Page 71 of Caged

“This one you will. I’m not risking the full return of your memory, given everything appears to have stalled,” he says with a sneer. “And given there’s credits to be made in the dome, I’m going to use you to my advantage.”

“I will not lose,” I respond.

“You will if you value the life of your mate,” he spits.

“Then I want to see her first. Show me proof she is unharmed, and I will fight for you.” I pull myself up to my full height and fold my wings back.

“No,” Medius says. “You’ll be fighting regardless, it’s just she won’t be dying on your behalf.”

Why won’t he show me Alex?

“What makes you think I’ll fight without incentive?”

“Same reason you always fight, Sylas. You can’t help yourself. And this time you’re going to be fighting the best Zavaro has to offer, our shadow soldiers.”

A memory pricks its way through the fog.Shadow soldiers.

I don’t feel rage, though, I feel like a weapon. One which has to destroy all sent by the enemies of the Gryn, even if I didn’t know I had any other than those…faceless creatures…who held me at the farm.

But the farm wasn’t real, none of what I thought was my past is my past.

“Shadow soldiers,” I snarl.

“You want to fight now, don’t you, Sylas?” Medius laughs. “Take him to the dome.”

And in that instant, I know I will never see Alex again.

ALEX

The ground transport is on the outskirts of Tatatunga as I drop out of the bottom and do a little roll. It’s swiftly past me, heading through one of the ancient gates to the city, and I’m left in its dusty wake.

I really had hoped never to see, or smell, this place again. I brush the dust from the remnants of my dress and look around for any sign of the so called “resistance.”

I’m curious about who they are and what they are resisting, but at the same time, Sylas needs me as much as I need him, and I’m not going stand out in the open like an idiot. I can find help for my gladiator without some mysterious organization I’ve only just heard about. As long as I can avoid Ixor.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot some movement, small creatures flitting in among broken buildings here near the gate. Jiaka.

The little three-eyed, four-armed thieves are, well, not to be trusted with anything shiny, but if you need help, they’ll always offer it.

I make my way over to the broken down buildings, red with the dust of the desert in which Tatatunga sits, to find they are notas broken as they first seemed. The Jiaka have made them their own.

“Hi,” I call out as a couple of heads, sex indeterminate, pop up. “I need a way into the city without being seen.”

More Jiaka appear, chattering among themselves about the tall stranger in their midst. One steps forward.

“Are you council?” she asks.

“Do I look like council?” I reply.

The Jiaka fear very little, simply living their lives as they have always done, but they are wary of authority, especially the Tatatunga council who have a habit of occasionally rounding the little creatures up and taking them off world.

“I am the escaped slave of a Habosu, and I need to avoid him.”

There is a selection of cries of outrage.

“Abhorrent, abhorrent,” the female Jiaka splutters. “No creature should be any other’s slave. You require the resistance.”

“You know about the resistance?” I query.

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