Rohn: Warriors of Sangrin Page 5

  The blade came back for another blow. Rohn swept with his leg but Levin blocked. The hammer end caught his hip. The medic aimed for joints, to hinder Rohn’s mobility. Another blow to the same spot. Rohn needed to reach his amser if he had any hope of blocking the blows.

  He pushed himself to his feet, swaying as his legs protested his weight. Another blow came. Rather than dodge—he was too slow now—he lunged forward and grappled with Levin for control of the amser.

  The medic’s eyes went wide. “I will take everything from you.”

  “I regret I failed your mate,” Rohn grunted, arms and shoulders straining with effort. Perhaps Jaxar was correct about pilots spending too much time in chairs.

  Rohn found himself on his back again, still grappling for the amser. How was the wiry medic so strong? Raising a mud-covered foot, he kicked the medic in the torso and pushed him away.

  He struggled to his feet, a new sluggishness taking over. In that instant, he knew the medic had coated the blade in a toxin. Growling with frustration, he picked up the amser. There were no rules against poisoning an opponent, other than the shame of dishonor.

  The amsers clashed. Rohn threw his weight to one side, catching Levin off balance and tossing the medic over his shoulder.

  Levin tumbled with ease, jumping to his feet with a speed that caught Rohn off guard. Or perhaps the toxin impaired his reaction time. The blade sliced low on his abdomen. He moved to block but the hammer end caught him in the side of the head.

  The world went silent, then rang, and then blurred.

  Rohn fell backward. Blows rained down. His arms were too heavy to lift to protect his head. Disconnected from his body, his heart pounded in his ears and his breath came in heavy huffs. Flurries of snow drifted down, and the scene would have been beautiful if not for the pain.

  Rohn knew that Levin cheated, having used some chemical to poison him. The dishonor churned his stomach but Rohn would suffer the abuse. As much as his blood would not bring back the dead, as much as he loathed himself for failing to land a disabled ship safely, he knew that the medic loathed himself more for not being there with his mate in her final minutes. His medical knowledge could have saved her life and their son.

  Finally, a sickening crack as the hammer slammed into his weakened horn. Pain shot through him and sound returned. Deep voices shouted. Dark plum hands pulled Levin away. His vision blurred.

  “Rohn. Rohn!”

  He turned toward the sound of his name. They asked him a question. He responded, voice nothing more than a thick garble of sound.

  “Something’s wrong with him. He wasn’t hit that hard.”

  “Test the weapon,” another male ordered.

  Good. They would discover the medic’s trickery.

  A voice whistled. “He ain’t going to be pretty no more.”

  Jaxar. Rohn could hug or hit the male. Given his current condition, neither.

  “He looks like he wants to murder you.”

  “He’ll be all right then. That’s his resting murder face,” Jaxar said.

  Against his better judgment, a laugh curdled in his throat.

  “Idiots.” Rohn recognized the commanding voice of the warlord and he was not pleased.

  Hands hauled Rohn to his feet. His head lolled to the side and his legs were little better than noodles.

  “Can you walk?” the warlord asked.

  Rohn gurgled a reply.

  “Take him to medical and try not to parade him past every Terran in the camp. Idiots, the pair of you. And you.” A pained grunt from Levin.

  “Come on then,” Jaxar said, adjusting Rohn’s arm over his shoulder.

  He wanted to listen to the warlord dress down Levin. As Jaxar slowly dragged him away, he caught part of the conversation. “I hope you received adequate reparations today, because this will not continue.”

  “The toxin is not against the rules,” Levin said.

  The sound of an open palm connecting with flesh and a surprised grunt told Rohn how the warlord took to Levin’s technical correctness.

  “I have no use for an honorless male in my clan—”

  The conversation faded as Rohn and Jaxar moved away. Many males slapped Rohn on the back, congratulating him on his performance in the match. He did not win, but the males admired that Rohn continued to fight against the weather conditions and the toxins in his blood.

