Sima a cold glare. “This is your game, ladies. I’ll be outside when you’re done.”
Without waiting for an answer, he dipped out and hurried away. The thick air made him sweat. He wiped his forehead, broke through the line of Unangi onlookers and stomped off into the jungle, feeling out of place in his dress clothes. The people here wore next to nothing at all, and he decided they were smart for their choice. He wished he had a flap of cloth to wrap over his genitals. No one would be the wiser. He’d fit in, at least.
Razi trudged through the overgrowth, bugs zipping by his ears. He halted at a gathering of enormous, black stones. After brushing the surface of one, he sat atop it, scowling. He planted his hand on the rock’s surface; it felt hot, and not in a natural way either. Glancing down, he studied its smoothness. “Aha.” A memory washed over him, the clink-clink of a stonecarver’s tools abrading his mind to recall more. He held his father’s hand then, so he mustn’t have been very old at all, for his father had left before he agreed to go to Hicklan. The two of them entered a sacred area in the jungle, marked as such by flaming torches with bird skulls dangling from their supports.
Razi drew in a deep breath and could almost smell his father’s skin as the two of them stared up at a statue in reverence. There were other statues in the shadows, but this one stood out to him. His father spoke in their native tongue, and he’d all but forgotten the words. Something in his mind told him he stared at the statue of the God of War.
He shook off the vision, his father’s voice echoing in his mind. As he had all his life before Sima, he wanted to hide, to stay somewhere safe. For the first time, his cowardice disgusted him.
He remained there in the jungle until, hours later, the shaman sought him out. Vines shushed against his thin legs as he approached. “Are you hiding?” Achi called. “Afraid?” His ribs showed and his skin seemed to hang. Razi stared at the ancient man, wondering just how many years he had. “Olatha has called you,” the shaman said. He strode through the vegetation.
The Unangi word sounded like one he’d heard before. He stood and jammed his hands in his pockets. It was nearly noon. “My stomach has called me too.”
“I’ve had a vision about you,” Achi said. “You are to lead a rebellion in Port Ornar.”
Razi rolled his eyes. “Right.” He shuffled past the shaman. “With all my extensive training in that area.” The seriousness in the other man’s gaze bothered him. He shook his head. “Where’s Lensi and my wife?”
“Sister is preparing the rebels for their shuttle. You have to do this. You know what goes on in the slaver houses. Most are not so fortunate as you were.” He gestured to the stones Razi had vacated. “Our gods are sleeping. But one day soon, they will wake. They whisper to me of changes. Today, when you came to my house, they told me you would bring them about.
“I’m nothing. A man-whore who got lucky with a rich Shiemir’s daughter. My second chance was my freedom even though I didn’t want it. There’s not a third one.”
“The gods give us many chances,” Achi muttered. He grasped Razi’s arm and stared into him with cold, coal-black eyes. “But we must be wise enough to do as the gods wish.”
Chapter Twenty Two
Jorin
Enrue awoke alone, clutching a pillow to his chest. He pushed it away and kicked off the covers. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he crossed his bedroom. “Melia?” He blinked and glanced around, searching for the woman who’d pleasured him the night before, his body still suffering tingles from all they’d done.
The bathroom door was closed, a light showing beneath it. Water ran in the shower. He grunted and checked his computer’s schedule. Tapping out the pass-code, he waited. The screen flashed and shut off. “What the—”
He scratched the back of his head and noticed something odd. His com on the nightstand was missing, and two wires dangled over the edge of the wood. “Oh shit.” He turned and stomped toward the shower, but he knew she wasn’t there. Scrawled across the misty mirror the message, You h
ave to do what you have to do, and so do I, made his stomach lurch. He’d made a mistake. He’d guessed wrong. Now, an assassin was loose in the Tarafian palace. She could be anywhere. He shut the water off, hastily threw on a robe, and half-ran to the door. He had to get a hold of Nema.
He keyed in the code there to no avail. “Damn her!” Slamming a fist against the metal, he began to regret giving in to his lust.
