11. Immortal Penance
11
Immortal Penance
Ki’REMI
L othakin lay nestled within the embrace of rolling emerald hills, a tapestry of small farmhouses, handwoven huts, and sprawling fields bathed in golden morning light.
It exuded warmth and welcome with the glow of oil lanterns and the gentle curl of smoke from a stone chimney.
This was a place of kinship, of community.
A world unto itself where time moved in tune with the earth’s rhythms.
Some homes were built from polished river boulders, woven reeds, and bore roofs of dried palm fronds.
Others were circular huts, domed like beehives. Their exteriors were finished with an iridescent resin that shimmered in the light.
Most entrances were adorned with hand-carved totems and bright tapestries, each marking the lineage of those residing within.
Hand-tended gardens filled with medicinal herbs, wildflowers, and rows of thriving crops were a testament to the village’s self-sufficiency and deep reverence for the land.
The pebbled pathways leading deeper into the village were slick, worn smooth by time, reflecting centuries of ritual and resilience.
Ki’Remi led his crew as they approached the outer low-fenced boundary with caution, weapons sheathed.
The children were the first to stream from the dwellings.
They darted forward, golden-eyed, barefoot, and fearless.
Followed by individuals, couples, and families spilling out of the dwellings. Some in delight, others in curiosity.
Zera gasped, then, without hesitation, she launched herself off the hover-bed, stumbling for a beat before sprinting toward them.
She hadn’t been able to walk on her own two feet hours ago.
Now, she ran like she was chasing the wind.
He swiveled and caught the smile on Issa’s face.
Their eyes met, and she sliced hers away, guilty as fokk .
She’d intervened yet again.
Hell, this woman.
Zera fell into the arms of a middle-aged couple.
Her mother dropped to her knees, a wail of relief breaking from her lips as the young woman crashed into her embrace.
Her father clutched them both, his shoulders trembling from the force of his held-back sobs.
Ki’Remi exhaled.
This was why he did what he did.
Even if the mission was now shot to shit, even if they were stranded here until the Perseus got to them, getting her back home had been the priority.
However, the warmth of reunion was short-lived.
The Elders stepped forward, their expressions telling the Sableman they were still peeved.
Ki’Remi met their gaze without flinching.
The lead was Zera’s father, Elder Okaban.
In person, he was a broad-shouldered man, his eyes penetrating.
His fingers curled around an ancient wooden staff.
He studied Ki’Remi with hardness, his face twisted into a cold mask.
‘You brought back what you stole from us,’ Okaban acquiesced, his utterance deep, like gravel crushed underfoot.
‘You know well enough we did nothing of the sort,’ Ki’Remi countered. ‘She ran away from this village, found our emergency field hospital, and begged us through her pain to help her. Your daughter would be dead if we did not intervene. Also, to have done otherwise would have violated our oath as doctors.’
Okaban’s nostrils flared.
Before he could argue, Zera’s mother stood, eyes red with tears.
‘Huran, they saved our daughter,’ she whispered, ‘that is all that matters.’
Silence fell as the verity of her statement rang over them.
Okaban exhaled, slow, controlled. ‘Yet, some assailant attacked you with our girl on your ship. Your Admiral informed us.’
Ki’Remi nodded. ‘The enemy was unfamiliar to us, but we defended ourselves, and my team even got wounded to save your daughter. Regardless, we neutralized them and hope they won’t be back.’
The Elders exchanged a long, measured look.
‘You ask for shelter,’ Okaban said. ‘Your presence risks our safety.’
Ki’Remi raised his chin, unwavering still with a softness that commanded respect. ‘I get the risk and understand your hesitation. However, you need to understand our challenge. We cannot leave until our ship returns. We gave you the gift of your healed daughter. Please give us one night; we’ll be gone at sunrise.’
The two men faced off for a minute before Okaban nodded. ‘One night.’
At the heart of the village, a massive ancient yhanba tree reigned.
It was a colossus of knotted tubers twisting above the ground and thick, leafy boughs that had guarded the village for generations.
Its canopy stretched with expansive reach, hurling a protective shadow across the communal gathering space below.
Gnarled roots curled into natural seats, worn smooth by the touch of time and countless conversations beneath its limbs.
