by Poppy Rhys
Welp, let’s get this over with.
“This is my mother, and father.” Hunter told her, gesturing to the older couple. He brushed her hair back over her shoulder, exposing the scar from his bite to everyone’s eyes, and said something in Yarian. She pinpointed the word ‘Mi’ska’, and then heard a few troubled gasps.
Her eyes darted around, catching stares, and seeing people whisper to each other. It didn’t seem hostile, she noticed, but something was up.
The one he introduced as his mother slapped him upside the head and babbled something. ‘Tishani’ she recognized, but Hunter looked annoyed, and… guilty?
Fin couldn’t really focus. Mainly because she was trying to stop herself from cracking up. Finally, he was getting what he deserved. She hoped his mother was scolding him for bringing her here, and rightfully telling him to take her back to Dor Nye.
Hunter growled, but stopped short at the glare his mother bestowed upon him.
You tell him, Mama Yarian!
It took all her strength not to loudly cheer her on.
Fin’s entertainment was cut short though, when his mothers attention fell back on her. Her features were soft, lavender eyes bright, kind, and the fine crow’s feet at their corners suggested she laughed often.
After a few moments of silence, Finley extended her hand, offering it up for a shake.
They all looked at it.
Looked back at her.
Without warning, the female wrapped her arms around Fin, embracing her tightly and giving no choice but for Fin to hug her back.
What the hell’s happening?
Before she had time to properly let go, the male was embracing her too, both chattering at her, towering over her with their height. She felt like a child being squished between two parents.
In a sense, it wasn’t far from the truth if these people thought Hunter was her alien partner, or whatever.
Fin looked to Hunter through a gap, confused.
“What are they saying?”
“They say they’re happy to welcome you to their family, as their daughter, after tomorrow’s ceremony.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“As my Mi’ska.”
“What ceremony?”
“Our joining ceremony.” He said this wearily, like he was indulging a youngling. “Where we will be joined as one before the tribe, and blessed by the Tishani, and The True One.”
Her eyes flicked around her, many stares meeting her, some curious and confused. She imagined it was because she wasn’t speaking their tongue.
“Tomorrow?” She croaked.
“Tomorrow, at nightfall.”
No, no, that’s not how this is supposed to go. His parents were supposed to talk sense into her captor, convince him to take her back, not encourage his crimes!
In twenty-four hours, she would be dragged into some kind of barbaric marriage ceremony.
And… partnered.
To an alien.
They were ushered toward one of the many bright fires, food and drink offered to them. Begrudgingly, she accepted, her mouth salivating for anything other than the fruit she’d eaten throughout the day.
Fin sat cross-legged next to Hunter, a primitive clay bowl warming the palms of her hands, the chunky, delicious smelling stew inside halfway gone as she listened to the aliens around her chatter happily, exchanging words with Hunter.
Most likely asking about his time away. At least, that would be one of the first things on her mind if a close relative disappeared for five years, and then suddenly returned with an alien in tow.
Now I’m the alien.
It wasn’t lost on her these people probably saw her as just that.
She eyed Hunter as she ate, watching him talk. His eyes lit up, his hands moved with his speech, like he was telling a lively story. There were younglings around, so she doubted he was speaking about his time at Carnal Bazaar.
What was he talking about, then?
Maybe his time before his capture. What was he doing on Vishik, after all? Fin was reminded of his trance a couple nights ago when he seemed to drift off after she asked her question.
Fin finished her stew, and sipped her cool water.
Another member of the tribe began speaking, and another. They went round and round in their conversation.
She could see the glint in his eyes, how he seemed almost content, happy even, to be back among his people.
Almost.
Something stirred there below the surface, and she was surprised she’d paid enough attention to his facial expressions to come to that realization.
The more she examined the vicinity, the more individuals she noticed that weren’t Yarian. Not many. Maybe ten. One she even recognized as a Jūloy female. Her pretty golden skin glinting like glitter in the firelight, and her pointed ears peaking through her pencil straight white hair.
Another captive, she assumed.
But she didn’t act like a captive. She acted like one of them.
The woman even sidled up next to a beefy Yarian male, a little youngling tumbling into her lap, begging for affection that was swiftly given.
The youngster had emerald skin, like most of the others, but white hair that matched the Jūloy. Her babe, Fin guessed.
It was a curious sight, and when the female caught Finley’s gaze, she smiled.
Unsure what to do, Fin smiled back, even if it was small.
Not long after, the crowd was dispersing, nightly farewells exchanged as more and more Yarian’s took to the trees, using the bridges, or climbing the trunks, to get to their lodges.
Fin rose to her feet when Hunter did, and soon she was taking the bridge from the ground up into the trees. The further up she went, the less she felt safe.
Images of a plank breaking beneath her, her body plummeting far below to splatter on the ground, plagued her mind.
Of all places to live, why trees? Why weren’t the Yarian’s a ground dwelling species? Or underground. Fin could deal with underground. Heights though, that was another story.
“How far up are we going?” She gulped, a hand on his back, the other clenching the moss covered vines running along the bridge.
Chill, girl.
