by J. Naomi Ay
The Two Moons of Rehnor
Book 12
Rivalry
By
J. Naomi Ay
Published by Ayzenberg, Inc.
Copyright 2012-2016 Ayzenberg, Inc.
All Rights Reserved
250116
Cover Design by Amy Jambor
Photo credits: [email protected] & [email protected]
Also by J. Naomi Ay
The Two Moons of Rehnor series
The Boy who Lit up the Sky (Book 1)
My Enemy's Son (Book 2)
Of Blood and Angels (Book 3)
Firestone Rings (Book 4)
The Days of the Golden Moons (Book 5)
Golden's Quest (Book 6)
Metamorphosis (Book 7)
The Choice (Book 8)
Treasure Hunt (Book 9)
Space Chase (Book 10)
Imperial Masquerade (Book 11)
Rivalry (Book 12)
Thirteen (Book 13)
Betrayal (Book 14)
Fairy Tales (Book 15)
Gone for a Spin (Book 16)
The Firsetter series
A Thread of Time
Amyr’s Command
Three Kings
Exceeding Expectations
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 – Hannah
Chapter 2 – Jim
Chapter 3 – Zak
Chapter 4 – Katie
Chapter 5 – Janet
Chapter 6 – Hannah
Chapter 7 – Zak
Chapter 8 – Katie
Chapter 9 – Jim
Chapter 10 – Janet
Chapter 11 – Hannah
Chapter 12 – Katie
Chapter 13 – Jim
Chapter 14 – Zak
Chapter 15 – Tuman
Chapter 16 – Dave
Chapter 17 – Jim
Chapter 18 – Tuman
Chapter 19 – Dave
Chapter 20 – Janet
Chapter 21 – Hannah
Chapter 22 – Jim
Chapter 23 – Dave
Chapter 24 – Kinar
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Hannah
When I heard about the bombs destroying Lumineria III, it was already several weeks after the fact, and frankly, I didn't care. I had enough problems of my own and Lumineria III was just another planet half a dozen light years away, so why should it matter to me?
Marik, my five year old son, was driving me insane, racing around all day in the forest, and returning after night fall despite the weather and darkness. That kid had no fear of anything, which was either due to his bravado, or stupidity, of which, the kid had plenty of both.
I would sit all day in the ancient rocking chair on the rickety, old porch where every third board was rotted through, nervously rocking back and forth, and waiting for the sound of my son's voice. Sometimes, I’d hear the crackle of leaves beneath his feet, accompanied by the rush of wings as the forest birds raced to get out of his way.
If he was late, I would pace in circles. The shack was tiny, and if I didn't watch my step, I'd end up with a leg half way through the floor. I couldn't eat until he got back, and then, most of the time I couldn't eat after that either. After so many years in space, and living in the lap of luxury, I had lost my taste for squirrel, or thrush, or any other Karupta so-called delicacies.
The news about Lumineria III was brought to me by a trader who exchanged one of the old woman's stolen silver spoons, for a can of mutton jerky, a sack of flour, a smaller bag of sugar, and two boxes of powdered milk. Actually, the milk was traded for a quick but somewhat satisfying roll in the moss bed I had constructed in the corner of the shack. At least, the guy was clean. As much as Marik needed milk, I wasn't about to risk my health to get it for him.
"Did you hear about that planet?" The trader asked afterward as we lay there in the moss, one of his arms under my neck, a leg crossed over both of mine.
That planet or any other was the least of my concerns at this point. I wanted out from under him, and I wanted him out of my house before Marik reappeared. Still, I was curious.
"What planet?" I pushed his leg aside, and scrambled to my feet, grabbing my blouse and skirt. Only ten minutes prior, I had hastily tossed them there, which was long enough for me. Maybe, not so for him.
