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"Remember, remember, this is now, and now, and now. Live it, feel it, cling to it. I want to become acutely aware of all I've taken for granted."
―Sylvia Plath
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The grass tickles my neck as I lie in the field, fighting not to sleep. I can forget where I am this close to the ground, the soil smelling like home. I float, drowsy. The sun warms my bones. Somewhere, an insect chirrups.
It's the fifth time Veil's taken us outside, and I've learned this is the best position to be in. It makes the drones nervous: I can hear one hovering nearby, never far away when I lie back in the grass and disappear from sight. Of course, with the tracker in my arm, it's a pointless worry. Lying down also keeps me from staring too much at the Ring. I tell myself it's so not to appear suspicious, but the real truth is it's getting too painful to look at the Ring and its promise of freedom.
I shift a little, strands of vegetation tickling my cheeks. I stare at the sky and visualize the mantra that's been consuming my recent thoughts.
Dig the tracker out. Grab a stunner. Escape up the tunnel. Run the entire breadth of the field. Dial out. Keep running.
Once again I wish for Isoka's guidance. I try to imagine what she'd say, point out some insight or flaw I was missing, but she always sounds like she's speaking from a distance, voice an inaudible burr. I weigh involving Troku or the other man in the escape plan, but like all the other times, I decide against it. Troku would probably blame me for ruining things again for him and try to stop me. I don't know enough about the other man to know his constitution—would he betray me to the worshippers? From the little I see, he seems to have struck an alliance with one of them, never straying too far from his side; I'd even caught him and that worshipper laughing together.
I shift again, annoyance and frustration ruining what had been a peaceful rest. I sit up, shaking bits of dead grass from my hair and clothes. I look over at where my worshipper's resting by the tunnel's mouth. He's in the same place since we've arrived. His eyes are closed, face calm. A drone's with him, positioned as to provide shade.
He seems healthier to me, but he's yet to rejoin the feeding rotation. How long has it been? Though I'm trying to keep track, the feedings are starting to blur together. I tell myself it won't be for much longer. Once I go back to single feedings, I'll find my energy again. Then I dig the tracker out. Grab a stunner. Escape up the tunnel. Run—
As I stand, a wave of lightheadedness hits me. As I'm staggering, a huge hand snaps out and grips my upper arm. It's the other drone, it's holding me tight tight tight, so close, no, it's keeping me from falling, the dizziness is going away, please let go, please, please—
The drone lets go but doesn't move, watching me without eyes.
"I'm well," I say to it. I don't know what else to do. Any idea of overpowering the thing and grabbing the stunner on its hip now seems beyond foolhardy. Deep down I know I'll have only one chance at this, that if anything goes wrong, that was that. The memory of the non-person in the hive makes me shrink.
When I remain upright, the drone moves away with more stealth than a bulky creature should have. It heads to its counterpart, joining the others congregating there. It stops by Veil, and though no verbal words are exchanged, I know they spoke when the Wraith's head turns to me. He makes a beckoning gesture, and I swallow the ember in my throat.
You're but an animal rings in my head as I walk to him. We're all nothing but animals.
"How do you feel?" the Wraith asks when I'm near. It's the first exchange we've had since my blunder. Though his shoulders seem tense, his slit-hand's tucked behind his back, hidden from view.
"Tired."
His eye pins me in place, but at last he makes a soft growl and nods to the drones. Just as we're led down, I pretend to adjust my hair to steal a last glance at the Ring. It seems further away this time, glimmering and unreachable.
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I find the body first.
It's by accident; I took a wrong turn heading to the tunnel's entrance and stumbled across him. It's the other man from the breeding colony. He's sitting against the cavern's wall, legs outstretched. At first it appears he's one soft word from waking, but then I notice the dark puddles by his sides. They smell the exact opposite from a birth, cold and metallic.
I don't know how long I stand over him. Everything feels distant, like I'm floating again. His chest's so still. At some point I kneel besides him and chilled blood not my own start to soak my clothes. The tool he used is next to his thigh. I've seen it before in the labs, a Wraith-thing used to adjust bolts. It's light in my hands, the handle sticky. The tip's in-between dull and sharp, but with enough pressure it was able to cut into his forearms, from wrists to inner elbows. How long did it take? He doesn't look peaceful. He looks like nothing. I float, there and not there.
Then I realize what I'm holding and stare at the Wraith-thing. Yes, this could work if I'm careful. The tracker can't be that deep, it wouldn't hurt that much—
There's a loud scratch of footsteps and suddenly there's an approaching drone. It doesn't speak. Neither do I. It stops and we look at each other. I think it's the same one who grabbed me yesterday, but it's hard to tell. It lowers itself a knee and, slowly, incredibly slowly, reaches to take the tool out of my hand. I watch it happen from outside my body, curious. Then, just as slowly, the drone pulls me to my feet. I glance down. My pants are wet to my knees.
"None of it's mine," I hear myself say. In a moment of insanity, I wish I could talk to it like my worshipper could, and more insane yet, hear it reply back.
More Wraith arrive. The drone keeps a hand on my elbow as it leads me off to the side, its touch almost too warm. Soon there's a crowd. A few go to inspect the body, the rest moving like lizards in a thaw. They're silent—there's not even the usual hiss or growl. Many glance my way but none speak to me. Veil arrives. They move aside as he crouches by the body. He reaches out to trace one of the wounds with a claw and stays like that for awhile. Then he looks in my direction, his eye's reflective as a cat's from that distance.
