Savage: an Adult Dystopian Paranormal Romance: Sector Seven (The Othala Witch Collection)

by Conner Kressley

  “You need me,” I said flatly. “You need my help.”

  “My own brother is a witch,” Alma said, motioning at Asis, whose stare cut into me in a way I couldn’t necessarily describe. “His powers are great. He has the ability of restoration, of bringing things back to the way they were, the way they were forged by the Maker. But even he cannot change this. His abilities are proven null when faced with this horror.”

  My attention moved over to Asis, and his own glare softened a bit.

  “But your powers are different, Starla. Yours is the gift of sight. You see truth. You see salvation. Perhaps, if fate is kind, you will see ours.”

  I looked around at the stable of Savages who had surrounded me. No longer did they want to hurt me. No longer did they want to hold me down. All they wanted—and it was perhaps the only thing they had ever wanted—was for me to show them some sort of saving grace. And, as strange as it might have seemed, as I looked at them, I realized that was all I wanted to do, too. I wanted to help them. I wanted to save them. They were people, after all. No different than me, no different than my family.

  Unfortunately, I was completely unprepared to do that for them. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t use the leverage I had here to get my way.

  “Fine,” I answered. “But only on one condition. That caravan stops, and Chester stays here with me. There will be no punishment for what he did, regardless of whether or not you think he deserves it.”

  “You are at our mercy,” the Shaman said defiantly from behind his daughter. “You are in no position to be making demands of me, not when your feet are planted firmly on the lands my people have toiled to nurture.”

  “Your people will be dead by the next turn of the moon,” I reminded him. A pang of guilt crept up through my chest. I didn’t like using another person’s affliction against them, let alone using the troubles of an entire people. But Chester would be dead if I didn’t, and I liked the idea of that even less. “I’m the only person who can help you, and while I might be at your mercy at the moment, the visions are at mine. Setting aside what happened with your son earlier, Shaman, I am the sole benefactor of my abilities.” I shook my head. “So, if you want to know what fate has in store for you, if you want the chance for a cure that only I can provide, then you’re going to have to abide by the rules I set up.”

  A surge of something like confidence coursed through me. I straightened my back, clenched my jaw, and knitted my hands into fists at my sides.

  “Now, I won’t ask you again. Stop that caravan.”

  “You!” the Shaman said, his mouth hanging agape with shock and anger. “You have no right to speak to one of my standing in such a manner. People have died for less. People have—”

  “All right,” Asis said, cutting his father off as he walked past him. Looking beyond me, he whistled loudly.

  I heard the pull of the caravan as it came to a stop, the Savages carrying it setting it down.

  “Stand down,” the Shaman commanded, fire darting through his stern eyes. “I am not dead yet. This is not your place.”

  “You have been compromised, Father,” Asis said, then swallowed hard and kept his gaze pinned on me. “The sickness is deep within you, and, according to old laws and the new, I can take over in your stead.” He looked around the crowd. “So long as a majority of our people are with me.” Looking back at me, he steadied himself. “So, who is with me? Who wishes to use this opportunity the fates have given us to find a cure for this plague which has decimated our people? Who believes the life of our community is more important than punishing some Roamer who probably didn’t have a clue as to where he was headed in the first place? Who wishes to move forward, to solve the problems that have settled over us with a clear heart and a knowing mind? If what I have described is how you feel, then I ask that you cheer for me now. Cheer, and stand against the rising tides.”

  A roar erupted throughout the crowd—a crowd that obviously agreed with every word Asis had just spoken. I couldn’t blame them. He was sure of himself. He was young and strong. He had a charm about him, something that made you want to look at him even when he was being hurtful or indifferent.

  Something inside me warmed at the applause, and not just because it meant I was going to get my way with Chester. I felt close to Asis in a way that didn’t necessarily make sense. Yes, we had shared that vision. We had fallen into a metaphysical wormhole of carnal delight and rising temperatures. The feel of his body atop my own, the warmth of his breath as it fell against me, and the touch of his lips on mine were forever etched into my mind.

