.
"I?
I walk alone;
The midnight street
Spins itself from under my feet;
My eyes shut
These dreaming houses all snuff out;
Through a whim of mine
Over gables the moon's celestial onion
Hangs high."
"Soliloquy of the Solipsist", 1956
― Sylvia Plath, The Collected Poems
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I tumble through the gap, no strength left to cushion my fall. I lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling above me. The ground's like ice against my spine. Footsteps start towards me but pause. Veil's standing a little ways away but retreats a few paces when I turn my head at him. He hides the slit-hand behind his back.
"There's no way out," I say. I force myself to sit up, shivering. I keep the light pointed down. "All the tunnels are blocked."
Veil's impassive expression doesn't change, as if he expected this already. I touch the last packet and jerky at my side. They're not meals. The jerky alone's maybe three bites.
"I did not expect you to return," he says, sounding like a deer crossing an unfamiliar stream.
I don't look at him. Can't go forwards. Can't go backwards. Truth is there's nowhere else to go, not unless I wanted to die in the dark from exposure. I think of Breno's lonely death-taking and reject it. I'll reject that option for as long as I can.
"Do you know if the mushrooms are edible?" I ask, still staring at the meager foodstuffs.
"I believe not. However, I have not investigated this."
I nod, half-listening. I grew up on stories of people who ate the wrong plant in the wild, mistaking one for another. I know what could happen to me if the mushrooms were poisonous. I touch my stomach and wonder how hungry I'd have to get before it became an acceptable risk.
"We must wait for rescue."
It takes several heartbeats to make sense what I just heard. I look up. "Rescue?"
The Wraith bares his teeth in a strange smile. "The hive that crashed was an enemy. I heard them dying inside. It could mean ours was victorious."
"Could also mean yours was destroyed in space," my mouth says. I wince and glance elsewhere.
For a long moment there's nothing but pointed silence. Then there's a low grunt. "I am too far away to confirm, but yes. That is a possibility."
"Why wo-would they attack?" I ask. My teeth are starting to chatter again. I hug my knees to my chest and will my jaw to stop.
Veil watches me, the unspoken You're growing too cold hovering between us. To my relief, when he speaks again, it's to address my question.
"Many hives have chosen to enter a dream cycle to wait this famine out, but not all. Some poach what they can. Others take the opportunity to destroy what they perceive to be weakened rivals. This is not uncommon."
I dimly remember Lohr mentioning that, the first time we met. Hibernating—Wraith used to do that, before the retrovirus made it obsolete. Centuries before, someone could live twenty years without a single Wraith sighting. Now they're awake all the time, eating at their leisure, hand-rearing their choicest morsels on tended worlds.
Wait, no. Were awake. Were eating at their leisure. The plague changed all that.
"How luh-long do we wait? If there is a reh-rescue?" I ask.
"I do not know."
"But you think th-there will be one?"
"Yes, if my hive survived. Perhaps they need to time to repair their ship or rally allies, though many of them are deep in sleep. We can only hope, and wait."
Hope. What a strange thing to hear a Wraith say, or even consider experiencing. It's too easy to see them as monstrous, unfeeling leeches, creatures who herd humans around to suit their needs and little else. Or to think their worshippers nothing but hollow, human-shaped Wraith themselves.
The image of Lohr pushing me out of the way resurfaces. In my mind's eye he turns to me, face a swollen red mess. Am I free now, Eshae? he asks, and I shift, uncomfortable, and wrap arms tighter around myself. I blame the cold and how it's seeping into everything. Sweat drips down my neck, and it's not because I'm too warm. Too much moving, I think. All that effort to discover there's nowhere to go. Thoughts are getting harder to string together. My eyes keep wanting to stay shut.
"You appear unwell." Veil's looking at me again, but not in the fixed way from when he was starving. I don't know how to classify it. It doesn't help he's now on his haunches, no longer towering above me. "You must rest."
I know what that means. "Wait until I'm asleep," is all I can say. One day I want to die in a field somewhere, perhaps lost in some tall grass. Not here, not cold and miserable like this. It's painful to lie on the ground but I grit my teeth and ignore it. The room goes dark as I click my light off and I curl as tight as I can go, trying to find a comfortable position to stay warm, all while knowing this isn't how I'll get warm, not at all. The cold seeps into me. After awhile, it gets easier to ignore, the numbness almost a blessing.
