To Catch A Warrior [Unearthly World Book 5]

by C. L. Scholey

  “Don’t do this.”

  Titus was surprised when he was grabbed by his upper arm and spun around. Cy looked furious. He also looked worried and desperate.

  “Cy will you relax? I’ll be back before you know it. So don’t get too comfortable in my chair.”

  “I have heard the rumors about this planet and know that the shining bursts mean the planet within will be gone, soon. I am going to make you a vow.” Intensity radiated from Cy.

  Titus stiffened. “No, Cy, don’t do it.”

  His features set, Titus knew there would be no stopping his warrior. “If you are killed looking for her…”

  “No, Cy.”

  “I will find her.”

  “Don’t do this, my friend.”

  “I will kill her.”

  It was said—it was done.

  “None of what’s happened has been her fault. Your anger is misdirected. Would you be able to look into the eyes of a terrified, tiny human female and take her life?” Titus asked.

  “Let’s hope we never have to find out,” Cy muttered. “She’s not worth your life.”

  “Then I will make you this vow. I will return. If I don’t, you better make certain you see my lifeless body before you take action. What I do, I do of my own free will. We are honorable warriors. What you said was done in desperation. I love you, too. I’m a warrior. Don’t stain my honor by killing something so defenseless in my name.”

  “Damn you, Titus.”

  Titus smiled. “Have you heard of the cyron beast they nicknamed Bertha? She’s a real bitch.”

  Cy nodded. “Fine. I won’t stain your honor. The cyron will be history.”

  “And the female?”

  “I’ll give her to a bangor. I’m certain they’ll be happy together.”

  “You are evil. Poor bangor bastard.”

  Titus was relieved when Cy grinned. Cy was a good warrior. He was a hard warrior. His father was killed in front of him when he was twelve. A cyron, deranged and dragging a leg, broke through a barrier at a place of learning over two hundred years prior when three young males were being dropped off. It was late and most males were already inside. The cyron killed three warriors who were protecting their sons until two female Zargonnii, furious and fighting for their children, killed the beast. Cy came to stay with Titus and his father. They were best friends before. They still were. But Cy had changed that day. He was angry and he stayed angry. Titus was the only warrior he let close. And Titus knew females on their planet avoided Cy during the Holiday. Cy dominated to the extreme.

  Placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder and turning Cy to walk with him, the warriors made their way to a shuttle. If Titus failed, he knew Cy would make an excellent leader. He was rough but not with the warriors. Deep down Titus wondered if Cy was angry with females. His mother was the only female of the three who didn’t come to her son’s aid. Titus wondered if Cy’s mother was dead. It was rare for a Zargonnii female not to keep watch of her son or sons from a distance. It had been a mystery for two hundred years.

  “So,” Cy said and shuffled his feet. “Will you bring me back a present?”

  Titus laughed. Whenever his father left on mercenary business, he would bring something back for Titus and Cy—years ago when they were children. Titus’s father had been dead for over a hundred years.

  “Only if you behave while I’m away.”

  “You’re all I have.”

  Bonds between warriors ran deep. Zargonnii females spoke another language and stayed away from males unless it was to Holiday and conceive. The friends male warriors made while young lasted their lifetime. Introducing human females to male Zargonnii had an impact. The warriors were over protective of the tiny females. Their male bonds were strong but not nearly as strong as a mate’s. The Zargonnii way of life was changing. Titus wanted a human female. Not Bertha. He was a warrior who dominated during the Holiday and Bertha was too skittish—and mouthy. Waiting two long years between each two-week Holiday was frustrating.

  Titus took as many females as he could and still it wasn’t enough for his sexual appetite. Word of his prowess had spread. Female Zargonnii were wary of him even though the Zargonnii females knew his seed produced many coveted daughters. Titus was sick and tired of never getting to hold a daughter. Human females thought he was powerful, but they weren’t afraid of him, at least not those he knew. A human female would give him a daughter he could see and hold, not catch rare glimpses of through the thick planet foliage.

