by Regine Abel
I’d never been in a kitchen before as Mama and I weren’t allowed near knives, not to mention the possibility of poisoning the crew. But here, with so many mouths to feed three times a day, it made sense for the slaves to care mostly for themselves.
I was cutting vegetables for the salad when Jorluk and two other guards brought us some of the crates identical to those unloaded earlier from the merchant ship. Two Elders went to meet them as soon as the security lock disengaging had resounded. The younger adult females made themselves scarce. I stole curious glances at the interaction between the guards and the Elders, surprised by the matter-of-fact—almost courteous—behavior of the guards. On the Revenant, the crew treated us like dirt, seizing every opportunity to taunt, insult, or needle us.
Life is so much better here.
The guards led the hovercarts to the kitchen area to unload the crates then left without another word. The crates contained various produce, some of which I helped stow in the pantry and cooling units. For a moment, I feared the Sisters would think me lazy for the slow pace at which I shelved the produce. Instead, they observed me with curious but friendly smiles. The shapes, textures, and smells of the raw ingredients fascinated me. On the Revenant, food always came to me already prepared or straight out of a replicator.
Azyra identified them for me, giving me insights as to how they were cooked and preserved. She weaved in a few tales about traditional recipes related to specific produce and the special occasions, events, and ceremonies those dishes were served back on Veredia. As much as possible, the Sisters in the compounds observed the customs and rituals in accordance with the Veredian calendar.
I could have listened to her all day.
We completed our task, then helped finish the meal preparation and setting the tables. Once we were done, one of the Sisters rang a bright, bronze bell.
As Azyra had forewarned, the children rushed to the tables now laden with aromatic food. The Sisters performed wonders stretching their limited meat rations by mixing them with grains and vegetables as stuffing for savory pastries, vegetable roulade and salads. Azyra explained that they tried to cook Veredian recipes but without the right ingredients, spices and cooking equipment, this was but a pale imitation.
I didn’t care. Call it genetic memory or whatever you’d like, my palate sang with bliss. This was what food should always taste like.
As I stabbed a flaky piece of pie with my fork, the strong sense of being observed made me turn my head to the side. My eyes met with the curious blue ones of an adorable little girl located two seats down from me. The thick brown curls of her hair cascaded down her back almost to the floor. She smiled, her gaze flicking down to my arms with something akin to awe. Confused, I gave my arm a once over, wondering what stirred her curiosity.
Nothing stood out.
My Veredian markings, like my mother and sisters, ran up the side of my coppery skin, over my shoulders and the sides of my neck before tapering off between my shoulder blades. Peering discreetly at the other Veredians’ markings, most of them shared the same shape and patterns of cheetah-like spots. Mine differed.
My eyes met Azyra’s who studied me with a gentle smile.
“Forgive Margita,” Azyra said. “Nurturers are rare these days, so that makes you a bit of a welcome oddity.”
“Nurturers?” I asked, frowning.
She pointed at my arm with her chin.
“Your markings. The pattern determines your breed. All Veredians belong to one of three breeds: Nurturers, Warriors and Scholars.”
Azyra’s eyes took on a faraway look.
“Before the cataclysm that killed all of our males and destroyed Veredia, Nurturers formed the largest breed with Scholars as a close second. We were a peaceful people so had little need of Warriors.
Her gaze refocused on me.
“We have adapted since. Our need for Warriors has greatly increased and now more than sixty percent of all newborns are of that breed,” she said, caressing the pattern on the arm of the Sister sitting next to her. She smiled back at Azyra.
The Sister’s pattern matched that of my mother’s marking. That surprised me. As a healer, I would have assumed Mama to be a Nurturer or Scholar, not a Warrior.
“I am a Scholar,” Azyra said, showing me her own arm.
I tilted my head to the side. “What does that mean exactly?” I asked, intrigued.
“Well, even as a complete novice, Warriors have innate talent with weapons and combat techniques. They tend to be taller, faster and stronger. In times of peace, many became professional athletes, law enforcers, first responders, and manual laborers.”
