The Outworlder

by Natalie J. Holden

  “Arbitrary bullshit,” he replied smoothly. “I can’t do anything about how I was raised. I still remember seeing an old guy walking outside for the first time and getting anaphylaxis from the pollen. He died before anyone knew what was happening. So sorry, but I’m not parting with my mask. And I can’t help being disgusted when I see you eating gods-know-what.”

  “Have you ever tried natural food?”

  “No, and I’m not going to. I hate this sludge as much as you do, but at least it’s safe.”

  “Come on, you’re a sorcerer!”

  “It’s hard to think of a proper spell when you’re choking.”

  “There must be a way around this.”

  “They say it gets better once you survive your fifteenth shock,” he joked, but then his smile faded, and he sighed deeply. “Look, maybe there is a way, but we don’t know it, and doing research is rather tricky when every misstep can cost someone their life. So, I guess we’re stuck with it.” The corner of his lips curled up again, and he sent me a mischievous glance. “But you know, certain proteins get transferred to a semen, so in a way, I can taste natural food.”

  I felt the heat rising to my face, and this time, he actually laughed before patting me on the shoulder.

  “I’d love to stand here and chat with you all day, but I’m afraid my helpers have finished with the kites.”

  He looked pointedly at the sky. I followed his gaze and noticed that, indeed, there were no more stray triangles dotting it.

  “I better go check on them before they get any silly ideas.”

  “Which cohort are you even in?” I asked, remembering his lack of insignia.

  He wave-shrugged. “My own.”

  I arched my eyebrow, prompting him to elaborate.

  “I’ve been to a few, but no one could put up with me, so now I answer directly to Myar Mal,” he explained.

  “You don’t even have a partner?”

  As soon as the words left my mouth, something in Tayrel Kan shifted. His smirk all but vanished, his eyes darkened, his whole posture became rigid. Had I imagined it or had his scars become deeper, angrier?

  “No.” His voice was low, and strangely blank. “I don’t have a partner.”

  As quickly as the change came, it disappeared, and he reached for another tchalka. “But now I’m working on this super-secret project for Myar Mal. I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

  He fixed his eyes at me, and I got a feeling he was expecting something. But I didn’t know what, and it’s not like I was about to pry into Myar Mal’s super-secret project. I smiled awkwardly and nodded.

  He turned his head and continued, “anyway, he gave me those Llodran vhariars to help. Sa’tuir, Sa’nuum, and Sa’taba. I don’t even know what to call them; they only use single names. It’s awkward.”

  “Now I feel discriminated against,” I joked lamely. “I had to take a middle name when I applied to work for Mespana. I accidentally got it after my father because, at the time, no one in our colony understood the Dahlsian naming system.”

  To be fair, it was a bit convoluted. People inherited surnames—which they almost never used—after the parent of their own sex and their middle names from the first syllable of the first name of the parent of the opposite sex. So, sons had the surnames of their fathers, and their middle names derived from their mothers’ first names. I guess for a culture with no concept of marriage, that was the only way to denote both parents. It always seemed pointlessly complicated to me, and when I joined in, I was encouraging people to call me Aldait—I had no hope for Aldeaith—but no one did. So, I gave up.

  “Why don’t you change it?” he asked, sounding serious.

  “I dunno. I just don’t care enough.”

  “Names are important, Aldait Han,” he stated with sudden gravity. “They tell us who we are and where we came from.”

  “Aldeaith,” I smiled. “That’s my name.”

  * * *

  I only got a few minutes of peace before another voice reached me.

  “You’re making friends.”

  I turned around to see Malyn Tol standing a few paces behind me, her hands clasped in the same way mine were when I tried to stop myself from fidgeting. She must have been watching me talk with Tayrel Kan, and I wondered why she hadn’t come out.

  “Be careful with him,” she said finally, and I blinked, suddenly realizing I was gaping at her wordlessly for a few seconds. “He’s not the best person to have around.”

