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Chapter Seven

S irius

It’s obvious something’s wrong the moment I wake up. Aliyah’s pretty face is pinched in pain, her eyes squeezed shut.

“Aliyah?”

“Shhh.”

“Open your eyes.”

“Hurts.”

Headache, sensitivity to light, this is from her injury.

I feed her some lukewarm broth that’s been hanging in a bladder over the banked embers all night—she vomits it back up within modicums .

This is serious. She needs medical attention. She mentioned her shaman. I have no idea how a primitive shaman might treat her, but he’ll certainly be more helpful than me. I must return her to her village.

I sweep through the cave, neatening, banking the fire completely, and folding the pelts. I’m certain Aliyah would want me to sweep with the little broom shaped like a bird’s wing, but I refuse to take the time.

I have no idea how to fashion her a dress out of doram leaves, so I wrap her in a fur and hike her onto my back. She’s straddling me from behind, one leg on either side of my waist. I grip her behind her knees, lean forward, sling the bow and quiver of arrows over my shoulder, and head toward the back entrance of the cave I discovered while she was in her coma.

I aim toward the notch in the mountains Aliyah showed me days ago. She said all we needed to do to get to her village was go in that direction. Built for speed and stamina, I run at a pace faster than anything we could have accomplished if she was walking with me. Bent at the waist to keep her from falling off is only slightly uncomfortable due to my animal DNA.

My mind flicks between thoughts of last night and worries about the greeting I’ll receive from her tribesmen.

I think of my fellow geneslaves, still either fighting wars for the Feds all over the galaxy—usually on half-rations with sub-par weapons because we’re so expendable—or housed in small cells, waiting to be called to some duty, conflict, or experiment.

When I was sitting in a cell, I never would have imagined a female looking at me with acceptance, much less than the lusty desire Aliyah showed me last night. I never dreamed I’d taste a female’s cream on my tongue. A pang of sadness for my fellow geneslaves pierces me. They’re still incarcerated for no crime other than the circumstances of their birth.

My mind flies to what will happen when I appear at her village in a few hoaras . She said her Poppa loves her. He certainly won’t be happy to see an aberration like me marching into his encampment, touching his daughter.

I’ve been running for hoaras . I’ve stayed on course, always bearing toward the notch in the mountains shaped like the nick in my right ear. But I have no idea how far I am from her home.

I left our cave with little but a pelt-covered Aliyah and my bow and arrows. She’s unconscious and has no need for food or water. Although I’ve been bred to go without such things, my mouth has been parched since the sun was high in the sky, and that was hoaras ago. I see a swift-running stream to my right and decide I’ll make better time if I’m hydrated.

I set Aliyah down on a fur in the tall grasses at the stream’s edge, then lie on my belly, scooping water into my mouth as fast as possible. I don’t want to waste a minima getting her back to her people. I don’t know if her shaman can help her concussion—I can only hope.

I hear the unmistakable sound of arrows whistling. Within modicums eight arrows have landed near me, almost surrounding me.

I don’t move a muscle as I call out in the People’s language, “Don’t hurt the female! Don’t hurt the female!”

I have no idea if the aggressors are Aliyah’s tribe or a warring faction. She never described much about her planet.

“Hands on your head,” someone yells in the Peoples’ language as I hear rustling in the grass.

Still lying on my belly, my upper torso resting only on air, I slowly reach one hand and then the other behind my head.

I’m roughly yanked up from behind, one male on each side grasping my shoulder and elbow. Standing now, I’m facing the stream. Two males are at my sides. I sense several other males farther behind me.

“Don’t hurt the female,” I repeat at the same time I hear, “Aliyah,” said with wrenching emotion by a deep voice.

My captors turn me around and roughly press my knees to the ground. I’m relieved to see Aliyah is safely on her furry pelt. I count ten warriors including the two at my side.

I understand now why Aliyah mentioned how small I was. I’ve never seen or read about a species this tall. These males are eight or nine fiertos tall. I must look like a child next to them.

Even with the odds against me, on a different day, I might fight them. With my enhanced genetics, I could possibly overpower several of them, then sprint to the water and swim downstream at lightning speed. I won’t do that, though. I need to make certain Aliyah’s safe.

