See Author's Notes at the end.
xXx
Anise eyed the two Hunters across the pool. She had eased into the bath while they were deep in conversation. The older one had spoken at length, and she could hear the distress and confusion as the tale, whatever it was, was related. The water was hot, and she felt a tingle across her skin that melted into her bones and soothed her aches. She closed her eyes, feeling peace steal across her mind.
Only six weeks had passed since the rainy day on Craxan Prime when the world fell apart. In one day, her family was gone, her livelihood destroyed, her home overrun by aliens with long, sightless faces and mirror-shard teeth. In a split second, she had thrown her lot in with enormous humanoids, choosing their brutal and warlike society over both the loneliness she would have faced at home, and the reaching claws of the bugs.
Talon, her benefactor, had murdered her brother in cold blood, and she thought back to how desperately she had wanted revenge, how the knife had felt ice cold in her hands when it was poised over his jugular. She half-wished she had done it then, slicing through the strange dappled throat. But she was no killer, and even he was not a homicidal maniac. After all, she was still alive and unharmed. He had protected her from the slave contingent on the spaceship and she felt strongly that his wounds were from a fight over her presence on the ship.
Even though she wanted desperately to hate him, she found that she couldn't. His eyes were fierce and powerful, intelligent. They were unafraid. She had wanted him to beg for his life, but he hadn't. He accepted death as it came, not knowing whether it would be in ten years or ten minutes. It was a kind of fearlessness that she respected and admired, and their mutual care for each other had soothed her into an uneasy trust.
She knew that the absence of harm did not necessarily mean benevolence. But in the absence of harm, why not trust him? Her future was now bound up with his, her fate with his fate, and she intended to see it to its logical end. Whether he killed her or did otherwise, there was no going back now. She had neither the power nor the desire to turn back time. She was where she was because she chose to be there, and second-guessing now wouldn't do her any favors.
It did not, however, mean that she was entirely at ease with this other Hunter. His age was told in his graying locks, and Talon appeared to trust him with her presence, which, she assumed, was unorthodox in and of itself. If Talon was concerned at all with keeping her alive, this person must be someone that could help to those ends, or she wouldn't have been shown around him. The exercise in logic had calmed her enough to climb into the steaming water and settle on a shelf built into the wall.
Talon was watching her when she opened her eyes, and she had long ago given up trying to pronounce much more than the words for 'food' or 'sleep'. They communicated, somehow. He seemed to sense her feelings and moved to help her before she got frustrated. She had come to rely on his uncanny ability to know what she was thinking to get her point across. If she focused on a single thought or image, he would invariably perceive her thoughts and act accordingly. The system worked well for them. She expected that this kind of finely-tuned empathy was rare among his kind, because they still communicated in spoken languages. Perhaps it was just something between Hunters and humans.
Her stomach growled softly, and she made the noise for food, the sound strange to her lips even now. The older Hunter's face registered surprise, but Talon nodded at her, and she felt soothed that food was already in their plans. She wanted to see more of the great city outside the bathhouse, with its metallic spires and gleaming ziggurats. What does one look for on the first visit to an alien culture? Surely there would be a temple to the gods that Talon kept so in tune with. She ached to know, her curiosity growing with each imagined destination.
xXx
Escthta looked to Hir'cyn, finding his eyes still on the small pink female in front of them. Hir'cyn, suddenly aware they were being watched, shook his head.
"It is amazing, how we are both similar and strange to each other," he said softly. Escthta looked at H'chak-di, her small face that seemed so plain without tusks. They must express themselves in other ways, he thought, but the lack of an identifiable musk, and the minute movements of mandibles made humans and their emotions seem very mysterious, even deceitful. Hir'cyn lifted a hand out of the water and gestured to H'chak-di.
"She has two arms, like us. Two legs, like us. Two eyes, one mouth, and teeth, all things we have. Are we really so different?" Any other yautja would have been made uncomfortable by the question, but Escthta had a perspective that was not available to any other yautja. He felt her thoughts almost constantly now, and he knew. "No, we are not."
Hir'cyn grunted softly. "I expected you would say something like that."
Escthta tilted his head to the side in an acknowledgment.
