by Lea Linnett
She noticed the alien staring again out of the corner of her eye, his gaze burning into her like the firestones they resembled. Part of her wanted to look, to see if his eyes were really as intensely bright and violet as she remembered them being on that first day.
But there were more important things to be worrying about than the color of her captor’s eyes, she told herself, fighting down an angry flush. It was just the heat. It had to be. This alien mine was like a furnace compared to the chilly outdoor weather she was used to, and since she refused to remove the thick, caribou-hide coat she wore…
“You are uncomfortable?”
Her head snapped up, her flush deepening. “What makes you say that?”
“The way your… eyebrows move. This is their name, yes? And your red coloring. Your lips—”
“I’m fine,” she bit out, nodding tersely at the box. “What is that?”
Marek’s eyes narrowed as if he’d like to press the point, but Bree stared him down.
“It is what you asked for,” he eventually said. “Your weapon.”
“You found it?” Bree sat up in her chair, but as she studied the box, her excitement soured. There had to have been a mistake. The metal box was smooth and sharp-edged, like everything here, and treated in such a way that it refused to catch the light no matter how she angled her view. But it was also small, not even two feet long in length and half that in width. It would hardly fit her arrows, let alone her bow.
Marek must have seen her reaction, because his hands hesitated over the clasps. “Seeing it will not please you,” he warned softly.
“Show me.”
He slipped his fingernails beneath the clasps without fanfare and opened the box, revealing a pile of rubbery, black fabric. He then pushed the box toward her.
Bree reached forward and cautiously pulled the fabric aside. It was cool and slippery, almost like water.
All the air escaped her lungs when she saw what lay beneath. Her mother’s bow—the bow that had accompanied her on every journey into the wilderness since she was old enough to hold it—was in pieces. Broken in half, with one of those halves broken again, the ends splintered into twigs. Underneath it lay the lifeless, coiled bowstring and the shattered pieces of some of her arrows, the shafts cracked and the fletches torn.
“I am sorry.”
The words shocked her into looking up at him, and she blinked at his mournful expression in disbelief. “You are?”
He nodded. “It is important to you.”
Part of her wanted to scream at him. How dare he pretend to sympathize when he couldn’t possibly understand what she felt? How dare he act so kind to her when it was his fault she was stuck here?
But twining through her anger was a perplexing kernel of gratitude, and she stared down at the ruined bow, unsure what to say. Silently, she brushed her fingers over the once-shining wood.
“You can keep it, if you wish,” Marek murmured, his deep, honey-coated voice rumbling through her.
“You’re not worried that I’ll use it to cut through the seal on the window or something?”
He chuckled, his golden lips hiking up at the corner. “That seal is more strong than this wood. You will not succeed.”
Bree sighed. “Stronger. Not more strong.”
The levekk’s brow rose in surprise, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he reached over and carefully closed the box, setting it aside. “I also have… gooder news.”
“Better. You have better news,” she corrected, and this time Marek smiled.
“Thank you.”
“What is it?”
“I found a record of an outsider. A human outsider.”
Bree’s jaw dropped. “When? What happened to them? Did they—” She cut herself off, pulling in a shaky breath as she forced herself to calm. “Was it my mom?”
“I… do not know. The record was very small, and difficult to find. I think maybe hidden.” He shifted in his chair. “It telled of an attack. The human was injured, but healed. That is all I found.”
“Told, not telled,” she said absently. “When did this happen?”
“Twenty years before, in this planet’s time.”
Bree gasped. “That’s her. It has to be. There was nothing about what happened to her? No records of what they did with her?”
Marek shook his head. “I am sorry. That is all.”
She sat back in her chair, her mind reeling. She still knew next to nothing about what had happened to her mother. She could have been imprisoned, interrogated just like Bree, or shipped off to some other planet where she’d have had no hope of returning. Of course, there were worse options, especially if the record had been hidden, as Marek said. What if she’d been killed to cover up her people’s existence? Surely, that was too much, even for the levekk.
“This means I was right,” she said, pushing the negative thoughts aside. “She was taken. There’s still a chance she’s alive out there somewhere. Maybe she even escaped.”
“There is no escape from here.”
“If anyone could find one, it’d be my mom.”
“But if she did escape… why she does not return to you?” Marek asked, his brows furrowing.
Bree’s face fell, and her gaze dropped to the table. “I don’t know.”
The levekk’s eyes widened. “I am sorry. I did not think…”
“No. I should thank you,” she said. “I didn’t expect you to do as I asked.”
Marek shrugged. “I must. I cannot free you, but I do not agree to torture.” His blue-violet eyes pinned her again as he leaned forward. “And I do wish to help you.”
“Right,” she said, her heart speeding up just a little. She bit her lip, sure that the words waiting on the tip of her tongue were a bad idea, but this was all part of the plan, right? Give him just a little bit of friendliness, so that she might ask for more later?
Before she could second-guess herself, she added, “My name’s Bree.”
The levekk’s eyes widened in surprise.
