Cassiel Winters 1: Sky's End

by Lesley Young

  I barely yank up my bottoms when the door slides open. Green Eyes scoops me up again, pressing me close to his chest.

  Like being pressed up against a wall. Were it not for the abnormal warmth he’s emanating, I would think he’s made of marble. I shiver, realizing how cold it is on this ship, in my pajamas, and reluctantly enjoy the heat from his body. Really beautiful but masculine gray and white raised configurations run up the side of his neck. They trail off behind his ear.

  He glances at me briefly, on the quick journey back to my hold. I’m adrift in his eyes, the color of a field of grass . . . so full of kindness and compassion and nobility.

  Whoa. What the— Am I grateful to him? My stomach drops.

  Cassiel, they are the enemy!

  It’s this damn drug!

  His scent takes me back to our encounter on the warship and an overwhelming sense of self-pity floods in. My vision blurs with tears. Fight as I may, I can’t keep my heavy head upright and it kind of flops against his chest. I hear myself sniffle.

  When we get to my hold, Green Eyes props me up against the slope, which kind of nestles to my body. He takes care to rest my head against the back of the hold gently using both his hands. They linger there for a moment on either side of my face. I think he wipes away tears with his thumbs. “You would not be scared,” he says, gazing into my eyes. The translator is screwing up their tenses.

  Would not be scared? Funny, that isn’t what I would not be feeling. Oh sure, fear’s present, but it’s more a sense of loss that’s gnawing at me. I can only assume I’m hurling millions of light years away from King, from the station, from Earth. I thought I was safe. I had a bright future. Somehow, I even thought Daz would be okay. And now all of these things are being taken from me. If I had the strength, I would punch Green Eyes right in the nose. But I don’t, so I struggle to look away.

  He activates the shield, because I see it again. I wonder why he didn’t hypospray me again. Probably because he doesn’t need to. I have to fight to stay awake.

  And I do wage a war on sleep, somewhat successfully, for what feels like an eternity. Every so often I manage to catch a glimpse of the Thell’eons. They no longer keep their eyes closed all of the time. They occasionally glance at me, as I do at them. It’s as though they are checking on their next meal. Or maybe that’s my mind playing tricks on me.

  Once Dark Eyes looks at me during one of his rotations. What a neat way to fly a ship. It seems like they pilot it with their minds. I would love to try that, I think impartially. What’s wrong with me? Odd sorts of tangential and impartial observations occur to me, a result of the drug, no doubt.

  Like how the Thell’eon males must be so attractive for evolutionary reasons: they have to attract women who will never be attracted to them. Ha! Serves them right to have endure that kind of sexual frustration. Then I remember why human women are so coveted among the galaxies. Hey, wait, I’m a human woman! This jolts me out of my dazed and artificial comfort zone, but only for a second or two.

  I do manage to contemplate one useful thought. Why am I not on the warship already? Either the portal device couldn’t send us very far, a distinct possibility, or . . . think now . . . or . . . they are taking me somewhere else? Oh. I don’t like this idea at all.

  At some point, I’m jostled by a minor vibration. The Thell’eons all have their eyes closed. A minute or so later I hear strange sounds, like power fluctuations. No, more like gamma bursts. Are they firing at something?

  The ship suddenly vibrates real hard. I’m unable to hold myself against the frame of the seat, and press up against the field. The pain’s incredible, if only for a second. I imagine it must be what it feels like to be hit by lightning in one of Earth’s storms. When it releases me, I’m about to scream in agony when, poof, the pain’s gone.

  I turn to the giants, but none of them seem to have noticed what happened. Bet they’re making rapid maneuvers, because that is what I would do. As this thought occurs to me, I slide straight up really quick, hitting my head on the top of the hold, about two feet above me, before being forced back down so hard my teeth gnash in my jaw.

  The pain makes me violently angry. This hold was made for someone much bigger than me!

