“Who did this to you?” she asked.
“Filthy lizard scum. We hate them more than we hate you!”
“The Sacred Powers have mercy on us.” Ianox took a step back, his face turning ashen all of a sudden.
“Do you know what she is talking about?”
Ianox just shook his head. “We don’t speak about them. Never, ever speak about them.”
The Morian let out a bloodcurdling scream right before her entire body turned black and disintegrated into a pile of ashes. Samiah waited for the wraith to emerge from her body, and when it didn’t happen, she let out a sigh of relief. A young girl had just died, and she was relieved. I’m despicable, she thought with a heavy heart.
“Let’s get out of here,” Malachiax said, pulling Samiah out of her guilty thoughts.
They ran back to the ground floor, not as stealthy as Samiah would have liked, but it seemed that aside from the now-dead girl, the palace was deserted. The whole experience shook Samiah to the core, and she could bet it had also affected Malachiax deeply. She wouldn’t think about that. She had to remain positive. They may not had found survivors, but they had gained precious information. Whatever alien beings had invaded their planet, they could be killed. Samiah only had to find a way to do so without killing the Arcadians they were possessing.
She saved that piece of knowledge for later. There was no time to dwell on it now. They had to find Razor’s Blood and reach Argor before it was too late.
When they made it out of the palace, night greeted them. The lampposts that should have provided illumination were dark. Mercifully, the streets were still devoid of life. It seemed the entire population had vanished. The capital of Mora was a ghost town. Samiah had visited cities in other planets like this, sad skeletons of a civilization long gone. Was Arcadia headed in that direction? Would explorers from another planet walk through the ruins of theirs and wonder what kind of evil had befallen them?
By the time they had reached the outskirts of Morang, the three moons of Arcadia were already high in the sky, partially hidden behind clouds. Buildings and houses were sparse here, and ahead the desert spread before them. The few nightbloomers beside the road illuminated the way in an eerie manner. They didn't have any leaves or fruits and their bare, twisted limbs looked like scrawny arms reaching out for them. Those were dying trees; Samiah knew that much.
There was a time when highways as the one they followed were used for long-distance traveling, before the gateway technology was developed. Samiah wasn't sure why they still remained, maybe because of sentimentalism or because they were part of their history. It didn't matter. She was glad their race prized knowledge above all else, and history was part of that knowledge they so feverishly pursued. If it weren't for this road and the signs along the way, they couldn't have hoped to reach Jackur.
Samiah glanced back and when she couldn't see the outline of the capital of Mora anymore, she let out a relieved sigh.
It had been premature. She stepped on something soft and slippery and almost lost her balance in the process. Malachiax grabbed her arm, stabilizing her, and she looked down. There was something shiny and thick covering her boots. Malachiax produced a light orb from his sack and she wished he hadn't.
"Wait, is that blood?" Ianox said loudly, his voice carrying in the light wind.
It was blood, and next to her boot, a severed arm. She jumped back and collided against Malachiax, her pulse now ringing in her ears. He curled an arm around her waist and pulled her to his side while he pointed the light out into the darkness. It showed a trail of blood. Who knew what they would find at the end of it. Part of Samiah didn’t want to find out.
She stepped to the side and let Malachiax take the lead. Using the orb, he followed the dark red trail on the ground with careful steps. Ianox clutched Samiah’s arm, and together they kept close to Malachiax’s back. She didn’t even mind the contact; that’s how terrified she was. At the end of the path, there was a huge pool of blood and in the middle, a crude wooden spike. The light followed the thorn up and up until it revealed a dismembered head.
They let out a frightened scream in unison, and Malachiax dropped the orb. It went out as it hit the ground. He bent down and searched blindly for it. Ianox whimpered next to Samiah. Despite the darkness, she could still see the severed head of a young man, mouth open in a perpetual silent scream and two empty holes where his eyes had been. Claw marks had left gouges on his cheeks. It was the most atrocious thing she had ever seen. She felt bile rise in her throat, and a moment later, she was kneeling on the ground, emptying the contents of her stomach.
