Dust

by J R Devoe

  I storm outside, my head swirling like the strings of particles that form the clouds of a hurricane. This can’t be right. We’re reclaimers, not invaders. We clean up the mess; we don’t make it. And she’s wrong about them being mindless beasts. I saw awareness in that boy’s eyes. Concern, even, when his people attacked me.

  But Ko Mirah is right about one thing: I must rest. Right now I’m wobbling on my feet and at risk of falling over. A weary body weaves a cloudy mind.

  • • •

  I find myself a cradle of latticed branches near the top of the Heart Spire. A poultice of grey leaf and singa root cool my wound, but it’s only for the pain. The Spire’s healing energy pulses through me. A cool tingling spreads wide across my chest, soothing the burning and lifting the heaviness. But it is not this physical wound that requires attention.

  Despite the Spire’s uplifting energy, my heart grows heavier with each beat. That mindless beast tried to save me. I saw the alarm in his eyes. He was afraid for me, and even tried to shield me from the attack. We have no right to move him from his home. I know too well the feeling of being taken from the place of your heart’s center.

  I turn my eyes to the stars above and long for the first place I’ve ever been. Though my transit through the portal to this planet has wiped clean all memory of the previous places I’ve seen, my heart remembers what my mind forgets. Yet, knowing now the cost of my return, will I enjoy the day I once again soar my home skies under the star that gave me life?

  I hold both of my forearms together. How many of the five black rings circling each wrist have I earned from displacing a struggling species? I’m required to earn ninety more before I can cross the Final Gateway. Both forearms will be black to my elbows when I see my home again, a constant reminder of the many who lost their own homes so I could see mine.

  I sigh. If only I could make the best of my time here like the others.

  Chanting echoes from the surrounding forest. Fori cohorts shout and taunt each other, stealing what is not theirs for sport and luring opponents into chase. Laughter interrupts the shouting. I forgot how much I’ve missed the energy of a Hive. My main aversion to this place is having others know where to find me. And the stares.

  I don’t have to look below to know there are eyes watching me. Squiggs and Sheffa have surely spread word of my arrival. My mother, K’lora the Fool, ignited a rebellion that drew the wrath of the Watchers upon all of our kind. No doubt some think I spoil this sacred tree with my touch. Still, I hear them skitter and maneuver below, almost playfully as they appear in my peripheral.

  Finally, one braves an approach. She climbs up the branches and leaps across the gaps to close the distance between us. A face smeared with dirt and mud-caked hair marks her for an Ori. It’s not like the soil tenders to venture so high from the ground. The wrinkles across her skin suggests she may be a leader.

  “Careful, Mora,” warns a harsh whisper from the group huddled below.

  Mora. That name rings a bell. She’d be an Elder now if she hadn’t tended my mother’s wounded during the rebellion.

  Mora climbs onto the main branch supporting my cradle, but she keeps her distance.

  “We heard you were attacked,” she says.

  My hand drifts instinctively to the poultice bulging from my rib.

  “Don’t worry,” Mora says in a shaky voice. “The Light Ones will flush them out. Perhaps they’d even let you join to get your revenge.”

  “Revenge?” I look to Mora curiously. This word I’ve not heard before. Not in recent lifetimes, at least.

  Mora inches closer. “Sure. Your attackers are going to die anyway. Better by your hand to level the scales.”

  The poultice throbs and burns in my chest. I stand and Mora shrinks away, poised to leap back to the safety of her kin waiting below. But I have no quarrel with the Ori. And I realize it’s not even me who has her on edge.

  I trace her stare to the sky, where thirteen winged figures fly in arrow formation below the full moon. Spear tips glint in the silver light as they sweep west toward the desert.

  “Word travels fast,” Mora says.

  My heart pounds like a drum in both of my ears. It plays a song of death.

  I leap from my branch, four wings fluttering hard to carry me up into the night sky. I’m dimly aware of the burning in my chest. This pain can wait. I have an extermination to stop.

