TALON (RIBUS 7 Book 4)

by Shae Mills

  Her destiny once again was a larger, deeper haven, the cavern where she had birthed Shan’s child. Though it lacked the beauty of the solution features that adorned this one, it was warmer and sufficient. The Batex roamed there too, and water was abundant. The cavern was much dimmer, lit from above and by other sources she had never identified. But right now, it did not matter. What mattered was finding it, and she rose to her feet.

  Taking a deep breath, she walked to the far wall and scrambled up into a dark tunnel. Then she took out her small light and began her journey. The tunnel was rough, coated with moist crystalline calcite that reflected the light like millions of tiny diamonds. As she inched along, she watched her footing carefully. She did not need any injuries now that she was alone. Finally, the tunnel widened, and Chelan was confronted with three choices. She knew that two of the passages led to her cavern, the third into uncharted areas. Of the first two, one entered the cavern at ground level, the other much higher. Both were long and convoluted, and only time would tell her if she had made the right choice of passage. Searching her memory was of little help, as she had passed this way only once before, so long ago.

  Chelan made her selection and began the second leg of her journey. When dim light finally filtered in, she slumped to the ground for a rest. She tried to catch her breath while berating herself. The trip had been much more strenuous than before, and now she knew she had mistakenly taken the upper passage. But before beginning her descent to try again, she wanted to take a look at the cavern that had so long ago been her refuge.

  Chelan leaned back against the wall and waited for her heart rate to return to normal. Her thoughts churned, and with renewed vigor, she decided to adjust her overall attitude. She chose this life this time. She was not coerced or forced. It was not going to be a life rooted in emptiness: it would be a life that embraced self-reliance and fortitude. It would be what she made of it. And if things truly got bad, she knew exactly how to get back to Satanya. It was all going to be an adventure, plain and simple. And on her own, like before, peace would be her just reward.

  Suddenly, she became rigid, a banging noise assaulting her ears. She pushed away from the wall and held very still. Then it came again, the clashing of rock against rock resonating through the tunnel. “What the hell…” she whispered.

  Chelan shuffled to her knees and crept cautiously up the passage. As the light grew stronger, her progress slowed. Finally, the intermittent sound stopped, and so did she. Silently, she reached into her shroud and found one of her lazguns. Sneaking forward, she approached the entrance to the cavern. She pulled her hood over her head, the inky blackness of the shroud casting her into the realm of shadows. Charily, she peered over the ledge and down into the massive cave. Her breath caught.

  At the pool’s edge squatted a man, his attention riveted to his work, a task she could not ascertain. From her distance and position, she could not determine his size, but he was well conditioned, his naked upper body gleaming in the filtered light. Chelan shifted to her stomach, clutching her gun as she watched.

  His hands worked slowly, his arm muscles rippling in response to his demands. His hair was long and straight, cascading over his hunched shoulders and down to the middle of his back. Chelan squinted, and then her eyes widened. His hair was black. Not blue-black, not iridescent, like the Iceaneans’—just pitch black.

  She licked her lips and clenched the gun tighter. His skin was not the deep bronze she knew so well, either. Instead, it was a sun-baked reddish brown, and suddenly, she distrusted her own eyes. She looked about at the lighting and then focused on her hand. She set the gun down and partially removed one glove. But her skin was white: the colors of the cavern were true. She looked back at the man—he was definitely not Iceanean. Replacing her glove and retrieving the gun, she rested her head on her arm and continued to observe.

  Finally, he stood. Chelan found herself unwilling to move. He was tall and muscular, yet he had a sinewy slenderness—a man built for speed and distance. He wore shorts, tan in color, that sat low on his hips and reached mid-thigh.

  An assortment of emotions swirled within her, disappointment over her sanctuary’s invasion punctuated by excitement. Who was this alien man? She watched with rapt curiosity as he moved away from the pool and crouched down near a sack. There, with his back to her, he continued to work at his task. Chelan began to breathe again and released her hold on the gun. Folding her arms under her chin, she maintained her vigil over the intruder into her domain.

