WOLF DAWN: Science Fiction Thriller/ Romance (Forsaken Worlds) Read online

“Maybe all he needs is a bit of a change. You know, we’ve got a lot of work out of ‘im — and we never did get him a woman.” The men gave a knowing look at each other. Ash had been with them for more than three months and during that time they had both been through quite a few women, as well as indulging in many other vices.

  “You’re serious,” Del’s eyebrows drew down in surprise. “I ain’t gonna spend the credit and he don’t look like he could use a woman anyway. What if someone reports us having an off-world slave? Did you think of that?”

  “No one will report us,” Ein argued. “There’ll be friends and kin there tonight — no one with Icom. We’ll keep the chain on so’s he don’t get away. The change’ll do him good.”

  Del looked at Ein with suspicion. Ash found he had an urgent and irrational impulse to laugh out loud. He stiffled it. That comment from Ein about how, “The change will do him good.” Ha. Ein didn’t care in the slightest about Ash’s wellbeing.

  Del’s pale blue eyes narrowed. “Why d’you want to bring the slave to the fights for, Ein?”

  Unexpectedly, Ein flushed.

  “Let’s hear it.”

  Ein had a sheepish expression. “You know I been courting Jeanie, or at least I been trying to.” He looked away. “She jus’ don’t notice me. I thought if I showed her how I have a slave she’d, you know, she’d look at me. Think I was special.”

  Del gave a low chuckle, and shook his head. “I doubt you have a chance with that girl, but it’s a good idea, brother. We’ll take the slave out and impress our kinfolks tonight — in particular, Miss Jeanie.” So it was decided. Ash was going out that evening.

  Night came swiftly and by then Ash had recovered much of his strength. Though still weak, a day of rest, food and sunshine had restored him. He had managed to convince his captors to provide more water and let him back in the cave for a soapless wash and change of clothes. While there he had slipped the King’s Mirror on under his long-sleeved leather tunic. The possibilities of the night gave him newfound strength, as well as anticipation. It was an opportunity. Somehow he would escape. There was no way he was going back into that mine.

  The brothers came to get him. They had been drinking from an extremely potent local brew called “Opan Lightning” or “Bathtub Gin.” It was a form of illegal alcohol, made from Opan potato, a sour, starchy yellow tuber. Ash could smell the alcohol from meters away — it was probably 190 proof. Better and better, Ash decided happily.

  Del fastened the chain onto his own arm, leaving the ring in place around Ash’s neck.

  “You won’t need that,” Ash said.

  “Oh, yes, we will. I don’t trust you.”

  “But …” Ash thought quickly. “What about when I am with the woman? You promised me a woman.”

  Both brothers laughed. “You need to pull out more ore before we spend credit on you. Being an off-worlder, no whore in her right mind will have you. It’ll cost twice as much.”

  To Ash’s further dismay, he was handcuffed wrist to wrist as well, arms behind his back. He had been fed and he felt well enough, but he was still unable to mind-touch. He searched for that familiar warmth inside and found only a grim and empty void. His power was gone.

  They boarded the speeder and flew off to the fights.

  After looking forward to getting away from his prison, Ash changed his mind once he was at the festivities. His night of adventure was turning out to include a number of extra crosses to endure. After years of living peacefully with the wolves and spending three months of silence in his prison cave, the loud raucous noises of the fringe dwellers carousing were more than his sensitive ears could take.

  Ash had started the evening looking into the faces of the people he passed, hoping to see some sign of sympathy or a desire to help or free him, but there was only mild curiosity, amusement or indifference. It was humiliating to be paraded about in chains as if he were a common criminal or livestock on display.

  “So, Del, you old bull, you got you a slave,” one man commented, cheerfully thumping Ash on the back.

  “He does the work, but what else is he good at? Ha ha!”

  Despite everything he had been through, Ash blushed at the constant physical pawing and interest he attracted. He hated being the center of attention and always had. It was worse than when he had been heir apparent on Delian; everyone had wanted to stare at him there, too, but at least they were never allowed to touch. Del and Ein were happy to have Ash on show and they didn’t care who poked and prodded him; nor did they mind that he was the butt of countless jokes. Feral humor. He was part of the entertainment, it seemed.

