by Jake Stone
Yorga freezes in his seat, his breath catching in his throat. He can’t believe what he’s just heard. I can’t believe what he’s just heard.
“You mean, you…and…me?”
“Sure,” she says. “Why not? I’ll even let you eat my ass if you want.”
Yorga gasps. He can’t believe his luck. Flooded with excitement, he reaches for the bottle to pour himself another drink, filling it up completely. Stunned, I let him, casting a stare at Zorel, who remains stone-faced.
After he shoots back the entire glass, he slams it on the table and roars out like someone who’s just won the lottery. “My luck’s finally kicked in, boys!”
At that moment, a man in a black duster with a large handgun shoots Yorga in the chest, showering the wall behind him with blood. He falls back against the floor, his eyes rolling back in his head.
Both Zorel and I jump from our chairs, finding a short man in a blue shirt with overalls eating a large piece of meat standing behind a pair of large body guards.
“Hello, Zorel,” he says, his fat face full of grease. “It’s been a while.”
“Borga,” Zorel whispers.
Chapter Eight
We’re escorted by Borga and his men up the stairs into his office on the second level. The man behind me—a bruiser with a bald head and metal teeth—shoves me into the room, nearly knocking me to my knees.
I spin around to shoot him an ugly glare, my anger fueling my courage, but all I can do is just stand there, trying to look confident. He ignores me.
No one touches Zorel, though. The bruisers keep their distance, choosing to eye her like she’s an escaped tiger, who’s just been cornered. They hold their guns at the ready, they’re breathing shallow, their jaws tight. Behind us, the door closes.
Borga’s office is unlike anything I’ve seen in the Ogre’s Toe. For one, it’s clean. There’s no dead wood along the walls or blood stains on the floor, and there are no dirty pictures of women in raunchy poses, which isn’t something that I’d complain about. Instead, it’s like a mini-museum, decorated with colorful paintings and obtuse sculptures that remind me of an art gallery.
One of the sculptures catches my eye—a shiny black sphere sitting on the back shelf like a centerpiece. For some reason I can’t explain, the sight of it makes me tremble.
“So, what do I owe the pleasure?” Borga asks, plopping into the black leather seat behind his desk. He tosses the piece of meat into the waste bin and begins licking his fingers. “This week’s bribe didn’t make it up to the right clergyman?”
He and his men burst out laughing, exchanging glances at Zorel’s expense.
“Because I’ll tell you this,” Borga continues. “I’m not paying one more coin to your—”
“Relax, Borgie,” Zorel says in a playful tone. She lifts the tail of her cloak and rests her tight ass on the edge of his desk, making sure he can see it. Borga’s breath visibly changes, and his mouth goes slack. Lust is a powerful emotion, one that he’s clearly a slave to. “We’re not here for that.”
“What then?” he asks, his gaze sliding down to her toned thigh.
“Where’s Skarteck?”
“Skarteck?” Borga stirs from whatever dirty fantasy is playing in his mind and looks up at the Purifier. “Skarteck’s dead. He was shot in the face months ago by one of the gaideck’s own men. His nephew. That pretty boy…Eloise.”
“Eligor,” she corrects him.
“Whatever. Besides, what the hell would I know about any slavers? You know I respect women.”
At that moment, the door opens, and a bruiser with dark skin and a bald head leans inside. “Hey boss, we got those whores you wanted.”
Borga slaps his face in embarrassment, his skin turning a deep red. Nevertheless, he waves the bruiser in, and I watch as three gorgeous girls wearing thin strips of cloth—outfits that would make a stripper blush—take their seats along the couch.
“You were saying?” Zorel asks, arching a brow at him.
“Look,” he says with an apologetic shrug. “I’m running a business over here. What do you want me to do? Starve?”
“You could never starve, Borgie.”
He follows her gaze to his stomach, embarrassed by the fat flooding out the bottom of his shirt, and yanks it down.
“I want to know where Skarteck is,” Zorel says.
