Catch the Lightning (37 page)

The Uzan spoke and the horde turned as one. Althor rode several riders down the line. I tried to decipher his mood: curiosity to see my reactions; approval of my calm; darker, more buried emotions about our capture and escape. I understood why he and the Abaj preferred I rode with someone, rather than alone, given how little I knew about the animals. But it puzzled me that he wanted me to go with someone else.

Then we took off. The animals ran in a loping gait, far faster than any horse. Althor leaned forward, his lips parted, his exhilaration flashing like the discharge from an iron arc. I pulled up my hood against the dust storm our passage created, but without a scarf I still should have been breathing sand. Yet I tasted none. When I touched my face, my fingers pushed through a molecular membrane within the hood; the jacket’s web system had determined the need for protection and provided it.

Night soon overpowered the last of the sunset, leaving the land dark. It reminded me of Nabenchauk. No city lights glared on the horizon, no city hum broke the silence. As we rode through the starlight, I wondered how the animals kept from stumbling. I later learned their vision extends into the infrared; to them, the desert is anything but dark so soon after sunset, when the ground is still warm.

I didn’t realize we had reached a city until we were actually within it, among buildings that slept in shadow and silence. Our mounts slowed, picking their way through a forest of spires. Broken spires. These were ruins.

The riders dispersed, taking up posts in groups of five: at a tower, by a pyramid, alongside the path. We stopped at a tapering spire about forty feet tall, with a base fifteen feet in diameter. The Uzan dismounted, stirring up clouds of sand as he jumped to the ground. Clinging to the animal’s neck ridge, I brought my leg over its back and slid off. For a moment I hung with my feet dangling. Then I let go and fell.

As I hit the ground, the Uzan seized me from behind in a bear hug utterly unlike his previous gentle, almost reverent, touch. I jerked away and stumbled on unseen rocks. As I staggered, he grabbed me a second time. Angered, I folded my arm and clenched my fist, ready to ram my elbow into his side— Then I realized it wasn’t the Uzan. It was Althor, trying to keep me from falling. I turned in his arms, looking up at him, and he grinned, the first good spirits he had shown since our wedding night.

The Uzan led us into the spire through a rectangular doorway. It was hollow inside, with a sloping roof that narrowed to a point about thirty feet above us. A crack stretched up the opposite wall, widening into a gaping hole that let starlight silver the interior. The Uzan spoke, ceremonial phrases, and Althor responded in the same singsong style, their rumbling voices accented by musical notes. At the time I thought they were chanting, but that beautiful exchange was actually how Iotic sounds when spoken properly by Raylicans. , Although all Skolians can trace their ancestry to Raylicon, four thousand years of genetic drift, often self-imposed, has changed them into new races. Althor is three-eighths pure Raylican: his mother is half, his father one quarter. His family are the only ones, after the Abaj, who carry so much of the original race in their genetic makeup.

After Althor and the Uzan finished speaking, the warrior bowed to us. Then he departed, his cloak swirling after him. When we were alone, Althor stood watching me, his arms crossed, his body silvered by the starlight. “You handled yourself well”

I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded, feeling awkward with the emotional distance that had opened up between us.

He went to the wall and knelt by a ledge. As he pulled two silvery blankets from under it, he tilted his head toward the remains of a partition that had once divided the spire into two rooms. “If we sleep behind that, it should help shield us from sand sifting in the break.”

I looked around the spire. It seemed an odd place for the Abaj to put up their prince and his new bride, especially given the high level of technology Althor said they possessed. “Is this the only place they have for us?”

Althor glanced at me. “Why should we need more than they need?”

“You mean they all live like this, in these ruins?”

“At this time of year, yes.”

“Can’t they rebuild the city?”

He went over and set a blanket behind the partition. “Why should they?”

“It’s falling apart.”

“The Abaj have lived here for six thousand years. They won’t change now, on the eve of their death.” He sat on the blanket, looking more relaxed than before. When he held out his hand, I went over and sat next to him, cross-legged. He didn’t stiffen this time when my arm brushed his knee.

“I’ve always had a fantasy to do what we did tonight,” he said. “You mean that ride through the desert?”