I'm hovering on the edge of consciousness when clawed hands gently gather me. A part of me wants to struggle, wants to protest, but a great part lets it happen, and is grateful for it.
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Waking in the Wraith's arms is as unsettling as the first time, but the expansive warmth's becoming worth the price. Like last time, the barest push against his chest has the arms untangling from me. At least now I don't make a fool of myself by nearly falling over. I can't bring myself to say anything, and when he doesn't either, it becomes wrong to break the silence. I don't look at him when I leave through the gap. He doesn't stop me. Underdark below, I've had sex less awkward than this.
I repeat my ritual of relieving myself elsewhere and drinking enough water my stomach hurts. I even attempt the conceit of washing myself the best I can, wishing for soap. The water's like ice against my skin but I'm still warm enough that I'm not afraid for my safety. Most of my life I've bathed in cold water, in streams and ponds and whatever else the pony herds led my family to. When finished, I contort my way back through the tunnels. I squeeze myself through the gap and pretend not to notice the Wraith along the other wall. I close my light. Though he's never said anything, I know its brightness bothers him. After a period of complete darkness, my eyes adjust to the dim green-blue ambience.
I locate the foodstuffs and hunker down for two bites of jerky. I try to make it last as long as I can, chewing until it's nothing but paste. My body craves more but the sight of the dwindling supply's enough to force me to stop. I glance at the entrance to the lab. Maybe I missed another stash. What's the harm in looking? I start heading towards it, passing by several plump mushrooms.
"Wait."
I flinch before I can stop. Veil makes that soft hiss-click. "What is the state of my lab?"
I think for a moment. "Intact, mostly. Seems less damaged than the rest of the cave."
"Then I have a request to ask of you," Veil says. "Just before the attack, my research was nearly complete. The passage appears large enough; if you would pass me what you can, I believe I could finish the final calculations. Perhaps not all would be lost."
Madness grips me. I stand tall. "Remove these first—" I show him the bio-monitoring sleeves, "—and the tracker, and I will."
At first the Wraith says nothing, the good eye gleaming, the other dull and sunken in. I don't look away. He's quiet for so long I think he won't do it. Then he tips his head and says, as heavy as the ceiling above, "Very well."
My heart leaps. I struggle to mask my excitement as I shift in place. "Then I agree."
"I cannot remove the identification marker without my instruments. Once you have helped me move my equipment, I will fulfill your second request."
Some of my excitement wilts, but I nod. As much as I'd want the tracker out of my body, I know it makes no sense for him to give me everything at once. It seems only fair. "I accept."
The Wraith makes an odd sound I can't categorize. "Come here, then."
It's getting easier to approach him. I don't even turn on my little light when I do, walking to his dark form with a curious disregard for what he could do to me. When I'm close enough I give him my left arm. Long fingers press seemingly random spots and the first sleeve slips off with a whisper, as if it could the whole time. Same happens to the band. He repeats with the other arm. When he's done, I run my hand along the unadorned skin. It turns to birdflesh in the cold but it doesn't matter, not when it feels that much closer to freedom.
I begin helping Veil move his lab equipment to him. It's good to work. The exertion keeps me warm and my mind busy. It's hard to think of the future, the creeping hunger, and possible death when you're transplanting bits of a Wraith lab into another room. Some things prove too big or too heavy to maneuver, but the majority fits through the gap. The Wraith himself hovers by the lab's entrance, eager to help pull what he can through. I don't know how long we're at it, but by the time we're done, the artery-tube things are feeding power into several consoles on his side. What matters most to him were these strange gel-filled orbs and their bases; I have to hold them in both hands. They're smoother than any riverstone I've touched and heavier than they appear. He let out a strangled hiss when I nearly dropped one.
When I'm done, I scour the area around Lohr's nest top to bottom, but find no other food. I do manage to discover an empty cup. I try to stay positive—at least I'll be able to transport water better—without descending into nervousness. Some part of me wonders if this is how the Wraith feel as they count their dwindling human stock. It also makes me wonder if Veil only humored my requests because he knew the moment of rescue, they'd come right back on.
If there's even a rescue.
