Chapel Orahamm's Blog, page 23

Polaris Skies: Ch 6

Hana woke in fits and bursts. An hour after settling into the room, the group grew restless with her starts. The woman was jittery, which placed their wolves on edge.

A banging at the door and the wafting odour of hard liquor raised their hackles. Timidly, the black-haired woman opened the door a crack. Nat’s and Deck’s glowing feral eyes followed her movement. She shrunk under the gaze of a massive mountain that stood at her door in a sweat-stained undershirt and grimy blue jeans. They could smell the sickly bitter, acrid stench of fear ooze from the woman under the stare of that man. They watched in uncertainty, wondering if they needed to get involved.

“Haniel, where’s the rent money?” The monster barked. A dagger-shaped birthmark paled between his eyebrows. She handed him one of her bills and replied, “I’m leaving in the morning.” The man glared at the bill, frustration creasing lines around his lips before he turned and lumbered down the stairs.

“Who was that?” Deck whispered to Hana when the man’s footsteps no longer creaked the walls of the apartment.

“The man who leases the building.” She sank back into her corner, easing her shoulders into the crook of the worn corner. The wolf in Nat noted the notches, directing his focus and how her heart rate fell as her frail shoulders fit into the grooves. He wasn’t sure if he was reassured or disturbed that he could now sense these things about the people around him, that the wolf was feeding him information.

“A hundred? For this measly room? That’s bogus,” Benj muttered. He had been lying on the floor, partially asleep, when the man had come. He rolled to a sitting position, his hair tussled and falling into his eyes. He groped around for his glasses. Sun Hee settled them on his nose.

“His wife left him. This isn’t the best place for me to stay, but I needed someplace.” Hana shaded her bottomless black eyes with her eyelashes to avoid meeting Benj’s appraising glance.

“What does that have to do with his wife?” Benj pushed. Her nose wrinkled at the tone. She met his eyes, her lips flattening. Her heart accelerated, and, as Nat noticed, that acid smell was back. He found it to be a strange pheromone, fear. It was pungent, and his wolf didn’t like it when Hana was afraid.

She blinked at Benj before sliding her eyes along Deck and Yeller to settle on Nat. Her facial expression changed into startled fear and a different pheromone, much more basal than fear, suddenly invaded Nat’s senses. The creature pacing beneath his skin prickled, demanding to be let out. Nat shifted farther away from the woman in an attempt to collar his wolf.

“Oh.” Benj got the message. He eased between Zola and Sun Hee, placing himself in a less hostile position. Deck glanced between the two before settling back to his spot. Sun Hee leaned onto his shoulder to make him less intimidating to Hana. “What was that all about?” Sun Hee whispered to Deck.

“Protection from the landlord so that he wouldn’t touch her,” Benj whispered in his sister’s ear.

“Oh.”

Nat was keenly aware that it was his wolf that watched the young woman who had curled up in the corner of the room. They had both noticed the hump to her back that she had been careful to draw attention away from in their interactions up to now.

The moon slipped from the windows of the apartment to the skylight. Grey clouds flitted to cast crawling shadows. The wolf traced a beam of moonlight fallen across her face, revealing beautifully sculpted lips and high cheekbones. The quiet of sleep settled over the rest of the group. The monster beneath his skin paced incessantly, and his hand throbbed perpetually. He had taken to trying to count anything he could lay his eyes on if only to draw the creature’s gaze away from its fixation. It brushed under his skin insistently. It clawed at his innards and gnawed at his heart. He couldn’t breathe; it hurt too much. The wolf howled pitifully in his head.

Go to sleep, you perverted mutt! I hurt. Give it a rest. What is with you salivating all of this woman?

A voice, deeper, gruffer, accented, the creature growled, Yeah, but what a woman.

He stiffened, wary now. The wolf hadn’t answered him before this. Who are you? Are you still me? He asked the thing inside of him.

It chuckled, low in his gut. You’ve gotta be kidding me, you? Hah, name’s Sven. That little darling over there is hiding something delicious from you, dječak1. Enjoy. The beastly white wolf, Sven, settled back a step, letting Nat catch a breath before pushing forward once more, encompassing his senses in a heady high of pheromone uptake.

She was small, frail. The woman reminded him of a bird almost. He inhaled, seeing if his new senses could pick up on what Sven knew. Feathers? His heart skipped a beat in confusion. The wolf climbed through him, settling in the recesses of his brain. The hell you doing, mutt? He asked as it shifted and moved, drawing in his fingers, testing its capacity to move his human body.

She’s gorgeous. Sven whispered, focusing all his attention on the woman, shifting Nat closer. Heated anger formed inside the wolf and leaked in him at the thought of the landlord putting his hands on her. Before he knew what the creature was doing, he had gathered the sleeping woman into his arms, holding her to him gently. Her back was different from what he had felt when he had touched Zola or Sun Hee. It flexed and crushed like a bolt of gauze laid over muscle. She smelled heavily of bird.

A pair of fire gold eyes watched the interaction from across the room, disappointment flashing across them.

Hana slept comfortably nestled in his arms for several hours. He dozed on and off, but the creature inside of him didn’t stay away. It would randomly come back and gnaw on him. He laid her back down when she became restless, but he stayed near her, still feeling the warmth of her body where it had marked his skin.

Sven didn’t speak to him anymore that night. His emotions settled down as the wolf became quiet. This wasn’t like him. When the wolf slept, he was able to look at Hana and felt nothing. He stared up at the skylight, Polaris shining down on him. He heaved a sigh and stood up.

Energy set his skin on edge. He found the ladder that led out of the skylight. On the roof, he settled himself against a south dormer and looked out on the burned-out city. What the hell was happening to them?

“You all right?” Yeller asked, emerging from the skylight.

“No,” honestly Nat answered his friend.

“Need me to grab some pain meds?” Yeller pointed back down into the room.

Nat waved him off. “That stuff can get addicting quick, ask my mom; I’d rather not.” He blew out a breath that fogged up in the air.

“Mind if I come sit?” Yeller asked. Nat shrugged and scooted over. They listened to the quiet shifting of the city and watched the moon dip farther into the sky as the opposing side glowed a deep purple. “So, Hana?”

Nat sighed. He didn’t know what to tell Yeller. He didn’t know what exactly his emotions were doing. “Has your wolf said anything to you?” His voice was hoarse.

Yeller stared at him, trying to gauge if this was a joke. “No,” he answered, a bit baffled. “Has yours spoken to you?” Yeller hesitated with his question.

“I-I don’t know. It very well might be my imagination. I don’t want to admit that to the rest of the group, though. I don’t want to worry them. If it’s me…” he bit his lip. What if his mind had snapped? “I’m a bit lost here, Ruben.” Nat closed his eyes, his hand throbbing. Yeller’s attention snapped to Nat, his name driving straight through his core. No one called him that. A tear crawled down Nat’s cheek. Yeller sat under the pinking sky, unsure of what to do.

In the morning, the group made a plan to set off into Ioda and trapes through Wyoutea. From there, they would work their way up to Neo York. Setting off as the sun reached up and stretched its neon fingers out over the horizon, they bid farewell to the familiar of the West Coast. It was like looking at a picture; no warmth was gained from it, but it was hauntingly beautiful. It was not long before clouds set in, and the air turned cold again.

The road out of Portland was rough and cracked. The blacktop was shattered into a billion pieces. Burned out car shells littered the highway. Ravens perched precariously on leaning electric poles. What the war had done to such a proud country. No one cared any longer who ran the place because it now belonged to the people, and the people made war amongst themselves more effectively than the bombs. It had become a dismal land, grey, bitter, torn.

“So, where’s your parents?” Zola asked the young woman, trying to be friendly. It had been a quiet, uneventful morning, though the dismal silence was taxing on their shoulders.

“Where we’re heading,” Hana answered stiffly. She glanced at Nat. He was watching her steadily. The wolf inside him was always watching her. The creature kept quiet as the rest of the group took part in the conversation.

“Neo York?” Benj asked, curious.

“They’re the ones who joined up with the creation of the effects lab RanMon to cure people from the early RWE bombs. Robert and Laura Menzer. They were research assistants to a Corbin Zephle and Sophia Lisgon. I stayed home to watch the house for when they were to return. I transferred college credit to a local place here, there, Portland, I guess.” She took a breath to steady her nerves. Benj glanced at her and then up at Nat’s staring, unblinking eyes. Her tone had changed in the last couple of sentences. They could hear the lie.

“Nine months after they left, an RWE bomb hit twelve blocks from my house. I escaped in time. I ran to Portland. Buses were still going, so I caught one with a stash I found in the house. The city had been hit several times by the time I arrived, so I thought that it wouldn’t get hit again, and I took up residence in one of the buildings. I got a job with the doc. I was hoping to help out the people in the city. The doc wasn’t too keen on helping people who couldn’t pay, which I thought was stupid. We don’t get too much business, so I took up a few other jobs to get money.” She trudged along next to them. Part truth, part lie. “I was supposed to start University this spring. Full ride. The school received a direct hit from the RWE bomb.”

They trudged along in silence for a time before she presented them another question. “All right, but are those your real names? I mean, who would name their child Deck or Yeller?” Hana asked, adding quickly, “No offence, you know.”

“My name’s Alexander Deck. Being in enough sports all my life, all the coaches called me by my last name, so everyone else started to call me by my last name too,” Deck answered the woman with a charming smile. She gulped and turned to the tallest of the bunch. “What about you, Yeller?”

“When I was younger, as my parents told me, I constantly screamed and yelled, and no one could figure out why. Colic. Acid reflux as a baby or something like that.

“My folks let me play with some pots and pans one day, and they realized, for their own sanity, that I should probably be enrolled in music lessons. I also quit screaming so much. I leave that for the band. My name is Ruben Goswearth, but no one has called me that since first grade, except for the teachers,” Yeller added, embarrassed. “Yeller’s my stage name for Erosion…was my stage name.” He ducked his head.

“You’re a drummer?” Hana asked him, a smile pulling at her pouting lips.

“I was. Wrote most of the ballads for our demo. Also played guitar, though I wasn’t as good as Spence. He was lead.” He shrugged his shoulder, watching the pigeons taking flight in flocks along the road.

“What did Erosion play, metal?” She kicked at a scrap can.

“Punk alt-rock.” He kicked the can she had sent his way over to Benj.

“Ah-ha.”

“What did you listen to? Pop, I guess,” Benj assumed with a prissy teasing voice, tapping the can towards Nat.

“No, can’t stand it that much. I’m into alternative and grunge. Sometimes I used to listen to country, but now it’s hard to hear the music because all the electricity and radio stations are out,” Hana shrugged, amused with the group passing the can to each other until Zola sent it off the road by accident.

“Yeah, that does make it a little difficult to listen to, huh?” Sun Hee laughed.

The white wolf paced in his head, begging for attention. Nat rolled, opening his eyes to the field they had set up in. The sound of the tent zipper had woken him., The women had taken the tent at his insistence. With work, and more than one instance of his wolf taking over his mind entirely, they dug a series of sleeping pits around the tent.

Hana emerged, tripping over Zola. She launched toward Benj’s hole, almost tumbling onto the sinewy black wolf. The hump on her back shifted oddly as she lay on the ground, her face close to Benj’s muzzle.

Hold off, dječak. She hasn’t seen us as we are yet. Let’s see what she does. Sven leaned into him.

Shut up, mutt. Let me have my body back. Nat growled.

Make me. Now, why don’t you sit back and watch. I’m gonna have a bit of fun for once.

The hell you are! Nat fought back at the intrusion in his limbs to be thrown back into the darkness.

Hana kept her head on the ground and watched the wolves. Glowing green eyes focused on her as the creature stretched and shook the snow off of his coat. He sniffed at his clothes before sitting down to watch her. The brindled one was next to wake up. After his morning stretch, he sniffed at the white one before noticing Hana. The brindled one circled the white. He was a massive monster of a wolf. The white one butted his head against the brindle’s shoulder. They could hear her heart beating too fast. Eventually, the brindled one went to the gold and nuzzled him until he rolled over and woke up. He stretched, like the others, before shaking off the snow from the previous night. Hana sat dumbfounded, stunned at the sheer size of the creatures. She had thought the brindle was massive. The golden one was downright huge. She hadn’t been aware of how large wolves could get. The coal grey one she had almost squashed on her way out of the tent was watching her now too.

“They’re waiting for you to go away.” Sun Hee popped her head out of the tent. Hana jumped, tumbling over the coal-black wolf, surprised at the sudden appearance of the woman. The wolf yipped and moved away to circle behind the brindle.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked Sun Hee. The woman pulled a t-shirt over her head. “Nope, you’re fine if you wanna see a couple a’ naked guys,” she offered, waving at the guys. The gold wolf snorted. Hana’s cheeks went red.

“Close the flap; it’s cold!” Zola hissed. Sun Hee popped her head back in the tent, and the zipper announced to the group that the women weren’t ready to emerge into the bitter cold yet.

“Not like I care if she sees me or not,” Yeller grumbled, having transformed while Hana was occupied with Sun Hee.

“Oh?” Zola cooed from inside the tent.

“She’ll see us eventually, and probably at a less opportune time, so she might as well get used to it now,” Deck bristled. Benj morphed over from his coal grey wolf to his human self, finally indifferent.

Heat coloured Hana’s ears. “What’s the point of the tent then?”

Sun Hee unzipped the tent and tossed out Deck’s pack. Benj, Yeller, and Deck pulled out their clothing. Hana tried to settle her eyes anywhere but on the movement in front of her. Her glance settled on the white wolf, the only one of the group that hadn’t shifted. The guys, dressed, realised that the last of their group hadn’t shifted yet. He held her gaze as he slowly, meticulously turned from wolf to man. That pheromone again, the most basal of them, permeated the clearing. She couldn’t break away from him.

“Get some clothes on, snowman.” Yeller threw a pair of jeans at Nat. The wolf relented, letting him come up for air. He blinked at the clothes in his hand before realizing he was human, naked, and freezing.

The fuck you do, dog?

Nothing you need worry about, human.

[1] boy

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Subject 15: Ch 12

He woke the following day to a glaring light slipping in through his window and his gut twisting in painful knots. A cold sweat broke out across his body as he dashed for the bathroom.

The tile wasn’t cold enough. Weight settled heavily in the hollow behind his lower spine. He felt like his guts had been ripped out of him. Exhausted and empty, he crawled back to his mattress, but he could not make it to lay back on the bed. Brushing his teeth sounded like a pipe dream. He laid his arms and head on the mattress while he curled against the cold tile. A wave of nausea washed over him, and another cold sweat ran up his back.

His morning proceeded in such a cycle. Soon, his joints flared up. Every spot where pins and plates were attached ached. Do I have food poisoning? He sure felt like it. Eventually, as empty as he could get, he crawled onto his mattress and fell back asleep. He knew there were plans for him for the day, but that wasn’t going to happen. He didn’t have a direct line to anyone to tell them he’d have to call in sick. He’d have to wait for Shelly to come get him. Mustering one last effort to extract himself from the bed, he unlocked the door and tumbled his way back to the floor next to his bed. At this point, if someone wanted to kill him, they’d have to do so fast before his own body did it. It might be a pleasant experience in comparison to this, he mused as he shut his eyes.

Floating, his room came in and out of focus. He thought he remembered seeing Shelly’s face. He couldn’t remember saying anything to her but felt he should. Then there was a man, Ajay. He didn’t remember Ajay’s face, but the arms that could have been the same size as him, he remembered those swirling into his vision at some point. There was a shock of platinum blond hair and concerned amber eyes. He didn’t know why they made him feel sad and guilty. Then there was a man in a white lab coat. The world turned black on him again for some time.

He came too late in the day. Blinking up at his ceiling, his senses picked up as much information as they would tell him. The mosquito netting was pulled around him in a halo. He settled into the cocoon of soft drapes and bedding. Crisp, coarse white sheets were pulled around him. He breathed in deep, the heavy smell of jasmine wafting in through the open windows. The harsher smell of antiseptics and bleach clung to the undertones of the flowers in an off-putting way.

He turned his head to analyse the rest of his room, only to encounter a significant throbbing in his head. His right arm felt odd. He glanced down at it, wary of the headache, to find an IV drip. His heart took off in his chest. Why am I on an IV drip?

He mustered his courage once more to look around the room, trying to let the headache slide out of him. A man in white napped in a low chair at the foot of his bed. Fane cleared his throat. The man came to with a start, glancing at Fane, concern washing his features.

“Good sir, you are awake!” The man found his feet.

“You speak English?” Fane croaked, relief washing over him.

