Trigger Warning: The following chapter contains strong content of which involves sexual situations and rape, murder and physical/sexual abuse, assault, bondage, violence, and other sensitive topics that may be uncomfortable for readers.
"Shepard, who and what are you—When you are alone and without your friends?—Your crew members, your squad-mates—"
"I'm a lone woman, Javik…"
"And is that all!…Is that all you can be!…When one takes away your powers, your weapons, your ships, your fellow armies, your soldiers…Who are you!—and why do you go on living when there is nothing left to protect you!—and you are vulnerable, alone, insignificant—"
"I don't know, Javik…Whatever I'm needed to be, I guess…"
Well before midnight, Tetonbaum and Casnar part ways—though the golden hiriwa remains with his nephew, to see to his health, there in the caverns with the di'leans Tika, Ruin, and Gouta.
Earlier in the daylight, Braith and Kasumi have the opportunity to reunite…albeit briefly.
It is the afternoon, and prisoners are to be let out for preparation of departure from Chiata Sanctuary, except for Kasumi…though her cell opens and she is alert to this event...As the wooden door parts from its frame, she turns without expectation of who she sees through the bars.
It is a new face. The drell stares at her, and the mess in her cell. He immediately throws open the bar door and calls simultaneously as he foolishly looks over his shoulder, beyond the outer door, to others in the kiva with him. Braith's own cell is open as she lays on the ground, her wrists in a cross to tie up, her neck under someone's palm as they decide whether to attach her neck to her arms by a rope…She tries to see beyond their bulks as they prep her for the transfer to her new home, and her vision is blurry—but an improvement. "Shepard!—" She hears Kasumi's voice…Her last name sounds quick and urgent. "Goto," she feels her voice catch in her own throat under that heavy hand, "…I'm here…Here!" She suddenly jerks up into the air. The drells bring her to her feet by her arms.
Kasumi darts out of her own cell before the drell in front of her turns. The other drells notice her as she now emerges into the central space of the kiva. ( "You lout," ) one cajoles the other who turns to find her no longer in the cell, ( "…you let that one escape—Watch out! No, behind you!" )
( "Aya, she's loose…" )
( "Why are you looking inside there!—She's out here, fool!" )
Another drell laughs and slaps his knees. There is evidence of confusion as the drell Kasumi slips around turns in an effort to catch her.
Braith and Kasumi see each other as the former thief steps lightly away from her cell—and the drell the others make fun of. Kasumi pauses for a moment and takes in Braith's strange set of clothes, the braids tight to her scalp…bruises on her face…bloodstains along the shred of her right pant…She starts towards Braith, "…Oh—Shep, what's—Nuh-uh!" A drell in the kiva, who comes across the circle towards her, reaches to grab Kasumi, but she steps easily out of his fingers' grip…As Braith is upheld by the drell behind her, they watch from her cell as Kasumi continues her approach.
"Watch out, Goto!…Get out if you can!"
"I'm not—" she ducks another drell that lunges at her, misses, "—leaving without—" Kasumi weaves from his persistent grasp, "—you, Shepard—"
Braith tries to break free of the grip on her shoulders while Kasumi comes through the kiva in an arc from her cell, and she makes wide from the drells that try to catch her as she gains towards Braith.
The kiva is twenty yards wide, and at least five Drells are in there…It is the first time either woman truly sees outside their cells in this particular kiva, with the room below ground, and light through the open slits of air at its center…Braith struggles more, invigoration with the sight of her colleague free in the kiva's space, and Kasumi's neat tucks and moves through the drells that try to grasp at her in their clothes and cloaks…They can be fast, but so can the smaller women.
Braith drops and becomes dead weight in her Drell's grip, and as he lowers his head to see what she does and pick her up again, Braith drives suddenly upward with her skull—fast—and butts him hard under his jaw.
Kasumi spins fast through the grip of another drell, who wears a shade of cloth lighter than the others. "Look for a stair—A way out!" Braith shouts, now free…The drells do not understand what either of the women say, and neither do the women understand the drells' curses and shouts. They do find a good sense of sport from this chaos, however…Another drell lunges for Kasumi's legs and she high steps out of his reach.
Braith makes a run for a hallway and trips over a stool that—one of the drells who thinks quickly and is not about to let her in particular, escape—throws into her path…She stumbles, catches herself as a nearby drell sets his grip upon her arm and clamps down. ( "Stay still!" ) he snarls and slaps her face. Braith latches onto the skin of his arm through his sleeve as he draws it back in the pathway from its strike, and her teeth clench quick in the violent twist of her head to snatch it…She breaks through skin, down to bone through tough muscle…The flavor and scent of his blood and venom reminds her vaguely of almonds…With a painful growl he tries to pull his arm away and his grip on her other arm loosens. Braith sees Kasumi come towards them, dodge the next drell…She barrels her shoulder into the one that holds Braith, knocks him down—with an explosive huff of air from his lungs—before he can hit Braith again, who releases her teeth from his arm just in time before Kasumi nails him.
Laughter is plainly recognizable as the other drells see Kasumi atop he on the ground, and they guffaw…She looks up at Braith, who stands above with blood on her teeth, "…Nice tackle," Braith smiles at her blurry face, "…Good to kind of see you?"
The drell under her bumps Kasumi as he pushes and rolls off his belly to his side and elbow, and stares at the woman on top of him.
Kasumi jumps to her feet.
By the expression on his visible face, his cowl no longer hides his lower patak, he is a little irate.
Kasumi and Braith run for the hallway, in which they see the formation of stairs that lead upwards. Their feet find purchase in the dust of the hard floor as they run for it, "…We get out," Braith says hoarsely, "…keep on running! Yell when—"
The pair slide to a stop.
A figure comes down from the top of the stairs, the precious daylight from a doorway beyond this form painfully clear, and that makes it a dark, big outline…From the hewn steps and dark walls, Konis comes…He is fresh in his post-exercise clothes. He stops at the third step from the bottom and settles his weight onto his lower leg while he looks from Braith to Kasumi…He smiles. The blue slashes on his patak become fangs again, "…Go back to your place," he says softly to Kasumi, then to Braith, that cold smile drives her blood back to her heart's pumps, "…You have a long walk ahead of you." He slides his hands onto his hips. "I hope you are rested."
Kasumi feels a sharp pain in the back of her neck and scalp, and reaches back to grab the fist in her hair that collects her braid. The drell from the floor with the bloody forearm and sleeve, rises and takes hold of her hair to drag her back with him as she makes protest.
"Tell her not to resist," comes Konis's quiet threat as Braith turns to help, "…or we will punish her worse than what you have experienced."
"Goto," Braith says as she watches Kasumi struggle, "…don't fight them…Do what they say, within reason…"
"That is acceptable," he replies, "…They should know there are limits to what I'll allow…" And he makes this clear to the others as he translates in Rakhïken.
And once again, his hand lands on the back of her neck. "Come up the stairs with me now," he says in her ear—too closely, for she can feel his teeth, "…I'll introduce you to your travel party…" With a squeeze, he pushes her neck down and forces Braith to turn, go up the stairs bent beside him, and Kasumi watches as she holds onto the fist in her own hair.
"Shepard!"
Braith's wrists are together by a rope still, and her hands hang in front of her thighs as she climbs the steps under Konis's control. Her legs bump her hands as she marches, and she squints into the bright blur of daylight ahead as she hears Kasumi's last call.
The smell of the Fumiaksa is strong. Konis pauses on the staircase as he licks his lip and savors the aroma…Braith remains bent on the stairs, vulnerable, in his control…He leans towards her ear, "…I wish you could smell how wonderfully you stink," he whispers, and then, so close to her mouth—as she breathes outwards from the earlier exertions and now this labor-some position, he detects something…
A unique odor…
Blood. Venom…
Konis's eyes narrow and he straightens away slowly, and Braith is unaware of what he detects, but she senses something disturbs him…Konis looks back down the staircase, to where the other drells remain.
He forces her to continue up the steps as the woman, Kasumi, calls out again, "…Shepard!—I'll find you!—"
Braith trips off the step-down from the kiva, above ground-level now, unable to hear the rest of what Kasumi tries to shout as she lands on the sandstone.
She digs her toes through the soft booty on her foot, into a layer of stone, and winces at the bite, "…Take your hand off my neck," she hisses, as Konis forces her to step onward through the injury, and Braith trips.
She struggles not to fall on her face.
Konis ignores her and pushes her towards the sandstone and mortar-plaster shelters that stand in array throughout the fortress, round one of the homes in which he and his Drells reside, and out to the next open square…Braith sees ahead: a caravan set with di'leans, Drells that wear similar clothes and bear weapons like Konis's own, and a line of what appears to be hapless victims of his imprisonment, and cruelty.
She sees Drells and Drellahnas on ropes and wood bars between them, as well as one Human.
She stares at the human in ties…Why would she not?