  He carried on with his work for a time and then sat down. Reaching for another pack, he pulled out some items and then donned knee-high boots. Chelan recognized the material right away as the soft hide of the Batex, its fineness hugging his muscular calves. Then, in the top of one boot, he sheathed a large knife, the blue blade causing Chelan to glance at her own weapon.

  Finally, he stood and stretched. Chelan instinctively hunkered down. If she had been on Earth, she would have sworn she was looking straight at the body of a Native American. She inched forward again. She had still not seen his face, but for some reason, she was overly anxious to see his eyes. Would they have the glowing beauty of azurite? Or would they match his other characteristics? Chelan made a bet with herself. They would be as black as his hair, she decided, and she wriggled forward again.

  Then, with frustration, she watched as he walked away from her to the far side of the cave. There he scaled the cavern wall with the skill and dexterity of a spider. Within seconds, he disappeared into the inky blackness of a passage, and all was silent.

  Chelan stared after him, her heart pounding, and her inquisitiveness gnawing at her. If he had been Iceanean, she would have slunk away and found her own space. But he was as exotic to her as she had been to Korba, and she was captivated.

  Grabbing her gun, she fled back down the corridor at a dangerous speed. Aided by her light, she made it back to the fork in the tunnels in no time. Then she chose a second passage and began her trek back, her excitement barely containable. When she finally reached the lower entrance to the cavern, she knelt down and flattened herself into the shadows. She scanned the scene about her. There were numerous stacks of provisions, some protected from the Batex by piles of rocks, just as she had done. In one corner by the wall was a large, spread-out fur—for sleep, she assumed, right where she would have put it. But the more she observed, the more questions she had.

  The man had obviously been here a while, and he obviously intended to stay. Chelan bit her lip. She needed to know who he was and why he was here. She felt her heart pound harder. In all her years in the caverns, no one had ever discovered her. The caverns had never been detected or explored by the Empire, to her knowledge. So, just who was this mystery man.

  Chelan frowned, wondering where he had gone and when he would be back. Maybe if she looked around, she could find some clue to his identity, but she would have to be quick. She stood up and peered into the chamber. No time like the present, she thought, and she took a step out of the tunnel. Suddenly, a powerful arm surrounded her chest, pinning her arms to her sides and rendering her lazgun useless. Chelan went to struggle but thought better of it as a blade pressed into her neck.

  “Who are you?” a man growled in a menacing voice.

  Chelan concentrated. She knew not who had her for sure, the man she had just seen or another. Adding to her quandary was the fact that the language was Iceanean, but the accent was foreign. She closed her eyes and drew back against his chest, seeking refuge from the bite of his blade. Then she wondered about revealing her real name, but there was no reason not to. “My name is Chelan,” she finally croaked.

  “Why are you here?”

  “This used to be my home. I merely return.”

  “You lie!” he barked. “You come armed and in the garb of an Imperial warrior. This is not your home.” And he pressed the knife closer to her throat.

  Chelan feared talking lest the simple act lead him to slice her skin, but she had little choice. “Plea
se. I speak the truth. I lived here years ago. I returned to the Empire for a time, but now that it is under new rule, I seek sanctuary here once again.” She closed her eyes. “And I am no warrior,” she uttered faintly.

  The man suddenly released her, snatching away the lazgun as he shoved her into the cavern. Chelan stumbled and fell heavily to the ground. A jagged rock gouged into her thigh, and she gasped at the unexpected pain.

  She looked out from under her hood just in time to see him squat close to her, his knife held to her face. She clutched at her leg and tried to get her wind, but she dared not move more than that. “Please,” she begged. “I am no threat. The cavern is yours. I will return to another cavern and leave you in peace.”