Encircling the tree were luminescent fungal blooms that surged with eerie blue light.
Under the branches, a communal fire burned; its flames always stoked, and wood continually replenished, so it never extinguished.
A colossal iron pot was suspended above it, bubbling with thick porridge.
Twas a fragrant mixture of grains, spiced milk, and honey.
Tables nearby groaned under platters of roasted river fish, bowls of dense grain gruel seasoned with wild herbs, and steaming root vegetables slicked with fragrant oils.
The Elders presided from carved stone seats, their faces etched with wisdom.
Young and old gathered, dipping carved ladles into steaming bowls and exchanging stories between mouthfuls.
Ki’Remi leaned on the back of an engraved wooden stool, having had his fill.
His crew was close by, warmed by the roaring fire pit, and the air was redolent with smoke and spice.
Fueled by good food, children darted through the courtyard, their laughter ringing like chimes as they played with balls and skipping ropes.
A few hounds lazed in corners, their tails thumping against the packed earth as villagers passed, pausing to scratch behind their ears.
Twas a rare utopia, held together not by walls or weapons but by the simple, unshakable power of belonging.
Ki’Remi observed it all as he sipped on a tangy, fermented libation passed around in ornate wooden vessels.
Its first sip scorched his throat and numbed his tongue.
He drank with care after that, ignoring the curious eyes flicking at him toward the shifting glow of his metanoid tattoos.
Zera sat between her parents, tucked close to the shelter of her father’s cloak, glancing at Ki’Remi, then at Issa occasionally.
Her gaze was full of reverence and appreciation for pulling her from the void of death.
He suspected Zera had shared their legend with his fellow villages because the locals had presented Issa and himself with flower garlands around their heads.
Also, the Rider and the crew kept getting endless top-ups of the numbing and now delicious brew.
Their appreciation was profuse and almost too much.
He didn’t know how to handle gratitude, given that the golden-haired woman seated nearby had done most of the lifesaving.
Even now, the woman confounded his senses as she chatted with the crew and a few village teenagers, her soft laughter echoing through the square.
Riva’s android components soon captured the children’s fascination.
They poked at the black titanium plating of her cybernetic arm, tracing the sleek alloy with wide-eyed wonder.
‘They think you’re a metal ghost,’ Issa teased, smirking.
Riva arched a brow. ‘That’s because I’m the fokkin ’ boogey machine.’
One of the Elders, a woman with silver-threaded hair, chuckled. ‘They have never seen one such as you. The melding of flesh and machine is rare in our world.’
‘Not in mine,’ Riva said, tapping her glowing neural interface.
The Seniors turned to Ki’Remi.
One of the older warriors gestured at his arms, his gaze on the Rider’s shifting metanoid tattoos flickering under the firelight.
‘The spirits of your ancestors manifest themselves in your soul bones,’ he murmured. ‘I see three powerful warlocks, and I pay them respect.’
Ki’Remi jolted and exhaled through his nose, not knowing what to say. ‘They pay it back,’ he rasped back, nonplussed.
The Elder studied him, long and slow, before he bowed before the Rider in awe.
Ki’Remi took a deep breath and then swiveled his head, only to find Issa watching him with a slight smile on her face and one arched brow.
Fokk .
ISSA
The banda stood on the outskirts of the village, nestled beneath the ancient canopy of jungle trees.
The structure was simple.
Woven reed barriers, a slanted roof reinforced with resin and bark, and a covered veranda where the soft glow of flames flickered from an iron lantern.
The night air was thick with the scent of damp earth, smoke, and the sweetness of crushed rainforest blossoms.
Inside, the sleeping hut was rudimentary but comfortable.
Straw-filled mattresses had been laid out along the walls, blankets crafted from the softest wool folded in neat piles at the foot of each bed.
Issa listened as the crew drifted into sleep one by one, claimed by exhaustion.
Riva was out first, always practical and efficient.
She rolled onto her side, one arm draped over her ribs like a soldier resting between battles, her glowing neural interface flickering off.
Bear lay on his back, breathing deep and even, one ham-fisted palm sprawled over his chest, the other settled close to the knife strapped to his thigh.
