Awakening: A Sarazen Saga Anthology (Etheric Travelers Book 1)

by Isabel Wroth

  Aley called her name on a soft, urgent whisper. "We don't have much time. Yes, to death, or no?"

  Jalu didn't say another word. He didn't pressure her one way or the other, acceptance clear in his gaze no matter her decision.

  The word, Sanctuary, floated through her mind and a vision of gleaming white stones bubbled up from the mess of her sub-conscious mind.

  Jalu smiled, no doubt able to see the thoughts as she had them. Ilaria didn't remember if somewhere in her travels she had seen those stones before, but they were real, and they made her hope.

  "You will not be alone," Jalu vowed. "Aley is not the only champion you will have at your side to guide and protect you."

  Jalu’s assurance she would not face the dangers ahead alone comforted her. Ilaria made her choice and blinked twice.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Satesh~

  As Satesh slid down the wall in his quarters, his gaze fixated on the fission crystal he held in his hand, his rage began to edge toward grief.

  Perfectly preserved inside the delicate orb was the last light of a dying star. To capture such a magnificent moment and suspend it within the special glass took Aerlings years, and no one crystal was the same.

  Some said to possess such a radiant glow was equivalent to holding the heart of the universe in the palm of your hand.

  His mother had started the collection when he had been born, purchasing another orb every year to commemorate the day, and when Shahin and Sorosh had been born, their mother bought three fission crystals each year.

  After her passing, Satesh had taken up the tradition, and each year on his day of birth and that of his brothers, Satesh bought fission crystals.

  He had one hundred and eighty-two glass orbs, carefully suspended inside an anti-grav ray, tucked into a depression in the wall.

  Each one was priceless, and as he stared at them, all Satesh wanted to do was destroy them.

  He should never have allowed the twins to talk him into making that run to Khapour. There was nothing on the outpost the crew needed, but this year for their birthday, the boys had been dying to visit a well-known, insanely expensive brothel where ultimate pleasure was assured, no matter one’s species.

  At first, Satesh had been entirely against it. The Frenzy was a highly secure facility, dedicated to ensuring the privacy and safety of their clientele, but Khapour itself was a cesspool.

  If you had money, literally anything and everything could be bought, from food to flesh.

  The twins had begged and pleaded, annoying him day in and day out with woeful tales of not having had female companionship outside the caravan in months, their pleading gazes and barrage of detailed plans on how they would take care not to get into trouble had finally worn Satesh down.

  Their people were nomads, their planet destroyed so long ago none of the Dhjana left alive could even remember what it looked like, and space had become their home.

  They were merchants, mercenaries, pirates, warriors, thieves, and inventors. Wanderlust was their legacy, and Satesh understood what it was like to go without a female long enough to feel as though he were going insane.

  He was their brother, not their jailer, and the twins had their own small but well-armored cruiser.

  The twins had planned to spend a solar week inside The Frenzy. On day eight, Satesh received word from one of the men he had sent along to keep an eye on his uncouth brothers, that Shahin and Sorosh had not returned to the ship for the scheduled departure.

  Satesh had called in every debt he was owed in order to find his brothers. His fleet of ships hosted a fifty thousand Dhjana, and every single one of them big enough to cause a problem had torn through Khapour, hunting down anyone and everyone who had come in contact with the twins.

  Finally, a waif in desperate need of coin and safe passage came forward to tell Satesh his brothers had been abducted and sold as slaves.

  Satesh only had to cut three of the Sophillian slaver’s reproductive tentacles off before the slaver had told him a Red Mystress had purchased the twins.

  There was not one being in the galaxy who did not know who and what a Mystress was. Their planet was lush and able to support all manner of lifeforms, but no one ever voluntarily set foot on Myst.

  Mystresses were sick, soulless creatures who fed on two things: pain or fear.

  The females who fed on fear were easily distinguishable from those who fed on pain.

  Their skin was gray as ash, their hair white as snow, with eight petite fangs hidden beneath black lips.

  All three of their eyes were solid, glowing red, but they only opened that third eye during a feeding.

  If their appearance wasn’t enough to strike fear into the hearts of their slaves, the gray Mystresses utilized potions and devices to evoke nightmares so intense Satesh had heard sometimes, a victim's heart ruptured before the Mystress could finish feeding.

  The Mystresses who fed on pain shared all the similar characteristics as their fear-inducing sisters, three red eyes, black lips, and dainty fangs, but their skin was the color of congealed blood.

  The sadistic creatures were known for the creativeness of their torture methods and could keep a victim alive for days in absolute, unending agony, gorging themselves before allowing the slave to die.

  Rumor had it, the Mystresses did not require sex, but it was not their fangs they used to suck the pain and fear from their victims.

  Satesh had pushed his ship to its limits, nearly burning out the axionic engines to get to Myst as fast as possible.

  He had twelve fully weaponized battle cruisers with tritonic cannons, and with that much fire-power, Satesh could destroy the entire planet.

  He had tried diplomacy first, hailing the Queen of Myst, informing her if she did not return his brothers whole and unharmed, he would rain down destruction on all she held dear.

