His body understood the words before his mind did. He was already crouching down in front of the child before his mind had caught up. Probably a good thing or he would have backhanded her away from the casket.
"What do you mean?"
"It's Kyra, not Jack," Ziza said, wide eyed. He looked up at Lajjun, who nodded, once, spasmodically.
He swung Ziza back up onto his hip, eyes locked on Lajjun, threat implicit. "Tell me."
Lajjun swallowed, terrified. She managed, at last "I don't know much."
He said nothing.
She rushed through. "Jack ran away, once. Kyra brought her back. I don't know what happened while she was gone. Kyra would stay with us sometimes. She gave Jack money, gifts, made sure she learned how to fight. I don't know why. I don't know who she was. I worried she was groom---" She broke off. Looked away. Took a deep breath and continued.
"A few years ago, she asked Jack to go with her. Jack didn't want to go, but -- We didn't hear anything until we received word she was in Crematoria."
"Anything else?" he rumbled, softly.
Lajjun shook her head, violently.
"Ziza?" he asked, softly.
"Kyra was smart," the girl said, proudly. "She looked like Jack. She had a ship called Nimue. She killed people. And she liked sweet things."
After that, it wasn't too hard. The ship's name was a lucky break. Made it easy to figure out that Kyra had left Helion Prime with Jack, and a year later, was cast into Crematoria without her. Kyra had been good at hiding her tracks, but he had the best trackers in the galaxy.
It was Jack's damn fault he was here. If she had stayed put, none of this would have happened. He would have swept her up and she'd be safe, someplace else.
He needed her to be safe.
Since he needed to be here when they brought her in, he started becoming the Lord Marshal in earnest. He still had not taken the mark, but in every other way, he served their mission as if it was his own. Worlds fell at his feet. Intoxicating.
He set Ziza and Lajjun up in his own rooms, technically, though he hardly ever saw Lajjun. Ziza he saw every day. He was probably spoiling her. Even got her some pets to play with. Other children salvaged from the wreckage of wrecked worlds. Told Lajjun to take care of them. Assumed she was.
The generals thought he was torturing them, letting children run around the Necropolis. Reason enough to do it.
Too many months after they left Helion Prime, word came back that Jack had been found and would be retrieved per his standing orders. Minimum force. Retrieve her unharmed. Otherwise, strategy was left in the able hands of able officers, authorized to commit the entire force of the Necromonger military to the mission, if they felt it necessary. Not that the ship he sent wasn't perfectly capable boiling the skies and burning the seas of the particular planet, if need be.
Not convenient to go himself, unfortunately, what with a universe to conquer. Plus, he didn't want to seem too eager. Might give people ideas.
As prisons go, Jack thought, this really wasn't so bad. Nothing like what Riddick and Kyra talked about.
Not that it was a prison. Arden was a school. A very good school, dedicated to the daughters of the rich and powerful. Good teachers, good classes, beautiful buildings, and plenty of daylight. And Kyra had picked it because it had an excellent reputation for repelling kidnapping attempts.
It's just that she couldn't leave. Part of the anti-kidnapping thing.
Theoretically, she could. She was an adult; they would not hold her against her will. But there was no transportation provided students except by special arrangement. Arrangements, she had learned, Kyra had specifically not made.
The school was high in the mountains, and while, again in theory, one could climb out of the bowl valley where it was set, that would have meant sheer rock cliffs and glaciers. Practically speaking, one had to fly. And while she knew how to pilot a little, and knew how break into things a lot, the ships here were very secure.
She hadn't tried too hard, yet. But it had been more than a year since she'd heard from Kyra, and she was getting nervous. She was here, under a (mostly) false name, with no clue where the money was coming from for tuition, or what she would do when it ran out. Or what she would do if they figured out she was not minor warrior nobility from a distant world, but just some kid from the streets, thrust into this institution less for its educational reputation as for its security features. Because, for some reason she could barely guess at, she attracted the attention of violent people. Some of which wanted her to be safe.
But it was beautiful, and today was sunny, and she was getting a top notch education. If, that was, she was going to be a military officer or government administrator some day, she thought with only a little bitterness. That's what most of the girls were here to learn. But not bloody likely, with her background. A background check was bound to lead to too much trouble, even after Kyra had her retinal patterns changed to avoid detection off of the damn tapes.
