by Jess Granger
The huts circled a large clear area, with a carved altar in the center flanked by four enormous totems. Cyani wanted to get a closer look at the tangled carvings, but Soren pulled her toward a large hut on the far side of the courtyard. Were the carvings of people? They seemed to be wrestling.
A fat-bodied bird with stumpy black wings scrambled across their path, trailed by a gaggle of sun-kissed children with red gold hair and leopard spots dotting their necks and shoulders.
Cyani smiled at them. They froze in their tracks and stared at her, full lips agape. Their golden brown eyes lit with curiosity as they watched her.
She withdrew her gaze from them, only to find the rest of the village slowly coming to a standstill as all eyes turned toward them.
“Soren?” Cyani squeezed his tingling palm tighter. She could handle entire squadrons of enemy combatants, but she couldn’t handle the natives’ piercing eyes. She felt completely naked and exposed. She didn’t belong here.
“They’re just curious. They’ve heard about you from the women who tended you, but this is the first they’ve seen you. You look very exotic to them.” He pulled her closer to his side and placed a palm on the small of her bare back. “And very beautiful,” he whispered in her ear. She waged a war in her own mind about which was worse, his hand covering her skin, or having the small of her back exposed. For the moment, she tolerated his touch—she needed it. He was safe.
A little girl skipped to Soren and stopped just inches from him. “Your lady star flyer is awake, Brother Soren?” she asked. “Where is her necklace? She is very pretty. Why does she have kiltii flowers on her arms?” Cyani’s translator caught the words and repeated them in her ear, but she didn’t understand them completely.
“Her name is Cyani. Why don’t you introduce yourself ?” Soren suggested as he mussed the child’s hair.
The little girl studied Cyani with big brown eyes. She blinked once, then threw her dusty hands over her mouth and galloped away, squealing in laughter.
Cyani felt her face flush as she noticed the other Makkolen. A group of young women whispered behind their hands as they watched her. She hated that. The other Elite would whisper about her, too. What were they thinking? How would they judge her? She couldn’t silence these women with her skill in battle. Here, she had no power. The hot gaze of a young male burned into her from the shade of a tree. A trickle of fear slid down her spine. She knew that look.
“I think I should go back,” she whispered to Soren. He stood like a rock next to her.
“Sounding the retreat?” he teased.
Cyani glared at him. He stood taller, embodying the pagan god of the wild again. The blue flickered brighter in his eyes. What did blue mean?
Cyani turned as a woman and a man walked toward them. Two white lions with pale ringed spots flanked them, the female near the woman, and the enormous male beside the man. Cyani watched the woman approaching with a mix of curiosity and recognition of one of her kind. Power and control rested on her elegant spotted shoulders with the ease of the gauzy dyed cloth draped around her neck. Her copper hair faded to gold at the tips, and she watched Cyani with bright sepia eyes that held wisdom far beyond her years.
The queen smiled. Though she carried the air of authority the Grand Sister displayed back in the Halls of Azra, she didn’t seem touched by the hardness or raw ambition of Cyani’s leader. The queen exuded comfortable confidence and an aura of warm grace.
The king reminded Cyani very much of her father. He seemed to have an easy good will that masked iron strength and resolve. Cyani lowered her head as a sign of respect for both tribe leaders as they came to a halt.
“Welcome to our home as one of us,” the king greeted in a booming voice that carried over the entire village. A crowd of onlookers gathered in the shade of one of the trees. “We honor you, star flyer, and our brother Soren for your aid to those of our kind. What is ours, is yours.”
The king raised his arms above his head, and a loud cheer erupted from the villagers.
The queen stepped forward and took Cyani’s hand. “What is your name, child?” she asked as a warm smile crinkled the edges of her eyes.
“Cyani,” she answered, knowing the queen would not be able to understand anything else she said. She suddenly felt her heart slow as an almost drugging sense of calm stole over her. She fought it immediately, turning her mind and her will toward her training. She repeated the chants of the ancients over and over in her head.
