Chapter Six
Sing, Lark. Mom’s words pour into my mind as I stare through my tears at the swelling sunrise. The sun is rising, hope gleams on the horizon. Sing, like the morning bird you are. I blink, releasing the river of tears down my cheeks. There’s no hope here, Mom.
Sweat leaks through my palms onto the cold metal of the hovercycle. This is nothing like riding a horse. The movement is too smooth, too fast, the scenery passing by in a dizzying blur that makes me want to puke.
Or maybe it’s the fact that my own people stabbed me in the back that makes me sick.
We break through the mouth of the forest to a wide clearing surrounded by a green-glowing wire fence. Rows upon rows of mud huts take up the clearing. There’s gotta be hundreds of them. I didn’t even know plantations were this big. Half-naked children streaked in dirt bolt across the dirt trail. A few women wearing threadbare clothes sit on the ground in front of one of the huts, shucking corn. Is this where the slaves live? I don’t know what I expected. Buildings that I’ve seen in textbooks, maybe. But nothing like this. Our dogs live in better conditions.
Someone shouts. I glance over to find a Tavdorian guard towering over an older man. The guard snaps his whip, and a humming sound reverberates through the air. The man struggles to his feet, but the guard sends the whip sailing onto his back, and he falls back to the ground, blood dripping down distended ribs. The tendons in my neck tighten, and I have to look away. This—this inhumanity is happening just a few miles from my home. I lived in perfect, peaceful seclusion all my life. I was happy and ignorant. And people here are getting whipped until they bleed.
The hovercycle glides through the small village of huts until we reach a gravel road that weaves through a massive cornfield. I can’t begin to fathom how large the field is. From my place on the hill, I can’t see a forest line on the other side. It goes as far as the horizon, a sea of green. Huge machines hover just above the fields, operated by slaves, and guard towers spot the fields. The hovercycle takes a dip down the hill, and we glide on a path through the cornstalks.
It’s another good while before we reach the end of the road. My stomach threatens to heave what little I ate this morning. But when I look up, all thoughts of motion sickness vanish. Ahead stands an off-white mansion probably five times the size of our farmhouse.
But that’s not what catches my eye. What immediately gets my attention is the large airship parked in a clearing behind the mansion. I’ve never seen an aircraft this close before, and seeing the silver ship now makes my jaw drop. The only airships I’ve seen were tiny specks flashing in the night sky, nothing in comparison to the massive craft before me. From the lessons Johnson taught, I know the letters on the side of the ship read Rydell Trading Port, and there’s a cluster of five diamond-shaped stars painted on the side.
The same ship that flew over our farm.
My captor parks in front of the mansion. He grabs my arm and drags me off the hovercycle, hardly giving me time to regain my footing before he leads me through the arched doorway. The tile floor of the mansion is smooth and cool beneath my bare feet. We walk through a hall, then enter a courtyard overflowing with peach and plum flowers. Two men sit at a table in the center of the courtyard, a feast set before them and four Human slaves fanning them.
One of the Tavdorians is older and robust, his belly big and round. The other is probably a few years older than me, and looks more like a post. The younger one’s eyes meet mine, and his smile vanishes. He stares at me like he’s looking at a ghost, but then he blinks, and the hatred I find in his gaze makes my throat tighten. He’s not indifferent like the guards, but looks cruel and bitter, as though I’ve done something terribly wrong.
The guard leading me says something to the robust Tavdorian. He must be the leader. And I realize this is my chance. Because he’s clearly unapproachable, hidden behind these walls and guarded by his men, and I might never have a chance to speak to him again.
“I belong to Kalen.” The words tumble out of my mouth before I have a chance to stop them, and I’m surprised I even remember how to speak this language with fear gripping my tongue. But Kalen—I know I can trust him.
The robust Tavdorian looks at the thin one. “Is that true?”
The thin Tavdorian laughs out loud, his eyes glittering with resentment. “Kalen didn’t bring any special pets on this trip.”
I bite my tongue to keep from cursing out loud. “Fine,” I say. “I’m from the farm, the one you have a deal with. This is all a mistake. Please—let me go back.” Alno looks at me with obvious shock, then glares at the guard.
“She’s from the tribe?”
The guard offers a stiff nod.
Alno’s eyes roll back into his head. “We have a pact with them, Jeckel. And though I don’t value the Humans, I do value my word.”
“My lord,” Jeckel says. “The two runaways took refuge with the tribe. Those Humans already broke our pact. But to keep themselves safe, they offered this girl.”
“A scrawny little post?”
“The other girl is lazy and the mother is injured.”
“They’d turn in one of their own so quickly?”
“They’re savages,” the younger, slender man says. His eyes are cold purple beads, looking me up and down the way one might study a cow they’re about to buy. “They don’t think like us, Alno. They think in terms of numbers. Two runaways in return for one girl to help grow their tribe is perfectly acceptable to them. It really is a good trade. As a native, she’s worth more than two overworked slaves.”
Alno shrugs. “Do you want to purchase her, Zimri?”
