0437169001337283106 wind demon 02

by dark wind

  (It must also be noted here the Domestic Queen, who, at the time of her capture by the brutish Rysalia Retrieval Team, was quick with child. Her arrival from Terra in that condition engineered heated debate on FSK-11 and it was only through the Grace of Alluvia that she was not slain then and there or the child aborted. No doubt the Shepherd responsible for her capture was put to death for his oversight.

  Thankfully, our future Queen was taken into the care of Dr. Natalia Rhu and was brought through Resistance channels to Amazeen where she gave birth to the Princess Raphaella. I must state here for clarification purposes, the Terran woman’s arrival on Amazeen was met with intense opposition. Defense Queen Moiria took an instant dislike to the woman and issued a challenge to combat. Once more the fates were with the Terran woman for when she was able to rise from her birth bed, she met Queen Moiria’s challenge well and triumphed over her adversary. She became our 93rd Domestic Queen: the first non-Amazeen to sit the Delta throne. Mother and daughter have since risen through the ranks of the Multitude to goddess status and it has been decided the Princess Raphaella will become our next Defense Queen.)

  As for the Ry-Chalean boy, the Queen believed a child of the union between her daughter and the Reaper could result in a vastly superior female soldier. The child would be graceful and quick like her mother, but agile and strong in the way of her sire. She would also garner the psychic ability of the Reaper: a trait necessary when dealing with that despicable race. The Queen convinced the Elders of the Obelisk that a child born from the seed of the seed of Kamerone Cree would be invincible.

  Thus it was decided the Reaper would be kept in the medical facility until he was of age (the scientists reckoned this to be eighteen Solar passings) to impregnate the Princess Raphaella and his essence taken.

  He was kept chained to the wall, under constant observation and not allowed to either interact with or see his keepers.

  (Note: This was not a cruel punishment as some have charged. The Reaper was accustomed to such treatment on the Instructional Base. Other than the confinement of his leg shackle, we did nothing that was not standard procedure on his home world where his every move was watched by A.I.U.s.)

  When the time of the male’s puberty came upon him, he underwent his first Transition. He was thirteen Solar Passings by then and strong for a male of that age. He managed to break his leg chain and escape the medical facility, but he was discovered quickly. It took five warrioresses to bring him down and capture him, but not before two of them were slain, their throats ripped open by his unsheathed claws. Thrown into a cell created well in advance of this first Transitioning, the young Reaper was left to suffer his affliction without benefit of the much-needed Sustenance his kind requires. (Note: this was an oversight that nearly drove the young one mad with hunger before one of those who had been on the ship with him was able to get word to us of what was needed.)

  It must be said here that the Princess Raphaella was at no time afraid of the Reaper. Although older than he by seven years, she seemed well content to receive his essence when the time was right. She would sit for hours on end watching the monitor that was focused on his cell. He was well aware of being watched and who it was that watched him for he spoke to her often though she was not allowed to speak with him. We believe the young princess to have become much enamored of the Reaper during this time. To look upon him is to understand why an impressionable female would find him so enticing: he is, unquestionably, a beautiful male specimen, though a deadly one.

  And therein lay the problem...

  By the time he had achieved sixteen Solar Passings, many an Amazeen began to look upon Khiershon Cree with unbridled lust. Many would make reason to stop by the monitoring room and observe him. He knew this was being done and would stare hotly into the camera of his cell, often shocking his watcher by calling her name. Now and again, those Amazeen assigned to watch him would open the Vid-Com link and carry on forbidden conversations with him. When it was discovered such behavior was occurring, the audio link was terminated. This seemed to amuse him rather than cause dismay that he would no longer have contact with his keepers.

  At the time of seventeen Solar Passings, his attitude became disrespectful to the point of surliness. He openly defied many restrictions and was constantly testing his limitations. He was chastised for these actions, which only seemed to amuse him the more. Even when we were forced to punish him severely for trespasses against the laws of the Multitude, he merely laughed at the pain though the effect of it could clearly be seen in his gaze. It was not until his transgressions were punished on the person of the young man, Iyan, that we gained some small amount of control over Khiershon Cree; it was obvious he held that one in some great esteem. Threat of agonizing punishment of Iyan, five Solar Passings the elder of the two, drastically cut down on the trouble we garnered from the Reaper.