By midday, guards had pried open the door and Enrue hurried with them to the cell block. He clenched his jaw. The horror was only beginning. In Melia’s cell, a body lay sprawled on the floor, his throat sliced open. Splotches of blood tainted Jorin’s hands. His wide eyes gaped at the ceiling. The Shiemir ran a hand through his hair, cursing himself over and over.
“Where’s the vid of this!” He spun around, his anger welling. “Show me!”
“Nema has it for you, my Shiemir.”
He marched through the halls to his secretary’s office, sure of what he’d find. When she slipped in the data card and pressed play, he watched the familiar silhouette in disbelief. A man held Jorin’s arms behind his back in the cell. The blade came flashing at his throat. Crimson spurted and then it was over in a matter of moments. “How can this be?”
His secretary tapped the desk with her nails. “The monitor log shows Captain Reicher left his bedchamber one hour before Jorin’s death. He visited Cressia Omur’s bedchamber and not long after, he exited there. From then on, he visited the cafeteria and the men’s restrooms. The next vid of him has him in the cell committing the act.
“Reicher has always been loyal to me.” It didn’t add up. He expected the vid to show his lover. He knew it had to be her. “Where is he now?”
“In custody being questioned by Jorin’s first in command.” She twisted her wrinkled mouth. “May I ask you something, my Shiemir…something of a personal nature?”
He swallowed back his regret, a thick lump of words and worries. “What?”
“Why did you take the Empire’s Cossia to your room last night?”
He sat down in the chair and shook his head. “I had hoped…” Enrue averted his gaze to the screens of surveillance, wondering if she might still be in the palace. Maybe she was wandering around somewhere, lost, looking for her way back. “I’m a fool,” he muttered under his breath. “Nema, I hoped she’d turn to our cause. I saw something in her…I can’t explain.”
Her eyes slipped shut. She sighed, long and drawn out. “I see.” Data cards clicked as she went to organizing them in her little black boxes. “I’m surprised.”
“So am I.”
He watched as she held up a card and waved it in the air. “Do you want anyone else to know what happened last night? It clearly shows you taking her from the cell. The vids picked you up in the halls carrying her. Nothing in your room though.” She held the plastic square out to him. “She could have killed you, my Shiemir. It was not worth the risk.”
He snatched the evidence from his secretary’s hands and shoved it in his pocket. He wasn’t dead. He should be. She had the opportunity to kill him in his sleep. Tracing the tender line at his throat where she’d cut him in the Habiri Church, he stood. “I want to review Reicher’s testimony before sentencing.” He took three steps and glanced at the vid of the Unangi statues, hoping she’d be down there in the public gallery. At that moment, he feared he’d never see Melia again.
“Of course, my Shiemir. Is there anything else you need?”
“I’m going to lie down for a while in my room. I don’t feel well.”
Nema’s face crinkled with worry lines. “Are you sure she didn’t poison you?” She took a stride toward him. “Maybe you should go to the infirmary.”
“No, no.” He held up his hand, warding her off. “I’m fine.”
“Is she still in your room?” Nema placed a hand on one hip and waited. She’d worked for him since his swearing in at the age of twenty. His secretary knew him better than anyone in the palace, even more so than those of the alliance.
“I um…”
“She left, didn’t she?” Her eyes were cold as he nodded. “You cannot trust anyone from the Empire. Those are your words, my Shiemir.”
“Yes,” he said and turned away, unwilling to face what he’d done. Without another word, Enrue retreated to his room, hoping in all his futility that Melia would be there waiting for him. This had all turned into a nightmare. What was I thinking? Now Jorin was dead. The Doer Seven was down to five. Sure, more alliances were being formed, but new prospects brought in new risks. He had trusted Jorin and Wyther. And the vid with Reicher just did not make any sense.
In his room he sat at his desk and poured himself a full glass, drowning his nerves with alcohol. It burned through his body and strangely, didn’t do much to soothe his mind.
Chapter Twenty Three
Café Com
The cyber café was crowded with unsavory types as they often were. Melia wended her way past the rows of tables and untraceable com links, sharers and addictive video games. Memories flashed at her like old ghosts. She’d been a gamer all through her time at the academy. Video Cafes had kept her sane, let her focus on something other than the reality that she would soon be a killer, a paid assassin for the Empire. She paused by a young man playing Toreiier. Melia watched him make all the wrong moves and lose his first life. “Idiot,” she said under her breath, but he couldn’t possibly hear her. That was the beauty of the addiction, total immersion in the game. The mind closed out anything else.
