by Peter David
Then came a grunt, and he could tell from that grunt—along with the sounds of dirt and random pebbles being scattered—that the body was most definitely not only alive, but kicking. It was getting to its feet and obviously was intending to go somewhere.
It was then that Xyon ventured in the direction of the back of the house. He moved with the utmost caution, although he was understandably curious about what it was that he was going to find. He already had a sneaking suspicion, however. And once he got within range, he saw that his suspicion was correct.
He saw, dangling from the back window of the house, a short piece of a makeshift rope, cobbled together from what appeared to be knotted bedclothes. It hung halfway down the back of the house, with the remaining distance to the ground covered by the simple act of allowing herself to fall. It had not been a graceful drop because he could tell from both what he had heard and the evidence of toe-displaced dirt that she had landed quite clumsily. Dirt and debris were scattered everywhere, and he could even see a bit of the imprint from where she had landed and come down hard on her rump.
He caught the briefest glimpse of her as she ran from the house. She was limping slightly, and he hoped that she hadn't injured herself too badly. The abodes in that area were set relatively close together, so she quickly disappeared down an alley between two other homes, but it was going to take far more than that for her to shake him. With that confidence in mind, he set off after her and hoped that the confidence wasn't misplaced.
Never before had Riella run so fast.
She had walked so many times around the relatively small area that had circumscribed her life. She knew the paths, knew every bush. There was the large boulder a short distance from her house that she had clambered upon when she was a little girl. There was that remarkable moss-covered area where she had lain and stared up at the moons and tried to get some sort of sense of what the future held for her.
Now she viewed all those places as if she were seeing them through other eyes. Even the most mundane and familiar elements of her life were alien and frightening to her. It was a natural extension of her present state of mind, for the place that she had called home all this time had been transformed into a strange and unknowable place.
Her mother had spent the morning grilling her about the dreams, first gently and then with greater and greater belligerence. Every so often Malia would seem to realize that her aggressiveness in the matter was odd and drawing attention to things that she would rather not have attention drawn to. In those instances, she would rein herself in, although it was always temporary. Clearly she was running scared, and Riella knew exactly who she was scared of.
The source of the fear arrived a short time later. Riella had been hiding up in her room when he arrived. Her mother didn't know she was hiding, of course. Riella had simply pleaded fatigue and gone up to take a nap. Having done so, she then crouched down by her door and listened carefully. Even so, straining her ears, she had only picked up bits and pieces of the conversation. But what she was hearing, she didn't like. To be in a situation where one's mother is in league with a spectre who haunts one's darkest dreams.
Well, naturally, the impulse is to extract oneself from such a situation as quickly as possible. She caught the eyes of a few scattered citizens as she ran, but no one said anything or tried to stop her. They seemed, at most, mildly curious as to what had propelled her in this manner, but other than that they didn't give her plight overmuch consideration. Every so often she would glance over her shoulder, wondering whether or not she was being followed. She felt haunted, hunted. She felt as if, at this point, there was no escape in any aspect of her life. In her sleep, her dreams came after her, and in her waking existence, her mother had been transformed from a beloved parent into an ally of those who would harm her.
How could her mother do that? How was it possible?
Maybe she's not your mother. The words came unbidden to her mind, but once there, would not leave. Was it possible? Why not? At this point, anything was possible. But all the memories she had, of her mother being there from her earliest days: bouncing her on her knee, wiping away the blood from a cut, loving her, caring about her, and being there for her every day of her life. All of those contradicted the new notion that this woman was, in fact, her worst enemy, a betrayer, a . . .
She couldn't think about it anymore. She just had to keep moving, keep running.
Which was precisely what Riella did.
The problem was. she had no idea where she was heading or what she was going to do. She had no real friends on Montos. Her entire world was her home and the woman with whom she shared it. With those cut off to her, she felt completely adrift. Still, one does not necessarily have to know where one is running to in order to run away from something else.
And so Riella had bolted, as quickly as her legs would take her.
It did not take her long to leave Montos City behind. The land beyond the city was not particularly inviting. There had not been a good deal of rainfall recently, and the ground was hard and cracked. There were, however, some areas with small mountains and (so she had heard) caves. Supposedly there was some danger and local children had been warned to stay away from the area lest mishaps befall them. Indeed, there were stories (folktales, she hoped) of children who had gone exploring in the caves and come to unhappy ends, their spirits still wailing away in eternal undead misery. That, however, did not bother Riella in the slightest. Her waking life was nightmarish enough. The prospect of facing other peoples' nightmares didn't deter her at all.
Food, however, was a concern. She had not been able to go down to the kitchen to obtain anything to take with her. She had no food, no water. Her prospects of survival were not plentiful. But she wasn't thinking about any of that. She was running purely on instinct. Unfortunately, her instincts weren't particularly sound. When concerns over practical matters, such as food and water warred for attention in her mind, she automatically pushed them away as a sort of self-defense mechanism.
At one point the toe of her shoe caught in one of the cracks in the ground, and she fell hard, scraping her right knee. She scrambled to her feet, blood trickling down the front of her right leg. She started to wipe it away, but then just took a deep breath and kept going.