Hir'cyn eyed him shrewdly. "You have spent much time with her ever since you captured her, correct?"
Escthta shook his head slowly. "No. She came with me of her own free will."
Hir'cyn's tusks widened in surprise. "Even knowing that she would be a prisoner?"
Escthta looked at H'chak-di and then sighed softly. "I didn't get the chance to explain her position to her. The kainde amedha were on us even as we left Craxan Prime." He quieted and then looked at Hir'cyn again. "I don't consider her a prisoner."
"Because of the time you've spent with her?"
"We could learn much from each other," Escthta answered evasively.
xXx
The bath was over almost too soon. Anise felt suddenly cold out of the water, her skin tightening into goose bumps. A cloth nearby was warm and wicked the water off her skin and out of her hair. She swathed herself in the overlarge towel, waiting for Talon and the older Hunter to emerge from the bath. Their kind could sit for hours in steaming water, as she had well learned in the past few weeks.
They emerged, talking in low voices punctuated with clicks and chatters. She had gotten used to their strange speech; she found that it had its own cadence and she had begun to think in the same bursts of staccato. The word for food was mentioned, even as the door slid open. A small, sour-looking Hunter stepped in. He ignored her completely, and she felt relieved. He laid out clothing, two larger tunics for the Hunters, and a smaller shift for herself. She wriggled into it gratefully, still not entirely at ease with nudity, even around those who felt no such restrictions. The sleeves came down to her wrists, and a small tie closed the slit in the collar. The fabric was thin and plain, but unexpectedly warm.
Her hosts reasonably attired, they moved into a room down the hall, where a simple wooden table with benches had been laid out with plain dishes. There was a small crock in the center of the round, and the lid, off-set, had ushered a mouth-watering smell into the room. There was the customary flat bread, surprisingly absorbent, that would be used to mop up any trace of the meal left over. When it came time for her to dip her portion out of the pot, she took less than she thought she might eat. This, too, was for the greater good, as it made sure everyone got fed, and food was not thrown away. The tribal necessities persisted even now. It ensured that nothing was wasted, and Anise wondered at the culture of efficiency that had been so deeply engineered in them.
xXx
Hir'cyn paused, spoon in hand, to watch the human eat. She held the dish close to her mouth, shoveling the rich stew through her teeth with the paddle-like spoon. She finished her small amount and carefully rubbed the dish clean with her bread, licking the spoon and her fingers. Hir'cyn shook his head slowly, amazed. She had picked up local traditions easily, learning the importance of bread. They were very similar, he thought, so similar as to be nearly the same.
Of course, yautja had their tusks and their superior strength and intelligence, but even the last of these was coming into question; their kind had only ever rudimentarily examined human intelligence, only to deem them fit for Hunting. Had they created ships capable of faster-than-light travel, or had they, like the yautja, seemed to stumble on the knowledge? Even Elders rarely knew how the ships were made or who made them. It had never been a point of order. He stroked his tusk absently. Perhaps the Librarian would know the answer?
Escthta lifted his head, having at last finished the meal. H'chak-di was waiting expectantly in her shift. He had never been able to fathom how fast she finished eating, but then again, he wondered how she stayed nourished at all, on the food she ate. He felt her both tense and excited. She was eager to get going, now that formalities of bathing and eating had been taken care of.
He looked at Hir'cyn, who was eyeing the small female with a strange mixture of curiosity and impatience. "She wants to get going," Escthta offered. Hir'cyn grunted miserably.
"Food was not meant to be bolted down as one walks from place to place," he grumbled. "I can't say I understand her eagerness."
Escthta trilled inquisitively. "How do you mean?"
Hir'cyn hesitated, looking around the room, and then shook his head. "Even if they've seen her, there's no reason to continue to line their ears with information. We'll discuss it more in my quarters."
xXx
The ride was the scenic tour she had hoped for. The robotic car ushered Anise through the heart of the great City, and she nearly cried at its majesty. Architecture on a grand scale has a way of doing that to humans, who feel the love of structure deep into their souls. Her benefactors rested back, their size consuming the rear of the car, while she gawked out of the forward part of the cabin. Anise saw many of the Hunters going about their business on the streets, the smaller everyday buildings plain against the enormous metal-plated ziggurat. Many looked directly at the car, but remained expressionless.
