Cassiel Winters 1: Sky's End

by Lesley Young

  Satisfied he has had the last word, I suppose, he switches streams, jolting me. “You would begin preparing today by learning to experience the surge. Kell’an would escort you. One more thing.” He stops himself before departing. “If you sense a sift, any time, you would inform your guard. Do you understand?”

  I hesitate.

  “Do you understand?”

  I nod. He takes his leave and whispers something to Kell’an, who takes his place in my room, arm out, ready.

  It occurs to me that Or’ic may have the wrong impression about human women and sex after our symbiosis encounter. How do I clear up that misunderstanding?

  Depressed, I trail behind Kell’an, guards in tow, silent, near tears because I’m trying to find hope thinking of King, but he feels so far away from me.

  What do his features look like again? The sound of his voice? But the only clear remembrance I have is of his dauntless touch that day in the mountains. Reaching for the memory of the sensation, and fighting a swell of self-pity in the pit of my gut, takes all my concentration.

  I hear and smell the practice arena before it comes into view. Grunts. Clanging. Sweat. I inhale sharply, taking in how the room’s so large I can’t locate an end per se. A giant dome ceiling casts artificial sunlight down on hundreds of Thell’eons all practicing various types of fighting. Immediately, I’m awestruck and terrified, not only at the Thell’eon’s fighting prowess, but the intensity with which they train. Vicious, full-on physical contact. There’s no ‘practice,’ like in Lt. Lazarus’s classes. In the distance I hear the sound of gamma bursts and assume there’s a shooting range somewhere.

  Hope they are using real gamma on each other.

  Just before we reach the end of the section affording me the view, my stomach drops. There’s Friend, the other prisoner, not barely healed and ‘dirty fighting’ some Thell’eon in a circular ring made of cord and laced with tiny blades.

  Oh no! They’re finishing the kill!

  Several Thell’eons surround the ring. Trainees maybe. I fear for Friend’s safety, but something about his moves, how he delays them . . . is he holding back? My fear for him shifts into growing awareness, respect, even. I glance at Kell’an, who has slowed down, perhaps wanting to witness the show.

  Friend moves out of the way to miss a blow from the Thell’eon in the ring, and quickly steps back again, throwing him down on the ground effortlessly into a submission hold. Only instead of tapping the ground for release, the Thell’eon tries to struggle out of the chokehold. At that moment Friend makes eye contact, first with me, expressionless, and then Kell’an.

  A mean smile crosses his face. He raises his other hand, about to slam it down on the Thell’eon’s throat, killing him for certain, Do it!, when he freezes mid-movement. His whole body clenches violently, and mine responds involuntarily in sympathy. He lets out a tormented scream, as though he welcomes the pain. What are they doing to him? I find the source and my stomach turns. It’s some kind of control collar around his neck being activated by the meanest Thell’eon I have seen yet, who is watching my reaction just outside the ring. Asshole! He finally lets up, leaving Friend a tangle of sinewy flesh on the ring floor. I strain to check for signs that he’s breathing, yes he is, thank the stars. I glance over at Kell’an, who has moved on. How can he be so callous?

  “Hey!” I shout at his back, storming after him.

  “What are you doing to him? You need to st—”

  Kell’an spins around, then bends down over me just inches from my face.

  “Do not dare speak to me of the pity you just openly exhibit for that putah!” Whoa, what’s got into him? “You humans are always in a rush to rescue the weak, even when you do not know them or why they are being punished. On Thell’eon, the weak serve the women and do you know why?”

  I shake my head. His rage’s dangerous. What does Kell’an know about humans anyway?

  “Because, as you would soon discover, freedom is not entrusted to the weak.”

  I think I have heard this saying somewhere before but can’t place it.

  He leans back, wipes the spittle off his mouth, his emerald eyes ratchet down their glow, and steps back the way we were headed.

  I’m scared. Really. But I can’t not address the flaw in this thinking.

  “But, they still deserve freedom, right?” I say to his back. “Prime Or’ic said Thell’eons are fighting for all of us, to ensure our freedom.”