  5

  —

  NYA

  HARD AS I TRY, I cannot keep pace with the thirteen Watchers ahead. I can’t even hold the same altitude. As they fly high in the night sky, maintaining a perfect arrowhead formation, I drift lower until the treetops are only an arm’s reach under me.

  As the night drags on, I sink lower. I’m barely skimming the forest canopy when the moon disappears under the horizon ahead and the first sign of pink lines the eastern sky to my rear. But worse than that, in the absence of moonlight I’ve lost sight of the Watcher hit team.

  Tears blur my vision. I’ve failed. They will find the remnants of this race and send them into extinction. And it will be one hundred percent my fault. Everything I set my eyes upon turns to dust. That is my curse. I should listen to Jaleera and accept what I am.

  A grid appears across my blurry vision. It’s like a spider web, only—

  My hearts races and my throat tightens. Before I can change course I’m crashing into it…no, it is crashing into me!

  Sticky fabric wraps me from head to toe, sealing my arms and wings to my sides. I try grabbing a loose strand to undo its bonds, but my palms are pressed tight to my skin.

  I fall.

  I close my eyes and cringe as I brace for impact. I crash through the upper level of tree branches, but that’s as far as my fall takes me. A tugging at my feet suggests this netting is anchored above. I come to rest upside down and swing like a pendulum under the canopy of leaves. My heart slides down my throat as I rock back and forth, my head narrowly missing tree branches. But a whack to the head is the least of my concerns.

  To what predator does this entrapment belong? I’ve not been warned about creatures on this planet’s food chain that threaten my kind while in flight.

  I wriggle and thrash, swinging my head and hips, but it’s no use. Panic rises from deep within. My chest heaves as I resist the urge to wail out in despair. I’d been so afraid to see my discoveries die, when it was I who was at risk the whole time!

  “Why are you following us?” croaks a voice from below.

  I freeze. Over the blood rushing in my ears and the creaking branch bearing my weight, I hear the flutter of wings draw near.

  A Watcher rises and hovers so that her face is level with mine. Pointed teeth and four arms tell me this freak is Bercidia the Butcher. A black ponytail sprouts from the top of her head like a hairy fountain, its base wrapped by the tiny skull of some disobedient Ori. Two vertical slits in each of her yellow eyes lock onto me as we observe each other’s upside expressions. Mine must be a mix of relief and lingering terror. Hers is cold as stone.

  “I…” I’m at a loss for words. In my haste, I hadn’t thought of what to say should I catch the hunters I was hunting.

  Two more Watchers rise behind her. I hear the fluttering wings of several more behind me.

  “Well?” says Bercidia. She squeezes her platinum spear shaft, which holds a serrated blade of gold at each end.

  Their blood is hot for the hunt, and I sense they have no time to waste on me. They will likely leave me here and finish their job. This is my only chance.

  “I want ‘revenge’,” I say. This word sounds strange rolling off my tongue.

  Bercidia frowns. Then her eyes light up in understanding. “It was you they attacked,” she concludes.

  I wince and nod.

  “Cut her down,” orders Bercidia.

  With astonishing precision, a Watcher swipes a spear tip down from my toe tips to my throat, somehow slicing open the sticky net without nicking my skin. I fall briefly, my feet flipping backw
ard toward the ground, but two Watchers snatch my arms and keep me from falling farther. I try flexing my wings, but they remain stuck. Bercidia is not done with me.

  “Return to your work,” she says. “Leave this cleanup to us.”

  “I can lead you to their hive,” I say.

  Bercidia raises her broad chin and looks down her nose at me. “This work isn’t suited for your kind. Besides,” she flashes a wide smile and slides a forked tongue across her pointed teeth, “we enjoy a good hunt.”

  “You missed them in all your other sweeps” I point out.

  Bercidia’s smile levels and her nostrils flare. “Whatever your work is, Servant, I suggest you stick to it.”

  “Destroying is my work,” I say, and I force a weak smile.

  If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear Bercidia just flinched. But it was too brief, a fraction of a heartbeat, so I can’t be sure.

  “A dust maiden,” she says to the Watchers who weren’t close enough to hear.

