by McGill, Brie
Another massive troupe of giants, larger than the first, headed them off inside the caverns.
Orion heard the thunderous din of the first group of giants storming in pursuit behind them.
They couldn’t run deeper into the caves, and they couldn’t run away: they were trapped.
One of the giants stepped forward, addressing them in the language of the ancients. “You will come with us.”
Subdued prattling of educated male voices floated into her consciousness.
“The simplest way to understand it is to consider the vessels that first traveled to this planet. They sailed through the depths of incomprehensible blackness, much in the same way primitive explorers of your own planet first traveled the seas.”
Someone chewed something. “So you think of them like ships?”
“Absolutely.” The first voice was soft-spoken, melodic. “The long-term solitude of travel, the need to maintain order through chaos, the vastly different social structure required to survive, even the same efforts to prevent a mutiny. . . Starfaring is in many ways identical to seafaring, albeit more sophisticated.”
“You’re so much better than us, aren’t you. Big fancy ships! Unlimited energy! Cloning technology! And you’re holed up inside a mountain of dirt, unable to find your way home.”
There was a pause. “You have to appreciate the enormous technological disparity between the two to best understand the psychological state of your oppressors. Seafaring is dependent upon food and supplies, but starfaring can be maintained infinitely—though, at the core, the principles are the same.”
The voices sounded familiar to Ninkasi, but she couldn’t place them.
“But this is my point.” He cleared his throat. “Imagine travelling for so long, for eternities, in a form essentially immortal. Imagine a life support system that, while maintaining the physical form in indefinite perfection, does nothing to maintain the mind. Madness is certain to find everyone in due time.”
Laughter, followed by a voice distinctly nasal. “I won’t argue that it’s mad.”
“The madness is subtle, insidious. A rigidity of living can stunt the mind; one can become so lost in custom, so utterly dependent upon a way of living, that after a vast passage of time, one essentially knows nothing else. It is easy to forget history, to forget what life was like before the great journey. Life itself has become the great journey.”
“Are we talking about space travel, or random nuggets of esoteric wisdom?”
Ninkasi was certain she knew these voices. . . but it required such an effort to place them. She couldn’t move her body. She couldn’t open her eyes.
“When this world was discovered and we chose to inhabit it—on whatever grounds of intention, I’ve spoken previously of the differences among us—the only logical thing to do was to continue living in a similar way. The laws of our starfaring life were what we practiced for an eternity, it had become a new culture; there is no doubt, then, that the written culture imposed upon this world would model that. Despite the fact there were many of us, all landing on different continents, some never assuming contact with each other, post-settlement, the modus operandi remained the same.”
A snort.
“We brought our culture with us, our legal system with us, and we’ve given it to you. All these strange legal rituals are related to our quintessential starfaring canon as a whole.”
“Why did you leave in the first place?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” A third voice interrupted them. “The two of you have been pontificating for hours—”
Ninkasi lurched up with a jolt: she knew that voice. Orion!
Eyes snapping open, she jerked her head, looking around, trying to remember where she was, what had happened, ignoring the knifing pain in her head. She realized she must have slept on Orion’s lap. Turning to him, she hugged him tightly, placing a hand on his bare chest. "Oh my god!"
She was so happy to be with him. So happy. She wouldn't let go of him. The touch of his bare skin was a comfort.
They were all trapped inside a dingy cell behind black iron bars, cooped inside stone walls around an earthen floor. Orion sat on a crude bench of wooden planks affixed to the wall, and she sat beside him; Wolfram, Aleister, and Renwick sat on the floor. Wolfram and Aleister engaged in a heated debate; Renwick drew an impressive array of hieroglyphs in the dirt with his finger, wearing a smile that was either oblivious or indifferent to the awful situation.
Her heart pounded. She struggled to focus on Renwick’s drawings, but trying to focus produced dizziness and an unsteady feeling. “What is he drawing?” She blinked.
Orion shrugged, stroking Ninkasi's head.
Squinting, she placed a hand to her forehead. “Looks like a mix of ancient Rutian. . . and calculus.”