  I dared a peek back, but the sorcerer had already disappeared. I recalled Laik Var giving me a similar warning the first time I had spoken with him. And Myar Mal’s contempt as he shook his hand off. But I also couldn’t think of any time when Tayrel Kan said anything wrong or hurtful to me, which made him one of a few.

  “Is it because of him, or because of what other people are saying?” I wondered, too late realizing how that might have sounded.

  Luckily, Malyn Tol didn’t seem offended. She shook her head. “I’m not sure myself. It seems like it’s going on forever, and I never like prying into other people’s lives. But I noticed you can be…” She waved her hand as if not sure what to say.

  “Oblivious?” I suggested.

  Her lips curled into a smile. “Innocent,” she corrected, “I don’t want him to take advantage of you.”

  “We were just talking. About our duties, lives, and so on.”

  “That’s how it starts.”

  “How what starts?”

  “Well… you know.”

  “Oh.” I felt myself blushing again. “I’m not interested in such things.”

  I cursed mentally, once again regretting my words as soon as they left my mouth. Speaking with Tayrel Kan put me at ease. I forgot myself.

  I turned away to face the horizon. “I mean, not with men,” I corrected, “just… not at all.”

  She hummed, and I wasn’t sure if she believed me or not.

  “Look, I’ll be careful,” I promised, just to end this line of conversation.

  She sighed. “No, Aldait Han, I’m sorry. Maybe you’re right and I’m prejudiced. And anyway, it’s not my place to tell you what to do and who to talk with.”

  “I do appreciate your concern, though.” I wasn’t convinced if I did, but it seemed like the right thing to say.

  Malyn Tol smiled awkwardly. “It’s not why I’m here, anyway. I heard what happened.” She paused and sucked in a deep breath. “I wanted to say that what you did was very, very stupid.”

  I cringed, flooded by the memories of my morning blunder. Tayrel Kan did a pretty good job of making me forget.

  “How do you know?” I stammered.

  She sent me an admonishing look. “Saral Tal has a wand for a tongue, shooting words wherever he goes. Prepare to soon have the entire camp buzzing.”

  Should I laugh or cry? I did neither, and after a moment, Malyn Tol picked up.

  “If it makes you feel better, Argan Am says you were right, and that the prick deserved it. I think he has issues with our kar-vessár.”

  “What issues?”

  “I don’t know. You can ask him.”

  I hummed, disappointed, knowing full well I’d never do it.

  She sighed again. “He doesn’t bite. None of us do.”

  My cheeks burned and lowered my head, still not finding anything to say. Idiot.

  “Also, I wanted to give you something.”

  She extended her hand towards me, holding a small, crocheted doll. It was rather plain—a black suit, white face, black top that could be either short hair or a cap, and pale green dots for eyes and the rank.

  “When I was working at the Immigration Office, there was a Tarvissian woman; she was making dolls like these,” explained Malyn Tol. “I asked her to teach me, and she did. It’s very relaxing. I make so many, I have to give them away. Or, rather, throw them at everyone around me.” She gave a small, slightly awkward laugh. “You’re the only one who hasn’t got any yet, so here you go.”

&
nbsp; She pushed the doll at me, leaving me no choice but to take it. I trailed my finger over the front, feeling the smoothness of the yarn. It was different from what I was used to, but the pattern was unmistakable.

  My heart clenched, and before I knew it, the words spewed out of my mouth, “my sister made them, too. In old Tarviss, they were some form of worship, so, obviously, our parents weren’t fond of them. But Aëva thought they were cute, so she asked our mother to teach her. Whenever there was spare yarn, she would make one. We would play with them for a while and then our mother would undo them and use the yarn to fix our clothing or something.”

  Malyn Tol’s hand settled on my elbow, sending shiver up my arm. Without lifting my gaze, I asked jokingly, “Was that supposed to be me?”

  The doll didn’t have any facial features, but the eyes were green like mine, and without others to compare the size to, who could tell?

