An Abridged Sample
This post is rated R for sexual content.
Belderon was a big change from Aledus for Hankura and Chelle. Aside from the absence of the discriminatory psi laws, the cities were older and more classic in their brick and mortar architecture. The streets of Tesen, the world capitol, were crowded with pedestrians both on and off the beltways. Few people took notice of the couple during their long belt ride to their hotel from the Tesen Starport where they'd left the Arius Mran, their private space craft. The few that noticed them mostly were admiring his wife, and he couldn't blame them. She was a tall, well proportioned woman with unusually blue eyes, a feminine oval face with attractive features and red hair that fell nearly to her waist.
Hankura was tall, of medium build with thick, dark hair and intense emerald eyes and a strong angled jawline. In fact, the two together made a impressive couple who were hard not to notice. Others were fellow psi-paths who acknowledged them respectfully.
Tesen had all the modern conveniences. It just didn't look as modern and pristine as Salla. The Tesmont Hotel was a mundane red brick building. The decor was quaint, but their suite was comfortably a large with all tech needed to make the comfortable. It was more than adequate for their twenty day layover until the Searching Star sent down a shuttle to pick them up to start their five year exploration tour.
After everything that happened on Aledus, Hankura wasn't sure if they were ready for the challenge. They had been ready and looking forward to a new start until his mother's psionic attack during her mental breakdown had nearly killed him and Chelle both. Chelle was a latent telepath and telekinetic healer living in the ruins of Farringay on Earth when they touched minds as children. Hankura was in a passenger freighter orbiting Earth on his way to a boarding school for psions far from his home. That night, two scared children formed a psionic bond that brought Hankura back to find the woman who claimed his heart and soul as he claimed hers.
Life on Aledus realized most of his misgivings about going back. The discriminating laws against psions landed him in jail for defending his wife from an attacker. Guilty until proven innocent. Even after he was proven innocent, he was banned from the cities and fired from his job.
His mother, Natar, a victim of extreme psi-conditioning on Aledus suffered a mental break when Hankura told her they were leaving to join the space exploration. A stronger telepath, she had planted seeds in Hankura's mind that Chelle had ruined his life. Natar hated Chelle and meant to kill her. The potency of that hatred planted in his mind caused him to turn on Chelle and attempt to finish what his mother started.
Thank the goddess, his love for her won out! … And thank the Mother, Chelle had forgiven him!
Hankura's stood staring out the window of the sitting room at the bustle of pedestrians in the street below. The memories still pained him, and it was hard to keep them out of his thoughts…
"My head wants to explode...a terrible nightmare...oh, my head," he groaned.
"Poor darling." She put her arm over him and kissed his cheek. "Let me get you a med-dot; it'll help." Suddenly, he turned and grabbed her upper arms so tightly it hurt.
"Don't leave me alone. Don't go, please," he pleaded.
"No, honey. Of course, I won't leave you alone," she assured him. "The med-dots are just in the drawer over there. You can watch me get them. I promise I won't be out of your sight. Okay?"
Hankura nodded and gradually released his vise grip on her arm. The red imprints of his fingers remained on her flesh for several minutes afterward. He shifted his eyes to watch her cross the bedroom; he didn't dare move his head because movement would only increase the throbbing pain. Why did it hurt so? Why was he so terrified?
"What's the matter with me?" he asked suddenly.
"You've been in shock ... from a psi attack," she said carefully.
"Who? I don't remember." He blinked in an attempt to focus his thoughts.
"Hank...it was...N-Natar," she stammered. "She didn't want us to go with the Searching Star."
"No! She couldn't," he denied sharply.
"Couldn't she?" Chelle asserted. "You feared it all along. That's why..."
"No, don't say that! Get the hell out of here and leave me alone, you lying bitch! Terran whore!"
How dare she accuse his mother!
Chelle started to back out of the room, and Hankura jumped up from the bed and caught her wrist.
