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"O Singer of Persephone!
In the dim meadows desolate
Dost thou remember Sicily?"
—Oscar Wilde, "A Villanelle," Poems and Essays

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PART II

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The new world was a treeless one.

Siha squinted despite the grayness of the morning, shifting on the rocky ledge she crouched on. Grass swished besides her. Six years had passed since she woke to an unfamiliar sky and the knowledge she would never see her trees again. If she were still in her forest she would've been twenty-seven years old, but seasons passed much slower on this new planet, and Siha knew she would soon lose track of her age all together. Even now she was beginning to forget what rustling leaves sounded like or the sharp aroma of pine resin. To look up and see only leaves instead of open sky.

The young woman pulled her long coat tighter as the wind nipped with petty maliciousness. She weathered the discomfort silently. It was her fault for staying in the high hills, and if the cold was a price for avoiding people, she would pay it. The world was green despite its starkness. There were some bushes but they were stunted things, their exposed roots bleached white. Most of the immediate geography was composed of sloping plains and large, rising knolls that jutted from the ground like a Wraith's spinal ridges. In the distance craggy mountains stretched their stony fingers. Ominous clouds perpetually wreathed their peaks.

The Wraith were clever. The mountain range created a natural and daunting cage, effectively trapping anyone inside. Siha tried crossing them several times, but ill weather and lack of suitable equipment always forced her back. On the last attempt she nearly lost three fingers to frostbite.

Siha peered at the rudimentary civilization nestled in the valley below, her height and distance reducing the houses to matchstick boxes. Roughly ten thousand people lived there, Kay one of them. Siha knew the young man had been employed to maintain the waterwheels that churned in the nearby river, his small frame useful when making repairs. He often smelled of flour and grain when he visited her, and never failed to bring bread made from the grass-harvested grains. Kay wasn't the only who 'visited': every month Darts arrived to collect sacrifices.

Tributes. That was what the people who inhabited the city called them.

Yet the Wraith gave as well. With the same frequency as the cullings they provided materials for housing, food, clothing, simple medicines, and other sundries required to maintain so many on an otherwise barren world. Without aid, Siha knew the city would crumble.

Here, humans depended on the Wraith.

The wind buffeted the young woman as she climbed to her feet. For six years she avoided the city's protection and comfort. How could she after the role she played in the destruction of both camps? Six years had brunt some of the homesickness, but none of the guilt.

Siha heard the raucous scream of a Dart before seeing its needle-nosed shape punch through the clouds. She tensed, watching its trajectory. Over the years she seen the Wraith come and cull any who abandoned the city to live in the hills. Siha didn't know why the Wraith ignored her for as long as they did. She was nothing special. The young woman both yearned and dreaded the moment the Wraith would whisk her away. After the disaster she caused, it was the least she deserved. Yet fear hounded her. Siha often dreamt of Angor's feeding hand pressed on her chest, the smoke still stinging her nose and eyes. She would forget the sound of trees long before she would ever forget the feel of its wet, puckered ridges and the way it pulsed faintly against her.

The Dart landed in the city and disappeared from sight. Not today, she thought. The familiar mixture of sick relief and disappointment hung inside her like a weight. Or a noose.

The shy six-legged deer she'd planned to stalk would've gone deeper in the hills by now. It'd be no use hunting after the loud shrieking. Siha swore under her breath, her stomach choosing to growl in that moment. Her stride lengthened. She left the ledge, heading back to the lee of the knoll in hopes of finding respite from the wind.

A bird startled in the air. Siha's fingers curled for the nonexistent rapid-pistol at her thigh before remembering it'd been taken years ago. She brought her slingshot to bear instead and took aim. She had the perfect shot. Then her arm relaxed. Go, you stupid bird. Go. Despite her hunger she allowed it to fly out of range, wishing she could soar as it did. Perhaps then she would fly off the world and keep going until she made it to the space Ring. I wouldn't stop, she thought, straining her eyes to the point of tears. I'd keep flying until I left this galaxy and the Wraith forever.