I look at him, doing my best to remain calm. But inside, my heart is racing. I need to know where Rachel is. Every minute that goes by could be her last. The only thing that distracts me is that damn sphere. Why the hell is it bothering me so much? My hands trembling, I wipe the bead of sweat running down my face.
“What’s wrong with your friend over there?” Borga asks, noticing my nervousness.
Zorel looks back at me. “You okay, sexy?”
“That thing,” I say, pointing at the shelf with a shaking finger. “Where’d you get that?”
They follow my gaze to the black sphere.
“Why?” Borga asks. “You don’t like my art? You think I have shitty taste or something?”
“It's not that,” I say. “It’s just…it’s making me feel…weird.”
Borga’s brows shoot up, and he rises to his feet, leaning over the desk toward me. “Weird? You know how expensive that fucking thing was, how many people died getting it to me? It’s a Solarum Piece, do you know what that is?”
Zorel stiffens at the name. She lifts from the desk and steps back, keeping her eye on the sphere. I’m not sure, but I think I notice her hand lowering to her sidearm.
“What’s a Solarum Piece?” I ask.
“A piece made by Solarum,” he replies, thinking he’s answered my question.
“Solarum was a great scientist,” Zorel answers. “He lived hundreds of years ago. It is said that it was his device that created the Dark Horizon. After he went in, he was never heard from again, save for a few of his belongings, which are now considered artifacts.”
“And I’ve got one!” Borga says proudly.
The hairs on my neck rise at the mention of this. For some reason, for some God-awful reason I can’t explain, it’s as if I can actually feel the vibration of the sculpture pulling me—no—calling me to it, as if we’re joined somehow. But how can this be?
“No more games,” Zorel says, turning to face Borga again. “Tell me where Skarteck is, and I won’t arrest you for possessing such an illegal relic.”
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, honey, but you’re outnumbered here. And more than likely, no one else knows you’re here either.”
“My sisters know where I am.”
“I doubt that,” Borga says. “Atia’s too by-the-book to let one of her soldiers wander into a place like this. Besides, you think you’re the only one with a brain? Just look at you, sneaking into a place like this wearing a hood. The problem with sneaking into a place is that no one else knows you’re there, which means you don’t exist. In fact, tell me why I shouldn’t strip you down right here, right now, and let my guys take turns on your ass?”
Zorel turns around as she notices one of Borga’s bruisers closing in behind her. He’s big; twice my size with mitts for hands. He rubs her hair between his fingers, gauging its shine and texture, a malevolent grin stretching across his scarred face.
“Don’t touch her,” I warn, unable to control myself. I might be outnumbered, with no weapons. But I’m not going to just stand by and watch her get hurt. Fuck that.
His face twists into something evil, but Zorel raises a hand, warning me to stay out of it.
“Don’t do this,” Zorel warns as she glances back at Borga.
“And why’s that?” he asks.
“Because, as much as I’d love to play with your boys here, I really don’t think you want to lose half your staff.”
Borga laughs. He falls back into his seat and steeples his fingers over his fat belly as if waiting for a show to begin. “Go ahead boys; she’s all yours. Just don’t get any cum on the floor this time.”
/>
My hands clench on instinct, preparing for a fight. But I’m still trembling and now my vision is blurring. It’s that damn sphere! Out the corner of my eye, I spot a shadow, a bruiser. He’s walking toward me. Something shiny is in his hand. A knife?
Weaponless, about to faint, I don’t stand a chance against him. But Zorel has put her life on the line for me. And I can’t let that slip. I have to do what I can. I have to help her.
“Okay,” Zorel says. “But I warned you.”
Chapter Nine
In one blinding moment, faster than I can blink, Zorel ignites the bruiser into a blistering storm of electricity that nearly gives me a sunburn.
His entire body—clothes and all—evaporate into a shower of blood, dust and bone. His very essence, perhaps his very soul, disappears in a crackle of light, leaving only speckles of his remains to float around us in the air. I cough from the debris.
