Chapter Two
Her eyes snapped open, her body arching up in a spasm.
Screaming, she clutched at her face, her chest, her neck. She was alive. Dear god... she was alive.
As her own cry ended, she heard someone else’s. A stifled shout.
Snapping her head to the side, she saw him. A man. Dressed in the ordinary garb of a farmer, he was tall with clean cut hair and an open, handsome face. A face that was now plastered with fear.
He was standing less than two meters from her side, and down a steep dip. No... he wasn’t in a dip, she was still in the air.
Cheeks paling, heart speeding up even faster, she stared down below her.
She was about a meter off the ground, seated on nothing but a bed of blue light.
Her mind raced to catch up to the situation. She remembered falling, remembered grabbing at the device in a last ditch attempt to save herself.
It must have worked. The blue light, the rippling sensation of energy tracing up her skin from where she’d held the lattice. It had worked....
“Who are you? What’s going on?” the man held up a hand as he spoke, but it was not a comforting move. It was stiff, the fingers spread, the arm and shoulder locked. It was a clear warning not to come any closer.
Who was she? Who was he? More importantly, where was she? Where had the device taken her?
She crunched up into a seated position, never shifting her gaze from him. It was clear she’d fallen into a field, but that was where all clarity ended. Her mind still buzzed from the fall, her body still hummed with the energy it had taken to save her.
“Who are you?” he asked again, the pitch of his voice uneven.
“Where are we?” she pushed back on her hands, the blue light below as solid as rock. It would not let her fall, not until she disabled the device or was fool enough to use it again. And there was no way she was going to do that.
His cheeks stiffened at her words, the bridge of his nose creasing. He looked confused. Dipping his head to the side, he brought a hand up to his ear. “Who are you?”
“Please, just tell me where I am,” clutching onto the device as tight as she could, she pulled her sleeve over it, hiding it from view. “Which province is this? Am I still in the Empire?”
That crumpled look of confusion remained on his face until a single word ignited him. Empire.
He straightened up, any hint of fright replaced with clear aggression. “You’re from the Tarkan Empire?” again his voice pitched up and down erratically as he all but shouted at her. Was he deaf? Was that why he kept cupping a hand to his ear?
Or was he just very, very angry?
He took several steps forward, reaching the blue symbol underneath her. From the look on his face to the exact tension of his stance, it seemed he was ready to grab her out of the air.
She moved back instinctively, scuttling like a Tarkan crab, right to the edge of the light. If she moved any further, she would fall off it.
“You’re a Tarkan weapon,” he snapped. That once-open face of his closed off. The clean line of his jaw dipped down, shadows pooling under his brown eyes.
It was all the evidence she needed to conclude she was no longer in the Empire. If she had to guess, she would assume she’d landed in Ashka.
The realms of Tarkan and Ashka had been at war for centuries. Though a tentative cease-fire now existed, both sides simply saw it as a chance to re-arm and strategize.
“I’m not a weapon,” she held onto the device as tightly as her numb fingers would let her. Her body was still recovering from the effects of her fall. No doubt it would take days for her usual resilience to return. Unless this man got his hands on her. If he was Ashkan, he would either kill her on the spot or drag her off to prison to let the Guards do it.
“Why did they send you?” he moved around the light, trying to get closer to her.
She kept shifting back, but this was not a game she could play forever; the device would soon shut down and she would fall to the ground. In her weakened state, she would be an easy target for him. She had to do something quickly.
“Please,” she began. She did not get the time to finish her plea. He planted his hands onto the blue glow and vaulted onto it easily.
He darted towards her, his boots, which were thick with dirt and crumpled strands of hay trapped in the tread, found easy purchase over the light. They squeaked with the speed of his movements.
He latched his hands on her shoulders, bringing his face close enough to hers that she could see the whites of his eyes.
Screaming, she tried to push him away, as she did, she let go of the device.
With her hand no longer touching the smooth surface of the stone, its effects ceased. With no warning, the blue shimmer holding her aloft disappeared.