She was caught between admiring the beauty of the village in the trees, -all its different interconnected levels and lodges lit aglow by the ghostly torches as far as her eyes could see- and her fear of heights.
“We are almost to Brinn’s lodge.” He grasped her hand.
“Who’s Brinn?”
“A good friend who has agreed to let you stay in her lodge tonight.”
“What?” She squeaked. “Why can’t I stay with you, at your place?”
The enemy you know, and all that.
Hunter grunted, looking over his shoulder.
“Miss me already, human?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” She snorted, refusing to admit she was a little nervous. “But why do I need to stay with this Brinn person?”
“Tradition.” He stopped on the half-circle deck outside a lodge. “A Shu’Lee’s Mi’ska always shares a lodge of a friend, or relative, before the ceremony.”
Fin was already tired of this ‘tradition’ nonsense.
Hunter pulled her to his chest, surprising her. She let him. His warm skin, and smoky scent catapulted her brain into overdrive, and she felt herself breathing in a lungful.
Then his hand gripped a handful of her hair, and he buried his face in the locks, inhaling. A rumbling touched her ears and made her fingers curl into his chest. In a rough, thick tone, he said, “We will share our lodge tomorrow night.”
A new chill swept over her skin, feeling like his words had an underlying threat.
She jumped when he suddenly rapped his knuckles on the door. Soon, a thin Yarian female was answering, smiling, and standing aside so they could enter.
Hunter didn’t move much past the threshold though. Intense gaze boring down at her, he said goodnight and then disappeared into the darkness.
Knowing that she wouldn’t see him until tomorrow, she felt a slight emptiness that made her frown, annoyed. Somehow the alien planet seemed even more imposing, knowing Hunter wasn’t a few steps away from her.
“I am Brinn.” The female smiled.
Fin didn’t think anything of it at first, but then it registered.
She startled. “You speak English?”
“Little.” She held up her thumb and index finger, a small space between them. “My mother Mi’ska. Shu’Lee mate. Know English. Teach some at me.”
Her broken English was heavily accented, much more so than Hunter’s, and strangely interesting to hear. But she knew some of Fin’s native tongue, and suddenly she didn’t feel so out of place.
“Rest.” Brinn smiled, patting her shoulder like they’d been pals a long time. “Tomorrow big day.”
“Sure…”
What else was she supposed to say, ‘take me back to my captor’?
Finley watched as Brinn led the way to a doorway covered with a curtain of beads and hollowed reeds that tinkled when she brushed past them.
She followed.
Inside, her eyes darted over a mat upon the floor, a soft hide covering the braided rug. Stacked baskets littered the floor, and hanging herbs took up most of the headspace, though due to her shorter stature, she didn’t have to duck around the dangling things like Brinn did.
It reminded her of a storage room, a pantry of sorts.
Great, she was sleeping where they stored the food.
“Sorry.” Brinn apologized. “No younglings, no need more shichu.”
The female tapped her chin, like she was trying to remember a word.
“A bed?” Fin asked.
“Yes! Bed.” She bared her teeth, grinning. “Shichu, bed.”
A small part of her brain filtered that information away, resigning itself to the idea of learning the language if she was stuck here.
Wait, slow down, girl. She was still planning to get off Yari as soon as the first opportunity presented itself.
“Well, thanks.” Dipping her chin, she accepted the thin blanket Brinn handed her.
“When morning, we talk more.”
And then she was alone, the beads tinkling after Brinn’s exit.
Fin crouched down, her knees hitting the hide. In the darkness, she made herself comfortable, the mat beneath her barely doing much to cushion her body.
Suddenly, she had a longing for her comfortable plush bed back on Dor Nye. Where the mattress she’d spent weeks deliberating on, formed around her body like it was made just for her. Where the sheets glorious material slid against her skin and kept her warm, but not too warm.
What she would give to sleep in a civilized bed, and not on the ground or the floor, not on a pile of leaves, and most certainly not in a giant nest.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Happy morning.” Brinn greeted Fin once she emerged from the pantry where she slept.
“Morning.” Her brow quirked at Brinn’s unusual welcome.
The alien female was sitting on a mat similar to the one she’d slept on last night, next to a small raised table. Upon noticing her nudity from the waist up, Fin was reminded of her own lack of clothing.
She wrapped an arm over her chest.
Brinn gave her a curious look, and then gestured to the empty spot across from her. “Morning meal.”
Fin sat slowly, her legs bending. The hatches on the two windows on the front side of the lodge were propped open, fresh air filtering in with the sounds of a village waking to the day’s tasks.
“Hunter bring gift.” Brinn’s smile seemed coy as she handed her a warm cup of liquid, and then gestured to a pair of hide slippers Fin hadn’t noticed before.
She blinked, her brow puckering with confusion as she ran a hand over the pale tan material, surprised at how soft it was. The inside was lined with silky gray and white fur. An excited chill raced through her as she imagined how comfortable they would be.
Fin nibbled on her bottom lip, and then she asked, “Where did he get these?”
“Made them.” Brinn nodded.
Eyes narrowing with suspicion, she looked at the footwear again. “But how did he find the time?”