I've no concept of time, but I guess it's been at least two nights since the cave-in. If Veil's hive did survive, shouldn't they be here by now? The anxiety mounts behind my eyelids, making it hard to focus. Too many unknowns. Just focus on what you can control, I think. Some part of me wonders if Lohr and Solhom were the lucky ones to die quickly, compared to death by starvation. The anxiety starts crawling under my skin. No, no, don't think that. Think of anything else, the Isoka-voice says.
There's no more need for me to be in the lab. I avoid the artery-things as I push my way through the gap and find Veil already working at one of the consoles, fixated on whatever data's shown there. At least the consoles bring a yellow glow to the otherwise dim room. I find my little corner and squat down. Without all the moving around the cold's finding me again, seeping through my clothes. I tuck my hands under my arms and rest my head against my knees. It's hard not to think about food. I try to drift elsewhere.
"Eshae."
I look up. Veil's holding one of the strange instruments I'd handed him earlier, a tube-thing I've no words for. He nods to my left arm. "I will remove it now, if you are ready."
I bite back a yip of joy. "Yes. Yes, take it out."
He comes to me this time. I can't help but tense a little, prey instincts aware of what he is. He kneels by my side in a rustle of leather, so close I can feel the body heat. He takes my left arm and, holding my elbow steady, lines the open part of the tube over where the tracker is. He seals it against my skin, hard enough to be uncomfortable, then presses a button. There's a sting of pain before the whole area becomes numb. He withdraws the tube-thing. I lean in. There's nothing but a faint mark. I rub it. There's no sensation.
"That's it?" I ask.
"The area will be sore for some time once the topical anesthetic wears off, but yes. Open your hand."
I do as he says. He tips a little rod no bigger than grain of wheat into my palm. As I stare at the tiny, seemingly inconsequential thing, I can't stop the question. "Why me?"
Veil doesn't meet my eye as he carefully sets the tube-thing down. "You were different."
"Couldn't breed, you mean." It comes out sharper than I mean to. Rather than respond in kind, the Wraith seems to goes quieter.
"No. That is not why." He pauses, as if arranging his thoughts. "It had been centuries since I encountered a human neither hand-reared or tended. When you lifted your head at us, I admit, you intrigued me." He subsides. "Now I realize my folly. You should have remained free."
My hackles rise again, despite my best efforts. "That colony wasn't freedom." You Wraith, all you want is humans for food, you want nothing else—
"I meant, before that. You never should have been Culled."
My thoughts stutter to a halt. The Wraith's looking at me now, steady and deep, that inhuman slitted eye as emotive as my own. I read the regret there as clearly as I would see the laugher in Lohr's. I try to speak but can't, throat strangled shut. My cheeks grow hot.
"I—" but even that's too much, I can't say anymore. I turn my head at the wall and stay there. After awhile Veil leaves me alone, returning to tap and click at a console behind me. I continue staring at the rocks, then past them, to waking up alone after the Cull—the realization where am I, where's everyone, the growing horror—to the Cull itself, with all its panic Da! Da, where are you! and confusion the ponies were screaming, screaming like never before, then to the moment before the Cull, when the day had seemed like any other, where I'd planned to ask the boy I liked if he wanted to go swimming later.
At some point I think a leather coat's placed over my shoulders, but I'm too faraway to care.
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Time drifts. The coat's not as good at keeping me warm as the creature it belongs to, but it's better than nothing as I sit and wait for my food to run out. I keep drinking as much as I can to keep my belly full, but at some point there's only so much tricking one can do. The hunger pangs are constant. Veil works like one consumed, latched to his lab equipment. I don't want to bother him, but he seems to know whenever I'm falling asleep and peels away to keep me alive. I don't want to admit it, but it's getting easier to huddle against him and let the cold become a memory. When I wake, sometimes I don't immediately push to get free, but take a few breaths to listen to the unfamiliar heartbeat and bask. It's not for very for long—I know Veil's driven to return to his research—but all the same. It's strange to hate it less.
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I'm licking the last food packet's wrapping when the room lights up in a shimmer of gold. Three of the six orbs Veil's been laboring over now look like honeycomb lit up from the inside. I can't help but shuffle closer, drawn. He keeps focusing on them, pupil thinned to a needle. He picks one and cradles it in his slit-hand. The orb glows for a moment, pulsing, before dimming, light draining from the bottom until it's dark. Veil lets out a long, drawn out exhale, eye closing. He doesn't move for several heartbeats, the dark—dead?—orb clutched in his grip. Then with slow, careful movements, he places it back on its base. A little light flickers on the equipment. At first nothing else happens. Then that golden light, once so strong, begins rebuilding.
