Cassiel Winters 1: Sky's End

by Lesley Young

  “Put me dow—” I don’t get to finish because Onegin’s already nearly there. His poor eyes must be painful. He places me gently on my downcore. I’m unsettled by his kind behavior. I wonder whether it has anything to do with his ‘indebtedness.’ I don’t say anything, waiting for him to leave. Slack jawed, I watch him haul a downcore into my space.

  “What— NO!” I shout.

  “These are my orders,” says Or’ic, stepping around the partition. “At least one Kir would be by your side always in addition to the guards. We can’t be certain when you would encounter a rift. Or when an Aeon may come for you. For now, it is for your safety.”

  “But not him! He practically pushed me into the last rift!”

  Onegin’s very angry, but stares straight ahead, refusing to make eye contact.

  “You can trust each of my Kirs to act toward you precisely the same way you act toward them,” says Or’ic. “That is how our people interact. Have you not figured that out yet?” he adds, smiling this new smirk of his.

  I lie back down on the downcore pretending to ignore him. Fatigue instantly sets in. I’m buzzing from the traumatic events, and now I have a beautiful bezerker sleeping beside me. But when I think of the Aeon, or how one might be coming for me, I’m glad for Onegin being near. It lets me sleep. And I’m exhausted like never before.

  Chapter 20

  I’m not myself. And why would I be, given recent events? Even so, I’m having a hard time bouncing back. If I were on ESE station, I’d be given leave and trauma counseling. Here, I’m expected to sleep less, overeat, and, honestly, how much can a girl stuff back and complain never?

  I’m trying to play along, be the cooperative hostage/slash/sift, but the part of me that interacts with the universe in which I live is numb. The only thing that propels me out of downcore each morning is the prospect of flying again.

  For want of something else to do, I lie around. A lot. The Kirs have switched out a few times, but I’ve barely paid attention. Pers’eus. Onegin. Shadon. Whoever. There are three days until we arrive at the Candidacy (including today), which should make me feel something, anger, outrage, but, nope, nothing.

  Let’s do the math again: Since I was knocked out for one whole day with the concussion, plus the day in sickbay, I count a total of six days since they abducted me from ESE. Feels like a lifetime, I note absently. It will be close to nine days before we get to the Candidacy. Three days there, then another two at top speed back to Taxata (a rough calculation), a total of two weeks until I get where I need to be. Two weeks is nothing, right?

  I close my eyes and play the cloud game with King on the mountain. When I’m not shutting out the world, in effect trying to sleep, I’m on guard against the signs of déjà vu, er, sifting, petrified of when the next one will come. What if I run across the Aeon again? He’s really mad. He said my name, like, like, he knew it. What if there are others as strong as him? Pers’eus insists most other Aeon are fair matches to Thell’eon, but still.

  Since I’ve never encountered a rift while trying to sleep, I sleep a lot. King. Mountain air. His arm draped around my shoulders, looking at me the way only he does. On top of me again, looking down at me, tormented.

  I ache for him, for home, like nothing imaginable. I press my hand against my mouth, to help me rein in the sense of loss. Close your eyes. Pretend. Pretend.

  A thud. Feet pounding earth. Memories of this occurring before. Am I experiencing a rift? Wait. Where am I? I try to jump up, but King’s acting weird. He’s preventing me from getting up. I shout at him to let me go, but he won’t. His eyes change, then his nose, then his facial structure.

  Before me is the Aeon! I can’t move. He has stilled me.

  Slowly, he puts his hands around my neck and starts to choke me. I can’t lift a finger to stop him.

  He laughs. “I am coming for you, human.”

  Terror ricochets in my mind. He’s HERE! I emerge from . . . wait, what was that? . . . only to realize someone really is holding me down. Onegin. Standing over me, about a foot from my face, his big mitts pressing me into the downcore.

  “Wake up!” he shouts.

  I pause for a moment. Was that just a dream? That was like no dream I’ve ever had. I’m shaking all over. Literally. “Onegin. It-it was here. It came for me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Aeon. He-he was here!”

