by Jean Winter
“Well, imagine several more good days just like today. Is it no' feasible that you might begin to see me as … a friend?”
“My lord—”
“And is it no' possible that with some time, you could begin to imagine yourself enjoying the arms o' another man?” Those eyes burned into Lyra hotter and she swallowed hard.
“My lord,” she restated stronger, “it is an entirely possible imagination, yes, but I—” Heaven help me! What phrase could she use to explain without revealing herself—and what she was hiding? The room seemed to start spinning. Quick! Think!
Lyra suddenly shrugged off her robe. “My lord, I am your khar. You bought me and I am here with you for one, main purpose,” she said with a determination that belied her terror. “You do not have to care how I feel.” So just take me now so I can happily hate you!
With an almost animal ferocity she started to pull her chemise over her head, but the silk was halted before it reached the level of her nose. “Lyra.” He sounded disappointed. “It does no' have to be that way.”
J'Kor coaxed the chemise back down over her front and, impulsively, reached to touch her brow with that same tender stroke to her lips he had done under the joining arch in the holding room. His fingers lingered at her chin. “Do you no' see how absolutely fascinating I find you? I like you—” he seemed to not like getting out the next words, “—much more than I should, and I do no' wish to force you into anything. I know you do no' want to go back to the caravan and I really do need your skills. Could we no' make this arrangement less o' a job and more … mutually beneficial? You know—symbiotic?” A corner of his mouth turned upward.
Lyra had to shut her eyes with the pounding in her head that suddenly reached avalanche proportions. He had chosen the wrong subject for appeal by witty erudition. “My lord, what exactly do you want from me?”
“I want—I would like,” he corrected himself, “for you, in time, to light that candle—no' because you think you have to, but because you want to.”
Lyra wanted to sink into the weave of her sofa seat and disappear. The man spoke of satisfying the physical appetite, the pleasures of the flesh conveniently available between them. Meanwhile, she was clinging for dear life to her moral integrity—her virtue she had faithfully guarded since maidenhood. Even if she could ever possibly fall in love with this Stranger (which was not going to happen), this union—this “joining”—was a joke. She was Lord J'Kor's slave and he had the receipt of sale to prove it! There was no way Lyra would ever offer herself willingly under that kind of demeaning contract. She may have to let him on her for the sake of her stewardship, but she would never—
“I'm sorry, my lord. I can't. I can't do that for you.” The Spirit had advised patience and trust. It had never advised inviting access. “I'm sorry,” she said again.
She couldn't bear watching the complete falling of his expression at being thoroughly rejected. Again. And this time, the poor man had absolutely no idea why.
There was a long pause. Finally, “Lyra, what is the big deal? Is there another problem? Some other issue?”
Lyra had no words to give. She felt sick to her stomach. Her normally organized thoughts turned to mush.
“Answer me,” he demanded. “Why are you so determined to make me such a droll chore? Am I that unattractive?”
“No,” Lyra whispered. It scared her how attractive she found him.
“Do you have some kind o' physical impediment?”
“No.” Good Heavens, no!
“You and your husband did have a sexual relationship, right?”
“Of course we did, my lord.” She broke into a sweat and J'Kor threw his hands up in the air.
“Then, will you just tell me what is going on with you? I want to help you. I want you to be happy here. Whatever it is, I will understand. I mean,” he snorted hotly, “it is no' like you are one o' those crazy Believers.”
The beating in her chest stopped. The air left her.
“… Lyra?”
Breathe … breathe. Oh, God …
“Lyra—”
He knew. As surely as if she had proclaimed it from the hilltop with exultant banner flying, he knew.
“You have got to be KIDDING ME!” J'Kor leaped to his feet so abruptly that the hassock tipped over with a sharp thump and bumped into an end table. When it rolled back, tapping against his leg, J'Kor kicked it so hard against his armchair that the whole thing toppled onto its side. Ahskr, who had been resting peacefully nearby, yelped at the furniture crashing around him and skulked from the room as quickly as his stiff, sore body could carry him, tail curled tightly between his legs.
