Slaves of Dardekum: The Lightbringer, Book 1 Page 3

  I stagger back on my elbows, startled by the way his eyes are bulging. In torment, he reaches to cover his face, his hands trembling, a terrible scream escaping his lips.

  It’s then, as his agony reaches a breaking point, that his atoms finally give in and his head explodes, showering me in a wave of toxic meat and bone and flesh.

  I lie there watching, baffled by what I’ve just seen. The confusion of it leaves me trembling. But then, the throbbing of my skull overtakes me, the world begins to spin, and I’m suddenly on the verge of passing out. But not before I see a figure in white towering over me like an angel

  Chapter Three

  I wake with a scream, my body covered in sweat. “Rachel!”

  “Rest,” I hear a woman say.

  She dabs my forehead with a wet rag. It feels good. I let out a long slow breath as I try to calm myself. Dazed, I look around to find myself in some kind of hut. The walls are made of adobe, and the floor looks hard and flat, like some type of ground that’s been compacted. Tan curtains sway in a gentle breeze, as a late afternoon sun shines through the round windows.

  Everywhere I look, I see crystals. They clink softly in the background, giving the room a tranquil feel.

  “Where am I?” I ask.

  “You’re in my home,” the woman says. “And you’re safe.”

  “Safe?”

  I narrow my eyes at the woman, studying her carefully. She has an elegant face, light skin, knowing eyes, her head covered in a tan hijab made of silk. Around her neck hangs a circle made of twig, with a piece of string drawn down the center. The sight of her is calming.

  “Who are you?” I ask.

  “My name is Sister Elandra of the Order of Attrition. I live here, along with my sisters.”

  I turn to see three women similarly dressed as Elandra huddled on a bench to my left, watching me in silence. They’re spellbound.

  “How did I get here?”

  “After Zorel saved you from the slavers, we picked you up and brought you here.”

  “Zorel?”

  “You’ll meet her soon enough.”

  I touch the bump on my head, remembering the fight with Gromm. I killed him.

  I sit up, sliding against the frame of the bed. I’m still sore from when Gromm punched me in the stomach, and my head hurts like a motherfucker from when I fell against the rock, but overall, I’m okay. I need to get up, though. Now.

  My movement startles the women, and they quickly cover their mouths, their eyes wide with fear.

  “Itorim Sacrie,” the youngest one says—a girl no more than eighteen. She bows her head in reverence, as if she’s just witnessed a miracle, and draws an imaginary circle before her.

  “What’s she doing?” I ask.

  “She’s drawing the corfew,” Elandra answers, referring to the circle made of twig hanging around her neck. “It’s our symbol for the holy sun.”

  I frown. “But what’s that got to do with me?”

  “Because she saw you,” Elandra says. “We all did.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When you appeared in the sky…with the woman.”

  “Rachel,” I quickly say. “Do you know where they took her?”

  Elandra shakes her head warily. “I’m sorry. We do not. The slavers are secretive creatures these days. They dwell in the Frontier—a vile place where mutant and criminal alike have taken refuge. Most believe they do not exist. But we know the truth of it. As do you now.”

  Fuck…

  What the hell’s going on here? How can this still be happening? Waking up on this planet without Rachel is like losing her all over again. I fall back, sighing in frustration, only to wince in pain as the back of my head bangs against the wall. “Ow.”

  “You should lie back down,” Elandra urges. “You still need to rest.”

  “I need to find Rachel.”

  “Not like this, you won’t.”

  At that moment, I hear the sound of bickering outside. A man and a woman arguing about something. My body tenses in fear. “Who’s that?” I ask.

  “Trouble,” Elandra says with a frown.

  I turn to the window, catching sight of a tall blond in a white bodysuit and leather boots. She has long hair with grey eyes, and a grin that seems almost cemented on her face. Wearing an armored corset that wraps perfectly around her thin waist, pressing her large breasts over the rim, I suddenly recognize her as the woman who saved me.

  “It’s the angel,” I whisper in awe.