Someone must've spoken to my drone, because not long after it herds me to the communal kitchen. The worshippers and Troku are already there. The drone releases me to join the other ones stationed at the entrance, blocking us in. For a moment we all stand there, faces pale.
"Are you alright?" one of the worshippers asks.
"Yes. I'm—" My teeth start chattering. I hug myself. "Coh-cold."
"I'll ask the drones if I can fetch you some new clothes, or at least a blanket," he says, then hurries away.
I sit at the table. The artificial light shows the brown splotches on my hands.
Troku's question cuts through my attempts to scratch them away. "Did you see how he did it?"
I tell him. It seems unreal, as if I were recalling a dream. There's more paleness when I'm done. Then Troku curses and slams an open palm on the table so hard it sends some cups rattling to the ground.
"I'm calm, I'm calm," he says as a drone marches over. He keeps his hands raised. "I'm calm."
The drone doesn't seem to believe him and hauls him to different part of the kitchen. Another worshipper goes with them, trying to soothe Troku, leaving just myself and my worshipper at the table.
"I'd just spoken to Breno at breakfast," he says, frowning. "He seemed well. Happy, even."
Breno. So that's what his name is. I pick at his dried blood. Was.
"It's so tragic," he says.
"For the Wraith, maybe," I say.
The worshipper stares at me. "What?"
"They're sad they're down a reliable meal," I say. "But him? He found his escape. He's now free from all this."
The worshipper's looking at me as if I'd spat in his eye. For a moment he appears to speak, puffed and bristling, but then his expression changes, becomes careful. Isoka had looked at me the same way in the early days of the breeding colony. "Is that how you feel?"
I tense. "If I wanted to escape like that, I would've long ago."
"But you still think he's now—" his face contorts, frowning, "—free?"
"Don't you?"
We look at each other. What could I expect to gain from this, with a Wraith worshipper of all creatures? How could I make him see there's more to life more than being whatever Wraith needed us to be? We're more than food to farm, livestock to breed, servants to direct. I wish I could take this worshipper back to my birth-world to live amongst the wild ponies, to wake with the dawn and work in the sun, to know what it was to mate with whom we chose, to know no masters or lords.
"I think it's terrible another person's gone," the worshipper says. He picks at some imperfection on the table's wooden surface. "There's so few of us left."
He doesn't get it.
"This isn't a way to live, and he knew it." I rise from my chair angrier than I meant to and it knocks over in a wooden crash. At the entrance, the drone turns its head in our direction. I don't want to be here. I cover my face, overwhelmed.
"Eshae?"
There's a hand on my shoulder. I twist away. "Don't touch me." I glare at him. "Never touch me."
"I'm sorry," he says.
"The only freedom in this galaxy's death." For a moment the room spins, my legs like old sticks. I force myself not to stagger. "Everything else's just waiting."
I want to kick and scream and be left alone, but I know that's what children do. Shame fills me, then anger, then more shame. I can't even leave this room because the Wraith don't want us to.
The worshipper rights my chair. "Sit down, Eshae," he says softly, and I do.
Neither of us talk again. The drone at the entrance continues watching. At some point the first worshipper returns and hands over a blanket. I murmur some word of thanks and wrap it around me, the warm weight an immediate comfort. The worshipper sits down and his attempts at conversation falters as neither I nor my worshipper join. Eventually, Troku and the third worshipper also return to the table. Someone offers to make tea, but no one says yes. We all sit, avoiding each other, waiting for what our masters wish of us.
After a time, the silence's broken when Troku asks, "What happens now? Will they get a replacement?"
A replacement. I close my eyes. Underdark below.
A worshipper sighs. "It took us three years to gather all the minerals needed to make a trade. We won't have enough for another for a long time, even for just one."
"Then, happens to us?" Troku asks.
Yes, what happens to us now? Would we now need to feed three Wraith a session? Start feeding every day?
The three worshippers exchange glances. "That's up to our lords," another says. He has the grace to wince. "But I would expect some changes. For all our benefit, of course."
I try to mull on that, but my thoughts are sluggish and resist stringing together. Too much happened today for anything to make much sense. All I want is my bed and sleep. It's almost a relief when the drones come to move us.
As I'm getting up, my worshipper comes closer and says to me, "Eshae. The others know already, but I was going to tell you sooner—I overhead the Wraith talking. It sounds like they may've reached a breakthrough in their research." His tentative smile fades. "I wish we could be celebrating, rather than mourning."
I nod, not having the heart to tell him we should all be in mourning anyway, that there's nothing left to save.
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The first noticeable change that night is we all sleep in the large quarantine pen. Unlike last time, I'm not separated from the others. The worshippers don't seem to mind, chatting amongst themselves, but Troku and I choose the sleeping cots farthest from each other. The second noticeable change is when I wake up, Troku and I have drones now posted to our sides. Mine follows like a hulking shadow wherever I go, even when I relieve or wash myself. I tell myself it'll be okay, that I could still find a way to escape.
Until I learn of the third change.
After several days have passed, my drone escorts me to Veil's lab. I haven't been back here after the first time, and there's been a massive amount of activity since then. There's no free space anywhere, every table covered in technology beyond my comprehension. The best I could describe it was as if a pony had exploded, organic bits strung everywhere. Things that looked like arteries were hooked to glowing, fleshy consoles along the walls. A constant low pulse comes from them, like a second heartbeat. As I step further in, I can't tell what's meat or metal.