“Enough,” countered the man as he pulled aside the mosquito netting. A wash of cold air brushed across Fane’s exposed skin.

He shivered at the intrusion into his nest. “Food poisoning?”

The doctor had a stethoscope out and was checking Fane’s vitals. The old practitioner smiled and shook his head with a tender glance. “You have the problem many of your kind has when you come to these places. Your stomach does not like the food or water for a long time. Prince Ishan has asked me to oversee your recovery. You must be ready to dine with His Majesties by tomorrow evening. We will start you on a liquid diet for now, and hopefully, you will be on your feet properly by then,” the man reassured him. 

Fane gulped. He wished he could step out of his body and move into another one. Then it dawned on him. “Was Prince Orlov here?” An edge of concern crept into his voice. The doctor nodded, smiling as he helped Fane sit up.

“Would you like help to the facility?” The man offered, gesturing towards the bathroom.

“I really want to say no, but let’s forgo ego,” Fane muttered.

“That would be wise, sir,” the doctor cautioned. Between the two of them, they got Fane on wobbly feet and to the bathroom. The movable IV line came in handy. He was able to use it as a balance. Fane wanted his privacy, and it took some prodding to convince the doctor to give him that much freedom.

“Ms Shelly found you this morning at about ten. She was deeply concerned you had not met her for breakfast. She came to find you delirious. She fetched Mr Ajay, who tried an old folk recipe for stomach aches, but you couldn’t be coerced into ingesting it. At that point, they called for the Prince, who came to check on your condition personally,” the doctor informed him from the other side of the door.

“He didn’t,” Fane stated in denial, mortified as he washed his hands. He let himself out of the tiny bathroom, leaning heavily on the door handle. The bed was too far.

The doctor shook his head, his eyes round. “No, he did come. He was very concerned. He rang for me personally. He has never been so concerned as to personally ring for me before.” The doctor helped Fane back into the bed.

He was exhausted already from the short trip to the bathroom and back. His gut pinched and grumbled. Fingers shaking, his heart kept skipping beats.

“Were the sheets not to your liking?” the doctor asked, eyeing the heap of gold silk.

Fane ignored the mess of fabric, instead fixating on the ratan ring at the top of the mosquito net. “It was too weird for me. I don’t sleep in luxury regularly. I couldn’t sleep in it. It gave me strange dreams,” he admitted.

“It breathes nicely in this heat. At first, I protested these sheets when Ajay mentioned you might find them more comfortable.” The man motioned to the coarse white cotton with a disgusted frown. “They are for the staff, not esteemed guests.”

“I am staff. It is appropriate,” Fane tried a weak smile. All he wanted to do was sleep.

“No,” the doctor cautioned. “No, you are not ‘staff.’ You are here in the main building, in the same wing as the Prince. He gave you a nice room. He has great hope for your teachings and respects you. He is concerned for your health. You are not ‘staff’ to his highness,” the doctor prattled on. 

He offered Fane a bowl of a cool, mint smelling liquid. Fane sipped it cautiously. It wasn’t entirely off-putting. He came away recognising ginger, lemon, salt, and mint but wasn’t confident what else might be in it. It did feel nice, though, on his stomach.

“I am sorry for the inconvenience and that I forced the Prince away from his duties. I’m sorry he had to see me like this.” Fane rubbed his left shoulder, his thumb brushing the line of a long healed surgical scar.

The doctor observed him casually. “You are embarrassed about your skin.”

Fane immediately lowered his hand. “I would rather not concern my coworkers with trivialities.” Fane laid back into his pillows and pulled the sheet over his shoulders, covering himself once more. The doctor regarded him solemnly.

They chatted quietly late into the evening. Fane learned more about the proceedings of the palace through the man. He learned about the doctor’s family, his schooling, and many details he would have considered intrusive and nosy. He took it with a grain of salt. The doctor’s goal was to get him on his feet and able to meet Orlov’s parents the next day.

Eventually, the man pulled out a small, worn, travelling chess board from his medical bag and asked Fane to play him. The redhead agreed, smiling. He enjoyed chess, not at some professional level, but as a way to pass the time. The doctor was a calculating man but a fair competitor who took his losses with his wins all in stride.

By the time the evening wore into darkness and the moon was spilling silver pools indiscriminately across his floor, Fane was more stable on his feet. His digestive tract was no longer trying to mutiny. Probably around one or two in the morning, the doctor finally determined he could be taken off the IV and left on his own for a couple hours of sleep. He appreciated the freedom as he curled under the mosquito netting once more. , though he had slept much of the day away, exhaustion weighed heavily on his shoulders. He hoped the next day would play out better than his first day there.

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Firefly Fish: Ch 11

The solution, for the moment, was a long abandoned dock a few miles from the bay. It had belonged to a private property. From the water edge, appearances were that the roof of the mansion had collapsed years ago. The beach receded into a cobbled-together mass of sandstone boulder and shrub brush before the boards and old tree trunks jutted out to make a slapdash deck. Hauling myself up over a particularly large boulder under the dock, I sat down to regard Saeesar and Taigre. “You guys going home?”

     “I should see Taigre back to the nesting grounds and inform his father of what has happened. He will be worried.” Saeesar dipped under the water.

     “Like he would notice I was gone. He can’t get out of the cave.” Tigre slapped his fin on the water’s surface and disappeared.

     “Would his dad really not notice he was missing for the last day?” I ventured to Saeesar. I could be upset that my parents had left Jarl and me at the edge of the sea when the farm collapsed, but I had, when we left Vail, enough in my pocket to see me to the East coast and gotten a job at any pharmacist or print studio. Would the young dynllyr’s father truly not notice his absence?

     “Karis has been worried. He traded several of his shells of gems to send out searchers across the breadth of the gulf. He himself left out towards the Yucatan to see if he had been swept out there. I will escort him back to the nesting grounds and send a diver to fetch his father back.” Saeesar explained.

     “And I guess I’ll just curl up here?” I ventured, pushed a few rocks from the flat top of the boulder, and established a place to lounge.

     “I will find you again come sunrise. I will seek conference with Karis to see if he can contact Puca. I must be off.” Saeesar backed farther into the depths.

     “Saeesar!” I called out.

     “Kraken child?” he returned the question.

     “Thank you,” I told him as he ducked under a wave and disappeared.

     “Get some sleep, Marin Goranich,” came the reply back, though it was as if yelled from fields away.

     Sleep? I had spent most of my day asleep on the creek shore. No, that wasn’t quite accurate. I had laid about the creek shore in shock and terror and watched the water. Irritated at the thought of sleeping under a dock the evening I had left my brother’s apartment, I brushed sand from my damp trousers. They would never dry at this rate, and my legs were chafing at the texture. I shed them and my underpants. Setting the clothes on top of one of the dock boards, I hoped they would dry in the night.

     No such luck. The rocks were cold. The breeze was misty. Every creak of the boards around me and the splash of the water sent my heart racing. What kind of adventure had I been hoping for when I had left Jarl telling him to write mom? A fairy tale? One involving pirates and princesses? Maybe buried treasure?

     The stars blinked along the horizon, what I could see of it under the dock. The moon rotated across the sky to light up the water’s undulation. Over the hours huddling for warmth, my eyesight attuned itself to the dark. Not that there was much to see from my vantage other than more rocks and brush.

     “Marin Goranich?” a low voice pulled me into the early morning dawn. I was drooling and had finally warmed up from the night in the sea spray.

     “Saeesar?” I rubbed at the crust in my eyes.

     “You are still here?” Saeesar asked in disbelief.

Blinking, I forced my focus to see beyond double vision. Saeesar’s black hair and eyes bobbed in the water. He would have made for a believable clump of algae in the murk of sunrise.

     “Not like I have many other options available to me.” I pushed myself to sit up. Testing my trouser legs, I grimaced. They were still wet from the night before. Same with my undergarments.

     “It is difficult separating yourself from the comfortable and familiar.” Saeesar pushed closer to the dockside.

     “Life happens, and sometimes you don’t get much of a choice in the matter, huh?” I shrugged. “Probably don’t need clothes in the deep blue sea, do I?” I stared at what would be the last of my mother’s handiwork that I would probably ever see.

     “It is not that those of the Antumnos do not decorate themselves with the occasional piece of shell or brightly coloured rock, but human textiles would mark you as different.” Saeesar beached himself on a low rock, much closer than I anticipated.

     “You gonna get yourself stuck?” I frowned at his action.

     “High tide is rolling in. I won’t be here too long.” He laid his arms and head up along the ledge the rock made.

     “You have a back fin!” I gasped in surprise, now that he was out of the water.

     “Three, to be exact,” he snorted.

     “You do that. It is your type of laugh?” I asked after the action. I had seen Taigre blow bubbles when he did it.

     “It is. I cannot execute it as well out of the water.” His eyelids descended, and my fascination continued with his differences compared to the other dynllyr.

     “You have double eyelids too, but yours close in the same direction!”

     Saeesar snorted again. “You are comparing me with Taigre. We are the first of the Antumnos for you to meet, yes?”

     “Well, yeah. I mean, what else am I supposed to compare you with? Though, Taigre said that his spots were from descending from some colossal whale creature. I don’t remember what he called it. You don’t have spots – spots,” I stuttered with my observations. Tracing the line of his back and further to where I would have expected hips on a human, I stalled with confusion. An array of voluminous black fins bobbed with the tide. Following the circuit of him, I found he had latched himself along the line of the rock he had perched on. A couple of arm lengths longer than Taigre? He had to be twice his length entirely.

     “What are you compared to my age?” I ventured, swallowing, and tugged my damp trousers from the dock if only to hold them against myself to keep me decent.

     Saeesar regarded me, his eyes thinning at the question to study me. “You are saying things in Antumnos tongue again, Kraken child,” he cautioned.

     “I can imagine. Give me an approximation, and I will reassess what I will admit to in Antumnos.” I pulled down my undergarments from the dock edge too.

     “Karis would be past middle age in human years. Taigre is not quite beyond calf, not quite responsible for a mate of his own.”

     “And you? Are you well into your middle years? You said you haven’t seen Kraken children from the land in a century or was it two?” I pressed that number into my skull.

     “I was no more than a newborn, not past nursing when I saw them.” Saeesar shrugged.

     “And Taigre said that he would be fully grown at one hundred and fifty? Is that length, or is that maturity?” I asked.

     “Would you say that your size is relative to your maturity?” Saeesar returned.

     “No. There are enough people I know who are full-sized and still can’t keep themselves together, and they would have children by now,” I posited.

     “I am by no means middle-aged. I am not so young as to be viewed as a bull-calf, though,” he hedged.

     “How long did the Kraken’s land children last?” I asked the question dripping acid in my stomach.

     “I could not say. They were of Great Kraken’s heritage. Mother said they were around when she was a calf.” Saeesar shrugged.

     “Long-lived then.” This was not as reassuring as I first thought it would be. The concept of a long life was, on the surface, a pleasant thought until I realized that if my life progressed like the other half-humans, I would live well past my brothers and sister.

     “You find this news troubling, but you were troubled at the thought that you would die soon also?” Saeesar asked after the change in emotions.

     “When you think you won’t live long, and then you are told you will live longer than all your family, it’s a lot to take in.” I pulled my arms in around me.

     “About what you were saying in Antumnos before you demanded my age relative to yours?” Saeesar glanced away from me.

     “Are mates important in the Antumnos?” A shiver ran up my back.

     “They are,” Saeesar’s voice pitched lower.

     “Then you should ignore the rovings of a Kraken child who can’t even speak your tongue properly, shouldn’t you?” I turned and scuttled behind a bush at the edge of the docking to pull on my clothes, damp as they were.

     “And yet you admire?” Saeesar contrasted.

     “And yet I admire,” I admitted from behind the brush.

     “What were you, before you were a sea hunter?” Saeesar asked when I returned to my rock beneath the dock.

     “I farmed with my father. I had dreamed of becoming an artist, put away all of my money to go to school for it.” I folded my hands such that I could rest my cheek to study Saeesar against the lightening sky.

     “Art. These are pictures?” Saeesar put his finger on the concept.

     “You’ve probably encountered oils if you dealt with art from ships. I had fallen in love with lithography, though a handy set of charcoals would also make me happy.” I shrugged.

     Saeesar perked up to the comment, his back fins rising in interest. “Siren’s Voice.” The words were a mere whisper.

     “I’m not singing, Saeesar, just being nostalgic and wistful,” I admitted.

     “You don’t hear yourself? That is Siren’s Voice if I’ve been privileged to encounter it in my two centuries of life,” he informed me.

     “Siren’s Voice. Antumnos Tongue. I was raised on what I could see, what I could hear, what I could play. You are the embodiment of a charcoal sketch. So, I admire. My heart sings, it seems, in letting myself do so.” I slid off the rock and emerged from beneath the dock to the edge of the water. “I wish I had pad and pencil. You would have made Leonardo Bistolfi wealthy beyond measure just by your pose alone. Is that what Siren’s Voice is? My heart singing?” I pressed.

     He swallowed, turned away from me to push himself from his roost, and disappeared into the deeper waters. Had I scared him off? My stomach growled in protest at having not eaten since the last time I stood on Captain’s ship eating leftover fish Stephan cooked up. A minute, two, I waited at the edge of the water for Saeesar to return. When I saw no sign of him, I climbed up from the rock and into the oleander thicket at the edge of the ocean to see if there were any wild edibles I could snack on. Seagull eggs and clams from a thinning tide pool came to hand after a bit of sorting through the brier behind the collapsed mansion.

     Sated, I returned to the outcrop of rock to watch the water and contemplate what I was to do with my life. In the bright light of day, my spots were less noticeable. I had a spattering of white freckles in the sun, but the glowing blue in the shadow was not trustworthy around normal humans.

     Noon approached and left before Saeesar returned to the dock. “Marin Goranich?” He called, anxiety thick in the question.

     “Oh, you’re back? I had wondered if I had said something. I’m sorry.” I scrambled down the rock to the water edge. 

From a satchel of algae-covered canvas, Saeesar pulled a large clam tied together with seaweed. “Please.” He offered me the bivalve. 

Raising an eyebrow, I stepped into the water, fighting the initial horror of the sensation flitting across my back. “What is this?” I sucked in my breath and descended further into the water to swim to Saeesar’s rock.

“This is what the humans did near where I grew up, did when – when-” Saeesar swallowed, all his fins fluffing suddenly, catching me by surprise.

“When what?” I climbed onto the rock to sit out of the water. Taking the offered foot-long abalone shell, I unwrapped the seaweed from it and opened it. I gulped. Closed the lid. Opened it again. Closed it. “Lord’s green earth, what are you asking for, Saeesar?” A few thousand pearls lay within the box.

“What is the word you humans use? Dairy. Denial. Dessert. Dairy. I think it’s dairy. This is a dairy, for you. Would you be my mate?” he asked.

“Dairy?” I stuttered, confused. “Oh. Wait. Dowry. You mean dowry? Wait, a bride price?”

“This is why you wouldn’t admit to saying mate in Antumnos tongue, because you can’t agree unless there’s a dowry, yes?” he asked, anxious. I took the seaweed and quickly wrapped it around the abalone shell, afraid to accidentally knock the small fortune into the water. All of his fins slicked back as his glance fell.

“Isn’t this a bit sudden? You don’t even know anything about me.” I pushed the shell back into his hands.

“I’m confused?” he admitted.

“So am I! Take these; I don’t want to drop them. That’s a scary thought!” I yelped.

“This is not what I am supposed to do for your customs?” He slipped the shell back into his satchel. 

I ran shaky hands across my face while my heart stuttered at what I had been handling. “Most of my customs pretty much taught me I had to go marry some woman and have a bunch of kids, and then the market fell out, and I’m just some poor country boy from the back side of the mountains.”

“I thought-” Saeesar paused, his fingers twisting the eddies around his rock as he tried to qualify. “But, you liked what you saw of me?”

“I like a lot of what I see of you; I’m just explaining the customs I grew up with.” I waved that remark down.

“Then I am an acceptable candidate?” he perked up, his fins spreading again.

“Don’t we need time, like getting to know each other first? Wouldn’t you want to know what you are getting into in a relationship with me? Like what if we don’t like the same food? That would make dinners quite uncomfortable, wouldn’t it?” I asked. “Let alone, is there no problem with dynllyr and kraken, or even half-human and…and…?” I trailed off, my face going warm.

“I saw no issues with you this morning.” He blinked. My face went hotter still, and all I could hear was my heart thumping in my ears. “You went silent, Marin Goranich? You’ve been bubbling all this time, and now all your colours are flashing.” He pointed out.

“You-you-you…I-” I pushed myself off the rock into the cold water if only to escape my own thoughts.