A smile came to her. So, this is how children everywhere dream, she thought, soft and sad.

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By nightfall Siha could smell the bread's warm aroma even before Kay rounded the knoll. She lifted her head from the small fire she huddled by, feeling her face lighten.

"Kay." It always took her off-guard to see how much he'd grown. The last six years had turned him from waifish boy to strong young man. His jawline was clean and firm, his once-wavy blonde hair now tied back in a short queue. Working with waterwheels had broadened his shoulders. She doubted he could wiggle in the machinery like he used to.

"Hi, Siha," he said, his voice a baritone's tenor. The young man handed her the loaf and sat down. Even without the threat of being culled Siha knew eking a living off the rocks and grass was a strong deterrent. If it wasn't for Kay bringing her food, clothing, and materials when he could, she would've succumbed to exposure and starvation long ago. I hope you realize you've kept me alive, she thought as she accepted the bread from him. It was warm in her hands. She chuckled without meaning to.

"What's funny?" he asked.

"Nothing. I'm just still surprised you don't hate me."

"I wanted to," he said. He began tending her fire with hands made graceful after years of practice. "But in the end I couldn't."

Siha smiled a corpse's smile. "Fhuhu did, even at the end."

Kay went quiet. Siha knew in the early days both Fhuhu and Ehraha were publicly fed upon to quell the flare ups between the two camps. From what she'd heard from Kay, Fhuhu had screamed her name before he withered completely. The two peoples coexisted after that. Or rather, hid their arguments better. It didn't take long for the rest of the city to accept the forest folk into their fold. After all, everyone shared the same story: the Wraith had rounded them up and brought them here to be 'tended.'

Tended. Like game on a preserve, or animals on a farm. Siha shivered despite the fire and its gleaming embers. She drew her coat to her throat.

"I keep forgetting how bad the wind gets up here," Kay said. He eyed her threadbare coat. "I'll have to get you another one."

"Don't bother."

There was a sigh. "Still not forgiving yourself?"

Siha fell into old habits as she signed in woodspeak, This—all of this—was my mistake. I burned our forest.

"It's been six years, Siha. Most of us, if not all, have accepted our fate. The Wraith finding us was bound to happen eventually. At least we're alive."

Siha snorted. "For now. When the Wraith allows us to."

"They give more than they take."

"But they still take!"

"The Wraith have been taking for thousands of years," Kay said. There was no anger in his tone, only weariness. It was an old, familiar argument between them. "We're only noticing it now because the forest protected us. We were spoiled."

"Are those your words, or theirs?" She didn't know why she was being so combative. Stop it. You're being ungrateful.

"I'm still Kay," he said, and there was pain in his voice. He put his hand on her arm with all the gentleness of a person soothing a spooked animal. She could feel his body heat through her clothes. "Just because I live in a house doesn't mean I'm any different."

Siha suddenly had to switch topics. "Were any of our camp taken this time?" she asked. She tore off a piece of bread and ate it. It carried the faint flavor of tussock grass. Her hunger made it delicious. Wordlessly she offered him some of the bread to him. When he refused, she offered water instead. He removed his hand from her arm to accept the wooden cup gratefully and drank.

"A few," he said when he was finished.

Siha closed her eyes.

"You know they only take the sick and old," Kay said. He fed the fire more bush roots from her dwindling pile. It accepted the offering greedily.

"And the wounded." She glanced to him. "If you get hurt, you're reported to the Wraith."

There were two Wraith who lived in the city among the humans. They acted as stewards, keeping a close watch on the people. Angor had kept his promise: under these Wraiths' careful eye any disputes were instantly quelled, including the initial friction between Fhuhu and Ehraha's peoples. The city's elected council also brought their requests for materials and foodstuffs to these Wraith, along with informing who was growing old, ill, or wounded.

"I know," he said. "You should come back. The Wraith target outliers."

"Like me." It was another an old argument between them. She could almost guess what Kay would say before he said it, but today he didn't seem to want to follow the usual routine.