  Malyn Tol paused and cocked her head. “I don’t actually know. I just wanted to make one of us; it might as well be you.”

  Her words startled me, but as I kept studying the doll… I felt she might have been right.

  Chapter 9

  Myar Mal looked up from the paper he was holding.

  “Laik Var,” he started, leaning back in his chair. “You do know that even if he hadn’t decided to quit, the earlier incident would be enough to get him dismissed?”

  “I convinced him to stay,” said the elder man without blinking.

  “You convinced him to stay,” repeated the kar-vessár acridly. “Has it occurred to you to convince me to keep him? Or the Directory?”

  “He’s a good soldier. He had a lapse of reason, that’s all.”

  “That lapse could have cost someone their life.”

  Laik Var scoffed. “He’s not the only person in Mespana who eats nuts.”

  “He’s the only one to wave them around.”

  Laik Var didn’t answer, his eyes fixed on the leader with unshakable conviction, lips pressed into a tight line. But Myar Mal didn’t let it shake him; he answered with a gaze just as hard, dropping it only for a moment as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk.

  “Look,” he said finally, softer than before. “This boy has nothing to do with us. Don’t drag him into this.”

  Laik Var’s lips twitched. “Not everything is about you. Kar-vessár.” He threw in the title after a moment’s hesitation as if belatedly realizing he owed his superior a modicum of respect.

  “Isn’t it?” asked Myar Mal with a small, bitter smile. He wished he could believe it. He was never the one to beg for acceptance, but he wouldn’t mind if his efforts were appreciated, just once. But Laik Var didn’t even answer, and for a moment, the two men glared at each other in a silent battle.

  Finally, the kar-vessár leaned back and sighed again.

  “Very well, then.”

  If there was one thing he loathed, it was defeat.

  Chapter 10

  There was no further announcement. It was maddening. I liked having my life ordered—even if that order meant I could die tomorrow. I think my brain didn’t fully comprehend the idea; death was just an empty word, even when I faced danger every day. But the uncertainty filled me with dread.

  Night had fallen with no further development, and with a heavy heart, I went to my place and tried to catch a couple of hours of rest.

  But, once again, I was awakened. This time much less gently by Laik Var barging into my tent without warning.

  “Put that on,” he commanded, pushing something into my hands.

  The artificial light was dim at this hour and sleep still muddled my brain, so it took me a while to realize what it was. A pale-blue sash. A sign of nami vessár, leader’s right hand.

  Laik Var was out before I could say anything, so I hurriedly put on my suit and the sash. It was long and I worried it might hang loose, but as soon as I hooked it up, it tightened and clung to my body. I followed my vessár, still trying to blink away the sleepiness. Laik Var already had a nami: an outworlder woman named Arda Nahs, but I haven’t seen her recently; she must have stayed in Sfal. I wanted to ask about her, but Laik Var was ahead of me, so I shrugged it off. He probably needed someone to fill her role here.

  Outside was bathed in darkness, the world’s peculiar sun not even visible yet.

  “What’s happening?” I asked Laik Var after catching up with him.

  “We’re attacking,” he answered in half-whisper.

  But the camp was still, and it seemed most of our people were asleep. So, we weren’t going to charge like in old legends. What then? Send a small group inside to eliminate the leaders? Blow the mansion up? Open the gates? I wanted to ask, but two shadows grew before me, barring my way. The white face-masks flashed in the darkness.

  “I’m sorry, Aldait Han, but we were told to check your belongings,” said one of the shadows, a man judging from the voice, but too tall to be a real Dahlsi. When he moved, I noticed a yellow armband—medical team.

  The memory of my yesterday’s stunt flooded my mind, and my guts twisted in shame.

  “Is that necessary?” I asked, grinding my teeth. But I didn’t hope for mercy.

  “If you please.”

  I unbuckled my belt and handed it to him. It had a couple of pouches, used to carry everything from tools and weapons to medication and food. Usually, there was no problem with it—people around me were well adjusted to living with allergies, and ubiquitous decontamination spells reduced the risk to the minimum. However, given my recent behavior, I didn’t blame them for caution.