She was ready for it, he was not.
They fell to the ground roughly, but she was the first to jump to her feet. Pushing her shoulder into him, she scrabbled forward, latched onto the device, and darted away from him.
“Come back here,” he roared.
So he could drag her in front of the Ashkan Guards and she could wait for her execution? That was not going to happen.
The Others would probably find her first anyway. And that would be a fate far worse than death.
Shivering, she forced her body to run, commanding her legs to move as fast as they could. Though she was still heavy with fatigue and that numb feeling still ate at her bones, desperation pushed her forward.
She could hear him right behind her.
In unfamiliar territory she knew she had little chance of escape, but her chances out there would be better than staying with this man.
So she ran, up the incline she’d fallen into, and out into the hay field. It took her less than a second to assess her route, but she never stopped flinging herself forward.
She could hear him behind her, she could almost feel him. His anger terrified her; she could sense it with the kind of acuity few of her kind possessed. It felt like a tidal wave centimeters from her back, ready to drag her under.
Fright digging into her gut, she knew he was about to pounce.
With the scrabbling sound of boots on dirt, he slammed into her back, his arms wrapping around her middle and pulling her to the ground.
She struggled, but in her state there was no way she could fend him off.
He hauled her around by her shoulders, his face close enough that she could see each of his bared teeth. “You’re not getting away.”
“Get off me,” she tried to lunge her knee up and kick him, but he squeezed her shoulders so hard her body crumpled against the pressure.
“You Tarkans have finally broken the cease fire. Well, you’re not getting my family first.”
She stared up into his face; there was nowhere else to look. With his hands fast around her middle, she could hardly move. “We haven’t broken the cease fire. This isn’t an attack. Now let me go before they find me.”
She shouldn’t have added that last bit; his expression crumpled like a screwed up piece of paper. “They are going to find you; I’m going to tell them where you are. I’m going to drag you back to my house and then I’m going to call the Army. You Tarkans are all the same.”
He dug his fingers into her shoulders as he yanked her to her feet. “Tell your story to the Army.” He pushed her in the back, still with one arm locked over her elbow.
She stumbled, but with his grip on her arm she couldn’t fall. “Listen to me. You have no idea who’s after me. Just let me tell my story.”
“Shut up. You Tarkans all lie.”
“And you Ashkans are brutish.”
He pushed her harder, his elbow pressing viciously into the small of her back.
“Thank you for proving my point,” she controlled her voice, though the pain spreading down from his grip felt like the stab of a blade.
“Is this some kind of test drive? Are you the pilot of some kind of prototype weapon?” he asked, voice too loud considering he was ri
ght by her ear.
“I’m not a weapon,” she turned to face him, even though she had to put even more pressure against his grip. If his fingers latched on any harder, they’d press through her flesh like a knife through butter. “This wasn’t some kind of test drive.”
“Then how did you fall from the sky? I’ve been around a long time, Tarkan, I’ve never seen anything but rain and Tarkan bombs fall from the sky. You’re lying.” He had a thick, nasal, accent, yet it still reverberated with a deep baritone. As he pushed her forward, he had her arm locked against his chest, and she could feel the vibrations from his voice shake through it.
“You have no idea what you are dealing with. Let me go. You take me to your Army and it won’t do a thing. They’ll still come for me. Just don’t get involved.”
“I’m already involved. You fell in my family field, and unluckily for you, I fought in the last war. You’re not going anywhere.”
As he pushed her forward, she tripped with every step. He might have been wearing thick boots, but her feet were bare. She had nothing but the toe rings and anklets of the priestess class, and they offered no protection against the scratch of the dry hay and the dryer ground below.
“Listen to me, please, we don’t have much time,” she begged.
It was useless though; it elicited nothing but a contemptuous laugh.
She was going to get nowhere reasoning with this man. She was ready to tell him the truth, but he wasn’t ready to listen.
Which meant he would have to face the consequences.
Drawing quiet, submitting to the fact she could not reach him, she stared around the field. She could see a house in the distance, simple but large enough for a family. No doubt he would take her there, as promised, tie her up and call the authorities.
