FLIGHT Part 4
"Why do you tolerate it?" Crais shouted, striding angrily beside her.
Abella hurried toward the cabin with Vizbeth in tow, running to keep up. Without a word she unlocked the cabin, directed Vizbeth inside, then blocked the doorway with her body. Crais stepped uncomfortably close and glared down at her.
"There is absolutely no reason for such behavior," he growled. "I have never—"
"Bialar, stop it," she said firmly.
He gasped in disbelief. "Surely you do not believe that I am the cause of this. It is those faputas in the courtyard who need—"
"Bialar! That is enough!" Abella placed a hand against his chest and pushed him backward. She stepped out and banged the door shut behind her. "Don't say anything. You just listen for a change. Maybe you are not so good at being humble, but it is my way of life. I set aside my pride every day to stay alive, to keep her alive. It is not how I choose to live … it is what has been handed me."
"Abella, it is simply not right they way they treat you." Although his tone was somewhat calmer, his eyes betrayed him.
She studied those dark smoldering eyes for a microt and then raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Are you angry at they way they treat Vizbeth and me, or are you upset that they will no longer speak to you?"
He bristled at the remark, his spine stiffening. "Do you think I have any concern over what a bunch of shopkeepers think of me?"
"Yes," she replied straight away. "I also think you are much too proud to admit it."
He snorted, shaking his head without response. His pride? He should tell this woman how much pride a man has left after spending two days in the Aurora Chair, after loosing his command to a Scarran half-breed, after being hunted for the better part of a cycle. Pride? He turned his head away, lacking the words to answer.
She sighed and reached to touch his face. "Bialar, let us not—"
He retreated a step and brushed her hand away.
"Oh, sorry." Her voice dripped sarcasm. "Didn't mean to dirty you."
He caught her by the arm as she turned to enter the cabin, his grip firmer than he had intended. Her steely gaze traveled from the hand still grasping her up to meet his eyes. "You know, Bialar, sometimes it is easy to understand why you got the dren beat out of you."
"Madam, sometimes it is easy to understand why no one here will speak to you," he shot back without hesitation.
Abella's cheeks burned with color as she stared silently at the ground. He immediately regretted his words, realizing he had wounded her. He released his grip, instead allowing his hand to tentatively stroke her bicep.
Crais cleared his throat and steadied himself with a deep breath. "I apologize. Even in anger I should never have validated your mistreatment. Forgive me." He placed a finger beneath her chin and gently raised her face until her eyes met his. "Now you know why I get the dren beat out of me."
He raised his brow, questioning her forgiveness.
She nodded and returned a wry smile. "You know, Bialar, I think that we have both had to struggle for so long, that maybe we have forgotten when to stop." She inched closer to him and rested her palms against his chest. "I am sorry for my words as well. I do appreciate that you spoke on my behalf today. No one else has ever done that." Her eyes suddenly sparkled as she stifled a laugh. "But, my darling, if we are ever going to get our supplies, you must stop picking up the vendors and shaking them like that. I truly doubt now that we will secure any of Terrival's smoked tubers for our journey."
Crais grinned haughtily. "That faputa. He deserves considerably more than just a sound shaking."
She cupped her hand gently against his cheek hoping to diminish his reaction to what she was about to say. "From now on, I will bargain for the supplies alone. I think it is best that you remain here or on your ship with Vizbeth."
"Nonsense," he replied brusquely. "I assure you that will not happen again. I am quite capable of negotiating with the likes of Terrival."
"Oh yes," she agreed lightheartedly. "I believe you are quite capable of beating him senseless, but that will not fill our coffers with food. Terrival is not particularly well thought of, so perhaps what happened today will not substantially damage my ability to barter with the others. But it must never happen again."
"As I have already stated, it will not."
"Bialar, your temper—"
"My temper?" he snapped. "One small disagreement and now you would accuse me of being ill-tempered? I simply find it unacceptable to be treated as a lesser by some ignorant, sniveling—"
The manner of her smile silenced him.
"As you wish," he grumbled. "How long will this endeavor take considering you have to conduct these exchanges with nothing more than a nod or a shrug in response?"
She bit thoughtfully at her lower lip. "To lay in six to eight weekens of provisions and keep us fed in the meantime … perhaps fifteen to twenty solar days."
"Unacceptable," he said firmly. "I wish to be gone from here within the weeken. Half that amount of supplies will be sufficient. It should not take that long to find a suitable place to relocate you to."
Abella rolled her eyes and pushed out a breath. "And what will Vizbeth and I live on when we get there? What if it takes longer than I anticipate to find work? What will you eat?"
He eyed the ramshackle cabin disdainfully. "Surely this structure is worth something. The dark look he received in response was not lost. "I only meant that we should be able to secure a substantial portion of what we need in exchange for your cabin. Would you agree?"
She smiled and shook her head. "Bialar, you made it quite plain in the courtyard that we are all leaving."
"Yes," he replied, unamused.
"Well, we cannot very well take it with us, can we?"
"Make your point, Abella."
"Once the cabin is abandoned, the people of Cullahn will decide who will live here next."
Crais's brow furrowed. "At what remuneration to you?"
"We will already be gone," she explained in a strained voice.
He folded his arms across his chest and raised his chin. "You will make it quite plain to these villagers that this cabin comes at a price. And unless they are willing to pay—"
"Bialar, they are not going to pay for what they can have for nothing. You simply do not understand the way—"
"Then tell them I shall burn it to the ground when we leave," he stated flatly.