Unconsciously, she shivered. Checked to make sure the carbon knife was Riddick gave her was still strapped securely to her thigh. She'd slit her own throat before going back to that nightmare. Had the move practiced smooth.
Career. Right. She could become a mercenary, but she recognized that was mostly the oppositional defiant disorder talking, and she was mostly over that.
Career was not a problem she had to face today, mercifully. Today, she could sit in a tree and study and enjoy one of the last warm days before winter finalized its grip on the high valley. She'd even broken away from her friends to do it. She loved some of the girls here, but they could be very distracting.
She was well on her way to finishing this week's lesson in planetary relations (amusingly, junior members of several of that week's featured planets' leading families were in her class, bringing a gossipy spice to the chapters) when a military shuttle landed right in front of her own dormitory.
A trickle of fear iced down her spine. All shuttles were supposed to land on the school's tiny space port, not just go where they wanted. Seven heavily armed men disembarked. Three went into the dormitory; two strode towards the administrative building, and two set up guard outside the ship. Kidnapping?
No, that didn't make sense. They wouldn't be visiting the administration building if that was their plan.
After a seeming eternity, she could see them in her room. She could see them through the light curtains on her window. They were looking for her.
What would Kyra do? What would Riddick do?
Riddick would stay put. Kyra would probably stick herself in the middle of it all. Like trying to guess which psycho-killer you are, she thought. Despite it all, she snorted.
She was fairly well hidden. It would be night soon; she could sneak out of the tree and . . . freeze to death, given the time of year. Warm days, cold nights. Not the bestest plan ever.
They were still in her room. They seemed to be . . . moving things around? Searching for something? That didn't make much sense. She had nothing interesting. Nothing that wasn't on her body right now.
Damn.
Time stretched on towards infinity. And the men in her room came down with a gravity sled full of boxes. Her stuff. Not making sense.
Her fear was beginning to fade, replaced by a certain peevishness. Had Kyra sent these men? Were they her idea of a moving company?
No. That also didn't make sense. They were military. Kyra had no use for the military. And they clearly were not mercenaries for hire. Too organized. Too disciplined.
If they were going to arrest her, it was unlikely they'd start by packing up her stuff.
So what the fuck were they doing?
She needed information.
She thought clearer when she was peevish rather than terrified. There was a way out. The tree touched another, which touched another, which touched a maintenance shed that was connected via an underground tunnel to the administration building. Lots of locked doors, but she was getting good at picking locks. Another gift Kyra had given her. If she could get to the building, she might be able to figure out what was going on.
Fortunately, it was fairly early in autumn, and the leaves had not dropped. It was slow and painful, but she managed, at long last, to drop quietly down onto the roof of the shed. She stayed flat on her stomach until she was sure she had not been spotted. At last, she slid through the roof access and wormed her way through the maze of access tunnels built to avoid snow.
If I stay here, they might never find me.
She shook her head. Kept moving. They'd be talking to the Dean, and she knew of a service closet where she could lurk and listen. She got there fast, unnoticed.
"Commander Toal, we just haven't found her yet." the Dean was saying. "I'm sorry. We let our students go anywhere in the valley."
"Hm." A man's voice sighed. "Unfortunate."
"You understand," the Dean continued, wearily, afraid, "we will not allow you to take her by force. If she chooses to go with you, we will not stop her. But we protect our students."
"Good for you," Commander Toal replied, easily. The sound of men entering the room. "All packed?" he asked, relaxed and self satisfied.
"Yes sir."
"So all we need is our young 'Audrey.'"
Shit. They really were looking for her. Who ever they were.
"We will keep looking," the Dean said.
"I think it's time to move this along. Produce her, or I will begin the destruction of this institution. I have a warship in orbit. We will start with the east dorm."
"You wouldn't. You might kill her by accident."
"No, I don't think so. Our scans indicate there is no one in that building past puberty. You understand, I have my orders. I am sorry."
The Dean gasped. The Dean believed. The Dean was no lightweight. The Dean thought they would kill children.
Am I the self sacrificing type? Jack wondered, distantly. Never really had the chance to find out before.
Guess so, she answered herself. Pushed open the closet and entered the room. "You lookin' for me?"
Easy to pick out Commander Toal, he looked like he was used to being in command. "Jack al-Walid, I presume?"