  Perhaps because I have asked this meekly, he doesn’t get up in my space again. He pauses, his broad, round shoulders relaxing a little.

  “Yes. The weak deserve freedom,” he rasps. “But not him,” he adds savagely. He picks up his pace, and I rush to keep up.

  I sense a window of opportunity here. “Where is he from?” I ask his back quietly.

  “I would tell you but only so you do not fall into the human trap of romanticizing his fate.” He slows, allowing me to match his stride. “He is Ire. Their home world was destroyed in one of the first fights waged against the Aeons thousands of years ago. Make no mistake, Ires are nothing but wasters who travel in small packs and live secretly on planets that are not their own when they can steal transport!”

  So they are nomads. I think of Professor Xeno, the last of his kind, wandering the galaxy searching for a planet that will take him in. I focus on the important part.

  “So Aeons destroyed his home world? Why would they do that if that is exactly what they are after?”

  Kell’an halts.

  Uh-oh.

  “I did not say the Aeons destroyed Ire’s home world. The Ires did this rather than allow the Aeons to inhabit it. They killed much of their own race in doing so, and as a result of their stubbornness and shortsightedness they are nearly extinct. Let that be a lesson to all those who fail to support us in our fight!”

  I’m shocked by his admission.

  “What? So you guys didn’t help them because they wouldn’t give you alms? Oh, so that’s how it is with you Thell’eons! And now you punish one man, for the action of his people? Don’t you think he’s been punished enough?” I’m defending Friend, but deep down, I’m very worried for ESE. We’ll never sit back and let someone else fight for us.

  “If you were not under the protection of my Prime, I would show you what punishment enough is!” Spit hits my face this time. I fight the urge to wipe it away, and my face squishes up in disgust. “There would never be enough pain for that Ire!”

  I’m about to protest, when he taps my cheek with two fingers. “Enough!” he barks. The sting takes a second or two to register.

  “Come,” he commands, and I do, wiping away his spit, because I’m stunned into submission.

  I can’t believe he just did that. No, I can’t believe he can just do that, slap me when he wants.

  I hate that man on a cellular level.

  I decide in that moment, I will not leave Friend here to serve as Kell’an’s personal punching bag. No matter what, I will help him.

  Breathe in positive energy. Breathe out negative energy.

  My resolution helps to calm me. Clenching and unclenching my fists gives me renewed purpose and just enough courage to face this whole surge experience I’m in for.

  Sweat beads on Shadon’s forehead, just inches from mine. His bright, light-blue eyes are bloodshot. Poor guy. He’s concentrating so hard, trying to surge me. It’s the audience. All four Kirs and a contingent of guards line the walls. Who could perform under this kind of pressure?

  Or’ic arrived just in time for us to get started.

  I’d already been informed how some highly evolved Kirs have the ability to pass on and control emotion in others. That’s what the surge is. I experience an undeniably kinship with young Shadon because both he and I are uniquely evolved, just in different ways. Shadon tol
d me in his quiet voice that he doesn’t create new emotions, rather amplifies the good ones that are already being experienced—for example, confidence and bravery, and diminishes the bad ones, fear and sadness. When I asked why I need surging, Kell’an interjected. He said the Kir Council thinks I can use Shadon’s emotional control to help me sense the rifts and see across them, since I’m so new at it.

  Whatever. The sooner we get to Taxata, the sooner I can free Daz.

  “You would relax your mind to me,” says Shadon quietly, patiently.

  I’ve been trying, really.

