“So where is this race to be held?” Braxx demanded as the Elder led him and Drogor along a winding road that led through the dimly illuminated village.
“There is a path—we call it the lover’s way—which leads over the sacred Cha’llah and to the claiming house,” the Elder answered. “You will see—it is wide enough for two to run…if you are careful.” He shot a meaningful look at Drogor who was frowning.
The road was taking them along the bank of the Cha’llah flow which looked like a strange kind of river to Braxx. A river with streams of blue and turquoise and green and even some purple which coursed and throbbed along a channel of solid rock. Its glow illuminated the entire village, which was built on its banks, though not too close, Braxx saw.
“There!” They had walked a little way past the village and the Elder was pointing with one gnarled finger at something on the far banks of the Cha’llah river. “There is the Claiming Cottage, where new couples go to spend their first night together.”
Like all the other buildings in the village, it was a simple structure which consisted of four stone walls with no roof. Apparently none was necessary since no precipitation ever fell under the ground, Braxx thought. There were windows in the rough stone walls and he saw Molly standing at one, looking out at him. She waved tentatively and he waved back.
She looked so close, he thought—just across the river of Cha’llah which was perhaps as broad as an Earth soccer field was wide. It didn’t look that deep either, although he knew distances could be deceiving when looking through water. Still, the Cha’llah wasn’t really water. It was pure, undiluted energy. What would it do to him if he touched it?
From somewhere in his memory he seemed to hear someone—the Wise One—whispering a warning. Beware the Cha’llah, she had said. But why? For some reason, he couldn’t remember. He only knew that the blue and green glow of it was mesmerizing…enchanting…
Suddenly a hard hand was on his arm.
“Stop off-worlder! Or do you wish to forfeit The Race before we even begin it?”
It was Drogor, staring at him as though he had gone mad. Braxx realized he had veered off the road and begun walking down to the river’s edge.
“What are you talking about?” he asked, shaking off the other male’s hand. “I was simply looking at the Cha’llah.”
“You were doing more than looking, you were answering its call,” the Elder said gravely. “It is one we of the Depths learn early to ignore. But those from the Surface find it much harder to do so, especially because their eyes are much too sensitive and see too much.”
“And what if I did go into the Cha’llah?” Braxx demanded. “Does it burn like fire or drown like water?”
“It can do both…or neither,” the Elder said mysteriously. “The will of the Cha’llah is ever changing, ever flowing. It…changes things. Distorts them. We especially do not allow females heavy with young to go anywhere near it. The babes within them come out…changed in unknowable ways if they do.”
“Certain among us—myself included—are brave enough to go to the edge in order to recharge the crystals and Cha’llah stones.” Drogor puffed his chest up with pride. “But even we use special instruments. We do not touch the raw flow of the living Cha’llah. It is not safe.”
“I see.” Braxx nodded shortly. “Well, show me to the beginning of the path we must run during this race.”
“This way.” The Elder led them back to the road which curved away from the river of Cha’llah and towards a huge natural stalactite which poked up from the ground straight towards the unseen cavern ceiling many feet above. “This is the Finger of Stone,” he explained to Braxx. “And there is the path you must run.”
He pointed to a smooth, level road which led from the base of the stalactite and then climbed abruptly up and over a natural stone bridge which rose more than a hundred feet as it crossed over the luminescent flow of the Cha’llah and descended again to the other side until it led to the front door of the claiming house.
Braxx lifted his head, allowing his eyes to trace the graceful stone curve which passed over the Cha’llah. It must be what the Elder had called “the Bridge of Safe Distance.” But why did it need to be so high above the flow?
“Why so high?” he asked, pointing to the bridge.
“Do you fear heights, off-worlder?” Drogor sneered.
“No,” Braxx said mildly. “I simply wondered why the bridge is so far from the ground.”
“It has to do with the Cha’llah,” the Elder told him. “Remember I told you that we do not allow females heavy with young to approach it? And some who leave the claiming cottage are already quickening with their mate’s seed.”
Braxx thought of something else which put him on edge.
“So then, am I expected to, ahem, claim Molly at once, the minute I get to her?”
Claiming her would mean bonding her to him permanently and though he would have gladly tied his life to hers, he wasn’t sure the curvy anthropologist was ready for that, especially since they’d known each other such a short time.
“You wish you might get to her first,” Drogor snapped. “When it is I who will be walking in the door of the cottage a few moments from now.”
Braxx ignored him and simply looked at the Elder.
“In a case of The Race, the male who wins need not claim his female at once,” the old male replied. “But he must at least mark her with his scent so that other males know he intends to claim her at a later date.”
“Which is exactly what I did at the Feast of Pledging back on the Surface,” Braxx growled, feeling a surge of frustration. If only he had gone with Molly when she went to take her wash in the stream—all this could have been avoided!