Saeesar slid from the rock to approach where I was paddling in horrified embarrassment. “You are saying a lot of words now, Marin Goranich?” Saeesar ventured.

“I’m surprised you’re not telling me I’m screaming,” I whispered, unable to pull my fixation from the middle distance.

“Did I offend you?” Saeesar asked.

“No, why would you think that?” I gulped, tearing my gaze from the water to his midnight black eyes.

“Is asking another to be a mate so quickly so strange?” he asked.

“For humans, we tend to court for a couple of years, learn more about each other, find out if we’re compatible before agreeing to marriage,” I answered in a small voice.

“In the Antumnos, if we are of age and find each other acceptable with our displays, it’s not uncommon for mates to pair off within a few hours of meeting. So strange. Yours is such a short-lived species, and mine is so long, and yet we do things completely opposite of each other.”

“And I’m caught in between.” I leaned against the rock, kicking my feet to keep myself above water. A slide along my feet and calves and Saeesar pulled me into the cradle of his tail. I grabbed for his arm to steady myself. “Is there a rush to claiming a mate?”

“For the sake of Siren’s Voice, you would be claimed in the Antumnos by one of the sea kings, whoever of the giants got to you first,” Saeesar hedged, keeping me steady as he helped me get back to the land side of the dock outcropping.

“I would not have a choice in the matter?” I ventured. 

Saeesar wouldn’t meet my eyes at that question, all of his fins laying flat. “This is unfair to you, with your culture, is it not? You would be given a choice, a pick of many, and yet all you have met from the Antumnos is a bull calf and a spotless guard.” Saeesar pushed his hair from his face.

“In my culture, I wouldn’t have much of a choice at all, have not had a choice,” I bit back.

Saeesar twisted his head in question at the statement.

“You said you found my appearance acceptable. My appearance is a deformity to humans. No one would have me the way I am, and those I find attractive, it’s not safe to admit.” My fingers were going cold at the decisions being made for me.

“I mean, you have no fin, but there are those of the Antumnos who are finless too,” Saeesar hedged.

“Legs and feet are normal for humans,” I explained.

“I do not understand, Marin Goranich. You are perfect? Well proportioned. As a child of Puca, your colouration and spots are consistently patterned. You might not speak Antumnos well now, but you are learning. Your Siren’s Voice makes you unique, true. You would be the pride of any of the sea giants to have at their side?” Saeesar looked me up and down in confusion. “Any human should be proud to call you mate.”

I paused at the compliments. They were genuine and yet felt hollow for the many years I had lived different from what the other men around me looked like. I knew nothing of Saeesar. I knew nothing of the Antumnos. What the culture was. I knew nothing but that the world was not what I thought it to be, and I was no longer human enough to pass as acceptable. “If you would be proud of a half-human as a mate, then I accept your dowry, Saeesar.”

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Polaris Skies: Ch 5

Benj knew for a fact that Nat and Sun Hee needed to get medical attention. He had always been overly protective of his younger sister and considered Nat a close friend, but this innate feeling that dwelled within him, the sense of utter protection to the end, was something entirely foreign to him. It resided in the beast’s mind. He mulled this over as the group searched up and down for an open hospital. The animal’s instincts were beginning to entwine with his emotions in a deadly combination. It was a creeping weed that drew its tendrils into the soft spots of his mind and sucked the nutrients from it. He could feel it, a red haze that burned low, the desire to let the animal loose. It cooed to him, coddled him, told him that everything would be better, more manageable in the animal form. He shook it away and continued with the group, searching in the bitter cold for medical aid.

The group, with Deck and Yeller supporting Nat, stumbled down a promising-looking road. Help was within reach at the bottom level of a five-story building. Lights glared out onto the black ice street. A generator wheezed and chortled. A yellowed sign swung over the door, announcing the place as a walk-in clinic. A burly man in a massive parka stood guard at the door.

“Will that work?” Zola asked Benj. The group continued walking in the direction of the shop while Benj considered the possibility. He nodded with a slight grunt. Hopefully, Nat and Sun Hee could keep themselves together while they were being examined. By the way he was feeling, Benj knew that if he had another person examining him, he might let the animal off its leash.

Terse words were exchanged with the bouncer and one hundred dollars dropped into his hand before they could pass. It had only tempted them for a second to take the man down, but they needed help at that moment and probably wouldn’t get it if they dismembered the guy. The bell above the door clanged loudly, startling the group. The man ran off as soon as they were inside. Their hearts fell, realising they had been scammed.

The walls in the clinic were ruined with watermarks and nicotine. The place reeked of iron and tobacco with an underlying ting of iodine and urine. The pungent odours engulfed the group like a vile cape. Deck seated himself in an old red plastic chair with Sun Hee barely awake on his lap, and Yeller helped Nat to a yellow chair that tilted and lurched. They waited for the doc in quiet discomfort.

Nat’s colour went from green to yellow when he had settled in his chair. He slowly eased himself to the ground and laid his head on the cool tile. His head was spinning, and a roaring in his ears deafened his senses as the animal fought for supremacy in his mind. Resting there on the cold, dry floor eased him a little, and the room stopped rotating about his head. Yeller rested a hand on his shoulder, wanting the reassurance that he was still breathing.

There was a jingle of little bells attached to a side door. “What do you want?” a tall, slim woman asked as she came out of one of the doors. Lines rimmed her mouth and eyes. Her stained shift drooped from her body in many folds. Her skin was stained a putrid yellow black around the tips of her fingers. Hair bristled on the back of Nat’s neck when he glanced her way. If Deck and Benj honestly thought that he would let that lady touch him, they were going to get a swift kick where the sun didn’t shine.

“We can’t find any hospitals; would you be able to stitch up our friend and maybe see if she’s okay?” Deck quietly asked. He motioned to Nat lying stiffly on the floor and drew attention to the sleeping woman.

“I don’t do charity,” the lady sneered. She sniffed in their general direction and moved to leave.

“But Miss-”

“Leave,” the lady snapped, turned around, and left through the door.

Benj and Deck looked at each other, trying to think of what to do next. “Let’s go. Find somewhere else,” Sun Hee coughed. She had come out of her stupor to catch the woman leaving. The other door jingled. A small woman peeked out shyly. She peered around, eyeing the door through which the other woman had disappeared. Once satisfied, she crept from the door, careful to keep it from jingling again. Short black hair hugged the line of her chin. Deep brown, almost convincingly black eyes stared out from under the crop of hair like a startled doe. She took account of the group before motioning them to follow her. She tossed Deck a brown prescription bottle. He analysed it quickly before popping the lid and handing Sun Hee a pill to dry swallow.

“Let me see his hand,” the woman commanded with a soft velvet voice. Nat went utterly still. All of his senses pushed forward all at once, all of the ones that should have stayed submerged in his subconscious, ones that the wolf in him should not have been given the ability to access. Desire, need, lust. Her floral skin called to the wolf circling in his gut. The creature needed to touch her, to taste her. The fixation was all-consuming and not his. Nat’s stomach growled. His head throbbed at the dissonance of his body, part of it shutting down, going cold, the other turning on, revelling in life coursing through his blood. The human side suddenly feared for woman. This was not his hunger but the wolf. The creature’s hunger, Nat stressed, might become a bad thing if he remained there.

“Who are you?” Benj whispered suspiciously.

“My name’s Haniel. Please call me Hana. I’m an assistant to Miss- I mean Doctor Gurty. I’ve had some practice stitching up a few people. Right now, I can tell that this is not the time for formalities,” Hana whispered back as she led them into a small room. The smell, when everyone was in the room, was horrendous. They smelled as if they had gone swimming in a sewage plant. Hana cleared her throat, eyes watering.

“Are you all right?” Deck asked.

“Fine.” Hana held her clenched hand to her mouth and held her breath. She tried clearing her throat again, instead falling into a fit of coughs. Everyone moved back from her. “Sorry, not sick, just allergic to something in the room.” Calming her cough, she found the roll of thread and a fire sterilized needle.

Nat had his hand on the stainless-steel table, waiting.

“We have no numbing meds, and that’s a lot of damage. This is going to hurt… a lot,” Hana told him, watching him flinch in the knowledge of what was to come. She directed Deck to hold his hand still and Yeller to hold him down. Yeller circled his shoulders and held his other hand. Nat tensed against Yeller’s chest, gripping his wrist in silent terror. The wolf backed down at the contact.

“Anáil,” Yeller whispered in his ear. Nat grunted in reply and clenched his jaw.

In a grey plastic tub, Hana flushed out the wound with a bag of saline. She swabbed it heavily with bacitracin. A shot of doxycycline prepped him for more pain to come. He trembled with the first pinprick at his wound. Gripping down hard on Yeller’s hand, he fought with his body to hold still. It took Hana another five minutes to suture up the damage. It felt like a lifetime. The wolf slunk away into the dark recesses of Nat’s mind.

“Haniel! What are you doing, you miserable child? Get out. I won’t have it anymore. Get out!” the doc screeched at the young woman, trembling with wrath in the doorway. Hana defiantly finished with the stitches. Doctor Gurty was venting her anger in a trembling high squeaky litany of foul words that coated the whole western part of Portland. Hana replaced the card of wire that she hadn’t used and calmly slipped a bottle of antibiotics and carprofen into her pocket.

“Get out!” Doctor Gurty shrieked once more for good measure.

The young woman went out to the front desk, and from her pocket, she took out a one-hundred-dollar bill. She had only five of the bills left in her pocket. Doctor Gurty huffed and puffed as she put the bill in the register and pointed the group and the woman out the door.

“You – you didn’t have – have to-” Sun Hee tried to protest as they crowded out the door behind her. She coughed around breathless gasps.

“Save your breath,” Hana hissed as she bundled her hands up in the long sleeves of her trench coat. She looked at the one that she had stitched up. He was staring at her in horror. “Oh, no,” he whispered.

She put her hand to her face, “What?” she whispered.

“Benj, is this stuff a contaminant?” The white-haired man Hana had sewn up was panicking. The tall blond kept him from collapsing. The one he called Benj answered after a moment of staring at her. “She started coughing when we all got in there. It’s our clothes; it’s got the chemical on it.”

“Wha – what are you talking about?” Hana asked, shrinking away from them.

“You’ll have to come with us; we’ll explain on the way,” Benj told her, grabbing her hand. She jerked away and scowled at him. She stomped back toward the shop.

“It’s okay, Hana. We won’t hurt you, I swear. We think you might have caught something from us. We’re heading for Neo York to get it fixed,” Deck prodded.

“On the way to where? We haven’t found any shelter,” the woman with the gold patch of skin around her eyes asked.

“Just keep your eyes open,” Deck commanded. The group subconsciously herded the doctor’s assistant down the alley.

“Yeah, but what does all of this have to do with me?” Hana asked, trying to find a way around them. Sun Hee and Nat looked to be the worst for wear of the bunch. Sun Hee’s cough had gotten worse over the dry, chill evening. Yeller carried Nat piggyback as he went in and out of sleep.

“This contaminate, it must be an airborne chemical that will cling to most anything, I guess. These clothes, we brought it with us. When we were all in the same room together, there must have been enough to…to ….”

“To turn me into a wolf? Come on, please. I don’t think that this wolf virus thing even exists. You’re all doped. Probably on some bad combo of hallucinogens. You guys are looking for a place to stay warm, and you lost your town. You figure that you can get me to feel sorry for y’all and help you find somewhere to stay,” Hana said doubtfully. “Well, good luck, ’cause it ain’t gonna be with me.” She turned to leave, spotting a familiar road that would take her home. Yeller shifted to block her exit, and Benj blocked in the other side. Nat slipped off Yeller’s back to lean against the cold wall to wait. His hand was throbbing, and the numbing cold of the brick was a welcome reprieve.

Deck grabbed Hana’s arm as she stepped away and pulled her into a darkened alcove. His solid frame pushed up against her, pressing her to the wall. He was too heavy, his hands enormous. To her horror, his face contorted, and his jaw bone cracked as it elongated. His eyes shifted and reformed as his hair became a heavy matting across the back of his neck and whiskers pressed through the skin on his cheek. His sternum and ribs popped and shifted. Nails bit through her jacket.

An acidic scent permeated the alcove, washing over the group. He released her, knowing it had worked. Trembling, she backed out of the nook. In the light again, Deck was back to normal.

“Do you believe us now?” he menaced with a snap of his teeth. Hana nodded silently.

The wolf beneath Nat’s skin followed her every movement. He wrinkled his nose at the sharp acid stench vaporising from her skin. Nat padded up next to her, completely silent. “You fear us…” he hissed, appalled that he could tell how much Deck had scared her. Her heart jumped, and he heard it.

She squealed at his sudden appearance and shied away, putting herself against the wall protectively. “Mutant freaks,” she hissed, her hand going to her pocket.

The wolf stepped in, overriding his movements. Nat was tossed back to watch, his heart in his throat. The creature reached for her wrist before it could slip into her pocket. He shifted, blocking her from the rest of the group as he leaned into her. “Leave the knife, crna ptica. We aren’t the only animals here,” the beast whispered in her ear, low enough no one else would hear him.

Wolf? Nat demanded in horror. The wolf slipped away, leaving Nat staring at a pair of startled doe eyes. Her cheeks had lost all colour. A tremble ran through his body as another throb of pain from his hand threatened to put him under. He let her go and returned to Yeller. What had the wolf called her? The accent had been heavy at the back of his throat.

“Your eyes were glowing,” Yeller muttered under his breath as he hefted Nat back up. Nat laid his head against Yeller’s shoulder and closed his eyes, wishing desperately for sleep.

“This is happening to me?” She bundled her hands into her sleeves and shoved them under her armpits.

The group watched her, wary. Zola nodded. “It’s…it’ll be okay. I’m sorry, Hana. Really. We didn’t know. We’re. We’d like to help, for what it’s worth.”

Hana looked up at the darkened sky, shifting her toe against the gravel. She bit down on her lip and turned her gaze across the alley. The slight woman brushed a hand through her hair. “I know where you guys can stay the night.”

“Really?” Deck eased back a step to take Sun Hee’s hand.

“Keep up,” Hana demanded. She scampered down a thin alley and took a quick sharp turn at the end. They dashed after her as she led them down several streets and up the rickety stairs of a two-story building.

At the top of the stairs, she slid out of a broken window pane and up a fire escape. From there, she nimbly tiptoed across the disintegrating asphalt roof and over a set of boards that crossed that building with another. She turned to look back at the expectant group. They were at her heels. Yeller let Nat down, puffing hard.

They watched her, waiting for her next signal. She stood in front of a broken skylight. She went to the edge, jumped, pointed her toes, and acted real thin. Benj skittered to the skylight and peered down through the dirty pane to find several gym mats stacked under it to catch her. She was already at the other end of the room, pressed into a corner. The grey room that met them was bare except for a dusty carpet that covered most of the floor.

“I know that it’s not much, but it’ll keep you outta the cold,” she called up to them. She rubbed her arms briskly. Her stomach growled, echoing around the empty room.

“Guess we’ll come in then,” Deck called back.

The first down was Benj, lean and supple; he landed with barely a sound. He reached up to catch Zola. “You okay?” he asked her.

“Tired. It’s nice to be out of the wind. Thank you, Hana.” Zola moved out of the way of the mats.

“Yeah. Um. No problem, I guess,” she shrugged.

Yeller waved Benj out of the way and dropped in next, holding his arms out. Deck helped Sun Hee in through the broken skylight. Yeller took her to a corner away from the window. She curled into herself, suffering through a coughing fit. Zola sat down next to her and wrapped her into her coat. “Go to sleep, Sunny.”

Yeller returned to the skylight. “Can you make it?” he asked Nat, who was standing over the hole, his body swaying.

“Would have said yes yesterday,” Nat told him as he stepped through the expanse. Yeller caught him. “Buachaill, you weigh a feather,” he growled in his ear.

“I was in the featherweight division in wrestling for a reason. I also sucked at it for a reason,” Nat grouched. Yeller unhanded him and directed him to the wall next to the women.

“You didn’t suck. You helped the team go to regionals,” Yeller protested.

“Basketball was much better.”

“Okay, yes, you were better at juggling balls.” Yeller returned to the skylight to see if Deck needed help. Deck, the last to make it down, tossed in the group’s packs and waited for Yeller and Benj to move the bags before tumbling in. Hana watched in amazement as Deck extracted food rations and insulated blankets. He passed them around, even giving her an MRE.

Nat’s wolf had been watching her since he had landed in the room. She had slowly inched herself along the side of the wall to the little alcove meant to be the kitchen. He gently touched her arm to draw her attention. “Hey, thanks for everything.” He backed up a step as she flinched.

