by Hope Hart
“We need to get closer,” Javir mutters. “I can’t hear them over that guy.”
He’s right. The men next to us are arguing so loudly that they look like they’re about to come to blows. They’re obviously the same race as Javir, and I study them, interested to see what he’ll look like when he grows up.
One of them snarls, and I raise an eyebrow. Javir’s baby teeth will be replaced with a mouthful of so many sharp teeth that they look like they couldn’t possibly fit in such a small space.
Another male replies with clipped words and gets to his feet. I growl out a curse as Javir pulls my walking stick from my hand and slides it along the floor.
“What are you doing?” I hiss.
He ignores me, and I narrow my eyes. Zarix described Javir as nine or ten summers old, but he can’t possibly be that young.
Maybe growing up on a planet as dangerous as this one just makes kids mature much faster.
Either way, the kid is reckless, and if he’s not careful, he’s going to get us killed.
The men are obviously inebriated because the one on his feet has spilled noptri down his shirt, leaving a wet mark. He sways slightly and then steps forward, and that’s when Javir lifts the stick, sliding it beneath the guy’s foot.
The man falls like a tree, his drink spilling all over his friend in the process. He hits the other man with his elbow, and that guy immediately swings his fist, hitting him in the jaw.
The first man goes down again, but this time he growls as he gets to his knees, teeth bared.
“Oh shit,” I mutter. “Give me my stick, you little brat.”
Javir grins at me but hands it over, and we move further from the group, as does almost everyone else. The move puts us closer to the Voildi just as the bartender gets to his feet.
“No fighting,” he snarls. “Out!”
No one listens, and the bartender pulls out a crossbow.
“Oh shit. Get down!” I pull Javir to the floor, my vision graying as the movement jostles my leg. The bartender doesn’t hesitate, firing a bolt into one of the men’s legs.
I’m guessing that was a warning shot. And I don’t want to know how much practice the bartender has had to make that shot.
The blue guy roars, but the bartender has already reloaded.
“Next one goes in your chest,” he says. “Don’t come back until your friend can hold his noptri.”
The man pulls the bolt from his thigh and throws it at the bartender, who simply moves his head and lets it sail past him.
The men leave, one of them limping almost as bad as me. Across the room, Zarix stares at us, his face harder than I’ve ever seen it.
Yeah, he’s not pleased.
I painstakingly begin the process of getting up from the floor.
“What,” I mutter to Javir, “was that?”
Chapter Seven
Zarix
I remove my gaze from Javir and Beth, fighting to stay seated and not drag Javir from this tavern by the scruff of his neck.
“Friends of yours?”
I return my attention to Tellou. “No.”
He tilts his head as if he doesn’t quite believe me but nods. He waves at the bartender, and I raise an eyebrow as the bartender waves back, stomping over to the corner to pick up the bolt for his crossbow.
Tellou doesn’t bother to order a drink. His race processes noptri too quickly, feeling no effect from the strong liquid. Likely why his cousin is employed as a bartender here.
I lay a handful of coins on the table. “What do you know?”
Tellou glances down at the coins and then up at my face. “What you had anticipated is coming true.” He gestures to the Voildi on the opposite side of the tavern.
“They’re joining together,” I say.
He shrugs. “Maybe forever, maybe just for this event. Either way, it’s guaranteed to shake up the power structure around here.”
I clench my teeth. “You say that like it’s a good thing.”
He shrugs again, green shoulders rolling, and I let out a low growl at the dismissive movement.
“Maybe it’s time someone took the power from the Braxians. You walk around here like you own this planet simply because the gods made you bigger and stronger than anyone else.”
“We don’t hurt innocents. The Voildi kill men, women, and children. They tear families apart.”
He shrugs. “The Voildi may be a problem for you guys, but they leave us alone.” He gives me a toothy smile. “Apparently they don’t like the way we taste.”
“Are you going to tell me what I need to know?”
