Trade Circle: A Space Opera Adventure Series (The New Dawn Book 3) Page 21

  He chuckled again, making a squeak that let her know he was blushing. Laos was eight at the time, and she remembered Tarkin running away from home because he wanted to be with Beto.

  “Best three days of your life?” she asked.

  “No. We were young. It was terribly awkward. We’ve had a lot of better days since,” he said, biting his lip. His eyes twinkled as he remembered. “But I knew the moment I saw him that I’d do almost anything to be with him. We stayed with his tribe a few months—the Lansing. Then we stayed here. He wasn’t allowed to live in our tent because the Judges said he needed a host family to give him refuge should we ever get into a fight. Which we did occasionally. We were going to wait until we met up with the Lansing again for a festival to be joined, but his tribe went west, and we haven’t seen them in almost six years. He misses his family. That’s part of why we’re so eager to start our own.”

  “If you want family, you can always invite me over,” Laos pouted, kicking the dirt. “It’s not like I’ll ever have one of my own. Can’t even stomach the idea of a secondary.”

  “Neither could I three years ago,” he confessed, his hands stilling. “I always thought that if the artificial womb failed, we’d seek out a surrogate. But after watching so many friends give birth the past few years, I can’t imagine denying an infant the comfort of a mother. And you turned out better for having three parents.”

  “So what would it take?” Laos asked. “With physical attraction off the table, how do you decide that Reva is the right person to be your secondary?”

  “Well, I’ve been on the fence for months. And today, she saw you and was worried enough to call me,” he said, hugging her across the shoulders. “Seems like such a little thing, but knowing she’s looking out for you—she’s taking my family as her own—that’s all I need to know.”

  28

  The arena was unnaturally quiet, and all the characters in Sky’s visions were preparing for war. The first weapon exploded, obliterating the builders, setting off a chain reaction. The fire in the Trade Circle consumed the nomads, and burning children wandered forlornly through the arena. The smell of burnt flesh clogged her nostrils and the ash stung her eyes. Sky felt her skin blistering as the fires of pain consumed her.

  “Tell me our future.” Marius’ ghost appeared at random in the arena. Unlike Sidney who seemed to appear in the same spot, Marius appeared wherever she was, sneaking up behind her, or coming from inside her, making her shiver.

  “I predict that I will disembowel you, and sell your entrails to your enemies,” Sky spat. Her physical body felt far removed. Her chest stung and ached when she spoke, as if she’d inhaled salt water from the ocean and hadn’t coughed it all up. It surprised her that she had breath to speak at all. Spirit must not have thought Marius a suitable host.

  “You have visions of the future,” Marius taunted, his ghost passing through her shoulder, making the bones sting.

  “No one can see the future, Marius.” He wouldn’t accept the fact that the Drava had no place in her visions.

  “Then tell me what you see. It is more than darkness.”

  “It’s one of those flying dreams,” Sky said glibly, searching the borders of the arena for Spirit. Would Spirit appear if she told Marius what she saw? Would Spirit give her more to work with? “I’m riding a unicorn through the snow. Have you ever seen snow? I’d tell you, but it wouldn’t make sense.”

  Her throat tightened as Marius’ ghost hand passed through it. “I have a dozen warriors lined up outside, ready to break you. If you don’t cooperate.”

  “Is your son in that line?” Sky sneered. “Marius, you’ve made costly deals, but you’ve never traded your soul. The Drava have always valued human life.”

  “Seers are not human. We have tested your genetic code. We know your youthful appearance is not natural. You are over a hundred years old, Seer. The Aquian spirit uses Adita’s face as a disguise. Your brain scan reveals unnatural activity. We documented your adaptation to the darkness, as the Seer made sense of its visions. I know you see something.”

  Sky waited, but the arena grew louder. A tribe of nomads charged through on gravity powered vehicles, slashing the burning children with swords and lasers. One of the lasers penetrated Sky’s chest and she bit back a whimper, not wanting Marius to sense her internal struggle.

  “She resists, but she will grow weary of the light,” Marius murmured, his ghost appearing on the far side of the arena. Sidney’s ghost appeared next.

  “Are you going to take her eyes?” Sidney asked shakily.