Anise realized with a sobering feeling that if she had been seen, she might have been killed on sight. She looked at the older one, wondering how wide-spread xenophobia was. Would any slave that saw her jibber in disgust? Were all of their classes educated, as the older one appeared to be? Did they refrain from killing her because of someone's orders? Her questions went unanswered by the stoic, toothy faces, and she turned back to the window, content to watch the sunset-lit scenery whiz past.
The car pulled up at a stepped pyramid that was missing its upper third. Grasses and small, rugged scrub grew on the flat parts of the roof, but Anise did not have time to look for flowers before the car turned again, inching along the building's side, to a small and little-used entrance. Talon grabbed her and ushered her through the small door. The older one received her and they moved through darkened corridors and up sloped paths until they were in front of two doors, side-by-side. The one on the right opened, and the old one disappeared inside. Talon waited nervously in the hall, his body nearly wrapped around hers as he tried to shield her from all angles.
The door opened, and a clawed hand pulled them inside. The room was small, mostly red, with two beds that were bolted to the wall. Anise smiled wanly. She would, of course, be left to sleep on the floor. But the old one left, excusing himself quickly, and Anise was left with Talon. She walked over to the bed, sitting on it gingerly. It was firm, but to her, it felt soft and inviting. She looked at Talon and tried to think at him. Is this for me? Her small sandals, made of hide on the ship, barely skimmed the ground when she sat on it. Is this for me?
Talon at last nodded, and Anise fell over onto the bed, a small gasp of delight escaping her. She wallowed in the bedding, climbing underneath the plush coverlet and curling up in the overlarge bed. Talon sat on his own bed, and Anise thought she detected some amusement in his face. She ignored him; a bed after six weeks of hard floor was nothing to sneeze at. She burrowed into the plush mattress and was asleep in moments.
There were dreams, and she found them unwelcome. For weeks, since Jake, there had been no dreams. Her mind had caved in on itself, finding repose in blessed blackness when her eyes closed. But now, sleeping in the closest to comfort she'd been in months, her mind relaxed, and the dreams came. There was blood, and she saw, again and again, the red-smeared floor, and Talon standing huge in the room, blocking her attempts at salvation. There was no noise; she could not hear the cannon fire again, or the sizzling thud as it hit. She could not smell the cauterized flesh, nor could she taste her tears.
Anise saw the whole event, in slow motion, and she watched it with a sense of detachment. She knew the woman screaming was her, but she did not scream. She saw Jake's body, the cavern in his waist, and could say nothing. Her heart was filled with pity and sadness, but not the screaming, unreasonable grief she had felt then. She looked at Talon as the scene played out, and with six weeks of watching him, she could tell by his body language that he was unhappy, but resolute. His fists were clenched and he wanted to be anywhere but there, with the blood of a defenseless man on his hands and human screams in his ears.
She knew the dream was over; her body felt the plush of the coverlet and began to stir, though she ached to stay in the dream world and live in those seconds where Jake was whole. Anise opened her eyes in the darkness and sat up. There was no sound from the other side of the room, but she would have paid it no mind anyway. Regret pressed deep and hard into her side; she covered her mouth with her hands and wept quietly, in the darkness of a room on a planet ruled by murderers.
xXx
Escthta was asleep, but his rest was uneasy. H'chak-di's dream pressed in on him, her emotions flooding his mind, smothering his own dreams. He saw the invalid in the wheeled chair, his eyes staring into nothing, but Escthta's weak sense of pity had vanished, replaced by the harrowing bone-ache of sorrow. He had never felt it in his lifetime, and the sensation was unpleasant. He woke, pushed awake to escape the dream. As he stared into the night, unblinking, he heard H'chak-di sit up and the small noise as she clapped her hands over her mouth.
Fresh waves of grief and regret consumed him, such that he could not move, pressed down by H'chak-di's emotional pain. It confused and injured him; where had the pain been before? Why had he not felt this from her? Perhaps here, he realized, in an environment so like the one she came from, her mind had forgotten to lock itself away at night. Perhaps here, she was feeling at last the death of her kin, and at last, she was working through her loss.
