Prison Moon_Ice Heart

by Alexandra Marell

  “Take your differences outside,” the guard barked. “And get rid of that body. Main event’s tonight, not before.”

  “I’ll see you in the arena.” Kelskar lifted an arm in a casual wave. His nostrils twitched. Sound and scent, all made sharper by benefit of the chip, he picked out a new sourer smell overlying the background stench of the midden heap of bone, food scraps, and human shit heaped behind the palisade wall.

  Regian, the being was Regian.

  “And I’ll kill you in the arena. Then I’ll find her and make her bathe in your blood.” The Regian turned, digging his heel into the soft earth and took off at a run, barrelling through the crowd, shoving protesting traders from his path. He made it past the hut guards to fling himself at the wooden planks, bashing at the sides with his fists and feet.

  “I’m coming for you, girls. Will have you all.”

  Four guards fought to overpower and persuade him with angry force to desist in terrifying the prizes further. More useful information. Kelskar played their conversation in his head.

  Bathe in his blood. Ignore him.

  Words heard and spoken somewhere in his hidden past. Spoken to the woman the Regian wanted so badly to violate? Kelskar’s woman if he heard it right.

  Janie. Janie. Janie.

  His woman. If so, she was out there, unprotected?

  “I need a scriber,” he said to a young male arranging slivers of flat bark onto a board. “Where will I find one?”

  “Lend you,” the male said, closing one dark eye. The open eye immediately grew to twice its size. “Trade for tokens, I lend you scriber.”

  “I’ve nothing to trade. These tokens, they’re necessary for the prize?” The trader offered plain slivers of bark, available from any of the surrounding trees. Kelskar saw no reason to trade his meagre goods for them, but he did have urgent need of a scriber.

  “Best token in Arena.” The male proffered one with all the dignity of a trader in precious metals. “You get best respect with Malik’s tokens.”

  Kelskar laughed. “I still have nothing to trade.” To prove it, he stuck his hands deep in his pockets, ignoring the trinkets he must have picked up on his journey. “See?” He uncurled his long fingers and frowned. Crumbs. Pale yellow crumbs scattered across his palm. He blinked and saw only tanned skin.

  Ten thousand dark gods, what were they? This half world of memory and forgetting would drive him to madness.

  “I lend you scriber.” The trader changed eyes, a look akin to sympathy clouding the hooded orb. “This a terrible place. And me blameless. I not belong here. Neither you I think.” Dipping under the wooden board, he produced a feather and a thumb-sized pot of viscous green liquid. “You scribe with this.”

  “Thank you.” A small mercy in this place of death. “Is the ink stable?”

  “Best on moon. Best on moon.” The pot slid across the boards. “I have parchment too, but you trade for that.”

  “I have no need of parchment. Only a few drops of your ink.”

  Pulling back his sleeve, Kelskar scanned the swirls patterning his forearm, seeking out the few patches of bare skin. Do this before he forgot.

  A group of roaring males strutting from the fight pit distracted him. One grasped two leashes holding great prowling beasts covered in sleek, rippling pelts.

  Formidable weapons if allowed into the fight pit. The males all easily matched him in height.

  There are no rules. One thing he knew for certain. Few masters here to worry about preserving their valuable purchases in the arena. No set-ups or fake fights to mollify the baying crowds. Every fight here could be his last.

  “I make more permanent. Yes? That wash off in next rain.” A peeled twig twirled in the trader’s fingers. “Tattoo, tattoo,” he said flashing his hypnotic eyes.

  You don’t need another infection, Kelskar. A woman’s voice drifted through his mind, soft and concerned, gently chastising. His body hurt from past injury and healing wounds. Had he been sick?

  He shook his head at the eager trader. “This will suffice for now.”

  “I do it for you. You win fight, I bet on you. You win more fight. Make me good trades.”

  “No, I’ll do it.” The physical act of scribing this name might shine more light into the dark places of his mind. Sticky liquid clung to the quill, the scent redolent of bitter herbs. No match for the detailed art work adorning his body, the ink slithered onto his skin in blobs and uneven lines. A semblance of the name took shape in the cramped space above his wrist.

