by Dante King
What the creature held out to me was nothing more than a small pouch of white leather. When my eyes focused on what was sewn to the center of the pouch, my breath was taken away. I recognized it just as easily as I could have recognized my own reflection. It was the cloth rank insignia of a Federation Sergeant of Marines.
My people are in Brazud. I know they are. This is evidence. We need to leave right now. I’ll kill every single person, alien or not, who’s harmed any of them.
It took me a moment, but I was able to let go of my astonishment. The rank insignia was real, but I didn’t see any blood on it. It might have come from a discarded uniform. It also might have been cut from a dead body found in the woods. Either way, it was evidence that the Lakunae had been at least a little honest.
Crew members from the Revenge had landed on this planet.
“We need to leave,” I said to Yaltu. “Find a place to stay, somewhere secure. How far of a trek is it to Brazud?”
“I have no intention of walking,” she said. “Follow me. I need to introduce you to someone.”
We waved goodbye to the townsfolk as we walked into the woods. I wanted to ask her how far away this person was and to remind her that we were both in a hurry, but I held my tongue. If she had a faster way to get to Brazud, I wanted to see it.
She stopped when we reached a hill covered in green plants bursting with sweet-smelling purple wildflowers. Yaltu raised her chin, and a complicated set of notes whistled free of her throat and mouth. A moment later, the melody was repeated from somewhere deeper in the woods.
Yaltu whistled a new melody twice as complicated as the first. Another musical sound echoed from deeper within the forest. I recognized the exchange for what it was, a challenge-response test. It was the only way she and her mysterious friend would be able to recognize each other without being able to see each other.
From the darkness of a tight copse of trees, a dragon the size of a hovercraft flew into the sky. At first, I thought it was like the cyborg-dragon I’d fought with the Ish-Nul, but this one wasn’t covered in metal plates. Its scales were entirely organic, its patches of silver glistening in the sunlight. The dragon turned once and stretched its neck toward us as it began to descend.
I hadn’t realized that I’d half-drawn my sword until I felt Yaltu’s hand on my own.
“Do not,” she said. “She is Amin, and she has long been my friend and companion. Please do not harm her.”
I returned Ebon to its sheath and lifted one arm to protect my eyes from the dust the beast was kicking up as it flapped its huge wings and settled gently on the ground in front of us.
“Greetings, Jacob.”
The words felt like they came from within my own mind. The voice was female, sultry, and wise. I wasn’t sure what the expression on my face looked like, but Yaltu’s smile and laughter told me it was funny. The dragon had also known my name. I figured either she had some limited form of telepathy that could read my thoughts, or Yaltu had told her my name.
“Wow,” Skrew whispered as he tugged on my arm and pointed, as if I couldn't see the silver dragon sitting right there in front of me.
“Greetings, Amin,” I said.
A feeling of pleasure and acceptance touched my mind. I wasn’t sure how, but I was certain the feeling came from the dragon.
“This is your preference to walking?” I asked Yaltu.
“I will take you upon my back to where you must go,” Amin said.
That mental link washed over me again and whispered of the dragon’s love for Yaltu, and, by extension, me as well.
As for Skrew, she promised not to eat him.
I laughed. My enemies were about to get a big surprise.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Keep your legs tight against her flanks,” Yaltu instructed.
I mounted the dragon and caught hold of a bony ridge to use as a handhold. The dragon offered me a small moan in response, and I yanked Skrew up to sit behind me.
“Mind that you don’t slip when she lands; you might find you lose something rather precious.” Yaltu tapped the handhold on the ridge of the dragon’s spine between my legs as she climbed effortlessly onto the back of our majestic method of transportation.
“Hold onto me,” Yaltu instructed. “It’ll make it less tiresome for Amin when she turns.”
The air cooled as Amin coiled herself and took a running start.
With three powerful thrusts of her wings, she launched herself into the air. Dust, leaves, and pine cone-like seed pods bounced off nearby trees, pattering us like they were at war.
We headed south, staying low to the ground, no more than 10 yards from the treetops to avoid being spotted.
To our north was a forest so thick, I could barely make out the hills and valleys it grew upon. The treetops almost touched each other, making the forest look like the green fur of a gigantic, sleeping beast.
I held onto Yaltu, per her instructions, so I could lean with her in the turns. She said there was little chance we would fall off, but holding on to each other would help Amin keep us safe.
I didn’t mind wrapping my arms around Yaltu’s waist. She was thin, but beneath her clothes, I could sense a strong body and couldn’t help wondering how different we might be.
I was curious, but my imagination was hindered by the fact that Skrew had all four of his arms wrapped around my body as well. Getting hugged by an insane vrak wasn’t something I’d ever get used to.
“Shadow!” Skrew called to me as we soared over the treetops.
“What?” I asked, unsure I’d heard him correctly.
He removed one of his hands and pointed to our left. “Shadow,” he said again. “Jacob must never go to Shadow. It is place of much bad. Many bad.”
I looked where he was pointing and wasn’t sure what I was seeing at first. Several miles away was a huge lake. From the center of the lake, a triangular shape jutted from the surface like an icy spike. A heavy mist veiled most of the structure. All I could see was a vague outline and the needle-like point protruding from the clouds.
