The black was calming.
Staring into space, no stars here, just the black square through the small window above the bunk. That was probably an appropriate word. Peaceful maybe?
Imam had been trying to expand her vocabulary with his lessons. She surprised herself how much she enjoyed the holyman's company. How his praise left her feeling warm and content. Something she hadn't expected. Distrustful, suspicious eyes replaced by a reluctant and slow trust in this stranger, who showed unreserved affection with casually kind comments without a hint of owed dues.
She was unsure, unsteady in that relationship, the rules of a transactional agreement that she was raised to understand was the way of the extended universe, being replaced by this understanding that maybe, just maybe, kindnesses were extended simply because someone wanted to, without the expectation of a return.
Though she still couldn't fathom why anyone would submit willingly and without question to this man's faith.
And so she didn't.
Why did he ask for this? Why did that prophet threaten his son? Why did they glorify a dead man? But the holy man smiled and answered without irritation, each question she relayed to him. And that is how most of the days, floating in the black were spent. Though not always satisfied with the answer, and it tended to generate more questions than resolutions, she still felt that he was doing right by her.
Warm, faded reds and browns.
A marked contrast to the other existence sharing the ship they had acquired from another nightmare.
This existence was black and silver. Threat and violence coiled tight and yet, turning to look down from her perch on the top bunk down, at the man, lying in the bunk below, arms crossed beneath his head, it was like staring out at the black again.
She was pretty sure he could also read minds.
She would stare at him, holding her breath, and just as she decided she would test her theory and pounce on him, demonstrating she had been listening to him, a rare break in the silence, when he spoke on the tracking prey with silent approaches.
"No."
"No?"
"Just, no."
An exasperated sigh. "How can you tell?"
He smirks.
"That's not an answer."
"You think you entitled to one?"
She pauses. No she thought. Not really, don't think I'm entitled to anything.
"Tell me."
"Demanding."
"Too right."
"Hmm."
Imam may not be transactional. Didn't need a return on his kindness, on his teachings. But maybe.
"What do you want for it?"
He opens his left eye, looking up at her, silver matching green.
"You offering something?"
"What do you want for the answer?"
No answer. Still not blinked. Not scared. He never scared her. Almost made her chuckle when she thought of how scared the others were back on that bloody planet. Then she would remember the monsters... But hell, he definitely made her nervous. Especially him staring directly. Again, not yet blinked. Then a light switches on in the back of her mind.
"What about a story?"
Both eyes open this time.
"Yeah, a story. I'm good, used to entertain the kids at the home with them. How about one of heros, monsters, gods and kings?"
He says nothing.
"Or what about one about a kick ass warrior called Jack? Saving the big bad from the dark". She grins at him. Leaning from cross legs onto her stomach.
"Maybe you can tell us a story, young one, one that brings us good fortune, brings us fortune for our future."
The holy man moves to stand from his prayer position in the corner of the skiff.
"There was once a belief that if humankind placed enough belief in something, they could will it into existence. Old gods only held their power by the belief of others. Once their followers gone, they were forgotten, they faded and their power over us mere mortals was lost to the past." He looks up at her, smiles. "Maybe your story could generate a will so strong our outcome will be fortunate with no more adventures with mercenaries and monsters"
Why did that sound so familiar she wondered.
She was pretty sure someone told her something like that before. But who. Hardly one for philosophy foster kids, and can definitely confirm that no foster home was preaching on the higher dynamics of belief and gods.
"A story? huh hmm"
His voice pulled her back to his eyes.
"Yeah a great story."
Quizzical confusion replaced by a grin.
He grins back.
"On your mark kid."
-
Author Note:
I adore the Riddick series, as I am sure so does anyone who ends up reading this, and with no false modesty my work will not do credit to the imaginations that have spun out of that series and have shared their pieces on this site or FF. There are some truly fascinating well crafted pieces on this series with these characters.
This story really spun out of a recess of my mind that kept playing the idea of the PB/CoR characters with Dante's Divine comedy with a subtle mix of ancient gods. I'm not sure I've stuck the mark, so I may end up removing the piece and rewriting or removing it all together! Regardless I hope these musings at least provide a short interruption and distraction to your day, for good or bad, and I'll see what my imagination leads to with this.
It's technically not my first FF, I did write something about a decade ago as a woefully poor author teenager and whilst as an adult my writing skill set has most certainly not evolved to any maturity, I thought I would at least take a leap into the black and offer something to abyss of the internet and see what is received...