Prison Moon_Ice Heart

by Alexandra Marell

  Please don’t let his infection get worse. Let him fight it and win.

  Behind them the camera box dipped and followed their progress.

  Chapter Ten

  In his sleep he saw coiled auburn curls framing a chubby female child-face. Trusting eyes, the colour of winter skies. Delicate fingers engulfed by his large hand. A trusting smile for the royal bodyguard who always kept her safe.

  Until the betrayal.

  Kelskar shifted on the bed of coats and unyielding ground, half-awake, half trapped in the nightmares sparking chaos in his brain. Remember. Forget. The chip cycled in and out, muddling images of smiling children with hard-faced men.

  The princess dies. Her nurse, too. You have your orders, Commander.

  He couldn’t do it. Wouldn’t do it.

  Take her. Get her off planet. Take her.

  “Kelskar. Wake up.” Something shook his shoulder. His body remembered what his mind did not. React, disarm, disable. Snapping awake, he pinned the arm above his assailant’s head, trapped the legs with his knees, his body weight.

  “Kelskar, wake up. It’s me, Janie. Wake up.”

  The mists around the woman’s face cleared, bringing recognition, the horrified realisation that he might have hurt her in his frenzy. A long knife lay beside the coat.

  Kelskar rolled off her, sitting for a moment, one leg bent, taking in the makeshift camp. Water bottles, their weapon stash concealed under a pile of fallen leaves. A burned down fire, flat stones holding the piscine bones, what Janie called fish. He blinked, remembering them leaning over a small pool, sharpened sticks in hand. Janie’s frustration as the fish eluded her every thrust.

  She sat beside him, wary, shaking out her damp plait. Rubbing her shoulder, slowly as if reluctant to draw attention to the hurt he caused her.

  Water beaded on flat fronds, pooled in puddles beyond the shelter. The musty scent of wet soil duelled with something exotic and sweet. Kelskar dropped his face to his hands, battling the confusion of the chip. It could be controlled. It would not take him back. He lifted his head. Surveyed the thick canopy of twisted branches and vines sheltering them from the worst of the elements. Wet leaves glinting with early morning light.

  “You were calling in your sleep.” Janie kept distance between them, as if she knew to give him time to come around.

  Janie, yes he remembered that name. “By the ten gods, Janie. Did I hurt you?”

  “No, it’s fine.” She was whispering, her gaze moving from him to rove the thicket of trees. “I shouldn’t have startled you like that. You were dreaming.”

  “How long have we been here? In this spot?” His head clanged like the great bell of Pelsan. Too many thoughts and questions, pain from his scabbing wounds, rushing him in a mighty stampede. He remembered the dragon temple, climbing the mountain. After that, nothing.

  “Four days. Are you here? Still with me?”

  Kelskar let go a heaving breath, the present returning in pulsing waves. Resetting him to now, to this prison moon with this woman he’d sworn to protect.

  “Still here. What’s wrong? Did you hear something out there?”

  “Yes, that’s why I woke you. I don’t know what it was, an animal maybe, or it could be voices.”

  “Get to the back of the shelter.” The gesture was so automatic, he had his sword in hand, a knife in the other before his brain gave the command. “Shh,” he said and listened with all his senses. The crack of a branch underfoot, leaves rustling with more than the wind. Rising to his feet, he cursed the nightmares that made him broadcast their whereabouts to anyone near enough to hear. His brain seemed determined to discover his past, his identity, even if it meant tearing it from his screaming mind.

  No stranger to pain, he locked it away for later in deference to this more immediate threat. “You let me sleep. You shouldn’t have let me sleep.”

  “I kept watch.” A hint of exasperation in Janie’s tone said they’d raked over this argument before. “I woke you as soon as I needed you.”

  Four days? How had he lost four days?

  The five men exploded from the wood as one, sharpened sticks, clubs, and stones clutched in their meaty fists, mouths curled in snarling contempt at the sight of their lone quarry. A rag bag of clothing, tied to their bodies with strips of cloth. Matted hair falling to their waists, straggly beards hanging from their chins. The exposed skin of their faces cracked and leathery.