"Liar!" He yanked her toward him and slapped her so hard that she landed sprawling on the bed. He lunged at her and landed heavily on top of her. He knocked the wind out of her momentarily and she struggled to catch her breath.
"Hankura, please. I'm sorry. I'm not lying. You're hurting me." Chelle stared up at him through eyes full of tears and tinged with fear.
"Oh, am I?" he hissed. "I could easily kill you." He emphasized those words by curling his fingers around her throat.
Her eyes widened and she gasped as his tightening grip began to choke her. She could hardly fathom that the same hands that had caressed her so tenderly so often would actually choke the life from her. She gasped again, the weight of his body adding to her difficulty in breathing. She squirmed beneath him, trying desperately to tear his fingers from her throat.
Hankura, I love you. Don't do this. Do you want me to die? When his grip only tightened, her eyes closed and her body went limp. Kill me quickly, if you must. Then she sent him the image of a blue-green yarrel flower that had been a symbol of their love on Aledus. That reached back into his memory to before Natar's attack had twisted his reason as she attempted to destroy his love for Chelle.
“No!” Hankura let out a strangled cry and let go of her throat. He sat up, gripped her shoulders and shook her. "Mother of Life, what have I done? Don't die she-ell. Dear Goddess, don't die." Quickly, he pressed his ear to her chest. Her heart was racing and she was breathing ragged at first, but growing steadily more even. But when she opened her eyes as he held her, the fear was still there, and he felt it. The strain of the psychic shock and that incident caused him to black out and bury the memory for a time. He had been devastated when he finally did remember.
It just hurt so damn much! How could he have done that?
Chelle came up behind him and slid her arms around his waist and laid her head against his back. Don't do this to yourself, my love. I have forgiven you. Forgive yourself. I know you love me, and I know that's why you couldn't go through with it.
But I hurt you nonetheless.
Nothing I couldn't fix. I'm a healer remember?
I was selfish to take you to Aledus in the first place. In the back of my mind I knew Mother wouldn't accept you, and I knew how we would both would be treated there.
But they are your family. Natar's treatment at the Psi Institute caused her to do those things to us. Their conditioning drove her to madness. When she was totally lucid, she was happy for us and loving. You needed that and you needed to understand exactly why your parents sent you away. The only way to do that was to go to Aledus and experience life there as an adult.
Hankura's turned to face her folding his arms around her. I know. I just can't forget the way I made you feel.
It's over. The urge that made you hurt me came from her mind, not yours. Don't let it haunt you. Remember how good we feel when we are one. I love you… Feel it… Know it.
Chelle wound her arms around his neck and turned her mouth up for his kiss. His kiss was gentle at first his mouth teasing and caressing her lips until he sensed she wanted more. Their kissing deepened and became sensually arousing. She made and inarticulate sound of pleasure and pressed her body tight to his, wanting him. Then she was tugging at the zipper on his shirt.
They helped each other off with their clothing until they were naked, then paused for a moment just to look at each other. Hankura's body was lean a with a taunt abdomen and good muscle definition in his, chest, abs, arms, and legs. As he saw himself through Chelle's eyes he became even more aroused. She loved everything about him as he loved her.
He found her body, perfectly defined in his eyes. She was not as tall is he---her forehead was exactly the height of his mouth. She had a lovely long neck straight shoulders and beautiful round breasts, ample but not too large, a tapered waist, lovely rounded hips and buttocks, with long, shapely legs.
He held out his hands to her, and she placed hers into his as they came together body to body mouth to mouth. He released her hands to frame her face he kissed her. This beautiful, flame haired woman was the most precious thing in his life and he in hers. Without words she told him how she wanted to please him. He released her mouth and she worked her way down over his chin, his neck, his chest, and lower---kissing, tasting, and nibbling. He moaned aloud his arousal complete.