She looked over her shoulder at a handful of children who were already done eating and running to the playground.
“As you can see, they are also a handful. We are forbidden to train in any type of combat or defense, so we need to get creative in ways for the Warriors to exert their excess energy. Our traditional dance comes in handy for that.”
Azyra turned back to face me.
“Scholars, like me, are great at acquiring knowledge. Science, math and technology are child’s play to us.”
She brushed two fingers over my markings.
“Then there are Nurturers, like you, who fill the emotional, spiritual, psychological, and intellectual needs of our people. Your breed usually becomes teachers, therapists, artists, philosophers, and writers. With your kinetic ability, I suspect you would have become a sculptor, an architect or an interior designer.”
How fascinating!
I ran my own fingers over my markings, amazed by the secrets they held. How many other wonders about my species would I discover?
“But what if I had wanted to become a police officer?” I asked.
Azyra shrugged. “Then you could have. However, it would have required significantly more hard effort than a Warrior for you to perform at the expected level of efficiency. We would have never bound anyone to their breed’s natural calling, although Veredians rarely strayed from it.”
We finished our meal in an amicable chatter then helped clean the table.
A chiming sound resonated through the room. The happy buzzing of voices died down. Even the younger children fell silent. A few sympathetic glances my way and at a handful of other Veredians told me all I needed to know. Azyra’s hands squeezed my shoulders and she stared me in the eyes.
My stomach dropped, all moisture fleeing from my throat.
“It is time for you to be introduced to your Korlethean,” she said with a soft voice. “Remember, he is as much a victim here as you are. Do not fight the inevitable or the guards will punish you severely. My advice, try to form a friendship with him. Some Sisters find great comfort in their Korlethean. The majority of those males treat us with kindness.”
I tried to swallow, but my throat worked in vain. Cold beads of sweat trickled down my back and my pulse picked up.
Azyra’s warm hand covered mine, no doubt in an attempt to give me the support and strength I needed. Feeling faint, I forced myself to put one foot in front of the other. Azyra led me by the hand to stand next to one of the private rooms. Eleven more females, escorted by the other two Elders, marched up to their own room and stopped beside their respective door, their back to the wall. The remaining group of adult females ushered the children into the dorms.
Azyra gave me some final instructions, but her words bounced off my ears like so much noise. Heart pounding, palms wet, I watched with dread as the armored doors slid open and a dozen Korletheans entered the room under the watchful eyes of five Guldan guards.
CHAPTER 2
Eryon
Another compound and another series of mindless fucks with some frightened or traumatized girl for the next three weeks. How my life had gone to shit... Sitting on the cold metal bench in our windowless holding cell, surrounded by eleven other Korlethean males, I wallowed in self-pity. Only six months of this madness and I was ready to call it quits. According to the Seers, twenty-six more years of
playing stallion awaited me. Twenty-six… Two years more than my current age. How would I not go insane before then?
Foresight… One of the Goddess’ greatest gifts to our people, and the bane of our existence. As a child, a Seer had informed my family and me of my future enslavement. He had no further details as to the nature of the life I would lead during that time, only that I would eventually regain my freedom. Although bleak, that nonetheless provided me with some hope.
If only an Oracle had given that prediction instead…
Seers—males like me, gifted with foresight—could only see unavoidable futures. No matter what you did to prevent it, the events foreseen would always come to pass, which is why other races often called us Fates when the news was good, and Doomsayers behind our backs when the vision was dire.
Unlike us, Oracles always saw forks or crossroads into the future. Those females couldn’t guide us down a specific path by saying go here, do this, or avoid that. However, they could predict the possible outcomes of specific events, each influenced by the choices we would make leading up to them, though they couldn’t state what those choices were. Unlike Seers, whose visions came unbidden and uncontrolled, Oracles could query a specific, known moment in time for a targeted individual.