“That was not just any ride.” He paused. “Five thousand years ago the Abaj were all women, as tall as the men you saw tonight, strong and fierce. When a Ruby queen brought a husband home from one of the colonies, the Abaj greeted her as they greeted me tonight. They guarded the husband while she went to ensure her holdings had remained secure in her absence.”

“What if the man wanted to go with her?”

“He had no choice. Men had no rights then.” He snorted. “My ancestors were barbarians.”

“It sounds—different.”

Althor laughed. “Don’t look so intrigued.”

I smiled. “What happened to her husband?”

“The Abaj took him to Izu Yaxlan. This city. He rode with the Uzan.”

“You mean like I did tonight?”

“Actually, you were supposed to ride behind him. But I thought you might fall off the ruzik, so I asked him to put you in front.”

“What’s a ruzik?”

“The animal.”

“And your fantasy was to switch the roles, to be the Ruby king bringing home his bride?”

I thought he would smile and say yes. Instead he stared into the darkness. It was a while before he spoke. “Those queens controlled an interstellar empire. To bring home a husband was a sign of their control over their lives and realms.” He paused. “Of all nights, this was perhaps a good one for me to live out such a fantasy.”

I understood. Iquar had taken everything from him, more than his freedom, even his control of his own mind.

“I was afraid you didn’t want to ride with me because you were ashamed,” I said.

“Ashamed? Why would I feel such a thing?”

“Because of—him.” I couldn’t say Iquar’s name. “Because he touched me.”

Althor put his arm around my shoulder. “Among my people, the shame at being Iquar’s slave is mine, not yours.”

I laid my head against his chest. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

He sighed and murmured soft words with no meaning beyond the comfort of making them. After a while he said, “I think I recognized one of the mercenaries.”

I looked up at him. “How?”

“The one who knew my military record sounded familiar, even through the filtering of his armor. My bioweb is processing the data.” He paused. “Tina—when the Jag woke me, I scanned its weapons systems. All of its tau missiles are gone.”

“It fired them at the Cylinder.”

“Do you know what a tau missile is?” When I shook my head, he said, “They’re equipped with an inversion drive. A starship engine. They move at relativistic speeds, with a huge kinetic energy. Four taus could obliterate the Cylinder.”

I swallowed. “Maybe Iquar’s people destroyed them.”

“Some, probably. But all four? Not coming in at near light speed from so close.” He pushed his hands through his hair. “Gods, Tina, I hadn’t realized just how seriously the Jag’s El brain had degraded. It’s lost all rationality.”

“It knew exactly what it was doing.”

“It couldn’t have.”

“Iquar hurt you, so it hurt Iquar.” I could still feel the ice of its rage. “It wasn’t just Iquar, either. No one helped us. I’ve never felt anger like the Jag’s before. It wasn’t human.”

His incredulity flared. “My ship avenges me?”

“It loves you.”

He stared at me. “What?”

“It loves you.”

“A ship can’t love.”

“Yours does.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Why? You’re more than a man; why can’t the Jag be more than a machine?”

It was a while before he answered. Then he said, “I need to think about it.”

After that, we sat listening to the night. Musical clicks came from somewhere, like finger cymbals tapping together. Every now and then I heard feet shift, or the voice of an Abaj on guard around the spire. Their watch over us was symbolic: on a planet protected by the technology of a starfaring people, we hardly needed guards with swords. But I was glad they were there. I doubted I would ever feel safe again…

The scratch of cloth on my arm woke me. I was lying on one of the blankets with the other pulled over my body. Althor lay next to me, sleeping on his back. He jerked and his knit pullover scratched my arm again.

Suddenly he sat upright, his inner eyelids gleaming in the starlight. His mouth opened, as if he were trying to scream. But no sound came out. I sat up but didn’t touch him, fearing his enhanced reflexes if I woke him too fast out of a nightmare. Instead I kept murmuring, “It’s all over. You’re here, with me.” Finally he made a strangled sound. His inner lids rolled up and he looked at me.

“It’s all right.” I put my arms around him and stroked his hair. “It’s all right.”

He pulled me close. “Gods, Tina—I can’t—can’t—”

I didn’t know what to say, so I just kept murmuring nonsense words. When his shaking eased, he lay on his back again, pulling me with him. He spoke softly. “I hope an afterlife truly does exist. And I hope its spirits do to Kryx Iquar for all eternity what he did to his providers during his life.”

