by Josie Walker
I know that isn’t true. Heck, it’s not even logical. But as the saying goes, when life gives you lemons, it’s time to make lemonade.
One of the biggest lemons in my new bag of life is Bocc-d’ar. I can’t believe I’m admitting this, but the alien is growing on me. I like him. Possibly more than I should. As amazing as he is there has to be something more in my life, something to fill the long hours of the day.
I certainly can’t spend every minute having sex! I need something worthwhile to occupy my time. I’m stuck here, so how do I make the best of it? No answers come, so I decide it’s time to get back to my self-guided tour. I’d love to make a nice pros and cons list, but so far I haven’t seen any sign of paper on this planet. I’m starting to wonder if these aliens even have a written language.
I make my way back down the stairs, moving much faster than when I came up. It’s a big castle, and I’ve only just scratched the surface of all that it has to offer. Who knows, maybe I’ll find something that interests me.
There has to be some way I can feel productive because sitting in that room day after day will drive me out of my ever loving mind. Back on Earth I was working and going to school full time. I didn’t have a minute of downtime. In the dome on Sagren I wanted to go out and explore with the others, but they wouldn’t let me because I didn’t have the nanos to make me strong.
So I’d taken up exercise as a hobby. I spent each day working out, trying to build muscles. Obviously I will never be as strong as the Krinar or this strange new race of aliens I’m living with, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to continue to work at staying in shape.
Fitness can’t be my whole life, though. There has to be something else for me to do here. Something that is interesting, yet useful. It’s important to me that I contribute and give back, but it has to be something that I enjoy.
I start down the stairs with a renewed sense of purpose. Once I reach the bottom of the tower, I step out into the hallway and turn left again. It quickly ends in a T and I make a right. It doesn’t take me long to discover that I’m hopelessly lost.
The hallway leads to a fully furnished room. There is a padded window seat. I sit down to take a break and look out the window. This actually helps me catch my bearings, because I can see that the room is facing the front side of the castle.
The room has a cozy almost feminine feel to it. The furniture is arranged in nice conversational areas with little tables strewn throughout. There are some unfamiliar things that I think might be musical instruments because they have strings. Most of them are bigger than a guitar, but smaller than a full-sized harp.
I stand and brush my fingers against one experimentally. Yes, it’s definitely some kind of instrument. Too bad I don’t have a musical bone in my body. I’ll have to keep looking for my sense of purpose.
Something on the other side of the room catches my eye. It looks like a quilting frame. One of my foster moms was way into all sorts of crafting. I think the only reason she took in foster kids was to support her quilting habit. Seriously, I wish I was kidding. Strangely enough, she was actually one of my better placements.
I cross the room to get a better look. Yep, it’s the alien version of a quilting frame. Unlike the ones I’ve seen on Earth which were comprised of wood, this frame is all metal. But it’s the project itself that holds my attention. The handwork is very intricate.
The squares are fine linen in shades of icy blues. The pieces sewn together are tiny. It looks like whoever is working on this is about halfway done. I see spools of silver thread, and pick one up to inspect it. It looks like metal, but is as fine as a human hair.
A layer of dust comes away on my hand. I bend down and blow my breath on the quit and the dust rises, then settles again. That’s strange, it’s as though this project has been abandoned for a long time. I can’t imagine putting in that much work and then just walking away from it.
I’ve never done any sewing, and it’s never been something I was particularly interested in. But it would be better than sitting in that room all day. Who is working on this? Maybe they could teach me. I haven’t seen a single woman in the castle, and I can’t imagine any of those burly men doing fine needle work.
I look around the room again. It’s a parlor. Like something you’d see in an old painting with ladies sitting around on this furniture and sipping tea, while others play musical instruments or work on their needlepoint. The same question I’ve had since arriving keeps repeating in my head: Where are the women on this planet?
The room’s obvious abandonment is eerie. A vague sense of unease settles over me so I decide to continue my tour elsewhere. I know from looking out the large leaded windows in this room that I’m on the front side of the castle because I see the main street below. I exit the room from the other side and go to the right which I think will bring me to someplace I recognize.
I know I’ve guessed correctly when I come to the main staircase. We entered through this door on the first day Bocc-d’ar brought me here, but I was in no frame of mind to appreciate the beauty then. I linger briefly on the upper balcony, soaking in the view of the grand entryway below. My breath catches at the artistry of the outer wall. Decorative panes of stained glass cover the entire surface in a complex design.
Standing out dramatically from a black background, massive rectangular-shaped windows rise from the ground floor to second story ceiling on either side of the colossal front door. The windows are comprised of thousands of metal panes framing glass in purples, reds, and blues.
On top of the door are round-shaped panes which create a circular geometric pattern. This section of the massive art is directly across from where I’m standing on the second floor balcony. At this level the shapes of the panes are concentric circles of yellows, green, and orange in kaleidoscopic patterns. The mammoth stained glass is artistry on a massive scale, grander than any pictures I’ve seen of the stained glass in European medieval cathedrals.
