Veredian Chronicles Box Set

by Regine Abel

  Seconds later, Amalia went limp.

  The crew moved away from her. I came to kneel by her side, making sure she was all right.

  “Fucking rabid beast,” Zaluk cussed, wiping the blood from his face where Amalia had viciously raked her nails.

  “She just lost her mother, you heartless monster!” I shouted in outrage.

  “Watch it, slave,” Doruk growled, “or she might lose her great-mother, too.”

  “ENOUGH!” Gruuk’s voice cracked like a whip.

  We all turned to face him. He stood in the doorway, an ominous expression straining his features. The crewmates shifted uneasily under his glare, sensing the threat. Gruuk jerked his head towards the door, his message clear. Bradok moved first, leaving the room. Without a word, the remaining crewmates followed.

  Gruuk stared at Sevina’s body disturbed by her daughter’s effort to bring her back. One arm dangled down the side of the operating table. Her bald head gleamed under the light. On the floor, the blanket I had covered her with lay in a puddle.

  His gaze lowered to me still kneeling by Amalia’s semi-conscious form. Our eyes connected, but he averted his, a glimmer of regret shining within. He approached us and crouched on the other side of Amalia, facing me. His hand brushed the hair from her face. Her lips moved though no words came out. She struggled to keep her eyes open, fighting the effects of the sedative, but she was losing the battle. With great care, Gruuk slipped his arms beneath her and lifted her up.

  Amalia’s head rested in the crook of his neck as he carried her to her room. I followed, sniffling as quietly as I could. The scent of blood, antiseptics and death clung to my nose. I had seen and smelled death before, but this one would mark me forever.

  We reached the bedroom and Gruuk gently laid Amalia down on her bed. He sat by her and held her hand. I wanted to tear it away from him. Sevina died because of him. He had no right to take comfort in her child.

  “You promised you’d keep her safe,” I said, all the anger and anguish of the past two weeks raging in my voice.

  “Yes,” he said in a tired voice, his eyes never straying from Amalia’s face. “And I failed you. For this, I’m truly sorry, Maheva. But I cannot change what is done.”

  I erupted in sad laughter.

  “Sorry? Yeah, right. You never cared about her. You didn’t lose a daughter. I did!”

  He snorted in derision, and turned to face me, his eyes locking with mine. The look of deep sorrow held within his tugged at me.

  “Wrong,” he said before turning to Amalia. “We both lost a daughter today.”

  My throat tightened as he leaned forward and kissed Amalia’s forehead, then rested his own forehead on hers, his hand caressing her hair.

  Goddess, he truly loves her.

  He was right, too. Amalia would never forgive him for his part in the death of both her mother and sister. For the second time, Gruuk had lost a daughter. With a final kiss on her cheek, he rose to his feet and walked with heavy steps to the door.

  He paused and said over his shoulder, “It will not bring Sevina back, or lessen your loss, but Aleina will be here in the morning. I hope this will bring you some comfort.”

  Without another word or waiting for my answer, he left, closing the door behind him.

  My Aleina, my youngest, my last child… Yes, holding her again in my arms after sixteen long years would bring me some comfort. Knowing how she would be used and the dangers she would face dampened that.

  I walked up to Amalia’s bed and curled up next to her, weeping and praying for sleep to take away some of my pain.

  * * *

  Morning came and went with no news about Aleina’s arrival. I ached to go inquire about her but didn’t dare leave Amalia’s side, other than to fetch us food or visit the fresher. She couldn’t get out of bed, waking up only to cry herself back to sleep. I wanted to do the same, to curl up in bed and forget this life that kept striking me with one blow after another. But I had made a promise to her mother. I would care for Amalia, no matter the cost, no matter the sorrow that ate away at me from the inside out.

  When the message to prepare for a warp jump came through the intercom, I knew something had gone wrong. As soon as we completed the jump, I ran out of the room, intent on asking Gruuk what was going on, but found the crew rushing past me, racing to their battle stations. When I asked what was happening, one of the crewmates ordered me back to my room. According to him, pirates had attacked Aleina’s transport ship.