  I sense someone else nearby, behind me.

  “Did you sift?” Or’ic is in the room, holding a weapon. The guards are on alert. Kell’an is here now.

  “No, but—” I’m hysterical, shaking all over, crying without tears. Sitting up, I wrap my arms around my knees to contain myself. “I don’t know. He was here.”

  The Kirs give each other a look.

  “But, but, it was real! He was King. AGAIN. Or he pretended to be. He choked me, but you see, I think it was a game to him. And then he said ‘I am coming for you, human.’ He said he’s coming for me. He was here! And there was nothing, nothing I could do!”

  They don’t get it. Or’ic’s staring at me confused. Onegin’s holding my shoulders, his giant, hauntingly beautiful face supersized, comical, so close up.

  “It was not real. You would not let fear take over,” says Or’ic gruffly.

  I beg Onegin, my new ally, with my eyes. “You believe me, right?”

  Onegin says nothing. He rubs his forehead, totally baffled.

  I’m shaking badly.

  “Breathe!” says Or’ic loudly from the foot of the downcore. “Focus on breathing.”

  I try to take a few deep breaths. Hmm, better. Do it again. All at once I’m so exhausted. Shadon must be close. Yes, there he is entering the room, sleepy-eyed. What took him so long? I collapse fully into Or’ic’s hold. He rests my head back down.

  It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. None of this is real.

  Chapter 21

  I pry open an eyelid. Onegin’s fucking killing me. Thanks to his restlessness after my ‘dream,’ I slept horrible. He was in and out of his downcore. Pacing. Mumbling to himself. I guess that’s how mad men sleep.

  Come on, be positive. You get to fly today.

  Nope. No nerves. No excitement. Nothing.

  I head to the privy and put on the one outfit that’s somewhat modest, a shirt that sits just above my navel and a long skirt with slits that I keep meaning to sew shut. Onegin seems especially agitated when I emerge. He tells my new aide to hurry through the door. When we leave my space, he grabs my arm, hard, dragging me with him.

  “Ouch! Onegin, you’re hurting me. I can walk myself!”

  He’s mumbling something about it being the right thing, his duty. What the fuck? I let him manhandle me because I need to pay attention to the route to the hangar bay.

  I smell the man sweat, hear the sounds of combat, and my stomach flips. I don’t want to pass by the arena, let alone witness Lor being abused. I try to stare straight ahead, but I can’t because Onegin’s dragging me right into the arena.

  That’s when alarm bells start going off.

  “Onegin! What are you doing? Let me go!”

  Dozens of Thell’eons are already practicing in those barbed razor rings and in incredibly intricate obstacle courses. Some are sprinting, others wrestling. A few take notice, since at this point I’m shouting wildly at Onegin.

  I look around desperate for another Kir.

  “Prime Or’ic!” I yell, relieved when I spot him fighting with Kell’an. They pause to take in the commotion. They’re breathing heavy and drenched in sweat. The weapons they’re using, whips that fire things, settle on the ground near their feet like pet snakes.

  I expect Or’ic to be alarmed that Onegin has brought me here. I relax, confident that he will reprimand Onegin like he usually does. Bu
t, after a brief, blank stare, he turns back to spar with Kell’an again. My heart sinks. Onegin, not pausing once to check with his Prime, is hauling me toward an empty ring.

  Holy stars!

  Thell’eons spread apart to let him pass. Some keep watching instead of going back to their fighting.

  I’m in real trouble. Yup. No doubt about it.

  What can I say to stop him? Do something! My brain’s screaming this, but my mind’s coming up empty.

  Onegin jumps up on the ledge, hauls me up with one arm, and tosses me easily over the barbed razors, like a bloody ball. I land hard on all fours.

  I’m in a ring. In a ring.

  Oh, this is real bad.

  “Fight!” shouts Onegin, who’s stalking me in rapid half-circles. I lean back on my ankles, crouched. I can’t believe this is happening. Why’s he doing this? Now, now I regret saving his stupid dumb-ass life.