I walk down the staircase, placing my hand on the banister. The spindles supporting it are yet another example of craftsmanship. I know from my previous exploration that the dining hall is to the right. So I head in that direction, hoping to find the kitchen.
Soon I smell baking bread, so all I have to do is follow my nose the rest of the way. The kitchen is a beehive of activity. A half dozen men are working on preparing food. I’ve worked in a restaurant, but it was nothing like this.
One of the aliens is plucking the feathers from a large bird-like creature. Another is taking loaves of bread from the brick oven. They look up when I enter. I briefly consider that this is probably a place I could be of some help.
But pulling feathers from birds just seems gross. I’d rather handle my food later this evening after it’s been roasted to perfection. Back on earth I did my stint as waiter and cook, and didn’t particularly enjoy either job. I step over to the loaves of bread and point to it.
“Can I have some?” I ask, as I pantomime eating. He hands me one of the small loaves, and I smile. “Thank you,” I say as I take the loaf with me to snack on later.
I decide to head back to Bocc-d’ar’s room in case my alien has returned. Am I actually missing him? And wait, did I just refer to him as mine? I try to tell myself that it’s probably just the undeniably hot sex I’m missing. But if I’m being honest with myself, I have to admit that my feelings for him started changing the moment he almost died saving my life.
I’ve begun to consider him in a different light. If only we could talk . . . maybe then I could unravel the mystery of his thoughts.
It’s hard to judge whether he’s a monster, or a kind alien who just wants to love me. Stop it Tessa, this is idiotic, and you know better than to trust people—or aliens for that matter. I trudge up the back staircase toward his room. I guess it’s my room too now, so I might as well get used to thinking of it that way.
I’m tired, and I thi
nk I’ll eat this bread and take a nap. Of course if he’s there I could probably be persuaded into another round of sex before my nap. I shake my head because my thoughts sound crazy, even to me.
I make it back to our room, but he’s not there. Just like that I start to feel depressed. I’m getting a bit weepy. Between missing my friends, almost getting killed, and realizing I’m falling for an alien, I guess my emotions are in turmoil. I’m definitely going to need some serious therapy if I ever make it off this strange planet alive.
Bocc-d’ar
My second in command, Sa-br’wren, joins me as I meet with the men in charge of each area of the keep. As we discuss various issues, Sa-br’wren gives input, and fills me in on things that have transpired while I recovered. I make sure he understands my wishes so he can handle questions that arise without consulting me on every item that comes up in the near future.
There is much to do, and I have worked longer than planned. I don’t like to admit weakness, but it would seem as though I am not fully healed from my injuries, after all. Sa-br’wren must have noticed that I am fatigued because he starts trying to get rid of me.
“Why don’t you go back to your room, and check on your mate?” he suggests.
I know he is being diplomatic by not commenting on any weakness on my part. There is still much to do, I would have typically worked a much longer day. But I am worried about my TSSS. All day I have fretted about her attempting to leave again. I even ordered the guards on the wall to detain her for her own safety if she tries to venture past the wall without me again.
“Very well, I will go make sure she is safe.”
A sense of urgency overtakes me. I practically vault up the stairs to our room. I am relieved when I hear her moving about. I open the door quietly, but my heart drops when I hear that she is making those keening sounds again. Water pours from her eyes. I can literally smell the sadness washing over her.
A sense of failure settles over me as I watch her small shoulders shake. I am such a terrible mate that I can not find a way to satisfy her and make her happy. I gently close the door before she notices me. She would not want me to witness her weakness; of this I am sure.
I lean against the wall outside the room, silently torturing myself as I too share in her pain. Everything she has known has been ripped from her. I wrack my brain for ideas to make her happy here with me.
Perhaps some cloth so she can make herself new garments? I remember well how much my mother enjoyed her needlecraft. I wish my mother were here right now so I could ask her advice. I feel as though I’m failing my mate, when all I want is to make her happy.
Eventually the crying subsides. I wait a few more minutes before cautiously opening the door. She’s fallen asleep. She looks precious and oh so fragile, too small in the giant bed.
I let my protective armor melt away and crawl onto the mattress beside her. I snuggle as close as I dare without risking waking her. How can I show her my love? How can I bring her joy like she brings me?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Tessa
The days pass, and I’ve fallen into a routine. I have to admit I look forward to the big feast in the dining hall each night. There’s always plenty of perfectly roasted, mystery meat, and I’ve branched out to trying the vegetable dishes. Most of them are delicious. And the bread is always fresh and warm.
After dinner, I have hot raunchy sex with Bocc-d’ar. This is my schedule pretty much all night, every night. The language barrier disappears when we’re in bed.
During the day, when he goes off to do his thing, I spend my time exploring the castle. Besides being fascinating, it serves as a great addition to my exercise regimen.
I try to keep busy so I don’t have time to be depressed and feel sorry for myself. Yesterday I stumbled upon the entrance to another tower. The door was camouflaged to blend in with the ornate metal-worked walls. I only noticed it because it was not completely latched. I pulled it the rest of the way open and peeked my head inside. I was very excited to find a set of stairs I hadn’t climbed yet.