He would not be able to keep her for long.
The Others would come.
Holding onto the device, her hand still completely concealed by her long sleeve, she tried to transfer as much heat from her palm into the crystal as she could, but she was still far too cold. The fall had sapped what energy she had, and it would take days to replenish what she needed to activate the lattice-like machine.
She would not have days. She would have hours. The Others would have seen the explosion and would have sent their scouts after her by now.
“Suddenly you’re silent. Before you couldn’t stop talking. What are you hiding, Tarkan?”
She breathed hard through her nose, frustration building. It was one thing to have this man attack her, it was another to put up with his attitude. She’d had precious little to do with the Ashkans up until today. She’d tried not to buy into the propaganda. As a priestess, she’d kept an open mind. But this Ashkan was proving all the stereotypes right. Rude and arrogant, unwilling to negotiate, he embodied every story she’d ever heard of his kind.
“You Tarkans think you can take our resources, steal our land, murder our people. It stops today.” He pushed her in the back again. “I’m not going to let you kill my family.”
“I am a priestess. I think you know a lot more about killing than I do,” she broke her silence, even gazed up at him as she did. She wanted to see his reaction.
His lip twitched up. “Priestess. I know a lie when I hear one.”
“Do you think I am a soldier? Does that make more sense? Is it easier to believe? Does it make you feel better for attacking me and herding me like an animal?”
“Shut up,” he hardened his grip once more.
“Thank you for proving my point again.” She should not have been baiting the man. She should have stopped speaking the second she’d realized he would never help her. Aggravating him would achieve nothing but a badly bruised arm.
“You Tarkans are arrogant and brutal,” his breath buffeted against her neck, pushing her loose hair over her shoulder. It seemed he was incapable of speaking at a normal volume; every word was a shout and rang in her ears.
Pulling her head to the side as far as she could, she tried to concentrate on her footsteps through the uneven field. “Arrogant and brutal? This is coming from the man who has me by the arm so hard it’s clear he wants to break it. And as for arrogance, you won’t listen to a word I say, does that fit with your definition of the term?”
“The Army will find out what you’re doing here. They are going to stop your weapon.”
“The Others will take me before your Army arrives. And what do you think you will tell them anyway? That a woman fell out of the sky and landed in your field? They’ll fire on you for wasting their time.”
She could hear him grind his teeth. “They’ll believe me. You’re wrong; I’m not some simple farmer. I’m a science officer with the Royal Academy. They’ll trust me.”
“I never said you were a simple farmer,” her voice dipped low and petered out to a whisper.
“Surprised? Do you think every Ashkan is a dumb grunt?”
She tried to ignore his words. It was clear he was attempting to goad her. She could not allow him to distract her though.
Tipping her head up, she scanned the sky. The Others would come in their ships. Flying ships.
“What are you doing? Looking for a rescue? Nothing’s coming. You’re in Ashkan territory now, and we aren’t going to let you go without a fight.”
“Then be prepared to fight the Zeneethians. My people won’t come for me; they don’t care.” She rubbed at the device in her hand, her thumb moving faster and faster as she said their name.
The Zeneethians. The builders and true owners of the device she held. A legendary race, she’d once believed they were nothing more than a myth. Then she’d had the misfortune to meet them.
A raiding party had kidnapped her from her monastery. As long as she lived, she would never stop dreaming of that day. The scent of their particle weapons and the hum of their engines would haunt her forever.
“They’re a story. Stop trying to lie to me, Tarkan.”
“My name is Ki,” she snapped. “Us Tarkans do have names. Remember that when you condemn me back into slavery.” She tripped forward, but he pulled her up before she could fall to the ground. She saw his face as he did. That look of cold anger he had worn since he’d grabbed her wavered.
“You’re still a Tarkan,” his voice dipped lower, and the punch of rage that usually filled it faltered. “And you killed my fiancée.”
