Page 157 of Mates for the Raskarrans #1-6

CHAPTER FIVE

Carrie

I expect the feast to continue late into the night, but Ahnjas has only just stopped running around when Darran’s tribe start yawning theatrically, stretching their arms above their heads.

I’d believe it was exhaustion from their travelling, but for the way they keep looking over at us girls and grinning.

Liv rolls her eyes. “Sometimes I find their lack of guile adorable, but sometimes…” She looks round at us. “Everyone okay?”

She looks round at the unmated girls. Grace nods, though she looks a little jittery. Mattie gives a helpless shrug. Hannah frowns, taking the kind of breath that precedes words, but just holds it for a long, silent moment.

“I just wish it didn’t have to be decided for us,” she says eventually.

“I’m not against the idea of being with one of them.

It’s just - for the first time ever, I get to decide what I do with my day.

When I wake up, what I eat, what work I do.

And that’s terrifying a lot of the time, but I feel like I’m just starting to get good at it.

I don’t panic at the sight of three different tops to choose from anymore.

I’m getting the hang of which choices are important, and which ones aren’t.

The person you spend the rest of your life with - that’s an important choice.

It bugs me that I don’t get to make it.”

“The raskarrans would say it’s the most important choice, and that’s why they trust it to their goddess,” Ellie says.

“We don’t actually believe in their goddess, do we?” Hannah says, but the words come out haltingly and she drops her voice low, as if she doesn’t want to be overheard.

“I’m undecided on goddesses,” Liv says. “But I get you, Hannah. If there was a way to keep everybody safe that meant you didn’t have to face the possibility of that choice being taken away from you, I would have done it.”

“I know,” Hannah says, and she means it. She might have been like me - fighting to stay on the beach - but like me, she knows that this was always the only choice we really had.

I wonder what her reasons were for wanting to stay, for holding on to hope that Mercenia would do right by us. She must have one, but I never thought to ask, and now I’d struggle.

Whatever it is, it doesn’t steal her voice away. Her throat doesn’t grow tight when she thinks about saying something.

“The raskarrans won’t expect anything of us if we do find ourselves in the dreamspace, will they?” Grace asks.

“Multiple orgasms?” Khadija says.

Liv jabs her with an elbow, even as a smirk threatens to break out on her lips.

“Look,” she says, gathering seriousness to herself again.

“There are few things more important to raskarrans than the happiness of their tribe, and we’re part of that tribe.

Darran’s brothers might be a bit intense right now, but they haven’t lost their way like the Cliff Top assholes.

They’re good people, and if any of them are lucky enough to call one of you wonderful ladies ‘linasha’ then they are going to be falling over themselves to make you happy.

You just need to remember that they might not know how to do that.

Or they might think they know, because of how they’ve been taught to treat raskarran females.

They might not understand that we’re not the same. ”

Mattie scoffs, gesturing at herself. “Not seeing any tails or fangs here.”

Liv grins. “Looking different is easy. It’s the thinking different part they have difficulty wrapping their heads around.

So make it easy for them. Tell them. You can talk freely in the dreamspace.

No awkward language barrier. You don’t feel like you want to do something, you tell them you don’t want to, and they will respect that. ”

Talk freely.

“It’s devastating to them to think they’ve done something to upset their linasha,” Ellie says.

“So be clear with them about what would make you happy. And if you aren’t sure what that is, be clear about what makes you unhappy.

You can figure the rest out in time. I know they seem a bit too eager at times, but they can take it slow. Anghar did.”

All good advice for people who can speak.

Dizziness washes over me and I realise I’m holding my breath.

Sucking air down into my lungs makes stars flash before my eyes for a moment, but it passes, taking the dizziness with it.

My throat is as tight as I’ve ever known it, but there’s still enough room for air to pass through.

I count to four as I breathe in and out, forcing myself to calm down.

I feel the brush of fingers over my arm, then curling around my hand, giving it a squeeze.

“It’s going to be alright, Carrie,” Lorna says in a whisper. “If you’re not ready, it won’t happen.”

She says it with such calm certainty, I can almost believe it.