By that time it was too close to dinner to explore it fully, so today I’m going back to that area. As soon as Bocc-d’ar leaves I go into the bathroom to freshen up. I love the automatic tub and shower now that I’ve figured out how to use them. I still don’t understand their mechanics because I can’t find sensors anywhere.
I strip down and step into the shower area and warm water immediately falls from the ceiling like magical rain. There are no walls, and the only thing that designates it’s a shower is that the floor is slightly dipped down for drainage. There is a table on one side with various soaps.
I can’t help but laugh when I remember the day when I discovered it was a working shower. It had all come about by accident. I’d been fully dressed when I received my first impromptu shower. I must have jumped a full foot in the air when the water hit me. I was so excited I didn’t even mind getting my clothes soaked!
Grabbing one of the soap balls from the bowl on the table, I hurriedly scrub down. I’m in a bit of a rush today because I’m excited about exploring the new tower I found. I step out and the water automatically stops as I dry off and don fresh clothes. I’m so glad Bocc-d’ar brought me an assortment of simple dresses to wear because my jeans are so threadbare they’re hardly holding together anymore.
He even brought me some pants that are basically like leggings, but made of a silky material. I wonder who these clothes belonged to because they are obviously feminine. Fine embroidery tastefully decorates the seams and hems, and they’re all smaller than what would fit the men.
I pull my wet hair back with a ribbon before stepping out into the hallway. My mystery tower is on the far end of the castle so I have a lengthy walk before I even reach the entrance. After about twenty minutes I find it. Today it’s closed up tight. I would have never even known there was a door here if I hadn’t opened it myself yesterday.
I spend several minutes fiddling with it, then notice an indentation hidden in the decorative ironwork. I slip my fingers inside it. The latch releases and I pull the door open and step inside. The staircase seems to spiral forever upward, but that doesn’t scare me. I start climbing.
There are no windows in this tower, but sconces line the walls and illuminate the steps. I wonder again how those things work. There is no light switch to turn them on, they just come on by themselves. It’s like magic. For a moment I pretend that I am Belle trapped in the Beast’s castle, surrounded by wondrous and inexplicable things. Actually, that’s not too far from my reality. My beast just happens to be an alien and a lot less hairy.
When I reach the first landing, I emerge into a large room full of books. It looks like they have paper on this planet after all! Row after row of leather bound volumes line the walls so this must be some kind of library. There’s even a second row balcony around the room where I can see even more volumes lined up. I pull a couple of books off of the shelf and leaf through them.
But this isn’t the top and there’s more for me to climb. I push on, even though I’m starting to feel winded. The stairs are steep. I consider taking a break, but decide to go all the way up in one press, because I’ve been working on endurance. Maybe I should have spent more time looking at those books after all, there’d been chairs down there.
Finally there are no more steps and I come to a flat landing. The only thing up here is a door. It’s strange and slightly spooky. I take a deep breath and push it open, shocked by what I find inside.
An ancient man sits at a table, his white hair tumbles over his brow as he writes on a large piece of parchment with a long metal pen. He’s startled by my appearance and bolts to a standing position when I enter, his body instantly transforming to his metal form. But even his armor looks old, instead of the shiny metal like Bocc-d’ar’s. He reminds me of a rusty old tin can. He lets loose a round of indecipherable alien dialogue.
“Hi,” I say. I hold my hands out in a non-threatening manner and take a tentative step closer.
He stares at me a few long moments, a dull yellow light behind his eyes. Then his rusty metal covering disappears, revealing once again an old man. He gingerly sits back in his chair, then resumes his work, ignoring me. I slowly step closer and peer over his shoulder to see what he is doing.
In front of him is an ancient illuminated manuscript, sitting on a decorative metal holder. Lights from behind him shine down so I can see each minute detail. A large papyrus sheet is on the table in front of him. Pots of paint, various sized brushes, and pens litter the surface.
It takes me awhile to figure out that he is painstakingly copying the page from the book. It is exquisite. In the center is a drawing, and fine text fills the columns on the left and right of it. I can’t begin to comprehend the picture, beautiful though it is. A tree grows from a pot full of a silver liquid. A snake winds its way around the trunk of the tree with four branches. Each limb contains a circle with a symbol.
One circle has a picture of grass growing from brown dirt. Another has droplets of water falling like rain. The third depicts a burning flame in oranges, reds, and yellows. The final circle shows a blue sky with fluffy white clouds. I believe the symbols stand for earth, wind, fire, and water, the four elements. Thank goodness I watched so many fantasy movies, or I’d be entirely out of my depth right now.
The ancient alien dips his brush in a sky blue pot of paint. Then he holds that same brush over a silver bowl. The paint in this container seems to slither and slide around like mercury. A tiny tendril of the paint rises of its own accord up to his brush, even though he did not dip it in that pot. With the two colors combined he enhances the rain drops in the circle depicting water.
“Beautiful,” I compliment him, nodding at his work.
He nods back, then motions to the smaller desk next to his. I take this to mean that I’m welcome to sit, so I do so. He stands and walks over to a shelf, taking a stack of coarse paper. This is of a lesser quality than what he is using, but I’m not about to complain.
