by S. L. Viehl
I tucked in my chin. Beneath me, more of the crudely woven material made a rug to cushion me, and through it I felt the heat of the sand. I smelled the sharp odor of a Hsktskt and rolled, almost bouncing into two brown, scuffed boots and two blue, six-fingered hands.
I looked up into white-within-white eyes, and the scarred face of the outlaw I had seen at the medical facility. He crouched by the edge of the rug and watched me with visible interest. He smelled and dressed like a Hsktskt, but he had the body hair and skin of a Jorenian.
To know I had not imagined him was a small relief; one I discarded as soon as I remembered the attack on TssVar’s estate and the Adan rolling to the ground with Marel.
“Reever.” I jerked my head up and tried to see around me. “My daughter. What have you done with them?”
The sound of my voice made him nod. He reached to one side to retrieve a round, manacle-like device that he clipped around my neck. The rounded, heavy alloy pressed odd bumps lining the inside of it against my skin.
“You must wear this,” he said, his lips moving differently than the sounds I was hearing in my ears. “It will translate our words so we may understand each other.”
He was speaking the soft, hissing language of the Hsktskt, not Jorenian. I felt too startled by this to do more than nod.
“You are a healer, yes? And flesh, not scaled, like me. I have never seen one of my kind up close.” He shifted around me, studying me as he might a carcass he wished to butcher. One of his hands briefly covered my left breast. “You are female, yes?”
I wanted to scream at him to stop, and barely restrained myself in time. “Yes. I am Iis—Terran. I am female. I will answer any questions you have, Kheder, if you remove my chains.”
He cocked his head. “What is a kheder?”
“A leader. A male who is shown respect.”
“I am the seduhanar here. You will show me respect.” He reached over to brush some of the sand from my face.
“What does that mean?” Tasked, not understanding his title. “Seduhanar?”
“Master of war.” He inspected me from head to toe. “You are young and very small. When I saw you at the killing place, I thought you a child. Then I saw you with the smaller female at the Akade’s estate, and thought differently. You are full grown, are you not?”
I nodded. I had to bite my lip to keep from asking about Marel, and if she had been harmed during the attack.
“What are you called?”
“Jarn.” The chains around my wrists shifted as I did, and I grimaced. “Why did you abduct me?”
“I ask. You answer.” He reached out and fingered a strand of my hair. “You have this, like me. Why?”
“Hair? Why do I have hair?” I felt bewildered. “It grows from my scalp. It covers it and helps me retain my body heat.”
“The people do not have hair. They have scales. They use thermals to maintain body temperature.” He looked down at himself. “I am flesh. I do not have to do that.” He didn’t seem happy about the differences.
By “people” I assumed he was referring to the Hsktskt. “They are reptilian. We are humanoid.”
“I had scales, once,” he told me. “When I was younger. They fell off before I was grown to this size. Did you have scales when you were smaller?”
“No.” Why would a Jorenian male believe that he had once been covered in scales? Either the translator device was malfunctioning, or he was mentally defective. “May I ask one question?”
He considered that for a long moment. “One.”
“May I speak to your leader, Seduhanar?”
He sat back on his haunches. “I am PyrsVar, the leader in this place.” He smiled, and white Jorenian teeth filed to sharp points flashed. “I am a good war master, am I not? We evaded the new Akade’s guards with little trouble. This was because I scouted the Akade’s defenses. He let many attend the rite, so there were gaps in his grid. They were simple to exploit.”
I did not care how easy the raid had been for him and his men, or how foolish TssVar had been about security. I needed to know his status in this group, and how I could use that to free us.
He unnerved me, particularly with how still he was when he spoke. I had never seen a Jorenian talk so much without once using his hands to make the accompanying gestures. He also seemed to enjoy boasting of his status and accomplishments, something I had never known the Jorenians on the ship to do.
I would appeal to his vanity first. “You are the leader of the group of outlaws that attacked Akade TssVar,” I said, as if unsure.
He sighed. “Yes, outlaws, that is what the people call us. All of us, we are without line. I lead. You are my captive, and you will answer me. Why do you come here to Vtaga? Why were you at the killing place?”
“I was brought here to help the people. Some of them are very sick. The killing place is a hospital where those who are ill stay and are cared for until they are better.” There was no surprise on his face as I said this, and I wondered if he even believed me. “In any case, I am a healer, not a soldier. It is not necessary to chain me.”
“You might try to run away. The desert will eat you if you do.” He stroked my hair as if I were a pet. “You are small and thin, and your skin is a strange color, but you please me.”
“I am happy that I do.” No, I wasn’t. “If you remove my chains, I promise I will not run away from you. I do not want the desert to eat me.” I had the feeling all of my blades had been taken from me, but they might have missed one or two.
PyrsVar thought about it as he toyed with my hair. “My men will shoot you if you try to run.”
“I have told you that I will not.” Running would be useless. I was going to have to steal one of their skimmer vehicles. “I am only a female, and a healer. What harm can I do to one such as you? You are a seduhanar, a master of war. You are more clever than the new Akade.”
