Chapter Nine: Monster
Baran stood in the open doorway of his hut, staring moodily at the unhappy grey skies. Foul weather had plagued his village for the entire week; if the rains broke again then the redfruit crop would be ruined and impossible to harvest. Already the neat rows of the emerald green plants were beginning to look sloppy and half-drowned; many of the fruit seeds were already eaten through with rot. He sighed, putting his lower set of hands on his hips and crossing his upper arms across his chest. Sometimes he wondered if Chizra and Velora and all the other so called 'gods' weren't just laughing at the Nali race's misfortunes.
"If it doesn't come from the ground, it comes from the sky," he muttered, kicking a stray stone and watching it bounce along on the slushy ground. He swept his gaze around to take stock of how the rest of the villagers were reacting to the inclement situation. Several townspeople were tending to their cows; others were dragging bales of drying grass into barns to keep them from getting soaked through. In the far distance, the Harobed Chapel rose into the gloom, the peak of its spire hidden in the low clouds. He offered up a quick prayer for his brother, the ex-high priest of Harobed, who had taken it upon himself to wander off to Chizra-knows where in order to wait for 'the Messiah', whoever that might be. Baran had more realistic expectations about the Skaarj threat on Na Pali. While everyone else was praying for some miraculous being to come blazing through the land and restoring peace, Baran told himself every morning that a savior would not come and that he was better off living his life in constant expectation of death. It was much easier that way.
A cow lowed mournfully as its owner prodded it back into its stall in the barn. Baran turned around and closed the door behind him, shutting the chill out of his small hut. Thankfully, for now, the only trouble that the village had to deal with was constant rain. The Skaarj hadn't figured out about the small Nali village—their focus was mainly on the area to the south, on a bloody and brutal stone structure that was known to the Nali and the Skaarj alike as the Dark Arena. Baran shuddered to think of it. It had been an ancient Nali sacrificial temple, long abandoned after the warring Nali lords had died out, but with the arrival of the Skaarj came the terrifying stories that the Arena was being used for unspeakable acts against Nali and Terrans alike—
Someone was pounding frantically on his door. Before he got a chance to reach for the handle it burst open, revealing Diaba, a young Nali mother who had recently given birth to her second child. She still looked weak and pale, but her eyes were alight with something akin to panic.
"The Messiah, Baran—I think the Messiah is here! She's asking us if we know where her kinsmen are. At least I think that's what she's saying—she keeps saying 'friend', too, or something—but you have to come, and come quickly—I think she needs help!"
Baran put his upper set of hands on Diaba's shoulders and looked her directly in the eyes. "Diaba, what are you talking about? The Messiah doesn't exist, and even if she did, she wouldn't be wandering around Harobed in the rain. Are you sick? Do you need to get some more bedrest?"
"I'm fine!" She slapped his hands away from her shoulders. "And how could you say such a thing about the Messiah when your brother is out there risking his life for us all? That's heartless and cruel and that mentality is something that I would expect from a foolish child and not from a full-grown man." Her face grew troubled. "I wonder if we should have prayed to Chizra some more to stop the rain. The Messiah seems a little disappointed that our crops are so poor."
Baran rolled his eyes. "Would you stop talking as if this visitor is actually the 'Messiah', please? And anyway, why are you over here in the first place? I don't have the power to save my crops, let alone this miraculous Terran that suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Be reasonable, please, Diaba."
Diaba crossed all four of her arms and gave Baran an ugly look. "Well, I was coming here because your brother was the high priest, and he frequently had visions about our savior. I don't know if you ever talked to your brother or not, but I remember him describing what she looks like. I thought you could verify if this Terran really is our Messiah or not. And another thing—you know the Terrans' language. Myscha was teaching you before he left. You have to talk to her. You have to."
"Myscha and I haven't been on good terms for years because I refuse to acknowledge that another alien race would magically come from space and rescue us from the Skaarj. Of course he wasn't going to talk to me about Terran women and what they looked like." He chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. "…Although he did say something about…."
He said something about a distinguishing mark. A brand of some sort.
Diaba was looking at him expectantly. He shook his head quickly and brushed past her into the open air. "But I tell you what; I'll come see this Terran of yours and try to remember if Myscha said anything specific."
The young Nali's face lit up as she hurriedly followed Baran down the gently sloping hill towards her hut near the middle of town. He noticed that quite a large crowd had gathered in the doorway; he had to push past the throng of people rather forcefully just to get into the front room. A few Nali stepped out of the way as he entered; others were practically on their faces in front of the figure sitting on a low cot near the fire. It looked up when he approached the front. He stopped a few feet away from the cot and stared blankly down at the Terran before a shiver of absolute fear ran down his spine. There was a bad smell in the air—he couldn't identify it, although it smelled of something faintly familiar, and dangerous.
