The next day, Zylar remembered Beryl’s promise as he lined up with the rest of the competitors for the third trial. When he finished this event, he’d be halfway through the second round. He noticed Ryzven, who was whispering to the nearest officiant again.
Why does he hate me so much?
With effort, he looked away, searching the crowd until he found Beryl sitting next to Kurr, cradling Snaps close. Just seeing her face calmed his racing hearts, and his hands steadied. Beside him, Arleb was also gazing at his intended.
“Good luck today,” Zylar said.
“Likewise.”
The host boomed out a greeting. “Welcome to stage two, round three of the Choosing! We have a truly diabolical test in store today. There may be casualties! I hope you’re ready for a riveting spectacle, as our Chosen compete to prove they’re the best of the best!”
In response, the audience roared, a mix of churrs and sounds offered by other aliens that passed as cheers. Zylar had never remotely thought he was superior at anything, but he was starting to believe that he was gifted at pleasing Beryl Bowman. He just needed to perform well enough to stay in the competition, and everything would work out. For the first time, he didn’t need to worry about someone stealing his intended because she’d said she chose him.
Oh, there were a few Chosen trying to impress her, but she never gave them more than a fleeting glance. Beryl wasn’t the type to be lured by flashy moves or seductive colors.
The assistants wheeled heavy machinery into the arena, and he had a bad feeling. It wouldn’t be the Destroyer, as they’d used it in the first stage, but it might be something even worse since the host had mentioned casualties. Arleb churred in a high pitch, an unmistakably worried sound. Zylar stole a glance at Ryzven, who radiated satisfaction. This is his doing. It seemed that his endless whispers to the officiants had borne dangerous fruit.
When they uncovered the machines, Zylar closed his eyes briefly, then he forced himself to watch as they arranged the mechanized death traps known as the Gauntlet. This was a purely physical test; speed and agility mattered most, but endurance came into play if you took a wound. Only great determination and fortitude could keep the Chosen moving under such circumstances. Zylar had never faced this particular challenge, but he had seen competitors lose limbs and even their lives when they mistimed a maneuver or lacked physical prowess.
“I’m frightened,” Arleb whispered.
He wished he could think of some profound comfort or encouragement. “Think only of Kurr,” he said finally. “Picture the happy life you’ll share.”
“I’ll try.”
The host called contestants at random, and Zylar’s misgivings rose with each run. When the third missed a leap and was smashed between two pistons, he froze and Arleb let out a sound so plaintive that it unnerved him to hear it. Before the other Barathi could settle, they called Arleb’s name. Zylar wished he knew what to say, but nothing came to mind.
Arleb took position, but he didn’t look confident. He ran forward, dodging and weaving, but he passed one piston too slow and took a hit. That knocked him forward, and he didn’t recover in time. As Zylar watched with absolute horror, Arleb tumbled into the field of spikes, and four impaled him when they activated. His body jerked, but he couldn’t pull free and the spikes rose again, again, until Arleb stopped moving.
The crowd quieted.
“Heartbreaking! Our first Chosen fatality. Let’s have a moment of silence for Arleb of Kith I’stak.”
So fast. It happened so fast. He just told me he’s scared, and now he’s gone.
Zylar sought Beryl with his gaze and found her consoling Kurr, who had wilted forward, fronds whipping in distress. Bleak fear swelled inside him, and he considered leaving. Dying meant leaving Beryl behind, on a strange world where she knew no one.
Maybe it would be better if they both left Barath and made a life together elsewhere.
Except he had no resources off-world. Everything he owned had been given by Kith B’alak, and it would be repossessed if he attempted to emigrate with a partner without completing the Choosing first.
Ryzven did this. He essentially murdered Arleb because he wanted me to fail.
That fury and outrage put titanium in his bones and in his talons. The event paused for the workers to remove poor Arleb’s body, and representatives from Kith I’stak came to the field in mourning colors, bearing him away with somber grief. While he understood the authorities did these things to keep Barath from overpopulation, the pendulum had swung too far the other way.