  “Angel?” Elandra gives a scornful laugh. “That’s no angel.”

  I watch, enamored, as the gorgeous woman stops in her tracks, wind whistling through her hair as she turns to scream back at the man. “And another thing, you asshole; you smell like a fucking pig!”

  “Fuck you!” the man yells back.

  Ashamed, Elandra cups her face and whispers, “I swear they’re going to kill each other one of these days.”

  “Sister?” The blond calls out from outside. She parts the curtain to the side, and I see that she’s even more beautiful up close. Her eyes sparkle with amusement as she sees me sitting up in bed. “He’s awake?”

  “Barely,” Elandra answers.

  The blond angles her head to the side, her gaze falling to my chest. “Not bad.”

  Elandra sighs. “Zorel, do you do nothing but think about sex?”

  “Sure,” she answers. “I get hungry sometimes as well.”

  Elandra rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “There’s some fruit on the table,” she mutters. “Help yourself. Come, sisters. We have prayers to do.”

  The huddled women quickly rise, casting me one long look before joining their mistress.

  I frown in confusion.

  “They’re scared of you,” Zorel says.

  “Of me? Why?”

  “Because you’re a man. The sisters have sworn off sex in sacrifice for their faith. Any appearance of the flesh is a test for them. Most pass, but some…” She glances at my chest and grins. “…don’t.”

  “I see,”

  “Or perhaps they believe in the prophecy.”

  “What prophecy?” I ask.

  “The one that says a man will appear in the night to push back the darkness.”

  “Well, that’s definitely not me.”

  “That’s too bad,” she says. “Never made it with a prophet before. I’m hungry,” she announces. “Let’s see what the good sister has left for us, shall we?”

  I watch as she swipes a piece of fruit from the table, a round bulbous thing with a short stem, shaped like an apple. But it’s not. It’s dark purple with green spots, and when she takes a bite of it, I see a pink interior filled with seeds. The juices run down the corners of her lips and onto her chin, awakening the lower half of my body.

  Damn…

  She teases me with narrow eyes, her tongue sliding seductively over her teeth. “You want some?”

  I’m not sure if she’s talking about the fruit or something else. “Sure,” I say.

  “First, you must tell me if it’s true or not?”

  “If what’s true?”

  “That you appeared out of the sky?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “One second I was with Rachel working on a particle collider, the next…”

  “Who’s Rachel?” she asks.

  “The woman I came here with.”

  “The one the slavers took?”

  I nod.

  Zorel takes another sloppy bite of the fruit and tosses the rest to me. She seems uninhibited, like a woman who sits with her legs opened. I find it incredibly sexy.

  I catch the half-eaten fruit and hold it up for inspection, intrigued by the black seeds inside.

  “It’s good,” she assures. “The poison’s already been drained.”

  “Poison?”

  She laughs. “You’ve never eaten a paraylock before?”

  “Paraylock?”

  “It’s rare in these parts. Supposedly, we used to get it from
off world. But since the religious quarantine, no ships have been allowed here in over a century. Elandra and the sisters grow a strain of it in the back. Not as good as before I heard. But I like it.”

  I take a bite of the fruit, amazed at the sweet juices and tender fibers popping in my mouth. I look at her in amazement.

  “I told you,” she says smugly. “So, where are you from?”

  “Earth,” I say, taking another bite.

  “Which village is that?”

  “It’s not; it’s a planet.”

  She looks at me in confusion. “A planet? But that would mean that you’re from off-world.”

  “I guess it would,” I say, wiping the juice from my mouth.

  She snorts. “Impossible. The only ships that come here are Republic sanctioned—troops, public officials and trade shipments. Travel between the planets has been outlawed. Everyone knows that.”

  “That might be,” I say. “But I didn’t come here on a ship. I was transported here.”

  “Transported? To Dardekum?”

  “Is that what this place is called?”