  The red-skinned bitch had laughed in his face and activated her army of drones to protect her palace, “You may have them back, Dhjana. But I’m afraid you won’t have much use for them.”

  His view of her had widened to reveal the black stone of her chambers, and the nearly unrecognizable bodies of his brothers, suspended from hooks that pierced their wrists.

  Margen had spared their faces from the worst of her tortures, but the rest was a red ruin of absolute destruction.

  “Sweet agony,” Margen groaned lasciviously, running her tongue disgustingly over her black lips, “The look on your face alone would sate my hunger for months. Send me two hundred of your strongest warriors, and I’ll have my Issite bring your brothers back to life, perfectly whole.”

  The urge to agree was on the tip of his tongue. Anything if it meant getting his brother’s back. Anything, but condemning two hundred of his people to die in terror and agony.

  Margen might have had an Issite at her disposal, but the psychic healer would die in the attempt to revive one of the twins.

  Reviving both was impossible, and even if it weren’t, Shahin and Sorosh would choose death before sacrificing their men.

  When Satesh said nothing in response to Margen’s offer, his jaw locked tight to hold back the howls of grief and rage, the queen made a soft sound of false sympathy.

  “Poor, sweet thing. You should have kept a better eye on your treasures, hmm?”

  His brothers were dead, and it was his fault.

  All he had left was to avenge them.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Ilaria~

  "How can this be!?"

  From her seat on the padded cushion at the foot of the monarch's dais, Ilaria watched Salista furiously pacing back and forth across the cold stone floor.

  Two of the sadistic princess's closest friends, and the eldest princess, Malis had all mysteriously been murdered.

  Salista had been the last person to see any of them alive. Thus, her mother, ruler of this terrible world, had called her to the throne room for an explanation.

  The closer Ilaria looked, the more obvious it became that Salista wasn't
angry, she was frightened.

  Her red skin was dull with her terror, her cheeks pale, her black lips cracked, dry, torn from constant gnawing.

  "Salista! How. Can. This. Be?" Margen repeated furiously, her voice echoing violently in the cavernous hall.

  "I don't...I don't know!" Salista stuttered, wringing her hands, not noticing how the handful of gray-skinned Mystresses had taken a step closer to the pacing princess, their mouths shining wetly as they licked their lips, eager to feed on the flavor of the princess’s fear.

  Margen hissed, slapping her palm on the carved arm of her black throne. "I am your queen and your mother. How dare you lie to me!?"

  Salista jumped and spun around with her hand having jerked up to cover her ear, frantically looking around as though someone had touched her.

  "Y-you won't believe me," Salista whined piteously. Margen growled under her breath and commanded her daughter to speak, to explain, and still searching the space around her for someone, or something, Salista obeyed.

  "I am plagued by a demon, mother."

  Margen’s reply was flat with mocking disbelief, "What?"

  "It was little things at first,” nervous froth gathered at the corners of Salista’s lips, her trio of blood-red eyes so wide it was a wonder they didn’t pop out of her skull.

  “My tools and toys disordered, missing pieces of my favorite clothing or jewels. I blamed my slaves, I beat them until they confessed, killed the guilty.

  “The thefts stopped immediately. But then...it got worse! I was alone in the bath the first time it touched me, grabbed me by the hair and pulled me back, held me under the water!

  "I was saved when my body slave arrived with my bath oils, but he said there was no one there. Each time I'm alone, the demon does something to torment me, frighten me!

  “He throws things, wakes me out of a sound sleep with the sound of glass shattering and I sit up covered in the shards, cutting myself as I try to get out of bed.

  "I ordered everything breakable in my quarters removed, but it was no use! He whispers in my ear, touches me, tells me he's punishing me for my evil!" Salista was sobbing openly now, looking all around her, flinching and jumping like unseen hands were touching her.

  "This is her doing!" Salista screamed, pointing a trembling, accusatory finger at Ilaria, wildness having widened her eyes to an impossible size. "She's used her magic to set this demon on me!"

  Margen scoffed, her laugh stilted and forced as she too looked around the throne room with an uncertain flutter of her lashes. "This weak, frail little thing? She can barely walk without assistance due to your negligence."

  "Look at her face!" Salista shrieked, spit flying with the force of her declaration, "She's smiling! Enjoying my torment!"

  The queen used her foot to tug on the length of chain securing Ilaria to her throne. It was for show only, to remind her of her place, as Ilaria could barely walk on her own.

  "You do appear to be smiling, pet." Margen drawled.

  It had been eight months since Salista had forced Ilaria from her pod and brought her to Myst.

  If not for Aley’s deviousness, utilizing Salista’s ship computer to access information on Ilaria’s people, the records of those who had also been enslaved and brought to Myst before her, Margen would never have known Ilaria existed.

  Ilaria had been on the figurative chopping block when Margen had contacted Salista to congratulate her on acquiring such a prize as a living traveler.

  Without any other option at hand, as soon as Salista’s ship had landed on Myst, the red-skinned princess had handed Ilaria over to Margen like a trophy and kept Aley to torment at her pleasure.

  Nothing Ilaria had thus far been able to do had swayed Margen to allow Aley to escape Salista’s torture machines.

