Daybreak

by Cheree Alsop

  Tariq’s reply was muffled as the sharpness of Liora’s thoughts faded away. She felt warm and cold at the same time, a feeling she remembered from a time long in her past.

  Liora was young again and held another blade in her hand. This one was cold and curved, serrated at the tip to cause the most damage.

  She stood in a ring she knew all too well. Members of the clan sat in silence around the two circles. Rain poured on the reflective metal roof, creating a dull roar in the background.

  Liora watched the boy across the ring. She knew Vogun. He liked to inflict pain and watch weaker opponents squirm. She hated him. The golden child of the clan, Vogun was already being groomed by Obruo to inherit the title of chieftain despite the fact that the right should be Liora’s. Her mother held the strongest blood next to Obruo, and even as a mongrel child, Liora should have been next in line to take the title of chief.

  Vogun knew it was true, and he hated her for it. He never passed up the chance to reminder her in little ways of his clever cruelty. She often found venomous snakes in her bed and had learned to never slide her feet beneath the covers without checking first. There were needles embedded in her breakfast chair, and poisonous bugs in her shoes. She never picked up her training gloves without checking them first for shards of glass.

  Obruo had pitted them against each other for the past twelve years of her life. It was fitting that they should fight each other in the final battle.

  For a Damaclan, receiving the clan tattoo was the highest honor a warrior could earn. Only four children would win the honor. Eight were of the age to compete. In order to earn the tattoo, a Damaclan child of twelve years must take his or her first life in the ring. Whoever lost in the battle for the clan marks would also lose his or her life at the hand of the stronger combatant.

  Vogun twirled the double swords he had chosen for his weapon. As an honor to half of her bloodline, Liora had been given the choice of weapons first. She chose the knife for which her ancestors were known. Her mother had nodded proudly from the sidelines, approving of her decision.

  Usually, a rival picked the same weapon as a matter of integrity, but when Vogun reached for the swords, Obruo had nodded his acceptance. Liora stood facing her rival armed with only a knife and her skills from years of training and discipline far harsher than any the other Damaclan children had experienced.

  Vogun stood a head taller. Born under the first moon, the sign of strength, he had been given choice food and schooling his entire life. Liora had been born at the end of the season under the moon of the nomad, a bad omen for Damaclan because the harsh singe weather and the poor diet due to the lack of plant life from the strangling sunrays often killed a child before the year’s end.

  The clan had ignored her because they thought she would die from the elements, but Liora had survived despite the odds. Eventually even Obruo had to accept that she was around to stay until he could come up with a plan to get rid of her without it appearing as though he was attempting to kill his mongrel daughter outright. The blood of her queen mother was worth more than the half-lineage she had missed out on from his line.

  Vogun grinned, revealing the tooth he had broken jumping into the river on a dare. He gave his proud, taunting smile often to display the symbol of his courage. Liora thought it represented his stupidity instead. Who jumped into a river everyone knew was lined with rocks when the deep space below the falls was shallow during the singe?

  “Time to prove I’m better than you once and for all,” Vogun said.

  Liora kept silent. Vogun liked to boast. She knew her silence unnerved him.

  “Come on, then, mongrel,” he taunted. “Show me what you can do with your little knife.”

  Liora had never killed anything. Vogun and many of the other boys and girls often shot the small bats and feathered swimmers because they said it strengthened their souls. Liora couldn’t see how death brought power to another. She felt like it showed weakness instead. Obruo said it was because her human side was too soft. It made her frail and pathetic like the headless creatures the children lined up proudly in front of their houses. Her refusal to add to their collections was another slight the chief took personally.

  Vogun attacked first as she knew he would. While he beat her more often than not, Vogun had no patience. His swiftness was counterbalanced by his rashness, and the grace of his strike often showed the twitch of a too-eager hand.

  Liora blocked the first sword and spun to the right to avoid the second. She lunged with the knife, but Vogun was too fast. He dodged and his longer arms allowed him to lay her arm open before she could pull back.