Oh boy, this just gets better and better. No one had called her that since she left New Mecca, since Kyra gave her this new identity. Its penetration was unlikely to be a good thing. She appraised the man, who, oddly enough, seemed to be waiting for her, politely.
"I've been called that," she shrugged, with studied nonchalance.
The Commander smiled at her. "We would speak with you alone."
"I cannot allow that," the Dean said, heatedly. "We do not leave our students unchaperoned."
The Commander shrugged, and shot her. Before thought caught up, Jack was bolting from the room, but was yanked out of flight by one of the mountains masquerading as soldiers. He wrapped an arm around her chest and clamped a hand over her mouth.
"She will wake," the Commander said, easily. "She is only stunned. We wish you no harm. We must, however, be sure you are the one we have been sent to retrieve." He gestured, and the least heavily armed of the men approached.
The man's eyes were strangely compassionate. "This won't hurt," he said, quietly. He reached for her face with long fingers.
Fuck, a telepath. Another part of her nightmares; her memories sifted and recorded by a telepath who seemed to enjoy twisting her darkest nightmares. No help for it now, his hands were on her temples.
He was right, it didn't hurt. At first. He wasn't rooting around her head. All he did was suggest an image. Riddick. Waited for her to react.
React she did. Memories of screaming, screaming, never to stop screaming flooded back. With strength she didn't know she had, she head butted him and twisted out of the other man's grip. Her knife was in her hand. She flung herself toward the window.
Too late. The commander was blocking her path, weapon drawn. No way to get to the door; two of the soldiers where there. She changed direction. Got her feet under her. Made a decision. The knife headed for her own throat.
"Stop her!" the telepath screamed from the ground. She could still feel his ghostly fingers tangled in her brain.
Faster than people should be able to move, one soldier yanked her backwards by the neck, another knocked the weapon from her hands. She was trapped by nightmares and by strangers' hands. She clamped her teeth against the sobs that were threatening to paralyze her.
The telepath struggled to his feet, took her face in his hands, gently. "I promise. It won't be like that. We don't want to hurt you. We've been ordered not to hurt you."
The compassion in his eyes broke her heart. He knew. He knew everything. Everything vile thing ever done to her.
The Commander was less impressed. "Miss. You will come with us. If you do anything like that again, we will start killing your friends."
She stared at him, suddenly hard eyed, panic transformed to anger. "You do that, you'll have to kill me. I'll make you kill me. Or you'll have to beat me into submission and if I'm right about who sent you, you will be in big trouble."
Mostly an empty threat; she couldn't even lift her arms. But the telepath interceded again. "Jack," he said, softly. "Walk out of here with us. We'll take you to a better world."
Clearly full of shit, but what choice did she have? She couldn't let children die, what ever in her panic she'd almost done. And their hands were hard enough on her to bruise. They weren't going to let her go.
They brought her back to the Necroverse in cryo sleep and took her to the med deck.
There was nothing really wrong with her, they said. It was just a good place to keep her until he had a chance to confirm it was her. To decide whether she would wake up if she wasn't.
There was too much to do to rush straight down. She'd been there about four hours before he could break away.
It was her.
She did look like Kyra. Two girls, sleeping in glass caskets. Waiting to wake up.
Well, one of them waiting.
He sent everyone else out of the room. No prying eyes for this. He lifted her gently out of the cryochamber and laid her on an exam table, the umbilical cord of sleeping drugs snaking back to its source.
He brushed her hair from her face and neck, letting his fingers play across her cheek, down . . .
Huh? Her hair had concealed something –
A bruise. A thumb shaped bruise on the left side of her neck, angling upwards. Matching bruises on the right. Someone had grabbed her by the neck from behind, hard. His men?
Fury began to rise. He realized abruptly that she was not dressed like a student, but in the brief, loose gown that Necromongers sometimes made those waiting for conversion wear, in case they had weapons hidden in their own clothes. A security measure. They had made her change clothes, afraid she was armed and would hurt someone. He almost stripped her naked to see if there were more marks on her before he got control of himself. He settled for pushing up her sleeves. More fresh bruises.
Fury struggled with a new revelation. She'd fought. She had not wanted to come. The thought was staggering. Never once occurred to him she wouldn't want to be with him.
Fuck what she wants.
He managed, barely, to regain control. He was not being reasonable. Would the Necromongers tell her who sent them? Not sure they thought that way. Even if they had said he sent them, she probably would not have believed them. Would have thought it was a trick. Would have thought they were mercs.
