by Cheree Alsop
“Tariq,” she said again. The puff of air from her mouth clouded white. “Tariq?”
She reached her hand up. Her fingers refused to open. She brushed his face with the back of her gloved hand. His head lolled back, but his eyes didn’t open.
A tear escaped Liora’s eye and froze at the edge of her eyelashes. Liora closed her eyes and her breath escaped her in a sigh.
The memory Tariq had shown her when she first reached the hangar surfaced. It felt more real than the escape pod they waited in. Liora let it wash over her. It was from Tariq’s point of view, yet it felt as though she was the one in the memory.
Tariq fought to reach the orbs on Ralian. The Nameless Ones tore into him, shredding his body as they pulled at his soul in their attempt to suck him dry before he could reach the Omne Occasus. The pain was unbearable and she saw his steps falter. He fell, rose again, and fell against the case. The Nameless Ones battered him mercilessly and Liora felt the strange sensation of life being pulled away. He collapsed to the ground.
“He’s gone, soulless one,” the leader of the Nameless Ones hissed at Liora. The voice was distant and muted. “He was weak, and had little left to give. We took what he had, his memories, his fears.” The leader paused, then said, “His love for you. It’s gone, Liora.”
Tariq gritted his teeth and pushed up to his hands and knees. Nobody could ever take away his love for Liora. He would protect her if it was the last thing he did.
The Nameless One continued to speak, its voice a grating, dry rasp, “As a token of our anger against your betrayal, we have sucked everything that made him what he was. He is an empty shell, worthless, useless. Your love is in vain.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Tariq replied.
He felt everyone turn to look at him. The attention of the Nameless Ones was palpable along with their fear. He lifted his hand and slammed the blade into the green orb, followed by the black one. A burst of power shoved him backwards behind the case.
Black and green energies swirled together in a whirlwind that sparked and pulled, drawing the Nameless Ones in. Tariq felt the force pulling on him where it could reach him, coaxing what remained of his life from his body. He opened his eyes just enough to see the form of the leader of the Nameless Ones standing in front of Liora. He couldn’t hear what was said, but satisfaction swelled in his chest when he saw the Nameless One pulled backwards into the whirlwind.
You think you’ve won.
The voice in his mind felt like claws scratching inside of his thoughts. He couldn’t move; he couldn’t get free. It was the most painful thing he had ever experienced.
You’re wrong, human. You’ll pay. You’ll see.
An image surfaced in Tariq’s thoughts. It was of an oblong planet encircled by red and blue rings. Other smaller spheres circled slowly, caught in the great planet’s gravitational pull. The image dove through the clouded atmosphere to the surface where liquid bubbled, then hardened into thick lumps of red rock. A sulfur scent filled Liora’s nose and a dome met her gaze. The image took her to the top where voices reached her ears.
“They eliminated the Gateway, Master,” a voice said.
“The Sadarin were supposed to ensure that didn’t happen.” The voice that replied spoke the tones in thoughts instead of words.
“The Sadarin failed,” the first voice said. “The orbs were destroyed.”
“You told me that the Coalition’s greed would ensure that the Omne Occasus was used. They would destroy a galaxy, and that would open the Gateway. We need access to their planets.” There was a pause and a crash. A moment later, a Ketulan burst from the side of the dome. One of its claws hung crookedly and it listed to one side as it flew away. “These machines are useless to me.” The voice grew stronger. “Who destroyed the orbs?”
“The Ketulans have brought the name Liora Day.”
A grunt sounded, followed by the words, “Bring this Liora Day to me. If she refuses to come along in peace, make her an offer she can’t refuse.”
Liora was aware of someone lifting her. She opened her eyes to see that her helmet was on. Tariq must have placed it back on her head. He leaned against the wall. Frost showed on his blue lips and his eyes were closed. Liora reached for him. The hand she was using to stabilize herself gave out and she fell against his chest. She couldn’t hear his heartbeat. She struggled to say his name, but her body was so cold it wouldn’t respond to her demands. She felt herself slipping away. The cold faded, the pain became a memory, and she sunk into unconsciousness with Tariq’s name on her lips.
