Shades of Gray (92 page)

Kaid and Banner helped him to his feet and out of the circle. Jo handed him the khaki uniform trousers that the M’zullians wore and helped him into them as the two males returned to their places, reassured Rezac was fine.

He staggered slightly, holding onto his son for support, and drew in a shuddering breath. “I don’t want to do that again soon,” he croaked, his voice roughened by his new vocal chords. “Everything all right?”

“Yes,” said Kusac, getting to his feet. “You made the change safely.” He pulled Carrie into his arms, kissing her deeply before pushing her away and lying down where Rezac had been.

I love you, and I’m so sorry I have to do this to us,
he sent to her as he began to try to control his uneven breathing and draw energy from the stones beneath him. He was afraid of how she would react to living with him as a Valtegan.

Carefully, he formed the image of how he wanted to appear then triggered the change. It still hurt like hell, but the alterations flowed throughout his body like a wave, changing him swiftly. He lay there, letting the pain subside, getting used to his new form.

“Damn, but that was fast,” muttered Kaid. “I’d barely enough time to monitor you.”

“I’m fine,” he said, pushing himself into a sitting position and opening his eyes. The world looked subtly different, with colors a bit brighter.

“What’s with the tattoo?” asked Banner as Nishon let out a muffled hiss of surprise.

“What tattoo?” asked Kusac as Kaid helped him to his feet.

“On your chest,” said Carrie, looking not at him but at the wall behind.

Almost overbalancing, he swung around to look. In front of him was a painting of the Zsadhi, a glowing sword tattooed on his chest.

Kusac looked down as his own chest, relieved to see that his tattoo was small in comparison, only a few inches across. Then realization hit him. He pulled away from Kaid, reaching up to feel the top of his hairless head as he stared again at the painting. Under his fingers, he could feel the ridge of bone running down to the base of his neck. But it was more than just bone on top of his head: He could feel the skin there that he could raise to become a crest like Kezule’s—and that of the figure in the painting.

“This is not what I visualized,” he said, his hand going to the center of his chest, feeling the raised edges of the tattoo.

“Zsadhi,” said Nishon, drawing the word out as he backed away to the door.

“Don’t call me that,” hissed Kusac, turning to look at him as the pale-faced Ch’almuthian wrenched the door open and fled.

“Dammit, Ghyakulla! I never agreed to this!” he cried out angrily.

“Kusac!” said Carrie, running forward to hold him as he staggered again. “Kusac, don’t get angry over this. No one will see it under your clothes.”

“They had no right to do this to me! I never agreed to be their legend!”

Kaid grabbed him and swung him around to face him. “Kusac, it’s done now. Forget it. You never know, this may be to our advantage. Look how Nishon reacted.”

“They’ve marked me! I wanted anonymity, to be able to go anywhere. Instead I’m one of their elite throwbacks, like Kezule!”

“Leave it for now, Kusac,” said Kaid, taking hold of his head and forcing him to look him in the eyes. “It may work to our advantage. You could always try to alter it yourself later.”

He took a deep breath then rested his forehead on Kaid’s.

“You’re right,” he said. “Rezac and I both changed safely. This is not important right now.” He began to shiver, suddenly aware he was cold. “Where’re those clothes, Carrie?”

 

Silence fell as he entered the room where the evening meal was being served.

“So you are the Zsadhi,” said M’zaynal.

“No.”

“Nishon says you have the mark.”

He hesitated then began walking toward her table and the empty seats, the others behind him. “There is a tattoo,” he admitted.

“Show it to us,” demanded a male, standing up, one he recognized from his previous trip. Shaalgo, that was his name.

“No. It means nothing,” he said, sitting down as far from her as he could.

“We’ve waited a long time for the Zsadhi, Captain,” said M’zayash. “You have no idea how deeply it touches the psyche of all our people. He’s the end to repression, hope for the hopeless. Just the knowledge you are on M’zull will bring you aid—if you bear the tattoo.”

“Show it to them,” said Kaid. “We need to know if it’s the real thing.”

“Oh, it is,” he said grimly.

“Then show them.”

Angrily he stood up, pulling the front of his shirt open, revealing the small tattoo in the center of his chest.