  “First blood,” Obruo noted.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Liora saw the nods of approval from the clan. The boy Obruo had chosen to be their chieftain was proving worthy of the honor.

  Liora blocked another blow. Vogun’s attack was so strong the block rattled Liora to the bone. Her hand went numb and she almost dropped the knife. Vogun took advantage of her weakness to slice her leg up to the knee before he danced out of range.

  “I’ll cut you to ribbons,” he taunted. “I’ll fillet you piece by piece, the death of prey for the daughter of a human.”

  Liora breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth, reminding herself not to react to the boy’s words.

  Vogun charged again. He leaped into the air and spun, bringing both swords down at her in succession.

  Liora blocked the first blade, but knew she wouldn’t be able to avoid the second. Instead, before the blade could reach her, she dropped to the ground and spun, kicking his leg out from under him the instant it met the ground.

  Vogun fell backwards with a surprised huff. He raised a sword the moment he hit the floor, but Liora knocked it aside with her knife. She put the weapon to his throat. It took a moment for her to realize that she had her opponent pinned, defenseless.

  The clan was silent as they awaited the final blow. Liora could feel their shock. Up to that point, Vogun had been unbloodied. The fact that he now lay beneath Liora’s knife was hard for her to accept; the speed with which it had happened left everyone stunned.

  Yet the laws were as strict as they were merciless. Any child bested in the battle for clanship was to be slain by the warrior who defeated him or her. If Liora let Vogun live despite the laws, he would be cast out. He would die in the singe weather if he didn’t end his own life out of shame.

  Liora glanced at Obruo. The chief’s face was tight, his lips a severe line in his tattooed face. It was obvious he hadn’t anticipated the outcome. Suspicions had lingered in the back of Liora’s mind that Obruo forced the decision for her to fight Vogun, the strongest child in the clanship battle. The suspicions were answered in the way he gripped the railing that ran around the circle, his knuckles white as though he wanted to tear it away and strangle her.

  Liora turned her gaze to her mom. Tenieva gave a small nod. There was a light of pride in her gaze that didn’t fade even when Obruo followed Liora’s gaze to his wife. Tenieva had fought for her when she was young, and now Liora proved that her battle against Obruo had been worth it. Liora knew what she had to do to claim her blood right and receive the clan markings.

  Vogun’s eyes watered when Liora drew her knife through his skin. Dark red blood spilled over her hand. She would never forget the warm gush, nor the way his breath gurgled in his throat. He tried to fight even with his neck slit, but she held him down. His struggles became weaker; eventually, his eyes closed and his head tipped to one side.

  A sob from Vogun’s mother echoed through the building before she could stifle it. Though she had a right to her sorrow, it was the duty of the clan to be proud of the child who had survived the last trial. His mother would be punished for her outward display.

  Tears fell down Liora’s cheeks. When she met Obruo’s gaze, his eyes narrowed at the show of weakness. His mongrel daughter may have killed the clan’s strongest warrior, but she still showed the emotions of a human. She couldn’t help h
erself. As much as she hated Vogun, and as hard as he had made her life, killing him was something she never had imagined she would have to do. Training to kill was completely different than taking an actual life.

  Obruo then did something no chief had ever done. Instead of applauding Liora’s victory and leading his clan in celebrating her status as their newest member, he rose and walked away. The cement and metal aisle swallowed him into the shadows; his disapproval remained heavy in his wake.

  Tenieva was the first to clap. It didn’t take long for the clan to join her. As much as Liora’s victory was a surprise, they applauded their newest warrior as tradition dictated. A few of the more accepting Damaclans shouted her name. Liora heard it through the hum of shock in her mind.

  Liora’s hands shook. She gripped the knife harder to keep from dropping it. The blade, her hands, and Vogun’s chest were covered in dark, sticky liquid. She realized she was still sitting on him, pinning him down even though he could no longer move. Through sheer strength of will, Liora rose to her feet and moved away from Vogun’s body.