She ordered a Blue Moon and sat in the back, hacking into the system and shutting down any traces that might lead Tarafian police to her. Her drink arrived, a neon blue concoction of caffeine and fruit flavors over shaped ice. She sipped, and set back to work, establishing a safety net in order to com out to her boss.
I can’t believe how close I was. She knew she should have killed him. Enrue was her target, not Jorin. That morning she’d sat beside the Shiemir, running her fingers through his hair over and over as he slept, staring at the red line on his neck where she’d cut him, and regretting it.
She’d lost count of how many times they’d coupled in the night. Her sore pussy and aching legs reminded her she’d rather be back there with him. But it was too late now. I belong to the Empire, always have, always will.
Typing in a series of passkeys, she accessed the Empire’s private database and gleaned over Enrue’s file once more. This time, she clicked on his daughter’s name and read over the information in her records. She skimmed articles and news files. One caught her eye. A vid of Sima Alonwei as a child, her hands filthy with mud and a disheveled flower garden behind her. Enrue’s wife tugged the child away.
Melia pursed her lips. “She’s not dead.” She clicked out of the database and commed Daschia Thoman. It took a while to be patched through. It was late in the night where he was. Stars twinkled behind the black fabric-swathed face. His blue eyes intrigued her; they always had. She remembered staring into them after he hired her and took her for a drive out to Eiman Beach for a cold drink and a fuck in the dunes. It was a strange encounter and one she had no desire to repeat.
“What is it?” he asked, all formality lost for the moment.
The Doer Seven is now Five.”
“You didn’t hit your mark. I’d have heard about it by now.” She couldn’t read him. Not enough of his face showed to allow that luxury. “Who did you off?”
“Em-3’s leader.”
Daschia pulled his face covering down and held a glass to his large, black lips. He suckled down his drink. “That is good news. Unexpected, but good.” He replaced his scarf. “And the Shiemir?”
“I failed.” Her chest constricted when she uttered those two simple words. She’d never failed him. This was a first, and she didn’t know what to expect.
“Failed? You? How can this be? You’re my best operative.”
The music blared in the café for a time, and Melia tried to catch her breath and steady her mind, not to mention her tremblin
g fingers. “I was close, Daschia, but my position was compromised. They caught me and interrogated me.”
“And were they successful?” His eyes questioned her loyalty.
“Of course not,” she spat. “I told them nothing. You trained me. They were not even near the dose of truth serum I can withstand.”
“That’s my girl,” he said, his cheeks rising beneath the cloth. “Always so strong.”
She sipped at her drink and frowned, thinking over her next move. She wanted out of the system. “They’re looking for me. Can you shuttle me out of here?”
He remained silent for a painful amount of time. She became aware of the soreness of her neck where Enrue had sucked at her skin, leaving love marks. Her breasts were tender and her nipples ached from his attentions. They peaked when she envisioned his face, the expression of ecstasy on his lips, his eyes half open. She slouched to hide her arousal, not that she thought Daschia could see.
“You want out? You haven’t done what I sent you to do.”
“Please,” she said, fighting the urge to beg. “I’ve never asked for anything. Just this one time. I c—“
“You have something to trade? You know something, don’t you? That’s why the com, the bullshit. What did you find out? Who are the other two?”
“I don’t know.” She shivered at the anger dancing in his pupils, remembering his wrath when she didn’t please him at first so long ago.
“Give me something, Melia. Be a good girl.”
She held her breath and squeezed her eyes shut. “All right, yes. His daughter.” Her face burned red with what she was doing. “She’s still alive. I saw her in Alga, in a little cottage rental office named…Folar’s Recs or something like that.”
“Are you certain?” A shadow moved behind Daschia’s image. He wasn’t alone, probably some other poor, stupid recruit he needed to train.
She shuddered. “Positive.”
“Very well. Give me four days. I’ll have you called back then. Lay low. Keep those damned eyes of yours covered. You know better.” The image went black.
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