4. Kuret

4

Kuret

It feels like I've been walking through the hallways of the outer cloister for ages.

I don't remember it being this long, but I keep moving forward, step after step, endlessly. In the distance, I hear a sound—like men screaming a battle cry-and it spurs me to quicken my pace, until I'm running, eager to reach them, to earn my honor on the battlefield.

When I reach the courtyard, I see the bloodied males marching toward me, their eyes vacant and dead, with Samke leading them. I raise my spear, trying to reason with them, but Samke lunges at me, open mouth, sharp teeth aiming at my throat.

***

"Samke!" I scream, pushing myself off the ground before I've even fully woken up.

I try to assume a fighting stance, but my legs are not steady, and I rock back and forth, tipping forward until a bush breaks my fall.

Pulling away from the surprisingly lush purple bush, I lay on the ground to collect my thoughts and make sense of where I am. The sky is an unnatural shade of purple-green, with a bright sun that warms instead of burning, and towering plants stretch far beyond my sight—unnaturally tall in a way that makes my marks itch.

This is not my home.

"Honorless animals," I grunt, hissing as a sharp pain shoots through my head.

How did I get here? Reality and dream blur in my mind, but one thing is clear; I failed.

I remember being captured, but my memory fractures after that. When I try to force myself to recall more, it feels like something's gnawing at my brain, all thanks to those disgusting creatures. I decide to stay down for a while, regaining my strength with deep breaths as I think of how to survive in this strange new place.

The sky is evidence enough that I cannot just walk home.

Am I the only one here? A sharp pang strikes each of my hearts, one after the other. I've never been alone before. There have always been males around me to speak with, to fight alongside.

I push down the rising panic.

A wet chatter pulls me from my thoughts, followed by a collective honking. My eyes shoot pen—I'd recognize that sound anywhere. The chattering continues, and I flip onto my stomach, rising slowly to avoid stumbling again.

I walk quietly, hiding behind a towering plant, and spot the source of the sound. Ahead, the forest leads to a ridgeline, where three of the aliens are ascending, moving away from the path that leads to me. A smile stretches across my face. They will never detect me coming.

They took my spear, but I remember the knife hidden inside my boot. I reach back with two fingers, pulling out the sharp dagger. Looking up again, I see that they've moved far enough ahead for me to follow them.

I trail behind them down the ridge, thankful for the odd plants that provided cover. I never imagined revenge would be so easily within reach, but as I follow the aliens, I can see all the entry points of attack.

There are plenty, since they seem to have no sense of survival.

When I close in, I note that they are holding weapons and realize that my initial plan to announce myself with a battle cry may not be the wisest. Their lighting puts smoking holes in warriors who have been in more battles than the years I've been alive. It is wise to be cautious.

As we near the top of the ridge, I hear a stream bubbling nearby, and the grotesque creatures make the honking sound again. I realize they have come up the ridge for the water, focused on it in a way that makes them ignore their surroundings.

I decide to wait where I am hiding so that I can find a second weapon while they get into position. A suitably thick branch lies a small distance away from me, so I pick it up and remove the leaves, carving the tip until it's sharp enough to be a point.

Such a valuable resource, just lying around in abundance. So strange.

I creep along the ridge, staying out of sight as I make my way toward them. They are sufficiently distracted, so I quicken my pace into a jog and drive the sharpened branch into the head of one of the aliens.

Pink slime and gray blood spurts from the hole as he deflates in front of his friends with a squelch. The second recovers from his shock quickly and reaches for his weapon, but my dagger is already through his eye, as he bleeds all over my hand.

The third one pulls out his weapon and aims it at me, but I dodge and fall to the ground behind one of the dying aliens. I spot a dagger in his holster and waste no time throwing it.

Peeking out from behind my temporary cover, which is rapidly deflating, I see that I have killed all three, and pride fills my body. I stand up straight and pull out my knife from one of their puddles, taking it with me as I wade into the stream to wash their filth off.

This is just the first of them I plan to kill.

For their invasion, for my abduction, and for the deaths of my friends—and probably the females at the cloister—I will not stop until I make every one of them pay. Until then, I must find weapons and gather supplies to protect myself.

I don't recognize some of their items and although it feels like a lost opportunity, I can still carry so much.

Although they are awkward in my hand, as a last resort, I decide to carry one of their daggers with me, attaching a cleaned holster around my waist. I make my way down the ridgeline, stepping into the thick, leafy plants that sway gently around me, noting how different it is from my home planet.

There, the air is harsh and dry, and the sun's brutal rays scorch your skin if you stay too long under it. Here, the breeze brushes softly against me, and the towering plants create a patchwork of shade. But I can't bring myself to appreciate my environment.

My hearts are pounding fast, drumming loudly against my chest, each feeding the rage building inside me. I want nothing more than to destroy these creatures, wipe them out completely, one by one.