It’s too difficult now. They’re killing us for entertainment.
That thought was downright treasonous. Questioning policies enacted by the Matriarch could get him exiled, if he was foolish enough to speak such heresy.
He wasn’t.
By the time the machines were cleaned and arranged in the Gauntlet, Zylar was calm and ready to run. If he died trying to keep his promise to his intended, so be it.
“Calling the next runner—Zylar of Kith B’alak!”
With effort, he blocked out all the noise and stole a final look at Beryl, who raised her fingers in the sign she’d said meant victory. Her fear revealed itself by the way she buried her face in Snaps’s fur, unable to watch what came next. No, don’t look away. I need your strength. Stay with me until the end, Terrible One. As if she’d heard his thought, impossible as that was, she raised her head and bared her teeth.
Zylar took position and waited for the signal. When the bell sounded, he raced forward. There were no tricks to this, only sheer ability. Run. Dodge. Leap. Duck. Roll. The timing had to be precise, and it was, until the very end. He miscalculated the last leg and tumbled forward, a span too slow to avoid the slicing blade.
It was only a glancing blow and his chitin took the hit, though it left a deep runnel in his back. No blood. Just a scar, as chitin couldn’t heal. He could fill the gap with polymer to smooth the edges, but the mark would always remain.
Shakily, he got to his feet as the host pronounced, “A respectable time!”
He returned to his place in line, while the rest of the Chosen ran the Gauntlet, hideously aware of Arleb’s absence. There were injuries but no more fatalities, and at the end, he ranked in the middle, respectable enough that he took comfort in his odds of passing to the final phase.
How am I supposed to face Kurr?
Later, Zylar was still wrestling with that question when Beryl found him. He checked for Kurr, but didn’t see them. “Was it wise to leave Kurr alone?”
“They wouldn’t come with me, even to the garden. I don’t know what to do,” Beryl said.
Liquid leaked slowly from her eyes, and he studied her small, soft face. “Are you injured?” he asked in alarm.
“Emotionally, I am. I feel sorry for Kurr, but then, there’s a small part of me that’s relieved you’re all right, and I feel guilty about that too.”
Before he could reply, Ryzven stepped into their space. “I have finalized the plans for the celebration. You’ll join me tonight, I trust?”
I’d rather kill you.
Perhaps reading his inclinations, Beryl answered, “Yes, what time?”
“Any time after sunset, though the earlier the better. Don’t bring that one.” He indicated Snaps in a disdainful gesture.
Zylar didn’t feel like attending any festivities tonight, let alone an event that was likely to be extravagant. It was wrong, disrespectful even. Though he hadn’t been close to Arleb, they had been acquainted and they had agreed to cooperate, should there be any events where it would be necessary. Now Arleb was dead, thanks to Ryzven’s meddling.
“Understood,” he gritted out.
With that, he hustled Beryl away, fighting the urge toward confrontation. Once they completed the Choosing, then he could challenge Ryzen. Until then, he had to control his temper and force down all this aggression.
“He’s a monster,” she whispered.
“Yes.” There was no point in denying it. “He’s an example of how too much success can ruin a person. He’s never failed at anything, never been denied something he wants, and he’s come to believe that should never change.”
She quivered, the scent of fear strong like wilting sha blossoms, and stepped closer, tucking her hand around his forelimb. “And he’s interested in me.”
“Yes.” There was no benefit in denying the danger.
“You warned me to be wary of him before, but I didn’t understand. I thought you had some sibling rivalry going, nothing for me to worry about. But he’s throwing a party. And he was there when Arleb died! I saw him watching with such avid interest…” She paused, couldn’t seem to gather her words properly, then she tried again. “A decent person would reschedule to be respectful, right? That’s the same, even here.”
“You are correct,” Zylar said. “Ryzven is not good. But he is powerful. We must not antagonize him openly until we succeed. Be careful tonight.”