“Always fast stitch.” The alien weaved her hand as if she was wielding a needle. “Even when young.”
An annoying sense of admiration for the alien pulled at her, and she wasn’t sure what to think about that.
He’d handmade slippers for her. Handmade! No one had ever given her such a thoughtful gift before. Something so unique and personal.
She fingered the leather tie that dangled with bumpy, cream colored beads. The tops would fold down at her ankles. The stitches were tight, straight, and expertly placed.
He must’ve been up all night making these.
She was still a captive. His captive. This thoughtful gift couldn’t erase the facts.
Fin cleared her throat, setting the slippers to the side. Her feet were still dirty, and she didn’t want to soil the shoes.
“That was nice of him.” Picking up the cup of liquid, she took a sip. A type of tea, she realized.
Brinn’s curious look faded quickly.
“Eat meal.” The female nodded, smiling again. “I take you wash after. For ceremony.”
Fin stopped herself from sighing.
By the time she was down on the ground again, her legs felt a little like jelly.
The bridges were not her friend.
Brinn took her to a flowing stream, removing her loincloth, and gesturing for Fin to do the same. After a few moments hesitation, her need of a bath outweighing her modesty, she stripped, gently laying her new slippers next to her ru’mi.
“Turn,” Brinn twirled her finger, holding up a bowl. “Wash hair.”
No one had washed her hair for her since she was a youngling. Fin, like most other humans on Dor Nye, didn’t participate in communal bathing.
That didn’t seem to be the case here, as other females entered the stream where it was hip deep and washed themselves, and helped other women scrub their backs and hair.
After Fin dipped under to thoroughly soak her tresses, Brinn began massaging the mint scented goo into her scalp, working to the ends.
“Long hair.” The alien noted. “Like Yarian.”
She had a point. From what she could tell, most of the Yarian females had dark hair in varying shades of brown and black, and none had short styles.
The feel of Brinn washing her hair lulled her into relaxation. It felt good, and the idea of communal bathing began to make sense to her.
****
Hunter raised his spear, stilling his breath as he let the weapon fly. It sung through the air, true, hitting its target.
It’d been so long since he hunted properly, with his tribe brothers, but he took back to it like a fish to water. Felt good.
Leaping over a fallen tree, his feet hurriedly covered ground until he was kneeling before the beast. Quickly, he shoved his dagger into its heart, putting it out of its misery.
Multiple pats on the back from his brothers as they silently moved on, continuing the hunt. There would be a feast for the joining ceremony tonight and many to feed.
His joining ceremony.
Anticipation thread his being as he gutted the animal and strung it up to properly bleed. Soon, Finley would be his in earnest.
Why was he excited about that?
As he began skinning the beast, careful not to puncture the hide, he wondered if she liked the gift he made her. It set his mind at ease to know her soft skinned feet wouldn’t be cut along the rough ground anymore.
When did he start caring, anyway?
Hunter found himself unsettled without her by his side through the night. Much to his rage, Harava’s memory came back when he’d finally laid down to rest. Torturous days during his captivity, days he thought he wouldn’t survive another assault on his body by a lethal client, and the agony to wake and realize he did indeed survive, tha
nks to Senna’s careful repair.
He’d woken wrathful, covered in sweat, and his fists aching from being clenched so tightly.
She haunted him now, on the day he would join his Mi’ska in front of the Tishani, his people.
Why?
Not one night since his escape had he dreamt of his captivity, or Harava. Yet the one night Finley wasn’t at his side… he had.
During their journey home, he’d slept in the medical bay on a cot near her body in stasis. He’d told himself it was simply to make sure the equipment didn’t fail, resulting in her suffocation, but was that the real reason?
He shook himself, focusing his attention back on the task at hand.
****
Fin sat in Brinn’s lodge upon a reed mat, her fingers drumming nervously upon her knee. The drum of multiple instruments she’d never heard before seemed to dictate her heartbeat, or thrum in tune with it, she couldn’t decide.
Thump, thump, thump-thump, thump…
The very sound, and rhythm, frayed her nerves.
Partnered, she repeated over and over. Fin was being served up like an offering in some kind of ceremony that would bind her to her alien captor. And there was no escaping it.
Brinn and Tishee, Hunter’s mother, had trussed her up like a forest nymph from a fantasy vid.
Her hair was brushed until it glinted blue-black, small, tight braids hanging from her right temple. Red and white feathers hung from their ends, brushing her skin and annoying her.
Thin, green vines, and foreign white flowers were threaded through the rest of her hip length tresses, snaking, peeking from the black waves, confusing to look upon. One couldn’t tell where her hair began and the vines ended.
A drooping boa of braided stems, and more of the white flowers, draped over the nape of her neck, the long trails resting over her breasts and touching her thighs. Similar creations adorned her ankles, somewhat itchy above the tops of her new slippers.
Tishee swooned, gasping, when they’d finished decking her out like a sacrificial virgin.
Fin looked at her reflection, scowling. Had it been anyone else, sans the purple skin, she would’ve admired the mystical getup.
But it wasn’t anyone else.
It was her.