  He came forward onto his knees, and with his free hand, he wrenched her head back. Then, with the tip of his knife, he removed her hood. Chelan quit breathing. It was the man she had seen before, and his eyes were as black as coal, just as she suspected they would be. His handsome face was finely chiseled, as if from stone itself. His skin, a deep red, was accented by his black hair, its thickness and luster beyond compare.

  He in turn studied her, his knife hand faltering. She was an ashen beauty like none he had ever seen before. Her large eyes were deep brown, her skin porcelain white, and her hair was spun of light silk, its length still to be revealed. He released her head. She was no warrior, of that he was now sure.

  Finally, he sat upon the ground and sheathed his blade. He raised his knees and rested his arms upon them. Only then did Chelan begin to breathe. She struggled to sit up straight, but a pain shot through her thigh. She tried gallantly to ignore it and attempted to still her thudding heart. “Who are you?” she asked.

  The man remained motionless as if deciding whether it was wise to divulge even the simplest of information. “You may call me Braedon.”

  Chelan pushed herself straighter. “I am sorry I intruded,” she offered in peace.

  He nodded to her. “Where are you from?”

  “From a long way away,” she stated.

  He looked at her expectantly. “You are not of the Empire?”

  Chelan shook her head. “And neither are you.”

  Braedon finally smiled. “That is true.”

  Chelan looked at his face, his features now warm. “Are you of the South?”

  Braedon nodded.

  Chelan finally returned his smile. “I have never met a man of the South.”

  Braedon studied her almost skeptically. “And I would venture that you are alien. Though our world is diverse, your extreme paleness dictates that you are not of it.”

  Chelan nodded warily and leaned back away from him.

  Braedon smiled again. “Don’t worry. I will not kill you because you are of alien origin.” He raised his brow and looked at her shroud. “But I am surprised they did not.”

  “They?”

  “The Northern people,” he clarified. “The people of the Empire.”

  Chelan relaxed slightly. “Believe me,” she said quietly, “it crossed their minds, several times.”

  Braedon chuckled. “Well, you survived, obviously, so what brings you here?”

  Chelan took a deep breath. “Solitude and peace.”

  Braedon nodded with empathy. “I know the feeling.”

  Chelan watched him as he released his knees and reached behind his back, drawing out her gun. He set it on the cave floor beside him. His ebony eyes moved to hers. “Were you persecuted?”

  Chelan hesitated. “Not exactly. I just didn’t seem to fit the Imperial mold. Were you?”

  Braedon shook his head. “No. I am an engineer. I come here a few months every year to study the internal engines that fuel this part of the world.”

  Chelan’s eyes widened. “You pick dangerous work to conduct alone. And that is in addition to the fact that this cavern is within the boundaries of the Empire.”

  Braedon shrugged. “I suspect your retreat here was not without peril. And somehow I doubt your escape here was condoned by those close to you.”

  Chelan grinned. “You have that right. I just hope I haven’t jeopardized you.”

  Braedon’s eyes sparkled. “I think not. I know these caverns as well as I do myself. I hear and see all.”

  “So I noticed.” And she rubbed at her neck. “The Empire under Korba—did he not establish peace with the South?”

  “He did. But the new Empire has left our status, shall I say, in limbo. I assume that the new Emperor is at the moment too preoccupied with all that he has accomplished. We are not at war, but there has been precious little communication between our people and his since the takeover. I am afraid that for now, it is a wait-and-see situation.”

  Chelan nodded. “I guess being ignored for the time being is better than the way it used to be, so long ago.”

  Braedon chuckled and then rose to his feet with the ease and grace of a deer. He picked up her gun and then extended a hand to her. “Come, you must be hungry.”

  Chelan went to reach for him and then winced. “I am afraid my leg is injured,” she admitted. “I think I will just sit here for a bit.”

  Braedon’s lips thinned. He tucked her gun back into the waistband of his shorts and then knelt down by her. He reached for her shroud, but Chelan instinctively recoiled. Braedon withdrew his hand. “I will not hurt you.”

