Cassiel Winters 1: Sky's End (26 page)

“My Masters,” starts the Thell’eon staring down Or’ic. “As Kir Comm’dor One, I speak for Prime Aardon and it is known why.”

Really?
I don’t know why.

This Comm’dor hulk looks away from Or’ic and he spots me.
Oh.
There it is again. Disappointment. Ack. Really?

I push my way between Kell’an and Or’ic, realizing I need to face him directly. They must agree because they move for me.

He continues staring at me the whole time. “I ask that you give us permission to punish the sift for issuing such a heinous challenge when a Horde stands without its Prime.”

Hey!

I don’t like the look this Comm’dor is giving me.

Anticipation.

“Wait a minute!” I shout.

“Be quiet,” hisses Or’ic.

“My Masters,” Or’ic shouts, addressing the Order again.
Uh-oh
, the crowd does not like something about him speaking. “I request that you punish me instead of the sift,” he shouts at the top of his lungs. “I take full responsibility for not educating her in the
Kludic
.”

There’s some discussion among the Order. Regret bristles at my conscience, over what they might do to Or’ic.

I mean, someone might have told me you can’t call a Kir a coward if his Prime wasn’t in earshot! What the fuck is this
Kludic
?

The Order breaks out quickly.

The tension in here has actually plugged my ears.

The one-handed leader finally announces that they have decided there’ll be no punishment since the sift is new, or something along those lines.
Okay. Good.

Meanwhile, nasty Comm’dor is trying to incinerate me with his eyes or something. Does he think this makes his offer enticing?

“What does the sift say to the Horde of Prime Aardon regarding his offer?” asks one of the Order’s bigwigs. He’s extra, extra, extra, large, and not as aged as the others. Not a stitch of skin is free of brandings.
Wow.

I stand up straight and look Comm’dor in the eyes. “Tell Prime Aardon thank you, but not if he were the last Prime alive in an eternity of universes!”

The crowd doesn’t know what to make of that given the collective gasp.

Oh no, did I make the right decision?
I panic and add, “Our original agreement stands, however. The prize must be delivered healthy or you can assure Prime Aardon there will be retribution! My Kirs will take care of that!”

Comm’dor’s face is bright red with rage. I actually think he thought I wouldn’t turn down such an offer. Kell’an and him share a final short staring-down match (go Kell’an!) before he turns and his Horde disappears into the other Hordes.

Wished I got a good look at Aardon’s other Kirs.
After that ruckus I can barely think straight. I finish the introductions, shouting over yet more ceremonial stomping, Thell’eons are big on that, and the Candidacy’s underway.

The tension on our return to our accommodations is incredible. I realize just now how perilous my situation is with this Horde. Think maybe I’ll keep my mouth shut from now on.

The walk takes more than 10 minutes, and we navigate narrow open halls that drop into an abyss, past room after room of Hordes settling into their accommodations. Yikes, there’s no barrier protection on the side of the hall that opens into the abyss. Take a wrong step, and you’ll drop right off! Unlike Thell’eons, I can’t jump to another level. Gravity’s different on their home world, which explains their large thigh and calf muscles, and propensity for leaping. A horrible feeling of vertigo cuts through me. Guess they weren’t expecting a lot of human visitors.

I’m grateful when we arrive at our room, until I realize there are no partitions, just lots of downcores. But,
hey
, why bother with the partitions anyway? Pretend privacy is really overrated.

Kell’an interrupts my angst-ridden internal dialogue by swinging around and getting right up into my face. “MY Kirs?! MY Kirs will take care of that!”

Hey!
I’m doing him the favor here, pretending to be his sift and all!
I surprise him, and myself, by pushing him hard in the chest. His animated expression suggests he’s pleased by this,
go figure
, whereas I’m disappointed when he doesn’t budge, but steps in even closer so I can feel his breath on my face, which I twist away from.

Or’ic gets between us. “Kell’an! Appearances! We are being watched!”

Kell’an stands down. I glance around wondering who’s watching us. Oh. Across the abyss there are other Hordes milling about in their rooms. They are focused on us, for sure.

“What’s his problem?” I whisper loudly to Or’ic, fighting a sudden urge to cry.

“The pressure is great. But my Kirs would answer the call of greatness here,” he says to the room rather than me. He continues on, encouraging his Horde, giving commands. Is this a pep talk or something? They talk about strategy and opponents but I barely listen.

Instead, I stand there watching Pers’eus move the downcores around so that one is in the middle (
guess whose
probably?
), surrounded by the others. Guards from our Horde line the inside walls of the room.

Wow
. Lots of beefcake in here. Everywhere I glance there’s an obscenely manly bulge of flesh on display.

