by J R Devoe
Her wild eyes fall on me and my crossbow. They plead for me to shoot.
I drop my bow head to the sand. The string creaks and the polymer limbs groan with the increasing tension. My arms shake as I haul on the string to lock it in place. Click. I slide in an arrow and raise the butt to my shoulder.
Time seems to slow as I center the winged attacker in my V-sight. The demon is so close I can see strands of her brown hair waving against the blue sky. It thinks we have all loosed our bolts and is sweeping in for an easy kill. Not today. Not my Mali.
My finger feathers the trigger. The demon’s face sharpens into view, so close. So…innocent. I can’t keep my weapon from shaking. Sweat burns my eyes, so I squint to focus on my target. I’m dimly aware that, to my left, Marlok has tossed his crossbow aside and is racing for mine. Instinctively I jerk it to the right, away from his reaching hands, and in doing so accidentally pull the trigger.
THWAP!
No! My breath catches as the bolt zooms wide, but in a stroke of luck the demon banks in the same direction. The arrow doesn’t make it past her.
Mali slides to a stop beside me. Together we watch the demon crash into a dune only a stone’s throw away. Mali’s hand squeezes my shoulder, her fingernails digging into my skin enough to draw blood as a plume of sand rises from the crest where she’d just been shooting from.
All around, sand swishes under feet as my tribes-folk converge on our fallen enemy. They form a semi-circle atop the dunes to either side of me.
I check the ground behind for my net. I must have dropped it below, because it’s nowhere in sight.
Marlok falls in beside Mali and I, his eyes locked on the settling sand cloud. He grabs his dagger from Mali’s belt and forces it into my hands. A smile graces his face as he claps me on the back. “Confirm your kill, my warrior brother.”
Goosebumps ripple my skin. Any other day and I’d take his calling me a ‘brother’ for sarcasm, but now I hear his sincerity. For the first time in my life, I’m on the verge of acceptance. And I cannot deny how good it feels.
The whale bone handle is cold in my clammy hands.
All around me, my tribesmen level their crossbows and spear tips on the demon to finish her at the slightest twitch.
I swallow hard and step forward. Swishing sand announces my approach. I cringe at every step toward the fallen girl—no, not a girl. It is some form of witchery that gives this demon her benevolent appearance, and I will not be fooled.
Drawing closer, I see the demon that looks so much like a girl curled on its side in the fetal position. The swish of sand under my feet is almost deafening, even drowns out my thumping heart. I stop a few feet away.
At this proximity I see faint breathing, her—I mean, IT’s—translucent wings rising and falling only slightly. A sliver of pity seeps in. It looks so innocent. I push this feeling away and crouch beside it, but the sand scorches my bare knees and I shoot upright. That’s when I see the arrow shaft clasped tight in the demon’s delicate hands, its tip inches from her belly.
She springs to her feet with an eruption of sand. I turn to run but, as usual, I’m not fast enough. She wraps her arms around my waist and before I know it my feet are off the ground. I’m flying.
I’m flying!
But my captor carries me with little grace. It grunts in its struggles to bear my weight. My toes skim the tops of the dunes as she turns me toward my tribe to use as a shield. If she only knew how quickly they’d do away with me.
A few arrows whistle past. A few too many.
I kick my feet and flail my arms to disrupt her flight while all sorts of ghastly images invade my mind. Is she bringing me to the fiery underworld I’ve heard so many stories about? She marked me yesterday in the crevice and refused to return to her lair without me. I am fighting for my life.
When we cross the cliff edge over the beach, my weight becomes too much for her. We fall. My feet hit dry sand and I crash forward onto my face while flipping her onto her head. She tumbles forward and recovers as I rise to my knees. She mounts me from behind and lifts me again, dragging me toward the water.
In my thrashing my foot catches wet sand, sinking deep enough to create sufficient drag to break her hold. I keep my footing this time and stumble to a stop while standing.
