14

 

Cerrin watched Count Talazeer prowl up and down. He had his hands clasped behind his back and would stop occasionally to peer down at the animals. She, Marl, and Kezzelet were standing at the other end of the storeroom, close to the door. Physically, Cerrin was feeling better, but what she had seen beyond the great ship’s viewports had shocked her as much as the flight. That endless black seemed to her a dark sea that might wash them all away at any moment.

Kezzelet shifted around impatiently. Cerrin and the guard had already been waiting for some time before the Count arrived, and he had not spoken a word while inspecting his new collection. Clad in a black tunic striped with gold, he bent over the box containing the climbing karki. The animal pressed itself against the back of the container, long limbs scrabbling in the leaves.

Talazeer straightened up and ran a finger down his neck, then gestured to Cerrin without looking at her. Kezzelet gave her a shove in the shoulder that almost knocked her off her feet. When she reached the Count, he turned to her.

“They are frightened.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I am having an expert sent to collect them, but I must have everything you know. We’ve set up a recorder in my quarters—you will spend this evening passing on the information, then return to Mine Fourteen tomorrow.”

“Sir, it will not take long. Can’t I go back—”

Talazeer was already on the move. He marched to the doorway and was joined by Marl as he continued out into the corridor. Kezzelet waved Cerrin forward, and she almost had to run to keep up. When they passed another long, high viewport, her stomach tightened and she made herself ignore the darkness. Two Vitaari coming the other way bowed to the Count, who did not acknowledge them. They were dressed like the administrators at the mine; she had already seen at least a dozen of them aboard the Galtaryax.

The Count rounded a corner and stopped beside an elevator. Mounted on the wall beside it was a large, colorful picture. It showed an elderly Vitaari sitting on a richly decorated throne. In one hand was a large staff with a glowing ball at the top. The old man was wrapped in a purple robe and was staring resolutely forward.

Talazeer said something to Kezzelet, who hesitated, then walked back the way they had come, gun hanging from his shoulder. Cerrin wasn’t sure what this meant, but she was glad to be rid of him, at least for the moment. When the elevator doors opened, it was Marl who put his hand on her shoulder and guided her inside. His touch chilled her. Though the Vitaari didn’t seem to smell or sweat, their large bodies gave out a lot of heat. The spindly, scaled fingers of the bodyguard, however, were utterly cold.

As the doors closed and the elevator eased upward, Cerrin observed the blurred reflections of the two tall beings behind her: Marl, head round and smooth, body upright and still; Talazeer, mane of hair framing his angular face, body twitching and restless.

When the doors opened, they set off again, Marl walking beside Cerrin as they passed more administrators and a pair of soldiers wearing blue uniforms and carrying equipment unlike any Cerrin had seen. When they reached a junction, she looked along another corridor and spied a man dressed in the same gear. It was the old commander who’d been with Talazeer on his first visit. She couldn’t remember his name.

Once beyond the next broad doorway, the corridor divided into two, curling around the sides of a large room. Pausing momentarily for a beep to sound, Talazeer led the way into a space that looked to Cerrin like a bigger version of Governor Yeterris’s office. There was a large table in the middle with a seating area to the rear. On either side of the main space were smaller rooms.

As the door shut behind them, Talazeer pointed at the table and a screen mounted on a flexible arm. The display showed a huge, gleaming building with arches and domes and towers. Cerrin had never seen such structures, though she had heard them described by Palanians.

“Sit,” said Talazeer.

She did so but was barely able to touch the ground. The Count adjusted the chair somehow so it descended.

“Do you people not say thank you?” He turned the screen toward her.

“Thank you, Excellency.”

The Count’s fingers danced across the screen, and suddenly Cerrin found herself staring at a picture of a lightfly. Talazeer pointed at a symbol in the corner of the screen.

“Touch this when you want to talk, then again when you want to stop. When you’ve finished, you just press here for the other creatures.”

Now she realized there were little boxes at the top showing the other seven animals.

“Everything you know about them. Especially food—I want them to last the journey.”

Cerrin nodded.

Talazeer deactivated his translator and issued a few orders to Marl. He then walked to the back of the room, poured himself a drink, and checked his appearance in a mirror. Marl returned from one of the smaller rooms, holding a black jacket with a red line across the front. Muttering something to himself, Talazeer walked over and put the jacket on.

