Captive

Chapter 1

I blinked awake, my eyes fluttering as they adjusted to the light. I was someplace... foreign. The stone floor was not of redrock as I was used to, but a black stone that glittered with tiny chips of silvery white. There was a clunking sound as I shifted in place, something pulling at my neck. My fingers shook as I clumsily reached up, finding a band of cool metal wrapped around my throat. I was collared and shackled in place, a heavy chain pinning me to the floor with little slack. When I sat upright the metal pulled, chafing my aching flesh. I was tender everywhere, pain tugging my attention, directing me to the blue bruises blooming beneath my skin.

What had happened to me? And why couldn’t I remember?

I glanced around nervously, surveying the new surroundings. Everything was unusual, but I was fascinated despite my growing fear. The space was completely barren, each move on my part echoed up to the raised ceiling like a thunder clap. Floating far above my head were open gaps where the light trickled in. The room was dark as pitch and seemed to eat up the sun, except for the infinitesimal flecks that reflected it, shimmering in the stone like stars in an inky sky.

I hesitated and then called out, Hello?

The sound that ripped from my throat was a scratchy whisper, leaving a burn behind that stretched all the way down to my lungs. As if the pain had pulled it forth, the smell of smoke filled my nose, the lingering scent clinging to my clothes. There had been a fire? There had been a fire.

I was still in my uniform—boots, belt, tunic, trous and vest. I— I remembered winning the war games, my format and I. I’d been so happy until... until I wasn’t. Commander Clarke had given me bad news. I couldn’t recall exactly what, just that we’d met the next morning. Was I being punished for something?

I glanced around the chamber once more, wincing as the chain rattled. I’d been put in the hole at training camp, a glorified well that served as punishment. I was not in the hole now, of that I was sure. And I didn’t think Commander Clarke would chain me, no matter the circumstances. So where was I?

I should not have been in such a hurry to find out. From behind me came the sound of moving feet, and when I turned to look a figure was blotting the only way out. He growled something, a short guttural word that I didn’t immediately understand.

When he stalked forward I caught a glimpse of his face. His chin and cheeks were harsh and prominent, as was his scowl. More alarming was his size. He had the muscles of my mate Roth, but his height was incomparable, a head taller than any man from training camp. He didn’t wear a uniform either, no crisp colors and pressed cloth, but tanned hide, dull brown to match his dark hair and skin. He was as remarkable as the room, and as difficult to place, though I knew he was not a farmer or soldier, but something very different.

For a moment my mind went wild, thinking I’d found my way into one of the utopias, but then he started speaking, biting out hard words that worked my brain. Not my native language, but I understood him all the same.

Braacktdese.

I went cold all over. He was barking at me again, telling me to move. I was in too much shock, barely aware that he’d unfettered my chain from the floor and was pulling me along. I stumbled after him through corridors I didn’t really see, his growls as indistinct as the memory that followed.

I was brought to a room, my impression being that it was large and hollow. A group was already gathered. They stood together, cloaked in leather and furs with long hair tangling down their backs. I was dragged between them and jerked to the ground, the metal band biting as it pulled me down.

They dwarfed me in size, all of them towering over me as they talked. Their grating voices clashed against the cold stone and rang back again. I was too terrified to move, to even look, my mind frozen in a kind of wild panic.

...found amongst the wreckage... others perished... fire... sheltered in the hull... survived...

Then other phrases stood out, more frightening than I could have imagined. I began to shake, listening to these creatures and their harsh pronouncements.

...should not have let it live... why bring it here... kill it... pathetic... weak... must die...

Their voices overlapped, each laced with disgust and malice. There had been an accident. I could vaguely remember it now, being aboard a ship, the fear. Now I somehow found myself in grindt territory, and I was going to die for it.

There were stories about the grindts of Braacktda, so many stories. I’d heard they ate the skin off their victims. And that they liked to wear a string of dismembered fingers around their necks. I was too scared to see for myself. I kept my face turned down, eyes trained on the stones beneath me.

The fear remained, but I was no longer insensible from it, having quickly come to terms with my situation. For a moment I’d wondered if understanding their language could help me, even debated revealing my knowledge, but I didn’t think it’d make a difference in the end. I was going to die, it was inevitable really. No one survived the grindts. The only thing left for me was to hope that it would be quick.

