by Anna Carven
At least I’ve got Big Bad here on my side. That’s the main reason I’m not terrified out of my wits right now.
Tarak’s face is annoyingly blank. “Kordolians think he’s crazy.”
I don’t know if that’s a good thing, or a bad thing. Is he crazy as in relatively sane, or crazy as in too crazy for even Kordolians?
“So you and this Xalikian guy are in cahoots together, and he’s in exile. Are you planning a coup?”
Tarak stiffens. “I have vowed not to start war on Kythia. The future of our species is already tenuous. We would not survive a civil war. However, other options have presented themselves.”
“And what might these ‘other options’ be?”
“Nothing is certain yet, Abbey. Once Xalikian and I have decided on a course of action, you will be made aware.”
I sigh. He’s as cryptic as always, keeping his cards close to his chest. “So when you’re done with your secret fate-of-the-Empire business, we can go back to Fortuna Tau, right?” I say it half-jokingly and half-hopefully, taking advantage of Tarak’s rare chatty mood.
“Perhaps,” he says nonchalantly.
My jaw drops. What did he just say? Did he just hint at taking me back home?
And Tarak’s not the sort to joke around.
I try to conceal my surprise. “You know you’re coming with me, right? You’ll love Earth. We have sunshine there, it’s warm, and there’s chocolate. It’s even better than Veronian food. I swear, you’ll love it.”
Tarak frowns. “I dislike ultraviolet light. The light from your star is particularly irritating. It hurts my eyes. And I hate sweet things.” Party pooper. He hasn’t even been to Earth and he’s grumbling already. Tarak pushes the flyer into a steep descent, and we swoop down into the crater of the mountain. “But your planet may be of interest to us in other ways.”
“What other ways?” I ask suspiciously. “And what do you mean by ‘us’? What are you planning? Don’t you dare think about colonizing us, Tarak. We are not going to end up becoming a giant pineapple farm for Kythia. I forbid you from colonizing Earth.”
Tarak inclines his head. “You forbid me, Human?” He raises an eyebrow, his voice low and dangerous. His lips are curved, ever so slightly. Is he amused? I find his expression devastatingly sexy. It’s that magnificent mixture of menace and irony that only he can pull off.
Damn this male. I can’t tell if he’s being serious or if he’s messing with me.
“You know I can’t stop you from doing anything, General. But you know what they say. Happy wife, happy life. And trust me. If you guys come and take over Earth, I am not going to be happy.”
“Noted.” He pulls the flyer into a sharp curve, once again focusing on the descent. “I do not understand the relevance of this ‘pineapple’ you speak of, but if the idea of Kordolians ruling Earth displeases you, then I will consider alternatives.” He looks ahead, concentrating as he circles the giant crater, reducing our speed. “But only because it’s you who’s asking, Abbey of Earth. I will do it for you, but not for anyone else. The welfare of other Humans doesn’t concern me.”
Urgh. He’s gone all Kordolian on me again. If we do end up going to Earth, we’re going to have a little chat first, because I don’t want him just barging in and messing everything up. Badass General or not, on my home turf, he’ll play by my rules.
Tarak
As we land, a group of Kordolian males emerges from behind a cluster of large boulders. They’re mostly young, their appearance typical of the Aikun. Unlike the Kordolians who dwell in the civilized zones, these males are fit and lean-bodied, their expressions hard and suspicious.
The Aikun are one of the Lost Tribes that exist in the Vaal, and they possess an innate mistrust of everything that comes from the Empire. Over hundreds of cycles, the Empire has stolen so many of their children that they’ve become secretive and withdrawn.
It’s no wonder the Wild Prince has adopted them as his people. Xalikian’s rejection of the Empire comes from the fact that he was raised in the belly of corruption.
With a mother like Vionn, it’s no wonder he’s left Kythian society to live in the Vaal.
Apparently, the Lost Tribes are my people too, but I have no recollection of such things. My memories of childhood were taken from me, as part of my conditioning. I have flashbacks now and then, but I have never been one to dwell on the past.