Marl rounded the table and stood over Cerrin. “Do not leave that seat.” His thin black lips hardly moved, yet she glimpsed the dark red tongue and triangular teeth. “We won’t be here, but we will be watching.”

The two sides of his cloak separated momentarily, and Cerrin spied a bladed weapon hanging from his belt. The Count summoned him and they left.

She slumped back and let out a long breath. Perhaps things would be all right after all. Her eyes were drawn to the rear of the room; behind the couches was another viewport. She turned the chair away from it and faced the screen.

 

 

Cerrin awoke to the sound of scraping claws. Sitting up, she looked across the darkened storeroom toward the containers. The movement drew more noise from the animals: she heard the sesskar squeaking and the illari bird pecking at something. It was hard to know how long she’d been sleeping; she was surprised she’d been able to.

Having completed her task in around an hour, she had then waited for Talazeer and Marl to return. Ignoring her, the Count had walked straight into what looked like his bedroom. Marl had then escorted her back down to the storeroom. She found they had put out a bed for her, well away from the animals. There was also some water, but no food. Cerrin reckoned it was exhaustion that had sent her to sleep: the strain of coming to this strange place and being alone amongst the Vitaari.

The animals began to settle down again. She pulled the covers over herself and laid down. Just as her eyes closed, the sesskar began its scraping again. Then the karki began to grunt and move around.

When the door opened, light flooded the room. Shock or fear quieted the animals as a tall dark shape entered and walked toward Cerrin. She pushed the covers off and stood up. By the time the interloper arrived, his distinctive silhouette had given him away.

“Come with me,” said Marl.

“Where?”

“Do as you’re told and no harm will come to you.”

He reached for her, but she sat down.

“Girl.”

Instead of answering, Cerrin reached for her nearest boot and put it on.

Marl withdrew and waited for her.

When she was ready, she followed him out into the corridor. The bodyguard shut the door, then looked around warily before leading her away, cold hand on her arm. Every time they reached a junction or a doorway, he would check that they hadn’t been seen, and instead of using the elevator, he took stairways and a route through what seemed a quieter part of the ship. Cerrin did not know what was going on, only that she wished she were back in the storeroom with the animals.

At one corner, she didn’t move with him. Marl stopped and looked down at her, eyes alert and bright in the round, green head.

“What if I scream?” said Cerrin.

“You wouldn’t dare,” replied the bodyguard.

He was right about that.

 

 

Talazeer was sitting on one of the couches, a glass in his hand. Marl escorted her that far, then left them alone.

“Please,” said the Count, gesturing at a chair close to his end of the couch.

Cerrin sat down. On the table between them was a drink of the same pale orange liquid Talazeer was holding. There were also six bowls filled with different foods, none of which she recognized.

“Destrian honey wine and delicacies from my home world. You will never drink nor eat anything better.”

Cerrin stared blankly at the floor.

“I know you must be hungry, girl. Please.”

“No, thank you.”

“Will you look at me?”

She did so.

Talazeer was once again clad in another of the tight sleeveless shirts like he had worn in the forest. His feet were bare below a pair of flowing trousers—black like the shirt.

“I understand that you people refer to your star as the ‘Wild Sun.’ Nobody seems to know why.”

“Many centuries ago, the sun was calm. Then we began to see fire flashes.”

“Solar flares, I expect.”

“Some said the fire gods were angry. Others thought the end times were coming. There was a time when a person was lucky to see a fire flash once in their life. Now they happen most years. Perhaps the end is near.”

“Perhaps. And your name, Cerrin—does it have any meaning?”

“Just a name.”

The Count nodded slowly, then picked something off his lean, muscular arm. “I’ve been…” Talazeer looked at the door, then at Cerrin. “I’ve been unable to forget it. You. Since the forest.”

He suddenly stood up and walked to the window. “It’s a kind of sickness, I suppose. Perhaps there is something wrong with me. But I’m hardly the first. And I have always found that once I want something, I… I simply have to have it.”

He returned and offered her the second glass. “Please drink, Cerrin. It will help you relax.”