“Really, the priestess clan killed your fiancée? We often interrupt morning prayers for some light murder before lunch.” She should not have said it; his face stiffened and a hiss escaped his tightly pressed lips. Yet she could not help herself. His violence and arrogance were undermining what little control she’d managed to wield over her fatigued body and mind.
“You’re a priestess, ha? Where the hell is your empathy? You Tarkans all take glee in another’s misfortune. You obviously relish death. You are no priestess,” he moved closer to her as he said that, his voice becoming darker.
“And you are no scientist,” she spat back. “Where’s your curiosity? I’ve just told you the Zeneethians exist, and all you can do is twist my arm harder. Tell me, do you honestly think the Tarkans have the technology to accomplish what you’ve seen here today?”
His hand jolted, the fingers around her arm suddenly loosening.
She took the opportunity. Yanking her arm free, she tried to push into him and knock him off balance.
He reacted too quickly. Catching her around her back, he locked her against his hip. “Stop struggling.”
She brought up her hands to push him away.
She shouldn’t have.
She revealed the device still clutched in her left hand.
“I said stop—” he began.
His eyes darted towards the device.
She tried to pull away. The fear she had so successfully controlled until now burst its banks. Shuddering forward, her throat closed up. Skin slicking with sweat, her heartbeat shook through her.
“What’s this?” suspicion rumpled his brow, his da
rk brown eyes widening.
“No, no, no,” she closed her fingers over the device as tight as she could, but he managed to pry them back.
“You’ve been trying to keep this from me. What is this?”
“No! You can’t take it. It’s all I have. I won’t be able to get away without it. Please, don’t let them take me back,” her voice was little more than a croak.
The memories she had been holding back resurfaced. Her escape. The fall. She’d pushed them back for now, trying to control her emotions as the priestess clan taught. Now it was impossible. If she lost the device, she would never escape the Zeneethians again.
His expression vacillated. The fury he’d been directing at her loosened along with the tension in his jaw and shoulders. “What are you talking about?”
“The Zeneethians...” as soon as she mentioned their name again, her emotions soared. It was a mark of every Tarkan priestess that they could control their feelings even in situations of utmost stress. Yet all those years of meditation and prayer could not save her now. That word alone was enough to undermine her completely.
“Are a myth,” his mouth moved slowly around the word, hinting at derision, but his gaze was at odds with the move. Perhaps there was more to this Ashkan than anger and arrogance after all. “Now keep moving.”
She watched him pocket the device, her gaze not moving from it.
“You’re not going to stand here and stare at my pocket all day,” he turned her around.
“You don’t know what you’re dealing with,” she resisted, trying to twist back to plead with him.
“A Tarkan weapon. Don’t worry, I’ve dealt with many before,” though the boom and bluster were gone from his words, he kept pushing her forward.
They had travelled through most of the field now, and she could see the farmhouse clearly. Run down in sections, it still looked comfortable. One story with several chimneys, it reminded her of her own family home. Though she had joined the priestess clan at the age of nine, she could still remember her life before.
As they approached, the door opened, a woman walking out slowly and resting her hand on one of the large veranda posts. Chin dimpling as she frowned, she cocked her head to the side.
“Get inside, Laura, get the kids too. Find me a chair and some rope,” his voice kicked up now. The arrogance replaced with a tight vigilance.
The woman, Laura, straightened up, her hands dropping to her sides. “What are you talking about, Jackson, what’s going on? Who is that woman?”
“She’s a Tarkan spy.”
Jackson. So her persecutor had a name.
“I’m not a spy,” she shifted against his grip. With the farmhouse looming before them, her situation was becoming even more desperate. Jackson had the device and soon she would be tied up.
She had spent months planning her escape, and now it would come to naught. All because she had fallen into Ashka in front of this horrible man.
“Shut up,” his head dipped low by her ear, his voice a whisper. “If you do anything to my family....”
“You’ll kill me. Because you have no problem in murdering an unarmed, injured woman. I understand that perfectly.”
Laura took several steps back, her thick boots loud over the wooden floorboards of the veranda. “Jackson?”
