Cassiel Winters 1: Sky's End (17 page)

“You would understand trust is a misguided human social construction predicated on absolutely nothing but self-delusion.”

Huh? Wha
—
?

“As for the sift, we believe it is hidden in another dimension on Taxata, which is currently being guarded by Thell’eon armadas. You would look for it by using your gift. We would take care of the rest after that. We would protect you and help you. We have spent our lives training for just such a thing,” he adds with a touch of reverence.

There’s a funny expression on everyone’s face. A kind of awe and mean resignation.

Criminy.

“Well, I guess I’ll try to help you locate the sift, but only if you return Daz to ESE.”

“That’s what I already said,” he says impatiently.

“Okay. Well, then, you should know that my visions, or rather this sifting, is awfully random,” I add reluctantly.

“No,” barks Kell’an. He spreads his long legs wide and places his hands on his knees. “That’s what you think, I am sure, but it is not the case,” he adds, softening his harsh tone. Boy, they sure have to work hard at being nice. “We would help you exercise your skill. Improve on it. Branes collide across dimensions everywhere, not just near perimeters of the universe.”

Uh, that’s unsettling
.
Makes sense, though, since I’ve been seeing them all of my life.

“How are you, I mean, we, doing against these Aeons?” I ask quietly. “I mean, is there full out war going on or something? Are there many of them here in our universe?”

ESE has not traveled very far yet. For all we know it could be Armageddon.

“For now, we manage to keep them out, but our losses are severe,” says Or’ic. “We need more,” he pauses, “we need to locate more sifts in order to wage an offensive, to mount surprise attacks and wipe out their leaders.”

Oh
. This is really hard to process. No wonder Thell’eon’s culture’s so battle-oriented.

I focus back on my little world. All I really care about is getting Daz home safely. If that means helping them to win this battle, which is really about saving human butts anyway, what’s the biggie? So what if Thell’eons get the sift and not ESE? Not my problem. I just need to confirm one thing.

“I need proof my brother’s alive before I help you.”

“We thought you might say that,” says Kell’an, getting up.

I grow more alert, observing Kell’an, who tucks in a few more weapons into his belt holsters, then returns after a moment from behind the chairs with a device that is similar to the black thing I stole from Or’ic. A portal? I wait eagerly, sitting forward.

Kell’an places it on the table in front of him and traces something on another device he removes from one of his vest pockets. The unit flashes, like it did in my pod on ESE, and a rectangle of light beams on to an empty patch of floor about six feet from where we are sitting. Kell’an and Or’ic rise, and then Onegin, too, with his hand on a weapon at his waist. They are staring at the rectangle.

I stand up, trembling.

I hear the sounds of translocation, a noise like two hands rubbing together, then
there,
a figure is on his knees, hands tied behind his back with two Thell’eons standing behind him. I let out a breath, realizing I had been holding it.

Quickly I note that these Thell’eon are wearing body armor but different colors than what I have seen on Or’ic’s ship, which is black and silver; theirs is gray and green. They hold four guns, which automatically adjust to point at us.

I focus on the person dressed in loose black clothing. A black bag conceals his head, but . . . he appears to be the same size as Daz, maybe thinner. Hope ripples through me despite my efforts to hold it back. It could be like before. Like what ESE did in the combat test. Tricking me. Drawing out my weakness. A sickening anxiety prickles through me.

Without any word from Or’ic, one of the guards lifts the bag off of the figure’s head.

I stare at the bedraggled, bearded face. A perfect stranger. His round face winces from the sudden light as he takes in his surroundings. When his eyes,
those eyes
, fall on me, the look of horror’s almost unbearable.

“Cass!” says Daz, clearly astonished.

I trip over myself and stumble in a sudden rush to embrace him. I get a few steps forward before the two guards turn their guns at me. I halt mid-stride. Daz, who’s looking thinner than ever, ragged, worn, but clean, attempts to rise to protect me, but one of the Thell’eon guards hits him hard in the side of the head with the butt of the gun.

I feel the thump down to my toes.

“Cassiel,” says Or’ic harshly, not taking his eyes off of the guards. “Step back.”

I glare at Or’ic, shaking, about to demand that they not hurt Daz again. But it’s then that I realize every single one of the Kir Counsel is aiming a weapon of some sort back at the guards.
Hence the armor and weapons, Cassiel
. Guess Hordes don’t get along with each other after all.

“There was to be no contact,” says one of Prime Aardon’s Horde members. My hands are clenched and an anguished gasp escapes me.

“Cassiel. Step. Back,” says Or’ic.

I do as he says, clenching my hands into fists.