  “I’m not like the others who serve,” I remind her. “I’ve destroyed the remains of a dozen civilizations.”

  “And you think taking life is the same,” Bercidia says with an amused rise of an eyebrow. She exchanges a look with her team, then bursts out laughing. All around me, laughter explodes from a dozen heaving chests.

  I feel my face burn red hot. “At least let me watch,” I say. “I’ll sleep easier knowing they’re gone.”

  The laughter fades, and finally Bercidia gives a mocking bow. “If you insist. Just make sure to stay out of our way.”

  I break free of my captors’ hold, my wings now moving freely, and whiz up into the sky to take the lead before Bercidia can change her mind. “Follow me,” I say.

  What soon becomes clear to me is that Watchers aren’t accustomed to following anyone below their rank in the chain. Their bickering about the flight path toward the coast nearly comes to blows until Bercidia threatens to skewer the whole lot.

  It’s mid-morning when the glittering ocean comes into view. The way the Watchers grip their weapons behind me and scan the rippled dune sea below suggests they’re eager for a fight, so they follow me without much fuss.

  I lead them to a beach, where a high cave darkens the cliff face. I land in wet sand before the tall entrance. Several feet squish onto the sand behind me. Bercidia lands in front of us all, towering at almost twice my height.

  I point a shaky finger toward the dark cave. “They came from in there.”

  Bercidia nods for her warriors to advance. “Stay behind us,” she tells me.

  I hold my rib wound anxiously and force tears to glaze my eyes. Though, with the memory of my near plummet into darkness fresh in my mind, the tears don’t need much coaxing to come.

  “Having seconds thoughts?” Bercidia says.

  I look to my feet in shame.

  “Stay here,” she says, then leads her sortie into the cave.

  I approach the entrance and place my hand on the damp stone mouth. I have no idea how deep the cave runs, so I don’t know how much time I have. Closing my eyes, I send a vibration to the rough surface beneath my palm. I hear a burst and then stone crumbling to the ground. When I open my eyes and step back, I see a cloud of dust rise from a pile of rocks sealing shut the cave entrance.

  For a moment all I can do is stare in shock at my betrayal. Then I snap out of it. I place an ear against a fallen boulder and hear muffled shouts of rage from beyond. At least they’re alive. That loosens the tightness in my chest. But it’s not too late. I can dig them out and claim it all an accident. My nerves got the best of me and a rogue vibration slipped out. That’s what I should do.

  Before I give this option too much consideration, I sprint west and take flight. Doing what I’m supposed to has never been my first course of action, and now is not the time to change that. First I’ll warn the Others, then come back and say it was an accident. Adding some scrapes and cuts to my arms will give the impression I was buried, defenceless like in their web.

  Yes, that could work.

  6

  —

  DEKA

  EVERY NIGHT the dream is the same. Steel rings and shouts echo down the cavern as my mother lowers me into our escape tunnel. I sink into her sister’s waiting arms and allow my auntie to pull me back into the passage, to make room for my mother. Instead, mother slides her desk in front of the hole.

  Through a crack in the desk’s backing, I see my mother turn away from me with a dagger in hand. Her other holds a rattling oil lamp.

  A shadow rises on the rough cavern wall before her, two arches growing high until black wings come into view. My eyes fix on the dagger in my mother’s shaking hand. So futile. Then my auntie covers my eyes and all I know is the voice that sang me to sleep every night screaming for her life.

  This is why I wake ready to fight when another demon returns for a second day in a row. Though the creature from yesterday looked nothing like those that slayed my mother, I hear their spells can deceive our eyes. Some of us see angels. Others encounter devils. But yesterday, I’m not sure what I saw. And something about the look in its eyes tells me it wasn’t sure about me, either.

  Feet scuff past my alcove. It’s too dark to see, but I hear the rattle of crossbows as our war party slinks past in single file. When the last warrior passes, I pull a fishing net from behind my desk and slip into the passageway to follow.

  A hand grabs my wrist through the dark and pulls me down a side passage.