"It works." At first it seems like there's nothing to read from his hushed tone, but the way he stares at the orbs, transfixed, shows that's not true.
I approach until I'm besides him. He turns his head to me but I don't care. The orbs are too mesmerizing to admire from afar. "What are they?"
Veil strokes one of the lit ones, his long clawed fingers thrown in sharp contrast. The golden light turns his alien face into something else. "A possible future."
It takes me a moment to catch what he's saying, but even then I'm not sure I've the whole vision. I'm aware his intelligence far outstrips my own and I feel small when I ask, "I don't understand."
There's no dismissive sneer at my ignorance. "We cannot feed on animals, only sentient forms of life." He tips his head, eye hooding. "Until now."
I look back at the orbs, their beauty suddenly foreboding. Does he mean he reduced humans to this? Did I just watch him eat a person in front of me without knowing? I take a step back, trying to mask my fear.
He seems to know what I'm thinking and hiss-clicks. "No, Eshae. There is no human requirement. This functions separately."
I stop retreating. The glow becomes mesmerizing again. "Then, then how?"
The Wraith's quiet for a time. He's slow to withdraw his hand from the orb. "Life is just a series of energy transfers, broken in different levels. My research was to replicate this energy in a way we could consume. There are many tests left to run, but if we are rescued, and if there are no ill effects . . . these devices could uncouple our dependency on your kind."
The concept's too large, too incredible to process all at once. Could we finally be free of the Wraith's hunger? A life without Culls, or tending, or breeding colonies? The freedom to live as we see fit? To be left alone? As I admire this bright, delicious future, a different realization sneaks in. None of this matters if we keep dying. The plague's still out there, killing us two by two.
"But what about—a cure?" These orbs weren't all he was working on, right? Hadn't Lohr said as much?
The Wraith doesn't look at me. If anything, he seems to retreat a half-step towards one of the consoles. He begins to tap at it, as if reading its cascading data. The ruse would've worked if his pupil hadn't stayed fixed in place.
I chew my inner cheek and pull the heavy leather coat tighter around my shoulders. Parts of me want to leave him be and retreat, but a greater part can't let it go. "Please tell me."
The tapping stops. He's unmoving for a moment, expression unreadable. When he finally turns to me, it's like watching a mountain shift in place. His eye finds mine and holds it.
"We have endured famine before," he says with a strange lip-curl, "but never like this. If enough human populations disappear, genetic variability will be lost—and if your kind dies out, so do we."
We die, you die. There's no jolt of angry happiness at this, not even bitter satisfaction. I don't know why my heart clenches.
"At first, finding a cure consumed every hive. However, when we would synthesize a potential vaccine, the virus would mutate and spread further. It was not until later," Veil says with a long sigh, "and far too late, that we discovered we were asymptomatic carriers. That is how the disease traveled to nearly all worlds beyond the initial outbreak."
I can't move, pinned in place.
His head dips in a heavy nod. "By the time we found out, the damage had been done. Many hives chose to enter a dream cycle to wait it out, while others chose to consolidate their humans into reproductive colonies. As for my hive, a choice was made to keep our scientists awake and adjust our focus." Veil takes a moment to pause—no, to hesitate—then says slowly, "If there is a way to save your people, I am not the Wraith to turn to."
Is the sick churn in my guts betrayal? I was fooled—Lohr thought his precious masters were working on find a cure for us. But even as my fury rises, I understand the cold pragmatism. Why put effort in a dying thing when there's the living to care for? Why lash out when it mirrors my own thoughts? We were meant to die out.
Are dying out.
Will die out.
As quickly as it comes, the anger dulls to nothing. It's suddenly exhausting to stand. All I want is to curl up in a corner, fall asleep, and never wake.
It takes me a few heartbeats to realize he's speaking again. ". . . if this new technology can be shared among my people, then perhaps it could change everything."
"Do you carry it?" I ask, voice thick.
Veil studies me with an odd focus. I don't know what my face's doing, or what he reads there. At last he says, "Many hives, including my own, are now inoculated. We are less a threat to you than an encounter with your own species."