“Sure. Oh, I got these for you.” Hana tossed a small vile of antibiotics to him.

Nat left her alone after that. The acid that oozed from her skin was pungent, and the wolf tended to push for more control during those outbursts. He worried for the woman’s safety with the beast so close to the edge. He sat down with Zola and Sun Hee, who burrowed into his sides while Benj and Deck looked over a worn paper map of the US highway system.

He closed his eyes and counted between the throbbing beat of his hand. Shifting, he glanced down at the bottle in his hand, wishing he had something to dull the pain. He popped a pill and dry swallowed. The MRE he had eaten would keep him from retching. He squirmed again, Zola and Sun Hee crowding closer to his warmth. He found Yeller sweeping his gaze across the room in boredom. “You okay?” Nat croaked.

Yeller shrugged. “How’s the hand?”

“Could be better.”

“You should sleep.”

“Would like to.”

“Sorry.”

“Meh. The women are warm.”

“Don’t get too cosy there with my sister, Nat,” Benj warned.

“I’m about as comfortable as I’m gonna get,” Nat grumbled back.

“Shut up. I was asleep,” Sun Hee coughed.

“Sorry,” The men all whispered.

Hana shifted at their noise. The wolf glanced her way. She had eased into a groove she had worn in the wall. Her head lolled on her knees, the hunch to her back more evident in the moonlight.

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Subject 15: Ch 11

Shelly left Fane at his room after their evening meal, promising to show up the next day. She had reserved several hours with a local wise man who supposedly had some old scrolls she was chomping at the bit to see and was unsure when she would come to him.

He took the key Shelly gave him and turned it in the deadbolt. With a pop, the burnished wood door swung open into a tidy little room. , though the furnishings themselves were ornate, the composition of the layout with minimal. A bed, nightstand and dresser occupied one side, while a wardrobe and a washstand occupied the other. A nondescript door hiding near the wardrobe led into a bizarre bathroom. The whole thing was tiled from floor to ceiling. A metal cover rested over the top of the toilet paper. A squat toilet would have seemed intimidating unto itself until Fane realised there was a shower head above the toilet and no sign of a designated shower stall. Fane gulped. “When in Rome,” he mumbled to himself.

His bags from the airport had been deposited near the foot of his double size bed. The ornate gold silk sheets were garish. A mosquito net draped around the posts. Sadly, the ceiling lacked a fan, but tall windows and a transom above the door would pull a breeze into the room in the evenings. He jiggled the lever at the transom and popped the windows to see if his theory worked. Almost immediately, a cool breeze from the evening air wafted the scent of rhododendron and night flowering jasmine into his room. Three stories below his window, the electric lit garden spread out to the dark wall, the city’s neon lights blinking away on the other side.

He was to be housed in the palace rather than the barrack. Though he was to train the guards of the palace, he was considered an esteemed guest of the Prince and was therefore granted the privilege of staying in the main building. Once he was established formally as Orlov’s bodyguard, he would be moved into a different area of the palace.

He had never truly had a room like this to himself before. He shared a room with four other men on base, and a hospital room shared with two others was not going to count either. He luxuriated as a king, even for the evening, with the exotic smells and the lushness of silk bedding.

Fane wanted to lay and enjoy the heady smells but forced himself to unpack his bags. After hanging his few uniforms and shoving his sparse civilian wardrobe and suitcase into the dresser, he noted to himself he would need to ask about where to do his laundry.

He stripped out of his uniform and hung it to air until he knew where to clean it. He pulled on a pair of green checked pyjama shorts. Wandering into the bathroom, he spent the better part of a minute fighting the foreign faucet handle for water. Once on, he proceeded to brush his teeth. He figured it’d be a good idea, while he was in there, to figure out how the shower head turned on to cut down on wasting time in the morning figuring it out. That one took a lot longer to master. After a good five minutes and soaking himself, he decided it’d be fortuitous to take a shower then, rather than in the morning. The water was a tepid cool, refreshing in the evening warmth.

He fingered a particularly garish raised scar on one of his obliques, a habit he had gained over time. His body was covered in small surgical scars and red marks revealing a past under an unreadable map that held no keys. He felt like he wasn’t quite complete when he had to look at himself like this. Training religiously in physical therapy and then with his fellow soldiers had shaped his muscles. Eating a regimented diet kept his body fat low. His physique was cut and sculpted, his personal work mismatched with the lines and stitch marks brushed across his legs, torso, chest, and back.

His arms had not been left alone. His hands thankfully had come out with minimal scarring that was hard to notice, and the few marks on his face were only visible when someone knew to look for them. With a uniform on to hide the body scars, he could feel like an average person, but naked, like this, he was reminded of his missing memories.

Turning off the water, Fane confronted a distinct lack of towels. He rummaged around in the few places that could possibly store them and came up empty. He shrugged and pulled on his boxers and pyjama shorts, the wet distinctly unpleasant. The evaporation off his back was refreshing in the night air, though, and with a lack of fan, it was probably the only real relief from the heat he was going to get that evening.

Orlov had informed him that he’d have to leave his armaments back on base due to international policies. He had promised to equip him with whatever he needed when he got into the country. He felt naked without his personal knives, without the habit he had of taking off the sheaths, cleaning and organising them before sleep. His pattern was all kinds of disrupted.

He switched the light off to the room. The stone box was left in grey shadows, the stars and moon battling the illumination of the lights in the garden. He laid back on the bed, staring up at the connectors of the mosquito net. Night creatures croaked from the burbling fountains. He sighed. Rolling over on the slick sheets, he mused over the ornate whirls of roses embedded in the gold-leafed metal of the headboard. He had not expected this. Any of it. He had never expected to actually leave the base and make himself into something. The mosquito net picked up in the breeze, blowing a ghostly shadow over him. He hoped that he could do something useful.  A guard quibbled with another at the gate. His mind drifted as his eyelids fell. Jet lag was trying to get the better of him.

A hand wound around him. It traced feathers across his chest, embers down his abs and fire across his obliques. A steady base thumped in his ears. It was dark. Gold flashed across his vision. His back arched unintentionally as a sweet numbness seeped down his torso to his hips. The brush of cool softness raised electrical ripples along his skin. Heat cut into his breath. His legs were tangled with something.

He was pinned. Fire lashed out. His body seized, winding tighter under an onslaught that made his hands clasp and his jaw clench. What is this? He tried to understand, but his mind tumbled as his body incessantly scrambled for a high at the edge of his fingertips. A groan escaped as a bolt of electricity ran through his core and his arms tingled in anticipation. His breath hitched as pressure pushed against him.

He came awake, panting. Where am I? He looked around, not sure. Fane swatted at sweat dripping down his cheek. Silk blankets and pillows twisted around him in knots. He gulped in shaky breaths, startled and hard as hell. The bodyguard stared down at the blankets, at his betraying body. He had no memory of ever waking up like this before. It was always the nightmares. The grey tentacles scuttled from some dark merciless abyss with a haunting screech of death that would wake him.

This, though. This was so many levels of different. Silk sheets shifted. Sliding, grazing, teasing. He dashed for the bathroom, the sizzling in his bloodstream not relenting. His head was going to explode if he put himself off much longer. He caught himself, only just, before his betrayal took him over the edge, his limbs both hot and numb under the deluge.

The hell…? He breathed deep, cleaning himself up. It couldn’t be past midnight yet, but he was wired and tired at the same time. He sank back against the cool tile of the bathroom. Resting his head against the wall, he tried to recall what he had seen in the dream. Nothing but the intense feeling of soft skin, of silk. He eyed the bedsheets through the door. Picking himself off the floor, his legs wobbled like a newborn calf. He eased back to the bed. Warily he ran his hand along the material. Electric fire zapped up his fingers, the tender coolness of the material setting all his senses on edge. Ah hell no, he told himself. He pulled the sheets off the bed and ran his hand along the plain cotton of the mattress, the intense sensation dissipating. He wasn’t going to sleep on silk again. That was too dangerous.

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Firefly Fish: Ch 10

I woke where I had been left. The shore trees, backlit, cast long afternoon shadows. The water had receded to my feet, leaving me covered in mud and leaves.

“Marin Goranich?” A soft tenor called to me from the water. No. I curled into myself at the octave. No. It meant the water. That note meant suffocating. Meant dying. Claws wrenched through my skin as I curled tighter against the rock and wrapped my arm around my head protectively.

“Saeesar? I do not understand what is wrong with the Kraken child. He is Kraken. Púca’s child. Half-human like I told you,” Taigre explained.

“I see that, Taigre. Patience. You’ve scared him badly. Let’s see what we can do.” A different voice, lower, chastised the dynllyr.

“No more than he did in trapping me and having a human operate on my tail,” he hissed at the comment. I turned numbly to the sound. At a logical level, I could accept that accusation. I probably had scared him. Finding the broad expanse of water at sunset did nothing to set the stutter in my chest at ease. Awareness of the baser needs prickled. I scurried away from the creek edge and clambered up the gully away from the pair of dynllyr. I had spent the day numb to my need for a bathroom. The woods would suffice.

“He’s terrified of me.” Taigre sounded dejected as I scuttled for somewhere out of sight.

“I don’t exactly blame him. At the moment, he is seeking relief, though, not running away from us outright. Now, tell me why you forced him to use his gills when he was not even aware of them. You are no calf, Taigre,” the new voice, Saeesar, bit back at Taigre.

I found myself a place far enough for privacy and yet close enough to catch their conversation.

“As dynllyr and son of territory holder, it is my duty. I need to bring him to the Antumnos so he can meet his father. He can’t be left in the night. He glows like Púca Kraken. The other humans would hunt him. He needs to be safe.” Taigre’s voice reminded me of a petulant child who thinks they’ve found the perfect validation for their actions.

“You should have left him and come got me before trying that, not after. What if his gills were not fully developed? Kraken children born to land creatures do not always have mature gills for our waters,” Saeesar chastised.

“Will they mature?” A note of terror inched into Taigre’s voice.

“That entirely depends on the creature. For his sake, if he is a Kraken child of Púca, I would hope so. He will be noticeable more so than many of the others,” Saeesar answered.

Finished, and put back together, I returned to the creek side, wary. Taigre blended into the dark colours of the water. The merman next to him was a different colouration from Taigre’s chalk grey and navy blue upper half that swirled in swirling colorful spots. Saeesar was broader in the shoulder and thicker banded with muscle. His fins were a midnight black from his long hair to his tail. Stark white, his skin could have been titanium powder.

“I see what you mean by him using emotion words. He is neither calf nor fry. Not by way of the humans I have seen. He’s full grown, at least by height and appearance. He has not been taught how the Antumnos talk properly, is all.” Saeesar flicked his fingers in emphasis, black nails glistening.

“You’re not going to drag me back in, are you?” I called down to them.

“It would do you no good, Kraken child,” Saeesar returned my call. “I do appreciate the compliments, but it would be good to restrain yourself a bit with the admiration.”

“What compliments?” I slipped on one of the slick rocks and scattered stones on my way down to the edge of the creek.

“You speak with both the human tongue and the Antumnos tongue. If you keep your mouth shut, we hear your emotion words. If you speak with your human tongue, your emotion words weave into your speech,” Saeesar explained.

“Antumnos tongue?” I sat down on the rock, tucking my feet away from the lapping water.

“It is how Taigre and I are speaking to you,” Saeesar explained.

“And what is it that I’m saying that I seem to not realize,” I ventured.

Saeesar snorted at the water. “He really doesn’t know what he says, does he?”

“You should have heard him last night. Siren’s Voice,” Taigre returned.

“My music? I played melodies I learned because you seemed to like them,” I defended.

“He plays the human’s instruments to communicate?” Saeesar turned to Taigre.

“What is an instrument?” Taigre asked.

“My mandolin and guitar. I did sing, but they were just little folk songs everyone knows.” I brushed away shards of sandstone from my rocky platform.

“Sing for me, Kraken child. Let’s see what this Siren’s Voice is that Taigre has been bubbling about for the last few hours.” Saeesar demanded. My cheeks burned red at the demand, sending all of my spots glowing. Saeesar dropped his head into his hand and rubbed at his eyes. “We are going to need to fix that before we bring him anywhere near your father or anyone else in the Antumnos.” 

I was embarrassed and done with feeling insulted. I’d take the long way around, head back for my brother’s apartment, and tell him that the adventure was not worth the time of day. 

“Calm down, Kraken child. I am not dismissing your advances or meant to make you angry.”

“What advances, shark bait? I haven’t said a damn word!” I walked away. If I kept my pace, I would reach a section where their larger bodies would not be able to follow.

“Your emotion words. You’ve asked both Taigre and me if we would be your mate and described me as handsome. I appreciate the compliment, I do, but I think you are not aware of this. I would save you from more embarrassment if we were to take you into the Antumnos by having you address this now rather than where it might be misconstrued,” Saeesar explained.

“I’ve said no such thing!” I squeaked back, mortified.

“Are you aware of telling me you are scared, or that this is uncomfortable, a bad conversation?

“It’s not what’s coming out of my mouth.” I crossed my arms.

“No, it’s the tone of your skin, your stance, where your eyes fall, the way your face moves. It all wraps into the lais in the front of your skull. We of the Antumnos each have one. Come down here. I promise on the infinity that is the water in the sea I will not make you drown.” Saeesar swore. “You have every right to be scared. I will not tell you otherwise. The screaming can come down a note or two, though. If you don’t want to come down here, that’s acceptable.” Saeesar pressed his fingers to the front of his head and settled back into the water to study me under lowered lashes.

I shifted on my perch as they waited. Flicking a glance at the fading light, I knew I needed to make a decision. My skin was glowing in bursts of blue and white light that I would not be able to hide easily. I dragged in a deep breath and ruffled my hair, scratching at my two-day stubble.

“You won’t make me try to breathe the water again?” I demanded.

“Promise. It would do you no good to try it again. Your musculature is not strong enough to handle that right now.” Saeesar soothed.

“Why do you know this?” I took a tentative step forward.

“I have encountered a few other land children before like you. It has been well over a century since the last I saw. Often raised outside of the water, it takes time to develop the ability to breathe properly because of the weight of the water compared to the air. Often, as children of the Antumnos grow, they are introduced to breathing small amounts of air at a time until they are able to sustain themselves in and out of the water for emergencies such as the one Taigre found himself in. Thank you for seeing to his tail. You have my greatest appreciation.” Saeesar ducked a bow.

“Why were you so sure I had gills?” I demanded of Taigre.

“I can see them,” he justified.

I looked down at my chest, still bare from having given Taigre my shirt for a tourniquet. Nothing. Just my skin, and the strange lights. Resting a hand on my chest, I breathed in and out. It felt no different than it had in the past.

“Linguistic discrepancies, I see, are going to get in our way. This would be so much easier if we had time on our hands. Did you really introduce him to breathing in this sweet water mix?” Saeesar demanded of Taigre.

“As soon as I realized he had gills, proper gills. I didn’t see them until I got under the water.” Taigre ducked.

“May your oysters produce pearls rather than rocks one day, Taigre.” Saeesar rubbed at his eyes before pushing his hair off his face. “My charge has probably done you more harm than good. I apologize for that failure in his education. We are able to return back to the delta and out to the ocean. Are you capable of walking the creek edge to there?” Saeesar asked from the quickly receding waters.

“Probably.” I started toward the beach, the sandstone gritty and sharp on the pads of my feet. As long as I stayed out of range of their grasp, whatever their plans were for me, they couldn’t reach me on the land. Taigre and Saeesar disappeared under the surface. Within seconds, Taigre’s brilliant green tail had disappeared.

Washed up driftwood and felled trees hindered some of my passage. In those moments, I backtracked further inland before going out to the creek edge more than I would have liked. There was no way I was getting the five feet into the water where the Llyr creatures could nab me.

An hour later and sunset approaching, I was greeted by the waisted shoreline. Dead fish, birds, troller netting, anchors, busted buoys, and glass bottles littered what had been a clean beach the day before. Overturned ship hulls loomed, casting cold shadows.

“Kraken child!” I heard the call before I saw the shapes. Startled, I slipped amongst the debris, slicing my foot open and fell, puncturing my calf and hands. Cursing, I looked around for Taigre while I quickly pulled glass and shell from my cuts. “Get your fish butt over here. I’m not coming to you.”

“You are injured?” Saeesar called back. I still couldn’t see them.

“Fell in the trash heap. Give me a minute.” I flicked detritus into the netting.

“He smells of Kraken,” Saeesar whispered to Taigre.

“I bleed blue if that helps.” I pulled a fork from my calf. Got kicked enough times by livestock that pulling crap out of my skin still sucked, but I could at least hide it behind a jovially sarcastic tone.