Siha narrowed her eyes. "Something's different. What is it?"

Kay nodded, as if he unsurprised she would find out. "The Wraith came again."

"I saw."

"They said something different this time."

Siha pretended she was engrossed with tearing at the bread. Steam wafted in her nose. "Oh?"

"They're asking for volunteers to take a retrovirus. If we take it . . . we won't die when they feed."

"What?" The bread fell from her hands and almost rolled into the fire. "Say that again?"

"The Wraith could feed without killing us." His voice shook. "We wouldn't have to die!"

Siha picked up the loaf slowly, shaking her head as if dislodging buzzing insects. "H-how is this possible? Who came up with this?"

"The Wraith who came said it was a joint venture between some of their scientists and the Lanteans."

"The Lanteans? The same ones responsible for waking the Wraith seven years ago?"

"Yes. There's currently a peace treaty between them and the Wraith, and this retrovirus is apparently part of it. Maybe they're trying to atone?" Kay said. Siha pretended she didn't hear the unspoken You can atone too.

"And? Are you going to do it?" she asked instead.

"I've decided to join the first batch of volunteers."

Siha stared at him, a different kind of cold gripping her heart. Kay continued: "The Wraith always take. But what if . . . humans can give? We wouldn't have to die. Imagine: the Wraith could feed on us without killing. Siha! This could change everything."

Siha found herself laughing before she could stop herself. At the young man's frown she said, "I'm sorry. It's just—I saved that Wraith's life because I thought it would change everything. And it did. In a horrible, horrible way. But I agree. That retrovirus sounds incredible and wonderful."

"I'd thought you'd be happier to hear about it."

"I am, Kay. Really. I'm just a little tired."

They listened to the fire's hiss-spit as quiet fell between them. Somewhere, a hunting bird whoo-hoo'd.

"Come back with me," Kay said suddenly, his voice carrying a note of pleading she hadn't heard before. "Let's take the retrovirus together."

Siha looked at her only friend as if seeing him for the first time. What would've it been like to Bond with him, she wondered. Would they've created beautiful children together? She had no doubt Kay would've been a good father. She fantasized living long enough to see their children having children, her happiness bittersweet. On a different world, in a different lifetime, maybe, she thought, her heart of hearts clenching.

She swallowed hard and looked over Kay's shoulder towards the city. Night had fallen without either of them noticing, the expanse above white with stars. Lights from the distant houses gleamed like a thousand stationary fireflies. Among them were her people nestled in their Wraith-given comforts under the open, treeless sky. The thought of facing them after what she'd done made her shudder. She'd been gnawing on self-loathing for so long she'd forgotten the taste of anything else.

"Go on without me," she said quietly. "I'll be right behind you."

Kay stared at the red embers of the campfire, his face suddenly old. After awhile he said: "I don't know what will happen to me when I'll volunteer. I don't know if they'll take me away or let me stay planet-side."

I don't know if I'll be able to keep doing this with you.

Siha suddenly craned her head back to peer at the sky, throat tight. The fire was low enough for her to see millions of stars splashed across the filament.

"Do you think we'll see the Ring tonight?" she asked.

Kay's gaze was a warmth against her skin. She worried he would ignore her unspoken plea and braced herself for a conversation she was unprepared to have.

His voice murmured against her. "Maybe." He looked up as well, following her lead, voice soft. She was exquisitely glad. "None of the moons will be out for the next week."

When the fire dwindled to embers they huddled against each for warmth, his arm tight around her shoulder. The rocky knoll loomed over them as a black silhouette against the starlight, protecting them from the worst of the wind. When the three moons were out they bathed the world silver, bright as day. Siha was glad for their absence, if only for tonight. Then she saw it, trekking across the sky far beyond reach: the Ring, nothing more than a tiny white satellite, a single point among millions.

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The next morning Siha woke to find Kay already gone from her tent. As she lounged in the tousled bedroll she thought she remembered a touch to her mouth, as though lips pressed there for a moment.

