Cassiel Winters 1: Sky's End (21 page)

Ah, right
. Capture him, too. Force him into a life of galactic vigilantism.

Not if I can help it.

It occurs to me to ask who’s really calling all the shots here. “Won’t your government, I mean the Guardianship, intervene? How can you be sure they will allow you and Prime Aardon to trade Daz for this sift?”

“A complete Horde has the right to ask for anything it wants. The exchange has already been approved,” says Or’ic proudly.

Oh super!
That means the Thell’eon government knows about me, and that it condones kidnapping, when a sifter is at stake, anyway. This is just,
metatabulous
.

“So there are other sifters?” I realize suddenly that there must be other complete Hordes.

“Yes,” says Kell’an, surprising Or’ic. Is Kell’an my new ally? “But we have only three. All of them have already tried to enter the rift in search of the other sift, unsuccessfully.”

Two seconds pass for me to register what really matters in this latest news.

“What makes you think I’ll find him if these others sifters can’t?”

“I do not believe it has occurred to any of the other Hordes that the sift is hiding
in
the rift,” says Or’ic, like I’m stupid.

I hope to the expanse he’s right.

A plate of food’s passed to me, and I nibble while the counsel Kirs wolf theirs down. At some point I think, ‘I should put on clothes,’ but I clearly can’t walk and the last thing I want to do is ask for help. It hurts to swallow, and being served by another Cinarie instead of Zeke, creates an even bigger lump in my throat.

Before I’m done, I think at once to ask the question I wanted answered this morning. “When are we are going to Taxata?” I’m in shock. Out of it, really.

Or’ic tells me we aren’t headed to Taxata but the closest intergalactic Thell’eon arena. I choke on that news, and before I can speak, he explains that once there, we will compete in something called a Candidacy to prove we are a Horde and receive a ranking, all of which is necessary in order to be granted access to the rift on Taxata being guarded by Thell’eon armadas.

I barely process this. I really want to cry. I mean,
seriously
? Can’t we just go to the fucking planet?

“What exactly do we have to do at this Candidacy?” I ask numbly.

“We each compete against other Kirs in areas we are skilled at. In our success, we are ranked by the Order against other Hordes,” says Kell’an eagerly.

“The Order?” I ask, thinking there is so much I have to learn about Thell’eon that I don’t give shit about. So much for my desire to be an exo-anthropologist. “What do you mean ranked?”

“They are judges,” explains Or’ic. “They consist of the best members of famous Hordes who are now too aged to fight. They are great warriors—”

“So how high do we have to place to get granted access to Taxata?” I ask, cutting him off. I don’t really care about his pecking order and what it means. I sip a glass their delicious water, and chase that with another cup of whiskey.

“As long as we compete successfully, we would be given access. Your presence assures that. Still, our overall efforts will be ranked subjectively to give us a final ranking among all Hordes, and guarantee us unlimited resources,” says Or’ic.

“Look, can’t we just skip this Candidacy, and go straight there?”

Ignoring my remark, Or’ic explains what each of them will be fighting in: Pers’eus competes in some kind of gun contest, Shadon in surge wars, Onegin with his hands (surprise), Kell’an with some kind of weapon called a Kuda, and Or’ic, a game of wits.

“Oh, you have some,” I mutter, beginning to tire. My eyelids are heavy and burning a bit from crying. Despite this, I pick up on something unspoken. The Kirs are glancing at Or’ic.

“You must fight, too,” says Or’ic, slapping me wide-awake with this pronouncement.

“Ah, you’re kidding me, right?” I say, with my terrified laugh. “Against who? Are you crazy?”

“We put in a special request because you are so young, human, and female. We hope you will be classified as a junior Thell’eon fighter or given a pardon. We are waiting to hear. There are so few sifts, I believe they would permit this.”

I don’t how to take this new information. I should be offended, but I’m terrified that I have to compete against any Thell’eon. The younger my competitors, the better. Bring on teenagers!

A pardon’s probably a long shot.

The dark cloud hanging over me grows thick with malaise.

