DarkWind: 2nd Book, WindDemon Trilogy

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  The women sighed in unison upon seeing that crystal descent.

  Clamping down on the whoop of victory that sigh elicited in him, Cree had to lower his head before the women saw the triumph blazing in his eyes. Despite the fact they were hardened warrioresses, they were still women. He had taken a chance they would react as Bridget often had when he spouted such foolishness and he had been proven right.

  “I am not your lady, Cree,” said the Major, “but I will protect you as she did.”

  He was about to raise his head, to look longingly into her eyes, but a movement near her foot caught his attention. His eyes flared and he moved so fast the three women had no time to react as he lunged at the Major’s leg.

  The guard on Kahmal’s left shrieked and triggered her laser pike. The force of the blast caught Cree in the chest and flung him back against the wall. The guard on the right grabbed the Major’s arm and jerked her toward the door, her own pike pointed at the Reaper and firing before Kahmal could order the assault stopped. The second blast hit Cree in the left side and propelled him sideways and along the floor where he landed in an unconscious heap.

  The sound of running footsteps scuffled to a halt outside the containment cell as alarmed voices began firing questions.

  “What happened?”

  “What did he try to do?”

  “Is he dead?”

  Kahmal was shivering, her gaze locked on the still Reaper. She had come so close to him killing her. Had the guard not reacted so quickly, the Major knew she might not be standing where she was at that moment.

  Captain Chakai pushed her way into the cell. “What happened here?” she demanded, her scrutiny flicking over Cree to settle on Kahmal.

  “He...he tried to grab me,” Kahmal stuttered.

  “Fool! What were you doing in here in the first place?”

  Sejm came into the cell and walked cautiously to the unconscious Reaper. She was about to poke him with her foot when she saw something clutched tightly in his hand. Her eyes went wide and she leapt back, knocking a guard down in the process.

  “Kill it!” the Chalean scientist screeched. “Kill it!”

  The guards aimed their weapons at the Reaper, but Sejm pointed at his right hand. “The ghoret!” she shouted. “Kill the ghoret!”

  There was nothing these staunch warrioresses feared more than the deadly viper known as the ghoret. Nothing in their world or on any other was as lethal as the three foot long silver and green snake. The bite of the ghoret took mere seconds to kill the victim and there was no antidote for the venomous bite.

  Kahmal’s military training took over. She snatched a laser pike from one of the guards, stepped closer to Cree and blew the head off the viper. The head-its needle sharp fangs dripping florescent blue venom-landed near the Captain’s foot, but duel blasts of two other laser pikes incinerated the lethal thing. Clutched tightly in Cree’s hand, the snake’s body writhed spasmodically in the Reaper’s tightly clenched fist, wrapping, unwrapping, and whipping it’s dying body around the unconscious man’s arm.

  “He was going after the ghoret,” one of the guards whispered. She looked at Kahmal. “He saved your life, Major.”

  “Attribution,” the guards whispered.

  Sejm’s voice was a wild shriek of protest. “No!” She made a grab for one of the pike’s, intent on using the weapon on Cree, but Kahmal knocked her hand away.

  “Keep away from him!” Kahmal shouted. “Do you hear me?”

  Her fury knowing no bounds, the Chalean woman turned her head and hawked up a thick wad of phlegm that she turned back to spit at Kahmal’s feet.

  The women in the cell stilled as the old Chalean and young Amazeen stared into one another’s eyes. The gauntlet had been flung. The challenge issued.

  “So be it,” Kahmal said in a brutal tone of voice.

  “So be it,” Sejm repeated before turning and shoving her way out of the cell.

  Those left looked to Kahmal.

  “Do you accept this?” the Captain asked. Her face had bled of its normal coloring.

  Kahmal lifted her chin. “I do.”

  “A grave mistake, Sister.” The Captain sighed, shaking her head. “Did it bite him?”

  Kahmal stepped close to the Reaper but even before she leaned over him, she saw the two tell-tale glowing blue stains around the punctures on his thigh. “Aye. It did.”

  “Then it will be up to you to care for him,” Captain Chakai responded. “I will not put any member of my crew in danger for the likes of that one.”