Malachiax came to her side and placed a hand on her back. Once there was nothing left for her to heave, he cleaned her face with a cut of cloth. His eyes searched hers, and she tried her best to hide her fear, knowing how futile it was to keep anything from him.
"Come on. We can't stay here. Whoever did that might not be gone." He helped Samiah up, for her body was now shaking uncontrollably. He pulled her into his arms and tried to hug away the tremors. “It’s going to be okay.”
She wanted to believe his words, but no sooner had they left his mouth when they heard the shuffling sound of several dozen feet moving across grit, followed by feverish, high-pitched screeches. It was hard to isolate the direction. Ianox moved closer to them. Malachiax put the light orb away, the darkness absolute until their eyes adjusted to the lack of light. When Samiah’s sight returned, what she saw made her stomach drop. Hundreds of possessed Morians were closing in on them. Their path of escape diminished with each breath.
"We're trapped. We're going to die," Ianox wailed.
"We're not going to die. Listen up. When I say go, we run," Malachiax said with resolve.
He raised his arms, ignoring the injury on his shoulder. When he brought them down, the ground in front of the Morians exploded with a deafening roar.
"Go!" Malachiax screamed.
They ran as fast as they could. Malachiax had Samiah’s hand in a vicious hold, propelling her forward with him. Ianox kept pace. She heard outraged screams not far behind them and looked over her shoulder without slowing down. The explosion hadn't incapacitated all of their attackers; there were too many, and Mal's gift only went so far. Fear gave her a bout of stamina, but no matter how fast they ran, they had nowhere to hide. Soon enough, their bodies would collapse from the strain. They were already slowing down as their breathing became more labored. The crowd was gaining on them.
Ianox tripped and fell against them, bringing everyone down. The fall knocked the wind out of Samiah, and she couldn't move. That was it. The end. Her legs were liquefied and her lungs felt like they had been scorched. She just hoped they killed them quickly.
A loud and out-of-place noise came from above. Samiah couldn't identify what was making it until the shape of an old air glide came into view. It passed them and went straight toward the mob. As soon as it was close enough, a jet of flame shot out from it, burning everything in its path. It made a couple of more loops, targeting Morians it had missed. They flailed and rolled on the ground in vain. The fire had taken hold of their bodies in a merciless grip.
A whiff of burnt flesh brought Samiah’s nausea back. She clamped her mouth shut with her hand and fought the urge to dry heave. There was no time for weakness. She didn't know who their savior was, but she didn't intend to wait to find out.
"Come on. Let's go," she urged Malachiax and Ianox.
"Aagh, I can't. I think… I think I broke my ankle." Ianox clutched his leg, his face contorted in pain.
Malachiax used the light orb again to check Ianox's injury. It didn't look bad, but broken ankle or not, it would still hinder their escape. Samiah helped get Ianox up, but she had no idea where they were going now. She grimly realized there was no way they would make it to Jackur, and without shelter, the likelihood of survival was slim.
Lost in her pessimistic thoughts, it took her a while to notice she could no longer hear the air glide. The complete silence was o
minous, and her heart thundered inside her chest. She unsheathed the metal rod strapped to her back and braced for another attack. Malachiax and Ianox did the same. They formed a tight circle with their backs to each other and waited. It wasn't long before they heard footsteps.
Malachiax shone the light orb in the direction of the sound and a scrawny figure appeared with hands raised. His hair was blond and short, sticking out from his head in every direction in messy bits. His clothes were too big and ratty with patches visible here and there. But the most important aspect about him was that his aura wasn't black. It was the only thing that mattered to Samiah at the moment.
"I mean no harm," the young Morian said.
Malachiax raised his makeshift weapon menacingly. "How can we know that?"
