Terror spiked through him unlike anything he’d ever encountered. He set down the leaf and laid his hands on her shoulders, gently pushing her back against the nest. She tried to speak to him, but more coughing shook her. Only his firm grip kept her from thrashing with spasms. When she was lying down, he pressed his ear against her chest, though he’d already heard the telltale rattle of her breathing after her coughing fit.
There was a plunging sensation from his chest to his stomach that he didn’t understand. He’d felt nothing even remotely like it since his first attempt at flight. Whatever it was, the discomfort was nothing compared to the agony of understanding. He was going to lose her, his not-kin. There was only one thing he knew of that made that horrible rattle-sound in the chests of creatures that were susceptible to it. The death fungus.
Though he didn’t want to leave her, he had to find out if he was right. He covered her with some leaves as her eyes drifted shut, the beautiful blue of them closing behind lids so pale he could see blue lines of blood running through them. It was a strange color for blood, but he’d already seen that it turned red when it came out, like most animals did. He didn’t want to think about her blood, or anything about her being hurt. Soon enough, she would be coughing up blood and then vomiting blood as the fungus took hold in her lungs and then spread to her other organs. Her body would decay until it filled with gases and violently split open, sending the spores into the air to seek out the next victim.
It was this decay he searched for. The fungus hadn’t been present in this cavern when they’d first arrived. Its infection and progression were very fast. She’d been fine earlier that day. So he retraced her steps, scenting out her path.
Though he’d already expected as much, despair filled him when he found the small, dead rodent that must have come stumbling through the tunnels in search of water to soothe the thirst caused by the fungus sucking it dry. The rodent had died beneath a large leaf that concealed it. Its body was split open and some spores still hovered in the air nearby, barely visible. The odor of death was strong enough for him to detect it, but the not-kin didn’t seem to be able to scent things as well as he could. She may not have even noticed it since it was such a small creature.
She would soon be up and searching for water as the fungus spread. He had to return to her immediately.
He shook his head at that thought. His presence would do nothing for her. He couldn’t save her. He didn’t know how. There was only one option, and it meant giving her up forever, because once he relinquished control to the Other, it would be very careful not to let him free again.
But he believed that the Other knew how to save her. He’d rather see her only through the veil than have her die just so he could spend this last day feeling the heat and softness of her skin and smelling her scent. He would never taste her again, but he would at least have the memories of her to comfort him in the darkness behind the veil when the chains grew too heavy.
Back in the cave, he knelt beside her, taking her hand in his. She was deep asleep. It was an unnatural sleep as the fungus sapped a great deal of energy from its host during the primary growth stage. He didn’t want to wake her just to tell her goodbye, because she wouldn’t understand him anyway. She would never know that she was his entire world and meant more to him than anything, even his freedom.
Leaning forward to press his face against her neck, inhaling her scent deep into him one last time, he pulled back the veil and allowed the Other to surge through.
Chapter 22
Stacia awoke to pain. There was pain everywhere, even in her ears where a relentless and annoying beeping would not stop. Someone was poking and prodding at her and she tried to lift her hand to push them away, but her arm was too heavy. It wouldn’t move. Nothing would, not even her eyelids.
Then she heard his voice. She’d almost forgotten what it sounded like when he spoke her language, so smoothly and almost without a detectible accent. Balfor. She tried to frown in thought, but her face felt numb. Strange. Everything was strange. She was happy to hear his voice, even though it was loud and berating someone. There were other voices, speaking DC Common. Nervous voices, except for one that was clipped and precise. A doctor’s voice. She knew it. She recognized it. Her doctor’s voice. From DC.
The pain got too strong. She tried to arch against it, but her body was paralyzed and wouldn’t move. Only a low moan escaped her lips. The voices stopped shouting the words that were in her language but still seemed incomprehensible to her. Then the doctor was saying something, but the words just melted into noise when her mind tried to grasp for their meaning. A soothing lassitude spread through her that was different from the weight of her paralyzed body. It numbed her pain, and she slipped into a deep sleep.
*****
Balfor wanted to kill someone. The mouthy doctor seemed like a good candidate, but since Stacia’s life was in the man’s hands, Balfor had to let him live. For now. He paced the small confines of the room he was in. After he’d snarled at the fascinated stares of the humans waiting in the Emergency Room until they’d abandoned it, a nervous nurse had led him to this room to wait by himself. It had a tiny bed on a metal frame and all kinds of boxes and blinking lights that smelled of human machines.
He felt trapped inside this human bubble city. He could not feel his connection to the Mother here. There was so much noise around that he couldn’t even hear the voices of his ancestors. In fact, he’d begun to fear that they’d abandoned him, or that they were unable to enter the city. His power was definitely stunted here, which made him touchier at the presence of the armed guards “escorting” him around the hospital. They had the good sense to stay as much out of his sight as possible, but he felt the stares of the humans’ mechanical eyes always watching, though he couldn’t determine exactly what direction they were coming from.