Abella's mouth and eyes gaped. "That would be considered a threat."
He laughed, finding something about her naiveté in these matters immensely appealing. Leaning close to her ear, in a low and alluring voice he said, "No, that would be considered negotiation. Do you understand?"
She nodded and motioned him close again. "That might work where you come from, Bialar, but let me tell you what will happen here. First, they tell you to go ahead and burn the frelling thing down. Then they refuse to trade with you because you threatened them. After we all starve, they still take the cabin." She flexed an eyebrow at him. "Do you understand?"
Before he could answer she smoothed her palms across his chest and gazed coyly up at him. "Of course, I only know that because I have spent my whole life here. I realize once we leave Thasia I will know nothing of the world around us. Vizbeth and I will be entirely dependant on you to guide us." She turned with a faint smile and stepped into the doorway. "I will make something for us to eat before I give you a massage."
Crais waited until Abella was inside to relinquish a grin. She played that well, he thought. Admittedly, she was probably correct about Terrival and the others; he had been less than successful in their dealings today. So, why not let her negotiate? If it took two weekens, what did it matter? He was not at risk. He was well fed and he enjoyed the company of this woman. Bialar Crais had found himself in far worse situations.
* * *
The evening meal was quite enjoyable. Abella appeared to derive satisfaction from cooking for him and so Crais did not allow a lack of appetite to disappoint her. After they had finished eating and cleared the dishes, Abella and Vizbeth returned to their seats at the table.
"We have something important to discuss," Abella said, while stroking Vizbeth's dark curls with her hand. "As you know," she stressed these words, giving him a look, "it is not considered proper on Thasia for young children to address adults other than their parents."
Crais nodded.
"However, Vizbeth is almost four cycles now. That is old enough for a child to begin speaking to her elders. Would you agree, Bialar?"
"Yes, absolutely," he said, hoping that he had given the correct response.
Vizbeth grinned broadly at Crais and then at her mother. Abella planted a loud kiss on her forehead, keeping the child's face cradled in her hands as she spoke. "You'll be spending quite a bit of time with Bialar the next two weekens while I am in the village and sewing. The two of you will have lots to talk about." Abella stood and scooped Vizbeth up, depositing her gently onto Crais's lap. "I will wash the plates while the two of you visit."
At this point, Crais's eyes gaped wider than the child's.
"You will probably need to prompt her in the beginning," Abella told him. "Bialar?"
"Yes," he replied stiffly.
He cleared his throat, and then tweaked the corners of his mouth into a smile as Vizbeth beamed up at him.
"Bialar—"
"Yes, all right," he grunted.
Vizbeth sat quietly peering up at him.
"You need not be frightened," he finally managed to say.
"That is very good advice," Abella muttered without looking over. "Why don't you tell her about your ship, Bialar."
"Well, it is actually a transport pod. And it is used to … transport things."
He could hear Abella laughing now.
"Your mother is fahrbot," he said, evoking a series of giggles from Vizbeth. Crais's smile was no longer forced.
Vizbeth's hesitation had also vanished. She traced the outline of his goatee with her tiny fingertip. "What is this?" she asked.
Crais stroked his chin. "My beard?"
"Beard?" she repeated. "What is it for?"
"For?" Her question puzzled him.
"It is for looks," Abella said as she moved behind Crais and loosened his hair binding. "And it looks good, don't you think?"
Vizbeth nodded briskly.
Abella began to slowly thread her hands through his hair allowing the motion to continue along his shoulders and down his arms. "You are feeling much better today, aren't you?"
"Yes, thank you. The ointment you used took away most of the stiffness."
"Mentha extract," she said. "It reduces the swelling and relaxes the muscle."
"Smells bad," Vizbeth said, pinching her nose shut.
Crais chuckled. "Yes, that it does. However, it is still very effective."
Vizbeth began to stretch out a strand of Crais's hair, mimicking her mother's actions. "What is fectiv?"
"Effective," Abella said. "It means, works good. And it is time we treated Bialar's sore muscles again, so you need to get down."
"What did that?" Vizbeth asked, pointing to the cut on Crais's forehead.
"An accident," was Abella's playful reply. "Bialar was clumsy. Now down you go."
Vizbeth slid off his lap then remained standing with her hands rested on his knee. "What are we going to do tomorrow?" she asked him in a small, yet carefully articulated voice.
"Actually, I must return to the transport pod tomorrow. I am afraid you will have to remain with your mother."
"No, she can go with you," Abella replied.
"A transport pod is not a suitable place for a child to play, and unfortunately, I have a great deal of maintenance to perform." He reached out and gave Vizbeth a tentative pat on the head. "Perhaps when your mother is available to accompany us."
Abella bent down to peer directly at Vizbeth while keeping her face positioned close to Crais's. "You will not touch anything on the ship unless Bialar says it is allowed. Do you understand me?"
Vizbeth nodded solemly. "Yes, mother."
"There, you see," Abella said softly into his ear. "She can go with you."
Vizbeth began to hop around the floor repeating, "I can go, I can go—"
"Of course you can, my baby," her mother said. "I will prepare a nice lunch for the two of you to take."
Crais rose slowly from the chair and turned to face her. "We need to talk."
"So, talk" she said, taunting him with a smile.
"Outside," he grunted.
"It is cold and dark out there, Bialar."
His eyes narrowed. The temperature inside had also taken on a sudden chill.
