Pietas fumed. Was he doomed to internal flailing?
Six stood and wandered over to his survival pack. In the waning light, he began rummaging through it. "One other thing." He squatted beside the fire and stuck two Y-shaped sticks on the outside. He rested the speared fish across the sticks. The tips of flame licked at the filets. "You should try to remember this. You have one of those memories that can't forget stuff, so try to fix this in that head of yours, okay?"
Bristling, Pietas waited.
With Six's face half in shadow, the fire cast an unearthly glow on his features. A thin scar high on one cheek didn't show in daylight. In firelight, it stood out in sharp relief. His thick eyebrows knitted together.
"Just because I said I wouldn't kill you doesn't mean I plan to stick around. First time I heard about Ghost Division, I signed up, knowing if I got killed, they'd bring me back. The sole purpose of a ghost is to kill Ultras and the Ultra we wanted to kill most was you. Don't think for a minute I'm gonna be your servant. And I am never gonna be one of your soldiers. You got that?"
Why any words a human uttered should have the power to wound, Pietas could not fathom, but these did. "As I thought. Humans are all the same. They pretend friendship and peace, then pull you in and deliver a hammer blow."
"Yeah? Well, maybe that's 'cause you've never given us any reason to trust you."
"Ghosts are worse than humans. Unworthy of trust. You are a despicable coward."
Chuckling, Six rubbed his jaw. "You might wanna be nice to the person you expect to feed you, help you bathe, or get you up to go pee."
Pietas was gaining strength. He would manage in a day or so and he had been through far worse than going without food. "I need nothing from you, ghost."
"Guess we'll see." Six wandered away from the camp and came back with an armful of small twigs. He stooped and began laying them on the fire. The smoke rose and the heat began sizzling the fish. He sat, feeding the fire.
The scent drifted to Pietas, making his stomach clench with hunger. His mouth watered. He had not smelled food in over a year and his senses were starved for the meal and for the experience of the texture and taste. Hot, flaky fish against his tongue. Licking the smoky liquid from his fingers, sucking the juices into his throat.
E surient!
"Now that's a phrase I recognize." Six pivoted toward him.
Pietas hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud. "Pardon?"
"That sounded like 'I'm hungry' in Naro."
"You speak Naro?" As a rule, Ultras reserved their language for use among themselves. Though based on the human language Latin, it had many words Latin didn't. What humans didn't know they couldn't use against you.
"I know a few words." Six broke a twig and tossed it into the flames. "Enough to know you're hungry. You want some?" He turned the fish. Its juices hissed over the fire.
"It smells amazing."
"Sure thing. I didn't realize you'd be ready to apologize so soon."
"Apolo-- what? Since when does an Ultra apologize to a human? And for what?"
"Oh, I think we both know the answer to that question." Six quirked an eyebrow, as if waiting for an answer.
Pietas refused to grace that with a reply.
"Fine." Six shrugged. "More for me." He swiped a finger along a cooked portion of the fish and tasted it. "Oh, this is delicious. You don't know what you're missing."
Infuriating human!
The fish sizzled, releasing a tantalizing smell. Pietas's stomach growled.
Six shot him a glance, but said nothing. He pulled one off the fire and tested the fish against his tongue. "Perfect temperature." He bit into it and then waved the fish toward Pietas. "You should taste this! Tender, flaky, moist. Never had fish good as this. Purest water you can imagine to swim in. Not a bit of pollution on the planet." He bit into the filet and moaned as if in rapture.
Pietas turned away.
Six ate all four pieces of fish and drank water from a metal cup he'd produced from his pack. He said nothing more about apologies. Six cleaned up, rolled out a reflective blanket by the fire and closed his eyes.
Unable to sleep, Pietas lay on his back, watching the alien stars wheel above. That night was the longest of his life. Wrapped in a reflective blanket, Pietas lay on the slight hill, his feet downward. A chill night wind came up and breathed over the camp. He had no muscle and couldn't shiver, but his teeth chattered.