The sight of it freezes the entire room. Bruisers back away. Prostitutes huddle closely. And Borga, his eyes wide with terror, jumps from his seat, stumbling to the floor as he scampers behind his chair for cover. “You’re an elemental?” he breathes out in fear.
Zorel’s hand is trailing with smoke. It’s an awesome sight to behold, and I’m fucking proud. She aims it at the little fat man, her eyes glowing an unnatural grey as she begins to speak in a dark voice. “Tell me where Skarteck is, and I won’t kill you.”
The demand causes Borga to blink, and for a moment, through the fog of his fear, he comes to realize that he’s no match for her. Cooperate or die. “Okay, okay…I’ll tell you what I know. Just don’t kill me.”
“I’m waiting,” Zorel replies.
“Skarteck’s back,” he finally admits. “It’s true. I don’t how. I don’t know when. But he’s not alone. He’s working for someone, a new player, someone from off-world. No one wants to cross him because he’s so bad. Including me.”
“What’s his name?”
“Sarga,” Borga says. “They call him Sarga. But that’s all I know.”
Sarga. The name comes back to me in a flash. It’s the same name that Skarteck used, the one that I asked him about. I want to blurt it out to Zorel, but as much as I do, I know that I should wait.
“How do I find him?”
“You don’t,” Borga tells her. “He finds you.”
Zorel’s teeth clench as she steadies her hand again in his direction.
“But there may be a way,” Borga blurts out. “An auction… next week…somewhere out in the desert. A bunch of high rollers is going to be there. If I were a betting man, I’d say that’s your best bet.”
“I want the exact location.”
With a sigh, he nods to one of his men, who quickly draws some sort of tech from his pocket and hands it to her.
“That should have the coordinates,” Borga says. “But that’s all I know. Now go!”
After a few seconds of terror, Zorel finally relaxes her hand, and her eyes dim to their natural grey. The entire room lets out a sigh of relief, including me.
“Well, then,” she says, her voice returning to its cheerful tone. “I guess the party’s over.”
The bruisers step out of her way as she turns to the door, while the prostitutes, still huddled on the couch, shift to the opposite edge trying to get as far away from her as possible.
Only Borga remains still, the top of his head nervously poking out from behind the chair as he cowers behind it.
“Uh, Zorel?” he lets out sheepishly.
“Yes, Borgie?”
“You’re not gonna tell Skarteck I told you anything, right? I mean, if he finds out I helped you….”
Zorel smiles. “Don’t worry, Borgie. You know you can trust me.”
“I can,” he asks anxiously.
“No,” she replies. And with that, she turns away.
I follow Zorel as she exits the room, fighting against the nerves trying to overtake my body. The Solarum piece already had me trembling, but after watching her explode an entire person in less than a second, I’m ready to pass out. I keep my cool, though. We’re still in the jungle. And we need to get out.
When we reach the bottom of the stairs, we’re met with a notable hush as criminals and psychopaths see Zorel without her hood, her long blond hair flowing over her parted cloak, her blue cape and silver armor shinning dully underneath. There was a Purifier amongst them, they suddenly realize with terror. And none of them knew it.
When we reach the exit, Zorel pauses to look back at the captured audience and grins. “You be good, now. Or I’ll be back.”
The night air is cool on my face, and I’m suddenly renewed by the expansive street parting before us. People fear us. It’s a feeling I’ve never experienced before. But one I can get used to.
“You did pretty well back there,” Zorel says, bumping her ass into me.
“Thanks,” I say. “It wasn’t as good as zapping someone out of existence, which was freaky as hell by the way, but at least I didn’t faint.”
“Death is the only constant here, Xander,” she says somberly. “You’ll get used to it eventually.”
“That’s the thing,” I say. “I think I already am. Ever since I got to this stinking planet, all I’ve seen is death. I don’t want it to change me.”