Chapter 4
Liora’s eyes flew open. Half-formed visions of a freezing escape pod contorted into a round room with a bed in the middle. There wasn’t a single source of light, yet the room held a warm glow that seemed to come from the walls themselves. Shimmering bands held Liora’s arms across her chest. She struggled and pain coursed up her right arm. A glance at it showed a metal case around her forearm where it had been crushed. Liora had no idea what state her arm was in. She wondered if Tariq was in better condition.
Thoughts of Tariq brought her last memory of him to the forefront. His lips had been blue in the freezing cold of the escape pod, and when she leaned against his chest, there hadn’t been a heartbeat.
Liora struggled against her bonds. The need to make sure Tariq was alright coursed through her with a strength that muted the pain the movements brought. Her knives were gone along with her Ventican clothing. In its place, she wore a simple beige shirt and pants of willow wool. She had nothing with which to break the hold the bonds had on her; she tried to slip her arms free, but couldn’t make any progress against the strange energy.
A door opened and Liora stilled. She thought of it as a door only because no other word matched. Nothing had slid aside or been pushed or pulled. Instead, the oval had simply appeared in the wall where there had been nothing before.
Liora’s heart slowed at the sight of the being that stepped through. She had never seen such a race before.
The being was so slender and tall that the oval door was barely able to accommodate him or her. White delicate robes covered a bald head with skin just as pale. Large green eyes looked down at her from a skull whose only other adornment was two tiny holes that appeared to be nostrils.
Four sets of hands branched from the being’s wrapped torso. The hands ended in fingers so long and slender they were half again as long as the arms. The subtle white robes with which the being was wrapped ended just above the ground and gave a soft shushing noise when the being stepped into the room on feet that appeared too small to support such a tall form.
Upon seeing her awake, the being folded both sets of arms in a gesture that was simple yet guarded. The being bowed a graceful neck, the motion elegant and filled with deference.
“I am most happy to see you awake.”
Liora stared. The words had come from a gap at the base of the being’s neck that opened when it spoke, and the voice carried masculine tones.
The being tipped his head to one side.
“Am I saying the words wrong? I fear my Berverek is rusty.”
As much as Liora wanted to stay silent, she had to know where Tariq was.
“Where is my friend?”
The being’s huge eyes changed from green to yellow and he said, “I am glad we can communicate.”
Liora had no patience for pleasantries. Being strapped to a table with an angrily throbbing arm and no way of knowing what condition Tariq was in filled her with a rage she could barely hold back. She had to break the strange energy bonds somehow. She struggled against them again.
The being pressed a button on the bed with a slender finger and the bonds disappeared. Liora pushed to a sitting position, ready to defend herself. She looked up to see the being watching her again, his hands crossed and eyes green once more.
“Where is my friend?” she demanded.
The being’s eyes took on a greenish-blue shading. “Your friend?”
&nbs
p; Liora fought back the urge to shout. She pushed up from the table and set her bare feet on the warm floor; she leaned against the table when her legs refused to hold.
“You were nearly dead when the Cherum found you,” the being said. “Your body needs rest.”
“I know what I need,” Liora snapped. “Where is Tariq?”
The being’s eyes shifted to completely blue. “Unfortunately, there was no other viable lifeform in your pod.”
Liora stared at him, attempting to understand what he meant. “Of course there was. Tariq was with me. He’s human with black hair, a bit taller than me. His eyes feel like they see clear through you.” She knew she was babbling. She never babbled. But the meaning of the being’s words poked at her like a dagger in a festering wound. She refused to let them sink in. “He has to be here.”
The being merely watched her with his enormous eyes colored in a blue so deep Liora had only seen the shade in the depths of the oceans of Gliese where they destroyed the orb.
“I give you my sorry,” he said. “Your friend was not alive when the Cherum found you.”