He is thin in the loose clothes he wears that are large rags over his skeletal frame. He looks to be a victim of starvation. His eyes bulge from his deep eye sockets. Braith wonders why this Human is there among the others, and Konis gives her a shove as he lets go of her neck…She catches her balance and does not hit her knees on the ground.
Closer to the line of captives that are to walk wherever they must, she lets her eyes understand what she looks at most intently…The man raises his eyes from the ground and stares at her…Braith sees something in his face—recognition, and then he says, "…I know you…"
I know you…She hears the man rasp through his long beard of gray and white hairs, and the drell nearest him, who is not a captive, snaps in Common Speech, "…Shut up."
Braith realizes the drells for this particular excursion can mostly speak Common Speech…She does not realize yet that many of Konis's followers are from those that leave the Compact to Rakhana—rejects of both Hanar homeworld, and their own…She attempts to move closer to the man…Konis kicks her in the calf with his soft boot, hard foot, "…No. Crawl to the other end…" And he points to the front of the dual line of captives as they all avert their eyes to avoid his…and Braith's.
Braith swears with a slight shake of her head as she sucks up dust and heat from the ground under the sun. She starts to stand, but Konis kicks her again, and this time he plants his boot on her hip. "Crawl…is what I said," and she glares at the boot of light tan leather, then up at his face, "…Consider yourself fortunate," Konis says to her obstinacy, "…Brands and venom are the least I can give you, even considering your circumstances as a trade…" Braith returns to her hands and crawls away from the other human, towards the front of the two lines. She stands to her feet when she reaches her destination behind the haunches of the di'lean at the lead, and by another drellahna who waits there, and Braith turns her face to see Konis still with his sadistic smile. "I treat you well…Better than you deserve, and you'll wish I were your master compared to whom you will finally work for..."
Back down in the kiva, Kasumi's heels drag through the dust on the stone floor and leave trails as she continues to struggle with the drell who grips her hair in his fist, and forces her to a new cell, while the others assess the damage in the first. ( "Now we see how you look under those clothes," ) the drell roughly releases her into the second cell and pulls the bar door shut…She is free and separates as far as she can, as far as the walls let her… He looks at her clothes, ( "…Take those off," ) he demands, ( "…I want to see what you look like." ) She does not understand his words but she understands the universal stare of all who look inquisitively at clothes on a body, who wonder what lies underneath, and have the ill intentions to find out despite morals…and protests…Kasumi stands near the wall and presses back against it, "…I'll mind my manners, you mind yours," she replies firmly to that look, and knows he might not understand, but figures it is worth a shot…Fair warning…As he repeats his Rakhïken, and crosses the cell, Kasumi looks quickly for anything to defend herself…Similar walls, similar pipe and another puddle, but a window above…Nothing else.
She sees his hand reach for her smock...Her soft boot comes up, hard top of foot to his groin.
She feels the fabric of his loose pants crease easily as her foot levers into his testicles and mashes these against his muscle and pelvic bone…As he keels forward, she follows up—and hits him hard with her forearm in a downward slash of an arc that connects with his nose bridge.
"No," she says resolutely, "…Hands-off!" She pushes him away…The drell looks a little pale in his tebral skin, which is green and brown before she breaks his nose…He kneels then sits on his rear with his hands on his groin, and his four eyelids shutter…
Blood falls over his lips and chin, onto the folds of his clothes' front…
Kasumi arches an eyebrow as she breathes in and out, steady, "…Try again and die, or don't—You'll feel better that way..." She backs up to the wall and slides down it with her shoulders to show she does not intend to harm him further—so long as he keeps away.
Braith's wrists now connect by rope to a small bar of wood behind a di'lean she and the rest of the captives are to walk after…She stares down at the sand on the stone ground, under the animal's claws.
It is hot…At least her feet have the booties that keep her skin separate from the hot surfaces. ( "Mounting up, starting out," ) one of Konis's Drells announces after Konis gives him the signal with his hand…Braith looks next to her, at the drellahna in bondage…Her intricate patak of white, brown, and blue color pattern turns hesitantly to look back…She has a remarkable pink, red, and orange tebris along her neck and jaw…
Braith admires the beauty of it.
"Can you speak my language," she whispers.
The drellahna directs her gaze forward, no interest in communication, or maybe fear of reprisal from their captors.
The di'lean moves forward and both Braith and the drellahna's arms lift as the wood bar also rises into the air with the tension of the creature's connection to them by ropes. While Braith attempts to communicate with her travel companion, a drell climbs onto the di'lean in front of them. She notices how the drell mounts and sits over the di'lean, and looks once again at the drellahna.
She notices on her, as well as the others later—that they have brands on the sides of their heads, under their crests. Braith studies it, the brand that sits bluntly on the back ridge of scales that border the drellahna's high curve of tebris.
The brand appears to be a square with four dots diagonally through it, from top left corner to the low right corner…She shudders to think of the pain that the drellahna knows from such a placement.
She takes her eyes away from the drellahna, not want to stare any longer, and observes their surrounds…For the plaza they walk through, two lines of captives with di'leans and Drells with their weapons, cloaks on them at the fore, rear, and sides of the lines, and there is little to see besides one or two groups at the edges of the open area, at work on what projects Konis assigns them…Many footprints exist clearly in the dust and sand.
Braith looks behind her to see who else travels in the caravan.
Among the captives, all in light tan rags, there are fifteen of these—and the human male at the end, where Konis rides his di'lean. All of his Drells, all seven, ride an animal each, and they wear cloaks over outfits that blend with the pale colors of the desert. Mostly white, and cream, and their sabers are hidden in sheaths under their cloaks, so to not give off any reflection.
Braith stands out with her torn pants, her vest and sash, her braids and skin…Her species…and her brand is different from the others by its placement on her thigh and not her skull. The drellahnas among the ropes all wear billowy, dress-like pants that only cover their waists and legs…So, too, do the captive drells.
Drellahnas have no breasts, but what sets them apart from the males of their species are the tebral folds along the females' sides—from their waists to their armpits, and these sensitive, mobile, colorful tissues of skin and spines are similar to the tebral folds along their jaws and throats...Braith can see how the tebral folds along their sides rise and fall like the organ at their necks, whether in fear and anxiety, or stress…She looks at the drellahna beside her and whispers without more thought behind her decision to, "…It'll be okay…It'll all be okay…" And the drellahna glances at Braith with puzzlement.
Her tebris folds suddenly to her neck.
One of the drell captives is hit by one of Konis's Drells on a di'lean.
Braith and the drellahna stop as the drell on the di'lean before them pulls up to a halt, and everyone turns to see what happens.
The drell that is hit staggers to stand as Konis calls in Rakhïken to his Drell, that continues to strike the captive once more with his boot. The drell on the di'lean replies to Konis, and Braith sees Konis ride his di'lean closer, to come down the line their side, and he begins a conversation—in so many words and gestures—with the drell that receives the abuse…The captive drell, who bleeds from his eye where the rider kicks him, shakes his head at Konis's words…Konis nods once and looks at his fellow rider, ( "…Kill him." )
The other rider reaches into his cloak as Konis looks down the line—to Braith.
The rider removes a large, wicked knife from its holster, leans down from his di'lean, and grips the captive drell's crests on the opposite side of his head to hold him still.
Blood pours from the cut the rider makes through the captive's green and orange-red tebris, from teness to teness, and stains his rags, leaves its brightness on the pale ground to dry in the heat and sun.
Braith watches as the drell is cut free from the rest, and drops to the ground to die…Fourteen captives remain on the ropes and this excludes her…The man is next, but Braith only witnesses Konis direct another of his riders to move the man to the position where the dead captive no longer ties to the bar of wood, and now the man assumes that position by the drellahna, who quivers quietly with terror and stares forward. A group of Konis's Drells that work by the edge of the plaza, come over at his beckon of an arm swing, and they drag the dead away by ankles and leave a trail of blood, channels of dust bare to the sandstone, in the dead's wake…Braith says to no one, but the stricken drellahna at her left looks over at her, "…Why did they kill him?…"
( "Shut up, Human." ) A drellahna behind the one to Braith's left drawls out in a low breath…Braith turns her head to look at the one who speaks.
The drellahna has red, green, and copper marks on her face. She turns her eyes down, but one of those bright gold and silver eyes remains on her.
( "Anyone want to change their mind about joining the Chosen?…" ) Konis asks those who understand him among the lines, ( "…Swear fealty to me, any of you Drells or Drellahnas, or choose to continue as slaves…" )
Braith tries to repeat the Rakhïken words on her lips.
The sounds are unique and take concentration, but she practices because she must learn these to survive…The drellahna behind her left shoulder sees Braith form the sounds with her mouth, rolls her eyes with a shake of her crests.
Braith sweats in the heat as more discussions occur, and relief comes as a cloud passes under the sun.