  I shuffled my feet back to Amalia’s room, feeling numb. After entering, I sat on Sevina’s bed and looked at her daughter, for minutes, hours, maybe more. Time didn’t matter. I didn’t even think. My brain couldn’t function anymore.

  The bedroom door opened and Gruuk stood in the doorway, still wearing his battle uniform. He cast a glance at Amalia’s sleeping form before looking at me. Without a word, he turned his body sideways in the entrance, making room for me to pass. I didn’t want to, knowing whatever he wanted to tell me in private would break what little remained of my tortured heart.

  Somehow, I mustered the strength to rise and walk out. With each step, the anger that had lain dormant awakened and festered. The last fifty years of my captivity flashing through my mind. All my losses, all the pain, the sense of betrayal, and hopelessness. He led me to my room and followed me in.

  I turned to face him.

  “Where’s my baby, Gruuk?” I asked, without preamble as soon as the door closed behind him. “Tell me you haven’t lost my baby.”

  The expression on his face was unlike anything I had ever seen before on the male who had always embodied the definition of unwavering strength to me. Sorrow, defeat, and resignation marred his features. He looked twenty years older.

  “We received a distress call two hours ago,” he said with a tired voice. “Aleina’s ship was attacked by a cloaked vessel. We rushed to assist but arrived too late.”

  I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think.

  “Where’s my baby, Gruuk?” I repeated, anger seeping into my voice.

  “I don’t know, Maheva. We only found debris. No bodies. For all we know, they were made prisoner by whoever attacked them.”

  An animalistic roar tore from my throat. I threw myself at him and struck his chest with my fists, over and over. He allowed it, only stopping me when I tried to strike his face. Hands tightly wrapped around my wrists, he let me rage as I threw one insult after another at him. When I tried to kick him he pushed me against the wall, his hands pinning my wrists above my head and his body trapping mine until I stilled, exhausted.

  Letting go of my wrists, he wrapped his arms around me, gently caressing my hair. I cried ugly, heart-wrenching sobs, soaking his shoulders with countless tears I didn’t think I still possessed. With each one, something died within me. He held me until my tears subsided, leaving me drained and empty.

  “How much more will you take from me?” I asked against his shoulder.

  Pressing my palms to his chest, I pushed him away from me. He didn’t resist. I met his eyes, mine burning with festering resentment.

  “You’ve taken everything from me; my freedom, my youth, my children, my soul, and for what?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

  His jaw clenched, but he remained silent.

  “I hate you.”

  He closed his eyes with a pained sigh and reopened them slowly.

  “I truly hate you.” My voice remained calm, almost conversational. “I wish I had never met you. I wish you hadn’t rescued me that day. I should have died on Veredia and been spared half a century of this slow death on this flying prison.”

  A nerve ticked on his temple. Shoulders stiff, his hands twitched before he clenched them into fists. Still, he remained quiet.

  “It took me long enough, but now my eyes are finally open. Get out and stay the fuck away from us... Master.

  I spoke the last word with all the contempt that burned in my heart. Although I never raised my voice, my chest r
ose rapidly with seething rage.

  His cold Master’s mask settled back onto his face, all warmth fleeing. He leveled me with a dead stare, his black eyes devoid of emotion. At that moment, I realized my words spoken in anger, grief, and sorrow had permanently broken something. Blinded by fury, I couldn’t process how I felt about it or what it might mean for the future.

  I didn’t care.

  “As you wish.”

  The cold finality of his tone doused my rage, unease seeping in.

  Gruuk turned around and walked away.

  CHAPTER 10

  Maheva

  From that day forward, things changed drastically and yet remained the same. Gruuk possessed other kinetics but didn’t bring another one on board to replace my daughters. If not for our ugly last conversation, I would have assumed he did it out of consideration for me. Now, I couldn’t say.

