by Jess Granger
Cyn motioned toward the two cases in the hold where they could sit, talk, and drink. Soren took another swallow of the liquid fire, enjoying the sensation of being warmed from the inside out.
“The Pyri come in ships to trade with us every other month.” Soren sat across from Cyn and rested his elbows on his knees, rolling the glass between his palms. “I’m not sure what they look like. They have to wear masks when they come because they are sensitive to something in our atmosphere, and our climate is too warm for them. Without protective suits they overheat and become very ill. They are about the same height as we are, but tend to be heavyset. They have white hair and colorless eyes. We trade fresh food, textiles, handcrafts, woodworks, and sometimes plant specimens for metalworks, plows, tools, technology, cold storage boxes, and ice.” Soren stole a glance at Cyani. She seemed lost in thought. It looked as if she had tuned them out completely.
“And do they wear translators?” Cyn asked, drawing Soren back into the conversation.
“No, they speak strangely, but we can understand each other.” Soren felt like he was spinning for a moment as realization dawned on him. “When I taught the translator Byra, it learned very fast. It made mistakes that sounded like the sorts of errors the Pyri make.”
Cyn pulled off his translator and placed it next to him on the crate. “Talk to me.”
He glanced at Cyani, still lost in her own world.
Soren started to speak then paused. The bitterness of her rejection of him still burned in his heart. Even angry with her, he could only think of one thing to say.
“I love her,” he admitted softly in Byralen. “I don’t know when it happened, but I bonded to her completely. If she leaves me, I won’t survive. And she is turning away from me.”
Cyn intertwined his fingers and pressed his lips to them.
“Cyani,” Cyn called. “I know where we’re going, but you’re not going to like it.”
He replaced his translator as she entered the hold. “How did you figure it out?” she asked.
“I’m a linguist, remember?” he admonished. “The language Soren is speaking is actually a dialect of Yeshulen. That is why the com learned the language so quickly. As soon as it recognized the bridge to the language it knew, it adjusted for pronunciation and idiosyncrasies in the grammar.”
Cyani paled. “That is why the Garulen rarely raid the planet. I’d wondered why they didn’t just invade in force.”
“What are you talking about?” Soren asked.
“The Yeshulen are a violent, paranoid, and extremely technologically advanced race. There is an old saying on Earth, shoot first and ask questions later. Well, they don’t bother with the questions, they just shoot to kill.” Cyn smiled, a look that reminded Soren of a fox trying to sneak into the fowl nests.
“The Pyri aren’t violent,” Soren protested.
“Not to you. You have something they want,” Cyn chuckled.
“If they are so technologically advanced, why do they squabble with us over the price of vegetables?” Soren insisted.
“Because their planet is almost entirely covered in ice. I’m sure the tundra sage is delicious. Your vegetables are probably rare and expensive delicacies. You should hold out for more money.”
“They aren’t going to look kindly on a Union ship near their borders. They detest the Union. They think the Union only wants their trillide,” Cyani interjected.
“There’s a lot of truth to that,” Cyn commented.
“Do you think we can sneak past them?” Cyani asked.
“Absolutely not,” Soren protested. “I won’t risk having them fire on this ship and kill us.”
“We’re in trouble if they recognize this ship,” Cyn stated. “That’s the bottom line.”
“Cyn, where did you learn Yeshulen?” Cyani asked, suspicion darkening her voice.
Soren decided to put a stop to the haphazard conversation.
“We will approach the Pyri cautiously, with a great deal of respect, and deal with them openly. If they are suspicious, we will not add to their paranoia with our actions.” Soren swallowed the rest of the fire and brought his glass down on the crate with a heavy thud.
“You don’t understand these people, Soren,” Cyani began.
“No, you don’t understand them. I understand them far better than either of you,” Soren admonished. Cyn looked down and away as if he were embarrassed by something. Soren continued, “The Pyri are friends of my people. I will talk with them. They can be fair and friendly when treated with proper respect.” He glanced at Cyn’s shadowsuit. “But first, you should change into something less militaristic. Now set our destination for their borders. We’ll skirt the edge until they notice us, and open communications when they approach. I’ll do the talking.”
