CHAPTER 47

Bodies were piled in the park. Strange, insect like bodies, with their backward limbs and hard faces. And, piled separately, Livarians and women. Eight men had lost their lives and two women, not including Lee. Mia wished she could throw up, but there was nothing left. She had assumed the women would be herded into the dormitory and kept silent and blinded. To her surprise, they were encouraged to be in the park, to witness the enemy and mourn the dead. They stood or knelt nearby, shock had stolen any happy expression, their voices hushed whispers and frightened sobs. Some cried over the bodies of their friends, a few cried over the men.

Behind the dead, a group of people stood, maybe thirty. Men, women, and children, all with features that would make an angel weep. Draven had found the Kirich and he hadn't killed them. He had brought them home. They were well guarded, but no one seemed to be putting up a fight.

Jhudur stood among them; a younger woman held him, wiping the blood off his face and hands. He was muttering something rapidly, another of the Kirich listening intently.

One of the younger Kirich moved their direction and a Livarian stopped him, which resulted in another lively debate. Mia stood next to Draven; he had not allowed her to venture out of arms reach, not even when the medic came to bandage her hand. Every few minutes, he reached out and brushed her arm, or clasped her uninjured fingers, as if reassuring himself she was still there. She listened dully while Draven spoke with his elite about new safety precautions. Passwords to be asked and questions to be demanded; all ways to sort friend from foe and stop any more terrible surprises.

“Prime,” the younger Kirich spoke. He must have convinced the guard to allow his approach; the Livarian trailed him, a clenched look on his face.

Draven tensed, his commands quieted, and he turned to the newcomer.

“There is an easier way to tell a Y'kil,” the man bowed, touching a fist to his forehead.

“I am listening.”

“My name is Viksa...Jhudur was my mentor. We,” he waved a hand toward the group of Kirich, “are the guardian family, tasked by our people as keepers of our history, protectors of the gates and knowledge of the Y'kil. I tell you this so that you know the truth and importance of this matter.”

Draven didn't say anything, just waited, brows raised.

The Kirich reached into his clothing. The guard behind him tensed, his black blade rising toward the man's throat. He produced a short wooden spike, nearly a foot long, narrow and sharpened on one end. Solemnly, he handed the spike to Draven, not flinching at the guard holding a blade toward him.

“When the Y'kil took our world, my ancestors noticed something strange. They are a parasitic race, ravenous and able to eat anything that holds life. Yet the Y'kil avoided several of our forests, burned them to the ground rather than devouring. This is the wood of the Moriat tree. It is highly toxic to them. They cannot keep their assumed form if they are exposed to it because their bodies revert, trying to fight the poison. You must pierce the skin for it to work.”

The Prime shared a significant look with Kenahi.

“How are we to know this is true?” Kenahi asked.

“Test everyone remaining. They can mutate, down to their DNA, so your bio-scanners will do nothing to reveal them. Use the Moriat,” the Kirich answered. “With all luck, I will not be able to prove my claim.” He met Draven's gaze directly. “You must do this now. The Y'kil are very good at hiding, there is a chance that one or more may still be within your population.”

Draven thought for a long moment. His gaze slid from the man before him to Jhudur. Finally, he turned to Kenahi, handing him the spike. “Make it happen.”

Kenahi moved off immediately, barking orders at the nearby Livarians.

“If you possessed this knowledge, why did you not come to our people?” Draven asked. His voice was soft, but there was an underlying anger to the words. She studied his face, the way his jaw clenched and unclenched. He blamed himself for everything. Right now, her Prime was on the edge of control, barely hanging on.

Viksa shifted. “We could not be certain of our welcome.”

“Do you know what I think?” Draven leaned his big body toward the Kirich. The man quavered but stood his ground. “I don't think Jhudur escaped you at all. I think you let him go and waited to see what would happen. He intended to demand the key when he lured us to the doorway and you knew it, you had men ready to take it from him. We've found your trail everywhere around the old temple and I don't think you intend to close the door.”

What? If the Kirich didn't intend to close the door what did they plan to do?