Daz’s staring at me with utter disbelief. Then he sprays the Counsel Kirs with rage. He settles on Or’ic, recognizing his status made clear by his commands.

I expect Or’ic to toy with Daz, to goad him, to emphasize his power, but he does none of that. He merely stares back.

Tears roll down my cheeks. I can’t take my eyes off of my brother.

“It’s okay,” I say shakily to Daz. He turns to me, clearly still in denial that I’m standing before him. “It’s going to be okay. I’m going to get you out of this.”

Daz raises his eyebrows and gives me a look I’ve seen many times, usually just before I hit AMP 90 in the velo. It says,
Are you out of your fucking mind?
I want to laugh, to smile, to hug him back to his clean, poised, fun-loving self.

“Cass,” he says, with a tone he uses to try to talk reason into me. His voice is hoarse and my heart beats with pain. What have they done to him? He tries to clear his throat.

“You remember,” he manages to croak out, “that promise you always made to me.”

Of course I know what he’s talking about.
Never tell anyone about your ability
. Why’s he bringing it up? What does he know about what they want from me?

I can tell he thinks I have already broken it, or will. A look of anguish crosses his face and he shakes his head back and forth in frustration.

Then in a rush of words he says, “Cass, don’t do whatever they ask y—”

“That’s enough!” interrupts Or’ic.

Daz’s words are cut short by another sharp blow to the head from one of the guards.

I scream “No!” but one of the brutes activates something on his wrist and three of them disappear in a breath, leaving me standing there staring at empty space.

Chapter 16

Here, in what I’ve just been told are my quarters, I relish my first taste of privacy (if you can call it that) since they kidnapped me. Two guards stand outside my door, with their wide V-shaped backs to me, strapped heavily with those crisscrossing flat rows of shiny silver blades. Maybe they throw them at the enemy like knives.

There are no doors actually, so far as I have seen, anywhere on this ship. Just archways that lead in and out of rooms.
Perfect.
My room’s more like a vestibule with a tall, rectangular veneer-esque object,
oh, that’s a downcore
, right smack in the middle. The walls, so smooth they’re almost reflective, are really just partitions that don’t actually reach the ceiling.
There are also clear passageways on either side. Metatabulous
.

Glancing around one corner, I scan a wide room, at least it has floor-to-ceiling walls, and a downcore big enough to fit five of me on it. On the other side of my space, there’s another room just like mine, a whole series of them, it would appear, divided only by partitions.
How am I ever going to sleep here?

More importantly, whose is the bigger, stately, somewhat private room, right behind this partition?

I can’t think about that.
Nope, just focus on the positive.

Daz. He’s alive!

Daz. He’s injured!

I crouch down, tuck my head in and protect it with my arms, and scream as loud as I can—silently.

But he’s alive! Oh, Daz.
How did you end up kidnapped by Thell’eon thugs? They haven’t broken him, Cassiel!
I wipe away the tears I didn’t realize I was shedding.

Remember that promise
. His words echo in my mind.

The note.
Hide. D.

It
had
to have been from him. He knows I read that book all the time. He wanted me to hide. But, why? Did he mean for me to hide my ability? And how in the universes did he get the note to me?

The only way was if he somehow had a sift. But Or’ic also said that they believed the asset took the sift and vanished somewhere back on Taxata. None of it makes any sense!

“You would find these accommodations unsuitable.”

I choke on my own rapid inhalation and stand up quickly, wiping the tears from my face.

Or’ic. So proud. Those long legs, striding right into my space, like he owns it. He certainly fills it. There’s suddenly a lot less air to breathe.

Free of his armor, I can’t help but notice how his white and gray markings, barely visible, contour his muscular arms, his wide flat pectorals, and his obscenely rippling abs. His frame’s not quite as thick as the others, though I wouldn’t go so far as to call him lean. When I’m done exploring and return to his face, embarrassed, his dark eyes deliberately rake over me, taking their time at my hips, and then my waist and finally my boobs, and the effect’s visceral.
Okay. Now is when you need to guard yourself!
I scan the space for the nearest exit.

He sighs, and leans against the partition next to the king-sized quarters like a human male. First time I have seen him relaxed.

“We do not have the need for what you humans call ‘privacy’ on Thell’eon. This would be a difficulty for you. I wish to give you my personal guarantee that you would be safe in these quarters.”

He smiles at me like he just remembered that a smile indicates honesty on Earth.

I snort. “And Onegin?”

I’m referring to how, at the end of our deal making, Onegin suddenly noticed I was a woman. He stared openly at my chest, breathing so loud it bordered on a pant, so much so that Or’ic had to reprimand him.

