by Cheree Alsop
She ran her fingers through his hair, memorizing his scent, the day-old scruff on his cheeks, the curls of hair at the base of his neck. Her fingers brushed something and she paused.
“What’s that?”
“What?” he asked.
She drew back and gave him a curious look. “Tariq, what is that?”
At her question, his face changed. For a moment, Liora feared that a Vos had pretended to be Tariq. His features twisted into anger so extreme it made her muscles tense. His eyes became piercing, threatening slits, and his hands closed on her arms like vice grips.
“Tariq!” Liora said. She struggled to break free, but his grip tightened.
“I’ll kill you,” he growled in a voice she barely recognized.
He picked her up and threw her across the room.
Instinct took over. Liora rolled when she hit the floor. She came back to her feet. Tariq barreled into her when she rose. Liora fell backwards with the force of his momentum and kicked out to send him over her head. She rolled up to her feet again and spun in time to meet his enraged rush.
The fury that colored his gaze was like nothing she had ever seen in him before. His blue eyes were nearly white with ire, and when he attacked, it was with his full force, nothing held back, as if he wished to tear her limb from limb and leave her broken on the floor.
“Tariq!” she shouted. “What’s wrong with you?”
He didn’t answer. She blocked blow after blow, using speed to deflect a punch that would have knocked her into the wall, and spinning to avoid a kick that could have broken her ribs. She dodged a punch, kick, chop, and grapple in quick succession, conserving her energy and sidestepping just far enough to avoid a fist to her jaw that would have spun her completely around should it have landed.
Speed won over brute strength. She kept just out of Tariq’s reach, tiring him out until he could barely lift his fists. Even then, she knew if he caught her, he had the strength to squeeze the life out of her. She watched him cautiously as he leaned against the wall gasping for breath, his head lowered like a banta ox whose horns had become too heavy for its head.
Liora went with the only resort she could think of. She feinted left and when he made a lunge for her, she darted back to the right and spun, grappling his neck and squeezing tight from behind him.
Tariq clawed at her arms. She held on. He slammed her against the wall, but the attempt was weak. He fell to his knees and she continued to hold. It killed her to feel him gasping for breath. He didn’t cry out, didn’t say her name. He merely fell forward. Eventually he stopped struggling, his face red and eyes finally closed in unconsciousness.
Liora stared down at him. The claw marks on her arms from his fingernails were nothing compared to the pain she felt at choking him out that way.
She dropped to her knees next to him and ran her fingers through his dark hair. Pushing the locks aside, Liora found a wound that matched those from the Cherum blade as they inserted their microchips.
Liora looked around for anything she could use to cut the healing line open. Finding none, she attempted to pry it with her fingers.
“You’ll kill him if you remove it.”
A snarl lifted Liora’s lips when she looked at the Cherum who stood in the circle doorway. She didn’t know if the was the same Cherum who had led her to the Vos before. They looked completely identical. Given their shared thoughts, she didn’t know if individuality really mattered. One Cherum seemed the same as the next.
“What have you done to him?” she demanded.
The Cherum’s gaze was green when he replied, “We did it as a gift to you.”
Liora stared at him, barely able to keep herself from yelling. “You inserted a microchip into his brain for me? Why?”
The Cherum bowed his head in a deferential nod. “Your prowess as a warrior surpasses anything we have seen or been able to create on Basttist. As such, you deserve a companion who can match the fury, if not the skill.”
Liora couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “I killed Vos for you, so you turn my friend into one of your death slaves?”
The Cherum nodded, his expression still green with happiness, but circled with yellow as if he couldn’t understand her anger.
“You’re welcome.”
Liora reached him in two steps and pinned the Cherum to the wall by his long, skinny neck.
“What’s wrong with you?” she demanded. “He was fine the way he was! Humans are supposed to have a conscience; they’re supposed to have the sense not to get themselves killed or to go around killing without remorse!”
“He’s not human anymore,” the Cherum said, his eyes yellow with surprise.
Liora glared at him. “Tariq is still human.”
The Cherum’s gaze changed to greenish-blue. “We find your lack of gratitude disturbing.”
“I find your presumptions disturbing,” Liora replied in a shout. “How dare you play puppet master with someone I care about? You’ve seen what I can do!”
“And you’ve seen why we do what we do,” the Cherum replied, his voice level.
Liora regarded him steadily, her chest heaving and hand aching to tighten its hold on his throat. “What do you mean by that?”
“We do nothing.”
Liora was surprised by his comment. Her eyes narrowed and she growled, “Explain yourself.”
The Cherum met her gaze. “We are defenseless. Our halls were filled with Vos, yet we are not built to fight them. We are geniuses by Macrocosm standards, yet we cannot wield weapons with these hands.” He held out his fingers, showing her the lack of muscles within his white-skinned arms and hands. “We must create armies to defend ourselves. We must operate in order to survive. We harness fury to protect our walls; we destroy inhibition in order to maintain our race.” His eyes were green-blue when he said, “Damaclans do the same; humans do the same. No one is ready to lay down and die. The strong survive, so we create strength.”