“Yes, sir.” Cyn tossed Soren a stiff salute as he eased into the pilot’s seat and sent the ship into the dimensional fold once again.
19
“IT’S LATE,” SOREN SAID AS HE STRETCHED HIS SHOULDERS IN THE COPILOT’S seat and watched the chunks of shadowed rock slowly drift past the screen. “Perhaps you should get some rest, too,” he offered.
Cyn rubbed his eyes. “I can’t.”
They’d been sitting in the midst of the asteroid field for the last five hours, waiting. Two ships lurked on the other side and a third had just joined them. All three were armed to the teeth.
“If they respond, I’ll handle it,” Soren stated.
Cyani had curled up in one of the bunks three hours earlier, but her rest was fitful, if she actually slept at all. Soren longed to crawl into the small bed with her and pull her into his body. He wanted to bury his face in her soft hair and drown in the smell of her. He was still mad at her, but he couldn’t help it. He was addicted.
Bug decided to entertain himself by “singing” a soothing melody of trilled beeps and low bell-like tones.
Cyn reached into the riveted pocket of the faded blue canvaslike Earthlen pants he was wearing. He pulled out Cyani’s necklace and placed it on the panel. Each soft click-click of beads coming to rest on the metal jolted in Soren’s ears. Soren stared at it, unable to tear his eyes away from it. His chest felt suddenly tight, like a great squeezing snake had coiled around his heart. The muscle fluttered like the wings of a dying bird in the grip of the serpent. The snake coiled through his insides, turning his stomach until he felt sick with it.
“A peace offering.” Cyn eyed him like a man who knew a thing or two about making peace with women. “You shouldn’t be fighting.”
Soren reached out and took the necklace. He rubbed the edges of the carved blossom with sad reverence.
“It won’t do any good. She took it off.” He could almost taste the bitterness in his voice.
“Bug,” Cyn commanded. “Show him.”
Bug stopped his singing and floated in front of Soren. A small square of light appeared above him like the one that would float in front of Cyani’s eye machine. It filled with color, and Soren could see leaves and a gleaming white flower that looked like Cyani’s tattoo. The leaves dropped down, and through a small gap in the foliage, he could see Cyani and an older woman with a white whip.
The older woman spoke. Soren barely processed the conversation. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Cyani.
The view on the small screen zoomed in until Soren could only see the still expression on Cyani’s face. She was holding back. In the depths of her eyes, he could see her fear and her rage.
“That is a lovely necklace,” the old woman said. “Was it a gift? Or have you simply forgotten you should not be adorned?”
She reached up and snapped it off Cyani’s neck.
“Hold there, Bug,” Cyn ordered. The screen filled with the unmistakable look of horror on Cyani’s face as the necklace was torn from her.
Perhaps the expression had only lasted a moment, but Bug had caught it. There was no mistaking her anguish. She looked as if someone had just plunged a knife into her heart.
“Bug caug
ht the necklace when the Grand Sister threw it off the balcony,” Cyn mentioned.
Soren let himself fall back in the chair, numb with shock.
Cyani loves me.
She really loved him. She couldn’t hide it. It was there in her clear blue eyes.
He clenched the necklace, squeezing the beads until they dug into his palm. He pressed his lips to the necklace and tucked it away in his pocket.
“Soren, listen to me, Cyani can’t . . .”
Soren didn’t listen to him. Instead he launched himself into the living quarters.
Cyani woke with a start, drawing her flick knife across her chest in defense.
“Soren, what is . . .”
He took her face in his palms and kissed her hard. Her soft sweet lips parted beneath his as he poured all his love into the intimate kiss.
Her shock waned, and she relaxed into his caress for only a moment before she stiffened and pulled away.
“What in the name of Isa the Bold do you think you are doing?” she asked him. Bug floated near his head and made a low clucking sound that sounded distinctly like a metallic chuckle.
Suddenly a female voice crackled through the flight controls.
