Blind Fall Page 2

  “Reservation is too strong. Hesitation maybe—” He breaks off his words on a hiss.

  My eyes snake to the auction pen, following his gaze to a female being dragged out by her mane.

  “That’s just bad form,” Ekan says, shaking his head, looking as disturbed as I’ve ever seen him.

  Fair enough. This little show’s not setting with me well at all. “Let’s set our backs to this place—”

  “That gravid one is mine. I’m not leaving her.” He drops into the corral.

  “What?”

  “Look at her prying at that door—she’s almost got it.”

  Giving him a dead stare that he insists on ignoring, I stop closer to the fence and watch where he indicates with a jerk of his chin. While the other females are facing down the auction buyers, ‘his’ female is using her fellows as a living wall, blocking herself from view and hiding her escape plot. Without taking my eyes from her efforts, I shake my head at Ekan. “I worry about you. You thrive on trouble and trouble is going to bite you one of these days.”

  He scoffs. “Trouble? She’s a wee female.”

  The auction does not allow bidders to climb in with the merchandise. Therefore, the auction staff is bestowing their attention to my Na’rith friend as he disregards the rules—so typical for a Na’rith—and they don’t spy the half-hidden female’s actions.

  But we do. We watch as she desperately—and unsuccessfully—tries to tackle the second door latch. I grimace sadly. “Determined little thing. Some animals are like that. Too wild: you’ll never be able to find a pen that will hold them.”

  “She’s perfect,” Ekan declares. “I want her.”

  I stare at him. “You want yourself a headache?”

  “A challenge and no: she’s going to work for me.”

  I point to the female. “An imitation Gryfala she may be, but that right there is still no mild and meek-willed female who’ll go along with any plot you try to connive. How do you figure you’ll convince her to do anything for you, let alone do the sort of work you do?”

  Ekan slants me a patient look. “Don’t you know by now that I can talk anyone into doing anything I want?”

  Meesahrah snorts in cosmically good timing.

  And she’s likely bored of standing in place—or maybe she simply dislikes my attention on anyone but her—but she dances her sharp hooves over my boot. I growl out the ingredients list of a famous Narwari skull and thighbone stew until she decides she’s not so impatient to get going as she thought she was, and she stands so well you’d almost believe I owned a well-mannered Narwari instead of a tip-eared, hock-kneed, sharp toothed hellion with crooked antlers and a rotten spoiled streak.

  I give her the look of distrust she deserves and for good measure send one to my friend too. “Ekan, I can’t watch this. I’m headed back for your ship.”

  His chest crashes against the fence as he lunges half over it to catch my shoulder. “Don’t you want to see what happens to your frightened little Gryfala and her…” he tilts his head and finishes with bemusement, “...whatever that creature is that she’s clutching onto?”

  He knows me far too well. Tossing a warning glare at my mount, I plant my boots, fold my arms across my chest, and settle in.

  I want to be amused that none of the auction officials have grown brave enough to approach Ekan. They’re so engrossed in keeping a wary eye on him that they don’t spare a thought to the Gryfala he’s avidly watching, and I have to respect my unbalanced friend. Nearly all the things he does are crazed, but very few of his actions are without purpose. And luck is with him—which is typical. A Na’rith has luck by the bucketfulls. And Ekan? Everything always seems to shake out in this Na’rith’s favor.

  That’s a Na’rith for you in an urzashell.

  Ekan and I observe the mock-Gryfala working the lock for another moment before I murmur, “Someone really better save her from herself.”

  Ekan’s voice is serious when he says, “I know, Bres.”

  Someone bumps into Meesahrah and I reach past her to cuff the offender before she even lays her kick in. I pat her side reassuringly and to Ekan I add, “If that female gets caught, they’ll flay her back until she wishes for death. And if she gets free among this crowd, she’ll wish she was back in the safety of this pen where the worst she faced was a lash.”