Liora loosened her grip a little. Pinning the Cherum against the wall had shown her the truth of his words. He weighed nothing, skin and bones with barely enough muscle to perform light daily activities. They were a weak race, not built for defense at all. Their hope lay in piggybacking on the strength of others.
She attempted to understand. “You said they choose to come to you; their families send them.”
The Cherum nodded. “For many, the chance to be a warrior is one worth leaving their families for. Once they earn their price, they are free to go.”
Liora relaxed her grip, but couldn’t quite release him.
“How do they earn their price?”
“They kill Vos,” the Cherum replied.
Liora looked over her shoulder at Tariq. He lay motionless on the floor.
“Can you remove the chip?” she asked.
The Cherum shook his head. “Not without killing him.”
Liora took a breath in through her nose and let it out through her mouth. When she spoke again, her voice was soft enough that the Cherum had to lean forward to hear her.
“You had no right to do that to him. He didn’t do anything to you, and he is not a part of your battle with the Vos. It wasn’t his choice. You had no right.”
The Cherum’s eyes flooded through a rainbow of shades. They ended with blue, reminding Liora of the sorrow he had shown when he told her Tariq was dead.
“You lied to me,” she said.
The Cherum’s face lowered. “We were wrong to do so.”
“Why did you?” she asked, letting her hand fall from his throat. The want to fight had left of her, but she had to know why they had done the things they had.
The Cherum spread his long fingers, taking in both Liora and Tariq.
“When we found you in the pod, you were holding each other. It was obvious you cared for each other. Yet we’ve been told that a Damaclan who fights alone is a most fearsome creature indeed, and that is what we needed.”
“You needed me to clear your halls.”
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br /> The Cherum lifted one thin shoulder. “It was a test.”
Liora watched him. “A test for what?”
“We needed a leader for our army and your timing was too perfect to be a coincidence.”
Liora shook her head. “I’m not leading your army. Tariq and I are leaving and you can’t stop me.”
The Cherum’s gaze turned purple. He was amused. “Don’t you wonder why we let him come back to you instead of killing him?”
Liora didn’t want to know why. She waited in silence, standing between the Cherum and the man she loved who had tried to kill her with the rage of a savage beast. The tone with which the Cherum spoke sent chills through her; she knew there was more to their actions. A race without the ability to defend itself is a desperate one. She had already seen the lengths they would go to in order to create their army; she didn’t want to know how she figured into their equation.
“Love and fear counterbalance each other,” the Cherum said. “A Damaclan alone might clear the halls, but a Damaclan in love?” He paused and his eyes turned green. “What a fierce creature indeed. How far will you go to protect your human? How many lives will you take to save the one you love?”
Liora spoke the truth she saw in the Cherum’s gaze. “All of them.”
The Cherum bowed his head in acknowledgement to her words. “Clear Basttist of the Vos and we will remove the chip from Tariq’s brain.”
Liora held his gaze. “You said removing the chip would kill him.”
The Cherum lifted his hand. She could see the bones illuminated by the gentle light of the wall behind him. It would take very little effort to snap those fingers.
“We weren’t made to kill, Lioraday. We were made to create. With the Vos gone, there will be no limit to our abilities.”
Liora made a decision. “I will fight for you on one condition. As soon as we are done, you give me a ship that can reach the Dreyer Nebula Galaxy and I take half of the surviving army with me.”
The Cherum paused, his gaze distant for a moment. He then looked back at her and gave her a nod. “It is approved.”
He passed back through the door and it shut behind him without another word. Liora watched the wall return to normal. His answer hadn’t been a promise that he could undo what they had done to Tariq, but it was better than nothing. At least talking to the Cherum had given her a plan. Their purposes might mesh for the time being and the Cherum had given her exactly what she needed; an army to fight for Brandis.
Chapter 7
Liora touched Tariq’s back. She watched his muscles tense beneath his shirt. Instinct bade her to draw the knife at her side in case he attacked her again. She pushed the feeling away.
“You shouldn’t touch me.”
Tariq’s voice was tight like his muscles. He had his forehead pressed against the wall and his hands strained on the softly glowing surface as if he wanted to shove through it. It looked like he did everything he could to control himself.
“You’re stronger than this,” she said quietly.
Tariq shook his head. His eyes were closed tight.
“Not against this,” he said. “I can’t fight it. All I want to do is tear apart everything around me. I don’t need a reason; I just want to kill, maim, and break anything I can get my hands on.”
There were confusion and agony in his voice as though fighting against the compulsion brought physical pain.
“They said they would remove the chip as soon as we defeat the Vos,” Liora told him.
He tipped his head to one side to see her. When he opened his eyes, the light blue gaze was filled with torment.
“They also told you I was dead, remember? Why do you trust them?”
“I don’t,” Liora replied. “But we need them to get to the Dreyer Galaxy. Arriving there with an army would be handy.”
Tariq nodded. He stepped back from the wall, his hands curled into fists as he maintained careful control over his will.
“You need to stay back,” he told her.