“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you now, Cyrus Smith, an alleged Earthlen, shadow trader, Union linguist, rogue smuggler, ralok champion, and Falc blade expert. Am I missing anything?” The voice sounded cold, skeptical, and far too knowledgeable about Cyn.
“How completely unflattering, Nu. I believe you forgot Hunmalen Ale master craft brewer, Lavarilen temple apprentice of the art of Tanro, and most importantly, humble servant to the glorious and beautiful people of Yeshu,” Cyn responded in flawless Pyri. Soren raised his eyebrows at Cyn’s tone. He sounded as if he were talking himself back into the graces of a scorned lover.
A square on the screen flashed with the picture of a stern woman with stark white hair, icelike silver eyes, and very pale skin. “Humble? You are as humble as a rutting yak, and if you dare bring up Tanro again, I’ll skin you alive. What do you want, Smith?” she asked. “I’m not going to fall for your crap a second time.” Her eyes flickered toward Soren as he climbed back into the cockpit, and her attention caught immediately.
“I greet you with generosity and honor,” Soren offered.
She looked shocked then a smile broke over her face. “I am Commander Nualsha of Hel. What is the name of your family honored Byri?”
“I am Soren of Eln, Nualsha of Hel. Yours is a strong and noble family. We have had many honorable and fair trades between your blood and mine,” he responded, careful to keep to the formal trade language between their people.
Murmurings rumbled in the background as the Yeshu ship came to life with voices shouting and cheering.
“Ranock’s feet! I don’t believe it. Soren, son of Councilhead Rosson?” she asked. She seemed to have forgotten Cyn’s presence completely.
“Councilhead? My father is councilhead?” he responded with a swell of pride. His father had been barely past the waning. Now he oversaw the council of elders? Soren wondered if his mother was still alive, if his younger brother prospered and had attracted a bride. And his sister.
Suddenly the rushing surge of joy ebbed as he thought about Rensa. He didn’t have time to think. He didn’t want to think. He only wanted to enjoy this moment.
“Your family has been looking for you a long time, Soren of Eln.” Nu waved to her jubilant crew. “Don’t mind them. You just won us forty casks of vintage Eln blackwine and some rich trading rights courtesy of your fruitful family.”
“I’m sure your crew will enjoy them with Eln’s blessing,” Soren offered, amused. The Pyri never changed, and neither did their taste for blackwine, it seemed.
“We will return you to your home with joyous hearts, Soren. Wait while we initiate the docking sequence.”
Cyani entered the cockpit. The Pyri glanced up at her. “An Azralen Elite?”
“She is the one who freed me, and I would ask that she be allowed to accompany me to my home,” he insisted.
The woman’s brow furrowed. “For what purpose?”
“Byhirn,” he stated, knowing the translators couldn’t understand the word for Byra’s mating ritual. He had no garden to invite her to, but she didn’t need one. She loved him. If they couldn’t survive in his overgrown mess of a garden, they would find a way. They had always found a way together.
The Pyri looked shocked. “Really? How exceptionally interesting. Very well, she can accompany you so long as Smith remains on my ship as my”—she paused, and a wicked smile crossed her face—“guest. We have some unfinished business to attend to. When you send us word, we will release him back here with his ship.”
Cyn shot a glance at Soren.
“What’s going on?” Cyani asked.
“Cyn?” Soren didn’t want to throw him into the fire, but if he wanted to jump . . .
“I’ll be okay. You worry about you,” he responded. The foxlike smile slowly spread over his face.
Soren placed a hand on Cyn’s shoulder as the docking commands entered into the ship’s controls, and the ship began moving out of the asteroid field automatically.
Cyn managed to hack into the computer enough to signal the ship to go into lockdown. Once again, the cases disappeared into the walls, and even Bug reluctantly worked himself into a small slit beneath one of the bunks.
Cyani clutched Vicca as the ship docked. She looked lost, tired. She took an automatic step closer to him but then caught herself and tried to take a step back. What was wrong with her? Why was she being so distant?