  And yet, even in my drugged, pained, stupor I leap to a thrilling conclusion.

  We must be in battle! ESE has come to rescue me!

  Oh no. King! Please don’t let it be King. Our best fighter ships are probably no match for this one.

  “Brace yourself!” shouts Dark Eyes, without opening his eyes. He must be speaking to me. So he does know I’m being hurt. And yet he’s doing nothing about it!

  Hope gives me strength, or the drug’s wearing off, because I manage to do as he says just as another blast jolts the entire craft. I keep myself in place for half of it, but slip off and into the field for the remainder. I get a scream out this time, but it’s cut short by depth of pain throughout my entire body that I never knew was possible. I’m dying. No. Really.

  When it’s over, as quickly as the last time, I collapse back in the hold, breathing shallow and surprised to be alive. Green Eyes carries on with his task, occupied. Dark Eyes is still watching me, probably to ascertain whether I’m dead.

  Idiots!

  “Turn it off!” I try to shout at him. I look down at a strange sensation. My skin’s bright red where it was pressed against the field, like it has been scalded. Just now there’s tingling, and, yup, pain. I panic. My heart’s fluttering high up in my chest, and it isn’t settling back down. I don’t think I could survive another blast from the field.

  But the field suddenly disappears! Dark Eyes must have done it with his mind, though his eyes are closed once more.

  I kind of slide forward and down, then collapse on the floor, unable to prevent or really soften the blow.

  Dark Eyes, who stares at me again, appears surprised by this. Maybe he thought I’d be able to hold myself up. But the drug has rendered me rag doll.

  This new bit of freedom presents opportunity, but I’m so weak I don’t know what to do. I would like to hurt these Thell’eons, to interfere with their flying and aid my own cause, but there isn’t a weapon in sight.

  With their eyes closed it would be so easy . . .

  The ship shakes and hurls around violently. I think, Why are there are no dampeners? As I’m thrown straight into the back of one of the Thell’eon’s chairs at an incredible velocity, pain ripping through my shoulder.

  I gasp, and try to grab my elbow to hold my arm steady. Dislocated. I shoot backward at tremendous speed, my head whip-lashing against the wall. OW. I hurl forwards into the same chair, hitting it with the same shoulder again. Noooo. My limp body shoots up at least nine feet into the ceiling head first, helpless to stop it!, before I drop down on the ground at Green Eyes’ feet in a crumpled heap.

  Please. I want to die.

  Instead, two strong objects shovel me back until I lay pressed firm against something. He’s holding me against his chair using his legs! The pain sets in. Sweet stars, I’m lying on my dislocated shoulder.

  Forget that. Searing hot blades. Stabbing inside my skull. Won’t stop. I’m dying!

  Every movement of the ship worsens the explosive pounding in my battered brain. Pressing so hard inside my skull.

  A purposeful thought: someone please cut open my skull. It’s too small for my brain. Just cut the top off and give it some more room!

  Please! Help!

  Please, make it stop!

  Finally, my mind graciously steps up, and shuts everything off.

  Chapter 14

  I’m dreaming, I think, because I’m floating, yet I can’t move at all, and that freaks me out. Where am I? I can’t make out anything. Oh wait.

  I hear something, kind of like a distant echo. A very distant voice . . .


  “You are well. You must wake up now. Open your eyes. Wake up.” Words like these are repeated over and over. The voice is vaguely familiar. The words are getting louder and something is on my face. Hands patting my cheeks. This is annoying. Like when Daz used to wake me up for levels. DAZ!

  I open my eyes quickly. Only it isn’t Daz.

  Dark Eyes is in front of me, and we are both suspended somewhere . . . no real place. He seems relieved to see me, (or that I can see him?), and smiles. Crinkles form at the edges of his eyes, accentuating his handsomeness, which kind of snares you, and holds on. Look away.

  “There you are,” he says, like we are long lost friends.

  “You!” I panic and try to get away from him but it’s like trying to move in thin air. I can’t.

