Cassiel Winters 1: Sky's End (24 page)

I’m being shaken awake. But I feel like I only slept for two minutes! I roll over and see Kell’an standing before me without a stitch of clothing on.

“Kell’an!” I turn away, embarrassed, and totally shocked.

Then I remember the shuttle and fear he has changed his mind. I jump up and get on the other side of the downcore, holding on from wooziness.

“We are bathing before the pyre. I cannot leave you alone. You must come with me. You would wash as well.”

Like hell
, I think, my heart in my throat.

He’s still standing there, all hanging out, so I gesture angrily with my arms.

He turns and walks away. Holy stars, how can they be so cavalier about nudity? I think it’s tied into the lack of privacy. That was actually my first live viewing. Out there on its own, with no purpose, it seems a bizarre contraption.

I follow him to the baths, actually too scared to be without a Kir in case I sift and that Aeon is there. What am I going to do about that? If I don’t feel safe with a Horde of Thell’eon trained to protect me, when will I ever feel safe?
Don’t think about that!
Focus on something else
. I stare at Kell’an’s perfect ass. Guards follow, fully clothed. Inside, there are quite a few Thell’eon bathing (super duper!) so I keep my eyes on the ground.

After a minute of two just standing there, I think I do need to bathe, badly. I stink like sweat. My hair has not been washed properly in days.

Cinarians are lined up with towels and I approach one with particularly long arms. I explain what I want, how I want him to use the towels as a screen like Zeke would, but he does not understand. Frustrated, I manage to get him to hold it partially up, enough for me to disrobe behind it. I grab the towel and wrap myself in it, then head to an area of one of the shallow pools that’s empty. I stand at the edge and contemplate how I can get into the water without revealing anything.

“You flatter yourself,” says Kell’an, who must be an incredible swimmer to get all the way over here so quickly. He’s lathering himself. “We have already seen what it is you hide.”

Right. Yes. Thanks for reminding me.
Images of me being carried out of the pool totally nude flash before me.

That’s when I spot him, on the far side of the waters relaxing. Watching.

Or’ic.

My face burns red. I’m so frustrated. I think about taking off the towel but if Kell’an didn’t care, why would he have swam so close? Why would Or’ic be staring for so long? So I climb into the water with the towel securely on. Kell’an’s surprised. When I glance over, Or’ic wears a slight smile.

A Cinarian approaches, his skin glistening with its unique scale-like pattern, and offers me soap. I get to work on the mass of tangles in my hair. The Cinarian motions that he would like to help, and I let him because my arms are sore, and it’s so relaxing.
Wow
, his incredibly long digits, I’m not even sure how many they have on each hand, apply just the right amount of pressure. I dip back, floating on his long arm, trying not to stare up his wide, vertical nostrils, big enough to be a set of eyes, while he uses the other hand to gentle rinse out the suds. I’m always amazed how the water seems to cleanse itself. The soap and grime just disappears into clean, fresh water.

Kell’an has to wait for me since my hair takes so long. When I’m done, I struggle to get out,
so tired!
, and trudge behind into ‘my space,’ where two Cinarians are waiting with an incredible array of armor. Yet more are dressing Or’ic in his space.

“What’s all this?”

“We dress for the pyre,” says Kell’an.

Oh. Guess it is a formal affair.

To say I’m exhausted is an understatement. I don’t want to go. Really. But I have an obligation to the Cinarie because of Zeke. He died trying to save me. Some of that cloud is back, hanging over me.

I’m empty. And depressed, really.

I rummage through my care package and find the dress they gave to me the first day. I take it into the privy and slide it on. When I return, Kell’an has on his bottoms, a fascinating complex sculpture of malleable metal. Knife holsters are melded right into the fabric.

“Wow,” I say involuntarily.

He glances up at me. And then smiles. I swear, if these aliens knew how to seduce, more than half the human race would be putty in Thell’eon hands.

“Aren’t you worried I’m conflating your ego?” I ask snidely.
There. That’s more like yourself.

After I comb out my hair, I pass the time watching the rest of the formal dress; application of layers and layers of crisscrossed belt-like fastenings, the Cinarian clearly know where everything goes whereas I’d need a blueprint, with more weapons and finally a cloak of a kind I’ve not yet seen, weighed down with patterns of intertwined thin ropes of twisted metal. It takes three Cinarians to help Kell’an into it.

