by Lesley Young
I ram right into another Thell’eon, who grabs me and spins me around, pushing me right back to Or’ic, who is raging at me with his eyes.
And that’s when I really lose it. “You have no right!” I scream as loud as I can. Someone has locked my arms in place, and I press into him in order to kick violently at the others until they hold my legs in place. But I refuse to let up. I won’t let them do this. I would rather they cut off my arm.
“No!” I scream over and over.
Shadon’s coming toward me and I know what’s about to happen. Anyone. Please. Make them stop!
I hold out as long as can and it appears to be working.
I’m stronger than all of you bastards! You will all suffer for eternity!
I keep screaming at the top of my lungs, and I think in one moment that Or’ic might knock me unconscious, but then Seth comes forward.
No! No! No!
A sharp pinch of an endospray and . . .
There’s a searing sensation, behind my right ear, down my neck. I recognize the pain, but I don’t feel it. Not really. Time passes. Maybe. It’s meaningless. I dream or hallucinate dark, empty dreams. A forest at night. Caught in a raging snowstorm. When I wake momentarily, I feel disembodied. I’m disconnected from anything, everything. Good. More darkness, more nothingness. A flash of silver. A violent rainstorm. Feather-like reeds tickle my skin. The smell of bread amid damp moss tempts me but there’s nothing I can do about it. Can’t move. Don’t care. Endless expanse of space. Finally, peace.
Until . . . voices that I know I loathe cajole me. They nudge at me and even shout.
Angry. Frustrated. I retreat deeper to get away. To protect myself. Shivering, naked, I run deeper into the forest.
Is someone else here? There’s pressure inside my head. I should panic but I don’t. The parameters are set. No one can catch me in here. Those are the rules. I set them. The farther I go into the dense woods the safer I am. I know this. Soon I must squeeze my body between giant trunks that scrape my skin. I’m frozen to the bone. Motionless. Grateful for the grim safety, I huddle away from the figure on the perimeter.
Safe. Safe. Safe.
Delicious aromas beckon me out. My stomach clenches in a tight knot. I’m about to step forward when I remember it’s a trap. Stay where you are. More time passes. I’m dizzy with hunger. I let it fill me until that is all I am, waiting for peace to come and rescue me again.
An awful sound wakes me from my safety. I know that sound. A ship’s alarm.
Aeon!
Here. Near me!
I’m paralyzed in fear. Help me!
Something warm lightly touches my cheek, oh, and I know all at once it’s no trick and that it’s not dangerous. I let it caress my cheek. Rapid, short breaths warm my cheek. The touch is tender and kind. It wants to help me. I hear a deep voice. One I don’t recognize at all. The words don’t make sense, but the sense of comfort, of hope, is too irresistible.
My eyes open against my will. A dark figure crouching near . . . no, not him!
Wait, no, it’s not him.
It’s . . . LOR! Badly beaten up.
I’m conscious. In sickbay. On the Thell’eon warship. The alarm’s going. We’re alone. Somehow Lor has managed to get over to my downcore despite what appear to be horrendous injuries.
He watches me with concern, huddled over, maybe trying to hide from guards.
“The Kirs?” I ask, panicked.
“Gone”—he motions toward the exit—“to alarm.”
His kind, exotic eyes reach deep into me and bring me fully into this reality with their human-like sympathy.
I can’t help but share my sorrow because he offered to receive it.
He says nothing for the brief moments while I cry silently. But he strokes away my tears, giving me strength by not showing me pity.
“Give up,” he whispers in his deep voice, cutting me quick and deep, pointing at me.
It occurs to me, now that he finally speaks a complete sentence, that my translator’s not converting his words from Ire. He’s speaking in what little Thell’eon he knows.
“No point,” I whisper, only now admitting the truth. “Look what they did to me.” I sob, motioning at the pain behind my ear.
I don’t even want to see it. Ever.
“Outside. Outside.”