“The Mother Henna! What in—!” J'Kor fumed as he stomped away.
The swearing started when he reached the dining table and slammed his fist into its aged top. Lyra's fight or flight reflex kicked in, but jumping to her feet was as far as she got. The room started spinning. I've failed! Oh, Father in Heaven, forgive me!
“Bloody Whorlocks, Lyra! A Believer? … A Perc?” J'Kor ranted some more, his face souring with the repugnant thought. “Do you know that there is a standing rule allowing any citizen to shoot Believers on sight?”
Lyra didn't respond. It was taking all of her concentration just to remain upright in her delirium of terror. The storm continued outside, the only respite from the chasm of silence separating the Caldreen'n lord and his slave. Finally, she opened her mouth knowing needed to say something, but J'Kor beat her to it.
“Why did you really come here?” he demanded. The table became victim to an another angry, punishing fist.
WHAT? Lyra stammered, “I—I don't u-underst—”
The vase of flowers she had arranged for their dinner flew, hurtling just inches past her head to shatter against the wall behind. Lyra gasped. “Stop playing dumb and tell me what your angle is!” J'Kor roared.
“I don't know what you mean, my lord! I am here because you bought me. I have no angle!”
“Are you a dissenter from your cult?”
“No!”
“Then the only other possible reason I can imagine to explain a Believer walking into a khari'na auction is that she is some kind o' spy!”
Were it not for the dead seriousness of the situation, Lyra would've laughed. “My lord, I am no spy! I mean, think it through. I am a terrible liar. I couldn't hide who I am from you for a measly three days!”
“So give me an explanation I can buy.” J'Kor's body language bespoke razor sharp accusation as he waited impatiently for her response and Lyra stood there, agonized. If he knew the circumstances regarding her capture, he would turn her in for questioning. A speedy execution would follow and the Tohmu'vah would be lost!
Trust.
Her fingers clenched into fists. No, Father! This is not the Caldreen'n to be trusted!
“Well?” J'Kor prodded.
Trust, the Spirit said more forcefully.
Tears welled up in Lyra's eyes. What other choice did she have now, anyway? One way or another this man would be able to extract what he wanted from her. She knew it, and he knew it, too. Her head dropped in surrender.
“Our rear company was trying to leave the area when the Fifth Platoon ambushed us.” Her tone had become surprisingly unemotional. Dead would be the more accurate description. “I was the only one to escape alive, but they caught up with me when I accidentally fell and blacked out. When I woke up, I was implanted. The captain called in the caravan Keeper to tend to my injuries before my interrogation and torture and she took pity on me and bribed him to let me go to her.” The hot tears were hitting her arm on their way to the floor now. “I was just supposed to be her assistant—but the manager …”
J'Kor paced, his fingers raking channels through his hair which seemed to literally glow under the ceiling fixture. No. His whole being was giving off some strange, reddish aura. Lyra blinked dizzily. Was she seeing things? He turned on her. “Gods, woman. I think I liked your other story better.”
“It's th
e truth, my lord,” she answered faintly. “I have just been trying to survive since.”
“Oh, please! Do no' try to sound so pitiable and innocent, Sister Lyra. I know about your kind—about your plans for an uprising.”
“What?” His use of their familial term in religious contexts was frightening. Somehow, he knew. “My lord, I don't know what you're talking about. We only want to be left alone. We just want to be left in peace!”
He laughed darkly. “Oh, really? So you deny your 'prophecy' promising all faithful Believers that they will one day conquer my nation and triumphantly reign in some kind o' puritan theocracy?”
He knew about their revelations, TOO?
Lyra had read in scripture about people being struck dumb, but she had never been able to imagine what it must be like—until now. It felt like he had just punched her in the stomach and her vision became tunneled. The only thing clearly in focus at this point was him.