“Easy,” the queen explained. “My name is Lai, and you are frightened. I wish to help.”
“She is a warrior, my queen,” Soren interjected. “She commands many in battle with honor and conviction without fear. The unknown is unsettling to her, as she prefers control over herself and her situation.”
The sense of calm dissipated, and Cyani took a deep breath. Grateful for his intervention, she stole a brief glance at Soren. “Thank you for your aid, and your generosity,” Cyani offered to the king and queen. Soren translated and she continued. “Your world is very new to me.”
“Then I will introduce you to our tribe, so you will know us.” The queen smiled again and reached out to take Cyani’s hands. Cyani tensed, but didn’t pull away at the contact. It probably wasn’t wise to offend her benefactors. She did her best to return the open smile.
She glanced at a black plume of smoke curling into the bright blue lavender sky. “Is that where the ship wrecked?” she pointed at the smoke.
Soren didn’t bother to translate her words. She whapped him lightly across the bicep to get his attention. “Soren, ask them. Is that where the ship wrecked?”
He let out an impatient huff and addressed the king.
“The fires still burn in the grasslands. They could be worse. Tonight a storm will come. It should quell the flames.”
She had to return to the ship. She couldn’t wait. She would strike out once the sun set. She needed to get a message out to the Union forces. It was her only hope. She couldn’t stay. She’d search for her eyepiece and the Garulen drugs and return before Soren even knew she was gone.
10
SOREN WONDERED HOW MANY DIFFERENT WAYS CYANI COULD HIDE HER NAVEL as he watched her struggle through the attention and curiosity of the tribe.
He’d never seen her like this. It both concerned and amused him. She’d always been guarded, but now she reminded him once again of a red-ruffed badger digging deeper into her hole. She wasn’t baring her fangs yet, but she was on the defensive, and her belly seemed to be her battleground.
Her wrist would linger over her midsection, or sometimes her forearm did the job. Twice she tried to hitch up the skirt, but it fell low on her hips as soon as she released it. She slumped and tugged on the edge of her shawl, but it would not cover that delicious little dimple of flesh.
What was it about her navel that had her feeling exposed? Was it only a cultural thing? Or was it the physical reminder that at one point in her life, she was connected to, and dependant on, another being? Whatever it was, the fact that she was so sensitive about it made him fixate on her smooth stomach and her lovely navel.
Soren shook his head and laughed at himself.
Now was not the time to be picking on her insecurities. He hated to see her uncomfortable, but he was intrigued that she could be so rattled. It made her seem less hard and much more real. He had seen her strong in the face of danger, but to see her try to face a different kind of adversity was enlightening.
He hoped she would let the subject of the wrecked ship drop. They were safe. The Makkolen were a generous and loving people who welcomed them into the family. If she could adapt to this place, if she would bond with him, perhaps their journey could end.
He watched as the queen led her toward the women’s house. The large hall loomed over the small huts like a fat mother hen protecting her chicks.
Cyani looked beautiful with her pale creamy skin, lush green hair, and blue accents on her long arms and legs. She reminded him of a pool of fresh
clear water on the burning savannah. The Makkolen clothing only accented her toned body and her hidden femininity.
“She is lovely,” the prince said, as he approached Soren. Kaln had apologized for hitting him over the head on the savannah, and Soren had quickly befriended the man. “Some of our women choose to join the hunt, and they are always the most desirable.”
Soren felt his blood heat with jealousy. “Kaln, I think it is best if we choose another subject to discuss.”
“Why?” Kaln pressed with a subtle smile. “You claim she is not your woman.”
“She would not choose to be my woman,” Soren ground out between clenched teeth.
“I see. That is different then, isn’t it?” Kaln laughed. “Would she choose to be my woman?”
Soren struck his hand out and grabbed Kaln by the front of his vest. Kaln wrapped his hands over Soren’s and laughed harder. Soren’s anger fought the influence, but Kaln’s power overcame his instinct and Soren chuckled. The feeling shook his mind and body, but didn’t lighten his dark heart. Kaln patted him on the back and released him from the thrall.