The shade is a reprieve from the burn that gradually starts to form a pink glow on her scalp, between her braids, and on her face…Soon the order comes to begin their journey.
The di'leans start to lift their claws and move forward. The ropes rise with the wood bars and pull the captives along. Sand and dust starts to float up from the kicks of boots and claws as they continue through the square.
Braith now starts her trip south, and where she ends might be the last place anyone she sees around her, that they may remember her existence…She looks over her shoulder, through the line to the kiva where she leaves behind Kasumi, …I'm responsible for her being here…
…But there is nothing she can do.
Braith considers the freedom of her power from its secret compartment in her mind, …That can go any-way wrong…Without tools to control its strength, she might kill everyone, even herself…So she follows behind the di'lean, the group of captives, or slaves, silent as they trek out of Chiata Sanctuary, Konis and his Drells on their mounts at all sides.
The trek is to be a tough one, long, and somehow, Braith knows…She is in trouble. She looks at the drellahna beside her, …Where is she from?…What's her story?…She turns her eyes forward, and focuses on a fringe of orange feathers that poke out from the brown coat of the di'lean. A backside for the rest of the trip…This is how heroes die, she thinks as she looks at the hindquarters of the animal that leads her to Doom. At least her pain in her stomach is gone, and that strange friend of hers did wonders to the burn on her thigh. Even her face does not ache anymore, and Braith dares to hold onto a hope—maybe two. Then again, Death might be welcome in comparison to what awaits, with a hope or two…An immortal woman who might live the rest of her days as a slave, who never ages the same way as her kind, cannot hope for Death even that way?…Would it be better to take my life now?…One path to choose again, Braith…One path to follow…
Braith wonders if exposure shall claim her first, or Konis happens to decide to kill her…What if she challenges him to fight, dies in the struggle?…Maybe Rakhana takes her life before she chooses anything.
She did not win a Reaper war by admission of defeat. Though death is a welcome respite now and then, the choice to continue forward, alive, for as long as she can, is the only way.
She thinks of Kolyat and how his last words are to warn her to preserve herself and Kasumi, not to save him…Thane would be proud...Braith thinks of Casnar, all the moments he calls her chickenshit, and then makes love to her as if he is afraid to let her go…
Despite her conditions, she is alive.
Casnar wants her to marry him, and live in this world. The opportunist in her says this is a chance to learn about his world…The same world that subjects him to its laws, torture, imprisonment—and he falls in love with it, survives it, chooses not to leave after its mistreatment of him…What is his hope for this place in the galaxy? Maybe things happen for a reason, and all I have to do…is find it.
They pass through the same sentries and walls that Tetonbaum leaves by earlier, and the di'lean and rider lead the caravan down the sideways-wind of the plateau's path.
Konis rides behind them all, which means he watches and he trusts his Drells to know the way. Perhaps they make this journey many times, and this is but another tally mark.
She tries to be one with the heat, to use her own lessons from friends that introduce her years ago to partitions of her mind—from self and external conflicts…She tries to breathe the heat, enjoy it, but as they take that wind of a path, down from Chiata Sanctuary, and she tries not to slip or stumble on the sand and rocks as the di'lean pulls her and her group along, Braith's shoulders and cheeks burn, her hands and scalp are hot and dusty, her body sweats its water, and her mouth dries as the sun and the sand of the Mier reflects the bright light back into her eyes…The sun and the desert work with each other, and Braith is sure that exposure shall claim her first…She thinks of the man in line by the end, who takes the place of the dead drell…His gray and white beard overgrows its worthwhile length, his eyes ready to burst from his skull.
She may soon look as he does, a skeleton, to succumb to the desert, or to life as a slave. Randomly, she wonders if someone has her omni-tool…
She wonders if her company on Lothairaxl realizes she and Kasumi are in trouble.
…She wonders if Casnar's half-brother comes for her, as he claims to by his plan, and why he even cares…Who is he?
She trudges along the path's descent as it switches back and forth, and her feet hit the hard turf.
There are not many plants to see, but her vision is still blurry.
At least the greater half of daylight is behind them, the hottest part of the day wanes, and night is due to come sooner rather than later…There is that to look forward to, though night on the Mier is a different beast…
Braith feels the rope tug against her wrists.
The loose silk rags on her right leg fall and sway against her skin.
The brand develops a tightness, there in her flesh on her thigh.
Why did the others get their brands on their heads, and I only have mine on my leg?…Does that man back there have a brand like mine on his leg, too?…
Much passes through her head, but there is time to think, and reflect…Plenty of time.
Back in the kiva, Kasumi prays quietly as the drells enter her cell and help out the one she leaves in regret of his decisions…They all look at her warily from the gaps between their cowls and hoods.
She shakes her head at them. "Won't be worth it."
She does not care if they do not understand. They leave her be, whether for respect of her good sport and fun earlier—in the kiva's common—or because they do not share the same interest as their colleague, who hopefully learns his lesson not to touch…And they only take him out of her cell, and leave the woman alone.
The bar door and the wooden door close one after the other, and Kasumi does not expect a decent meal anytime soon…Least not until their 'ally' returns…
She looks up at the square of light above—a small window at the height of her cell, and she stands and attempts to reach it with her hands. Outside, she figures Braith is to leave and where to Kasumi does not know.
She does not understand what is to become of herself…The worst part is not knowing…All she may cling to is a hope…A hope from a strange drell with exquisite sapphire eyes and a silly, blue shirt with a cowl that covers his face—but for those beautiful eyes…A strange one, that one…
Kasumi examines her cell again, and not much changes since the last time…All except for the window—that is different: The light, the air, the sounds from it change…even the smells that come through it…At least air may circulate into her cell now, and there is some freshness, but not much…
She goes back to the wall and slides down to her seat of her pants…She passes time, thinks about the outside of her cell, inside the kiva, the sight of Braith in those clothes, the blood on her pants, her hair in braids, what she must be put through…Why am I still here, not being subjected to the same treatments as Shepard?…Shep must know someone, and it's not to her benefit…That someone must be why she's getting the worse treatment, at least it seems that way to Kasumi. She is being treated badly so that someone gets a message…Someone who must be watching…Someone who must be aware of what's going on…Kasumi ponders of the strange drell with sapphire eyes, the one who claims to be on their side…Is he really an ally, or is he a messenger—for those who harm Shepard?…They don't know what to do about me either…That's obvious…I wasn't part of the original plan, was I now…which could mean whoever knows Shepard and organized this mess for her, doesn't know me, and I don't know them…Who could that be?…
She thinks immediately of this Casnar Soterios, who writes Braith epic, sometimes lascivious emails that evolve into lengthy pornographic love letters…Hey—I'm not complaining…Reading that smut helps me pass the time at the office when it's dull…But what Kasumi knows of Braith's emails from the drell, he does not seem intent to harm…The last email in which he sends Braith the coordinates that find them in this state, here on Rakhana, without his typical dirty promises and tender proclamations…A style Casnar Soterios reserves for Shepard, Kasumi figures, …Maybe the email wasn't from him…Maybe his account was hacked, or the message was sent by another account, disguised to resemble his and used to convince us to trust the dupe coordinates…
If she looks at the email on her omni-tool—which she does not have access to anymore—she might doublecheck that last email, not for coordinates, but for the address, or the encryption style…How she wishes to go back in time and heed Shepard, to check the email more closely…Confidence, or overconfidence, is what lands us in this Hell…and Kasumi feels to blame for Braith's capture, as well as her own…I should have known better…We were obviously sabotaged, and I should have known the email was not legitimate…We were set up, I know it…Plainly, painfully, set…up.
The di'lean ahead quicksteps and drags Braith, and the others, into stumbles through the sands to catch up with the change of pace.
Those who ride above them, on their di'leans, issue threats to demand the lines keep up with the animal. The smell of desert dust, di'lean ass and hide, even the heat off the sand creates an insufferable cocktail of scents that makes Braith wish it over, …They'll run us until we collapse…So far, she hates the desert…She abhors Rakhana. The dunes spread away from them, there in the valley of desert below and miles from the last of the path from Chiata Sanctuary.
Thankfully, the di'lean comes to a stop, and the rider makes an adjustment of his hood and clothes…Braith sets her feet together in the hot sand and rests…As if the heat is not enough, someone throws a bag over her head. She resists feebly until she receives a rebuke from the hand that sets a hood over her scalp, and ties this to her neck at the front, under her chin, "…Drink, Human," the owner of the voice makes her look right, out from the lip of cloth that shields her head from the sun…Another Drell who speaks Common, and she sees him hold a bag with a spout towards her face…
She grasps it in both hands without a second thought and drinks lustily from the water bladder, an eye to the di'lean in front, one to the drell who gives her this gift of hydration…He has amber-yellow eyes above a cream-brown cowl. She hands the bladder back to him, reluctantly, after he waggles his stripe-blue pattern fingers, then takes the water with him and remounts an orange and gray di'lean. Braith observes a ribbon of red feathers, and fur, ruffle on the animal's neck…The tug on the rope that ties to her wrists sends a wave of dread through Braith…
The di'lean in front moves forward and they are off.