“The Surface is another world—you are in the Depths now,” the Elder answered stonily. “Are the two of you ready to run The Race? You must start at the Stone Finger, follow the path up and over the Bridge of Safe Distance, and come at last to the door of the Claiming Cottage. The first male to get there is the winner and the owner of the contested female. Understood?”
“Understood,” Braxx said, nodding.
“Understood,” Drogor echoed.
The two of them went to stand at the base of the huge stalactite which was as big around as a good sized oak tree and as tall, Braxx thought. He sized up his opponent as they both tensed, waiting for the word from the Elder to begin. Drogor was muscular but heavy and Braxx knew himself to be fast. He should be able to win this easily, barring any unforeseen events.
He tensed, ready to spring into action the moment the Elder said “go.” He was still barefoot, as he had taken off his boots along with his other “off-worlder” clothes when he put on the negu at the Wise One’s hut. But the road seemed smooth and level and he didn’t anticipate any difficulty. On either side of it were loose pebbles and rocks, however, so he must be certain to keep on the path.
“Get ready,” the Elder said and Braxx felt the Deep Dweller tense beside him.
“Go! And may the male deemed worthy by the Cha’llah win!” the Elder shouted.
His thin, reedy voice echoed in the dim cavern but Braxx was off like a shot, before he even spoke the second word. Drogor was right beside him, to his left, keeping pace. Apparently the Deep Dweller was faster than he looked.
This might be a close race after all.
Braxx put on a burst of speed and began to pull ahead. Looming in the foreground was the steep rise of the Bridge of Safe Distance. Any moment he would be there, then up and over and to the Claiming Cottage with Molly in his arms…
Suddenly Drogor was beside him again. With a hard shove, shoulder to shoulder, the Deep Dweller knocked him off the smooth path and into the loose pebbles and scree on the side of the road.
Braxx felt his right ankle roll even as he tried to regain his balance. He swore as he jumped to his feet and felt it give way beneath his weight. Either it was broken or very badly sprained. There was no way he could run on such an injury—not fast enough to catch up to Drogor who was already mounting the steep bridge.
Braxx took a step and groaned. He saw the Deep Dweller throw a look of smug triumph over his shoulder as he raced up the bridge. Then his eyes were drawn across the river of Cha’llah to see Molly, still standing at the window with a look of horror on her face.
No, he thought, tightening his hands into fists. No, I can’t let him have her. I love her!
He didn’t know where the thought came from but he knew it was true. He wanted to claim Molly as his own for life, not just as a sham to keep her from being taken by Drogor. But how could he do that? How could he get to her first when the Deep Dweller was already a fourth of the way up the bridge and Braxx had a severely injured ankle? Even if he ran on it—which he was prepared to do—he wouldn’t be fast enough to catch up, let alone beat the other male to the finish line.
If only there was a short-cut he could take!
His eyes were drawn to the river of Cha’llah, roiling in its stone bed. A short-cut. It would be much faster to walk straight across, through the river, than to go around the long way by the Bridge of Safe Distance.
Wincing as he put weight on his wounded ankle, Braxx began making his way as quickly as he could down the bank to the river of blue and green.
“Beware the Cha’llah,” whispered the Wise One’s voice in his head. “If your inner healing is incomplete, it can freeze you, at least on the outside.”
Braxx knew his inner healing was nowhere near complete. He was a mass of turmoil inside because of what he’d felt compelled to do during the crash that had taken his brother and ruined his face. If he walked into the Cha’llah now, he would lose any chance he might have to one day look normal again.
Once more he heard the Wise One’s words. “In order to take back Molly, you will have to let go of your last hope.”
My last hope, he thought. I’m losing my last hope of ever being healed.
He kept going, making his way quickly down the steep river bank towards the flow of Cha’llah. He would be scarred forever—so be it. Molly was worth more to him than any hope he had of regaining his old life. It was gone, anyway—burned away in fire and blood the moment the ship had crashed. For how could he ever be whole again on the inside after what he had done?
Broken inside and out, he thought and took his first step into the Cha’llah.
* * * * *
“Oh—oh, no! Oh my God—what is he doing?” Molly stared in horror as the big Kindred started wading into the swirling river of greenish-blue light. It was like watching him walk into a pool of blue lava.
Does it burn? she wondered wildly.
If it did, Braxx didn’t show it. He simply kept moving forward, sinking deeper and deeper into the Cha’llah flow until first his hips, then his broad chest, and finally his head disappeared into the roiling bluish-green depths and he was gone from her sight.
Beside her, the healer Llewith drew in a long, shuddering breath.
“Oh, Molly from the Stars,” she whispered in a trembling voice. “Truly, he must love you.”
“Is…is it that dangerous?” Molly asked timidly.