“I was only teasing you. Are all of your kind so possessive?” he asked.
“Yes,” he laughed with a bit of honest humor instead of Kaln’s influence. The rush to fight ebbed and he felt like himself again. “It’s why our eyes change color. If we accidentally come in contact with another breeding male, we can see the other’s aggression and put each other to sleep before we harm ourselves.”
Kaln nodded appreciatively. “If our young men chose to influence each other with calm, instead of provocation, perhaps there would be less broken noses here as well. You come from a highly evolved people, Soren. Come, I hear that there’s a boar roasting in the men’s house. Your woman will be surrounded by other women, so you can rest easy for now. Eat with me. If the pig isn’t done, we can comment on the quality of the fire, and make suggestions on how to tend it better.”
Soren laughed openly. He felt warmth expanding his heart. It made him feel larger, whole.
He spared a glance at the women’s house as he walked with Kaln and wondered if Cyani would ever find humor in her situation. She just needed someone to help her sort through this new world. How long would it take before she let him help her?
AFTER FOUR GOURDS OF SOUR MELON WINE, SOREN FELT FAR HAPPIER THAN he could ever remember feeling in his life. Kaln joked with the other men as Soren drank. He laughed freely and with abandon, enjoying the feeling of his spirit growing strong again. He wished Lakal were there, drinking wine and sharing stories of hunting on the savannah and seducing bare-necked women. This was the experience that kept Lakal hopeful and strong, so Soren did his best to use it to honor his friend.
In the corner of his eye, Soren saw a man raise a gourd in salute. He turned, but no one was there.
He must be drunk. Oh well. It felt good. It felt free.
“Soren?” Kaln pulled a stool up opposite him. “I’ve been thinking about our conversation earlier. Do you know how our mating rituals work?”
He would have to bring that up. Without warning, the image of Cyani dancing with wild abandon on a sultry night with her back to a veil of flames flooded his mind. He had to force his reluctant attention back to the prince. The Lankana, Lakal had called it. What did he remember about the ritual?
“I know some. I know that you have fertility festivals four times a year. The women dance and the men give them necklaces signifying a bond. If the woman gets pregnant sometime before the next ritual, the pair remain bonded until the child is weaned.”
“That’s right,” Kaln commented. “But if a woman does not get pregnant, in the infertile time before the festival, she is free to return her necklace and explore new relationships before dancing in the next ritual.”
Soren was confused. What did this have to do with anything?
“In the next few days, that time of freedom is upon us. Those women not wearing a necklace can be pursued by those men with a necklace to give,” Kaln explained.
Then it hit him.
Cyani.
She didn’t have a necklace, and by the tribe’s standards, she would be considered free to be pursued by any unbound male. They couldn’t touch her. The deep red in his blood ignited once more. He would not let them touch her.
“I’ve heard things,” Kaln whispered to him.
“What did you hear and who said them?” Soren roared as he rushed to his feet and spilled his wine on the sand.
The crowd of men in the large building stilled and stared at him. He could feel a hesitant collective push to calm down.
Kaln placed an arm over his shoulder and led him outside. “It doesn’t matter what I heard or who said it,” Kaln confided. “Those who speak aren’t the same as those who act, but I’m concerned for Cyani. Stay close to your woman. In the next few days, keep her by your side.”
Soren shook off Kaln’s arm and marched across the village toward the women’s house. He knew he should have been grateful for the warning—he was—but at the moment only one thing mattered. He had to find her. An irrational panic fueled by his possessive nature and the wine spurred him on. In the distance the last lingering glow of the setting sun faded on the horizon, throwing the village into a murky dusk as a pair of young men stoked the large fire in the center of the village. Thunder rolled from the dark clouds on the horizon.
“Where’s Cyani?” Soren demanded of the young pregnant woman standing at the entrance of the women’s house.