My flattery seemed to work, for he nodded and began removing my chains. This made him draw close enough for me to see all the details of the terrible scars on his face. From the size and shape of the old wounds, they might have been made by Hsktskt claws.
Despite my fear, I felt a pang of pity for him. “How did you receive the scars on your face?”
He didn’t answer.
“Were you a slave of the people?” I asked him. Perhaps he had been taken from his Jorenian family as a child and was thought dead by now. “Were you abused?”
“Most of the people do not know me. Slaves are flesh; I have flesh.” He tossed aside the chains that had bound my ankles and knees, and then removed my footgear to examine my feet. “You have five of these.” He touched my toes. “But I have six. Like these.” He showed me the fingers on his hands by wiggling them. “Why is that?”
“We are humanoid, but we come from different species.” Did he know nothing of Jorenians and Terrans? Perhaps if he had been slave-born, and had never left Vtaga, he would not. If that was the case, the Torins were in for a rude surprise. “I am Iis—Terran. You are Jorenian. That is why your skin is blue and mine is not.”
He grunted and went to work on the chains around my wrists. One of the outlaws approached us, but he did not look up.
“We should have done as the leader said,” the outlaw told PyrsVar. “You should not unbind her. Frightened warm-bloods are foolish with their fear. She will attempt an escape.”
“I will catch her and beat her if she does.” He gave me a hard look before he dropped the chain that had bound my wrists and pulled back the sleeves of my tunic. “You bear no slave brand.”
“I am not a slave. I came to Vtaga by my own choice.” I rubbed my wrists with my hands.
“The other one awakes,” the waiting outlaw told PyrsVar. “What should we do with him?”
“Bring him to me.” PyrsVar helped me up, and walked in a circle inspecting my form. He stood almost three feet taller than me. “There is not much to you. Are you certain that you have finished growing?”
“Yes.” I watche
d as the outlaw went into a tent and emerged with another Hsktskt. Between them they held my husband. I crossed my arms and surreptitiously checked my tunic sheaths, but all the blades had been removed. “War Master, may I ask another question?”
“Later.” PyrsVar lifted my arm and bent over to study the side fastenings of my tunic. “How do I take you out of this garment to see how the rest of you is made?”
Bruises marred Reever’s face, and blood still oozed from a deep gash on his brow. He did not struggle with the Hsktskt marching him to us, but locked his gaze with mine. Are you injured?
I was jolted by the impact of his thought, as fast and hard as a physical blow. No, I am well.
Stay out of my way. He turned his attention to PyrsVar, and nearly stumbled as the outlaw war master turned and Reever saw his face for the first time. In my thoughts appeared the image of another face, identical to PyrsVar’s except for the scars. It cannot be.
“That one is a male of your kind,” PyrsVar was asking me. “Is he not? He is the same color.”
The mental link between Reever and me ended, so I didn’t understand my husband’s reaction. It was almost as if he recognized the Jorenian outlaw.
When PyrsVar didn’t receive an answer from me, he lost interest in Reever and began prodding the hidden fasteners of my tunic, as if trying to determine how to release them. Finally he straightened and looked down at me, his expression mildly exasperated. “Take off your garments.”
Reever broke free of the guards holding him and lunged silently at the Jorenian outlaw, who pivoted and countered his kick with a sweep of one arm. I moved forward, faying to distract PyrsVar from the other direction, but I caught my heel on the edge of the rug and fell. One of Reever’s guards used my hair to drag me to my feet, and put one of his limbs across my neck, pinning me against him.
My husband and PyrsVar fought in total silence, only the sound of their fists and feet connecting with each other’s flesh making muffled thuds. They moved faster than I could follow, each whirling around the other in tight circles and half circles, as if they were performing some savage, violent dance.
A dance that came to an abrupt end, as it happened. PyrsVar produced a short whip that he wrapped around my husband’s knee and jerked to send him off balance. As Reever went down, the Jorenian used his fist to hit him at the base of his skull which knocked him unconscious.
“Tie him up,” PyrsVar said to the other guard. “See what he knows about the Akade, and then kill him.”
“Wait.” I fought against the outlaw holding me. “War Master, please. Two captives will be more valuable to you than only one.”
His all-white eyes met mine. “He is a good fighter. With a blade, he might have bested me. That means he will be troublesome. It is better this way.”
“It is only that I belong to him, and he fought to defend his claim on me,” I said. “Spare him, and I will do anything that you wish.”
“Anything.” PyrsVar flashed his pointed teeth. “Whatever I ask of you.”
“Yes.”
“Very well, Terran. He may live a little longer.” He looked at the guard holding me and gestured toward the largest tent. “Take her.”
The guard hauled me to the large tent, pulled back the flap that formed the entry, and shoved me inside.
I waited to see if he would follow, but the flap slapped shut and through the thin stuff of the wall I could see his shadow as he took up a guard position. I then looked all around me to see if there was another avenue of escape.
The outlaw’s shelter shared many similarities to those of the Iisleg, and despite my anxiety part of me relaxed. All these weeks on the ship and in the Hsktskt city I had been surrounded by the unfamiliar; here was a place that made sense, at least to my eyes.