“It can be. The Cha’llah can heal or harden, transform or transfix,” the healer said softly. “I have never known anyone to go into it willingly.”
“But will he come out again? Will he be all right?” Molly demanded. “Please, Llewith—tell me he’ll be okay!”
“You love him too, don’t you?” the healer said, looking at her. “You do—I can tell it.”
“Yes,” Molly whispered and knew it was true. Despite the short time they had known each other, she had fallen hard and fast for the big Kindred. The thought that he had sacrificed himself for her by going into the Cha’llah put a lump in her throat.
What if he doesn’t come out? What if I never see him again?
The thought made her eyes sting and her heart feel like someone had dipped it in lead.
Please, she prayed, although she wasn’t sure who she was praying to—maybe the Kindred Goddess her new friends aboard the Mothership had talked about? Please bring him back to me! Please don’t let him be gone forever—please!
It seems she watched the rippling waves of the Cha’llah flow forever, waiting, hoping to see Braxx’s head emerge. The minutes ticked past and still he didn’t show. How long could he hold his breath? Or was it even necessary to hold your breath in the Cha’llah? Was it more like water…or fire…or electricity? Or maybe some kind of radiation?
Maybe it was all of them mixed together somehow into a deadly amalgamation of power.
Molly bit her lip, watching anxiously. Was Braxx dead at the bottom of the river? Had his body dissolved or distorted or mutated past recognition? She couldn’t help remembering what Llewith had told her about the reason the Bridge of Safe Distance was so high above the flow.
It causes birth defects if a pregnant woman touches it directly, she thought. So what might it do to someone who had completely immersed themselves in its raw power?
She was dimly aware of Drogor arriving and claiming that he had won The Race, shouting triumphantly that she was his. Thankfully, Llewith put him off and told him to leave her be for a moment. Then the Elder arrived, his face very grave. Together, the four of them watched the banks of the river, waiting to see if Braxx would reappear.
At last, after what felt like hours had passed, Molly thought she saw something.
“Look—look there!” she exclaimed, pointing. It was just a faint golden spot in the turbulent bluish-green flow at first but then it grew larger and larger. Finally it broke the surface and she saw that it was, indeed, Braxx.
He walked slowly out of the Cha’llah, like a man in a dream. She could have sworn that his ankle was injured before—a result of the fall he’d taken when Drogor pushed him at the beginning of the race. But now he walked steadily and solidly, saying nothing, a far-away look on his face. The golden light around him blazed so brilliantly he was difficult to look at and yet she couldn’t bear to drag her eyes away.
The one difference she could see, other than the fact that his ankle appeared to be healed, was his left cheek. Before it had glowed a cool blue, like his hair or anything else that didn’t put out much heat. Now it was entirely black against the brilliance of his golden aura.
Molly wondered what it might mean but she was too glad to see him again to care—as long as he was alive and all right she didn’t care what he looked like—only that she could feel his arms wrapped around her again and know he was really and truly all right.
“Braxx!” she cried, running up to throw her arms around him. “Oh my God, you made it! You’re alive! I was so worried.”
“I am…all right.” The words seemed to be dragged out of him, as though he was learning how to speak all over again. “I had…had to go through the Cha’llah. It was the only way to reach you first.”
“You failed!” Drogor came swaggering over, hands on his hips. “You still came in last, off-worlder. You lose The Race—your female is mine.”
He started to grab Molly but to her surprise, it was the Elder who came between them.
“No,” he said sternly. “Leave off, Drogor. Braxx the off-worlder has won the right to Molly from the Stars. Beyond question he has won it.”
“What? But he lost The Race!” Drogor protested.
“He may have lost The Race but this off-worlder has preformed the greatest Act of Daring that I have ever witnessed. He walked into the raw power of the Cha’llah and came out again, all for the love of his female,” the Elder said quietly. “His courage is beyond praise. He and no other shall claim Molly from the Stars.”
“But—” Drogor began.
“Leave be, Drogor,” the Elder said sharply, turning to him. “The Race would have been even had you not shoved Braxx the off-worlder at the beginning. Do not think I didn’t see your actions—in the light of the Cha’llah, I see all.”
Molly thought the Deep Dweller’s face went pale—at least it turned from red back to gold which seemed to be a cooler color in her heat-vision—and he backed away from her.
“Very well,” he mumbled. “It shall be as you say, Elder.”
“Good.” The Elder nodded. He seemed about to say something else but Molly’s gasp of, “Oh!” cut him off.
Her outcry of surprise was because Braxx had swept her into his arms with no warning and was carrying her to the Claiming Cottage.
“Braxx,” she exclaimed. “What…what do you think you’re doing?”
“What I should have done in the first place.” His voice was a low, hungry growl as he took her inside the dim cottage and slammed the wooden door behind him. “Marking you as mine.”