The sun had reached its zenith, and she felt as if the heat was like fist blows beating her down. She pushed her way through it, determined not to let anything slow her. But her determination quickly crumbled, and she started to sob. She had never been more angry with herself than she was at that moment. She felt so weak, so useless, so utterly helpless. She was faced with a difficult situation, and she wasn't rising to it. She was letting herself be overwhelmed by it.
She saw some mountainous area ahead of her, separated from her by perhaps half a mile. She licked her lips and found that there was no moisture on her tongue to improve their chapped condition. They were becoming as hard and cracked as the rest of her face. The elegant antennae on her forehead were sagging under the unrelenting heat. Her mother had always tried to protect her from the effects of the sun, being extremely concerned and cautious about sunstroke or burning. She said there was a tendency in her family towards such mishaps. Riella no longer knew what to believe.
Her antennae were feeling tight, as if they were shriveling up on her. They were giving her more and more discomfort. Her whole body felt too tight on her. She was having trouble breathing, even thinking.
Then she heard something behind her. Something with sharp nails. She heard it scrabbling along, and it sounded like a wild animal. She was afraid to turn around, as if—whatever it was—it wouldn't be real if she didn't look at it. It wouldn't present any sort of threat if she just didn't acknowledge its existence by seeing it.
She heard it drawing closer, closer, and she realized that her plan wasn't exactly fraught with merit. Taking a deep breath, she turned around to face whatever it was. No furtive glances here; let whatever was coming after her take her head on.
It was
two creatures. If they were just wild animals, intent on tearing her apart—somehow, she was ready for that. With her despairing view of her life as it presently stood and her chances that were monumentally slim, part of her really didn't care what happened to her from now on.
But they were not simply animals. There were two of them, humanoid in shape, and they were barreling towards her, their maws slightly opened, their tongues hanging out as if they were panting from the strain. No . . . no strain, she realized. They didn't seem the least bit tired. Instead, they were almost excited by it, as if they were in some sort of hunt mode.
And they were wearing clothes. That was the thing that sent Riella over the edge, that set her legs into motion; with a stifled shriek, she pivoted and started to run. She heard what sounded like a delirious chortle of amusement from one of them, or maybe both.
Then one of them spoke. A clothed animal that spoke. And she spotted, on its back, what appeared to be twin-bladed weapons crisscrossing. She felt as if her mind were slipping away. “Riella?” it said.
She couldn't move, couldn't even speak. She managed a stunned nod.
The creatures exchanged what appeared to be looks of surprised pleasure. “We smelled your blood!” it called to her. “We couldn't pass up the scent . . . and look who it led us to! How delightful!”
She glanced down at her legs, flashing beneath her, the streak of dried blood on her leg where she had cut it. She cursed the blood, cursed the gods that had put her into this hideous predicament, and reflexively she started to cry out for her mother to save her, remembering only at the last moment that that blessed woman provided no haven for her.
That was when she hit it.
She had no idea what it was she hit. It was just suddenly there, and she couldn't see it, but she ran full tilt into it and whatever it was, it didn't budge so much as a centimeter. In this case of the irresistible force meeting the immovable object, the force didn't stand a chance. Riella staggered back, reality swimming around her, her arms outstretched to either side, and they pin-wheeled slightly before she fell back and hit the ground. Then blackness enveloped her.
But she did not slide completely into unconsciousness. She was vaguely, distantly aware of her surroundings. She felt as if she were in a gray area, hovering between the whispers of her frightening dreams and the equally intimidating reality of the world around her. And in that half-place, she heard chortling . . . and then words . . . and then anger, and the sounds of a fight of some sort . . .
And then an explosion . . . a series of explosions in the distance.
Suddenly, she was lifted. It would have been truly disorienting were she not already so light-headed, and she tried to open her eyes, but caught only a glimpse of longish hair that might have belonged to one of the creatures or might have been someone or something else . . .
Then she released her hold on consciousness and slipped away into merciful oblivion.
Atik wasn't entirely certain what had just happened. One moment the girl was running as fast as she could; he and Fista were bearing down on her, enjoying the thrill of the chase in a way that they didn't have all that many opportunities to do.
Abruptly she had stopped dead in her tracks. For a moment, Atik thought that she was changing her mind and was actually going to try and fight them. That, of course, would provide some momentary and very minor amusement before they ultimately, naturally, knocked her cold and dragged her off with them as Rier had told them to. But then Atik realized that, in fact, she had struck something. That seemed impossible; there was nothing there. But strike it she had, for she was staggering backwards as if having sustained some incredible impact due to her forward motion. Atik and Fista exchanged looks of confusion, as if each hoped that the other might have an explanation for what had just happened.
“Some sort of trick on her part?” Fista asked.
It seemed a possibility, and Atik tensed, allowing for their prey to abruptly turn, produce a weapon, and make a serious fight of it. But that didn't happen. Instead she fell backwards, hit the ground hard, and just lay there, spread-eagled, staring blankly up at the sky, her eyes apparently unable to decide whether to remain open or not.