The demon swerves left in a half circle and lands to face me. We square off and I see by her gaping mouth she is speechless, just as amazed at the sight of me as I am of her. The look in her eyes is pure curiosity. No evil that I can see. A clever spell, perhaps.
I widen my stance and raise my fists. “Stay back,” I say, “I’m stronger than I look.”
Her head cocks to the side. “What do looks have to do with strength?” she says.
Everything in me wants to cover my ears to block out any spell that may be laced into her words. Instead, I listen.
“Why do you not hate me like the rest of your kind?” she says while studying me with green eyes.
I’m aware of my fists loosening and my hands lowering as I size her up in return. She’d be shorter than me by a foot if not for her wings, which sunlight passes through like still water. Her slight movements filter the light so the clear veins that run up her wings like tree branches shimmer with every color of the rainbow, like sunlight through mist.
“You look different than the others,” I say.
“Others?”
I frown, feeling a tide of sorrow rise up in me. “The demons that killed my parents.”
“Parents?” she says, as if playing with an unfamiliar word.
“My mother and father.”
Her jaw drops and her eyebrows arch high. When she notices me studying her wings, she wraps them around her torso and hugs herself while looking at her feet.
Shouts echo from above. She joins me in looking at the line of silhouettes atop the cliffs.
“Those ‘demons’,” she says, calling my attention back to her, “they’re coming back to finish you off. You need to keep your heads down. Stay out of sight, and do not try to fight them.”
We cannot stay below indefinitely, I’m tempted to say. We must surface for sunlight. But I dare not reveal anything about my colony’s routine that may put us at risk.
“You wish to help us?” I say, and I cringe at the tone of hope in my voice. I must sound like a fool. To remind myself of what I’m dealing with, I summon the memory of the last time I saw my mother. How she begged for her life. “For all I know, you’re trying to keep us here for when more of your friends come.”
“I wouldn’t!” she says defensively. “I’m different than them.”
I see a hint of truth in this, just on physical appearance alone.
“We cannot hide forever,” I say.
She steps closer. “It’ll only be for a little while. I have a plan.”
“Why would you help us?”
She bites her lip and looks away. “Your peril is…it’s my fault. I brought this danger to you.” She locks eyes with me. “But I can make it better.”
A demon with a conscience. My people will never believe this.
Rocks crumble down the cliff. The girl demon’s pointed ears twitch, and we both turn to watch Marlok lead a descent down a diagonal cleft.
A hand grabs my wrist, soft and gentle.
“My plan will work,” she tells me, “but you have to trust—”
Without warning, her eyes roll back and she wobbles. Her head tilts backward and she stumbles to the side, all her muscles going slack as she falls to the ground.
For some reason I may never understand, I rush to catch her before she hits the sand. I end up on my knees with her head on my lap and a terrible dread overcoming me.
Fool! Marlok will never let me live this down.
7
—
NYA
WAVES OF LIGHT lure my mind from the depths of nothingness. Heat warms my face, and my eyelids flicker to the glow of an orange light, like that of a flame. Like a fire.
Fire!
I look up in terror at my hands spread wide and chained to a rock ceiling. I test my bonds and find they offer no give. The cool air has me shivering, and suggests I’m deep underground, far from any help.
The fatigue and stress from my wound must have caught up with me on the beach.
“Deka says you speak our language,” says a voice from behind me.
I look over my shoulder to see an elder woman with dark skin that’s wrinkled, though not with age. The ripples on her cheeks resemble burnt flesh. Her long grey hair is fashioned into numerous braids that hang from her head in thick strands, like furry serpents. Her hunched back and gnarly fingers suggest a good many years stuck in this lifetime. How old is ‘old’ to these people?
Six males with spears flank her. The solid oval masks covering their faces fail to conceal the fear in their eyes.
I pull again on the chains and gain no more freedom than with my previous attempt. My shoulders ache from the outward stretching of my arms, but it’s faint compared to where the manacles dig into my wrists.
