The Last Hour of Gann

by R. Lee Smith

Crying was a pointless little-girl thing to do and it hadn’t fixed one goddamn thing since it had been invented by the very first pointless little girl.

Outside, the wind gusted, moaning like a woman lost to fire. Scott’s voice briefly overtook it and Amber answered, her tone as fearless as her hand had been upon his body. Meoraq listened, smiling, then rolled onto his side and closed his eyes to sleep.

Yet for all the aggravation of tending them, it was not so terrible an ordeal. He’d never kept a pet before and keeping close to fifty of them all at once in the wildlands was not how any man ought to begin,

Nicci did everything in proper female fashion, come to think of it. She sat quietly, kept herself largely invisible and showed obedience to male command, since now he knew Scott to be male. Amber did none of these things, really. She talked almost constantly when she was with him, even reaching out to touch him if she did not think she had enough of his attention, and she let her frustrations show plainly on her ugly face. She kept apart from the rest of her kind, but was quick enough to argue with them if she thought they gave her cause. As for obedience, ha! He tried to imagine Amber as a proper female, to picture her in her father’s House (it greatly resembled his own in Xeqor) kneeling meekly, her neck bent and hands turned to heaven… He couldn’t do it. Perhaps she had been feminine once, but no longer. He liked her better like this anyway. There had to be something wrong with him.

suddenly thought, ‘You don’t like her in spite of the way she acts, you know. You like her because of it.’

He didn’t see the slap coming either. Whap, right across his cheek. It hurt her wrist quite a bit. All the ladies in the movies acted like slapping a man’s face was about as difficult as swatting a fly, but faces were pretty hard surfaces, really. Scott staggered back, tripped over his boots and fell on his ass, which was satisfying to see even though she knew it was mostly luck. “You ever lay a fucking hand on me again and I’ll knock your fucking teeth out!” she shouted.

“Okay, calm down.” Eric eased himself forward a step, his hands once more raised and placating. “Take it easy.” “Tell him to calm down!” She brushed at her mouth again, but it still wasn’t bleeding on her. Her hand was shaking. She could not believe how angry she was. Or how close to tears. No one told Scott to calm down.

“You will tell S’kot to have his humans ready to travel tomorrow.” “Sure, why not. And I’ll be ready, too.” The corners of his mouth flicked up in a smile before his usual fierce frown replaced it. He leaned toward her, aggressively close, the way he’d been before the slaps started flying. He said something about Scott and the others…no, he said, “When you are S’kot’s human, you may disobey him all you like. When you are mine, you do as I say.”

“God sees us, huh?” “Yes.” “Right now?” He seemed puzzled by the question. “Now and always.” Amber looked at the clouds. “Could you possibly make this day any worse?” she demanded. A drop of rain hit her in the eye. Then another. And then the skies opened up and began to pour, killing the last coals in just a few steam-hissing seconds and drenching her to the skin. Meoraq threw back his head and roared with curiously hoarse and chuffing laughter. His hand slapped at her back once, nearly knocking her cuuvash out of her mouth, and he got up, still grinning, and walked away into the grass.

“How many times do I have to tell you? He understands English just fine!” Scott frowned at her, then looked at Meoraq. Meoraq slapped him.

“What I tell you is that I honor Sheul. And if you honor Him also, you will not require me to enforce His laws. You will obey because it is His word and you love Him.” “Because I what?” Her face puckered as if in pain, although she huffed out a laugh at him. “Meoraq, I don’t even believe in my own God, much less yours.” “Jesus, Bierce, don’t tell him that,” said Crandall, more amused than alarmed.

Give me your obedience.” She looked up and directly at him with eyes that were too bright and too green. “No.” He stared at her, knowing his spines were fully extended and surprise etched in every scale of him for all the world to see. “What did you just say?” “I said, no.” “You did not!” he said inanely. “Want to hear it again, lizardman? No. And you don’t get to argue with me about it.” “You forbid me?”

Then he would leave them to their fate, but he would take Amber with him. ‘Why?’ Why not?

“You okay?” she asked, and was distantly dismayed to realize she didn’t care how Nicci answered. “I’m soaked,” said Nicci, shivering. “And my feet are killing me. Can you carry my bag?” Amber took it wordlessly. In the next instant, a scaly hand snatched it out of her grip. Meoraq slung the pack onto his shoulder, not looking at either of them. His spines were still flat.

Skyscrapers and bridges, offices and bathrooms, desks and chairs and coffee cups—none of it was the product of uniquely human invention. They weren’t special. Forget the vastness of the universe and the infinite potential of its diversity, they weren’t even significant right here in this room.

She wasn’t really a bitch, despite what everyone thought.

“Leave me alone.” That was Amber’s voice. Meoraq took a step back, inexplicably embarrassed, and then lunged forward in an equally inexplicable fury. “Who the hell is with you?”

“I have a spare tunic.” Her eyes snapped to him and away, blazing. “I don’t want it.” “Eh?” “I said, no! Stop giving me things! Just stop! What do you think people are going to say when they see me wearing your shirt tomorrow?” “What do you want from me then?” he exploded. “I wanted you to leave me alone!” “Well, you don’t get what you want!”