"The sewing room?" she asked.
He strode to the door of the small room and held it open, waiting. Abella was leisurely in her response, first instructing Vizbeth to prepare for bed before lighting a candle and stepping inside. Crais was upon her the microt he closed the door.
"This tactic will not continue. I do not wish to appear harsh in front of the child and frighten her, but you leave me no alternative. Is that understood?"
"Yes," she said softly and moved closer to him.
Crais laughed haughtily. "Do you think I am some boy to be tempted by this?"
She sighed and shook her head. "No."
"Then you realize that you are wasting your time. I will not change my mind." He turned his face to the side.
"I am not asking you to," she said.
He turned back to eye her skeptically.
"I only want you to know that I trust you with my baby, Bialar. Maybe you do not understand what that means, but I tell you this … it means everything to me. She would sit there all day and not touch a thing or say a word, because that is the way I have taught her."
Crais exhaled in a gust. "I am not saying that she is not well-behaved."
"I understand. You are saying that you do not feel comfortable taking care of a child. You do not know what to say when she asks you questions. You are afraid you will do something wrong."
His silence spoke volumes.
"Perhaps you should accompany us to the pod tomorrow," he finally said.
"That will put us another day behind schedule."
"It is our schedule," he responded with a shrug.
Pleased with the decision, she leaned forward and planted an amiable kiss on his lips. "Thank you, Bialar. I promise—"
Crais pulled her roughly into him and kissed her hard on the mouth. She was slow to break away. Slightly embarrassed by his behavior, he studied her face anxiously for some manner of response.
Abella silently returned his gaze until, at length, a warm smile overcame her. She embraced him, resting her head on his shoulder as Crais closed his arms around her. Time slipped past unnoticed, unmeasured as he stroked her hair, watching the flame from the candle paint shadows on the wall. Both seemed unwilling to let go of the moment, perhaps afraid the endless cycles of loneliness might reclaim them.
"I know I can be harsh at times, Bialar," she finally whispered. "I do not mean to be."
He pressed a kiss against her temple. "Yes, I imagine my good nature will just have to compensate for that." He felt her body shaking lightly against him and responded with a gentle squeeze. "So, that amuses you, does it?"
She arched back to regard him, keeping her hands clasped behind his neck. He was undoubtedly the most handsome man she had ever seen, especially when he smiled. "Oh no, I consider myself extremely fortunate to have found such an even tempered man as yourself."
Crais tilted his head and playfully cocked an eyebrow. She smiled affectionately and raised her lips to his.
At first, she enticed him with gentle nips and nuzzles, backing off slightly each time he tried to deepen the kiss. Her teasing continued until Crais grew impatient. He firmly cupped the back of her head with his hand and began to probe her mouth with his tongue. Her satisfied moans encouraged him to search for a way to access her thick woven robe.
"Here, let me show you," she whispered. She tried to guide his hand to the fasteners concealed inside a pleat beneath her arm, but he reached instead to fondle her breast through the material. She moved his hand back to the hooks and this time he worked diligently to release them, repeating the step for the shoulder fastening. Once they were undone, she stepped back and shifted her shoulders, allowing the robe to drop to the floor. She smiled at the tiny groan that escaped him at the sight of her. She knew her body was attractive, her breasts large and firm, a fact her loose- fitting frock effectively concealed.
She gripped the bottom of his sweater and helped him pull it over his head. Crais lifted her to a seat on the cutting table. Running his hands along her thighs, he gently separated her knees as he leaned forward to kiss her.
"Bialar, stop …" She turned away and braced her hands against his chest.
Her words hit him like water in the face.
"Abella?" He stared desperately at her. "I need you."
She gazed lustily back. "I need you too, my love, but I think you had better secure the lock on that door before Vizbeth gets curious about what the hezmana's going on in here."
She smiled as he quickly complied, thinking she had never seen a man look so relieved.
* * *
Crais sat in the grass watching Vizbeth chase petal puffs for the final time. As soon as Abella made the last delivery in Cullahn and joined them, they would board the transport pod and leave this planet. Five weekens had elapsed since his arrival, although it felt like lifetimes ago.
His urgency to leave Thasia had faded and disappeared like the cuts and bruises Talyn inflicted upon him, as had his anger with the young Leviathan. Instead, he worried for Talyn's safety. Unless he had located Moya and the others, the Peacekeepers would surely have captured or destroyed him. Yet, despite his concern for Talyn, Crais now had other priorities.
Vizbeth caught an orange puff and letting out a squeal of delight, held it high overhead for his approval. A nod and a smile from him was all it took to send her racing after another of the transitory blooms being swept along in the gently gusting breeze.
While he had spent the weekens teaching Abella what to expect once they left Thasia, what he had learned from her was the greater lesson.
He knew that recreating was a Peacekeeper word and so he was careful never to use it. Abella called the act love and so that is what he came to call it too. It still required effort. At first, he simply could not bring himself to say it. Yet, as the weekens passed, he realized that neither the word nor the feeling diminished him. In fact, he felt more of a man than he ever had. Saying I love you required a certain amount of courage. It left one so open and vulnerable. Still, he wondered if she would feel the same way toward him if she knew the truth.
Vizbeth ran up from behind and curled her arms around his neck. "Is it time to go yet?" she asked impatiently.
"Soon," he told her for the fourth or fifth time. "You should run and play while you are still able to. You know there is very little room on the pod for such activity."
She released her hold and came around front, still slinging an arm around his neck. "I will be good."