  Without taking his eyes off the female, Ekan reaches over the rail and absently tickles Meesahrah’s nose since she’s sticking it in his face. I stare at her when she doesn’t try to bite him. “Agreed, friend. Don’t trouble yourself with thoughts of either; she won’t be feeling the lash or be touched by the crowd.” He hops back atop the fence, renewing everyone’s attention on the brazen Na’rith that dares to disregard the rules. “Which one do you want?”

  “Eh? I’m not contributing to the theft and sale of females, no.”

  He looks down on me—literally. “Oh come on. You’re the only male here with those morals, and you know it won’t save a single woman today—or you could save that one you’ve been watching and wanting.”

  “Wanting? I’m simply worried for her.” I point to the way she’s rocking. “She’s under extreme stress.”

  “So is her hairy companion.” Ekan cracks his knuckles like he does when he’s readying himself for conniving someone into a making him a particularly beneficial transaction—in other words, kritted filthy rich. “Have you noticed that the creature moves when she moves? Symbionts, you think?”

  I roll my shoulders back. “Maybe.”

  “I hate to think what some of these males would do to them. The oddities tend to attract the wrong sort of attention sometimes. Take those Krortuvians over there for example. Ooh, don’t look now, Bres; they’re pooling their money together. You won’t want to watch what happens.”

  I curse foully.

  Ekan plays at being unconcerned, even adding an indifferent roll of his shoulders. “I can get us a good deal.”

  Reaching up, I slap my credit stick into his waiting hand. “Of that, my friend, I never question.”

  CHAPTER 2

  BRESLIN

  It’s entertaining to watch a rogue Na’rith go to work. Normally they work their deals in packs, and that’s an intricate dance and a dramatic show and a dirty war rolled into one.

  A single Na’rith has to pull all the strings by himself, and orchestrate any tricks entirely on his own. Ekan is a skilled rogue though, and he doesn’t disappoint either of us.

  Where anyone else would be whipped for approaching the chattal, in true Na’rith fashion, he saunters right in and critically inspects what’s left of the lot. “You’re fetching what per auction and you don’t even equip them with translators?” he tsks in disgust.

  His statement is a scorching burst of flame over the dry wick of the fevered crowd.

  Their grumble of agreement has the auction workers looking mighty nervous. The auctioneer looks like he wants to sew Ekan’s lips shut, but only a fool with a death wish takes on a Na’rith—he wouldn’t dare.

  By the end of his performance, I think the only reason Ekan doesn’t stroll out with the entire lot of females is because the crowd will revolt for sure. This way, the crowd’s simply awed by his skill at managing to walk out with a fortune of two plus the hairy oddity.

  All I have to say on the matter is the same thing I’ve said since I was a boy: I’m glad this pirate is on my side. Otherwise I’d be credit-less and still thanking him for whatever ‘stupendous bargain’ he set me up with; and I’d believe it was good for me. He’s that talented.

  Ekan moves to collect our females, but he does it at his own pace, blocking the lead-auctioneer from hurrying him along by slamming a hand against his chest, warning, “Don’t TOUCH them. I wouldn’t trust you not to bruise fruit let alone my new Gryfala.”

  The wild Na’rith coaxes the anxious female to stand and presses her into my keeping before fearlessly steering his swollen female out of the gate (not the one she nearly finished unlocking but the one
in front) and strutting through the raging crowd.

  I don’t know how Ekan can stand to have the crowd pressing in on them—it’s suffocating and I’m feeling massively uncomfortable.

  However, the imitation Gryfala I’ve ahold of isn’t tracking the crowd. In fact, her eyes don’t shift their sight line. Bending down to peer into them, I see clouds in their depths. I’ve worked with blind animals, and in the little time I’ve had to watch this female, I’ve recognized enough similarities to be nearly certain that she does not see. At least, not the same way I do, not the same way the other females of her kind appear to.

  Matter settled in my mind, I drop Meesahrah’s reins because if she doesn’t follow me by now, she never will, and Creator be with the next hapless fool who falls for her flashy, moonringstraked coat.

