He nodded again — it could also be used in acknowledgement — and closed the block. His heartstone thrummed with pleasure; he’d made her happy. The joy in her expression was almost enough to offset the long years of death and loneliness. Maybe, in time, it would be enough.
They left the building together, and he took her deeper into Bahmet. They walked down a long street that was edged on one side by the high, imposing wall of the Garden, and he reminded himself to bring her inside later. Though it was now as barren and lifeless as the rest of the city, he thought Quinn would be able to see the beauty it might once have held with her strange, wonderful eyes.
The street ended at the base of a hill, branching in two directions; the left fork wound around the other side of the hill, and the right ran parallel to the Garden, hitting the path that led to the hilltop. They turned right and walked only a short distance before stopping at the entrance to the baths.
A roof extended from the hillside, supported by six large columns, each shaped to look like one of Kelsharn’s tall, thin brethren. The roof, columns, and entryway had all been shaped of the same dark stone as the rest of Bahmet, and here stood in stark contrast to the naked, unhewn rock into which it was built.
Orishok glanced at Quinn. She stood beside him with her head tilted back, her mismatched eyes running over the statues — following every line, tracing every shape. There was no fear in her expression. A touch of wonder, yes; perhaps even a hint of admiration.
She approached the nearest statue. A single, sculpted foot protruded from beneath its flowing skirts, and Quinn tentatively touched the stone toes, as though worried it would topple at her slightest touch.
He looked up at the statue. Hatred burned inside him — hatred for Kelsharn, for what he had done to Orishok’s people, for what he’d intended to do to Sonhadra — but it was not all he felt. If he looked deeper within, he could find other emotions, older ones. The looming, implied power of the statues was unsettling; they were the only thing keeping the impossibly heavy stone roof in the air. Bahmet existed because of their power. Because it had been their will.
Deeper still was a hint of the wonder he’d once harbored for such things. His tribe had moved often, carrying their hide-and-bone tents with them through the mountains as seasons changed. They’d worked stone, but their best efforts could never have compared to Bahmet’s simplest structures.
Orishok’s people had built this place, but not with their own hands. Not with their own hearts. This was a place crafted by strangers, and if he thought of it that way...
Perhaps there was a bit of beauty here, apart from Quinn’s.
“This was them?” she asked, reclaiming his attention.
“Yes.”
“Were those...maz’kz they wore?” Using her hands, she hid the upper portion of her face.
“Kelsharn covered his face. More of his people never came here, but they must have done the same.”
“Why didn’t they come?”
“I do not know, Quinn. Perhaps it is because they had other places like this, somewhere in the sky. I do not know what is possible for them.”
She was silent for a few moments. “There used to be buildings like this, where I’m from. Well, I mean, not ek’zact lee like this...they didn’t have lights, and doors that open on their own. But some of the places my people used to make looked a lot like this one does.”
“Were they places in the sky?”
Quinn laughed and shook her head. “No, not in the sky. But they were already very old, before I was born. Hoomins lived very differently, back then.”
Orishok’s gaze drifted to the alien mask overhead, which stared down at him like he was little more than vermin. His people had lived differently, too, before the Creators came. They’d lived simply, their needs few but pressing. The things that had been necessary to their survival were in abundance here.
“We did not have lights or doors like this, either. We had...fire.”
“What? What is that word?”
“My tribe made fire for light and warmth. We burned wood, dung, or dry grass, and made fires. That is how we cooked our food, how we survived.”
“Fye’ur,” she said in her tongue. “Yes. For a long time, that’s what hoomins used on urth, too.”
“Are you ready to go inside?” he asked, gesturing to the large double doors. They were inlaid with panels depicting various scenes in intricate carvings. He recognized the mountains as the ones surrounding Bahmet, but the others were unfamiliar — a wide-open, grass field, a sand place with infinite water stretching away from the land, a forest with trees like he’d never seen. Supposedly, all of it existed on Sonhadra.
“What is this place, Orishok?”
“It is the bathhouse.”
Quinn didn’t know the word.
“I think you will know when you see,” he said, and waved for her to follow as he approached the entrance. She rewarded him with one of those soft smiles.
The large doors slid open when Orishok neared them, retreating into hollows in the wall on either side. Though quiet, their motion was not silent; stone ground lightly against stone, an early sign that this place would eventually succumb to time, despite Kelsharn’s technology.
They walked down the wide hallway. Quinn’s gaze flicked from side to side, taking in the smaller sculptures in the alcoves along the corridor. There was a soft scrape as the doors closed. The light shrank, pressed into nothing by darkness from either side.
Quinn drew in a sharp breath, both of her hands settling on Orishok’s back. “Please don’t let us get trapt in here, okay?”
“We will be fine, Quinn.” He continued forward, moving slowly so she could keep up with him. It had been many years ago, but the last time he’d come here, the stones still worked...
Soft yellow light gradually blossomed at the bases of the statues as the heat stones finally recognized the presence of guests. One pair at a time — though not always simultaneously — the stones came on down the corridor, filling the place with their gentle, warm radiance. Orishok felt Quinn’s tension ease. Her hands fell away.
