by Trisha Telep
She grabbed an iron bar with a hooked end and Taven’s box of medical supplies. Then she slung a pack with water and food over her shoulder. She ran out of the cave and looked to the sky.
Wingman was silhouetted against the gray clouds, circling and crying, beyond the ravine in the wasteland where she’d been bitten by the kiver.
If she went out onto the wasteland on her own looking for him, she was putting her life in grave danger.
She had to try.
Taven had never taken her up the trail that led to the rim. She had to be careful of the traps. Ferreting out the triggers took time, and she worried she was already too late. Once she reached the rim, she ran as hard as she could, following the circling bird. Wingman was the only guide she had.
She’d run for what felt like hours when she spotted a strange-looking vehicle with wide treads and a large, steaming tank in the back. She dove behind some brush.
Wingman had spotted the headhunters.
Slowly she peeked around the thick brush. A man with dark hair was slumped over the vehicle’s controls.
Good, the bastard was dead, but there might be another. She gripped the iron bar tighter, gathering her strength. Then she noticed the familiar tie in the man’s hair.
Her heart shattered.
“Taven!” Rexa rushed to him. She pulled him back from the wheel and he fell against the seat. His skin had gone gray and he’d broken out in a sweat, but he was alive. His whole shoulder was soaked in blood. Rexa pulled his shirt away from the wound. Someone or something had stabbed him, but the bleeding had stopped.
He moaned, his breathing shallow. Rexa reached for her water canteen, and brought it to his lips. “No,” he whispered. “I’m poisoned. Kiver venom on the blade.” Oh dear God, he was dying.
No! Rexa forced some water down his throat and pulled out the medical kit. In a small, sealed plastic pouch was a bright green, viscous fluid. “Is this it? Is this the antidote?” she asked, holding it up for him to see.
He nodded weakly. “You have to inject it deeply into the wound.”
With what? There were no needles in the kit. Damn it! Here she was with the antivenom and she couldn’t use it. She was going to have to watch him die with the cure in her hand.
She looked around desperately. There was a plant nearby covered with four-inch-long thorns. They were the closest things to a needle she could see.
Rexa broke one off. It was hollow in the middle. Thank God. She snapped off the tip, and then jammed it into the fluid. Pinching the pouch tight against the thorn, she squeezed. The fluid oozed out of the tip of the spine.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she slid the spine into the wound. Taven cried out and started to shake as she emptied all of the antivenom deeply into his shoulder.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she said, as she pulled the empty pouch away, but the thorn remained lodged in his arm. Wincing, she dug carefully into the wound to get a grip on it. He shouted again as she wrenched the thorn free. Blood poured out of the agitated wound, and she staunched it with a piece of cloth. He grabbed her hand and held on. She tried to give him more water but he passed out.
Rexa struggled to stay calm. She had no clue how much antivenom she should have given him. What if she’d just killed him? She felt for a pulse, and breathed a sigh of relief as she found it slow and steady. She brushed his hair from his face and felt his skin. It was warm, but his color was already returning, and his skin didn’t feel so clammy. The antivenom was working. They just needed to give it time.
Rexa didn’t know how long they would have to remain out in the middle of the wasteland, but her fear increased with each passing minute. Cuddling in close to help keep Taven warm, she prayed the headhunters weren’t watching them. They were completely exposed.
As dusk began to fall, Wingman let out a long warning cry. Rexa heard a rumble in the distance. She gripped the hooked bar tightly.
They were coming.
Five
Rexa tried to shake Taven awake. He stirred and mumbled something, but didn’t regain complete consciousness. She tried to push him out of the driver’s seat, but that was no use either. She had no idea how to run the machine. It was all levers and wheels. If it had a control interface, she could have handled it, but this was beyond her.
Desperate, she searched for some sort of weapon, anything. All she found was the flamethrower in the back. That thing would probably kill her faster than the headhunters would. The rumbling grew louder. She thought she could hear high voices whooping and shouting above the engines.
She threw her coat over Taven, then jumped down behind the vehicle, hiding. She forced herself to stay calm. Panic wouldn’t help her now. She wiped her sweaty palms on her pants and adjusted her hold on the bar. She’d been pretty good with a batter-club when she’d played field ball. Swinging a hooked iron bar at someone intent on decapitating you was hardly different from swinging at a ball, right?
The rumbling grew louder, and then stopped, becoming a low, ominous growl. She heard two sets of boots hit the ground. “Hey, over here!” The voice sounded young.
They came closer. Closer.
Rexa let out a feral yell and ran out from behind the vehicle. The two headhunters turned in surprise. She brought the bar back and then swung with all her strength, aiming for the knee of the shorter hunter. As she connected, she felt the vibrations of his shattering bone reverberate up the iron bar. He crumpled with a loud scream, holding his broken leg.
The second came at her with a long blade, swinging it up and down in a sloppy arc. She had just enough time to block his blade with the bar, catching it with the hook. With a quick twist, she pulled the blade from his hands. Both weapons fell to the ground, bringing her face to face with her attacker.
Dear God, he was just a kid. His eyes flashed wide with panic and he lunged.