“You have cut yourself?” Saeesar called back, trepidation dripping in his vowels.

“Yep. Got my foot and my hands. Have a nice hole in my leg too now. You keep saying I’m Kraken and need to live in this Antomnus place. I don’t have a fin like y’all do. My skin won’t do well in the water like that. Taigre said he put charms on his tail to make the pain stop. Can you make the bleeding stop?” Pain flashed through my nerve endings.

“A simple fix. It means coming into the water, though. It would do neither of us any good if I beached myself and you had to strain to get me back into the water,” Saeesar cautioned.

“I think I’d rather sit in the trash heap,” I mumbled to myself.

“You’re well within your right to do that,” Saeesar returned.

The sun slipped past the horizon, leaving the beach in dusk blue. My skin lit up the little nest of trash I found myself in. “Is there a way to turn the lights off?” I sighed, realizing that my fear of drowning was going to have to deal with my fear of someone getting ahold of me on land.

“Not really. You can minimize it, depending on your emotions and thoughts, but from what I know of Púca, his never turn off,” Saeesar admitted.

“Why did this start after Taigre bit me?” I asked.

“You did what?” Saeesar yelled at Taigre.

“I thought he and the human were trying to kill me!” Taigre protested.

“Human? What human?” The other dynllyr demanded.

“My brother Jarl. I lugged him up from the shore and took him to Jarl’s apartment because he had a tub. Taigre had a pipe stuck in his tail. Figured: if he was a fish, he’d need water and somewhere to heal. It was a hurricane. I couldn’t just push him back into the water!” I justified.

“Kraken child, come down to the shore and let’s get your wounds dealt with; then the two of you are explaining exactly what happened since Taigre went missing from the nesting grounds.

“In the dark?” I strangled at the thought.

“Screaming, Kraken child. Again with the screaming. You pierce worse than a mast bell. You smell of Kraken, and that will call in Leviathan. I’d rather not dash hiding from them at the moment. If you would, please.” Saeesar kept his tone level.

I swallowed at that threat. I was not keen on meeting something that could eat something the size of the dynllyr. Gingerly, I pulled myself out of the trash trap. Hobbling, I crept around the looming body of a capsized sailboat and tripped into a pair of oars. Cursing, I jammed my shin against a wooden board and tumbled into shell-littered sand. “Where are you?” I gritted my teeth, the sand cold under my chest. I was close to the tide edge.

“Deeper in from you. Are you going to make it, or do I need to bring myself out?” Saeesar ventured.

“You bigger than Taigre?” I pushed myself up to sit, waiting for my nerves to stop splintering fire through my limbs.

“By a couple arm spans.”

I caught the splash along the wave line where they were waiting. My stomach dropped. They were a lot deeper than I initially thought. “So, probably heavier. Yeah. I wouldn’t be able to push you back in without help. This is going to hurt.” I grumbled to myself, watching the saltwater lap and remembering the times I had gotten salt into my blisters. I shivered at the waves so close to my head. I told myself I wasn’t going to cry. That was a lie. I inched into the water, my heart in my throat. My wounds burned in the salt water. Swallowing a curse, I hobbled through the jarring waves until I was chest deep, all the hairs on my arms rising in the darkness. I whimpered at the shaft of ice running through my spine when warmth brushed against my fingers.

“Right here, Kraken child.” Saeesar captured my fingers. My spots all dialated, illuminating his head and chest in the shallow water. I still didn’t have a firm grasp as to how much longer he was than Taigre. “I’m going to pull you out further from shore. The waves here are difficult to handle.” He explained quietly. I swallowed, my stomach twisting in knots at the idea of going deeper. “I apologize for startling you. Take your time. I can wait.”

“Is he coming in or not?” Taigre called from deeper out in the waves.

“Bull calf has no patients at all, I tell you. Taigre has left his mother’s side only recently, but he is not quite an adult yet. Not by our long-lived means. You must have something equivalent within the humans?” Saeesar muttered to me as I took another step forward.

“How much do you know of human age?” I asked.

“Your babes age quickly compared to us. Short-lived, humans die well before we have reached full size.”

“Baby, toddler, child, teenager, young adult, adult, middle age, old age.” I rattled off the list. “He said he was twenty-one. He is a bit younger than me, what we would call an adult, maybe a young adult.”

“He is more like between child and teenager, if age was scaled to fit with a human.”

“Oh god, and he thinks I propositioned him.” I blanched at the horror. This was like having the twelve-year-olds suddenly giving all the boys in class flowers back during my high school years. Weird. Prickly. Unnerving. I hated having to fake a nice smile when they did that because I didn’t want to make them cry and then their parents yell at me, but could their parents have talked to them about not doing that?

“Not thinks. You did use the word mate. Now he’s enamoured,” Saeesar explained. “You’re yelling again.”

“I am not,” I hissed. “You keep using that word. Stop. No. Nope.”

“Your Antumnos voice is screaming, and he can hear you.” Saeesar cautioned. “You used handsome for both of us.”

“You keep putting words in my mouth!” 

“Wait! Why is he saying he’s a monster and disgusting? Why is he no longer my mate? What did you tell him, Saeesar?” Taigre demanded from the deep end.

“What the hell? Oh jeez, where’s the soap? Get it off my tongue. Ew. Ew. Ew. Nope.” I cringed, my gut twisting at the bottom of my throat.

“What are you equivalent to, half-human?” Saeesar asked. “You are not calf. I have seen human young, and you appear to be adult.”

“I’m twenty-three. I’ll be twenty-four in a couple more months. Old enough to have my own land and house. I put it all on hold to save to cover the cost of a university degree.” I cringed, losing my footing as he wrapped me in his tail and pulled me out toward the calmer water. “I don’t feel old enough to be dealing with so many responsibilities,” I admitted as his fingers started drawing patterns across my lights. The salted sting on my hands stopped.

“Even with age, no one ever feels like they are ready for the responsibilities they face. To you, with Taigre saying he was the same number of your adult age, the match made sense?” Saeesar pressed down on my foot.

I gulped at the stars shooting up my leg. “I never said a match. I never said mate. I still don’t know where you two are getting these words.”

“You have Siren’s Voice. You play human instruments. Taigre said you can make it sing, that you thought it was good when you were dealing with your brother about a difficult topic. Think about that,” Saeesar commanded as he worked multiple patterns, sending my spots throbbing.

I wanted to protest, but this was getting out of hand. I sucked in a breath and paused. Closing my eyes, I waited to slip the feeling of the cold water from my skin. Waited, filling my hands with the weight of my mandolin. The slick wood. The tensile strength of the strings. Home. Years of sitting in front of the fire when the snow packed against the door. Warm cider and hot cakes from mom’s griddle. Dad sitting in a rocking chair whittling.

“That. Name it. Tell me what that word is.” Saeesar pressed.

“Comfort. Warm. Home.” I named off a couple words that came to mind.

“You said Good in Antumnos. That is the emotion word you thought of.” Saeesar explained.

“That’s such a complicated experience for one single word. That doesn’t encompass everything I just thought of,” I protested.

“What about the concept of male and female? What is that to you?” he asked.

Neutral. Indifferent. Interested. Conflicted. Memories of those in the village, the pictures from the Sears magazine, those I had met in the towns when dad went to buy new stock. Attractive. Unattractive. Different. Old, young, my age.

“Ah, I’m seeing where the confusion is coming from, Kraken child.” Fine bubbles issued from Saeesar’s gills.

“Explain, because I’m not.”

“You use it as a yes-no when thinking of the concept in relation to yourself. You are trying to understand what a human is to you. Does an individual fit within a category?”

“Still not following.”

“Maybe not so much a category as an assignment of your concept of acceptable. I got mate as a word from you as you flipped through other description words, but also beautiful and handsome as scary nervous, like you would be displeasing to the individual. Old is nervous like you would disappoint or need to help. Young like you should protect but is someone else’s responsibility. You see them in relation to how you occupy space. You weren’t looking at Taigre and me as handsome in the way of mate as we understand the word. You were trying to formulate what relation we were to you as you exist. Here, let’s try something more specific than just male and female. What is your kin, your brother to you?” Saeesar persisted.

Memories flooded as I unlocked that reservoir. Fights. Agitation. Protection in my younger years at school. Brave. Cornered in conversations I didn’t want to have. Conflict. Asking for help when mom and dad had left me at the shore. Last line of help. Tears crowded again. When would I see him again? I was no longer safe. Who could I go to?

“Slow down, Kraken child. Tell me what you are thinking. You have said several words already in Antumnos,” Saeesar commanded quietly, bringing my attention back to pitch black eyes in a ghostly face.

“Everything was fine until now. I can’t go home, can I? Not glowing like a jar of fireflies the way I am?” I hiccupped.

“I am sorry. That was a tender topic, was it not?” he softened.

“Everything is a tender topic right now,” I whispered. “This is what you meant by emotions. The inside of me, the feelings of disgust, sadness, anger, these sensations, my internal dialogue. The people of the Antumnos can hear that?”

“Depending on how loudly you are thinking, if thinking is the correct use of the word in this case, yes. We can see it in your skin, the way you look at us, your lais.” He pushed a thumb against my skull. Pain shot through the back of my eyes at the touch. Images, a scattering of fish, whale, large disproportionate creatures, and brilliantly coloured odd forests beneath the waves filled my mind for a moment at the pressure. I grabbed hold of Saeesar’s shoulders as a flood of nausea made me lightheaded.

“What did you just do?” I gasped for air, my ears ringing.

“I checked to see if your lais was underdeveloped for your size,” Saeesar muttered, his brow furrowing at my reaction. “It is honestly quite large, though.”

“Why did I see pictures when you did that?” I swallowed against the roiling in my stomach.

“Pictures? Like the paintings from your ships?” Saeesar guessed.

“I saw fish. Whales. Strange places I’ve never seen.” I explained, my head splitting.

“That’s not right. You shouldn’t be able to do that. Here.” He took my hand and pushed my palm to the dead centre of his forehead. I pulled away and carefully prodded at the spot. It was bony like my skull, but with precision, I found a slight bump, an outline of an oblong rise, like when my lymph nodes had swollen during a particularly bad sickness in my youth. “What do you feel?” he asked.

The sound twitched along the pads of my fingers and up my arms. “Oh. That’s your voice? Your sound is like listening to humming if I’m not paying attention.”

“Taigre said he put you to sleep when you startled him the first time your lights glowed. The dynllyr can do this with their lais. Large whales can stun fish with a sound in a similar fashion. Kraken cannot. I have to wonder if this did something to you?” Saeesar floated the idea.

“Is he going to be alright?” Taigre circled with concern.

“Maybe. What are we to do with him for the evening? The charms have stopped the bleeding, but you cannot sleep below the water safely, and leaving you to the elements on land would be dangerous.” Saeesar turned our topic now that we had been interrupted.

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Subject 15: Ch 10

Stepping out of the sliding doors, a blast of dry heat swamped Fane. The glaring sun sparkled on the cityscape. He shielded his eyes, waiting for them to adjust. A line of hover-cabs sat idling in the loop. The roar of engines signalled another plane’s departure.

He spotted a cab with a man standing out front, a sign reading Anson told him where he was headed. He approached the man and showed his ID. The cabby looked at his sign and at the ID. Fane tried greeting him, but the language barrier proved difficult. He reached for his wallet, and the man waved him off. Fane only understood prisa Orlov. It seemed the prince had taken care of his bodyguard’s needs to get to the palace at least, having neglected to meet him at the airport, like he promised. The royal was probably too busy, having only returned the week before. There was no telling how much paperwork the man probably had stacked up.

Fane helped the cabby load his single suitcase into the trunk. He eased into the seat of the old cab. The old man came back around. He pulled the cab out of the lineup and drove into the city. Fane stared in awe at the crowded streets crammed with everything from hovers to pull carts. The ancient streets were a disaster waiting to happen.

An hour later, the taxi pulled up to the side gates of the palace. The cabby helped Fane unload his luggage while Fane presented his ID and paperwork to the guard. The guard spoke a spattering of English. How was he supposed to train these men if he couldn’t speak their language?

Orlov had been at his desk for what felt like the entire week since he got home. He barely took time to greet his parents formally before being sequestered off to the back wing of the palace to face down paperwork. It could sure pile up when he ignored it for three weeks.

It was already midway into the hottest month of the year. The Prince had the windows open in his office and was enjoying the wafting breeze. What he really wanted, though, was to be out at the pool. That sounded better than being cooped in the office.

He leaned in his chair, staring up at the twelve-foot ceilings. A knock at the door startled him. He glanced at the floor to ceiling double doors. “Come in,” he invited. The door opened to reveal his personal guard and Fane Anson. The guard bowed to the Prince before crossing the threshold.

“Your Highness.” Fane followed the guard’s actions, also bowing.

Orlov rose and came around his desk to shake Fane’s hand. “Forgive me for not meeting you at the airport like I promised. I’ve been under a deluge, as you can see.” Orlov waved at several stacks of paper on his desk.

“I had a feeling you were busy. Hope I’m not interrupting. I’m having a difficult time understanding many of the people here. I am sorry. I’m not fluent in the language. Brought a book and loaded some apps on my phone to help learn, but I’m not exactly picking it up fast. Is there a translator I will be using for training the men, or that I can hire out of the budget?” Fane got right to the point.

“I have had one prepared to work with you.” Orlov shuffled through his piles for a sheet and handed it to the guard at the door. The guard looked at it and fiddled nervously, not seeming to want to leave his station.

Orlov gave him a quiet command, and the man baulked with what Fane could only guess was a question, glancing warily at Fane. A chill dripped down Fane’s spine. Orlov responded more sternly to the man. The guard bowed sharply and left without a reply.

“He doesn’t trust me, does he?” Fane glanced at the man going down the hall.

“You are new in the palace. The guards are wary of everyone.” Orlov walked back to his desk.

“That’s good to see.” Fane remained where he was.

“He wanted to knife you to see if you actually had any proper training. He didn’t want to believe me when I told him he’d be turned into ribbons.” Orlov smirked.

“He could try it. I can’t guarantee the cleanliness of your office by the end of it.” Fane glanced around at the immaculate decor.

“I told him if he wanted to try it, he better bring the cleaning lady and a number for his preferred hospital.” Orlov flicked a pen over a sheet of paper, crossing out words.

“He seems the type that would, too,” Fane shrugged.

“I’ll introduce you when he returns. He’ll be bringing Shelly. She’s working here as an intern from the New Americas. She’s researching the history of the city. Should be able to work as a decent translator for you.” Orlov picked up another sheet, giving it a glance. His lips flattened in annoyance.

“Where do you need me to start?” Fane walked to the window to survey the grounds. Orlov had dropped into an intense document and was a minute coming back from it. Fane returned to his initial position in front of the desk while the Prince contemplated the form.

“I won’t have you start for probably another week. There’s a couple events I need you to be present at. I’ll have to schedule with the King and Queen to have you formally introduced and commissioned.” Orlov looked up to a pair of clipped heels announcing the approach of two people. Fane eased to the side of the door, glancing down the hall.

The guard was returning with a slight woman and another man. Fane met Orlov’s eye. Orlov nodded to him. Fane relaxed his stance, his hand coming away from his side. The guard entered the door, bowing again, his eyes searching out Fane. Orlov greeted him as was customary. The woman nodded her head in the Prince’s direction.

“Anson, this is Shelly Patrickson. She is pursuing her degree here on Neo-Sikh history and its relation to Old Punjab and the origination of the ancient Sikh.

“Shelly, this is Sergeant Anson. He is here on loan from Eand as a formal trainer to our guard. If you don’t mind, during your off time, would you be willing to act as translator for him?” Orlov asked the small woman. Fane knew he was short for a guy at five foot six. Shelly was barely clearing five feet on a good day in six-inch heels. Mousy shoulder-length brown hair, wire-rim glasses, and a pout of a smile told him all he needed to assume. She extended a hand to Fane. “Nice to meet you. I hope we can get along,” she smiled.

“A pleasure.” Fane shook her hand, returning the polite smile.

Orlov continued his introductions, “Ajay Bhichar. He has been with my family since I attended preparatory school. He has been my personal guard for the last few years. Ajay, this is Sergeant Anson who will be improving our men’s shooting skills.”

Fane extended his hand cordially. Ajay grasped it, a snide smile spreading across his face, pulling the redhead off balance. Fane went with it, dropping the shoulder of his extended hand, ramming it into Ajay’s shoulder. From Ajay’s side, Fane pulled a long knife that had been sheathed there. It was probably more ceremonial than actually helpful, but it’d do the trick. He pushed up, jamming his head into Ajay’s jaw, startling the man back. Ajay let go of Fane, pulling himself away, landing squarely in the room.