The Terran was definitely a female, and while that was supposedly the gender of the so-called Messiah, he couldn't bring himself to even pretend that she was the savior of the planet Na Pali. She was absolutely emaciated; her skin looked like white parchment stretched over her bones. Her eyes, huge and dark on her thin face, were sunk deep into their sockets, and spoke of unspeakable pain and fear. Her body was draped in a thin blue shift and her legs were bare—how could the villagers not see these things? She was a victim—merely another newly escaped slave of the Skaarj. How could they think that she had come to rescue them when she looked like she could barely save herself? To her credit, though, she looked rather at home surrounded by a group of four-armed aliens, the majority of which probably dwarfed her by at least a foot.
The Terran was smiling at him, even as he was gawking at her. He felt an elbow in his ribcage and heard Diaba's voice hissing in his ear, "Say something to her!"
Baran sighed and wracked his brain for the proper greeting that the human could understand. How many months had it been since he had actually practiced the pronunciations of such a choppy and complicated language? "Good…mor-hing," he said slowly, watching the girl's face carefully to see if he had addressed her correctly. To his surprise, a small smile curled her cracked lips.
"Good morning. What is your name?"
Name. He remembered that word. "Baran," he said, placing his upper right hand on his chest. He gestured back to her. "What is your name?"
"They call me—." The girl paused and she seemed to collect herself, clearing her throat and looking down at her lap. Then, with an almost forced smile, she placed her right hand on her own chest and said weakly, "Happy."
The movement of her arms brought Baran's gaze down to her lap. He had to blink a few times in order to completely believe his eyes. The girl's—Happy's—right arm was normal enough, if not sickeningly skinny. But her left arm had been viciously amputated just below the elbow, and had instead been replaced by a crude representation of a prosthetic limb. Now he knew where the smell was coming from. It was a disgusting mix of oily metal mixed with nearly gangrenous flesh. He finally realized why the smell was so familiar—he hadn't spent years performing forced labor in the Rajigar Mines to not recognize Skaarj metalworks when he saw it. This girl had recently undergone a Skaarj medical treatment. Their so-called 'scientists' would perform these kinds of sick tests on unwilling alien participants so that their warriors wouldn't have to bear the brunt of their experimentation. Usually it ended in horrific death for the Skaarj's guinea pigs, considering the tests consisted mainly of newly developed enhancement drug injections that would destroy the unlucky subject from the inside out. However, this Terran didn't look to be suffering from anything other than poor nutrition, and the false arm was the only testament to any sort of 'treatment'. On the other hand, the wound was still fresh. There was still some time before side-effects could take their hold.
Baran didn't like it. Usually the Skaarj kept strict watch over their patients. And yet here was this Terran, her arm still bleeding, sitting there in Harobed like she had just walked out of whatever prison she had been in. Something was amiss.
"She's not the Messiah," he said quietly to Diaba. She cut a glare at him.
"You've only exchanged two words with each other, and already you're spouting that nonsense again? Why don't you two keep talking? You told her your name, didn't you?"
Baran clenched all four of his fists. "I'm telling you, it can't be her." His voice was escalating. "How could you look at this pitiful excuse for a living being and call her a 'Messiah'? She's half dead—she's been subjugated to Skaarj medical practices—do none of you see that hulking piece of metal on her arm? She's not our savior and she hasn't come here to liberate us. She's just some lost Terran looking for somewhere to stay, and in the meantime Skaarj are crawling all over our planet looking for Terrans to exterminate! Her being here only endangers our lives. We have to get rid of her."
Diaba seized his elbow and dug her nails into his skin. "What are you saying?" she hissed at him, dragging him away from the group of confused Nali. "Even if she isn't the Messiah, she's still part of the Sacred Race and it is our duty to protect her! Myscha said so, as did the Prophet of Velora! You can't tell us to get rid of this girl. She's done no harm to us—"
"But she will! Don't you see?" He gestured back to Happy. "Look on her arm! She's one of their experiments—she's probably full of their enhancement drugs, and they'll be looking for her. If we keep her here then the Skaarj will find her and kill us all for housing her. Think of your children!"