Beside me, Abbey has dressed and concealed her face with the scarf, in anticipation of the outside temperature. She is staring intently at the Aikun. “They live here?”
“Yes.”
“They have horns,” she gasps.
“All Kordolian males have horns,” I inform her. “The Aikun refuse to file them off.”
Their twin black horns rise from their temples, curving slightly. All of the Aikun males have grown their hair long, and they wear it in a range of styles. Some have fashioned their hair into intricate braids, while others leave it loose and untamed.
They wear nothing save for simple loincloths, and their bodies bear scars that they display proudly; hard-fought reminders of their battles with the dangerous creatures of the Vaal.
They are both savage and dignified in appearance.
As we exit the flyer, Abbey nudges me in my side. “You should grow your horns,” she whispers suggestively.
“They are impractical,” I growl, wondering how she can be thinking of such things at a time like this.
“But they’re very sensitive, aren’t they?” She pauses. “Erotic, even.”
Mischievous female.
“Abbey,” I snap, although I’m far from annoyed. What she suggests is interesting. “We will discuss this another time.”
She walks by my side, staying close to me as we cross the clearing. For her, this is the safest place in the universe. I will let no harm come to her. The Aikun can be vicious fighters, but they are no match for me. In order to appear less threatening, I have worn my robes and left my weapons concealed.
I do not wish to fight them.
“What business do you have here, Lost One?” One of the males, a young Kordolian with a vicious scar running from the corner of one eye to his jaw, steps forward, an ancient looking plasma cannon aimed at us. He speaks Imperial Kordolian with a heavy accent.
It is ironic. Kythians who live in the civilized zones refer to the Aikun and their like as the Lost Tribes. In turn, the Aikun call us the Lost Ones. They feel we have strayed too far from the teachings of the Goddess.
I’m not religious by any stretch of the imagination, but the value system of the Aikun intrigues me. They do not conquer or take more than they need. They simply exist.
After so many cycles waging war on other planets in the name of the Empire, the cause has become tarnished. I can no longer blindly serve my masters, who sit on their thrones in civilization and shield themselves from the realities of the universe.
I have even taken a mate; a Human. I never would have thought such a thing was possible. It is as if she has been created for me.
Prince Xalikian must agree to my plan, or else I will be half-tempted to take myself to the other end of the universe and be done with the Kordolian Empire for good.
I spread my hands wide, showing the Aikun that I’m unarmed. “I bear no ill will. I seek our mutual brother. He is expecting me.”
“I do not know who you speak of.” He narrows his eyes, his attention diverting to Abbey. He sniffs the air, trying to identify her scent. I suppress the warning growl that threatens to erupt from my throat.
The Aikun are being cautious, trying to protect Xalikian from outsiders. They don’t recognize him as a ruler, but as an equal. I can understand their reticence, especially when the High Council would see Xal’s severed head displayed in the forecourt of the Palace of Arches, a warning to all who would consider betraying the Empire.
That is what happens when one tries to kill the Empress, even if she is his own mother.
When news of his actions was trans
mitted throughout the Empire and he was denounced through the Nobles’ propaganda machine, Xalikian became a cult figure in the eyes of the ordinary classes.
He’d already earned their respect through his advocacy and his charity; this just sealed the deal.
The Aikun males draw nearer, their weapons raised. They carry an odd assortment of blades, guns and spears. Some are made from Callidum, while others gleam silver in the faint starlight. Beside me, Abbey is still, watching from behind her dark-vision goggles. I sense no fear from her. She is calm and steady like a seasoned soldier.
She is brave; a worthy mate.
She trusts me. I must do right by her.
I could threaten them right now, but that would bring tension and violence, and might result in unnecessary deaths. Theirs, of course.
There is a better way to convince these tribesmen that I mean them no harm. I drop to my knees and recite a short prayer to the Goddess. I speak in the secret, musical Aikun tongue.
