Kerrigan's Race (The Syreni Book 1)

by C. M. Michaels

  Taleoek spun around and whipped his tail out like he’d been shot out of a cannon, catching me across the back of my tail about two feet up from my flukes before I’d even attempted to move. I thought I felt bones breaking as I was flipped ass over head. Before I’d righted myself he landed a sledgehammer of a blow that split my left cheek wide open and made me see stars.

  By the time I cleared the cobwebs from my brain my head and arms were unceremoniously sprawled across the stone floor, my tail bobbing along above me in the current. He offered me a hand which I none-too-gently batted away in anger. My cheek burned, and I could feel my eye swelling, but I assumed my fighting stance again without complaint. You’re lightning fast, commander. Nice shot. I’m impressed.

  He settled back into his own graceful, fluid stance and started to glide through the water again. As am I, cadet. That blow would have put most centurions—the rank you will achieve if you graduate—down for the count. I’m pleased to see our queen does not have a glass jaw.

  Rather than relying on my limited kickboxing skills—which it appeared would require a lot of retraining to account for my tail—I switched over to an Aikido style, hoping to use his momentum and superior strength against him. When he thrust his tail and threw a roundhouse punch aimed at the left side of my head I lifted my left forearm until it made contact with the underside of his wrist, brought my elbow up to change his angle of attack and spun to my right so we were side-by-side, redirecting his momentum. After grabbing hold of his wrist with my left hand, I gave a slight kick of my tail to pull him off balance, bent his wrist backward so that his fingers faced his chin and drove my right hand into the bend of his elbow. I moved toward him to maintain the pressure on his joints until I’d driven him all the way down onto the stone floor.

  Unfortunately my ground game had never been worth a damn. Not having feet only made it worse. I tried to close the distance between us and land a punch before he recovered but all I received for my trouble was a sharp elbow to my already battered cheek that rattled my teeth.

  It took far longer for me to resume my position the second time around. I even accepted his help, as humbling as it was to admit I needed it. I wasn’t entirely sure where I was at the moment.

  He kept a firm hand on my shoulder as if he was comforting me, even though we both knew it was the only thing keeping me vertical at the moment. That was a fine take down. I see you’ve studied Aikido. Unfortunately, it doesn’t appear your training covered what to do with your opponent after taking them to the ground.

  I dabbed at my ballooning cheek with my hand, not at all surprised to see my fingers come away covered in blood. I could barely see out of my left eye anymore. I’d expected to get my ass kicked, but I thought I would’ve gotten in a few shots of my own along the way. This was embarrassing. Not much of a need to learn how to finish opponents when you’re cross-training. Especially when my only opponent was my fiancé.

  He let out a couple chirps as he carefully checked my wound. Being forced to breathe in the crimson-colored water that surrounded me was beyond gross. Fair point. This is going to need stitches. We should probably get you to Damille to get it taken care. You’re losing a lot of blood.

  Christ. We’d just started. If I let things end here—with me in the infirmary after less than a minute of sparring—I doubted I’d ever see the inside of Castra Athena again in spite of Aristos’s promise to train me. He was going to be livid when he saw my battered face. My only shot—and it was a slim one, relying on my compar not killing my instructor and being willing to listen to reason—was to convince Taleoek I had potential so he’d go to bat for me. I sure as hell wasn’t going to accomplish that by quitting. I swam away from him and raised my hands again. I’ll live. Might as well wait until we’re finished so they can fix whatever else you break.

  Taleoek gave me a respectful nod as he reached out to bump fists with me again. You’ve got balls, cadet. Now show me some fire. It’s not enough that you can take a beating. Give me a glimpse of the warrior female who took down a griffin.

  As pep talks went it wasn’t bad—I could almost hear the Rocky theme song playing in the background—but the none-too-subtle undertone unnerved me. My tryout, which is what I belatedly realized this was, was close to being over, and as I’d feared, he was far from impressed. Like any fighter heading into the final round of a bout too far down on the scorecard to win by anything but a knockout, it was time to go for broke. Gods willing, he’d get to see me execute a few solid combinations before he capitalized on my recklessness and cold cocked me. Again. Hopefully it’d be enough to convince him I was worth training.

