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"Is it the sea you hear in me?
Its dissatisfactions?
Or the voice of nothing, that was your madness?
Love is a shadow.
How you lie and cry after it."
― Sylvia Plath, Ariel: The Restored Edition
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It's different, knowing Wraith have names.
No, not everything: I'm trapped underground as a convenient meal. This hasn't changed. But as a new Wraith feeds once every other day, unsettling questions have started haunting me. Who were they? What did their mental voices sound like? And what did they think of the plague that has whittled their precious food source to near-nothing? When the last human died, would they all turn on each other like starving rats and devour themselves until none were left?
The reality is I keep my mouth shut. I don't ask any of them for their names, and none volunteer. In fact, none of the Wraith besides Veil have spoken to me, our interactions solely limited to feeding. I can't tell which I prefer. With them the boundary's clear: I'm food, they're hungry.
And yet. And yet—
Yet like Veil, each Wraith gives a little back after a session, never leaving a mark on my chest. I don't thank them for their Gift, but I don't think they expect it of me. It makes me wonder if they only see me as an animal, some mute thing without any telepathy. Probably. Maybe that's the safest course. The new thoughts in my head are dangerous and I hate how they've found fertile space to grow. I hate how I catch myself pretending hearing their names, even if I feel like a child trying to describe what a colour smells like. There's so much about them I could never understand, a telepathic race I could never truly know. Did that make me feel more alone than before? I'm not sure.
I watch the latest Wraith leave and I lean back in my chair with a sigh. Seven feedings in—eight, if I count the one with Veil—and I almost had a rhythm. I'm no stranger to unsavory tasks and every time it's a little easier to let my mind float during the act. Until I can plan my physical one, these little escapes help. At least the worshipper was truthful: the feeding schedule was strict. My earlier fears of Wraith eating whenever they wished were foolish. Veil was truthful too: no Wraith fed as they had on the ship, or when he himself had eaten. The sessions last no more than maybe five heartbeats.
The worshipper pops his head in. It's his turn for the next one. We're the last to feed the Wraith scheduled for today.
"How are you, Eshae?" he asks as I stumble from the chair.
"Well enough," I say, achy and sore and tired but learning to live with it. For now, my Inner-Isoka says. The secret's precious. It helps me walk the length of the feeding room and distracts me from the seemingly impossible task of escape. I ignore the worshipper as we pass and poke my head out. As with the other times, there's no sign of the next hungry Wraith. Then again, the room itself is somewhat tucked away from the bustle of the main lab and its usual traffic.
"They're quite private about this."
I watch the worshipper sit. "What?"
He makes a cheerful hmmn! sound as he settles in. "Wraith don't eat together, not like we do. There might be some feeding overlap aboard a hive ship, but it's not intentional." His smile falters. He makes a show of wiping the hems of his sleeves. "If, if you were wondering."
As I stare at him, processing this, a question
—How did you become a worshipper?—
bubbles up. I hug myself and turn away, the tracker in my arm the same curiosities plague him as they did me? No, wait. Wasn't he from a worshipper settlement? Probably grew up thinking everything he did or saw as natural.
"Can you—" I start, but damn near bite my tongue off. Without even looking I can hear him perk up.
"Yes?"
"Nothing. Never mind."
"Oh. Alright." It's quiet for a moment, everything smelling like damp rock. Mushrooms glisten in their little clusters. Just as I'm considering leaving, the chair creaks behind me. "If you'd wait for me, we could see what's to eat ourselves? I think Solhom was planning on making some stew earlier."
Despite myself, my stomach gurgles at the thought. I haven't had a fresh meal since I came here a little over a fortnight ago. There's a rudimentary cooking-cleaning area back at our section of the cave, but most of what we eat are flash-dried and rehydrated with a little hot water. Even the supplements the Wraith make us take taste like dust. In the end I suppose that's better, as I've the cooking skills of a slug. Best I can do is cut vegetables and meat in uneven sizes. My blood-cousins had teased me for it. Isoka had learned that quickly and had always put me to work cleaning the messes she made.
I consider saying no and leaving, but movement out of the corner of my eye reminds me of the drones scattered about the cavern. I shiver. I've yet to feed one, and doubt I could detach my mind when it did.