She was certain now; the Vitaari expected her to lie with him. Cerrin had never been with a man in that way; it was forbidden by the Echobe before betrothal. She had kissed boys occasionally, but nothing more. Her father had told her there’d been offers of betrothal, but none of the young men had been worthy of his bright, strong, beautiful daughter.

The very thought of being close to the Vitaari sent her hand into the glass, which spun away and smashed to the floor.

Marl appeared from the room to the right in an instant, but the Count waved him away.

Talazeer cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair, as if trying to calm himself down. “There is plenty more honey wine, Cerrin. It is important that you be relaxed. Of course, our species are different but I have done some research, and we are… compatible. However, you will have to clean yourself up first.”

Talazeer leaned over her again. “Everything you need can be found in my quarters. I have put out one of my robes. It is rather long but of a fine material and red in color. It will suit you, I think. Off you go now.”

 

 

Vellerik couldn’t sleep. It was not thoughts of Triantaa and Perttiel that disturbed him, nor the dead Kinassans at the pass. His imagination had created a scene he simply could not dispel—the lone warrior returning to a Kinassan village. Dozens of women and children weeping together when they heard that their men had been killed, that they were now defenseless and alone. All thanks to Vellerik and the Colonial Guard.

He could not face a night of this. He sat up and downed half a glass of water. It contained a mild sleeping aid, but Vellerik was already starting to think he might need something more powerful.

No. I am stronger than that.

He lay back and closed his eyes.

 

 

Cerrin was relieved to get out of the shower and find herself still alone in the restroom. Glimpsing her naked form in a mirror, she turned away and quickly dried herself. Outside, all was quiet.

She put on her underwear, then took the robe. The material was horribly smooth and clingy, and she somehow felt even more exposed when wearing it. She tied the belt around her waist, then looked for a weapon.

As soon as she’d played along, the Count had sent Marl out. Cerrin wasn’t sure if the bodyguard was close by or not, but at least now she might have a chance of keeping Talazeer off her. Either that or she would die trying.

On a shelf close by was a large selection of vials and tubs, mostly containing liquids and lotions. There was also a long rack of narrow cylinders, all of which contained some kind of needle. She took one of the larger ones and unscrewed the top, then tipped out the needle. She slipped it into one of the robe’s broad pockets.

“Come, Cerrin,” said the Count from right outside the door. “I’m getting impatient.”

She turned back toward the mirror and recognized nothing of what she saw. Her dark skin seemed almost yellow under these strange lights, and her eyes did not seem to be hers.

I am alone. This man—this thing—does whatever he wants to. No one here will help me.

She choked back tears.

No. I am not alone. Ikala, god of battle, see me, hear me, help me.

“I’m waiting.” The Count sounded farther away.

She reached into the pocket and moved the needle so it would be easier to grab. The eye perhaps, or the throat. Throat would do more damage—might even keep him quiet, give her some time.

Cerrin undid two of the buttons on the robe to show more of herself, then walked out across the quarters and into the main room. The Count was back on the couch. As she approached, he looked her up and down.

“I never expected to find such beauty out here, Cerrin. Come to me.”

She walked along the side of the table, then perched on his left knee, facing toward him. As the robe slipped open, the Count put his drink down and moved a hand onto her leg. He stroked the inside of her thigh, eyes fixed on hers.

“Do you kiss with tongues? As a rule, my people do not, but I rather like it.”

“We do,” replied Cerrin honestly.

“You are shaking.” The Count put his other hand on her back. “You must try to relax. I will be gentle. At first, anyway.”

Talazeer raised his knee, tipping Cerrin toward him. He ran his hand farther along her leg, then up between her breasts. Circling her neck with his fingers, he turned her head toward him.

“There is something wonderful about this, don’t you agree, Cerrin? To be the first of our kind. To… discover each other.”

She let him move her head toward his but kept her right hand out to the side and free. As their mouths met, she reached into the pocket and gripped the needle. The Count’s tongue ran along her lips. Struggling not to pull away, she opened her mouth, knowing she had to distract him. As his tongue entered her, she pulled out the needle and jabbed it at him, aiming for the prominent vein on the side of his neck.

At the last moment, Talazeer sensed something was wrong and jerked away. Cerrin missed the vein but plunged the needle deep into the silvery skin.