"I know you will." He kissed her on the cheek before playfully grappling her around the waist. "Or else—"
She giggled and scampered back into the meadow after more of the airborne flowers.
Crais spotted Abella approaching from the village. She helped Vizbeth run down a turquoise colored puff, the rarest shade, before joining him.
He read the tension in her face. "Worried?"
She settled onto the ground, lying back against his chest. "You mean scared, don't you?"
He closed his arms around her. "This is a significant change you are making. It is only natural to second guess such an important decision."
"This place is all I know," she said quietly.
"You will both adapt easily. I will find a planet just as pleasant as Thasia … without the faputas.
Abella sat upright and turned to face him, laughing slightly. "You might get an argument in the village as to who is the faputa."
"Maybe I should pay them a little visit before we leave to discuss it," he said darkly.
"No, you will not, Bialar." She soothed him with a kiss. "Jaklo's son is going to live in our cabin. I am pleased that he offered compensation, but surprised by it. I accepted these in trade." She emptied a leather pouch onto the lap of her robe.
Crais rifled through the contents, nodding. "Credits, kretmas, several other currencies, all negotiable. Excellent. We can stop at a commerce planet and buy something attractive for you to wear, instead of that sack."
Abella gasped and wrestled him onto his back. He submitted willingly with a sinister chuckle.
"Do you want everyone too see what is only yours?" she asked as she rolled off him, despite his protests. "I have to go back after Jobann's fruit. He was out picking it fresh when I went by his shop. He should be back by now."
"We will accompany you."
She seemed to consider this for a microt before shaking her head. "I will take Vizbeth. I want to stop by the cabin one last time. I would rather you did not witness me make a fool of myself."
"Since when?" Crais teased. "Are you certain?"
She nodded and tried to smile.
"I will wait here so I can help you carry the fruit the rest of the way."
"It shouldn't take longer than half an arn," Abella said, standing. She called to Vizbeth and began walking slowly back toward Cullahn.
Crais watched them disappear into the trees. He recounted the contents of the leather pouch and calculated the exchange. Jaklo obviously had no idea of its value, as it was far more than the small cabin was worth. He was pleased. Abella had done an admirable job of securing supplies. They had enough food to last half a cycle, plus the currency.
They had opted not to relocate to another village on Thasia, fearing the truth of the child's parentage would someday be discovered. Abella was determined Vizbeth must never know the circumstances surrounding her birth. She had been told that her father passed from a virus when she was less than a cycle. Crais found himself in total agreement with this deception. In his mind, the less mentioned of Peacekeepers, the better.
At first it was not so much the sound as a feeling that gripped him. He stood and faced Cullahn, listening, holding his breath. The dull distant roar continued for several microts before the meadow again fell ominously silent. Although he had heard it a thousand times since, it always stirred the same memory from forty cycles earlier. A Peacekeeper transport had just landed not far away. It seemed impossible they could have tracked him here. There was only one alternative.
Recruiting squads were trained to strike quickly, identify and remove the selectees before their parents could organize or mount a defense. Crais knew they would be gone long before he could retrieve the pulse pistol from the pod. Unarmed he stood no chance against them. Plus, there was the possibility they wouldn't recruit Vizbeth.
A microt later he was running toward Cullahn.
Working his way along the tree line, Crais headed directly for the back of Abella's cabin. Fortunately, the transport had touched down on the opposite end of the village. He knew the squad consisted of at least six recruiting officers and a pilot who would remain on board. Four of the black shirted soldiers were visible in the courtyard, the fifth had Terrival's son by the arm, dragging him toward the ship. The shopkeeper had collapsed to his knees in the dirt, arms outstretched, sobbing.
"Why don't you fight," Crais snarled under his breath.
He rapped on the side of the cabin, calling out to Abella as loudly as he dare. When she failed to answer, he began to maneuver the perimeter of the outer most ring of cabins trying to find her. There was also one recruiter left to account for.
"Take your frelling hands off her!"
The cry came from close by. At first, Crais could not see who it was; he did not have to. He darted between the next set of buildings and ducked into a doorway. Midway between his position and the courtyard, Abella fought desperately to free Vizbeth from the final Peacekeeper's grasp. The recruiter, as tall and stout as a Luxan, repeatedly swatted away Abella's frantic charges. Crais doubted any Peacekeeper would continue to tolerate such behavior for long. He had to make a move now, before she got herself killed.
Abella's continued harassment provided enough of a distraction to allow him to quickly circle and intercept them. Armed with a piece of pipe, Crais flatted his back against the side of the building and waited for his target to pass. He struck him from behind, a solid blow that buckled the officer's knees.
Abella stumbled forward to free Vizbeth.
"Run!" Crais ordered her.
She hesitated. "Bialar, I am not leaving—"
"I will follow when you have reached safety. Now go!"
The blow had barely stunned the soldier, who was already struggling to stand. Crais belted him with the pipe a second time.
Abella picked up Vizbeth and sprinted for the trees. After running for what felt like metras she concealed the child in brush and started back. Cautiously, she stole her way to the edge of the clearing, hoping to find him waiting there. Her search soon ended. Under cover of the forest she collapsed, sobbing.
Bialar Crais had not made it out of the village.
She watched through tears as the Peacekeepers bent down to examine his body. They turned out his pockets and rolled him over. After some discussion, the tall one who had seized Vizbeth earlier took him by the arms and dragged him across the courtyard to their ship.