Liora shook her head. “That’s the last thing I’m going to do.”
Tariq’s gaze was pleading when he said, “Liora, I could break you like a stick of vogum cane. You need to keep your distance.”
“You’d have to catch me first,” Liora told him. She stepped back when he advanced. She kept her tone light when she continued, “And you’d have to outfight me.”
“That’s all?” he replied.
A hint of the teasing light she loved surfaced in his gaze.
“That’s all,” she repeated. “Simple enough.”
He reached a hand out for her. She stepped inside of his grasp, kissed him swiftly on the lips, and spun out of reach again faster than he could react.
A smile touched his face. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“That’s why you love me,” she replied.
Softness brushed the edge of his jaw and his fists relaxed. He nodded. “I do.”
Liora stepped into his arms. She kept alert in case his rage took over, but it appeared that he had found a way to control his aggressive emotions, at least for the time being. Liora put a hand on his chest and looked up into his blue gaze.
“We’ll figure this out together, alright?”
Tariq looked down at her, his eyebrows pulled together and his gaze piercing through her to her soul. He brought his hands up and tentatively wrapped his arms around her. When she didn’t flinch at his touch, he held her closer.
“Alright, Liora.”
Liora leaned against his chest and closed her eyes. The sound of his heartbeat pounded beneath her ear. She remembered the absence of the familiar sound in the escape pod. It was something she never wanted to experience again.
“You’re sure you can handle a psychotic rage beast for a boyfriend?”
Liora looked up at him. “Is that any different than the boyfriend I’ve had all along?”
“Very funny,” Tariq replied with a low chuckle.
Liora was quiet for a moment before she said, “Tariq, if there’s anyone in this Macrocosm that understands bloodlust and aggression, it’s me. That’s a battle I’ve fought my entire life. There’s a reason everyone fears a Damaclan.”
Tariq let out a slow breath. “Yes, but do the Damaclan fear themselves?”
The question lingered in the air between them. The door opened before Liora could come up with an answer.
“They are ready,” the Cherum announced.
Tariq glared at him when they passed. Liora checked her weapons, glad to be in her Ventican clothing once more. The weight of the blades felt right at her thigh and her belt. She tightened the sheath around her wrist and pulled her sleeve back down. At least she wouldn’t have to use a jawbone to fight the Vos this time.
They were led along a winding hallway to the floor of the huge, domed training room. Rows up on rows of the Cherum’s army spread out before them, each holding a staff tipped by a serrated blade.
“You don’t have guns?” Liora asked.
“The Vos are simple-minded creatures. We don’t feel that guns will be necessary against our army.”
“Of course not,” Tariq muttered from Liora’s other side.
She glanced at him. He watched the warriors before them with a guarded expression. Liora felt the same way. Heading out into Basttist’s vast desert with a violent, anger-enhanced army felt like a bad idea; unfortunately, it was the only option they had at the moment.
“We will show you to the tunnels. Return when the Vos are destroyed.”
Liora didn’t like the Cherum’s presumptive tones. The Cherum hadn’t been able to rid the complex of the Vos, and now the creatures were simple-minded targets waiting to be picked off without even the need for modern weapons.
“They’ve already been informed of your leadership,” the Cherum continued. “They will follow you to their deaths.”
“That sounds promising,” Liora replied dryly.
“It is promising,” the Cherum said, missing
her sarcastic tone.
Tariq let out a single, low chuckle on her other side. Liora elbowed him. His eyes flashed with anger and her muscles tensed in anticipation of attack. Tariq looked away, his fists clenched and gaze haunted.
Liora realized that she wasn’t going out with an army of thousands and her friend at her side. Tariq was a part of the army. He was ready to follow her to his death as well. Without the ability to turn from a situation when his instincts told him it wasn’t survivable, the outcome was very possible.
Liora walked beside the Cherum to the far wall of the compound. At a single word from the being, the army fell in behind them. When they neared the wall, a massive hole appeared. It was wide enough to accommodate twenty warriors abreast, and the hallway beyond was the same. However, instead of the smooth glowing walls of the compound, the walls of the tunnel appeared rough, hewn from the yellow stone of the planet.
“Do the tunnels take us all the way to the Vos?” Tariq asked.
The Cherum motioned with his long fingers. “The Vos live within the tunnels and without. The temperatures on the surface of Basttist are too hot for the Cherum, but the Vos are able to transverse both. Be wary for attacks from above.”
Liora stepped into the tunnel with a feeling of trepidation tightening her muscles. Bars that glowed like the walls ran above them, but the light wasn’t quite enough to break the shadows beyond. Liora unsheathed her knife.
Tariq glanced at her. “Edgy?” he asked.
Liora looked over her shoulder at the rows upon rows of men and women of every race imaginable following them into the tunnel. Their footsteps were soft shushes in the fine sand that covered the bottom of the passageway. There was no talking and the impassive gazes that met her eyes seemed wrong. The silence from the warriors was unnerving.
“I’m not sure where the enemy lies,” Liora replied.
Tariq nodded in agreement. “We didn’t sign up for this.”