Aleister shot her a stern glare. “Don’t strain your eyes.”
“Where are we?” Ninkasi looked into Orion’s eyes, touching his face, verifying for herself that he was real.
He tilted his head and clasped her hand.
She felt the burning urge to kiss him; his intense stare suggested he felt the same.
“We’re imprisoned!” Aleister threw his arms in the air with a grandiose gesture.
“Awaiting trial.” Wolfram lifted a finger. “Glad to see you are back with us.”
"The guards stole our shit." Aleister crossed his arms.
Shifting on the bench, Ninkasi huddled against Orion.
He held her in his arms.
She rested her head on his shoulder. “Back with you? How long was I asleep?” Realizing she wore only a shirt—Orion’s shirt—Ninkasi tugged the silk fabric as far down over her thighs as she could, which wasn’t far. She didn’t think she was wearing any underwear, but she wasn’t about to check in front of everyone. “Why am I. . . in your clothes?”
Stroking her hair, Orion murmured into her ear. “You don’t have to worry about this until we’re out of here.”
“Worry?” She pulled away. “What do I have to worry about?”
He raised a hand. “That wasn’t what I—”
“What happened?” Ninkasi turned to address the others. “Why are we here? What’s going on?”
“Nyuun!” Renwick threw his hands into the air, delighted, and skittered to the other end of the cell, proceeding to sit and assume a new drawing.
Squinting her eyes, Ninkasi could not, for the life of her, bring his sketches into focus. “Why can’t I see? Why do I have a headache?”
Slouching against the wall, Aleister turned to face her. “How much can you remember?”
“I remember I was kidnapped, and. . .” She instinctively reached a hand to her rump, feeling for the burn scar. “Poisoned.” Yep, it was there. “It wasn’t a dream.” Her ass was sore. “How did you come and find me?”
“Wolfram suspected you were taken to a chapel.” Aleister crossed his arms. “We managed to break you out, but we were apprehended before we made it very far.”
“I remember being taken somewhere. . .” Ninkasi pressed fingers into her temples. “But I don’t remember it all. It was surreal. I was poisoned.”
“You weren’t poisoned.” Aleister rolled his eyes and sat up straight. “You were drugged.”
“I was hallucinating—at least, I think I was, for part of the time, most of it, I don’t know.” She hugged her arms around her chest. “I feel like I was poisoned.”
Aleister shrugged. “Well, some drugs are like that.”
Orion’s face warped with disgust. “Oh, for god’s sake—”
He raised a finger. “I’m certain you hallucinated.”
“They burned my ass with a hot iron.” Ninkasi frowned. “I wish I had made that part up. Also, I saw Pinki Seth.”
Aleister tilted his head, perplexed. “From the reality show?”
“And she. . .” Grimacing, Ninkasi stared at the floor. “Ugh, nevermind. There’s no way that could have happened for real, is there?”
Puffing his cheeks,
Aleister exhaled slowly.
“There were so many other girls held captive.” Ninkasi turned to Orion, then to Wolfram, fretting.
Wolfram pressed his lips together and nodded grimly. “They are considered. . . a resource.”
“A resource?!” She lurched forward, voice rising in pitch. “For what?” It was still unbelievable: she thought she might faint.
He swallowed. “Food, labor, entertainment, sacrifice. . . gratification of the flesh.”
Rubbing her wrists, she looked to the wall. “They tied me up, and. . .” Her stomach did a flip, and a lump rose in her throat. “Shoved something inside me that made me think—made me think they were going to—because I never had—”
“Oh, that.” Aleister waved his hand. “We yanked that out as soon as we found you.”
She gawked at him, gobsmacked. She didn’t know what to say, what she could possibly say; it wounded her dignity in the worst of ways.
Balling a fist, Orion jerked his head toward Aleister. “Now is not the time—!”
Grinning, Aleister continued, “Actually, Orion yanked it out and you shit all over his hand.”
Ninkasi fell against Orion, and burst into tears.