  It’s foggy everywhere. I look down but there’s no ground. I panic, thinking I will fall, and I can’t steady my rapid breaths because I can’t move. I notice sharp pain in my head, like the worst headache possible. Immediately, I head toward comfort—the darkness in my mind.

  Dark Eyes steps right in my face. He barks, “Look at me! Look at me! Calm down. I would not harm you. I would help you.”

  I look at him in the eyes. Black diamonds, reflecting a universe of light. The darkness is gone, and so is the pain.

  “Do not go to that place. Listen to me. Take a few deep breaths, and stay calm.”

  I do as he says.

  But memory kicks in. “So I wasn’t rescued?” The darkness ebbs around my vision, pain finding its way in. I try to hold it off to hear the answer.

  Understanding flashes on his face.

  “No. But we would not harm you. Please, you must not worsen your emotional state.”

  “Did they get away? Tell me!”

  He pauses. Confused. Searching. Recognition. “ESE,” he says. “Yes,” he answers quickly, adding, “Listen to me. It is dangerous for you to upset yourself.”

  “It wasn’t ESE, was it?” I ask. Somehow I know this. How do I know this? “So who was firing on us?”

  A knife slowly carves through my brain, no real purpose, and I whimper helpless to prevent it, but he’s grabbed my face and my focus with his concerned expression and the knife has vanished.

  “You must please try to maintain a positive emotional state while we are here,” he says gently.

  In his face, there’s a calm sky, sensuously soft clouds streaming by, the heated sun gently beaming down on me melting away my worries. Oh, that’s nice.

  He’s not menacing at all, like when I watched him in the record-history I stole. His broad shoulders are draped in a loose, navy smock top, belted with a thick, wide weave of what gives the impression of soft metals. His dark pants are fitted and he’s wearing some kind of glistening animal hide boots. He looks absolutely dreamy. I’ve always said people’s beauty comes from within. I wonder who he is? What does he care about in this life? How does he like to spend a stormy Friday night? Does he have a vice? I want to hear the sound of his laugh. I want to make him laugh.

  Wow. What a smile. Those eyes of his seem to twinkle. . . yes! There, they just did it again. Why’s he looking at me like that?

  Wait. Something’s off. He has hair! Thick wavy, dark brown hair. And no markings. What’s going on?

  “Where is here? Why can’t I move?”

  “You can,” he says quickly. “Just try.”

  I focus and manage to move my arms and then, without any effort, my entire body.

  “How did you do that?”

  “I didn’t. You did. You can do absolutely anything you want in here,” he adds, looking around eagerly.

  “Where’s here?”

  “Your mind.”

  My mouth drops open. For no reason I can explain, I believe him.

  “Well, get out!”

  “I can’t. You need me here in order for you to be here.”

  Huh? Forget this. I’m so getting him out of here. I’ll just return to the darkness.

  “You can’t do that,” he says quickly. “You would die.”

  He speaks the truth. How do I know that? What’s going on in here?

  You were badly injured in the skirmish. It was my fault and I apologize. I should not have released the field. But the truth is, one more exposure would have stopped your heart.

  So what happened to me? And uh, wait, why are we speaking without talking? Oh, this is so awful. I’ve got to end this.

  It does not have to be awful! I would respect your privacy. I promise. You only need to share with me what you choose.

  I choose not to share.

  I will the blackness forth.

  “Listen to me! Look at me! Look at me!” he shouts out loud, bringing me back from my refuge, the darkness.

  There. I would explain but you must stay calm and focus on me. You have a concussion. We are rushing you back to our ship where you would be treated. I am interfacing with you in a manner that we call ‘symbiosis’ to ensure you do not slip into a coma.

  Liar. He’s lying. He’s dangerous.

  I am not ly—

  “Stop reading my thoughts!”

  I am not. Well, I am only reading what is on the surface, nothing below.

  “How do I know you’re not lying and that you plan to just fish around in here for ESE information?”