After a time, he felt rather than heard Six come over beside him.
"I'm cold too. Here. We'll huddle together." He spooned around Pietas and covered them both with his blanket. After wrapping one arm around him, he went still. Six's warmth comforted, soaking into Pietas. The sound of his breathing soothed.
Pietas dropped straight into sleep.
* * * *
Around dawn, he kept his eyes closed and listened as Six gathered hunting equipment. The ghost left camp without a word.
The day dragged. The sun inched across the sky. Judging by its height in the sky and the apparent length it took to reach zenith, it was summer and they were on the southern portion of the continent. A bird circled, far overhead, diving down over another part of the creek.
Pietas went over the data he had seen on this world. Terraformed and left for colonists, Sempervia remained empty, too far off the space-lanes to interest homesteaders or traders. None of the usual human consortiums had developed it for business. The burgeoning commerce of the Colonies of Man depended on worlds such as this, yet its location doomed it to obscurity. Far out on the rim, it sat unoccupied, primed, ready, a neglected product of the terraforming army that made the galaxy habitable for humans. No one would get rich from Sempervia. It had no value to traders. Small wonder humans were so quick to hand it over.
Six whistled as he sauntered in, late in the day, with what resembled a quail slung over his shoulder. He set about preparing it and cooked it over the fire. He offered the delicious-smelling meat to Pietas.
Though the smell of food made his stomach spasm with hunger, Pietas shook his head. "You offer it with strings attached."
"Maybe so, but you want something for nothing and I won't be treated like a servant." Six ate the entire quail himself and tossed the bones into the flames.
Try as he might, he couldn't move, or sit up. Swallowing tore his throat. He needed food and water, neither of which he could obtain.
But to ask for help from a human? From a ghost? Never.
That night, though exhausted, sleep eluded him until almost dawn. The night was warm. He remained alone.
* * * *
Pietas woke to the smell of fish cooking. He tried, but could no longer turn his head. A body-deep lethargy stole his breath and he lacked energy to cough, or speak. His stomach cramped from hunger.
If his people found him, they would make this ghost pay for--
No. No.
Pietas had given his word he would not allow his people to harm Six. Though the ghost had let him starve, Pietas would keep his word. His honor set him apart from humans, who broke their oaths with complete disregard for the sanctity of vows.
If Ultras encountered Six while the ghost was out hunting, he could be killed. If the others came here, Pietas lacked the strength to tell them anything.
Why wouldn't this ghost unbend his stubborn neck and listen to reason. Humans are impossible!
"Excuse me?" Six, squatting beside the fire, pivoted on one foot. "Did you say humans are impossible? Try dealing with the king of the Ultras."
Pietas had not spoken aloud. His throat had closed so much it hurt to breathe. The ghost had heard his thoughts.
Could Six be telepathic? Or perhaps when angry, Pietas overcame his inability to reach others. It would explain how Six had known Pietas was awake aboard ship and his comment about Naro the day before. Six was not the single person to whom he could mind-speak. Surely not.
He tried reaching out. Six!
The ghost stood at once and came over to him. With alarm in his eyes, he dropped
to one knee. Bending over him, Six lifted one of Pietas's eyelids. "You stubborn, pig-headed Ultra. You're dehydrated." He left and came back with a steel cup. "Drink this." He held it for him.
Water cascaded through Pietas's mouth and across his tongue. His teeth stopped sticking to the inside of his mouth.
"Look, I'm sorry, Pietas. I shouldn't have done that to you. Considering what you've been through, that was wrong. I'm sorry. I will never do that again. From now on, you don't ever have to ask me for anything, you got that? I'll be here." Six helped him sit up. "I know you like being right, but you don't have to be right all the time."
Pietas rested against him. "Not...right. Perfect."
"Man. Nobody's perfect. Not even you." He held the water for him. "You're worse than a kid having a tantrum."
Before he could react to the insult, the words sparked a long-ignored memory.
