by Bex McLynn
Well, she hoped they would. Her hosts faced tough challenges. First, they’d never seen a human or anything like the spider before. Second, they lacked the technology to search for and then travel to Earth. Each morning Maude drew her water from a well, slept in a room with no air conditioning, and oil lamps provided her light. She greatly appreciated the care that had been extending to her, but terrorizing doubt nipped at her anyway.
The man drew back the curtain and let out a grumpy harrumph when he sighted her empty waste bucket. “Dammit, girly. Now what am I supposed to do?”
Maude scanned her room and spotted her sponge-bath bucket. Fetching fresh water meant going outside to the well, which she did during the cooler pre-dawn hours. If the man needed a task, she supposed filling her bucket would do.
Determined to keep a safe distance, she pointed at the bucket. “How about fresh water? For bathing?”
“That’ll do.” When the poor man struggled to lift her bucket of used bathwater, he griped at her. “You takin’ a bath or tryin’ to drown yourself in it?”
“It’s rather hot down here, so I bathe a few times a day.”
“You’re wearin’ a damn cloak.”
Maude grasped at the clasp at her neck, reflexively checking that it was secured. “It’s necessary.”
She would lose her mind if she had to stare at the spider all the time. The Gwyretti had said that it was wrapped around her, even in the stasis pod.
“Ech.” The man shook his head at her then started for the door. “You comin’?”
Maude stood there as her tumbling thoughts settled and connected.
Good lord! This man had seen a human before.
He had to have. While Maude had been struggling to remain calm throughout this encounter, the little old man hadn’t blinked an eye. He’d just shuffled right in and asked for her shit.
“Girly!” she heard him call from down the corridor. “Get the bucket and come on!”
“Coming!” Maude picked up the bucket and rushed from her room.
She watched the old man shuffle past Kesken, one of her Gwyretti hosts, who sat on a rickety wooden stool at the far end of the corridor.
When she started after the old man, Kesken’s eyes snapped to her. He jolted to his feet, his hand dropping to his stick-like weapon as his frill flared open.
“Where are you going?” His voice shot down the corridor toward her. “The suns are still out.”
She nodded toward her bucket. “I’m going to get fresh water.”
“You get water once it’s dark.” He narrowed his eyes at her and jutted his chin toward the retreating old man. “You were talking to the Teras?”
The old man was a Teras? Good to know.
Though, Kesken had sneered the word, making it sound derogatory, thus reflexively raising Maude’s hackles.
“Can’t fix stupid,” her sister would have said.
Heeding her sister’s advice, Maude simply maintained her slow pace onward, pressing along the opposite wall of the corridor to maintain her distance from Kesken. “I won’t be long. Just to the well and back.”
Despite the care she took, the spider flared as she drew even with the Gwyretti. Its violent rattling billowed her cloak.
“[I wake,]” a voice whispered in her head.
Ah. Her tormentor was back.
Despite the heat of two rising suns, Maude shivered.
She’d never thought of herself as weak-minded. It took determination to approach others with kindness rather than caution. But ever since she awakened from stasis, her mind had failed her. That voice had been whispering to her for weeks, constantly reminding her that this was not a dream. That she was, indeed, awake and lost in space with an alien growth attached to her body.
She pushed that voice down, burying it along with everything else that terrified her.
Kesken hissed as he flattened himself against the stone wall.
“So sorry!” Maude said in a rush. “Truly, Kesken. I’m sorry.”
He said nothing about her apology as he fell into step behind her. She’d come to accept this silent rebuke. After all, her words were empty; the spider did as it pleased. Since she couldn’t change what just happened, all she could do was continue on.
Returning her attention to far end of the corridor, she watched the long shadow cast by the old Teras man stretch and reshape as he turned at the junction, heading for the stairwell.
Maude huffed as she caught up to him, but not too close, because of the spider.
“Sir, please wait!” Her skin prickled once again because she’d easily transitioned from speaking Gwyr with Kesken to this new language.
