“Why not? They raised you. They even sent me reports—”
He stopped abruptly, but it was too late. Zemma’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“You kept in touch with them? But not with me?”
“I…”
“He sent them credits for looking after you,” Izzie added when Baralt didn’t continue.
“You paid them? And they spent all those years telling me what a burden I was to them.”
Baralt snarled, a terrifying look on his face. “They did what?”
“It’s over now,” Zemma said quickly. “I’ve lived here since I returned.”
“Returned from where?”
“Um.” Zemma gave Izzie a helpless look.
Izzie reached out and put a hand on Baralt’s arm. His normally hard muscles were like rock beneath her fingers. “We should discuss this later. When we’re alone,” she added, pointing to a strange Hothian female hurrying up the ramp toward them.
“The zuraach,” Zemma said quickly. “I’ll just go see if she needs any assistance.”
She scurried off as Baralt gave a frustrated growl.
“Let her go,” Izzie said softly. “This really isn’t the time or place.”
“Do you know what she was talking about?” he asked.
“Some of it. But it’s not my story to tell.”
“Females,” he said in disgust. “I’m going to bathe.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
After Baralt stalked off, Izzie considered following him but decided it would be better to let his temper cool, although she suspected it was frustration rather than anger behind his sudden departure. Instead, she walked over to where Zemma and the stranger were standing over the paxha.
“Izzie, this is Laralla. She is the finest zuraach in this or any other tribe.”
Laralla looked up and flashed her a friendly smile. “And this is the finest paxha that I have ever seen. Your mate is a very skilled hunter.”
Pleasure filled Izzie at this female’s praise of Baralt. “He’s very special,” she agreed.
“I must begin before the scales begin to decay. I want to capture every detail.” Laralla smiled again. “And I am sure that you are ready to start preparing the feast, Zemma.”
As Izzie watched in fascination, Laralla bent over the paxha. She began by placing a thin layer of cloth beneath each of the fins so that they were easily distinguished from the rest of the body. After making a few notes in an elaborate leather-bound notebook, she scattered a fine substance over the paxha, making sure that every inch was covered. Then she unrolled a long, wide sheet of what looked like a very fine paper. She positioned it carefully over the body, then took a soft brush and worked the paper against the scales.
Izzie finally realized that she was essentially making a rubbing of the paxha. That explained the clarity of the image in Baralt’s bedroom, but somehow the process transformed the fearsome-looking creature into a fine work of art.
Both she and Zemma watched as Laralla worked quickly but with exquisite attention to detail. After she finished with the tail, she waited a few minutes and then very carefully removed the paper.
“There. I have no more need of the body.”
“What do you do next?” Izzie asked.
“I will take this back to my studio and lay in the colors. The machi powder captures the texture, and then I add the shading. The end result is an image that can be transferred to wherever Baralt would like it.”
“Did you do the one in his bedroom? It’s beautiful.”
Laralla looked pleased. “Thank you. It was a fine specimen, but this…this is the best I have ever seen. It is an honor to render it.”
Carefully rolling up the paper, Laralla nodded and hurried away.
“I had no idea,” Izzie murmured.
“It’s fascinating, is it not? I wanted to be a zuraach when I was a child.” Sadness crossed Zemma’s face, but then she pushed it aside and grinned at Izzie. “Now comes the messy part.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that the paxha has to be skinned and cleaned in order to be prepared for the feast.”
Izzie gave the creature a disgusted look. “Really? And we have to do it?”
“It is tradition that the females of the household prepare the paxha.” Zemma paused, then her eyes sparkled with mischief. “But many things are changing these days. I wonder if Baralt’s admirers would care to assist.”
Izzie looked down into the main cavern and saw that the crowd of young warriors were still clustered below. One of them looked up and saw her watching. Before he could duck his head and look away, she gestured for him to come and join them. He raced up the ramp looking pleased and nervous.
“Yes, mistress? Did you summon me?”
“I did. While we are of course thrilled that my mate had such a successful hunt, the creature is so large and there are only two of us to prepare it. I was wondering if perhaps you and your friends could assist?” She all but batted her eyes at him, and she saw Zemma laughing behind his back.
He looked first shocked, then thoughtful, then finally excited. “Of course we would be happy to help. And perhaps you could reward us with tales of your mate’s prowess while we worked.”
She almost laughed at the casual way he slipped that in, but it was a small price to pay not to have to touch the paxha.
“I don’t know that many stories, but I could tell you about one of his fights? If you would like that.”
He grinned. “I look forward to it. My name is Petralt.”
“And I am Izzie.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Izzie, mate of Baralt.”
He went to gather the rest of his companions, and Zemma laughed. “You, my sister, are a genius. It’s about time these males learn to clean what they kill.”