  I bend, hook my arm behind the not-Gryfala’s knees, and scoop her up. “I’ve got you.” Thanks to Ekan’s earlier announcement, I’m aware she has no translator, but even though she won’t be able to understand me, I hope she can glean assurance from my tone.

  Instead, she gasps and cries, “Myy dawwgh!” and various other unintelligible words that I gather to mean she’s afraid that I intend to leave her companion behind.

  My smile is grim. “No need to worry. You could say it’s holding onto me.” Her friend clamped their jaws around my leg the moment I reached for her. “Doesn’t waste words, does it?”

  I don’t have to speak its language either to understand it’s protecting her.

  Thankfully, I was doing a little farrier work this morning before the sale, which means I’m wearing my chaps. The thick leather is enough of a barrier that I’m not yet pierced by the creature’s teeth—though I most certainly feel them.

  I tell the beast, “I’m not making her walk through this: I’ll teveking take the bite. You’ll have to deal with it, friend.”

  As the avaricious and curious crowd tries to swallow us, I release a growl louder than even her companion to encourage the crowd to—well, to stop crowding us.

  I don’t have her friend’s language programmed in my translator so I certainly can’t tell what it’s saying, but I believe it’s threatening the crowd right along with me when it snarls and latches harder onto my leg.

  Ekan shouts, “Are you passing out engraved invitations to be robbed or are you going to join us?”

  “Have my hands a little full,” I tell him, “But I can still stomp you. Don’t rush me.” I glance over my shoulder and am fiercely pleased to see Meesahrah at my back, balefully eyeing everyone around us, baring her wicked upper fangs at them all. In a good snit, she squeals and half kicks her hind feet as she hops in place.

  I take up her reins again, and press them into the female’s hands since mine are full of her.

  Confused, she accepts them, not holding tight, and that’s fine—she’s at least gripping them enough the reins won’t drag on the ground for Meesahrah to trip on, or for some kritted waste-tube to snatch up and try leading her away.

  When we catch up to Ekan and his own not-Gryfala, he shouts, “Bres,” before he tosses my credit stick into my full hands.

  I manage to catch it, and am ready to level him with an unimpressed look in regards to his timing, when I notice that my credit stick isn’t hot. Which means it wasn’t scanned.

  “What the krit,” I call. “Why did you pay for my…” Guessing that the auction would prefer that the general populace isn’t made aware of the fact that the Gryfala they’re selling are counterfeit, I settle for simply referring to her as “...my female?”

  Ekan moves so fluidly he could be dancing as he whirls, leading his mock-Gryfala at his side, walking backwards with her as he grins at me. “I wanted to buy your wedding present.”

  I’m leading an animal with more attitude than she has spots, I’m carrying a mock-Gryfala, and I’m dragging her mystery sidekick by my gnawed-upon leg. I nearly swerve us all off an embankment, such is my shock. “You bought me what?”

  Delighted with my reaction, Ekan’s grin grows even wider. He tips his head in my not-Gryfala’s direction. “I bought you a bride.”

  And with that, he spins himself and his female around, and leads us onto the vehicle that all sky-farers are rightly wary to see: a Na’rith’s pirate ship.

  CHAPTER 3

  BRESLIN

  I’m known as the Garthmaw. My people, the Iechydmaw, first bestowed this title on my great grandfather, when he managed to break the wildness from some of the recently terraformed planet’s native landbeasts, the Narwari.

  As I mentioned, Narwari are large, woefully obstinate and wonderfully powerful creatures. I’m as demanding with them as my father taught me to be, and his father taught him. Narwari require a special form of tough love and learn the benefits of tameness and the value of structure through displays of brute strength. Sometimes my job demands that I slam sense into a few skulls and slap some respect out of a few hinds. But I’m not incapable of gentleness.

  In fact, despite my outward appearance, and despite the harsh-seeming approach for my methods to achieving tameness, a great deal of my success with Narwari stems from my ability to handle them with care when they require it. Especially the nervous, frightened ones. Not ones like Meesahrah, who thrive on being misbehaving urchins, but the pleasant spirits who need patience and nurturing.