She wanted him inside her. Again he took her hands and drew her up the length of him and they moved to the bed together. He lay down first and she knew instinctively to climb on top. It was her turn to moan aloud as she straddled him and lowered herself over him. Together they felt so good.
As she rocked over him, he reached up and caressed her. By then they were both so aroused they came quickly---together, explosively. She collapsed against his chest, with him still inside her and they kissed tenderly. He rolled them over so Chelle was on the bottom. It was his turn to tease and taste her.
He could feel her pleasure as she moaned and caressed his head, running her fingers through his thick dark hair. He enjoyed it as much as she did because he knew it made her throb the way he throbbed when he was aroused. Kissing and tasting his way down over her belly and lower, driving her to climax again. It didn't take a telepath to know she wanted him inside her again. Feeling the intensity of her desire quickly made him completely ready.
Now do it now! And suddenly he couldn't wait any longer either. He quickly moved over her as she parted her thighs for him. He filled her, knowing her exact threshold between pleasure and pain. Again she cried out loud, an inarticulate sound, and wrapped her legs around his hips to pull him deep inside her. She was still in the throes of her orgasm and they moved slowly, very slowly, drawing out the pleasure of their oneness. Then he brought them both to orgasm again. In their minds' eye, the water that was their passion, the water in the fountain at its center their sexual pleasure, as it rose higher and higher. When it reached its apex they came together in a magnificent orgasm that sent waves of pleasure vibrating through their minds as well as their bodies.
It was so much more than sexual pleasure that melded them together mind and body. It was love in its purest form, and their mutual sexual satisfaction was a grand bonus. They lay together joined for a long time after their orgasm subsided basking in their oneness.
Hankura kissed her tenderly, letting himself feel the strength of her love echoing through his mind. He gave his love to her as freely as he received hers. He felt the love they shared healing his soul. Finally, Hankura began to forgive himself for what he had been unable to control.
Their joining took them to a place where the past in the future didn't exist---only they two in the love that bound them together.
Eventually they parted and Chelle lay with their head nestled in the hollow of his shoulder and his arm wrapped around her shoulders and they slept.
CHAPTER TWO
Some 500 years before Hankura and Chelle had even met, another chain of events was set in motion that would eventually touch their lives:
A knock on the door of his den interrupted Grant McKell as he was leafing through his wife's private journal, or might he have given into the grief that threatened to overwhelm him. In his bittersweet musings, she was still alive, But Marcus Solomon's knock jolted him back to the painful present.
" Come in," he said and Marcus opened the door.
" We'll be ready for you soon, Grant. The three graves have been dug." His friend said grimly. "God, I still can't believe that Victor would do such a thing."
Grant stared down at the pale blue, plastic cover of Wynne's journal on his desk. The pain inside threatened to consume him, and he blinked at the moist haze in his eyes. " But he did. He killed her with his own hands. He killed her, and I'm going to kill him---long and slow. Wynne never did anything to him…"
"She picked you," Marcus reminded him gently.
"Then he should've settled with me! He didn't have to kill her!" His voice grated, hoarse with emotion.
"No, he didn't. I don't even think he meant too. She must have fought him to give Kean and Felice a chance to escape. Luke Travis and Redd Monson found your son and daughter in the forest. They were cold and hungry and scared, but okay. Lynae fed them up and put them to bed."
"Do they know their mother is dead?" Grant rasped.
"Yeah, I think they do. But they're still in shock… Everyone is. We just got all the fires put out in the last hour. Half the town was destroyed, and we lost a lot of valuable equipment."
"And the lab?" Grant demanded.
"We saved it."
"Good. How many horses?"
"Thirteen. Victor's men killed some and stole the rest."
"Damn! Not enough left to go after them. We can't risk the few we have left for revenge. That will have to wait… But our dead will be avenged. Victor Rode will pay! They will all pay."
Marcus nodded grimly, his eyes filled with compassion. Only a man who loved a woman as Grant had loved Wynne Schaefer could understand how Grant was feeling. Marcus hadn't. He only knew his friend was hurting deeply.