"Lumi...something or other. One destroyed the other or so I heard." Now, he stretched out on his back and lit up a something that smelled like Barkuti, apparently intending to stay a while longer. "It was quite the talk last week when I was in Kirkut. Do you want some? It's very good, and makes you appear ten years younger than you are."
He laughed at his joke, prompting me to wish I had knife in my hand. Ten years ago, this man would not have been allowed anywhere near me.
"Sure," I replied, choosing the Barkuti over revenge.
I had always enjoyed the weightless, dreamlike state it put me in. It relaxed me, and made me marginally happy, which was a real accomplishment since my life had turned to shit. Once, I had been a Princess, married to the Imperial Prince Shika de Kudisha, and once, I had been a space doctor, an officer in the Imperial Space Navy.
Now, what was I? A fugitive, a wreck, a worn and damaged woman who took filthy nomadic traders to bed in exchange for powdered milk. In general, I was completely miserable, and the Barkuti, if only briefly, helped me to forget that.
"Women are not allowed to smoke the Barkuti," he remarked while handing me the joint. I sat back down next to him, and inhaled it deeply, completely filling my lungs.
"Yeah? Well, you're not allowed to smoke it outside a Temple."
We both laughed at that, the drug working amazingly quickly. This guy was okay. He was clean. The sex wasn't bad, and in his cart, he had plenty of stuff which I could use.
"It sure would be nice if I had a sheepskin or two to sleep on instead of this."
I waved at the dried moss, a whiff of red smoking following my hand.
"Yes, it would be much softer and warmer for you." He leaned his head back and blew a fresh cloud into the air. "What will you trade for my fine skins?"
"You can have anything I own."
Now, I waved my hand at the empty, ramshackle hut which Marik and I had been occupying for little more than two weeks. I wasn't entirely sure where we were, somewhere near the mountain road which lead to Kirkut, one of the earliest Karupatani villages settled by the refugees from Rozari.
"You are a rich woman," he replied, laughing at his own joke, the Barkuti making it seem a great deal more humorous than it was.
My entire wealth was on display, the moss mattress, a small kit containing the few items I had stolen, our paltry collection of clothing, and the handheld scanner I had purchased with my last SpaceNavy paycheck.
"Ach, but you are rich in other ways. You have a great talent."
He reached for my hand and placed it on his crotch, even though I knew full well it was the Barkuti that made he think he was ready again.
Although, he was Karupta. I gave him credit for that. The men of my native race were exceptional in precious few ways, this being one of them. He was young, too, at least a decade my junior, and he obviously had no clue who I was. The long scar down my face, and the natural darkening of my hair served as more efficient disguise than any makeup or wig.
"That I am," I agreed and rose to my feet, seemingly to stretch, and pour a small cup of water from my sole jug.
Sipping from my cup, I strolled over to the window, which was really just a hole in the wall covered by a skin someone had nailed to it centuries ago. I pulled it back, letting in the twilit forest light as well as rush
of cool breeze and a snowflake or two. The cabin looked worse now, the dim, gray light sending ghostly shadows into the corners, highlighting an intricate spider's web covering half of one wall, as well as a nest of abandoned snake skins on the floor beneath it.
"Close the window and come back," the trader said, lighting up a second joint and offering it to me.
"In a minute."
I studied his cart. It was right outside the window, his single mule grazing contentedly on the small patch of weeds at his feet, the wagon bed stuffed with boxes of goods. It didn't look too difficult to control. Two reins, a small whip, four wheels, and we'd be off. I'd never driven one before but I had flown a speeder. Surely, a mule would be simpler than a highly advanced and technical flying craft.
"What's taking you so long? I grow impatient for you."
"Sure, you do," I mumbled and dawdled over my cup. Where was Marik? Had I time for another toss or should I just end this right now, and let us both be on our way?
"Take off your clothing. Why are you so quick to cover your beautiful body?"
His words grew thick and began to slur. One more hit or two and the guy wouldn't have a clue which planet he was on, let alone what I was about to put him through.