I nod, but keep quiet. I almost wish he'd say yes and understand that I'd caught the sickness, that it's finally over. I stand hollow, as if all my insides were gutted and only the skin's left. I'm so tired.
"What are you thinking?" he asks.
I shrug beneath the coat, but it's so heavy it flattens the gesture. I look elsewhere. "I just want to sleep."
At first he says nothing, as if waiting for a different conversation. I don't give it to him. What does he want from me? I agree with his choice. And if we're rescued, at least one of our peoples will live on.
Eventually the Wraith makes a growl-hiss I've never heard before and says, "Yes. Perhaps we both need it."
A flicker of curiosity stirs. Him, too? I didn't know Wraith could sleep like us. It comes to me that I've never seen him appear tired; true, there're ringlike bruises under his eyes, but it's hard to tell if that's normal. He moves to a corner and sits, long legs folding, then tips his head back until it rests against the rock wall. This is the part where I'd go to the opposite side of the room and try to fall asleep. Then, when I was gone enough, he'd fetch me.
The combined light from the consoles and golden orbs bath the room in soft washes. It shows my breath rise and dissipate.
I don't know what nudges me forward, but when I start, I can't stop. The Wraith seems to tense as I approach, watching me as if hungry, eye tracking my movements, except it's different, not like before; he goes unreadable, reserved as a distant mountain. I let myself fold into him and lay the side of my face against his chest. His shirt's made of material beyond my knowledge, smooth and dark beneath my cheek. There's a faint pattern there but it's hard to make it out, even as close as I am. He smells dry and cobwebby, like some dark stone place. Neither of us say anything. When his arms encircle me it's almost cautious, his slit-hand covering my shoulders.
The leather coat helps amplify the warmth and I sink into it. His heartbeat evens and slows. It's not long before I drift away.
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When I wake, it feels as if I've been been through another long, horrible feeding, body too drained to move. I let myself curl on the warm body instead. The heartbeat in my ear's slower than ever, one beat for every four of mine. The arms are dead weight around me, relaxed, the clawed hands loose. He's asleep. For the briefest of moments there's the thought of finding a tool and stabbing his throat with it, but even before the thought's fully formed I bury it. I'm long past that now. Not only that, the orbs and their implications were more important than a single Wraith's death. If they worked, they could change everything, could save so many lives.
If we're found.
I reposition for comfort. The hunger's stopped its pointed attacks and now just perches on my chest and guts like this heavy, nauseous thing. I know I'll need to leave for water, but thought of moving's exhausting. I try to float above the discomfort, focusing on Veil's heartbeat. It's picked up, now. The hands twitch. I don't move as he wakes around me. His head adjusts and white hair brushes across my face. At some point he must realize I'm also awake because his little movements stop. I keep still. When his arms shift, deliberate, I don't push off. The Wraith tenses. I wait for him to do it instead, disentangling from me so he can continue his work. The anticipation builds. Instead, the arms settle and don't move after, the quiet between us formless.
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At some point I do leave for water and to relieve myself. I make the journey slowly, taking many breaks when I become lightheaded. Normally I'd appreciate the exercise keeping my body temperature up, but now it's a mountain to climb. I huff and pant through the snaking passages until I reach the room with the trickle of water. I drink until bursting before washing myself. When I'm done I fill the cup of water to take back with me.
The return trip's slower than getting there, stomach sloshing with every step I take. By the time reach the gap there's a fine sheen of sweat on my skin. I find Veil working over the other three unlit orbs, inputting something into one of the consoles. His back's to me but I can imagine his concentrated expression.
I click my light off and curl in the leather coat I'd left in the farthest corner, not wanting to disturb him. Without food or energy all I want to do is rest. Drifting helps let me forget. My eyes slip close. I relax into it.
"Eshae."
I twitch and unfurl from the coat, groggy. My body's stiff and aching, as if it laid on the hard ground for hours. Maybe I had? Time's impossible to tell. True, I'm colder than before, my toes like ice. I also can't decide if I want to drink more water or vomit. That's when I become aware Veil's on a bended knee, near enough to touch. The gold from the orbs backlights him, softening the planes of his face.
"Did something happen?" I ask, tugging the coat tighter.
"You have no more food left," he says. "I wish to give."
"Give?"
Veil raises his right hand, the one with the dark gash. "The Gift of Life."
I stare at his slit-hand, the agony-hand. I shrink down.
