by Vi Voxley
Half-breeds still went missing, though, and that was definitely bad news. It told her Condor was preparing for something big. Cora hoped Brocke would get to him in time.
Luckily, Ashby's lab wasn't far from the Militant's building. Cora had found herself going over there more and more after work, looking for company, but Ashby didn't seem to mind. Cora watched the priestess work, trying to get used to the sheer measure of things the Corgan priests were able to do.
"Hey," Cora called, seeing Ashby standing by a long table with all kinds of machines surrounding it.
She couldn't name one of them, although by the looks of it Cora would have made a few educated guesses. Ultimately, she was fine with leaving the medical issues in the hands of the priestess while she focused on the detective work.
"Evening," Ashby said, motioning at the desk. "Pop up here, will you? I want to check something."
Cora glared at her playfully.
"Funny," she said. "We've talked about this. I won't let you play mix-match with my organs."
"Nice, very clever," Ashby shot back, grinning. "It's funny because I cut people up and do whatever I want. That's exactly how it works. Please, you're better than that. Now stop being stubborn and come here. I won't even touch you, I swear."
Shrugging her coat off and sighing, Cora walked up to the table.
"So what is it?" she asked, jumping to sit on it.
"Lay down," Ashby instructed. "We will know if I was right very soon."
"Right about what?" Cora asked as the machinery around her charged up.
She had expected some huge clatter, but the room remained silent except for a really nice, lullaby-like buzzing of the apparatus.
"Hush," Ashby chuckled. "Let me see here. I know you Terrans wait so long with it, but these Palian machines are truly amazing and I have the instincts of a priestess. You can't hide anything from me. So who's the lucky guy?"
Realization struck like lightning.
You have got to kidding me. This can't be happening, Cora's inner voice argued, but that wasn't her first reaction.
Before any words, any conscious thoughts, a joy like no other had filled Cora with indescribable warmth and love.
"There it is," Ashby said cheerfully while Cora was still trying to hold her sanity intact. "You can't tell, of course, but the readings don't lie. Congratulations! Is that warrior I saw in your rooms the father?"
Brocke. What will he say?
"Yeah," Cora managed weakly, noticing a light flare up in Ashby's eyes.
"Lucky girl," the priestess said, smiling. "The chieftain's son. Quite a catch."
"Yeah."
I'm pregnant. This is unreal.
"I'm not being helpful right now, am I?" Ashby asked with surprising tact, helping Cora off the table.
Usually Corgan priestesses were much more straight-forward about matters like that, but Cora really appreciated Ashby's sensitivity at that moment as the woman went to get her a drink. Not the mead this time, of course.
Cora's mind was spinning, trying to hold all her emotions inside. There was surprise and anxiousness and a healthy amount of fear, but overall she couldn't shake the feeling of absolute happiness. She didn't know what Brocke would say if he heard about her pregnancy, but for the first time in a long while, Cora saw a future ahead of her.
Not just a row of days to come, but an actual life, with Brocke and their child.
She knew she was supposed to be shocked and worried and taken aback. And a part of her certainly was. But it was all overshadowed by the happiness. She’d always wanted a family. One way or another, it was hers now.
And if he doesn’t want a child?
The thought was sharp and painful, but Cora took a breath. It would be insane to think that a man like Brocke, the Guardian of Gomor, would simply drop his life and change it all for her. She would be fine on her own, just her and the baby. It would all work out.
One way or another, she repeated to herself.
Nothing marred the joy, not even Ashby asking her all sorts of questions about her and Brocke. It felt odd to talk about Brocke like they were in any sort of relationship, but Cora was thankful for a listening ear.
Later, Cora walked back as mutely as she’d arrived, not knowing what to think. Her whole life had suddenly been thrown into disarray, and every choice she’d ever made was called into question as she tried to figure it out. The answers were very easy, but Cora simply didn’t know what… well, what the father of her child thought.
She took a rare few days off work, and went home to gather her thoughts, ending up sleeping through most of her time off. Cora guessed Ashby had told someone about her condition, because no one bothered her with the case matters, but that might also have been due to the fact Condor had been suspiciously silent.
It was the evening of her third day off when Cora was only woken by a loud banging on her door. She jumped up, thinking that Condor’s killers had found her at last.
They wouldn't knock, would they?
She pulled her gun and crept to the door slowly. The buttons that would have summoned the Militant’s back-up forces were right there, in her arm’s reach.
Then she saw the man waiting outside her quarters. Brocke’s figure was blurry on the small screen showing her the hall, but Cora didn’t care. She ripped the door open, jumping into his arms without a second thought.
The warlord caught her, stepped into the rooms quickly, and pushed the door shut behind him. For a long moment, he held Cora in his embrace, not letting go. She could hear Brocke’s heavy breathing, like he’d been on the run for a long time.
“Brocke…” she began.
“I know,” he said, pulling back.
His blue eyes were bright and passionate, but there was also an emotion there Cora hadn’t seen before.
“We need to go,” he said. “Now.”