Veil's waiting for me by a workstation, hair dyed red from the overhead lights. A glance from him has the drone leaving. When we're alone, the Wraith gestures to a stool near him.
"Sit," he says. "Please."
It's strange, walking towards a Wraith. I should be running in the opposite direction until my lungs give out, or dialing to a distant world. Veil watches, inscrutable. I sit, heart in my throat.
"Roll up your sleeves to your elbows."
I don't want to but do it slowly, until they're bare. It's so warm here compared to the rest of the cavern my skin doesn't even break into birdflesh. It's difficult to see in the lighting, but I'm starting to lose my desert tan. Soon I'll be as washed out as the worshippers.
I'm still looking at my arms when movement in my periphery has me jolting backwards into the workstation. The Wraith stops mid-reach.
"Be calm," he says. He makes that soft hiss-click. "I will not hurt you."
I want to ask what he's going to do but my mouth's too dry. Veil resumes reaching for me and, when I don't pull away again, picks up my left wrist with his non-slit hand. His touch's warm and dry. He turns my wrist palm-up and keeps it there for several moments, then does the same thing to my other. He says nothing as he does this. He then lets go and walks away but returns before I've a chance to catch my breath. He's carrying a dark set of things in his hands.
The Wraith picks up my left wrist again and this time affixes a—band?—around it. It's as wide as two thumbs side-by-side and as thin as a blade of grass. The material's flexible yet firm. Before I can examine it further, he covers the band with another, larger sleeve. It seems made of the same material. This one goes up to the crook of my elbow, over the tracker buried there. He does the same to the right wrist, first putting on the thin band, then covering it with the sleeve. When he's done he steps back, slit-hand tucking away.
I dare to run a finger over one of sleeves. It's like no cloth I've ever felt before, thin and breathable, but snug. Like metal? When I twist my wrist, the material flexes to accommodate, like scales on a snake. "What are they?" I ask.
"Bio-monitors. They track your vitals, such as heart rate, blood pressure," Veil says. He points one of the meat-screens. "That is you."
Monitors. Trackers. As I stare at the incomprehensible stream of numbers and lines flickering there, I curse everything. I struggle to keep my composure but it's hard to fight the rising panic. Can I even remove the tracker now? The cloth-metal seems stronger than it looks, immovable.
"Do you have any questions?" the Wraith asks. I can barely hear him over the sound of the machinery's low pulse. Or maybe that's my own heartbeat.
I stare at the sleeves, trying to hide my devastation. "Do they—ever come off?"
"No."
My eyes start to sting. Don't cry. Underdark below, don't you dare cry.
"These are to prevent a recurrence."
My head snaps up. "I wasn't—I didn't—"
"I mean to say it was a failure on our part to anticipate what happened. Nothing more." He's studying me. The heavy shadows have returned under his eyes, his cheekbones sharp enough to cut. I don't know why I suddenly want to offer to feed him. Since coming to this cavern, he's only fed on me the once.
"What'll happen to—will I—we—" Too many thoughts crowd at once. I'm a fumbling fool, but the Wraith doesn't react, doesn't jeer. I gather myself, knowing I'm treading on unknown ice, but the need to know is too strong. "Will the schedule change?"
Veil's teeth bare for a second, pupil flaring, then his features calm. He turns to another workstation and begins to manipulate something in what looks like a pool of gel. I think I'm dismissed, but without him saying so, I'm not sure if I should leave. My drone hasn't arrived to fetch me. I push the sleeves of my clothing over my new ones, hating how seamless they fit over each other.
"No," Veil says. He's still working away, not looking at me. "When Lohr has recovered, the rotation will return to how it was. It will be some time yet; he says he is strong enough, but his readings say otherwise."
I know the numbers don't play out. The ice becomes thinner. "But, you said you're starving."
The line of his shoulders stiffens. "Yes."
The ice's gone. I'm treading water now. I take a deep breath. "I apologize. For what I said earlier. Sometimes I speak without thinking."
I think the Wraith sighs, but it's hard to tell. He keeps focusing on the gel. "You may go."
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No matter how I tug or try to shift them down, the cloth-metal sleeves stay stuck to my skin. Think of your options, my Isoka-voice says, there's a solution to every problem. But what if the problem's too big to see over? The sleeves make removing the tracker impossible. A drone's always near. My vitals are monitored. I try to think of a way out, but as the days pass, my ideas are starting to get more and more desperate. Cutting off the whole arm doesn't seem like a sustainable plan.
I pluck at one of their edges and catch my worshipper glancing my way.
"You'll get used to them," he says, flashing one of his own dark sleeves. Then he goes back to working on his clump of tylium, expression one of studied concentration under his light.
He, another worshipper, and I are sitting around a container of tylium he'd mined earlier that week. It's gritty, almost like clumped sand, and will fall apart if applied enough pressure. We work at removing any impurities over a mesh, so the clean tylium falls through and leaves the rest to be swept away. Unlike the metal Traveller vessels, my worshipper had said, hive ships were biosynthetic and needed to eat supplements like this to maintain their function.
"This is good haul," the other worshipper says. He shines his little light at the pure tylium and it sparkles like frost. "Where'd you say you found this, Lohr?"