He was nine and learning one of many languages his father insisted he master. The work was easy, which bored him. He much preferred a challenge. That night, his father came to check on him. Pietas was eager to show him what he'd learned. Mahikos held an extended discussion with him in the language.
"Good enough. Language is one of your strengths. You must learn to speak as many as possible. Begin another." Mahikos left the room without further comment.
Having spent days memorizing the hundreds of verb forms of the language and how to use them, the sparse praise irritated.
Pietas kicked the table leg. With his superior strength, the leg broke. The table canted over, dumping everything onto the floor. Liquid spilled on scattering papers. Glass broke. He cut himself picking it up and popped the injured finger into his mouth.
His mother entered, took in the damage and came over to examine his hand.
"It doesn't hurt." He pulled it away from her.
"Tell me what happened." When he told her, she cupped his chin in her hand and kissed his brow. "Pietas." She sat beside him and drew him into her arms. "Son, when someone has a tantrum, people always gets hurt. More often than not, it's the person who threw the tantrum. You were born to be a leader. Train yourself to think before you act. Always set an example. If your soldiers you see you out of control, they will be. You can never afford to indulge your temper." She kissed his brow. "You were born to rule. You must be above pettiness and anger."
"Father is always angry."
"Do you want to be no better than your father?"
Pietas tilted his head. "Six?"
He moved so Pietas could see his face. He pushed a shock of hair out of Pietas's eyes. "Yeah?"
"I'm sorry."
A smile eased across the ghost's face, as wondrous as any sunrise. "Listen, that's all right, I--"
"Six." Pietas nudged his chin toward the water and Six gave him more. He wet his throat. "I have never apologized to a human before, so please give this the attention it deserves."
The ghost looked everywhere but at Pietas. "Okay."
"You were right. We'll wait until I'm better and then we'll go together. If you were alone and my people found you and killed you, I'd feel guilty the rest of my life. That's too long to feel bad over some dead human getting what he deserves."
"Uh huh." Nodding, Six bit his lower lip. "That's how you want to play this?"
Pietas narrowed his eyes. "That's how it is. You stay with me and help me heal. In exchange, I will not ask you to be my servant, or one of my men. In addition, you will remain under my protection. I cannot prevent my people from harming you if you are not with me."
"So in exchange for me feeding you, giving you water and taking care of you while you plump back up, I get to live if your people show up."
He considered Six's words. Even without empathy, the man's amusement was obvious. Pietas was salvaging his pride and the ghost understood and wasn't offended. How priceless was that?
"That's the best I can offer."
"You drive a hard bargain, Ultra." Six scrubbed one hand back through his hair, which hid his face--but not his smile. "You got yourself a deal."
Chapter Sixteen
Daily, Pietas rested while the ghost ventured out to hunt or fish.
Six also harvested berries and climbed a few fruit trees he discovered. He brought back dozens of sweet, juicy apples. They made themselves sick eating them, but they were too good to pass up and ate more the next day. Walnuts and pecans grew nearby and with tools in the survival pack, they shelled them.
Six, unaccustomed to solid food, had a few days of queasiness, but overcame it.
Pietas gained weight fast. Rebirth returned Ultras to their peak physical condition and the age of their first death. For him, that first death had been in battle, protecting a fellow Ultra. He looked no more than seventeen. How he felt? Ancient.
The enforced idleness gnawed at his soul, but healing sapped his energy. In his entire life, even as a child, he'd never slept more than a few hours at a time. His metabolism had needed no such respite. Now, he slept entire days.
His body healed and regrew muscle, but without strength. He could not sit up without help, stay in a sitting position without support, or turn over.
Two weeks into his recovery, Pietas woke one morning to find that the camp looked different, but could not discern what had changed.
The horizon was pale pink and the upper portion of the sky shone pure blue. The weather had been warm and mild since their arrival, other than rain on day one. Green softened the hills and trees, with a hint of yellow in the grasses toward the northern slopes.
Six, kneeling beside the fire, pivoted toward him, grinning. "Look at you!"
Pietas frowned. "What?"