  She walks toward me, the skin of her bodysuit rubbing together as her toned thighs slide against each other. She sits at the edge of my bed, her eyes growing tight, and I can’t help but appreciate the ample cleavage spilling over her corset. “You really don’t know where you are, do you?”

  “Clueless.”

  For a moment, the space between us is filled with silence. Then I ask, “Where are you from?”

  She grins. “At present, I’m stationed at Dalorum, the capital.”

  “What are you then?” I ask, motioning to her white bodysuit and silver armor. “Some type of warrior?”

  “A Purifier,” she answers. “I patrol these forsaken lands, bringing justice to the poor and punishment to the sinner.”

  “Can you help me find Rachel?” I ask, rising in my bed as I feel a rush of hope fill my chest.

  “Any type of investigation would first need to be sanctioned by the church.”

  “And how do I do that?”

  “You have to go to the capital.”

  “Can you take me there?”

  Before she can answer me, I hear the sound of an engine roaring in the distance, and my heart begins to race in fear.

  “Ah shit, they’re back,” I say, jumping from the bed. I hurry as fast as I can. But I only make it a couple of steps before I realize that my dick’s swinging in the wind.

  Zorel laughs as I reach to cover my cock. But my ass is now facing the window, where the sisters are huddled outside. The women gasp in horror as they see my bare ass, quickly retracing the circle as they cover their faces in shame.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “Here,” Zorel says, tossing me my jeans. “Put them on.”

  I hurry as the engine grows louder, my heart thumping in my chest. “You have to get out of here,” I warn her. “They’ll hurt you.”

  “Who?” she asks.

  “The slavers.”

  She laughs. “That’s not a slaver.”

  I pause to look at her. “What are you talking about?”

  “That’s Atia Valora.”

  “Who?”

  “The Captain of the Purifiers.”

  “Captain?”

  “Just get dressed,” she says, giving my body another once over. “And hurry up, sexy.”

  I watch as she exits the hut, the tan curtain falling behind her. Meanwhile, I rush to put on my clothes. It might not be the slavers who’ve returned, but I don’t want to keep meeting people naked. It’s weird. I tuck in my white t-shirt, throw on my sweatshirt and slip on my boots, rushing to catch up with Zorel outside, who’s already lifting her hair up into a bun.

  “That was fast,” she says. “I hope you’re not that way in bed.”

  “What?” I ask with a frown.

  We watch as a motorcycle appears in the distance. It hovers above the ground, gliding over the dunes with at least a foot of clearance, dust kicking up at its tail. It pulls up before the hut, swerving out to a stop, and I see another female in form-fitting armor dismounting from the seat.

  As beautiful as Zorel is, this new woman is even hotter. Shoulder-Length blond hair. Dark eyebrows. A pair of light-blue eyes that seem to notice everything. She marches out to us with rolled back shoulders, a regal look on her perfect face. I feel like I’m looking at a goddess, who’s just come down from Mount Olympia.

  She stops before us, her body an athletic specimen of long muscle and feminine curves.

  “Greetings,” she says to Zorel with a crisp nod.

  “Captain,” Zorel replies with an overly dramatic salute.

  If Atia’s amused, she doesn’t show it.

  “Is this the young man?” Atia asks.

  Zorel pats me on the ass, prodding me to stumble forward.

  “Okay, would you please not do that?” I say, shooting her a stare.

  “They say you killed one of the mutants,” Atia says, her eyes drawing into slits as she sizes me up. There’s doubt on her face.

  Mutants? So that what they were. “I did what I had to,” I reply. “He was going to kill me.”

  “If you were lucky,” she says coldly. “The mutants are known for being cannibals. A young man like yourself would’ve been a feast for them.”

  “Thanks,” I reply dryly, but my tone is lost on her.

  Instead, she surveys the desert, her profile as perfect as the rest of her.

  “Look,” I begin. “Someone I know has been taken from me. I need to find her. Zorel told me I have to file a complaint or something with the church? Can you help me get back to the capital?”

  “Oh, you’re going back to the capital, alright,” she says.