He looks at me for a long moment. “For the sake of our friendship, I will tell you this. They’re planning to hit Tecar’s tribe first.”
I grit my teeth. Tecar’s tribe is small, and while our tribe has no trade agreement with Tecar, our sentries have been known to cooperate, sharing information about potential threats.
Tellou leans forward and pushes the coins toward me. “Sorry, Zarix, but they paid me more. And they offered protection.”
I snarl as he gets to his feet, calling across the bar to the Voildi.
“This is him,” he says. “This is Dexar’s spy.”
“Traitor,” I bite out, reaching for him, but it’s too late. He dances away, heading for the door.
“Sorry,” he says, his mouth turned down as regret flashes in his eyes. “I have to do what’s best for my people.”
“You’ll pay for this,” I vow, and he nods solemnly as the Voildi get to their feet.
“Perhaps. Perhaps we will meet again, old friend. But you’ll have to live through these next moments first.”
The Voildi stalk through the tavern, separating as they dodge crates and tables.
Javir stands on his crate, his face losing color as one of them pushes past him, intent on my death.
I almost laugh. Tellou has known me for many years. Yet he still somehow has no idea who I am.
Unlike others, I don’t spend my downtime at camp tumbling and drinking when I am not on a mission. I return to speak to Dexar, perhaps staying for a night or two. And then I leave, either on a new mission or to hunt for the tribe and track the Voildi.
For eight years, I have honed my skill with a sword. It will not be these Voildi that kill me this day.
Although, I have never had a female and a child to protect before.
The first Voildi reaches me, and I draw my sword.
He lunges, but he’s slow. I slide away, cursing as my back hits the wall. Fighting in such confined conditions is difficult for a male of my size. I cut him down and step aside as patrons rush for the door, desperate to flee the violence.
There are six or seven Voildi left, and I flick my gaze behind them to where Beth and Javir are hugging the wall.
“I said no fighting!” the bartender roars, lifting his crossbow.
Beth jolts toward the bartender, her pained shriek sounding as she uses her bad leg for speed. The noise carries over the panicked screams of the crowd as they vacate the tavern, and I clench my fists.
The bartender aims at me as another Voildi attacks, and I step aside, twisting to use the Voildi as a shield. The bolt goes through his throat, and I drop his body, distracted again by the female and child.
Beth swings her walking stick, hitting the bartender in the back of the head. She grabs the crossbow as he falls to his knees, and Javir picks up the bag of bolts lying close by.
The Voildi in the strange clothes turns at the commotion just as Beth hands Javir the crossbow, her hood falling from her head as she turns to me.
“Female,” the Voildi hisses, and I clench my teeth as two others of his kind attack me as one.
Beth
Zarix is surrounded, his back to the door. He could easily slip out and give himself room to fight, but I know him well enough by now to know he won’t leave us alone.
One of the Voildi has turned to me, his teeth bared. He looks a lot like the Voildi from the pack that I escaped
from, although I don’t recognize his face.
“We’re in deep shit,” I mutter, and Javir nods next to me. Zarix is currently fighting two Voildi at once. The one advantage he has is that while the space is obviously small for his huge body, the Voildi are forced to give each other space as well and can’t all attack at the same time.
At least they can’t right now. From the look on his face as he meets my eyes, he’s planning something stupid. Something stupid like crossing through the Voildi to get to us.
If we can’t get to him, he’s going to put himself at risk to protect us.
I see why he was so unhappy about us tagging along for this ride. We are liabilities.
“Can you see another way out of here?” I ask Javir. His face is pale, sweat rolling down his temples.
We both turn, scanning our surroundings while the Voildi in the strange clothes ignores Zarix, moving closer to us.
No doors. No windows on this side. We’re trapped.
“Haven’t these people ever heard of fire codes?” I snap while the Voildi pulls a long knife from behind his back and eyes Javir like he’s a tasty meal.