My worshipper perks up and starts chirping about the tunnel he'd found. He seems to be doing that a lot—his features seem brighter, verve back in his step. The fact all this tylium came from his efforts means he'll be back to helping us feed the Wraith any day now. Then all that newfound strength will be gone. I tug the blanket tighter over my shoulders, hating the chill that comes from this section of the cavern. I can see my breath in the lamplight, rising like fog.
I close my own light and move to stand, only to fall to my knees when the first tremor hits. There's a rumble that grows into a roar so loud my bones vibrate. I look up, surprised to find my worshipper shouting at me but it's too loud, too loud to hear, and only when he yanks me up and presses against my ear
—moveEshaewehavetoMOVE—
do I begin run, except the ground's breaking beneath our feet, I feel a shove and lurch forward and
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I wake to darkness. Someone's coughing nearby, wet and frothy. There's grit in my eyes, on my face. Breathing hurts. Thinking hurts. There's faint green-blue light. Yes, the mushrooms. But something's wrong, why're they so dim? And why's the ground's slanted? I lift a hand to push off of and think better of it when everything spins. The air smells wrong, smells like blood and sick.
What's hurt. Something's tight in my left side, ribs maybe, but not too terrible. Just aches to breathe. Can move all limbs. No fingers broken. I roll to my side, to my elbows, and a wall stares back at me where none was before. I try to make sense of it.
Another cough, smaller this time, wetter.
I search my pockets and find the small light for checking the tylium purity. I click it on and wish I hadn't; there's a severed drone's arm not far from me, its blood black as tar. I turn the light to the other side and find my worshi—Lohr, half buried under rocks, his face and head a red mess. My chest constricts.
"Lohr," I croak. I crawl to his side. His eyes are closed. Every breath brings up bloody foam. I cradle his head into my lap to help him breathe better. His raspy sighs ease. The back of his head wets my clothes. "Lohr, can you hear me?"
His eyes flicker beneath his lids but they don't open. He just breathes and foams and it's getting all over my hands but I keep wiping his face clean, oh no, oh no, oh Lohr, why did you do this, why did you push me, this should be me instead of you.
I don't know how long I hold him. After awhile he stops coughing and begins to shake in little tremors. I hold him through it all, and when he's finally still, I hold him through that, too.
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"Can anybody hear me? Hello?"
Lohr's a cold heaviness in my arms. It makes it strangely easy to float away.
"Please, is there anyone there? Hello?"
My breath curls in the lamplight. It's the only one that does.
Someone's beginning to cry. It sounds muffled and tiny but close.
I heard crying like that sometimes at the breeding colony. I couldn't handle the scream-crying or angry-crying children did, but this soft kind always found a way to my heart. I force myself to come back and find I'm shivering all over. My legs are ice from kneeling too long.
"Is—" I have to wet dry lips. It's hard to talk around chattering teeth. "Is som-someone there?"
The crying stops and there's shuffling noises. "Hello? Eshae, is that you?"
"Yes, it's mm-me. Who are you?"
There's a pause. "It's me, Solhom. Do you remember?"
I close my eyes. Solhom. The one who made that stew. "Yes, I remem-member. Where are you?"
"I—I don't know—I fell, it's all a blur. I, I seem to be in a hole? I can't get out, something's wrong with my knee. Please, please help me."
His voice's coming from the far end of the rock pocket. I shine my light and see a space in the slanted ground.
"I'm coming," I say. As gently as I can, I lay Lohr down. I want to arrange his limbs as my people would for our dead, but only one of his arm's visible and the rest of him's buried. I cross his one arm over his chest and it resists me. He'll be unmovable soon. Then rotting.
All my food comes up. I'm sick next to him, retching.
"Are you alright?"
I wipe my mouth but it doesn't remove the thick sour taste. "Lohr's dead."
There's silence at that. I take the time to rub life back into my legs, but almost regret it when they begin to prickle and burn. Soon my feet are on fire and I have to bite on a fist to stop from crying out. When the pain resides I totter and half-crawl to the crack. There's an opening five hands wide, four hands long. I aim my light down and a dirty, frightened face peers up at me. He's some distance below, at least two, three drones-lengths. With some effort he manages to use the wall to stand, but even standing he's too far down to reach.
He stares at my blood-covered shirt, eyes widening. "You're hurt!"
"It's not mine," I say. My throat tightens. "Lohr saved me. Why would he do that? He should've saved himself."
"He always was the best of us," Solhom says, then covers his face in his hands. With Lohr dead and the third worshipper missing, this man could the last of his entire world. I pinch myself to keep myself grounded.
"What do you have with you?" I ask.
"Only my light," he says. He looks at me again, breath steaming as he visibly shakes. It must be far colder down there in that crevice.
I look around with my light and something reflects back. My heart leaps. "Wait, I may have something," I say. "I'll be right back."
I shuffle away over Solhom's questions and want to shout my happiness. It's the blanket I was using before the cave-in. I'm able to pull it free from the rocks without too much tearing. For a moment I wrap it around myself and am instantly warmer. I huddle beneath it, wishing to capture this feeling forever.
Then I bundle it under my arm, shuffle back, and pass it down to Solhom. He immediately pulls it around himself and he sinks down in relief. The blanket's large; soon most of him's covered.
As I start shivering again, I realize I need to find food. Water. Dry clothes. It all becomes so daunting, that the ground could collapse under my feet at any heartbeat. How long will we be trapped here? I think of the long tunnel to the surface and how fragile it seems now. No doubt it's long gone.