It’s one of the few memories that remain from my life before the experiments.
I remember a soft female voice. She sings the words in a low, melodic tone. Her arms are around me, cradling my small body.
Fragments of memories are all I have left from my childhood.
The Aikun males respond by following my words with a deep, rhythmic chorus. The male with the scar on his face steps forward. “You are a stolen child,” he says, his eyes wide.
“Now can you understand that I mean our brother no harm?”
“And what about your companion, who is not of our world?”
“She is my mate,” I snarl, my sword hand twitching. “That is all you need to know.”
Abbey can’t understand what we’re saying, but she edges closer to me, sensing the tone of the conversation. She’s staring up at me. I’m not letting her out of my sight.
I sigh. “I understand your hesitation, Aikun, but the fact that I have come alone with my mate should be proof enough that I mean no harm.”
The Aikun males confer for a moment, muttering softly amongst themselves. The lead male turns back to me. “He is out on the plains, hunting beneath the ice.”
“We’ll go to him,” I say, and the Aikun laugh.
“You may have some difficulty traversing the mountain, Kythian. We can escort you, but your people aren’t familiar with the terrain.” The lead male’s tone is slightly condescending. “Would you not rather wait?”
“Don’t worry about me, Aikun. Worry about whether you can keep up.” I resist the urge to smirk. These Aikun have no idea of the conditions I’ve had to fight under; of the harsh planet environments I’ve fought in.
Navigating the mountainside is nothing for me.
It is time to take my Prince from his comfortable life on the Vaal, even if I have to drag him by his infernal horns. The future of our people is at stake, and he is the catalyst.
And somehow, this tiny planet called Earth, which had escaped our notice until now, could become our sanctuary. It’s blindingly bright, and Humans are irritatingly contrary, fragile beings, but they can also be brave, resourceful and clever.
This female beside me has clung onto life tenaciously, despite all that’s been thrown at her. And she’s brought me, a proud Kordolian General, to my knees.
Of course, I will never tell her such things.
I cannot have her becoming too comfortable now, can I?
Abbey
Somehow, I’ve ended up in Tarak’s arms, and we’re careening down the side of a black mountain at terrifying speed.
I must be light as a feather to him, because he’s running down the rocky slopes like a goddamn mountain goat, never missing a step.
The tribal guys are lagging behind. Tarak laughs, his deep voice distorted by the wind. It’s rare to hear him laugh with such careless abandon. It’s almost as if the act of running down a dangerously steep mountain with a woman in his arms has unleashed some kind of childlike joy.
“What’s so funny?” I curl into his broad chest, enjoying his warmth and his scent.
“Those Aikun males thought they could outrun me.”
“They haven’t figured out that you’re a freak of nature, huh?”
“It’s true; I have enhancements that make this an unfair contest.”
Bits of gravel fly around his booted feet as we reach the base of the mountain. It ends abruptly and the flat, white, endless plains of ice stretch out before us.
“So where exactly are we going?”
“Prince Xalikian is fishing in the ice, so we go to find him.”
“And then?”
“We talk, we decide on a course of action, and we follow it.”
“To Earth?”
“Probably.”
Okay, that seems like progress. We’ve gone from ‘perhaps’ to ‘probably’. I still can’t figure out what’s going on in this infuriating male’s head, but at least he’s starting to become a little bit more open with me.
He needs to be, because I didn’t understand a word of what just went on between him and those tribal looking guys. It was the strangest thing. In the middle of a macho male-off between Tarak and the tribal guys, he suddenly knelt down and reverently recited something in a different language. It was soft and melodic, so different to the harsh Kordolian tongue.
After that, they all suddenly became cool with him.
Urgh. There’s so much I still don’t understand. Such as, who are these wild looking Kordolians who amazingly seem to be able to survive in the middle of the most barren place I have ever been to?