I scan for the privy and am delighted to discover, once inside, that it’s more spacious than the other ones on Or’ic’s ship. And it has its own TriVirror
TM.33
. I have been avoiding the ones in the pool area on Or’ic’s ship.

I take in a human trying to look like a Thell’eon. I would never pass for one. From what I could tell today, Thell’eon women weigh at least 80 pounds more than me and are a foot taller.

My neck bruises, courtesy of the Aeon, have faded from RISH. I take a deep breath and turn to my left, moving my hair out of the way.
Okay. Okay
. Pushing past the anxiety of the permanency of the
branding
behind my ear, I’m willing to acknowledge it’s a beautiful piece of work, and not that gigantic, really about the length of my hand. When my hair’s down you can’t even see it. I try to think of it as a tribute to Zeke, a memorial marking. This way it’s bearable.

Bang, bang, bang!

A fist pounding against the wall makes me jump.

“Time for the first test,” snarls Kell’an.

Chapter 24

The first two days fly by. Because there’re so many Hordes, only two Kirs from each Horde compete daily. I spend more than 12 hours each day standing with my Horde and guards in an allotted observation space for each test, usually at ground level, which is superior seating because I’m a sift. When I’m not interested in a match, I steal glances at the crowds to help distract from the pain in my feet, legs, and back from standing so long. The women are attractive, but strangely enough, very similar-looking. Wide, flat cheekbones, full lips, eyes that tilt up at the side, mostly brown hair.

Humanoid men are scattered among the women; they don’t shave their heads and feature no brandings. Kell’an told me they are the ‘weak ones.’ By that I take it he means the ones who are too weak to become a Kir and are castrated at age six. How horrible. I try not stare as I’m being watched all the time and I don’t like the feeling. I think the curiosity in me is waning.

Pers’eus and Onegin killed their tests on the first day. Pers’eus’s aim, with pretty much any weapon that fires, is incredible. In the end, he stood with the remaining 12 who ranked even; impossible to better a bull’s eye.

Onegin was a maniac in H2H. He, too, bested most of the contenders and was evenly matched with four other Horde’s Kirs. I was shocked with the brutality of the test. Let’s just say he’s missing part of his ear that I’m not sure treatments can re-grow. I try not to think about whether some of the Thell’eon who fell will pull through.

Kell’an really outperformed himself. His test involved the Kuda, those whips laced with razors and firepower. Only now do I realize that the Kuda is a Thell’eon symbol, for want of a better description. Pers’eus didn’t really understand what I was asking, but through much back and forth I gather everyone’s brandings, the design on the clothes, are inspired by the Kuda.

Kell’an’s test also included strategy and time pressure. He had to complete a bunch of tasks on foot with major obstacles that kept changing while fighting off other Thell’eons, including Blue Eyes from Prime Aardon’s Horde. It was nerve-wracking and I found myself clenching my fists and cheering when he’d outsmart or outfight a competitor.

Humans love a good contest, but nothing like Thell’eons. Pers’eus told me that part of their culture includes pledging, which after some discussion I gather involves gambling on specific contest outcomes. It, too, is based on strategy. The crowds study the contestants and take the possibility of choosing a winning Kir very seriously. When I asked what they bet, Pers’eus was confused. After a moment, he seemed to clue in and said, “Pride.”

Still, they take it quite seriously. I’ve seen the devastation on the faces of Thell’eons when their contender was bested.

Shadon’s our weakest link so far, but even so, he averaged somewhere in the middle. And since his surge war was the most horrifying contest, I thought he did terrific. I told him so after, in front of all the Kirs, too, not that it made any difference.

I guess he perceived it as conflating his ego. They’re all too hard on themselves, even with everything at stake, if you ask me.
OKAY
. So they’ve been born and bred for war for thousands of years. That’s gotta ruin things like sunny days, a surprise rebate of credits, and fresh-baked apple pie. But every once in a while you can stop and recognize accomplishment. And Shadon did well. Really.

The surge war contest was truly awful. They’ve set up a system so the audience watches what goes on between two Kirs through an interface with the mind. Only it isn’t like Lightvision
TM.33
, where you experience it. Instead, you watch it happen to them but in your own mind.

Thank the stars because this greatly dilutes the shared emotions, which is of course the horrifying part. It really is a game of Uncle. When a Kir can’t take it anymore they call “halt.” Of course no Kir would ever admit defeat, so they mostly drop from exhaustion or anxiety or a heart attack. No exaggeration. When Pers’eus explained the test a day ago, I got to thinking, what would really destroy a Thell’eon emotionally?