I direct my light around the rock walls, searching, and that's when I see a long fissure, bottom part wide enough for me to pass through. I struggle against the rising hope. There's a way out of this pocket, at least.
"I have to go," I say.
"Go?"
"I need to find—" Salvation? Rescue? I don't know the extent of the cave-in; maybe the fissure leads to a dead end. Maybe everyone's dead. Maybe we're also dead but don't know it yet. I take in a deep breath. "Food and water. Maybe there's others who survived and need help. Maybe I can even find us a way out. I'll be back."
"Please don't leave me."
I have to look away. "I'll be back, I promise."
"No, wait, don't go—I can climb up, just wait, please just wait—"
I stop hearing Solhom soon after I squeeze through the fissure. To my relief the passage keeps going, and soon I'm stumbling my way through a maze of broken rock and uneven ground. There's a few dead ends and backtracking, but I take the time to scratch directional markings. Getting lost would be a death sentence for Solhom if I couldn't get back to him. Several times I come across a crushed Wraith body part or a snag of their clothing or black blood, but no sign of Troku or the other worshipper. I hurry by it all. Like Lohr, soon all of this'll be rotting. I can only hope all this death doesn't make the air poison to breathe.
As I search for anything salvageable, I pass clumps of glowing mushrooms. I wonder if they're edible but I'm not desperate enough to try yet. However, when I see the first trickle of water, I abandon caution and let the drops fall into my mouth. It's like licking ice. Never has anything tasted so sweet. When I've quenched my thirst and removed the last of the vomit-taste, I mark the chamber, reminding myself to saturate a cloth to bring back to Solhom.
At some point I crawl into a new room and encounter a rock wall different from all the others. It's mottled purple, the texture like dried resin, yet something about it also feels organic, like the shell of some galactic creature. The longer I observe it, the more I've the suspicion this is a hull of a hive ship. If a hive fell from orbit and collided here, it would explain the cave-in. But why? Was there a battle? I snatch my hands back and flash my light around, suddenly afraid to see hungry Wraith pouring out of it. My fear's unfounded. The tunnels are dead silent.
No, not silent. I stop moving and wait, ears straining. Several heartbeats pass before I hear a faint scratching, like claws on stone. It comes from ahead of me, up through a dark, winding section along the hull. I'm torn between going towards the sound and avoiding it, but I know I have to keep moving forward to find an exit from this underdark. The sound could also mean someone's alive. They could need help.
I clutch my light and keep going. The passage narrows into a crevice, then thins into a crack. I have to crawl on my belly between two wedged slabs, pushing through only when I exhale enough air from my lungs. The ground's a cold shock and I hurry to stand. The scratching's closer, maybe only a few drone-lengths away.
I think of Solhom and gather my courage. "Hello? Is someone there?"
The scratching stops. For a moment, I don't breathe. Then there's a voice, low but carrying, as if sighing next to my ear.
"Eshae."
I shiver. I'd recognize that cadence even if I became shriveled with age. The dark, closed-in space makes waiting for the Wraith's appearance worse than ever, my heart now a rabbit in my chest. Except, nothing moves. He doesn't appear. Even shining my light reveals nothing but more cracks. When I don't reply, the scratching eventually resumes, only there's a different quality to it. I can't explain it, it makes no sense, but it's like being with the mare with the stillborn foal all over again. I should keep looking for a way out, should keep moving or backtrack, but I can't stop listening.
I think of Solhom again and try to calm my shivering. "Where are you?"
The scratching stops. There's a low hiss. "A little further ahead. I see your light."
I leave the small, cramped pocket and trade it for another tight space. I have to slide against the hull of the ship to do it, but I make it to the end of narrow section. It then forks in two directions, the right keeping straight, but the left widens into another room. There's a rock pile at the end. There's a small gap to the side, about three hands across, three hands high. When I point my light into it, it reveals Veil's sharp face.
He jerks away with a snarl. I snap the light down. For a moment neither of us speak. When he crouches down again this time I keep the brightness directed away. Like Solhom, the Wraith's gaze snags on my bloody clothes.
"It's Lohr's," I say. My breath curls. "I couldn't save him."
The Wraith seems to deflate, sinking lower. He nods slowly. "I suspected it when his mind became unreachable." He stares at something a point off my shoulder, unfocused. "My fears proved correct."
He falls quiet, continuing to look at something I can't see. I rub my arms for warmth as I wait, feeling the sleeves beneath. When he continues to say nothing, I ask, "Can you sense any of the others?"
Veil blinks as if he were in a thaw. "Not many left. Several are fading, mortally hurt. The rest are trapped, with no apparent way out." His growl has no edges. "A swift death would have been a kindness."
"And you?"
His gaze sharpens. It cuts to me and as ours lock, I know he knows he can't fit through the little gap. I could, but only if I wanted to. There's a heady rush of blood at that.
Veil looks away first. "I share their fate," he says, voice a rasp, then moves out of view. There's a moment of quiet before there's a scuffle of leather against rock and grit as he sits, somewhere out of sight. I half expect the scratching from before to resume, but the Wraith makes no other noise, as if dead already.
I hug myself to stay warm. It's easier to forget the cold when I'm squeezing and maneuvering around rocks, but it catches up in the quiet moments.