  As soon as we were set I charged him, my tail powering me forward as I let loose a series of quick jabs meant to do nothing more than keep him on the defensive. After the fifth blow bounced harmlessly off his left forearm he halted his retreat. I’d gotten inside without getting hit—which was key given the reach advantage he enjoyed courtesy of his much longer arms—but that wouldn’t mean much if I failed to capitalize on it. After covering up to absorb a jab and a crippling left hook that was sure to leave a nice bruise on my shoulder, I threw an uppercut, right hook combination, retaking the offensive. His technique was flawless as he brushed away the uppercut with his wrist, but he chose to duck outside of the hook. It was sloppy. And exactly what I’d been hoping for. Continuing the momentum from my last punch, I spun to my left, lifted my leading elbow parallel to my shoulder and threw all of the torque from the compact twisting maneuver into the extension of my left hand. The back of my fist connected squarely with the side of his face. A perfect backhand.

  It was a powerful punch that had landed clean. And he felt it. Taleoek staggered back from me, his onyx tail flapping out of pure reflex to keep him from making contact with the stone-covered seabed. By all rights the shot to his temple should have knocked him out cold. Instead he rose up to face me before I could even think of offering him a hand. I could see why Aristos had made him a commander. Although he was listing to the side like he’d struck an iceberg.

  He squinted and blinked several times as he examined the large gash beneath his left eyebrow where my knuckles had made contact. Looks like I’ll be accompanying you on your trip to the infirmary. Welcome to my class. I’ll need to work with you on your agility, teach you some basic attack and defensive maneuvers, have you build up strength and speed on the heavy bags, and begin your lifting regimen, but if you work hard you should be able to assimilate with the other students within a matter of weeks. You will meet me in our enclosed training facility—located through the iron doors behind me—warmed up and ready to go at first light each day. You will do as I instruct without question and for as long as I command you to do it. Is that clear, cadet?

  In spite of his drill sergeant delivery—and the likelihood that an arguably insubordinate grin could get me whacked upside the head—I couldn’t suppress the dopey smile that teased at the corners of my mouth. I was going to be trained as a Syreni warrior. Yes, Commander! I’ll do anything you ask of me.

  Damille was ready and waiting for us in the trauma room portion of the infirmary, Taleoek having telepathically called ahead. She had a new assistant with her today who greeted me with a quick, one-arm hug and a very familiar handshake. Naome was decked out in full body scrubs and elbow length medical gloves—which Damille was having her replace after our exchange—with her blonde-streaked fiery red hair secured in a tight, no-nonsense bun.

  My queen, Damille said, dropping into a formal curtsey before me. She held the position until Naome finally caught on and followed suit.

  It is good to see you again, master healer, healer apprentice. You may rise. They both curtseyed again before rising, following the custom to the letter of the law. Damille had never been so by-the-book with me before. Learning the proper etiquette for greeting royalty must have been part of Naome’s training.

  Damille attended to me while Naome guided Taleoek to the corner of the room that served as her work station. It w
ould’ve been nice to catch up with my bestie and soon to be sister while I was here, but there was no way Damille was going to place the face of the Syreni queen in the hands of a healer apprentice regardless of how much I tried to persuade her.

  She picked up a large needleless glass syringe and cleansed the wound on my cheek, shooting the clear liquid—which wasn’t sterilized water, as I’d thought—into the three inch tear. I gritted my teeth as the alcohol solution went to work eradicating the bacteria. Damille methodically pressed her fingers against my face, working her way from my cheekbone down to my jaw. I don’t feel any obvious fractures. Open your jaw up for me.

  I did as instructed, opening and closing my mouth a couple of times while she pressed down on the joint. Any sharp pain?

  I shook my head. It feels okay. So how many stitches am I looking at?