  “Okay.” After a while, more by accident, I let go of thinking about Shadon, the people in this room, what he’s trying to do. And there! A calmness, so soothing, washes over me. I want more right away and open myself up to it, reaching for it. The calmness shifts, and I savor a soft, enveloping euphoria. Serenity surges in fully and completely purifies my entire being. And yet, it’s not intense enough. I know there’s more. Why’s he holding out on me? I need more! I swim the currents of peacefulness, searching for more of it, yes, please, and a new sensation hits me like an explosion. Pleasure. Intense, raw pleasure. I take of it, until there’s resistance. What—

  A blank magnetic force attaches itself to me, sucking, pulling and demanding and yanking all the pleasure back out of me. Stop! It hurts. My very essence’s being drained dry. I fight back, but there’s nothing to grip on to for strength, I’m totally at its mercy! OW! A sharp pain, from my skull to my pelvis, tears through me. I’ve been cut in half!

  Wait, I’m on the chair, dazed.

  What the . . .? I hold my aching head with one hand, and peer through my grimace. Or’ic is standing in front of me as though he’s protecting me from something. What’s he doing there?

  Behind him, Shadon’s on the floor. His chair is overturned, and both Kell’an and Onegin are on the floor, under him, arms wrapped around him, holding him in place. Shadon has a stunned expression on his face.

  “What happened? My head hurts.”

  Oh, wait.

  Oh. No.

  “Yes, Kir Shadon’in’ton. What happened?” demands Or’ic, outraged.

  Shadon jumps up into a protective stance. The other two Kirs right themselves, watching Or’ic closely. Then it dawns on me. Shadon’s going to be punished. For my mistake.

  I stand up. “Wait! It’s not his fault. I swear. I-I don’t know what came over me.”

  “Do not listen to her,” says Shadon calmly. “I should have been prepared. She is a human female. It would never happen again, my Prime.” He adds this last bit kneeling before him. Before I can protest further, Or’ic leans forward and harshly removes one of Shadon’s weapons, a dagger with writing on it. Shadon keeps his head hung as he stands back up.

  Well, that doesn’t seem so bad as far as punishments go. Then again, glancing at Onegin and Pers’eus, you would think they had lost a loved one or something.

  “Really, it was totally my fault,” I say quietly to no one in particular.

  Or’ic turns on me quickly. He’s very angry. Unreasonably so, if you ask me.

  “Yes, I don’t doubt it was,” he hisses.

  He shifts a bit, leans in. My eyes are square with his broad pectorals and I try not to take in their expanse. He smells pleasant, like mint, no, more like chocolate. “You would keep your lust under control during the surge from now on, or we would find another outlet for it.”

  Oh.

  The word lust rolled off his tongue with the urgency of the word must, both resonating down deep in me.

  My cheeks flush, and I deeply resent him for scolding me like a 12-year-old in front of everyone, and, worse, I resent my body’s reaction.

  And I would express my outrage, if I could think of just the right thing to say. But my wits have abandoned me here on his ship.

  Instead, I follow meekly, tiny and trapped inside the tall posse of Kirs and guards. I hear something about food, and assume we’re on our way to dine. I don’t have much of an appetite actually. My nerves are shot, because the anxiety I normally feel, sharp and jagged, is dull and round.

  I stare ahead at the perfect asses of the men in front of me. I let my mind relax a little because it’s really flagging. I blink, long and slow, to ease my burning eyes. I’m exhausted. I don’t have the energy of these aliens.

  So when we reach the archway to their dining area, I’m let down. I don’t know what I expected, large comfy sofas?, but it’s nothing but an oversized room with a lot of upright, single tray tables. Apparently, eating’s not a social occasion among Thell’eon. Over on one side is a full kitchen, where a bunch of those aliens with the fascinating skin are cooking like crazy. The odors reach my nose and nothing’s familiar. Still, the savory aroma can’t be anything but meat, and my mouth waters.

  Because I’m not paying attention, I sense the déjà vu, er, rift, after Kell’an, who shouts, “Sift! Shadington, surge!”

  Before I realize what’s happening, he and every other Thell’eon within earshot whip out weapons, including Or’ic, who spins around, all guns aimed right at me.

  Holy stars! I don’t what’s scarier, having a small army of giant brutes pointing weapons at me, or having a roomful of the best-looking men I have ever seen witness a part of me that had always been utterly and total private, for a second time.