"Solhom's still alive," I say. My voice seems too loud in the enclosed darkness. I try to ignore the fact the ceiling's maybe three drone lengths above my head, heavy and looming. There's no reply. "He's in a crevice and can't get out. I promised I'd go back to him." I need to keep him alive. Please. "Do you have any blankets? Warm clothing? Food or water? Anything I can use?"
More silence. Just as I think he won't answer at all, the Wraith's thin voice drifts to me. "Lohr sometimes occupied me in my lab," he says. "He would sleep there at times, if he chose to. If that section of my lab is intact, his nest should have what you are looking for. Perhaps he even had some food and water stashed there, as he was wont to do."
"He—?" It suddenly hurts to talk about Lohr. "Could you check for me?"
There's a dry rattling sound, like bones in a jar. It takes me a moment to realize Veil's laughing. "It is just beyond my reach, I am afraid. There is a small opening leading to it, but I cannot pass through. But you could, perhaps."
I feel myself taking a step forward before coming to my senses. I back up. "How do I know this isn't a trick? I don't remember seeing a, a nest when I was in your lab."
When Veil speaks again, he sounds as old as the ground beneath my feet. "There is no trick. Lohr did sleep there."
I come no closer, agonized.
"I give you my word I will not touch you. Help Solhom if you can. I only cannot promise the state of the lab, or how much of it is buried. There could be nothing left to find." There's another formless growl, but I don't think it's aimed at me.
I could keep going. Find a better chance at food and clothing for Solhom, but in my heart I know this is too big a chance to pass up.
"Alright," I say. I wipe cold hands against my thighs. "Alright. Don't come near me."
"I will not," he says. I hear him get up and move away, footsteps scratching.
The gap's made of three large rocks balancing on each other, but they seem immovable. I thread my arms in first and start wiggling. I try not to think about how vulnerable a position I'm in, that the Wraith could catch me and hold me captive at any moment. I focus on my breathing, on the compression of my ribs and the rocks around me, and before I know it I'm landing in a heap on the other side. I get up slowly, keeping my light pointed to the ground.
The room's wide but short, some mushrooms offering weak light. Veil's on one knee at the widest point away, his good eye closed. He doesn't speak. He could be a stone for all he moved.
At the far end there's the next gap. It's about the same size as the first one, maybe a hand-span bigger. I crawl my way through this one too and arrive to a lab that's a mess, but not as much as I'd thought. Compared to the rest of the cavern broken in segmented tunnels, offshoots, and dead ends, the lab's almost untouched. I shiver as I stand and hug myself. Whatever had kept this place warm before must be broken, because the air feels colder here than elsewhere. If anything, it's almost as if there's a faint breeze of some invisible airflow.
I push weird artery-tube things aside and dodge around tables. As I begin to regret not asking Veil for a description of this nest, I see a gourd-thing tucked away in a corner. At first I think it's another piece of lab equipment, but then I see what looks like a folded blanket within its soft depression. I let out a hiss of joy when I spy some food packets in a nearby nook. There's jerky and some are those dry protein fruit mashes. It's a meager supply, maybe three things total, but more than I had before. How long ago did Lohr store them away? I touch the blanket. It's as cold as the room. There's a little pillow beneath it. I don't know what possesses me: I pick up it up and press my nose to it. It smells as if he'd laid his head there not too long ago, as if he were just in the other room. I put the pillow back down, throat tight.
I resist the temptation to eat one of the packets of food, knowing I need to ration them with Solhom. My pockets can't hold it all, and I'm afraid squeezing through the tunnels back will ruin them, or worse, make me stuck. I push the blanket through the gap, then the foodstuff, then myself. As before, I pick out Veil's location. He's in the same spot, eye closed, still ignoring me. I hesitate. He's as gaunt as the first time he'd fed on me in the lab, maybe more. It's plain he's starving.
As quietly as I can, I gather the blanket and foodstuff and hurry to the other end. After a repeat of pushing the things through, I do the same. This time I'm terrified I'll feel clawed hands on my legs, yanking me back. Nothing happens. I make it through without incident. I stand outside the gap, heart in my mouth, but there's no sound, no movement. If I didn't know there was a Wraith a stone throw away, I would've thought myself the only living thing around.
I begin making the long trek back to Solhom, following the directional marks. When I reach the room with the water I tear off a little bit of my shirt's hem to saturate. When it's soaked and dripping I move on, trying to hurry despite the foodstuffs and blanket clogging the way. The ground becomes more jagged, less even. When it begins slanting I know I'm close.
Finally I squeeze through the very first fissure. "Solhom, I'm back!" I pass Lohr's body. I hurry to the opening in the ground and fall to me knees next to it. "I found food and water. Here, I've another blanket for you."
I'm pushing the blanket down without thinking, and only when it's slipping out of reach do I realize Solhom hasn't responded at all. The blanket falls. It lands besides where Solhom's stretched out on his back, arms flung wide. His face's turned away from me but the pool of blood next to it glitters, already frosted over.
"Solhom?"
There's no answer. My light illuminate his dirty hands, the nails caked in grime. I turn the light to the wall and see the path he tried to take. He'd nearly made it; the last scrabbling marks were maybe two hands away from the surface, then no more.
.
.s.