  The first time Titus came upon a daughter he actually saw it was during a Holiday many years prior. It was her first mating. Titus immediately knew she was his child. They stared at one another for a few moments. Showing herself to him was a gift, she could have avoided him, it had happened before with another. His daughter was beautiful and Titus felt his heart fill with pride, and sadness. He missed her first steps, her first everything. She was smaller than him and he felt a moment’s concern for her, but knew if she wasn’t ready to Holiday, her mother would never let her leave their pod. When he sniffed the air he could scent her mother was close.

  Titus could scent no fear on his child, just curiosity. He also could scent himself on her. His daughter knew he was her father. Titus could tell by her curiosity. Prominent scent was nature’s way of making certain family knew one another. When she smiled at him and motioned a greeting he motioned it back. She slipped into the woods and Titus felt empty. It wasn’t the first time he’d questioned the Zargonnii way of life. Finding human females was a blessing. All he needed to do was come to terms over the loss of Bertha. If she wasn’t on this planet, Titus would have to admit defeat, there was nowhere else to search. As long as he survived the venture.

  “Keep my seat warm for me. But like I said, don’t get too comfortable. And if I’m lucky, or maybe unlucky, have earplugs for the warriors ready. Big mouth Bertha will be none too happy to see me. If we’re really lucky, she’ll have found a mate.”

  “I bet if she has, he’s blind, deaf and dumb,” Cy said. “Or wishes he was.”

  Titus clasped Cy’s forearm and then climbed into the shuttle. As the door closed, a puff of steam rose, then evaporated. There was enough room for two warriors, or Titus and Bertha. As the shuttle hovered over the floor, he could see Cy staring at him from the window. The blackness of space looming behind his warrior was unwelcoming, especially if Titus were to die today. He wondered if he was being stupid. The female was a shrew, and Titus was the leader of his warriors. Many looked to Titus for guidance; many looked to find an escape route when Bertha entered a room. As the vessel flew from the hangar Titus promised himself this was it. Whether or not he found Bertha, he’d tried every option. If he lived, he would think of her every day, of that he had no doubt. He could tell himself he had tried. Titus hoped his thoughts would be enough.

  “I’m a warrior and I keep my word,” Titus muttered. “I’m sorry if you’re not here, little female. If you’re not, I wish you well. You will haunt me the rest of my days.”

  Titus exited the hangar, hovered, giving Cy one last look and kicked the vessel into hyper speed. He knew Cy. His friend would remain in orbit for at least a week, or longer. If luck were on his side, Titus would return to his ship. As he flew past the sun he watched the molten lava bubble. If he were really lucky, his ship wouldn’t explode the second he entered the sun.

  Chapter 2

  “Just stay right where you are.”

  Zabbie sat on the rock across from the roaring fire. She pointed at the spiked fruit that sat off to the side in ash and waggled her mitted finger at it. The object was double fist size. Zabbie watched the spikes curl at the tips on its side as it melted. The water forming beneath sizzled sending delicious smelling smoke puffs. The fruit, like everything else on the sun planet was a block of ice. The fruit made a sound, squealing. The icy purple object rolled back and forth an inch as the ice beneath it melted.

  The upper half of the fruit exploded, the still frozen top spikes imbedded i
nto the caverns ice covered ceiling. Zabbie waited, watching. She picked up the rhythm of the object and began rocking. If it were on the ice it would be rolling to safety. The fruit, or what Zabbie considered a fruit, hissed as the insides began to bubble and pop. The fruit was a beautiful splash of color in the frozen wasteland. An oddity, as was Zabbie.

  She rubbed her leather-and-fur-covered hands on her fur pants. The fruit made a whining sound. It remained immobile.

  “I know you hate the heat, but I can’t eat your insides when they’re frozen. Besides you’re just a fruit, nothing more. The noise you make resembles sizzles from meats on the grill, or a bubbling pot. All natural.”