I wonder what the pyre will be like. I suppose they’ll burn the bodies.

I think of Zeke, and hope he’ll be burned with his head, too.

Or’ic joins us from the other side of the partition and his attire’s even more grand. Mildly amazed, I stare at how many weapons adorn him. No wonder Thell’eons are so strong. They have to be to wear all that weight, I note absently. I blink a few times, and realize my face feels numb. I touch my cheeks, my forehead and force out a grin. I’m really not myself. Something’s wrong. Maybe I’m tired. No. It’s like . . . I’m not really here.

As we head off, Or’ic explains the attire even though I don’t ask. Any chance to brag. He says weapons are earned by Thell’eon, and that they symbolize strength, honor, and valor. Guess this explains why Shadon was so devastated over losing one the first time he gave me the surge and things got out of hand.

The five Kirs, and me, behind, with my guard, who I’m beginning to recognize, one, for his incredibly light gray eyes, another, for a rather pointed chin, head up a massive processional march of every member of the crew. All of them are dressed in their best, and I suppose it would be quite a feast of sight and sounds, if I cared.

Flashes of muscle. Markings strategically displayed between belts of weapons. The stomping shakes the ground beneath my feet. When we enter the practice arena, hundreds of Thell’eon gather around the center, where prone bodies hang suspended in air. Of course, I know better. There must be some invisible downcore under them. I spot Zeke right away (with his head), the only Cinarian to die, and that’s when I notice an unusual high-pitched beautiful tone.
Oh
. It’s the Cinarian standing beside Thell’eon, honoring Zeke I assume.

Why do I feel no emotion?

The ceremony takes longer than I ever dreamed possible. There’s much grandstanding and speechmaking, which has the rhythmic nature of poetry. But I don’t understand any of it since it’s in a strange language that my translator’s not converting.

Finally, when I think I might collapse—my feet and back are so sore—the invisible downcores glow into a bright orange and burst into neatly contained flames. The Cinarian launch into their pitch again. The flames and what remains of the bodies shoot up into the open ceiling, and—I’m surprised to ascertain—into space. There must be a hangar opening up there.

We stand for another eternity in silence. I think of the dead Thell’eon, but mostly Zeke, and then more about my sore feet. My heart, my mind, they are disconnected. Or maybe they’ve been amputated. Put in separate dark corners for safekeeping.

When activity resumes, I do experience a familiar emotion, rage that the event is not yet over. I need to sleep like never before. I shift and cross my arms, impatient, while a dozen or so Thell’eon including Onegin and Kell’an step forward. A row of Cinarians have moved into place during the silence, but I can’t imagine what for. As they set up chairs and bring out strange machines, I get it. They’re getting new markings for this battle, which has no doubt gone down in Thell’eon history. They begin shaving Shadon’s beautiful hair.

This
should be interesting to watch. They’re not tattoos so much as stained brandings. Somehow they raise the skin ever so slightly in the pattern, then stain them white and gray. Pers’eus told me they are permanent. Not even RISH can remove them. But I really just want to go back to my space. Rest.

I’m taken aback when Or’ic turns to me, his hand outstretched, as though I should take it and step forward.

What does he mean by that? It’s probably some symbolic gesture of a ‘perfect Horde’ he wants to make in front of all of his men. I’m not taking his hand. No way. I ignore him. Frustrated, he steps forward, grabs my arm, and tugs me forward. He’s taking me toward a Cinarian holding one of the marking devices.

That’s when it clicks. They mean to mark me. Because I hurt that Aeon.

They intend to brand me as one of them.

Something inside me goes
pop
.

“No!” I say. “No, No FUCKING WAY!” I yank away and turn to run. I won’t let them me do it! I’ll have some thing on my face on ESE forever! I’ll be marred!

I ram right into another Thell’eon, who grabs me and spins me around, pushing me right back to Or’ic, who is raging at me with his eyes.

And that’s when I really lose it. “You have no right!” I scream as loud as I can. Someone has locked my arms in place, and I press into him in order to kick violently at the others until they hold my legs in place. But I refuse to let up. I won’t let them do this. I would rather they cut off my arm.