  As soon as she reached the outer ring, the clan descended on her, congratulating her and patting her shoulders. She was led by her mother to the white room where the clan grandmother kept the tattoo equipment. She was vaguely aware of the burn of the needle behind her ear as she received her first tattoo, the symbol of her clan. The symbols continued down her throat to her chest.

  She didn’t flinch. The burn felt good. It chased away the vision of Vogun’s lifeless eyes and the way his pulse faded beneath her fingertips. She breathed in the pain and relished the way it cut directly to her core where her soul ached.

  When she was done, Liora looked at herself in the mirror. The clan grandmother had tattooed her warrior marks down her arms, the spiked curls like Gaul horns below her collarbones, the black and red marks down to her wrists from completing the training, and the red band on her right arm that said she was her mother’s daughter and announced the royal blood in her veins.

  Liora felt like herself, and yet as if she stared at a stranger at the same time. She didn’t know where the old Liora ended and the new one began. She had reached her goal. She had proven to Obruo that she was worthy to be a member of his clan. Yet he had been absent at the tattooing even though his presence was also a tradition, and she would never forget the disappointment on his face when she drove her knife through Vogun’s neck instead of letting him do the same to her.

  Liora left the room with her tattoos wrapped in the traditional white cloth. The blood that showed through was a sign of her new life. Her wounds were tended and she received smiles and praises from clan members who had never so much as acknowledged her existence before that day. It all felt surreal and fake.

  “Why did I do it if it doesn’t matter?” she had asked her mother that night.

  “Of course it matters,” Tenieva had replied. “You’re a member of the clan now. I’m so proud of you.”

  Liora put a hand to her chest. The slight burn of the fresh tattoos answered. “But I’m not a part of the clan in here. I’m still the same.”

  Her mother had smiled at her. It was the image Liora would keep with her for the rest of her life. The nomad moon shone through the window, lighting her mother’s dark hair and brushing her face with gentle fingers. The pride in her mother’s eyes said more than a thousand words. What Obruo or anyone else thought didn’t matter. Liora had done what her mother had said she would since she was born. She deserved to be a member of the clan, and now she had proven it.

  “Wear those tattoos with pride, my daughter,” Tenieva said. She tucked Liora’s dark hair behind her ear so she could get a better look at the tattoos down her neck. “You deserve each and every one of these. Live your life knowing that.”

  “I will,” Liora promised.

  Tenieva hugged her gently. “You’re a part of the clan now, Liora. You can choose a new name if you would like.”

  Liora knew what her answer would be as soon as her mother asked. “I’d like to be known as Liora Day.”

  “After your father?” Tenieva’s eyebrows were raised in surprise. “Are you sure?”

  Liora nodded.

  “It’ll separate you from the clan,” her mother warned.

  Liora lifted a shoulder. “It doesn’t bother me.”

  “It makes you stronger,” Tenieva replied, saying the words she had repeated for as far back as Liora could remember.

  It was the chant Liora recited in her head whenever Vogun or the others picked on her. It was what drove her on when Obruo’s cruelty got out of hand.

  “I’m stronger than they are,” Liora said.

  She went to sleep that night with the knife in her hand and a small smile on her face.

  Two days later, her entire clan was killed by the nameless ones.

  The next time Liora awoke, she could see a form out of the corner of her eye.

  Tariq was hunched over the bed, his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. It looked as though he had waited there so long he had fallen to sleep.

  Liora couldn’t force her voice to work, so she merely watched him.

  Asleep, the creases of worry in Tariq’s forehead had faded. It made him look younger, less filled with the cares of life and loss. His black hair swept across part of his face, clinging to the scruff of the shadowed stubble he hadn’t shaved. The backs of his hands were scarred with the nicks and gouges of a fighter. As he slept, his eyebrows pulled together slightly in a way that made Liora want to smooth the creases between them.