Samiah touched his shoulder. "It's okay, Mal. His aura is normal."
Though normal wasn't quite the right word to describe the aura of this stranger. Peculiar would be a better adjective. His aura was split evenly in two colors, yellow and orange. Despite the proximity of them on the spectrum color, they represented opposite personalities. Samiah had never seen anything quite like it. Weird aura or not, she didn't sense any threatening inclination from him, and he had just saved them from certain death.
"My name is Samiah. This is my mate, Malachiax, and our associate, Ianox."
"I'm Garyanx Menix. You can call me Gary. Welcome to my home."
Chapter 11
Lochiana struggled with her bound hands as she was lead via a narrow tunnel down to who knew where. She should be afraid, but all she felt at the moment was ire aimed at the warrior who had thrown her over his shoulder when she’d refuse to leave the palace with him.
She had been utterly terrified when they met with a band of fearsome warriors just outside the city limits, all covered from head to toe with wicked-looking weapons. They were prepared for battle. Lochiana used her gift to access their auras and found no antagonism against her, which eased her mind, but not by much. Especially when Femror put her back on her feet and forced a bitter liquid down her throat. It burned as it trickled down, and it made her wobbly almost instantly. She must have shown her wariness on her face for Femror was quick to explain what the liquid did—it protected against possession.
After speaking with one of his warriors in a hushed tone, Femror had proceeded to put her on top of a mount, a furry beast with tusks protruding from its mouth that were sharp enough to impale her with ease. Lochiana didn’t recognize the species, but the animal seemed docile enough, and it barely reacted to the extra weight on its back. Her hands had curled around the leather reins, and Lochiana considered for a brief moment kicking its hide and attempt an escape. Femror must have guessed her intention, for he quickly mounted behind her forming a cage around her body with his strong arms as he pulled the reins from her hands. She’d stiffened at the proximity, but her skin broke out in goose bumps that weren’t entirely from displeasure when his warm breath fanned over her neck. She’d attributed her reaction to the liquid she had drunk, the substance she would learn later to be Razor’s Blood. As if she were going to feel anything besides contempt for that brute.
After a half day riding hard, Lochiana no longer felt the effects of the strong concoction favored by the Jackurians. Hence her renewed anger at her kidnapper. She would bide her time for the moment and not openly challenge the warrior. She couldn’t win against him with brutal strength, so she had to master him with her mind.
As she walked in silence behind him, she paid close attention to every fissure and hole in the gray stone walls. She wasn’t a one-glancer, but attention to detail was one of the many skills she excelled at. We’ll see who will have the last laugh, Femror, she thought with a sneer.
One of the most peculiar things she noticed was that, despite the lack of sunlight, she could see clearly inside the cave. There were no orb lights or glowworms anywhere. She didn’t want to talk to Femror, but the need to know everything about her location trumped her desire to give him the silent treatment.
“What kind of magic is this?” she asked.
“Magic?”
“Yes, magic. How can I see well in the darkness? There’s no illumination anywhere.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He chuckled. The bastard chuckled. Lochiana didn’t think he was capable of humor, never mind that he was amused at her expense.
“Why am I here?”
Femror didn’t answer right away, and it seemed his shoulders had gone tense. “You’re responsible for this mess. I’m sure my father would like to have a word with you.”
Lochiana didn’t like the implication in his tone one bit. She glared at his back and wished her drop-dead vision would do just that, make him drop dread. You don’t really want him to die, her conscience stated, and she grew irritated at herself. Okay, maybe not die, but stumble and fall on his face, at least.
Femror veered sharply to the right and stopped in front of a door made of real wood, not the commonly used syno material. He opened it with a flourish and said, “After you, my lady.”
Lochiana hesitated, and when she glanced at the warrior, he raised an eyebrow at her. She could practically hear his thoughts: Don’t do it, and I will throw you over my shoulder again. She scowled at him and ventured in.