The slender man, Zimri, stands and walks toward me. He must be the slaver. He has high cheekbones and his eyes are set too deep in his Tavdorian skull. But he has a strong jaw and elegant features. I might think he was attractive if he wasn’t so cruel.
I feel like a small child, a small, culpable child, being only two-thirds his height while he circles around me. He stops in front of me, and my stomach tightens to a hard muscle as his gaze travels down my body. He grabs the base of my shirt and yanks it up so roughly I almost fall backward. Then he lifts my chin with jeweled fingers and studies my eyes. Without warning, he juts his thumb into my mouth and rubs it along my clenched teeth, all the way to the back on both sides. He releases my chin, and I spit on the ground, gagged by the salty taste of his fingers. He takes a handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes his hands as he walks back to Alno.
“She has good teeth, good gums. No disease from what I can tell. Her skin is unmarred. And she does have muscle.” He looks at Alno and stuffs the kerchief back into his pocket. “I’ll take her for three hundred.”
“You just said natives are worth more than two slaves,” Alno says.
Zimri stares at him. “Five hundred, then.”
“Six.”
“Deal.”
“Wait,” I say. “I’m a free person!” Didn’t they hear a word I said?
“Load her onto the ship,” Zimri orders.
The guard grabs my arm and turns toward the door, just as it bursts open and another guard steps in.
“We found another native!” I look at the tiny form in his arms. And every minute. Every second. Everything.
Stops.
Small frame, curly red hair. The guard is carrying Rika.
The terrified look in her eyes rips my heart open.
“We found her in the forest.” The guard drops her in front of Alno like a trophy, and that one movement is my undoing. I twist free from the guard and race to her side, gathering her in my arms.
“Rika!” I breathe. “What are you—why are you here?”
Tears stream down her ashen cheeks, and she buries her face in my shoulder. “I saw you guys leave and followed,” she says between sobs. “But I got lost. And then these guys found me. And—and—”
Strong hands grip my shoulder and yank me away from her. Another guard grabs Rika and lifts her to her feet, but her legs give out and she collapses to the ground again, trembling.
“What’s wrong with her?” Alno asks. “Why isn’t she standing?”
“She can’t walk!” I say through gritted teeth.
“An invalid,” the guard says in disgust.
“Ugh.” Alno buries his face in his palms. “Send her back. We can’t use an invalid.”
“Send her back?” Zimri’s voice is dangerously calm as he stares at me, then begins walking around Rika. “Didn’t you say these natives took two of your runaways? And you’re just going to let them keep the runaways, and send one of their own back?” He releases an empty laugh. “You keep this leniency up, Alno, and the natives will help others escape. And then more. Next thing you know, you’re fresh out of slaves and have an army of natives rising up against you.”
“Would you like to take her? You can have her for free.”
Zimri lifts a well-groomed brow. “No one on Tavdora wants an invalid. We kill them at birth.”
His words knock the breath out of me.
“Then what would you have me do, Zimri?”
“Kill her.”
“No!” I break free from the guard again and race toward Rika, but Zimri smacks me hard against the temple. Everything spins. Then the guard has me again, his fingers digging into my muscle, and I can’t escape. Rika’s staring at me, the blood draining from her face, and Alno’s saying something.
“We can’t just…kill her.”
“I never thought a plantation owner could play the role of a xeno-lover.” Zimri gives a disbelieving laugh. “Killing her is the only way to show the natives who’s superior. It’ll teach them never to take in runaways again. It’ll teach them never to send their own within miles of your plantation.” He glares at me. “It’ll teach them not to stand up to a Tavdorian without consequences.”
One look in his eyes and I can’t even breathe.
“I’m not going to kill her,” Alno says. “She’s young. Defenseless—”
“And useless.” Zimri strides to the guard and pulls a tarker gun from his belt, aims it at Rika’s head, and not a sound is heard, but she’s crumpling to the ground with a crimson puddle forming around her head.
My hand flies to my mouth.
There was no sound from the gun, but my ears are still ringing, my vision blurring, my soul shattering into a million pieces of broken glass because Rika is lying in her own blood, limp and pale and…dead. The screaming in my head tries to escape, but the wires connecting my brain to my mouth are broken. Nothing comes out.
“Now, what did you do that for?” Alno’s voice is only an echo in my head.
“Take her to the ship.” Zimri stares hard at me, his eyes pained and ruthless all at once.
The grip holding my arm tightens, and I’m dragged the opposite direction.
“Move!” The guard’s voice draws me back to reality, and new adrenaline rushes through my veins and I snap. I rip my arms from his grasp. I bolt toward Rika. I drop to my knees and pull her limp body into my arms and weep into her fiery red hair. And now the scream comes. It rips from my lungs and pierces the air while tears flood my eyes, and I think—I think maybe this is just a nightmare. Maybe she’s still lying beside me in bed talking about the stars.
But something pricks my upper arm.
And the world begins to spin.
And my shoulder goes numb.
And numbness spreads through my body.
And darkness is suddenly a warm welcome that I can’t slip into quickly enough.