  Janie.

  There would be no rain tonight. He would remember.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Strip woman, the parade starts anon.”

  Janie dodged the sharp pole thrust through the cage bars. A weird dog-like creature lunged at the pole, saliva dripping from its lolling tongue.

  The guard had thrown her what amounted to a see-through nightgown, ordering with a curt word that she change into the thing. She refused, buying herself enough time to be left behind when they came for the others. Damn, but the flimsy garment sparked too many traumatic memories of her abduction in nothing but her nightshirt..

  “Put that on, woman, or I’ll do it for you. Can’t you hear they started? You want to be left on the reject pile?”

  “I’ll do it.” Janie crumpled the sheer material in her fist. Not that naive, sheltered woman any more. She could do this.

  “Hurry up then, they’re blowing the fanfare.”

  “I said I’ll do it. I won’t give you any trouble.” Please let him be out there. Let Kelskar remember me. Turning her back on the leering guard, she twisted open her coat buttons. This couldn’t end any other way, it couldn’t.

  Billie Rae, the terrified girl in the opposite cell, the Australian were all out there parading for the cheering crowd. The fighters who saw only possessions and not the broken women with fractured lives and little hope.

  Too damn cold to be prancing about in a bloody negligee, everything on show. A shudder caught her from head to toe as her pants and tunic, her underclothes dropped away. “All right, I’m done.” She gave the small pile of clothing one last regretful glance. Wouldn’t last long out there barefoot and practically naked if her garments were lost. But this system existed long before she did. Contestants wouldn’t risk death or serious injury in the pit only to let their prizes die of cold. Kelskar told her what he knew of the games. Earth women were in demand for breeding, prostituting, or trade. Some fighters might even seek a mate.

  Oh Lord, she hoped not. Kelskar’s woman, now and forever. Nothing or no one would change that.

  If he didn’t appear, it would have to be plan B. Feign meekness, then escape and find him. Behind her, the guard let out a low moan. She refused to think about what he might be doing. Bigger problems to worry about than being naked in front of a horny alien stranger.

  “I’m ready.” A background roar drifted through the open door to the cells. All day chattering voices had filtered through the flimsy cage walls. At one point some berserker started thumping on the wooden siding shouting obscenities, sending the women inside into screaming frenzies. Shade covered the central skylight, then dark skies lit by moonlight. She built a picture in her head of stone arenas with tiered seating like the Coliseum in ancient Rome. Sacrificial victims chained to posts, wild animals slavering at them with hungry eyes.

  And still she refused to show fear, though inside she trembled with worst case scenarios beating in her head. Once that kind of terror would have incapacitated her. Now it only spurred her on. She missed her man and wanted him back.

  “You’ll be a popular bid.” The guard’s scaly fingers curved over her scalp, picking at her hair. He lifted a strand to his face, inhaling with a noisy sniff. “Can smell you’ve been claimed. But where’s he now, eh? You get a new master tonight. Terargans value long hair and I saw more than one Terargan warrior waiting out there.”

  “Then lend me your knife and I’ll cut it off. You can have it.” Janie kept r
ight on walking, flicking the long plait over her shoulder in defiance. Last thing she wanted was to attract too much attention in that ring. Kelskar might fight for her, but not at his fighting strength, he didn’t need the extra challenge. Diving behind the guard, she lunged at his belt. He caught her wrist in a wrenching grip, raising it so high she almost dangled from his grasp.

  “None of that,” he said in an almost jovial tone. “Put my bets on you already. More bid tokens fighters throw at you, the more I win.”

  “Let me cut it off. You can have it for trade. Didn’t you say hair was valuable?”

  “My balls are more valuable. Corp will have them for a trophy if I did that. Now keep still or I’ll slap you still.”

  No match for his height, Janie pointed her toes, reaching in vain for the dirt floor. One tug and the guard snapped the twine fastening her braid. He combed it out roughly, scratching her scalp with his clawed nails. She’d almost forgotten the feel of the long hair protecting her like a cloak. Thick strands tumbled over her breasts, at least covering that shame. So many times she thought about cutting it short. If only.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll cooperate.” Nothing to be gained by fighting the guard. Get out there and look for Kelskar. And pray like she’d never prayed before.

