Quest For Earth (17 page)

Never again.

Her body stiff, face devoid of expression, she turned aside. Such a gift was not for one as unworthy as her. His touch slipped away and she heard him sigh. The sound, filled with regret, echoed the wistful daydreams in her lonely heart. But that was all they could ever be; daydreams.

The cart rocked again as he stepped to the ground.

Something landed in the bottom of the cart. Then another and another.

‘Ewww.' Sherise edged away from the tikka carcasses. One of the Lycanean warriors grinned at her, indicated the mounds of feathers and claws and shouted, ‘Good eating.' He rubbed his hand over his stomach and she shuddered.

Kondo bent down and whispered in her ear. ‘Best stay low, lady and keep your distance. I have heard whispers of some prophesy concerning a woman from the stars. I believe Maaka has a mind to make use of this myth to give courage to his people. He hopes to gain our support to aid his fight against his foes. I know I do not need to remind you of your brother's wishes to forge an alliance with Earth's rulers. Aiding a renegade can only cause problems for all of us.'

Cold, not wholly caused by the frigid wind, doused the glow in her heart. ‘And what of you, Kondo? You appear very friendly with these people.'

His face tightened. ‘You want us to gather intel? Then, that is what I'm doing. I am well aware the Corporation is the only chance we have of getting off this rock.'

She examined his cold expression. ‘Be careful, Kondo, that these people do not win you over to their cause. I know you; you have the fire of a crusader in your heart.'

‘Once, long ago. But now there is nothing left to fight for.' His mouth twisted into bitter lines. ‘Remember, Sherise, this war is not ours.'

She nodded and, seemingly satisfied, Kondo vaulted off the cart. Sherise glanced over at her friend, wondering if she had heard these rumours; but Bree sat huddled against the roughly hewn timber, shoulders hunched, red hair tangled by the wind into wild curls.

Another rumble of thunder. Gusting rain drenched the earth. Maaka bounded back to the cart and tossed a thickly woven cover towards her. She grabbed it and offered one side to her friend. Shivering and miserable, they squatted beneath the cloth while the rain pelted down and the wind roared. The were-dog whined and pressed against her leg. When she reached out to pull the animal closer, her fingers touched a bunch of metallic feathers that had fallen from one of the tikkas. She stuffed the feathers into her medie satchel to examine later.

A few sectons later, they were in motion once more, the weary warthogs struggling against the might of the storm, plodded over a ground quickly turning to boggy mud. The rain pounded onto the covering, the noise all but deafening. The warriors trudging beside the cart became mere shadows in the pounding rain. All Sherise could think about was the false warmth of Maaka's smile and the chilling implication in her bodyguard's words.

A prophesy concerning people from the stars.

Three races struggling to survive and another race, waiting to see which one remained standing.

She remembered Gazood and how she'd been imprisoned to be used as a bargaining tool against her own people.

It seemed that, once more, she was only wanted as a pawn in a man's lust for power.

Chapter 12

The deluge slowed to light rain as the warthogs slogged their way up an incline. Curious, Sherise shuffled to the side of the cart, gripped the timber to aid her balance and lifted the cover away from her face.

The cart lurched and swayed as the animals struggled over the edge and onto a wide plateau. Caves burrowed deep into the foothills of the mountain range. She'd expected to see the outline of a settlement of dwellings and cold sweat pricked along her spine as she stared at the dark, yawning mouths.

Her blood rushed noisily in her ears and for an instant, she was back, crouched in the entrance of another cave, looking out over a hostile planet, checking for danger.
Splinters from the roughly hewn spear sliced into the flesh of her palm, so tight was her grip. But the orange-hued landscape washed by the huge ringed moon clearing the horizon revealed no sign of the draptiles that hunted at night. From the cold depths behind her, she heard a child's pitiful cry. The sound stiffened her resolve. She scrambled forward and climbed down the tortuous path that clung to the side of the mountain
.

The cart lurched again, throwing her against the timber seat, returning her to the present. She rubbed her arm, aware her entire body was shaking as if in the grip of a fever. With effort she choked down the bile clogging her throat. Someone touched her hand and the sickness receded.