“Why?” She was quiet for a long time, long enough that he thought she did not intend to answer at all, and he was debating how to handle that when she suddenly, listlessly said, “Because I’m supposed to be the tough one. I’m supposed to be different. And I’m not.” “You are.” He snorted and came over to give her a forgiving tap. “Hear the words of Uyane. You are without equal in the realm of the very different. I handle it…badly.”

“Great,” said Crandall, crawling up to sit with Scott. “I fly clear across the galaxy to get stuck in bible camp again.”

Meoraq glanced at her, then put his hand on her arm and stopped them again. “I don’t know humans, but I know fools. And I know the surest way to encourage fools to follow a wicked man is to tell them not to.”

He could have easily told her that Nicci was a mewling little pest whose opinion ought to matter about as much as the mud on which Amber sat, but he knew it wouldn’t help. He often found it incomprehensible that the same Amber who dared to strike him with her naked hand and shout insult into his face could be so beaten down by a single scornful glance from the wretched sack of flesh that was her blood-kin. He didn’t say that either.

He wanted to set Amber apart in a way that she could see, to show her that he did believe she was ‘different,’ that they were still ‘good.’

“I don’t hate you,” he said. “Okay, whatever. We can drop it now.” He should. All the good feeling that had nested in him since receiving the lhichu had dimmed to coals and he could see the shadow creeping in again over Amber. He could shut the door, find something new to talk about, and maybe it would feel the same…but he didn’t think so. “Look at me,” he ordered.

I despise S’kot and I don’t care what I call N’ki,” he said, still scraping. “I will not offend God, but I will not insult you either, whether or not you know it is an insult.

Meoraq reached out and caught at her leg before she could flee. He rubbed his brow-ridges, cursing himself and all the words he could not make, because there was no way to tell her that it wasn’t sex, it wasn’t either that fierce eruptive will of Sheul or the shameful temptation of Gann, but this…this nameless thing that was neither fire nor clay but as constant as the wind, sometimes a storm and sometimes only a breeze, was always with him. No, it was not sex, but it had to be something that made him look for reasons to sit with her, to speak with her, even to fight with her if that was all there was, because even the most tedious and foul chore of curing a damned animal hide could become something to look forward to if he was with her.

Meoraq’s head slowly straightened. He stared at her for a long time as yellow began to lighten up his throat again. Then he looked down at the piece of plastic he’d taken from her hair. Slowly, very slowly, he turned the flashlight over and looked at the broken lens. “It’s not what you’re thinking,” Amber said hastily, but of course it was. He didn’t bother arguing with her. Without a word, he turned around and walked back to camp. Walked fast.

“I’m not having any.” He snorted. “Yes. You are.” “I don’t want it, Meoraq.” “I don’t want to feed S’kot. Life is full of things we do not want to do and must do anyway.” He turned the strips of tachuqi fat, which were browning up nicely already. “Meat may keep the life in your body a little longer, but no one stays healthy on meat alone. The season for green leaves and grain is done. My cuuvash is spent. Marrow is what I have to give you and you will eat it.” “I don’t see you forcing it on anyone else.” “I don’t care about anyone else.”

She was staring back at him, but he didn’t know what she was thinking. Her eyes were too wide, too bright in the firelight. There was still blood on her cheek and in her hair; the urge to wet a cloth and wipe her face had barely formed before it had melted into the much less clear desire just to touch her. Not sexually (not at first), but just to touch. To feel her flesh, warm with life. To put his arm around her shoulders as he so often saw humans do with one another. To hold her and feel her holding him.

She looked away at the other fire, where humans huddled together to sleep or exchange low words. She watched them in silence for a long time and then rubbed at her face in a terrible, broken way. “I really screwed up with these people, Meoraq.” That was a new turn of phrase and he wasn’t wholly certain of her meaning, so he said nothing. “The worst part is, I don’t really know how. I don’t deserve this—I don’t think I do—but I don’t think I can stop it either. It’s not because I think I’m right all the time and it’s not because Scott’s a dick…or maybe it is. All I know is, I could walk over there right now with a spaceship in my arms and they’d probably club me to death with it before they thanked me for it.”

It seemed the right thing to say, for a change. She smiled a little anyway, and when she smiled, it was as though a cold hand reached directly through his flesh and squeezed at his stomach. He had nearly lost her this night. A thumb’s width of bone at the end of her stupid spear had been all that made the difference between his Amber sitting at this fire…or burning on it.

“She was always on us about how we had to do this and we had to learn that…It’s her own fault no one wants to be around her.” “She wanted you to live,” spat Meoraq. “And you let him punish her for it, you bastard son of Gann. Damn you and damn all of you.” Eric’s face darkened.

Make whatever argument you wish. Ask as often as pleases you. I will not go if it means leaving you behind.” He could see the thought that came into her eyes then. See it and read it, as easily as words written on a page. “And you will not go,” he said dryly, “if it means leaving me. Hear Uyane Meoraq and mark him well, human: Sheul has given me your life and I do not give it back to you. I have been lenient with your freedoms until now. No longer. Do not test me. I’m not very nice either.”