“What?” Cora asked. “Slow down. Take a second. I can’t just leave whenever I please, I have a job –”
“Condor knows too,” Brocke cut in. “Listen to me, Cora. The man who hates half-breeds with a passion, and me in particular, knows that you’re carrying my child.”
Cora’s dumb-founded mind could only come up with a single thought before she turned from him wordlessly and gathered her things.
Yeah, that changes things.
Chapter Ten
Brocke
Earlier…
As soon as Brocke heard the name leave Cora's mouth, everything started to make sense.
She didn’t understand the reference, but that was only natural. The Galactic Union had been present for several decades now, but they hadn’t discovered Olyra. Possibly the Palians knew, but it wasn’t in their nature to expose the business of other species if they didn’t have a very good reason for it.
The fact they hadn’t done so yet made Brocke think that they weren’t aware of it either.
Olyra was, in an ugly way, the epitome of all things Corgan.
The Union thought it was the shrine on the ocean shore, and Brocke agreed that it should have been. Gaiya had been a holy world when the Union first entered the Corgan realm with a plan to gain footing there, and it had been Brocke’s mother, Mara James, who had first stepped on its surface.
His parents had told him their story when Brocke was a child. As an adult, it made him grin to remember. The future chieftain had not been happy with the newcomers, but Mara had quickly found a way to his heart, and together they had made it all possible.
The shrine had been in the middle of that almost-war. Later, Gaiya was officially named Gaiya and became the world that stood on the border of the realm and the rest of the Union. Separate, yet still one.
But the shrine wasn’t the thing that kept the old Corgan traditions alive. Olyra was.
And not in a good way.
Even Brocke had to take a long moment to think after he left Cora, trying to remember how to gain entrance to the underground network. Olyra had many gates to the surface, but each was differ
ent from the rest, and all of them had traps to make sure no stranger ever entered. No one ever had.
Brocke had been there, of course, back in his youth. No matter whether you agreed with the people who permanently lived there or not, a warrior found a way inside, just to prove that they could.
He had been appalled by what he found there.
To say that Olyra housed the Corgans who hadn’t been in favor of the Union was putting it mildly. But unlike the clan lords who had rebelled and monsters like Condor, they hadn’t really done anything. At a time when Nadar Brenger had been the guardian of the holy world, almost no one actually lived on Gaiya – except in the Citadel, the grand fortress that was now the chieftain’s home.
But the planet hadn’t been completely devoid of life. The holy world beckoned people who were naturally more spiritual, more elusive than the rest of the Corgans. They had discovered Olyra first. It had been nothing but a network of tunnels then, built by their ancestors a long time ago for an unknown purpose. With the coming of the Union, they moved there and were joined by similar people from other worlds.
Down there, they could keep practicing the oldest traditions the Corgans could remember. Blood transfusions carried out by drinking the blood, sacrifices to the spirits of their ancestors, the rare live transplant, where the donor was strapped down right next to the receiver. The shrine far above their heads symbolized the new faith, the search for truth, but Olyra made its own. They worshiped the gods and the spirits in their own ways and more often than not it included death.
When the Union first came, Corgans were called genestealers and no one could deny there was a grain of truth to it. The priests had always used the best genetic material of other species to make their warriors even greater. Brocke himself had the blood of the powerful Torons in his veins, giving him strength akin to the great beasts.
But they hadn't stolen any of it in ages. Now, factories like Ruval produced the organs and other materials in laboratories, but Olyra had none of that.
The people in the underground network caught what they could and cut their victims open to take what they needed.
Brocke was disgusted by the superstition and belief in borderline magical things, but in a way, it was their history, a living, breathing testament to how far they'd come. All Corgans knew about it, and none of them told. Olyra was the true home of all the old traditions and manners, and as much as they may have disagreed, not even the chieftain had eradicated the underground. Yet.
It was the perfect place for Condor to hide. He probably had supporters there.
Brocke had left Cora behind, knowing he couldn’t take her with him. Not just that, he knew neither she nor the Union would be able to follow him. That mission he needed to take on alone, like he used to work.
Yet Brocke felt something was missing. Cora’s presence had quickly become essential to him, her quick wit and spirit now lost to him in the dark maze far beneath Gaiya’s surface.
Brocke mused with dark humor that Corgans loved to bury their secrets. Gomor, after all, was under the ground as well. He was grateful that the network never reached the prison.
It had taken him two days to find a gate that he remembered. Many Corgans had died mistaking a gate for another or simply trying to figure out their secret. Olyra was very good at defending itself. Several gates were built similarly to another one close by to trip up those who weren’t careful.
From his nearby position, Brocke watched, waiting for someone to enter in front of him. His blue eyes shone in the dark, but he made sure he wasn’t seen.
The gate he’d chosen was one of the larger ones, meaning he could glimpse a resident without lying in wait for weeks.
Brocke saw a few die, but didn’t move until he was absolutely sure he’d seen all the traps. Then, he walked by the seemingly interchangeable patches of grass he needed to avoid, dodged the unseen blade that came from nowhere, and pushed the gate open with strength many didn’t possess. The door snapped shut after him. It would have trapped anyone who was too slow.
