Taken to Voraxia

by Elizabeth Stephens

  17

  Xoran

  It is not enough. It is never going to be enough. And yet, impossibly, I am satisfied.

  It has been only five solars and yet, I feel as if she has been at my side all of my rotations. At the same time, she continues to surprise me and knock me off guard.

  The solar before we left for our first meeting with Xa’Raku, in which we began discussions over the human females and their settlement, my Miari presented me with her third and final gift after the solarverse that now occupies its own place on a shelf in our living quarters, and the breeding belt concoction she’d wrapped around her body.

  Unlike her first gift, which tenderized my insides, or her second gift, which had filled my mind with a rutting rage, her third gift had utterly fascinated me.

  In the short solars she was apart from me, she managed to convert our guest werro into a makeshift laboratory, one in which she retrofitted a Droherion filament to a black glass dagger — just like the one I used to save her life on that human moon, except this one would not only cut through the flesh of a beast as tough as the khrui, it would dissolve it. If I had had it on her moon, fighting the khrui, I’d have been able to kill it in a matter of moments and in only a few strokes.

  I learned in a later meeting from Tri'Herion that he and the other xub'Herion had requested the Rakukanna to assist them in improving the design of this device and fitting it to even larger weapons — swords next — to create a whole new generation of fighting tool.

  Even the ma’Renar had been fascinated with the idea and had requested council with Tri'Herion and the Rakukanna to repurpose this weaponry into new, more efficient cooking implements.

  I could not have been more proud, and when the Rakukanna told me following our first meeting with Xa’Raku that she would like to request the human Svera to act as her advisor on all matters human, I was proud of her then too. More than I could have imagined.

  Not only smart and capable, but also wise. For it takes a wise ruler to know when they don’t know enough, and a humble ruler to seek out others’ opinions. Something I don’t do enough. In a few short solars, I have already learned so much from her.

  I take her hand now and kiss the back of her palm. As I lower it to the arm of her werro root throne, I do not release her, but engage in this act that she refers to as hand holding. I call it linking. And I like this linking very much. The very moment I no longer touch her — even for a breath — the world feels dark.

  “Xa’Raku, we are honored to receive you,” I say as a small procession files into the room, Xa’Raku at its head. “Islu'Raku, Roth, Lemoria, Svera,” I say, stuttering over her name — I do not like speaking her slave name aloud, and I also do not truly know how to pronounce it. Krisxox bristles at the sound of the human’s name, likely as discomfited as I am. “Krisxox.”

  I incline my head to each of them in turn, even though Svera is still technically a prisoner. Her trial, however has low priority. Extremely low. The other traitor female still bathes in the tub of merillian, Va’Raku honorably at her side, and first and most pressingly is the matter of Pe’ixal, who still awaits his reckoning.

  The members that file into the war room take the chairs set out for them. I wait a lengthy pause for the room to settle, and then begin, “We come together to render verdict on Pe’ixal and the human settlement. I would like a progress report from each of you since our last meeting.

  “Roth, as you are responsible for Voraxia’s internal security, I would like to hear from you first on the status of our fallen xub’Raku and the preventative measures that have been taken by you and the xcleranx?”

  Roth stands and bares his forearms in the warrior’s greeting, a sign of ultimate respect from one warrior to the next. I return it. “Every precaution with Pe’ixal has been taken.

  “He has been cordoned from communicators and barred access to Ixiria’s docks. We have limited his correspondence to you, my Raku, and to the xub’Raku. The xcleranx that monitor him are among the fiercest in Voraxia, present company excluded,” he says with a slight tip of his head towards Krisxox first, and then to me. I am not offended. Strength is honored here and Krisxox’s prowess is known.

  “And there is nowhere he goes that they do not accompany. And they do not speak to him. They are not baited. They are loyal. He is utterly contained, Raku, Rakukanna.” He sits and I nod, turning my gaze to Islu'Raku.