“Go inside and find some rope. Do it now.”
Laura turned around, fleeing inside, her long skirts billowing out behind her at the speed of her move. With her lips drawing in and her cheeks slackening, it was clear she was afraid.
In fact, the emotion washed off her and lapped at Ki like the swell from a storm.
All priestesses could sense emotion. Though they were taught to control their own, they were schooled in reading those of others.
He walked her off the grass and onto the path that led up to the house. Made of roughly-hewn stone, it dug into the tender flesh of her feet.
“Don’t do this. Don’t get your wife and children involved.”
“Laura is my sister, and the kids are hers. But they are my family. And you are not going to do anything to hurt them,” he pushed her up the steps, pausing as they reached the front door.
She could see inside. It was a large house, and despite its outward appearance, it was clean and well-kept inside. A carved, wooden table rested near the door, a lamp and a lace runner arranged neatly on the top.
Photos hung on the wall above the table. There were pictures of the house, of a large family, and one or two she instantly recognized as Jackson in the garb of a soldier. It was yet more evidence he was proud of his military history and that he would likely never forgive her for being Tarkan, let alone help her.
She had to look for a way to escape. Soon. Before the Others came. The Zeneethian Scouts. The same group that had kidnapped her more than a year ago.
Thinking about them made her skin chill. A cold, damp sensation spread through her chest and down her arms. It made it hard to breathe.
She would go back to the facility. Surrounded by those sleek white walls, they would continue their experiments on her.
Despite her attempts to regain emotional control, tears began to streak down her cheeks, collecting against her chin and running down her neck.
“Move over here,” Jackson pulled her through the hall and towards an open room at the back of the house. It had boxes and tools and a simple wooden chair seated at a desk. The desk was covered in papers, pens, and various devices.
Jackson pulled at the chair with his foot, turning it around, and pushing her into it, two strong hands weighing down on her shoulders. “Laura, the rope, where is it?”
Ki began to shake. Her heartbeat became erratic, that pressure in her chest building.
There were two large windows in this room, one over the desk and one just before her. She could see out it easily. It showed a path leading out from the back of the house towards a road beyond. There were two vehicles parked within view, one large, old, rusted truck, the other a sleek new car.
In the monastery, she’d had no need for a car, and in Zeneethia they had no need either; they lived in the skies. They flew. From their cities to their ships, everything floated.
She heard Laura approach and watched as she handed Jackson the rope. Hand trembling, the young woman stared at Ki.
“Jackson... she’s crying, what have you done to her?” Laura clutched at the simple silver pendant around her neck, lips creasing into a confused frown.
Jackson finished tying the rope, placing his boot on the chair, anchoring it as he tied off the knot as tight as he could. Then he moved around.
Ki looked up at him as he looked down at her.
“She’s Tarkan,” he hardly moved his mouth as he spoke, and quickly looked away.
“But...” Laura rubbed her hands nervously, that confused frown still drawing down her cheeks.
“She’s a Tarkan spy, Laura. Now you have to do something for me. Go into town, find the nearest Guard post. There’s one opposite the bakery. Tell them to get here as quickly as they can.” Jackson moved towards his sister, fixing his hands on her shoulders gently as he clearly tried to center her attention.
“Okay,” Laura nodded, her soft brown locks falling over her shoulder.
As Ki watched, she couldn’t help but sympathize with Laura. She could feel the woman’s fear and confusion.
She was right to be afraid, but not of Ki.
“Take your children,” Ki interrupted.
“What?” Laura’s skin paled further.
Jackson snapped around, pushing against the chair with his foot. “Shut up.”
“Take your children. They aren’t safe here. Others will come to take me. They will kill anyone who gets in their way.” Ki stared at Laura, never letting her gaze waver. Despite her pain-addled body, her bruised arm, and her throbbing feet, she could appreciate how innocent this woman was. She and her children did not deserve to be caught up in this simply because her brother could not listen.
“I sa
id shut up,” Jackson took a step, placing himself between his sister and Ki.