  “He looks plenty useful to me,” said another.

  “An off-worlder, you say? Where did you get him? Mars? Ha ha ha!”

  “Is it true what they say about off-worlders? He looks human enough, but what’s he like without his clothes on?”

  “How much for him, honey?” one hard-faced woman asked, thoughtfully stroking his shoulders with sensual interest. She thrust her hand down inside his trousers and grabbed. “Oh yeah. Plenty enough there to make a girl happy.”

  The comments went on all night. The hill people joked and examined him, making him open his mouth and show his teeth, asking him silly questions and then whooping with laughter at his accent. All the while they continued to ply his owners with drink, the only thing Ash was pleased about. If his captors were drunk then he could try for freedom. Until then Ash was a sensation, something he would prefer not to be. And throughout it all he was frightened, worried that the King’s Mirror would be discovered. He didn’t want to lose his father’s talisman.

  If only he could escape these chains.

  At one point Ash looked up, straight into the attentive eyes of Jani, the old woman he had often traded with when visiting the Ferals. She had set up a stall and had not changed from what he could see. Still gray haired, toothless and old. Ash looked into her face and found sympathy and recognition there. She remained quite still, but her eyes moved over him, his neck chain and his captors, taking in his circumstances. They returned to his face with a hard, expressionless look.

  Ash gave her an imperceptible nod of acknowledgment. Subtle, almost wolf like, Jani was observant and would know by his nod that he understood. And he really did understand. He knew Jani so well. Jani was worn and damaged by the hardship of fighting and of surviving a difficult life. Her physical form completely camouflaged the infinite strength and determination of the person within. With that one expression Jani had told him that she disapproved of his capture and resultant slavery.

  Ash imagined what she was thinking, as clearly as if he had heard her thoughts: Off-worlder got his self in trouble. Stupid man-child … more guts and go than sense. Not only was the woman on his side, but she would find a way to free him at the soonest opportunity. Jani would not rest until she did. Ash felt her intention and the warmth of honest human connection, something he had not experienced for far too long.

  Ash’s heart lightened, and despite the circumstances he was filled with joy … and hope. He thought, Many would look at Jani and see an ugly old woman. They would never know her force of character, the Titan underneath. He smiled. To him, Jani was beautiful.

  Soon the moment arrived. Time for the evening entertainment, the highlight, what everyone had come here to see: the animal fights. A large open area was the site of the event; it was covered by grass that had been eaten right down to the dirt by grazing stock. A pit had been dug down to some depth: this was the arena. Ash carefully observed the surroundings as much as he could. No fresh dirt, only solid clay — the pit must have been a source of entertainment for years. Dug into an enormous circle, the pit was large enough that everyone could look down and watch the show. It also ran deeper than a tall man’s head would be if he stood inside. A wooden platform circled the arena — to prevent people from falling in, perhaps.

  A few rusty speeders lay around, scattered about like fallen leaves, but it appeared that of the hundreds of people w
ho had come, almost all had arrived on foot. A number of stalls had been set up far off to one side, where food, drink and other various amusements were being bartered or exchanged for credit. He smelled cooking meat, burning pitch, spices and the sharp bite of alcohol. Torches illuminated the night; they flickered in the light breeze, keeping the darkness at bay. Some of the torches were held, others planted into the ground. Burning brightly, they cast an eerie, indistinct glow that distorted the visages of the inebriated hill people. The Ferals, muddled and weaving, moved like misshapen demons in the distorted light.

  The first animal was brought out, dragged out in its cage and carefully dumped into the arena: it was a large and angry boar. A few pig-dogs were brought toward the pit by their owners. Not really dogs, they were an indigenous animal that looked a bit like a badger with quills instead of fur. Carnivorous hunters and scavengers, they loved to fight and could be trained to track boar. They were on leashes, but were snarling and snapping, their spittle flying into the crowd. As one, the multitude moved back, giving the aggressive animals space.