"I do it so that each time I uncover, it is like a surprise for you."
I kept my voice low and husky, letting the skin drape fall and the room grow black once again. Only the tiny flame from his joint illuminated the darkness as I made to return my cup to its tiny shelf.
There, I retrieved my hunting knife. Actually, the knife belonged to Tuman, snatched from him while he had lain as this, blissfully unaware of my true motives. That was about a month ago, when my face was irreparably slashed. Since then Marik and I had been running through the hills, barely surviving on the wild creatures and vegetation of the winter forest.
Tuman's blade had been useful. Marik and I had both used it to kill. We skinned squirrels in a minute, severed birds' heads with one slash, sliced the bark off long branches, and whittled the ends to make spears.
Marik was already quite proficient with a bow and arrow, and could throw a spear longer than me. This was no surprise really. He was already up to my shoulder in height, and despite our diet, his young limbs bulged with muscles. But, he was young. His brain was no more than his age, and he was rash, not unlike his father. If he came back now, he'd not hesitate to kill the trader, whereas I would think it through carefully, and plan it well.
"What is taking you so long? I grow impatient for you. Come, woman. Please me again, and you shall have your sheep's skin blanket."
"Indeed, I shall," I replied out loud for I intended to have the blanket as well as everything else in his cart.
Running the blade along my finger just to make certain it was sharp, I pricked my own skin and tasted the blood. I imagined slicing the knife along the side of his neck, the hot onrush of blood as the jugular opened. Already, I could smell the metallic scent of it, an odor as familiar as my own skin.
Kneeling down next to him, I casually placed the knife against the wall above his head. He didn’t notice. He was already too far gone in the Barkuti, one hand reaching for me and the other, busy with himself.
“Come, come,” he murmured, and I did. I used him for my own pleasure and satisfaction. It was in the midst of this when Marik arrived, opening the door and bathing us in stark white moonlight.
"Mama!" He screamed, his voice filled with rage. Instinctively, I moved away from the trader, snatching my knife from behind his head. I would have killed him then. I had planned to and now, Marik's anger further fueled my own.
Before I could act, Marik launched his spear, piercing the trader's chest just below the sternum. Whether my son deliberately aimed for this lethal spot or randomly achieved it, I hadn't a clue and frankly, didn't care. In either case, the trader was dying, and there was nothing I could do to help him. I told myself this so I wouldn't feel guilty, an emotion I rarely, if ever, felt any more.
"Help me," the trader gasped, a bright trickle of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth.
The blood bubbled as his collapsing lungs deflated. I turned my back to him, and kept myself busy getting dressed once more. This way I wouldn't be tempted to try to save his life or watch my son pull out the spear and thrust it again.
"Shut up!" Marik yelled over the trader's groans. "Don't make a sound. I hate you!"
"Don't make a mess, Marik," I cautioned before slipping outside, and away from the carnage to see what I had won.
The mule regarded me dispassionately, taking a step or two in pursuit of a few blades of scraggly grass. The cart rumbled after him, its contents knocking about, rattling but none falling aside. It was obviously well secured for travel across the Karupta continent’s rough terrain. When it paused, I lifted the leather tarpaulin and inventoried my prize.
The cart was well stocked with food and provisions, more than enough to last my son and me the entire winter. Underneath the seat, the trader had hidden his purse, which was full of coins, some gold, and some silver, easily enough to buy us passage anywhere.
"It's messy in there" Marik giggled, taking childish pleasure in the carnage he had caused. Then, the shack's door creaked and shut behind him.
"I imagine it is. Too messy to stay. Come look through the cart and find yourself something warm. We're going to go find a new home."
"I'm not cold," Marik said, obstinate little fool that he was. He wiped his spearhead in a patch of moss.
"Suit yourself. I am."