She glanced over and met Bree's anxious eyes.

Sherise managed a jerky nod and patted the clammy sweat from her face with a corner of the blanket. She dredged up a smile, knowing the other woman would also be battling memories she would much prefer to forget.

It seemed the goddess Cercis had a cruel sense of humour. Or at least, a fine sense of irony.

Spirits low, she turned to look out over the shallow valley behind them. The rain had left the earth drenched. Rivulets of muddy water ran over the ground like coda worms. She dried her wet face again, sheltering her eyes as she squinted, blinking rapidly to wade off the droplets. Here, at least, vegetation grew and at the sight the knot in her chest eased. There were sloping fields of low-lying cultivated crops, large, round metal containers to capture and store water and several windmills with their arms spinning out of control. There were even gardens of flowers stripped bare by the storm, the colourful petals blowing along a carpet of dusty-green grass. Small trees, heavy with sodden leaves, bowed their smooth trunks against the wind. The rustling made a kind of music and amidst the heaving mass of leaves, she saw the gleam of orange balls.

Then the warthogs, grunting with exertion, hauled the carts through the entrance of the largest cave and into the gloom. Sherise hauled off the cover, heavy with water, and shivered. They had arrived in the Freebers' camp.

Braces with flickering torches inset into the far walls and atop tall poles staked in the rocky ground illuminated the cavern to reveal an area of surprising cleanliness and order. There were several pens, where two different species of four-legged woolly animals gazed at them with curiosity over rails made from tree branches. Another species of smooth-skinned animal with gentle eyes and a single horn protruding from their foreheads nosed through the thick layer of straw at their feet. Some of the creatures chewed bunches of yellow grass and flicked long thin tails. Sherise eyed with horror, the ones with the horns.

‘Do you think those creatures are related to draptiles? What if they also drool acid capable of stripping flesh from bone?' she said in a quiet undertone.

Bree snorted. ‘They look like futuristic cows mixed with a kind of goat, maybe blended with sheep.' She grinned when Sherise gaped at her. ‘Relax, they're domesticated animals.' Bree jerked her pointed chin in the direction of a group of people hastening towards Maaka and his men. ‘At least they look civilised.'

Sherise dragged her gaze away from the pens. One of the men shouted a greeting and embraced the Lycanean leader, thumping his back and smiling.

Her friend was right. Mud coloured tunics covered the men's torsos and beneath, baggy pants were tucked into knee-high boots made from animal skin. By comparison, they made the Lycaneans appear thoroughly primitive.

‘I see no weapons hanging from their belts,' murmured Sherise. Her brows knitted together.

‘Maybe they keep a low profile,' said Bree. She expanded when she met Sherise's questioning glance. ‘You know, stay underground or something.'

‘Certainly, their stature is smaller than the Lycaneans. Perhaps you are right. They could be farmers rather than warriors.' Sherise tilted her head to the side and considered the newcomers. Even from this distance she sensed the tranquillity that governed their nature from the pale amber glow in the region of their hearts. Their features were more gently drawn, with round faces, button eyes and light brown hair reaching to their shoulders. Perhaps they were people of prayer?

Her bodyguard strode to the cart and offered his hand as assistance. Grateful, she clasped it and scrambled down, with more haste than grace. She staggered and winced, rubbing her lower back, her body stiff from cold and the uncomfortable journey.

‘Thank you, Kondo.' She smiled but the Relic warrior's face remained grim.

He stepped past to offer Bree help but she knocked his hand aside and jumped to the ground. He about-faced, his boots smacking together revealing his irritation. The Relic and Darkon warriors formed into regimented rows in front of the carts.

Sherise noted her people's wary glances at the newcomers, their hands hovering above their weapons.

Through the tunnel at the far end of the cave more people emerged. Some, with smiles wreathing their faces, darted forward to greet the arrivals. Lycaneans and Freebers, males and females. Here then, were their women and children, kept safe within the confines of honeycomb caves.

The air came alive with laughter and cries of happiness.

Sherise sucked in air. Held it. Would one of these women throw their arms about Maaka's neck? Smother his face with kisses? Did one of these happy, sturdy children come from his seed? Heart hammering, she waited.
I should not care so much. He is nothing to me.