Konis, at the rear still, reviews the interactions between his Drells and the lines carefully in his mind…He tugs gently on his di'lean's reins and follows the group, towards the first of giant dunes.
The sun lowers a hand's width, and the caravan of captives are among the sandy dunes with long shadows from they and the lead di'lean and rider…Sand makes the journey slow.
Without any conversation to determine it, Braith and her companion—on the ropes beside her—develop a system of strides to make the travel over the sand easier, and the wood bar is less uneven due to either's slack, or tension, on the ropes that connect them…This alleviates much of their struggle, and the tacit cooperation lifts the spirits some so that neither feels as alone in their endeavor to survive the journey. The drellahna has longer legs than Braith, though Braith is taller than most Humans…She leans forward a little to match her strides with the drellahna, when and if she sees the ropes in front of them start to straighten too high, and both either slow, or speed up, to keep the ropes between their wrists and the wood bar as even as possible…No matter what they do, their wrists are raw with the rough rope threads constantly in rub against their skin or scales. At the top of the dune they climb along the spine of, the di'lean finally stops and the rider surveils the land then points his arm with a long, billowy sleeve of cream, as he turns his head east under his cream hood.
The Beirchardt is viewable from the top of that dune. Her black waters reflect brilliant sunlight as the star sets towards its horizon. For a moment the journey of torments becomes respite…The outline of a ship, with masts and spread sails, can be seen under the sun—starkly against the brilliant scintillation of rays off the wet waves…Her vision better now than before the venom of outcastes, Braith can see the ship, and the poetic, dreamy sight of the water in the set of the sun, and the desert brightness, that turns to gold as evening comes…The lines rest, while Konis and his Drells ride their di'leans close to one and other, converse in Rakhïken.
It is Konis who decides it is time for the captives to relieve themselves…All captives are able to feel relief from the ropes now off their wrists, and these ropes and the wood bars lay in the sand as the riders, off their mounts, tell the captives to find a spot in view—and take a squat…
Braith looks around at the sands. No obstacles in view to sit behind and squat privately. She looks up at the riders that gather again to Konis.
One of the riders asks, in Common Speech so she may understand, "…Does a human piss any differently than a drellahna?…" But she ignores him and continues to stare at Konis…who does not smile at the inquiry, as some of the others do and chuckle amongst themselves.
"Dig yourself a hole," he recommends, "…and best to fill it with your waste, or I can have someone put your body into it."
She turns and starts down the dune with the others ahead of her, but Braith walks farther than the farthest captive, who takes care of business on the open slope of the great hill of sand that winds away into another dune.
While Braith relieves herself into a hole she scoops out with her hands, she stares at the sand below her knees and watches how a small insect runs, stops, and runs underneath her shadow…She looks up at the sky and notices the two stars that lie faintly beyond the sun which lowers to the horizon.
Her eyes drop to the specks of color on the monotonous dune, the drellahnas and drell captives, the one human, Konis and his riders, the di'leans, the faint shapes of ropes and wood bars. All is extraordinarily peaceful but for the breeze that runs the sands down into the hole along with her urine…How else does a people travel in a desert, on a world stuck behind in times such as this one…If I had a way to store it, I would keep my urine…Too bad I'm without a reclamation suit like Quarians have…That would be handy…
She wonders what Tali would think of her squat, there on that dune.
She hears and sees the riders call and motion for the captives to return to their lines.
Braith pulls up her pants, figures a simple wrap and knot of her sash to hold it over the hem of her waistband and vest. She also ties the loose ends of her torn pant on her right to prevent further tear…As she looks up from the pant leg, she notices the captives, even the human, clean their hands vigorously with sand. When in Rome…and she cups a handful of sand to mimic their actions, and hopefully learn something...She toys with the idea of whether or not to take out a rider, commandeer his di'lean, ride it towards the ocean and try to gain the attention of someone on that ship who might watch the shoreline of this desert…That would be a long hope…She determines that her chances of survival are better if she keeps with her current captors, until they reach wherever they wish to trade her into new hands…
Better chances with access to food, shelter, water, though who or what waits in store for her at their destination might be less preferable to an attempt of luck—maybe sheer madness—with the dispatch of a rider, a chance with a loyal di'lean that may likely kill her, and that unknown ship, with unknown crew, and purpose, there on the water…
She makes her way back to her side of the rope line, along the top of the dune.
As she passes the man who ties himself to the ropes, Braith looks at him and he glances at her, but only briefly.
The captives with her seem to know, or prefer, to avoid conversation and eye contact, whatever their reasons.
Braith reaches her spot at the head of the right line of ropes, and holds out her wrists together so the drell—the one with the amber-yellow eyes—can loop the ropes about her wrists…He pulls the rope-knot tightly and looks at her from between the cowl and hood…
Braith slowly turns her own gray eyes, under her hood, and looks up at him…
He studies the way her skin burns, and the freckles darken. The gray eyes show no change from their defiant nature. Very little does she tan…His stripe-blue fingers tighten on the ropes, and the drellahna beside Braith notices how the rider tugs the human female closer. "You're curious, aren't you…" Braith reads it, calls it out, as the eyes look down at her, "…Something special about the kinky little treat, someone like Casnar Soterios takes seriously enough to want a kid with," she has a long time to think about these things during their journey through the Mier, "…You want to know for yourself if she's as good for you, as she is for him…I'll leave you infertile," as he takes out a knife and holds it to her lip, "…Go ahead," its weight on the corner of her mouth, "…Give me a chance, I know you'll remember me—but maybe not the way you'd like to…" She stares fiercely back into those amber-yellow eyes and can hear the purl of arousal inside the clothes, from inside the drell…
Suddenly he draws the flat of the knife away and thrusts her ropes from his grip. He moves to his di'lean, calls out they are ready, and remounts.
Yes, now we're ready to continue…She turns and looks at the drellahna on her left, her companion on the ropes there, and the drellahna looks from the rider, who leaves on his mount, to Braith's eyes. Whether in an effort to cool herself, or really, to pass a subtle message to Braith who cannot understand the Silent Tongue, the drellahna raises, flutters, and flattens her glamorous tebris…Braith does notice the unique, quiet behavior, and takes it as a positive sign…
She knows Thane long enough to understand the tebral folds can behave with significance, what in those skin folds' dances along Drell necks and jawlines…She turns a few more degrees to see the drellahna, behind her companion…
That drellahna is well aware of what the rider intends, and sees Braith's eyes appear under the shade of her hood he gave her to cover her head…A token of claim, a gesture of courtship…She glares at Braith, and hisses a caution in Rakhïken that Braith does not understand.
Braith faces forward some, but as they have not set forward into motion, she spares another glance behind them…
She sees the drell directly behind her on the ropes, after the next bar of wood…
At least she assumes he is Drell. He looks a little different…His patak possesses a unique shape from the others…A star formation with another star-like ridge behind that which makes up the fore, sides, and top of his crown, what with its significant layer of appearance…
He is slender of build in his rag pants, and his face delicate, thin…but strong. He does look back at her, though fleetly with yellow eyes inside the dark bold green of his eyelids in that cream-orange hue of his patak and star-points.
"Are you Drell?…" Braith asks quietly, and notices the drellahna to his left gives her another nasty stare-down, but the 'drell' raises his eyes again to Braith's…
"Chimilys," he replies—and surprises her with any answer whatsoever, but no more than that word…Either because he does not speak Common Speech but recognizes the word 'Drell', and perhaps the meaning behind her tone, or he is aware of the punishment Braith is about to receive…
She feels the impact of a heel to her back shoulder from a rider that strolls his di'lean to a stop, ( "…There is no talking here!…" ) And he spits at the chimilys behind Braith, to discourage him as well from any conversation. Braith glares at the rider as the di'lean continues on with the prompt of a thigh squeeze to its furry flanks, and carries the offender to the first rider at the lead, then—after a quick exchange—down the other side of the lines of captives.
Braith looks back at the chimilys, and smiles gently, "…Chimilys?" His eyes and face are down, but at her whisper, the eyes raise hesitantly and he chances a small grin, "…Chimilys."
The ropes pull suddenly, and the di'lean starts down the slope of the dune's spine.
Braith and her companion resume their system of strides, and balance the ropes that bind them to the wood and the di'lean. The sun follows lackadaisically through the sky and sets in opposition to the west and south horizon.
By the sun's set, they reach the first of steep canyons that border the hard country, south and west of the lower Mier.
Exhaustion plagues Braith, and when the di'leans end their final steps, she collapses onto the ground.
Her companion beside her looks down at Braith as she kneels on the rocks, and shakes her crests urgently.