“You want me to be your Zsadhi, but a tattoo doesn’t make me him! He’s a concept, not a reality. You want a deliverer, someone to do your fighting for you; well it isn’t going to be my people or me! We’ll help you, but you need to get off your butts and be counted, learn to defend yourselves, fight for what you believe in rather than letting anyone with a weapon walk all over you!” He glared around the room at the silent and shocked faces. “I’m not even one of your people,” he said, more quietly. “I’m no savior or deliverer, and I don’t even have a sword with me. I’m only a Sholan, with a wife and children like you, and all I want is this war to be averted so I can live in peace with them.”

A door opened, drawing all eyes toward it.

“He shall wear the form of one who was an enemy, then take yours as his own,” quoted the black-robed Sholan walking toward them. Held across his hands was a glowing sword. “Justice and retribution shall he bring to the unworthy and oppressors. Destroyer and deliverer you shall call him as he shakes the foundations of your worlds.”

“Vartra!” said Kaid, his voice so low only those beside him could hear.

The Sholan stopped in front of Kusac. “Your sword, Avatar,” he said, bowing and holding it out to him. “The Gods are with you, but remember well that a sword has two edges. Be not too quick to destroy.”

It was the sword from his vision. Double-edged, with a two-handed grip beyond the golden colored quillons, the pommel a glowing multicolored gem. He hesitated, watching as the glow began to fade and the sword became his own, the one Kaid had gifted him. A single-edged, slightly curved blade, quillons now a disc of metal, the grip straight and elegantly bound in colored leathers.

“I left that on K’oish’ik,” he said, instinctively reaching for it.

“And I was sent to bring it to you,” said Vartra, looking up at him.

His hand closed on the hilt, and as it did, Vartra faded from view.

“Zsadhi.” The name whispered around the room as, with an exclamation of anger and annoyance, Kusac pushed his chair back and left, still gripping his sword.

 

Kaid and Carrie found him in the sleeping room, lying stretched out on his cot, his sword beside him.

“We brought you some food,” said Carrie as they threaded their way between the cots and the backpacks to him. She sat down on her cot, the one beside his. “You need to eat. Changing shape has depleted your energy levels, even if you did draw from the earth.”

“He tricked me into taking my sword,” said Kusac, staring at the ceiling. “Isn’t it enough that we’re doing this? Why do I have to be seen as Their agent?”

“Because They’ve given you abilities beyond those of a normal Sholan telepath,” said Kaid, sitting on the foot of his cot. “Because being an Avatar of both the Sholans and the Valtegans tells our enemies you’re not one person waging a vendetta but a force to be reckoned with. One that will unnerve the enemy,” said Kaid. “Again, it may work to our advantage. Imagine the effect on K’hedduk and the Court if we broke into, say, the Royal Chapel, scrawled Zsadhi all over it, and drew swords like your tattoo one?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Kusac, closing his eyes.

“You said it yourself, we’re going to be doing this anyway, so why not use whatever extra we’ve been given?”

“Do you remember hauling down the banners in the Temple of Vartra at Stronghold and knocking over the braziers?” Kusac asked, putting his forearm across his eyes. “Well, I feel as betrayed right now as you did then.”

“You’re leading this mission,” said Kaid harshly. “You don’t have the leisure to cut yourself off from us! You’re needed to talk to the Elders and get the information we need on what happens once the tithe ship lands.”

“I’m delegating you to do it. Brief me in the morning.”

With a snarl, Kaid got up and left, slamming the door behind him.

“Kusac, sit up and eat something,” said Carrie. “The bowl of stew is going cold.”

“I’m not hungry,” he lied.

“You will sit up and eat now!” she said firmly. “Eighteen other people, me included, are depending on you to lead us! Be as angry at the Entities as you want, but stop endangering our lives because you’re sulking! Now I know who Kashini gets it from!”

“I am not sulking!” he said angrily, removing his arm and glaring up at her.

“You are, too! You have to see the positive side to this.”

He sat up. “Name one!”