  Jaxar deposited Rohn on a bed in medical, where staff immediately scolded him for being covered in mud and compromising their sterile facility. He may have fallen asleep—or passed out. Of which one, he was not certain.

  When his eyes opened again, the warlord stood at his bedside.

  “First, you move well for a pilot,” Ruh said.

  Yes, yes. Pilots sat on their asses all day. Everyone was amazed.

  “Thank you, sir,” Rohn replied, voice scratchy and raw but comprehensible as language.

  “Second, the toxin Levin used is Suhlik in design. It has compromised your ability to heal and the wounds will never heal fully.”

  Wonderful. “I won’t be pretty anymore?”

  The warlord grunted in irritation. “I’d punch you in the eye for your insolence but that might blind you permanently.”

  That bad, then.

  “I will heal, though, in time?” Rohn could cope with the idea of being permanently disfigured. Due to a Mahdfel’s accelerated healing, scars were difficult to come by and prized as trophies. However, a permanent wound sat uneasy with him.

  “That is for the medics to say. You are unfit to fly for the foreseen future.” Unsaid was the possibility of being unfit permanently. “Your display in front of all the Terrans puts the alliance at risk. They are already half-convinced that we’re more muscle than brains and barbaric in our souls. Thank you for giving them confirmation of every low expectation and vicious rumor.”

  “A male had a right to demand reparations—”

  “Yes, I know this,” Ruh snapped, as if at the end of his patience for stupid males. “I ask for discretion, not a public display. I can think of a dozen suitable areas for amok amser but you idiots chose the most public one in a training arena that we share with Terrans. Damn idiots, the pair of you.”

  Rohn nodded, the motion jiggling his brain. He swayed, dizzy. “I understand if I am no longer welcome in your clan.”

  The warlord remained silent, contemplating Rohn and his fate. Finally, he spoke. “There is room in my clan for idiots. The stars above know my son is the biggest idiot of them all. You stay but you can no longer be stationed here. If the Terrans see you—”

  If the Terrans saw Rohn, bearing his fresh wounds, they would panic. They panicked at a perfectly civil and amiable Mahdfel. They would never be comfortable with one who had been seen in the heat of combat.

  “I understand. Thank you,” Rohn said.

  “Rest. When the medics are done with you, see me for your new assignment.”

  With a sigh, Rohn sank back into the bed. With his departure imminent, all he could think about was how he left things with Nakia. She walked away in tears. He could have—should have—handled her infatuation better. She was a child, alone and hurt, needing a friend.

  He promised to find her family and had yet to made good on that.

  When Jaxar inevitably arrived to gloat about him being the more handsome male with Rohn’s shattered horn, Rohn ignored his friend’s cheerful taunts. Instead, he gave Jaxar a task.

  * * *

  Nakia

  * * *

  Perched on the edge of the bench, Nakia flexed her feet. One day, the doctors claimed, she’d be able to wiggle all ten toes. Advances in sensor implants and neural grafts would give her full control of the prosthetic. She’d even be able to feel touch. Of course, that required multiple surgeries, extensive therapy, and would have to wait until the war finished. Until then, she made do.

  The boot on her fake foot felt weird. Heavy. It weighed the same as the boot on her left foot, obviously, but it was different. On th
at foot, she felt the pressure of it laced tight. On the prosthetic, it just felt like extra weight she needed to balance at the end of a stick.

  So weird.

  In the week that followed, Rohn’s absence did not surprise her. Her words rang back to her, sounding so young and so naive.

  His harsh words had been correct. He was right to keep his distance.

  After two weeks, she still burned with shame when she replayed her behavior. She had wanted so desperately to be seen as mature, to be taken seriously, that she willfully misread everything.

  After three weeks, she no longer cared about her own embarrassment. She missed her friend and looked for him in every crowd. When careful steps, different from the heavy steps of doctors and nurses, sounded down the hall, she perked up with excitement. Those were the graceful, stalking steps of a Mahdfel. He forgave her. He came back.