( "You must stand until they tell you that you may rest…Stand up, Human, before they strike you." ) She reaches down to Braith's cloth on her shoulder and pulls on it with both hands—inseparable due to the rope, and Braith forces herself to stand as the drellahna helps. Her fingers close around Braith's upper arm to pull her as the riders dismount from their di'leans and remove kits from the animals' backs. They bring these long kits to the nearby walls of steep canyon cliffs.
As Braith gets her legs under her, she sees the riders assemble the kits against the sandstone walls, and set up their encampment materials with a perfect combination of camouflage…They have lean-tos that connect to each other, and what privacy-means exist between these she cannot see…
The assembly goes on for a time…She catches her breath and gazes up at the canyon precipices…Darkness reaches over the top of the far ledges, and stars emerge from the purple sky.
Braith drops her eyes to her wrists. There is red rawness from the ropes where she sees it under her binds…She sighs at the pain from the chafe burns.
With the lean-tos up, the riders return to detach the di'lean from the ropes, and the animals are free to roam. Neither Konis nor his Drells worry they might leave. The di'leans stay close out of loyalty.
Braith looks up to see Konis approach, and he unbinds the rope from her raw wrists.
He raises one of her arms, leans forward and sniffs the rough flesh to acquire a whiff of the Fumiaksa.
He smiles in the present darkness, and she hardly sees his teeth, "…Rest now…You may sit with the other slaves, and be quiet. I advise you—once, and only once—stay close, and do not try to leave. These canyons are filled with wyrrtuns, and they will take you if given the chance…Death by wyrrtun is especially unpleasant…They eat and fight over you alive, while you scream…" Braith feels the ropes slide over her arms as he coils these in his hands, and Konis looks to the drellahna beside her, who receives freedom by the hands of the drell with amber-yellow eyes. ( "Send that one to my lean-to." )
Braith notices the drellahna look across her to Konis's face…The drellahna's expression is one of fear...The drell takes hold of her arm and half-drags her as she stumbles numbly by Braith, in the direction of Konis's bed-down for the night. "Where are you taking her," Braith demands, before Konis pushes her down.
"Speak no more," he coils the ropes, and takes these with him.
He stops to talk with the rest of his Drells as they tighten together their packs, and take care to stow the ropes among their belongings.
Water pouches pass among the slaves to drink, by the drells of Konis, and the drell with the amber-yellow eyes comes over to Braith.
It is hard to see his eyes now, but she recognizes him by his clothes, his figure, his gait…He brings over a pack that he opens by a string and flap as he kneels, and takes out a container, opens its top with a twist…He holds out his hand and shakes it in demand of one of her wrists.
Braith sits with her knees against her chest, and she extends her elbow to give him access to her left wrist first…
He slathers cream over her angry flesh…
It burns and she hisses at the sudden inflammation.
"Keep your mouth shut," he says quietly.
Braith looks away, then back at him as he reaches for her opposite wrist, and applies more cream there…More burn.
"Are you so weak you cannot bear the medicine that will heal your soft, supple skin?" He tightens his grip on her wrist.
Braith's fatigue washes away with her sudden alertness to the proposition in his gaze.
There is a scuffle on the ground as the drell forces her onto her back and cuffs her breasts through the vest. He slides his rough hand down her waist, under her sash as she struggles and pushes against him.
His legs and hips pin her down, now that he pulls her under him.
"How would you like some real Serepta venom," he grabs the brand on her thigh.
Braith grits her teeth in pain, and twists her face away in time as he pulls down his cowl and drags his tongue up her cheek…She smells his venom—a piquant, ashy pine smell—and lays still.
Her chest heaves with fast breaths as his hand holds her arm over her head, against the hard ground, and he fondles her chest through her cloth, "…It's been a long time since I've seen an asari's tits, or a human's…" He pulls up her vest to her throat and stares at her nipples.
Painful cries come from the lean-tos, and Braith realizes these come from her companion—the drellahna on the ropes with her…
"You try your luck with women who can't protect themselves…" she says as she stares off into the dark desert east, "…Choice pickings—raping slaves who can't fight back…Coward…Nirishuk ( Chickenshit )!…" She uses a word from Casnar's lexicon in Rakhïken…The drell stops and grabs her face, holds her so she must look at him.
"What did you call me?…" He shakes her arm and jaw, but Braith says nothing—She is certain he hears her well enough. "Did you just call me chickenshit—In my language?…" He looks fit to strike her…His eyes move to her wrist overhead in his grip…
He takes off his sash and binds it fast about her wrist, pulls her up by her neck and binds her wrists together behind her back.
"Chickenshit, I'll show you what nirishuk can do," and he drags her over the rocks, towards the canyon cliffs, away from the lean-tos…Braith feels her skin break and catch on the ground…She kicks up at him…He strikes her in the stomach, picks her up and slams her on the ground, which is hard for it is like concrete, and when she moves more slowly from the daze of his violence, he moves down to her legs after he sets her against the floor and wall of the canyon's cliff-face…He removes her pants, follows off with his own. With a quick slide up and down of his erection by his grip, he falls upon her and drives her knees apart with his as she tenses.
Braith gasps and clamps down on his chest muscle through the silk cloth as he thrusts with all his anger, in the shadows of that canyon's cliff wall, and after an interminable, painful, horrible few minutes of his need…
He takes of her…He stills and chuffs into the heat of her neck…Braith releases her teeth, licks the blood off her lips, and stares coldly up at the stars over his shoulder…He withdraws from her, and with resignation, unties her wrists of his sash and looks at her nakedness, her disheveled clothes. He stands and wipes his phallus off with his hand, then dresses and tucks himself away into his pants. "There," he says roughly, "…how's that for nirishuk…You like it, you can ask for Shala—" Braith spits with what blood and saliva is in her mouth.
It is quite the shot…It smacks his face, right over his lips and nose.
Shala takes up a rock as he rubs the blood and saliva off with his other hand, then kneels down towards her with a deadly menace in his eyes…
"Enough," someone says, and the voice sounds like Konis, "…She is a gift to the Bentara-Caratoda…They will flay you if you kill her, and she needs no more marks, other than her brand…You've had your satisfaction, now go to bed…" And the footsteps move away…
Shala looks over his shoulder. He looks down at Braith, "…He would have let me kill you, I don't know what's changed…Consider yourself lucky," and he tosses away the rock and stands.
He looks up at the sky, then down at her on the ground against the rocky wall. His tall figure turns, and he moves away—no care about whether she runs, or not…Braith's eyes burn into his shoulders and back as he heads towards the lean-tos…
Eventually she tears her gaze off.
She is alone, not able to see if anyone watches, or knows what happens there in the shadows…and perhaps no one is, or does…She is alone, completely, utterly alone…Now is the time to run, isn't it?…There's no watch, but Konis said something about wyrrtuns in the canyon?…She looks about and only sees the shapes of the di'leans that mill farther off, nearer to where the other slaves rest together.
…They haven't run…
She gathers her clothes and cleans herself as well as she can, then reassembles her oufit with a cold indifference to the violation of her body. She dresses and wipes off the cream on her wrists, rubs it away with disgust…She ignores the raw sensation between her legs, and crouches…
Braith makes her way to the group of captives she can see by their silhouettes…She heeds her own instincts not to be alone there by the canyon wall long.
The others raise their shadowy heads to her arrival. A few stare at her, and their expressions show concern or disgust, but Braith cannot see these…She attempts to walk tall and is quiet as she joins them. She can make out who is who by the faint outlines of their heads, some their faces, and she sits down deliberately across from the man, who regards her with his dark eyes of sullenness.
All sit in the darkness together, all but for the drellahna who is still with Konis.
There is some activity as among them, one of the drells starts to build a fire.
Braith watches as the drell sets up kindling, which he pulls from the loop of his own pants around his waist, whatever he gathers of dry plant materials, dry wood he manages to find among the rocks. The others help set up a pile of stones, in the style of a pyramid, and stuff the cracks with kindling they find. Another taps some shards together, and Braith sees the first sparks of light over a handful of dry grass…She can see the smoke in the sparks that the drellahna makes, and this drellahna cups the lit blades with her hands and carries these carefully to the pyramid—to set inside with the rest of the kindling. Both the drellahna and, Braith now sees, the chimilys, blow air at the kindling to encourage the catch of the flames…
The glow brightens within the rocks…
All huddle close to the fresh fire. Even the di'leans draw towards it, and their bodies give off such warmth near them, that Braith can feel their closeness, and hear their churs…Despite the darkness, the danger there is to sleep outside in the wild with nothing to defend themselves, no knowledge of what lurks—beyond the predatory drells in the lean-tos, the wyrrtuns at this end of Sohijun ( Journey ) Canyon, there is something that relaxes the mind and gives calm to Braith.