"Please." The hand dips, his fingers curling around the palm as if to hide it. "This would help your hunger. There will be very little pain this time."
I can't tear my eyes from it. "Why?"
With the barest tilt, the Wraith leans forward. "I wish to help you as you helped me."
"But why?" He doesn't need to. If his research works—and it seems to—humans would be obsolete. I'd be obsolete.
The hand's now lowered completely. It rests by his side, not quite hidden. When he speaks, it's as if he's handling one of the orbs, slow and careful. "The retrovirus was a feat of ingenuity; not only did it restore the human populations after Queen Death's madness centuries ago, it allowed Wraith and human to coexist in a way never before possible."
Veil pauses, as if letting me have time to absorb what he's saying. It's strange to consider he was there, to hear him recall an event that happened long before I was born. I can't even begin to fathom such longevity.
"It is not so radical a belief anymore, among the hives, in certain circles," he says, eye steady on mine, "to recognize humans as more than animals."
I want to ask him what he means, what are you really telling me, except Veil's whole body stiffens, as if he's a deer sensing fire. He's frozen like that for several moments, pupil flaring wide, before he rushes to the gap leading to the main tunnel and crouches there. He lets out a strident chuff.
"They received my signal. They are coming," he says over his shoulder, then turns his attention back at the opening. I relax from a tension I didn't know I had, relieved both the conversation and myself are forgotten. A different relief fills me when the sounds of mechanical cutting and sawing floods the main tunnel. They must be forcing their way through the enemy hive's hull. We're found, we're found. Veil paces and growls, unable to sit still; not even the consoles' data can keep him busy for long. It'd be almost amusing if I didn't feel so tired. As I sit within coat and watch, I decide I'm happy for him. He'll be able to distribute his work among his kind, let them survive this plague. They won't need to devour themselves.
It's a good thing. It must be.
After awhile his people must make it through the hull because there's the scratch of approaching footsteps and Veil's crouching by the gap again. There's no spoken words, not this time. Aside from a few hisses and grunts, it's quiet for a stretch, the Wraith on the outside clustering around. Then there's a flurry of activity on their end, bodies moving.
Veil looks my way. "They will beam myself and the equipment to remateralize on the ship. Do you wish to go with them now, or leave with me by that method?"
I shiver, hating the memories the cull-beam would stir up, but Veil's the creature I know. I don't want strange, starving faces around me while walking an entire hive ship to the surface.
"I'll stay," I say, leaning against the rocks. "Easier for everyone."
"Very well," he says. There's a moment where he pauses, peering at my face, but soon returns to hovering at the gap.
I know I should be rejoicing, twirling and yipping like I'm joining one of my family's dances, but I can only watch everything unfold from a distance, apart from it all. Though we're both leaving the cave, only one of us is being rescued.
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I wake alone in a pillowed sleeping nook, buried under a mountain of blankets. They're softer than animal fur, luxurious. The pillow and sheets smell like they've been washed in a fresh spring. I don't crawl out for a long time, slowly taking stock of what's changed. The rock walls and mushrooms are gone. The new room doesn't feel like a cell; it's large enough to keep from feeling cramped, the floor patterned in splashes of faint light. It's a different kind of dimness here, purple-blue, the corners of the room almost too dark to see into. Beneath everything's the low humming of internal engines.
There's a bowl of fruits on a nearby table and a clear pitcher of what must be water, but first things first. I don't have to look long to find a small room-within-a-room to relieve myself. There's even a tub and soap there. After some exploration and button-pressing, I fill it with steaming water. I make it near-scalding and force myself in one patch of skin at a time, until I'm in up to my neck. I scrub myself all over to the point of rawness. After rinsing and drying, I put on a fresh set of clothes laid out on a bench. They're copies of my old bloodstained ones, the fabric soft and white. Worshipper clothes.
I return to the main room and head towards the table of food, clawed fist around my insides. Saliva pools in my mouth as I approach the glistening assortment. Then I falter. Despite the press of hunger I can't bring myself to go any closer.
It'll go faster if I stop drinking, I think. The enormity rests on my chest like a slow-crushing boulder. Do I want to do this? Here, now? For years I've avoided the lure of death-taking, even on days when I thought I couldn't. I survived almost a decade at the breeding colony, the underground cavern and its cave-in—then why does being in comfort, alone in this room, suddenly feel so much worse? I touch the hard bone of my chest, where Wraith go to feed.