Liora grasped onto the words that didn’t matter. “The Cherum? Who is that?”
The being bowed his long, pale neck once more. “We are the Cherum.”
Liora didn’t care about his reply. She pushed away from the bed and willed through desperation for her legs to hold. “I need to see the pod. I need to know what happened.”
“The shred boxes destroyed it,” the Cherum replied.
His lack of expression bothered Liora. An image flashed through her mind of Tariq’s body being torn apart by Ketulans, destroyed the way they had annihilated his ship. Her arm throbbed at the reminder of being gripped in unforgiving claws. Tariq’s blood froze as his tattered body floated through the vast depths of space.
“No!” Liora said. “He’s alive. I know he is!”
She ran for the door. The hole in the wall let her pass into a long white hallway. A glance behind her showed the Cherum following on his tiny feet, his eyes yellow and eerily long fingers still linked in front of his chest.
“Take me to him!” Liora demanded.
She turned in her half-jog and her feet moved slower than her thoughts. She tripped and fell toward the floor. Through the fog of just awakening from a long sleep, Liora put out an arm to break her landing despite her training that said to do so was a terrible idea. When her body hit the floor, sharp, angry pain coursed up her damage arm. She slumped against the wall and felt the darkness pressing against her mind. She refused to succumb to the escape unconsciousness promised.
“Would you like assistance?”
What Liora wanted was her weapons back so that she could slice the infuriating Cherum from navel to throat. Instinct warned her that violence wouldn’t get her what she wanted. Sometimes she hated her instincts.
“I’m fine,” she lied. She pushed slowly back to her feet. Weakness from nearly freezing to death made her movements sluggish. Through sheer strength of will, she stood upright and put on an expression of calm.
Inside, Liora’s thoughts tumbled against each other. Was Tariq truly dead? She refused to believe it. Yet how could he have survived the extreme temperatures? She had survived, but he had put her helmet on. His atmosphere suit had been torn; there had been no way to keep his temperature regulated.
A sob of despair welled up in Liora’s chest. She met the Cherum’s greenish-blue gaze and forced the emotions away. She had to put on a front of calm; she had to find out where she was and why they had rescued her. Once she had a stable foundation to work with, she could sort through the truth. She willed her Damaclan training to the forefront and took a breath to center herself.
Tariq’s face remained in her mind, his eyes closed and frost from his breath clinging to his lips.
“Where am I?” she asked. The Berverek came more easily to her tongue. Thanks to Shegare’s careful tutoring, language had become more of an art than a skill. She merely had to find the cadence to unlock the careful schooling she had received in the belly of the slaver ship so many years ago.
The Cherum’s eyes changed back to green and the mouth at the base of his throat said, “You are on the planet Basttist in the Triangulum Galaxy. Welcome to the home of the Cherum.”
“Thank you,” Liora replied. Diplomacy had never been her strong point, but she figured that the faster she got the Cherum to trust her, the easier she would find out what she needed to know. “My name is Liora Day. What is your name?”
The Cherum bowed his head at her name. “Lioraday,” he said as if it was one word. “You are welcome here.” He paused and his eyes took on a shade of light purple. “I am Cherum.”
Liora thought he hadn’t understood her question. “Your race is Cherum, but what is your name?”
The purple of the being’s eyes deepened. “My race and my name is Cherum. We are Cherum.”
Liora had heard of species that shared the same identity, but she had never met a member of such a race.
She gave the same nod. “Cherum, I appreciate your hospitality. Would you mind showing me where I am?”
The Cherum eyes changed back to green and he motioned with one long-fingered hand. “Happy to assist you. Come this way.”
Liora wanted to ask where her weapons were, how she had arrived at Basttist, and why she had been brought to the planet. In the back of her mind, the voice she couldn’t quite lock away screamed Tariq’s name. It threatened to undermine every other thought she had. She wanted to tear things apart, to kill, to leave blood and carnage in her wake; at the same time, she wanted to curl into a ball on the floor and never move again.