One year, before my father had accepted the fact that all I wanted to do was dance, he insisted I go to a regular summer camp. There were tears and tantrums as I tried to bargain with him, desperate to go to ballet camp.
Even my mother couldn’t reason with him.
“Honey,” she’d finally said, “life can’t just be about dance. You never know what other skills you’ll learn that you might find helpful one day. Plus, you might even make some new friends.”
I learned two things that summer. One, that I didn’t want any friends that didn’t understand how important ballet was. And two, that if there were a parallel universe where I could devote my life to more than one thing, that second thing would probably be archery.
Something about the feel of the bow in my hands, the graceful path of the arrow, and the thunk as it hit the target…it made me feel powerful.
Well, maybe this is a parallel universe.
I snatch the crossbow out of Javir’s hands, my own hands trembling as I pick it up, aiming it at the Voildi.
The crossbow seems almost medieval, but it thankfully has a mechanical trigger and a magazine stocked with bolts. That means that even someone of my size can use it, and it won’t take me precious minutes to reload it.
The Voildi stops in his tracks, tilting his head. Behind him, Zarix dispatches another Voildi, kicking one away as he meets my gaze.
“Fire!” Zarix roars, and I squeeze the trigger, my hands automatically responding to the command in his voice.
Somehow, for the first time since I was stolen from Earth, luck is on my side. The bolt hits the Voildi in the gut, and he shrieks as he folds, immediately pulling it out.
“Ooh, bad move, dude. Everyone knows that if you’re impaled, the object stays in.”
He bares his teeth at me but drops to his knees. Faster than I could have imagined, Javir jolts forward, sliding his knife across the Voildi’s throat.
“Javir!” I gag as blood spurts, and his wide chin sticks out stubbornly, the look in his eyes much too adult for his young face.
Okay. We’ll worry about the psychological trauma—both his and mine—later.
The bartender stirs, and I scowl at him as his eyes open to enraged slits.
“Do I have to shoot you too?”
His lips thin, but he shakes his head, groaning at the movement.
I turn as Zarix roars again, his sword sliding into a Voildi like a warm knife through butter. There are still two left, and Javir and I inch closer, stepping around bodies. Zarix is awe-inspiring, this massive, furious warrior, and I take a single moment to admire him before I pull Javir closer to the wall.
I hand Javir my walking stick and load the crossbow, but I can’t get a clean shot. It’s pretty likely that my first shot was a fluke, and chances are high that I’ll hit Zarix by mistake.
One of the Voildi stumbles, and Zarix turns, kicking the other Voildi in the gut. Javir drops my stick, knife in his hand as he leaps forward.
“No!” Zarix snaps, but it’s too late, and the Voildi grins as he raises his sword.
Then Zarix is there, pushing Javir away, and the Voildi’s sword slips into his side even as Zarix takes off his head.
“Oh my God.” I lurch forward, gritting my teeth as my eyes water with pain, and I pull Javir out of the way.
Zarix pulls the knife free and uses it to gut the other Voildi before slashing it across the first Voildi’s throat.
“Fuck.” I jump forward. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” Zarix runs his gaze over my body and then glowers at Javir. “What were you thinking?”
To his credit, Javir seems remorseful, his lower lip trembling as he takes in Zarix’s wound. For the first time, he looks like the child he is. “I’m sorry.”
Zarix’s scowl deepens. “You could have been killed.” He moves toward the door and stumbles.
“Hey,” I say. “Absolutely not. Sit down. Now.”
“We don’t have time—”
“If you pass out, we’re all screwed. Sit your ass down and let me take a look.”
Zarix stares at me for a long moment and then finally complies, slumping onto a crate with a sigh.
“Does no one know basic first aid on this planet?” I snap as I stare down at his wound. “Impaled objects stay in!”
To my surprise, the corner of Zarix’s mouth curls up. It could never be mistaken for a smile, but it’s the closest expression to it that he’s made yet, and I blink at him. Something flutters in my stomach, and I turn my attention back to the bleeding.