Fane braced himself, allowing the man space. He glanced to Orlov. The Prince watched the two intently, his fingers templed over a stack of papers. Fane tracked the movement of the rest of the room in his periphery. Shelly had her hand to her mouth, trying not to scream. The other man, a servant, stood at the door, terrified.

“Prince?” Fane called out as Ajay flew at him, a round house forcing Fane to spring back. He slid down and forward. He did not want to wound the man Orlov relied on so heavily. He was not partial to these types of interactions either.

Fane shoved his shoulder into Ajay’s raised leg from the roundhouse kick. Rising up, Ajay’s balance went out from under him, and both Fane and the guard collapsed to the floor. Orlov stood up from behind his desk, watching his guard intently.

“Prince Orlov! Tell your man to back down if he wants to still be able to reproduce!” Fane struggled with Ajay, who had realised what he intended to do.

Orlov uttered a stiff command. Ajay froze up, snarling at Fane. “Small bastard!”

Fane understood that much of the insult, but the rest of the tirade the man lashed out was in a different language. “You don’t listen well to your commanding officer, you fucking giant!” Fane landed an elbow into the soft spot between bone and knee cap. Whatever Ajay screamed next, he knew he was being cussed at. Fane shifted, getting around the man until he had a knee in his sternum and a knife pointed at his eye. “Stand down!” Fane commanded.

Ajay laid passively. Orlov issued another command. Ajay replied.

“Shelly, would you be so kind as to start translating,” Fane hissed.

“Um…what…uh….” Shelly stuttered, glancing between the three men.

“I appreciate the fact Bhichar here has enough guts to test me, but he better not make a habit of it,” he sneered, grinding his knee into his adversary’s chest. She hesitated. He flicked a glance at her ashen face. She cleared her throat and started talking.

He assumed she was at least telling Bhichar what he said. Bhichar answered her. “He said he doesn’t want you around. You make him uneasy,” Shelley translated.

“Chips to him. His boss brought me in. Why does he not want me around?” Fane demanded. Shelley directed the question. Bhichar hissed a reply. Shelly turned bright red. “What did he say?”

“Don’t kill the messenger,” Shelley hedged.

“You aren’t the asshole in the room right now.” Fane stared the man down.

“He said ’cause you look like a woman and a woman can’t protect a man,” Shelley cringed.

Fane smiled maliciously. “Dude, you gotta meet some of my comrades.”

Shelley translated.

Bhichar laughed and replied.

“Women are secondary, never to take the blood of a man if we are to continue the loop of destiny,” Shelly explained, her face going warm, but her voice went flat and irritated. The glare she threw the guard was not lost on Fane.

“Bhichar, you’ve got some fucked up biases.” Fane got up, disgusted. Bhichar grabbed his leg to keep him from walking away. Fane flopped down on his stomach, full weight. Air left Bhichar’s lungs in a wheeze. “I’d rather not self-defence you into a grave right here, old man. That’d be so shameful.” Fane tried to back away once again while Shelly translated.

Bhichar’s answer was much longer than Fane expected. He waited for Shelly. Her reply was significantly shorter than his. “He’s already ashamed,” she told him.

Fane snorted. “Should be, going after a man his boss hired in good faith.” Fane wanted to land a solid bone-crunching punch to the man’s face but decided better of it.

“Why don’t you kill me, he asks?” Shelly responded after another comment by the man lying on the antique Persian rug.

“A: that’s illegal. B: that’s a mess I don’t want to clean up. C: because the bruises you’ll wake up to tomorrow will remind you to listen to what people say. It’s better to listen and learn than it is to die stupidly for stupid reasons that have no application in today’s society.” Fane stepped back to stand near Orlov. “I purposefully left your face and visible skin alone. That way, you won’t be shamed by your own men, you dick.” Fane handed Bhichar’s blade over to the Prince. Orlov waved him down and gave Bhichar another command. The man finally dragged himself off the carpet and bowed low to the Prince with what sounded to be repentant statements. Orlov replied to him.

Bhichar approached Fane. The soldier watched the bodyguard, wary. Bhichar extended a hand and snapped a few words. “He’s asking you to forgive his mistake and to work with him in fulfilling Prince Orlov’s mission of improving his men’s tactical abilities,” Shelly translated.

“If I have my way, I’ll train you,” Fane directed his statement at Shelly, “to the point where you can beat his ass if he pulls this stunt again. Respect women, dude.” Fane extended a hand and shook it, still cautious. He wasn’t keen to injure the Prince’s man outright; it was annoying to have to prove supremacy, though. Orlov sucked on his lip, trying to hide a smirk.

“Shelly, Ajay, show Anson around. It will not do for our trainer to get lost in this maze.” Orlov waved them out of his office. Fane nodded to Orlov and followed Shelly and Ajay out of the room.

“Where shall we begin?” Fane turned to Shelly.

Her stomach growled in reply. “How does the place we get lunch sound?” She smiled broadly at him.

Fane rubbed at the pinch in his stomach at the mention of food. “Are there customs I need to be aware of here?” 

They plodded through the beige stone corridors. Ajay snapped something that Fane missed. Shelly responded with a tepid jumble of words to which Fane sighed. What does the giant want now?

Ajay snorted at Shelly’s reply, straightening back in what Fane could only describe as disbelief or maybe scepticism. Fane narrowed his eyes, analysing the man closely.

“Are there food habits, like pointing at things with chopsticks or stuff like that?” Fane asked again. Shelly put a finger to her lip, thinking. “Well, we could sit down later, seeing as you have the week before taking over your post, to go over some customs. For now, I think they’ll forgive indiscretions,” she finally replied, stopping in front of a small metal fire rated door.

“I’d appreciate that. I’d rather not offend people if I can help it.” Fane opened the door for Shelly. The petite woman smiled, walking through. Ajay looked at him oddly, not understanding the action.

“One thing.” Shelly caught his attention as they walked up to the buffet line.

“Yeah?” Fane whispered, distinctly aware that he was getting some odd looks from the kitchen staff.

“No matter what you do, don’t eat anything with your left hand,” she whispered. Fane side-eyed her. “There’s a lot more, but for now, people see the left hand as usable for things like washing your feet, or bathroom stuff, kind of dirty unsavoury things. Oh, and don’t drink from another person’s cup,” she muttered to him quietly.

“Next question,” Fane asked quietly when they got midway through the line.

“What’s up?” Shelly grabbed several little plates.

“I’m on a plant-based food plan for reasons. Is any of this, you know, vegan?” He asked. Shelly raised an eyebrow at the foreign soldier before turning back to the food on the counter. She asked the cook a series of quick questions, who smiled knowingly and pointed to a number of the plate options. It became evident to him the staff colour coded the plates. Green had no dairy or meat. White had dairy. Red, orange, yellow, and blue were different meats. At least he’d be able to navigate the food line without help if the code held true daily. “Thanks,” Fane whispered as they made their way down the line.

They left the counter, their trays covered with a myriad of tiny plates, and settled at a long table. “What is all this?” Fane asked, perplexed. He couldn’t identify a single piece of food as anything he knew, even at its individual components. Shelly gave him names for each dish, reprimanding him for pointing at the various dishes with his left hand. He would have a steep cultural learning curve to battle if he wanted to be useful and not embarrass the Prince.

Fane waited and observed Shelly and Ajay before eating. It was better to blend in quickly. Shelly waited for Ajay to take the first bite before proceeding. Fane decided it was probably better to take Ajay’s lead. He asked Shelly if there were gender disparities in some of the customs. She was surprised by his forethought. “Would it be better for me to take my cues from the Prince or Mr Bhichar here?” he asked.

Shelly turned the question to Ajay. The guard blinked, surprised, before responding to Shelly. “He said he would be willing to help you learn.”

“He won’t make me do something super foolish, will he?” Fane glanced at the big man, sceptical.

Shelly filtered the question. Ajay sniffed dismissively. “It would embarrass him more if you were to embarrass the Prince.”

“Fair enough.” He bit into an unknown morsel. His eyes widened as tears sprang to his eyes. His ears rang, and he felt like he had shot hellfire into his sinuses. Shelly glanced at him in surprise when he reached for his cup quickly, his face burning red. Ajay pretended not to notice. Fane fought all he could not start coughing. He was already drawing enough attention from the others in the room.

Once his throat was calmed of the intense heat, he warily approached his food once more. “What of this is that spicy?” he asked, nervous.

“Um…” Shelly looked at her plate, perplexed.

“You don’t notice, do you?” Fane realised.

“You get used to it,” she offered. “Actually, quite a lot of the food is straightforward stuff. It isn’t as heavily spiced as you’d find down near the coast.” She glanced surreptitiously over at a board that had a bunch of what Fane saw as scribbled wiggles. He’d need to wrap his head around the script soon. “Ah, that explains it,” Shelly mused. Fane blinked, waiting in confused silence. She seemed to be reading the gibberish, not exactly quick, but methodically enough to glean something useful out of it. “Seems like they are greeting a new cook and letting him show off his home specialities from Low Maharashtra,” she explained.

Fane nodded, sucking in a sigh. He might stick with fruit for a couple of days.

“Ah…well,” Shelly coughed politely, suddenly uncomfortable, her eyes dashing away to the wall.

“What?” Fane asked, putting his fork down.

“It’ll take a couple months for your gut to get used to the food,” she muttered under her breath. Fane wasn’t sure where she was going with that. All he knew was that the food here could sure put his kimchi love affair to shame.

“You see, you probably haven’t eaten a lot of local cuisines, have you?” Shelly asked.

“No, can’t say that I’ve ever eaten anything MidIndia or MidEast before. If you don’t count tabouli,” he qualified, hopeful. “Curry on the isles isn’t like it is here, I’d think.”

“I don’t think that counts,” giggled Shelly.

“I’m more of a veggie burger and chips kinda guy, with a bit of sauerkraut and kimchi here and there for flavour,” hedged Fane.

“You might like the bandh gobhi matar if you like pickles that much,” she offered reassuringly.

“Do they carry bread and butter pickles?” he asked.

“I can see what I can find.” She winked at him as they finished their food.

Ajay sat, quietly observing the two communicate. Fane glanced at the guard. “Is he gonna be all right?” He asked Shelly. Though the man was reasonably large, Fane knew he had scored a couple good wounding hits. “Do we need to stop by somewhere for him?”

Shelly turned and approached the question carefully. Ajay sniffed at the question, dismissing it with the flick of his wrist. “I guess not,” Fane muttered to himself. Sometimes body language was enough to communicate everything.

“So, what got you into this?” Fane went to motion to the room but figured against it. It was gonna be a challenge keeping his body language in check.

Shelly leaned back in her chair, thinking. She looked at him for a good solid minute before leaning forward again. “Why do you want to know?”

“Trying to be polite?” he responded.

She frowned, her bottom lip sliding under pearl teeth. “You’ll probably find out sooner or later, so you might as well laugh at me sooner rather than later.” She met his eye. He quirked an eyebrow.

“I got caught up with this guy. My ex. He was from the area. We dated through school. I met him back when I was getting my bachelor’s. So, we went through our BA and Master’s together. Then he applied for uni here at home, and I scored a grant that let me study out here. I figured it was all going pretty good. I’d get to see him, and I’d get my PhD., go on to become some great professor teaching anthropology, get married, and have a great life with this guy. When I finally flew out here to start my research, I had a heck of a time finding my boyfriend. When I finally did hunt him down, I found him married off already, had a baby to boot,” she confided.

“Bastard,” Fane grumbled.

Shelly withdrew in surprise. “What?”

“Dick move on him. He didn’t even have the gall to tell you what was going on?” Fane pressed.

“I forgot you weren’t… I’ve been here so long that I’m used to being dismissed and blamed for the fallout. I wasn’t prepared for someone to take my side of things,” Shelly blinked.

“I’m gonna probably have a hard time,” Fane mumbled, a headache forming at the back of his head.

“Should I show you the rest of the grounds?” Shelly asked, getting up to put her tray away.

“At the very least, I need to know what I do with my plates.” Fane rose with her.

“Ah, that’s easy, here, follow me.” She led him over to a bussing station where he sorted through the dishes. Ajay snorted at them again.

“What’s his problem?” Fane asked, irritation slipping across his back. Ajay had left his plates on the table, and a woman in a kitchen uniform had come up to clear them away.

“He feels it’s a man’s entitlement to leave the dishes where they are, that a woman, in this case, the poor lunch lady, should be responsible for their handling. I give her props. She deals with the staff. We’re supposed to take care of this side of the counter, and she takes care of that side, but Ajay…” She raised her shoulders and shook her head, her lips thin. A frustrated, unguarded snort sent her hand covering her mouth and nose.

“I want to ask him something when we get away from the people,” Fane mentioned to Shelly quietly. Shelly turned and told Ajay when he joined them. The immense bodyguard shrugged, seeming to be amused at the little people’s antics.

They walked through the halls until Fane was thoroughly lost, only to find a secluded reading room and an alcove-like room overlooking a courtyard. Fane closed the door softly behind them. He turned to Ajay. “Shelly, this’ll be a straight translation. Don’t get too involved in hedging, all right?” Fane asked, studying the man. Shelly nodded and expressed the intention to Ajay. The man snorted at the exchange.

“Ajay, I’ve got a question for you,” he said. Shelly began translating.

“What?” the tall man asked.

“Are you going to judge me for the courtesies I extend Shelly?” he asked.

“Of course.” Ajay leaned against the wall.

“Have you ever left the country?” Fane asked.

“Many times with the Prince,” he replied. “I was there. Watched you and him when he had you pulled out of line. I sat in a back booth at the coffee shop. He had me circle Crystal while he walked around with you.”

“Did you treat the Prince differently because of the customs of the area you were in?” Fane persisted. He would come back to revisit the idea he was being followed by Ajay later when he had the mental space for it.

“No,” Ajay replied.

“Did you have people treat you oddly because of that?” Fane pressed.

Ajay blinked. He went to answer, quelled under the glare Fane threw at him. “Yes,” he swallowed the admission.

“But it felt right to you to continue extended the regular customs you were used to extending to the Prince, rather than adopting the local customs?” Fane was knit picking his point.

“I don’t see why you should know,” Ajay blustered, coming off the wall.

“Because, where I come from, we show women a type of respect that isn’t familiar to you specifically, apparently. We open doors. We pull out a chair for them to sit down. They teach freaking etiquette classes for this kind of thing and charge stupid amounts of money for them.

“For now, because I am still new here, and because Shelly and I have such similar cultural understandings of each other, I will continue to extend to her the cultural dictations that my people deem is appropriate to show to her and is not detrimental to her position. If you’re going to have a problem with me doing that, I will seek conference with the Prince to find a different working partner who will not undermine me in front of the other recruits. Got it?” Fane snapped.

“Why are you soft on her? Intending on bedding her?” he asked. Shelly stuttered over the translation, turning beet red.

“Say that again about her, and I’ll make you eat your tongue. She’s my translator. She makes my communication with you possible. If I disrespect the one thing that makes me able to talk to everyone else here, that shows I have no ability to respect anyone else. If you ever talk about her in such a vulgar way again, I will no-holds-bar drop you into the deepest septic pit I can find in the area. It doesn’t matter what’s between her legs for her to be useful. The thing between her ears is what she is here to use, and the Prince has assigned her to translate for me. Common courtesy will be adhered to accordingly. If I catch wind of any form of disrespect from you or any personnel I am in charge of…” he trailed off, a cloak of death settling over him, making him seem bigger and more terrifying than Ajay expected. A cold shiver ran down the bodyguard’s spine as the air in the little room dropped twenty degrees.

“You can’t expect me to start treating her like you treat her,” protested Ajay.

“I can expect you to hold your tongue when it comes to disparaging remarks that will undermine her position, and in turn, mine. Sniffing, snorting, laughing, vocalisations, eye-rolling, and other body language can quickly destroy a person’s authority. You don’t want your Prince’s name being sundered?” Fane’s teeth clicked.

“You aren’t what I expected at all.” Ajay finally broke into a softened, placating smile.

“I get that a lot,” Fane shrugged, that prickle along his back shifting under his jacket. “Do we have a deal, Ajay?”

The bodyguard sighed, taking in the room as a muscle twitched in his jaw. “I’ll try not to jeopardize your position through thoughtless actions.”

“That’s all I ask.” Fane opened the door to the alcove. “Shall we continue the tour?” He motioned for Shelly to exit. Ajay followed them out, watching the two quietly.

Chapel Orahamm (C) 2022-2023. All Rights Reserved.

