18. Skylar

18

Skylar

I wake to the sound of an argument. Huh? The voices are angry. They are speaking in Asheraahn, and I can't quite place the voices. I try to open my eyes, but it hurts, and my head feels too heavy.

My sistan, Tylan, is engaged in a heated argument with the healer. Where's Tan? What happened with the test? Did I pass? The memory of the white-scaled healer and the heat, the feeling of my airways closing, come slamming back to me. Did I die? If so, they brought me back like they were supposed to. But if they brought me back, that means I passed. And if so, why are there two Masg looming — on in front of the door and one only a few feet from my bed ?

Did I fail? I'm not a Mangrel or a Gice Kohath. I'd know, wouldn't I?

Fex.

Tylan's shouting now, and it's adding to the pain throbbing behind my eye sockets.

"What happened?" I ask, but my voice is hoarse, and the words come out broken and slurred.

Tylan stops yelling, thank the Stars, and hurries to my side. "Can you sit up?" she asks in Second Trade Tongue.

I groan. "The test?"

"There was an issue with the sedative. You'll have to do it later. After—"

"Sistan Tylan, the Raiva wanted Skylar Zavien to rest."

The sistan's tail whips back and forth as the frills of their ears lay flat against their head.

"What's going on, Tylan?" I ask, ignoring the healer. " Tell me."

"It is best she not—"

"The Raiva was challenged. He is going to fight Quayl in less than a half hourmark."

"Challenged?" I blink, trying to clear my head. Tan has never mentioned this. I wonder if it happens often. The Asheraah seem big on physical contests. "Do you think he'll win?"

"Of course he'll win." Their expression is fierce, lips drawn back, teeth bared. Their tail snaps against the floor. "But it is a test that may end in death."

I sit up. "What?" I can't let Tan die. "He can't do that."

"The challenge was heard and witnessed," Tylan says. "It is now a matter of honor. I am not worried for Raiva Tan. He is a fierce warrior and Subcommander Quayl, while cunning, is not a fighter. But I felt you should know what he is risking for you."

For me?

It all comes together. I didn't pass the test, and it seems Quayl took that as his chance to get Tan out of the way. I'm not sure how the power structures go with the Asheraah, but I know if Quayl is the one in charge instead of Tan, it won't be good for me. And if Tan dies…?

I can't bear the thought of Tan dying. I can't bear the thought of waiting, knowing that Tan is out there fighting for me and I'm hiding in medical hoping nothing goes wrong. Not to mention those shadow antennae. Maybe they were a figment of my imagination, but it felt real. And Tan didn't see them.

"I have to go," I say, swinging my legs over the side of the table, which has, courteously, lowered its sides for me while I was sleeping. "Where are my clothes?" I'd prefer not to go in the Asheraah equivalent of a hospital gown, a kimono-like garment, which covers from my shoulders to my upper thighs, in public, but I will, if I have to.

"Skylar Zavien, you should stay," the Ehan Healer says. But I'm not listening to him on this. A sense of urgency has filled me, and I know I cannot stay here.

"I need my skinsuit," I say. My mouth is dry and tastes lousy, and my head is still hurting, but the healer wants to keep me here, and I'd rather have a headache than get knocked out again. Or worse. I stand up. My legs shake a little, but the room isn't spinning. I'll take that as a win.

Tylan helps me get dressed, and within minutes, we're in the corridor with the two Masg in tow. They don't seem inclined to stop us, so I keep my mouth shut about them.

We end up in the same massive exercise room where Tylan showed how they flew. I hear the sounds of drums and the steady drone of conversation spilling out from the large, open archway. One of the Masg steps around us and moves ahead, clearing the way.

The inside is packed with Asheraah lining the walls and gathering on the perches above, their wings tight against their backs. The center of the floor has been cleared, and pushing through the crowd, I see Tan and Quayl standing at the center. Tan is magnificent, his scales glittering gold, his wings spread, with ink-black armor covering his chest, legs, and arms. He and Quayl hold long wooden sticks, similar to bokken which Ish used in her Kendo training back when our parents were alive and we were at least somewhat happy on Caliban. He holds the staff like he knows what to do with it .

Subcommander Quayl stands near statue still, his hands resting on his staff. His scales are bone white, as before, though I don't see the antennae. Maybe those were just my mind conjuring nightmares. I hope so.

I catch Tan's gaze, and his expression tightens for just a second. He tries to smile, but the worry on his face cuts straight to my heart.

It hits me then, what Tylan meant by ‘may end in death.' Tan is putting his command and his life on the line. And Tylan said it was to protect me.

A pair of drummers approach the central ring, their tails coiling in a circle around the base of the sticks, their fingers deft as they beat out a measured, complex rhythm. The crowd stills, and the drumming continues as a silver-scaled Asheraah steps out into the ring. Unlike Quayl, her scales catch the light with orange-red accents like the reflection of flame. Her tail, her wings, are all a soft shade of gray, and she seems gentle, with fine features and a body built for agility.

She raises both clawed hands above her head and intones something in Asheraah. I turn to Tylan. "What is she saying?"

"She is reminding everyone the Deities will watch them and judge their honor true by the results of their actions.

The silver scaled Asheraah brings her hands down and steps back, folding her arms over her chest.

I can feel the tension in the crowd, but it is nothing like a sporting event or the occasional gang fights that would break out in the back alleys of the Docks. I'm surprised by the hush that has fallen over the room. Even the drumming has slowed to a heartbeat tempo, the beats echoing and rolling through the room.

The drums stop, and Tan and Quayl circle one another. Tan moves like the predator he is, and Quayl is a boneless, serpentine dancer.

They are magnificent. Both, their scales gleaming, and their wings spread, they are beautiful creatures, both of them, and I'm afraid, terrified, that this will be the day I lose Tan.

"They are assessing each other's strengths," Tylan explains as Tan makes a quick sweep with the staff. Quayl pivots, and his tail snaps the staff.

Tan's staff strikes a heavy blow, and Quayl spins around, ducking underneath and circling around. His wing is within reach, and Tan makes a calculated strike.

Quayl twists and comes up with a staff aimed for Tan's throat. Tan parries, their weapons locked, and, their tails wrapping around each other, Tan leaps up and sends the pair crashing to the ground.

They break apart. Tan is breathing a little heavier while Quayl's movements are fluid and sinuous. They circle again.

"I thought Quayl was a bad fighter," I whisper.

Tylan's response is equally hushed. "He is, but his agility is impressive. Tan is trying to tire him out."

Again, Quayl makes a strike, and Tan counters, pushing forward with a rapid succession of blows, the wood crackling. The crowd murmurs, and a ripple runs through them.

I don't realize what's happening until it's too late. A coil of Quayl's tail snags Tan's, sweeping Tan's legs from under him. Tan hits the ground hard, winded. Standing over him, staff in hand, Quayl presses his advantage with a heavy, two-handed blow.

My skin feels like ice and my breath catches. The world slows and the crowd noise fades as Quayl's staff comes down.

I can't breathe. It's not real. It's not real.

Tan rolls to the side, catching Quayl's blow with his tail.

Beside me, Tylan sucks in a sharp breath, their wings flared.

And then I see them. The shadow antennae, and a shadow tail. It looks like something I would see on a desert scorpioni, and it's whipping straight toward Tan's head.

"Down!" I scream. "Tan, down!"