  Kahmal nodded. She understood the rules of Attribution, but had never expected to be on the receiving end of the time-honored custom. She wasn’t sure she liked the situation.

  “I suggest you shorten the length of his shackle chains,” the Captain advised. “Tighten them so that his wrists and ankles are pressed tightly to the stone. That way, he can not put his hands on you.”

  Kahmal thanked Chakai for her suggestion then turned to one of the guards. “Get me whatever we have on board The Aluvial that might help him get through this.”

  “You will need help with him, Major,” the guard said. She had been the one to blast Cree the first time. “I am willing to stay with you.”

  “As will I,” said the other guard .

  “You are sure?” Kahmal searched the women’s eyes.

  “It is rare that any male risk his own life to save an Amazeen,” the guard replied. “Such a man deserves a measure of respect. He deserves Attribution.”

  “Even if he’s a gods-be-damned Reaper?” asked the Captain in disgust.

  “Especially so that he is a Reaper.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  In his fever-wracked delirium, Kamerone Cree lay beside his lady on the shores of the Flint River near their home on Terra. His head was in Bridget’s lap, her hand soft in his as he pressed it to his chest. Close by, their son, Jaelin, slept peacefully on the blanket. The small brown puppy Bridget had brought home from the animal shelter snuffled in her sleep, her paws whipping as she ran in her canine dreams. Above them, the sun sparkled through a lacy draping of Spanish moss and the warm scent of gardenia wafted on the sweet summer breeze. The sounds of the muddy river rolling over rocks and fallen logs underscored the peacefulness to the day.

  They were a typical family, he thought as he lay there: happy, comfortable, secure in their love and sure of their safety. Bridie’s swollen belly rubbed against his cheek each time she took a breath and now and again he could feel this new child kicking against his mother’s rib cage. He turned so he could place a gentle kiss on his lady’s stomach.

  “Are you content, Kam?” Bridget asked, moving her free hand through his thick curls.

  “Aye, milady. More content than I ever dreamed of being.” His grip on her hand tightened as he brought her fingers to his lips. He sealed his words with a gentle kiss against her palm.

  Bridget smiled down at him, her beautiful green eyes his only salvation in life. “And are you happy that I am with child?”

  Cree reached up to fan the backs of his fingers along her smooth cheek. “I am greatly pleased, sweeting,” he answered with a smile of his own.

  His lady nodded and looked out over the rushing water. “Even though the babe is not yours?”

  His smile faltered. “I do not understand.”

  Bridget lowered her gaze to his. “You never touch our son,” she accused, her emerald eyes as hard as the jewel. “Not once have you held him.”

  “You know why.”

  “No. I don’t know why.” She cocked her head to one side. “Why won’t you hold our son, Cree?”

  “Because he believes to do so would mean killing the child,” a voice spoke from the stand of oak trees beyond.

  Cree sat up, his hand going to the dagger at his thigh, but relaxed when he recognized the speaker. “You take chances with your life, Kahn.”

  “I will hold our son, Bridget,” said Tylan Kahn, ignoring Cree as though the Reaper were not sitting a few f
eet away. “I will gladly hold him.”

  “I know you will, beloved.” Bridget extended her hand toward Kahn. “I am ready to go now.”

  “No.” Cree shook his head.

  “She is lost to you,” Kahn reminded the Reaper. “She belongs to me and it is my seed growing in her womb this time, not your evil get.”

  “No,” Cree said more forcefully. He got to his feet and his hand went to the dagger hilt.

  “Come, Bridie,” Kahn said, holding his hand out to Cree’s lady. “It is time.”

  “No!” The Reaper drew his dagger and lunged at Kahn, the wavy serrated edged blade sparking blood-red flame.

  “You will not win, Cree. This time I will have the lady and I will have her for all time.”

  “Never!” Cree bellowed.

  Rushing toward his enemy, the blade prepared for a lethal strike, Cree stepped from warm sunlight to the blackness of cold space. Wind whipped brutally at his long hair and blew it wildly about his head, freezing his flesh like a glacial wall of ice. The keening sound drove straight through his heart.

  “Bridget!” he screamed as he began to fall through the limitless pit. “Bridget!”