In one of the boxes, I discovered a fur cloak, nutria or some other small rodent stitched together. Wrapping it around myself, I ventured back to the porch and then, cracked open the door to peek inside. If the trader was still alive, would I help him? Maybe, only to quickly put an end to his misery.
"Ay yah!" I called. "Can you hear me, friend?"
There was no response. Of course, there wouldn't be. My son was thorough, if nothing else. I cracked the door open a little wider and stuck my head fully inside. The foul odor of abdominal gasses mixed with split urine and feces was overwhelming.
"Marik," I gasped, my head spinning from the Barkuti or the stench. "Set the place afire."
While my son joyously lit a torch and tossed it into the shack, I felt my stomach turn. Quickly, I knelt by a tree and vomited all that it contained. Not much came up. I had hardly eaten for several days.
"Mama, it's not burning."
I looked up to my son on the porch. Already, he had thrown five torches inside. For a moment, they would flame and then, because the wood was damp and cold, immediately the fire would sizzle and die out.
"We should bury the body instead," I decided.
It was in quite a few pieces, and although it was nothing I hadn't seen before, it was a grisly picture.
"It stinks in there, and I want to make a fire."
"Well, you can't. Can't you see a fire isn't going to work? Come on. We'll just leave the door open. The animals will come. The body will be picked clean long before anyone discovers him here, and furthermore, no one will ever know it was us."
"He knows." Marik climbed onto the bench seat of the cart. It was just wide enough for the two of us to sit, a lean half-starved woman, and a boy of five years who was as large as a child of ten.
"Who?" Grabbing the reins, I pulled back sharply on the mule's head. The beast let out an angry noise and jostle the cart to show us his displeasure. "Kari-fa! Where is the whip?"
Finding it pocketed by Marik’s side in a small indention in the wooden bench, I snatched it, and slashed at the stubborn creature. He tossed his head again and snorted, then, slowly plodded forward.
"Where are we going, Mama?"
"Anywhere. Wherever. We'll let the mule take us to the next village."
"I'm cold."
"Get a cloak," I snapped. "Didn't I already tell you that once before?"
"I wasn't cold then."
The boy scrambled into the back of the cart, returning a
moment later with a cured wolf's skin, the head, muzzle, and claws still attached. Placing it around his body, my son looked strangely right at home. If I should die, I had no doubt, the boy would find comfort amongst a den of wolves. In no time, he would become the leader of the pack.
The light of the two moons began to fade as dark clouds swarmed overhead. Presently, it began to snow, first in delicate white flakes which grew heavier and more plentiful as we continued on. The cart wheels skidded on the dirt road as it quickly became covered in ice, causing the mule to lose his footing and slip. After steadying himself a few times, the beast grew tired of struggling. He came to a halt in the middle of the forest with nothing around us but trees already heavily laden with snow.
"Go! Go!" I yelled and worked the whip but he refused to budge. Instead, he dropped his head and closed his eyes.
As the snow blew around us, the wind carrying it in swirls through the forest, obscuring our path, I climbed from the wagon and looked around.
"Stay there," I ordered Marik, walking a few paces but keeping the wagon in sight. My footprints quickly disappeared in the snow. We were alone, the forest blindingly white and silent.
"What are we going to do, Mama?"
"We're going to hide under the wagon," I decided. "Look in the cart and find a shovel or something to clean beneath it."
Marik produced a pan, and a broom from underneath the tarp. With these, I cleared a space for us to hide. I hung the tarp as a make-shift wall, and so for the duration of the night, my son and I huddled in the sodden dirt next to the wheels.
While Marik slept with his head upon my lap, I watched the tarp flap with each breath of wind, and the snow rise around us, locking us inside. It was silent in this odd cave, except for the soft, steady sounds of my child's breaths, and the loud thumping of my heart echoing in my ears.
By morning, an eerie white glow illuminated the ice walls of our prison, which crackled and trickled streams of water as they began to melt. It was warm inside and the light was comforting, almost womb-like as if we were waiting to be reborn.