  Until two days before his eighteenth Solar Passing.

  That is when the dreams began.

  At first, only a few of us were affected by the strange, unsettling dreams. Then more and more warrioresses began to report nightly invasions of her sleep that were so vivid, so intensely real, that it became evident this was no mere phenomenon of overly-active libidos but a calculated mental assault upon the persons of each and every Amazeen. When the Reaper was brought before the Court and told to stop this psychic rape, he laughed at the Elders and stood there, unrepentant and defiant, smiling hatefully at those who had dared to judge him. Even as he stood before the Elders, flanked by six Elite warrioresses of Adil, he was able to cause the Elders, Old Women that They are, to wax and wane with such powerful sexual releases, They cried out before us.

  “Put him to the sword!” They cried, alarmed at his ability to move Them while standing many paces from the Bench. “Put him to death for he is a demon!”

  Of course, this had always been known: Reapers are changelings, warebeasts, Dearg Duls from the world of Chale. But no one had guessed at the sexual powers instilled in the powerful-growing body of this young male. We knew he could read minds, but up until that time, he had not exhibited what we later learned was a very adept psychic ability to place thoughts where they should not be.

  And cause intense surges of sexual longing that can best be described only as evil incarnate.

  So alarmed did the Court become that the young man, Iyan, was hurriedly sent for and brought, dagger to his throat, to his knees before the Bench.

  “Stop this now or you will be the cause of this man’s death!” the Chief Elder warned the Reaper.

  As I write this, I can still see the fury that leapt in the amber glare of the Reaper’s eyes when McGregor was brought in. The Reaper knew what had been done to his friend and the fury pulsing from those molten eyes was lethal. I shiver at the look of hellish intent that passed quickly over his face before he dropped to his knees beside his friend and offered his own throat to the dagger.

  “Kill me now and be done with it!” he snarled, “for unless you do, I will make every gods-be-damned woman on this world wish she had never been born for what you have done to this man!” In answer to the Reaper’s rash demand, the dagger was drawn across the throat of the Reaper’s friend and bright crimson flooded over the ebony stones of the Court. With a scream of such primal agony it took us all aback, Khiershon Cree threw himself over the body of his friend. Before we could stop him, he tore the veins of his own wrist open with his teeth to allow the black blood to pulse into the gushing wound of Iyan’s throat.

  Even as we watched in stunned amazement, Iyan’s crimson blood slowed to a trickle and the lethal wound began to close. Hovering over his friend, his wrist to Iyan’s throat, the Reaper began to chant in the ancient language of the Chalean priests: a Charm of Making, the Elders told us. Whatever it was, it healed the young man and brought him back from the very arms of the Gatherer.

  For a long time we stood there, watching as Khiershon Cree rocked his unconscious friend against him, crooning words that we could not understand. When at
last he was sure the young man would live, he turned eyes now dulled with surrender to the Elders who were gawking at him with fear and awe.

  “He is all I have. Do not hurt him again and I will give you no more trouble,” he said softly. “I will do whatever you will have me do, I will humble myself to you, if you will give me your word of honor, on the Court of the Veils, that you will never lay another hand to Iyan McGregor to hurt him in any way.” He bowed his head in what we thought was defeat and when he looked up, we were astounded to see tears in his eyes. It is well-known that Reapers do not cry. “I will do whatever is asked of me, but swear you will never harm my friend again. Swear it and I will be your obedient servant until there is no more breath within this body.”

  The Elders conferred amongst Themselves and decided it was best to do as he asked if it meant he would no longer fight the destiny planned for him. It was agreed and They gave Their unbreakable vows as Elders of the Court: No harm would ever befall Iyan McGregor at the hands of an Amazeen.