Later that evening, Izzie leaned sleepily against Baralt’s side. To her surprise, the paxha, stuffed with edible mosses and roasted over an open fire, had proven to be delicious. The group of young warriors had been cheerfully efficient as they’d followed Zemma’s instructions to prepare it. Izzie had been in the middle of the story of Baralt’s fight with Goolig when he had rejoined them. He had looked startled but not disapproving, and he seemed to have regained his usual equanimity. When he’d joined the youngsters in cleaning the paxha, they had bombarded him with questions. He had answered willingly enough, although he’d made no attempt to either portray himself as a hero or to deemphasize the downside of the gladiator lifestyle.
“But you were free,” Petralt had said at one point. “Free to go wherever you wanted. Free to find a mate.”
“Not as free as you would imagine. The fight contracts are designed to benefit the fight master, not the fighter, especially at the beginning. There were several times when I did not think that I would survive.” An abashed silence had fallen, and then Baralt had looked at her, and his face had softened. “But to find my mate, I would do it all again.”
When the young warriors had left, carrying the prepared paxha to a spit over an open fire of what appeared to be chunks of wood, they had been talking eagerly among themselves. They were still talking now, she noticed, huddled together on the other side of the fire. Zemma had joined them, and they were obviously delighted by her presence, but although Zemma laughed and responded to their conversation, Izzie didn’t think her smile reached her eyes.
“That wood smells wonderful,” she murmured. “And I think the smoke really added to the taste. What kind of tree does it come from?”
Baralt looked amused. “Have you seen any trees on Hothrest, Isabel?” She shook her head, and his smile widened. “It is sarlag dung. We gather it, dry it, and burn it.”
For a moment, she was horrified, but hadn’t the early settlers done the same thing with buffalo dung? It was too late to change it now, and it had been delicious. A sudden wave of tiredness overcame her, and she yawned.
“Come, my aria. It is time for bed.”
Before she could object, he lifted her into hi
s arms and started carrying her back toward their cave. She could see the other guests watching them, but unlike on the previous day, their gazes seemed more speculative than hostile. Especially from the younger males.
“They want mates, don’t they?” she asked softly once they were out of earshot.
“Of course. All warriors want a female of their own.” He took a few steps in silence, then added, “When I was growing up, we were taught that it would be a rare privilege to be chosen by a female and that we should look forward to a life of service to the tribe instead.”
“How did you feel about that?”
“Strangely enough, I accepted it. One of the reasons I argued for removing the restrictions on interaction with offworlders was because I thought it was best for the tribe.” Sorrow crossed his face. “My brother was not as accepting.”
They had reached their room by now, and he laid her carefully on the bed before settling down beside her.
“What happened to him?” she asked gently.
“We were young and foolish. We thought we were great warriors. We traveled to Port Eyeja to discover what people from other species were like.”
He stared up at the ceiling, watching the light crystals rotate in their endless dance.
“We didn’t realize that most of the people there had never encountered a Hothian before. And the stories they had heard about us made them think that we were no more than talking animals. We encountered a group of males taking advantage of a female in a back alley and demanded that they stop. They just laughed, so I challenged them.” His claws tapped together restlessly. “In the caves, a challenge is always fought without weapons. We didn’t realize that that was not true in other places. One of them pulled a blaster. I don’t remember much of the fight. I just remember that when I woke up, Akhalt was dead. Most of the alien males were as well.”
Tears slipped silently down her cheeks. “What about you?”
“I didn’t die even though I wanted to. I remember lying there in the snow, looking up at the stars and knowing that I had failed. But the female found help for me. They provided me with a sleigh and somehow I managed to bring my brother home. I think the fact that strangers helped me is the only thing that made me realize not all aliens are evil.”
“And then you left Hothrest?”
“As soon as I healed enough to walk. It was all too obvious almost everyone blamed me for Akhalt’s death, although no more than I blamed myself. I decided I no longer had a home here. So I promised to send credits for Zemma, and I left. Sold two bags of sothiti to pay for the trip.” He shook his head, visibly shaking off the memories, and forced a smile. “I grossly overpaid. The captain of the trader told me about the fight pits, and the rest is history.”
“Did you enjoy it? Fighting, I mean.”
“In some ways. It gave me a chance to prove myself. And earn a good many credits.”
“Were you with Relkhei the entire time?”
“Oh no. I started in a literal pit with the spectators hanging over the edge to watch the fights.” He shrugged. “But even though Relkhei likes to call it an arena rather than a fight pit and it’s a hell of a lot larger, it’s not really that much different.”
“I’m not glad you were driven from your home, but I am glad that you were there to meet me. You saved me, Baralt.”
“I don’t want your gratitude,” he growled.
“I know.” She knew what he wanted, but despite her earlier fear, the words lodged in her throat. Instead, she took refuge in action. She began kissing her way down his chest, determined to show him with her body what she could not find the words to say.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Baralt followed Njkall into the cave of the Elders. In many ways, it looked like any other cave. The Elders were bent over a variety of tasks, some working in solitude, others in small groups. They didn’t appear to pay any attention when he entered, but he knew better. Every one of them was aware of his presence. He just hoped that they had not already passed judgment on him.
“Greetings, Baralt.” Elder Shinall looked up from the fur he was working on. “It has been many years since you have joined us.”