Or’ic knits his brow. His markings don’t jumble; they connect together smoothly. Whoever did his, took care to place them in just the right way no matter how he moves. “You would attract attention. This is natural. We do not spend any time with our females. But my Kirs would not defy me. You would remain innocent.”

I hope he’s right. Wait, why did he use the word ‘innocent’? Translator blip?

“Although, perhaps, you would prefer it to be otherwise.” His eyebrows and their markings rise ever so optimistically. “In which case you would come to my room, which is right here.” He motions to king-size quarters.

Holy stars, did he just proposition me?

“Uh, no!” I answer quickly, in case he’s serious. For good measure, I add, “I’m spoken for! You know, taken!”

He mulls over my words and holds my eyes until I squirm. “I think we both know that is not the case.”

I flash to our symbiosis, our wet kisses, how I revealed to him with emboldened
inexperience
just how not ‘taken’ I had ever been.
Metatabulous.

He moves toward me, without making a sound.

“What are you doing?” I demand, stepping back, bumping into the downcore behind me. “I told you, I have a boyfriend!”

Pausing, he smiles, ever so slightly. “A boy. Who is a friend. But you do not have a mate.”

The word sends a shiver down my spine. I want to dispute this, but decide to take the high road and cross my arms, pursing my lips.

Satisfied he has had the last word, I suppose, he switches streams, jolting me. “You would begin preparing today by learning to experience the surge. Kell’an would escort you. One more thing.” He stops himself before departing. “If you sense a sift, any time, you would inform your guard. Do you understand?”

I hesitate.

“Do you understand?”

I nod. He takes his leave and whispers something to Kell’an, who takes his place in my room, arm out, ready.

It occurs to me that Or’ic may have the wrong impression about human women and sex after our symbiosis encounter. How do I clear up that misunderstanding?

Depressed, I trail behind Kell’an, guards in tow, silent, near tears because I’m trying to find hope thinking of King, but he feels so far away from me.

What do his features look like again? The sound of his voice? But the only clear remembrance I have is of his dauntless touch that day in the mountains. Reaching for the memory of the sensation, and fighting a swell of self-pity in the pit of my gut, takes all my concentration.

I hear and smell the practice arena before it comes into view. Grunts. Clanging. Sweat. I inhale sharply, taking in how the room’s so large I can’t locate an end per se. A giant dome ceiling casts artificial sunlight down on hundreds of Thell’eons all practicing various types of fighting. Immediately, I’m awestruck and terrified, not only at the Thell’eon’s fighting prowess, but the intensity with which they train. Vicious, full-on physical contact. There’s no ‘practice,’ like in Lt. Lazarus’s classes. In the distance I hear the sound of gamma bursts and assume there’s a shooting range somewhere.

Hope they are using real gamma on each other.

Just before we reach the end of the section affording me the view, my stomach drops. There’s Friend, the other prisoner, not barely healed and ‘dirty fighting’ some Thell’eon in a circular ring made of cord and laced with tiny blades.

Oh no! They’re finishing the kill!

Several Thell’eons surround the ring. Trainees maybe. I fear for Friend’s safety, but something about his moves, how he delays them . . . is he holding back? My fear for him shifts into growing awareness, respect, even. I glance at Kell’an, who has slowed down, perhaps wanting to witness the show.

Friend moves out of the way to miss a blow from the Thell’eon in the ring, and quickly steps back again, throwing him down on the ground effortlessly into a submission hold. Only instead of tapping the ground for release, the Thell’eon tries to struggle out of the chokehold. At that moment Friend makes eye contact, first with me, expressionless, and then Kell’an.

A mean smile crosses his face. He raises his other hand, about to slam it down on the Thell’eon’s throat, killing him for certain,
Do it!,
when he freezes mid-movement. His whole body clenches violently, and mine responds involuntarily in sympathy. He lets out a tormented scream, as though he welcomes the pain. What are they doing to him? I find the source and my stomach turns. It’s some kind of control collar around his neck being activated by the meanest Thell’eon I have seen yet, who is watching my reaction just outside the ring.
Asshole!
He finally lets up, leaving Friend a tangle of sinewy flesh on the ring floor. I strain to check for signs that he’s breathing, yes he is,
thank the stars
. I glance over at Kell’an, who has moved on. How can he be so callous?

“Hey!” I shout at his back, storming after him.

“What are you doing to him? You need to st—”

Kell’an spins around, then bends down over me just inches from my face.

“Do not dare speak to me of the pity you just openly exhibit for that
putah
!”
Whoa, what’s got into him?
“You humans are always in a rush to rescue the weak, even when you do not know them or why they are being punished. On Thell’eon, the weak serve the women and do you know why?”