She thrust the bowl into his unresisting hands. “Eat!” she ordered. “You want one positive thing? I’m sitting here beside you, despite you looking like a M’zullian, instead of either beating you to death or running screaming in the opposite direction.”

“I had noticed,” he said, crossing his legs and automatically lifting the spoon and beginning to eat.

“We all know you’re mad at the Entities, but you’re taking it out on us,” she said quietly. “What’s impressing most people is that despite how you look, you don’t want to be seen as the Zsadhi. Your speech about standing up and being counted affected the young Ch’almuthians, you know. Don’t undo that good by staying in here.”

He finished shoveling the cold stew into his mouth, then handed her the empty bowl. “I need foot coverings,” he said, inspecting the sole of one foot before uncrossing his legs and getting up. “These are far too soft to be walking on without them.”

She sighed. “We have some for you somewhere, I’m sure.”

He held his hand out to her, unsure if she’d take it. “Shall we go back to the others? As you said, I shouldn’t send Kaid to do my work.”

Slowly she reached out her hand and laid it in his, trying not to look away from him when he closed it around hers and helped her to her feet. “Let’s go,” she said, forcing a small smile onto her face.

Kaid glanced up as Kusac and Carrie entered, the frown on his face easing as he saw them. Without stopping what he was saying to the two senior Elders, he got up and moved along a couple of seats, making room for them.

“Double vision and headache better?” he asked Kusac as they took their seats.

“Just needed some quiet time,” Kusac said, mentally thanking him for the excuse.

“M’zaynal told me the Elders meet the soldiers from the tithe ship,” said Kaid. “Usually there are eight soldiers. They inspect the tithe, then take them on board.”

Szayakk nodded. “Then they order our people to load the produce that they take.”

“How many stay out to see the produce loaded?” asked Kusac.

“At first four, then the other four return once they’ve settled our people.”

“Likely they lock them in a cabin, or cells,” said Carrie, unconsciously pulling Kusac’s hand onto her lap.

“Any idea how many soldiers total?”

Szayakk spread his hands. “We know of eight, that’s all. There may be more that we never see.”

M’zayash nodded. “I have only ever sensed eight.”

“Let them load the prisoners, then take them down as they load the cargo,” said Kaid. “That’s assuming they are also the flight crew.”

“My thought too. We’d have to use real Ch’almuthians, though, to leave our people free to fight.”

“How will you get on the ship in armor?” asked Carrie.

“We won’t, but I’m hoping K’hedduk will send them in armor this time,” said Kusac. “We can take them one at a time if need be, if we males are the cargo handlers.”

“One at a time, if unarmored,” said Kaid. “We want those suits whole until we know if our armor is the same. We might just need them ourselves.”

“Agreed. Then we’ll need to have half our force armored, the others in stealth suits in case there’s a flight crew and we need to take them out first. We can get into those suits in under five minutes.”

“We need to rearrange the crates in the warehouse so we can conceal ourselves and our armor among them,” said Kusac

“For that, we now have the forklift trucks working,” said Szayakk.

“We’ll also need an excuse to get them into the warehouse, out of sight of the others,” said Kusac. From the corner of his eye, he saw Nishon cautiously approaching them.

“I’ve brought sandals, Elder,” he said, bowing nervously to M’zaynal and him.

“Good,” said Kusac, reaching out for a pair. “My feet are freezing on this floor!” He looked at them, turning them over in his hands then put them down on the floor. “Carrie?”

She knelt down and lifted up one sandal, then slipped the thong between his toes. “Like that,” she said, her hand shaking slightly as she did it.

“You know, only the outside has changed, child,” said M’zaynal softly. “If you’ve enough courage to fight by his side, surely you have enough to deal with this?”

She glanced at him briefly before whispering, “We’ll find our own way.”

“Don’t take too long. This hurts you all.”

“Enough,” said Kusac, shoving his foot into the other sandal. “You don’t know what she suffered at the hands of the M’zullians.”

“But I do,” said M’zaynal. “Her pain touches us all.”

“Let’s just continue with the planning,” interrupted Kaid.

“I think we’ve covered it,” said Kusac, sharply, getting up and walking to the door. “I need some fresh air.”

“It is getting late,” said Kaid.