She let out a soft sound. “It won’t be easy, but I’ll try.”
I have nothing to wear, Beryl realized, watching Ryzven strut out of the arena, surrounded by sycophants.
That wasn’t a problem Beryl had expected to face after being abducted, but even life on another planet included some of the same problems. Now, it seemed like date night on Earth when she used to study the contents of her closet on Saturday night and conclude that all her outfits were terrible. In this case, it was a lot truer than usual since she had only the clothes she’d been wearing, along with a pair of makeshift pajamas.
That I made from what Zylar called a tarp.
She wouldn’t wow anyone at this heinous party if she showed up dressed in packing materials. Not that she wanted to impress, necessarily—more that she didn’t want Zylar to lose face because of her. If alien values resembled those on Earth, then appearances mattered. It made her sick that she had to consider shit like this when she was so worried about Kurr.
The Greenspirit had been so devastated after their Chosen died, but they’d refused all offers of company and comfort. It bothered Beryl to think of Kurr grieving alone, yet she didn’t know them that well, not enough to insist they come to Zylar’s place when they said they preferred to be alone.
After leaving the arena, they let Snaps visit his babies and do his business, but the mood was somber. Now, on the way back, she couldn’t stop thinking about her friend. “Do you think we could check on Kurr before the party?”
Zylar angled a look at her, and it was inscrutable as ever, but the way he touched the back of her hand gently with one talon gave the impression of silent approval. “I would have suggested it if you hadn’t.”
Snaps paused to sniff the floor and Beryl sighed, returning to her initial problem. The idea of a whole civilization without leisure shopping might melt her brain. “The Barathi don’t wear clothes, but surely there are visitors who require some type of covering while they’re on planet. Are there any stores?”
“Clarify. The translator didn’t give me a perfect understanding of your request.”
She tried again. “A place where I can get something else to wear?”
Beryl tugged on the outfit she had been wearing nonstop for what felt like forever. Sadly, it wasn’t even one of her favorites, just a random shirt and pants she’d chosen for comfort while completing her community service. To make matters worse, Barathi hygiene facilities didn’t work that well on cloth, so the ensemble was grungy and a bit ripe.
“You wish to acquire more coverings?”
“Yes, I need more stuff to wear. At least two or three changes.”
Don’t get me started on underwear. I might end up having to be a lingerie designer too.
“There is a market at the spaceport. I’ll take you before we speak to Kurr.”
She cupped her hand around his talons. “Thank you.”
“It is my pleasure to provide for you, Terrible One.”
Though her heart was still heavy, the ridiculous endearment still managed to make her smile. Then, since Snaps showed no motivation to get moving, she picked him up and ported him to their quarters. After consuming water and nutrition cubes, she played with him for a while, managing a game of tug-of-war with the edge of her blanket.
“Don’t be sad, but we can’t take you with us tonight. Stay here, run around as much as you want, and then nap. We’ll be home soon.” While she didn’t know if that was true, she also felt fairly sure that dogs didn’t have a great sense of time. “Be good, okay? If you need to go, do it here.”
“I know, I know. I’m a very smart boy,” said Snaps.
That called for another round of belly rubs and some baby talk, then Beryl straightened. “Ready.”
Zylar reached for her hand this time, as if the gesture had already become natural to him. He led the way to the spaceport, moving slow enough for her to memorize the route. The sky cars still fascinated her, and she appreciated the way he shielded her with his body, although the crowds weren’t bad at this hour.
The spaceport was as huge as she remembered, still bustling, and the market he’d mentioned looked like a random assortment of kiosks. Most travelers hurried past without sparing a moment to browse, despite the eager calls from the vendors. Not all of the stalls were attended, though—some seemed to be automated with a vending capability.
Enchanted, Beryl followed her nose to a booth that sold food, pale chunks spinning in a red field that inexplicably reminded her of popcorn. She breathed deeply and thought of home, grubby cinemas with sticky floors, and people who played with their phones during a movie. Funny how nostalgia worked. That stuff annoyed her before, to the point that she’d much rather watch Netflix than see a movie at the theater, but now that she couldn’t go home unless Helix was fixed? She missed all of that.