The Teras man cackled, a sharp bark of laughter.
“I’m sorry.” Maude blushed, hating when she made a misstep out of ignorance. “Do I not call you ‘sir?’ Should I call you something else?”
“Gummy’ll do.”
She smiled at the endearing name. “Gummy. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Maude.”
The man laughed again and muttered, “Nice to meet me.”
“Gummy, may I ask you some questions?”
“Why not? Whaddya got for me?”
They reached the landing of the second level, and Gummy continued on up with Maude, and then Kesken, trailing cautiously behind.
“You’re Teras.” Maude felt foolish for stating the obvious, but she had to start somewhere. “I haven’t met a Teras before.”
“Aye. I’m Teras.”
Maude ran her eyes over Gummy again. Although he lacked fine hair, like eyebrows, his brow furrowed expressively. He had a broad nose that flared, as if scenting the air around him, and when he spoke, his lips pulled back to reveal small fangs. Compared to the Gwyretti, with their head frills and tails and scales, Maude was relieved to see a form so familiar.
She chided herself, disappointed that she had such feelings. The Gwyretti were people, just like her. Just like the Teras.
She snuck a glance at Gummy. “Um, what language are we speaking?”
More foolish questions, yes. But Maude let it roll off her back. She was used to people thinking of her as silly and gullible.
“Terish,” Gummy said, his head down as he climbed. “So many damn stairs, like climbin’ up from Unholde’s Gate.”
“Unholde? I’m not familiar with that place.”
“Bowels of hell, girly.”
Alien hell. She never would have imagined it, though she should have. “Oh, well, that sounds—”
“Ain’t no carnival.” Gummy paused on the second landing, a hand on his hip as he heaved. He glared at the next set of steps. “Just had to be three levels down, didn’t ya, girly?”
“We’re almost there,” Maude said encouragingly. With each step up, the heat pressed down. Already her skin dampened with sweat. Once they alighted the last flight of stairs, she’d have rivulets rolling down her neck and into the collar of the cloak. Just another day on Radost.
Well, except for the new alien.
“Have you ever seen anyone like me before?” She dipped her head slightly to gauge his reaction. “You didn’t look surprised, at all, when you saw me.”
Gummy again waved a dismissive hand at her. “Ech. I’ve seen stranger than you.”
“Oh.” She tried to rein in her disappointment. “Well, how is that possible? How did those people get here?”
Gummy frowned at her. “What kinda question is that?”
Maude shifted awkwardly on her feet. “The kind of question from someone who’s got no idea.”
“Aye, no idea,” Gummy mumbled. “A damned spaceship, girly.”
“Wait, an actual flies-through-space spaceship?”
Gummy eyed her. “How the fuck else? Course a spaceship.”
Stunned, Maude stood and gaped as the old Teras man shuffled onward.
A spaceship. Of course, a spaceship must be involved. Otherwise, she would have to consider portals or gates or—
She cast her eyes about the mud-brick walls of t
he compound, once again taking in the absence of anything more advanced than a winch and pulley for the well. All this time, did the Gwyretti have access to god’s honest spacefaring ships? Or did only the Teras have ships?
“Girly!” Gummy barked.
With her heart thrumming, Maude shook her head and hurried after the old man.
Chapter Two
“Well, Crotch Rotter,” Therion sighed as he settled his back against the slave barracks wall. “You had the right of it. Nothing but fodder.”
The scrawny little Teras man sheltered next to Therion, ducking into the shade that Therion’s larger frame provided. Crotch Rotter had been plastered to Therion all morning, trying to avoid the notice of the training master and being called out into the practice arena.
Therion didn’t blame the little arse, either. The Gwyretti people lacked the height of the Teras, but the brutes brawling in the sands must represent the genetic outliers. None of the Gwyretti gladiators stood taller than Therion, but their body mass stacked more muscle than his wiry frame. Their shoulders and thighs hulked with strength, and their attacks struck as fast as whip cracks. Scattered throughout the practice arena, Therion witnessed skilled and orderly drills, especially amongst the pairings that pitted Gwyretti gladiator against Gwyretti gladiator.