“The world changes everybody,” she says. “The best you can do is laugh about it.”
“Is that why you laugh?” I ask, turning to face her.
She shrugs. “I laugh because that’s how I’ve survived my entire life.”
“What kind of planet are you from?”
“A wet one,” she says, shooting me a wink. “One with vast oceans and thick, lush jungles, a place where poisonless fruit hangs from every tree and there’s so much grass you could roll around it for days.”
“Sounds beautiful,” I say, noticing the way her face brightens in her memory. “What’s it called?”
“Marea,” she says longingly.
The sound of her voice is sensual, delicate, and I immediately picture her on some white, sandy beach where she’s only dressed in a tiny blue bikini, that’s barely large enough to keep her large breasts from falling out.
The street leads us back into one of the safer districts, and I’m relieved, even a bit welcomed, when I see the palace towers rising to my left.
“What are you going to do now that you have Skarteck’s location?” I ask anxiously. “Will you tell Atia?”
“In all due time,” Zorel says, tilting her head back to look up at the decorations stretching across the street. She’s more concerned with the city lights, her fingers brushing against the vibrating glass cases that hang above the storefronts. “Besides, the beshai is probably drunk on cranish right now. And I doubt the palace guard would even allow me entrance to his chambers.”
“Why don’t they like you and Atia?” I ask, remembering the tense exchange in the chamber.
“Because we’re Purifiers,” she says. “Our existence shames them.”
“How so?”
“Decades after the War of Darkness, long before any of us were alive, Dardekum was on the brink of starvation.”
“Even worse than it is now?”
“If you can imagine that,” she replies with a shrug. “The war had taken its toll on the galaxy. Dardekum was no different. People took their anger to the streets, revolting against the palace itself. But it was the Purifiers, not the palace guard, who staved off the revolt. Those wretched cowards watched safely from the windows of their pretty rooms.”
“What a bunch of dicks,” I say.
“Since then, we’ve become something of a stain in their glorious history, a black eye that reminds them of their cowardice. I’m sure they have their own rendition of the story. But we know the truth.”
The city quiets down as we venture farther away. I like it. It’s a far cry from Borga’s office where the unsettling sound of fighting and arguing rising from downstairs had me on the edge. If Zorel hadn’t had her power, I think I would
’ve passed out.
“How did you get like that?” I ask.
“Like what?” she asks.
“You know, being able to blast people apart?”
“You mean how I became an elemental?”
I nod.
“Not sure,” she says. “I’ve heard some theories on the subject. Some think it’s a combination of genetics and environment; others believe it’s just the evolutionary process. To be honest, no one knows for sure.”
“Are there a lot of you?”
“Not as many as we could use. I’m one of the few here on Dardekum. But that was only because I requested this location.”
“Wait a second,” I say, drawing her to a halt. “You actually requested to come here?”
She shrugs. “It seemed like a fun place.”
“Dardeckum? A planet rife with mutants and slavers?”
“Some might see it that way. I, on the other hand, see it as a home where I can let my hair down and go crazy.”
“Like blasting motherfuckers apart?”
She laughs. “It was hard growing up as an elemental on my planet. Kids were scared of me. Parents didn’t trust me. I was considered dangerous. So, where does something dangerous go to live when they’re free?”
“To a dangerous planet.”
“Exactly,” she replies.
We continue up the street, wordless as we enjoy the night air. As nice as it is, I can’t help but steal glances at the beautiful Purifier. She’s dangerous. Yes. That’s a given. But there’s something playful about her soul, a child trapped in a woman’s body, one that never got to be a kid.
“I don’t think you’re scary,” I say, catching her off guard. “I think you’re probably one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. In fact, if it weren’t for you, we would’ve never found out what we did with Borga.”
She looks at me, baffled. The compliment is foreign to her. It takes her a few moments to process it. But when she does, I feel whatever wall there was between us suddenly crumble.
“There’s another reason why I came here,” she admits, her voice soft, sincere.