  His scars now had scars, and until this so-called demon had arrived and began tormenting Salista, there had been nothing Ilaria could do to help Aley.

  Now, Salista had been too frightened to hurt her slaves or do more than order them to clean up the mess the spectral creature had left behind for fear the unseen creature would retaliate.

  Salista’s sister and cohorts were the latest three in an ongoing string of violent murders, and the only thing they all had in common, was Salista's presence.

  None of the bloodthirsty females had been poisoned. There were no marks on their bodies. Each looked as though they had fallen asleep, alone in their beds only to wake and look up to see the face of their killer.

  The look of abject horror, of excruciating pain on their faces, and the pulverized mess of their hearts within their chests, it was as though someone had reached through their skin and squeezed the organs like rotten fruit and no one could figure out how.

  Rumors ran rampant throughout the palace that the Gray Mystresses—those who fed on fear—were responsible, but so far, no culprit had been named.

  The creature plaguing Salista was no demon, but neither she or Margen needed to know that.

  Ilaria could feel his presence and had for weeks now. A fission of energy along the back of her neck. A cool whisper of air against her fingertips. A shiver of awareness when she lay alone in the dark let her know he was there.

  More than once Ilaria had caught the barest hint of light from his incorporeal movements, his energy spiking enough to make him visible.

  If she had been asked to describe him, the only thing she would have been able to say was that his height and width of his shoulders had led her to make assumptions as to his gender.

  Ilaria had her suspicions that perhaps this ‘demon’ was, in fact, Matavei, but the energy surrounding him was much different than any other Matavei she had ever encountered.

  It had taken Ilaria decades of practice while traveling to use her etheric body to move small objects. She had started with puffs of air, then dust and those two things had felt like monumental efforts.

  The heaviest objects she had ever been able to move had been books. Though the memories of where and when escaped her, Ilaria knew she had been able to do it.

  So, it wasn’t beyond the scope of possibility for a Matavei to grow powerful enough while in etheric form to grab someone by the hair or rummage through their personal items. It was just shocking. Impressively so.

  Slowly but surely Ilaria had been carefully cultivating the abilities she had gained while untethered from her physical body.

  Trying to open the mental pathways that had allowed telepathic communication, to see the phase of energies that connected every living being to the universe and connect with it herself.

  If she made skin to skin contact with someone, Ilaria was able to read their surface thoughts, speak to them mind to mind, and take sips of their energy to boost her own.

  Were her situation not so dire, and the Mystresses not evil creatures, Ilaria would never have lowered herself to feed on the energy of another being without their permission.

  It went against every moral code she had but considering the only physical contact she had was with Margen’s cruel guard as they drug her by the arms from room to room, and as it was the only way to speed up her healing, she considered it a small evil that could be pardoned in favor of survival.

  Ilaria had spent months meditating, reaching for the Void, trying to find Jalu, trying to cross the boundaries of space and time to send a psychic call loud enough for him to hear, but so far all she’d gotten for her troubles were seizures. Three of them that had left her unable to do more than lift a finger for days afterward.

  Day by day, Ilaria remembered more and more of the information she had gathered during her travels.

  She knew now she had powerful friends, allies Ilaria could call on if she could find a way to get a message out. But to do that, she would need to be far more mobile than she was currently.

  For now, Ilaria had resigned herself to regaining her memories and taking sips of energy from the Mystresses she came in contact with to heal herself and restore her abilities.

  But this demon, this invi
sible being bent on destroying Salista’s sanity before he killed her, Ilaria needed to know if an alliance could be made between them.

  Ilaria didn't bother to lie to the queen as she peered hard at the space around Salista, searching for a sign of her potential ally,

  "After suffering the same at her hands for many months, I am enjoying her fear, your majesty, but what little power I have would do nothing to control demons."

  While Margen and Salista argued about the validity of Salista’s claims, Ilaria took a deep breath and tried to reach out a psychic hand. Extending her energy on a careful, tentative psychic wave.

  She visualized it glowing a gentle blue, rippling like water throughout the small throne room, avoiding the Gray Mystresses who would sense her presence if it wasn’t kept light as a whisper,

  ~Whoever you are, let me help you.

  A lance of pain thrust through her right eye, making her wince and raise her hand to her head, her wave interrupted as her brain protested the use of a gift only partially restored.

  Her left leg tingled painfully as a metallic taste flooded her mouth, the familiar signs to say she was about to fall prey to a seizure.

  As she crumpled in a heap on top of her plush cushion, before the convulsions could twist her spine and overwhelm her, Ilaria felt the firm press of a solid, cold hand on her brow.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Satesh~

  “These seizures are happening more frequently. I have plans to breed her, but it’s a worthless endeavor if this is a genetic deformity. Is she viable or not?”

  The young Matavei slept peacefully on the lab table, blissfully unaware of the future the ruler of this wretched planet had in store for her.

  Her hair was black as night, spilling off the side of the table like a curtain, the shine from the medical lamps illuminating the hidden colors within the darkness.

  Deep purples, vibrant blues, a hint of dark green. One would never notice the subtle colors if they weren’t looking closely, but over the last week or so, Satesh had been looking extremely close.