I inhale sharply, chastened by the simple truth he speaks. How pitiable I am. He has been damaged by them far worse.
They only marked me.
They didn’t change me.
How could I let them get the better of me? How could I give up like that when Daz’s life’s at stake?
Lor stares at me. “We escape. Promise!” he whispers, pointing his finger at me again.
Oh. So he did understand my plan.
I imagine he took quite the beating since the entire left side of his mouth is still puffy, despite RISH. I’m too tired to contemplate escape. But I did promise him we would get away from here. Why did I do that?
He has it so much worse than me.
I’m angry at myself. Angry at him for my obligation.
“Why are you here?” I whisper. “Why do they keep you alive?”
He pauses. “Kir Kell’an.”
Yes. Kell’an’s revenge.
“Over a woman?” I whisper.
Lor’s eyes flash wide.
“Lucky guess,” I say. He doesn’t understand that expression. So I ask, “What happened?”
“Human. Like you.”
“Escape from Thell’eon,” continues Lor, pointing to himself. “Children,” he adds.
Wow. No wonder Kell’an is pissed.
“Killed.” He shakes his head, sucking air between his teeth rapidly. “Aeon.”
I’m astounded. Speechless. Lor makes a shh motion with his finger. He checks for something, or someone, over my shoulder and my stomach drops. No. I’m not ready yet!
Glancing back at me, eyebrows drawn taut with expectation, he hisses, “Promise!!” referring to our escape plan, then darts back to his downcore.
He doesn’t seem so feeble. I wonder if he fakes the extent of his injuries in order for the reprieve in sickbay. I would.
Oh. The alarm has shut off. One of those bastards must have encountered a rift without me. Hope lots of them are dead.
The idea of an Aeon passing through terrifies me in a remote way, certainly not enough to get out of downcore—
Shit! I sense someone beside me. I remain very still on my side. Of course it’s one of the Kir. Who else could approach so silently? Whoever it is, he pauses, leaning over to check on me. I keep my eyes closed and try not to move. I don’t want him to know I’m back.
A deep sigh.
Or’ic. I can’t believe I recognize him by sigh alone. I sink back as he leans onto the downcore.
“We . . . pushed you,” he says quietly.
Crap, he does know I’m awake.
“We would understand you better,” he adds, almost whispering. “We would know where you are strong and where you are fragile.”
What in the Jupiter is he talking about?
“We would understand the human. And to begin, you would choose from now on.”
Choose? Choose what?
Despite my ardent desire to never move from this downcore, a propensity to survive and an incredible need to eat something gets the better of me, and I roll over and sit up.
He leans back off, giving me space. I sigh because he’s smiling in my peripheral vision. I don’t want to look at him directly. I can’t believe how hungry I am. How long was I out? Seth’s at my side scanning me.
“What do you mean I get to choose?” I ask quietly, staring at Lor’s large bare feet across the room.
“You agreed to work with us for the sake of your brother. My Kirs, we mistook your cooperation for consent.”
“You mean you think you own me!”
We glare at each other. But, but his posture is, oh, relaxed. And I’m deeply unsettled when he looks away first. He folds his arms awkwardly across his chest, muscles squished out, and then uncrosses them.
“You would understand us,” he beseeches me, hands out. He places them on the downcore, searching the room, until he spots what he’s looking for. He returns with a stool and sits on it, making him eye level with me. A first. “Our beliefs,” he starts and stops. I’ve never seen him this . . . uncertain. “Kirs spend a lifetime training and fighting Aeon. We strive to achieve a perfect Horde, knowing the likelihood is incredibly small. And still we prevail. To get the chance to have, to fight with a sift,” he corrects himself, “with you, is . . . sacred. Once given, it is understood to be a right that is earned.”
“So you think I was, what, given to you?”
He rolls his eyes, frustrated. Ah, that’s more familiar. When he focuses back on me, his eyes are different. Earnest, I think.