  The tallest stepped forward, arrogant and unafraid. Bipeds like most of the condemned of Prison Moon One. The leader barely glanced at the greatsword, the needle sharp dagger in Kelskar’s grasp.

  “You have our master’s woman. Give her back and we be on our way. Can smell woman, can’t hide that from me. She’s owned property. Caught and held. Give her back and you live.”

  “Greetings of the morn, gentlemen.” Kelskar twirled his sword, flicking it back and forth in a glinting arc. Images of the past few days clicked into place, splintered pieces reforming into memories of the trek up the mountain. Janie washing his wounds, while he sat stoic, pretending it didn’t hurt like a stab from a demon’s pitchfork. Teaching Janie to catch her fish and eating real food after days of hunger.

  The leader topped him by at least a head. Not as wide, but muscled enough to give him a good fight. Exactly what he needed after the confusion of the dream.

  “I give benefit you misheard me, stranger.” The leader took a lunging step towards him, lips curled in a snarl. “The woman is owned property, the child marked for sacrifice.”

  The four behind shuffled their feet and shot each other quizzical glances. Kelskar stood his ground, noting every twitch. If they expected him to quake at their feet when so obviously outnumbered they were sorely misguided.

  Facing multiple opponents, disabling or killing as required had been his speciality. But with Janie in the mix, it wouldn’t hurt to talk first. To find out more about this woman they sought.

  “What woman?” he said flatly. They mentioned a child, so not his Janie.

  “Owned property. A runaway. I know you have her.”

  “Do you now. And if I did have her, what then?” Keep them talking while he planned his strategy. Kill the leader first. Chop off the gang’s head and the body would crumble. The rest might give him much needed sport. Too nervous in their indecision, they’d go down like the vermin they were.

  Behind him a twig cracked. Kelskar heard Janie’s sharp intake of breath. Prayed she’d keep her cover. A blast of cold air sent a shower of raindrops rattling to the ground. The gang leader turned his head to the sound, the smallest of movements, but enough. He opened his mouth to speak then tipped his head, frowning at his chest. At the knife quivering to and fro.

  With a feral grin, he grasped the hilt and yanked it free. Tossed it aside and spat. The other four stood ready, unconcerned by their leader’s injury.

  “Take more than that to kill Barth the Gord,” he said. A slur marred his voice. The male swayed once, righted himself. “You’re new here. You don’t know how things work.”

  The camera box. Another memory of the past few days clicked into place in Kelskar’s mind. A larger double-prism shaped box, blinking and hovering above the trees. Recording this sordid little encounter, most likely for daytime viewing and those too poor or mean to pay for prime time. Kelskar remembered breaking his morning fast in the gladiator Ludus Maxim, the ever present screens beaming daytime entertainment. Laughing with the others at the pathetic antics of those too weak to broadcast later in the day, when the high hitters paid to see real death.

  “Getting bored.” The leader picked at a nail, the wicked club grasped in an expert grip. A dark red stain bloomed on his coat, the dirty material greedily soaking up the blood. He paid the wound no heed.

  Don’t underestimate the buffoon. He would know how to use that thing. With a brusque flick of one wrist, the male motioned his minions forward to join him in a curving line around the entrance to the shelter.

  “I’m boring you? No
w you insult me.” Kelskar moved with lethal precision, his body knowing exactly where to step, how much force to exert. Balance, stab, slash, twist. The first ran at him, sharpened club held tucked in his armpit like a lance. His head whipped back, blood pouring from the crimson ribbon at his throat. He fell soundlessly to the ground.

  The second swung at him with an axe, a sharpened flint tied in a forked branch. Kelskar parried with the long sword, whipping a knife from his boot with his right hand. The stimulating buzz of natural hormones turned his muscles to stone, narrowed his vision. Numbed the pain. He caught the third with a crooked elbow, snapping his neck with a vice-like squeeze.