Now if only I could understand this Jorenian living among and leading the Hsktskt. A slave might lead a revolt of other slaves, but a band of renegade slavers? Why would they make him their war master, much less follow him into combat? As a warmblooded being, he was their natural enemy.
Jarn.
I felt the whispering brush of my husband’s thoughts, and closed my eyes to focus on them. I am here.
I am in restraints and alone in a tent. Can you come and release me?
Not yet. I looked up as I heard footsteps. Someone is coming.
PyrsVar ducked into the shelter without warning or ceremony and proceeded to ignore me. It was the exact sort of thing a male of the iiskar might do, so I decided to respond as an Iisleg woman: I found a space against one wall flap and crouched there to wait and see what he would demand of me.
The outlaws had few comforts, and like the Iisleg, they were economical about their use of them. PyrsVar stripped off his outer robe, revealing a form-fitted sleeveless garment underneath that was made out of plain material and cut to resemble the thermal garb Hsktskt wore under their outer clothing.
Do you recognize him? my husband asked me through our tenuous link.
He was the one at the hospital, the one no one believed I saw, I thought.
Look at him. Let me see him through your eyes.
I looked. PyrsVar had been a warrior for a long time. Ladders of blade and weapons-fire scars ran the length of both of his arms, and I saw pits in his muscles here and there, left by deeper, gouging wounds. His hair hung longer than any Jorenian’s I had seen, and appeared coarser, but it was a solid black in color with no purple streaks indicating any significant age. His features were weathered, doubtless from the heat, but the skin of his throat was as young and tight as a boy’s.
The more I looked at him, the more I wanted to ask him questions. Reever, he is not like the other Jorenians except in form and coloring. He moves as the Hsktskt do. He smells like them.
Crossbreed, Reever thought. He must be. There is no other possible explanation for the resemblance.
I had been right; Reever had recognized him before he started the fight. Who does he resemble?
PyrsVar caught me watching him. “That male with flesh like yours, he is your mate?”
Reever answered inside my mind. Hsktskt will kill to take a mate from another male. Tell him no. Tell him you are my servant.
I shook my head. “I serve him. I take care of him and his child.”
“You said you were not a slave,” he pointed out.
“I am not.” Reever’s thoughts had suddenly faded from mine, and the link dissolved. “Servants are compensated workers, not owned property. I can choose to leave his service anytime I wish.”
He dropped down by an elongated container and, after removing the end, drank from it. Slowly he rose and brought it over to drop it in front of me. “Drink.”
I took a sniff of the liquid before I obeyed him. It was water mixed with something vaguely salty. I swallowed only a mouthful before I offered it back to him.
“What do you call the male you serve?” he asked as he hunched down in front of me.
He was using the past tense. Was Reever dead? Was that why the link had ended? “Reever. That is his name.”
“One of my men recognized this Reever. Long ago he fought as an arena slave called HalaVar. He prevailed over everyone who faced him on the sands. He left the arena a free being after he saved the life of the new Akade. He then served the Faction for many years as a spy.” He put his fingers against my face, tracing over my features. “Your skin is soft. Why is that?”
I held still, trying to process everything he was telling me about Reever while managing my own fear. “Females of my kind are that way. Have you killed Reever?”
“Not yet. You would be easy to injure.” He dropped his hand. “Why does a healer serve one like him? He is a killer and a traitor to your kind.”
All these questions. Physically he was an adult Jorenian male, and he fought as well as Reever, so why did he have the curiosity level of a child? “It is work.” I drew on the last of my patience. “One must have purpose. Mine is to serve others.”
He grunted. “You need new purpos
e.”
“Seduhanar.”
PyrsVar looked over at the guard who had come through the flap. “What is it?”
“The leader has signaled. You are to bring the captives to the stronghold.” His tongue flickered out to taste the air. “At once.”
“When I am ready.” PyrsVar made a sweeping movement with his arm, a common Hsktskt gesture of dismissal. The guard vanished.
Why did he move like them, and not at all like the Jorenians on board the Sunlace? The longer I was around PyrsVar, the more confused I became.
“This is not your permanent base,” I said carefully.
“We have many sand warrens like this one in the deep desert.” He pushed my chin up and examined my throat. “You are bruised.”
I touched the sore spot on the front of my neck. “Your guard is much stronger than I am.” I took in a quick breath as I felt Reever once more in my thoughts. What happened? Are you hurt?
No. I was distracted by something. Focus on the war master again.
“At the Akade’s estate, you were with many men who look like me.” PyrsVar sat back on his haunches. “They are my kind, my … species, you said, yes?”
Tell him the truth, my husband directed.
“Yes,” I said. “They are called Jorenians, from the planet Joren. It is your homeworld.”
PyrsVar released some air. “No. I have never been there. The first time I saw you and others like me was during the raid on the killing place.”
Reever’s thoughts grew dark and angry, but he did not show me why. We must hurry now, Jarn. Find out how he came to be on Vtaga.
“How did you come to be here?” Tasked. “Was your mother a slave?”
“I do not know. The male who raised me is one of the people. I have never been near anyone but the people, and those without line.” PyrsVar rose and walked away from me. “You will tell me about the Jorenians. About their ship and their world, and how they come to be here. Why do they help the people?”