“Think of how you ‘fell’ into our path. ESE sent you to our ship! You! When you took my beacon portal, then I knew for certain. It was our destiny to have a sift. You belong to us!”
His vehemence scares me more than the simple deduction. Those things all happened, but not so that I could be his sift. Not even so I could help ESE get the sift (isn’t that ironic?). But so that I could save Daz! I’m certain of this. Being their sift is not my destiny. And even if I believed in that crap, I would never belong to them. Or anyone.
“I’m a human being, Or’ic!”
“I know, I know,” he says, touching my hand with his.
I pull away. I don’t like they way he’s looking at me. Not at all. He doesn’t understand that I wasn’t speaking literally. I meant to say that I’m not an object. But he continues, oblivious to the real problem.
“This is why we would understand you. Why you would choose.”
I can do nothing but shake my head. What’s there to say? Why can’t he see that I would never choose to stay with them, that my only need is to be free of them?
“Rest. Rest for now,” he says briskly, observing the food being laid out before me. “We are at the Candidacy. They have delayed it for us. You would choose to participate, or not.”
“Wait, what?”
Does he mean we can go save Daz without the Candidacy if I want? “What about my brother?”
He stares back at me, briefly, as though to say it is up to me whether we rescue him or not. Pers’eus arrives for his shift, and his expression at my revived state is one of open pleasure.
“Some choice,” I shout after Or’ic’s departing back.
A little while later, Seth informs me I was out of it for more than two days.
Chapter 23
We’re waiting in our Manar, the ship that transported our Horde and all of its staff to the docking station of the Thell’eon intergalactic arena. I got a glimpse of the complex when Or’ic let me interface with the ship controls. From the outside, it looks like a tiny ancient hourglass. Inside, Or’ic tells me there are multiple arenas with accommodations for the attendees.
“People watch the games?”
“They are not games,” hisses Kell’an. When he recovers from the outrage, he adds, “Thell’eons, including women, attend Candidacies. It is a popular event in our society.”
Onegin’s magnificently sexy face lights up. “Imagine the class of female we would get now!”
What does he mean by that? I look at Pers’eus, who usually answers these kinds of queries, but he and Kell’an seem absorbed in thought.
“Candidacies also represent a time of breeding,” pipes in Or’ic from his spot near the ship’s exit.
Oh. They are going to get laid after this.
Or’ic’s watching me so I guard my expression.
“After Kirs are ranked, the top classes of women each choose one to breed with,” adds Kell’an.
“The women get to choose?” I ask, unable to keep my big gob shut. I didn’t think Kell’an was being “literal” about the women choosing to mate after our awkward encounter. For some reason, I pictured them, I don’t know, pulling numbers or something, and the whole event taking place tacitly in like five minutes in a dark room or something. No wonder they’re always peacocking about in front of me. Now I picture them lining up for the women, who peruse the offerings like pieces of fabric.
Wait, does this mean Or’ic will be chosen?
Whatever! Who cares!
“What do you mean? Is there any other way?” asks Onegin, clearly intrigued by my question about women choosing partners.
Oh, this is awkward.
Looking around for help, I gather Kell’an knows better. He raises his eyebrow at me as if to say, Well? Maybe Or’ic knows better, too. Pers’eus appears curious. Shadon’s a whiter shade of pale. I think he’s nervous about the Candidacy.
“No. Nope. Not at all,” I add, glancing down at my outfit. No need for Onegin to be wise to the ways of human mating. I can just imagine his idea of ‘courting.’
I decide that I’m tense rather than nervous about this last hurdle before Taxata. I’ve really pulled it together after my little holiday. No more letting them get the better of me. I just need to focus on getting out of here. And I will.