“Jackson, what is she talking about?” Laura’s voice shook, her pupils shifting wildly, her eyes watery and wide.
“Just go to the Guard post,” Jackson returned his hands to his sister’s shoulders.
“Take your children,” Ki tried to shift forward on the chair, but her arms were too weak to fight against the ropes.
Laura took several steps back, gaze darting from Jackson to Ki. With her hand still latched on her pendant, she nodded. Then she called out two names.
Her children. As they ran to her side from various rooms in the house, Ki gave a sigh. Though the kids glanced at Ki curiously, their mother quickly hurried them out of the room and out of the house. Seconds later Ki saw them pile into the old truck.
Tipping her head back, indulging in closing her eyes, Ki sighed again. The move travelled deep into her chest. It would likely be her last moment of relief in months.
“You shouldn’t have scared her like that.”
She blinked open one eye to see Jackson looming over her, arms crossed. His sleeves were pulled up, his muscles tight against the fabric.
She was no match for him physically. He’d made that point clear. The only hope she had was now firmly tucked in his pocket.
Unable to stop herself, she glanced down towards the device. As she did, he followed her gaze and plucked it out seconds later. Turning it around in his palm, he held it up to the light, a frown tugging at his mouth. “What is it?”
She looked up at him, tearing her eyes off the latticed crystal. “It’s a levitation device.”
He shook his head, giving a sharp, scornful laugh. “Of course it is.”
“It’s the truth. It’s a levitation device,” she could feel her expression deaden as that cold feeling of dread weighed her down further. With no hope of escape, her fight dried up.
“And it belongs to the Zeneethians, does it? The same Zeneethians that are coming to take you back? Why did they give it to you?” he continued to turn the device around in his grip. Though his words were dismissive, his voice wavered. His shoulders also rounded, dropping in. If he had been anyone else, she would have assumed he was having second thoughts. That guilt or reason, or some mix of the two, were finally catching up with him.
“They didn’t give it to me. I stole it so I could get away,” she looked down at her hands. They were locked in her lap, the rope tight around her middle. Though her feet were covered in toe rings and anklets, her fingers and wrists were bare save for the two prominent tattoos on the backs of her hands. They were sacred symbols from the ancient Tarkan language, and they were meant to afford one protection and peace.
They obviously weren’t working.
“Of course you did. And now they’re coming to take you back, and this too, presumably,” he threw the device up and caught it easily.
If her expression had been a deadened one before, it sharpened in an instant. “They will pull this house apart looking for that. If you take it to your village, they will turn it to rubble to get it back. You should just leave. Get away while you can.”
“I’m not going to fall for that old trap,” he stood taller, though his shoulders were still rounded and his heart didn’t seem to be in it.
“This old trap? How many other times have you come across a kidnapped Tarkan priestess who has stolen a levitation device to get away from the Zeneethians?”
“I’m not going to fall for your lies,” he clarified.
She stared at him for one more second, then turned away, determined not to look at him again. She could not reach him. His fate would now be his own.
“So what is this device really?”
She did not reply.
“Who are you really?”
She closed her eyes.
“The Guards will find a way to make you talk.”
She surrendered to her situation. She no longer fought the turgid emotions building within; she let them flow. Tears streaked down her cheeks faster, her chest shifting back and forth as soft sobs escaped her lips.
“Crying isn’t going to affect me,” Jackson snapped.
No doubt the particle rifles of the Zeneethians would though. Jackson could bluster all he liked now, but when the scouts burst through their door with their advanced weaponry and armor, he would stop.
They would kill him and pluck the device from his pocket. Then they would take her back. This time they would watch her all day and all night. She would never have another opportunity to escape.
It was time to turn her mind within to engage in whatever meditation she could. She had to gather forth the scraps of emotional control she had left before the inevitable onslaught coming for her arrived.
Jackson tried to ask her several more questions before he gave up.
She heard him leave the room, only to return with a chair that he sat in roughly.
Then they waited.
Though they did not wait long.