Page 33 of Warrior
“I carried him back to the access panel and left him on the moon’s surface.” Daicon's lips twisted, then his expression changed to pleased expectancy. "With the acidic atmosphere, he is nothing but dust by now.”
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
Because of me.
The memories flooded back, as hard and hateful as Scarface's punch. Perhaps worse. How heavy the pickaxe felt in my hand. The feel of the spikes ripping through flesh and the crunch and jerk as the metal point hit bone. I remembered the guard’s expression changing from anger to shock, sliding into panic, fear, and finally, peaceful resignation. I remembered losing myself in a frenzy where the strokes of my weapon became hypnotic as I lost myself to violence.
I wanted to kill Scarface for what he did to Ewok and Akkatt. I wanted to keep him away from the children, so no one else would feel the slap of his hand or the kick of his foot.
I killed him.
Every emotion I’d ever felt roiled inside me, gushing forth in a wave of hot, bitter bile. I dove for the edge of the bed, but Daicon was there. A small bowl held in one hand to catch the sick while his other hand corralled my hair at the back of my neck.
My sickness lasted until I was simply too exhausted to vomit anymore.
Then came the tears.
Hot, silent wetness raged over cheeks as my body shook with guilt and regret.
Daicon held me through it all. He stroked my hair and whispered consoling words while I cried, turning to nursemaid when the sobs grew so heavy and choking that it morphed again to sickness.
“George told me how you fought for them,” Daicon said softly, his fingertips stroking against my scalp.
“I killed a man,” I hiccupped, voice horse and raw.
Daicon had climbed on the bed beside me at some point, back propped against the wall while his long legs lay horizontal across the mattress. My head lay on his chest, too exhausted to move from the comforting thud of his heart under my ear.
The hand in my hair stilled as his fingertips caught underneath my chin, lifting my face to meet his gaze. “You behaved like a warrior, protecting those you love. There is no shame in how you acted. You did no wrong in killing the guard. He would have killed Ewok and… you.”
"You don't understand." The words tumbled from my mouth as I jerked my gaze away. How could he understand? He was a war chief. His whole life was battle… and death. Not my life. Never my life… until now, and the reconciliation of those two things seemed impossible."On Earth, in my religion, murder is forbidden. Gavin…my husband, was a minister. He believed in peaceful resolution—not violence. He would be so ashamed of what I did.”
“Then your husband is a fool.”
The harsh statement smacked away the resurgence of tears.
When Daicon spoke again, his voice was soft, barely more than a whisper. His fingertips found my face gently wiping away the wetness that spotted my cheeks. “Does your god not allow for protecting the weak?”
Sunday School stories of larger-than-life biblical heroes flashed through my brain. David and Goliath. Sampson with long flowing hair, just like Daicon. Joshua and the battle of Jerico. Even less famous warriors like Gideon, Jephthah, and Hezekiah known to me from helping Gavin research hissermons. All warriors. Warriors who killed and maimed with God's favor.
"No. My God is vengeful too, sometimes.
Daicon cupped my chin in his hand, his gold eyes molten. "You should not feel bad about what happened. You protected the younglings from evil with the courage of a warrior. I am proud of you.”
For the breath of a second—a moment so brief I barely noticed it—pride tickled me. Along with it, a notion that at this moment, it was important what Daicon thought of me, maybe more than Gavin.
But guilt is an insidious cad who doesn’t release its victims easily. “I just kept hitting him. Even when he fell, I just kept hitting him until…”
Daicon leaned closer, warm breath fanning my cheeks and his pine and fresh snow scent seemed to encase me like an embrace. The fingers holding my face moved incrementally, stroking against my skin.
“The only way to stop males like that is to kill them. You were protecting the younglings just like a kida should.”
Kida.
“What does that mean?”
“What?” Daicon’s fingers stilled on my cheek.
He was so close. So large and strong and sweet. I felt so safe with him. I could trust him—even with my shame and grief. And my ignorance.
