Page 6

Iris

It’s taken me less than two days to become obsessed with the adorable Tavikhi children. Back on Earth I was never around kids, although not for lack of trying. Any time I approached them or their families, they were quickly ushered away like I was diseased. After a while, I stopped trying.

“Iris, Iris,” Talek calls out from halfway down the hill, his hand waving madly like I can’t hear him and he wants to make sure he has my attention.

I wave back and pause briefly at the child running down with him.

A child who is most definitely not Tavikhi.

As someone who has been harshly judged by her appearance my entire life, I don’t judge anyone else’s because I know how hurtful and damaging it is.

But even I’m slightly taken aback by the…

alien ness of what I’m guessing is a little boy.

The two of them come to a skidding halt in front of me and Talek lays his arm over the shoulder of the other child taking care to avoid the sharp-looking blade of the axe strapped to his back.

“Iris, this is Sorin. He is going to teach us how to throw his war axe.”

At least I was right about his gender. I stick my hand out in greeting—not even thinking. He probably has no idea what I’m doing. “Hi, Sorin. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Iris.”

To my surprise, he slips his small hand in mine—his tiny claws gently prick my skin—but he doesn’t shake it.

He just holds it while he stares up at me with black eyes that contain the tiniest silver spark in the center that shines like it’s been freshly polished.

He studies me for so long in silence, the self-consciousness I haven’t experienced since the first day in the village returns and I brace myself for the mocking.

“You are even more beautiful than Healer Sage,” Sorin finally rasps.

Tears burn my eyes and my face gets hot. I’m what ?

“Sage is Sorin’s favorite human. It is a great honor to be compared to her,” Talek says.

“Oh, thank you for your kind words.” I barely manage to speak without sputtering. Sage is the one who just had a baby and I haven’t had a chance to meet her yet, but she’s his favorite? And he thinks I’m more beautiful than her?

“Are you guys going to just keep standing there, or are we going to practice?” Cecily walks over to us and throws out a hand, gesturing toward the target that Benham had set up.

I smother my laugh. She doesn’t let the boys push her around at all. I love how she stands up for herself and makes sure they know she’s their equal, and at times, superior. If only I had a fraction of her confidence.

“Yes, let us practice,” Talek announces like it was his idea in the first place.

We walk to where Carter already waits. I don’t realize until we stop that Sorin still holds my hand.

The longer I look at him, the cuter he gets.

I’m still processing his features, including the vertical slit of his mouth, and the two little tusks that bracket the lower portion of it.

He doesn’t have a nose, but there’s a shadow of nostrils within the craggy furrows.

“Would you give us a demonstration?” I gently squeeze Sorin’s hand.

He slowly withdraws from me and I give him what I hope is an encouraging smile. His mouth opens and he bares some scary-looking teeth that freak me out a little. At least, until I’m struck with the knowledge that he’s trying to smile back.

Okay, he’s stinking adorable, no matter that he’s an alien.

Sorin slides out the child-sized axe from its sheath strapped to his back. He glances at the other three kids. “My gogo says your power comes from your legs and not your arm.”

He positions himself so the target that’s a good distance away is just to his right.

In a single move faster than I expect, he raises his weapon above his head, takes a step with his left foot, and launches the blade.

It hurls end over end until it embeds directly in the center.

The kids cheer, and Sorin ducks his head, but I can tell he’s pleased with the praise.

“Excellent job.” Even if he’d missed, I would have still given some kind of compliment. Making kids feel good about themselves has to be one of the most important things a person can do.

“Thank you, Iris.” He jogs over and yanks the axe out of the target and returns to the others. “Keep your eyes on the place you wish to strike, no matter what. Your hand will go where you direct it. Accuracy will improve with each throw.”

I don’t know who—or what—a gogo is, but the instructions Sorin gives don’t sound like something a little boy would say. They sound like he’s repeating words from someone much older and wiser.

“Who would like to try first?” Sorin asks.

Three hands go up at once, and to my surprise, the boys defer to Cecily.

I’m not sure if it’s so they can see what they’re up against and prepare themselves, or because they expect her to fail and they can show off.

She steps up, and Sorin carefully hands her his axe by the handle.

She mimics his pose, and her little tongue sticks out of the corner of her mouth.

Cecily relaxes her shoulders, straightens her spine, takes a deep breath, lets it out, and throws just how Sorin showed her.

I’ve watched her spar with the boys, and she’s better than Carter and nearly as good as Talek, so the fact she hits the target doesn’t shock me at all.

What impresses me is that Cecily hits it almost dead center.

The boys, Sorin included, gape. I clap—maybe a little extra loudly—and congratulate her.

She practically struts forward to grab the axe. Her raised brow when she passes it to Talek makes me snort, because there is clearly a challenge in her gaze. It’s an unspoken, “Let’s see if you can do any better.”

We all watch as Talek approaches the same place Cecily stood.

Like her, he gets into position, but there’s a tension in him that she didn’t present.

It’s obvious he’s worried about his performance.