  The crowd almost resonated in a wild frenzy. Filled with fanatical enthusiasm they were gambling large amounts, shouting to be heard amidst the din. Bets and coarse comments verbally exploded back and forth from within the confines of the crowd. The verbal barrage was so swift and loud that it reminded Ash of rapid weapon fire. It was difficult to tell who was actually speaking.

  “I bet a credit that the boar wins.”

  “Two on the pig dog.”

  “A dog couldn’t kill a boar.”

  “Make it two pig dogs!”

  “Yes. It’s a small boar. An even match.”

  The contest was set, and two of the vicious-looking dogs were dropped into the arena with the infuriated boar. Ash looked on in disgust. What a waste. The pig-dogs had been bred and trained to flush out, fight and hold wild boar, so their masters could come in for the kill. On their own, however, such dogs wouldn’t have a chance.

  To Ein’s dismay, the object of his attentions, Jeanie, hadn’t come to the animal fights. Ein’s disappointment had been momentary. Both Del and Ein were convulsing with laughter and screaming, thoroughly enjoying the proceedings. Every so often, Del would raise his arms in his excitement and wrench Ash’s neck violently. He was becoming quite used to it. He could even predict when to move, in order to lessen the jar.

  The boar had tusked one dog, throwing with such force that it flew, mortally wounded and howling with pain and terror, into the roaring crowd. The other soon met a similar fate, except it remained inside the ring with the maddened boar. It was trampled and tusked again and again well after it was dead. The rank smell of fresh blood filled the air like a malevolent perfume.

  Credit changed hands, more drinks went around, and the rest of the night continued along the same vein. By the end of the evening there were no more animals left to fight. The remaining living creature, the challenger, who had destroyed all opponents, was the king of all. It was a huge male boar — much, much larger than the first boar that had fought. An intelligent creature, it trotted around the arena restlessly, barrel chest heaving, tusks gleaming with blood in the firelight, snorting and sniffing. The creature was turning its head from side to side as it trotted around the ring. Its small round eyes were searching, looking up at the crowd of people above: it was expectant, watching for another victim.

  Someone found a full-grown twill and threw it in the pit, having taken bets on how long the bird would last. Laughter and clapping erupted at this new source of entertainment. With a rush of hoofs, the bird was down within seconds, the boar trampling and tusking the life out of it, its bloody snout covered with fresh gore and feathers.

  Lost Souls of Perdition, Ash stared in awe. That animal is mad. Blood crazed, frenzied, the boar continued its bizarre rampage, tusking, tusking over again, stabbing, crushing, and trampling any remaining scraps of animals and occasionally crashing into the walls of the pit in its savage rage.

  Ash was repelled and nauseated by the cruel sport. This place offended his sense of smell and sight. A foul odor of fear, blood, brutalized flesh and abhorrent death permeated the entire area. He almost preferred the mine. Every animal had died for nothing. Sickened with disgust, Ash longed to return to the sanity of the wolves. How could people do this for pleasure? And what unnatural satisfaction could one obtain by watching these senseless, savage deaths?

  The maddened boar continued careening around the ring in its rage, having destroyed every opponent. There was nothing else to match with the boar in the arena. Almost as one, the crowd seemed to sigh with this knowledge, experiencing an almost palpable wave of dejection. The ongoing din of argument, laughter, and chatter abated and an unhappy, brooding silence followed. The Ferals mood darkened. The night’s entertainment had come to an end.

  Someone started booing and this began a chorus of agreement. Others began to make noises of disparagement, hissing and scowling, swearing and making scornful hand gestures. It was as if one instrument had started playing and, as a consequence, an entire orchestra had joined in. The music was the same and everyone was contributing to the common refrain.

  “Booooo. Boooo.”

  Various profanities were shouted out: colorful, loud, intense and obscene.

  The throng was unhappy.

  Evidently the crowd’s lust for death wasn’t sated.

  Ash scanned the sea of faces surrounding him. There were no longer any individuals in this rabble. They reacted as if they had one common mood, as if they were one single being. The massive crowd was becoming angry and that rage was like a rapidly spreading malignant disease spiraling into something more pronounced.