  But that doesn’t matter because a nanosecond later Shadon offers a burst of energy, which fixes me in total focus, for this new experience I’m about to have. An alternate reality . . .

  I’m surprised to see myself, more so, to see myself piggy backing a man, not that much bigger than me, but evidently super powerful. My attempt to choke him and thus prevent him from firing some bizarre gun he’s aiming at Onegin, who is badly beaten up, appears futile. My heart’s racing where I stand but I try to take in everything knowing finally, for the first time, with alarming magnitude, the importance of what I’m experiencing.

  This glimpse into an alternate universe, as the Kirs have explained and I already figured out, could hold clues for our reality. So I bite back the anxiety and concentrate on observing. Oh, but there’s carnage everywhere! Blood. Dead Thell’eon parts. I focus on the man I’m trying to choke but my eyes are drawn to the other me, so helpless. You can’t help her! Help yourself, here by focusing! This man I’m choking in the other dimension, the best way to describe him is to say he’s nondescript in every way. Mouth, not too round, not too thin. Nose not too long, not too flat. But something’s off. Ah, the skin. It’s like he’s made of silicone. And he’s expressionless, except for the eyes, which are merciless. I know because they are looking right at me.

  No. Like in this universe. Here. Now.

  HE CAN SEE ME!

  I scream, even though the déjà vu, or rather, the rift, closes. I jump back, desperate to run away, even though logically I recognize that the other dimension’s now closed to me, but I’m blocked on all sides. Frantic, I push at the arms and torsos blocking my freedom.

  Shadon grabs me, tight, and a surge of security bursts into me, followed by a sense of calm.

  I could get hooked on Shadon.

  Breathe. Okay. Good. Breathe.

  “What did you see?” asks Or’ic, standing as close as Shadon was moments ago. “Is the rift gone?”

  “Yes. I don’t . . . it was . . . awful . . .”

  “Tell us!” shouts Kell’an.

  “Blood! Blood everywhere,” I sob. “Dead, dead Thell’eons. A man. A normal man, but he wasn’t normal! Waxy!”

  “An Aeon,” says Or’ic.

  “What? Really? I was trying to stop him from killing . . . from killing . . . Onegin, but I don’t think I could!” I glance at the LV star, as does everyone. His expression’s mild surprise, at most, then indifference.

  Or’ic places both hands on my shoulders. �
�You are safe. The rift is gone.”

  “But that . . . Aeon saw me. He looked right at me!”

  The energy changes. Or’ic knits his brow.

  “What? That’s bad, right? Of course it’s bad!”

  He grabs my face with both hands. “You would not fear. We would protect you always. You are safe with us. Always.”

  But it’s Shadon who gives me the calm I need.

  After a moment, shaking all over, I ask, “How is it he could see me?”

  “He did not,” says Or’ic with an edge I have not heard in him yet. “It is your imagination. You must take control of yourself.” He says this last bit disgusted, his dark eyes appraising and finding me coming up short, which shuts me up.

  But, I swear, that Aeon looked right at me.

  Chapter 17

  Shh. What was that? I rise up quickly. One of the guards at my door glances over. No. Nothing.

  I lie back down. Okay. Just relax. Stop worrying. You need to sleep!

  I think about how, over the past three days, I’ve spent most of my time worrying. It’s a sort of generalized worry. You know, will I die?, when?, and how? Of course, it gets pushed aside for more immediate priorities, like watching and listening for any lurking Thell’eon set on doing nebula knows what with me. My daily outings consist of being escorted for food and taking private baths (well, technically, there are usually a few soldiers bathing far away in one of the pools but I can’t see anything). Thell’eons do have a magnificent bathing area. It’s a regular vacation!

  It’s almost unbearable, the worry and waiting. I assume we are on our way to Taxata.

  We better be!

  Just calm down.

  None of the Kirs will tell me how long until we reach Taxata, and I have not seen Or’ic since the rift in the mess. There’s been no more surging—I suppose they’re satisfied after how Shadon worked with me. There’s just been a lot of mindless waiting.