“Is there anything you are good at?” asks Onegin, entering the room from around the partition. The others must have sensed his presence before me, because I’m the only one who’s startled. His eyeballs are bright red with broken blood vessels, I presume, but otherwise he seems fine. I’ve never not seen him in his cloak, or without weapons. In this state, he seems harmless. Sane, even. As gorgeous as ever.

“Yeah, running. I run real good,” I snarl. Could I sink any lower?

When I glance back at Onegin, I’m shocked. Something’s changed between us. He no longer loathes me.

“Maybe she could try the surge wars and I could fight instead,” pipes in Shadon.

“No, I have been in her mind. She is not strong enough,” says Or’ic.

Oh nice
. He’s oblivious to my glare.

“But her emotions are incredibly strong, my Prime,” says Shadon.

“Yes, but far too chaotic,” says Or’ic.

“Hi, right over here,” I mutter.

“We need to choose a match that is not physical,” says Kell’an.

The five of them carry on talking about me, listing off contest categories that I really don’t know anything about.

Things just can’t get any worse. I remember being worried about the strengths that ESE would list for me before my H2H tests. And now, the exact same thing’s happening with an entirely different species.

Wait, that reminds me
. I couldn’t have had a better idea! It even fits in with my escape plan!

“Hey!” I pipe up, interrupting their conversation. “Is flying a skill that’s tested? Because I’m a really good pilot.”

Doubt crosses their faces at the exact same moment.

“I’m not touting my own horn.”

Onegin’s clearly confused.

“Boasting. It means boasting. I’m all that, and more. I swear.”

“Cassiel,” says Or’ic, chuckling. The others take his lead and openly express derision. “Even if you were good, you are no match for Thell’eon pilots. Besides, our ships are different than yours. We fly by neural interface.”

What is it with the male species and large machines?

“I’m one of the best pilots on Earth. Well, I was trained by one of the best, anyway,” I amend. “My brother.”

Now they seem embarrassed for me.

“Do I need to remind you that Daz escaped the entire fucking Thell’eon armada. At least the first time around!” I shout at them.

When this fact sinks in, I can tell I have their attention.

“He taught me everything he knows,” I continue, realizing how badly I need to convince them. “I was practically raised in a velo. At least let me try. I can show you. Please, Prime Or’ic!”
Flying!
I think. Not only will they have to show me where they keep their ships, I’ll have access to one. I have to control my excitement, lest I give away my plans.

Or’ic glances at Kell’an.

“We can put in a request for a
Bon’mi
?” Kell’an asks Or’ic.

Kell’an is my new best friend.

I wait, anxious beyond belief.

“First, you will show us. Later,” adds Or’ic.

Yes! Yes! Yes!
I merely nod at Or’ic. He looks at me funny, and I check my mind to make sure he’s not in it.

Or’ic makes some kind of motion to the Kirs, and Pers’eus and Shadon leave quickly together. Kell’an follows them.

Oh. No
. I’m about to be alone with Or’ic in his downcore, naked but for a sheet.

Anxious to get away from him, I stand up, but I’m still unsteady, especially from the booze. Before I lean back on the downcore, Onegin’s by my side. He scoops me up and carries me into my room. I catch a glimpse of Or’ic’s pleased face before I’m back in my own space.

“Put me dow—” I don’t get to finish because Onegin’s already nearly there. His poor eyes must be painful. He places me gently on my downcore. I’m unsettled by his kind behavior. I wonder whether it has anything to do with his ‘indebtedness.’ I don’t say anything, waiting for him to leave. Slack jawed, I watch him haul a downcore into my space.

“What— NO!” I shout.

“These are my orders,” says Or’ic, stepping around the partition. “At least one Kir would be by your side always in addition to the guards. We can’t be certain when you would encounter a rift. Or when an Aeon may come for you. For now, it is for your safety.”

“But not him! He practically pushed me into the last rift!”

Onegin’s very angry, but stares straight ahead, refusing to make eye contact.

“You can trust each of my Kirs to act toward you precisely the same way you act toward them,” says Or’ic. “That is how our people interact. Have you not figured that out yet?” he adds, smiling this new smirk of his.

I lie back down on the downcore pretending to ignore him. Fatigue instantly sets in. I’m buzzing from the traumatic events, and now I have a beautiful bezerker sleeping beside me. But when I think of the Aeon, or how one might be coming for me, I’m glad for Onegin being near. It lets me sleep. And I’m exhausted like never before.