  “There are too many mysteries to decide just yet,” Marius said. “Our Seer vanished only thirty years ago. Adita was young when we knew her. If she took our spirit, the genetic test wouldn’t show her to be centurion.”

  “Adita’s village was killed by a Seer,” Sidney reasoned. “If that Seer was the one who hid among the Drava, then all I’ve ever known of Adita has been a façade.”

  “Sidney!” Sky pleaded, her tears dampening the rough blindfold, her legs giving out. It was hell in this arena and she couldn’t imagine being trapped here forever. Death, please take me. Spirit cackled and Sky sobbed.

  “Can you explain it, Adita?” Sidney demanded. “Can you explain your advanced age and youthful appearance?”

  The blindfold fell away, the air chilling the fresh tears on Sky’s face. The arena faded, replaced by the mundane glow of lantern-light, but the feel of the laser hole penetrating her chest lingered. Sidney leered, using the blindfold to dab the tears from her cheek. There was no hint of the gentleness she’d felt in their last kiss, and no sign of mercy. He traced her eye socket, studying her thoughtfully. “It would be a shame to lose these eyes.”

  Spirit will protect me. Sky spat in Sidney’s face, but he wiped away the saliva and smirked. Cradling her face roughly, he dragged the blindfold across her skin, then swatted her with it.

  “Son, don’t torment the vessel,” Marius chided, laughing cruelly.

  “I found her, Father. The spirit has obviously kept the vessel in good repair,” Sidney said, tightening the kerchief around her neck and brushing his lips against her earlobe. His lips and tongue were suddenly gentle, like he was toying with her. With the memory of her. Then he whispered: “Tell him something and he will leave us alone.”

  “I will slit your throat!” Sky screeched, her body convulsing against the pole she was tied to as she tried to kick. Sidney smacked her hard. The blindfold returned and Spirit rose, plunging a knife through her gut as she returned to the arena. Her body seized in pain, and she tried to suppress it. No matter how often she prayed for death, when she felt it coming, she fought with everything in her to stay alive. The arena stayed dark, the blinding pain consuming her. Then she heard Marius and Sidney arguing and she realized that the wound was not part of a vision.

  No longer ashamed, Sky cried out in pain, but blood filled her lungs and she choked. Spirit’s wings unfurled as it prepared to jump. Then suddenly there was light again. Her arms were cut down from the pole and her body lowered to the ground. Kavari knelt over her, putting pressure on the wound, asking if she could move her legs. Sky’s eyes locked on Sidney, towering over her with a bloody knife, watching like he expected her to heal spontaneously.

  “Mercy?” Sky asked, hacking and gurgling as blood filled her mouth.

  “When you’re healed by morning, our suspicions will be confirmed. Genetic age doesn’t matter. This alone will prove that a spirit keeps this vessel alive,” Sidney said, arrogantly wiping her blood from his blade. “Then we can continue the taming without pretense.”

  Marius glared, but Sidney raised his chin smugly. When he looked at Sky, his eyes betrayed his inner conflict. He was offering her a chance to escape.

  Laos tensed at the scent of blood. The breeze came from the east, away from the slaughter tent, and the scent was too faint to be that of a slain animal. Cries of pain soon followed. No alarm sounded through the Drava village.

  “Tarkin
?” she called, but soon realized he was gone. She’d been sitting here brooding for too long. The weavers had closed up shop for the evening and gone to the Social Circle.

  Charging full-speed through the camp, Laos followed the scent of the blood. Someone was hurt and needed help. The Nayak could be kidnapping more Drava! Men—mostly guards—were gathered around the tent where the woman’s cries originated. She scanned for Tolen, but he wasn’t with the others. Slowing her pace, Laos wove through the crowd, trying to get close, and see what was happening.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Brishen crooned, jumping out of the crowd and blocking her path. He had a black eye, bruised fists, and liquor on his breath.

  Laos tried to step around him, but he danced left and right, like it was a game. “I smell blood. Who’s hurt?” she asked.

  “No one. We’re taming the Seer,” he slurred, his wet cough reeking of beer. “You have keen senses.”

  “You always knew that about me,” Laos retorted, shoving him aside. “Since when does taming involve blood-letting?”