They stopped at the end of the hallway, where a wall running parallel to the entry doors created two smaller corridors leading to the left and right. Quinn stood beside Orishok and studied the etching on the wall. It was wide, at least as long as three valos laid head-to-foot, and the paint that had once adorned it was faded and flaking. Still, the landscape it depicted was alien to Orishok; just enough color remained for him to know this was no place on Sonhadra. It was some elsewhere beyond his imagining.
“Where is this?” Quinn asked. She ran her finger along a deep groove in the etching and examined the flakes of paint on her fingertip. Frowning, she rubbed her finger clean on her tattered clothing.
“I do not know. I think it is meant to be Kelsharn’s home.”
“With all he’s done,” she said as Orishok led her down one of the side corridors, “why didn’t you ever dee stroy any of this?”
“Dee stroy...is that like to break?” he asked, moving his hands as though snapping an invisible branch.
“Yeah. Like his statue.”
He smiled to himself at the thought of Kelsharn’s statue in pieces back in the square. Why hadn’t they? Orishok’s people had held onto their hatred for many, many years, but they’d never acted upon it.
“Without our heartstones, we did not have the will for such things. Just as they did not have the will to survive, after a time. Without it, everything I felt inside was...far away. Like I was looking at it from a distant mountain peak.”
Quinn raised her hand to one of the stones that lit up as they passed. It reflected brightly upon her skin. “Did it hurt, when you...” She turned to him and motioned to his chest.
“Yes. It hurt. My heartstone holds all my life before this, and all my feelings. Everything that I could not feel since I was changed, I felt all at once after putting the heartstone in place.”
“Does it hurt now?”
He stopped when she placed her hand on his arm, glancing down at it before meeting her eyes.
“I know after everything that’s happened to you, you’ll always feel that pain. The loss of your people. But I hope you’ll be able to find some of that joy.”
“What of you, Quinn?” He could not look within himself now, not while she was touching him, not while she was so close. “Will you find joy here? You are far from your home, and Sonhadra is dangerous.”
“I would be lok’d up if I were home. But here...here, I’m free.” She dropped her hand from his arm and shrugged. “I’ve actually s’myld more in the last two days than the last three yeerz.”
“S’myld?” he asked, continuing down the corridor.
She answered by tilting her face up toward him and raising the corners of her lips. The expression set her eyes to sparkling in the gentle glow of the heat stones. They turned the corner together and went down the broad steps.
“There is no pain in my heartstone when you smile, Quinn.”
“Aww, you say the nye sist things,” she chuckled, nudging him with her elbow. She stopped suddenly, eyes rounding. “Oh, my gawd.”
“What is wrong?”
“It’s a b’ath hows!”
The corridor ended in an archway, beneath which they stood. Orishok shifted his gaze away from her and to the chamber ahead; it was large, with relatively low ceilings that had been hewn from the cliffside. The walls — pocketed with numerous alcoves in which more glowing heat stones rested — were the same smooth stone that comprised most of Bahmet.
The floor was a mixture of dark and light, decorated with tiles in blues and golds that led to the many side chambers and secluded pools. There were benches set along the walkways, some in groups of two and three. Before them was the main bath, its clear, steaming water lit from beneath to make it more welcoming.
Quinn moved away from his side, carefully setting the folded garments on one of the benches, and approached the water. She knelt, dipping a hand within. “It’s so warm!”
“Sonhadra gives the warm water. Kelsharn made this place so he could use it to his people’s liking.”
“Well, now I’m going to use it to my liking.” She flashed him a grin as she rose and kicked off her foot coverings. Then she reached up, pinching a little trinket near her collar. It made a soft sound when she pulled it down. Before Orishok realized what she was doing, she peeled her tattered clothing off and tossed it aside.
Orishok’s heartstone flared, burning suddenly hotter than anything he’d ever felt. Though smudged with dirt in places, her skin was pale and perfect, her curves accented by the soft shadows cast by the heat stones’ light. He swept his eyes over her; from her dainty feet to her shapely legs and the cleft between her thighs, over the flare of her hips and her narrow waist, to the swell of her breasts and her beaded nipples which were a few shades darker than the rest of her skin.
Though the females in Orishok’s tribe had been larger and more muscled than Quinn, their basic parts had been the same. But, despite his restored memories, he could not recall a female having ever caught his eye like the one standing before him now.
The heat from his heartstone spread across his chest and into his limbs. For several moments, his control of their shape was tenuous; his body longed for her as much as his mind, and trembled with the need to revert to the form it had once known. The form in which it would be compatible with her.
She turned her back to him and shook her head. Her fur fell over her shoulders, caressing her skin in a way he longed to do himself but dared not. Without any hesitation, she moved into the water, lowering herself until it reached her chin. Pale strands floated around her when she plunged her head beneath the surface.
When she emerged, she smoothed back her fur and turned toward him with a wide grin. “I haven’t had a warm b’ath in aygis.”
“B’ath is what you are doing now?” he asked, forcing his gaze to hers.