“This is not something you can wear,” Zylar noted.
She glanced up, feeling her cheeks heat. “Sorry, this smells familiar.”
“It’s a treat that Xolani doomsayers enjoy. Toxic to most others.”
Quickly, she moved on and focused on her original task, checking every display for any useful items. At first nothing caught her eye, but in the last kiosk, she found a colorful range of fabrics cut in shapes that clearly weren’t meant for humans, but maybe—
“What are these?” she asked.
“Adornments for pets.”
Come on, seriously? I’m in the alien equivalent of a dog clothing store.
Still, with a little ingenuity, she could fashion some fresh looks from these materials. And this one, with a little tweaking, I can wear tonight. “This one” was a bright blue tube with some fluttery bits attached. She tried to imagine the species that it would fit perfectly and could only envision a giant snake person. If she wrapped the fluttery bits around her and tied them off, shoulder to waist, it should look like a sheath dress. There was nothing she could use for shoes, so these sandals would have to suffice for a bit longer. As she had competed in a few events barefoot, she would need more options at some point.
Zylar paid with some shiny tech she didn’t understand, coded via a light exchange. Add that to the list of things I have to learn. Beryl rushed away, and they stopped back at the apartment so she could get ready, including using of the hygiene facility. When she was dressed and had pinned up her hair, she didn’t expect a compliment, but he still studied her altered appearance as though he could judge human beauty.
“I like your fur that way,” he said. “And that color is cheerful.”
Briefly, she wondered how the hue appeared to him. “Thank you.” She turned to Snaps. “Sorry to get your hopes up, we’re not back for the night. See you later.”
Time to check on Kurr.
Beryl had never been to the intended dormitories before, and the spaces allotted couldn’t be large, considering how close together the entrances were. Zylar checked an informational display and received Kurr’s room assignment, once he entered his Kith B’alak credentials. That brought home how powerful his family must be. Basically, it seemed like he could have anything he wanted, based on his bloodline.
Scary. And impressive. No wonder Ryzven is a monster.
Kurr lived on the fifth level, and a fearful feeling took root in Beryl’s belly. Surely, they wouldn’t have done anything drastic, right? She wished she had asked more about their life, about why they couldn’t return to their home world. Quickening her steps, she was practically running by the time they got to the smooth, white panel. Zylar activated a light box, and a tone resounded inside the residence.
Alien doorbell. Some things are universal, I guess.
No answer.
He rang twice more before saying, “Kurr, if you’re at home, please respond.”
Beryl tried whacking the panel with both hands, but it didn’t open. Finally, Kurr replied, “I have said that I wish to be alone. I appreciate your concern, but that sentiment has not changed. Please respect my wishes. I will speak with you tomorrow.”
Sighing, she stepped back. “I guess…we tried.”
“It’s all one can do.”
Seeming no more eager than she was, Zylar headed back toward the holding owned by Kith B’alak. The lift carried them to a much higher floor, and at one point, he had to enter a security code. This is like the penthouse level.
Knowing that couldn’t have prepared her for the sheer opulence when the lift landed. It was all white and platinum, with alien flora growing wild on the walls and up through them, woven like a living lattice. The petals fluttered as if the plants were breathing.
“Sha blossoms,” Zylar said, following her gaze.
Though the furnishings were unfamiliar, she could tell they were carefully crafted, and she paused to admire a shining, metallic device made of tensile, braided strands with fine mist pouring out of it. Maybe it was a freshener because the air even smelled different here, brighter and fresher, somehow, with a scent she couldn’t pin down, like pineapple, celery, and freesia, blended deliciously and topped with a cherry.
“It’s beautiful here,” she admitted in a grudging tone.
Zylar turned to her and let out a quiet churr. “This is how the powerful ones live on Barath. Prepare yourself for what you’ll see inside.”