“You did not.” Tugging her hair, Orion pulled her head back and looked her in the eyes. He turned his head to Aleister, and bared his teeth.
Aleister frowned. “It was a joke.”
Ninkasi sucked back a huge gulp of air. “Why would you joke about that?” She sniffled and fell forward, forehead crashing into Orion’s chest. Her back shuddered with violent sobs.
Orion rubbed her back, shaking his head with disgust.
Wolfram sighed. “I’m not native to this world, and even I know there is a certain respect with which one must regard all women.” He glanced at Renwick. “And children, for that matter.”
He threw his hands in the air. “It was a joke!”
Ninkasi sat up halfway, and gaped at Aleister, red-faced, eyes squinted, mouth contorted in a horrible cry. “Why would you say that?”
“A joke!” He smacked his forehead.
“It wasn’t funny.” She choked on a huge sob, and cleared her throat.
“I thought it was.” He turned away, crossing his arms.
Her frown deepened, and another sob erupted from the pits of her stomach. “What if it did happen?!”
“It didn’t.” Orion forced her against his chest, stroking her head. “Shh.”
“I’ve been humiliated enough.” Ninkasi shuddered, weakly hitting a fist against Orion’s chest. “They burned a fucking star into my ass! That’s not even the worst of it. I don’t know what happened! I want to go home!”
Orion squeezed her tightly. He balled a fist against Ninkasi’s back and covertly raised his third finger, signaling for Aleister to fuck off.
Wandering toward the iron bars, Aleister held a fist in an open palm. He raised his middle finger, then made a fist; he raised his ring finger, then made another fist, and shrugged.
Two guards in grey uniform raised their kluzein rifles at the sight of Orion’s troupe approaching through the corridor. Standing on either side of a towering set of gilded double doors, they refused everyone entry.
One of the giants led them in a single-file line, with Orion walking first, Aleister and Ninkasi following in shackles and chain-linked collars behind him.
Wolfram chose to remain in the cell; he said that he and Orion would be dealt with separately, and he preferred to spare Renwick the necessary horrors of the courtroom.
Of course, to which ‘necessary horrors’ Wolfram referred, Orion had no idea—it filled him with a sense of dread.
The giant stopped before the doors, making a series of secret hand gestures and greeting the guards in the ancient tongue.
The guards nodded, lifting their rifles and stepping aside in choreographed unison.
Shoving open the doors, the giant led the others inside. Orion followed; the additional guards accompanying them yanked Aleister and Ninkasi by the collars, pulling them along.
Ninkasi hung her head, acquiescing in mortified defeat.
Orion bit his lip. He knew it wasn’t the first time they treated her like this.
A man in flowing black robes dismounted from a golden throne on a raised platform in the back of the hall and approached them, lifting a hand. “Halt.” He commanded the ancient tongue, studying them coolly behind gold-framed glasses.
Orion scowled.
All the guards and the giant fell onto one knee, tugging Aleister and Ninkasi to the floor with them. “Hail, Supreme Intercessor!”
Crossing his arms, Orion surveyed the situation with disgust.
The Supreme Intercessor wore a false white wig with rows of enormous curls, frayed and tattered. A contemptuous stare narrowed his eyes into two hateful slits. “Strip.”
Orion craned his neck forward. “Excuse me?”
Lifting a hand, the man shook his head dismissively at Orion. “The brutes.” He pointed again to Aleister and Ninkasi. “Strip them.”
Orion stepped forward, seizing the chains attached to their collars from the guards, and raised an eyebrow in challenge. “These” —he pointed at his friends, and then at himself— “are my brutes. They are here on my accord and will be treated with no such disrespect.”
He was met with blank stares.
“For fuck’s sake.” Aleister shook his head, muttering under his breath.
One of the guards kicked him in the ribs.
Aleister spat. “You have no idea what you’re doing!”
Drawing in a deep breath, the Supreme Intercessor shook his head. “#$%*)@$%@!^&”
Orion narrowed his eyes: the man spoke quickly, and he was unable to make sense of what he said. He turned to Aleister and lifted an eyebrow.