  “They say it murdered a whole village. It is being punished,” Brishen hummed, gripping the back of her shirt, laughing as she struggled against him. She’d never known him to be so cocky and cruel, even when he’d had too much to drink.

  “Where’s my dad?” Laos asked, feeling her skin grow cold.

  “Drinking himself into a stupor.” Brishen laughed derisively. “The old man doesn’t have the stones to break her.”

  “And you do?” Laos challenged, her sharp words drawing stares. She’d heard her father crying once about how the last Seer was tamed. It was a process reserved for butchers and surgeons—anyone who could mutilate a body without nicking a major artery—and should not have been a public spectacle. The vessel was meant to receive as much consideration as any corpse.

  “I’ll get my turn,” he said haughtily.

  Laos took a step back, eyes wide. Something had changed in him; something snapped. Either he was under the Seer’s spell, or this was somehow her fault. “What did you do, Brishen?”

  “Nothing yet,” he sang odiously. “But I have ideas.”

  Laos shuddered, not sure what he meant, but sure it was detestable. Brishen—everyone outside the tent—had to be lined up to break the Seer. “You would do this? After what the Nayak did to us?”

  “It’s not a person,” he snapped.

  “What is she? Livestock?” Laos cried. “I’m sure that’s what we were to the Nayak. Don’t do it, Brishen. Don’t touch her.”

  Laos grabbed his hands and looked pleadingly at her friend, but Brishen’s face was stone-cold. Seer or not, if anything happened to that woman, Laos’ father would never leave the brew tent again.

  “You are neither my mother nor my wife. You have no say in my affairs,” Brishen said coldly, pulling his hands from hers as though she were tainted.

  “Please. I’ll be your wife. I’ll do it. Please, don’t touch that Seer!” Laos begged, falling on her knees and hugging Brishen’s legs. She buried her face against his thigh, begging softly, humiliated by the audience, but desperate to save her friend.

  Brishen hooked his hands under her shoulders, lifting her to her feet. “You had your chance. You said no.”

  Pushing her away, he stumbled back into the crowd of men, jeering and pointing to the tent with the bleeding, crying Seer. Laos could not fight them all.

  29

  The infirmary felt less crowded now that Tray had taken down the quarantine walls. They didn’t need to be up, and Tray didn’t like looking at them; packing away the unit gave him something to do while waiting for the medicine to take effect. Hawk had helped him lift Danny onto the center bed. Even that little bit of added order made Tray feel more in control of the situation, but it didn’t change Hawk’s sour temperament. The man had gone from soothing and helpful to antsy and agitated Tray finally told him that he’d been forced out of the Drava camp on threat of death and Sky was being held prisoner. Tray finally yelled at Hawk to sit down or get the hell out, and Hawk had stomped out, swearing in Rocanese.

  At the outburst, Danny’s eyes flickered open, but then closed again, and the rhythm of his breathing changed to one of steady sleep. Danny never looked peaceful when he slept—just worn out. But if he was out of the coma, then the medicine was working. Tray wanted to scream from the stress, but it wouldn’t heal his brother any faster and it wouldn’t bring Sky back. Too weary to sit, Tray lay face down on the floor and rested his head on his folded arms.

  “Are you ill?” Amanda’s voice startled him, as did her cool hands touching his cheek. Tray’s head jerked up hard, snapping against Amanda’s protective hand. She cupped his cheek, studying him thoughtfully, looking more maternal and less clinical than Saskia managed while nursing. The sight of the Drava’s Occ on her brow unnerved him.

  “Tired,” Tray mumbled, resting his head on the back of his hands, trying not to let the day’s task list overwhelm him. “And hungry. I guess I should make dinner.”

  “I already did. I made chili. Or some approximation of it. Tomato soup with ground protein and chopped vegetables,” Amanda answered, patting his back awkwardly and furrowing her brow. “I kept adding seasoning until it didn’t taste like tomato soup anymore, but I didn’t know how to make it thicker.”

  “Sounds perfect,” Tray said, his energy renewed by the mere thought. It was one small burden unexpectedly lifted from his shoulders. Accepting his help up, Amanda hooked her arm through his, using him as a crutch as they headed upstairs.

