Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
TIA
I can’t sleep, of course.
The others wander through the cave, full of theories, and more or less do their best to ignore me. I don’t think they mean any harm by it, but S’bren mentioned that I cried and that put the others on edge. Men never know what to do around a woman’s tears. So I lie on my pallet of traveling blankets and pretend to doze until the others go to bed.
Once I’m certain everyone else is asleep, I get up. It’s still completely bright in the cave. It always is, the artificial lighting never changing to distinguish between night and day. I pick up my knitting and head away from the group so they won’t be disturbed by the clack of my bone needles. I head for the waterfall at the far end of the pool, because it’ll hide any sounds I make. I sit down at the edge of the water, pick up my knitting…
And promptly set it down again. Overwhelmed feelings swamp me and the tears start again. It’s okay to cry, I tell myself. You’re allowed to be disappointed. You’re allowed to wonder what your future is going to look like.
You’re allowed to feel stupid.
Because I do. I feel so stupid. I’m always looking for some way to fit in, to be valued. I’m sure it stems from being the child of intelligent, driven parents that were far too busy to attend school plays or PTA meetings. On Earth, I was an afterthought. I’d hoped it would be different here.
After some of the guys got into a fight and I was blamed and shipped off to Croatoan, I was hurt. Hurt that everyone decided that I was the bad guy in the situation and thus the one to get rid of. It’s one reason why I stayed in Croatoan for so long—I didn’t want to go back to Icehome and feel like I was the problem. Everyone at Croatoan was nice. I got along great with all the women. I picked up skills and watched kids for people and felt like a valued member of the community. Over there, I was liked. I was wanted . Whereas over on Icehome, I felt increasingly ostracized as one after another of the men I’d flirted with in the past took mates. I was unnecessary, so I stayed at Croatoan, where people liked me. And when I felt loneliest, I would send I’rec letters. I wrote all of them painstakingly on skins with a nub of charcoal and had them delivered on Ashtar’s many trips between the two far-flung camps. I wrote him over and over again for the entire four years I was gone.
And because I was aware he might fall for someone else, I always, always kept my messages polite and unemotional, something I’d write to a friend and not a lover. I’rec and I had kissed and did a little fooling around, but nothing serious. He never wrote me back, so I never changed the tone of my letters. I never gave him anything that would string him along.
But after so many years at Croatoan, watching people resonate for a second, or third (or in Josie’s case, fourth) time to a beloved spouse, I began to feel lonely. Croatoan was great, but there was no one my age for me. Sessah was there, but he’d always felt like a little brother, and it seemed like the moment he returned to Icehome Beach, he resonated to Sam. They’re a great couple, and I’m thrilled for both of them.
It made me wonder if I’d resonate the moment I stepped on the beach again. I allowed myself to hope, to dream. I allowed myself to wonder what it’d be like to have a lover and a family. To resonate and know that a thousand percent, I belonged to this person and they belonged to me.
I think that’s what upsets me more than anything. It’s the timing—as if resonance is deliberately working against me when it made I’rec and Flor resonate just before my return—and it’s that I feel so unwanted. There’s no place for me on this planet.
So am I having a self-pity-fueled cry-fest? You bet your ass I am.
I must not be quiet enough, because someone gets up and pads over to stand just behind me. I’m not entirely surprised when R’jaal puts a hand on my shoulder and leans over. “Would you like someone to talk to?”
Wiping at my face, I shake my head. “What’s there to say? We both know talking isn’t going to change anything.” When he has no answer for that, I offer an olive branch. “I heard your conversation earlier—you and M’tok. Thank you for defending me.”
R’jaal grunts, then pats my shoulder awkwardly again. “He is sour because there is no answer here, and he does not like feeling foolish. Do not let him make you weep.”
Oh man. If it was only M’tok that was the biggest of my problems. If only .“It’s not him. It’s…everything. I should have stayed at Croatoan. I just really thought I’d come back and things would be different. That I’d show everyone the skills I have and that I’m more than just a silly flirt. Instead, me coming back has made everything worse.” Blurting it all out makes it somehow sound more pathetic and self-indulgent, and I bury my face in my hands.“I was alone at Croatoan, too, but I was happy there.”
“I will take you back if you wish to go.”
I lower my hands, eyeing R’jaal.“You will? Seriously?”
I hadn’t thought of going back. Of just accepting that there’s no one for me here. That I’m not meant to resonate, not meant to be part of the tribe here.
R’jaal’s expression is grave. “If that is what you wish. If you are miserable here, I would take you back.”