I'm sorry, Lohr. I must be free, one way or another.
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I don't know how much time slips by. I sleep and relieve myself a few times. Mostly I try hover above the pain, distracting myself with memories of the grassy field and its sunshine, or further back to walking along the river with Isoka, or even earlier to galloping on a half-wild pony as I yipped and yowled like a half-wild thing myself.
I'm sitting upright in the bed when the door to the room opens with a dry slither. Veil walks in. There's another Wraith with him but that one stays behind, and when the door closes, it's just us. Veil's in a new leather coat, his lines slender and clean. He doesn't appear hungry, his features sharp but healthy, not gaunt at all. His hair shines like fresh salt, and when his eye finds mine, some part of me can't help but recognize he's beautiful.
I climb out of the bed. He comes to a stop some distance away, both hands in full view. "These were Lohr's quarters," he says after a moment, and yes, even his voice sounds like he's eaten recently. From another person? Or is his research holding true?
"He should be here, not me," I say, and when Veil makes a soft hiss, I force myself to say what must be made clear. "I'm not—him. I'm not—what he was."
Instead of replying, the Wraith walks to the table, taking in the bowl of untouched fruit. He picks up an apple. "You have not eaten," he says, back to me.
"I'm not hungry for that."
"What would you prefer instead?"
I take as deep breath as I can and release it slowly. "A sky and its sun."
A quiet stretch passes before Veil sets the apple down and turns to me. He says nothing, studying me with an expression that's hard to interpret. I dare to close the gap between us until I could touch him if I reached. He's no easier to read, as closed as the door behind him; though he's beautiful, he's monstrous too, in all ways larger, hungrier, more dangerous, more ancient, more consequential than I'll ever be. We couldn't be more different.
"I can't give you what you want," I say, desperate to make him understand. "You said—you said you know I'm more than an animal. You said I shouldn't've been Culled, you seh-said—" but then my throat's too small to fit the rest through. My face grows hot.
Veil's head inclines the barest amount. "Please eat."
My eyes begin to prickle and sting. I shake my head.
"We can make you," he says, but even as the words leave him the regret's easier to see, the hesitation.
And like that, calm descends. Something hot runs down my cheek. "Then make me," I say, and smile.
.
.s.
.
I sleep two more times before they come for me, and when they do, I don't attempt to run or fight. I keep my head high as three drones escort me from Lohr's quarters. I would've done it already, had my slow survey of the room showed anything sharp to use. It seems I'm fated to become a non-person in a feeding nook, neither dead nor alive. Maybe that's the kindest thing. At least I'll finally know peace, and when I'm fed on, I won't know the difference.
Except the drones don't take me to a feeding pen, but herd me along a spiderweb of passageways and corridors, until at last we're in a ship bay smelling of ozone and metal. For a moment I think I see Veil—it's so hard to see, they all look the same from that distance—then there's a white flash.
When I open my eyes again, I think I've died.
I feast on the blue sky above me. Fat clouds graze like sedate ponies, and somewhere flung to the side is a sun, beaming hot. Leaves rattle on a breeze. Grasses swish. The air smells of the nearby forest, of loam and pine resin. I force myself upright, head spinning. My guts clench and my mouth's parched but I ignore the discomforts, too full with wonder to care.
"Your planet of origin is not within my hive's territory, but this world is the closest that matches its description."
Veil's sitting on a nearby shaded rock. A cull-ship loiters beyond him in a small clearing, oddly collecting butterflies. There are crates next to it. I don't think there's anyone else with us. I go to stand but think better of it when a fresh wave of dizziness has me tilting. The Wraith's suddenly crouching by my side, the non-slit hand on my arm. His pupil's needle-thin. When he growls, it's so low I feel it in my chest.
"Will you eat, now?" he asks.
I hesitate for a moment—can't go back won't go back—then nod. He presents me some fruit and a cup of water. I sip and eat with slow bites, body rejoicing. Veil retreats to the rock, giving me space. I relish the sunlight, skin tingling, then pay attention when a flock of fat birds pass over, honking. I track where they go, the urge to hunt stirring. It all goes back to hunger, I can't help but think. Life needs life.
"The orbs, then?" I ask. "They work? Fully?"