“There's something there,” Atik said.
“Out here? We're in the middle of nowhere! What could be here?”
Fista was more than happy to allow Atik to take the lead. The warrior dog advanced cautiously, affording Riella a cautious look as he stepped around her and moved towards where her flight had come to such an abrupt termination. He reached out with one paw gingerly, trying to brace himself for the possibility of some sort of unseen force field that would conceivably affect him as adversely as it had the girl.
And there, in midair, he felt some sort of smooth surface. Despite the heat from the sun, the metallic substance was remarkably cool to the touch. He slid his hand along it and felt it curve downward.
“What is it?” asked Fista, approaching cautiously. He tended to do everything cautiously.
“It's a ship. It has to be. It must have some sort of cloaking device.” Atik began to walk the length of it, tracing it. His nostrils flared. “Waaaait a minute. The contours are familiar. It's hard to pick up any scent off it, but I would wager anything it's the same damnable vessel that was on Barspens! Yes, that's—”
That was when the discharge of a disruptor smashed across the open plains with deafening power. Atik jumped three feet in the air, and even as he did so, his swords (his “long claws”) were in his hands. He whirled, not knowing what he was going to see and yet being completely unsurprised when he saw it.
It was the creature from back on Barspens. The one who had destroyed Rier's flagship, the one who had barely eluded capture. The one whose face Atik had so totally committed to memory.
He was standing there with a disruptor cradled in his arms and a look of quiet confidence on his face. Fista was frozen, unmoving, his body stiff and alert. The blast had clearly been a warning shot. The insensate body of the girl was lying about equidistant between them.
Reflexively, Atik judged the distance between them. But the muzzle of the disruptor angled not-so-subtly in his direction. “I wouldn't,” the creature said coolly, “if I were you.”
“Who are you?” Atik snarled, although he did freeze in place.
“My name is unimportant,” he said.
“If so, then why do you hesitate to say it.”
“It's unimportant to me. Apparently, it's important to you; why, then, should I give you anything of importance.”
Atik's expression grew more fierce, and a growl grew deep in his throat He waited to see if his obvious fierceness had some sort of impact on the long-haired humanoid. It didn't. The disruptor in his hand didn't waver, and his expression remained quite calm. Fista, for his part, was starting to move.
“I don't want to shoot you,” the newcomer said. “But I will if I have reason to.”
Atik and Fista exchanged glances smugly. Clearly they had the upper hand, for the newcomer was obviously hesitant to use his weaponry. And if that was the case, then they could use the hesitation to their advantage.
Suddenly there was an explosion of sound and energy from the disruptor, and before Atik could move, Fista went down, a charred hole in his armor, barely breathing. Confusion and surprise were his last expression, frozen on his face.
“On the other hand,” continued the creature, “I can also kill if the mood strikes me. Or if I get the impression that you think I'm so weak that you can take me down with no problem. A preemptive strike, if you will, to head off potential unpleasantness for both of us.”
If the creature's intention was to realign Atik's opinion of him, he succeeded. Atik actually took several steps back, making certain to keep his long fangs immobile. He toyed with the idea of trying to throw one of the vicious blades in hopes of doing serious damage to this interloper. But he judged the speed and determination with which the creature had moved, and he came to the conclusion that such an attempt would
be folly.
The creature was looking at him carefully, and finally said, “I remember you. You were the one hanging on my ship back on Barspens.”
Atik nodded slowly. He still stayed where he was. But challengingly, he said, “You appear to me to be a man who likes a challenge.”
“Do I?”
“Your standing there, holding a disruptor on me from a safe distance, where is the challenge in that? You should have the nerve to face me one on one, with matched weapons. I would be more than happy to provide you that opportunity, if you wish.”
“That's most considerate of you.”
With the slightest and most unthreatening flick of his wrist, Atik tossed one of the blades to the ground. It landed with a clatter atop the other. The creature stared at it with a distant curiosity.
“Pick it up,” Atik urged him. “Put down your weapon, pick up the sword and let us face each other as equals.”
“Why in the world would I want to do that?”
“Because you know you want to.”
“I see.” The creature scratched his chin thoughtfully. “And because I want to should be sufficient reason. Caring about the girl's safety, trying to get her away, not taking chances with her life, these are all secondary to what I want to do.”
“Of course.” To Atik it could not have been more clear.
The creature leveled his disruptor at him and said calmly, “What I want to do is kill you. Shoot you down, right here and now. Send your soul screaming after that of your friend. Since that is what I want to do, why . . . I suppose I should give in to that, shouldn't I. Well? Shouldn't I?”
Atik's lips curled in a sneer. “You're afraid. That's all. You're simply afraid I'll kill you.”
“You might,” the creature said reasonably. “And then the girl will be left to your mercy, and that I cannot tolerate. If the only thing at stake is my life, I attach small enough importance to that that I'd have no problem risking it in a fight with you. I have some small experience with a blade and few enough opportunities to indulge. But one has to know the appropriate times. It's what separates us from the lower order of beasts, such as yourself.” He flashed a smile and then said, “Step away from the girl.”