That solves one problem at least.“But you…and me…”
The smile he gives me is constipated. “I think we both know our khuis are silent and will remain so.”
Oof. He’s not wrong. “Our khuis suck. You and I got the malfunctioning ones.”
“We have simply not met our mates yet. When it is our time, we will know.” He says this as if it’s just a matter of time. Not that there’s no one else left. Just that the timing isn’t right.
It’s a little ridiculous, and even though I feel cruel for bursting his bubble, I can’t help myself with my response.“And who are we going to resonate to? The rocks? The trees? No, I think you and I are doomed to be alone forever.”
He flinches. “I see.”
God, I’m such a jerk. I reach out and grab his hand. Here he is being kind, and I’m just lashing out.“I’m sorry, R’jaal. I’m not trying to be cruel. It’s just…I’m no longer holding out any hope. This planet has made it quite clear that I’m not welcome. Thank you for being my friend despite all of this, though. It’s good to know I’m not completely alone on the sit-out bench.”
He studies me intently, his head tilting slightly to the side as if he doesn’t quite grasp what I’m saying. It’s the slang, I realize. He doesn’t know what a sit-out bench is. I open my mouth to explain, when all of a sudden, I feel a breeze.
That’s odd. There’s no air circulator in the fruit cave, is there? That’s why it’s always so muggy and humid here, and why I’m wearing nothing but a breast band and a short leather skirt instead of full-on body-covering wraps.
I close my eyes, concentrating and waiting to feel another whiff of a breeze. There’s nothing, though, and when I open them again, R’jaal is still watching me.
Watching me, and his dark black hair is dotted with pollen. How strange. I’ve never seen that before.“You have pollen in your hair, R’jaal. Are there flowers here?”
He doesn’t answer, his expression telling me that he has no idea what I’m talking about. Did he not feel the pollen coating him? I reach out and touch his hair, grazing the beads of pollen that turn to dust that coats my fingers the moment I disturb his mane. I hold my hand out, showing it to him.
A strange, earthy smell touches my nose.
“It does look like pollen,” R’jaal says after a moment, and his words are thoughtful. “Smells like mushrooms.”
Mushrooms? I lift my head to meet his gaze, determinedtotell him about the mushroom scent S’bren said he had picked up earlier, but I get stuck on the strange expression on his face. He looks sleepy. Dreamy.
Like he could take a nap, even as a dark, shadowy form emerges from the shadows near the waterfall’s ledge and lifts a horn to his lips. He blows, and another breeze ruffles my hair and more pollen dances in the air around us.
The stranger behind him is no one I’ve seen before. No alien I’ve ever seen before. He’s got dark fur and four arms and a fearsome expression. I should be terrified.
I should warn R’jaal. “They…”
Oh. It’s so hard to spit that one word out.
I try again. “You…”
Black tunnels into my vision, and I realize I’m about to pass out just as my entire body slumps to the ground.
I wake up with a bad taste in my mouth and a chill in my limbs. It’s dark, which seems odd to me. It never gets dark in the fruit cave.
It takes a moment for my brain to wake up and remember that I was kidnapped. That I might not be in the fruit cave any longer.
Panic unfurls in my mind and I lie perfectly still, gazing up at the darkness around me. Not again. Not fucking again .The last time I woke up in a strange place after being knocked out? I ended up on an ice planet. I’d better fucking not be stolen by aliens again. I think I’ll have an absolute meltdown if that’s the case.
Biting my tongue to keep from making any sound, I assess the situation as best I can. I press my hand on the cold floor, and it doesn’t feel like the rough coping stone that surrounds the artificial pool in the cave. I’m not on a bed, either, though, so that means whoever kidnapped me isn’t interested in my comfort. It feels like smooth rock under me, though. That’s…a good sign? I think? Because there wouldn’t be rock flooring in a ship. There’d be metal or plastic or something.
I put a hand out in the darkness, feeling above my face. I’m not in a pod. I’m just in some cold, dark room with a stone floor. I lower my hand and touch my clothing. Both my short skirt and breast band seem undisturbed, along with the goofy leather panties I made for myself. All right. No one touched me while I was asleep. That’s a good sign…I think.
“R’jaal?” I whisper into the darkness. “Are you here with me?”
Silence. Either he’s passed out or they didn’t place him in this strange room with me. Who’s kidnapped us and why? I rack my brain, trying to figure it out. No one from Croatoan would. No one from Icehome, either. Women get kidnapped, but usually for resonance reasons of some kind and they always return safe. R’jaal’s the only one that hasn’t resonated, though, and he was taken, too.