He grabbed her around the neck, choking her. Rexa struggled to kick him, but he was tall with long, lanky arms. He clenched his teeth, his face tight with fear as he squeezed the life from her. White light swam in her vision until something ripped him away. She collapsed, coughing.
Taven wavered on his feet as the young hunter turned his attention to this new threat. The hunter with the shattered leg pulled himself toward the fallen blade. Rexa dove for it, snatching the knife away at the last second and holding it over him, daring him to make her use it.
The young hunter launched himself at Taven, who fell into a fighter’s stance, and with the grace of a champion, landed clean, precise, terrible blows. Taven’s face had gone completely blank, as if his soul had abandoned his body and instinct alone controlled him. His hard fists landed with loud smacks on the hunter’s gut, ribs and jaw. The kid was down.
They were safe. But it wasn’t over.
Rexa watched in horror as Taven pulled back to strike the young hunter again and again, even though blood poured from the kid’s face, and he was writhing on the ground, helpless and begging. The man she knew wasn’t there anymore. Taven had become some sort of animal. And he was going for the kill.
“Taven!”
Rexa’s heart thundered. Taven’s bloody fist hovered, clenched in mid-air. He looked at her with wild eyes that frightened her.
His fist loosened, and he staggered backward, landing hard against the vehicle’s treads. He looked horror-struck. The pain in his eyes was overwhelming. He looked down at the bleeding face of the kid he’d almost killed. She ran to him.
He panted out heavy breaths as she smoothed his hair back from his face.
“I . . . I,” he stammered.
The two headhunters writhed in the sand, but neither could get up. Rexa tossed the canteen of water at them. She spoke to the one with the broken leg. “Come for us again, we won’t show mercy.” She turned to Taven. “Let’s go home.”
Taven started the vehicle and they rode across the wasteland in silence, Wingman following in the sky. Guilt and a terrible darkness had come over them.
When they rea
ched the safety of the cave, Taven stumbled into the alcove where he had his bed. She’d never entered his space before, and remained at the narrow opening.
“Who trained you to fight?” She crossed her arms and watched him as he pulled off his boots and peeled his bloody shirt over his head.
“I’m exhausted.” He let the shirt fall to the ground.
“You were trained for bloodsport, weren’t you?” It wasn’t really a question. Everyone knew about the illegal fights in the slums. On occasion, the loser didn’t come out alive.
Squinting as if pained, he rubbed his forehead with the back of one hand. “You’re not going to let this drop, are you?” He poured the contents of a bottle onto a rag, and then pressed it to his wound and hissed.
“No.”
He clenched his jaw and remained silent as he tended his wound. Rexa waited him out. Finally he spoke, “My mom was arrested for drugs when I was three. The government handed me over to my uncle.” He let out a bitter chuckle. “He was her dealer. They should’ve arrested him.”
Rexa felt ill. Taven inspected the red stain on the cloth he pulled from his shoulder. She took an uncertain step into his room. She could feel his presence filling the small space as she moved closer to the bed. “What happened?”
Taven didn’t answer for a long time. He sat on the thin feather mattress of his patched-together bed and folded the bloody cloth in his hand before pressing it to his shoulder again. “He decided early I’d be a good fighter, so he used any method he could to make me believe he had power and complete control. As I grew up, he deserved brands in five different places for all the things he did to me, but he never broke me. He thought he did, but he never broke me.”
She sat next to him and placed her hand on his knee.
A muscle in his jaw ticked. “One day, he told me about an upcoming fight. I knew I couldn’t win. He knew it, too, which was why he’d asked for my cut up front. I told him I wouldn’t do it. I’d get killed. He didn’t care. He said he owned me. So I hit him.” She reached out and took his hand. He wove their fingers together as if he feared she’d leave. “I hit him.”
Rexa felt a hot tear slide over her cheek. She squeezed his fingers tight, but the connection just didn’t feel deep enough to tell him everything she wanted to say and couldn’t.
Taven hung his head, his hair sliding into his eyes. “When the authorities came, I was still standing there with his blood on my hands.” He looked up and met her gaze, as if daring her to claim he was innocent. “I wanted him dead. I wanted him to suffer half of what he’d made me suffer. I didn’t even flinch when they gave me this.” He brushed his fingertips over his branding scar.
Rexa leaned in close and kissed him there, the raised scar smooth and corded across his rough cheek. She pushed her fingers into his hair. He leaned into her, burying his face against her and holding her desperately. His shoulders shook as he fought against silent sobs. She let her own tears fall and stroked his hair.
Together they eased back onto the bed, clinging to one another. Rexa wasn’t sure at what point comforting touches turned into enticing strokes. She didn’t remember who exactly had peeled off her shirt so they could feel each other, skin to skin. Stroking hands turned into soft kisses. Soft kisses became gentle tugs as the rest of their clothing seemed to disappear. His skin was so soft, his body hard and hot, and in such great need of her.
She felt no fear as she surrendered to him. She ached for him, both her body and her soul. She met his hot gaze as he braced himself above her. With a gentle touch, she guided him to the core of her. With careful, agonizing strokes his body slid into hers, joining them together with such heat and intensity it took her breath away.
