Page 25 of Rok's Captive
“Stop your advance. This territory is claimed.” I try again with my mindspeak, pushing harder this time, but the void remains. Either he is deliberately blocking me, or—more disturbing—he is incapable of receiving mindspeak at all.
A being without the most basic form of communication? Impossible.
By the middle of the day, Ain blazes directly overhead, turning the dust into a pleasant warmth. Some creatures hide when Ain is at her highest point, but her rage does not affect me. The male, however, is clearly suffering. His movements have become erratic, his vocalizations more frequent and strained.
He finally collapses into the meager shadow of a small rock, consuming more of his precious water. That is twice now. Drinking so much in such a short time. It is wasteful. Unheard of.
Hemustcarry some illness.
The next few solmarks pass with the male huddled in the diminishing shade while I maintain my vigil. When he finally rises to continue his journey, I notice his skin has changed color again—parts of it now an angry red. I know no clans that change color like this. All the Drakav I know are similar shades to me: amber-gold. Some lighter. Some darker. But never red.
It is a strange camouflage that appears to serve no purpose.
I am right about this male harboring some illness. It is even more important that I stop his trek through the dust. I watch as he winces before moving forward, still toward the rival clan’s marker.
What a void-minded ka’vrakt.
His determination is both impressive and troubling. What could drive an ill runt of a male to push himself this way? What goal could be worth such suffering?
I can think of nothing good.
As Ain begins her descent, the light grows softer and the male’s pace quickens slightly, as if renewed by the promise of coming darkness. The rival clan’s marker is now clearly visible on the horizon, perhaps another solmark’s journey at his current speed.
I cannot allow him to reach it. The truce between our clans is fragile at best. The tension between Kol (our leader) and Lucek (theirs) has been rising high since the water scarcity sols ago. A strange male crossing from our lands into theirs will be seen as either an attack or collusion—neither scenario ends well for my clan.
Each step brings him closer to the boundary, and my skin prickles.
I cannot let this happen.
I won’t.
Surging forward, my body is a blur of motion against the darkening landscape. The male doesn’t hear me approach—how could he when I move with the silence of wind over dust? At the last possible moment, he begins to turn, some instinct perhaps warning him of danger.
Too late.
I tackle him, angling my body sideways to take him off course, even as I’m careful to control my strength against his smaller frame. I expect an immediate onslaught against my mindspace, but there is nothing. What occurs is a shrill screech that comes from the male’s throat. I’d cover my ear holes if I didn’t have to grab his limbs as they suddenly kick out in every direction, trying but failing to land a blow on me.
We tumble across the dust, my momentum carrying us several lengths before coming to rest with the male pinned firmly beneath me, my hand covering his mouth to prevent more of that Ain-awful noise coming from his lips.
His eyes—the sight of them makes me freeze. They are a strange, single-colored blue without proper vertical pupils. Now they widen at me in shock and possibly fear. I can feel his dra-kir racing against my chest, his body radiating heat that speaks of exertion and stress.
His strange eyes dart wildly, searching for escape. Up close, I can see other disturbing details. His skin is even paler than I first realized, showing every pulse of his dra’kir beneath. Then there’s the rounded flatness of his teeth visible through parted lips, the small pertness of his nose. Not to mention the complete absence of status markings on any visible skin.
He is the most beautiful male I have ever seen in all my existence…and yet, everything about this male is wrong.
The struggle intensifies as he thrashes beneath me, making those horrible sounds despite my attempt to muffle them. My concentration slips for a moment, thrown by his strange features and the complete absence of mindspeak. Clawless digits connect with my jaw. The impact is weak, but that single touch is enough. It sends a burst of information through my nervous system—temperature, texture, scent—all foreign, all wrong.
His screeching grows louder, and my blood runs cold. Those sounds will carry across the dust. Every dust stalker within range will hear it, and the thought of those massive predators with their crystal-tipped claws makes my skin ripple with unease. Even a full hunting party approaches those beasts with caution. Alone, with this thrashing male drawing attention…
I must stop his racket.
I do not know how.
I release him and spring back, dropping into a defensive crouch, my body coiled and ready. The male scrambles away, falling twice before gaining his feet. He backs away but doesn’t flee, watching me with those unnatural eyes. His chest heaves with exertion and my brow tightens. His chest is not flat like mine.
There are two rounded mounds. He must carry gourds strapped underneath the strange trophy hides he wears. What else does he hide? A blade? Some weapon I cannot see?
My gaze snaps up to his when more sounds suddenly spill from his mouth. This time in shorter bursts.
