Rohn: Warriors of Sangrin

by Nancey Cummings

  * * *

  Nakia

  * * *

  The purple alien held her hand. He never left her side, not once as the medics worked, not when she had been moved from the ruin of the school to a bed with cool, clean sheets, and not when a soft-spoken lady asked for her name and her parents.

  Nakia was too hot, then impossibly cold. She drifted in and out of consciousness. Each time she came to, the surroundings changed but Rohn remained constant. Sometimes another man was there, who was red and large as a mountain.

  Not a man, an alien, her fevered mind supplied.

  She shouldn’t trust aliens. Everyone knew that. The pretty golden-skinned aliens introduced humanity to the notion that they were not alone, then proceeded to slaughter humans. What did the purple alien want from her, beyond holding her hand?

  She decided in a moment of clarity between uneasy dreams that her purple alien was handsome. And kind. He sat by the bed and read aloud—what he read, she could not say—halting over pronunciation and shaping the words strangely, making it obvious that English was not his native language. Regardless, his voice had a deep, soothing quality. Occasionally he spoke in soft, rolling words, the rich timbre of his voice shining through. She didn’t know what he spoke about; she didn’t care so long as she got to listen.

  Doctors came to examine her. They frowned and never answered her questions.

  “It’s bad. You can tell me,” she said. Her leg was under a sheet. She couldn’t move it and, with the pain meds pumping into her, she couldn’t feel it. Hell, she couldn’t feel her nose.

  Not being able to move her leg worried her.

  “Please, tell me.”

  The doctor, a human male with dark circles under his eyes looked at Rohn before answering. “You have an injury to your spinal cord.” She wanted to vomit but her stomach was empty. “But we can detect no fractures. When the swelling goes down, I believe you will regain mobility.”

  Nakia sighed with relief.

  “The right leg will require amputation. An infection has set in, one that isn’t responding to treatment. I think the best course of action is to remove the limb before the infection can spread.”

  She stared blankly at the doctor. His words made no sense. “My leg—”

  “Community-acquired infections typically respond to treatment. You must have been exposed to a contaminant here. These close quarters make everything difficult,” the doctor said with a shake of his head. “The surgery is scheduled for the morning. Try to rest.”

  Nakia couldn’t rest. She had just been coolly informed that her leg was about to be hacked off and the doctor expected her to rest, like she had a chance of hell of sleeping. She wanted her mother. She wanted anyone familiar.

  She looked over to Rohn, standing in the corner with his arms folded over his chest.

  “He didn’t even ask. I thought patients were supposed to give consent,” she said, suddenly exhausted. Perhaps it wouldn’t be too hard to rest after all.

  “It is necessary to save your life,” he said in his wonderful, oddly accented voice.

  “Don’t leave me,” she whispered.

  * * *

  Rohn

  * * *

  “Don’t leave me,” the female said, voice fading as she drifted off to sleep. The Mahdfel-sized bed gave her an especially diminutive appearance, small and needing protection. That’s why he stayed, he reasoned with himself.

  Of course, his warlord had given him the same instruction days ago, to generate goodwill and trust with the Terrans.

  But the warlord did not see the looks the medical staff gave Rohn. They did not see his watching over the female until her family could arrive as an act of goodwill or friendship. They regarded him with mistrust and apprehension.

  He should leave, before the wary staff could accuse him of misdeeds against the child, but she asked him to remain. She had no one, and she appeared so small in the bed sized for an adult.

  She was older than he initially thought, but he had such a hard time discerning Terran ages. Their stature and build were slighter than his, prompting his first instinct to classify every Terran as a child. Some had round faces, which spoke of youth, but he knew that to be unreliable as the roundness could be from overindulgence. Then again, many Terrans who came in from the unsecured areas had lean faces, honed from hardship and food shortages. Overindulgence was a relic from before the Suhlik’s arrival.