Days passed. The young woman lived as she always did, hunting and gathering what she could, sleeping when she was tired and eating when her belly growled. The moons returned to the night sky, hiding the Ring from view. As time continued to pass, Kay's absence began carrying a definitiveness the other times didn't. By the end of the secondweek Siha wondered if she would ever see him again. What if this 'retrovirus' was nothing but a fabrication to draw in willing humans? Already it sounded too good to be true. Sacrifices. Tributes. Volunteers. All words to describe the same thing.

Yet Kay had been right: if the Wraith didn't have to kill humans when they fed, it changed everything, possibly even the very foundations of the galaxy. The old curiosity stirred inside her like an unwelcome guest. Could there be peace between Wraith and humans at long last? Symbiosis, even? The city itself was living proof of humans depending on Wraith to survive, and visa versa. What could be achieved if neither side died, but prospered? She touched her chest where Angor's feeding slit had once rested, expression inward.

Darts came and went. Kay didn't.

A rare day came where Siha could see the mountains' scouring peaks. It was bright and early, the wind almost gentle. The air smelled of wild grass and fresh dew. Maybe it's time for one last climb, she thought, touching her lips with speculative young woman then surveyed her rough dwelling with a finality that'd been building for years. Supplies were needed. Food. Maybe even some medicine. Everything the city has to offer, she thought with an ironic sigh.

Siha was still debating whether or not to go into town when she heard it. She looked up. A Dart was bearing down on her, its engine whining its terrible scream. The young woman didn't attempt to run, relief and terror surging through her.

Then the beam swallowed her whole.

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The young woman awoke in darkness. She remained on her back for several heartbeats, every thought coated in molasses. Wraith. Beam. Culling. She closed her eyes and willed herself to sink into the hard floor. They finally took me. When her eyes adjusted to the low light she saw the walls and ceiling were distinctly organic. Intricate tendons formed a column in the centre of the cell while fleshy flaps similar to tanned hides covered much of the walls' pseudo-musculature. If it weren't for the hard floor beneath her, she would've guessed she was inside the organ of some gigantic creature.

The floor hummed with the vibration of internal machinery. After a moment she straightened to her feet, muscles aching as if she'd fallen out of a tree. The crook of her arm twinged. At closer exception she thought she could see a dab of blood. The lighting was too poor for her to tell, and she thought little of it. No wind, she realized. She smiled despite her situation. How long had it been since it didn't scour her face or nip her fingers?

Her smile faded away as she slowly turned in place. She was on a Wraith ship, most likely in space. Her long coat was gone. No other people were with her. A kind of organic webbing barred the cage's entrance. She went to it and touched it. Despite its fleshy texture it was as hard as rock, and no matter how hard she pushed, it didn't budge. Red lights cast fractal patterns on the floor outside the webbing. The young woman peered down the empty corridor, guts churning. Are you somewhere on this ship, Kay? she thought. She hoped so. At least let me say goodbye this time.

Time passed. Twenty steps brought her from one end of the cage to the other, and soon Siha fell to pacing. She didn't know how long she circled the same forty steps. Thirst and hunger mounted. By the time she heard the heavy tramp of booted feet she was almost grateful.

Three Wraith appeared into view. Two of them were hulking drones, their faces nothing but knobby masks. The third one was clearly in charge. He was the first Wraith she'd seen since Angor, and she was instantly struck by the difference of bearing. She could tell he was young, much younger than the Wraith she'd saved back on the forest. His scored cheeks were more rounded, his build slenderer. His chin was hairless. Maybe it was a combination of all these things, but Siha found herself relaxing. The Wraith's gaze sharpened and he bared sharp teeth. The webbing peeled away. The two drones moved to flank her, one of them grabbing her upper arm. Siha didn't struggle against the bruising grip. It'd be useless. The young Wraith whirled around and began to stride away, his leather coat swishing about his legs. After a not-so-gentle shove, the young woman followed after him.