  But those steps were never Rohn.

  She forever caught his profile in the corner of her eye. For a moment, joy poured through her, happy to be reunited, but it always her imagination. Her heart couldn’t take the disappointment.

  When the doctors declared her fit enough to leave rehab and move into a civilian dorm, she almost cried with relief. No more listening for Rohn’s footsteps or expecting him around every corner. He wouldn’t know where she had been sent and she’d get some peace.

  Snow fell in flurries, sticking to the ground like powdered sugar. This winter never wanted to end.

  Nakia raised the hood on her coat. The thin material had a slick texture, but it kept her warm. The coat came out of a fabricator, a device like a 3D printer that the aliens supplied. A drone scanned her figure and the fabricator printed out tailor-made clothes. The selection was horribly unfashionable, strictly limited to functional garments. No fun colors or flattering designs. Everyone got the same long-sleeved shirts, the same coat, and the same heavy-ass clunky boots.

  The cold crept in but Nakia did not want to go back to the dorms yet. She buried her hands deeper into the coat pockets, intending to stay in the courtyard until it grew dark.

  She thought she had no privacy in the hospital and in rehab with a steady stream of nurses, therapists, and counselors in and out of her room. Now, that seemed like luxury compared to the dorms, where she had absolutely zero privacy.

  She had been placed in a dormitory filled with teenage girls separated from their families, just like her. They each had a narrow bed and a trunk in which to store all their worldly possessions, all in one massive room. They dressed in front of one another. The embarrassment at changing clothes in front of strangers was nothing, as she shared a shower with those other eleven girls. Not individual shower stalls, but a large concrete room with six shower heads. It was every terrible thing Nakia hated about her high school locker room.

  At least the toilets had doors, even if the toilet paper was that weird stuff that was waxy yet somehow rough.

  Her leg got a few curious looks the first day but no one mentioned it, so they weren’t total douchebags. When she read in bed, no one bothered her with questions about what she was reading. She wasn’t that interesting, apparently, even with her leg on full display. Being unremarkable to the other girls in the dorm made her feel normal, like everything was going to be okay.

  She wasn’t even the only girl with a visible injury or a missing part. Piper lost an eye, and even though she wore an eyepatch, no one made a single pirate joke.

  Okay, her roommates were totally not douchebags and were, in fact, pretty decent.

  She didn’t like listening to the gossip. They giggled about anything: the boys in another dorm, the soldiers, but mostly about the Mahdfel, about who was hot, how good they were in bed, and who supposedly slept with one. Nakia didn’t believe that any of the girls in the dorm had said more than two words to a Mahdfel, but whatever. She just couldn’t sit there and listen to them get so much wrong.

  Nakia had managed to bite her tongue, but one day, Piper or Sally or Jennifer would state wild speculation as fact, it’d strike a little close to home for Nakia, and she’d want to set them all straight. Doing so would dredge up all her unresolved issues with Rohn. If she didn’t think about it, it didn’t hurt, and if she kept away from her roommates, she wouldn’t have to think about it.

  Simple.

  Two figures appeared in the courtyard. The snow fell heavier. Her heart pounded at the sight of the tall male, the horns, the distinctive complexion—

  She stood abruptly, her leg smarting at the inelegant motion.

  The male raised a hand in greeting but the gesture was the acknowledgment of a stranger. Not Rohn. But Nakia didn’t have time to wallow in self-pity. The second figure hustled forward, grabbing all her attention. Her heart lurched, instantly knowing the woman anywhere.

  “Mom!”

  They embraced tightly, the familiar powdery scent of her mother and of home wrapping around her. Hot tears spilled on her face and she didn’t care. She was found.

  “Where have you been?” Nakia muttered over and over, face buried against her mother’s shoulder.

  Yvonne babbled a reply but Nakia didn’t listen. Her mother’s hands smoothed back Nakia’s hair, as if to reassure herself that her child was intact.