I tuck myself scarce within a rocky notch as a shape approaches. Sure enough, it's a new Wraith, leather coat hissing about his ankles. He's not as tall as Veil, hair pulled in a braid. He ignores me as he enters. I strain my ears to hear if they speak, but all I can pick up is the scratch of shoes. There's silence, a hiss, another long pause, then the Wraith's striding out again. I watch him go, hating the strange curiosity that lingers after he's gone.
The chair creaks and then there are soft, limping footsteps. It reminds me of how my da used to walk after spending a day breaking in wild ponies.
The worshipper blinks when he sees me, smile flashing before it can be tempered. It does a poor job of hiding the exhaustion sagging there. "Let's go then," he says, and together we head to our little section of the cavern. At some point a drone watches us, its knobby face turning as we cross its path. Do they even speak? Do they even have mouths? I don't ask the worshipper, who's walking gamely but stiffly, as if his legs or hips hurt. Aside from the general soreness in the chest and tiredness from these kind of micro-feedings, I feel no other side-effect.
"How long did you say you've been feeding these Wraith?" I ask.
The worshipper's head jerks. "For a long while," he replies. He grimace-smiles as he rubs his chest. "A very long while. I've lost track. They used to drink their fill, but since the plague they only take small amounts."
I tell myself I feel no pity. He's chosen this life, whereas I hadn't. At least I've quite some time before I get as affected as him, and gods be good, I've escaped long before then. I peer at him from the corner of an eye and try to understand. There has to be more to existence than being fodder for these hungry creatures. There has to be.
I smell the aromatic stew long before we arrive to the little communal kitchen and my mouth's watering by the time we walk in. The other two worshippers are already there, sitting at the main table in the centre of the room. So are Troku and—ah, I still haven't caught the other man's name. Troku ignores us as we grab bowls, but the other man glances up. Something seems off about him. He's thinner? There are deep rings around his eyes, as if he hadn't slept since we'd gotten here. Our gazes meet for a moment before he returns to picking at his meal.
I keep to myself as I find a spot at the table and begin eating. It's delicious, hearty and salty. Underdark below, it's the best thing I've eaten in memory. Chatter springs up amongst the worshippers, but it's somewhat stilted by us three not joining in. Truth is, I haven't interacted with other worshippers much. They seemed no worse than the one assigned to me, smiling and cheerful while each nursing their tiredness.
They're the last of their entire world. I don't know why that fact matters now—it hadn't mattered before when the worshipper first told me. As much I want to brush it aside, I study Troku and the other man from the breeding colony and try to imagine if we were the last. I'm already convinced I'm the end of my family from my birth-world—my da, my brothers, my blood-cousins, my friends; if not by the Wraith, then surely the plague had gotten them by now. I'd awoken alone in a pen after being Culled and that was that. When our separation was fresh I imagined they were all alive somewhere, just scattered across the Pegasus. Now it's easier to think they're all dead already. Dead, and long gone.
The stew turns to mud in my mouth. I push it away.
I'm considering skulking to my quarters when a Wraith steps into the kitchen. All the worshippers shoot to their feet and bow. "My lord!"
I don't move. It's Veil. It's the first time I've seen him since he fed on me two weeks ago, the planes of his face sharp but lacking that gaunt air from before. He must've fed since. His hair falls over his shoulders in two thick sheaves, in all ways neater than my unkempt mess. He surveys us. It's not often all of us are in the same place.
"I have been informed the surface is clear and the Stargate is ready to be blocked. I came to see if any of you wished to spend some time above," Veil said, gaze resting on me.
"Yes," I say. I add nothing else, a thrill climbing my belly when I don't receive a rebuke.
"I'd like to as well, lord." It's the worshipper who made the stew. His companion chimes in that he does too.
"Me too. Lor-lord." It's the nameless man.
Troku stays quiet, eyes on his empty bowl.
"If it's alright, my lord, I'd like to rest instead," my worshipper says. He's listing to the side and trying to hide a wince.
"As you wish, Lohr," the Wraith replies. He studies him for a long moment before saying, "Stay in your quarters. I will find you afterwards."
Gratitude flashes across the worshipper's face as he bows his head. "Thank you, lord."
The Wraith nods. "Come, then. We leave now," he says to the rest of us, and without waiting for a response turns and leaves. We four follow him out. As I pass Troku, I think him a fool for not going to the surface; then again, he was a poor bed-mate and it'd always hurt afterwards. Let him stay down in the dark, cold cave if he wants.