“I didn’t tell you yesterday, because I was angry, but—”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Bree,” he said in a low voice that rocked right through her. His eyes were pinning her again, and they danced with a genuine pleasure that made her throat lock up tight and her cheeks burn.
“Likewise,” she mumbled. Suddenly, the room felt overbearingly hot again, and goddamn it, what was it about this alien that put her so off-balance? Why did he have to speak to her as if they were old friends, when in reality they’d spoken all of three times? She ducked her head, retreating back into her thick coat, but out of the corner of her eye she saw Marek’s eyes narrow.
“What is wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“You are red again,” he pressed, studying her. “Something distresses you.”
Bree gritted her teeth, glaring at him as she tried to convince her heart to stop pounding. “Nothing is ‘distressing’ me. I’m fine.”
“You are not skilled in lying.”
“It’s hot, all right?” she finally snapped, “This whole place is. I don’t know how you stand it.”
“Ah,” he said, his studious expression softening. “I am sorry. Levekk prefer hot climates. My ancestors’ planet is dry and sand-covered, like your deserts.”
“Yeah, I gathered.”
A smile crossed his lips. “You can remove your coat?”
“Not a chance.”
“I understand.” He got to his feet, making her tense, but he didn’t grab at her coat like a part of her still half-feared he would. Instead, he moved over to the door, pausing by the panel beside it and crooking a finger at her. “Come here?”
She bristled. “Why?”
“Because I will show you how to change the climate,” he said, looking amused.
After a moment of deliberation, Bree cautiously rose to her feet. She couldn’t afford to let her guard down around him, no matter how disarming he was.
And yet, as s
he stepped over the groove in the floor where the forcefield had once been, she felt a little thrill. Already, she had more freedom than the day before. Maybe, just maybe, her plan was working…
Marek’s eyes never left her as she approached, but she found she was getting used to it. “Go on then,” she said, arriving at his side.
“Watch.”
He placed his palm sideways against the panel so his fingertips brushed the doorframe beside it, and Bree braced, ready to run if the door opened like she anticipated it would. She froze when the panel flashed a dull yellow. Then, Marek leaned past her, his body close, and murmured into the device, “Yaaranek melira: yumin.”
Something whispered through the room behind them and made the hairs on the back of Bree’s neck stand on end. She whipped around, her knees bending, the breath stilling in her lungs as the room went silent.
She almost backed into the levekk when a strip of wall suddenly lit up bright blue. It started near the door at the level of her knees, casting the dark metal surrounding it in an eerie hue as it traveled the circumference of the room. The change was instant, the temperature of the room plummeting, and by the time the blue glow faded, she was comfortable even in her coat.
Then, the glowing started up again, the temperature rising, and she turned around to find Marek with his hand on the panel.
“What’re you—?”
“Now, you try,” he said, gesturing her forward.
“Oh.” Her skin felt tight with nerves, but she pressed her palm to the panel as he had done, nonetheless. It flashed yellow, glowing brightly around her parted fingers.
“Say the words: “Yaaranek melira: yumin,” Marek said quietly, suddenly very close behind her.
She startled, a ripple of awareness running down her spine. Could he see that? Was he watching her as intently as he had been earlier? Could he hear her heart thundering in her chest?
This close, she was acutely aware of how much larger he was. Still, she gulped down her nervousness and echoed, “Yarranik milira, yoomin.”
The words didn’t sound right coming out of her mouth, but the soft noise puffed somewhere behind her again. The walls glowed, and the room felt cooler. She dropped her hand from the panel and spun around to find that the levekk had already retreated a safe distance.
“Do this in your room. It will be more comfortable,” he said, his eyes dancing.
“Uh. Thank you. That was…”
Nice of you, she’d been about to say, but she clamped her lips shut. She’d given him entirely enough praise already—she didn’t need to stroke his ego any more.
Marek smiled as if he could read her every thought, and she looked away.
“So,” she began, crossing her arms where she stood awkwardly by the door.
The levekk’s eyes flashed. “So.”
They fell into a kind of silence that Bree was intimately familiar with. It was the silence of two fighters, each waiting for the other to strike first. It was a wolf staring her down, longing to steal her prey. Marek’s eyes were piercing as he looked her up and down, the spitting image of a mountain lion she’d once witnessed stalking a hunting party she was a part of last spring.
And yet, Bree didn’t feel threatened. Not really. If he were a mountain lion, she’d expect him to spring forward and rip her apart, but Marek…
Marek just wanted to talk, right?
“I think I owe you some lessons,” she said lightly. “Since you did as I asked.”
He smiled. “You already gived me lessons.”
“Gave you lessons. And those are just corrections. You said…” Bree hesitated. Was this the right choice? Was she being reckless? Of course she was, but there was no escape to be found in sitting on her thumbs. “You said you’d learn best through talking,” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. “So, let’s talk.”
Marek’s textured brow rose. “You are very generous,” he said, his tone soft enough that it made that heat rise again in Bree’s cheeks.
“Generous? We had a deal.” She slipped past him and back into her chair, avoiding his eye. “Humans take deals and promises very seriously.”