Diaba's hand shot out and slapped him savagely across the face. "I am thinking of my children," she snarled. "How dare you say that to me, when you have no family to speak of? My children are now in the presence of a great woman, who, if she isn't the Messiah, is part of the Sacred Race of beings descended from Velora herself. And yet you stand here insulting her—like she is common! The only one who should leave this village is you, Baran, if your attitude is thus!"
Happy cleared her throat, interrupting them. She stood up shakily; her face had turned an ashen grey color, but her smile still wavered on her lips. "I can leave if you'd like me to."
Baran stared at her.
"What did she say?" Diaba ground out. Baran paused a moment and then said, "She volunteered to go."
"No!" the Nali woman ran forward and wrapped all four of her arms around Happy protectively; the Terran seemed surprised with this action of familiarity and slowly wrapped her good arm around the Nali's torso. There was a strange reluctance in her expression….
"Tell her we'll all risk our lives for her safety. Tell her she has nothing to fear from us and that she'll be safe as long as she stays with us." Diaba's eyes sparkled with emotion; most of the other Nali were muttering their assent as well. "Tell her, Baran!"
Baran set his mouth, but at the furious looks from an entire roomful of his village companions, he relented. "Happy."
The girl turned her blank eyes in his direction. She seemed defeated. "Yes?"
He tried to find the right words that she could understand. For some reason the only thing he could think of was a rather harsh 'get out'. "They want you…to not go. They say that they will…peace with you, and live you comfortably." I'm probably speaking in gibberish; she doesn't understand a word I'm saying.
"So they want me to stay. They want to keep me, a Terran, in the village, even though the Skaarj have rules about such actions?"
He shrugged, not understanding her exact words but comprehending their meaning. "They will die for you now that you are here." Then, as an afterthought, "But I will not."
She locked eyes with him; he then turned away and pushed past the throng of villagers and into the sopping twilight.
It had begun to rain again.
---
"I need you to kill me."
Baran practically vaulted out of bed and put his head through the thatch roof of his hut when he heard the voice, low and urgent, in his ear. He sat up frantically in his cot, gasping for air as he was jolted out of a deep sleep. Turning his head and seeing a ghostly, bony face seemingly hovering next to his bedside didn't do anything to calm his nerves either. When his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he could make out the slight form of the Terran girl kneeling by his bedside. He rubbed his eyes incredulously.
"What are you doing here?" He asked in his native tongue before he could stop himself to translate. It didn't matter; she seemed to understand the sentiment in his words.
"Kill me," she said again. Baran recognized the word 'kill' instantly.
"What?" he whispered, remembering to speak in the language that she understood. Happy reached forwards and pressed something cold and hard into the palm of one of his hands. Feeling along the shape, Baran realized it was a fishing knife. He recoiled instantly.
Has she gone mad? Have the Skaarj done this to her, too?
He stared into her eyes; in the shadows, her face looked exactly like a skull. After a moment he sat up and reached for the low table next to his cot; after his fingers closed around a box of matches, he broke one off and struck it. The sulfur ignited and he quickly brought the burning wood up to the wick of his bedside candle. The darkness retreated to the far corners of the attic, but somehow Happy's hollow cheekbones and eye sockets were thrown deeper into shadow; he could barely see her eyes. However, her mouth was set and she seemed to be getting impatient with his hesitancy.
"Kill me," she said, deliberately putting more emphasis on the word 'me', "or I will kill you."
Her bony finger pointing straight at his chest was pathetic in its own right, but her threat seemed weak and forced, even to his inexperienced ears. He looked at the knife in his hands, searching his brain for the right response to her demand.
"Why?" he finally asked.
She seemed to be at a loss, sighing and running her good hand through her unkempt hair. "Trap," she said, barely giving voice to the word. Baran furrowed his brows. She thinks we're trapping her here? That can't be what she wants to be killed over. It's got to be the Skaarj—they've injected her with something.
Unable to think of anything encouraging to say to her, he simply reached out with one hand and tousled her hair. "Nali will die for you," he said, trying to get her to smile. If anything, his action made her even more panicked than before. She grasped at the knife in her hands, trying to wrench it from his grasp.
Is she upset because I said I wouldn't die for her? He held her away with his free arms and stood up, holding the knife out of her reach.
"What is wrong?" he asked desperately, trying to get her to sit still.
"If you don't kill me or chase me out of the village than you all will be slaughtered!" Happy was forgetting to use simple words, it seemed; Baran could only understand a handful. "You should know—you should know you cannot house Terrans and live! It's a trap, don't you get it? This whole place is surrounded by Skaarj!"