The whole experience left his sensory hairs on end and constantly transmitting alarm. It didn’t matter though. The doctors in Dome City were the only ones who could kill the fungus growing inside Stacia and repair her damaged body. His own healers had been unable to work with her unique physiology, so different from that of the umbrose, who were not susceptible to the fungus.
The irritating doctor who had ordered—actually dared to order—him to leave the room where they were treating Stacia, told him that his people had something called anti-bodies which destroyed the fungus, making them immune. When Balfor replied that he was the anti-body that would destroy the doctor if he didn’t shut up and make Stacia well again, the doctor had simply shooed him away impatiently like a healer absorbed with his patient, completely ignoring Balfor’s very real threat. But the guards with their human projectile weapons had come, and though he knew he could break them into little bloody pieces even without the aid of his shadows, he let them lead him from Stacia’s side, because the doctor told him that his presence in the room jeopardized her recovery.
Balfor usually had more patience than this. It wasn’t just being inside the domes making him uneasy, and it wasn’t only his fear for Stacia that drove him to struggle with control. His primal had gained a strong foothold in his consciousness, and more than that, was just as worried as he was about Stacia’s condition.
He remembered the rite of passage into adulthood that had resulted in the Sundering. It had been agonizing. He’d been sent by the visions to a desolate place where he was expected to survive without using his primitive nature. Where he was expected to break away from it completely, and chain it inside of him. Only then would he be able to gain mastery over the shadows. The shadows were part of civilization. The primal was nothing but a wild beast. That was the lesson, the purpose of the rite. A warrior did not need his primitive nature to survive. A warrior relied on his wits and his training. His primal was holding him back, the priestess had told him. Only when he cut it out of him and chained it away, would he become the adult he was meant to be.
Over the years, when the primal had escaped and gone crazy, fighting and often ki
lling everything and everyone in its path, he’d believed he’d done the right thing. He’d seen his brethren suffer from the same problem when he’d found them living feral in the wild, trying to stay alive and hidden from the adurian hunting parties that sought to destroy them. The refugees had allowed their primals to regain control of them, and were even fighting each other, killing the few umbrose who had survived the adurian purges of their cities. Chaining the primal had appeared to be the only way.
But two years ago, just after his return from captivity, General Gorzo had come to Sanctuary from distant lands over a vast sea, long lost to the umbrose who could not fly that far without landing for rest and whose boats had all been sunk or destroyed. Gorzo had found a boat and somehow braved the mighty sea. He told a tale of traveling for what seemed an endless time, guided by the Mother. He’d come to Sanctuary to tell the people that they’d been wrong about their primals, that they needed that part of themselves and that they were broken, and must become whole again or both sides of them would go slowly insane.
Most of the umbrose, Balfor included, had ignored Gorzo’s warnings, though he’d allowed the barbarian to integrate into Sanctuary because he was a brilliant warrior and skilled tactician. He had quickly earned his title and his place at Balfor’s side. In fact, in most things, Balfor found the much younger umbrose to be wise, his advice very astute. Gorzo stopped trying to change the traditions that had been a part of Sanctuary for centuries and a part of the greater civilization that they were descended from for even longer.
Gorzo himself was technically considered an adolescent, though he was almost seven hundred years old. The rites of adulthood practiced by his primitive clan did not include the Sundering, so Gorzo was still One with his primal. Balfor had to admit that he was far more stable in temperament than any of the other umbrose, even Ranove, who, until the general’s arrival, had been the one with the greatest control over himself. Gorzo was also a better fighter, though he’d never challenged for Ranove’s title. Ranove might disagree with Balfor’s assessment about that, but they’d both seen Gorzo in action during their skirmishes with the adurians. He moved with intuitive grace that spoke of more than just endless drills and training. It spoke of more than just skill. He fought with primitive knowledge of battle and survival. Knowledge that the rest of them had locked away.
Balfor’s thoughts only distracted him briefly from his primary concern. Stacia lay just down the blinding gray and white corridor made of shiny lifeless materials that had been so altered from their origin that they lacked any connection with the world any more. She was dying. The humans said they had a cure, but it may not have been administered soon enough to save her.
He wanted to be angry at his primal for putting her in such danger, but the truth was he had to admire that part of himself. It had immediately freed him when it realized it could not help her. He wasn’t certain he would have given up his freedom so quickly, though the thought of Stacia in danger was tearing him up inside.
What would it be like to be One again?
Yes! His primal’s answer was loud enough to resonate even through the veil. To be One again!
It would require another passage, and the experience of merging with the primal would be almost as painful as Sundering it from him, but that was not what made Balfor hesitate. He was the prince of the umbrose, the only one who could command the shadows into an army. He was the only one who could defend Sanctuary against Uriale and Anata with his connection to the Mother and the power she granted him through her Heart. His people counted on him.
Though he had been selfish in the past—and was even being selfish now in being in this place with Stacia instead of in Sanctuary—he could not in good conscience leave them completely vulnerable until a new prince completed the passage. Not now when they had the adurians on the run. Not now when Uriale and Anata seemed to have disappeared altogether, though he knew he wasn’t that lucky.