These giants are various shades of green with vermillion spots. Perfect camouflage for a planet with tall green grasses and burgundy leaves.

One of the males is on his knees next to Aliyah, his huge palm pressed to her cheek. She looks so tiny next to him. There’s fire in his gaze as he looks at me and bellows, “What have you done to her?”

“I’ve tended her after she fell from the top of the waterfall. I’ve run here since this morning to bring her back to you. You’re her Poppa?”

“You’re a liar,” he accuses, ignoring my question. He glances at the position of the sun. “You couldn’t have run this far, carrying my daughter from the waterfall. That’s two sleeps from here.”

“Kill me now,” I state firmly, “or argue later. She needs to see Chernan, the shaman.”

He seems surprised, whether it’s from the impudence of my words or my concern for his daughter, I don’t know.

He lifts her gently and lopes with her toward the notch in the mountains.

“Bring the stranger,” he commands over his shoulder.

H alf an hoara later, I’m sitting on the floor in a primitive hut made of woven fire-hardened saplings covered by bark and mud. The lighting is dim, illuminated only by the sunlight trickling through the door.

They walked me through a village of roughly one hundred dwellings, all primitive longhouses made in the same fashion as this smaller structure. There are two guards outside the tall doorway.

Aliyah’s poppa carried her to one of the houses, calling for Chernan as he ran.

I could definitely overpower the two males guarding me and possibly wend my way through the village to the nearby forest. But I’m not leaving until I’m satisfied Aliyah is going to live.

I pace for a while, back and forth in this little hut that’s maybe six fiertos square, until I realize I’m in pain. As a toddler, I learned to push any awareness of discomfort to the back of my mind. It did no good to focus on it—I learned as a youngling no help was coming.

Now that I’ve tuned in to my body, I realize how severe the pain is. It’s searing hot and almost constant. My belly is cramping. I thought I was fine when we left the cave this morning, but running all day pitched forward at an odd angle carrying Aliyah must have ripped open something inside my abdomen.

Almost without notice, my stomach heaves, allowing me only enough time to hurry to the far corner of the hut. Although the light is dim, I see several bloody clots the size of a baby’s fist surrounded by a small pool of blood. After scraping over the mess with dirt from the floor, I make my way to another corner and sit.

I push any concern for myself out of my awareness and focus on Aliyah. I heard her praying to her God for me when I was in and out of consciousness. I’d pray for her, but I don’t know how.

I must have been dozing, but I’m awakened when Aliyah’s father bends down to enter the hut. When I encountered him by the stream the huge, green male wore a doram leaf loincloth like the other males in the tribe, the same as Aliyah taught me to make. Now he’s dressed in full regalia of a long woven straw jacket sweeping from shoulders to below his knees. He carries a sharp spear that stands to his shoulders.

He’s wearing an imposing headdress made of a mam’non head with its long, sharp teeth exposed. It’s adorned with tall, plumed feathers in a rainbow of colors. It’s beautiful and frightening and imposing. I’m certain it was donned to give me the impression of his powerful status in his tribe—it’s working.

“I’m Chief Duraxx, Aliyah’s father. Explain yourself,” he demands.

Drack , I don’t want to defy or anger him, but I have no idea what information he wants.

I rise so I don’t have to look up at him, but he’s still two heads taller than me. I try not to wobble when another wrenching wave of pain rolls through me.

“What were you doing with my daughter?”

“She rescued me from the mam’non and helped me.” I indicate the patchwork of red scars on my abdomen.

“You lie, stranger.” He leans closer to my belly. “She was gone less than two handfuls of days. No one could recover that fast.”

I shrug. Now isn’t the time to explain my genetic abnormalities.

“How was she injured?”

“She slipped climbing the falls.”

He frowns. “You lie. She’s climbed those falls with no difficulty since she was a youngling. Was she running from you? What did you do to her?”

I’ve asked myself that same question a hundred times since her fall. The best explanation I’ve come to is that her own sexuality, her frank desire for me, scared her and she wanted distance from me. I certainly can’t tell that to her beloved poppa.

“I did nothing to her, Sir. She was playing, having a good time.” I learned to lie to the guards as soon as I was old enough to talk, but I hate lying to Aliyah’s father. The picture of her beautiful core spread open to me the other night is burned into my brain. My assertion I did nothing to her is one giant lie.