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I decide I'll never return to this section. I'd do no good, and leave the two men entombed here. I try not to think of Troku. By now my stomach's grumbling but I don't touch the rations. I let myself drink from the strip of shirt until it's nearly dry, and when I come across the room with the water trickle, I drink until I'm fit to burst. I relieve myself in another chamber, away from the water source. My head's cloudy, thoughts a jumble. I catch myself hitting dead-ends despite having marked the correct path, and at one point I take the wrong turn and start heading back to the worshippers. I focus more after that, taking care to move forward.
I slow when I reach the ship's hull, knowing I'm nearing where Veil is. I take pauses, listening. There's no scratching this time. Even when I'm finally standing outside the opening where he's trapped, there's no sound or movement within.
"Solhom's dead," I say. Silence greets my words. I clear my throat. "He tried to climb out. Fell."
For a few heartbeats I think I'm too late, that another's gone. Then there's a hiss, followed by a long sigh. There's a rustle of shifting leather, but nothing beyond that. The Wraith doesn't speak. I hover next to the opening, gnawing on my cheek. He's just a Wraith. One less in the galaxy's a blessing.
I think of the plague, the dead millions. I think my family. I think of Lohr.
Are you doing this or not? Choose.
I push the foodstuffs through first, then thread myself into the space. When I reach the other side I carefully aim my light. Veil's in the same spot, still kneeling with his eye closed, except this time there's a rock clenched in his slit-hand, knuckles white around it. I stand, quiet. Lohr once told me starvation to the Wraith was like being burned alive. Why would Veil allow himself that if I was right there? He could've taken from me, whenever he wanted, at any point.
"Let me feed you," I say.
The Wraith goes tense as the yellow eye snaps open. There's nothing gentle in his demeanor as he pins me with his stare. "My hunger is . . . formidable."
"What's a little more pain?" I shrug, trying to make light of what's about to be a horrible experience. My heart starts to shiver despite my bravado. At least it's my choice.
Choice. I can't remember the last time I was able to experience that. To think I used to take it for granted, to not even notice it was there.
Veil regards me, unreadable besides the hunger burning there. "Would you like to sit for this?" he asks, voice strained.
I nod, mouth dry. "Yes. Probably for the best."
The Wraith lets go of the rock but makes no other move, watching me in the same unblinking, fixed manner an owl would track a mouse straying too close. In the enclosed, dim space his hunched shape seems monstrous. I force myself to go to him, keeping my eyes on my feet, counting the steps it took until there's no more to take, I'm there. I kneel on the hard dirt, a joint cracking. I can feel his body heat from here, smell the cobweb musk. When I finally look up, his hollowness stares back.
His pupil's swollen again, almost round as a human's. He reaches for me with a hiss that builds to a snarl, and when his hand contacts my chest, it's as if I've swallowed a sun, the explosion of fiery heat erasing everything else. I think it tries to dim, tries to lessen, but then it picks up pace and it's scalding, worse than fire, worse than any torment. I'm being consumed like never before, and nothing I can do can stop it. There's enough of me left to think it must end, but instead of finishing, the pain crescendos to greater agony. I think I scream but can't tell, can't see anymore, it's all going wrong, I'm lost—
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.s.
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I drift on waves of warmth. It's as if I'm back amongst the ponies, napping against my favorite mare as we both lie in the sun. Or maybe I'm back at the breeding colony, sunning myself on a heated rock by my river bend. Any moment now Isoka would be joining me. Didn't I tell her to meet me here? I sigh, trying to burrow deeper when there's a flash of cold against my cheek. It's soon gone, heat replacing it. I could die like this, warm and content.
I don't know how long I float. At some point hunger shoots an arrowhead into my stomach, making me shift to lessen the ache.
The world adjusts, tightening. Something tickles the side of my face.
It's the first tendril of unease. The second happens when I open an eye and find a curtain of hair. I'm trying to make sense of it, sluggish, when the arms around me adjust again. It's suddenly hard to breathe but I try to keep calm, can't show I'm awake, can't show, can't show—
"Forgive me," the voice says, rumbling right in my ear where I'm pressed to the chest. "Be calm."
I try to react—freeze maybe? maybe try to escape?—but every muscle in my body rebels. I couldn't move even if I tried. It's as if three Wraith fed on me at once. I've no choice but to stay against him, where it's warm, so warm. My blinking slows. A heartbeat not my own drums in my ear in a slow, solemn procession. It becomes easier to drift again, deeper and deeper, until nothing matters anymore.
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.s.
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The second time I resurface, my stomach's a tight, angry knot. It's dark, save for faint mushroom glow. The heartbeat's steady in my ear. Hair obscures my view. I don't know if I can move, but must. I dare to push away with what feeble strength I have left, unsure if he'd even let me go.
The arms retract as if burned. I nearly pitch forward face-first.
The cold slaps me as I wobble light's been shut off but there's enough mushrooms to guide me to the other end of the room. The feeding's wrung everything from me; I can barely walk in a line, legs soft as pond scum. I wipe my forehead and find I'm sweating from being too warm. No wonder Lohr was pressed against that drone. When I reach the opposite wall I collapse. Despite the short distance my heart races as if I'd run all the way to the Ring.
There's a quiet hiss-click from the other side of the room. "You were too cold."
I can't look at him, unsure what I'm feeling.
Leather creaks. "Remaining on the ground would have lowered your core temperature to dangerous levels. I know my touch brings you no comfort, but I could think of no other way."
"How long?" I ask. My voice's a croak.