End part 4
"Why do you tolerate it?" Crais shouted, striding angrily beside her.
Abella hurried toward the cabin with Vizbeth in tow, running to keep up. Without a word she unlocked the cabin, directed Vizbeth inside, then blocked the doorway with her body. Crais stepped uncomfortably close and glared down at her.
"There is absolutely no reason for such behavior," he growled. "I have never—"
"Bialar, stop it," she said firmly.
He gasped in disbelief. "Surely you do not believe that I am the cause of this. It is those faputas in the courtyard who need—"
"Bialar! That is enough!" Abella placed a hand against his chest and pushed him backward. She stepped out and banged the door shut behind her. "Don't say anything. You just listen for a change. Maybe you are not so good at being humble, but it is my way of life. I set aside my pride every day to stay alive, to keep her alive. It is not how I choose to live … it is what has been handed me."
"Abella, it is simply not right they way they treat you." Although his tone was somewhat calmer, his eyes betrayed him.
She studied those dark smoldering eyes for a microt and then raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Are you angry at they way they treat Vizbeth and me, or are you upset that they will no longer speak to you?"
He bristled at the remark, his spine stiffening. "Do you think I have any concern over what a bunch of shopkeepers think of me?"
"Yes," she replied straight away. "I also think you are much too proud to admit it."
He snorted, shaking his head without response. His pride? He should tell this woman how much pride a man has left after spending two days in the Aurora Chair, after loosing his command to a Scarran half-breed, after being hunted for the better part of a cycle. Pride? He turned his head away, lacking the words to answer.
She sighed and reached to touch his face. "Bialar, let us not—"
He retreated a step and brushed her hand away.
"Oh, sorry." Her voice dripped sarcasm. "Didn't mean to dirty you."
He caught her by the arm as she turned to enter the cabin, his grip firmer than he had intended. Her steely gaze traveled from the hand still grasping her up to meet his eyes. "You know, Bialar, sometimes it is easy to understand why you got the dren beat out of you."
"Madam, sometimes it is easy to understand why no one here will speak to you," he shot back without hesitation.
Abella's cheeks burned with color as she stared silently at the ground. He immediately regretted his words, realizing he had wounded her. He released his grip, instead allowing his hand to tentatively stroke her bicep.
Crais cleared his throat and steadied himself with a deep breath. "I apologize. Even in anger I should never have validated your mistreatment. Forgive me." He placed a finger beneath her chin and gently raised her face until her eyes met his. "Now you know why I get the dren beat out of me."
He raised his brow, questioning her forgiveness.
She nodded and returned a wry smile. "You know, Bialar, I think that we have both had to struggle for so long, that maybe we have forgotten when to stop." She inched closer to him and rested her palms against his chest. "I am sorry for my words as well. I do appreciate that you spoke on my behalf today. No one else has ever done that." Her eyes suddenly sparkled as she stifled a laugh. "But, my darling, if we are ever going to get our supplies, you must stop picking up the vendors and shaking them like that. I truly doubt now that we will secure any of Terrival's smoked tubers for our journey."
Crais grinned haughtily. "That faputa. He deserves considerably more than just a sound shaking."
She cupped her hand gently against his cheek hoping to diminish his reaction to what she was about to say. "From now on, I will bargain for the supplies alone. I think it is best that you remain here or on your ship with Vizbeth."
"Nonsense," he replied brusquely. "I assure you that will not happen again. I am quite capable of negotiating with the likes of Terrival."
"Oh yes," she agreed lightheartedly. "I believe you are quite capable of beating him senseless, but that will not fill our coffers with food. Terrival is not particularly well thought of, so perhaps what happened today will not substantially damage my ability to barter with the others. But it must never happen again."
"As I have already stated, it will not."
"Bialar, your temper—"
"My temper?" he snapped. "One small disagreement and now you would accuse me of being ill-tempered? I simply find it unacceptable to be treated as a lesser by some ignorant, sniveling—"
The manner of her smile silenced him.
"As you wish," he grumbled. "How long will this endeavor take considering you have to conduct these exchanges with nothing more than a nod or a shrug in response?"
She bit thoughtfully at her lower lip. "To lay in six to eight weekens of provisions and keep us fed in the meantime … perhaps fifteen to twenty solar days."
"Unacceptable," he said firmly. "I wish to be gone from here within the weeken. Half that amount of supplies will be sufficient. It should not take that long to find a suitable place to relocate you to."
Abella rolled her eyes and pushed out a breath. "And what will Vizbeth and I live on when we get there? What if it takes longer than I anticipate to find work? What will you eat?"
He eyed the ramshackle cabin disdainfully. "Surely this structure is worth something. The dark look he received in response was not lost. "I only meant that we should be able to secure a substantial portion of what we need in exchange for your cabin. Would you agree?"
She smiled and shook her head. "Bialar, you made it quite plain in the courtyard that we are all leaving."
"Yes," he replied, unamused.
"Well, we cannot very well take it with us, can we?"
"Make your point, Abella."
"Once the cabin is abandoned, the people of Cullahn will decide who will live here next."
Crais's brow furrowed. "At what remuneration to you?"
"We will already be gone," she explained in a strained voice.
He folded his arms across his chest and raised his chin. "You will make it quite plain to these villagers that this cabin comes at a price. And unless they are willing to pay—"
"Bialar, they are not going to pay for what they can have for nothing. You simply do not understand the way—"
"Then tell them I shall burn it to the ground when we leave," he stated flatly.