Was that a criticism? Or a hint that he should have stayed away longer? He knew he was being oversensitive, but he still remembered what it had been like to have everyone turn their backs on him while he was mourning his brother.
“It has been a long time,” he said neutrally. “Not much appears to have changed.”
Shinall shot him a quick glance. “Appearances can be deceptive. I understand that Njkall has mentioned to you that there have been several disturbing incidents recently?”
“Yes, he did.”
“When our grandfathers entered into the contract with the Empire, we thought it for the best. We thought we could continue our way of life without becoming involved in Imperial politics.” Shinall sighed. “We should have realized that change is inevitable. You are one of the few Hothians to go off world. What has been your experience?”
“That people are similar no matter where you go—there are good ones and bad ones everywhere.” He shrugged. “Sometimes the bad ones seem to predominate, but then again, life in the fight pits is not the most civilized of environments.”
“Did you never leave them? See more of the Empire?” The question came from Elder Hilek, seated at the rear of the cave and carving a sarlag bone into a ceremonial knife.
“I did on occasion—when I was between contracts or during a rest season. I have seen great cities that covered entire planets, and I have seen oceans with monsters far larger than the paxha. I have seen planets so thick with plants that the very air seemed alive. I have dined with kings and broken bread with the poorest miners.”
“And you never wished to return home?”
He had, so many times, but he had known that he was no longer welcome.
“I did not believe that it was an option,” he said, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice.
Shinall sat back on his heels. “What happened to Akhalt—it was tragic, but it was not your fault. We all knew that he was just as restless as you were. We should not have allowed our sorrow, and our guilt, to chase you away.”
“Your guilt?”
The Elder sighed again. “We should not have allowed the two of you to go to Port Eyeja alone. We should have forbidden you to make the trip or we should have sent other warriors with you. We were too busy debating about whether we should relax our stance on interaction with the Empire to consider more local dangers.”
Baralt considered Shinall’s words. While he appreciated that the Elders might have had second thoughts, it was too late, and too much had changed.
“I am not sure that it would have made a difference,” he admitted. “I suspect that forbidding us to leave would not have stopped us. And if we had been part of a larger party, more might have been hurt. We were unprepared for life outside the caves.”
“Njkall argued that after you left. Since then, he has studied the ways of the offworlders.”
“Not always successfully,” Njkall interrupted. “I agreed to a contract with a group of scientists that could have destroyed our planet.”
“In exchange for some monitoring equipment that we desperately needed,” Shinall said. “You also arranged for social interaction with the port.”
“With the result that one of our precious females was lured away by an evil male.” Njkall gave a rueful smile. “Sometimes I think that my efforts have caused more harm than good.”
“Perhaps in the short term,” Shinall agreed. “But you made the attempt—an attempt that we all agree is necessary. We cannot remain in isolation. But neither will we allow our way of life to disappear.” He looked directly at Baralt. “You were one of the first to advocate more interaction. What do you think should be the path forward?”
“I still believe that it is necessary. Hothrest is easily dismissed by other systems of the Empire because of our isolation. Many believe that we are n
o more than animals, and that makes us vulnerable. If we ever lose the protection we were granted in return for the sothiti, very few would come to our defense if an attempt was made to exploit us.” He tapped his claws together. “My suggestion is that we start trying to build relationships with other systems. At the very least, our presence should be felt in Port Eyeja.”
“That was your argument, Njkall, but it did not work out well.” This comment came from Lamjal, one of the most stalwart defenders of traditional ways.
What had happened? He would question Njkall afterward, but now he simply shrugged. “Perhaps not, but very few things go perfectly the first time. Was your first skin as well cured as that one will be?”
“No, but it caused no damage to anyone else,” Lamjal shot back.
“Ignoring the situation will not change it. We would like you to think on this matter and give us your suggestions, Baralt,” Shinall said, then he frowned. “Unless you plan on leaving again immediately.”
“I don’t want to leave,” he said slowly, surprised by how much he truly wanted to stay on Hothrest. “And even if I did want to, I would remain as long as my mate is safe here.”
“Mate?” Lamjal made a disgusted noise. “A naked skin is not a fit mate for a warrior.”
Anger roared through Baralt so quickly that he was almost dizzy. Forgetting the venerable nature of those present, he crossed the space in three quick strides and snatched Lamjal to his feet.
“She’s the finest female I know. She is brave and intelligent and kindhearted, despite what our galaxy has forced upon her. If I ever hear you make another negative comment about her, I will challenge you. Is that clear?”
To his credit, the old male didn’t back away in the face of Baralt’s anger. Instead, his aged eyes studied Baralt’s face, then he nodded.
“In that case, you should have a joining ceremony. If she is as fine a female as you claim, then she deserves one.”
Lamjal’s words took him by surprise. The need to formalize his relationship with Isabel had not occurred to him, but now that he thought about it, he was filled with an immense longing.
Izzie and the Icebeast: A Scifi Alien Romance (Alien Abduction Book 9) Page 15