  He enjoyed what he had seen of Earth’s environment. The mountains surrounding the medium-sized Terran town crowded the sky in dramatic fashion, dark gray against a vivid blue sky. He could see why Terrans chose to reside in such surroundings. Those same mountains provided cover from the Suhlik, distorting navigation readings, which was why the Mahdfel placed a military encampment there. Perhaps that contributed to his ship’s uncontrolled freefall.

  Rohn sent a quick message to an engineer friend. Surely, he couldn’t be the first to make the connection, but Jaxar was brilliant in his way. If it could be done, he’d make it a reality.

  He still waited for the warlord’s judgment on the crash. Initial reports stated that the ship had erroneously been cleared for flight, while it should have received maintenance. The crash had not been his fault but rested on the shoulders of an overworked technician. Still, the decision weighed upon Rohn. Cirra lost her life. A warrior, Levin, lost his mate. At the very least, the male had the right to challenge Rohn in combat. Violence wouldn’t bring his lost mate back, but Rohn should suffer a small fraction of the pain Levin must endure. It was imperfect, but it was a sort of balance.

  Until then, he remained with the female child.

  Chapter 3

  Nakia

  Nakia drifted into consciousness, aware of the soft pings of machines and the low thrum of the heating system. She was warm, in a soft bed, and she could see mountains from the window.

  Mountains. She was so far from home. Lying in the hospital bed, Nakia watched the sunlight move over the gray and white mountain face. The view was gorgeous, but it made her miss the wide-open skies of home.

  Clear head for the first time in forever, the clouded, sticky haze had vanished, but a bone-deep exhaustion remained.

  And then she remembered.

  Nakia struggled to sit up, aware of the IV line attached to her arm. She stared at her legs. Or rather, where her legs should be.

  Under the blanket, the shape of her loss was obvious. Her right leg just stopped at the knee. It looked surreal, felt surreal, but if she did not pull the blanket back, it wasn’t real. Not yet.

  Anger stirred at memories of doctors talking above her bed but never talking to her. How dare they do this to her. Did they even try to find her parents, to explain what had to be done? They let her, a sixteen-year-old girl, go through this alone and couldn’t be bothered to make sure she wasn’t by herself when she woke.

  Her gaze found an empty chair at her bedside. Fuzzy memories of a purple alien holding her hand…

  That had to be a delusion, a fever dream. Aliens blew up buildings. They didn’t hold hands in a hospital.

  How much time had passed since the school collapsed? How long had she lain in that hospital bed? Her mom had to be going out of her mind with worry. Then a dreadful thought crept in. Was her mother even alive to worry…? Her parents could have died in the same attack that brought down her school. Not only was Nakia an amputee, but she could be an orphan.

  The urge to cry rose pricked at her chest but she swallowed that urge down. Moaning and whining wouldn’t change anything now. Nonetheless, her eyes watered, the traitors.

  A voice cleared, drawing her attention. A tall, heather purple alien with horns curling over his brow like a ram stood in the door.

  She blinked, wiping away the evidence of her near tears. The alien was not a delusion, then.

  “Water?” He held a paper cup to her mouth and patiently waited while she sipped. Up close, she could see the black ink of a tattoo under the sleeve of his shirt. He pulled away befo
re she gave into curiosity and pushed up his sleeve to investigate.

  “I didn’t think you were real, Rohn,” she said, licking at the moisture on her lips. She liked saying his name, the long, low vowel sounding like the color.

  He nodded and a slow grin spread across his face, revealing very sharp and very white fangs.

  She smiled in returned. “Where am I?”

  “Crestwood.” His accent, soft and rolling, made the perfectly average place name sound exotic. “A medical unit for Terrans. It is safe here.”

  “This is Colorado?”

  He scratched at the base of his horn, as if thinking. “I am unfamiliar with the province name. The city is Crestwood. You were transported here for medical care.”

  “But home is five hundred miles away.” Or something close to that. Why bring her so far away?