Metlaks? Did they finally get smart and organized enough? But then why steal people who have done nothing to them? I can’t figure any of it out, but if I was a betting person, I’d bet that whoever’s been stealing into the cave to snatch up all the fruit is behind this. If it’s whoever was stealing the fruit, then Ashtar and the others won’t know where I am, or who has taken me. Everyone was mystified by the scents, and the lack of scents, in the fruit cave.
No one’s coming to save me. I have to save myself, and possibly R’jaal.
Fuuuuuck. This is not how I imagined my return to Icehome Beach would be. Definitely should have stayed home in Croatoan.
Stacy was right. Trouble does come in threes. This is my number three, and I’m not going to let it defeat me.
I get to my feet, mentally testing my limbs. Other than my head feeling a littleswimmy, I’m all right. Nothing hurts, and I have no injuries that I can feel. I put my hands out and shuffle forward on bare feet until my fingertips brush the wall.
A wall made of stone bricks.
Frowning, Itrace my fingertips along the mortar seams between the bricks. When I find a section with an upraised carving, I realize why this seems so familiar. This is a hut just like the Ancestor huts back in Croatoan, the ones that were abandoned long ago.
Unless…unless I’m in Croatoan?
As soon as the idea crosses my mind, I dismiss it. I wouldn’t be discarded like this in Croatoan. I’d be tucked into a warm, comfortable bed full of furs and someone would have a fire—and some hot tea—waiting for me. Whoever is here, they’re strangers.
If this is a hut like the ones at Croatoan, then it has to be set up the same way. All of the huts in Croatoan are made the same. There’s a shelf along a small kitchen area, a door facing the “street” and a toilet (well, more like an outhouse, but it does the job) at the same corner in each hut.
If I can find the door, I can get out. I just need to orient myself.
Following the wall with small touches, I shuffle along, half expecting to run into the sleeping body of R’jaal. We were drugged, and he might still be out. But the floor I move along feels empty and cold. I find a corner and move along the next wall, and there my fingers encounter something different. A door, I decide after feeling around for a bit more. The texture is strange and spongy, like a rubbery sort of wood, but my questing hands find a pull-ring made of cold metal at chin height.
Success!
Before I can tug on it, the door pushes inward and light spills in. Someone’s entering.
Biting back a yelp, I skitter backward, until my back hits the wall. I don’t have a weapon. I don’t have anything with which to defend myself. I curl my hands into fists, ready to punch my way to freedom if I have to. I’m not letting these fuckers win.
A glowing tube of soft, luminescent light precedes them and lights up the darkness of my cell. An alien man enters, and I can see the shoulder of another standing guard just outside my strange hut.
The strange man stares at me, eyes wide with shock.
I stare back.
This particular alien doesn’t look like any other alien I’ve ever seen before. It’s strange, after over four years here on the ice planet, to realize that there might be people I haven’t met. It’s clear that whoever his people are, they live on this planet, too. He carries a spear, which means his people aren’t the space-faring type. Instead of wearing fur, he wears a strange mustard-coloredfabric kilt and sandals on his feet.
He also has four arms, like the Strong Arm clan.
As my gaze travels upward, I notice thick fur on the lower extremities and a long, swishing, full tail. The stranger has a pelt of hair on his chest, and a thick, lion-like mane on his head that falls to the shoulders. He wears beads twisted in the thick tangle of reddish-gold mane. His eyes are khui blue and he has tall, skinny, arching horns that remind me of R’jaal’s. His facial features are regular, if carved with a heavy hand, and other than the four arms and tail (and okay, horns), he could be humanoid.
A really muscular, really hairy human.
I meet the stranger’s gaze and realize he’s about my age. His eyes widen as he looks at me…and keeps looking. And looking. I’m guessing he’s never seen a human before. His color ripples as our eyes meet, and I’m reminded of the islanders, who lose control of their camouflage when they get nervous.
“What do you think, Rem’eb the Fist?” the second man calls out from the doorway. He won’t enter, won’t even look in this direction. I’m guessing that he’s not allowed to look at me, which only makes me more nervous.
The one standing in front of me blinks. He must be Rem’eb. One hand reaches up to rub his jaw, and his lips part as he stares at me as if he cannot believe what he’s seeing. If he’s startled to see me, he must not have been the one that kidnapped me. The moniker “The Fist” is a little alarming, though. I’m not going to relax my guard just yet.
The Fist guy finally answers, clearing his throat before speaking. “She…she is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen.”
Oh.
Well.
I might be an idiot, because it’s hard not to be somewhat flattered by that awed tone of voice.