I shake my head. His rage’s dangerous. What does Kell’an know about humans anyway?

“Because, as you would soon discover, freedom is not entrusted to the weak.”

I think I have heard this saying somewhere before but can’t place it.

He leans back, wipes the spittle off his mouth, his emerald eyes ratchet down their glow, and steps back the way we were headed.

I’m scared. Really. But I can’t not address the flaw in this thinking.

“But, they still deserve freedom, right?” I say to his back. “Prime Or’ic said Thell’eons are fighting for all of us, to ensure our freedom.”

Perhaps because I have asked this meekly, he doesn’t get up in my space again. He pauses, his broad, round shoulders relaxing a little.

“Yes. The weak deserve freedom,” he rasps. “But not
him
,” he adds savagely. He picks up his pace, and I rush to keep up.

I sense a window of opportunity here. “Where is he from?” I ask his back quietly.

“I would tell you but only so you do not fall into the human trap of romanticizing his fate.” He slows, allowing me to match his stride. “He is Ire. Their home world was destroyed in one of the first fights waged against the Aeons thousands of years ago. Make no mistake, Ires are nothing but wasters who travel in small packs and live secretly on planets that are not their own when they can steal transport!”

So they are nomads. I think of Professor Xeno, the last of his kind, wandering the galaxy searching for a planet that will take him in. I focus on the important part.

“So Aeons destroyed his home world? Why would they do that if that is exactly what they are after?”

Kell’an halts.

Uh-oh.

“I did not say the Aeons destroyed Ire’s home world. The Ires did this rather than allow the Aeons to inhabit it. They killed much of their own race in doing so, and as a result of their stubbornness and shortsightedness they are nearly extinct. Let that be a lesson to all those who fail to support us in our fight!”

I’m shocked by his admission.

“What? So you guys didn’t help them because they wouldn’t give you alms? Oh, so that’s how it is with you Thell’eons! And now you punish one man, for the action of his people? Don’t you think he’s been punished enough?” I’m defending Friend, but deep down, I’m very worried for ESE. We’ll never sit back and let someone else fight for us.

“If you were not under the protection of my Prime, I would show you what punishment
enough
is!” Spit hits my face this time. I fight the urge to wipe it away, and my face squishes up in disgust. “There would
never
be enough pain for that Ire!”

I’m about to protest, when he taps my cheek with two fingers. “Enough!” he barks. The sting takes a second or two to register.

“Come,” he commands, and I do, wiping away his spit, because I’m stunned into submission.

I can’t believe he just did that. No, I can’t believe he
can
just do that, slap me when he wants.

I hate that man on a cellular level.

I decide in that moment, I will not leave Friend here to serve as Kell’an’s personal punching bag. No matter what, I will help him.

Breathe in positive energy. Breathe out negative energy.

My resolution helps to calm me. Clenching and unclenching my fists gives me renewed purpose and just enough courage to face this whole
surge
experience I’m in for.

Sweat beads on Shadon’s forehead, just inches from mine. His bright, light-blue eyes are bloodshot. Poor guy. He’s concentrating so hard, trying to
surge
me. It’s the audience. All four Kirs and a contingent of guards line the walls. Who could perform under this kind of pressure?

Or’ic arrived just in time for us to get started.

I’d already been informed how some highly evolved Kirs have the ability to pass on and control emotion in others. That’s what the surge is. I experience an undeniably kinship with young Shadon because both he and I are uniquely evolved, just in different ways. Shadon told me in his quiet voice that he doesn’t create new emotions, rather amplifies the good ones that are already being experienced—for example, confidence and bravery, and diminishes the bad ones, fear and sadness. When I asked why I need surging, Kell’an interjected. He said the Kir Council thinks I can use Shadon’s emotional control to help me sense the rifts and see across them, since I’m so new at it.

Whatever
. The sooner we get to Taxata, the sooner I can free Daz.

“You would relax your mind to me,” says Shadon quietly, patiently.

I’ve been trying, really.

“Okay.” After a while, more by accident, I let go of thinking about Shadon, the people in this room, what he’s trying to do. And
there
! A calmness, so soothing, washes over me. I want more right away and open myself up to it, reaching for it. The calmness shifts, and I savor a soft, enveloping euphoria. Serenity surges in fully and completely purifies my entire being. And yet, it’s not intense enough. I know there’s more. Why’s he holding out on me? I need more! I swim the currents of peacefulness, searching for more of it,
yes, please
, and a new sensation hits me like an explosion. Pleasure. Intense, raw pleasure. I take of it, until there’s resistance. What—