Aftermath (30 page)

“How badly are you hurt?” I ask.

“I lost a claw.”

“Will it grow back?”

“No. But when we return to civilization, I can acquire a prosthetic.”

When, not if.
I love him for saying that, even now. I love him, period. And I almost lost him. Shaking sets in. In a different way from March, different, yes, but not less. I love him.

“Don’t scare me like that again,” I say.

“I will do my best not to.”

With the gaping hole behind us, we must go forward. Since I’d already decided that was the best course, I’m okay with that. I’m just glad I was on Vel’s right when the pit opened up; that allowed me to scramble to the other side, which means we’re not trapped down here.

“Will Nu-Skin seal your wound?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll treat you now if you patch up my side again.”

“Gladly.”

That exchange of care uses up the last of our medical supplies, however. I never thought I’d see him out of necessary goods, but we’ve reached the bottom. If we don’t get out of here soon, we’ll die. That’s not histrionics or me being dramatic. It’s a fact.

“I’m thinking maybe we don’t want to touch anything else, if we can help it,” I say with a hint of a smile.

“Agreed. But I still have the sample,” Vel adds, as if that validates our near-death experience.

“You’ve no idea how relieved I am.” My dry tone elicits a staccato series of clicks from him that I recognize as laughter. And that ability in him—to laugh in the face of certain death—prompts me to speak words I couldn’t have imagined, turns before. “When we get out of here”—I, too, cling to
when
, not
if
—“I want you to wear my colors.”

I carry his colors on my throat, a beautiful vine-and-thorn pattern he designed himself. He did it on Ithiss-Tor to protect me from repercussions in diplomatic circles. There, I overheard whispers of speculation from his people, wondering whether he had taken me as his partner in every sense. So I have an inkling what my acceptance meant—and what my request will mean to him.

I go on, bravely, considering his unresponsive stance. “You said once that we’d discuss it further if we both survived the war.”

“I did. And we did.”

“We’re going to beat this, too,” I say firmly. “So will you?”

His weighty silence makes me wonder if I should’ve asked questions first. Maybe I’m leaping without looking again, and being stupid or offensive. Mary knows I don’t want to hurt Vel.

“Do you understand what it means?” he asks at last.

“It’s a statement of partnership and trust.” That much, I heard from the merchants on Ithiss-Tor. I know it can’t be a romantic thing because the Ithtorians don’t bond in that way. They act for dynastic value, so I’m honestly not sure what connotation it would have between Vel and me.

“It is also a promise that we will be together always. And . . . rare for an Ithtorian, to take colors for a single person instead of honors granted by his house.”

“I’m willing to pledge that. After all we’ve been through together, I can’t imagine my life otherwise.”

He considers for long moments, his face illuminated by the pale green glow. “Nor can I.”

This means he’s willing to watch me age and die. That will be unspeakably painful for him, but I won’t send him away as Adele did. I’m too selfish for that.

Vel seals the bargain by brushing the side of his face against mine, first time he’s done that. I touch the hinge of his mandible in the dark, wondering how I can feel so safe down here among the ancient dead.

The answer’s simple. He is with me.

I push to my feet. “Come on, let’s get out of here. There’s got to be food and water somewhere on this Mary-forsaken world.”

“And an end to our journey.”

I nod. We’ll find that damn gate soon.

 

 

 

Just when I can’t walk another step, I see it glimmering ahead. Our final torch-tube burned out long ago, but this glow is different. It’s sweet and pale, like the first glimmer at dawn. I increase my pace until I’m running, only vaguely noticing that the incline slopes upward, as if we’re going aboveground at last.

The tunnel opens in a hillside covered with verdant growth. This is a different aspect of the planet—neither the hungry jungle nor the dry wasteland—but a gentler clime that permits more familiar flora to thrive. If Mary is kind, we’ll find a gate somewhere nearby, and we can end this exile. I’ve lost all certainty of how long we’ve been gone. Days and nights have blurred together, and privation takes its toll, but if I haven’t lost count entirely, it’s been three weeks to a month.

I inhale deeply through my nose, delighting in the fresh air. Beside me, Vel scans the surrounding area, looking for toxins and large predators. He lowers his handheld and points off into the distance.

“There is a settlement that way. And I detect a power source similar to the gate we used on Marakeq.”

That’s the best news I’ve heard in forever. But things get better still when we climb down the hill and find a narrow stream running among the rocks. My throat is so dry at this point that it hurts to talk. Without waiting for Vel to scan, I kneel and drink from my cupped palms. I’ll take my chances with local parasites over a painful death from dehydration. He’s a little more cautious and takes some readings before doing likewise.

“It’s safe?” I ask.

“You had better hope so.” Amusement threads his words.

“Yeah, yeah.”

After further exploration, he finds some fruit and roots that should be safe for us both to eat. The former is bitter and green, but it’s so much better than nothing that I don’t complain about the taste. It takes me fifteen minutes to chew down a root; it’s clearly not meant for human teeth. Vel has no such trouble, grinding it with his mandible. I feel better almost immediately.

“To the settlement?”

I nod. Sleep sounds divine, but maybe we can rest in a more comfortable locale. Excitement pounds in my veins. These might be descendants of the Makers. How amazing would that be? I quicken my step, trusting Vel to keep pace, and soon we close the distance. I’m shocked to see familiar moss-covered mounds in the distance. This looks quite a bit like the Mareq village.