  How well he played us that day. How well he knew, even then, the great power within him. Looking back, we now have no doubt among us that he knew he would be able to save his friend by feeding the man from his own tainted blood: blood infected with that which makes him what he is. He staged the entire drama, sacrificed a few moments of pain for Iyan for the certain knowledge that we would not be able to stop him when the time came.

  And that time came sooner than we expected.

  The very next night, with the help of the Princess Raphaella, Khiershon Cree, Iyan McGregor, and three members of the crew that had crashed on Amazeen nine Solar Passings earlier, escaped on board a Diabolusian transport bound for its home world. It would be morning before Cree would be missed and another day before the warrant for his arrest was issued. By then, he and his entourage, including the princess, were long gone.

  It has been five years since last we saw him, but word has come to us that he has taken the bait we set for him. He will journey to the old abandoned FSK-14 where he has been told he will find one of his bloodbrothers, Kaelan, who was transported to the space station and left there to die. (Note: We have not yet found the other five Reaper survivors: the two sets of twins, Sajin and Aidan, Rylan and Braiden, and the youngest Kaelan, but we will and we will dispose of them in the same manner planned for the eldest, Khiershon.)

  A bounty party is being dispatched to take Khiershon. We will take with us a generous portion of triso, known in our world as tenerse, to control him, for that is the only way now that he has reached his full power as Dearg Duls.

  Once we have him under our authority, he will be taken to the Land of Shadows and there questioned as to the whereabouts of the Princess Raphaella and the others. If he will not tell us, he will be decapitated, his body burned and the ashes scattered to the Four Winds upon the plateau, but not before we have taken from him forcibly the seed needed to create life. Between the twelve of us, at least one is bound to breed the warrioress our Queen envisioned.

  Tomorrow will see us at FSK-14 and I will write no more until he has either given us what we seek or is dead.

  Chapter Four

  Caitlin leanedback in her chair. “He made them take the hemlock,” she said. “Somehow he used his psychic ability to make them drink the poison.”

  “Looks that way to me,” Atherton responded from her place beside Khiershon Cree. She stared at the livid bruises on his handsome face. “They got what they deserved.” Caitlin looked up, staring blindly at her computer monitor. “They tortured him and he made them commit suicide.”

  “Do you blame him?”

  Caitlin shook her head. “No, I don’t blame him.” She drew in a long breath, and then exhaled slowly. “I don’t blame him at all.”

  “Did you notice the tattoo on his left pectoral?” Atherton inquired. She was lightly tracing the stylized Reaper image with a fingertip. “It must have been burned into his flesh with a laser.”

  “I saw it,” Caitlin answered.

  “Dr. Kelly?” the voice on Com-Link inquired in an urgent tone.

  “Aye?” Caitlin responded tiredly.

  “You’d better come to the bridge ASAP, Ma’am,” Dixon told her.

  Caitlin sighed. “On my way.” She looked around at Cathy Atherton and frowned sharply. “Do you think you can keep your hands off him, Catt Le?”

  Atherton grinned at her. “Nope.”

  “Try, okay?”

  “No guarantees, lady.”

  On the way up to the bridge, Caitlin found herself acutely uneasy. There was an underlying nervousness that had been building for several days and it concerned her. She knew the sleeplessness had something to do with it, but she suspected the majority of the edginess had to do with her patient.

  The bridge was alive with activity when the titanium doors of the elevator shushed open. Crewmen were rushing about, their faces pale and tight. Caitlin was about to stop one and ask why when the warning klaxon began to sound. She stopped dead in her tracks, her mouth sagging open.

  The Captain began barking orders for weapons system activation. “Shields up!” he yelled, his lips trembling. “Torpedoes lock on target as soon as they are within range!”

  “Who is within range?” Caitlin managed to ask a passing yeoman. “What’s going on?”

  “We were told to stand down,” the yeoman mumbled. “They are ordering us to surrender or be blown out of the sky.”

  “Who?” Caitlin repeated. “Who’s out there?”