Abella's mouth and eyes gaped. "That would be considered a threat."
He laughed, finding something about her naiveté in these matters immensely appealing. Leaning close to her ear, in a low and alluring voice he said, "No, that would be considered negotiation. Do you understand?"
She nodded and motioned him close again. "That might work where you come from, Bialar, but let me tell you what will happen here. First, they tell you to go ahead and burn the frelling thing down. Then they refuse to trade with you because you threatened them. After we all starve, they still take the cabin." She flexed an eyebrow at him. "Do you understand?"
Before he could answer she smoothed her palms across his chest and gazed coyly up at him. "Of course, I only know that because I have spent my whole life here. I realize once we leave Thasia I will know nothing of the world around us. Vizbeth and I will be entirely dependant on you to guide us." She turned with a faint smile and stepped into the doorway. "I will make something for us to eat before I give you a massage."
Crais waited until Abella was inside to relinquish a grin. She played that well, he thought. Admittedly, she was probably correct about Terrival and the others; he had been less than successful in their dealings today. So, why not let her negotiate? If it took two weekens, what did it matter? He was not at risk. He was well fed and he enjoyed the company of this woman. Bialar Crais had found himself in far worse situations.
* * *
The evening meal was quite enjoyable. Abella appeared to derive satisfaction from cooking for him and so Crais did not allow a lack of appetite to disappoint her. After they had finished eating and cleared the dishes, Abella and Vizbeth returned to their seats at the table.
"We have something important to discuss," Abella said, while stroking Vizbeth's dark curls with her hand. "As you know," she stressed these words, giving him a look, "it is not considered proper on Thasia for young children to address adults other than their parents."
Crais nodded.
"However, Vizbeth is almost four cycles now. That is old enough for a child to begin speaking to her elders. Would you agree, Bialar?"
"Yes, absolutely," he said, hoping that he had given the correct response.
Vizbeth grinned broadly at Crais and then at her mother. Abella planted a loud kiss on her forehead, keeping the child's face cradled in her hands as she spoke. "You'll be spending quite a bit of time with Bialar the next two weekens while I am in the village and sewing. The two of you will have lots to talk about." Abella stood and scooped Vizbeth up, depositing her gently onto Crais's lap. "I will wash the plates while the two of you visit."
At this point, Crais's eyes gaped wider than the child's.
"You will probably need to prompt her in the beginning," Abella told him. "Bialar?"
"Yes," he replied stiffly.
He cleared his throat, and then tweaked the corners of his mouth into a smile as Vizbeth beamed up at him.
"Bialar—"
"Yes, all right," he grunted.
Vizbeth sat quietly peering up at him.
"You need not be frightened," he finally managed to say.
"That is very good advice," Abella muttered without looking over. "Why don't you tell her about your ship, Bialar."
"Well, it is actually a transport pod. And it is used to … transport things."
He could hear Abella laughing now.
"Your mother is fahrbot," he said, evoking a series of giggles from Vizbeth. Crais's smile was no longer forced.
Vizbeth's hesitation had also vanished. She traced the outline of his goatee with her tiny fingertip. "What is this?" she asked.
Crais stroked his chin. "My beard?"
"Beard?" she repeated. "What is it for?"
"For?" Her question puzzled him.
"It is for looks," Abella said as she moved behind Crais and loosened his hair binding. "And it looks good, don't you think?"
Vizbeth nodded briskly.
Abella began to slowly thread her hands through his hair allowing the motion to continue along his shoulders and down his arms. "You are feeling much better today, aren't you?"
"Yes, thank you. The ointment you used took away most of the stiffness."
"Mentha extract," she said. "It reduces the swelling and relaxes the muscle."
"Smells bad," Vizbeth said, pinching her nose shut.
Crais chuckled. "Yes, that it does. However, it is still very effective."
Vizbeth began to stretch out a strand of Crais's hair, mimicking her mother's actions. "What is fectiv?"
"Effective," Abella said. "It means, works good. And it is time we treated Bialar's sore muscles again, so you need to get down."
"What did that?" Vizbeth asked, pointing to the cut on Crais's forehead.
"An accident," was Abella's playful reply. "Bialar was clumsy. Now down you go."
Vizbeth slid off his lap then remained standing with her hands rested on his knee. "What are we going to do tomorrow?" she asked him in a small, yet carefully articulated voice.
"Actually, I must return to the transport pod tomorrow. I am afraid you will have to remain with your mother."
"No, she can go with you," Abella replied.
"A transport pod is not a suitable place for a child to play, and unfortunately, I have a great deal of maintenance to perform." He reached out and gave Vizbeth a tentative pat on the head. "Perhaps when your mother is available to accompany us."
Abella bent down to peer directly at Vizbeth while keeping her face positioned close to Crais's. "You will not touch anything on the ship unless Bialar says it is allowed. Do you understand me?"
Vizbeth nodded solemly. "Yes, mother."
"There, you see," Abella said softly into his ear. "She can go with you."
Vizbeth began to hop around the floor repeating, "I can go, I can go—"
"Of course you can, my baby," her mother said. "I will prepare a nice lunch for the two of you to take."
Crais rose slowly from the chair and turned to face her. "We need to talk."
"So, talk" she said, taunting him with a smile.
"Outside," he grunted.
"It is cold and dark out there, Bialar."
His eyes narrowed. The temperature inside had also taken on a sudden chill.
"The sewing room?" she asked.