I was curious enough to know that someday, I’d have to take a closer look. Whatever the thing was, it was unique among the other features of the landscape. That uniqueness gave it a definite artificial, constructed look.
A tight cluster of chaotically built structures with pale, red roofs were surrounded by a tall city wall ahead of us. The population, it seemed, had outgrown the walls meant to protect it from the rest of the world. There were hundreds, possibly thousands, of small buildings surrounding the city as well. The buildings were interlaced with the colorful patchwork of farmland, unmistakable from our height, even though thick pillars of smoke obscured much of the city. The residents of this planet sure liked to burn things.
“Why aren’t we flying into the city?” I asked when I noticed that Amin was making a low turn to Brazud’s west.
“My home is not in the city,” Yaltu said over her shoulder loud enough to overcome the rush of the wind as we flew. “And those within Brazud hunt those like Amin. If she flew close enough, they might strike her from the skies.” She patted the dragon on her neck reassuringly. “We will be safe in my home.”
“You will be safe there,” Amin echoed to me reassuringly.
“I have food, drink, and a place to rest for all of us.”
“She does, indeed.” Amin turned her head to gaze at me with one of her pale, blue eyes. “She has a place of rest, a place I cannot stay. But worry not for me, young Jacob. I shall make my way to my own place of rest.”
I opened my mouth to speak but wondered if I even needed to. Could Amin read my mind?
“When you see my sisters,” Amin said, “speak to them of our time as hatchlings. Remind them of the promise made under the moon. Then, they will know they can trust you.”
She turned her head forward and began to descend toward the far edge of the settlements outside the city.
Amin slowed enough for me to be able to talk to Yaltu witho
ut yelling directly into her ear.
“Tell me more about Brazud,” I said.
Yaltu nodded and sighed deeply while she gathered her thoughts. “The city of Brazud is ruled by King Demetrios. He is wicked. He kills for the minor offenses a child might make. He knows the Sitar. They support him, but some say he fears them. They say this is why he does not lead the people against them. But do not speak such things in the presence of others. It is punishable by death.”
I must have been making a face, because she glanced at me and added, “Please do not. He has no mercy.” Her face was a mask of mixed emotions.
I didn’t care about whether he’d show me mercy, but I nodded solemnly to keep Yaltu from worrying. If this king and I ever met, though, we might need to have a few words. Very few.
“So, he was appointed by the Sitar?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No, he captured power from the old leadership.”
I raised an eyebrow. “How did he capture power?”
She hesitated for a moment. I couldn't tell if the memory was a bad one, or if she had to think about it. I had to listen carefully when she spoke again, because her voice was almost a whisper.
“The Sitar had not been seen in many cycles,” she explained. “The people had become enemies of one another. Divisions of age, ancestry, and others caused the people to make war with each other. Those who remained neutral were considered traitors by all sides. People were killed. The world was full of fire.”
She was there; that much was obvious, but whether it was recent history or a long time ago, I couldn’t be sure. But I wanted to know how Demetrios had captured power, so I pushed onward.
“He took advantage of the chaos and appointed himself leader?”
“No,” she said in a hollow voice. “One of the people united the warring factions. Not with war or violence but with words. The people named him their leader. Demetrios killed him and claimed leadership as his own.
“The people were afraid. They did not want war to return. They did not want any more to die. They had known war and peace. They preferred peace, so they allowed Demetrios to rule.
“When the Sitar returned, he bowed to them and swore fealty. They allowed him to rule and granted him even more power. This is where we are today. This is our time.”
Struggles for power were universal across all systems, it seemed.
“Demetrios captured his power more than 20 cycles ago,” Yaltu continued. “He keeps the citizens entertained with bloodshed.”
I thought of cheap entertainment at the expense of others. It was the mindless holovids of the present day. It also kept the people at odds with one another. They did not have to compete among themselves if others did it in their stead.
I suddenly found myself pushed forward against Yaltu’s body, which was pleasant. Skrew’s body was pressed hard against mine, which was not pleasant. He gasped right in my ear, and I wanted to reach over my shoulder and hold his lips closed until we landed.
Amin flapped her wings hard as she brought us to a stop mid-air right in the middle of a thick cloud of acrid smoke. It would help to hide the exact spot where we landed, but it wasn’t pleasant. According to the feelings and sensations the dragon was transmitting, it was even worse for her. But her love of Yaltu was stronger than her desire to remain comfortable.
Amin continued her descent in small circles, kicking dust, pinecones, and litter into the air before landing gently in a small clearing next to a run-down but serviceable single-story house.
The building was constructed mostly of old wood. It appeared to have had recent maintenance, including several layers of cheap, green paint that were peeling from the wet and swollen panels.
We all dismounted, and Amin turned, ran a hundred yards, and launched herself into the air. The smoke kept her hidden, and she continued through it for a while before increasing her altitude. Doing so would help disguise our location if anyone happened to be watching. I hoped I would have the opportunity to spend more time with Amin. I guessed she knew a lot more about tactics and strategy than the average person on this planet.