  “Ask him,” the yeoman snapped, jerking a thumb over his shoulder toward the Captain. “That stupid idiot wants to fight and we barely have enough torpedoes on board to blow the lid off a trash can!” The yeoman pushed past her, hurrying to his station.

  “Bring them up on screen, Bryan!” Wellmeyer was shouting. “I want to see them!” Helen Bryan rolled her eyes skyward. “They’re cloaking, Captain, and I can’t lock on.”

  “Cloaking?” Wellmeyer repeated as though he’d never heard the word before. “Cloaking?”

  “Stealth mode, Captain,” Caitlin reminded him. She walked past him and went to Bryan’s station. “Have they identified themselves, Helen?”

  Bryan shook her head. “No, but I believe they mean business, Caitlin.” She tried hailing the incoming ship again, but received no answer. “They don’t appear to be in the mood to discuss the matter.” Even as she spoke, the Orion was buffeted by a shock wave as a missile passed close by her leeward side. Every one on the bridge pitched sideways, grabbing for whatever they could to keep from being thrown to the deck.

  “Fire! Fire!” Wellmeyer shrieked.

  “At what?” Dixon shouted. “Where?”

  Once more the ship lurched in the percussive wave of a fired missile. Klaxons began going off all over ship as damage was recorded on the ship’s computers.

  “Blow them out of our way!” Wellmeyer shouted. His eyes were wide, his face stark white.

  “Try hailing them again,” Caitlin said in a calm voice. “Tell them we are not hostile. Ask them what they want. They’ve had plenty of time by now to monitor our language and format it into their own.” Bryan nodded, trying to ignore the Captain’s ranting and raving in the background as he hurled ridiculous orders at his crew.

  The Orion suddenly dropped a hundred yards, leaving the crew gasping as they found their hearts in their throats. The overhead lights flickered, went out, and the emergency generator kicked in, illuminating the bridge with an eerie greenish tint from the mercury lighting.

  “They are responding, Ma’am,” Bryan said, glancing up at Caitlin.

  “On screen,” Caitlin ordered.

  There was a pulse of gray light, then the main Com-Link engaged.

  He was obviously enraged, his jaw set, his eyes spearing the crew of the Orion with venomous fury. His angry stare swept over those on the bridge and settled unerringly on Wellmeyer. “I am the McGregor,” he announced.

  Iyan,” Caitlin breathed and knew she was looking into the face of the
man from the journal. As soon as his name passed her lips, the man’s stony attention leapt to her.

  “Who the gods-be-damned hell are you, woman?” he demanded.

  Caitlin had to swallow before she could answer. “I am Dr. Kelly. I am a-”

  “Where is he?” Iyan growled, a muscle in his lean cheek working.

  “In the sickbay. I am-”

  “You will send him to us, now!”

  Caitlin felt her knees growing weak beneath that savage stare. “I can’t. He’s-”

  “Now, woman!” Iyan bellowed.

  “I can’t!” she threw back at him with equal fire.

  “By the gods, if you don’t, I’ll-”

  “He’s in no condition to be transported anywhere!” Caitlin yelled and had the satisfaction of seeing the man blink, then the brutal anger returned in full force.

  “Believe me when I tell you, woman, you do not want me to come get him,” Iyan warned her. “If I have to, I will make you regret...”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Caitlin snapped, waving a dismissive hand. “You’ll make me regret I was ever born.” She pursed her lips. “Is that all the threat you can come up with when confronted by strong women?”

  Iyan McGregor’s pale blue eyes flared. His mouth opened then snapped shut as his jaw locked and his stare narrowed viciously.

  The Com-Link screen went black.

  “Oh, Sweet Merciful Mary,” Wellmeyer whined. “Oh, Sweet Merciful Mother of God!” He threw his hands up to his face. “They’re going to blow us to kingdom come! They are going to...”

  “Somebody shut that fool up, will ya?” Caitlin snapped. She put a firm hand on Helen Bryan’s shoulder.