Viksa's visage had taken on a sour look.

“You were going to escape Callaphria, but you couldn't take the chance that the Y'kil would follow. At the time we thought his ranting about the Y'kil were based on hallucinations from his withdrawal, but now that I know that was not the case, his words finally make sense. You needed the key so you could close the doors behind you. To seal us in with them. Only Jhudur didn't follow the plan, he was too far gone.”

Mia shook her head. “How can you know that?”

“Because we listened to everything the Kirich said, recorded it. Listened to his rants over and over trying to pick truth from fantasy,” Draven told her. Ugh, she remembered her insistence that Draven speak to Jhudur. She had thought he was being stubborn, ignoring the potential warning because of his prejudice against the Kirich. Have you so little faith in me? She should have known better. Draven wasn't one to leave anything to chance. His people survived because of him, he lived and breathed their safety. He couldn't afford mistakes. But the Y'kil attacked anyway and now people were dead. Guilt slammed into her that she hadn't trusted him and it had made everything harder. Poor Draven.

“We are dying,” Viksa hissed. “Without the corpah, the very air here poisons us. Do not judge us, Prime, for doing what we must to survive. I care as much about the remains of my people as you do yours.”

Kenahi approached from inside the dormitory.

“We can discuss your survival at another time, along with your crimes against my people,” Draven announced.

Viksa paled, his burst of bravery forgotten. The guard gestured him back to his people and he left without a response.

“I'm sorry,” Mia told him.

He glanced at her.

“I'm sorry I didn't trust you. I was sure I was right, and I became a burden rather than a partner. I'm sorry this happened...”

Draven's strong arms surrounded her, and she was clutched against him, cradled, like something precious.

“You do not owe me an apology. You don't owe me anything,” he told her.

“We are ready,” Kenahi announced.

The women were tested first. Jericie, the man who had originally done the orientation presentation, gave a short explanatory speech about the necessity and what they hoped to determine. All that was needed was a slight scrape, just enough to break skin on their right shoulder. They lined up, not a single one, not even Leanne, protested. She had a haunted, pale look. Blood stained the front of her shirt and lower arms. The Livarian guards crowded around, watching the women, and watching each other warily.

Nothing happened. There were one hundred and twenty-three women left and none reacted to the Moriat with anything except a flinch. Mia's own scratch barely registered.

Draven spared a long look toward the Kirich. He did not trust this solution.

“I will go first,” Kenahi announced when the women were shuffled to the side. Kenahi was scored, a welt rising on his tanned skin. Draven was next. The warriors shared equally grim looks. The expressions of men who had lost friends, brothers in arms, wary looks of those who didn't know who to trust. The Kirich and the Y'kil had ripped away the illusion of safety and security. All the work the Livarians had done, the years building this safe place to restart their lives, destroyed in one day.

Draven stood before him, the wooden spike in his hand. His posture exuded certainty, confidence, but Mia knew better. He had failed to keep his people and the compound safe and it was eating him. He couldn't show his worry or fear. As Prime, he had to keep everything from falling apart, even when he was coming apart himself. But everyone had a breaking point, how far could he go before he reached his?

The process was quiet and efficient. One Livarian, one swipe. Draven in front, Kenahi trailing behind, blade at the ready. In the center of the third row something happened. Gorth, standing stoically between two others, bowed his head and spoke softly, as if offering comfort. His face was a picture of grief and misery, with none of his usual good humor. In fact, Mia hadn't seen the man in good humor for weeks.

...Oh shit.

“Draven!” she yelled, the realization striking her. He hadn't been ignoring Becky.

But it was too late.

As the Prime's arm lifted, the spike prepared to perform, Gorth's hands shot upward, one giant fist around Draven's throat and the other grasping at the pendant beneath the armor.

Everything froze, even the creatures of the city seemed to fall silent as Gorth crumpled the pendant in his fist, the sound of it snapping, pieces grating against one another echoing in the silence.

From somewhere behind her, Jhudur wailed, the cries of insanity adding to the surreal feel of the moment.

