There came a gentle tap on my i’arda that—due to my sunburn—hurt like Morool. I swallowed a whimper and turned to see Becky. My watch was over.
“Hey, Chorkle,” she whispered. “Can you keep a lookout for a minute? Nature calls.”
“Nature calls what?” I asked. She frowned and tactfully explained the situation.
We climbed down the tree to the ground. Becky walked a few meters into a thicket of bushes, and I wandered off to give her privacy. I took in a big breath of cool night air and listened to the rhythmic drone of alien insects.
That’s when I heard it: a snuffling grunt somewhere nearby. I looked at the back of my thol’grazes. My sunburnt skin had camouflaged itself automatically. There was a crashing sound, and I felt the ground shake.
Something was galloping toward me. Something huge. On pure instinct, I crouched and sprang high into the air an instant before it came barreling through the underbrush. At the very height of my jump, one of my scrambling thol’ grazes caught a tree limb. I hung there as the thin branch bobbed up and down under my weight.
Below me, I could see the beast. It was a massive creature, bigger than an usk-lizard. It galloped on four clawed feet. It was covered in feathers, though it had no wings and looked too heavy to climb. This creature—a rahk, I now assumed—must find its meals on the ground, I realized. And its long, razor-sharp beak left no doubt as to what those meals must be.
The rahk glanced up at me with one angry orange eye. I discharged my stink gland, but a breeze carried the spray past the beast. It had already charged off in Becky’s direction.
“Chorkle?” she cried as she heard the noise. The rahk was making no effort to move silently now.
I dropped to the ground and followed the swathe of crushed bushes and broken saplings that it had torn through the forest. Despite the rahk’s bulk, the beast was much quicker than me.
“Becky, run!” I cried.
“What?”
“Run!”
The rahk burst through the bushes and went right for her. Becky ducked out of the way just as a clawed foot swiped for her head and took a chunk out of the tree behind her. Then she turned on her heels and ran as fast as she could. The rahk whirled and followed.
Something—a rock or a root—caught Becky’s foot, and she tripped and sprawled onto the ground. She flipped over on her back as the rahk bore down on her with all its weight.
Just then, a dark figure leaped forward. It whipped something through the darkness and bashed the beast across the forehead. Crack! The dazed rahk stopped in its tracks and made what must have been the least frightening noise of which it was capable: a high-pitched, confused squawk.
Taius Ridian had brained it with his walking stick. The rahk blinked at him for a moment and then let loose a long, murderous wail—the same sound I had heard from the forest the night before. Standing so close, the noise was terrifying. I had to fight the urge to turn and flee.
Taius grasped his stick in both hands and shifted into a defensive position. With amazing speed, the rahk began to slash at him with its front claws. By shifting his position and twirling the stick, he deflected three swipes that looked like they could have knocked down a house. The fourth snapped his stick clean down the middle and left him holding the two halves.
Before the rahk could finish Taius off, a stone bounced off the side of its beak, snapping its head to one side. It turned to see Becky, up on her feet now. She’d already scooped up another rock to throw. The rahk hesitated for a moment as it tried to decide which of the two of them to kill and devour first.
Suddenly, the forest was lit in a flash of green. A bolt of energy ripped through the rahk’s hind leg. Hollins fired Eromu’s blaster again. The second shot left a smoking stripe across the beast’s back. The rahk gave one last hellish wail. Then it galloped off into the forest, shaking the ground like a minor earthquake.
All of us stood, looking at one another and panting. At last, Becky spoke. “Thanks, Hollins.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Then she mumbled something under her breath to Taius.
“What?” Taius asked, dropping the two half sticks to the ground.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “And I’m seriously not saying it again.”
Instead of smug or arrogant, Taius looked mortified. “Thank me?” he whispered. Perhaps the Vorem were allergic to gratitude.