"Tell the others I'll be there in awhile," Grant said after a moment. "I'd like to be alone for little while longer."
"I understand. I'll tell them." Marcus turned slowly and left the room.
#
Personal journal of Wynne Schaefer - McKell
Supplement by Grant McKell
October 23
Two years have passed since your ruthless murder, my beloved. Our children have grown tall and blossomed without you. I know they still miss you but they have adapted better to life without you than I have. Not even revenge was taken away the emptiness. I killed Victor Rode today. I made him suffer for every moment of torment I suffered, for those brief moments you suffered at his hands. Yet nothing is really changed.
You are still gone and I am alone with the guilt I will carry for the rest of my life. I fear my revenge will spill the blood of our children's children---maybe their children, too. I killed Victor Rode; now his son may one day come to kill me to avenge his father. Then our son may kill him. All of their blood will be on my hands.
I know in my heart that what I did was wrong, but I'm still too filled with hate to feel much remorse. Victor Rode deserved every moment of pain he suffered for all the years he stole from us, you and me and our children together---for the children you'll never have with me now.
I hope one day they will forgive me for this bitter blood feud I have begun. Maybe one day I will forgive myself.
On the World They Called Demus
Brandt McKell reined his big buckskin stallion to a halt and squinted against the glare of the morning sun on the desert sand. He raised a wide, powerful hand to the brim of his leather hat for added protection, but his sensitive blue eyes still watered in the brightness. He had traveled through the cool of the desert night for most of the journey. Now, for the last leg, he must travel by day or risk missing his destination entirely.
He gazed around him, trying to get a fix on a familiar landmark from his Uncle Jared's descriptions. To the right, there was nothing but sand and scrub vegetation stretching toward the rising foothills of the Cerulean Mountain's in the distance. There, he made his home with this clansmen but right now he was glad for the distance between them.
Ahead and slightly to his left he caught sight of something incongruous with the natural desert scenery. He blinked at the moisture in his eyes, and a slow grin creased his darkly bearded face. This must be his destination.
Brandt was on his way to the ancient space shuttle that had crashed in the desert at least 500 years before his birth. It was his turn to reactivate the signal beacon. Maybe his would be the signal that was finally answered by a company ship. Or maybe his signal would bring the Mesaarkans to destroy them all. Brandt couldn't know which. He only knew this task was his destiny, that he had been groomed for it since childhood.
After a moment Brandt dismounted and shrugged his left shoulder rubbing it with his hand to ease out some of the lingering soreness. The deep stab wound just below his collarbone had healed over into a livid star only a tenday before he left Blue Summit. His mother had pleaded with him to wait a little longer before he made the journey, but he needed the time and distance between him and his brother Lexis. The bitterness that lay between them hurt more than the lingering soreness from the wound. But he should have known better.
Brandt gave himself a mental shrug and took his water skin from his saddle. For him, there could only be a present in the future. Looking back on the recent past was nearly as painful as the wound that almost ended his life. His brother had tried to kill him, and a truth of the matter between them had only lessened his enmity a little. He doubted his brother would ever really understand what made him do what he did; Brandt wasn't sure he understood himself.
He let out a rueful sigh and open the half filled water skin. Then put it to his lips and filled mouth with water, savoring the wetness for a few seconds before he swallowed. After a couple more mouthfuls, he poured some of the precious water into a small sun hardened gourd for his horse. The stallion drank slowly as he had, almost as though he too knew the meager water ration would have to last a while.
When the gourd was empty, the horse---Shad---nuzzled his master appreciatively and snorted. Brandt grinned and gave his mount an affectionate pat. It was descended from the first specially engineered horses that Grant McKell had designed and grown in nurturing tanks from exclusive genetic material he brought to Demus. These animals were stronger larger and faster than any horse on Earth. Their genes were mapped from the best characteristics of a dozen breeds, and they possessed intelligence considerably superior to their predecessors.