I pulled on the collar around my neck. How I hated the damn thing. It didn’t irritate my skin or make me sweat, but the sensation of something wrapped around my neck constantly gave me the impression of choking even though I wasn’t. We all wore them to mute our psi abilities, even the Seers, although theirs were calibrated to allow visions to come forth.
Febus, sitting on the bench across from me, fiddled with the dampening bracelets wrapped around his wrists while Kilian twisted his long hair into a single braid. He hated the bracelets as much as I hated the collar. They didn’t bother me. I never made much use of my claws before getting captured so I didn’t much miss the ability to unsheathe them. Febus however, as former military, acutely resented the loss of yet another weapon.
I pondered if I should braid my hair as well. Curly, midnight blue, it fell down to my waist. Though females usually loved our hair, some of them went crazy when forced to mate and tried to tear it from our scalps, forgetting we hadn’t instigated this mess to begin with.
The length, braiding, and tying of our hair held meaning for my people, and I felt reluctant to do it for that reason. A single braid, like the one Kilian was making, signified the wearer was in unity with the infinite, as close as one could be to a state of enlightenment. Usually, only Elder Seers and Priests wore their hair that way. It was obviously not the case with Febus, but merely a question of convenience. Most Korletheans let their hair flow freely, symbolizing our openness to fly on the wings of Fate, wherever it may lead us.
Looking around, the claustrophobic room with its dark grey walls made my somber mood even gloomier. In the corner, a narrow table served as both dining and play area, with a few datapads for reading and board games. The door next to it led to the only other room for the twelve of us: a dorm with barely enough space to walk between the cots, and two freshers. What I wouldn’t give for a training or recreation room to stretch my legs and vent my frustration.
As if hearing the direction of my thoughts, the security lock beeped. A loud clank announced a guard opening our cell door. We all rose to our feet, though Kilian still quickly finished the braid he had been making for Febus. None of us spoke a word or exchanged looks. We’d been through the drill enough times. Five of us always seemed to meet on every compound we were taken to. The other seven males were strangers to me, although I knew of some of their bloodlines.
Febus, I felt the sorriest for. He was true-mated to his soulmate back on Korlethea. Even though the Guldans forced him to do this, betraying his mate with another female was a physical torment. Only Dalyria injections allowed him to perform. With the amount and frequency he needed to fulfil his mandate, the only reason he hadn’t overdosed or suffered from its multiple side-effects was the Veredian healers mending him.
What a messed up cycle.
Drug him so he can fuck, then heal him so he can be drugged again to fuck some more.
Blasted Guldans… Sharazh take them all.
Flanked by five guards armed with those dreadful Taser batons, we filed down the hallway to the reinforced doors of the Veredians’ holding area. As soon as the doors began to part, that tingling sensation in the back of my head assaulted me again. My hand rubbed my nape. That strange feeling had taken me by surprise the first time in the docking bay. Weak and subtle, I had wondered if my collar syncing with this compound’s security system had been the cause.
No. The sensation came from within.
My heart bumped against my ribs and my spirit soared. The Tuning couldn’t be denied anymore. A potential mate called to me beyond that door. From the strength of the pull, she might actually be my soulmate.
Love at first sight wasn’t a myth, though the expression itself couldn’t be less accurate. My people called it the Tuning. Every person’s soul vibrates at a certain frequency and any potential mate would vibrate within the same range. My soulmate would vibrate at the exact same frequency as I did, allowing us to achieve perfect harmony.
My blood boiled as the Tuning bond tugged me forward. For the first time since my captivity, I couldn’t wait to meet the females.
We walked in under the watchful gaze of three dozen Veredians standing in front of the dorms, as if erecting a protective wall before the closed doors sheltering their young. The burning hatred in their eyes at the sight of the guards switched to a strange mix of sympathy and resentment when they landed on us.
Considering most of those adult females appeared to be less than thirty-five years of age, it surprised me that more of them weren’t being forced to breed. Veredians living under the same roof for extended periods tended to sync their hormonal changes and enter their season at the same time. I could only assume most of them were either already pregnant or still in the one-year grace period after their last birthing.