  “It is no distance in a Mahdfel ship.” Pride swelled in his tone.

  Right. The aliens had interstellar travel. Popping over to the next state for medical care was nothing in comparison.

  “We are attempting to locate your family but communications between encampments are prone to failure,” he said.

  “Don’t you have super high-tech stuff? How can the phones not work?”

  “The Suhlik target communications arrays. Did they also not take down Earth’s satellites?”

  Nakia remembered how cellphones and the internet stopping working on the same day. “I guess.”

  He shifted in the chair, leaning forward. Even though he did not touch her, half of her was alarmed at the proximity of a very muscular, dangerous male who was clearly not human. The other half wanted to get closer, to touch him, to find out if his hair was as silky as it looked and how far the tattoos went on his arm.

  “I will find your parents,” he said.

  She believed him.

  “What happened? I mean, obviously,” she said, waving toward her leg but not ready to look at it. Yet. “What happened though?”

  He rubbed the base of his horn and sighed. “There was an accident. A shuttle was shot down and the pilot landed it poorly.”

  “Into my school.”

  Another sigh. “Yes. Very poorly.”

  The corner of her mouth twitched. She refused to smile because this was serious. Besides, her entire body ached, and it hurt to smile.

  “I was the pilot,” he admitted.

  “Oh.” Was he looking for forgiveness? Understanding? It was probably the drugs in her system keeping her fuzzy and slightly disconnected from herself, but she wasn’t upset with him. “Shit happens. This is war, right?”

  “Indeed.” The solemn expression did not ease, however.

  “Was anyone else hurt?” Did anyone she know die?

  “A passenger. We recovered the occupants of the building. Most injuries were nominal.”

  “Are they here? Can I see them?” As much as Bobby worked her nerves, Nakia would like to see a familiar face.

  A nurse arrived before he answered. “Good, you’re awake. Let’s change your dressing and get a look at your stump.”

  Nakia flinched at the phase. Her stump.

  The nurse briskly lifted the bedsheet and Nakia stared up at the ceiling, refusing to look at the wreckage of her leg. She felt the cool air on her exposed skin and her hand twisted into the sheets.

  “Any pain?” the nurse asked.

  “Yes. I dunno. Maybe.” She didn’t want to think about the vague ache below her knee or how she could still feel her feet. Both of them. Now that she acknowledged the sensation, her feet itched. Instinctively, she moved her left foot to scratch the other.

  That went as well as expected.

  “My feet itch,” she complained.

  The nurse made a sympathetic noise. “It’s to be expected. Your brain hasn’t caught up with your body yet. The neural pathways are firing in old patterns. Now, let’s see how the incision is healing.”

  Nakia kept her eyes fixed on the ceiling as the nurse removed the last layer of the dressing. “But my foot itches.” And there was nothing she could do about it.

  “Try not to think about it.”

  Right. Because not thinking about an itch totally works.

  “No sign of infection. Draining nicely.”

  Nakia whimpered at the nurse’s words. Bad enough she had to image the incision site, but now she pictured it draining and leaking and being otherwise a disgusting mess. Her hand twisted into the sheets, the fabric strained and likely to rip.

  Rohn lifted her hand from the bed, engulfing her hand in his. “Nakia, you should look.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “It is not nearly as bad as whatever you’re imagining,” he said.

  Her gaze snapped to his. He had no idea. She didn’t imagine the ruined knob of flesh, the body horror of finding herself altered, but she imagined all the things she would no longer be able to do like she’d always done: walking, running, swimming, dancing, and climbing the stairs. Fuck, even buying shoes would be weird. Would she even be able to wear normal shoes, or would they have to be specially altered?

  “You are afraid,” he said.

  She lifted her chin, wanting to deny her fear but, the words never came.

  “It is not unreasonable to be cautious in the face of change.”

  “This is a hell of a change,” she said, pointing to her stump. For the first time, she looked.