After only a few steps toward the building, four small people resembling humans burst outside to greet us. Their large noses bounced as they ran, making them appear quite comical. Their faces were flat, and they had no neck to speak of. As funny as they looked, the combination made them appear quite comical, but I sensed a hidden power within each of them, a strength they kept to themselves until they needed to do otherwise. Their dirty faces and hands demonstrated either hard work or crippling poverty.
The leader took Yaltu by the hand and hurried us toward a fifth who was holding the back door to the structure open.
“You’ve returned to us,” the leader murmured reverently.
“I’d be in Skald’s clutches if not for the others,” Yaltu said as she entered the building.
As the door closed behind me, and my eyes adjusted to the near-blackness of the interior, little details began to emerge. The interior of Yaltu’s home was much nicer than the exterior. Woven rugs in brilliant colors covered most of the wood floor. Small guttering candles in simple, polished metal sconces adorned the walls, along with arrangements of dried flowers.
The furniture was sparse and utilitarian, far from what I’d expected such an elegant woman to own. Priorities being what they were, I also understood that obvious displays of wealth could attract the attention of those who wanted to take more than they earned.
The small family took us through a dining room to a closed door at the end of the left wall. The carpet in front of the doorway was filthy but looked as though it had been cleaned so many times, it was beginning to fall apart. The servant guiding Yaltu stopped at the door and looked her in the eye, a silent question on his lips.
“They are friends,” Yaltu said. “They may enter. They saved my life.”
The small humanoid eyed me suspiciously for a moment before turning back to the door. He pulled the handle, twisted it twice to the left, and once to the right. An audible click announced it was unlocked before he pulled it open.
I was instantly met by the heavy scents of damp earth, humidity, and something much more pleasant: cooking food. There was a staircase of sorts, constructed of the same wood as the outside of Yaltu’s home, but instead of feeling weathered and old, it was sturdy and firm. Someone had worked hard and often to keep the stairs in good repair.
The stairwell was dark. Only a soft, unidentified blue light at the end provided any illumination at all. I slid my hand along the wall as I made my way down. I’d expected to find more wood. Instead, I discovered rough-hewn stone and mortar. Rather than being cool to the touch, it was warm.
When we reached the bottom, I saw why the servants had been so dirty. They were digging. The enormous room, at least twice the size of the home above, was supported by pillars. Although there was no stone carving happening at the moment, along one wall, small piles of gray powder intermingled with chips of stone were neatly swept against the walls.
One of the little servants was filling his pockets with dirt and dust with the help of another, a pretty female. They both looked up in guilty surprise at the strangers before Yaltu smiled at them, and they relaxed.
That’s how they’re doing it undetected, I thought. They’re filling their pockets with the rubble and dirt. Then, they probably walk around the outskirts of the town and the forest, dumping a little here and there until their pockets are empty. When it’s done, they return and do it again. No doubt the guards would notice if any of them were dumping wheelbarrows full of dirt in any one place.
The lighting mystery was soon solved as well. Glowing mushrooms grew from the walls in spots where it would make sense to use torches. But instead of the smoke real torches would produce, there was only light.
“Oooh,” Skrew whispered, “is good for eating?”
“Only if you want to take its place,” I warned him. “You’ll start to glow, and mushrooms will grow out of your ass. Then, we
’ll have to hang you from the wall until you become a mushroom yourself.”
Skrew clamped three of his hands over his mouth as his fourth held up two fingers like some kind of ward against eating something so bad. Good enough.
Yaltu ignored us, busy with two of her friends who kept running between a doorway on the right and back to her, bringing her things. One time, it was clean clothing that seemed to be made of a purple silk. Another time, it was a delicious-looking fruit that resembled a plum but was six times as big. Then, it was a comb, a bar of soap, a shoe, and a hammer-like tool.
She declined each of the gifts with grace and kindness, though I didn’t think it could have been easy for her. They hounded her for her attention and treated her like a goddess. Whoever she was to these people, she was important.
When an old woman offered her a purple fruit with salmon-colored stripes, she gratefully accepted. The little woman beamed with pleasure at having her gift accepted.
Yaltu’s smile of appreciation was genuine. The small scales along her neck seemed to smooth even more and appeared to be nothing more than makeup. I hadn’t seen her so relaxed, and when she was, her beauty shone through all the worries and stress she must have felt.
Yaltu leaned forward and kissed the top of the old woman’s head, whispered something in her ear, and the small alien ran off.
“Skrew,” she said as she turned to the vrak, who eyed the big fruit hungrily, “you will sleep with the servants. They are preparing a space for you. They are also preparing for dinner, and I’ve warned them that you enjoy eating until you are nearly ready to pop. Please join them.” She motioned toward the wall on our right, along which were two doors. Skrew picked the far one, peered around the corner, and walked inside.
I was nearest the closer door, so I took a step back and looked inside. Several small servants milled around the room, chatting about digging, food, and how many guards were present these days. Others napped on little beds or tended to an oven. I didn’t see any smoke, so I wasn’t certain what the heat source was.