Chapter 20

I’m not myself. And why would I be, given recent events? Even so, I’m having a hard time bouncing back. If I were on ESE station, I’d be given leave and trauma counseling. Here, I’m expected to sleep less, overeat, and, honestly, how much can a girl stuff back and complain never?

I’m trying to play along, be the cooperative hostage/slash/sift, but the part of me that interacts with the universe in which I live is numb. The only thing that propels me out of downcore each morning is the prospect of flying again.

For want of something else to do, I lie around. A lot. The Kirs have switched out a few times, but I’ve barely paid attention. Pers’eus. Onegin. Shadon. Whoever. There are three days until we arrive at the Candidacy (including today), which should make me feel something, anger, outrage, but, nope, nothing.

Let’s do the math again: Since I was knocked out for one whole day with the concussion, plus the day in sickbay, I count a total of six days since they abducted me from ESE. Feels like a lifetime, I note absently. It will be close to nine days before we get to the Candidacy. Three days there, then another two at top speed back to Taxata (a rough calculation), a total of two weeks until I get where I need to be. Two weeks is nothing, right?

I close my eyes and play the cloud game with King on the mountain. When I’m not shutting out the world, in effect trying to sleep, I’m on guard against the signs of déjà vu, er, sifting, petrified of when the next one will come. What if I run across the Aeon again? He’s really mad. He said my name, like, like, he knew it. What if there are others as strong as him? Pers’eus insists most other Aeon are fair matches to Thell’eon, but still.

Since I’ve never encountered a rift while trying to sleep, I sleep a lot.
King
. Mountain air. His arm draped around my shoulders, looking at me the way only he does. On top of me again, looking down at me, tormented.

I ache for him, for home, like nothing imaginable. I press my hand against my mouth, to help me rein in the sense of loss.
Close your eyes. Pretend. Pretend.

A thud. Feet pounding earth. Memories of this occurring before. Am I experiencing a rift? Wait.
Where am I?
I try to jump up, but King’s acting weird. He’s preventing me from getting up. I shout at him to let me go, but he won’t. His eyes change, then his nose, then his facial structure.

Before me is the Aeon! I can’t move. He has stilled me.

Slowly, he puts his hands around my neck and starts to choke me. I can’t lift a finger to stop him.

He laughs. “I am coming for you, human.”

Terror ricochets in my mind. He’s HERE! I emerge from . . . wait, what was that? . . . only to realize someone really is holding me down. Onegin. Standing over me, about a foot from my face, his big mitts pressing me into the downcore.

“Wake up!” he shouts.

I pause for a moment. Was that just a dream? That was like no dream I’ve ever had. I’m shaking all over. Literally. “Onegin. It-it was here. It came for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Aeon. He-he was here!”

I sense someone else nearby, behind me.

“Did you sift?” Or’ic is in the room, holding a weapon. The guards are on alert. Kell’an is here now.

“No, but—” I’m hysterical, shaking all over, crying without tears. Sitting up, I wrap my arms around my knees to contain myself. “I don’t know. He
was
here.”

The Kirs give each other a look.

“But, but, it was real! He was King. AGAIN. Or he pretended to be. He choked me, but you see, I think it was a game to him. And then he said ‘I am coming for you, human.’ He said he’s coming for me. He was here! And there was nothing, nothing I could do!”

They don’t get it. Or’ic’s staring at me confused. Onegin’s holding my shoulders, his giant, hauntingly beautiful face supersized, comical, so close up.

“It was not real. You would not let fear take over,” says Or’ic gruffly.

I beg Onegin, my new ally, with my eyes. “You believe me, right?”

Onegin says nothing. He rubs his forehead, totally baffled.

I’m shaking badly.

“Breathe!” says Or’ic loudly from the foot of the downcore. “Focus on breathing.”

I try to take a few deep breaths. Hmm, better. Do it again. All at once I’m so exhausted. Shadon must be close. Yes, there he is entering the room, sleepy-eyed. What took him so long? I collapse fully into Or’ic’s hold. He rests my head back down.

It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. None of this is real.