The Count bellowed with agony and lashed out, catching her on the chest and sending her flying onto the table. As glasses and bottles smashed, she rolled off onto the floor.

Talazeer stood up and gripped the needle, which swayed as it hung there. Whimpering, face wracked with pain, he pulled it out.

Trying to ignore the thumping ache in her chest, Cerrin dove between two chairs and ran for the door. The Count gave chase and made a grab for her over the corner of the table. He tore away part of the robe’s sleeve, but Cerrin wrenched herself free.

She was five yards from the door when it opened and Marl sprang in. She could not stop herself screaming as she turned and fled back around the other side of the table, only to find the enraged Talazeer coming straight for her. He wrapped her up in those two long arms, but Cerrin clawed at his face, catching him close to the eye. She pulled away from him again, but he stuck out a leg and tripped her.

Cerrin landed on her side. Light glinted off something nearby, and she spied a sliver from the glass she’d knocked out of the Count’s hand. Gripping the wider end, she sprang to her feet.

Spitting curses as blood leaked from his neck, Talazeer lurched toward her. Marl shouted something at his master as Cerrin slashed at him with the glass, catching him on the finger.

She had just turned toward the onrushing bodyguard when he picked up a chair and threw it at her. The solid lump of metal and plastic caught her on the legs, and she fell heavily onto her back. She had time only to register the spreading pain when Marl whipped his hand into her wrist. She dropped the shard of glass instantly.

Then his hands were under her arms, lifting her up off the floor. Then they were gripping her elbows, holding her from behind. The robe was torn and open, but there was nothing Cerrin could do.

Talazeer gazed down at his fingers.

At last, Cerrin had drawn black blood. But when the Count bent down and picked up the glass she had cut him with, she began to think it might be the last thing she ever saw.

“Hold her still,” he said.

Marl replied but Cerrin didn’t understand; the bodyguard had deactivated his translator.

“All for nothing, I’m afraid, girl,” hissed Talazeer as he advanced, light twinkling off the glass. “For I will still have you, and I shall give you something to ensure you always remember me.”

 

 

When he heard coms buzzing, Vellerik came around so slowly that he first thought he must have taken more Almana’s Breath. But then he remembered he had stayed in bed, left the container alone.

“Accept.”

No visual on the wallscreen; just the panicky voice of Deputy Administrator Rasikaar. “Captain Vellerik. Something is happening in the Administrator’s—in the Count’s quarters. Danysaan doesn’t want to do anything but… someone heard a scream.”

“A scream?”

 

 

Cerrin could taste blood. When she felt her head against the floor, she realized she must have passed out. Something dripped onto her mouth and she saw the drops of red, bright and glistening beneath her. She touched her face, igniting a line of fire across her cheek. Then she saw the bloodied shard of glass lying close by, and she remembered Talazeer cutting her.

He and Marl were standing by the door, the Count shaking his fist as he gave his orders. Marl replied but Talazeer snapped back instantly and reached for the control panel. Once the door was open, Talazeer shoved his bodyguard outside, then punched two buttons.

When she realized he had locked the door, Cerrin tried to get up. But her arms gave way and more blood fell from her face.

“Don’t worry,” said Talazeer, “you can barely see it against the robe.”

He scooped her up easily in his arms and held her tight as he walked into the bedroom. Injured and without a weapon, Cerrin knew she didn’t have a chance.

Talazeer dropped her onto the middle of the bed, then stretched her arms up above her with one hand. With the other, he pulled the belt off the robe, then began tying her wrists together.

She watched him. Those dark eyes were without depth or feeling, his face even more lifeless than before. Black blood dripped onto the covers beside her head. Somehow she got some words out.

“You’re bleeding.”

It didn’t even seem to register. He had finished tying her and now ran both bloodied hands through his hair.

Cerrin screamed again, a scream that shook her entire body. This was not fear but rage. As tears streamed down her face, she spat at him and cursed with every oath she knew.

Talazeer covered her mouth with one hand and reached for his belt with the other.

Then he suddenly let go and turned around.

Cerrin looked past him and saw the old soldier standing there, dressed but barefoot like the Count. When she saw the expression on his face, she knew she would live.