Oh no. No, no, no. Mia's heart hammered, even as the Livarians restrained the man using far more force than necessary. Gorth's eyes shone with triumph.

The world-key was gone. Without it, there was no way to close the doors. No way to stop a tide of Y'kil from drowning this world and the next.

Draven stood calmly as Gorth's fingers were ripped from around his neck, not even flinching at the long gashes left in their wake. The big man was forced to his knees, Kenahi's blade at his throat.

Mia thought she heard a feminine whimper from the group of women to her right.

“I wondered what made you play your hand now,” Draven's voice was collected and even. “Another few weeks and you would have outnumbered us. We would have been in real trouble then. Yet you chose today.”

“We will outnumber you now,” Gorth's face split into an eerie inhuman grin. “You can fight it, as all before you have fought it, but it will do you no good.”

“No?” Draven asked, so mild, as if he was questioning if it would rain this day. Mia stood a little straighter. Maybe everything wasn't lost.

“The taste of your men will fuel us long enough to rebuild our population. And what great luck we have that you yourself have provided us with a new delicacy. I have never tasted anything as fine as human flesh, just knowing that there is an entire world ready for the harvest, overflowing with feed is enough for this sacrifice.”

“You have miscalculated.” Draven told him. “Your camouflage is clever, but in the end, you are just insects, driven by instinct and lacking any true intelligence.”

“I think not,” the creature with Gorth's voice argued, but his tone wasn't as certain, not as secure as before. “With the doors left open, we will never truly die. We will wait and hide; so many wonderful places to hide on this world. And then we will come for you. One at a time if we must, but we will never stop coming.”

The words didn't seem to bother Draven, in fact, he seemed almost bored by the speech. He gave a small signal and suddenly Kenahi's blade ripped through the man's flesh, severing muscle and tissue and melting into bone.

Becky screamed. Several of the women screamed, but it was Becky's voice that rang again and again in her ears. Even as Gorth's flesh bubbled and writhed, replaced by the sickening body of the Y'kil, she screamed. Another signal, this time to one of the Livarian guards, and suddenly her cries were silent. They had put her to sleep.

The rest of the test was dead silent. No more dramatic declarations and no farther discoveries of Y'kil in their midst.

When the last Livarian had proven himself, Kenahi began snapping orders. It was like the compound suddenly woke up from the nightmare. These men were soldiers. They had taken a huge hit, but in the end, they functioned better in action. The women became top priority and the Livarians swarmed them, offering comforting sounds and guiding them inside. Mia looked for her friends. Where were Phoebe and Ashley? She knew they had made it through the battle, but they must be losing their minds.

Strong arms encircled her from behind.

“They will be alright,” Draven told her. His voice was weary. Again she had the feeling he was on the edge of what he could handle alone. “Come home with me.”

“You!”

Draven's muscles tensed. He turned to the face the Kirich, Viksa, no sign of weakness left. The face of a warrior.

“You've killed us! Are you happy now?”

Draven didn't answer, just looked to the Livarian behind Viksa.

“Sorry, Prime,” the guard grumbled.

“Take the Kirich to the apartments. Keep them there under guard for now. And secure the windows.”

“Yes, Prime.”

Viksa glowered as he was gestured away and toward the group. Draven watched him go, his face unreadable.

“The world-key isn't destroyed is it?”

A small smiled curled at the corner of his lips. “The true key has only been out of its locked safe once, to open the door to Earth. I am no fool.”

“Why not tell them?” she gestured to the Kirich, as they were led past the outer buildings and toward the apartment complex. Jhudur sagged against the woman who had been caring for him. The others moved with a stiff finality, as though marching toward their doom.

“They planned to leave us here, trapped with the Y'kil, without any hope. Let them suffer the same fate, even if it's just in their mind, for a little while.”

“And the door to the other world?”

“We will send several teams to guard it in rotation until the doors can be sealed.”

Mia nodded. And she would be trapped here forever, but the thought no longer bothered her.

Draven pulled her into his arms, holding her close, holding her as if she were the only thing he needed right then. “I need to be alone with you.”

Mia couldn't have agreed more.