  “Great,” I say, relieved.

  “To bare testimony.”

  “What?”

  “Is the other hover-cycle ready?” Atia asks, ignoring me again.

  “Fat chance at that,” Zorel replies. She motions to the side of the hut where a middle-aged man with grease-covered skin is working on another one of their motorcycles. “O’l grumpy-pants over there’s been complaining all morning long.”

  “When does he not?” Atia asks.

  “Perhaps if he was to see the captain of the Purifiers, he might work a little faster?”

  “Perhaps,” Atia agrees.

  I follow the women as they march out to the man, his head rising above the seat of the bike, as he hears us. A deep frown curls on his face.

  “Did you fix the hover-cycle yet?” Zorel calls out.

  “I already told you,” he grumbles. “Don’t bother me when I’m working.”

  “Is that what you’re doing?” Zorel asks. “I thought you were playing with your asshole.”

  “What did you just say to me?”

  “The hover-hover-cycle,” Atia says flatly. “How long, Prygan?”

  Prygan’s anger recoils like a frightened snake in the captain’s presence. “I don’t know,” he says, his tongue guarded. “Maybe a day. Maybe more.”

  “A day?” Zorel’s in disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “You soldiers and your schedules,” Prygan complains. “Always demanding, always complaining. What about the rest of us folk who have to toil out here in the muck while you lot gain glorious favor for the Republic? Do we not deserve the same respect as you?”

  “Tell him if he doesn’t hurry up, he’ll have more to worry about than respect.” Atia’s tone is strikingly even, and I feel as if I’m listening to a queen who’s made her proclamation.

  “I heard that!” Prygan yells, shooting the women a scowl.

  “Just get it done,” Atia says.

  Frustrated, Prygan reaches for a white rag lying on the ground and wipes his face with it, cleaning the beads of sweat from his forehead. But as he lets it down, I realize that its not a rag, but Rachel’s lab coat.

  “Hey!” I scream, marching toward the little man, determined to p
eel the coat away from him.

  “And who’s this?” Fillugs asks. “A little mouse from the desert?”

  “Where’d you get that?” I demand, pointing to Rachel’s lab coat.

  Prygan looks at me. “What’s it to you?”

  “It belongs to my…” What is Rachel to me? All these years and I’ve never really thought about it. “…Rachel,” I finish.

  He looks at the coat and frowns, clearly unimpressed. “So?”

  “So give it back.”

  “Or what?” he challenges.

  “Or I’ll take it back.”

  Prygan’s eyes narrow. I’ve touched a nerve. He rises from behind the hover-cycle, and I’m horrified to see that the entire lower half of his body is missing, replaced by a set of mechanical legs that resemble that of a spider’s. He scampers out from behind the bike, quickly towering over me like a giant predator, and I’m suddenly overcome by the fear of dying.

  “What’s the matter?” he asks, spitting at my feet. “Not tough anymore?”

  “Relax,” Zorel says to the cyborg. I feel her hand on my shoulder as she walks past me to face Prygan. “He’s new to these parts. Doesn’t know how things work.”

  “Won’t last long if he doesn’t smarten up.”

  Zorel reaches for Rachel’s coat, which is firmly embedded in the angry man’s hand. “Come on, you big lug,” she coaxes. “How ‘bout I bring you back a nice piece of silk from the capital to wipe your ass with, huh?”

  He scowls. “Oh, go on, then,” he says, tossing it at her.

  Zorel arches a brow at the white cloth, now stained with dirt and soot. “This is…interesting.”

  I swipe it from her. “It was Rachel’s. It was her coat.”

  “And now it’s evidence,” Atia says, snatching it in turn from my hands. She stretches it out before her, examining it closely. “I’ve never seen this type of material before,” Atia says.

  “Because it’s not from here,” I say.

  “I can see that,” Atia says. “This will only help our case with the gaideck.” Folding the coat, she slips it beneath her corset, drawing a resentful sigh from me as I feel the last piece of Rachel being ripped away from me again.