  The Islu'Raku of Cree’irn proceeds next. “Xhen'Raku dispatched to Cxrian as soon as you passed your final verdict in our last assembly. He has met with the xub’Bo’Raku and informed them of the Pe’ixal’s treason.

  “There is upset in Cxrian. He was much beloved there by his male xub’Bo’Raku and the xcleranx that participated in the Hunting ceremony. They share concerns that they will be barred from partaking in the human females.”

  “They will be barred,” my Rakukanna spits. It is a break in formality, but her human temperament is not as caged as the ridges allow ours to be and I forgive her for this, even as I lift my hand, demanding her silence.

  “I have made it clear that the Hunt ceremony will no longer take place under the forced pact that the past Bo’Rakus have allowed. That said…” And here I tread more slowly than I would have a few solars previous.

  The thought makes my mouth jerk in the semblance of a pleasure expression that I cannot give voice. Not here, in the war room. Xok…who am I now? Nox. Who has she made me?

  I continue, “My Rakukanna and I have agreed that it benefits both Voraxians and humans for our two species to have increased interaction…” My Rakukanna shoots me a glare. These were terms I laid before her that I would not budge on.

  “The hope is that more of the human females and the Voraxian males will prove to be compatible and that a healthy generation of offspring will be born of them.”

  “Healthy offspring born of healthy relationships. Ones that abide by the human standard of mating.”

  Her tone begs punishment and I glare at her, able to feel my xora rise at the thought. “Svera will give a report on what has been discussed to best achieve this human style of mating,” I say gruffly. “Thank you Islu'Raku. My Rakukanna extends her pride to you, for her outburst.”

  “Oh…stars,” she curses. I squeeze her hand firmly and she quiets. She knows not to apologize. She knows not to interrupt. So hexa, tonight she will be punished.

  She glances at me out of the corner of her eye, bites her bottom lip, drops her gaze in contrition. Hexa, my little universe. Tonight, I will remind you of your lessons. I make very slight movements, though in my chest my Xanaxana purrs loudly enough to draw attention.

  No one stirs but Krisxox whose evident discomfort leads him to shift on his werro root stool. He has never been comfortable in the war room. The few times he has been party to discussions taking place here were during the the three rotations war ended only three rotations ago. I had just been made Raku and the Niahhorru thought they could use the change in leadership to attack Xixix, one of the smaller planets within my constellation, and take it from me.

  They were wrong. Krisxox had been key in devising the strategy we used to take down their largest battleships. He had been just as uncomfortable in the war room then as he is now. A total contrast to the human female seated beside him.

  She waits until I meet her gaze directly and as I do, she holds it steady. She rises in a flourish, her skirts swirling in a wind created by her and felt by her, the center of its vortex.

  All eyes are on her — even Krisxox settles as she stands. I understand then a simple truth I had not first believed: My Rakukanna did not invite this Svera to advise her out of fear; she invited her because Svera was the right choice. She is a born leader.

  “Thank you, Raku and Rakukanna. You honor me by having me here. My Rakukanna and I did have a chance to discuss the Raku’s proposal and we agree that there are benefits to having interspecies couplings between humans and Voraxian and Dra’Kesh. We think the best way to approach this is to crea
te safe environments where small collectives of humans have the opportunity to engage with Voraxians on your planets.

  “We feel it’s best to reverse the dynamic that has been set by so many years of Dra’Kesh invasions. What I mean is that we would like to have humans visit the faraway planets, rather than bringing Voraxians to the human colony. This gives the dynamic of caged animals being perused.

  “We also felt it best to show them places that look very different from the moon colony, and tour them as far from Cxrian and other planets where Dra’Kesh can be found. The memory of the Dra’Kesh still scars the human mind.”

  Though Svera cannot see his face, I am troubled by the sudden splash of color to Krisxox’s ridges. They pale and though the color patterns are not identical to those of the Voraxians, I know Krisxox well enough to know he is disturbed by her words. I do not understand the color, but before I can grasp meaning, it is gone.