It was hard to concentrate, lying there each night trying to sleep surrounded by half-naked men, who don’t smell great all of the time, I might add. I kept mulling over how these aliens are limited by their experiences, seeing as they really just train on-planet and are then assigned a Horde and travel around fighting Aeons with each other.

That’s when I came upon it.

When I told them my idea to give Shadon the upper hand the next day, there was a lot of disgust—boy they sure enjoy nay saying—which is what convinced me and, in turn, them, that it would work. Shadon could see it, too, and agreed to go over the details of how to create such an experience in someone’s mind. We even surged so he might truly feel it. And sure enough, using my idea in his final ruck, he blew away five Kirs and was elevated 10 levels.

Shadon’s opponents were trying to convince him he was being eaten alive by a great hairy animal with lots of sharp teeth (one of his worst fears I guess) when he pulled out the Cassiel Special: convince his opponent that he was female!

The crowd was shocked, I tell you. And every single Kir ripped off the visual interface in fright.

It took me a second to realize I was the only one who clapped and cheered in that moment—didn’t take an astrophysicist for them to figure out whose idea it was. Regretfully, I could tell I gained some respect from the competing Hordes when they finally pushed pass their disgust.

The Thell’eon women are harder to read. They seem mildly interested in me but mostly they are totally absorbed with themselves. Obviously they watch the Kirs, but without any depth of emotion or attachment. There’s no admiration either.
Yeah, that’s it
. In fact, I would go so far as to say that they probably barely tolerate them. It makes sense in a way, but I find it wholly sad, and kind of incomprehensible, their lack of . . . interest in half of their species.

The way the Kirs peacock around before and after their tests confirms to me just how hard their lot is. Clearly they want to be noticed, appreciated for more than just their abilities.

A few of them did direct their peacocking at me, like right now. The winners from today’s contest are being recognized in the largest of the five arenas, and a few pause, ever so subtle, before our area, trying to make eye contact with me. My Kirs don’t like this, I sense that much. I pretend not to notice.

I should be more nervous about my test tomorrow.
I’m waiting to depart from our observation area to head back to our room. Thank the celestial makers it’s the last night sleeping here. I’ve managed to log maybe six hours of sleep in 48 hours. Unlike Thell’eon women, I’m not immune to the fleshy sights that flash in front of me cohabitating with dozens of men, with Or’ic right beside me. Last night I rolled over to see him wide-awake, less than two feet away, staring at me!

I touch my face involuntarily, exasperated, as we wait, forgetting not to be distracted while in public.

When I glance back up, something odd catches my eye.

Was that . . . yes, it is . . . a flash of red hair!
Not one Thell’eon woman or Kir weak one I’ve seen yet has red hair! I could swear,
oh, there it’s again.
The back of a redheaded man. I strain to spot him again among the departing crowds on the other side of the arena.
Dammit
, he pulled a hood over his head. Of course, I’m losing it, searching for King here.
Ridiculous.

The pain of missing him hits me like a kick in the stomach.

I grasp the edge of box I’m standing in. Or’ic asks me what is wrong, but I don’t answer. I watch my King illusion go all the way up the rows and disappear into a hall. I tear my eyes away reluctantly, and that’s when the ground moves beneath my feet. Right there, across the arena, staring at me, is Lt. Lazarus! It can’t be him! But it is! He’s wearing a robe like the weak ones, but that’s his face. I’m sure of it.

Am I sifting? I must be sifting
.

My Lt. Lazarus illusion glances to my right quickly, and I look over to take in Or’ic and Kell’an focused intently where I was just staring. When I glance back, Lt. Lazarus is gone. Merged into the crowds? Activated his invisibility cloak.
Come on, Cassiel!

That couldn’t have been him! I-I don’t think I sifted. Maybe I’m going insane. Seems likely, really, given the circumstances.

Or’ic grabs me and spins me to face him. “Who was there? Who did you see?” he asks sternly, only now restraining himself because we’re being watched. “You would answer me now or I would punish you severely.”

Wow
. There’s the alien I first met. Deadly intent. Terrifying.

“I-I don’t know. I think I sifted,” I fib. I really am worried about insanity, actually.

King and Lt. Lazarus here? Get real. ESE is good, but it’s actually impossible for them to have flown here in time in our ships.

“My Prime, she did not sift. There was no energy,” says Kell’an.

I have decided I going to call Kell’an “Thorn” from here on out, short for thorn in my side.

Or’ic’s grip on my arm is so tight he’s bruising me.

“Ow,” I say, intending to make a scene. He’s getting to know me better because he narrows his eyes, releases my arm, and says, “Do not dare.”

I spin around and we regroup in a semi-composed state, then head to our room. But he hasn’t given up. He walks so close behind me I can feel him on my heel.