  Shoving the falling body away, he twisted pivoting on one heel, slicing into the second assailant’s side with a two handed slash. The fourth held back, weighed up the fight then turned tail and ran for the trees. Kelskar lunged, rolling over mouldering leaves for his fallen knife, throwing the blade in one smooth movement. He flicked upright holding back his victory roar in deference to stealth.

  A deadly dance, too familiar to a warrior like him.

  “Give me the woman.” His falling men hardly gave the gang leader pause. He kicked one in disgust, stepped over another. The dark wet stain plastered the coat to his body. A smaller camera box broke away from the master box, dipping for a better view and a distant canine howl drifted over the lower slopes. Kelskar sucked air into his lungs, preparing for the grand finale. Now the crowd in the arenas would stand and roar for the exhausted gladiators to finish it in style.

  He never disappointed.

  Stay back, Janie. We’re not safe yet.

  “You have my respect, warrior.” Kelskar acknowledged the male’s fighting spirit in the formal style. Anyone still standing with that chest wound deserved acknowledgment. “But make peace with your gods. You will die this day.”

  He could have taken the gang leader, hand to hand, fist to fist in that weakened state. Too risky with the open festering wounds in his head and face. The plated chest armour hanging by a few sinews and skin. The male’s head would fall to one lethal swing of his great sword. He didn’t want Janie to see that.

  Finish it quickly before she revealed herself and gave the male incentive to fight on. Before this fighting high wore off and pain returned.

  Kelskar reversed his grip, two hands on the hilt, using the advantage of the long sword’s reach. The point skidded off bone, found the gap between ribs and drove home. No room to swing the club, the gang leader’s legs crumpled. Kelskar pulled free the blade, dropped to one knee and gathered the male’s coat collar in one fist.

  “You spoke of a woman, a marked child. How so?” He shook the sagging body. “Explain.”

  The leader lifted his face, laughing on a bubbling froth of blood. “Who needs another male at their camp? Best sacrifice them young, when they have no strength to fight back.” Twisting his head, the leader studied his fallen comrades on another choking laugh. His eyes rolled in his head.

  Kelskar tossed him aside, disgust souring in his throat.

  A cull. Little wonder the mother ran.

  He wiped his blade clean on the male’s sleeve, relieved his reflexes yet served him. Even in his weakened state the encounter barely elevated his heart rate.

  “You can come out. They’re dead.”

  “Are you all right?” Janie crept up behind him, a flat hand over her mouth. With a small cry of distress, she turned her face from the strewn bodies. “Oh Christ, I’ll never get used to this.”

  “Don’t turn away. This is our life now.” Too harsh. If only he could shelter her from all this. Keep her pure and baking her pretty little cupcakes and wicked confections. Kelskar gathered his blades. He couldn’t do that.

  “I know.” Cheeks blanched white, hands shaking, but Janie came forward to stand with him, her head resting on his arm. “Should we search them for supplies?”

  “You take that one, I’ll search the others.” The man with the broken neck looked asleep on his bed of wet grass and leaves. He’d spare Janie the others.

  “I think this might be a compass. Maybe kyanite, like the Vikings used.” She held up a small square glass of shiny blue, stuck with a pivoting needle. “The man said he was looking for a woman with a baby, did I hear right?”

  “You did. From what I understand, excess males are killed off at birth for fear they might challenge the warlord. There are challenges enough from the felons.”

  “So she’s out there, all alone?”

  He knew what was coming. Kelskar stashed the small knives and sticks scooped out to form spoons, the dried meat wrapped in large flat leaves. One man yielded a pocket full of polished stones striped with blues, reds, and greens. Trade beads, or perhaps more precious ore for bartering at higher price. Kelskar stowed them in his coat. The larger items in the rudimentary bag.

  “Unlikely we’ll find her without giving ourselves away to more of these scum.”

  Janie sat back on her heels, her gaze averted from the dead man’s face. “She can’t be far if they were chasing her.”

  “We’ll keep our eyes open for her but you’re my first priority. I won’t be distracted from that.” The fighting high was wearing off, pain ebbing across his chest like a roaring tide screaming enough. Closing his eyes, Kelskar embraced it, steadied his limbs against the dizzying rush and pushed to his feet.