Two drones trail us, each carrying stun pistols on their hips. I hurry, making sure to keep one of the worshippers between myself and them. Veil leads us to a darker part of the cavern I haven't noticed before. There's less mushrooms here, far less foot traffic, and before I know it we're in front of a nondescript tunnel. I try to hide my excitement—the way to the outside! The way to escape! There's another drone stationed there, still as stone. It moves aside to let us pass before joining the other two drones. I tell myself not to get discouraged, of course the entrance to the outside would be guarded. I'd need to get my hands on a stunner, or find out if there was a time a drone wasn't stationed there. Maybe create a distraction? Then sneak around it?
At first the tunnel's flat, the sounds of our footsteps echoing against the walls. Though Veil never forbade us to speak, no one says anything as we walk. For a moment I catch myself missing the reliable shadow of my worshipper, knowing he'd starting telling me a story or some humorous mis-adventure he'd had. At some point the path begins to curve up, the incline making my legs ache. There're so few mushrooms here we're walking in near-darkness. Our combined breathing gets louder. I can feel the tiredness from the earlier feeding creep in but I force myself to keep pace, unwilling to fall behind where the drones were.
I feel the general warming in the tunnel first, like the ambient heat of basking stones. Then there's sounds of wind and bird song, followed by the scent of fresh air. I see the dim gray light last, but it grows so strong I soon have to squint.
And like that, we're outside. It's so bright I'm paralyzed at first, unable to move. Bodies brush past me. When my eyes adjust I can't move, heart pounding. It's a wide open field with vibrant grasses and yellow flowers, the sky above as blue as water from a clear lake. It's so much like my birth-world I'm breathless. All what's missing are the familiar shapes of my family's tents and the pony herds. Maybe I can pretend they're just behind me, that if I turn around they'll be there, all of the past decade nothing but a horror-dream.
My legs finally begin to move. Hearing and feeling the flowering grass heads brush against my thighs sends waves of nostalgia so strong it makes my eyes sting all over. I breathe in deep. It's almost as if I'm home: the dry perfume of the soil, the sweet aroma of the grasses, the wildflowers' fragrance. I reach down to run my hands over them, tickling myself against their edges. A laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it. The blades are warm against my skin, sunkissed. I throw my head back to catch it all, closing my eyes and seeing orange behind my lids. And the birds! They're warbling, high and liquid. My heart flies with them.
I reopen my eyes and spy a solitary stand of trees in full leaf off in the distance. There're more dotted even further away, but they're so few and far between—oh.
It's so tiny it seems no bigger than my pinky nail, a speck of bright, shimmering blue.
The Ring.
It's the most beautiful thing I've seen—even the breeding colony world didn't have a ground Ring, only an orbital one. I could make that distance. If I ran. But what to use for cover? It's a clear line a sight and I had the tracker to worry about before any attempt. Ah, underdark below, and there's the drones with their stunners. Ah, ah, and the fact the Ring's already opened, can't dial out—
"Is this to your liking?"
I jolt, nearly jumping in the air. I'm still trying to swallow my heart when I see Veil standing a polite distance away, hands tucked behind his back. His head's slightly cocked as he watches me, good pupil narrowed to a hairline. His skin's gray in the sunlight, veins streaked everywhere.
"Yes." The wind blows hair into my mouth. "It's just like—" but then I have to turn away, throat strangled shut. What does it matter! You know everyone's dead, it happened long ago! I try again but it's no better, words unable to get past the wet knot lodged there. My whole face grows hot. If only the ground could open up to swallow me whole.
There's a long, long pause. Then there's the rustle of disturbed grass and for a moment I'm terrified he's coming closer. When I dare to check I see he's instead moving off towards the two worshippers. In the bright light of day he doesn't seem as tall.
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We stay outside long enough my skin's starting to tingle. I could die out here and be at peace with it. No Wraith, no people, just solitude and a quiet end to my days. It's all I want.
I hear the crunch of approaching footsteps, direct and purposeful. I don't turn to look, knowing even before hearing that rough-smooth voice who it is.
"Time to return, Eshae."
I squeeze my eyes shut. "Please. Please, a moment more. Please." I'm a heartbeat away from calling him lord.