Hollins stepped toward Taius. He looked at the broken walking stick, then looked right in Taius’s face and nodded in approval. “Good,” he said in Xotonian. But he lifted Eromu’s blaster and tapped it for emphasis. “Still. I of looking.” He pointed to his eyes and then to Taius. “Pudding feet,” he added for some reason. Taius looked deeply confused.
Eyf alighted on a branch near me. “I can’t believe it!” she squeaked. “I saw the whole thing! You defeated a rahk! You defeated a vicious, hungry rahk!”
“‘Defeated’ is a little strong,” I said, “Maybe ‘dissuaded.’ ‘Discouraged’?” I was afraid that the beast might return at any moment.
“Yes, it is best to be careful,” agreed Eyf emphatically. “That baby rahk’s mother may be somewhere nearby.”
“Mother?!” I cried. But Eyf had already flown off.
None of us slept the rest of the night.
Chapter Thirteen
“The Glass Desert,” said Eyf.
From the edge of the forest, we gazed out across the sparkling plain. As far as I could see, the ground was flat, glittering, and utterly lifeless. I guessed this was one of the barren patches of Kyral’s surface that the Observers had seen from space.
“It’s beautiful,” said Hollins, picking up a chunk of the crumbly pale-green mineral. It shimmered in the afternoon sun.
“It’s trinitite,” said Nicki, “the glass residue that’s created by the heat of a nuclear explosion.” Unconsciously, she glanced at Taius. He said nothing.
“Is it radioactive?” asked Becky. “If I grow another arm, I’m going to need new clothes.”
“Maybe a little,” said Nicki. “But I wouldn’t worry about it, sis. We’ve spent so much time in space, we’ve already absorbed a ton of radiation. A little more isn’t going to make a difference.”
“Thank you for setting my mind at ease with your comforting words,” said Becky with a sigh.
“Well, whatever this place is called, we need to cross it,” said Taius, checking his zowul. “Trying to go around it will take us hundreds of kilometers out of the way.”
“The Glass Desert is a bad place,” said Eyf. “A very, very, very bad place.”
“There’s nothing to conceal us. We would be out in the open,” I said, looking skyward. “Any passing Aeaki would be able to spot us from the air.” Indeed, the day before, we had seen several black specks wheeling above the forest. Eyf had forced us to hide until they passed. Crossing the desert would mean no cover.
“Yes, other Aeaki could see us,” said Eyf. “But also the Glass Desert is cursed! Very cursed! Extremely cursed! One of the most cursed places!”
Taius frowned. I could tell that part of him wanted to say something snide about superstition and cowardice. But he held his tongue. It may have been my imagination, but little by little, he seemed to be softening. After four days together, he wasn’t as quick with his jibes or his contempt. He was more willing to pitch in and lend a hand when it was needed.
“Kalac is still in danger. We don’t have the time to go around it,” I said. “I think we should cross.”
“No,” said Hollins, speaking in Xotonian for Eyf and Taius’s benefit. “Big risky.” Eyf agreed heartily.
“All right,” said Becky. “I guess we take another vote.”
“Vote again?” asked Eyf. “How does vote work?”
“We all pick the choice we like,” said Nicki. “Then we raise our hands or wings—”
&
nbsp; I cleared my gul’orp.
“Or thol’grazes,” added Nicki. “And whichever choice has more votes is what we all agree to do.” Nicki raised her hand to demonstrate.
Eyf was fascinated by the idea. I guessed that no one in Oru had ever asked for her opinion on anything.
I sighed. “You, uh . . . you get a vote too, Taius,” I said. Becky huffed and held her hands out to me in exasperation. I shot her a look, and she stopped. Taius himself looked supremely uncomfortable. But in the end, he did vote.
The final count was five-to-two in favor of crossing the Glass Desert.
Eyf was personally wounded by the result. “Everyone voted against me,” she said. “Except this big, simple one.” She waved toward Hollins. “Do all of you . . . hate me too?” she whispered.
“No, it’s just democracy,” I said. “We can disagree without enmity.”