He strode to the door of the small room and held it open, waiting. Abella was leisurely in her response, first instructing Vizbeth to prepare for bed before lighting a candle and stepping inside. Crais was upon her the microt he closed the door.
"This tactic will not continue. I do not wish to appear harsh in front of the child and frighten her, but you leave me no alternative. Is that understood?"
"Yes," she said softly and moved closer to him.
Crais laughed haughtily. "Do you think I am some boy to be tempted by this?"
She sighed and shook her head. "No."
"Then you realize that you are wasting your time. I will not change my mind." He turned his face to the side.
"I am not asking you to," she said.
He turned back to eye her skeptically.
"I only want you to know that I trust you with my baby, Bialar. Maybe you do not understand what that means, but I tell you this … it means everything to me. She would sit there all day and not touch a thing or say a word, because that is the way I have taught her."
Crais exhaled in a gust. "I am not saying that she is not well-behaved."
"I understand. You are saying that you do not feel comfortable taking care of a child. You do not know what to say when she asks you questions. You are afraid you will do something wrong."
His silence spoke volumes.
"Perhaps you should accompany us to the pod tomorrow," he finally said.
"That will put us another day behind schedule."
"It is our schedule," he responded with a shrug.
Pleased with the decision, she leaned forward and planted an amiable kiss on his lips. "Thank you, Bialar. I promise—"
Crais pulled her roughly into him and kissed her hard on the mouth. She was slow to break away. Slightly embarrassed by his behavior, he studied her face anxiously for some manner of response.
Abella silently returned his gaze until, at length, a warm smile overcame her. She embraced him, resting her head on his shoulder as Crais closed his arms around her. Time slipped past unnoticed, unmeasured as he stroked her hair, watching the flame from the candle paint shadows on the wall. Both seemed unwilling to let go of the moment, perhaps afraid the endless cycles of loneliness might reclaim them.
"I know I can be harsh at times, Bialar," she finally whispered. "I do not mean to be."
He pressed a kiss against her temple. "Yes, I imagine my good nature will just have to compensate for that." He felt her body shaking lightly against him and responded with a gentle squeeze. "So, that amuses you, does it?"
She arched back to regard him, keeping her hands clasped behind his neck. He was undoubtedly the most handsome man she had ever seen, especially when he smiled. "Oh no, I consider myself extremely fortunate to have found such an even tempered man as yourself."
Crais tilted his head and playfully cocked an eyebrow. She smiled affectionately and raised her lips to his.
At first, she enticed him with gentle nips and nuzzles, backing off slightly each time he tried to deepen the kiss. Her teasing continued until Crais grew impatient. He firmly cupped the back of her head with his hand and began to probe her mouth with his tongue. Her satisfied moans encouraged him to search for a way to access her thick woven robe.
"Here, let me show you," she whispered. She tried to guide his hand to the fasteners concealed inside a pleat beneath her arm, but he reached instead to fondle her breast through the material. She moved his hand back to the hooks and this time he worked diligently to release them, repeating the step for the shoulder fastening. Once they were undone, she stepped back and shifted her shoulders, allowing the robe to drop to the floor. She smiled at the tiny groan that escaped him at the sight of her. She knew her body was attractive, her breasts large and firm, a fact her loose- fitting frock effectively concealed.
She gripped the bottom of his sweater and helped him pull it over his head. Crais lifted her to a seat on the cutting table. Running his hands along her thighs, he gently separated her knees as he leaned forward to kiss her.
"Bialar, stop …" She turned away and braced her hands against his chest.
Her words hit him like water in the face.
"Abella?" He stared desperately at her. "I need you."
She gazed lustily back. "I need you too, my love, but I think you had better secure the lock on that door before Vizbeth gets curious about what the hezmana's going on in here."
She smiled as he quickly complied, thinking she had never seen a man look so relieved.
* * *
Crais sat in the grass watching Vizbeth chase petal puffs for the final time. As soon as Abella made the last delivery in Cullahn and joined them, they would board the transport pod and leave this planet. Five weekens had elapsed since his arrival, although it felt like lifetimes ago.
His urgency to leave Thasia had faded and disappeared like the cuts and bruises Talyn inflicted upon him, as had his anger with the young Leviathan. Instead, he worried for Talyn's safety. Unless he had located Moya and the others, the Peacekeepers would surely have captured or destroyed him. Yet, despite his concern for Talyn, Crais now had other priorities.
Vizbeth caught an orange puff and letting out a squeal of delight, held it high overhead for his approval. A nod and a smile from him was all it took to send her racing after another of the transitory blooms being swept along in the gently gusting breeze.
While he had spent the weekens teaching Abella what to expect once they left Thasia, what he had learned from her was the greater lesson.
He knew that recreating was a Peacekeeper word and so he was careful never to use it. Abella called the act love and so that is what he came to call it too. It still required effort. At first, he simply could not bring himself to say it. Yet, as the weekens passed, he realized that neither the word nor the feeling diminished him. In fact, he felt more of a man than he ever had. Saying I love you required a certain amount of courage. It left one so open and vulnerable. Still, he wondered if she would feel the same way toward him if she knew the truth.
Vizbeth ran up from behind and curled her arms around his neck. "Is it time to go yet?" she asked impatiently.
"Soon," he told her for the fourth or fifth time. "You should run and play while you are still able to. You know there is very little room on the pod for such activity."
She released her hold and came around front, still slinging an arm around his neck. "I will be good."