"The passage of time is difficult. Many hours, at least." A hesitation. "Forgive me. I could not stop. My hunger went on for too long."
Hunger. I rub my clenching stomach. I feel like an old woman as I reach for one of the protein mashes near me, the act alone exhausting. I eat it all, unable to stop once I start. It's like chewing sandy fruit, and when I finish, my throat's parched. I lick dry lips, knowing the room with the water's far away. Even the thought of squeezing myself through all the nooks and fissures aches my bones.
"Where is the blanket you took?" he asks.
"I gave it to Solhom." I don't know where the laughter comes from. I clap my hand over my mouth to stop the giggles, but they spill over like bubbles. Every attempt to stop them brings more on, until I'm a wheezing, gasping mess. "Buh-but he was de-dead alrea-ready." I think of the frosted blood and burst into fresh peals.
It goes on for so long my sides cramp and it hurts to breathe. I thank all the gods when at last the insanity subsides. My face's wet and hot. I wish there's another cave-in just for me, so I too can fall into a hole and never return.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." I try to wipe myself clean on the cloth-metal sleeves, keeping turned towards the rock wall. "I don't know what that was."
"Much has happened in a short span of time."
"If only he'd—" I swallow around the stone there, "—if he waited for me. Or maybe I should've waited. I don't know."
"Patience was never one of Solhom's strengths." A shoe scratches the ground. "I grieve his passing. His and Lohr's both. I only can hope Rekko is alive. Or, at least, had a painless death."
It's hard imagining a Wraith feeling this way towards humans. My first instinct's to reject what I'm hearing, to fall back on what I've always thought to be true—a Wraith only want humans around to eat—but now I don't know. I'm not sure of anything anymore.
I gnaw my inner cheek. "You'll miss them?"
"Yes. I watched them grow from children into the adults they became. I was quite fond of Lohr." Veil's voice goes soft along the edges. "Quite fond."
I don't know what to say to that. By now pressure's mounting in my lower abdomen, and I refuse to relieve myself here. Regardless, I have to keep looking for more food and a way to the surface, if there even is one. Maybe I'll find Troku and the third worshipper, Rekko. Or what's left of them.
At last I turn to look at Veil. He's standing tall, arms at his sides, features green-blue against the mushrooms. The planes of his face are filled out again, healthy. As before, his dead eye stays dead. It's strange; I haven't noticed it in a long time.
"Your generosity saved my life, Eshae," the Wraith says. He inclines his head in a bow. "I am indebted to you."
Was it a generosity? I falter, unsure what to say. It's possible I've only extended his suffering, that my gesture only delays the inevitable. I also don't know if I could do it again, the memory of the pain curdling any desire to repeat the offer.
"Do you have my light?" I say instead. I try to keep the nervousness from my tone. Without it, it'd be impossible to navigate those tunnels. I'd be worse than blind.
Veil removes something from within the folds of his leather coat and holds it out. I'm less surprised than I thought I'd be. He keeps still, waiting, impassive. I cross the room slowly and take it. It's warm in my hands, a sharp contrast to the chill in the air.
"Thank you," I say. The words seem too small, but it's too much for me to say more. I need time alone to process what just happened. Already I'm standing on shaking legs.
It seems for a moment the Wraith wants to speak, an expression I've never seen before crossing the alien face, but then whatever it is is gone, as if never there in the first place. As he continues to say nothing, I gather the rest of the foodstuffs, push them through the gap, and is gone as well.
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.s.
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I find an empty chamber far enough away to relieve myself, then continue on until I reach the room with the dripping water. Same as before, I drink until I can't anymore. I soak the little strip of shirt for later and decide I need to find a better method of transporting water. I'm forced to take frequent breaks, resting a body recovering from the horrendous feeding. I take care not to sit or lean against the rocks for long, their coldness a shock. Without any additional blankets or clothing, there's no denying I would've succumbed by now.
Without Veil, I'd be dead, that much's clear. I chew on the thought. It tastes strange and not what I expected. If it wasn't for them, I wouldn't be in this situation to begin with. If it wasn't for them, I wouldn't have been Culled and sent to the breeding colony. But Veil wasn't any of the Wraith involved in that. If anything, he freed me from that terrible place. He alone spoke to me as if I were a person, let me choose to feed him rather than force it from me. Was it all an attempt to train me? Or was there something more to it? I don't know. I know so little.
I backtrack to where Veil's trapped, then keep moving along the right fork. The path curves and I travel its diminishing stature, squeezing and contorting to reach the next bit of tunnel. I don't come across the hive ship's hull again. The tunnels grow smaller and more chaotic. There's no signs of life. No sound. No motion. If I pause long enough the eerie quiet presses against me like a physical weight. I think of the other Wraith trapped deeper in the rock and shudder.
When the passage I'm following finally turns into a dead end, I'm almost too exhausted to care. I stare at the impassable rock wall, breathing hard. There's no way forward. Nothing to do but to turn back, maybe there's a passage I missed? I think about backtracking all the way to the first room with Lohr and Solhom, but shiver from something more than just the cold. No, that room's a dead end, in more ways than one. There's nothing left there.
I retrace my steps slowly, inspecting each off-shoot passage. None offer a path out of this underdark, each leading to their own dead end.
Cold sweat starts dampening my hair. The shivers start. Then the teeth clattering. Maybe it's finally the plague, I think, and the tunnels bounce with my laughter.
…
TBC