“This is admirable. It makes your people very intimate.”
“I don’t think intimate is the word.” She gulped, forcing a flinty expression as she watched the levekk sink into his seat across from her. “This doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you about my people,” she reminded him, and he laughed.
“No? I did not earn it?”
“Not a chance.”
Marek’s eyes danced. “If I fix your weapon, you will tell me the general direction?”
He held her gaze, a smile curving his golden lips, and she realized he was joking. “You already know which direction.”
“The coldest, yes?”
“Maybe.”
“You like the cold?” he asked, and Bree almost missed the question. The alien was grinning at her now, his small teeth flashing and his expression soft.
“Huh? Oh, not necessarily. Humans like a whole lot of temperatures.”
But Marek shook his head. “I do not speak of humans. I have many research on optimal human temperature.” He leaned toward her. “I ask what you like.”
“Oh.” Bree blinked, caught off guard. She’d never really thought about it. But the levekk was staring at her expectantly, curiosity plain on his face, and this was still a part of the plan.
“I like all times of year,” she said hesitantly. “In the winter, the air feels crystallized, like you could break it with a snap of your fingers. Spring is beautiful too, when everything turns green and the forest finally wakes up. Sometimes the lakes and rivers look even more blue than the sky at that time of year.
“But if I had to pick, I guess it’d be the fall,” she added. “It’s not too cold yet, and the leaves turn all kinds of colors. Red, purple, gold…” Her eyes strayed to the golden scales dusting the levekk’s skin, and she looked away. “Makes it hard to hunt, though. Everything blends together.”
“You hunt often?” Marek asked.
“It’s my job,” she said with a shrug. “My people need to eat, and I’m a pretty good shot.”
“You hunt near your village?”
Bree scowled. “You really think I’m going to answer that?”
“I must try, yes?” the levekk said, his expression mischievous. “I have seen your seasons. Even the summer is cold to levekk, but I like it. It is better than this icy winter.”
“…Do all the aliens here prefer heat?” she asked.
“Not all. Cicarians prefer it. Pindar do not, but their bodies survive it. Xylidians are hardy. They do not experience climate like us.”
“Right.” Bree’s head spun, and she quickly realized how foolish a question it was when she didn’t recognize any of the names he’d just spoken.
“The solayans dislike heat,” Marek continued. “Their planet is snow-covered and harsh. Like this land.”
“Solayans?” she asked, and then she gasped softly. “Are they the Giants? The ones that do all the work outside in the ravine?”
Marek’s eyes widened in realization. “They are your ‘Giants?’ This is an amusing name. But yes. They work outside, and also deep in the mines, where it is cool. They are not often allowed upstairs.”
“Upstairs?”
Marek hesitated, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “Upstairs is… here. Above the ground.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Ah.” He drew in a deep breath. “In this mine, the solayans live under the ground. All mukhaan do. Cicarians, xylidians—”
“Humans?”
“Yes.”
“What is mukhaan?” she asked, the word feeling unpleasant on her tongue.
Marek hesitated. “It is… I think the most close is lesser person. Sub-species.”
Bree’s chest tightened, the room suddenly airless despite the cooling temperature. “Sub-species? You see humans like… what? Animals?”
She’d always suspected
it to be this way. Her elders’ stories had always talked of the levekk, and never of any other species. She’d thought that meant they destroyed the people they conquered, but then she saw the solayans. They were very much alive, and they obviously served the levekk, acting like little more than workhorses.
But for Marek to say it aloud so casually, and for him to speak of the upstairs and the underground as if these were normal concepts…
Levekk society was starting to sound worse than Bree had ever imagined.
“They are not animals,” Marek said quickly. “But they are not levekk.”
“Slaves, then?”
“They are paid, always. They support their families, in the cities.”
“Do they live underground in these cities?” she pressed, her hackles raised.
“No. Every city is different. Every planet is different. But in all places, levekk are… better.”
“That’s horrible,” Bree spat. “No one people should be above another like that.”
Marek’s brow furrowed. “That is not how your people once lived?”
“Maybe they did before, but not now!” she said, voice rising in disbelief. “When we came north to escape the Invasion, every person’s skills were necessary to keep our people alive. Some brought knowledge of the land and its creatures, others had the skills to build our homes, and others were able to develop our people’s defenses. They didn’t have the luxury to fight amongst themselves about who came from where when an alien threat sat on their doorstep.”
“All your people are equal?”
“Yes.”
“And none are outcast?”
“No—” But Bree stopped short, his question finally registering. It was true that divisions based on race and religion had largely been left behind by her people, but no outcasts? That wasn’t quite true. Bree herself knew more than enough about that. “Sometimes, people are looked down upon,” she said quietly. “But it is due to their choices, not who they are.”
“This is… interesting,” Marek said after a moment, his gaze distant. Then, he focused. “Thank you for explaining.”
“Is your world really that… harsh?” she asked.
“Yes. In the Constellation, the way you look is the way you are.”