“’The law is absolute.’” Aleister rolled his eyes.
“Right.” Orion turned his back to him. “These two belong to me and I will transport them as I see fit, unless you can prove them of their crimes.” He crossed his arms.
“Strip them. Now.” The man pointed to Aleister and Ninkasi. “The law is absolute.”
“Everything is backwards here, Orion.” Aleister threw his head back. “It’s guilty until proven innocent—”
One guard lunged forward, stabbing Aleister in the stomach with the electric blue blast of a kluzein baton.
He growled and fell to one knee, wincing against the pain. “If you challenge them on their terms, it’s an automatic forfeit, because—”
The guard walloped him over the back.
Aleister’s arms buckled and he landed face-first on the floor.
Another guard ripped the shirt over Ninkasi’s head.
She whimpered, blushing, and shook her head in an attempt to cover her chest with her long hair. She stood cautiously with her legs together, trying to expose as little of her body as possible. Her lips were sealed and she blinked quickly.
Orion felt the hot tide of tears rising inside her.
The other guard pulled Aleister, limp like wet spaghetti, into a seated position, lifting him enough to pull the shirt over his head. He unbuckled Aleister’s pants, but the guard struggled to heave his body to the side to remove them. He snapped for the assistance of a second guard.
“Then I demand their personal artifacts.” Orion snatched his shirt from the guards, Aleister’s gun, and Aleister’s accessories as they were removed. “And I demand this service be conducted in Jambutian.”
"As you wish, my lord." Another guard presented Orion all that had been confiscated before they were locked in the holding cell—including their guns.
The Supreme Intercessor looked away, stroking his chin. “Very well.” He paused, shrugging indifferently. “In honor of your blood, you leave me no choice.”
Stepping beside Aleister, Orion hissed into his ear. “Don’t let anyone touch her.” He poked a finger into the curly forest on his chest, and frowned with disgust. “And don’t you dare touch her.”
Aleist
er rolled his eyes. “Relax.”
The guard whomped him with the baton. “Silence, brute!”
He caught himself, landing on one knee.
“Those in violation of the divine law of our king are now in accordance with custom!” The Supreme Intercessor pointed at the ceiling, his thunderous voice filling the chamber. “May the Weighing of Sins begin!”
The guards dragged Ninkasi and Aleister away.
Orion balled a fist, trembling with anger.
The ancient ones conducted the trial in a spacious, circular auditorium with a domed ceiling, painted and chiseled with dizzying geometric patterns. Mosaic tiles covered the floor, patterned in a sprawling Fibonacci spiral. Cold booths of carved marble spanned across the room, seating hordes of six-fingered onlookers obscured in black ceremonial robes.
Facing the crowd, the Supreme Intercessor stepped onto the raised platform, and assumed his golden throne. Three robed acolytes sat in lesser chairs to his right.
The guards herded Ninkasi and Aleister into a massive iron cage at his left, slamming a squealing door behind them.
Another robed man appeared behind Orion, placing a hand on his shoulder. “The first bench has been reserved for you, my lord.” He pointed at the empty, front-row marble booth.
Casting him a suspicious glance, Orion adjusted the heap of his companions’ possessions in his arms, and marched toward the booth. He sat down, spilling everything beside him with a disgruntled sigh.
He lifted up his black silk shirt, and glanced to Ninkasi in the cage.
She hadn’t raised her head since entering the room. He wondered the extent of everything she had previously endured.
Lifting the shirt to his nose, he took a deep breath, smelling her body. Forlorn, he climbed into the shirt, and watched her intently, fiddling with the plus-shaped charm around his neck.
Aleister whispered something into her ear and leaned in close to her.
Orion boiled with rage, tapping his foot anxiously. If Aleister so much as laid a finger on her—
He shook his head. He had to get them out of here—but how?
Orion understood Wolfram’s desire to protect Renwick—he didn’t want the poor kid shackled and stripped, and good on him for that—but he needed Wolfram’s counsel more than ever. Wolfram understood these people, he understood this place and all of its stupid customs.