I laid my head on his chest. “It’s over now. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

Althor turned on his side, propped on an elbow, facing me.

“You are like rain in the desert, so sweet and gentle. Thank gods he believed you were my concubine.”

Although I was almost certain Althor had lied about the concubine business, it still made me uncomfortable. “It isn’t really a supplement contract, is it?”

He grinned. “What if I said yes?”

“Althor!”

He touched my cheek. “It’s a Rhon contract. It makes you a full member of my family, an heir to the Ruby Dynasty. For whatever that’s worth.” Dryly he said, “Statistically, it was supposed to be impossible that any of us would find a Rhon woman. I had to go to another universe to find you, but I did it.” Lying down again, he wrapped me in his arms and spoke against my ear. “I didn’t tell you the rest of the ceremony, when a Ruby queen brings her mate home from the stars.”

My body warmed with the tickle of his breath. “There’s more?”

“After she secures her holdings, she rides through the night to this city and goes to her husband. That’s when they consummate the marriage.” He bit my earlobe. “In my fantasy, my wife awaits my return, warm and sleepy in our bed, ready to take me into her arms when I come to Izu Yaxlan.”

I traced my fingers along his lips. “She’s waiting.”

That night, in ancient ruins, on a dying planet with a dying sun, we finally consummated the union that would give new life to a dying people.

Dawn came with that hint of magic that hangs over the land before sunrise, when the sky has begun to lighten but the desert remains in shadow. I lay spooned with Althor, my back to his front, his arm around my waist as he slept. Morning sounds came from outside: quiet voices, the shuffle of feet, a clank of swords. Fragrant smells of cooking and incense drifted into the spire, and insects clicked at the dawn. The Abaj had hung a cloak in the doorway and weighted its hem with jeweled clasps. When wind tugged the cloth, the clasps bumped each other, making the musical clicks I had heard the night before.

A voice spoke outside, louder than the guards’, but still quiet. I wasn’t sure if its owner was talking to us or our guards.

Althor nuzzled in my hair. “Hmmm?” As I turned over to face him, his eyes opened. “What did you say?” he asked.

“I didn’t. It was someone outside.”

Althor spoke in a louder voice, in Iotic, and someone answered.

“Ah.” Althor smiled. “They want to know if we want cacao.”

“Chocolate? You’re kidding.”

“Chocolate?” He pushed up on his elbow. “What is that?”

“The drink I gave you in LA.”

“That was good. But it wasn’t cacao.”

“They must have brought the word with them. Chocolate made from cacao beans was a favorite drink of ancient Maya royalty. They even had special pots for it, like Lord Smoke Squirrel’s cacao cup.”

“Let’s see how you like ours.” He pulled the blanket up over us, then spoke to the warrior outside. An Abaj entered and knelt, setting a pot and two cups on the floor. Red glaze covered the pot, accented by aqua hieroglyphs. Although I didn’t recognize most of the symbols, that didn’t mean much; I didn’t know many Mayan glyphs either. There was one that was familiar, though, on the pot’s lock-top cap: a comb, pronounced ca; a fish, also ca; and underneath that a symbol for wa. Ca-ca-wa. Cacao.

The warrior asked Althor a question. After Althor answered, the Abaj stood and bowed, then left, the curtain rustling with his passage.

“What did he ask you?” I said.

“If we wished witnesses.”

“To what?”

He motioned at the two of us in bed. “This. That we consummated the marriage.”

“What?” I flushed. “We most certainly do not want witnesses.”

“I think it is a good idea.”

“You can’t be serious. They want to watch?”

He grinned. “Many millennia ago, when deemed necessary for political reasons, the Abaj did indeed witness in that manner.”

“Althor!”

He laughed. “Today they just witness us together like this. They will take our word that everything else went as it should.”

“But whatever for?”

“Proof the treaty is valid.” He picked up the cacao pot. “I asked the Abaj to check the web last night. Stonehedge apparently delivered our contract to the Assembly himself. Our marriage has been public knowledge for days.” Dryly he added, “So are the circumstances of our kidnapping. I want to avoid embarrassing questions.”