But to be free of the power and the responsibility. To be free from the demanding voices. To be free from the endless battle against my primal for dominance. It all sounded like a dream that he didn’t dare to have.
Gorzo commands the shadows. Somehow. It was a mystery Balfor intended to solve now that the idea to merge with his primal had infected him. Could it be possible for him to be One and still command the shadows? The females did not have to go through the Sundering, but that was because they weren’t controlled by their primitive natures. Or is it? What is the real truth?
And what’s taking them so long to bring news? He couldn’t stand it anymore. His thoughts had failed to distract him from his worry, which always swam beneath them like a serpent under the calm surface of a lake.
Balfor stormed out of the room, heading towards Stacia’s room trailing two guards in his wake who stank of fear. The doctor was just leaving the room as Balfor reached it. When he saw Balfor bearing down on him, his eyes widened and he lowered the datapad he was studying so that it ended up positioned in front of his chest where Balfor could hear his heart pounding rapidly. Still, the human managed to project a calm Balfor could sense he didn’t feel.
That made Balfor very nervous. The man shouldn’t be afraid unless he had bad news.
“I have good news,” the doctor said with a hesitant smile. “Ms. Dornan is going to recover. The growth of the fungus has receded after injection of the fungicide. By the end of tomorrow, it will be eliminated from her body, and we can assess the damage and repair any organs that were affected. The lungs will take the long—”
Balfor cut the doctor off with a raised hand. “Did you say tomorrow? You mean I cannot remove my concubine from this city until tomorrow?”
The doctor’s nervous smile dropped away, replaced by the sharp look he’d had before when he was ordering Balfor out of the room. “Tomorrow would be way too soon as well. It will take weeks of healing before Ms. Dornan can be released. Even then, she’ll require months of aftercare and regular checkups. She’ll need to remain here in Dome City until she’s fully healed.”
Balfor ground his teeth at the doctor’s officious tone. “I cannot remain here for months. I must return to Sanctuary as soon as possible.” He’d already been away too long. Even in his primal state, he’d been always aware of danger to Sanctuary. His legions could hold the city until he came to his senses, but in this place, where he was isolated from his connection to the Mother, he’d have no warning if there was trouble at Sanctuary. Dome City was also too far away for his comfort, given his uncertainty about Uriale and Anata’s plans.
The doctor’s answering smile was tight. “By all means, do what you must, but if Ms. Dornan’s health means anything to you, you must leave her in my care until I pronounce that she’s fully recovered.”
Balfor again wanted to kill something. Again, the doctor looked like a good choice. He resisted— again—because Stacia’s life depended on this irritating human. “When will she awaken? I want to speak to her.”
The doctor shook his head. “She’ll remain sedated for some time. It’s best for her in this condition. The pain would be overwhelming otherwise.”
Balfor cursed in umbrose. The doctor took a step back, holding his datapad tight against his chest as if Balfor couldn’t just punch right through it into his body and snatch out his heart. The thought had occurred to him. “I will return to Sanctuary now, but I’m going to send someone to wait with her. As soon as she awakens, you will inform my representative.”
It was not a question, and to his credit, the doctor had the sense not to treat it as one. He simply nodded, swallowing so hard that the lump human males had in their throats bobbed up and down.
Balfor shook his head at the oddity, and at the man. Though it pained him to turn away and leave the hospital through a gauntlet of curious and terrified stares, he had no choice. His duty to his people could no longer be ignored.
His primal raged against the veil at his abandonment of Stacia. For the first time in a long time, he agreed wholeheartedly with h
ow it felt.
*****
When Stacia awakened again, she was able to gain a better grasp of where she was. She was more than familiar with hospitals, particularly this one in the Hub. She’d undergone all of her surgeries here. In fact, they’d even put her in the same recovery room as she’d been in during those times. It was a luxurious room in comparison to the others, one that was reserved for only the very wealthy, or very important. In Stacia’s case, it was most certainly the former.
As soon as she awakened, her monitor started beeping faster. Moments later, a nurse clad in gray scrubs appeared with a datapad in hand to check her vitals. The nurse was brusque and efficient, but her gaze slid away from Stacia’s face. She was also evasive with information, though to be honest, Stacia’s voice was so raspy and barely functioning that her questions might have just sounded like murmurings to the nurse. The woman seemed to be too eager to leave the room, and it only took her a few minutes to do her exam.
Stacia sighed in frustration and then gasped in pain. Her lungs hurt like crazy. What in the hells had happened? Thinking back, she recalled being with Balfor in his primal state, going through each day living in a kind of primitive paradise with him. Though the accommodations had lacked many of the basic amenities like showers and toilets, and she couldn’t understand what Balfor was saying to her and vice versa, she’d been strangely happy in that place. What he couldn’t communicate verbally, he’d told her in other ways. It was clear that he enjoyed her company, that he liked holding her and touching her, and not just for sex either, though that had been pretty mind-blowing once he realized she couldn’t go for as long as he could. He’d tried to be gentle, but he’d never quite stopped the animalistic roughness of it. She’d been okay with that.
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