Siha quickly lost all sense of direction, each corridor identical to the next. Even if she were to break free she would have no idea where to go. Red and yellow lights cast eerie, mottled shadows along the organic walls and floor. Her escort took her briefly through a larger passageway where she caught a glimpse of more drones and long-coated male Wraith. Then she was directed down another corridor, and once again they were alone. The young Wraith at last stopped in front of a set of doors. They reminded Siha of ribbed beetle wings, and when he passed a hand over a sensor, they slithered back with a dry rustle. Siha was pushed inside.

The doors closed, and she found herself alone.

Low fog swirled around her feet as she found her bearings. It was the largest room yet, its ceiling composed of strange rib-like pillars. They converged above to form a fractal pattern with a faintly menacing aesthetic. She moved further inside. There were a series of what appeared to be benches and chairs in one corner. Along another wall was a thick stalk that rose from the ground as if grown from the floor. It flared and cradled a golden screen. When Siha walked closer, she saw a waterfall of figures trickling on the display. She lost herself in the incomprehensible cascade, eyes tracking the flow.

Then she heard a faint creak of leather behind her. Siha whirled around. A Wraith watched her from the centre of the room where none stood before, tall and dark in the gloom. Recognition chilled her blood. His features were exactly the same they'd been six years ago, as if their separation had been mere seconds. Even his hairstyle was unchanged, the salt-white hair spilling over his shoulders in thick sheaves with the rest tied back. His leather uniform was more ornate than the one on the forest, the coat ending at his shoes. He made as much noise as an owl's wingbeat as he took a step forward. Her prey instincts trilled. Run! Run run run! But where could she run to? The young woman waited, body flushed both hot and cold.

"Hello, Siha," the Wraith said. Her name sounded like it belonged to a stranger in the alien, multilayered voice. That isn't me, she resisted. That's a different Siha, another one who helped you burn the forest. Not me. Not me.

"Wraith," she said.

He tipped his head. "We both know you call me something different. What was it again?"

Siha stared at him, for a moment debating not responding. Although he made no threatening move towards her, the young woman couldn't ignore the way the skin over her chest prickled.

"Angor," she conceded, suddenly ashamed. Siha hardened her voice to add, "To my people it means suffocation, or distress."

The Wraith bared his teeth in what she took for a smile. "Creative."

When he said nothing else, she dared to ask, "Why am I here?"

Siha forced herself not to retreat when Angor took another step closer, halving the distance between them. "We tolerated your living arrangements because we knew your consort visited you often. But since you've yet to produce a child, you will serve another use."

Consort?Then Siha frowned, her stomach tightening. 'Visited'? "He said he volunteered for your retrovirus," she said slowly. "Where is he now?"

The Wraith was quiet for a moment, regarding her with unreadable yellow eyes. "I am afraid," he said, "he had a reaction to the drug. It is a rare occurrence, but it does happen among those who receive it. He fell into a coma and never awoke." There was a brief hesitation, like a hunting swallow pausing in midair. "You have my apologies."

Kay. A terrible weightlessness came to her. Oh, Kay, not you.

"You, however, did not have a reaction."

Siha's head snapped up. "What?"

"We find it much easier to administer the retrovirus when kine are unconscious."

"Wh-when?"

"After you were rematerialized from the Dart's pattern buffer."

The blood drained from her face in a cold rush. "But I didn't volunteer!"

"Nonetheless," Angor said, lifting his mustachioed chin with a sibilant hiss, "you received it. It is becoming standard procedure to inoculate our herds. In the coming months, every human in our territory will have received the treatment."

He took another step. She'd forgotten how tall he was. "After all, you are food," he said.

Siha's lips pulled back from her teeth in a snarl. "I am more than that," she said. "And if Kay and I hadn't killed those humans back then, you would've been dead by now. I wish I could go back. Then I would let that girl kill y—"

The Wraith was fast, faster than she remembered. She was shoved back. Stars burst behind her eyes as her head banged against the wall. An arm kept her pinned as a riiip of tearing fabric filled the air. She tore at the offending arm as if demented, panicking. Her efforts were nothing. He slammed his feeding hand on her chest and Siha's cry of No! turned to a scream of agony as white-hot pain seared her like acid. It was an agony without end. When the pain grew too great she writhed in silent torment, unable to escape the hand or its hold, trapped between the Wraith and the wall. Perhaps worse than the pain was the terrible pulling sensation, like someone drinking water from a bottle in big, long draws. She could feel her life being inexorably consumed, and the more taken, the more she felt some intangible part weaken.