“Sort of,” added Becky.
“It’s a way that groups can make choices together,” said Nicki.
“So you do this all the time?” asked Taius. “Whenever it is time for a decision, you all have to stop and raise your hands? It’s . . . inefficient.”
“It’s not a perfect system,” I admitted. “But on Gelo, we do vote on matters of great importance.”
“But then the smartest gets equal say to the most foolish!” cried Taius in disbelief. “The strongest is made equal to the weakest!”
“Yup, that’s kind of the point, dude,” said Little Gus.
“And what if your ruler disagrees with the vote?” asked Taius.
“As I said, on Gelo we don’t really have a ruler. We vote for those who would represent us. And if we don’t like what they’ve done, we can vote them out of office.”
“And then the leader just steps down? Because a bunch of common rabble voted for it?” asked Taius.
I hesitated as I remembered Sheln’s unprecedented power grab. “Under normal circumstances,” I sighed.
“It is the same on your planet?” Taius asked Nicki.
“Mostly,” she said. “Though not everywhere.”
Taius couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “It would never work on Voryx Prime,” he said. “If a Vorem seizes power, he never relinquishes it. Not until it is pried from his claws. And while he has power, he does as he pleases. He crushes those who oppose him to gather more power for himself. In our whole history, not a single imperator has ever abdicated. Perhaps this drive is the reason our world rules a vast empire and your worlds don’t!”
We were silent. Taius suddenly looked around, perhaps conscious that his words might have offended the rest of us. In fact, the humans looked at him with pity.
“Of maybe,” said Hollins. “But . . . why?”
“Why what?” asked Taius.
“Why . . . empire?” said Hollins, shrugging.
“Because,” said Taius. “Because we—because by conquering other worlds, we gain wealth and glory.”
“But the Vorem already have wealth and glory,” I said.
“Of course we do!” said Taius. “And we want more.”
“But you have more than anyone,” said Becky. “How much more do you need?”
Taius threw his hands up. “I don’t know!” he said. “Just—just more.”
“So when does it end?” I asked.
Taius shook his head as though the question was ridiculous. But he didn’t offer an answer.
Ultimately, Eyf accepted the result of our vote to cross through the Glass Desert, but she begged that we travel at night to avoid being seen from above.
I called for another vote on Eyf’s idea, just so she might win one. She was thrilled at the unanimous result in her favor. So we waited among the trees for the sun to drop below the horizon. In the meantime, Eyf wanted us to vote on all matters, great and small. We humored her for a while, but when she finally asked us to vote on which of six blue pinecones was the prettiest, we had to call an end to it.
“I’m starting to come around to the Vorem way of thinking on democracy,” whispered Little Gus.
The reds and golds of the sunset were doubly brilliant as they bounced off the trinitite. Soon, the Glass Desert gleamed silver with moonlight. We set out, and before long, we’d left the little noises of the forest behind us. The only sounds were the faint chime from Taius’s tracker and the crunching of brittle green glass underfoot. The desert didn’t feel cursed to me, but there was something somber about it. I think that the others felt it too, for no one spoke. Not even Eyf.
We didn’t make it across before the sun rose again. The morning came, and we found ourselves in a vast wasteland, a sparkling green infinity in every direction. Above us, the sky was crisp and cloudless. If we didn’t know where we were going, I might have panicked. Xotonians understand the world by the twists and turns of caverns, but here there were no turns. Or maybe the Glass Desert was all turns?
After a night of walking, we were all tired. In fact, Eyf admitted she had almost fallen asleep on the wing.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I would have woken up when I hit the ground.”
“We should keep going,” said Taius. “We only have about twelve kilometers until we’re across.” He looked haggard though, and I could see dark circles under his eyes. “Or wait, maybe it’s twenty.” He slapped the side of the zowul. It was more static than chime now.
“Is there something wrong with that thing?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “Maybe.” But he put up no further argument as the rest of us flopped onto the brittle ground in exhaustion.