“Well, creature?” says the elder. “Can you speak?”
Orange light glows from a lamp on the floor between us. It stinks of burning fish. The wavering flame casts light across the matriarch’s face, revealing the ripples on her cheeks deepen with impatience. She looks to the spearman to her right. “Give it a poke. See what noise comes out.”
“Yes,” I say, before the spearman can obey. “I speak your language.”
The elder lifts her chin and narrows her eyes on me. “How?”
“When I arrived, I inherited the words of every native tongue that ever inhabited this planet.” I won’t pretend to know the details about how this works. All I know is that, upon crossing through the Gate to this planet, everything I need to know to orient me to this world is uploaded into my consciousness through the portal’s membrane. See, a planet has a memory, just like intelligent races do, but something about these people suggest they’re not in tune with it. All of this new information wipes clean our memories from previous assignments, save for the essentials. But I don’t have time to enlighten these folk on the intricacies of my existence. It’s theirs that matters most now.
“Did…” What did she say his name was? Deka? Yes, that sounds about right. “Did Deka also say I came here to warn you? That I’m a friend?”
“We have no friends among your kind.”
I glance to the shackles above my head and wonder why that’s so. Though, a healthy suspicion is comforting. Perhaps they’ll stand a chance at eluding the Watchers long enough for me to seek out the Magister.
“Your kind killed half the people I ever knew,” the elder says, “maybe even half of what remained of our race.” Her words are caustic, full of venom. Yet, despite her animosity, I know she ordered they keep me alive for a reason.
“You could have killed me already,” I say, “and I could kill you all right now.” For I am Nya - Destroyer of… No, that talk will get me nowhere here. I rattle the shackles above my head. “Yet here I remain.”
My audience laughs. The elder points a shaky finger at me. “You are in no position to make threats, young demon.”
There it is, that word again. If they want superstition, then I’ll not deny them any longer. “Enough games.”
I squeeze my hands into fists. The manacles binding my wrists explode to dust.
Everyone watches the chains disappear in awe. One guard quickly gathers his wits and thrusts a spear at my belly. I spin to the side, grab the shaft, and then WHOOSH—it explodes to dust.
The five remaining guards level their spear tips at me. I eye each up and know I can’t take them all on if they charge at once, which I believe they will. I’m cornered.
I raise both hands with my palms facing my aggressors, hoping this will keep them at bay. It does seem to inspire some hesitation.
The elder sinks back through the semi-circle. Her voice rises from the shadows behind. “This witch requires a different manner of death.”
Orange light glows from the depths of a tunnel to her rear. It grows brighter until six flickering orbs emerge around a bend. They grow larger with the approaching footsteps until I see they are flames dancing from arrowheads loaded into crossbows.
My heart almost bursts inside my belly. Even at a distance, the flames draw sweat from my skin despite the cold air. By the time the archers join the enclosure of spearmen, my whole body is slick. I shrivel back despite my best efforts to remain firm. Hard rock halts my retreat.
“Aim!” orders a male voice, and the bowmen raise their weapons.
Six waving flames taunt me through the tears blurring my eyes. But I won’t go down without a fight.
I grit my teeth, clench my fists, and march forward.
“Stop! Everyone!”
The boy they call ‘Deka’ shoves through the line of his kinsmen and stands before me, spreading his arms wide as if to shield me.
“Shoot the foolish boy first,” the elder says from the safety of the rear. “In the legs, to wound him.”
I slip in front of Deka and extend my hands out wide to appear non-threatening. As I advance, the line of wary fighters shuffle back, their fingers on the release mechanisms of their weapons, but they dare not retreat behind their elder.
“I can only help you if you accept it,” I tell the warriors. If I can’t get through to that hag, perhaps I can influence her followers. “If I found you, others will. They will come in great numbers and they will not fall so easily as me.”