  He let go of the dagger and clawed at the ebony space engulfing him. His claws shot out of his fingertips, digging at the nothingness through which he passed, striving for a talon hold in the black cloth of space and gaining no purchase as he dropped-screaming in rage and despair-through the Abyss.

  “Bridgettttttttttttttt!”

  Dorrie jerked awake as the scream penetrated her uneasy sleep. She bolted up from the cave floor, throwing off the thin blanket she had been allotted. “What’s happening?” she yelled at the guard down the corridor, but her words were lost in the running footsteps of the Amazeen called Chanz.

  “Open her cell!” Lt. Chanz barked and the guard hastened to do the officer’s bidding.

  “What have you done to him?” Dorrie accused, her hard-edged gaze boring into the Amazeen.

  “I have no time to explain,” Chanz snarled. “Come with me. He needs you.” She turned and started back down the corridor.

  Her heart thudding, Dorrie ran behind the Amazeen, scraping her shoulder against the rough stone corner as they turned down a different corridor.

  Cree’s screams of agony made the hair stand up on Dorrie’s arms and she felt sick to her stomach, wondering what evil these women had thrown at him this time.

  At the door to the containment cell, several Amazeen guards were poised with laser pikes at the ready. The door was shut; the heavy bar in place as Chanz and Dorrie skidded to a stop before it.

  “Open!” Chanz ordered.

  As one guard gripped the bar and pushed it out of the holders, the others pointed their laser pikes.

  “Is he loose?” Dorrie asked, fearful of going inside the room if that was the case.

  “He is chained but out of his mind with pain,” Chanz took time to say as she walked through the now-opened portal.

  “What did you do to him?”

  “We have done nothing. He was bitten by a ghoret.”

  Dorrie flinched, knowing full well the destructive power of the viper. She had seen strong men die in the space of a second or two from the potent venom. She had also seen the Reaper Kullen foaming at the mouth from the bite of a ghoret as he stiffened with spasms of acute pain.

  “How long ago?” She was shocked to see Akkadia Kahmal hunkered down beside Cree, helping to hold him still.

  “Ten minutes.”

  Cree was convulsing, his arms and legs stiff as he thrashed about the dirt floor. Though his wrists were plastered tightly to the wall and his ankles locked to the stone floor, he was bucking like a rabid dog. A stick had been jammed between his teeth to keep him from swallowing his tongue. Flecks of black blood spotted his cheeks and chin and trickled down his arching throat. His amber eyes were wild with agony, his breath coming in gasps like those of a drowning man.

  “You are a Healer’s assistant,” said Kahmal. “We are in need of your help.”

  Dorrie did not deny the charge though that had not been her job on Rysalia. She knelt on the ground. “You haven’t lanced the wound?”

  Kahmal shook her head. “I dared not for fear I would strike a major blood vessel.”

  Cree’s leg was swelling rapidly where the fangs had punctured his thigh. Even as Dorrie watched, the flesh split farther apart. A glowing blue slime mixed with the Reaper’s seeping black blood gave off a noxious smell as it dripped from his leg.

  “Here,” Chanz said, handing Dorrie a pair of Healer’s gloves. “If you get the venom on your flesh, it will make you ill. Get it in your eyes or in your mouth and you’re a dead woman.”

  Dorrie nodded, knowing the potency of the viper’s poison. She slapped the gloves in place and took the dagger Chanz offered her. “Move back,” she warned the others.

  Kahmal shifted position, but did not get up as the other guard did. She locked gazes with Dorrie for a moment then tightened her grip on Cree’s straining chest.

  “God almighty,” Dorrie whispered as she looked at the ugly crimson blotch that covered Cree’s thigh and extended under it and down his leg.

  “Woman, hurry!” Kahmal snapped. “Once the venom reaches his parasite, there will be no controlling him!”

  “Turn your head.”

  Squeezing her eyes shut, Kahmal did as she was told. The hot splash of fluid spraying the sleeves of her uniform as Dorrie slit the puncture wounds made her cry out, but she did not open her eyes. The smell made her gag.

  “Get me some cloth to wipe this mess up. Unless you want venom on you.” Dorrie almost smiled as one of the guards leapt into action. She gently kneaded Cree’s swollen, fiery-red flesh, relieving the pressure of the venom and blood gathered there. She looked at Chanz. “You have a suction device?”