The voices rose higher, more strident than before. The grindts shifted in place, murmuring darkly. Another joined their ranks, a new pair of boots sliding into sight. My fear had kept me captive, removing me from the situation as it held me in terror. But I fought to shrug it off, that paralyzing emotion, and pay close attention to what transpired around me.

You summoned me? It must have been the newcomer speaking. His words were deep and low. He was answered, but rapidly. I could barely catch a few phrases scattered in the string.

...down below... female in uniform... prove useful... get information...

There was a long pause, but finally the newcomer spoke up. It won’t last a day under my supervision.

It won’t last a day regardless, one grindt answered.

Another said, Learn what you can and kill it.

I held perfectly still, pretending their words meant nothing. The newcomer moved closer, his boots clipping a slow circle as he moved around me. I could almost feel his eyes roving over my every inch, as if their gaze had weight. There would be no sympathy in their depths. When the Council disperses tomorrow I will take it with me, the creature said.

There must have been some sign, some sort of signal to remove me because my chain was suddenly hauled upright. When the collar jerked against my windpipe, I gagged, gasping for air. I hurried to keep up as I was led back to the black room by the same grindt that had dragged me from it.

This trip was not the same though, no surreal wings to carry and keep me apart from a harsh reality. No, these walls were dark, pressing in and rough, the surface chalky and ready to scratch.

The corridor was not closed off, but interspersed with doorways. There were no doors, just tall portals that emptied into open chambers. I glimpsed a few through the curtain of my hair, seeing rich colors and an endless stretch of glassy stone. I found no comfort in the grandeur, as there was no comfort to be had. No comfort and no safety.

I was left tethered to the floor, the big black belly once again my prison. Water dripped in from above, trailing wet lines that glistened in the waning daylight. Time robbed me of my fear, and lesser worries crept in. My aches, the growing cold, and most especially, my growling stomach. Would I waste away? And would that be preferable to a violent death? Such cheerless thoughts were my only company and eventually I drifted off to a fitful slumber.

The first time it was the sun that woke me, the second it was grindts. They came, a pair. The female’s thick mane of black hair was wild, some of her braids thick as rope.

So small, the male said, a sneer in his growl.

Easy to break, the female agreed, her voice ending in a hiss.

I didn’t move, feigning sleep. But my muscles longed to tense, and I pressed back at the urge to curl into myself.

Why do they allow it to live? the man asked. I cannot abide such, this human offends me greatly. I heard the sound of slinking metal, a weapon being pulled.

I could bear it no longer. I reared away, scrambling back as far as the chain would allow. I stared at them straight on, no longer masking the glimpses I stole, but keeping a wary and unwavering eye. The male was holding a blade, thick and curving, its point gleamed from only a few paces away. He moved to strike, lifting his arm.

Drogrt, do not, the female said, her voice slicing through the near dark. The Council has given it to Greer. It is for him to kill when he wills it so, not you.

Does it not provoke you, Kretcha? he challenged, blade still poised. Does it not make your blood boil?

Aye, the female agreed. Her eyes were two black pits, like holes in the dark, and her hair swung as she stalked me. I hurried to shift in place, trying to keep track of her. The chain clicked and the band chafed. I could see that she enjoyed my discomfort, purposely trying to unnerve and frighten me. You may not dispatch it, but there is still sport to be had.

Kretcha, a voice called out from behind me. It was hard to read the inflection as Braacktdese was a throaty unfamiliar language, hoarse and hacking at times, but I thought her name had been called out in warning. She responded, her demeanor changing in an instant; so there must’ve been some truth to my conjecture. Where she’d been tense and coiled before her body went languid, a suggestive twist to her features.

Greer, she husked. It seemed I was altogether forgotten. She swept past me, the other male too, both intent on greeting this new grindt.

I turned carefully, still kneeling, hands splayed on the floor. It was the one from yesterday, the newcomer. I recognized his boots. They were strange, and long, hugging halfway up each thigh. The creature called Kretcha had a similar style, though hers had a thick heel, lifting her to tower as tall as the males.

We heard, the female said, pressing closer to the grindt called Greer, and came to see for ourselves. Ugly little thing.