"I know you will." He kissed her on the cheek before playfully grappling her around the waist. "Or else—"
She giggled and scampered back into the meadow after more of the airborne flowers.
Crais spotted Abella approaching from the village. She helped Vizbeth run down a turquoise colored puff, the rarest shade, before joining him.
He read the tension in her face. "Worried?"
She settled onto the ground, lying back against his chest. "You mean scared, don't you?"
He closed his arms around her. "This is a significant change you are making. It is only natural to second guess such an important decision."
"This place is all I know," she said quietly.
"You will both adapt easily. I will find a planet just as pleasant as Thasia … without the faputas.
Abella sat upright and turned to face him, laughing slightly. "You might get an argument in the village as to who is the faputa."
"Maybe I should pay them a little visit before we leave to discuss it," he said darkly.
"No, you will not, Bialar." She soothed him with a kiss. "Jaklo's son is going to live in our cabin. I am pleased that he offered compensation, but surprised by it. I accepted these in trade." She emptied a leather pouch onto the lap of her robe.
Crais rifled through the contents, nodding. "Credits, kretmas, several other currencies, all negotiable. Excellent. We can stop at a commerce planet and buy something attractive for you to wear, instead of that sack."
Abella gasped and wrestled him onto his back. He submitted willingly with a sinister chuckle.
"Do you want everyone too see what is only yours?" she asked as she rolled off him, despite his protests. "I have to go back after Jobann's fruit. He was out picking it fresh when I went by his shop. He should be back by now."
"We will accompany you."
She seemed to consider this for a microt before shaking her head. "I will take Vizbeth. I want to stop by the cabin one last time. I would rather you did not witness me make a fool of myself."
"Since when?" Crais teased. "Are you certain?"
She nodded and tried to smile.
"I will wait here so I can help you carry the fruit the rest of the way."
"It shouldn't take longer than half an arn," Abella said, standing. She called to Vizbeth and began walking slowly back toward Cullahn.
Crais watched them disappear into the trees. He recounted the contents of the leather pouch and calculated the exchange. Jaklo obviously had no idea of its value, as it was far more than the small cabin was worth. He was pleased. Abella had done an admirable job of securing supplies. They had enough food to last half a cycle, plus the currency.
They had opted not to relocate to another village on Thasia, fearing the truth of the child's parentage would someday be discovered. Abella was determined Vizbeth must never know the circumstances surrounding her birth. She had been told that her father passed from a virus when she was less than a cycle. Crais found himself in total agreement with this deception. In his mind, the less mentioned of Peacekeepers, the better.
At first it was not so much the sound as a feeling that gripped him. He stood and faced Cullahn, listening, holding his breath. The dull distant roar continued for several microts before the meadow again fell ominously silent. Although he had heard it a thousand times since, it always stirred the same memory from forty cycles earlier. A Peacekeeper transport had just landed not far away. It seemed impossible they could have tracked him here. There was only one alternative.
Recruiting squads were trained to strike quickly, identify and remove the selectees before their parents could organize or mount a defense. Crais knew they would be gone long before he could retrieve the pulse pistol from the pod. Unarmed he stood no chance against them. Plus, there was the possibility they wouldn't recruit Vizbeth.
A microt later he was running toward Cullahn.
Working his way along the tree line, Crais headed directly for the back of Abella's cabin. Fortunately, the transport had touched down on the opposite end of the village. He knew the squad consisted of at least six recruiting officers and a pilot who would remain on board. Four of the black shirted soldiers were visible in the courtyard, the fifth had Terrival's son by the arm, dragging him toward the ship. The shopkeeper had collapsed to his knees in the dirt, arms outstretched, sobbing.
"Why don't you fight," Crais snarled under his breath.
He rapped on the side of the cabin, calling out to Abella as loudly as he dare. When she failed to answer, he began to maneuver the perimeter of the outer most ring of cabins trying to find her. There was also one recruiter left to account for.
"Take your frelling hands off her!"
The cry came from close by. At first, Crais could not see who it was; he did not have to. He darted between the next set of buildings and ducked into a doorway. Midway between his position and the courtyard, Abella fought desperately to free Vizbeth from the final Peacekeeper's grasp. The recruiter, as tall and stout as a Luxan, repeatedly swatted away Abella's frantic charges. Crais doubted any Peacekeeper would continue to tolerate such behavior for long. He had to make a move now, before she got herself killed.
Abella's continued harassment provided enough of a distraction to allow him to quickly circle and intercept them. Armed with a piece of pipe, Crais flatted his back against the side of the building and waited for his target to pass. He struck him from behind, a solid blow that buckled the officer's knees.
Abella stumbled forward to free Vizbeth.
"Run!" Crais ordered her.
She hesitated. "Bialar, I am not leaving—"
"I will follow when you have reached safety. Now go!"
The blow had barely stunned the soldier, who was already struggling to stand. Crais belted him with the pipe a second time.
Abella picked up Vizbeth and sprinted for the trees. After running for what felt like metras she concealed the child in brush and started back. Cautiously, she stole her way to the edge of the clearing, hoping to find him waiting there. Her search soon ended. Under cover of the forest she collapsed, sobbing.
Bialar Crais had not made it out of the village.
She watched through tears as the Peacekeepers bent down to examine his body. They turned out his pockets and rolled him over. After some discussion, the tall one who had seized Vizbeth earlier took him by the arms and dragged him across the courtyard to their ship.
End part 4