So they came for her, she said no, and they took her anyway. By force. Because he told them to bring her back. Really didn't think this one through, did I?
Had she gone to sleep in pain, afraid?
Why hadn't they told him?
How do you know they didn't? It's not like you read their report, asshole, he thought, grimly. You just came down here as soon as it was convenient.
There was an easy way to figure all this out. Wake her up; see if she recoiled in horror or threw herself into his arms.
No, it might be best to wait until he had time to do it right; time to talk to her about what had happened since he'd left her somewhere she should have been safe. Since he'd left her to keep her safe.
So much he had to say to her. About how much he missed her. About her leaving New Mecca with the crazy woman. Now, about fighting his men. If only there wasn't so fucking much to do today. If only there wasn't so fucking much to do every day.
It might be best to let her sleep.
No. He was Riddick, the Lord Marshal of the Necromongers, and he wanted this girl awake. He was here because of her; least she could do is go through it with him. He pulled the needle out of her arm and bandaged it, gently.
She woke gradually, like she was supposed to. He was not used to having to wait for things any more. The most powerful man in the galaxy, delayed by a frail girl's metabolism.
Frail. She wasn't really frail. Actually well muscled. Ballsy enough to stand up to a phalanx of Necromongers. Just frail compared to Kyra . . .
Distracted by thoughts of Kyra, he almost missed her eyelids fluttering. But he heard her first natural breath, saw her eyes open, fix on him. Her smile was pure joy.
"Riddick?" she whispered. It had been more than a year since anyone but Ziza had called him that; he almost didn't recognize his name from the lips of an adult.
He came closer. "Hey, kid," he said, softly.
"I've missed you so much," she whispered, completely unguarded. Were those tears in her eyes? "I never thought I'd see you again." Still in the narcotic grip of the drugs, she reached out, clumsily.
Kyra would not have been clumsy, he thought with a chill of bitterness. Still, he gathered her into a rough embrace, nuzzling her face with his own. She pressed against him hard, then relaxed into his arms in a way that made his heart ache.
He broke it off, pulled back. "You're safe now," he said, firmly.
She looked up at him, confused. "Safe from what? What's going on?"
Her confusion immediately annoyed him. One thing to be said for the Necros, they were never confused. Clarity, that was their thing.
Get over yourself, he scolded. You're comparing your Jack unfavorably to the Necros? You're irritated because she doesn't know what's going on?
Do you even know what's going on?
She was watching him, more carefully now. She might be remembering things. "Look," he said. "You're safe. I'll explain everything. But I've got things I gotta do. We'll get you checked out, set up. We'll have dinner, get you up to speed before bed." He leaned back, opened a door behind him.
A woman in a white smock came in, smiling. She bowed her head to Riddick, who gave her a nod.
"Melissa. Take care of her. Fix anything broken. Then have someone find her suitable clothes," he ordered.
"Yes my lord," the woman said.
Jack's eyes were wide, confused. Maybe he should have waited after all. Oh well. He kissed her on the cheek, like he would kiss Ziza. Maybe a little more lingering. Was pleased to see her blush. Left her to the medics.
The exam was thorough. There was no part of Jack that wasn't poked, prodded, or sampled. Everyone was gentle, deferential, and utterly unilluminating.
They could hear her, she knew. Arm up, arm down, does this hurt, when did you break this? You are torn, do you know why?
They also didn't ask permission, exactly. They did what they wanted to her, just in a deferential fashion that increased her confusion. They only smiled politely at her questions.
Until Dame Vaako. She slid in to the exam room, sinuously. "Aren't you a pretty one?" she breathed at Jack.
Jack stared at her, not comprehending this woman, whose entire body seemed to be dedicated to catching and holding the eye. "Hello?" She felt absurd, sitting on an exam table in a thin hospital gown, in the presence of this walking, breathing, icon.
"Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Dame Vaako." She arched her neck in a gesture that might have been inspired by a reverent bow.
"I'm – Jack."
"I know. I have been asked to help outfit you according to your new station." She paused, expectantly.
"Thanks?"
"Which raises the question . . . what is your station?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"Hmm."
The two women eyed each other. Jack, cautiously. Dame Vaako, with increasingly obvious pleasure.