  “This way,” Mali whispers.

  She drags me down toward the fisherman’s gate, her hand clamped around my wrist so tight my fingers tingle. We travel blind until a white dot lights up the darkness ahead. Rock turns to wet sand beneath my feet. The tide is out.

  I grab Mali’s wrist with my free hand and try pulling her to a stop. “We shouldn’t be down here,” I hiss. This entrance is used for sea excursions during high tide, and only at night. It’ll be another three hours before the tide line creeps high enough to cover our tracks.

  “It’s too late for that,” she says, and drags me along.

  This is a bad idea. Our tribal warriors are headed for the Skylight, which will bring them out on the high ground among the sand dunes. It’s the entrance Mali sat watch over yesterday. The same one she sometimes lets me sneak out through for a bit of sunlight and fresh air. That tunnel isn’t as risky to compromise. Its walls and roof are braced with shoring. If an enemy discovers it and ventures inside, we need only to pull those jacks to kill them while sealing it off. This fisherman’s tunnel, however, is our colony’s main entrance. There is no collapsing it. An enemy discovers this entry and there’s no stopping the flood of steel and blood.

  At the cave mouth, Mali releases my arm and risks a peek outside, to the cliffs above. It’s here that I see she’s carrying two crossbows—one on her back and the other in her hands.

  She gasps and jumps back, bumping into me.

  A shadow glides across the wet sand outside the entrance. It sweeps out toward the sea, then darts back toward the cliffs. A flurry of arrows arch down from the dunes and pepper the beach.

  Mali unslings the bow from her back and offers it to me. “I need you to reload for me,” she says, shoving the weapon into my chest.

  She steps outside with her crossbow aimed straight up. Staying close to the rock face, she makes her way down to the crevice entrance, where yesterday I stood face to face with our enemy.

  I follow Mali, fumbling with her backup bow and its quiver of arrows. As we turn into the crevice, a shadow ripples across the sand between us and up the cliff face beside me.

  THWAP!

  An arrow launches up from Mali at an angle, but the figure is long gone.

  Mali keeps her eyes trained on the sky directly above as she hands me her crossbow. Only now do I realize I’ve not loaded the second weapon. She sees this and huffs with impatience, then rips it from me and drops its head to the sand. She pulls up on the string with both hands until it locks in p
lace, then slides an arrow into the flight groove.

  She raises the bow just in time for the next pass and looses with a THWAP. The demon twirls and just avoids the bolt. Mali cusses.

  “We need to get to high ground,” she says, then runs deeper into the crevice.

  I’m close behind, my eyes to the sky in fascination as the flying demon zips back and forth, avoiding arrows that whiz from every direction.

  Sand slides from under my feet as I follow Mali up the slope at the crevice end. We emerge among the dunes, where over fifty of our warriors have spread out for better angles on their target.

  My belly churns. This sky demon has effectively split us up, with only two groups of two in sight. Mali should be below, marshalling the non-fighters in case they need to escape.

  Instead, she races up a dune just beyond stone’s throw from me and drops to a knee.

  “Ready!” rises Marlok’s voice from a distance. He wants a volley, which is smart. It’ll be harder for their target to dodge fifty bolts at once.

  Those with loaded bows take aim while the rest hurry to reload. As I watch my tribe-mates prepare their weapons, I squint for a better look at their target, and notice it is the same creature from yesterday. And, to my relief, it is unarmed. I’m about to point this out when Marlok’s voice cuts me off.

  “Loose!”

  Arrows arch from every direction in a dome around the sky creature. Our target dives and swirls and somehow manages to avoid every bolt. As fifty crossbow heads hit the sand for reloading, I open my mouth to alert them to the fact that the demon isn’t here to harm us, but something different stops me this time.

  The demon veers south, then makes a sharp turn back and falls into a course dead set on Mali.

  Mali rushes to reload, but seeing the demon bearing down on her sends her into a panic. She drops her bow and breaks into a sprint toward the crevice. In doing so she has become the prey to a much faster predator. She’ll never make it.