There was a shuffling sound from downstairs; Happy froze as someone began making their way up the ladder that led from the attic to the lower floor. The head and shoulders of a murky form appeared from the trapdoor.
"Kyaaaa! What are you doing?"
It was Diaba. She practically vaulted up from the ladder and tackle-dove Happy into the wall, away from Baran's bedside. Baran lowered his arm and realized that he had been holding the knife above his head. "We were just talking!" he protested.
Diaba was smothering Happy with her body. "Talking!" she cried incredulously. "Talking, you call it, with three of your hands around our poor Messiah's throat and the fourth about to plunge a knife into her heart! You kidnapped her out of my own house!"
"No I didn't! I haven't even left this room all night!"
"Then how did she get here?" Diaba demanded. "You're out of control! You cruel—heartless—murderous—heathen!" She pushed Happy towards the trapdoor, keeping the Terran distanced from Baran. Happy looked over her shoulder as she was herded downstairs. "Trap," she said again.
"The Village Mother will hear of his incident," Diaba snapped as she descended. "Don't be surprised if you are sent away by midmorning."
The door slammed shut behind her. Baran, his heart thundering, dropped the knife he held and collapsed back onto the bed.
What exactly was the trap? She said something about the Skaarj—but the Skaarj couldn't know about the village or they'd have invaded already.
Unless they had already come and were merely hiding…Baran shook the thought out of his head. The Skaarj delighted in torturing their Nali subjects; they wouldn't spare Harobed just because they wanted to keep their cover. But still, it was disconcerting. Happy's words wouldn't stop ringing in his ears. Why would she want to be killed over such a little thing as staying here?
He leaned back in bed. Fine. If I'm not banished by tomorrow then I'll go find Happy and try to get her to explain to me what exactly is going on.
Something is very, very wrong here.
Baran's sleep that night was not very restful; visions of the starving Terran's face kept floating up at him from the depths of his imagination and made it impossible for him to close his eyes. And so, while the first sun was barely peeking above the crest of the mountains, he got up and quietly left his hut, heading through the village in the chilly gloom. If the answers to this problem were anywhere, they'd be in the Chapel.
Years ago, when the Skaarj had first established dominance on Na Pali, an edict was sent through the land that commanded all Nali weaponry were to be handed over to Skaarj overlords immediately. It wasn't as if the Nali could threaten their rule with their crude knives and lances—the Skaarj merely wanted to exert total dominance and leave the Nali with little hope for an uprising. The main problems arose when the Skaarj encountered Terran weapons on Na Pali, and when addressed, the Nali made no comment about how many Terrans they had encountered over the years. Terrans were deadly adversaries to the Skaarj, and not just because of their intelligence; the wide variety of weapons they brought with them boggled the minds of even the top Skaarj gunsmiths. If any Nali were found hiding weapons caches of Terran equipment, they would be killed on sight—no questions asked.
Of course there were still Nali who protested—and of course that included Myscha. In the Harobed Chapel was Myscha's greatest secret—what he was planning to bestow upon the Messiah when she came from the stars, but that was before his latest vision which told him to go dancing off to Nyleve's Falls without a moment's notice. Now the secret lay waiting in the chapel's bell tower and the only one who knew about that particularly dangerous little secret was Baran. If the Skaarj were already here than they would be looking for it. That, and looking for their sick experiment that had miraculously escaped.
Harobed Chapel was small but elegant. Built by the current inhabitants' ancestors, it stood strong and proud in its own sacred space, cut off from the rest of the village by a tall stone barrier. Inside was a marble-floored room filled with pews, all facing a huge, pure Tarydium crystal statue of the Nali All-God, his four arms spread in the classic Nali cross pattern. Off to the side was a podium where the high priest stood and prayed along with the congregation on worshipping days. It was a quiet place, smelling of incense and woodsmoke. Baran had often come here as a child to meditate, until he stopped believing in all of the nonsense about Gods and saviors.
As he approached the double doors that led to the interior of the chapel he heard heavy footsteps inside. Uncharacteristically heavy footsteps. He paused and his breath caught in his throat as he saw a hulking shadow dancing on the walls inside. It couldn't be…!
A hand shot out of the mist beside him and seized him by the arm, forcefully dragging him towards the far wall of the chapel. The hand was surprisingly warm and strong, and he felt himself following it even though he didn't know who had gotten a hold of him. The hand led him past the rear of the chapel and into the gated-off cemetery on the far side of the building. There, a strange, slightly mechanical voice demanded, "What are you doing here?"