"Well," Dame Vaako continued, "Jack. Why don't we find what looks good on you. And meanwhile you can tell me about your relation to the Lord Marshal. That will help us decide what is . . . most suitable."
Dame Vaako extended a perfectly manicured hand. Jack took it, uncertainly. Dame Vaako led her, undulating perfectly, from the room.
The Necropolis was stunning. Jack could barely believe she was on a space ship. The extravagant amount of interior space, the sheer weight of the ornaments all seemed nearly obscene. Dame Vaako set a stately, leisurely pace through this decadence, allowing a generous amount of time for many of those they passed to bow and smile. She seemed gracious and friendly, but Jack was not loving being nearly naked in front of these beautiful, heavily armed, people. Most politely averted their eyes from her body. Their own heavily armed guards flanking them might have had something to do with that.
Jack couldn't help but notice that no one else had guards.
The guards stayed outside the fitting rooms. The older woman showed her a dizzying array of clothing, most of which was annoying. Tight. Revealing. Ornamental. These people didn't seem to solidly grasp that women could wear pants.
In the end, they settled. They would make her some clothing more like what she was used to wearing, and she accepted some of the fancy, weirdly spine-enhancing costumes. But she walked out in a simple black dress and the sturdiest shoes Dame Vaako would authorize – which were not too sturdy.
All the while, Dame Vaako asked her questions, sweetly. They seemed to be about her, but they all got back to Riddick. Out of habit, if nothing else, Jack became evasive. And then she felt bad, because the woman switched to less troubling questions.
As they left the fitting room, armed guards fell back into step around them. Dame Vaako entwined her arm with Jack's and took it on herself to point out interesting architectural features. Finally, Jack could bear it no more.
"Has Riddick always been the Lord Marshal?"
"Oh, no child! Only about a year ago."
"What happened?"
"He ascended in a traditional fashion. Sent his predecessor, the beloved Lord Zhylaw, past the threshold to the Underverse."
Jack tried to untangle the words. Gave up. "You mean he killed him?"
Dame Vaako laughed, a tinkling sound. "Yes. But in the Necromonger faith, death is a reward. It is the gateway to a better world."
"So why don't you all commit suicide?"
"Many do. And many more are sent there, as a mercy. But those of us here have a mission. To bring all life across the threshold. To live eternally in a better world."
O-kay, thought Jack. These people are crazy. You die, you die.
Crazy, and they want to kill everyone. Bring the blessings of death.
No wonder Riddick's in charge.
She shivered. It was like there were two Riddicks; always had been. The sociopathic killer who hated god and was enchanted by death. The one she tried to ignore. And the other one; the one who came back for her; who kept stepping between her and monsters. The one she had loved, and who seemed, sometimes, to love her.
Which one sent the warship after me?
She became abruptly aware that Dame Vaako was watching her, politely, curiously. The woman might be crazy, but she was being kind to her, and deserved some sort of response. "So – Riddick's a Necromonger?"
"No. He has accepted our mission, but not the faith. Which is curious."
"He's always been a little nihilistic."
Dame Vaako smiled. "But he's also protective."
"I don't follow."
The older woman sighed, seemingly sad. "Child, it's curious because he seemed to care about the woman who helped him kill the Lord Marshal. She had accepted our faith, thus, she will live eternally in the Underverse. The killer of a Lord Marshal, without allies. They will not be kind to her. If he was one of us, he would be able to protect her in the next world. His failure to do so is a subject of much quiet speculation among the faithful."
Jack found herself snorting. Then she realized that might be seen as sacrilegious. Slightly guiltily, she offered, "I've never understood Riddick either."
"But you've known him for a long time." It was a statement.
Jack shrugged. "Not really. We traveled together for a while, a long time ago. I'm a little surprised he remembers me."
"My dear girl, he sent a warship after you. Told his men to retrieve you by any means necessary."
Guess that could be an affectionate gesture, in some worlds, Jack thought. Or an incredibly disturbing one, in most. "Yeah."
Dame Vaako watched her carefully. "Let me show you something," she said, finally. "We think, maybe, you were brought here to replace someone. The girl he failed to save."
They walked in silence to a different portion of the ship – city – what ever it was. Into a room that looked like a chapel. Instead of an altar, there was an ornate stasis tube. Dame Vaako motioned Jack forward.
Kyra.
Kyra, dead.
Kyra, dead, on Riddick's ship.
Jack slid noiselessly to the floor in shock.