She collapsed on her bed, her breathing steadying against her pillow into the sleep of exhaustion. Her mind was blank, the forgiving darkness of dreamlessness, and the emotions were gone as suddenly as they had arrived. When he was sure she was asleep, he swung his feet out over the edge of his bed and stepped across the small space that separated them. Escthta bent over her and smoothed her hair, pulling it away from her face. He understood then, as he stroked her head, that he had wronged her by treating her as an animal. Animals had emotions, but Escthta could not feel the emotions of animals. H'chak-di saturated his mind with them, so that he could not separate his original emotions from the ones she pushed on him.
Humans were indeed sentient; without the concept of self, they could not acknowledge the self was lacking. Escthta rubbed his thumb across her brow, the fine hairs so different from his own, and yet— he reached up, running his fingers over his own brow, feeling the hairs resist under his touch. The closer he got to H'chak-di, the less alien her mind became and the more he began to understand her. It was a thought both ominous and heartening that stayed with him until he slept.
xXx
Hir'cyn was at their door all too early, but Escthta was ready. He roused H'chak-di, who seemed bleary-eyed and cranky, and the three of them took breakfast on the floor in hasty silence, eating the thin cereal and vegetables that were standard fare. Hir'cyn looked at H'chak-di, even thinking of her by her name, not merely 'the human', and shook his head.
Escthta looked to Hir'cyn for the promised explanation, but Hir'cyn shook his head. There would be time to explain in the car. They wound through the warren again, emerging through the side door. The day was pale, not yet three hours old, and the sky white with clouds. The black ovoid hovered nearby, and Hir'cyn urged them forward into the cabin. He checked around quickly before creeping inside himself. The cabin closed itself off and the car moved off toward the Council.
Hir'cyn sat back, across from H'chak-di and Escthta. He sighed heavily. "The Council will be meeting with us. And the Matriarch will be there as well." Escthta nodded slowly, hardly surprised by the news. He sighed quietly and then looked at H'chak-di, who still peered out of the windows at the passerby. She did not know what waited for her in the Council. He saw the flash of the thoughtpath, raw and visceral in front of his eyes. Escthta swallowed hard, sucking in air to clear his head of the nausea that threatened to take hold.
"What waits for her in the Council?" he asked. Hir'cyn shook his head, and it only strengthened Escthta's resolve. He would not let them turn her into a bloody playground for Thtarok; the things he would do to her would violate his personal ethics, as well as those of any medic, human or yautja.
The Council Hall was smaller than he had expected. He had never been to the building itself, as he had never needed to seek the Council's wisdom outside of the biannual meetings. The door slid open, and he stepped inside, on his guard. The huge skull of a carnivore lay in quiet repose, gleaming in the light. H'chak-di prattled on about something, and he felt vague recognition from her. She repeated an odd word and hovered near the skull, inspecting it. Finally, she moved away from the skull, going quiet. Hir'cyn ushered them forward into the next room, where their guide would take them to the Council's chambers.
The yautja that met them would have been tall, but he walked with a strange, twisting limp, and Escthta could see he had a deformed foot. Revulsion rose in him, an ancient instinct urging him to kill those that could not Hunt. H'chak-di uttered a small gasp, and her surprise and pity broke through into his mind. Escthta looked at her, frowning.
Yautja society prided itself on being free of dead weight; all the members of society were productive. Those born retarded or deformed were killed at birth, a mercy from the midwife, who saved them from a society that would turn on them and rip them apart. All able-bodied yautja possessed an instinctual hatred and revulsion for these miscreants, and if the midwife could not bring herself to sever that life's ties to this world, there were those who could, and feel no remorse.
There were those who were maimed in the path of the Hunt, but few ever lived to be spat on by his former Clan. They died by their own hand, choosing death over life. Indeed, the small thermal detonators each Hunter carried had two purposes; one, to kill the enemy, and two, to spare the yautja the shame of returning as a 'half-made', a misshapen thing that could not die, but could not live. This was the way of things. It kept the species strong and healthy and the populace free of those that could not Hunt or work. These things seemed obvious to him, clear as water. But he continued to feel sympathy in waves from her, though he could not fathom why.