He squinted through the fog and the predawn light, trying to see who was addressing him. To his surprise, it was another Terran. He couldn't tell if it was male or female; its body was draped in a rather shapeless shift that hid any distinguishing features. Its eyes were blue and its hair was a honeyed shade of gold—at least, that's what he could distinguish from what strands came from beneath the hood the figure was wearing. It also spoke in rather good Nalian tongue.
"I should be asking the same question of you," he said. "You are the second Terran that has appeared in my village in the past day. This can't be good news."
He noticed that the Terran was touching something mechanical in its lap. It was thin and square, with a clear screen onto which words were being relayed. The figure seemed to be reading them—it had to be some sort of translator. After a moment it typed something onto the screen and tapped a button. The mechanical voice came again. "Your village is in very great danger."
I knew it. "So that was a Skaarj in the chapel. You brought them here, didn't you?"
The Terran's twisted in what looked like pain as it read his words. After a moment, the mechanical voice said, "They brought us here."
It's a trap….
"So what's going to happen?"
The Terran shifted nervously. "They're in there looking for…something, I don't know what. They're waiting until tonight before they attack. It's against their rule for you to house Terrans—and yet a Terran girl has found sanctuary in your village, has she not?"
Baran grimaced. "It's not of my doing, but yes. My people want her to stay here."
"Listen to me. You've got to tell the villagers to get rid of her. Tell them that she has some sort of infectious disease, or something—you cannot keep her here. You will all be slaughtered or enslaved—I don't know if the General is in good humor or not."
Baran swallowed heavily. "So what are you doing here? Are you a spy for the Skaarj?"
The Terran stood up and pulled the hood further over its eyes. "I'm trying to help you," the machine voiced. He was sure that if it had been talking, fury would have been etched into its voice. "Let's not confuse our allies with our enemies."
"All I'm saying is that Terrans who are under the influence of Skaarj rule tend to be less selfless than you're imagining. You could be leading us all into a trap—"
"You're already in the trap!"
The words sent a chill down Baran's spine. The Terran was looking around nervously, shifting from one foot to the other. "Look, I'm not even supposed to be here. I noticed you walking up to the abbey and decided that I had to say something. I'm supposed to be in there looking for hiding Terrans and God knows what else they want me to search for. I'm leaving now. The girl—Happy—is a decoy, don't you understand?...but I suppose you don't."
Baran stood up and put his hands on his hips. "Look, I don't want you here, either of you. The only things that you can bring to my village are death and destruction, apparently. But I'm not the one in charge, and even if I was, the whole village believes that Happy is the Messiah. If they see you then they'll probably think that you're the Messiah's second-in-command, or Chizra knows what else."
The Terran paused. "…What are you talking about? Messiah?"
"The Nali have a ludicrous idea that one of your race will come and liberate the entire planet from the Skaarj Regime. Apparently this Messiah is female and has some sort of marking on her that distinguishes her from the rest of the race—and the girl that came into our village last night has half of her arm missing, but that doesn't fool me. She isn't the Messiah. The Messiah isn't real. I'd be happy to see her go, but the townspeople already have their hopes up. It's too late."
The Terran started typing something into its translator, but a low snarl from behind them made its fingers freeze. It reached out and placed a hand over his mouth, putting its finger to its lips. Suddenly it put both hands on his chest and shoved him backwards. "Go!" Its voice was desperate. "Quickly, go!"
Baran didn't stop to think. Experience told him to trust the Terran just this once, and as he turned tail and ran out of the cemetery, he heard the Terran's mechanical voice say, "General, what seems to be the problem?"
A Skaarj general was here?
He didn't stop running until he passed through the stone gate. Then he collapsed back against the cold rocks and put his face in his hands, trying to clear his head.
So. They had until that night to prove to the Skaarj that they would follow orders and not house their Terran guest. The trap was set—if they didn't chase Happy out by nightfall then the entire village would be doomed. But how could he make the others believe that Happy was merely a pawn in the Skaarj's game? Of course none of the other villagers would believe him if Diaba had told them about their little incident last night—but he had to try.
The sun was rising rapidly, burning off the low cloud cover and making the snow-capped mountains around them burst into golden color. Baran composed himself and, casting a fleeting glace behind him at the Chapel, made his way back down the hill towards the heart of the village.
He had to tell the Village Mother.
Nyleve's Falls
The hut was filled with smoke coming from the embers of the dying fire. The air was thick with the smell of burning wood and rotting fish and something else—something coppery and tangy and fresh. 849 thought it smelled more like metal than blood.