  Zabbie wondered who she was trying to convince. The sides of the fruit began to peel down and Zabbie smiled. The first fruit she caught and cooked made such a fuss she almost let it go, fearing it was alive. The odd objects could be found behind frozen banks or hidden in snow drifts made of chipped ice. It was as though the fruit concealed itself—but that had to be impossible. Or crazy. Still, it made Zabbie feel better when she spoke aloud. A voice, even hers in this lonely freezing place of existence was better than nothing.

  It didn’t take long for her dinner to melt. Her mouth watered knowing her first bite would be a rainbow of flavor. The purple was her favorite. Lately that color was all she seemed to be finding. She would like to try red next; red would be a nice change.

  Rising from her seat, she approached the fruit and crouched. Zabbie slipped a mitt from her hand, dipped her fingers inside and pulled out a handful of the warm pulpy middle. She sat on the balls of her feet, eating. The fruit made another sound.

  “You know, if I ever leave here people would think I was insane if I talked about what lives here or what might have lived here. A frozen tundra in the middle of a sun is creepy enough, but fruit and vegetables that move or seem to hide. Shit, that’s spooky. And talking to my food while I eat it…it’s nuts. Wonder if I’m certifiable yet.”

  She dipped her hand back into the fruit. The gelatinous mass was heating. She was reminded of oatmeal as she ate. Her belly was gifted with a warm hug on a cold day. After Zabbie licked her fingers clean she picked up the fruit and set it on the ice. She gave it a gentle nudge and watched it. It didn’t move.

  “Go on.”

  She waited, concentrating. Set away from the heat the object began to cool. The sides of the fruit slipped back up to conceal the insides including the top. The melted spikes hardened. The insides expanded and the fruit appeared the same as before she cooked it. Marveling each time, Zabbie was reminded of the delicious fruit from the last planet she was on, the resemblance and taste was uncanny.

  The fruit began rolling as it hardened. As it rolled, it collected the ice from the ground. Before the fruit left the cavern door it was picking up speed. She wondered at the sight. Zabbie would have thought she was insane from loneliness in other circumstances watching fruit roll. There was no logic in the frozen hell. To her left was a wall of solid fire. Flames danced as high as she could see. No heat radiated from it, but when Zabbie was in need of fire she could grab a torch, roll it across the flames cotton candy style and the object would come away hot and blazing. If she stuck the stick directly into the flaming mass it burned. Zabbie was positive if she stuck her hand into the smokeless flames, she would be scorched, a limb incinerated.

  There was a time not long ago she would stand near the ship that brought her to this god-forsaken place. Images played in her mind, trying to remember how or why she came. There was a reason. Weeks of wondering hurt her head until she stopped thinking up scenarios. There were aliens, bad ones. They brought her here, they had to. Then one day, the ship was gone and it was useless to try and remember what she couldn’t when she would never leave anyway.

  The succumbing of the ship was slow. Part of the ship was visible while the rest disappeared into the wall of fire. Her body would sway toward the debris. It would be so easy to take that last step and end her life. Once, only once had she stepped into the half burning ship before running, stumbling to the ground. Hands and knees bruised form her fall, she struggled up. On those days she would feel the tears freeze on her cold cheeks and wish so hard for someone to spend time with her—even a second, a glimpse.

  The dance of the fire was hypnotic. How two extreme substances could coexist was baffling, even though the planet she was on previous was crazy strange. Overhead was fire, granted it was hundreds of feet up, but since she came she’d noticed the distance was diminishing between ceiling and ground. The frozen tundra was shrinking as time went on. Within months the area she could travel was half the size. Soon there would be nothing, nowhere she could run. She had to be careful; one night she awoke with the wall of fire a hairsbreadth from her. She made her home in the middle of the ice enclosure.

  The fire she built in the small cave she was in was too close to the fire wall. She had discovered the fruit during her daily walk. She always needed to check the perimeter for hazards. Eating near the fire wall was a risk but convenient. A fire was easy to start, the fruit cooked fast, she ate fast, and was on her way.