It was not a pretty sight. Only a minute ago this man had been professing feelings of affection, feelings which, under a different set of circumstances, Lyra would have found compelling and romantic. But now he was seeing her in a whole new light and it was clear as day that J'Kor no longer harbored such tender admiration. Lyra strove to find her voice again.
“My lord, I do not deny we believe in certain prophecies regarding … a better world of … freedom under God, but as to how or even when that will come about, we don't know. We aren't actively making any battle plans. We don't want to hurt anyone! Please! I am no threat to you.”
Lyra realized she had begun moving toward him and she stopped. His eyes gave off an even harsher glare up close.
J'Kor shook his head once in disbelief. “Those are awfully dubious words coming from a woman who takes on men twice her size. So, do me a favor and give up the pious weakling act. It has become excruciatingly tiresome.”
“But it's true, my lo—”
“So look me in the eye and tell me that I am also misinformed regarding some mystical, doomsday device the Believers supposedly have in their possession!”
Oh God! And that, too! Now she had reached a strange peak—a point at which her terror and despair could not get any worse. No matter how she chose to respond, she was absolutely certain of a painful, imminent death.
That fatal realization smothered Lyra's usual healthy sense of fear, and in an instant, she felt oddly at peace. All that was left now was damage control. “My lord,” she whispered, “that particular prophecy is very old, regarding a very distant future. We aren't even really sure how to interpret it. For all we know, that call to action won't come for another century. Two or three even. Please do not condemn my people for believing in an event that, in all likelihood, will not occur in our lifetime.”
“And yet,” he retorted sharply, taking a step closer, “if your prophet soothsayer ordered you to battle tomorrow, you would fight. You would try to kill me.”
“He wouldn't—”
“YOU. WOULD. FIGHT!”
Lyra's helpless silence answered for her. The burning eyes narrowed.
“And what o' this weapon?” He began to pace a circle round her. “What is it? Where is it? What does it do?”
Huh, something you would never guess. It's sitting in your bedroom closet. And I really don't know what it does. Lyra's head felt like twenty pounds of dead weight atop her neck as she dolefully shook it. “I am not at liberty to answer any of those questions, my lord.”
“I am afraid that is an unacceptable answer, Khari'na Lyra.” J'Kor squared himself before her. “The Republic has been good to my family for generations. I canno' turn a blind eye to something that may threaten its security and welfare. I canno' be disloyal to my homeland.”
Lyra suddenly had the strength to raise her eyes to his. “And I cannot be disloyal to my God.”
“Your God,” he spat, “is a figment o' your imagination—a convenient concoction o' men for coercion and developing blind devotion in those too ignorant to know better!”
A warm smolder grew within her. “And your Republic is a ravenous, power-hungry beast growing fat off the oppression of its lower classes,” she replied.
“The Republic is a unifying force! It offers opportunities for its citizens to raise themselves out o' poverty.”
Lyra snorted. “What, like the auction?” The smolder grew to a small flame. “It's nothing but a slave market dolled-up in lace and perfume and legalized to appear more ethical.”
“It is no' slavery if they choose to be there.”
“They choose it out of desperation! And because they live in a culture that teaches them that is all women are good for!”
“Becoming a khar is an instant ticket to a worry-free life o' leisure!”
“Well, if it's so great, then why is this necessary?” Lyra challenged, turning her head to point at her implant.
J'Kor's arm wave was dismissive. “That is for security purposes. The government must be able to monitor its commodities.”
The flame erupted into a fireball. “People are not commodities! Your precious Caldreen has made me into a prostitute and you are nothing but an arrogant, hypocritical, slave-owning, MURDERER!”
Lyra didn't see the backhand that laid her onto the floor in a heap. But she felt it.
When the new throbbing in her head cleared slightly, it was through a hot, wet blur that she gazed upon her captor with a monstrous loathing. Interestingly, he was glaring back down at her in a remarkably similar attitude.
“Do no' make this harder than it has to be, Lyra.”
Through her dizziness, she got her knees under her. “Careful, my lord. If I didn't know better, I might think you still cared.”