I will kill it, said Drogrt, his short sword still hanging from one hand. I cannot permit it to exist.

Greer’s eyes flickered over me for the briefest of seconds. The light caught them, and they flashed an eerie orange. His face was formed much like the others’, the brow line prominent and pulled down into a perpetual scowl. You will permit it, he said. That is the wish of the Council.

It is not a natural thing to ask. No true Braacktde would stand for it. Drogrt punctuated this statement by slamming his sword into its sheath. The metal was still ringing as he left, and his footfalls thudded heavily in departure. I couldn’t be sure, as I was wading through a second language, but it seemed to me that Drogrt had subtly insulted Greer and then left in something of a temper.

They watched him go, Kretcha taking the opportunity to sidle closer to Greer. He lamed one of my dorns as a child, it is his way. He rages hot, not cold. I will tell you how I handled him, a good story for—

I am going, Kretcha, Greer cut in.

You will not linger?

He cut his head, a sharp twist for ‘no.’

Kretcha didn’t say anything else, not even goodbye, she simply left. They were a strange bunch.

A strange and frightening bunch, I corrected, having fallen back under the grindt’s attention. He stalked forward, sweeping down to collect my chain. He was by no means gentle, but I was able to keep up with his long strides, my head bobbing at a level somewhere midway up his back as I jogged along behind him.

He was taking me with him, this grindt called Greer. And I knew enough Braacktdese to have learned this: I would only live long enough to supply information. That prospect didn’t frighten me, but the hours remaining did. How would they be spent, with torture?

Fear filled my throat, and the taste of shame was sour. It was my deepest concern, my most outstanding worry—the possibility that I could be made to betray my kind.

Chapter 2

The sun slapped my face as we left the building. I hadn’t known we were going outside. There’d been no door to warn me, just an open entryway and the glaring bite of day. I turned my face to the side, shielding it with the back of my hand, giving my eyes time to adjust. Because I’d squeezed them shut, I didn’t see the grindt move. I did, however, feel the chain’s tension just before it yanked me down the stairs.

My knees crashed against the sun-baked stone, the steps’ sharp corners jabbing as I was dragged down to the last. The grindt was glowering down at me, his look filled with contempt, and he wasn’t alone. There were others. They were all wild looking, like untamed creatures with curling, tangled hair and fierce expressions. I averted my eyes, surprised at how their hate ate at me. In doing so I noticed other things, things I had never seen before.

A dozen or so grindts were scattered about, each of them harnessing their dorn. I knew from reading the Braacktdese lexicon that dorns were similar to horses, large animals bred for riding and hauling. But that description fell flat; it could never have prepared me for the real thing.

They were much larger than Huron, my family’s work horse, who’d been mighty in his own right. They weren’t sleek either, but layered over in wiry hair. Their bodies were hard to make out beneath such a thick covering, but their feet were cloven and sharp. One dorn tossed its head, stomping the ground in agitation. I saw some stone come loose, chipped away by the creature’s razor-sharp hooves. They didn’t have horns, but their wide foreheads were plated by the same fibrous substance, a hard flat patch that covered bone. Their ears were sharply pointed and often pinned back, a sign of their high spirits and temper. But mostly I just noticed the sharply pointed teeth, the dorns’ fleshy lips never quite covering them up.

Off in the distance were trees. Their leaves overlapped in a verdant splash of emerald that stretched across the horizon. The sky was blue too, a contrast to my desert planet’s redrock and minty green atmosphere.

Another grindt joined Greer, his frame blotting out the sun as he came to loom over me. I will kill it, he said, reaching over his shoulder for the spear-like weapon that was strapped across his back.

Nay, Thorm, Greer said, his eyes scanning the others. The Council desires it otherwise.

It is an insult, Thorm insisted, hand still on his spear. No Braacktde should suffer such. Please give me this honor, let me destroy it.

I tried not to cower, but the death threats had not lost their potency with number. Each time was worse than the last. I looked down, instinctively knowing that any challenge, even the minor act of meeting their eye, would provoke them to action.

When the time comes I will give you that honor, Greer said. But for now, it lives.

If you will it, Thorm said. The dorns are ready, as is the cart you requested.

It is for this one. Here, take and secure it.