  I hold the non-Gryfala female, our chests together, our hearts beating in time against one another. There were a few moments where she succumbed to extreme panic and fought me but it has mostly subsided. I soothe her with words she can’t understand while she works to control her shaking and tears. At first she cringes from my touch, trembling harder when I drag her into my lap, her rump resting on my crossed legs as I fold her into an embrace she didn’t ask for. One she doesn’t want. I’m too strong for her to stop though.

  I take no satisfaction in her defeat. It doesn’t take long before she’s overwhelmed and in her frustrated helplessness, she sobs into me, her fists resting against my chest.

  As difficult as this part of the process is to stomach, it’s a necessary building block to gentling success. My care of her in these moments is what begins to build trust. I’m not her enemy; naturally she might chafe that I’m now her keeper, but here I am giving comfort when she’s facing so many unknowns—her surroundings, her future, her ‘buyer,’—me. Of course she’s upset and frightened, but I’m offering her a sense of protection and safety, and it’s a powerful thing. The part of her that’s ruled by instinct is deeply grateful, and it’s this part of her that forges the connection to me. She may even realize it’s happening, but she can’t stop it. Common sense is no match against the manipulation of instincts. It helps that I’m not preying on her need for comfort in some state of cold detachment; far from it—I’m opening myself to her just as deeply in return, because this stitching together of souls is necessary in order to establish a solid bond of trust.

  The unavoidable danger of attachment is almost an unwelcome byproduct, but it can’t be helped. Like the salk I had to say goodbye to this day, I can feel myself bonding to the helpless creature I have in my power; it’s not ideal, not when I know the relationship will be temporary, but therein lies the tradeoff. In the case of this female, she needs protection; I have the strength—and no matter that she’s an alien, this process results in the formation of a strong connection.

  This situation is a little different though. This female is no animal, and I’m attracted to her: I can’t help but notice that everything about her is unbelievably appealing. Even her scent is interesting to my senses; something floral and almost edible at the same time.

  Her sobbing seems to be interfering with her breathing, and I shift my grip so that I can stroke her back. At first, just as expected, she flinches, but her system desires something—anything—that can assuage her doubts and fears in this moment. It only takes two passes of my hand before she breaks and actually leans into my touch, absorbing comfort… even as she starts trembling harder.

 
This not-Gryfala’s response is no different than a frightened animal, not really, and it makes my heart hurt for her. Halfway into this silent process we’re undergoing, she bucks at the proverbial halter. She tries to pull away from me, her movements jerky and I can see her panic increase. In this moment, she’s being attacked by fear and doubt: why is she allowing herself to be comforted by the enemy when she should be fighting to get free?

  I could let her go, but I’ve tried this before with animals: it will have the exact opposite effect of calming her. To let her go now is to let her drown in these emotions; I can as good as wave any building trustbond between us goodbye—because what kind of partner lets their partner sink when they could save them?

  “Whatever you’re thinking,” I tell her, “Be logical.” I peer down at her, thinking logic is something she must be familiar with if she’s anything like a Gryfala. They’re uncannily cunning, and this female could almost pass for one. “I bet you could find a way off this ship, free yourself—but don’t. If you manage to escape this ship you will not be safe.” I press my luck by trying to pet her again—and Ekan’s claim be kritted, she fights it this time and I grimace ruefully, empathy filling me as I imagine myself in her place. “It goes against the instincts, doesn’t it? Of course you’re compelled to try.” I clamp her tighter to my chest.

  “Noh!” she cries, and I whisper, “Shhh.”

  Or, I start to. Her friend’s fangs pierce through not my thick leg coverings this time, but my arm. Its great foreteeth sink into my skin, curdling my cordial reassurance into a curse: “Shhh—KRIT!”

  The creature gives me a fearsome shake, worrying my limb in its grasp and as it does this its muzzle brushes against the fake-Gryfala—and the fake-Gryfala must realize what’s just happened because she gives a hard twitch. “Kohtah!”

  The creature lets go of me at once and bathes the side of the not-Gryfala’s face with a frightfully long tongue.