Brandt didn't think about these things as he rubbed the horse's soft muzzle. He had raised the great stallion from a spindly legged colt. Now the rapport they shared was such that Shad often knew what Brandt wanted before he asked. They took care of each other.
After a brief respite, Brandt hung the water skin back on the saddle and took up the reins in his hand. He would walk for awhile to conserve his horses strength for later when he might need it more… Precisely if what he saw in the distance was not his destination after all. As he continued walking in a northwesterly direction, Shad fell into step behind him with no urging. Two hours later, the shuttle came clearly into view. It lay like a battered toy embedded into a mound of sand about a klick and half from where Brandt stood squinting against the midday sun.
What caught his eyes however was a cloud of dust about one hundred meters to was right halfway between him and his destination. Momentarily, he saw alone rider of merge from the dust on a sleek blood bay steed. He wore the traveling garb of the lake clans. His horse was strong and fast, and the rider was skilled as any Brandt had ever seen. He watched with grudging admiration, his eyes narrowing as four other riders emerge from the dust chasing the loner. They were dressed in the colorful robes of the savage desert nomads.
Suddenly, Brandt knew he wanted the blood bay rider to escape. It looked as if he would make it, too. Every stride put more distance between him and the nomads trailing him. But the magnificent horse stumbled unexpectedly on an unseen obstacle. The rider flew into the air, curled instinctively, and tumbled over and over several times before rolling to a stop in the dirt.
"Oh, no!" Brandt groaned under his breath as the four renegades were closing in on the fallen rider fast. The loner rose slowly, stumbling toward the fallen horse. Brandt swung himself into a saddle and set his buckskin into motion almost before he realized what he was doing. It wasn't right. Not even one of the lake clan should have to face those barbarians alone. If they didn't kill him outright, he would wish for death many times over, and that was no way for a warrior to die.
As Brandt moved in, the loner ran to the fallen horse and bent quickly, reaching for something on the saddle. As the loner straightened, Brandt muttered an expletive under his breath. The hood of the rider's cape fell back to reveal an attractive head of long golden hair and the face of tall woman, not a man. She straightened with a shiny broadsword in her hand, and now held it poised and ready to use it. Brandt neared her just about the same time as her pursuers and drew out his own sword in readiness. As she glanced from him to the nomads and back to him again, the fierceness in her green eyes gave him no doubt that she would turn on him if he came closer first.
That didn't bother him at the moment. It showed him she was a fighter, and the way she held her sword told him she knew how to use it. Together, they might even have a chance against these murderous renegades.
The four spotted Brandt just before they reached the golden haired woman. Two in green continued toward her while one and a purple cape and one in a red cape broke away from the other two to deal with Brandt.
His heart thudding against his rib cage, Brandt readied himself. Adrenalin surged into his bloodstream, and the sound of hoof beats thundered in his ears. Brandt new fear as he raised sword to accept the challenge, but there was no time to wonder whether he'd gotten himself into more than he could handle. His determination to survive quickly pushed back his fear.
Two nomads rushed at him at once with a chilling war cry. With the skill of many combats behind him, Brandt dodged the slashing arc and parried another with his own sword. A slight pressure from his knees urged his mount to whirl and disengage from the two so he could initiate the next move. Swinging his blade fast and furiously, he attacked with calculated precision. Cut, slash, parry, Brandt drove his adversaries backward. When they stood fast and attempted to retaliate, he fanned the blade before him almost as a shield. The attacker in red waited a split second to long for an opening, and Brandt took that brief advantage. The red fell, and the purple launched a new attack. His blade came down on Brandt's with shattering force, and sparks flashed from both blades.
Their swords clashed of again and again. Brandt felt himself tiring with each swing of his weapon. It was clear the nomads skill was closely matched to his own and he was barely recovered from his previous wound. Only his strong instinct for survival steeled his aching muscles to the strain of his battle until he felt the purple yielding at last. One faltered parry cost the nomad his life.