  “Then get through that door, female.”

  The guard shoved her stumbling onto a flat plain teeming with every variation of humanoid shape. A market by the look of the wooden stalls and traders shouting their wares, serving meats, crude pies, broths, and flat bread from smoking griddles and steaming pans. A carnival atmosphere lit by avenues of tall burning torches and the full twin moons, with an underlying menace threading through every evil grin, every lurking shadow.

  So many comments yelled at her on the short walk to the wooden fence, her translation chip delivered her a jumble of words that made little sense. They wanted to fuck her, do other unspeakable things to her. Bet on her.

  When did she get so brave? Barefoot on the gritty dirt, practically naked, she walked the walk with head held high like a queen. Laeesha would be proud of her. Through a propped open wooden gate to a standing area thick with males, a few females, and everything in between. Mouths open, arms raised, faces lit by fire and moonlight, they jostled and pushed for the best view. Looking up she saw a motley assortment of beings hanging from branches, perched on the fencing, their gazes fixed on the platform of huddled women.

  Looking closer, she spotted hunch-necked birds on the higher branches appraising the fight pit with hungry eyes. Waiting to pick over the bones of the dead? Oh God, let her get through this.

  “You want me to get on the platform?” Where were the fighters? So far no sign of the warriors come to chance their lives for a human female. No sign of Kelskar. Someone was walking around the central pit, lighting more torches that spat crackling tongues of sparking fire into the air.

  In answer, the guard shoved her into the pit and grabbed her arm in a twisting grip to hold her still. Didn’t the idiot know she was going nowhere? For a long moment the roar dimmed to a murmuring appraisal. Hundreds of eyes and all fixed on her. Keep calm. Hard with the dizzying noise, the disorientating feeling of being so small and exposed in the centre of that huge pit.

  Gusty wind plastered the filmy gown to her thighs, lifted her hair in twisting strands across her cheeks. Dried leaves rattled in heaps against the perimeter stones. Arms flew upward, the murmurings rose to form a wall of sound that made her head throb.

  “Stand here, while they bring down the other prizes. The Corp are billing this as an Arena Special so you’re in luck, girl. Only do that when they’re pimping a good incomer.”

  Billie Rae led the terrified crocodile of women into the pit, managing a swagger while the others huddled and hunched, arms wrapped about their chests, haunted eyes staring at the crowd in disbelief.

  “Better crowd than my last beauty pageant,” Billie Rae said, scanning the baying mob. “You holding up?”

  “Make a line, females. One arm’s distance between each of you.” The zealous guard set about separating them with his pole. He paused at a kneeling woman, wrapped so tight she was a little ball in the dirt. “And don’t think that snivelling will get you anywhere. Terror’s the name of the game, little girl.” Fisting her tangled hair, he yanked her upright. She swayed with a wailing moan. Too wrapped up in their own plight, none offered solace.

  “You can’t help her.” Billie Rae shook her head at Janie in warning. “Don’t even think it. Just look out for you.” She, or someone, had teased her wavy hair into a bouffant platinum mane. Hair was obviously a thing. Standing in the pool of orange moonlight, she might have been strutting her stuff on the catwalk. Gushing into the microphone about her charity work and wanting to change the world.

  They stood in the glare of the flickering torches, choking on smoke belching from the tarry twine wrapped atop stout sticks stuck into the ground at intervals around the pit. Two more women collapsed to their knees. The guards ignored them, more intent now on policing the betting frenzy in the crowd. None of it comprehensible in the melee of waving arms bearing tokens and trinkets of all shapes and sizes.

  “How long will they make us wait?” Janie kept her eyes glued on the open gates, one on each side of the circular wooden fencing. He’d be there. Would he know her? Should she call out, or would that just bring her unwanted attention from the other fighters?