  Still, I watched wistfully as my stash of nuts and dried meats was thrown into the bag marked for incineration.

  “After the battle, submit all potentially dangerous products to the medical team. Kar-vessár’s order.”

  I twitched in surprise. Over my dead body, I thought. If all went well, after the battle we were bound to return to Sfal, and there was no way to prohibit possession of potential dangerous products there. The whole world was one big allergen!

  “Also, your adrenaline has expired,” noticed the second man, this one Dahlsi-short, going through my set of medications.

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s not like I need it.”

  “Someone else might. After the battle, go to the field hospital and collect a fresh sample.”

  “All right,” I said, knowing full well I would never do it. I was not allergic to anything, and if someone else was, they probably had their own stock. Having me carry it until it expired was a waste of resources. But I didn’t like arguing, so I nodded.

  The first man returned my belt and stepped aside, letting me through. Only then did I notice that all the vessár-ai and their nami-ai had gathered at the edge of the camp, and an uncomfortable number of them were staring at me. I caught hushed but angry whispers and turned to see someone arguing with Myar Mal, his silver sash blinking as he gestured wildly. But then kar-vessár said something, and the man snapped his mouth shut and glared at me. My guts knotted into a tight ball.

  But my attention quickly shifted as something flashed in the darkness, round and brighter than the vessár-ai sashes. Eyes, I realized, big and bright like flashlights. Kas’shams.

  There were a few of them in Mespana, although I never got to work with any. Despite my nation’s legendary prejudice, I had nothing against them. But then and there, seeing their tight, lithe silhouettes, almost melting in with the darkness, I felt uneasy. Kas’shams were obligate carnivores, often employed as headhunters for their predation skills. And they were on our side. Logically, there was no reason for me to be afraid. And yet… they were predators, no doubt. Everything about them screamed it—their movements, their long, nimble limbs with sheathed claws, their big eyes, and mouths filled with sabre-like teeth. Yes, they were predators, and I felt like prey.

  Absurd, I knew. Maybe Tayrel Kan had a point. Maybe, despite cycles spent in the colonies, I was a little bit speciesist.

  “Aldait Han.”

  I tur
ned around to face the kar-vessár. He held a pair of binoculars and I thought he must have been watching the mansion.

  “Myar Mal,” I replied, nodding slightly.

  “Congratulations on your promotion,” he said. His voice seemed friendly enough and the message innocent, but it sent a chill down my spine.

  “Thank you, kar-vessár.” I nodded again, and instead of stopping, had to add, “though I have to say, I’m surprised you allowed it.”

  “And why is that?” His lips quirked, but his eyes remained cold. “It’s a perfect solution. Laik Var gets to show people how much he trusts you, I get to keep an eye on you. Everyone is happy. But let me tell you something.” His smile disappeared, and his gaze turned even colder. “I have the lives of almost a thousand Dahlsi in my hands. Anyone who wants to take them will have to go through me. Do you understand?”

  I nodded, unable to speak. And then, despite my best efforts, I failed to stifle a yawn.

  Myar Mal looked at me with disdain. “Do I bore you?”

  “No, Myar Mal. I’m sorry; I wasn’t prepared to be up so early.”

  “Well, some of us haven’t slept in three days, but please, tell me more about your plight.”

  He turned back to watching the manor through the binoculars, but I could feel him rolling eyes at me. I swallowed a curse. I sensed movement on my left and felt something pressed into my hand. I looked down to see a large, white pill in a transparent wrap.

  “Vaka,” explained Laik Var. “Keep it under your tongue until it melts.”

  I knew how to use it, but for once I kept my protests to myself. The pill filled my mouth with acrid foam, and almost immediately, I felt the surge of energy. My mind reached an almost painful clarity. The world around me became brighter, lines sharper, sounds louder. Even the darkness seemed less imposing, although that might have been an illusion. Vaka was a drug, after all.