She was in a private chamber; she could tell that much. In one corner were a small wooden table and four simple chairs. Next to it was an entire wall dedicated to an arsenal of weapons worthy of a small army. Femror walked around her and made a beeline to it, stripping off his weapons as he walked. Lochiana’s mouth went dry as she observed the way the powerful muscles on his back flexed, and how his scales changed colors when they caught the lights from the glowworms attached to the walls. Whatever magic worked on the tunnels wasn’t present here.
Her gaze dropped to his ass, which was covered by a short kilt made of some kind of animal fur. Femror chose that moment to look over his shoulder and caught Lochiana ogling him. Her cheeks burned as her gaze snapped back up to see a smirk on his lips.
“See something you like?” he asked.
She crossed her arms in front of her chest and glowered. “I’m just returning the favor. Only I was wearing way less clothes before, so it’s hardly an eye for an eye.”
Femror’s smirk blossomed to a full smile, and Lochiana realized what she had said. “I can fix that.” He made a motion to untie the belt holding his kilt in place and her eyes turned as round as saucers.
“No! That won’t be necessary.” She spun around to look at the rest of the room and avoid his penetrating gaze. For all the Sacred Powers. Am I still under the Razor’s Blood influence? she thought feebly, knowing very well she was sober. She couldn’t understand the odd twist in her gut whenever Femror looked at her as if he wanted to know all her secrets.
On the other side of the chamber, Lochiana found a raised pallet covered with colorful rugs and pillows, and a few animal skins. His bed, she guessed.
“Are you hungry?” Femror’s voice nearby made Lochiana jump on the spot. She pivoted and found him right in front of her and very close. She had to crane her neck to look at his face.
“No,” she lied. Now that the prospect of food had been presented to her, she found herself quite famished.
“Right. Well, I’m starved.” His gaze dropped to her lips, and Lochiana noticed his Adam’s apple bobble up and down. Did he want to kiss her?
She took a step back, not because she was appalled by the idea but because she probably would have liked it. It had been so long since she wanted to be kissed by a male that Lochiana didn’t know how to react.
Femror spun around and disappeared through a door Lochiana had missed in her initial perusal of the room. He returned a moment later carrying a tray with two ceramic bowls on it, placing them on the table before he sat down. Lochiana stretched her neck, trying to see what was inside the bowls without actually taking a step forward. Femror looked in her direction and then pointed at the chair next to his.
“Sit an
d eat. You will need your strength.”
“You really need to stop ordering me about. I’m not one of your warriors.”
“No, you definitely aren’t.” Femror kept staring at her with that intense look of his.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He frowned and leaned back, crossing his arms. “I don’t understand your question. It means you are not one of my warriors. Like you just said.”
Lochiana stared at him through slits for a moment. Femror eventually shrugged and started to eat whatever grub he’d brought into the room. Her stomach growled loudly, and she hated that her body had betrayed her like that. Stop being so stubborn, woman. Go eat something.
She followed what her conscience told her that time and joined Femror at the table. The bowl contained some kind of cold stew that didn’t look appetizing at all. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, though, and Lochiana dove in without even smelling it first. It was very bland, nothing compared to the spicy and rich Morian food she loved, but Lochiana had learned to appreciate a nutritious meal regardless of flavor. It was one of the first things she had to get accustomed to when she joined the Offworld Exploration Program.
Once she finished scraping every single drop of the unidentified soup, she found Femror staring at her with amusement in his eyes.
“What?” She frowned.
“I thought you weren’t hungry.”
“I need strength if I’m to get out of here.”
“Oh, and where are you planning to go?” He smirked.
“Get help, for starters. Warn the rest of Arcadia.”
“You are assuming I’m not here to help.” He leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head, showing off his biceps. She was sure he was doing it on purpose.
“Are you?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “All I hear from your mouth are orders and threats. Honestly, I think I’d better take my chances with whatever came through the portal.”
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