In truth, I didn’t particularly care. All that mattered was that none of them had triggered the Tuning. Shifting my gaze to the opposite side of the room, I let it glide over the females by the fuck rooms… private chambers. Every time, it crushed my soul to see so many innocent females awaiting the inevitable with that resigned expression on their face. The fearful virgins, trembling, knuckles blanching from gripping the hem of their short dresses, affected me the most. The Goddess willing, there would be none today.
My eyes hungrily skimmed over each female. I got as far as the fifth room before a hammer struck me in the chest. My heart skipped a beat. A bolt of fire exploded at the base of my skull, spreading searing tendrils of heat down my spine and to every nerve ending.
My soulmate!
A violent shudder coursed through her, and then goosebumps erupted all over her glowing coppery skin. Lips parted in shock, her head jerked toward us. As if beckoned by our bond, her stunning green eyes didn’t seek me among my brothers but immediately found mine. She examined me in turn, her long eyelashes fluttering. Her perfect white teeth bit her bottom lip as she no doubt struggled to comprehend her strong reaction to me.
So beautiful…
Light-brown, curly hair that fell all the way down to her thighs framed her heart-shaped face. She was on the petite side for a Veredian, maybe five-foot-six or seven, with delicate bone structure, a modest chest and sensuously curvy hips.
Multiple hands landing on my shoulders made me realize I was whistling the mating call. I let the note fade under the whispered congratulations of my Korlethean brothers. Too few of us received this blessing of the Goddess to find our true mate. Even under such circumstances, it called for rejoicing. I didn’t want to think about the pain I would endure going forward once forced to mate with other females as Febus did. There would be plenty of time for that later. For now, I would let joy fill my heart.
“Well, well,” said Jorluk, his voice filled with disdainful amus
ement, “you lucky bastard. Of all the places to find your mate, it had to be here. Enjoy it while you can. You’ve got three weeks.”
I ignored him, my eyes glued to hers. With a mind of their own, my feet led me to her. Approaching the females before the guards gave us the signal could have gotten me in trouble. However, they understood the Tuning well enough not to interfere. I stood before the petite beauty, mesmerized. Every fiber of my being screamed for me to bind our souls and make her my true mate.
My Korlethean brothers filed in behind me, each choosing the female they would mate with. Half of them merely returned to the same six females they had mated with four months ago. Two of the remaining five females I had never seen before. The other three had ended their nursing grace period of one year granted following the birth of a child, whether it survived or not.
Febus stopped in front of one of the two new girls and the other Korletheans each selected one of the remaining four females. The Guldans allowed us to choose without the females’ input because, unlike us, Veredians couldn’t gauge the Tuning waves. Each male selected the female whose soul resonated the closest to his. No other pairs were attuned like I was with this young beauty before me. They wouldn’t fall in love with each other, but it would make their mating a bit more bearable.
In response to Febus’ nod, Jorluk approached him with a hypospray containing Dalyria. He raised his hand to inject him in the neck and one of the formerly nursing females gasped.
“Stop!” she shouted, her gloved palm raised in an arresting gesture. “You can’t give him that! Not with her!”
“No choice. He’s true-mated,” Jorluk responded, injecting Febus. “Back off, Clarissa, if you know what’s good for you.”
“But she’s a virgin!” she persisted. “He’ll damage her under the influence of that drug!”
I cringed. You couldn’t dream up a worst combo. With Dalyria in your blood, the need to fuck anything that moved obliterated any rational thought. He wouldn’t prepare her or be gentle with her. He’d just ram himself in and pound away until either the drug wore off or he ran out of steam, no matter how much the female begged and pleaded. A virgin would end up a bloodied, bruised, and traumatized mess. I glanced at Febus’ intended female. She trembled like a leaf, eyes glistening with tears, all but paralyzed with fear.