“You would answer me truthfully, or experience pain later. Your choice,” he says very quietly.

I go with a lie that coincides with my urge to cry. I say, walking, staring straight ahead, “A woman. I saw a woman who reminded me of someone I knew.”

“Who?” he asks skeptically.

“My dead mother,” I say in a shaky voice.

I guess that put an end to his suspicions.
So much for the measure of independence they have been pretending to give me
, I think, resenting the control he exerts over me. All the way back, my rage is dampened by my fear of being insane. It’s okay to long for something so much you think it’s happening, right? I was just imagining King and Lt. Lazarus were here because I want so desperately to be rescued.

One thing is for certain. Clearly I need to sleep well tonight. I’m slotted to fly first thing in the morning, and nobody flies well without proper rest. After my test, Or’ic’s test follows. Then we will be on our way to Taxata!
Not long now, Cassiel, just a few more obstacles.

I’ve been sizing up my flight competition as my Kirs have spotted and pointed them out to me. You can gauge a pilot’s capacity to some extent based on his personality. I learned this over the years through Daz. Knowing certain things about Thell’eons, and having gone over the test parameters and every maneuver known, I’m mulling over a risky tactic.

The flight test itself is a race against the clock through a set course (more like a set quadrant of space that is chalk a block with obstacles, hiding places and more) that begins and ends in the largest loading bay on the IP (Intergalactic Planet) surrounded with an audience as high as the eye can see. They watch the flying that occurs in space as it’s captured by a technology, like a record-history, in little satts scattered throughout the course and played out in real-time on a massive ceiling screen.

The goal is to reach the finish line before the others. Those 10th and under are automatically ‘omitted’ from Horde status. Oh, we also fire on each other. But it’s not real firepower. It’s the one test where the Order makes an exception to authenticity because they can’t afford to have damaged ships. No tiny relief there. You know you’ve been hit when the ship’s rendered powerless. It’s been programmed to shut down upon ‘enemy’ fire.

I should be fine. I will be fine. Tenth place is a piece of cake. Anyway, we’re doing fine in the rankings so far, and I’d bet my only pair of pants that the Order would let us go to Taxata regardless.

I just don’t want to be paired with another Horde, that’s my only real concern for the time being. And since Or’ic’s Horde is doing so well, there’s little chance of that I tell myself. Plus, the Order needs me. None of the other sifts have been able to locate the missing one. I could always barter my services, worst-case scenario . . .

I’m thinking positive thoughts just like this when, as we arrive at the entrance to our room, I’m yanked back and shoved behind Kell’an. Before I can protest, my Kirs have taken up defensive postures around me. Peering between Or’ic and Kell’an, I search for what, or who, could create such a reaction.

Another Horde.

They seem to take up the entire room, and act like they own it. Two are leaning against downcores. Another three are standing against a wall.
Wait
, my eyes finally land on the piece that doesn’t fit, a sixth person. A she.
Wow.
She puts the ‘S’ on he. I never thought to ask about the gender of the other three Horde sifters. I don’t know why, but this pleases me greatly. I suppose she has come to meet the new sift.
Terrific!

I can’t help but gawk at her. She’s all limbs and boobs and ass. In fact, I’ve never seen a more curviliciously proportioned woman in my life, just giant-sized. Seriously, she’s got to be seven foot five. Hair as black and smooth as oil rises up out of her perfect, heart-shaped face and falls in sheets around her broad shoulders. Her white skin’s ever so translucent. Cat-like bronze eyes give me one hunter-proficient scan. Her perfectly pink, round mouth, turns ugly when her upper lip curls ever so slightly in disgust. At me.

Oh
.

She crosses muscular arms over her oozing chest, and her incredible arsenal of weapons seems to shift to adapt to the switch in position.

Envy, over her weapons, no doubt earned from fighting Aeon, rears up in me. Her Kirs are equally threatening as mine.

“Fluff,” she says.

It takes a second for me to realize she’s both acknowledging and addressing me.

My right eyebrow shoots up.
Fluff? Did she just call me fluff?

She eyes Kell’an and Or’ic, a tad too long, a tad too sluttily, if you ask me, before focusing back on me with a sneer.
Wow
. Her incisors are tiny sharp blades. Wonder what she uses those for. So much for being kindred spirits in arms.

I push past Or’ic and Kell’an sensing I need to claim something, though what, I’m not sure.

She unfolds her muscular arms. And that’s when the sneer disappears. She peers more closely at me. Then a look of awareness overcomes her features, and in that soft moment, I swear I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful. She’d be girl-crush material, if she hadn’t called me ‘fluff,’ that is.