H'chak-di moved out of his shadow, and the slave's reaction was immediate. He howled, the sound weak in his enslaved body, but it startled H'chak-di and she darted back behind Escthta. Hir'cyn thumped the slave roundly on the head. "What the devil has got into you?" The slave yelped and Escthta saw the mark of Blooding on his head. Hatred and anger, bitterness and confusion, they swam off his mind and made Escthta's brain hurt. There was no understanding, but only a mind that had been blunted by years of mistreatment and self-pity. This yautja had been able-bodied, and his foot had been maimed on purpose. Escthta was more horrified at the purposeful crippling of a living creature than he was at the deformity itself.
"Quiet, or you'll earn another." Hir'cyn's voice was sharp, and it cut through the air, silencing the slave's whimpers.
"Rathde, was it?" The slave nodded sullenly.
"Very well." Hir'cyn grunted impatiently. "We are to see the Council, and you are to keep hold of your senses, regardless of my companion." His voice dropped to a more threatening growl and he stood closer, looming over him. "And if you breathe a word of her to anyone, I'll make sure you live a long and full life, healthy and whole." Hir'cyn narrowed his eyes at Rathde and Escthta willed him quietly to agree.
"I won't say anything," Rathde stammered, cowed by the Elder's size and age. "I promise."
"Good."
The rest of the walk down the smooth stone corridors was quiet, but the exchange had made Escthta nervous, and he felt H'chak-di's anxiety increase rapidly. They reached a set of large doors, blackwood and graven with images of the Three. Hir'cyn lifted a hand to rap on the heavy door, but his fist paused in mid-air.
"Rathde."
The slave stammered again. "Yes, Liege?"
"…Nothing."
Rathde stood still, confused, and then loped off down an adjoining hall, leaving the three of them standing alone in front of the heavy wooden doors. Escthta looked at Hir'cyn, who nodded, and then H'chak'di. Her eyes were empty of all but the apprehension that such doors were designed to create, and her skin erupted in a cold sweat despite Escthta's efforts to calm her. Hir'cyn steeled himself, and then lifted his palm, pushing the doors inward.
The seven council members, in low discussion, cut their voices off sharply as the doors swung open. Escthta and Hir'cyn moved forward, and Escthta was careful to keep H'chak-di behind him, out of their line of sight. Tjat'le stepped forward, his fist across his chest. "You have returned, Escthta."
Escthta inclined his head slightly, his eyes darting to Thtarok under the shadow of his brow. "I have, Liege."
"You appear to be empty-handed." Tjat'le's tusks curved in a smile. "Or are you?"
Escthta tilted his head in acknowledgement of the verbal spar. "I have done as was asked of me, Liege. I have brought a human, female, the only one of her kind to ever set eyes on the greatness of our City, and the only one I have ever found worthy of mercy." He felt anxiety in the room, smelled the musk of fear, annoyance, rage. At the edges of his mind, he felt a fervent trembling, which he knew must come from Thtarok. Escthta, aware that his use of the theatrical pause had reached its limit, moved to the side. H'chak-di's fear erupted into panic, but he smoothed his hand around her shoulders and onto her back, holding her steady. Her panic receded only slightly.
"Her name is H'chak-di."
The seven members regarded her silently, never letting their faces falter or their emotions show, but Escthta could sense some of their feelings regardless. Ren'da and Ghanede were closed-minded; there was nothing to be gleaned from them, and their stare was expressionless. Noskor was equally cold, although Escthta could feel his evaluation and judgment. Contempt poured from Kvar'ye; he was insulted at having a human treated so gently and reverently in his presence. Tjat'le was, strangely enough, curious and confused, although Escthta could not sense why. Bruyaun exuded utter revulsion, some of his nausea creeping into his expression.
And finally Thtarok. Escthta turned his eyes on him lastly, and he met the iron-hard resolve of one whose lusts dictated his actions and his life. He knew more about Thtarok in that moment than he had dared to guess before; the images of the thoughtpath were only the beginning of Thtarok's morbid curiosity. His mind was filled with vitriol, but Escthta did not waver, meeting the scientist's steely gaze with a sharp look that cut through his façade. If you hurt her, he thought at Thtarok, I will make you regret it, over and over, until there is no more of you to cut. Thtarok's sudden intake of breath announced that he had received the message clearly.