Maaka turned and smiled. No tall, willowy Lycanean woman embraced him. No bronzed skinned child darted forward to cling to his legs.

She exhaled one long, shuddering breath and watched him stalk across the length of the cavern, his gaze fixed on her. She brushed past her bodyguard, her heart singing, urgent demand pulsing through her body. When he reached out his hand, she intertwined her fingers with his without hesitation. He tugged her closer. The heat from his body tingled warmth down the length of her spine.

He fingered her tunic where the neckline dipped above the curve of her breast. His touch seared into her skin like the brand of fire. Kondo hissed, but she waved her bodyguard back before he moved.

‘Your coverings are damp. You are cold and hungry.' A look of avid anticipation warred with the concern in his eyes and the flood of desire throbbed low in her belly. ‘Liu will look to your friend. I will look to you.'

‘The wounded … I … we need to see to their injuries,' she stuttered, her gaze fixed on his mouth. ‘That is what we are here for.' Lust filled fantasies and wistful hope bubbled in her mind. With a tremendous effort, she reined in her wayward thoughts.
With my people's lives at stake, they must remain my priority.

Maaka emitted a short, harsh laugh.

Startled, she raised her eyes. A fleeting expression of chagrin crossed his face. He frowned and stepped back. With a sweep of his hand, he ushered her forward.

‘Fool that I am, to forget so easily the fate of my men,' he muttered.

And for some reason, she remembered Kondo's warnings.
No, I am the one who is the fool, to forget even for a short amount of time the intent behind your smiles.

Sherise lifted her chin and walked past Maaka to greet the Freeber male walking towards her, his hands outstretched. The sooner they attended to the wounded, the sooner she could conclude her investigations and get on with her mission.

***

Sherise followed the Freeber chief, called Liu, through a winding tunnel. It was wide enough for five men to walk abreast, high enough to accommodate the tallest of warriors. Surprisingly, the air smelt fresh and clean. She sniffed. No dankness or mould or animal droppings. It was well lit by the strategic placing of burning torches and she had no difficulty in keeping pace. The floor of the tunnel was cushioned with a deep covering of soft sand. The walls, although cold, were smooth beneath her touch when she slid her fingers across the surface.

Too smooth.

Could these tunnels be man-made? And if so, how? From what she had observed so far, the little technology the Freebers appeared to possess would be unable to manufacture such well-engineered passages.

She frowned and allowed her hand to fall to her side. Perhaps, these tunnels were also remnants of a past civilisation. But, for a reason she could not decipher, she suspected they were of recent origin.

The bunching of her thigh muscles signalled the tunnel sloped downwards, ever deeper into the belly of the mountain. At times, the tunnel levelled out and the next level was reached by descending down flights of five or six wide stone steps. Occasionally, smaller tunnels branched out from both sides. Where did they go? What was their purpose? Her head buzzed with questions she longed to ask Maaka, but he had fallen back with his men and she was surrounded by her soldiers, a silent Kondo stalking one pace behind. Bree also had slipped away. Sherise had caught a quick glimpse of her friend's bright red hair amongst the crowd before her bodyguard's warriors had trooped forward.

She increased her pace. It had not escaped her notice that Kondo now took his duties seriously. The warlord bristled with outrage every time Maaka so much as glanced her way. She was uncertain whether he had reconsidered his decision to wed her or whether he believed she needed protecting from Maaka. Or perhaps he doubted her strength of will in resisting the attraction she felt for the Lycanean leader.

Sherise kicked a pebble from her path, aware that there was a big part of her that yearned for Maaka's touch. But a permanent union could never be. At best, their relationship would be little more than a brief dalliance. She had a duty to her people and the passengers. The guilt she still held over her actions on Gazood drove her onward even when the safety of a life spent in prayer beckoned.

She would see her responsibilities through to the end.

But Kondo's intentions were a blank canvas to her. Before they'd departed Darkos he had shrugged off her refusal and seemed eager enough to join the mission under the guise of her bodyguard. She had assumed he sought adventure, even freedom perhaps, after wearing the mantle of leader for many cycles. Now she was not certain.