  As expected, Amalia didn’t forgive him and he seemed to go out of his way to further the distance between them. That day, the poor child lost her mother and two fathers in one fell swoop. Sevina had provided the only link between Amalia and her biological father. They would never meet. She would never again hear from him or have her mother to tell him about her. All that remained was the portrait of Eryon Sevina had created on her bedroom wall. As for Gruuk, he had been more than a father figure to her. He had fulfilled the protector, provider, and mentor role she always associated with fatherhood.

  Since then, Gruuk no longer trained her, and he started calling her Pet. It hurt Amalia more than she’d ever admit, but she kept her chin up. Despite the devastation of losing her mother, Gruuk could have won Amalia back. Like me, as she emerged from the stages of grief, she realized we couldn’t lay the full blame at his feet for what had happened to Sevina and Aleina. She also understood that he hadn’t wished either of them, or us, any harm.

  But he shut her—us—out.

  Careful what you wish for.

  Indeed, I had gotten my wish, except it wasn’t what I wanted. Gruuk gave Amalia increasingly difficult assignments, real tasks, no longer practice. To my greatest despair, days before her thirteenth birthday, he brought her on the first of many away missions. Unlike Sevina, Amalia looked forward to those missions. They represented adventure, evasion, and a chance to get a peek at a world forbidden to us—a world unknown and terrifying to me.

  She took it as a game and I struggled whether to open her eyes or let it play out. Amalia needed a bit of light in her life after so many losses. I didn’t want her turning into a bitter, broken female. Thank the Goddess, Amalia’s naturally optimistic and mischievous nature always made her see the bright side of things. I encouraged that aspect of her personality while enforcing, as best as I could, the notion that things didn’t happen on their own. She had to fight for what she wanted.

  In preparation for her missions, Gruuk had a stealth program installed in the holodeck that challenged her to avoid detection from cameras and patrols, disable security systems and infiltrate secure locations. It scared me to imagine why he felt she needed this kind of training, especially since he denied her any form of combat or self-defense training. What kind of dangerous places would he be sending my baby into?

  Six months after Sevina’s passing, I returned to the room I now shared with Amalia. I found her sitting on her bed next to mine, staring straight ahead, her eyes out of focus. Feet flat on the floor, hands on her lap, my great-daughter’s unnatural stillness troubled me.

  “Amalia?” I called out.

  She didn’t stir or respond. I approached her, standing inches from her. She didn’t appear to see me or even acknowledge my presence.

  “Amalia!” I called out again, this time with a twinge of worry.

  No response. I waved my hand in front of her eyes, but she might as well have been blind. Grabbing her shoulders, I shook her, fighting the panic settling in the pit of my stomach. She flailed like a ragdoll, her eyes still empty. Fear twisted my innards and constricted my throat. I touched her forehead with the back of my hand and her cheek with my palm. Her temperature appeared normal.

  Goddess, what’s happening? Don’t take my baby, too! Not her, too!

  That would be the death of me.

  Swallowing a sob, I cast a glance at the intercom, thinking of calling out for help. I cupped her face in my hands. They tingled as my healing ability came to life, searching and seeking for a cause. I detected no illness or malfunction in her system.

  A silent tear slipped down Amalia’s cheek.

  “Why are you crying, sweetheart,” I choked out. “Are you in pain? Can you hear me? Give me a sign. Anything!”

  Once again, she didn’t respond.

  My vision blurred with the tears welling in my eyes. I was about to reach for the intercom when she blinked, her eyes refocusing like someone who’d just emerged from a deep trance.

  “Sweetie?”

  She blinked again and frowned.

  “Nana?” Her voice pitched with confusion as her hand reached for my wet cheeks. “Why are you crying?”

  Oh, thank you, Goddess!

  “Baby, are you okay?”

  “Yes, Nana. I’m fine. What’s wrong?”

  Feeling faint with relief, I crushed her in my arms. She hesitantly returned my embrace, probably thinking I’d lost it.

  “Nana?”

  Getting a grip, I released her and let myself fall on the bed next to her. She looked at me with amber eyes overflowing with concern. I placed my hand on the back of hers, rubbing it in a reassuring gesture.