They may discourse freely, and do. Konis and his Drells are out of sight. There are thirteen that sit in a huddle by the small pyramid of stones and fire, and this number does not include Braith who counts…The di'leans provide a defensive circle about their pitiful encampment, and what with the creatures' sizes, claws, beaks, heat, natural protectiveness against predators such as wyrrtuns, it is not all so pitiful, and the captives are safe.
Now is when the drellahna—the one who gives Braith the cold burns and evil glares—speaks and shares a story with the others. Though Braith does not understand, she listens…
Braith hears someone translate the drellahna's words, and to her surprise, it is the man. "In the cold climates, west across this continent," he translates in his gruff, shallow voice, looks at Braith, and speaks the drellahna's words, "…where I come from my brothers and sisters die by the hardship of land…In times of cold winter, such a story was told by my elders to help us young have hope…" As Braith focuses on the man across from her, she sees his face gaunter, hollower by the flames that lick outward and upward over the stones. There is something about him, that lures her mind to think backwards, instead of forwards…He sits next to the drellahna who speaks, and Braith realizes they must know each other…His eyes might watch the weak fire now, but the man sees Braith's eyes glue to him. "This story speaks of a mother, pale as the snow on the Ray'hara Mountains' peaks, and that this drellahna fell in love with an evil being, who seduced her into giving him entry to her womb…Two children were made of one—immortal brothers—and he who was good, the other who was evil…The father demon moved on, and the mother left the mountains to raise the children on the sea, on the other side of the world…Their mother taught them together. The lessons they learned were the same. And yet, each child formed his own opinion about rule. The demon father was the arch god himself, the An'Kala," and the drellahnas, Drells, even the man, spit out at the name, "…who wished Chaos to reclaim his enemy Kala's world." The di'leans ruffle their fur and feathers, and two take to the ground, and curl their necks down along their furry legs. "Musaphat," the man and the drellahna go on together, speak over each other but in synchrony and clearly for everyone to listen and understand through their harmony, "…would lead his people he came to be loved by, and he was the good brother, while Ysuphet, the evil one, would sacrifice those who worshipped him in honor of his perverse vision for their futures…"
The drellahna rolls her hand out of her opposite cup of fingers in her lap, and to the man she offers her palm…He gazes at it, takes hold of it, and their hands lower between them, "…Musaphat did not believe in his brother's vision of Chaos to Salvation, and so with the Love of his people, he forged the Stone of S'syalahe—the Eye of Paths—and this he shared with his people so they could escape from Ysuphet's corruption when it spread over the world, as it did, only in time. Musaphat's gift enabled his people to prepare for the coming plague and wars, and they left long before Ysuphet could reap them for his evil needs. They walked into the ocean, following the Eye of Paths, and were safe from the plague and wars that came among Ysuphet's Chosen…Now is the time to walk towards our fates," the man and the drellahna say softly, as though through rehearsal, they know it by heart, and a rock in the pile cracks to spit up sparks of light, and ember, "…We may not see each other again," they tilt their heads together and Braith withholds a breath…Tears form in her eyes, and she blinks, "…Musaphat has seen to make the Path to Hayalah'hah simple for his believers to find each other, by the waters of their belief in him…"
And that is why so many left Rakhana to Kahje? The hanars' homeworld is an ocean…They appealed to these peoples' belief in an underwater path to Salvation…
The man pauses, listens a while longer to the drellahna beside him as she speaks, and he nods. The brown eyes, deep in the sunken sockets, make eye contact with Braith, "…You are the bearer of the An'Kala's future heir."
She stares with a dumbfound expression—as they all spit at the name.
( "She has poison in her," ) the drellahna says, ( "…Fumiaksa, Ysuphet's Chosen's bloods and venoms…Tell her it is not all evil." )
The man shakes his head, ( "…No, it will interfere with her decisions, my dear wife." )
( "Tell her, Tylor!" ) she hisses.
The man turns his sunken eyes to the drellahna. She looks at him, what they have put him through, and trills grievously…He raises his brow and beard, and touches her tebris, below her jaw, with his fingers in an affectionate gesture…The drellahna begins to close her eyelids and wet drops fall over the matte skin of her patak…
…Why is she crying, Braith wonders.
The man touches his brow, and makes a sign of a vertical draw-down with two fingers, and a square before his forehead between them, then lowers his hand to the drellahna's belly.
…Is she pregnant?…
The flames among the stones flicker and dance their shadows. The drellahna and man nestle closer as they continue to hold hands.
( "There is hope," ) the man says.
"Who are you?"
He hesitates, but looks from the drellahna to Braith.
"My name is Tylor Termon-Diascha. I am Mia'tonia's husband," he tilts his head towards the drellahna, who fixes her eyes on Braith, "…She wants me to tell you that you have had the Fumiaksa…We can smell it," he touches his nose, and draws his finger in an arc—to include the others in their circle. "Despite its name, outcaste venom is not terrible…It is purifying—"
"I find that hard to believe." Braith remembers the pain.
"It may help balance the potential in your womb."
She narrows her eyes. "What potential?…Everyone thinks I can get pregnant?…That were so, I'd have a kid already—years before now, and he or she would be at least fourteen-years-old." Tylor translates to his wife, Mia'tonia. The drellahna gives her a hostile glare, but it is nothing new to Braith.
He goes on, "…This planet," he pauses and lets out the long, withheld breath, "…has strange secrets," he raises his deep, intense stare to Braith, "…My wife is of the Kerhasla, which to you and I would understand to be a Rakhïken term for covenant, and witches to Drells…She is of the descendants who once guarded the Eye of Paths, the S'syalahe Stone, until it was taken…She has seen things in it."
"I don't know what it is…Maybe you can elaborate?"
"It is Musaphat's gift, and it reveals what is to come, shares this with whoever looks into even one of its shards."
Braith shifts forward on her bottom, "…It tells the future?"
"No…It creates a path, to a future."
"How so—"
The drellahna hisses at her husband…Tylor shakes his head, and his eyes drop down, "…I am forbidden to say…I will warn you that the An'Kala," he pauses to spit with the others again, and Braith finds amusement in the Pavlovian-esque phenomenon of expectorations, "…is drawn to the power in you…There is no way to prevent what is to come, but you will have a child that is of Drell blood, and he will be either Devastation to this world, or its Salvation…You, as his mother, will need to guide him, which means you will need to protect him, and yourself, from what hunts you, both, of Ysuphet's disciples."
"And who are these disciples of Ysuphet, I should be wary of…"
The others by the fire listen to Mia'tonia as she speaks, and Tylor translates, "…Ysuphet's Chosen."
Braith scoffs as a spit of ash comes from the fire stones, and she picks it up—despite the burn to her fingers—and throws it back into the fire, "…Some help," she mocks arrogantly, "…By the way, how do you know me, aside from…" She nods her chin at Mia'tonia, who stares flatly back. "I remember you telling me, back at the fortress when we first saw each other, that you knew me."
"That fortess is called Chiata Sanctuary," he shares with her—despite her attitude, "…It is only a sanctuary for Traus's Drells and Drellahnas, who believe themselves the Chosen—the Al'Kin…"
"The Chosen, like Ysuphet's Chosen…" He nods, and it pleases him she recalls his words from the story.
"Yes…As for how I recognize you, do you recall a gods-forsaken place called Torfan."
"Don't tell me you were there…"
"I cannot forget a face, part of the reason I do well here on Rakhana, with Mia'tonia," he smiles and it is ghastly from malnutrition, "…I remember you from there, how you protected us innocent, slaughtered the evil…" She suddenly feels a thousand years older…Braith's expression is withdrawn by the effect of her memories, of Torfan. "I nicknamed you The Butcher…I am glad what you did to them to make them suffer, to cleanse their filth from the galaxy…You possess so much cruelty…So much anger…Righteous anger, especially at what those Slavers brought…"
"I was off the leash," Braith says quietly, "…No one stopped me…"
"And they shouldn't have…Ysuphet, and Musaphat, work through you, that is clear…You have the balance between renegade destruction, and paragon healing, Braith Shepard. Like you freed me and my fellow slaves, and you sent Reapers back to Hekelah," he uses the Drell term for Hell as if it is his own—and hers, "…Kala believes in you…You will help correct the imbalance the An'Kala," everyone spits to the sides, but Braith, "…will afflict upon your child."
The night passes, and there is no more talk. Bizarre noises come from the canyon—shrieks, rattles, and snarls…Once in a while, the di'leans all stand in response to a threat unseen.
Braith tries to sleep, but perhaps the poison in her keeps her awake, along with Tylor's words of prophecy, the troublesome memories of Torfan.
She wakes at the cold nip of dawn to see Konis on one of the canyon walls, and he looks south, and west, into the canyon mouth she now sees clearly as she stands in the cold air on the desert, the circle of heat from the nearby di'leans to keep her comfortable, and the quiet embers of fire that remain among the pyramid.