  Her leg ended in a round ball just below the knee. Heavy black thread ran in a neat line, stitching her flesh closed. She looked pale, paler than her normal bronze, and the incision was a vivid red.

  Now that she was looking, she couldn’t tear her eyes away. She could still feel her right leg, even the shadow of an itch on the sole of her foot, and she had to fight the urge to reach down and scratch.

  “I suppose you want to tell me to walk it off,” she said at length.

  The nurse snorted but Rohn did not react to her gallows humor.

  “You are more than your body,” he said with a seriousness that made her voice catch. His grip tightened on her hand. “You have strength and courage that allowed you to survive in an unreasonable situation. I know you will continue to be brave, because I cannot imagine that a spirit such as yours would ever fail.”

  She blushed, not sure what to make of such praise. She didn’t think her spirit could fail if Rohn remained with her, cheering her on.

  * * *

  Rohn

  * * *

  “Found you at last.” The haggard male leaned against the doorway. He did not need to introduce himself. Rohn already knew. He was Cirra’s mate.

  “Why are you here, Levin?”

  “Just curious where the male who murdered my mate spends his time.”

  Rohn instinctively moved to stand between Nakia’s bed and the door. Levin smiled, brittle and sharp. This was a male who lost everything, Rohn told himself, and needed compassion, but he felt only malice roll off the male, not grief. The stink of alcohol clung to him.

  Levin leaned forward and gave a dramatic sniff. “Is that your female? Seems a bit young.”

  “She is a child.”

  “Of course, Terrans all look the same to me. Tiny things.” Levin took a step closer, his smile faltering but rare hostility remained in his eyes. “Fragile.”

  Hatred, Rohn realized. Levin hated him, for the mistakes he made. For what those mistakes took from him. As well as he should. Rohn hated himself.

  “If you are here to challenge me…” Rohn started.

  Levin stepped around Rohn and inspected Nakia’s sleeping form. He lifted the edge of a blanket, uncovering an empty bed where her leg should be, and tutted. “This one is defective.”

  “She is not defective,” he replied instantly.

  “Do you hope that a defective female will be desperate enough to ignore your obvious deficiencies? Maybe she won’t mind that you crash more ships than you land.”

  “Enough.” Rohn jabbed Levin quickly in the jaw, before grabbing his arm and twisting it beh
ind his back. He had height and muscle mass on his side, Levin being a wiry build rather than bulky. He was a medic, if Rohn remembered correctly.

  With a kick to the male’s feet, Rohn steered Levin toward the door. “I will suffer your petty abuse until you are satisfied, but do not speak ill of Nakia. She is strong. She is a survivor.”

  She comported herself with more dignity in the face of loss than Levin did, but Rohn remained silent on that point.

  “If you will challenge me to amok amser, do so. Do not make threats against a sleeping child,” Rohn said, shoving Levin into the corridor. He had more combat experience than the medic and would win a contest of brute strength. No doubt the grieving male wished to unnerve—possible enrage—him before issuing a formal challenge.

  Levin dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, those brittle eyes watching him. “Does she know that you’re at fault? The reason she lost her leg?”

  He wanted to provoke Rohn.

  “It was enemy fire. I did all I could.”

  “You flew in restricted space.”

  “An error of the navigation system.” Even as he said the words, he failed to believe them. He should have double-checked the route in the computer, compared it to the safe zones, or ran a diagnostic on the ship’s computers before taking off. He should have read the maintenance logs. He could have chosen to do a dozen things but he did not. He only thought to get the female with the grating voice off his ship as quickly as possible and return to the encampment.

  “Such a tiny little Terran, so trusting. Did she call you her hero? Terrans like heroes, have you noticed? Someone to idealize.”

  Rohn remained silent, refusing to allow Levin to provoke him. Nakia had said those words to him at the height of her fever.

  “The only thing I think they enjoy more than having a hero is tearing that hero down.” Levin jabbed a finger in the center of Rohn’s chest. He growled a warning, his control slipping.