  “By doing this, we make it seem like a penance that the Voraxians are paying, a sign of contrition for so many years of abuse. For the humans it will be like a reward, something decadent. On the tours of Quadrant Four, humans will have the opportunity to taste, see, and experience all that Voraxia has to offer, while at the same time being given exclusive opportunities to meet Voraxians of all kinds.

  “The human process of courtship can take place on these extended visits without the humans feeling any pressure, and the Voraxians that have interest will have to undergo intercultural training, just like the humans will. The Rakukanna and I, with help from a Voraxian cultural expert and scribe, would be best positioned to collaborate on such a guide for both species.

  “And I want to add that men and women will be party to these trips, if the concept is accepted. Human females are only half of what the human colony has to offer. We might find, if tested, that the human males and Voraxian females share equal compatibility. With the begrudging consent of our Lemoria, we have decided that natural engagement rather than testing is the correct course.”

  She gives Lemoria a coy glance then and the seasoned healer flushes white in the ridges, even as Svera draws a pleasure expression from her mouth.

  Svera continues, “The only remaining concern we have for this type of program is security — how we create safe, welcoming environments on the Voraxian planets without overbearing security forces and at the same time, without risk of any females taken by overzealous males. Another concern is selection — how we choose the humans on the colony to participate.

  “Our Rakukanna would like to ensure that the women who have survived and the families of the women who did not, receive first right of refusal. I believe it would make sense to determine with the humans how to structure this arrangement. If permitted, I’m more than happy to travel to the human colony to act as liaison with the Antikythera Council that holds sway there.”

  My Rakukanna chimes in. “I asked and Svera has agreed to accept a dual post as my advisor, acting as liaison between us and the human colony. I’m hoping it might be acceptable to set her up with her own accommodation on both.”

  I nod. “More than acceptable. However, I still require that she have security at all times. At least for the foreseeable future.”

  “It will be arranged,” Roth says, “I am aware that our chief general Krisxox should not be performing the duties of any xcleranx, and I am certain that we can find another to take his place. We could move Svera here to the capital…”

  “If I may, Roth,” Svera says with a gentle, deferential raise of one hand. “I prefer to remain in Qath, if you all don’t mind. And one of the xcleranx, Tur’Roth, is based in the region and has been kind enough to offer to be my escort in Krisxox’s absence…”

  Krisxox, who never speaks in the war room unless prompted or ordered surprises me then. He balks savagely and leans forward onto his elbow so that he sits crooked in his seat.

  “You mention Tur’Roth. Why?”

  Without his translator, he forces Svera to repeat herself in Voraxian. She speaks ungainly, but well enough to be understood. I am impressed, and then I am further impressed when the little human rolls her eyes at Krisxox. Beside me, my Rakukanna snorts out laughter, which she utterly fails to conceal.

  As the little Svera speaks, Krisxox’s hands curl into fists around the arm of his chair. He does not wait for her to finish before he spits, “I do not accept this.”

  I watch as this small Svera’s body tenses. Her spine stiffens and she swallows audibly. She reaches up to her chest and clutches a series of pendants that dangle there in metal and wood. “I don’t think it should be your decision.”

  Krisxox’s ridges flare red and I feel my own temper rise to match. My chief battle tactician knows better than this. His behavior here is unprecedented and unacceptable. To intercede here and without reason and without honor — she might be a traitor, but she has been summoned here by the Rakukanna and in our presence to behave as he does, it dishonors us all.

  I open my mouth to speak, knowing it will be to cut into Krisxox. Before I can, Krisxox is spared by the fierce reversal of my grip on my Rakukanna’s arm, to her grip on mine. She squeezes.

  “Svera,” my Miari says and her voice is placating, belying a calm I do not feel. “We are still new to this planet and Krisxox is among the more experienced fighters here. He was tasked with your protection. If he has an alternative solution, then maybe we should let him voice it.

  “Krisxox, you seem to feel quite strongly about this. You will tell us now why this is not an acceptable solution,” she says, using a Rakukanna’s words and tone.