  Her bemused expression added warmth to her ancient, steely grey eyes. I loved the way the metallic bronze accent coloring she’d chosen who knows how many centuries ago extended all the way above her eyebrows and down to the top of her cheeks, running across her entire face from ear to ear like an Amazon warrior. Even at her advanced age she looked totally bad-ass. At least nine. With the healing salve it shouldn’t leave a scar, but the beautiful burgundy bloom on your cheek is going to be discolored. Armiele will have to touch it up later on.

  Damille selected a much smaller glass syringe containing a very long and sharp looking needle from the metal tray in front of her, prying it free from its clamp. It was filled with a bioluminescent orange fluid that made me shy away from her as she removed the protective cap. What is that?

  She briefly closed her eyes and mouthed something my below average lip reading skills weren’t able to decipher, silently chastising herself for her lack of bedside manner. Apologies, my queen. I need to remind myself that all of this is new to you. This is an extract from the liver of a teragore whale. It will reduce the swelling in your cheek and allow me to place tighter sutures.

  And here I’d thought I’d be looking out of one eye for at least a week. Syreni healthcare rocked. Aristos wouldn’t see the worst of the carnage from my fight with Taleoek, either. By all means, inject away.

  Damille injected the bulk of the fluid in three locations around my cheek before emptying the rest into the bulging lump above my left eye. It felt surprisingly cold, like she’d injected ice beneath my skin. Within seconds I could see clearly out of my eye. Moments later almost all the pain in my cheek was gone.

  She numbed the entire area before starting in on the sutures, explaining beforehand that the syringe contained diluted sherifan root.

  What’s the thread made out of? I wondered as she pressed a quill-shaped needle, much shorter and thinner than the one Armiele had used for my tattoos, through my skin again, pulling the dark blue thread behind it.

  It’s a special kind of seaweed that is grown in the lab in sterile conditions. Once it’s dried, the hair-thin fibers are woven together to give it strength. The sutures will dissolve on their own in a week or so.

  After she tied off the last stitch, she took my chin in her hand and turned my head to the side to examine her work. Satisfied, she picked up a large seashell from the stainless steel tray and coated the entire area in a thick layer of lilac-colored healing salve. That should get you by until our commander inflicts more damage tomorrow. You are a braver woman than I am to endure such torture. Not that I don’t understand your motivation. I didn’t face such hardships during my fertile years. It’s no wonder the gods chose you. A warrior queen is exactly who we need right now. Would you mind if I check on our little princess while you’re here? I’ll get you started on the supplements you’ll need to take as well.

  Even if the Syreni had some equivalent of an ultrasound—which seemed doubtful, given their biologically-based technology—I doubted there’d be anything visible on it yet since I was only a few days along. Isn’t it kind of early? What will you be able to tell?

  The poppie fish I attach to your abdomen will transmit a mental image of what they sense beneath your skin, allowing us to see a true-to-life, full color picture of your child. At this stage, I’ll be looking to see that the gestational sac has formed properly. We’ll add a tiger fin to provide us with both of your heart rates.

  All I could do was stare at her in awe. Being able to see live footage of my baby at every stage of her development was beyond anything I could have possibly hoped for. Even on earth. Responding to my sudden spike in emotions, my soulcras attempted to free themselves from their makeshift prison, providing a live-fire field test of sorts for the iron contraption Taleoek had crafted. It held, thank the gods, at least for the few seconds it took me to regain control. But my mental lapse meant I’d have to wear the damn thing to all my checkups just to be safe. Would you mind if Naome kept me company? I already know I’m pregnant—I can feel it within my soul—but seeing physical evidence of it will make it all seem real. This is kind of a big deal for me.

  In a surprising display of affection for the usually reserved Damille, she leaned in and kissed my forehead. I know exactly how you feel, child. I was once a first-time mother as well. I believe Naome has finished stitching up Commander Taleoek. It would be good training for her to observe the procedure. Healer apprentice, would you bring me four poppie fish and a tiger fin, please?