They moved slowly, reverently. Taven’s eyes were filled with such heartbreaking wonder, Rexa struggled to keep herself centered in this storm. In the end she could only hold on, crying out and letting her tears stream down her face as they crested together. Rexa let herself be swept away, and as they clung to one another in a tangle of limbs and sleepy kisses, she felt whole.
The next morning Taven was a new man. Rexa giggled because he couldn’t stop smiling, and when he tried to kiss her smirk off her face, they ended up having another much more playful go round.
Finally, weak-limbed and giddy, they managed to pull themselves out of the bedroom and into the main part of the cavern. Wingman welcomed them by tucking his head under his wing and flicking his tail.
“Good to see you too, buddy,” Taven greeted.
Rexa rolled her eyes at the hawk and smiled at Taven. He turned to her. “Thank you for coming after me.”
She let a soft smile play on her lips. “You’re welcome. I hope that vehicle you found at the junkyards was worth it.”
He straightened as if he had just remembered something. “I’ll be right back.” He bolted out of the cavern.
“Hey!” she called, but she didn’t chase after him. She didn’t have the energy, and her legs were still feeling a little wobbly. She sat at the table and looked over at the bird. “What’s gotten into him?”
Wingman just ignored her as usual.
It didn’t take long for Taven to come back, carrying a large chunk of scrap metal. He laid it down on the table, and turned to get his tools. Rexa examined his prize.
She grabbed it in disbelief, turning it over in her hands. It was an old-model control screen for a banking kiosk.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. With enough know-how, and the right wiring, they could convert the control screen and tap into the command functions of one of the portals.
His eyes were alight with something she’d never seen in them before – hope. “I’ve been searching for something like this for years.” Taven laid out his tools. “This is the first one I’ve found in good enough condition that it might work. Now it’s just going to take me the next twenty years to figure out the security codes so I can program the portals.” He gave Rexa a resigned shrug. “At least it’s a start.”
Rexa’s heart flipped over and over in her chest as she reached into her pocket and removed the sync gloves. “It’s more than a start,” she confessed, laying the gloves on the table. “These are sync gloves. I was using them to hack into the information databases when I was caught by my brother. If we can get enough power to the control screen, the gloves should activate and I can transfer the security codes from the gloves directly into the portal’s command system.”
His brows knitted together. Taven seemed wary, as if he didn’t dare to believe what he was hearing.
She swallowed. “If we can get it working, we’re free.”
Six
“Damn it!” Rexa smacked aside the bent piece of wire she was using to patch together the circuit framework on the table. They had been trying to breathe life into the damn control screen for weeks, and nothing had happened. Every time they powered up Taven’s generator, their patched electrical connections would pop and hiss, but it did no good.
“We’re never going to get off this damn rock,” she muttered to herself as she bent back over the mechanically cannibalized screen.
“Would that be so bad?” Taven patiently picked up the bent wire and tried again. Rexa looked up at him. He’d changed so much from the first time she’d seen him. He now trusted her to shave him and clip his hair, two things he couldn’t do well before, since he had no mirrors. Without the stubble on his face, his scar seemed less pronounced. There was humor and warmth in his fathomless eyes, and his shorter hair gave him a rakish quality.
“Your silence is less than flattering,” he commented, humor shining in his eyes.
Would it be so bad? Honestly, in spite of the headhunters, the kivers, the terrible food and living in a cave, she was happier than she’d ever been in her life. And it was all because of him. “No,” she answered. “No, it wouldn’t.”
She didn’t have a lot of experience of love. As bad as she had it, Taven had it worse.
As she looked at him, she knew. They didn’t have to s
ay a thing. He leaned forward and kissed her tenderly, his warm lips showing – in all the ways they might never be able to say – that he loved her, and she loved him too.
He gave her a wicked smile full of promise as he flipped the switch on the generator for one more try.
The entire contraption whirred and hummed, and the screen came to life.
“We did it,” Rexa whispered, so overcome with hope she could hardly draw breath.
Taven let out a victorious shout and bounded from the table. He swept her up, swinging her around as he kissed her. It was a kiss filled with joy and hope and so much fiery desire all Rexa could do was hold on.
It didn’t take them long to pack up anything useful they could find. Taven’s new vehicle made quick work across the desert, but at the height of the day, the risk of headhunters was very real. Finally, they arrived at the portal.
Rexa watched Taven cut the leather ties from Wingman’s legs. As she finished the last connections that spliced the new control screen into the portal she’d come through all those weeks ago, her heart twisted in sympathy when Taven said goodbye and sent the bird soaring free.
The hawk let out a long keening cry that carried on the wind. Rexa took Taven’s hand as they watched Wingman soar.
She tried to quell the jittery feeling in her hands by pressing them together. “Are you ready?” she asked. She reached down and turned on the generator. The control panel came to life and she slipped on her gloves.
With expert dexterity, she hacked into the coding, overrode the security systems, and activated the portal so it could draw power from the entire network of portals on the other side.
The red swirling light burst to life in the center of the frame. “I’ve tapped into the old portal at the abandoned penal colonies.” She gave him a soft smile. “That’s what you wanted.”