  I am impressed. Nox. I am floored by her. I had not expected that she would be able to demonstrate this level of diplomacy — she is not a born diplomat, as I was being the son of my Raku before me, but here she is standing up to one of my fiercest warriors and…friends, while contradicting her own for the sake of her safety. My Rakukanna is correct on all accounts.

  Krisxox leans forward in his seat and his ridges flash a troubling and surprising color whose muddled quality leaves me only to guess at his thoughts. What is he thinking? It is not at all of his rank to continue to watch the traitor — the advisor — but it would be an honor for that right to be bestowed unto Tur’Roth. And Tur’Roth is not only capable, but Svera requested him.

  “She should remain under my protection.”

  Svera’s face floods with color in a way my Rakukanna’s does not. Her entire milky brown complexion morphs into a sudden furious and ferocious red. I sit up straighter in my seat. Is this her violence color? Will she attack him?

  I glance at my Rakukanna, but the concern in her gaze is directed towards me now. I feel even more troubled. I do not like to see my Miari anything less than pleased.

  “Krisxox, your offer is generous,” my Rakukanna begins slowly, “but Xaneru raises a good point. You are needed for battle strategy and to train warriors. Qath boasts the largest training facility in Voraxia, if I’m not mistaken. Looking after Svera might be beneath you. And Svera is comfortable around Tur’Roth. He might be better suited.”

  He clicks his tongue against his teeth and hisses, “This does not matter. Keeping her under my protection is safest. And she will need the protection now more than ever if she’s going to be an advisor to the Raku and Rakukanna, and go-between for humans and civilization,” he sneers. His ridges flash black and he thumps his fist against his werro root seat. Shocked savagery eclipses my other emotions.

  I slam my fist down, demanding silence and obedience. “You will check your words and your ridges before you speak again to the Rakukanna, or anyone else in this room. Straighten up and divest yourself of this childish petulance.”

  Krisxox’s ridges flare yellow in shame. He sits upright in his seat and bows his head deeply, holding the position for many moments. “I forget myself, Raku,” he murmurs and the contrition in his tone is heartfelt but it does not extend to the female beside me. His hatred of the other contradicts his offer of protection to the human beside him.


  “You will address my Rakukanna for your dishonor.”

  He repeats the motion and his words to Miari beside me, but he hesitates. I snarl, “Krisxox, you will need to face the xclern for such dishonor.”

  “Hexa. I accept.” And I get the feeling that it was easier to accept lashes than to grant an apology to my half-Dra’Kesh, half-human hybrid Rakukanna. It will not be the first time I have had to punish him for insubordinate behavior, but the first time that I am genuinely angered by it. Nox, not just angered…disappointed.

  “I’m sorry,” Svera says, offering up words of contrition that should have belonged to Krisxox. “I don’t mean to cause any trouble, and for doing so I sincerely apologize. I just…thought it would be easier on everyone if I made new provisions for myself. If that’s not the case, then I’m happy to defer to Krisxox,” she says, but the words are clipped and conciliatory. She does not mean them. “But I will still need a place to sleep…”

  Krisxox bristles, his mouth and nose both twitching as he retorts, “My place is more than big enough. You’ll stay in the room I have provided you.”

  She balks and it is the first time that there is a break in her grace. The red in her cheek seems to strengthen in color, but I understand now that this is not a prequel to an attack even if I do find it disquieting.

  In my peripheries I can see Roth and Islu'Raku bristle. Lemoria seems less concerned, but perhaps that is only because she has spent more time with this human.

  “Krisxox, with all due respect, I don’t want to take up more time than this already has, but I’m not comfortable in your place. You’ve made it clear you aren’t comfortable with my being there either. And we…we aren’t married! There is a spare thatch abutting Tur’Roth’s that’s vacant. I’ve already gotten permission from the Demi that I can stay there.”

  “What is married?” Lemoria says, cutting in abruptly. It’s clear this conversation fascinates her because she is leaning forward on her knees, her long, black hair grazing the packed dirt floor beneath us.