So I ignore my nerves. If there’s one thing I can do well, it’s pilot. That being said, I do feel a tad silly in this super-glamorous outfit. It’s black, like the Kirs, with silver patterns and cording. Only mine has a touch of a gold-like metal layered into the silver. Thank the celestial makers the Kirs finally gave me pants. OKAY, so they’re tight, like the men’s, but who cares, they’re pants! I’m not robed in weapons, since I haven’t earned any. But my top, if you could call it that, sports corded metallic ropes in layers providing the appearance of weapons. Clever, though it’s still nowhere near mimicking a Kir’s arsenal.
My branding, which still burns like an SOB, is on full display. A Cinarian wove the metallic ribbons into my hair and swept it over to one side to make my branding visible.
It was that, or shave my head. After a brief tousle, in which Or’ic stepped in and emphasized I could choose, I opted for the former. I keep trying to explain that’s not, in fact, what it means to give someone a choice, but he ignores me.
He acts differently around me now, since I recovered. They all do. They give me more space, a little more breathing room, mostly by ignoring me. Whatever. I’ll take it.
While we were waiting outside the Manar to leave for the space arena, Or’ic appeared carrying a box. The other Kirs stood nearby rather awkwardly.
“What’s this?” I asked, nervous as he stood before me. I no longer cower in the shadow of his tall might, rather, I tense up, waiting for the unpredictable. And this time, it was the proud look on his face.
“A gift. For our sift.”
I had to purse my lips to keep from shouting, “I’m not your sift!”
Idiots! But I needed to go along with this, this, truce, until I can get away from them.
Since I couldn’t reject the item until I opened it, I stepped forward and lifted the lid of the intricate organic box. The sight was incredible. Cuffs. Beautiful wide ones like those I’ve seen the Kirs wearing, made of some shiny burnished coppery metal, but so light, and designed with intricate cording that matched my outfit and, exasperatingly, the brand behind my ear. Clearly it had all been well planned.
I started to mumble something about how I can’t accept these when he told me they are made of the something called Linor.
“It is the strongest material in our universe. Not even Aeons weapons can penetrate it.”
Wow. Refus
ing something that could help protect me would have been stupid, right? Apparently I’m vulnerable to distraction by shiny objects because before I knew it, he was putting them on me and I’m still not sure how to get them off. I moved my arms around, admiring how the Linor caught the light. When I glanced back up, the Kirs were back to business, directing and loading crap on to the ship.
Only Or’ic stood waiting.
“You like them?”
I was loathe to admit it but I nodded. The look on his face in that moment made me wish I hadn’t accepted them. I can’t explain it, but suddenly I hated this game.
I hate all of it.
Oh, the waiting is interminable! Vibrations rock the ship, which Shadon confirmed, tight-lipped, is indeed caused by the stomping crowds outside.
Apparently, once we are given the go-ahead, we’re to emerge from the shuttle into the ceremonial bay, where, I’m told, everyone’s waiting to greet Hordes and take in the new sift. That would be me.
I’m about to ask, ‘How much longer?’ again, but a nasty glance from Kell’an quiets me. At least he didn’t bark at me. I’m over our little incident. Read, I’m totally pretending it didn’t happen.
I tug at my top’s low neckline, hoping it’ll miraculous expand to cover more of my boobs, but I only succeed in jiggling them around.
“Do you need assistance?”
I glance at Onegin sitting beside me. He’s looking down at my chest practically drooling.
“Bite me,” I say, giving him my fake smile but he’s not looking at my face. Since he beat the crap out of me, my fear of Onegin’s now only about an eight.
Uh-oh. I think he’s taken me literally! I’m all set to give him a much clearer rejection, when Or’ic shouts at us, “This is precisely the kind of discord I warned against!”
Earlier, Or’ic informed me how as a Horde we must appear united. Otherwise we risk another Prime challenging Or’ic for me. Yeah. Like that isn’t unsettling, even without the part he added, how another Prime might not treat me so well, since he’s been such a charmer. Still, there’s an ancient saying from Earth; better the enemy you know . . .