  “Where were you?” I asked in a soft voice. “Where had your mind wandered? You looked spaced out and didn’t respond to me calling you or shaking you. Then you cried. It terrified me. What happened?”

  “Oh, that.”

  She chewed her bottom lip and repeatedly ran her hands down a long strand of her hair, as if trying to milk an udder.

  She’s hiding something.

  “Yes, Amalia. What is that?”

  She gave me a guilty look and swallowed audibly.

  “I… I saw Doruk hurting the female captives.”

  What? What did that have to do with anything?

  “What do you mean, you saw Doruk? Did you go into the hold?”

  She shook her head vehemently. “No, Nana. I don’t go back there. I know better now. I just… I... I can see things. Things that are going to happen soon.”

  Cold dread washed over me. Was she an Oracle?

  “See? As in you have foresight?”

  Amalia shifted uneasily and began twirling the strand of hair around her index finger, on and off.

  “Yes and no. I mean… yes, I see the future but only the next few minutes, like five to about twenty minutes into the future. Not months and years like Papa.”

  I looked at her hands.

  “You weren’t touching anything while having your vision.”

  She shook her head.

  “I don’t need to touch.” Releasing her lock of hair, she tapped a finger to her temple. “I do it only with my head.”

  How is that possible? Veredians need touch.

  My gaze flicked to Eryon’s carving on the wall.

  We need touch but Korletheans don’t.

  Was mating with Korletheans causing mutations? Were any other second generation Veredians like Amalia showing secondary abilities? Without Sevina, any contact we’d ever had with our Sisters in the breeding compounds were now severed. I silenced the pain that clawed at my heart every time I thought of my child and refocused on the present.

  “How long has this been happening?” I asked, my mind racing.

  Amalia’s eyes misted and her lips quivered.

  “It… it first happened when Ma… Mama died. That’s how I knew where to find you.”

  My throat tightened. I caressed her hair then held her hands in mine.

  “So those visions just come to you?”

  She shook her head.

  “That first time, yes. And that time the replicator caught fire. Tha
t was a good thing too because without that vision, I would have been using it when it blew up.”

  My mind reeled at the possibilities.

  “Most of the time though,” Amalia continued, “I choose whose future I want to see.”

  I gaped at her. “You choose?”

  She nodded, eyeing me warily.

  “Like just now, I wanted to go to the holodeck and run the stealth simulation, but I didn’t know if Doruk was going to fetch me for a mission. So I checked into his future. He was in the hold, harassing the females. One talked back to him, so he…”

  Her voice trailed off and she shrugged, her eyes watering again.

  I didn’t need her to finish to guess what he had done to the poor female.

  “Can you see anyone? Could you see your father? Aleina?” I tried to hide my excitement but the eagerness in my voice betrayed me.

  Amalia shook her head, sorrow etched on her face.

  “No. I don’t know Aunt Aleina’s face. I need it to lock onto her. Plus, they are both too far away. I can only connect with people on the ship or in close range to the ship.”

  My shoulders drooped.

  “But, I don’t need to meet the person,” she added quickly, sensing my disappointment. “Like, I could see Papa if he was close enough thanks to this carving,” she said pointing at the wall. “And this female with Doruk, I have never met her, but I saw her face in the vision. Now, I could lock onto her as long as she’s in range.”

  I stomped on my feelings of discouragement and forced a smile on my face.

  “That’s amazing sweetheart.”

  And it truly was. But her words had given me a glimmer of hope of discovering what fate had befallen my youngest child and whether she still lived. To have it crushed so soon left a bitter taste in my mouth. The fault rested on my shoulders. I had jumped to conclusions too quickly, but that didn’t make it any easier.

  She relaxed and smiled back. “I’m still learning how it works.”

  “That’s very good, Amalia. Keep at it. But you need to be careful.” I placed my hands on her shoulders and stared at her intently. “You cannot let Master Gruuk know about this, or anyone else for that matter.”