Greer’s boots disappeared, and I was extremely wary that he had gone. I was left in the care of a grindt who’d just tried to kill me. What was to stop him from disobeying and doing as he desired? My fear kept me alert, so when the grindt Thorm strode across the cobblestones, I was able to keep up, never once allowing the band to strangle.

The cart was a rickety contraption, dried branches woven into a topless cage of sorts. He opened a latch on the back and gestured for me to enter. I was closed inside after the chain had been thrown in behind me. It was a poor prison, the gaps large, the sticks flimsy. I could break out easily, but to what purpose? Where could I possibly go?

I watched the dorn that was to pull my cart. It was already strapped in place, an old creature, more subdued than the rest, gray tingeing the fur around its face. It turned its head, one beady eye glaring back at me as it gnashed its teeth, chomping in displeasure.

Greer called out, saying something I didn’t understand. The grindts mounted up, their dorns shifting and snorting. The cart pulled forward and I swayed, finding my balance. Glancing back, I spared a lingering look at the stone structure behind us. It was solid stone all over with no doors and no windows, just gaps. They were spaced at intervals, varying in size. They made the building beautiful, adding a lovely pattern to something otherwise flat. One of those gaps was filled with Kretcha, the cruel female watching our departure, or more specifically, Greer. Her eyes were not filled with love, but something equally as passionate: desire.

I should have been comforted to know that grindts could feel anything at all, be it hate or desire. But I wasn’t. I preferred the frightening tales where they had black claws and dripping fangs. I didn’t like to see their familiar faces, shaped similar to my own with all the same features: eyes, ears mouth and nose.

I tried to turn my fear of the grindts to hate as we traveled. I focused on the Scarlets they’d ravaged, the people they’d brutally murdered. There had been many. It was for this reason that the military on Providence was made strong. But much to my dismay, the time I’d spent at training camp had not prepared me for this.

Each time a grindt so much as glanced at me, that look was followed by a growl. I had been ignored by the farmers and resented by the soldiers on Little Red, but I had never been so hated or despised. The confidence I’d gained among my format had deserted me, and I fervently wished for it back. I wanted hate to swallow up my fear and erase it from me, but it never did. I remained in a state of constant tension, just waiting, waiting for that dreaded moment of pain. For me there was only one distraction, and that was the planet itself.

Braacktda was smothered in forests, the trees thick and vast. Massive trunks soared to the sky, brown, red, and mossy, their roots a gnarly tangle across the forest floor. The undergrowth was teeming, leafy greens in every shape and size, some thick and waxy, others delicate and feather-soft. The earth was rich; the cart wheels cut a swath through the soft carpet of black soil and dried leaves. I’d never seen anything of the like, and my eyes ate it up, hungry for the sight.

After a few hours the cart gave one final bump and came to a halt. I scrambled to peer through the branches, fearful and curious as to why we had stopped.

The next ten minutes were, without a doubt, the most terrifying of my entire life. Thorm threw open the back hatch, scraped up the chain, and pulled me out. I had no choice but to follow him into the forest where I was sure he intended to kill me. The unfamiliar lush foliage came at me from all angles, fronds slapping my thighs as I brushed past. Things stirred around me, little creatures that flitted in my periphery. The chain pulled taut and my sore skin flamed to life, rubbed off and raw in parts. But beyond a fleeting awareness, my senses and surroundings were lost to fear. It was close, the end, my end, and I trembled, knees near buckling they shook so hard.

Imagine my surprise when Thorm looped my chain around a low hanging branch and left me, the flex of his massive back disappearing into a screen of green.

I fell back against the tree, surprised that the bark was so abrasive, the rough edges grabbing at my tunic and biting through the cloth. My mind wound itself in useless circles, mainly driven by panic. It wasn’t until I heard the grindt returning, thick steps rustling through the brush, that I knew why he’d granted me a moment’s privacy. I’d squandered my chance, but I didn’t have to go anyway. My stomach rumbled at the thought, hunger twisting my gut. I had nothing to rid myself of, having not eaten for quite some time.

I was returned to the cart and shortly thereafter given a waterskin and crust of hard bread. I fell on both, mindless in my consumption. I don’t think I even chewed the heel, only mourned its loss when I felt it settle in my stomach