The elder’s eyes remain cold in defiance, her skepticism clear. “Why would you betray your kind?”
“It’s complicated,” is all I can offer for now. There is little time to explain the nature of our work and the rules that accompany it. But once the Magister learns of this tribe’s existence, he’ll declare their planet off-limits. For it is races like this he is sworn to protect. They just need to stay out of sight until his arrival, when I can safely reveal their sanctuary.
“They’re here!” echoes a distant voice through the tunnel.
The dozen guards keep their weapons aimed at me while their heads swivel toward the voice.
My hair stands on end as their panic prickles my skin like static electricity.
One warrior points to me while looking to his companion. “Watch her, Huxley.”
The big boy called Huxley aims a crossbow at me while his warrior kin peel away and scramble down the tunnel. Even the elder makes toward the danger, leaving only Huxley and Deka as my company.
Deka drifts to Huxley’s side and, crossing his arms, joins him in staring me down.
“How many are up there?” Deka asks. I detect a hint of mischief in his eyes, his words containing more than just a question. There’s an invitation there.
“At least a dozen,” I say. “But their leader could count for twenty on her own. She’s vicious.”
Huxley shifts nervously and spares a glance over his shoulder, up the tunnel. Deka nods eagerly for me to continue.
“They can smell fear across open air,” I announce, “but so long as your people stay underground, away from any openings, you’ll be okay.”
Huxley returns his attention to me. He forces a smile and says, “Good thing we don’t feel fear, then.”
“Yes, you do,” I say. “I can smell yours right now.” Smell, isn’t the right word. For me, it’s a frequency he’s giving off that makes my hair rise. Like a static charge.
Deka leans close to Huxley. “You know Marlok has everyone at the Skylight.”
Sweat trickles down Huxley’s forehead as he squeezes his crossbow tight. He keeps it trained on me while he risks a longer look up the dark tunnel.
“If we clash and one gets away,” Deka says, “they’ll bring more.” He returns his attention to me. “How many of them are on this planet?”
“Thousands,” I say.
Huxley’s grip on the crossbow tightens until the polymer groans.
“You need to warn them,” Deka says.
“You go,” snaps Huxley.
“They won’t believe me. Besides, I’m the colony’s biggest coward. If I go anywhere near the surface then my fear will give us all away.”
Huxley’s gaze shifts to Deka, and the look in his eyes suggests he agrees with Deka’s claim. But I sense the lie. Deka isn’t scared at all. Not in the way his companion is, anyway. Deka, I’m learning, does not fear for his own life.
“It’s true,” I tell Huxley. “I can hardly sense your fear because Deka’s is nearly suffocating me.”
“I’ll watch her,” Deka says. He holds out his hands for Huxley’s weapon. “I shot her once already. I'll have no problem doing it again.”
Huxley’s eyes narrow on Deka for a deep appraisal. A long moment passes, with several glances between me and Deka, before he hands over his crossbow.
“I’ll be right back,” Huxley says, then he shoots me a sharp glare while talking to Deka. “And if you still have a soft spot for this creature, just remember what her kind did to your parents.”
Deka aims the crossbow at my belly, his finger curled around the release mechanism. Huxley remains, studying Deka’s expression and stance with great skepticism. I’m sure he’s about to change his mind, but then he reluctantly sets off up the tunnel.
When his footsteps disappear into darkness, Deka sets the crossbow down and grabs my arm to drag me into a side passage. I follow without protest.
8
—
NYA
AS WE DESCEND into the abyss, my hand slips into Deka’s and our grips lock tight in the blackness. My breath shudders into the void around us, and it takes all my strength to keep from unraveling. Deka, on the other hand, is calm and steady.
How can he see where we’re going? My wonder actually distracts from my panic.
“You’re afraid of the dark?” he whispers.
My quivering breath is all the answer I can manage.
“It’s not much farther,” he says. “I know a way for you to escape, but we need to cut through the main colony.”