  Right away, master healer. Naome darted out of the triage room like there’d been an industrial-sized chemical spill, leaving a detectable wake behind her. Apparently I wasn’t the only one eager to see an image of my little munchkin.

  Before Damille allowed Taleoek to exit the clinic she carefully inspected Naome’s work, studying each stitch in great detail—which wasn’t easy, given the layer of purple goop that covered them—for even the tiniest of flaws. When he finally received his discharge he bowed before me and fisted his chest, acknowledging me once again as his queen before leaving.

  So how is Naome doing so far?

  Damille’s stoic demeanor gave almost nothing away, but she wasn’t able to fully suppress the prideful gleam in her eyes. She still has a great deal to learn—I’ve only just started her training—but she has skills far beyond any new apprentice I’ve taken on. She’s been able to adapt what she learned as a human to our vastly different technology quite well. She’s exhibited above average intellect and is a quick learner. I only wish I could train her to become my successor rather than losing her to the Ceraspian Mountain Region.

  Hearing that Naome was doing so well—at least so far—was a huge relief. Hopefully being able to practice medicine like she’d always wanted would help to make up for some of the things that would always be forbidden to her. Like being able to bond with a compar of her own. Or even date. Unfortunately, her promising start also meant her training might not take as long as Aristos had thought. We might only have a couple more years together. She’s my best friend, Damille. I can’t even image her living half way around the world from me.

  Naome chose that moment to torpedo back into the trauma room, a large bladder containing the aforementioned five fish in tow, saving me from any additional depressing thoughts about our inevitable parting. Damille placed two of the navy blue fish with large white circles around their praying mantis shaped eyes—poppie fish, I deduced, given that there were four of them—on each side of my body, just below my breasts and above my hipline. Their tails started glowing as soon as their sucker-like mouths had formed a seal with my skin. She placed the black-and-orange striped tiger fin directly over my uterus.

  Naome squeezed my hand as we eagerly watched the large sheet of glass mounted on the wall to my right that served as the monitor for the entire triage area. Two numbers took shape along the top almost immediately, the first fluctuating between 98 and 102—which I was guessing was the baby’s heart rate—while the second stayed fairly steady at 54. The picture took far longer. After an agonizing wait, tens of thousands of microscopic plankton began to settle into a discernible image.

  Before I could ask
if the heart rate results were normal for a Syreni female and a fetus, my bones, blood vessels, soft tissue and internal organs took shape on the screen in crystal clear detail, stealing my breath away. After treating Naome to a Syreni anatomy lesson at my expense—it kind of felt like I was a spectator at my own autopsy—Damille honed in on my uterus, tapping her finger gently against the plankton. Whatever the tiny creatures signaled back to the poppie fish caused that portion of the image to scan deeper, giving us a view inside my womb. Tucked almost dead center in the middle was a clear sac with a tiny but clearly visible embryo inside. Vanessa.

  Both of your heart rates are right where they should be, Damille assured me. And the gestational sac looks to be intact and positioned well within your uterus. So far so good. I’m giving Princess Vanessa a clean bill of health.

  You’re going to be a mom, Cami, Naome muttered. Her eyes were just as glassed over as I imagined my own to be. Without even thinking, I placed her hand flat against my cheek, expressing the tears of joy I wasn’t capable of crying.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Unity

  * * *

  I’d always enjoyed reading in bed, my bare legs tucked underneath the warm covers while I turned page-after-page of the latest John Grisham or Stephen King novel until I was too bleary eyed to comprehend the words. Balancing a stone tablet on the floor with my tail pinned beneath rope netting didn’t quite have the same feel to it, even if the reading material was just as intriguing. Since I’d already met the seven deities we worshiped, I decided to focus my initial studies on learning more about them. Every word rang true based on what I’d learned during my time on Mt. Olympus, putting my mind at ease. Unlike the bible—which was written by humans intent on controlling the masses and preserving the aristocracy—the floor-to-ceiling stacks of tablets that filled our nursery were clearly scribed by priests in direct communication with our gods.