As the purple clad man fell dead in the sand, Brandt turned around to see how the woman fared. She stood a few meters away, battling the last of them. The third, green clad nomad lay convulsing in the sand, a bleeding from the jugular, a throwing knife lodged there.
The woman moved like a true warrior as she wielded her blade, but Brandt didn't want to take the chance that the last nomad might kill her after he'd risked his life and so much more to save her. He urged his horse forward to help her, only his approach had nearly the opposite effect. The distraction broke her concentration for a split second, long enough for the nomad to club the side of her head with a flat of his sword. Brandt moved in avenge her even as she staggered and crumpled to the ground.
His sword clash knocked the nomad from his horse, but he stumbled to his feet and stood ready to parry Brandt sword again. He stood his ground well yet Brandt felt him weakening with each crash of their swords. The knowledge gave him new strength and the end came quickly for the fourth nomad.
Breathing and harsh, shallow gasps Brandt watched the nearly decapitated corpse slumped to the ground with grim satisfaction. He felt as though all his strength had suddenly deserted him as he dismounted, the hilt of the sword still clutched in his hand. Every muscle in his body ached, and his legs felt wobbly as he moved cautiously toward the fallen warrior woman. If she still had the strength to fight, he knew she could be dangerous.
He was right to be cautious. She scrambled shakily to her feet even as he approached. She was standing with her sword and raised it in challenge even sooner than he thought possible in her condition. Brandt tensed, ready to do battle again if he had to.
"Defend yourself, mountain man! I won't let you take me alive!" She cried. Blood oozed from a cut near her temple, and she swayed on her feet as she took a step forward. Brandt knew she would kill him if he gave her the chance. After all, the mountain clans and the lake clans had been enemies for nearly 500 years. Those hatreds ran deep. Brandt stepped closer and stopped, watching, waiting. He held his blade ready to defend himself against any assault she could muster. He didn't really want to hurt her, but he didn't want her to hurt him, either.
Fiercely determined, she staggered two steps forward. As she raised her weapon to attack, a shudder passed through her lean, muscular body. Her a eyelids fluttered involuntarily, and she crumpled to the ground without landing a blow.
The mountain dweller quiet crept forward, still tensed and alert. She didn't move. Even so he was not wholly convinced it wasn't an act. He used the tip of his sword to lever the hilt of her blade from her hand. Brandt tossed it a few meters away and squatted beside her to check for signs of life. Her pulse was a little weak but steady, and her breathing regular. She wasn't faking unconsciousness. Brandt assumed the blow to her head caused a concussion. She was still bleeding from the cut on her temple a little, too.
Before he attempted to do anything about that he checked her for other weapons. Under the tan, hooded cape she wore to protect her fair skin from the merciless sun, she was clad in a light muslin shirt and leather riding chaps fitting loosely on her legs from her ankles to her hips. Brent found a long knife strapped to her thigh and a lethal looking dagger sheathed in her soft, suede leather boot. Turning her slightly, he found one of two throwing knives sheathed the small of her back. The second was embedded in the throat of the other green clad nomad.
Brandt grinned to himself as he took these weapons from her and tossed them into a pile on top of her sword. Whoever she was, she had guts, or she was crazy, or a little bit of both. She was pretty enough, too, strong, yet feminine in her own way.
So what did he do with her now? He'd sure as hell keep those weapons out of her reach. She wouldn't think twice about stabbing him in the back if he gave her a chance. Hell, maybe he was crazier than she was for trying to help her. He couldn't help wondering what she was doing this close to nomad territory alone. These desert renegades had honed torture down to a fine art. It was rumored to be their main source of entertainment. He shuddered to think with those four might have done to her if they had taken her alive.