  “I can read the labels now,” she said proudly, tapping the Occ. “I can read near things and far things—”

  “Where’s Hawk? Did he eat already?” Tray asked.

  “He left before I finished cooking,” Amanda shrugged. “He went to find Sky.”

  “He left the ship!” Tray exclaimed, dropping Amanda’s hand.

  Amanda grabbed the handrail, wobbling dangerously and then sitting on the stair. “You can’t stop him,” she said.

  “Like hell!” Tray cried, charging down the stairs, bursting through the back door. “Hawk!”

  He was glad to see that Hawk hadn’t made it out of the clearing yet. Hawk’s face was lit by the screen of his Virp, and he turned around, looking lost, frustrated, and confused. Moths and beetles circled Tray’s head, attracted by the light from the ship.

  “Which way?” Hawk asked, his words taking on a slur that said he’d found a way to ferment the weird apples.

  “Inside,” Tray ordered, torn about whether to leave the door open and let bugs in or dash outside and soak his shoes. Water lapped against the ship, deep enough to splash if he stepped into it and Tray opted for dry feet. Mist rose from the water. “Get back inside.”

  “We have to go back for her,” Hawk said urgently.

  “In the darkness, you’re more likely to break a leg,” Tray said, wishing he had a floodlight. Terrana was alone in the sky tonight, and the gray moon cast long shadows through the clearing. Bugs were flying in Tray’s face.

  “Tray, please!” Hawk begged.

  Swearing, Tray dove into the darkness, aiming for the light of Hawk’s Virp, swearing as water seeped into his shoes. He was suddenly glad he’d never had a little brother, and he wished he were big like Danny so that he could manhandle Hawk back to safety. Tray tackled Hawk into the puddled water, spattering mud on their faces. Hawk kicked Tray over his head, but Tray tackled again, rolling down a banking until they splashed in a deeper pool of chilly water and Hawk went under.

  In a panic, Tray pressed onto his knees, pulling Hawk’s head above the water. There wasn’t enough light to see what was happening. Hawk thrashed in the water, clinging to Tray because he couldn’t swim and didn’t seem to grasp how shallow the water was around him. They didn’t have ‘wild water’ in Rocan.

  “The damn lakebed is filling,” Tray said, yanking Hawk by his collar. “Inside. Inside now!”

  Hawk kept slipping and falling under. “Tray,” Ha
wk choked, twisting to get free. “We have to help Sky—”

  “She’s warm and dry in the Drava village, probably having sex right now. We’re in a freezing river! Hawk, listen to me,” Tray said, pushing Hawk’s shoulders under the water threateningly. “We can’t run in half-cocked. We need a plan. We need weapons. Most important, we need daylight and warm, dry clothes.”

  “We can’t hide in the daylight,” Hawk protested, hooking his hand around Tray’s wrists and kicking feebly at the ground. His head lolled drunkenly to one side, jerking up every time his cheek touched the water.

  “Their scouts and hunters will be out working in the day. There will be fewer people guarding the camp. Trust me,” Tray said. Quickly, he pulled Hawk out of the water, and they slipped and crawled through the puddles until they reached the ramp of the ship.

  “Half-cocked?” Hawk asked, his teeth chattering, his body starting to shake as the wind chilled his clothes.

  “Not fully prepared,” Tray translated, tugging Hawk’s arm to keep him moving. “It’s a reference to . . . never mind. Let’s get cleaned up.”

  Hawk hesitated, procrastinating by trying to wipe the mud from the screen of his Virp.

  “I promise, we are not abandoning Sky,” Tray assured, guiding Hawk forcefully into the ship. As soon as they sealed the door, Tray kicked off his shoes and shrugged out of his shirt, using the latter to swat at the bugs flying around the bay.

  “Chili?” Amanda asked.

  “Freezing,” Hawk said, squatting down and hugging his knees, rocking back and forth on his heels.

  Tray laughed, and pulled Hawk up by the elbows. “It’s the name of the dish she prepared. It’ll warm you right up.”

  Hawk eyed Tray warily, one arm wrapping around his stomach.

  “Shouldn’t make you sick,” Tray said, slapping Hawk with his wet shirt. “Staying in those wet clothes will make you sick. Move.”