“Yes.” She raised her hand, water trickling from her palm. “Are you going to join me?”
He clenched his fists. With his emotions — his desires — so raw and fresh, could he trust himself being near her while she was undressed? “This...is for you, Quinn. Not for me.”
“It’s ours.” She laced her fingers together. “Quinn and Orishok. Bee sydz, I’m sure you get dur tee, too. When was the last time you took a b’ath?”
Orishok pried his eyes from her, focusing instead upon one of the glowing stones embedded in the floor of the bath. Though her body was submerged, none of its details were hidden, and she made no effort to cover herself.
In his old life, he wouldn’t have thought twice about it. His people had gone clothed, yes, but there’d never been any shame for a woman baring her body. Now, after so long...
Was it an effect of so many years without a female’s touch, or was this something more? At his core, he believed it wasn’t that Quinn was a female, but that she was herself.
His heartstone pulsed that searing heat, and his form shuddered. This was what he was; a valo, a thing shaped for the purposes of a cruel, alien being. There was no returning from that, there was no reclaiming his old life. He raised his eyes to Quinn, whose hands were still together.
Quinn and Orishok.
He couldn’t have his old life...but could he make a new one?
Could he have her?
Would she have me?
Walking forward, he descended the steps into the water.
Chapter Six
QUINN GRINNED AS ORISHOK finally entered the water. He saw this city as a prison, and she knew all too well how that felt. This place had been built by his people under the control of a tyrant — a being who had experimented on and enslaved Orishok and his people — but it was his now, even more so than it was hers. He needed to see that. She wanted him to experience life after so many years of death.
And if she could make him smile, make him laugh, it would be worth the effort.
Though he had no obligation to her, he’d been kind from the moment they met. He could have killed her on the spot or dragged her out of the city. Instead, he’d taken her inside and provided much-needed warmth. When she’d run from him, he’d come for her — not to possess her, but to keep her safe. To protect her.
She waded into the deeper water. When it rose over her shoulders, she closed her eyes. Heat flowed into her, through her skin and down into her bones, and she wanted to do little more than relish the feeling. Breathing in, she swore she caught a hint of perfume, a faint trace of exotic and unfamiliar flowers.
After years of cold, communal showers, this was absolute heaven.
She heard soft splashes as Orishok approached, felt ripples of water lap gently against her skin, and then everything was silent save for the trickle of running water elsewhere in the bathhouse.
Quinn opened her eyes. Orishok stood waist-deep, ten or fifteen feet away. He stared at her. His eyes glowed brightly, creating small, star-like green reflections on the surface of the water. The intensity of his gaze made her realize that she’d undressed in front of him without a second thought. Whatever modesty she’d once possessed hadn’t survived her time in prison; it had been a weakness she couldn’t afford. There was no place for it here, either — though Orishok’s voice and build were masculine, he looked and felt like a moving sculpture, like animated rock.
He was an alien who’d been made into something else.
She moved closer to him. “So, do you feel cold and heat?”
Though he didn’t retreat at her advance, his features were oddly drawn. “Yes,” he said.
She tilted her head, stopping when the water was level with her upper chest. “But not like you used to?”
Orishok shook his head; he still exaggerated the gesture, but it was more natural-looking every time he did it. “That is one of many things that is not the same.”
“How
does it feel then?”
Dropping his gaze to the water between them, he was silent for a time. “Far away. It feels like...a rukahdunar. When you think of a thing that happened long ago.”
“Rukahdunar,” she repeated. “A memory.”
How awful was it to exist without life’s small pleasures, to live without taste or feeling? Had he missed those things before she returned his heartstone? Or had she cursed him by granting him the memories of all the things he had lost — all the people, the places, the sensations?
She frowned and looked into the water. Raising a hand to just below the surface, she waved it back and forth, feeling the warmth anew each time she changed direction. “I remember the cold. The prison was always overpopulated, and when I was convicted, I had to share a cell with several other people. I was new, and afraid, and had to sleep on the floor. They didn’t have extra blankets, and anything they might’ve given me would have been taken by someone else anyway.
“That first winter, there were some bad storms...snow piled up outside. The floor and walls were concrete, but they felt like ice. The cold radiated into your bones until you were numb from head to toe. I’ll never forget that kind of cold.”
“I do not know many of your words, Quinn,” he said, “but I think I know what you say. I know cold, too. I have the memory of it.”
“But a memory isn’t the same,” she looked up at him again. “Whether they’re good or bad, they’re not the same as what’s happening now. It’s not the same if you can never feel those things again.”
The tightness in his features softened as he lips fell into a frown. “Are you sad for me, Quinn, or for the things you will never know again?”
“For you. I hate what Kelsharn did to you and your people. It was terrible and wrong and...and...it was just fucked up, okay?”
Quinn wasn’t just sad for him, she was angry. She barely knew Orishok, but she knew that he’d been a person, that he’d just been trying to survive, that he didn’t deserve what had been done to him. Just as Quinn didn’t deserve what had been done to her.
Undying (Valos of Sonhadra Book 7) Page 7