She was kneeling on the floor next to Myscha's bed, supporting the Nali's head in her lap, her hands on his shoulders. She stared dully at his gauze-wrapped midsection, noting how pitiful her first aid had become. The blood had soaked through within a minute of her finishing the wrapping, and the white material bulged in the places where she couldn't quite work his entrails back into his body. The Nali's breath came intermittently, in short, painful pants. And all she could do was sit there and hold his head and watch him die.
She had woken up after the damage had been done. The Skaarj had paralyzed her body with some sort of electrical laser shot, and she had missed all the action from then on. When she had come to, the Skaarj was dead…and so was Ash. He and his enemy were locked together in death; she couldn't even bring herself to drag his body off of the Skarrj's wristblades. His face looked peaceful enough, though, and that was enough for her. Somehow she could deal with the prison guard's death…but Myscha's demise was becoming much more painful for her to deal with.
What had this Nali ever done? What arms had he ever raised against the Skaarj? All he had been doing was protecting her—all he ever did was protect her. And now he was dying from a wound that she should have received. He didn't need to push her out of the way. She would have been just as happy being drowned or gutted. That way she didn't have to watch everyone around her dying—always dying, always death, always screaming and tears and pain and blood—!
This planet was cursed. It had to be. No planet could face such destruction of life and not be God-forsaken. And she was here, alone, save for this one Nali, her one friend in the world, and now he was—
Myscha's body convulsed weakly. A fresh wave of red began to bleed through the gauze on his midsection.
"Don't," she whispered hoarsely, staring unblinkingly at Myscha's face. "Don't go."
The Nali stirred and made a low moaning sound. 849's hands tightened reflexively around his shoulders. "No," she said, louder this time. "You cannot die. I will not let you die. You can't leave me alone. Do not leave me alone."
A lump in her throat began to grow, arresting her voice. Instead, she bent forward and rested her ear against Myscha's chest. She held her own breath as she listened to the Nali's heart skip once, twice….
"Myscha." She sat up and brought the palm of her hand up to his mouth, feeling for any sort of warmth.
"Myscha?"
Next to the Vortex Rikers, an adult rabbit lifted its right rear foot and scratched at the dirt around a choice wild redfruit. It dropped its tawny head and nibbled at the tender green shoot, settling down to enjoy its meal under the cover of the hulking starcraft.
Its head jerked up the next moment as a shriek exploded into the air from the riverside below. The rabbit pricked its ears forwards and listened as the sound seemed to go on forever, bouncing off of the rocks and filling the entire canyon with the sound of an animal in pain, an animal enraged—or a human who had passed her breaking point and was now little more than a mindless animal, encaged.
Hours later, when both of the suns had sunk and the world was bathed in the silver light of a waxing moon, the door to Myscha's riverside hut banged open. Ragged breathing and shuffling sounds issued forth, and then 849 appeared, dragging Myscha's limp form by two of his four arms. Gritting her teeth, she began hauling his carcass across the ground, unmindful of the fact that his uncovered intestines were catching on bits of rock and twigs and were slowly being pulled out of the gaping wound in his stomach. A red swath of blood marked their slow progress towards the river. Once in the shallows, she gave one last mighty pull and then stood panting as she watched the Nali's body bob back and forth in the current. His eyes were open, somewhat, and the prisoner leaned down, pinched his eyelids shut, and immediately wrapped the Nali's upper body in a crushing hug.
"Bye-bye," she said; her voice was chillingly devoid of emotion. With this last farewell she shoved Myscha's body into the river and watched as the current swallowed his lanky form and dragged him under the rushing water. Rinsing her hands in the water, she took a moment to stare at the waterfalls whose thundering existence had been the only constant in her life on the planet.
"Very pretty," she said, nodding to herself and standing up, flicking her fingers to get the droplets of water off. She looked over her shoulder at the hut, and then turned her gaze to the ramp that led up to where the entrance to the mine shaft rested in the side of the canyon wall.
That was where the Skaarj were. That was where the murderers of Ash and Myscha and all the other victims of Na Pali were residing. She was going to find them. She was going to find them all.
Every fucking one of them. Every fucking one of them. Every fucking one of them.
The words repeated themselves like a mantra in her head. Her feet began to move; slowly at first, until her rapidly beating heart was fueling her in an all out run, through the shallows, out of the river, and away from the memories of Myscha and Ash. And so Prisoner 849 of the prison vessel 254, C114-85EKLS Vortex Rikers took her first steps away from Nyleve's Falls to become a murderer once more.