Arctic air poured up through the hatch, biting at Soren’s face and neck as Nu climbed into the ship. She shared the classic greeting with Soren then gave the hull a quick once-over before turning and giving Cyn a heated glare.
“Leave all com units and your scout’s collar. We will provide translators if you need them.” She handed them long silver overcoats. She shoved Cyn’s coat hard into his chest, but he caught it and held her hand to his heart for only a moment.
Soren slipped on the overcoat, which instantly warmed, taking the chill out of the air. He watched Cyani as she pulled her com off and slowly removed Vicca’s collar. Vicca’s fur retained the imprint of the collar as she looked up at Cyani with her big blue eyes. Cyani stroked her ears, as her face radiated her longing and sadness. Something wasn’t right. What had the Grand Sister said to her? Suddenly he wished he had paid closer attention to the old woman’s words on Bug’s projection.
The sinking feeling that something was terribly wrong melted into his growing sense of elation as he climbed down the hatch. The shield surrounding the ladder was transparent, and the feeling of dropping out into open space thrilled him. He could see his sun, and in the distance, his home like a swirling blue gem.
Soren dropped into a brightly lit hold. The white walls glittered with what appeared to be a thin sheet of ice. Soren let his curiosity get the better of him as he greeted the crew. The Pyri never let any of the Byralen onto their ships. It was a fascinating glimpse into their world. Several little discs zoomed around, exact copies of Cyn’s mechanical pet.
Had he stolen Yeshulen technology? Or had he seduced it out of the commander of the ship? The man knew no boundaries.
Commander Nu approached Cyani with a small silver sphere in her hand. She placed it near Cyani’s ear, and it hovered there without touching her.
“Our translators can broadcast as well, so you can speak freely, Azralen,” she explained.
“Thank you,” Cyani replied. To Soren’s surprise and delight, her words broadcast almost immediately in Cyani’s voice.
“Commander, a Garulen transport has tried to hide in the far void. They have released a raid ship,” one of the crew stated.
Nu’s eyes turned as cold and hard as the ice they resembled. “Hija, pursue and destroy the scout; Fuj, disable the transport and search for prisoners.”
“Come.” She motioned to Soren and Cyn. “Let the ot
hers go hunting. We must contact Byra with the good news of Soren’s return.”
Nu led them to an area with shaggy fur cushions low to the ground and hovering tables. Delicate music that reminded Soren of the sound of dripping water filled the air as Nu offered them steaming cups of thick sweet cream.
“Don’t worry about the Garulen,” Nu said to Soren. “Not a single ship has made it through to Byra since you were taken. I’m surprised they keep trying. Your father started a campaign to cut off all trade unless we agreed to protect Byra from the Garu. It was our pleasure. We have no love for those mammoth mounds. If we had known sooner that the Garulen were stealing our honored kin, they would have paid dearly.”
“So, Rensa?” Soren’s voice cracked. Unbidden flashes of memory invaded his mind. Her scream seemed to echo from a distant corridor. His skin tingled. He rubbed it to brush out the cold, but the numbness began to spread through his body.
He was having another memory attack. He could feel the shock blast, feel the hair of the Garulen’s arms as he ripped the beast from his sister and shoved her down the slope and into the brambles. He couldn’t move.
“Soren, are you okay?” Cyani asked as she nudged him.
He snapped out of it with a shudder. He struggled to recapture the sense of ease and happiness he had only moments before, but couldn’t quite grasp it. Cyani took his hand. The simple touch was all it took.
“They didn’t take your sister,” Nu stated, drawing Soren back into the present. “Her account of what happened that night is legendary, a call to arms for both our peoples. Without her as a witness, we wouldn’t have known to look for the Garulen. You are a hero, Soren. You should hear the songs recounting your sacrifice.” Nu dropped her gaze, a gesture not common for the Pyri.
Cyani looked shocked. “You were captured because you saved your sister?”
Soren scowled. “It isn’t what you think. How long have I been gone?”
The question seemed to take Nu aback. “It’s been fourteen years. Frankly, I’m shocked you’re still alive.”