  “Dio, Dio, Dio.” A barely legal Italian teen broke ranks, racing blindly for the gate, ducking under the lances thrown across the opening to stop her flight. She reappeared moments later, kicking and screaming slung over a guard’s shoulder to a cackle of raucous laughter from the crowd.

  “Look out, it’s showtime,” Billie Rae whispered. “Here they come.”

  It didn’t bode well. The first warrior through the gate sported wide bony shoulder plates and a crown of spines sprouting from his head. The second held a cat-like creature on a tight leash, grasping it in one of his four hands.

  “Don’t you ever get scared?” Janie strained her eyes in the flickering flame-light, trying to pick out Kelskar’s familiar frame. If he didn’t show, tonight the nightmare became reality. A future owned by some alien being who regarded her as little more than a chattel.

  “Sure I get scared, look at that?” Billie Rae lifted an elegant, trembling hand, the nails adorned with chipped silver varnish. “What’s the point, though? Not going to change anything. The guy you’re waiting for. Think he’s coming for you?”

  “I don’t know.” Did she trust Billie Rae with the information she’d so freely given? The friendly, tough as nails exterior didn’t hide Mother Teresa’s heart, she was sure of that. Billie Rae would use every bit of knowledge to her advantage and sod everyone else. “I can’t see him.”

  She couldn’t see him. One by one the fighters strutted into the pit brandishing sticks and cudgels, blades and hammers. Nightmare seemed too tame a word for the fiendish creatures whipping up the riotous crowd. Ten, fifteen, she counted twenty seven before the trickle dwindled and the open gateway stood empty.

  He wasn’t coming. He’d forgotten her.

  Slim fingers slipped into hers, squeezing in sympathy. They stood, trembling together. Pretending to be brave.

  “That’s men for you, hon. Never there when you need them. Oh Jesus, want to bet I get that big horny one with the spiny head. Still, better than some of the guys I’ve dated lately.” Billie Rae forced her lips into a tight smile. “Jesus Christ. Tell me your guy doesn’t look like one of those.”

  Janie pressed her lips together. The fighters circled the pit, showing off for the crowd and the gateway remained stubbornly empty. She swallowed, blinking back useless tears. Hold it together. He’d find her. Whatever happened, he’d find her.

  The gate rattled and bumped across the opening pushed by an invisible hand. The order that none shall leave till the prize be won echoed around the space.

  Oh God, what if they never intended him to fight here? If they�
�d whisked him someplace better than this ramshackle pit where he could show off his gladiator fighting skills with style? Her racing heart thundered out a warning. They wouldn’t waste a man like Kelskar in this Stone Age pit.

  A wooden square etched with symbols dropped at her feet. Blunt claws grasped her chin, yanking up her face for appraisal. Lizard man grunted and dipped to retrieve his token, his thin lips twisted in faint disgust. Hysterical laughter bubbled in Janie’s throat.

  Rejected by the lizard man. It sounded like a bad romance. She heard him mutter something about ugly humans and rejoiced. Fine by her. Let them all find her hideous as sin and leave her to one man.

  “Ooh, pretty pretty. I’ll have you while his body’s still warm.” The grating voice jarred her from her thoughts. A diagonally striped stone dropped in front of her. Oh hell, no. The piercing, triumphant shriek sliced through her, exactly as it did over and over in the cage on the ship.

  She looked up straight into the bulging eyes of the three-armed Regian.

  Only amateurs and the untried swaggered in first, putting everything on show. Kelskar knew how to make an entrance. He waited outside the gate, jogging in place to heat his muscles and appraise the opposition.

  Those standing quietly apart, like him would prove the real competition. A thin scale-faced being sat unconcerned in a corner of the yard, blowing a tune on a short reed, a massive stone bound to a stout stick at his side,. Another picked his claws and watched, like him. Two giants with smooth shimmering skin sat cross-legged between a hide drum, taking turns beating a sonorous dirge with short sticks.

  “There are no rules.” A herald standing on a low platform, yelled in vain above the din. “No rules but one. Fight only those fighting for your prize. The security cameras will fry any fighters breaking protocol. It will take out the wimps, too. So show them blood, entrails, guts, and buckets of it.”