  I remember the look in his eyes as he watched that Aeon shake the shit out of me, frozen in time, helpless to help me. And last night, after my nightmare, staring down on me, angst-ridden, confused.

  But . . . why would he want to hurt me? Is he ashamed that I saved him? Is this punishment?

  No. Or’ic said he’s indebted. He was mumbling something about duty.

  Holy stars. He wants to show me to how fight.

  “Onegin! I already know how to fight!” I shout at him, deciding I can reason my way out of this.

  But the minute I’m standing, he blinds me with a hard slap to the face. I stumble backward.

  Fuck!

  I can’t believe he just hit me!

  My ears are ringing and my cheek is on fire. And yet, here he is, coming at me, again.

  Crazy motherfucker!

  I try to block his next openhanded smack with my forearm but am unsuccessful. He makes contact with my right eye. He may as well have stabbed a knife into it.

  I fall backward and land on my butt, hard. A spasm runs through my neck, still sore from Aeon whiplash. The familiar sense of rage I recognize as a self-preservation mechanism bursts through me. I can’t believe he’s beating me up! Worse, I can’t see very well out of my eye. Has he blinded me?

  He’s bounding around in tight circles, over and over. He goes for me again in one single leap, straddles me, leans over and shouts, “Get up! Get up! Get up!”

  I glance around, expecting the Thell’eons watching to be laughing at me or goading Onegin on like the alphas do at H2H on ESE. But they’re simply observing.

  Maybe if I show him I have some training he will leave me alone. I take a deep breath and get up slowly trying to buy myself time.

  The minute I straighten up, he takes a wide swing with his right again. I grab his arm at the wrist and shoulder, planning to limit his movement and then knock him off balance with my knee. Anxiety’s coursing through me, distracting me. I still feel out of it.

  Exhausted.

  Before I get chance to follow through, he anticipates my move and prevents me from getting behind him enough to make it work. Instead, while holding on to my arm, he swings around with his free hand and slams my throat. The pain is phenomenal. I think he forgot I was nearly choked to death yesterday.

  I drop to the ground on my hands and knees, gagging, my one good eye about to pop out of its socket.

  Nope. Just doesn’t care. I don’t even flinch (I think) when he picks me up by my waist and props me on two feet.

  Don’t think about the pain. Get away!

  I spin around not caring that he’s about to smack me again. I focus on one spot alone. I bring my knee up into his groin. He leans back, though not quite in time. I get some contact, duck to miss his hand, scoot right under and past him.

  Fuck this!

  I scramble out of the barbed ropes, frantic, cutting my arm bad in the process, and sort of fall out of the ring.

  Why are they allowing this? I’m a sifter! I get up, thinking it’ll be over, but Onegin’s already leaping effortlessly over the ropes, absolutely ballistic, probably because I’m getting away.

  I take off like a stealth dart. I’m not sticking around to be beaten to a pulp.

  A roar from Onegin, hot in pursuit, rings in my ears.

  Holy shit!

  Acid burns up my throat. I run past Thell’eons, who have now stopped what they’re doing to watch. I need to make a sharp right to get to the exit, and then he’ll never catch me. I know I can run faster, based on the mess incident, even if it’ll be in circles on this ship.

  But when I get to the edge, I realize that the Thell’eons have grouped together to block my way. They’re just standing there.

  “Move!” I scream, almost ramming right into them. But they hold their ground. One pushes me backward. I stare for a moment in shock. He’s not cruel. Not at all. In fact, he motions with his head, encouragement I think, that I should face Onegin.

  Stunned, I dart left, rounding three ladder-like obstacles. I glance back.

  Why’s Onegin slowing down? The stunning LV star, barefoot in nothing but the loose pants they all sleep in, is striding toward me. Determined. His hands are in fists. When I face forward, I understand why.

  Another blockade of Thell’eons.

  What’s going on? Why are they hemming me in?

  I stop, trapped and panting, searching around desperately for another exit.

  I spot Lor.