When I was a kid, I went on an Antarctic tour with my dad. I thought that place was cold. The entire trip, I couldn’t wait to get home. This is ten times worse. How do they manage to live out here? The chill doesn’t seem to affect them at all. I would love to have access to a text on Kordolian physiology right now.
Again, and this is starting to become a recurring theme, those young Kordolian males behind us are barely dressed, wearing simple loincloths and not much else.
They look like characters out of some ancient, dark fairytale, with their wild, long hair and menacing black horns. Like all Kordolians, their eyes are varying shades of fire, from deepest red to striking yellow.
Now I understand what those little bumps on Tarak’s temples are supposed to be.
The horns are unearthly and beautiful.
Why the hell would any Kordolian cut them off? When we’re back in relative civilization, we are going to have a talk about that.
We sprint across the flat, icy surface, Tarak slowing a little so the others can catch up. He’s not even out of breath. They shout at him in Kordolian, and he yells back. It sounds like playful banter.
Now, they’ve become totally chilled.
Maybe it had something to do with Tarak’s approach. Instead of his usual threaten-first-ask-questions-later style, he went softly, softly on this one.
I was rather impressed. There’s hope for him yet.
We reach a defect in the ice. It’s a large square-shaped hole. Tarak sets me down and I peer over the edge, fascinated.
There’s water at the bottom. It’s black and sinister and totally flat. I get the shivers just looking at it.
The ice must be about twenty feet thick, and somehow they’ve cut a hole in it. A metal ladder stretches down from the surface of the ice to the water, and there’s a small floating platform at the bottom.
“What’s that?” I ask, mesmerized by the dark water.
“Waterhole,” Tarak replies, staring down into the depths. “So they can hunt what’s beneath the ice.”
“And that just happens to be-”
Before I can finish, something black and sleek breaks the surface for a second, before disappearing into the depths again.
“Lamperk.” Tarak nods towards the water. “Watch.”
The black thing surfaces again, and this time I see its giant, gaping maw. It has teeth. Lots of sharp, white teeth. No eyes, no face, just teeth. It’s like a m
assive, underwater leech.
Alongside the lamperk, a flash of sliver appears. There’s a Kordolian swimming around down there.
“Oh shit, there’s someone down there! That thing’s going to kill him.”
Tarak just laughs.
I stare at him in disbelief. “Aren’t you going to help him?”
“Of course not,” he shrugs. “Wait and see.”
The water starts to churn, becoming a chaotic, turbulent mess. I see intermittent flashes of silver and black as the two bodies twist and turn in the water.
A plume of white liquid appears, clouding the water, contrasting with the inky blackness. Ew. Is that some kind of bodily fluid? The creature’s blood, perhaps?
The Kordolian seems to be gaining an advantage, because the lamperk’s thrashing is becoming less savage. Then all of a sudden, it goes still.
The Kordolian swims around and sticks a giant hook through its mouth, the sharp barbed end breaking through the creature’s black skin on the other side. A trickle of white blood streams down its skin where the hook has pierced it.
Is this guy the Prince Tarak was talking about? He doesn’t seem very, uh, princely.
The Kordolian swims through the water, dragging the limp beast towards the floating platform. With one hand, he hauls himself up, dragging the dead lamperk after him. The creature flops onto the hard surface with a loud squelching sound. It’s huge. It has to be about six feet long.
It looks as disgusting as I’d imagined. Its face, if it can be called that, consists mostly of a huge mouth, with hundreds of tiny, razor-sharp teeth. Its head is bulbous and eyeless, tapering into a long, glistening, snakelike body.
“Lamperk are a delicacy,” Tarak informs me. “They make for good eating.”
The thought of eating a piece of that thing makes me nauseated. My attention turns to the hunter, who’s shaking his head, droplets of water cascading around him.
Like the other tribal guys, he’s impressively built. His silver skin gleams with moisture, emphasizing his rippling muscles. His snow-white hair is long and wild, crowned by a pair of curving black horns. He brushes a slick of wet hair back from his face, revealing his aristocratic features.