"The data is exceedingly promising. Aside from requiring frequent feedings from them, there are no negative side-effects. But, yes. I dare to say so," he says. "And once we are satisfied they can sustain us, we will begin mass production. Afterwards, we will wake the rest of the hive and resume synthesizing a vaccine. There is still hope yet."
For all the deaths the cave-in caused, I'm glad this Wraith was spared. I look out to the forest and ask, "Were they able to rescue any of the others?"
"A few of my clevermen, the ones still alive." He makes a click sound with his tongue against his teeth. "They could find no one else."
Oh, Troku. Though there was never any fondness between us, I hope he didn't suffer in the end. I wish I could've buried all of them here, especially Lohr, to let their bones know this forest and nourish next season's growth. Wasn't that what Veil had said? We're just a series of energy transfers.
I put the empty cup down and try to ignore the mounting anxiety. As much as I appreciate being here, the longer I rest in the sun, the more I'm afraid to ask What happens next.
As if seeming to hear my thoughts, Veil says, "The habitation supplies by the dart are for you, as there are no other humans left here. You would be alone." The following pause goes on for so long I have to look at him. He's watching me, impassive but steady.
My breath catches. "You're letting me go?"
"If that is what you want."
It's hard to do much of anything when my heart's leaping and pounding against my ribs. I almost have to press a hand there to keep it from flying out of my body. "Yes. More than anything."
I stand and this time don't falter. "I don't—I can't—worship you. But I'm glad you're alive. I'm glad your research's promising. I'm grateful for everything you've done for me."
"I am also grateful." Veil stands as well, the skirts of his leather coat falling smooth. "I still with to offer you the Gift."
I can't help but glance at his slit-hand. It's there by his side, plain to see. "Why? There's no debt between us—I would've died without you in that place. I'm not even dying now."
"It does not matter; it can be shared regardless. Many times I did not think you would return, yet you did," he says, voice softening. "By saving my life and aiding me access the equipment, I was able to transmit a distress beacon and complete my work. Your actions may have saved my people from extinction. I will always be indebted to you, Eshae. I want to show that appreciation."
I chew my inner cheek, then take a deep breath. "Back in the cave-in, when I first found you. You were clearly starving. Why didn't you take from me? You could've whenever you wanted."
Veil hesitates, eye flicking elsewhere. "Many Wraith, myself included, had already taken from you, forced you to a life you did not choose. With everything that had happened, I could no longer treat you as kine, but as a person who made her own decisions." He hesitates again, then with a delicate tilt of his head says, "I had—hoped—you would want to stay aboard the hive, perhaps to function as Lohr had. I see now you were never meant for that."
Something within me uncoils. "No pain, you said?"
"Very little. It would restore you, give you strength for the days to come. But," the Wraith says, "only if you allow it."
I stare at the hand, then back up at him. He keeps still, patient as a mountain. I lick dry lips and despite how my heart stutters, I say, "Alright, then."
Veil nods with strange gravity, hair slithering down his shoulders, then gestures to the rock he was just on.
When I sit, he lowers to a bended knee. Now neither of us is taller than the other, and when he reaches for me, I can't help but remember his first sampling, of how different everything is. His hand's heavy on my chest, long fingers splayed out. The claws dig in a little and there's a hard pinch of pain. It's there for no more than a jolt before what rushes into me can only be described as honey dripped from a comb, every ache and discomfort soothed and filled until I'm fit to burst. I'm as full as if I'd eaten an entire feast, as quenched as if I'd drank from the clearest stream. When he detaches I slump forward with a gasp. I would've kept falling had his hand not stayed there, pressing me upright.
As I regain my balance I cover my hand over his, keeping it there.
The Wraith doesn't pull away. If anything, the palm relaxes against me. "I can visit, if you wish," he says, quiet.
"I'd like that, Veil," I say, surprised to find I mean every word. I'm also surprised to find I'd be willing to offer to feed him again, if it ever came up. I hesitate, then find my courage to ask, "Will you ever be able to heal your eye?"
Something of a smile crosses his features, gone before it can fully form. "That avenue is closed," he says. "But I do not regret its lesson, nor the ones it has led me to."
Peace falls between us. When I look at him, it's like peering into an unknown future, like the shape of yesterday I can't quite remember, when before it all stood so clear.
.
.
.
-fin-