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Firefly Fish: Ch 9

Jarl wasn’t joking about the don’t drown bit. At the front steps of the boarding house, a floor down, I encountered a world turned on its head. The water level lapped three steps up. Murk and gunk drifted in the high water.

     “What is this?” I asked myself while Taigre tried to keep hold of me. His nails dug into my skin, leaving behind welts.

     “Looks like a flood,” he whispered back, his tail winding about me tightly.

     “What are you getting nervous about? I was going to take you down to the dock anyways; we just got there a lot faster,” I grouched. “Ease up on the nails. Keep digging, and you’ll find my heart of gold.”

     “This type of water tends to hurt.” He shifted, an ear flipping against mine. Sliding a glance over, I caught his grey eyes, an eerie luminescent almost white in the rising sunlight. He searched the waters, swallowing nervously.

     “All the drift and dirt turned up in it?” I guessed as my heart beat hard in my chest at my small selection of decisions.

     “The particulate. It’s not comfortable to breathe. That, and man’s construction. The metal and splintered boarding.” His tail flicked, raising the hairs on my arms. 

“You can breathe air like me. Let me get us into deeper water and we’ll see what we can do.” I drew in a breath and set one foot into the frigid water.

“You can’t breathe like me and you’re short. Deep isn’t going to be very deep,” he grumbled as I continued down the steps and out into the street, now hip high with water.

“Tell me that after I get you somewhere safe and away from other humans.” I took us along the east-west road instead of heading south directly to the docks.

“Where are you going?” He buried his chin into my shoulder. His hood kept his breath warm against me.

“A couple blocks over; there’s a creek that leads down to the beach. Owned by some well-off gent that I’ve delivered fish to for Captain a couple times. He keeps the land pristine. If the water came up this high, I can hope the trash’ll be less so over there.” I fought to not lose my footing in the roads-turned-mud. His caudal fin was proving to be difficult with its drag. “Tell me that thing is useful in deep water and not just some kind of peacock decoration.” I spat out splashed water as I tried to catch the slick surface and get some control of it.

“What is a peacock?” he asked, his colours going brilliant.

“Big pretty bird that has this massive green tail that it spreads out to attract a mate. Mom told me of one she saw at a zoo once when she and father were back in Europe.” I finally got the caudal fin pinched between fingers, my arms already busy trying to support the rest of his size.

“Oh. Yes. It is for attracting a mate. It also works very well in water, but we take pride in the size and colour of our tails. I am a peacock. I like this idea.” Taigre pressed closer, this time less so to get away from the dangerous water and more so at finding something amusing. He had turned his yellows and greens that indicated him being fascinated. “Not that it matters too much, really. You proposed anyway, so it must have been the right colour.”

I slipped, barely catching myself on a submerged cart. “Hold up. Wait. Proposed? I didn’t propose. When did this happen?”

“Last night, when you were talking to the human. You asked me if I would be your mate when you were using emotion words and not all of your words.” He shrugged.

“Mate? Mate? Like cows mate type mate? I did not proposition you!” I pushed myself away from the cart and launched into deeper water.

“Cows. These are unfamiliar to me. You’ve mentioned them before when trying to understand whales.” He continued, oblivious to my problem as we trudged into what I knew was the nice property that had the creek at the far end. The water had cleared up from debris and was less murky. The grit had settled out. “You are a Kraken child rather than a dynllyr, so maybe you did not mean it in such a long-term form as I am used to within my own clan. Were you not looking for a longer relationship when you asked?”

“I don’t remember asking at all for anything on this path of thinking.” I lost my footing. The ice water slammed into my lungs. I lost hold of Taigre, his body falling away from me. His nails bit into my chest, pulling me down into the darkness. I pushed against the force, every sense screaming for me to find the light.

My boots kept sliding on the mud and flooded grass. I kicked at them, dislodging their weight holding me down. Pulling at the water, I gasped, breaking the surface. “Taigre! Taigre! Talk to me; where are you?” I demanded, searching above the water before dragging in a deep breath and diving. Twisting, a shadow shifted around me. A form brushed against me, sending my heart racing. Knowing there was more than fish in the sea was not reassuring. I pushed for the surface once more. This time I found a pair of eyes under thick dark blue hair staring up at me. I shivered as his hand found my arm in the cold water.

“I’m right here, Kraken child. You do scream quite loudly when you are underwater, you know that, right?” Taigre ducked below the surface and popped back up with the little waves.

“I can’t yell underwater, Taigre. I can’t even breathe underwater.” Algae wrapped up under my pants legs, and sticks poked at my stomach.

“You have gills.” He swept some of the detritus aside.

“No, I don’t. None that I’ve ever seen.” I floundered for somewhere to stand. A slim, tensile strength caught me about the legs and backside, different from the algae. “Wait, what are you doing?” I slipped, falling back into the cradle of Taigre’s tail. “That’s really disorienting.”

“You have a proper mantel. You just have to actually use it.” He tapped on my chest.

“That’s my skin, Taigre. No gills there. I’m part human. I know where your gills are. I can see them.” I settled a finger under the feathering gills.

“Different structure. You’ve seen the inside of a squid, I’d assume if you’ve eaten one.” He grimaced.

“No. Someone gave me a piece after cooking it on ship. I’m not a gutter for the hold. I’ve butchered deer and lamb back home. I’ve caught trout in the lake at the bottom of the valley, but the creatures out here are different.” I pushed at his closeness.

“Your gills aren’t like mine. Yours are inside of you.”

“Those are my lungs, Taigre.”

“Do you trust me?” He clenched his jaw at the question, his colours somersaulting.

“No,” I admitted honestly.

“You can breathe.” He pulled me under.

My heart launched for my ribs, begging for escape. I fought, clawing at his skin, digging furrows into his chest. “Breathe, Marin Goranich. You are a child of the Antumnos. This is your home.” He held on, keeping me under. I could touch the surface, and yet I couldn’t escape to it. The world was turning to darkness speckled with stars. The last lights were the grey-white of his eyes and my glowing spots. “Breathe! Stop fighting it, squid spawn!”

How was I not supposed to fight it? I got hold of one of his arms. He pulled me around to control my thrashing. My head pounded, demanding oxygen. The back of my eyes throbbed and my lungs cried for air. “Stop screaming and breathe, Marin Goranich.”

Last resort. I bit into the joint of his thumb, drawing the warm iron flavour of blood. He grunted a protest, tightening down around me, and the last of my air strangled from my lungs. The next breath in burned. Close to swallowing coal. The whole inside of my skull prickled at the sensation. My lungs turned into mortar. The tips of my fingers numbed.

“Let it out. You have to breathe out too, Kraken Child. In and out.” Taigre loosened his grip. I was dying. How could he not see that? My flashing spots dimmed, and the world turned into black rings. “Come on, Kraken child. You’ve got gills inside this cavity of yours. You can’t hold the water still in it, or else you’ll die. Breathe out!” He encompassed me, pressing until there was nothing left that could be air or water. I drew in as he loosened and blew out again. A Drinker respirator, he kept the flow of water constant for several minutes as I worked through the shock and struggled with helping to pull water in and out. “Come on, I’ll take you up to the surface. You’ll need to clear your gills so your lungs will work again. You’re not physically capable of using them yet.” He sighed in disappointment.

He ushered me to a set of sandstone boulders, where I dragged myself halfway onto the shore and dealt with the next blow of fire to my chest as I spat up litres of water. He stared at me from the surface of the water, his ears shifting nervously.

I lay against the cold rock, stunned tears mixing with salt water. I wasn’t dead. I thought I was going to die. I felt like I had died. I wasn’t dead. “I have gills.”

“You do.” Taigre agreed gently, his tone having quieted.

“I didn’t die,” I whispered. I said it over and over again. Tairgre shrank under the mantra while my brain slowly shattered. “I don’t want to die.”

“I need to speak with my father’s advisor. It does no good to leave a Kraken child in the human world, but if you cannot breathe on your own in the Antumnos? There is no solution.” Taigre slunk further from me.

“Father’s advisor?” I fixated on the shift of light through the tree leaves.

“Would you wait for me here? I will bring someone who can help. You need a healer.”

“Swim. Your tail?” My thoughts fragmented.

“I’ve set charms to reduce the pain. I need someone better than myself to see to why you can’t use your gills properly.”

“I am human, Taigre.” My throat closed off at the thought of the water around me. My limbs were too sluggish, though, to pull me away from the lapping edge. I whimpered at the sensation sweeping my skin, the horror of being under the water twisting in knots inside my chest.

“You are not dead. You are Kraken.” Taigre tried to reassure.

“If you had been wrong?” I hissed in agitation. He ducked below the water at my accusation.

I drifted in and out of the light and the water. I had never had problems with swimming before now. I had never been afraid of it. Now, though. I couldn’t go back in. I couldn’t drag myself out either.

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Subject 15: Ch 9

The hell? What’s the Prince’s deal? Fane threw a flat rock with all his might against the satin-smooth surface of the lake. The stone skipped a good ten or eleven spots before sinking near the other side. This was his little area. Well, he had to share it with another passerby. It was the base’s recreational lake, after all.

He had dropped by the mess hall on his way out of the building to grab a bag of stale croutons the guys kept for him. He had run a couple training missions with them and given them some pointers that improved their testings. They found out about his secret love for feeding turtles and, though it had started out as a joke, had started keeping a bag of stale croutons for Fane to use. Everyone had a way of blowing off steam. There were worse methods, after all.

He sank to the grass, still brewing. He had such a good time with the shooting test today too. He opened up the plastic bag of croutons and pulled out a couple of chunks. He proceeded to flick them into the water. Fish and turtles emerged. If he waited long enough, the ducks at the other end of the pond would show up. It wasn’t like the turtles really ate a lot of the croutons.

He sighed in a bid to calm down. He had a bit of time off which he should try to actually relax and unwind. His mind wasn’t letting him, though.

It was racing away, like too many tabs open on a browser screen. Fane knew he’d have to pack his stuff. He’d need supplies to deal with the difference in climate and culture in the New Punjab region. He’d have so much paperwork to fill out. This would be the first real-time he’d spent any significant time away from the base. Likely, he’d be going it alone. That was what the scout was there for, not an entire army after all.

Fane, having run out of croutons, and the last ones sinking in the sparkling green, laid down in the warm grass. He breathed in deep, lost in the expanse of sky above the trees. The sun hit fifteen hundred. His stomach growled. He’d been in such a rush to leave the foul taste in his mouth he had neglected to grab lunch.

A crunch of sticks and leaves alerted him to someone approaching. He opened one eye, a slit against the sun’s glare. A pair of expensive trousers and loafers stood a couple of feet away. He breathed in, put off. A headache formed at the bridge of his nose. “If you’re looking for me to give a fuck, I left the last one I had back in the locker room. Might try snooping around there again. You did so well last time.”

“Came to return it.”

“I told you I’d join you. What do you want now?” Fane refused to open his eyes. He wasn’t about to give the man more than the minimum at this point.

“Mr Abbadelli said you’d be out here feeding turtles.” The Prince mentioned with the droll pull of a posh accent that set Fane’s teeth on edge and a bolt down his back.

“Nappin’ in the wee field of fucks I no longer have, and I’mnae’ feelin’ like plantin’ new ones this season.” Two could play this game. He may not remember growing up on the other side of the border, but he could drop into his native brogue when he wanted. Push him, and he’d start into the ancient dialects.

“I’m seeing that,” the Prince responded, his upper-crust North Oxford lilt getting heavier every time Fane cursed.

“Shall Ah ‘ave me peace n’ ye’ll le’me kip?” Fane grouched.

“He also said you’d probably forget to eat,” the Prince mentioned, letting go of his high received pronunciation and going back to what was familiar to Fane, the softer received pronunciation with the lilting cadence of MidIndia around the edges. He blinked an eye open against the warm sun behind the Prince’s head. That same shot of pain ran through his side and down his leg. He was getting used to it. Fane analysed the Prince as he tried to regain his composure. In Orlov’s hands were a bag of hamburgers and a pair of drinks in a holder.

“Thinking food’ll get you back in my good graces?” Fane sat up, returning to the South New London accent he had developed to get the recruits off his back.

“Maybe?” Orlov inched closer, nervous.

“At least the fear of god has made you wary of the unknown,” Fane mumbled. The Prince set the food bag next to the soldier and eased onto the ground near him.

“I’m not a charity case, you know,” Fane grumbled. “Zephyr probably let you in on who I really am, didn’t he?” He glanced away to the end of the lake, into the darkening recesses of the tiny forest.

“A lot of people know who you are?” Orlov asked.

“Those that need to know, or those that need to be warned,” Fane snipped.

“Mr Abbadelli said you liked black bean with pickled jalapenos,” the Prince pulled out a wrapped package from the bag. He held it out to Fane.

“Well, at the very least, it is rude to refuse food when offered on equal terms.” Fane cautiously lifted the package out of the Prince’s hand. The small white item was piping hot. “Thank you.” Fane unwrapped it. It was from the local burger joint off base. Zephyr probably drove the Prince off base to show him where to get them. Fane shrugged and bit into the burger.

He looked down at the pair of drinks in the holder near him and raised an eyebrow. The Prince handed him one. “Shall I guess?” Fane swallowed the last of his burger. He sipped his drink. Zephyr knew him too well. Lemon tea. Fane sighed. This was hitting the spot, warming to the food and the view. The Prince, though emotionally repulsive, was at least nice on the eyes. Fane’s cheeks burned crimson for a second at his sudden thought.

“So, you’re vegan?” Orlov asked. Fane watched him suspiciously. “I would like to extend my apologies for…” the Prince stuttered, suddenly nervous.

“Assaulting me, humiliating me, insulting me, I can continue,” Fane supplied, ticking off his fingers.

The Prince put up a hand, hiding his face with his other shamefully. “All the above,” he admitted.

Fane nodded approvingly. “So, was that the only reason you came out here? To apologise?” He put his crumpled wrapper in the empty bag.

“I…uh…” the Prince looked at Fane, perplexed.

“You really bought me lunch and went and found where I was to apologise? No ulterior motives?” Fane pressed.

“I was out of line,” the Prince bowed his head again.

“You stand so far above the line; how’d you even know where the line was?” Fane replied flippantly. The Prince blinked, not following. “You sit in a position of power and wealth. You deal in international politics. I am an enlisted man, not even a proper one. Raised on gutter water and moulded bread. How would you even know where to start common ground with me, a line to stand at?” Fane expanded.

“You’re-” the Prince blinked. He hadn’t expected that type of response from Fane.

“I didn’t go to secondary school if that’s what you’re thinking. At least, well, they never found transcripts for me under my birth name,” Fane answered.

“Seriously?” The Prince asked. Fane nodded, mutely staring at the tiny ripples of fish darting in the water. “Can you read?” Orlov asked in a hushed tone.

Fane gave the man a sidelong glance, trying to tell if he was being made fun of. It seemed, though, that the Prince was speechless. He sighed. “I was told, at least in the case file, that a Ms Gare – a local red room woman in my neck of town, would use her downtime to teach us kids some basic schooling. I did attend primary school. Took them a long time to find all those records. My folks seemed to move around a lot. So, I had the basics.”

He brought a hand to his head, trying to stifle a firecracker of pain shooting from the back of his eye to the back of his head.

“Mr Anson?” The Prince looked at him, worried. He hadn’t expected to get such an emotional response out of the man.

“I’m all right. Just a headache I’ve been dealing with the last couple of days,” Fane waved away the Prince’s anxious eyes. “Anyway, it seems that, even with amnesia, the ability to understand language tends to stick around, as long as it’s trained early enough. They said when they tested me on something like thirty languages, I could actually respond to them in French, Spanish, and Latin, of all things. I doubt I’d have ever learned that out in the hood,” Fane laughed morosely. He didn’t remember any of it. He wasn’t aware of switching languages when it happened either. He had endured a Catholic sermon once, under Zephyr’s prompting, and only later discovered the whole thing had been conducted in Latin. He hadn’t even noticed.

“Maths, science, history?” Orlov pressed.

“My files didn’t have that much in them. I don’t have a firm grasp of some principles. Online science videos and math apps have helped me advance where I’m lacking. Taken quite a few MOOCs over the years as a hobby,” Fane responded.

The Prince looked at him, confused. “What about all the stuff you did today in the shot test? Surely you’d need to know quite a bit of maths.”

Fane snorted. “Dogs can do calculus,” he retorted. The Prince was even more perplexed. “Predictive analysis can be done by the best machine in the world, the human brain. Mathematics on paper helps us prove what our brain does. And who bloody hell has time for trig when sniping?” Fane supplied. “What about you, Prince Orlov? What Ivy U did you attend?” he smirked, knowing the privilege the man had probably been provided.