  Chanz blinked. “On The Aluvial,” she said, among those who had not thought of needing something so vital.

  “I suggest you get the gods-be-damned thing and quickly, bitch!”

  Chanz spun around and pointed at one of the guards. “Go!”

  Kahmal cautiously opened her eyes and turned her attention to what Dorrie was doing. It was getting harder to hold Cree down for his thrashing was increasing in violence.

  “He saved my life,” said Kahmal.

  Dorrie didn’t reply. She was staring at the wound that was closing even as she watched. She groaned, knowing she’d have to slit it open again the suction device arrived.

  “According to our tribal laws,” continued Kahmal saying. Dorrie wished the woman would shut her mouth, “Attribution has now been declared.”

  “Where the hell is that suction pump?” Dorrie snapped, glancing at Kahmal. She did a double take. Tears streaked down the Amazeen Major’s face.

  “Attribution has been declared,” Kahmal repeated so quietly her words were a mere breath of sound.

  “What are you talking about? You’ve found a new way to torment this man?”

  Kahmal shook her head. “My life belongs to him,” she said, her face pale and strained. Dorrie realized that some of the venom from the Reaper’s wound had penetrated the fabric of the uniform and had entered the Major’s bloodstream. It was not enough to kill her, but enough to make her very ill.

  “Attribution is rare,” Kahmal said. “Unheard of in this day and time.” She licked her lips. Her eyes rolled and she began to shiver. “Why do you suppose he saved my life?”

  Dorrie gasped then twisted around to look at one of the guards. “Get that uniform off now! She’s got the venom on her!”

  The guards rushed to Kahmal just as the Major’s eyes rolled up in her head and she began to convulse.

  Kahmal had been taken to The Aluvial and placed in sickbay. She did not return to the caves for two days. On the third day, she appeared pale and weak, her skin mottled with a pebbling of dark purple bruises where the venom had touched her arm.

  “How is he?” she asked Dorrie.

  “He would have died
if your friend Melankhoia had not interceded on your behalf,” Dorrie replied.

  “I was told she went to the Captain to remind her of the Attribution.”

  “I don’t trust your Captain any farther than I can see her ass.”

  Kahmal squatted beside Cree and stared into his wild gaze. “Does he know who you are?”

  Dorrie shook her head. “He doesn’t even know who he is. He keeps calling for Bridget.” She smoothed the Reaper’s limp black hair from his sweaty forehead. “When he speaks at all between the bouts of screaming.”

  Kahmal looked around the cell. “The bodies have been removed.”

  “The stench was overpowering. Melankhoia had the corpses burned.”

  “Despite the Chalean Healer’s demands they be left here,” one of the guards said in a disgusted tone.

  “They were Sustenance for him. Now, there is nothing to feed him.”

  “We can feed him Sejm,” said Dorrie in a bitter voice.

  Kahmal smiled. “There is more poison in that old witch’s heart than can be found in a nest of ghorets.”

  “I heard that.”

  Kahmal eased to a sitting position on the floor then glanced at Dorrie. “You look tired, Sister. When was the last time you slept?”

  “Not since you were taken ill, Major,” the talkative guard remarked. “She feared for his safety.”

  Kahmal nodded then caught Dorrie’s eye. “Go, rest. I’ll watch over him.”

  Dorrie hesitated, chewing on her lip.

  Kahmal waved her hand. “Go, woman. I owe the Reaper my life. No harm will come to him. On my honor as an Amazeen warrioress, I swear this to you.”

  “I trust you,” Dorrie said, getting wearily to her feet. “It’s just I don’t want to leave him.”

  “We could bring in a cot or two,” the guard suggested.

  “Aye,” Kahmal agreed. “Do that, then.” The hard ground on which she sat was wearing her down.

  For four more days, Kamerone Cree convulsed and screamed as the poison invaded his system and warred with the Revenant worm. It had been a full week since the ghoret’s venom had entered his bloodstream and his parasite had began to produce a toxic venom of its own to combat the poisons trying to destroy the Reaper’s nervous system and major organs. As a result, Cree’s blood boiled and the flesh on his arms and legs shifted and bunched as pockets of contaminants formed under his skin and burst.