He sends for her…One of his Drells comes over and snaps for her to follow. Braith leaves the circle with the drell, Tylor among the others who wake and watch from the corners of their eyes her departure.
She climbs the canyon wall to Konis, and takes some enjoyment from the opportunity to move her sore muscles in a different way, other than to walk with a rope. When she reaches his ledge, Braith stands and watches him…Something about him seems softer, what in that stare he gives to the canyon…
Maybe it was raping someone all night, Braith assumes with silent fury.
He raises his arm and points to the canyon deep. His clothes wrinkle about his shoulder. "Were you to walk through that canyon, do you think you would last?"
She approaches slowly, cautiously as he indicates to her with a tilt of his crests to draw nearer to his side.
He lowers his hand, and cups it towards him to bid her closer.
"Do I need to worry about you shoving me off the cliff there," she asks, but obeys, "…and is that a real question, or more rhetoric…" He takes hold of her forearm and pulls her against his side, points her chin with his fingers to direct her face to what he wants her to see.
Braith sees the coagulation of black, livid movement lower on the canyon walls.
"Wyrrtuns," he says, and releases her arm and chin, "…They are why we do not fear you to run at night—or in the daylight." He looks at her…His eyes steady on her face, on her lip, the burns from the sun, the improvement of her bruises. "Someone has been assisting you. Who was it?"
She backs up a step, and stops as the crunch of pebbles warn Braith of her weight on the edge of the cliff.
"I heal faster than most Humans…I can take a beating better than most, too."
"You were violated last night?" He watches her, sees what he thinks is a momentary squint of anguish in her eyes.
…Wasn't he the one who intervened?…
He looks back to the canyon where it seethes with black creatures that stalk the crags—their low profiles, stealthy breeds of panthers and rats…
"Make no mistake, Shepard, we are preventing a greater evil…You will think ill of me, but one day you will understand my wisdom." She turns and stares at him, there with the backdrop of the canyon that slowly fills with detail by the vehicle of a dawn sky.
"What's your story, Traus? You're an agent for someone else—a virus, passed by a carrier…but you only want power…You have your own ambitions—for your Al'Kin."
He turns. "…I do have ambitions, but I do not share plans and dreams with my enemies."
He pushes her off the ledge with his palm.
Braith falls and catches on the rocks below. Stone bites into her back. Konis drops down all ten feet and lands on ground like a cat.
He gives her a pitiful look, "…You don't land well, Shepard." He grins, and moves away. "Mind your feet better," and as he walks by Shala, among his Drells nearby, "…Tie her in…It is time to test our way with Sohijun."
Braith looks up as she stands from the rocks and sees Shala come over, a cowl over his lower patak, his hood back up.
He leans over, and smells her braids through the cloth of his cowl, her hood she still wears, but only for protection from the sun. He takes hold of her shoulder and pushes her ahead of him, back towards the group of captives who form into their places along the trails of rope, that now lay out for Konis's Drells place these in preparation…Braith sees her companion—the drellahna who walks with her by day—at her position again, behind the di'lean that is to lead once more…
Shala ties her wrists with the ropes. Braith gazes at her companion sympathetically, who blinks a few times as she stares at her feet in despondence.
"You okay?" Braith asks softly, and the drellahna glances at her, "…I wish I could talk to you…I have to to learn your language…"
How did Tylor learn to speak Rakhïken?
They are ready, and the di'lean moves…Their arms rise at the pull of the ropes, and the wood bars lift, as they descend into the canyons, full of bloodthirsty wyrrtuns.
Braith stares up along the walls, either side of the canyon, where black wyrrtuns prowl and stalk their caravan, and watch back with feverish eyes of fire. The di'leans are uncomfortable, their plumes of their crests high over their crowns, and they stretch their necks to open their beaks and hiss. Konis rides at the rear again, his own di'lean uptight though he is calm...He looks between Braith, and Tylor, alternately.
He suspects the wyrrtuns intend to attack, before the caravan makes it out of the canyon this dawn…
His gaze shifts from Braith to Tylor…Her father…
…How strange these paths are, he thinks, …that wind us into walking together, after so very long apart…
"Tylor…Shepard," he calls ominously over the lines…
Braith whips her head around, the drellahna beside her as well—and so, too, does Mia'tonia turn her face.
They all look at Tylor near the end of the line of captives.
Konis looks at Braith, and smiles.
He makes a fist, points to Tylor, who keeps his face expressionless, and continues to stare ahead…
Braith, Mia'tonia, and the drellahna beside Braith, see a rider to the right of Konis urge his di'lean forward.
He draws out a saber from his left sheath, hidden under the cloak.
They watch helplessly as Tylor's shoulder is cut, and the saber slashes again to hew through his bonds before Tylor falls and rolls onto his injury with a silent, open-mouth scream…but there is only delay between the realization of the wound, and the pain that comes back from his brain…Tylor gives voice to that scream.
Braith looks at Mia'tonia.
"Tylor!—Tylor!—Tylor!"
The rider dismounts to tie up the loose ropes, then places his boot on Tylor's hip and forcefully rolls the man away from the caravan.
The wyrrtuns watch—with rattles and shrieks of excitement.
The sight and smell of blood causes frenzy among the canyon crags and walls…The di'leans jostle their riders as they shift left and right on their claws, rear in anticipation of the wyrrtuns that climb down, and rush towards Tylor…
They scatter rocks, kick up dust, in their collective lunge to feed first—upon the man who bleeds from his shoulder, yards from the right line of captives…
As the black and wild creatures pounce down the cliffs towards Tylor, who starts to stand and prepare himself to face his fate, Mia'tonia wails and pulls on the ropes…Braith stares at Konis with incredulity.
…Did he call him…Tylor…Tylor Shepard?…
She turns her face towards the man with gray and white hair, the deep brown eyes that bulge from his skull as he briefly looks back at Mia'tonia…He faces the wave of wyrrtuns again, and Braith sees the blackness of hair in a sickly patch at the nape of his neck.
…I don't recognize him…It can't be…That's not what he called himself?…
The di'lean starts to walk, and Braith finds herself in a Tug-of-War with the ropes as she strains to see, and understand…
"Tylor!" Mia'tonia screams, as the wyrrtuns flock to her husband, and start to fight over the scarce meat…
The canyon walls nearly clear with the departure of the beasts.
Konis looks from the tear and struggle among the wyrrtuns for Tylor's body, to Braith.
His sinister smile returns.
Braith turns her eyes forward, her face away from Tylor's last expression…
She focuses on the di'lean's fur ahead, but only sees Tylor's face, his last instance of panic, remorse, lostness…
…We're all going to die…
Tylor's final screams end, but last in his echoes, along with the hisses and shrieks of the wyrrtuns…along with Mia'tonia's wails of sorrow and anguish…Braith wants to help her…Also tell her to shut up…
She wants to stop this madness…but she cannot.
The sun is in the middle of the sky, when they arrive at the house-clan of Bentara-Caratoda, in hills beyond the last crevices of canyons.
Braith walks away from the lead di'lean and ropes, the other captives—her escorts Konis and Shala for some reason…She goes up a hill to a stall of mud and timber with colorful red paint. This houses a plumbing fixture for showers.
Konis pumps a lever nearby, and water sprays out—cold and sharp on her hot, red skin as she stands underneath the nozzle. Some bouts of the water come out warm with his pumps and Braith closes her eyes to raise her face into the inconsistent spray…It cools her scalp and soothes between the tight braids on her head…Her torn booties sink into the damp turf that turns to mud.
The spray stops.
Konis cuffs her head and drags her from the stall by the cloth of the shoulder of her vest. She tugs her shoulder away from his grip, and Shala knocks her down with his arm as she loses balance…He stands over and offers his hand with a smile.
Braith stands on her own, and follows behind Konis.
They enter a plaza within the walls of a small city with short and flat-top homes, red tiles for roofs. She checks out the setup, …Not much. A lot is in disarray, though here and there a few homes look kind of showy—and out of place…
Shala bumps into her from behind as Konis stops and waits for a wagon to roll by with a drell who pulls it by a large rooker—a female di'lean that has kits—through the intersection of two narrow lanes.
They approach a large building with two towers either side of its wall that faces them. They enter by a red-tile doorway between the towers.
( "Master Bentara," ) Konis calls to the attendants inside the entry hall, which is high and long like a church, ( "…Someone inform the master of this house-clan that Konis Traus calls…" ) Initially, the attendants do nothing but stare at the woman between the two drells, then there is a scramble, as a few pick up their feet, and run off in search of the papir'aia.
Through a set of stain-glass doors some time later, shadows merge and separate as these enter the hall. At the head of the entourage is a diminutive form—an aide, who leads a much taller figure in a wealth of white, blue, and yellow silks. Aspah Bentara moves the aide out of his way with a long arm and sleeve, ( "…Konis Traus," ) he greets in a somber tone, ( "…such a surprise…" )
Aspah's dark purple eyes look at Braith.