  Chelan studied his alien features. She knew nothing about him or his ways. His sharp facial contours connoted savagery; his size and strength were indisputable. But his offer was contrary to that image. Flashes of Earth’s history bolted through her mind, and she became very still.

  Braedon waited patiently. “You do not trust me. I can tell.”

  “That would be incautious of me.”

  He smiled. “True, but if you need help, you have little choice.” Then he reached back for the lazgun and handed it to her. “Here. I trust you.”

  Cautiously, she took the gun and concealed it in her shroud. Then, involuntarily, she reached for his face, her fingertips barely kissing his flesh. He did not flinch at her touch, and she noted that his skin was as smooth as could be.

  “I remind you of someone?” he said.

  Chelan retracted her hand. “On Earth—Calley, my home—there were once many proud nations of people with coloring and features such as yours. You merely stir my memory.”

  Braedon sat back down and crossed his legs. Chelan smiled at his posture.

  “Who were they?” he asked.

  Chelan shrugged. “They were, and are, many. But it is a long story. Collectively, in the part of the world I last lived in, we call them Native Americans.”

  Braedon continued to stare at her in silence, wishing she would continue with her story, but she seemed unwilling. He looked down at her leg. “You should let me tend to that.”

  Chelan drew in an uneasy breath. “I guess,” she whispered, and she began unraveling herself from her shroud. Finally, she exposed her thigh, the gash in her uniform surprising her.

  Braedon moved to her and opened the torn cloth. “It looks deep.”

  Chelan watched as he sprang to his feet and retrieved some cloths and equipment from a pack. Returning to her, he sat down and smiled. “I am no doctor, but it looks clean.”

  Chelan nodded and then leaned back onto her elbows. “It is all yours.”

  He peeled back the material and then gently opened the wound to inspect it. Chelan groaned and eventually collapsed to the ground, sweat beading on her forehead.

  Braedon watched her for a moment and then continued. Spreading the wound open as much as he dared, he poured some antiseptic over it. Chelan cried out, clutching at her upper thigh. “Jesus,” she muttered.

  Braedon winced. “Sorry, but there is no other way. The antiseptic has an anesthetic in it, but it takes a moment to work.” He grabbed a cloth and pressed it over the wound to help stem the flow of blood his manipulations had induced.

  Time passed, and he watched her chest, judging the degree of her pain by how deeply it ros
e and fell. As her breathing eased, he looked down at the blood-soaked cloth. Applying another, he waited patiently. Finally, the bleeding stopped.

  Chelan peered at him just as he drew his blade. “What are you going to do?” she asked nervously.

  “I have to cut away a portion of your uniform so that I can dress the wound.”

  “No. I need the uniform for protection should I ever decide to return to the Empire.”

  Braedon hesitated. “Then you must take it off.”

  “Just wrap the bandage around as is. I will remove it later.”

  “I have some bonding gel, but it would be easier to apply—”

  “Just bind it as is. It will knit quickly.”

  Braedon watched her for a moment, pondering the absurdity of such a plan, and then he conceded. “Fine. But it will be awkward.”

  Chelan nodded. “I will manage.”

  Braedon took out what appeared to Chelan to be gauze, which he applied, and with a small pen-like device he melded the material into place. Then, without warning, he stood and scooped her into his arms.

  Chelan yelped with surprise but clung to him. “What are you doing?”

  “Moving you closer to the water and the supplies.” He sat her down upon a white fur.

  Once Chelan settled, she ran her fingers through the beautiful pelt. “Batex,” she murmured.

  Braedon sat down next to her. “Uh-huh. I see you are familiar with them.”

  Chelan smiled up at him. “I had to be. They kept me alive here for years.”

  Braedon raised his brows. “Years?”

  Chelan nodded. “It is a very long story, best left for another time.”

  Braedon reached behind him and offered her some packaged food, its identity not readily apparent. But Chelan accepted, and both were silent for a time. She nibbled at the food. “I want to thank you for your help,” she said. “I won’t bother you for long. As soon as my leg quits throbbing, I will leave you to your work.”