The Wraith doesn't respond, but neither does he force me to my feet. He waits, a patient but unyielding presence as I gather myself. I grit my teeth. At least now I know how to get above ground and where the Ring is. That's more than what I had before.
Before I lose my dignity, I get up and follow the Wraith as if I were nothing but a wayward animal, stepping where he steps. Everyone's already waiting for us at the tunnel's mouth, drones standing guard. Both the worshippers' faces are pink. As for the other man, it's the healthiest he's looked since leaving the breeding colony, even if he still seems pale.
Going down's so much worse. I stumble, blind as my eyes adjust. The worshippers and the other man fare no better, tripping over feet and bumping into each other. I wonder if our helplessness amuses Veil, but the Wraith says nothing. Or if he did, I wouldn't be able to hear anyway.
When we finally reach the main cavern I'm shivering. I look up. The roof seems closer than before, heavy and brooding, dripping moisture into my upturned face. Not even the light from the mushrooms can dispel the gloominess. My feet hurt, adding to the earlier feeding's general ache. I trudge back to my quarters, wanting nothing but to huddle in the blankets there. Maybe Troku was wiser than I thought.
I'm nearly to my quarters when I see Veil and two other Wraith enter my worshipper's room. I slow down, not wanting to draw attention to myself, but when they don't emerge, I take the chance to hurry into mine. I wish I had a door or tent flap to close for privacy, but none of the quarters have them.
I head to the back of my space and sink into my bed. I curl in the blankets. Something catches. I reach down, grabbing at something long and crinkly. I pull it close to my face. It's a blade of grass, caught on my pant's fabric. It's already turning brittle. It smells like nothing. I hold it close to my chest as I lie back down, trying to think of the surface. Tiredness pulls harder. I don't fight it. My eyes close.
"Eshae."
I bolt upright. Veil's peering down at me, almost at my bedside.
"Yes?" I hold the blankets tight around me as I stare up at him.
But instead of reaching out and touching me with his slit-hand, the Wraith retreats and perches on a nearby stool, keeping his distance. Something unclenches in my chest and I can breathe again.
"Lohr needs a period of prolonged rest," Veil says. "I am asking if you would feed the Wraith assigned to him in addition to yours for some time. Your counterparts will also be asked to do the same."
Double feedings? That will make escaping more difficult, a small voice says. "Do I have a choice?"
The Wraith looks at me, steady and unblinking. "Would you not do it for him?"
My cheeks warm. I look away. "Fine. Yes."
There's another long pause. I think I hear a small sigh, then the stool creaks as he stands.
He's nearly halfway out of my quarters before I ask, "What's wrong with him?"
The Wraith stops and turns to me, blocking most of the light from the main cavern. I can barely make out the white of his hair. "Lohr is showing signs of over-feeding," he says, voice low but clear. "For his safety, he must rest until he recovers."
"I thought—" I bite my cheek. I hope the moment can be forgotten, but the silence becomes expectant. I gather my courage. "I thought you could feed on us indefinitely. If, if you didn't do it too much, too quickly."
The Wraith's exhale sounds as old as the rocks above me. "You are correct, except the opposite also holds true. Humans are not meant to be fed on with such frequency for so long, little enough we take as is." He shifts, the scratch of his shoes loud in the enclosed space. "Lohr's cohort is the last of those who served our hive." His tone softens further. "Three. Out of thousands."
Veil falls quiet, becoming a motionless dark shape. I remember the flippant response I'd given the worshipper and shift on my bed, feeling small. It also doesn't help it that it's unsettling this Wraith takes the time to speak to me, when all others don't.
I dare to say, heartbeat in my ears, "Making us do double feedings won't solve your problem."
There's a growl, so soft it's almost inaudible. "Again, you are correct. We are aware increasing your cohort's feeding frequency exacerbates the problem. That is why this is only temporary."
Without thinking my mouth says, "You could always eat less."
The Wraith hisses like a snake and takes a step towards me. I hardly dare breathe when he doesn't approach further, the shape of him vibrating. His hands clench and unclench.
"Image you were starving. Now imagine being allowed only a few mouthfuls to eat at a time," he says, voice wound tight. His words are arrowheads in my ears. "Would you still feel the same?"
Then he strides out and is gone.