The other Council members turned to Thtarok, their bodies still shoulder-to-shoulder, hiding the room behind them. "Something wrong, Thtarok?" Tjat'le asked.
Thtarok shook his head slowly. "I expected the females to be larger," he answered shrewdly. "It just proves that we have much to learn about humans," he finished.
"And from them," Ren'da offered. Escthta felt a begrudging acceptance from him, and nodded imperceptibly in his direction.
Thtarok smirked. "But of course."
xXx
She didn't like this. Not at all. They were all looking at her, and they were all so… intent. Their stares made her uncomfortable, and she began to feel panic take hold. One part of herself tried to calm down, to look at this rationally, but the alien speech, with voices so different from Talon's, wormed into her mind and she lost it. Why should I calm down? They're talking about me! Me, who might be their next trophy, or experiment or God knows what! Why, why did I choose this? Why didn't I stay where I belonged?
"Let me see her."
Anise groaned softly. The madness had taken hold of her mind, and she was hearing voices. They didn't seem like the kinds of voices she should be hearing if she was crazy; the voice had been a rich, serene alto that thrummed in her bones. But it was mine! My language, not theirs! Who here could speak with me in my own tongue?
As if to answer, the huge Hunters in front of her parted, their hulking shoulders revealing a large, white triangular table, lit with shafts of golden light from an unseen source high above. At the table's furthest point, an enormous figure reclined in a chair. It rose, and Anise saw that it was almost twice as tall as she, ten and a half feet. It, or rather, she, as Anise took the figure's appearance in, wore a diaphanous gown, long and sheer, and slit in the sides. Her dappled hide, a beautiful brown with black spots, peeked out from either side, and her chest and belly were a demure cream, taut and lean under the shimmering cloth. A wide, ornate metal collar wreathed her neck, and it was to this that the lengths of sheer fabric were sewn.
Her head was just as larger, if not larger than her male counterparts'. Her hair was not dreadlocked, but bound instead into an intricate system of loops and knots, her crown covered with a jeweled carapace of precious stones and metals. Her tusks, large and gleaming ivory, bore golden cuffs with dangling bells. Her eyes were dark brown, lucid and intelligent under her heavy brow. Even in her strangeness, Anise thought her beautiful.
"You are not afraid."
Anise swallowed hard. "No, Lady," she answered, for the female Hunter, who was so dressed in such finery, could only be a Lady.
"But you were, a moment ago."
"Yes, Lady."
"Why are you unafraid now?"
"I don't know," Anise faltered. She felt relieved at the presence of another woman, however alien, but moreover, this Lady, her eyes wise and endless, made her feel comfortable and filled her with peace. The Lady was quiet, but seemed satisfied. She turned and spoke again to Talon, using the alien speech, but Anise could now understand every word.
"You are her protector?"
Talon knelt next to Anise. "I am." His voice was thick with emotion, but Anise liked the sound his human words had in her mind.
The Lady's last word was strange, and Anise could not hear it clearly. They were spoken as if through padding, indiscernible to all but those it was meant for, but the gap clearly indicated something was said. Talon's head snapped up in surprise, but he breathed, "Yes."
"Then you know who I am."
"Yes." He bowed his head, and Anise saw his shoulders tremble ever so slightly. His head lifted again, his eyes wet and he was choked with understanding.
"Paya, our Holy Mother," his words caught for a second, "and Creator."
xXx
AUTHOR'S NOTE: At last, a major plot point! I have waited to write this scene for months, since this (dare I say opus?) was begun. The Matriarch is, to jump ahead of your questions, a corporeal being, and Paya's avatar. All those present can see and understand her.
To the Reader, regarding Anise's easily-won trust: I hope I have addressed that to your satisfaction in this chapter. I don't feel that Anise's trust or lack thereof was adequately explored before, but I did not want this to become a piece that lingers overlong on angst, since that is not Anise's driving force. If I explored it fully, the fic would still be exploring it, and it threatened the focus of the piece. It was a sacrifice I was willing to make to move the story forward. I hope you can forgive the shoddy craft and that you will continue reading in spite of it.