Her Damaclan training kept one foot moving in front of the other. Obruo’s voice, while unwelcome, was the ironic counterbalance that helped her maintain her blank expression and carefully unemotional tone.
‘Don’t cry, mongrel. Don’t let your human emotions betray you. Only a true Damaclan can suffer in silence. Prove that you are worthy of your heritage. Each tear is a symbol of your weakness, and weakness will ultimately be your downfall. If you let your human side win, I will kill you myself.’
The sting of the needle-lined training stick hitting her back was nothing compared to the thought of Tariq’s death. Liora struggled to breathe. Each pump of blood through her veins felt like it betrayed her.
“Live together or die together,” Tariq’s voice said quietly in her mind.
Liora’s eyes burned. She gritted her teeth so hard her jaw ached, yet the pain continued. Liora felt her control slipping. Her walls would fall and the Cherum would see her weakness.
Liora clenched the hand of her damaged arm into a fist and slammed it against her thigh. Pain shot up beneath the metal cast. Liora concentrated on it, letting it flow through her, up her arm and into her chest where it combated the ache of Tariq’s absence. Her breathing calmed and she focused on the path in front of her.
The hallway opened onto an arch where hundreds of hallways joined high above a room as big as one of Brandis’ Golden Condors. The glass around the oval hallway kept out any sound, but Liora could see other Cherum walking through hordes of humanoids below.
Thousands of every member of mortalkind Liora had ever seen filled the ranks beneath her feet. Groups held weapons while others fought in hand-to-hand combat. Everywhere she looked, fighting, training, and disciplinary drills were being held.
“What is this place?” she asked.
The Cherum continued walking as though the sight was as familiar as his white robes.
“This is the core,” he said without looking at her.
“What is it for?” Liora pressed.
“They will protect us from the Vos,” the Cherum answered simply.
Liora kept herself from asking what the Vos was. From the looks of the battle-training below, the enemy was dangerous. One of Obruo’s mantras came to her mind. ‘The strength of the foe dictates the strength of the friend.’ If such an army was required to meet the Vos, their stren
gth was extreme.
Other Cherum walked the long, oval glass hallways. Liora could see them with their fingers linked in front of their chests, their eyes different shades as they walked to their unknown destinations.
Liora wondered if the eye color was a means of expression. The Cherum were unable to smile with the tiny mouth in their throat, and there was no other way to show expression that she could tell on the skin-tight white face.
A glance at the Cherum beside her showed that his eyes were green. It seemed to be his regular color, something akin to happiness or contentment. When she had jumped off the bed in an effort to find Tariq, his eyes had turned yellow. Surprise, then. He had shown purple when she asked his name. Perhaps that was his sign of amusement. If the Cherum had no individual identity, there was no reason for a name. She supposed it could be a humorous situation.
His eyes had turn the dark blue of the Gliese depths when she asked about Tariq. Fear gripped her heart. If blue was sadness, then the Cherum could be telling the truth. Was there a way for them to lie with such an expressive tell? She told herself there had to be, but tightness filled her chest at the thought that perhaps the Cherum couldn’t lie. He had no reason to tell her Tariq had died if he hadn’t.
She shoved the thoughts away.
“Where do they come from?” she asked in an effort to distract herself.
“Everywhere,” the Cherum replied. He didn’t appear to mind her questions, and he answered them without hesitation. “We have battled against the Vos since they first landed on our planet. Basttist is a planet rich in ore; because of this, the Cherum send vast amounts of wealth to planets across the Macrocosm and in return, the families send second sons and daughters so they can have wealth of their own. We train up our,” he paused as though searching for a word. He chose, “Hordes, using both science and physical coaching.”
They reached another hallway lined with glass. A glance inside showed hundreds of individuals from a variety of races strapped to tables. Some appeared unconscious, others screamed; several frothed at the mouth and struggled against the energy bonds that held them down. Liora remembered the feeling of the bands around her arms and a shiver ran down her spine.