“I know nothing about medicine,” I say. “For all we know, he could have hit some important organ or something. We need to put pressure on it.”
Javir begins searching through some of the bags left behind in the tavern, a few of them likely belonging to the dead Voildi. I give him a hard stare as he pockets a few coins, and he shrugs but doesn’t put them back.
I sigh but give him a nod of thanks when he finds a relatively clean piece of material and a rope.
This is what my life has come to. Treating the wounds of an alien warrior with what looks like someone’s shirt and a rope. Oh, and trying to convince a bloodthirsty child not to kill anyone else.
That reminds me.
I press the shirt against Zarix’s side, taking his hand and making him hold it tight.
Then I turn back to Javir and give him a hard stare.
“Hand it over,” I say, and he doesn’t ask what I’m talking about. His jaw juts out stubbornly again, but he glances back at Zarix’s wound and then sighs, pulling out his knife and offering it to me.
The knife seemed tiny in Zarix’s hand, but it seems huge in Javir’s.
“Wipe it first,” I hiss, shuddering at the blood, and he rolls his eyes but walks over to one of the dead Voildi before leaning over and swiping it along the Voildi’s shirt.
I’m not a parent. I know nothing about children, but surely kids shouldn’t be killing Voildi. No matter their species.
Zarix gets to his feet. “We need to go. Now.”
I nod and reach for my walking stick. My leg is sticky with blood. My blood. I’ve definitely torn open some of my stitches.
Nothing I can do about it right now.
I grab my new crossbow along with a small canvas bag filled with bolts. Finders keepers. I don’t even feel bad about it, since the bartender would have taken Zarix down without a thought.
It’s getting dark as we make our way out of the tavern. Word has obviously spread about the fight because the area is almost empty. Zarix weaves, slightly unsteady on his feet.
“Lean on me,” I say, and he shakes his head.
Stubborn male. We slowly shuffle back toward the forest, and we’re almost there when Zarix stops in his tracks.
“I can smell blood,” he says. “Blood that’s not mine.” He runs his eyes over Javir and m
e.
I scowl. No way his nose is that good.
“I think I ripped a few stitches,” I say. “It’s fine.”
He glowers at me, jaw jutting out, the uncompromising look on his face so like the look Javir gave me when he killed the Voildi that I throw up my hands.
“Save me from stubborn males. Of all species,” I mutter. “Look, standing around here isn’t going to help anything. We need to get to the mishua.”
He finally nods and then stumbles, almost dropping to his knees.
Javir moves in front of him, his face straining with the effort to hold up the Braxian. I limp closer and pull Zarix’s arm around my shoulders, the height difference between us making it awkward.
“Put your hand on Javir’s shoulder,” I order, panic making my voice reedy and thin. If Zarix goes down, I have no idea what we’ll do. For the first time, I’m realizing just how much I’m relying on the huge warrior to keep us safe.
And all we’ve done is gotten him seriously injured.
The walk through the woods feels like it takes hours, the sky darkening to a forest-green color. I clench my teeth, my jaw aching with the effort of not crying out at the pain.
This pain isn’t simply from the stitches tearing. This is a deep pain. I’ve been pushing this knowledge away, unable to face it, but that doesn’t make it any less true.
The trap hurt, but it was likely the fall that did the most damage—when my body went one way and my leg stayed in place.
On Earth, I probably would’ve had surgery by now. I’d at least have had it x-rayed and examined by a professional. I’d be resting until I could embark on a painful journey of strengthening and physical therapy. What I wouldn’t be doing is walking around on it, running, or balancing the weight of a seven-foot-tall male.
The rule? Do nothing to make your injuries worse.
I laugh hollowly, and Javir turns to me, his eyes widening, likely at my grim expression.
I turn my attention back to our current situation. If we can’t get on the mishua and out of this area, the possibility that I’ll never dance again will be the least of my worries.
Chapter Eight