  Still, it felt like more than that. It felt like I was comfortable with him, like I had known him forever, and that the connection between us had always been there. I had just been too preoccupied or foolish to see it before now.

  “You fools seal your own fates,” the Shaman said, walking toward Asis. “The old ways are all that keep us safe. To undo them is to undo that which makes us unique.” He shook his head, pulled the headdress off, revealing a balding and somewhat meek-looking head, and tossed it onto the ground. “Take the kingdom if you wish, my son. Steal what is mine to freely give, but know that in doing so, you break your father’s heart.”

  Asis’ jaw clenched, but I couldn’t read what was going on inside of him. His face was a steeled-over mask of duty and hardness. He nodded, his voice loud as he spoke. “I can only hope that my actions might afford you the opportunity to live long enough to forgive me.”

  “To live that long would be quite the oddity, my son,” the former Shaman said, then turned on his heels and walked back toward the large tent I had just run from. He had no special importance now, and, as he trotted along, it struck me just how much he looked like an old, sick man.

  “Thank you,” I said softly to Asis, bridging the gap between us.

  “Do not thank me,” Asis said, his voice low enough to keep the conversation between us. He wrapped a hand around my arm and grasped it tightly. “You had better be able to do what we hope you can.”

  Then he looked past me, his gaze moving up to the caravan. “Take the Roamer out and put him in chains.”

  “Chains?” I asked, blanching as I looked up at Asis. “You promised—”

  “I promised to keep him here, to keep him with you,” Asis replied. “And I will. A Shaman is a man of his word, but I cannot allow someone such as he to roam freely where our children play.” He sighed heavily. “Not when he was raised to hate and fear us. No harm will come to him, Starla of the Sector. Do what I expect of you, and you and your friend may leave this place in peace. I swear it on my name as a Shaman.”

  As if on cue, Alma came up behind him and placed the headdress on his head. He looked even taller now, even more hulking somehow.

  “And if I don’t?” I asked. “What if I can’t do what you think I should be able to?”

  He looked deep into my eyes as he answered. “Then my people will not be the only ones who die.”

  Chapter 15

  Night fell quickly in the Savage lands. As it grew dark around me, I felt completely beside myself. Everything had happened so quickly. It had been a month since that day I had first brushed against Asis’ hand and fallen into that vision, but for me, it all felt like an instant.

  In my mind, it had only been a day or so ago that I had run away from the Outpost, looking to find my way back to the Sector. It had only been a few days since I had wished my father well and ridden away from him on a transportation disc.

  The world was a place that made no sense to me anymore. Chester was supposed to be in the Outpost. Roamers didn’t venture out into the jungles until months after their arrival, and even then, only with a much more experienced partner.

  What was he doing out here all by himself, and what did it have to do with the horrible events that Asis’s father had alluded to right after we woke up?

  I would get my answers, I supposed, but I would have to wait for them. As it turned out, chaining Chester and housing him in o
ne of the tents the Savages called home was an intensive process. These places hadn’t been built to hold prisoners, and, now that one was here among his people, Asis had to make sure that Chester’s confines would hold him.

  That took all day and some of the night. By the time Asis’ men left Chester to himself, marching out of his prison tent with enough fervor to break a mountain in half, I could barely hold my eyes open. It was funny—I had spent a month sleeping, and now all I wanted to do was go back to sleep, even though I couldn’t imagine the image of Asis writhing over me would meet me when I did.

  No matter. I couldn’t afford to rest now. I needed answers, and, with Chester finally secure, the time had come for me to get them.

  I walked through the open slit of the prison tent, a laughable gap that told me everything I needed to know about the Savages’ preparedness for this particular situation.

  As I moved into the room, I saw Chester and realized why that wouldn’t be a problem.

  The bastards had built a cage inside the tent. It was sitting in the center of the room, and Chester was chained to the floor of it, surrounded by metal.