  His eyebrows lift as if to say, Get real. But he doesn’t say anything.

  “Why can’t I read your thoughts?”

  Because I have much experience with symbiosis. I am blocking you. I wish to emphasis that I have no desire or need to probe your no doubt fertile mind for ESE secrets. We have had spies on Earth for centuries. You yourself told me you are nothing more than a cadet.

  Well, his arrogance isn’t just for show.

  I heard that.

  “Like I care.”

  The truth is, in addition to being in a state of shock over my current situation, I’m deeply disturbed that they have been spying on us for so long.

  “So what do you want me for? Why have you taken me?” I ask out loud in my mind. Oh, this is so terrible. And yet this state, it’s like being drunk without being intoxicated. I feel no pain. Just energy, and alertness.

  I watch him, wary, waiting for an answer. He won’t tell me. I know he won’t. I can ascertain at least that much. The darkness is ebbing closer again, and with it the threat of pain. It’s back.

  You must take us someplace happy in here or you would die. Please take us somewhere that you enjoy, that makes you happy.

  I’m not taking him anywhere.

  You are stubborn. In this, our species are similar. Very well. I would take you somewhere that makes me happy. Do I have your permission?

  “No.”

  Please. You must come with me. I can’t force you. You must let me take you.

  I wonder why he cares so much. And then I think of King, and how far away I am from him and my heart aches a bit. I just want to go home.

  Take me to your home then.

  “Get out!”

  I would have taken him, maybe. But the truth is I don’t have a home. Not a real home. I welcome the darkness because I have nothing. I am nothing. This time when it descends, though, the pain comes rushing in, too, and there’s real danger rather than safety. The darkness is big and black and crushing.

  “Come with me!”

  I hear Dark Eyes shout above the tidal waves of roaring, snarling pain. Its teeth rip into the back of my skull, and bare down with a bone-cracking ferocity.

  “Here. Take my hand.”

  A hand reaches down in the darkness.

  “Take it!” he yells.

  I’m certain this is my last chance. Do I want to live? I think of Daz. My love for him. My hope for him. And I reach up.<
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  In a flash, I find myself in a cozy cottage. I feel . . . safe. I’m standing in a room near a beautiful long table made of some kind of wood I have never seen before. The surface is ebony and so shiny I want to touch it. Bright orange grains blaze through the planks like a tiger skin. The same wood frames the ceiling in big thick beams, and warming rays of sunshine glow into circular windows on one side . . . and the other. Where am I? A planet with two suns?

  You are on Thell’eon. In my mind, of course.

  Dark Eyes.

  There he is again. Sitting at the head of the table, smug.

  I am not smug. Your perceptions are not always right. And I have a name. Do you wish to know it?

  “Oh they’re not, are they?” I ask, ignoring his last question and speaking out loud. Rage oozes into me. “How about this: you’re a bastard (literally, I suspect) who has taken me from everything that I care about. Hot or cold?” The minute the words are spoken so is my energy and the weakness wants out, in the form of tears.

  He stares back at me angrily and I feel all of his pleasantry slips away. How’s that possible? Anxiety mounts. “Please, let me go?” I beg. At the same time, the scene begins to fade before my eyes. I’m slipping away. In the haze I’m barely able to make him out. He suddenly stands up at the table, the tall wood chair crashes behind him as he slams his fists down. He shouts some words that don’t translate.

  “Look at me! Look at me!” I hear in English. “Think of . . . Daz!” Startled by his mention of Daz, I do what he says. Only I really focus. Slowly, eventually, I’m light again.

  He knows about Daz. How does he know?

  You thought of this . . . Daz . . . just before you reached for my hand.

  I must do a better job protecting my thoughts from him.

  He sits down again, physically struggling to hide his frustration. Then he glares at me.

  You could at least try to save yourself. For someone who seems to care so much about what is being taken from her, you are very cavalier with your own life.