  Her tummy full, Zabbie began walking back to her home. There were more patches of ice beneath her feet. Deep beneath the hard frozen ground, she could make out the fire creeping higher. The flames reflected up under the mirror the ice made. Frozen trees covered in ice stood eerily. Frozen soldiers, solid bark with no leaves. She could hack at the tree bark with sharpened sticks or rock to get to the inner bark up until a month previously to chew on; now, the entire trees were frozen solid. Only the ground immediately beneath her feet remained free of fire. The air was hazy, smoke-like but not thick, more of a mist you would see at the base of a falls. Zabbie wondered at this strange place. Why were there trees? Life existed here before.

  There were no signs of humans but there were frozen animal-like images behind polished solid walls of ice. Zabbie could stare at the frozen faces of odd creatures for hours. Her thoughts bringing the animals to life for entertainment. It was as though an ice age took them by surprise, freezing the carcasses. Some of the flying creatures were beautiful. Some of the furry ones were fanged, hideous and some were so gorgeous her eyes would tear with the loss. There was nothing left in this barren place to tear up over her loss when she became a block of ice waiting to be burned.

  She wondered if once the ice cleansed the area, if new life would begin. The encompassing fire would incinerate everything. Life would be reborn as it was after a forest was burned. New life, healthy trees, maybe more animals would return. Fire created such odd things. The frozen beasts were formidable; she would like to see one alive. Her thoughts turned sad. Zabbie would never know, never see. She’d be dead by then. Her nightmares took her to frightening places, standing surrounded on all sides by fire until the gap shrank toward her body inch by inch. It was no wonder she woke screaming on occasion. If only there was someone to hold her.

  The few flowing streams Zabbie encountered when she first arrived were now mere dribbles. She had nothing to cook with. She needed to drink but could only do so in front of a roaring fire or she would freeze her insides. The trees were getting scarce as she burned a fire continuously. Frozen shrubs stood to her waist in the few piles left. Zabbie lifted her face to the fiery sky. She always wondered why the wind only blew after she ate the fruit to roll it away and out of her sight.

  To her left she could see a round red object hiding near an icy bank. Zabbie glanced at the object. It sat still. She looked away and looked back as fast. Zabbie was positive the fruit had moved. Uninterested and not hungry she left the object to its own devices, wondering if it would be there later, she had wanted a red one next.

  How convenient.

  Wrapping her arms around her middle, she continued on. Once Zabbie returned to her cave home, she would need to build the fire up and thaw out her feet. The tips of her baby toes had turned black a day ago. Zabbie had rubbed the warmth back into her frozen flesh but the pain was brutal. She needed to be caref
ul. If her toes went black she would lose use of them. Her feet would become useless. The image of crawling from a wall of fire as it ate her feet then calves then higher plagued her dreams.

  She lifted her hand to pull the fur hood near her mouth closed. Her frozen breaths were hurting her lungs. Every day grew that much colder until she wondered if she would end up freezing solid like the trees. Every step she continued to take was a victory. Every second of her life was a gift until she was to breathe her last breath.

  Rounding an icy hill that stood just above her height, Zabbie stopped, frozen in her tracks. There was a large moving thing, head and shoulders visible above the hill. She ducked down, a mitten hand at her mouth to keep her gasp of surprise quiet. Her thoughts were racing. This was something new. Was the ice alive? Moving blocks of ice, how was that possible? The thing made a noise. It sounded like a word and Zabbie searched her thoughts. She knew that language. How she knew was a mystery. She was certain she’d never heard it before. When she peeked closer her breath caught. A walking snowman with wild white flying hair turned slightly.

  Is it real or have I gone completely insane?

  Zabbie wasn’t certain which idea was scarier. The being growled. She was within feet of the abominable snowman. The second she landed on this frozen hell she’d wished for something, anything to keep her company. A living snowman was too much, and it looked huge, and dangerous as hell.

  She peeked at it again around the corner of the ice then ducked. There was fur covering its bare chest. It wore black pants and big black boots. Its hair floated in a crazy storm of its own around its head. It growled again.