( "This is the human I trade," ) Konis replies, and Aspah turns his black and green-fade-to-yellow patak back to him.
( "This is your trade?" )
( "Yes, Master." )
Aspah returns his scrutiny to Braith—the dark purple eyes shift. ( "She is not much…I expected something more appealing…What is that smell?" )
( "What does it matter what she smells like…All Humans stink…Pay for her, and the others…" )
( "Here is the agreed amount," ) Aspah has three bags full of clinks—there are metal dragus inside the bag leathers—his aides set into Shala's embrace, who juggles the weight of the heavy, unwieldy sacks before he balances these in his arms. ( "That should compensate you for the inconvenience, and also for you to bring her back to a stall—for a thorough rinse." ) The papir'aia wrinkles the corner of his patak above his left nostril in reference to what he smells.
( "She has already been washed, Master." )
With clear disdain to Konis, Aspah snaps, ( "…Then wash her again!" )
Konis tips his brow scales downwards, ( "…Of course…Master..." )
To Braith, Aspah asks in Common Speech, "…Do you understand or speak Rakhïken?"
"I don—" Aspah nods and interrupts before she can finish her answer.
"Then you will be no bother of a 'spy'…Go wash yourself. Your escorts are to be welcomed for bringing you and the other laborers. Do not expect much in terms of food, drink, or quarter."
Braith ogles him, "…Do you know who I am?"
"I know that you are no one!…Go make yourself unstink!—Do not ask stupid questions, or you will be whipped!…The Compact with the hanari, that extends to my city, does not cover treatment of Human species!…You are given enough dignity to not be stripped naked in front of everyone, right this moment, for your impudence!"
As they step from the shade of the building, Konis pushes Braith ahead—so hard, and with such temper, that she trips and stumbles into the rut-lanes of dirt.
From the ground, she rolls over, and stares upward at the two towers behind him, then at Konis's foul expression, "…Don't be a nuisance," he says, "…You're nothing…You want to be treated well? Take what you can of your circumstances," he sneers, "…Enjoy what little dignity they do extend you—before the sered sends you to the mines."
"And what can the others who are with me expect," she asks as she stands in her muddy wet clothes.
"They stay here, with you, as do we for the night—while we enjoy ourselves…"
They lead her back to the stall outside the city walls, strip her naked this time and wash her with the water.
Konis makes her scrub herself with her dirty clothes. Afterwards he lets her dry in the sun, alone, with her back to them while she sits on a rock. It is Shala that Konis permits to dress her next—with some new outfit that an aide from Aspah Bentara comes out of the city to give Braith to wear.
As Shala helps her dress in the new clothes, Braith feels Konis's eyes on her body and sees him glance at the brand on her thigh.
That night, Aspah gives a low-key banquet for Konis and his Drells.
Braith bears witness to the frivolity and antics of Drellahnas of the house-clan, and cannot understand their stories, even as the drellahna—her travel companion from the caravan—tries to explain with gestures…Nothing is in good sport, however, and they are the butts of ridicule.
Braith must eat food she has no stomach for, and it is all new to her tastebuds.
Most of the banquet revelers avoid her because of the scent in Braith that repels them—as it does Aspah.
To make matters more uncomfortable, she and her fellow captives are at a wall in view of the papir'aia's table, where they sit on the floor for display. While she tries to eat with the mournful Mia'tonia at her left, and Braith's nameless companion at her right, she endures the sight of the others' mistreatments by those with privilege, and freedom, around them.
Drells and Drellahnas of the Bentara-Caratoda house-clan pick on the captives and harass the drellahnas, especially the chimilys.
Braith grows angry.
She stands from her seat on the ground, goes over to a pair of drellahnas in Bentara-Caratoda silk colors that currently throw food at the poor chimilys, on the other side of Mia'tonia. Braith intends to knock some sense into them…but Mia'tonia loses her temper, as the last vittle bounces off the chimilys's head and onto her right eyelids…She flicks it off, sees Braith—snarls at her to sit—and leaps upwards off the rug they sit on…Her strong legs drive her right into the pair.
She punches and kicks at them, grabs food off the floor and smears it on their pataks, in among the hooks and slopes of their crests, their pretty tebrises, their arms as they try to fend her away, their precious silk ba'trans.
Mia'tonia swears and spits garrulously, and then the real problems arrive.
Burrells from the house-clan's barra enter the banquet, locate and restrain Mia'tonia, then spread her flat against a wall. A whip with five claws reveals in the hand of one of the large beefy burrells in white, blue, and yellow silks…
Braith charges—no one to notice the small human who runs to stop the rise of the claws of the caton, amid the ruckus and uproar for blood—She hits him full force in the back before the first claw can peel Mia'tonia's scales…
Braith and the burrell lock-up, and she moves fast as a wyrrtun in the canyons…
Her fury at the rapes—her own—the insults, abuses, murders, atrocities, multiplies her strength and adrenaline.
She has the caton cords of leather round the burrell's thick neck, into the swell of his protective tebral organ. There is laughter—incredulously, laughter in spite of it all!—
And then harsh yells…
Braith wrestles against those who draw her from the strangle of the burrell with his own whip claws, and once off, they drag her before Aspah Bentara—who looks livid to Mia'tonia, and the twelve other captives, who stare on with shock.
The order to flay Braith is given, and Mia'tonia—everyone—hears it, as does the rest of the banquet's jubilant participants.
Braith finds herself devoid of garment. Her wrists together by rope once again as she hangs from a hook that typically supports lanterns from the ceiling.
Her skin bursts open after the first lash with the caton…
The entertainment for the evening, the drells and Drellahnas of the house-clan, who wear their silks in fabulous array even for this basic banquet, watch the human take her licks on the tie-up of rope that bears her in plain view, for all eyes to witness.
…And Konis pushes down an erection in his pants as he watches from a far corner, the sight of blood that comes out the back of the naked woman who endures the barbaric punishment.
Braith holds in her agony as Drells and Drellahnas cheer and cajole her for the offense, and 'proper' treatment of said offense, but then…the banquet quiets as not one grunt of pain comes out of the woman…
The lashes continue…until the floor underneath her pendant feet is wide with a puddle of blood.
Mia'tonia and the twelve look away from Braith's punishment…The crowd forgets Mia'tonia, as the fascination with the human woman's endurance under the caton overwhelms their demand for justice against the drellahna…
Braith's body comes down from the hook...
The burrells drag her to Mia'tonia, and the twelve at the wall, as Aspah Bentara walks behind the bloody carcass, that still breathes somehow…
( "Clean her up!" ) He snarls at them, ( "…And if she makes a sound—All of you will be whipped!—Now get all of you out of our sights!" )
They carry Braith out of the banquet and into night air…
The burrells lead Mia'tonia, and the twelve others, to a separate building with blue tiles all over its inner walls…They leave them in a large bath chamber, and it is Mia'tonia who takes to the primary care of the woman's injuries.
( "Why do you try and fight for me, Musaphat's Pain," ) she mutters, ( "…I am nothing to you—You are nothing to me!…" ) And yet she tends with the utmost care to the wash of the lash cuts with the help of the others, ( "…Never fight on my behalf, you understand?…" ) Mia'tonia growls, then instructs the chimilys to help the others with medicine that the burrells allow Aspah's aides to drop-off.
She takes hold of a cloth, folds it, smears it full of salve from a small gray pot, and dabs it into the open lacerations that show bone and muscle under the blood.
Braith is unconscious, and does not feel anything as they set to their task under the watchful eyes of the burrells. She is unaware of the pain, and unaware that her act to save Mia'tonia from the same punishment, opens more than a few hearts to the human.
Hours pass, and when they are done and can do no more—her back receives what care they can give, Mia'tonia and the twelve carry Braith towards the building in which the banquet continues, but the burrells lead them beyond to the slave quarters, no intention of a return of sore sights to their sered.
Braith lays on her stomach, atop a wooden table, with some clothes in a roll under her cheek, and Mia'tonia sits on a bench next to it and remains with her throughout the night.
The chimilys also keeps them company, and the rest of the newest twelve to Bentara-Caratoda's city in the hills—Mohouni—find places to sit in the quarters, among other slaves with like-brands on their heads. ( "She saved your hide, didn't she," ) the chimilys says to Mia'tonia, but the widow drellahna does not reply.
She does wipe her eyes with a thumb.
The chimilys examines Braith, and checks a few of the poultices on her bare back. The woman only wears her pants, the sash down low below the bottommost of her cuts—and her booties stay on.
Gradually, the others cluster closer—protectively—around the prostrate woman, and lay down their heads on their arms, or upon their knuckles they rest their chins, or a side of their pataks…One by one, they fall asleep, no knowledge of whether the woman may survive, or what other horrors come with the dawn…and the ends to their dreams.