He stood, brushing dirt off his pants. At the side of Pietas, he went down on one knee. "How do you feel?"
"Fine. Why?"
His gesture took in Pietas's body. "You're on your side."
He'd turned over in his sleep.
He gave a whoop and shared a laugh with Six, but then brought himself back to reality. "There's no time for celebrating. If I'm going to walk, I need to work."
And work he did.
While Six spent the days gathering food, Pietas forced his body past every limit. In a few days, he could sit up unaided.
Using a saw from his survival pack, Six cut a limb off a tree and shaped it into a stout walking stick.
Within a week, using the stick for balance, Pietas stood. The top of Six's head reached Pietas's collarbone. With an arm around the smaller man's shoulders, he hobbled to the stone fire ring and then the blanket.
"Pietas, you did it!"
"Not well enough. Let's do it again."
Leaning on Six, he limped over and back, three times. Afterward, he collapsed on the blanket.
Six sat beside him. "I can't believe how far you've come."
He was panting too hard to answer at first. "Not...far enough. Need...find my people." He rested for a few breaths, gathering strength. "Need to walk...on my own."
"Give yourself some credit, will you? Your legs aren't much bigger around than that stick. What did you used to weigh?"
"Never weighed myself. Healthy. Didn't think about it."
"You're seven feet, right? Terran measurements."
"A quarter inch less."
"You looked pretty lean when I fought you. Let's say two thirty-five or forty. I picked you up out of that pod like you were my oldest nephew. I got six of them and the biggest isn't even close to a hundred pounds."
"What's your point?"
"The point is it'd be work to pick you up now. I swear you're sucking weight out of the air."
"The cells I had before were all still there. They'd lost water, that's all. Now, they're absorbing energy from food. Our bodies are far more efficient than yours, but I should be better than I am." He was in pain, every day, from the minute he woke, but he would never confess that to a human. "I'm not healing as fast as I used to."
"Give yourself time, okay? Maybe work on something else."
Pietas considered that. "Ver
y well. I'll work on my other senses. Look at the fire and tell me if it flares."
"Okay." Six turned toward it. "Nothing's happening. What are you doing?"
"Using Pyro."
"Which is?" He turned back.
"Don't look at me." Pietas motioned to him. "Look at the fire. Pyro lets me create fire without an outside source. I'm not that good at it, but since we're near a fire, I thought it'd be worth a shot."
"Not seeing a difference. Sorry. Oh, wait. Was that a-- no. I didn't...um...I didn't see... What... What was the question?"
"Good. I'm getting Chaos back."
Six squinted, pressing fingers against his brow. "Sorry, what?"
"Humans call me Bringer of Chaos because Chaos is my strongest gift. It means I can cause a person to have unordered or disruptive feelings. Anxiety, turmoil. I can distract you; make you forget what you're saying while you're saying it."
"Do me a favor and don't use that on me, all right?" He pressed his fingers against his temples. "Gave me a huge headache."
"Here." Pietas set his hand on Six's forehead. "Another gift. We call this Smooth. It's healing. I'm not strong at it. I'm always around other Ultras and they don't need it. But if you have a headache, maybe I can--"
"Stop! That made it worse." Six massaged his temples. "Chaos is deadly."
"Nothing triumphs over Chaos. I wrote a book about it once."
"You wrote a book?" Six seated himself. "I never knew that."
"It was for me. I shared it with no one."
"Tell me some of it."
"'The beauty of disorder draws us in, makes us strive for perfection, and drives us to the brink again. If you would create diversity and welcome change, you must embrace Chaos. Chaos produces change.'"
"Sounds like poetry."
Pietas made an offhand gesture. "Someday perhaps I'll finish it."
"Well to me, Chaos is a pain in the neck. My head is killing me."
Hoping the ghost's current weakness might make him susceptible to telepathy, Pietas concentrated. He sent one word several times. "Could you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
He flopped onto his back. "This is taking forever!"
Bringer of Chaos- The Origin of Pietas Page 9