“One of us needs to . . . ” said Taius, trailing off.
“What?” asked Nicki.
Taius snapped awake. “What?” he said, “I mean, we should keep a watch. . . . I’ll take the first one.”
“Okay,” said Nicki, rolling over.
• • • •
“Wake up,” hissed Hollins.
The sky above us was dark and ominous. The sun was just a slightly brighter patch of hazy air.
“Did we—did we sleep the whole day?” I asked. I was sore and groggy, and my gul’orp felt as dry as the desert itself.
“No,” said Hollins. He was standing and looking off into the distance. Great brownish-green clouds were rolling toward us from the horizon. The other humans were pulling themselves up off the ground. Only Taius still snored.
“Taius!” cried Hollins.
The Vorem awakened with a start. He looked around for a moment. “I fell asleep,” he admitted.
“We go,” said Hollins in Xotonian. “Go. Go. Now.”
“What is that?” asked Becky, eyeing the churning clouds.
“Dust storm,” said Nicki. “We sometimes saw them when we observed Kyral from space. It looks like a big one.”
In the distance, I could see little flashes of lightning now. The storm was moving toward us fast.
“The Glass Desert is cursed!” squeaked Eyf. “Cursed! Cursed! Cursed!”
“We need to . . . ” said Taius, fiddling with the tracker. “We should go. . . . We . . . The storm is causing interference. I don’t know where to go!”
Hollins grabbed Taius’s shoulder. He pointed to the only landmark in sight: our own tracks. Then he pointed in the direction that they were headed and nodded. Taius nodded back. We would try to keep going the way they pointed.
“Don’t wait for us!” I cried to Eyf. She nodded and took off. She stood a better chance of outpacing the storm if she flew.
The rest of us jogged—then ran—in single file: Hollins, Nicki, Little Gus, me, Becky, and Taius. Little cyclones of dust appeared before us. We tried our best to keep our tracks in a straight line behind us, but the storm was erasing them fast. The cyclones grew larger. The wind had picked up, and it was howling now. I could feel the dust against my skin, in my eyes, everywhere. The sun was gone fro
m the sky.
Soon I started to to have trouble keeping track of Little Gus. He would fade away and then suddenly reappear. I worried I might lose him permanently. I realized that I was running with my eyes closed. The dust made it hard to breathe and even harder to see.
“Wait!” cried someone up ahead. It was Hollins. He’d stopped. Thankfully Nicki and Gus stood beside him.
“Can’t keep going,” yelled Nicki over the howl. Gus tried to say something, but he only coughed.
“Blankets!” yelled Hollins, pointing to me.
I was confused for a moment, until I remembered the crinkly human thermal blanket that I’d been wearing as a cloak to keep the sun off. Hollins had already pulled his out of his pack. The humans had five, one for each of them, plus the spare I’d been given. Gus and Nicki unfurled theirs.
“Where are Becky and Taius?” I cried. But no one could hear me over the scream of the wind. The dust was a searing sting now—I guessed it was made of tiny glass particles. I couldn’t see two meters ahead of me, and that was when I could bear to open my eyes. I coughed every time I inhaled.
Lighting flashed somewhere nearby, followed by a deafening crash of thunder. Without thinking about it, I hit the ground. I opened an eye the barest width and saw no one around me.
So I wrapped the blanket over as much of my body as I could and tried to lie as flat as possible. All around I heard thunder and the hissing scrape of flying sand. Even the blanket was not enough to keep out the fine, choking dust. I coughed continuously. The wind tore at the edges of the blanket. At times it felt like I would be picked up bodily by the storm and carried away—like an Aeaki on the wing.
I waited. And waited. Gradually, the thunder came less frequently. The pitch of the wind lowered, and the dust storm seemed to die down. At last, I was startled by the prodding of something outside the blanket. I opened my eyes—gummy with dirt—for the first time in hours.
For the Love of Gelo! Page 13