“Do no' push me!” he growled.
With an unnatural calm Lyra methodically pulled her hair away from her face. “Or what? You'll torture me? Kill me?” she said softly. She gingerly touched the welt forming on her cheek. “Well … there are worse things.”
The growl turned frighteningly soft. “Are you sure about that?” Without another word J'Kor grabbed his jacket off a hook and stormed out the front door, slamming it hard behind him.
Still trembling on the floor, Lyra tried to convince herself that she had not just seen visible heat waves rising off his form, and it took several good blinks to get the room to stabilize. Even then, only the object or two in her direct line of sight remained still. Everything else was still determined to shift. Lyra rubbed at her eyes.
A cool, wet nose snuffled at her chin. Ahskr had come out from hiding and was checking to see if she was all right. Lyra gave the dog a few pats and clambered unsteadily to her feet. The storm still blew its fury outside. What in the world did J'Kor mean to accomplish in such weather?
Through the front window, Lyra saw a small light from inside the barn suddenly cut through the swirling soup and she watched its faint green steadiness with growing trepidation. He must be working on something in there, something to get what he wanted out of her.
How much is it going to hurt before I die?
Lyra jerked away, blinking through her throbbing temples, her breath turning shallow with the thought. And she was trapped. Trapped!
Wait. Grally!
As fast as her vertigo allowed, Lyra shambled to the vanity closet where, with thick, fumbling fingers, she struggled to remove the thin slip of paper from her armband. Then holding it to her breast, she hurtled past the kitchen, into the hall, to the room in which J'Kor had spent considerable time yesterday morning. She had a hunch.
The door opened to a small office, and there, on the corner of a short desk, sat a wire receiver. Yes!
Lyra had never wired anyone before, but she had seen others do it. It looked simple enough. Lifting off the ear piece, she punched in the number sequence Hundt had written out for her and the little speaker buzzed to life with fuzzy static and clicking.
“Hello,” a grainy female voice said.
Relief swelled through Lyra. “Hello! Hello! May I please—”
<
br /> “—You have reached the home o' Mr. and Mrs. Vielseed. Please state your name and the number at which we can wire you back. We will return your call as soon as we are able.”
The relief shriveled to a cold lump in her throat. Lyra heard three evenly spaced clicks, then silence. “Hello?” she tried, her voice shaking. “Please, I need to reach Mr. Gralion Hundt? This is Lyra. Please. I am in real trouble. …”
After leaving J'Kor's address that she noticed written out on some mail on the desk, Lyra replaced the ear piece with no small amount of helplessness. How soon would Grally get that message? She left the office, unsure what to do next.
If J'Kor was planning to turn her in, she would probably be safe from harm until morning—but if he decided to just find out certain things on his own … With foreboding, Lyra returned to the window, her knuckles turning white with her grip on the sill as she stared at the same, steady light in the barn cutting weakly through the ever increasing gale. Another minute's deliberation and she couldn't stand it anymore. She had to know what was going on in there!
Pulling her robe tightly over her scanty chemise, Lyra shoved her feet into a pair of J'Kor's large work boots at the front door. Brrr. The temperature had dropped further than she thought and her walk turned into a stagger across the yard as she tilted her head away from the wind's icy buffeting. Lyra could hardly see where she was going, but a high-pitched whir guided her nearer the barn's wide, sliding door that was slightly ajar. She cautiously peeked inside.
The light's source was a lantern hung near one wall. The mechanized sound definitely originated from over there, as well. Snippets of J'Kor's body could be seen as he moved, but support posts and other farm equipment impeded Lyra's line of sight. It was impossible to tell what he was doing. Then she noticed the window.
Ducking back outside and trudging around the side of the barn, Lyra tugged at her robe even harder to guard the against the cold that seeped too easily through the thin knit. Her legs felt slow and cumbersome, like her cerebral messages weren't quite making it to her muscles. Maybe J'Kor's hit had rattled her skull a little more than she thought.