He descended into the darkness.
* * *
Looking for Condor in Olyra was like trying to locate a single grain of sand on the shore of the ocean, but Brocke hadn’t expected to stumble upon him so easily anyway.
That was not how things worked there. You didn’t find what you were looking for in Olyra, you found someone who already knew where it was.
He drew looks as he walked the long hallways under the flickering lights and the shadows they cast. Considering how long ago Olyra had been built, it was amazing that it still functioned at all.
Warriors weren’t an uncommon sight in Olyra, but Brocke knew he was recognized. Word of his presence was bound to make rounds much faster than he could. Everyone would know he was there, including Condor, but he was ready to accept that. It was better if the priest knew the guardian was coming for him.
Brocke looked around as he headed south of the gate where he’d entered. The people of Olyra stared back, unguarded distrust welcoming him everywhere he went, but he paid them no mind. He was keeping an eye out for Condor’s followers, but Brocke might as well have walked over them for all he knew.
A lead, that was what he needed. Cora had gotten him so far, pushed Condor deep into Olyra to hide from him, but now Brocke had to pull the thread and unravel the web the priest had built.
There was a man who could help, but Brocke knew it wouldn’t be easy.
Horech wasn’t glad to see him, as he’d expected.
“You were seen,” the old warrior grumbled at him as soon as the door of his small room closed after Brocke’s large form.
It was no more than a cell. One bed, a few shelves, and a sword rack were the only items in the room. Brocke didn’t even see food or any other clothes but the ones Horech had on his back. Down in Olyra, most of the luxuries were missing, but after a while people learned to do without them.
“Of course I was seen,” Brocke said, unfazed. “That was the point.”
Horech gave him a sharp look.
“Don’t give me that, boy,” the old man snapped. “This is Olyra, not some wood where you can hide in plain sight. The men and women here, they know where to look. Being seen isn’t your choice, it’s a fact.”
“Perhaps.”
Horech sat down, glaring at him. His old swords were on the wall, but the warrior didn’t even pretend to go for them.
“Look at you,” he said, regarding Brocke with begrudging respect. “A Terran mother and you barely fit through my door. Never thought my eyes would see the day. I don’t think a man could hide in Olyra, but what do I know? I was never anyone extraordinary.”
“The chieftain spoke highly of you. Once,” Brocke said.
Horech almost winced, but then he started laughing. The old man’s voice was rough and broken from a disease Brocke couldn’t name. The concept was all but lost on the surface, but Olyra invented illnesses that had never existed anywhere else but down there.
The fact no one had cured Horech told Brocke he didn’t have friends who were priests. That was hopeful.
“Your father always was dramatic,” Horech was saying. “I left his command, doesn’t he remember that?”
Brocke snorted.
“The chieftain doesn’t forget anything,” he said. “You should know better. Not the good and not the bad.”
Horech looked at him then, the long years suddenly showing on his face. Brocke could see he was tired, but he had expected as much. Horech had crawled down to Olyra with a terrible wound to die with people who were like him, even if he disapproved of most of their archaic beliefs. It was just taking him longer than he’d assumed. The wound had healed a long time ago, but Olyra was in his bones now. There was no going back for Horech, and Brocke knew he hated the fact.
“What are you doing here, boy?” the old man asked.
Boy. It has been a long time since anyone has called me that, but I suppose the last time you saw me I was no more than that.
That brought a hopeless, dark laughter from Horech. The old warrior fell back against the wall, staring up at Brocke like he’d lost his mind.
“You always talked straight,” Horech said then. “I liked that about you. Won’t help you get out of Olyra alive though. Condor is here. He is everywhere. The walls are his and so is the air. The eyes you see watching your every move are his as well. Olyra has gone to shit, and it didn’t have a good starting point to begin with.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“Rumors, boy, rumors. He doesn’t stay anywhere for long. Fears you, they say. No wonder. I imagine you’re here to kill him.”
“Of course. Have you heard what he’s doing on the surface?”
“The half-breeds,” Horech replied, the blue glow of his once sharp eyes almost gone. “I’ve heard. You would make a great trophy for him. Stupid of you to offer such a treat to a man like that, but I imagine it’s for the best. Once you die, your father will burn this place down. That would be good.”
“I have no intention to die,” Brocke replied calmly, not responding to the unsubtle threat.
“No one plans to die,” Horech snapped tiredly, but Brocke smiled.
“You did,” he said, continuing before the old warrior stood, growling. “There’s nothing left of you, but you can regain some of your honor by telling me where to search.”
“You can’t make me talk,” Horech said. “You might as well kill me, because if I say anything, Condor will come for me.”
“Very well,” Brocke said impassively, pulling one blade so swiftly Horech was left staring at the gleaming edge already on his throat. “I’d make it quicker anyway.”
The old man’s eyes traveled the length of the sword all the way up until he met Brocke’s eyes. They were full of hate but also something akin to respect.
“You would really do it. Kill your uncle.”