Ghost and Juno murmured in hushed voices, exchanging medical notes as drowsiness pulled at them until their conversation faded into silence.
Ki’Remi didn’t sleep.
Issa knew that without even looking at him.
Even a few feet away from her, she sensed him awake, alert, coiled over his sleeping pallet like a predator lying in wait.
Issa exhaled, shifting onto her side, prepared to let exhaustion take her too.
Then, a soft tug at the edge of her quilt.
Her body tensed. Eyes flickering open, she stared into Zera’s broad, golden gaze.
The young woman knelt beside her barefoot, her face glowing in the dim firelight filtering through the cracks of the banda walls.
‘Come with me,’ Zera muttered.
Issa rubbed a hand over her face, pushing away sleep.
She should have said nada .
However, the expression in the girl’s eyes told her the need was desperate.
She sighed and knifed up with care.
She pulled on her boots and uniform jacket, then rose, tip-toeing over her crew’s sleeping forms, mindful not to wake them.
Ignoring the searing heat of Ki’Remi’s eyes as he tracked her exit.
Fokk him , she thought, shaking off his imagined disdain as she followed Zera into the moonlit village.
‘Where are we going?’ she whispered.
The girl just placed a finger over her lips.
Resigning herself to silence, Issa pressed on with her slight companion.
The jungle rustled beyond the huts, alive with nocturnal creatures. The occasional chirp of insects blended with the distant hoot of an Allorian owl.
Firelight flickered from the hamlet center, where embers still smoldered from the night’s feast.
Zera led her to a small banda on the village’s north side. On its veranda, candles arranged in simple clay holders lit the place.
A young couple sat on the steps outside, their faces lined with worry, their hands clasped together as they murmured soft prayers.
They glanced up with tears as Issa and Zera stepped past them.
On the small terrace, a woman, likely a grandmother, rocked a child in her arms, her voice soothing and rhythmic, a lullaby so ancient it had been sung for generations.
The toddler in her grasp stirred and gave a frail cry, its stomach swollen and distended, its skin stretched tight, and its slight frame weakened by illness.
Zera turned to Issa. ‘I heard about what you did,’ she whispered. ‘At the feast. You healed the warrior who had the arrow wound. You did it with light.’
Issa inhaled.
She should have guessed someone would see.
She’d slipped away at the start of the evening meal, noticing the limping young man.
Minutes later, she’d worked her so-called voodoo magic, leaving behind one overjoyed customer.
She should have known he’d share.
Now, she glanced at the child’s face, pale, drawn, his breath shallow.
She didn’t need a scan to know he was dying.
The chrono on her wrist ticked on.
This was the cost.
The tonnage of her penance.
Without a word, she knelt before the child and held out her hands.
The grandmother hesitated, then placed the boy into Issa’s waiting arms.
He was just skin and bones, far too emaciated, under a healthy weight.
Issa pressed her palms against his frail, swollen belly, closing her eyes and allowing the energy within her to rise.
Warmth surged through her fingertips, golden ribbons of radiance weaving over the child’s dermis, sinking deep, burning away the sickness with every heartbeat.
His body shuddered.
A feeble, keening whimper escaped him, but his miniature digits curled around her wrist.
The tumor beneath her hands shrank, its unnatural mass dissolving, leaving behind only smooth, healed flesh.
His breath evened.
His pulse grew steady.
The boy stirred, tiny fingers reaching upward, touching her face.
Issa let out a slow, controlled exhalation and pulled back, handing the child to its parents.
The grandmother sobbed.
The couple clutched each other and their baby, their tears falling over the young one’s wide-eyed face.
Words of gratitude spilled from their lips, a blend of blessings and thanks, spoken in hushed reverence.
The nana pressed a jar of honey into her hands.
The father followed with a compact bundle of herbs wrapped in cloth, a gift of whatever they could spare.
Issa took them, unwilling to be rude.
She had nowhere to place the gifts, but in moments like these, the exchange mattered.
She stood and bowed to the bundled family and exited, like she always did, to give the the privacy they now needed to heal their souls.
‘There are more,’ Zera whispered.
Issa sighed. Of course, there were always more.
‘Show me.’