  My blood boiled. What did they think he was going to do? He was a waif of a man, and certainly wasn’t trained enough to pose any kind of threat to the people surrounding him right now.

  My heart broke as I looked at him: still filthy, still visibly exhausted. His lips looked cracked, dry, and broken as he smiled at me.

  “Hey, there,” he choked out, his tired eyes shining in the lantern light around us.

  “Are you alright?” I asked, looking at the shackles on his hands and feet.

  “Never better,” he answered. “Can’t you tell?”

  I took a deep breath and sat on the floor in front of his cage. We were face to face, separated by metal bars. I swallowed hard, trying to come up with something to say, something that might be enough to tell him how sorry I was for getting him into this situation. After all, if I hadn’t left, he probably wouldn’t be here right now.

  “I told them you weren’t dead,” he said, shaking his head slightly, which might have taken all the energy he could muster. “I told them that, if the Savages wanted to kill you, they’d have done it right away instead of snatching you up.” He coughed loudly before composing himself and continuing. “They told me how stupid I was being. Said I didn’t know anything about the way Savages work. Who’s stupid now, Marshal Weston?”

  “What are you talking about, Chester? Nobody snatched me. I ran away from the Outpost. I-I thought you knew that,” I said, then bit my bottom lip.

  His eyes slowly closed, and he stayed quiet for so long, I was almost sure he was asleep. Finally, he answered. “Well, isn’t that a whole ’nother bag of hair?” He coughed again. “You mean to tell me all the world broke loose and you didn’t even get took? What happened? You just started regretting your decision?”

  “Hardly,” I replied. “I told you about my visions, right? You remember my power.”

  “It’s coming back to me,” he said weakly.

  “Well, I had one about…about a lot of things, but it was also about my father. It told me that my father was about to be murdered.” I blinked back tears, looking at Chester and realizing all the hardship I had wrought for him. “I couldn’t allow that to happen, Chester. I hope you can understand that. I just couldn’t let him be killed.”

  Hs eyes finally opened, and he looked at me. I had expected to see anger, or at least indignation. After all, I deserved that and more. Instead, I found pity inside his bright eyes. I found understanding.

  “It’s alright, Starla,” he said weakly. “Gosh, I’d have done the same thing, I guess. I probably would have steered clear of Savage country if I could get around it, but the point is, I understand. And, if it makes you feel any better, you were successful.”

  “What?” I demanded. My body tensed, my heart pumped harder, and my throat went dry. “Chester, what are you talking about? Have you heard something about my father?”

  “Not so much heard something as saw something,” he said. “And not so much ‘something’ as him. Like, himself.” He shook his head. “I saw your daddy, Starla.”

  “Oh…” I muttered, my hand going to my mouth. “Oh, thank goodness. Thank goodness he’s alive.” Relief flooded me. He wasn’t dead! I wasn’t too late. Perhaps this was all it had taken—maybe just running away from the Outpost and finding myself stranded here had been enough to jar the future off its previous course. Perhaps I had already saved him. Still, I had more than one question rolling through my brain. “Where?” I stammered. “Where did you see my father, Chester?”

  He leaned up, his body creaking and his chains rattling along with the movement. I could already tell this wasn’t going to be good.

  “When you were taken,” he coughed. “I mean, when you left, I guess—it changed things. Marshal Weston classified it as a kidnapping and motioned for the Regent to call it an act of hostility from the Savages. Things started breaking down pretty quickly after that. We kept hearing about rumbles coming from the Sector. People were pressuring the Regent to declare war, I guess.” Again, he shook his head. “And, after a while, that’s what happened. Marshal Weston started sending us out on missions. First, they were just to gather information, see where the resistance pockets were, and all that. Soon, he got approval from the Regent, and word came down that we were going to go after the Savages, guns blazing.” He shrugged. “Which is a little bit of a kick in the ass, seeing as how I haven’t seen my Remington since the day I put a hole in that Ravager for us.”