The Gwyretti-Teras pairings, though, resembled a mortar and pestle. The Gwyretti gladiators sliced and diced, grinding on the Teras, until the Teras hit the sands and had to be carried away. It dismayed him to see that bleeding men weren’t diagnosed with portal MediCune scanners. Rather, another Teras, who was not bleeding as badly, would attempt some tending.
“Aye, we’s fodder,” Crotch Rotter agreed miserably.
Each time Crotch Rotter had been called to the arena, Therion had gone in his place. He couldn’t very well let the little bastard go and get pummeled, now could he?
Once out in the arena, the Gwyretti would remove his shackles, and then set about knocking him around like fresh meat that needed to be butchered before it could be served.
“But yer bustin’ outta here?” Crotch Rotter asked hopefully. “Fleet’s comin’ for ya?”
“Me? Nah.” By Unholde, Therion wanted Fleet nowhere near Radost. Not if another Human were here. “Fleet isn’t coming. I’ll just take over the compound.”
“Really? No Fleet? Cuz I heard ya made Commander.”
“Acting Commander, actually,” Therion said, letting all the horrid memories of his time on the battleship Prykimis coat his reply in believable disdain. “Can you fucking believe that, Crotch Rotter? After all that time, still only an ‘acting’ officer. I left.”
“You left?”
“Aye.”
The man’s face wrinkled in confusion. “You left cuz they promoted you?”
“I left because I’m not an actor.”
Crotch Rotter, that adorable little runt, stared at him with pity in his eyes, probably because Therion’s answer was asininely daft. But Therion served up what they all craved. Fucking Therion. The Bane.
“Hoy. Banger,” the scarred up Gwyretti training master bellowed to Therion. “You’re up again.”
Therion used his hand to shade his eyes against the double suns of Radost. As dusk approached, the suns flared low on the horizon, right into his line of sight. Fucking spiteful planet.
“Banger!” the training master called to him again. “Hurry up before the daylight’s gone.”
With a groan, Therion rose up from his slouched position against the mud-brick wall, pretty sure he left a puddle of blood behind him.
“Make ‘em eat their shit, Banger,” Crotch Rotter cheered meekly.
“Aye,” Therion sighed as he scanned the battered Teras men slumped against the wall. “Spoon feed ‘em like a baby.”
The able body count of Teras men was dropping, which didn’t bode well for his plans. With word out that Lider had resorted to kidnapping his gladiator trainer fodder, rather than paying Teras Unsworns to get pummeled, the next batch of enslaved arses could be worse than this lot. The delivery would be filled with the sick and cladeless who couldn’t outrun Lider’s slavers.
With his hand pressed to his side, Therion hobbled over to the training master and another hulking Gwyretti.
“Greetings, gentlemen.” Therion smiled. “How can I be of service?”
The training master scoffed. “Gonna show Hebi here how to break a bone.”
“Ah, delightful,” Therion sighed and readied himself.
After all, what was a snapped limb or two in the line of duty?
Then again…
Therion jutted his chin toward Culler on the other side of the arena. “I’d recommend Culler. He snaps bones like they’re twigs. Very educational and inspiring to witness.”
The training master and Hebi laughed at him.
“Culler’s a bit busy right now,” chuckled the training master. “You’ll do.”
All three men turned back to watch Culler hoist his sparring opponent—a Gwyretti trainee—overhead before throwing the howling man like a sack of laundry.
“Poor arse.” Therion injected his tone with sympathy. “I really think he wanted to be a sex slave, not fighting in the arena.”
“Right.” The training master drew the word out.
Therion threw an arm out toward the big bastard. “Look at him. Taking his disappointment out on others.”
“Culler looks real disappointed.”