“Get yourselves to bed,” Liv says. “Try to get some sleep. We’ll see what the morning brings.”

Lorna walks with me to my hut, still holding my hand.

“I really mean it, Carrie,” she says, as we arrive at my door. “If you’re not in the right place, the dreamspace won’t come. I was full on in love with Shemza and the dreamspace didn’t happen until I banged my head. Knocked down all the walls I’d built to keep him out.”

I put a hand to my throat, so tight now, even thinking about trying to get some words out is difficult. I let the frustration play out on my face, and Lorna wraps me in her arms, holding me close.

“I’ll talk to Shemza about it,” she says. “If you’re okay with me doing that?”

I hesitate a moment. It seems such a small, stupid thing. Not like Callif and the enormous hole torn into his gut. Or the pregnant girls. Those are real medical needs.

As if she can read my thoughts, Lorna shakes her head.

“You don’t have to struggle on your own, Carrie. That’s what I had to learn. That’s what Shemza taught me. I want you to know that, too.”

I nod, but her words only make my throat grow tighter.

“Want me to sit up with you for a while?” Lorna asks.

I shake my head, trying to show my gratitude for the offer with a smile. I don’t want to keep her from her own bed, or the raskarran I can see waiting for her, far enough back from us to not intrude on our conversation, but close enough that he can watch over his linasha.

I gesture to my hut, then mime sleeping. Lorna nods.

“Try to,” she says. She turns to go, but stops, looking back at me. “I could get Shemza to brew you up some sleeping tea, if you like?”

I shake my head. The oblivion of the sleeping tea sounds nice, but what if it stops the dreamspace forming? I’d only have to go through all this again tomorrow. Better just to get it over with and hope that Lorna’s right. That if I’m not ready, it won’t happen.

It becomes clear after a while that the only thing not happening for me is going to sleep.

I stare at the ceiling overhead, my eyes well adjusted to the near absolute darkness, wishing I had a candle or something so I could work.

The other girls talk about their bottom tier jobs like they were terrible, and they probably were.

But for me, there was a kind of comfort in sewing.

In making something, repairing something.

When I’m sewing, the rest of the world fades away, my entire awareness reducing down to whatever line of stitches I’m working on.

Thread and fabric. There’s no need for words when I’m in that zone.

I don’t even have a throat - just fingers punching the needle through.

Up, down, in, out. Making something beautiful.

It’s why I was happy to continue doing the work here.

Adjusting the raskarran clothes so they better fit the others - nipping in waists and taking up hems. Raskarran clothes are mostly far more functional than they are beautiful, but there are some garments we’ve found in the storage hut that have decorative elements.

Mostly beautiful embroidery, made with threads of different colours.

I’ve only worked with the sinews taken from the animal carcasses the hunters bring back, or thread twisted together from tail hairs or long furs.

Varying shades of brown. Functional, not beautiful.

I wish I knew how to make the different coloured threads, but I doubt it was a skill the raskarrans sought to preserve when their people were nearly wiped out.

Much more important to ensure the tribe is well fed and protected than dressed in decorative clothes.

It’s a tragic loss, but an understandable one.

I tap my fingers against my furs, wondering if there’s enough of a fire left to provide some light.

Wondering if it would be a good idea to work by it, even if there is.

I don’t know if a lifetime spent squinting through darkness to complete extra commissions caused the milky patches to form in my mother’s eyes.

Maybe it was just something that was always going to happen, something that would have happened to anyone lucky enough to survive as long as she did in the toxic bottom tier environment, working long shifts every day.

But I can’t help tracing a path from her hard work in the low evening light to her vision problems.

Even a few extra credits add up over time .

I touch my fingers to my locket. I wear it in bed, still, the habit of keeping it close, hidden, ingrained in me now.

No one here would steal it the way the officers on our transport ship might have.

They would have no need to, even if they had the inclination.

The credits it conceals have no meaning here, as useless as our ill-fitting Mercenia boots.

I sigh and sit up, sliding my feet out from under the furs and into my much more practical raskarran boots - given to me without any expectation of payment.