  “I have it,” I said, then lifted my coat and turned so he could see the blue glow of the weapon strapped against my side. “It’s a long story, and I shouldn’t have taken it. I sure as Sector can’t use the damned thing, but that’s another issue. I still don’t understand what any of this has to do with my father.”

  Chester’s eyes had widened as he saw the gun at my side, but not with anger. He seemed to be relieved to know where the thing was, even if it wasn’t in his possession. Maybe he liked the idea that, in a way, he had helped to keep me safe through all this.

  He took a deep breath before continuing, and I could see that he was in pain as his chest moved up and down.

  “The Regent sent him over to the Outpost. Your daddy must be a heck of a talker, because he convinced the Regent that he needed to be out here in the thick of things. He wanted to go looking for you himself, but Marshal Weston would have rather cut his own teeth out with hedge clippers than let somebody who hasn’t been tested roam around the jungle. He did let him stay in the Outpost, though. That way, if one of us did happen to run across your troublesome backside, he’d get the news as quick as we could carry it.”

  “My father is something of a wordsmith, but more than that, he works for a lot of the noblemen in the Hills. I’d bet coins to cornmeal that he convinced them to put pressure on the Regent,” I told him. My mind was racing. Had this change brought my father closer to death, or moved him farther away from it? There was no way to tell.

  I did know that I needed to get to him. I needed to warn him about the man with the knife, the man who would slit his throat and carve up my face. That was the only sure way to stop his death from happening. How could I do that, though? I had already snuck out of one compound, and look at all the trouble that had stirred up. Breaking free from another one might very well crack the whole of the world in half if the pattern remained the same.

  Besides, there was another issue at hard. I had promised to help these Savages, had promised to do all I could to stop this plague before it extinguished their entire race. I couldn’t do that if I left—and what kind of person did it make me if I even considered doing that? Could I really put one person’s life above the survival of an entire race, even if that person was my father?

  I stood looking at Chester, remembering the vision I’d had about him. He had been dead too. He had been beaten like this, but the blows had been fatal then. Perhaps I had already
saved him. Maybe being in this cage had spared his life.

  I took a deep breath. “I’m going to get you out of here, Chester. I’m not sure how, or even when, but I’m going to help you. I swear it.”

  “Starla,” he said, swallowing hard. “When I saw your daddy back in the Outpost, I got to talking to him. One night, he got real drunk on ale and starting letting his sadness take him over. I wasn’t sure what he meant when he said this, but I figure you might need to keep it in mind.”

  “What?” I asked, my eyes narrowing and my heart tightening. “What did my father say to you, Chester?”

  “It wasn’t to me,” he said. “It was to himself. He just kept repeating it over and over. He just said, ‘I’m so sorry, Starla. I’m so sorry for lying to you.’”

  Chapter 16

  I left the tent where Chester was being held with my head spinning. All of this was too much to take. My actions—running away from the Outpost in the middle of the night—had sparked what looked to be the second act of the Great Wars that had torn our people apart all those years ago. I had lit a match and dropped it right onto a stick of dynamite. Now, how was I supposed to put out the flame before the whole thing exploded?

  More than that, what was Chester talking about? What had my father meant by what he’d said to Chester? He had never lied to me. We were too close for that. He would have told me anything, and, what was more, I would have done the same. There were no secrets between us. So, what was all of that about?

  Night had fallen deeply on the Savages’ camp by the time I walked back toward my tent. They were all sleeping, perhaps all dreaming happily about the girl who could cure their affliction, the girl I was supposed to be, and the girl I definitely was not.

  I had no idea how to do what I needed to do. My visions were sporadic and spotty, and they were only accurate some of the time. The future was a messy business. It kept changing, kept floating around on some shifting tide. Trying to pin it down was like trying to nail gravy to the wall. Even the vision I had based all of these actions on, seeing my father’s death, might very well have been inaccurate. Sure, I had seen Asis before I actually met him and having that come to pass did make the rest of the vision seem more plausible, but I had already ripped off the bandage by that point. Things were already in motion.