“Perhaps a few Mareq activated the gate, as we did,” Vel offers.

That seems most likely. But—

“If there was a return gate nearby, wouldn’t they have figured out how to get back?”
And not still be here.

“One problem at a time, Sirantha.”

Yeah, he’s right. At least we have food and water now, and we’re out of that hellish hole. And overall, it’s a lucky break for us. Unless their language has evolved beyond all recognition, we should be able to communicate with them.

The trek passes in near silence, and it’s all downhill, another mercy. Just as I’m thinking things have shifted for the better, two creatures come up the hill toward us. They bear some resemblance to the Mareq we know, but they’ve lost the oversized heads and the bulging eyes. These alt- Mareq are more streamlined and muscular, as if they’ve had to fight to survive here. That doesn’t bode well for us.

One of them speaks in quick, rhythmic croaks, but my chip can’t interpret it. Not yet anyway.
Shit.
Their language
has
changed.

There’s no mistaking their meaning when they draw weapons on us. Not primitive ones, either. It must be salvaged Maker technology because it looks like a pistol of some kind, but I can only imagine the kind of death it deals. We could fight, but that would guarantee hostility from the rest of the village, and there are only two of us. We can’t fight a war on our own. I exchange a glance with Vel, who inclines his head, silently counseling surrender.

The smaller one approaches to bind our wrists with a thin razor cord; struggling against this would slit my wrists. They confiscate Vel’s pack though there isn’t much in it anymore. I’m sorry to lose the handheld, and, by his expression, he is, too.

Then the other gestures down the hill toward the settlement. We are, unquestionably, being taken hostage. I suppose I should be grateful that they didn’t shoot us on sight, but maybe they’re used to beings wandering through the gates and turning up here. Their town may be more diverse than we expect.

A hard shove gets me moving, as if I doubt their intentions. But even with the language barrier, I understand what I’m meant to do; I start walking.

It isn’t far to the village proper, and once we reach it, they drag us through an interested crowd of onlookers to a mound that has clearly been designated as a prison. It’s smaller than the others, and the door is different—well, the fact that it has a door. The others offer freedom and open space instead.

Our captors push us within, where it reeks of bodily waste and old food. There isn’t enough room for us to stand upright, so I drop down and lean back against the dirt wall. This time, there is no cozy bed to sleep on, just mud and a whisper of white that could be bone, but I hope it’s not. It would be kinder to kill intruders than leave them here to a slow death.

“On a scale of one to ten, how fragged are we?” I ask tiredly.

“That depends on their intentions.”

I offer a wry smile. “Let’s pretend they’re planning us a party.”

“Will there be choclaste?”

“You’re so cruel.” My mouth waters.

Though it seems unlikely under the circumstances, I’m so exhausted and weakened from the journey that I pass out as much as fall asleep. I wake with Vel’s injured claw atop my head. At first I don’t know why he’s bothering me until I hear the footsteps drawing closer. Someone is coming to check on us. Or execute us. Either way, it means a change.

This time, it’s a different alt-Mareq, a female I think, by her size and markings. She’s heavy with eggs, and she croaks at us in inquiry. Unfortunately, my chip offers gibberish in place of a true translation:
Want run fly target hope fall off?

No, not really.
Switching to Mareq,
I tell my chip, and then answer without any hope of being understood. “We came through a gate. We just want to go home.”

To my astonishment, she cocks her smooth, green head, and studies me.
Hm. I wonder if she got any of that.

She replies, “Come portal?”

“Yes.”

“From Faraway Broken,” she tells me.

I have no idea if we’re actually communicating, but I’m encouraged to keep at it. My chip is the advanced kind, which learns, the more it hears of a new language. It doesn’t offer immediate perfect comprehension, but if I can keep the natives from killing us while it trains to local nuance, we may have a shot, here.

“Yes. Need near gate, not broken. Know one?” It seems best to keep my sentences short and simple, less chance of the vocalizer going insanely awry.

She makes an angry, negative sound. “Only Close Broken.”

Shit.
None of the return gates work? We are so fragged.

She leaves then, but a short while later, a packet of food is shoved in through a slot at the bottom of the door. The roots have worn off by this point, so I unwrap it to look at what they’ve given us. Some kind of meat, it looks like, so these creatures are not herbivores like the ones on Marakeq. There are also tubers, greens, and some gray pasty stuff, along with simple water.

“It seems unlikely they intend to kill us,” Vel says. “Or they would not bother feeding us.”

He takes up some of the meat and downs it without visible difficulty. I haven’t eaten real meat often—only that time on Venice Minor—and I don’t know the nutritional value of these others foods. A protein deficit at this point could be disastrous, so I hold my nose and force the flesh down. It sits uneasily in my stomach, and I whimper, trying not to picture what I’ve just eaten.

Time passes. I’d lose track, except they give us a new packet of food each morning, and I note the arrival on the wall beside me. On the fourth day, a small alt-Mareq male steps into the hut with us. He bears some interesting implements, which look like a knife, a scanner, and something I’ve never seen before.

He explains, “Fix smelly female,” before setting to work.

That’s more sense than I’ve gotten from any of them yet. He uses all three tools on me, and I scream while he burns the infection out. It requires Vel holding me for the Mareq healer to finish the job, and I’m weeping by the time the wound seals. Afterward, Vel pets my hair with his claws until the shaking stops.