“How is it you know the People’s language?”

“She taught me.”

“You lie. No one can learn a language in so few days.” He shakes his head in disgust. “We just met yet you have lied to me four times already.” His eyes narrow and he leans so close I can feel his warm breath. “Why did you bring her here?”

“She told me how much she loved her poppa. She talked about the shaman who tried to heal her mother.” He stiffens at my mention of his late wife. “She needed help.”

“Did you expect a warm welcome?”

“No. I thought I might be killed.”

“But you came to get her help anyway?”

I nod.

He appears thoughtful for a long time as he paces around me in this cramped space. Placing his face mere inces from mine and spearing me with his intense green gaze he asks, “Did you anck my daughter?”

Thankfully, I don’t have to lie. “No, Sir.”

He’s still scrutinizing me, watching every muscle and movement in my face, possibly counting my respirations. “Good.”

“With all your lies I’d have killed you already, except your first words were to protect my daughter. I’ll let you live, but I still don’t trust you.”

He turns to leave, but I stop him with my question, “May I see her?”

Pivoting toward me, he studies me for long moments. I have no idea what he’s searching for, but he finally nods. “If you harm one hair on her head, I’ll kill you before you can blink. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Moments later, I’m escorted into his longhouse. It’s made of the same wood and bark construction as the hut I just left. I notice how dim and warm it is as I sit down on a raised bunk eight fiertos across from where Aliyah lies on her own platform.

Craning my neck, I glimpse around the shaman. He’s wearing a coat woven of multi-colored grasses and a mask carved of blue wood. The expression on his mask is a benign smile, perhaps an image of the God of healing Aliyah prayed to for me.

He sings in a low sing-song, occasionally stopping for long moments. His voice rises and falls, his tone is that of a supplicant, begging the Gods for benevolence. I’m learning their language at lightning speed, perhaps because my life depends on it.

In the shaman’s right hand is a bird’s wing—large with red, green, and yellow feathers extended. To punctuate his singing chant, he waves the wing and bows his head.

Now that I’ve had time to peek around him, I’ve gotten a good glimpse of Aliyah. She’s pale and comatose. Her chest, covered with a wet, clinging doram leaf, rises and falls with each shallow breath.

I’m glad she’s here in the bosom of her family, but my hope the shaman could heal her was misguided. Prayers and a leaf aren’t going to help her.

Other than searching for an explanation of the aberrant condition of my blood on the Intergalactic Database, I never deeply investigated medical information. But I know Aliyah has a concussion. She has many of the signs: headaches, blurred vision, fatigue and loss of consciousness. Unfortunately, I have no idea how to treat it.

“Find me a sacrifice,” Chernan pronounces with finality. “Catch a brantin beast and bring it back here alive. It must be done by you, Duraxx, and you alone.”

“ Brantin beast,” Duraxx repeats with distaste, but he changes out of his regalia and into a doram leaf loincloth. After grabbing his bow and arrows and a long, woven rope, he’s off.

Chernan almost immediately moves to a pallet loaded with pelts, which I assume belongs to Duraxx. He stabs me with a stare designed to force me to secrecy, turns over, and falls asleep.

His clever demand for a live sacrifice earned him a nap, and allows me to move to Aliyah’s side without argument.

I slide over and kneel next to her pallet. Ordering my brain not to receive the pain signals my belly is sending, I focus totally on my Aliyah.

I know I shouldn’t think of her this way, although somehow I think she’d appreciate it. But in this moment, with her so close to death, I allow myself to call her mine in the privacy of my mind.

I find myself combing my fingers through her lustrous, black hair, just like she did to me a handful of days ago. Although I’ve never sung before, I find myself singing to her in the softest whisper possible. I sing the songs she sang of her people.

Aliyah’s such a happy person. She sings when she’s working, or walking, or cooking. Although I’ve never sung before, and I’m certain my raspy voice sounds awful, I croon to her, hoping I provide the same comfort she gave to me.

I switch from songs in the People’s language to the ridiculous songs she sang in Earther. I’ll never understand their meaning, but I sing about the twinkling steer and the billy boat.