The Prince looked away, not entirely proud of it now. “North Oxford,” he mumbled.

“Sounds like. I’ve heard it’s gorgeous.” Fane watched thin clouds drift across the sky.

“The campus is meticulous, as are the professors,” Orlov was getting grouchy about the subject.

“What’d you study?” Fane asked, trying to be polite.

“Electrical engineering,” Orlov hissed.

“I hear that’s not that easy,” Fane continued with his basic conversation. Weather, education, simple things, useless filler.

“It was another thing to make my parents happy,” Orlov mused.

“Strict helicopter parents?” Fane guessed.

“Sort of. They were apathetic to most everything I did, fobbing me off on my grandmother and the servants most of the time. They were only ever on to me about my grades. I had to pass them at the top of the class.” Orlov leaned back in the grass, watching the same sky as Fane.

“Not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing. I’d say I’m jealous you had parents that had any interest in you. You know, I’ve worked with so many here that I really can’t say that anymore, though. Homelife can be heaven or hell. So sometimes, having no parents is better than having them. It depends on the person and the parent, I guess,” Fane ran his fingers through the grass. Orlov snorted in agreement.

“Tennis and polo, huh?” Fane asked.

“Ever played?” Orlov turned to the soldier.

“Can’t say that I have. Maybe something similar back before I can remember? I know what they are. We’ve got some courts, and I’ve watched a couple games of tennis. Polo…we don’t have any stables here, so we don’t see that too often. There’s a stadium in town that hosts a regional group, though that we’ve helped do charity events with before,” Fane explained. “Go to nationals or anything?” He asked of the Prince.

“A couple tournaments with the school teams. I was never ambitious enough to add titles to my name. I had enough; I didn’t feel like adding more,” the Prince added.

“I don’t get you.” Fane rolled to his side, looking at the Prince in full.

“We’ve sort of just met,” expressed the Prince, not sure what to make of Fane’s comment.

“That might be it. If you won’t throw a complete fit, I’m going to be blatantly honest here,” Fane cautioned.

“You seem to be honest and casual with me regardless of my opinion on the matter,” Orlov hedged.

“You’re arrogant and presumptive. Yet, you aren’t arrogant about the things most people are arrogant about. People in your position are usually all over sports and colleges. They flaunt their accomplishments like jewellery. That’s what I keep expecting from you. A frat boy.” Fane’s arrow hit home.

Orlov groaned under the direct hit. “I was going for confidence. Do you see me as arrogant?”

“Of course. Anyone with a title is automatically considered an arrogant prick by us enlisted types,” Fane responded, unblinking.

“Doesn’t that make you presumptive too?” Orlov countered, feeling like he might get some traction.

“Touché.” Fane nodded.

“If we’re being honest, you aren’t like what I thought,” Orlov pondered.

“What were you expecting?” Fane was curious.

“As we both remember from the party, a woman.” The Prince ducked.

“You were expecting Annie Oakley?” Fane wiped the grin off his face before Orlov caught on; he was laughing at him.

“Well. I mean. She was a legend from way back. I liked the stories from the Old U.S. about the West. Grandmother would read me crumbling children’s textbooks she kept in her private archive. So, yeah. I got it in my head you were this trope, I guess.”

“And when you figured out I was a guy?” Fane pulled at grass ends.

“I was surprised you weren’t exactly a presumptive bastard,” Orlov muttered.

“Thought I’d be the staunch, drill sergeant type who takes the military seriously and acts like a wall?” Fane supplied.

“Yeah, that’s about right.” The Prince pulled a blade of grass to twist in his fingers.

The quiet of the park drifted through their conversation. The ducks had taken umbrage with Fane about a lack of bread, quaking at the men on shore. Another jogger ran past, her shoes crunching on the gravel path.

“What do you normally do?” The Prince glanced at Fane.

“Special Forces Weapons. I clean, maintain, and have familiarity with various weapons and explosives and how to use them. I also teach evening classes in mixed martial arts. I’m a certified dive instructor on top of that. For the most part around here, I end up working in the armoury or certing new guys at the dive pool,” Fane replied.

“But you’ve never been field-tested?” The Prince asked.

“Somehow, there are always more recruits who have to pass their swim or shot test,” Fane sighed.

“So, what’ll happen if I take you away from here?” questioned Orlov.

“Meh, I don’t know. Maybe Robson and Mills’ll actually get off their duff and do their jobs?” mused Fane.

“Robson and Mills?” The Prince glanced at Fane, confused.

“They’re the ones who’re supposed to be in charge of training the recruits for that. Seeing as I’m sort of a take in by this base, and I don’t have a degree, I’m sort of…special,” Fane eluded.

“Are you actual military personnel?” Orlov guessed.

“Yes and no. I haven’t done my time in either camp or college. So, I don’t have that qualifying background. However, with every physical test they had on this base, I’ve been able to pass without problem. Some of the academic shit…yeah, that’s where my amnesia and crap background don’t play to my advantage.” Fane rubbed at the back of his neck. “So, yeah, I’m in the military by way of contracts and tests. They own me. I haven’t done what most everyone else has to get in.”

“Will it be a problem for you to come with me?” Orlov asked.

“For me? I…” Fane paused. There were plenty of people to take his place. It probably would relieve Zephyr for him to not be causing problems. Not like anyone would miss him here too much. “It’ll probably be all right,” he finally gave in.

“What do you need?” Orlov offered.

“I have no clue. I’ve never been to…to…I know you come from New Punjab, but where will I be working?” Fane looked up at the Prince, perplexed.

“My parents’ have their throne in Tri-Amritsar. It’s dry out that way. Doesn’t rain too much. Doesn’t get overbearingly hot, so you shouldn’t have to worry about the heat you can get down in the south.” Orlov meandered through the information. “You’ll be working with the royal guard to train their marksmanship. We have a compound near the palace that houses our men. You’ll work with them there. Maybe a temporary bodyguard. Father has some ideas with my nieces getting older needing their own school chaperone.” Orlov stood up, collecting the empty cups and bag of wrappers. “I’ll see to your flight ticket and readied provisions. I’ll let your command know when the arrangements have been made, and I’ll see you at the airport.” He extended a hand to his soldier.

“Sounds like a plan.” Fane allowed the Prince to help him up.

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Subject 15: Ch 8

The door clicked shut behind Fane. Zephyr, after regaining his startled senses, looked down at the blade in his hand. Ornate in nature, it was a high-end piece that could only have come from the Prince. He mused for a second before observing the man. Orlov stood unphased after the encounter. Zephyr approached the royal.

“Should I ask what happened?” Zephyr showed the knife to the Prince.

“Has Anson ever killed someone?” Orlov asked, not meeting Zephyr’s eyes, instead contemplating the closed door Fane had left through.

“Yes.” Zephyr folded his arms.

That grabbed Orlov’s attention. He glanced at Zephyr, trying to feel out if the man was joking or not. “And he’s not in jail?” Orlov rubbed his sweating hands on his pants.

“Where do you think we got him?” Zephyr tested the sharp of the blade against his thumb.

“He said he was a hood rat off the streets.”

“Yeah. He was. When we got him, he had been rotting in solitary for the better part of three years.” Zephyr sat down on the bench Fane had used as a step stool.

“What did he do?” Orlov eased next to Zephyr.

“When he got in or when he got out?” Zephyr asked. Sighing, Orlov shrugged. Zephyr looked up at the dim halogen lights, contemplating. He didn’t have to provide the Prince with all of the medical attention details Fane had received. “His sister was found in a dumpster in many tiny pieces. The police didn’t touch the case. Signs of one of the city’s mobs were all over that.

“He took down most of the boss’s underlings over the course of one night. Twenty men and eight women. The boss had some money in the police department, so he was the one pulling the strings to keep Fane’s sister’s case from going anywhere. He got Fane arrested and dropped into a six by eight in Sanguis for three years. Bastard got some of his own men put in as guards in the last couple months of Fane’s internment. They beat him into hamburger. He has some gnarly scars: brands, burns, signs of torture. He showed up on our doorsteps looking more like a rag doll than a human,” Zephyr explained.

“How’d he get out?” Orlov couldn’t see a mob boss letting Anson walk out of a jail cell that easily, especially after getting his guards in.

“You know, he doesn’t even remember any of this? That’s how badly they beat him. We only found out about it when the military was called in to clean up Sanguis. The place had to be shut down after what he did there.” Zephyr flipped his hand dismissively.

“Shut down…?” Orlov looked at the man, horror written across his face.

“There weren’t a lot of inmates left in there after the mob put their men in. Fane was the injured dog in the corner. He ripped them to shreds when they got to him. When the burial of eighty plus men can occupy the space of thirteen coffins. The place had to be condemned,” Zephyr stared up at the water-stained tile ceiling.

“And you guys willingly let him join the military?” Orlov scooted away from Zephyr.

“He ended up in the hospital ward for a whole year, recovering from his wounds. We’re not entirely sure if he got a good knock to the brain that damaged his memory centre or if he’s trying to keep his memories buried from those events. We had a good guy working in intelligence back then that helped us piece together some of Fane’s story. He put together all the evidence from what Fane was capable of doing. Took him six months to piece together the video footage from Sanguis.

“We had to have Fane if we could tame him. We figured, if we extended a helping hand, he’d be willing to join up and help. Sometimes feeding and clothing a person who has never lived anywhere but on the streets can keep them and you safe.” Zephyr slouched backwards to analyze the vent above the lockers behind them.

“He murdered people,” Orlov accused.

“And if your sister’s eyes were sent to you in an envelope tomorrow and the police ignored you, and the judges are getting paid to bury it?” Zephyr pinned Orlov under his gaze. Orlov gulped. “It’s not legal. No. Murder is considered evil. People are supposed to live.

“You don’t seem to understand how the military works, though if you think what Fane did was wrong. Like hell are we correct in what we do. We are put on the ground and told to point our guns at people who have a different opinion than the guys paying us; by politicians in a city so far away that they’ll never be harmed for the work we do. Now, we have to be humane about the way we go about it. Torture isn’t permitted, and there are such things as war crimes. But war is a crime. Think about it sometime, Your Highness.

“The mob was all but destroyed. Our intelligence guy? He put together enough evidence for tax evasion, and without the boss’s guards there to hide him anymore, we were able to put him away. Crime, drug running, and murder rates all went down in the city by twenty per cent. We have gentrification of some neighbourhoods and a rise in the education system right now.” Zephyr straightened.

“Was that worth 108 people?” Orlov protested.

“I don’t know how to answer that. I don’t. Morally, I’m supposed to respond no. I’m supposed to be politically correct and say no one deserves to die. I’m supposed to be that person. Honestly, though, Fane has suffered for it. This is his prison.” Zephyr motioned to the room, emphasising the military complex.

“He said something to that effect.” Orlov rubbed his hands together as the air conditioner kicked on.

“Did you actually get him in the lift at Crystal?” Zephyr asked.

“Yeah, why?” Orlov shifted, the spacing in the bench biting into him.

Zephyr stared at him in genuine awe and surprise. “You know we have over thirty lifts in this compound, and I have never seen him get into a single one when he’s accompanied me. I’ve had to carry around sedation injections in case I have to get him into a small room. Hospitals are a joy.” Zephyr morosely rose to finger the lock on Fane’s locker. “He knows I do it, but he’s gotten to where he ignores me when I do have to dose him. That MRI scan we had to run on him to make sure he was all right? I got to watch him have a full-blown panic attack on the scanner.” He spun the dial on the lock and popped the door open.

So, the kid wasn’t angry at him in the lift, Orlov thought. “He got into the lift with me because…?” the Prince wasn’t quite connecting the dots.

“He respected you and your position enough to not embarrass you.” Zephyr flicked the tag on Fane’s uniform collar.

“And he doesn’t do that for you?” Orlov asked.

“I know why he has serious claustrophobia, so I let him use the stairs. He has a key for the fire-alarm set doors, that way he doesn’t get stuck taking a lift,” Zephyr supplied. “He’s punctual to anything he has to be at, without anyone ever being the wiser that he has to do that.”

“If he really did kill all those people, why does he insist that he hasn’t been field-tested. Is he safe to work with?” Orlov turned back to their prior conversation.

“Remember, his amnesia took out everything before he woke up in a hospital bed in a medical ward. He quite literally doesn’t remember why he has a fear of small spaces. He doesn’t remember what he did to get himself into that situation in the first place. Since getting out of the hospital, he hasn’t been ‘put in the field’, so to speak.

“By all rights, if he had been brought in as proper military, he would have been medically discharged for all his problems. He had several reconstructive surgeries after they finally got him free of all his infections. Physical therapy and personal dedication put him at top performance amongst the men. He’s had some minor psych-therapy in the early days, but that’s not covered for more than ten sessions a year. Therapist and dietitian put him on a plant-based diet to help him cope with some misplaced flashbacks he gets around meat. , though he can complete his physicals with the best of them and does magnificently with his shot tests, he doesn’t have any faith in himself to actually go out and serve the military because he doesn’t remember his experience. If I was in his position, I’m not sure I’d want to remember that either.” Zephyr closed the locker with a bang.

“Shouldn’t he have been put into a civilian ward? If he was so badly hurt, he clearly has physical disabilities that would release any regular soldier from the military and PTSD to boot,” Ishan pressed.

“Get a chance and watch him scale a wall. He’s a spider on a rope and flexible as hell. He worked his physical therapist half to death and gives the martial arts coaches on base a run for their money weekly. Guy’s the reincarnation of an Americano with a triple shot of espresso in a pint-sized package. Like hell we’d turn him civilian when he’s that useful. Outside of the small spaces and stairs, Anson’s fine. He doesn’t cower at shells or fireworks and doesn’t self-medicate. So, what if he has to keep to rabbit food; not like that gets in the way of his work. They make vegan MREs now, you know?” Zephyr turned to study the man taking away his charge. He leaned up against the locker. “He’s a great teacher, patient with the new recruits. Test scores have improved since we released him to start training.

“We are only safe to work with him because of a set of conditions, though. His immense loyalty. His sense of obligation. His fear of small spaces. He won’t willingly do something that will get him stuck in a small area as a punishment.

“Though we have never threatened him with the possibility of getting stuck in solitary confinement, he has confessed to me before that he has a conspiracy theory that if he left the military, he’d be put in solitary. He told me that several months after getting out of the hospital after he read his case file. So, he knows. He knows what he did, but he doesn’t remember it.” Zephyr tapped his skull, “He has a sense of immense guilt. He’s a good guy. He’s loyal. He tries to please people. He’s an orphan whose sister wanted to help him out.

“They were living in some shack town near the dumps. He helped watch out for the kids in the neighbourhood, kind of an older brother to them. She got herself caught up in a pimping operation run by that mob and ended up dead. Somebody got it in their heads to try to blackmail him for money to pay off her ‘debts’ she had accrued while in that service.

“He tried the legal routes, what he could afford, what he couldn’t afford. He took the path that people in his situation use when no other methods work: street justice.

“When everything else failed, and he had debt collectors with his sister’s eyes in an envelope showing up from that mob in a shantytown where it was apparent no one had money….” Zephyr heaved a sigh. “You ask me if I trust him?” He pounded his fist on the metal locker, the bang startling Orlov. “Heh,” he laughed, pinning the Prince under his gaze. “I don’t deserve it, but I know he’d end the world to protect me.” It was no bluff; Zephyr knew Anson. If he was in trouble, Anson would probably take out anyone he deemed a threat.

He moved around Orlov to look the man over before returning back to the locker. Orlov watched him, nervous. “Don’t take him lightly. You want the best man to train your men, or do you want the most loyal man to protect your ass when you’re gonna probably die? He’ll do that and more, as long as you respect him. As it stands,” Zephyr hefted the knife, showing the blade to Orlov once more, “he likes you, just won’t admit it. You got off easy. Early on, the men learned not to harass him like this if they didn’t want to end up in the infirmary for a couple of weeks. Usually, he wouldn’t even bother with a warning. He’s landed a couple officers in the hospital who tried this with him. They were dismissed on harassment charges. If I were you, I’d wait ’til tomorrow to apologise to him. If you insist, he’s probably out at the lake feeding turtles.” Zephyr handed the knife back to Orlov.

“Feeding…?” Orlov watched Zephyr walk out of the locker room, confused and shell-shocked. He sank his head into his hands and let the quiet locker room chill his skin. Finally, the Prince looked down at the knife in his hand. Shoving it back into its sheath gingerly, he glared at the closed door of the locker room. Wrinkling his nose, he rose, slammed the door open, and rushed down the hall after Zephyr.

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