Now that he saw her up close, her faced was soft and vulnerable in repose. He was glad he hadn't left her to such a fate. She deserved better than to die at the hands of such animals. But she could still die if he didn't get her out of the hot sun.
Two quick, sharp whistles sent Shad to round up the other four horses. A third sharp whistle brought the buckskin stallion to his side with the other horses is trailing behind him. Brandt stood to retrieve his sword, then rummaged in his saddle bag for some clean scraps of muslin. He took his water skin from the saddle and knelt in the sand beside his fallen adversary. Cradling her golden head against a muscular forearm, he gently sponged the blood from her temple with a moist and piece of cloth. As he did this, her eyes fluttered open, and she blinked them several times before she seemed to focus her stunning green eyes on his angular bearded face.
"My horse. Where's my horse?" She managed huskily.
"He is beyond help: I'm sorry," he told her.
As she searched his face, her eyes came to rest on the upper part of the long, dark, ponytail that hung down to the middle of his back. Her eyes widened in alarm. "You! Oh no!"
She closed her eyes will the resigned sigh. She hadn't the strength to get up, let alone stand and fight him. Even a slight movement of her head brought pain and dizziness and churning in her stomach. "Who are you, mountain man?" She asked, her eyes held tightly closed.
"Brandt McKell, and you?"
"I am a fool if I'd tell you," she asserted softly.
The blood feud between their two tribes had been long in ruthless. Her people had killed and enslaved many of Brandt McKell's clans over the years. Zekan Rode himself killed Chieftain Garth McKell's youngest brother and bragged about it at every festival.
"You might as well tell me," Brandt said gently. "I know you're from the late clans. Long, golden hair, flashing green eyes---you could be the daughter of Zekan Rode himself." Her eyes widened, and Brandt knew he'd guessed right. He could hardly believe his good luck. Four horses and the daughter of the lake clans chieftain to take back to Blue Summit. At least he might get back into his father's good graces. Maybe even Lexis would look on him more kindly. It was certainly something to consider.
"You know?" Her eyes flickered and this belief.
"It was a lucky guess, Jaecyn Rode. Your father has only one daughter, and you fit her description." Brandt grinned triumphantly.
Jaecyn groaned and try to break free from his support. The overwhelming pain the movement caused her made her wince, and she sighed helplessly. "What are you going to do with me now? Did you save me from those lizards so you could torment me yourself?"
"No, you're wrong. I didn't know who you were. I'd just saw you needed help," Brandt mused. "Now lie still. You're just causing yourself unnecessary pain. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm going to bind your wound and get you out of this hot sun." His eyes were filled with sincere concern. Jaecyn nodded more in resignation than a agreement. She was in no condition to fight him.
Brandt did exactly what he said he would. He covered the gash above her left temple with a clean piece of folded muslin and tied a strip of what was left around her head to hold the compress in place. He left her for short time to collect her weapons and the nomads horses. He loaded the weapons on one of the horse's and strung the horses together with a length of leather rein from Jaecyn's dead horse.
When he returned to her side, Brandt saw she was in no condition to ride a lone so he lifted her astride his horse. Grimacing at the pain that caused in his shoulder, he leaped up into the saddle behind her and steadied her with an arm around her waist. he reached for the reins with the other hand and nudged his horse toward the battered shuttle less than a klick away.
Later when it was dark and he had rested some, he would come back and bury the nomads and hide the evidence of what had happened there.
The shuttle hatch way opened with a groan in response to the coded number sequence Brandt slowly pressed on the covered keypad beside it. Although his uncle had told them of it many times, the sight of it filled him with wonder. He knew all the stories about the old technology that built starships and brought his ancestors through space to Demus from Earth home. It seemed more like magic than science in comparison to the simple life his people led.
Only this was real, and as he stood before the ancient shuttle, he felt for the first time the lure of that far call that moved his ancestors to seek their fortunes among the stars.
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Copyright © 2015 Christine A. Myers
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