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When I feed the drone meant for the worshipper, it's as horrible as I imagined it would be. There's even less humanity to latch onto, and I feel every second of the pain. When it's gone I hurry away despite the lingering ache, wanting to be as far away from it as I can. I'm glad I've more energy than I thought—even though they're double feedings, the amount the Wraith take stay small. I've no excuse not to start planning my escape in earnest.
I'm heading towards the tunnel leading to the outside when I see the worshipper. He's sitting outside his quarters with a blanket wrapped around his legs, arms loosely crossed in his lap. I don't know why, but I move towards him. Then I see the drone. It seems part of the rock wall, standing close enough to be pressed against the worshipper's side. And if my eyes're right, the worshipper's leaning against it.
I try to shift directions, but it's too late. The worshipper's face lights up and he waves, beckoning me over. I hesitate, unable to ignore the looming drone. The worshipper lowers his arm and, in a moment of insanity, looks up at the thing and says something to it I can't hear. The drone nods—it nods—and like that, walks away.
"Eshae," the worshipper says as I finally approach, laughter in his eyes. "You look as if you've seen wood-magic."
I stare at the shadows, waiting for the drone to reappear, but it stays gone. "It understood you?"
His smile softens and becomes something else. "Of course they can understand us. They may be drones, but they're still capable of speech and thought. Just, more muted. Some are, ah, more aware than others? If that makes sense?"
It does, but it's hard to bond what I just saw and the feeding I just gave. I shudder, recalling its massive hand clamped to my chest, the constricting pressure of it.
"And?" I ask.
The worshipper blinks at me. He waits like Veil, patiently expectant.
I set my jaw and turn towards the rest of the cavern. "And? Can you understand them back?"
There's a pause. I can't bring myself to clarify, unsure if I want to know, if I'm even meant to. This was stupid. I'm stupid. I should go. The chair creaks and I don't move as the worshipper stands next to me. I stare ahead.
"The first time I overheard a Wraith use telepathy, I thought I'd gone mad," he said. "You'd think most in my community would have that Gift, but I was the only in many generations. A genetic fluke."
The cavern's ugly-beautiful, Wraith-grafted and glowing from mushroom light. The ceiling rests heavy above us. Somewhere above is the outside, and beyond that, the Ring. And beyond that—
"It's like seeing sound. Images. There're words but, not everything is. A lot's unspoken. Felt. Same goes for a Wraith's name; they identify each other by the, ah, impression of their mind."
I close my eyes and struggle against the surge of yearning. Then I try to wrap my head around the idea of befriending a drone and balk. Bad enough I struggle with curiosity towards regular Wraith, but those creatures? Also, it's too complicated a ploy just to get my hands on a stunner. But, what if I could get the worshipper to? I glance at him from the corner of an eye. He's now covering the blanket around his shoulders, head drooping. For a moment I imagine seducing him, wrapping my legs around him enough times that a few well-placed words could convince him to get a stunner for me.
I swallow down a wave of nausea, disgusted with myself. What am I thinking? What would Isoka say if she heard my thoughts? I can't use sex as a weapon. "I'm sorry," I say.
The worshipper tenses besides me. "I'm not sorry for this Gift," he says, somewhat stiffly.
Underdark below. I wince. "No, no, that wasn't—I mean, thank you for telling me. About what you hear. With the Gift. I said sorry because, because I haven't been the kindest to you."
"Oh." His posture relaxes. He shakes his head. "No, there's nothing to be sorry for, Eshae. I know what I am. I know what worshippers are thought of."
A little silence falls between us. In the distance dark shapes of Wraith bustle about their labs, in-and-out, in-and-out. Are they any closer to a cure for the plague? Too late, I think. You're all too late. The usual bitter happiness that thought brings is wearier this time, heavier. For some reason I'm reminded of Veil.
"If anything," the worshipper says, shuffling back to his seat, "I'm the one who should apologize. Our lord told me how you three are covering the feedings I'm missing. I know that wasn't what you were prepared for."
I try not to shift in place. "It's only for awhile," I say, not wanting to admit he was right, that I could see myself getting used to it. Well, not with the drones. I blame the lingering guilt from my earlier thoughts when I ask, "How are you feeling?"
"Better. Every sleep cycle, a little better. But not fast enough for my liking." He smiles at me, but it lacks his usual energy. The brown rings under his eyes cling there. He leans back against the rock wall and hugs the blanket tighter. "I just need a little more time."
How much time do any of us have? I leave without saying goodbye.
…
TBC