“He’s always worn his emotions on the outside,” Therion confided.
Personally, he’d always loved the strife that the man inspired.
“Hey.” Therion turned to the two Gwyretti. “When I turn this place inside-out and take over, will I be up against just the guards or the gladiators as well?”
Both Gwyretti stared at him, their frills slowly closing in their confusion.
Therion gestured to the guards moseying about the yard. “I mean, the guards are one thing, but you gladiator arses are completely another thing. ‘Cause if you want, I can toss you into the planning. I know what’s it like to be excluding from the planning, and you look like you’d enjoy the trashing bit.”
The training master stared at him a moment longer, then hissed.
“Fucking Teras. Get over here.” He grabbed Therion by the bicep and dragged him forward, speaking to Hebi as he did so. “See? Nothing but skin and bones to this cocky arse. Give you a good feel for the snap.”
“Hey now!” Therion griped. “Ain’t been the same since my bout with scrubber’s lung.”
He had yet to regain his weight from his tour on Prykimis. Hell, a few weeks ago his nephew—a newly praal-budded Fleet Academe cadet—could have grappled him to the ground. Therion had never been a colossus, like The Culler or Hebi, but his time on Prykimis had left him down right skeletal. Since Seph took over the stewardship of Prykimis, he’d been pumped full of nutrient-rich concoctions. He’d also been balancing his physical training, trying to increase his stamina without burning too many calories. His strength was returning, though his weight had not.
The training master gave his arm a good jostle. “See? At the wrist? See the bones sticking out?”
Without warning, the training master threw Therion to the sands by locking his arm into a hold that shattered his vision with stars. Therion panted into the sand, his breath scattering the minuscule particles.
By Unholde, that fucking hurt. But he hadn’t heard the snap of his bone, so he thanked Direis.
Overhead, the training master said, “Now you give it a go.”
With a steadying breath, Therion rose up and met the mean glint in Hebi’s slitted eyes. He watched as the young gladiator’s ramping adrenaline made his frill snap open. As Hebi reached out for Therion’s arm, Therion stepped forward, pinned the Gwyretti’s arm, and twisted.
Hebi howled as the bone in his arm snapped. He dropped to his knees, his frill collapsing, and cradled his arm to his chest.
The entire arena went still.
Therion, heaving, loo
ked about. “What? Did I do it wrong? ‘Cause I don’t think I did it wrong.”
The training master snarled, “He was supposed to break your arm, you stupid fuck!”
Therion threw his arms wide. “Well, you didn’t say that! You said show Hebi here how to break a bone. So I did. You’re welcome.”
He was all for keeping his cover for the mission, but voluntarily breaking his arm—an arm he was pretty sure he’d need later on—gave him no clear advantage. That, and the bastard in him believed Hebi ought to earn the privilege. No bone snapping just for chuckles.
The training master hissed, his frill popping open, and jabbed a finger at him. “I’m gonna break all your damn bones. Don’t care whatcha good for.”
“Kick his ass so hard, he upchucks turds!” someone shouted.
Therion, knowing that voice, spun about until he sighted the old git across the sands. “Dammit, Gummy! You mean arse licker! I’m—”
But he drew up short as he slapped his hand to his neck. Reflex triggered his movement, like swatting at a gnat in reaction to the sting of the bite. In utter confusion, he pulled a slim, metallic dart from his neck.
Therion looked back at Gummy. His brain tried to make sense of what his eyes saw. Next to Gummy stood a cloaked figure, petite in posture. No bigger than Gummy, truly. The figure’s arm extended out before him, straight and rigid. The last light of the twin suns of Radost gleamed off the metal of an arm bracer.
That was armor, wasn’t it, twining about the figure’s slim forearm like woven metal vines?
The figure gasped, and the sound tunneled toward his sensitive ears.
Him? Why on Ero had Therion thought such a thing? That sweet, breathy gasp echoed softly and decidedly feminine.