  He looked so handsome in that moment that Liora wanted to raise a hand to his cheek to see if he was real.

  The thought surprised her. Tariq may have saved her life, but her clan was responsible for the death of his wife and child. He would never forgive her, and her presence was no doubt a reminder of the never-ending pain in his life.

  So why, then, had he saved her? As he had said in his conversation with Devren, his hands were the key to her life or death. He could have left her to die, yet he had carried her despite the danger to himself. He had rescued a Damaclan when he could have walked away without regrets.

  Liora closed her eyes and let the darkness return to chase the confusing questions from her mind.

  Chapter 18

  When Liora next awoke, someone had turned down the lights in the medical ward. The quiet beeps of the heart monitor was the only sound in the room. She opened and closed her hands. Relief flooded her when her fingers responded. Her toes moved at her command, and she found that she could lift her arms without pain.

  Liora pushed up carefully. It felt strange to do so without the accompanying fiery agony. She could breathe and swallow again. Even the pain from where the thorn had pierced her neck had faded.

  She thought of Devren’s words. The human side of her would have died from the poison; her Damaclan blood had saved her life. Yet again, the strength of being a Damaclan refused to let her go; and once more, despite everything, she was grateful for her mother’s blood that pounded through her veins.

  Someone had cleaned and folded the clothing she had received from the Zamarian woman on Gaulded Zero Twenty-one. The simple act touched Liora. She slipped out of the medical gown and set it on the bed. She reached for her clothes, and winced at the answering pain in her shoulder. A glance showed a tidy row of stitches where the knife had stabbed her just below the collarbone. Liora drew the clothes on and noticed that someone had stitched the matching tear in the cloth as well.

  Liora walked up the hallway. By the lighting, it was nightfall. The ship’s timers gave impressions of days and nights to help the crew stay on a regular circadian rhythm. Judging from the sounds of snoring from a few of the rooms she passed, they had been sleeping for some time.

  Liora paused at one of O’Tule’s paintings. It showed mountains lit by the orange and red rays of sunrise. The river below was green and animals Liora had never seen before grazed in the rising sunlight. The scene held peace and affirmation.
She wanted to go there and view it with her own eyes. Her fingers trailed along the dried paint, feeling as much as seeing the beauty.

  An angry voice caught Liora’s attention. She left the painting and followed it to the bridge. When she put her palm on the reader, the door slid silently open.

  Officer Duncan’s eyes lit up and he gave her a wide smile. At his motion, she stood near him and watched the enraged face on the screen.

  Colonel Lefkin’s eyes sparked as he spoke. “Going dark isn’t the best decision, Captain Metis. Timing is crucial. You need to deliver the Omne Occasus to Titus as soon as possible. If anyone intercepts your ship, you and the crew will be held in contempt for exposing the weapon to danger. Respond to this transmission as soon as you receive it. That is an order, Captain.”

  The screen went dark.

  “There are five more where that came from,” Hyrin informed Devren and Tariq who watched the screen with matching frustrated expressions. “Would you like to view them?”

  “No,” both men said at the same time.

  “He called it a weapon,” Devren said.

  Tariq shook his head. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  “I take it running away with the imploder hasn’t exactly gone over well,” Liora ventured.

  Both men spun around. Devren’s face broke into a wide smile while Tariq watched her as though searching for signs that she was still unwell.

  “It’s so good to see you up,” Devren said, walking to her. “It sounds like it was touch and go there for a while.”

  It looked as though he wanted to hug her. Liora had received two hugs in her entire life; one from her mother after she had earned her tattoos, and the other had been from an Artidus woman with three arms from the circus because the woman said she could sense Liora’s troubled past.

  Liora didn’t know how to accept the hug. It ended with her standing awkwardly while Devren gave her a cautious hug that concluded in a shoulder pat.