His throw is off-center, but considering I doubt I’d even be able to hit the target, it’s still a great shot.

“Well done.” I clap for him, too.

Talek’s disappointment is tangible, but he doesn’t throw a fit. He walks to the target, gets the axe, and brings it back to Carter. A small hand slips into mine again, and I glance down. Sorin doesn’t look up, but keeps his eyes on the human boy who takes his turn.

It’s unfair to not watch Carter, but I can’t turn away from the boy at my side.

I observe a few more details with him this close, including the fact his hair isn’t like human’s or Tavikhi’s.

It’s thick and ropey and appears coarse.

He has it loosely tied back with a piece of leather and it barely skims the top of where I assume his shoulder blades are, if his anatomy is similar to mine.

Sorin glances up at me and the tiny silver spot in the center of his eyes sparkles.

Cecily and Talek cheer. Crap, I missed Carter’s throw . I quickly check the target to see how he did. The axe is buried right on the edge, but at least he hit it.

“Way to go.” I make sure to throw in a few extra woohoos, since I can’t clap with Sorin holding my hand. “That’s way better than I could have done.”

His cheeks are flushed, and he trudges over to get the axe.

I feel for him, because he probably tried his best. Talek and Cecily offer their congratulations as well.

I’m so glad they try to make him feel good and don’t gloat over how much better they did.

If only everyone built up their friends like that.

Humans could learn a lot from these kids.

The four of them continue taking turns practicing. Sorin is the only one who’s consistent. The other three are all over the place. They rib each other good-naturedly and in no time, they’re all laughing and having a good time. Until Sorin turns to me and holds the axe out.

“It is your time to practice, Iris.”

“Oh, no. Weapons and I aren’t a good combination.” I raise my left arm to remind them of what I’m missing.

Four pairs of eyes widen.

“Is that what happened to your hand?” Talek is the first to ask. “Someone cut it off?”

I snort-laugh at his sweet innocence. “No, I was born this way. My right arm and hand might be stronger to compensate for the lack of my left one, and while I can certainly hold a weapon, wielding it with any kind of skill would take a lot of strength and a lot of practice. Which also probably includes a lot of accidents. Ones I’m not sure I’m up for. ”

“This is practice,” Sorin points out. “Besides, you are at least as strong, but most likely stronger, than the four of us. If we can throw it, then I have faith you can as well.”

Echoes of “yes” from the other three fill the air, and the kids stare at me expectantly. I sigh.

“Okay, fine, I’ll try. But if I cut off my other arm, I’m going to be rather annoyed.” Not that I really have any concerns that’ll happen. It’s just kind of fun to needle them a bit.

I swipe my now sweaty palm on my pants and carefully take the wooden handle of the axe from Sorin who still holds it.

To my surprise, it’s weightier than I expected.

Then again, I’m not exactly sure what I expected.

I position myself where the kids did in relation to the target and glance out to gauge the distance.

From here, it looks a lot farther away than it did when the four of them were throwing.

I try to relax like Cecily did. To loosen my shoulders and hips and any other part of my body that’s tight, which is all of it, basically.

Like her, I take a deep breath and try to recall what Sorin said at the beginning.

Something about keeping my eye on the target no matter what, and using the power from my hips, not my arm. Sounds easy enough, right?

My focus narrows on a single spot in front of me, and when I feel like I’m as ready as I’m going to get, I raise my arm and the axe with it, breathe, and throw.

Two things happen at once. The axe goes soaring and it’s obvious I overestimated my strength and underestimated my eyesight.

The loss of the weapon, plus my extreme lack of grace makes me lose my balance.

I brace myself for impact with the ground, but it doesn’t happen.

Instead, I find myself suspended mid-air with a large, warm body at my back, and two thick arms supporting me under my armpits.

I tip my head back and gaze up at my savior.

If I had any breath left in my lungs it would have been released as a scream.

Instead, I flail and scramble to my feet on my own.

Once there, I spin and stumble back a few steps, nearly falling on my ass, my attempt at being non-judgmental about appearances tossed out the window.

Before me is a larger, much, much scarier version of Sorin.

In fact, he’s terrifying. He has the same greenish-black skin that’s more black than green in certain angles.

His thick, black ropey hair is unbound and sweeps back off his forehead to fall nearly to his waist. There is no pretty silver spark in the bottomless eyes that bore into mine.

They’re nothing but dark shadows on top of dark shadows. I shiver at the darkness within them.

Sorin’s little tusks that bracket his vertical mouth slit are cute. Adorable, even. This man’s—and there’s no mistaking him as male—are huge. Pointy. Dangerous. As are the black claws that tip his fingers.

“Gogo, you saved Iris.”

My gaze darts to Sorin who moves to stand next to the large version of him.

I glance at the adult male, to the child, and back again.

At least now I have an idea what ‘gogo’ means, because my guess is I’m looking at Sorin’s father.

Another guess tells me he’s one of the Krijese that used to slaughter the humans.