  A hard metal cylinder hooked over Yvonne’s shoulder caught Nakia’s attention. She pulled back, finally taking in her mother’s appearance—truly seeing her. Yvonne was thinner, but everyone was thinner with food rationing. The circles under her eyes spoke to sleepless nights and endless worry.

  The plastic tube hooked to her nose was new, though.

  “What happened?” Nakia’s index finger lightly brushed the tube, disbelieving that her strong mother could need such a thing. If her parents had been in the hospital, too, it explained their absence. “Are you on oxygen? Why the fuck do you need oxygen?”

  Yvonne briefly frowned at Nakia’s cursing but said, “I’m so glad you weren’t at home, but I hate that we lost you.”

  “What happened, Mom. Where’s Dad?”

  “He’s fine. We’re fine.”

  “You’re not making me feel better here.” The breathing tube. The oxygen tank.

  “That day…” Yvonne cupped the side of Nakia’s face, smiling gently. “That was the worst day of my life. There was an attack. The whole town. I was so thankful I sent you to school that day because the building had a shelter.”

  It did, but Nakia had not had time to reach the shelter.

  “There was a gas line break and an explosion, I think. The house caught fire. Your father and I got out but not without smoke inhalation. There was something in the smoke, another chemical. The details don’t matter that much anymore. By the time we got to the school, you had already been taken to a field hospital. Your father was in rough shape. They took him for treatment.”

  “You’ve been here the entire time?”

  Yvonne shook her head. “No. I think we were in Iowa. Oh, honey, I’ve been out of mind trying to find you.”

  “But you’re fine now?”

  “I will be. Dad, too. He’s not mobile now but the doctors say he’ll make a complete recovery.”

  Nakia surrendered to another embrace. The fear of being alone, of the necessity of growing up too quickly, melted away.

  “I got you know, honey. I’m not letting you go,” Yvonne said, rocking her daughter.

  Nakia wanted desperately to ask how her mother found her. Rohn had promised to find her parents and here her mom was, in the flesh, but the person who delivered her was not Rohn. She pushed away prickly thoughts that Rohn broke his promise and decided, instead, that he made good with the help of others. No matter how badly she offended him, drove him away with her ridiculous offer of being a child bride, he still delivered.

  He would always be her friend.

  Part II

  PRESENT - Sixteen Years Later

  Chapter 6

  Rohn

  Generally, Terrans climbing all over Mahdfel-sized machines amused him. They were so small and
yet so determined. Today, however, he held his breath as his friend scooted across the wing of the ship on her belly.

  “You should be careful,” he said, knowing his words of caution would only make the female more reckless. “Your mate will tan my hide if any harm comes to you.”

  Carrie West-Karey chuckled. “That’s not exactly what tan your hide means.”

  “He will not skin me and use my flesh for a decorative piece?”

  “Well, that certainly would be a conversation starter in our home, but no. Now, stop distracting me. I need to count.” She opened a panel and her hands vanished into the hole.

  Rohn shifted from foot to foot. He and Carrie had been working on the prototype for months, building it from the ground up. Watching her work had never made him anxious before, but he realized he had never truly watched her work. Until recently, she had been heavily pregnant and directed him from a safe and comfortable seated position.

  “A technician can do that,” he said.

  “Those blind fools flying your ships? Nah,” she said, parroting his own words back at him.

  “Then I can do that. Allow me.” She could fall, slide off the wing, and land poorly on the hard, unforgiving ground. She could shock herself on an electrical component. She could injure her flesh with a tool. His mind reeled off several ways that Carrie could come to harm, and he was helpless to prevent any of them if she was up on the ship’s wing. “Please,” he said.

  That caught her attention. She sat and pushed her goggles up. Despite only working for a few minutes, she already had a smear of black grease on one cheek. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “You are at a great height. Come down.” Rohn believed himself to be completely reasonable. No one could find fault with his instincts to protect his friend. “Immediately,” he added, for good measure.