Petting her face, I hate that the muscles are slack and make her cheeks look sunken. I’m certain my fingers will be clumsy, but I braid her hair, just like she braided mine.

The quality of the sun outside the longhouse changes, indicating hoaras have passed. The only things punctuating the silence are Chernan’s strident snores.

“I have the brantin beast,” Duraxx says as he dips his head to enter the room. He has the large animal’s two front paws clutched in one hand and his back paws fisted in the other. The flame-colored furry feline beast is yowling and trying to wriggle out of the chief’s grasp. I don’t know who looks more guilty, Chernan, who stands up sputtering, or me, who had no business being anywhere near the chief’s beautiful daughter.

Two pairs of eyes swing to me as Chernan points at me accusingly and says, “This outsider touched the untouchable.”

“I see.” Duraxx pauses for a moment, then holds up the beast to Chernan. “Here’s your sacrifice.”

I ease back onto the platform I was given earlier and keep quiet, feeling lucky I wasn’t ejected from the hut—or beheaded.

Duraxx holds the wriggling animal as we watch the interminable ceremony. Chernan cuts the mammal’s carotid artery, drains the blood into the firepit and sings songs to his God. I glimpse the chief sliding his eyes toward me, and in that one instant, I get the clear impression he doesn’t believe Chernan’s prayers will help his daughter any more than I do.

I imagine in almost every society, the ruling class is at odds with the religious class. How smoothly the community operates depends on how functional or dysfunctional the relations between these two factions are.

Duraxx is a male of action. Chernan is a male of pomp and circumstance and perceived status. Some of his methods and potions are probably curative. His meager skills are no match for a concussion, though.

“I’ll be back at sunrise,” Chernan announces abruptly as he packs up his feathers and ceremonial knife, then exits the dwelling without stopping to check if his patient is still breathing.

Duraxx grabs the carcass and heads toward the door. “I’ll have one of my males put an arrow through you if you try to leave,” he warns as he ducks out.

He’s back in a few minimas , the skinned brantin carcass dripping wet from a dip in the stream. He skewers it and hangs most of it on a spit over the fire. He puts the rest of the remains in a bladder hanging above the fire. “Soup for my daughter.”

We have one thing in common, he and I. We both care for Aliyah. I have no idea why he’s allowed me to live. I’ve served my purpose. I brought his daughter back to him. If he was trained by the Federation, I’d already be dead.

“You touched my daughter,” he says as we watch the animal cook over the fire.

“I braided her hair. It’s what she did for me when I lay die… when I was ill.”

“You know she’s untouchable?”

I shake my head, my eyes flaring. This sounds like the type of rule that results in a severe punishment if broken.

“She braided your hair?”

I nod.

“She tended your wounds?”

I nod. I already told him this.

He lies back on his pallet, then wrinkles his nose as he flips over the pelt he uses for a pillow. “Chernan stinks.”

It’s quiet in the hut for a long time—only the sound of the beast’s juices falling on hot embers interrupts the silence.

“You like my daughter.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“Yes, Sir.”

“I declared little Aliyah an untouchable the day her Momma died. Did she tell you that?”

“No, Sir.”

He rises, then lifts the beast up onto a different level of the spit, putting it farther from the fire. “Come with me.”

I stand, then pause, realizing I’m nude—I have been since I left the cave this morning. He tosses me two doram leaves and waits while I fumble, fashioning a loincloth the way Aliyah taught me.

Following him out of the hut, we leave the little village and wend our way down a winding path farther into the thick woods. I’m certain I’m a walking dead man. Why would he lead me out here after dark? He didn’t want my blood to befoul his dwelling.

I could kill him easily, despite the clawing pain in the pit of my stomach. I don’t even consider it. This male cares for Aliyah. If anyone can keep her alive, it’s him. I’ll embrace my own death before I hurt a hair on his head.

He leads me to a little clearing in the woods. This would be a lovely spot in the sunlight. But now, the shadows cast by the two full moons are eerie. A fitting place to end my life.

This little circle of grass is well-groomed, as if it’s frequented regularly. There are two thick tree limbs jammed upright in the soil in the middle of the area. Duraxx motions for me to inspect. On the larger of the two is a beautifully carved face that looks a lot like Aliyah. It’s definitely an Earther female. By its side is a smaller, shorter limb with an intricately carved babe in its mother’s arms.