  Janie rose too, lip caught between her teeth. Knowing better than to voice her concern right now when he was liable to bite off her head for the kindness.

  “Help me take off my coat. I need to rid myself of this chest plate. With them dead, we have a window, perhaps some peace for a short while.”

  He saw relief in the sag of Janie’s shoulders. The tight nod of her head for the concession. The last piece of his armoured shell rubbed at the raw flesh under his tunic. When this fell, only the dormant chip in his head stopped him from being the man he was before.

  “Do you think there are any more out there?” Janie urged Kelskar under the shelter away from the prying camera, praying silently this sudden compliance would allow her a good look at his wounds and a chance to clean the puffy skin. “If they’re part of a larger group, won’t they be missed when they fail to return?”

  “I expect so. When this is done, we’ll move on.”

  “I hope she gets away to safety.” Their gazes locked. They both knew that unlikely. Janie heard the noises in the night, the howls and low growling that sounded too much like a cougar looking for dinner. Creatures slithered in the undergrowth. The cute, blue bunny sported teeth to rival jaws.

  And then there were the inmates on this prison moon. Murderers and rapists—desperate men with no use for morals.

  “We should at least try to look for her.” She’d rather have stayed here, sheltering behind Kelskar, keeping out of trouble instead of running straight at it. But life had a way of messing with carefully laid plans and Janie never stood by while bullies intimidated the weak.

  “Too dangerous until we know this place. How it works. Now I need your help. I’ll admit this chest plate gives me pain.” Kelskar threw her the concession, mainly she suspected to stop her running off into the trees to look for the woman and child. He needed her. He was her priority now.

  “Lift your arm, carefully.” She slid off his padded jacket sleeve, feeling the fine tensing of muscles in his biceps and forearm. He hid the pain well, but the hell she was allowing him to die of blood poisoning for the sake of manly pride. He could rant all he liked about fighting this infection alone, no one died on her watch.

  Twisting open the tunic fastenings, she held the material away from his chest, not wishing to cause further pain. Smoothed it aside and felt her heart squeeze at the sight of the open wounds barely holding the curved plate in place.

  “They did this to you?” She knew his story. How the gladiators became more machine than man over time. The chip in his head, this hideous stuff welded to his bones. How could they do this to people?

  Kelskar grasped her chin wi
th strong fingers. Lifted her face to his. “You had the determined look of a warrior woman then. What were you thinking?”

  “That I’d like to punch the man who did this to you. I want to kill every one of them for this barbarity.”

  He bent for a soft press of his lips to hers. “A woman on fire is a fearsome thing. I’m hard for you, Janie. I would take you now on wet leaves under an open sky if things were different.”

  “Seriously?” She batted away his hand. Wiped her mud-stained face with her sleeve. “You’re injured. You just killed five men and you’re thinking of sex?”

  Damn, why did he have to say that? Liquid heat tightened her core, plain need written in the blush crawling her cheeks. Janie bent her head, inspecting the gashes where the plating clung to his chest. Something in the way he looked at her. That narrowing of those clear eyes, the focus so intense she felt naked before him.

  She wanted to stand naked for him. Have him look at her as if she were the most beautiful thing and tremble with need.

  “A good kill followed by good sex. The gladiator creed. There were always women waiting after the contests.” Kelskar shrugged completely unapologetic. “It’s a good way to burn off the excitement.”

  “You found that exciting?” He would she supposed, being a gladiator and all.

  Hell, five dead bodies out there. She’d just rifled a dead man’s pockets and now she was looking at a man with a piece of metal welded to his ribs. Crazy stuff.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  Kelskar peered down at his chest. “It feels loose. How does it look?”

  “Three of the anchor points are hanging by a thread. The fourth looks stable. Can I cut it away with a knife?”

  “Would be little use as armour if you could pierce it with a knife. It’s pellar, a bio organic reinforced hydroskin. Flexible, but tougher than the strongest metals.”