  Anything could happen.

  Anything.

  Like a spark to dry tender, or the last charged particle that sets off a nuclear reaction, Ash could feel it: the crowd was going to explode. Just as he realized how dangerous the feral mob was becoming, someone whooped. It was a yell of joy, heard by all.

  “I got an idea. A good one!” a man yelled. “The slave! I bet five credits that your slave goes down in less than two minutes.”

  The mob responded instantly, like the ignition of rocket fuel. The rabble was not sated — it wanted more blood. There was a palpable frenzy of fresh excitement; the crowd moved forward in a rush of fresh energy, a ripple of purpose. The multitude surged toward Ash, roaring with one united voice.

  “Yes,” they shouted, voices high pitched with excitement. “The off-worlder. Throw in the off-worlder!”

  “Yes! Yes!” The words were shouted in an earsplitting roar.

  “Throw him in! Throw him in!”

  “I wager he be dead in three minutes,” a gray-bearded man with a surprisingly thunderous voice yelled, raising a gnarled hand.

  “Three and a half credits says he runs and don’t even try to fight,” another cried out.

  “Ha,” one fellow retorted, “I’ll take that wager. I’m thinking he’ll be too scared to run,” the man chortled gleefully.

  “No,” Del protested at full volume. As the crowd surged toward him he raised his hands up high, as if to ward off an avalanche. “He’s worth credit. We got to keep him working in the mine.”

  Weak with relief, Ash could hardly remain standing. He looked toward Del with heartfelt gratitude. Thank Jana. Del didn’t want to put him in the pit; he knew that Ash was too valuable. Del was on his side. To enter that arena without the power to mind-touch would be suicide. This triumphant boar was particularly formidable, an experienced predator that enjoyed the kill.

  “I’ll buy your slave. Then when he’s gone it’s not your loss,” one man offered. Compared to the other Ferals he was almost well dressed. “Ten Credits.”

  Pure terror rushed through Ash, freezing him to stillness; it was as if there was ice water running in his veins.

  “Not enough.” Del shouted to be heard above the crowd.

  “Twenty.”

  “No. No, Del, Listen. You need me,” Ash urged. He could
feel his heart in his chest, pounding with dread. What could he say that could compete with Del’s greed? How could he get through to him? Frantic, Ash said, “I know where there is gold, Del. I’ve been there, in the mountains. I can show you.”

  Del wasn’t listening. “Twenty isn’t enough. He can work for years, yet.”

  “Thirty.”

  Ash was shouting, desperate to be heard. “I know where you can get jewels. Delian Damithst. Priceless jewels. Don’t sell me. I can make you rich.”

  “Thirty is a good price,” the well-dressed man assured.

  Del’s face was expressionless. He looked toward his brother. Ein shrugged and pointed upwards. He obviously thought they could get more than thirty.

  “No. No, please. Listen, you need me,” Ash begged. Any consideration of pride disappeared like fog blown away by a strong hot wind or vanishing under a searing sun. He went down on his knees before Del, in an attempt to get his attention. Del had always wanted him begging. When measured up against being put in an arena with a maddened boar, getting on his knees just didn’t seem such a big deal.

  “Thirty-five,” the stranger offered.

  Wrists still cuffed behind his back, Ash pushed against Del’s legs with his torso, still trying to get his attention. Del frowned, a furrow between his brows. He looked down at Ash as if assessing his worth.

  On his knees, Ash pleaded for his life. “I do the work. Think about it. Who will work your mine?” His heart was thumping; he felt breathless. “Please, Del, please. I swear. I’ll work harder. I’ll do anything. Anything! Just don’t put me in the ring.” Ash was desperate. It was an overwhelming, soul-destroying sentiment that he had up until now been unaware he was even capable of.

  His mind held one thought: I don’t want to die.

  Del looked up at the rich stranger, ignoring Ash. He rubbed his bearded chin, considering for a few moments. Then he hawked and spat, putting his right hand out. “Forty and it’s done,” he said.

  The strange shook his head. “Thirty-eight and that’s my last offer.”

  Del looked at Ein.