“Manda.” He points to the larger marker, then nods at the smaller one and says, “Our babe, Ar-tur. It was her father’s name. In the People’s language it means—”

“Pure,” I say.

He nods. “My Manda. She was my life. Her and Aliyah. From the moment I rescued them from the intruders, I loved them both. My little Aliyah took to me immediately. All I had to do was sing to her and she was enthralled.” His look is sorrowful and faraway.

“Manda, it was harder to win her over.” He smiles ruefully. “I cared for them both and kept them safe and fed them the best pieces of meat. I sang to them and took Manda for walks in the moonlight. I took her to this spot, my favorite place in all our hunting lands, and I wooed her. I played the flute for her.

“It took many sleeps before she said yes to my mating request. That was lucky for us both, because it kept her alive and allowed us to have more time together.

“A male can only wait so long to take the woman he loves. When she finally said yes, and I performed the rockshun and she gave me her love and her soul and her body, I took her every single day—many times. It didn’t take her long to get with child.”

He falls silent for a long moment, his eyes moist and focused on the distance. His clamped lips can’t hide the fact they’re quivering with emotion.

“I killed her. I killed my beloved Manda. I killed little Aliyah’s momma. The people are so big. Earthers are so small. My babe inside my mate was too much. Too big. Manda and the babe died in childbirth.

“I spent many turnings of the moons carving these. These will ensure Momma and babe will be remembered for many generations. These markers will hold testament to their existence. But they’re not here. They’re just a memory. My flesh and blood babe and mate, they’re gone forever.

“The day my mate died, I had my father, the chief, declare Aliyah an untouchable. I see now how hard that was for her. I just wanted her to live to a ripe age. I needed every living being in the village to know to stay away from her.”

He wipes his eyes with his knuckle, not embarrassed to reveal his emotions about the people he loves.

“What male could look at her and not want her? And she has such spirit! I knew she’d never be able to say no to a male she loved. It had to become the duty of every male in the village to stay far from her. It was the only way I knew to keep the dearest thing in my life alive.

“I made it clear no male or female of the People could touch her. Ever. For any reason. I wanted there to be no confusion, no allowance, no permission given for any reason—not the shaman, not a female friend—no touch. A clear edict.

“But I can tell she yearns. She yearns for a male and a house and a family. I gave her a life, but I stole these things from her.”

He halts. Like a weapon that’s run out of fuel, he sputters to a stop and stands so still it’s as if he’s paralyzed. He stares at the dark night sky as if he could find the answers he’s looking for up there.

“The waterfall is Aliyah’s place. Like this place is to me. It gives me comfort. It’s special. If Aliyah took you to the falls, she likes you. Does she like you?”

I nod.

“You didn’t anck ?”

I shake my head.

“Why not?”

“I like her too much. I respect her,” I say. It’s not too much of a lie. If I had a working cock I still wouldn’t have taken her when she asked. It wouldn’t have been right—I’m still a geneslave.

“If she lives, would she want you as her mate?”

I nod. I know it’s true, although I have no idea why she would want me.

“And you?”

It strikes me as ridiculous we’re having this conversation. Aliyah’s gravely ill. I’m defective and damaged beyond repair. And he doesn’t even know my name.

“I’m Sirius, Sir. And I’m not worthy of your daughter. I’m the wrong male.”

He steps in front of me and grasps me by both shoulders, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“I dreamed of a mate for my daughter since the day I made her untouchable. I never knew how it would happen, but I hoped against hope that it would. I imagined the male who would finally be her mate with many different appearances. I pictured different skin and different hair and different stature. Sometimes I even saw them with mam’non teeth like yours.

“But every waking dream had one thing in common—the male would always say one thing, ‘I’m not worthy of your daughter.’ And here you are, Sirius. Sirius of the mam’non teeth and the small stature that won’t kill Aliyah if you breed, and the way you look at her like she’s the most precious thing that walks the soil. The first words out of your mouth with ten warriors of the People shooting arrows at you were ‘don’t hurt the female’. And now you tell me you’re not worthy.”

He smiles and nods like he just discovered the key to the universe. “You’re the male my daughter and I have been waiting for.”