“No!” I scream over and over.

Shadon’s coming toward me and I know what’s about to happen.
Anyone. Please. Make them stop!

I hold out as long as can and it appears to be working.

I’m stronger than all of you bastards! You will all suffer for eternity!

I keep screaming at the top of my lungs, and I think in one moment that Or’ic might knock me unconscious, but
then Seth comes forward.

No! No! No!

A sharp pinch of an endospray and . . .

There’s a searing sensation, behind my right ear, down my neck. I recognize the pain, but I don’t feel it. Not really. Time passes. Maybe. It’s meaningless. I dream or hallucinate dark, empty dreams. A forest at night. Caught in a raging snowstorm. When I wake momentarily, I feel disembodied. I’m disconnected from anything, everything.
Good.
More darkness, more nothingness. A flash of silver. A violent rainstorm. Feather-like reeds tickle my skin. The smell of bread amid damp moss tempts me but there’s nothing I can do about it. Can’t move. Don’t care. Endless expanse of space. Finally, peace.

Until . . . voices that I know I loathe cajole me. They nudge at me and even shout.

Angry. Frustrated. I retreat deeper to get away. To protect myself. Shivering, naked, I run deeper into the forest.

Is someone else here? There’s pressure inside my head. I should panic but I don’t. The parameters are set. No one can catch me in here. Those are the rules. I set them. The farther I go into the dense woods the safer I am. I know this. Soon I must squeeze my body between giant trunks that scrape my skin. I’m frozen to the bone. Motionless. Grateful for the grim safety, I huddle away from the figure on the perimeter.

Safe. Safe. Safe.

Delicious aromas beckon me out. My stomach clenches in a tight knot. I’m about to step forward when I remember it’s a trap.
Stay where you are.
More time passes. I’m dizzy with hunger. I let it fill me until that is all I am, waiting for peace to come and rescue me again.

An awful sound wakes me from my safety. I know that sound. A ship’s alarm.

Aeon!

Here. Near me!

I’m paralyzed in fear.
Help me!

Something warm lightly touches my cheek,
oh
, and I know all at once it’s no trick and that it’s not dangerous. I let it caress my cheek. Rapid, short breaths warm my cheek. The touch is tender and kind. It wants to help me. I hear a deep voice. One I don’t recognize at all. The words don’t make sense, but the sense of comfort, of hope, is too irresistible.

My eyes open against my will. A dark figure crouching near . . .
no, not him!

Wait, no, it’s not him.

It’s . . . LOR! Badly beaten up.

I’m conscious. In sickbay. On the Thell’eon warship. The alarm’s going. We’re alone. Somehow Lor has managed to get over to my downcore despite what appear to be horrendous injuries.

He watches me with concern, huddled over, maybe trying to hide from guards.

“The Kirs?” I ask, panicked.

“Gone”—he motions toward the exit—“to alarm.”

His kind, exotic eyes reach deep into me and bring me fully into this reality with their human-like sympathy.

I can’t help but share my sorrow because he offered to receive it.

He says nothing for the brief moments while I cry silently. But he strokes away my tears, giving me strength by not showing me pity.

“Give up,” he whispers in his deep voice, cutting me quick and deep, pointing at me.

It occurs to me, now that he finally speaks a complete sentence, that my translator’s not converting his words from Ire. He’s speaking in what little Thell’eon he knows.

“No point,” I whisper, only now admitting the truth. “Look what they did to me.” I sob, motioning at the pain behind my ear.

I don’t even want to see it. Ever.

“Outside. Outside.”

I inhale sharply, chastened by the simple truth he speaks. How pitiable I am. He has been damaged by them far worse.

They only marked me.

They didn’t change me.

How could I let them get the better of me? How could I give up like that when Daz’s life’s at stake?

Lor stares at me. “We escape. Promise!” he whispers, pointing his finger at me again.

Oh. So he did understand my plan.

I imagine he took quite the beating since the entire left side of his mouth is still puffy, despite RISH. I’m too tired to contemplate escape. But I did promise him we would get away from here. Why did I do that?

He has it so much worse than me.

I’m angry at myself. Angry at him for my obligation.