Kay. Kay, I'm so sorry.

As suddenly as the pain started, it stopped. Siha blinked, panting, experiencing the greatest weariness she'd ever known. Even though she hadn't aged a day, every muscle was as heavy as stone, aching as if she'd run the entire breadth of the valley. She would've slid to the floor had it not been for the arm holding her in place.

"I would not," the Wraith said, breathless in a way she'd never heard him before, pupils swollen, "advise that again."

She glared at him, hating. Something hot ran down her cheeks. "I saved you."

"I saved you as well," Angor said. He leaned away but kept a restraining hand on her shoulder, as unmovable as a mountain. His feeding hand was angled out of sight. "You would be dead now if it not for the retrovirus."

"I didn't ask for it."

"As I said, if you will not breed, you will serve as substance."

"I would rather die than serve you," she said, throat raw.

The Wraith studied her for a long, thoughtful moment, eyes narrowing. "We discovered a human administered the retrovirus may be fed upon ten times in session before reaching destruction. Is that what you want?"

Undergo that nine more times in a row? The wall dug into her spine and shoulders as she pressed into it, wishing it could swallow her whole. The Wraith stepped back, releasing her. Her legs trembled but held, barely. She didn't know how she still stood.

"Of course, I will not allow it," Angor said. "Despite the benefits of the retrovirus, it is still poor husbandry to kill humans needlessly."

"Why," she said. She wanted to scream and punch. The very thought of struggling brought a fresh wave of exhaustion. "With all the humans to choose from, why me?"

There was a delicate shrug. The yellow gaze never left hers. "We have made arrangements in the past that have served both of us well. I see no reason we cannot continue this."

"The last time I made an 'arrangement' with you, my people were culled and brought to an unfamiliar world," Siha said. Her voice shook. "Now my friend is dead. I'm done collaborating with you, or any Wraith."

The faint hesitation returned. "I apologize again for your consort."

Siha's jaw clenched. She looked away.

"Yet he was correct," Angor said. "A recent war has pushed the Wraith to the edge of famine. If all humans die, so do my kind. If we are to survive, we will need to change our feeding strategy. Now the same human may sustain us for many, many years. Why not form a mutually beneficial partnership? Many have chosen to accept the benefits we offer, whether they are worshipper or newly inoculated with the retrovirus."

Siha glared at him.

"You will be kept aboard for the duration of your service. Whether in a cell or in comfort will be entirely up to you."

"I don't care," she said.

Her eyes flinched shut when he stepped closer.

His cool tone washed over her as he said, "Perhaps several days trussed in a cell will change your mind. If you wish to be treated like any other animal, then so be it."

When Siha dared to reopen her eyes, she found herself alone. He'd left like a shadow, softly and without notice. The young woman stayed pressed against the wall, legs like rubber. There was a deep ache in her chest where none had been before. The tang of blood filled her nose. She looked down. A feed-mark glistened there, bright red and oozing, throbbing whenever she shifted. Pucker marks encircled it. She didn't know how long she stared at it. This wasn't her body. Kay couldn't be wasn't happening. Fatigue pulled her eyelids closed. Even the act of covering her bareness was exhausting.

The blood had become tacky by the time the organic door slithered open. Two drones appeared. The young woman couldn't tell if they were the same ones from before or replacements, and when they took her, she didn't struggle. Siha was dragged more than led out of the room. She didn't pay attention to which corridor she was brought or which turn they took. When they pushed her back-first into a shallow niche, she was almost glad to stop walking. One of the drones secured her hands above her head with an organic cord. Then they were gone, the heavy tramp tramp of their boots fading away.

TBC