  The exotic man’s fresh-faced, clearly healed from his latest RISH, standing in a ring with his collar on, watching me keenly. What? No sympathy now? His keeper stands below him, equally consumed by the commotion.

  Onegin’s closing in. Shoulders high, arms flexed, he punches one hand over and over. The sound I’ll soon hear my face make.

  “This isn’t fair!” I scream at him.

  He stops, pulls up to his full, terrifying height, legs spread wide. “Fair?” he shouts. He laughs meanly. Then he focuses on me.

  A moment passes. Then another. The tension of waiting for him to attack’s draining what energy I have left.

  “You see,” he shouts, his arms gesturing to my situation. I take two steps back, but a Thell’eon pushes me forward. “You can not run forever!”

  He’s coming for me again. Exhaustion overwhelms me. I prepare to protect myself but my heart really isn’t in it. I want to just curl up into a ball and— Whumpf! He kicks the air right out of my gut with both his feet, having launched from a great distance.

  I never stood a chance. As I sail backward, I kind of let my arms flop open wide. When I hit the ground, my head cracking against it, I think, thank the stars! It’s over and I had enough sense not to bite my tongue again. He won’t beat up an unconscious person.

  Would he?

  As I ask myself this question, it occurs to me that I’m not unconscious. Fuck! But I couldn’t move if I wanted to. I’m done. Damaged. Maybe permanently. I worry RISH won’t heal all the damage.

  I sense a shadow looming, despite my eyes being closed tight. Go away. Make it stop.

  “Stand up!” shouts Onegin, “Get up and FIGHT!” He grabs my arms, trying to lift me. But I remain limp. Why’s no one intervening? He’s going to kill me, for Pete’s sake.

  Despite my better judgment, my eyes open. Yup. Onegin’s standing over me. Only he’s shaking his head at me. Like he’s disgusted, like that first time we met, and he threw the drink across the room.

  I have to turn away slightly, and I spot Lor in the distance, standing in his ring looking at me with something that stills me.

  He’s disappointed. In me.

  A flash of red blinds me for a split second.

  Disappointed. Disappointed.

  DISAPPOINTED. How everyone feels toward me. Countless ESE cadets when they are stuck with me at the Academy. Lt. Lazarus. Like th
e Kirs when they first met me. Disappointed.

  Some kind of energy pours into me from what source I know not, only that I’m DONE.

  For the first time in my life, my body acts without my mind.

  Impulsively, I reach behind me grasping the ankles of a Thell’eon behind my head. Using them as leverage, I curl up quicker and smoother than I could’ve ever imagined and kick Onegin, who’s rubbing his face in contempt, right in the chin.

  Nothing can or will stop me. I will fight until he’s finished or I die. Either way, doesn’t matter. I propel myself up to standing with my arms, following him as he falls backward, stunned by my lucky, totally unexpected hit. I land on him, half straddling him, one knee on his chest. I hold on and deliver a punch to his face. I put all my body into it for maximum impact. And I do it again and again and again. And again and again.

  I register that my fist hurts real bad every time I hit Onegin. But the satisfaction of hammering his flesh is all I care about. My next strike’s stopped short. I balance there, in his palm, mid-punch, thinking I’ll continue with my left. But he grasps that one too. I struggle to free my fists, screaming rage, now both tightly held in his giant hands when I realize he speaking to me. What?

  “Good. Good. You would stop now.”

  Huh? A moment passes. I will my body to stop struggling against his.

  Is it . . . over? When my tunnel vision passes, I glance around, still straddling Onegin, dazed.

  Thell’eon are dispersing. It is over. Ongein sits up, pushing me off of him. He doesn’t look too worse for wear. My arm, however, is bleeding profusely and my eye’s nearly swollen shut, but, strangely enough, only hurts if I try to move it. Mostly my hand hurts. Is it broken? I can’t straighten it out for the pain.

  Onegin helps me to standing position as he gets up. I look around, still dazed. Lor’s still staring at me.

  I had forgotten about him. He’s in the same spot. His eyes say something to me, though his face is expressionless. He gives me the briefest of nods, before he turns away ready for another day of beating.