The queen emerged with an expression of cool concern. “She left here hours ago. She was exhausted and wanted to sleep. My daughter escorted her to the hut you share.”
Soren stormed toward their hut. He had an ill feeling in the pit of his stomach. He threw back the cloth hanging over the door. Vicca stood on her cast and barked at him. The fox was alone.
“Blight, pestilence, and rot!”
He ran to the village gates. “Did the star flyer pass through here?” he asked the men guarding the entrance.
“No, we did not see her.”
“She must have scaled the wall.” Soren ran a hand over his face. Of all the blighted things to do . . . She went back to the ship.
Kaln ran up next to him. “What’s going on?”
“Cyani wanted to return to the wrecked ship to send a signal to her people. She left alone. She’s out there unprotected.”
“Let’s go. I’ll get Lhiri. We’ll find her.”
HOW DID THEY EVER SURVIVE THIS?
Cyani dropped into the crushed cockpit and let her eyes adjust to the dimming light. Dried blood coated the walls, giving off the sickly sweet smell of death, while broken glass crackled beneath her sandals. Soren managed to free them both from their sideways harnesses and lift them out through the hole in the top of the wreckage.
She could barely turn without cutting herself on jagged metal and glass. The acrid scent of the charred ship burned her eyes and lungs. She had to be careful and get out of there quickly. She found her eyepiece under the overturned pilot seat. Where were the drugs?
Soren’s seat hung in midair, as the cockpit came to rest on its side. Everything had fallen toward the pilot seat. She used a thick shard of broken glass to sift through the rubble.
Her heart leapt with hope as she uncovered the corner of the silver case that contained the drugs. She abandoned the shard and dug into the glass and debris, not caring about the scratches to her hands. Her flash of hope quickly faded to despair as she realized the body of the case had been crushed flat, pinned between two chunks of metal.
The drugs were gone.
There was only one way for Soren to survive. He had to find a mate. She had to get him home.
Taking her eyepiece in her hand, she carefully pulled herself out of the cockpit. Her skirt caught on a bit of ripped metal. She unhooked the fabric so it wouldn’t tear then inspected the bent crescent of metal in her hand. It was all that remained of her com. Hopefully it would be able to upload the codes into a beacon.
It was too damaged to wear.
A low howl haunted the open savannah as towering clouds rumbled in the distance. She scanned her surroundings from her perch on top of the cockpit. The last thing she needed was a hungry pack of wolves on her tail. She didn’t have her scout, and her ear set could only enhance her hearing. Without the eyepiece, she couldn’t see danger coming. She listened to the soft rushing of the grasses and the distant crackle of the burning fires. Hopefully the fires scared off most of the predators in the area.
Cyani pulled out her flick knife. It was her only means of protection. It was the only protection she needed as long as nothing surprised her.
She leapt down from the cockpit and hurried to the main body of the ship. The Garulen kept beacons on stingships. They used them to mark the locations of captured slaves for the transport ships. A beacon might have a strong enough signal to reach the Union base. If she could hack the signal with the com in her eyepiece, she could recode the message to a Union distress signal.
She stopped and listened. The hull of the ship provided shade from the scorching savannah. The damaged craft would be inhabited; any shelter on the open savannah would soon be inhabited by something. She had to get in and out as fast and carefully as she could. Ducking into the wreckage, she held her breath as she looked up at the side of the ship that became the ceiling above her.
“Shakt,” she whispered under her breath. She paused to listen once more then climbed the support struts of the wall. Once she reached the ceiling, she swung hand over hand, gripping old piping until she reached the panel she needed. Hanging by one arm, she tugged on a panel door with the other.
It burst open. Using her well-trained reflexes, she snatched a beacon out of the air before it plummeted to the ground.
The rest of the beacons clattered against the broken ship, the sound echoing in the empty black cavern.
She winced in pain as the sound amplified in her ear. She swung her legs up and hooked her toes under a pair of support struts, then shimmied back to the wall and leapt to the ground.