He thumped her hard on the forehead with one knuckle and pointed severely at her trembling mouth to make her shut it. Those yellow stripes were coming out on his throat. “I am not leaving you,” he said, not shouting, not even hissing. Somehow, that was worse. “I am never leaving you.

“Insufferable human.” “Scaly son of a bitch.”

What do I use for a bandage?” “Bandage? Stop trying to paint it out worse than it is! Just lick it.” “What?” “Lick it. To help it heal cleanly.” “That may work with you lizard-people, but I’m pretty sure I remember hearing that human mouths are dirty. Here, wait.” She dashed over to her pack for her last Manifestor’s shirt. It took a little effort to get it going, but she soon tore one of the sleeves off and came running back to him. “That was your good shirt,” he said, watching her dunk it in the hot water. “It’s the only thing I have that I’m sure is clean,” she told him. “Turn around.” He didn’t, just stood there, so she went behind him and dabbed at the blood on his back. He didn’t move, didn’t speak.

Amber surely would think it just as wrong to have a dumaqi member stabbed into her. And yet… He’d seen her naked many times during the terrible days of her illness and so he couldn’t help but notice the slit at her loins. It meant nothing to him at the time, which was a better testament to his character than it was now, when he could think of nothing else. Regardless of how their males were formed, he knew that human females were similar to normal women, at least on the surface. He may not be able to sheathe himself entirely, but there was something and he could pierce it.

He wanted Amber, the whole Amber, and he wanted her to want him the way she thought she wanted the cowardly, treacherous cattle who had left her in the grass to die.

“I’ll go,” he said, turning around. “You rest.” “Jerk.” “Pest.” “Be careful, then.” “And you.”

“I have never seen the sun,” he said, “but I have seen its light. Is that what you want to hear?” “Be nice if I could hear it without listening to Gospel Hour for Lizardfolk first,” Amber muttered. “I didn’t mark that.”

He could see Amber sleeping, curled small under her thin wrap, and at once the vision (no dream; a Sheulek does not fall asleep during meditation) coursed through his veins in a second, fiery pulse, growing hotter as he stared at her. He knew. All at once, he knew. Sheul’s fires burned in his belly, but that was nothing to the fire burning in his mind, taking away all thought and all but one: He had begun this journey to ask Sheul to guide him to a worthy woman. Well, here she was and if she did not have a dumaq woman’s looks, neither did she have one’s mewling mannerisms. She was not the woman he’d expected, but she was a good woman and God Himself had given her to him.

When he looked at her, her eyes were shut and her neck irresistibly arched, so he bit it and then scraped his chin hard where he had bitten, until he could taste her in every breath.

How many times do humans mate before the woman considers herself conquered?” She stared at him for a long time before she was finally able to say, “That’s not how it works with us,” biting off each word and spitting it like a bullet. “More pity for you,” he said with a careless shrug of his spines, “because that’s how it works with us. No more talk. We’re leaving.”

I don’t care what God told you, I don’t belong to you.” “Yes, you do,” he said, not in a romantic way, but just another argument in his favor. “You are mine as much as my own skin. God Himself has married you to me.” “No, he didn’t,” she snapped, slapping at her forehead. “Yes. He did.”

“How can you say you’re not mine when you gave everything you had to me? Everything you are…” His fingers scraped lightly down her cheek, along her throat and under the neck of her shirt, peeling it back from her skin so that he exposed her bitten shoulder. And did she roll her eyes? Shrug off his hand? Take even one step back out of his reach? No. She just stood there with her mouth slightly open and her girly heart fluttering and a hot glow way down deep in her belly and let him do it.

He smiled. “It pleases me that you want to be my well-mannered woman,” he said, peeling back the neck of her shirt. Ignoring her playful slaps, he licked at the mark he’d left in her soft skin. “But I would rather have the insufferable she-warrior I was given. So if you want me, put your hands on me and tell me so.”

“Look at me,” he commanded, scraping his scales lightly against her shoulder where his mark scarred her. “No, not so. Put your hands upon me. I am with you. Show me that you see me.” Her hands rose, trembling, to cup his strange face between them. She looked at him and saw him looking back at her. Just Meoraq, who could be a scary son of a bitch when he wanted to be, but who, for the moment, just wanted to be with her. He was fine. Amber felt herself smile a little, relieved right to the edge of stupid, girly tears. He showed his teeth, approximating a smile for her, pleased. “Are you frightened?” “No,” she whispered. “Not even here.” Thunder crashed; he did not flinch. “Not even now. You are for me, Soft-Skin, and I am with you. Let go to me, my wife. Let go.” Amber dropped her brow to his shoulder, sobbed once, and did.

When he looked at her, she stretched up and pressed her mouthparts briefly to the side of his snout. “What does that mean?” he asked curiously. “Just a human thing.” “All right, hold a moment.” He leaned in and returned the gesture, taking the precaution of holding her face firmly between his hands.

He nodded distractedly. Nodding was something he’d picked up from her over the winter and it still didn’t look quite normal on him.

“Do I look like I’m kidding around?” “You look—” He pulled her close enough for a nibble at her scarred shoulder. “—like a woman who has been burning hot with her man.”