Shades of gray, p.53
Shades of Gray, page 53
“A drink first?” Chokkuh asked.
“You are most kind,” she replied in a soft, seductive tone, glancing up from under her long eyelashes at him, but there was a note of surprise in her voice.
The General turned away from her to go to the small dining table at the other side of the room where a wine bottle and two glasses were already waiting. As he poured, he watched her approach him.
“Thank you for the dress,” she said. “Do you like it?” She turned around slowly, the better for him to see it.
“It is adequate,” he replied, handing her a glass as he—and Kusac—appraised her.
Of a semitransparent material, the purple fabric did little to conceal her nakedness under it. Two folds of the diaphanous material swept from behind her neck across her breasts, barely covering them while leaving her back totally exposed. Gathered by a sash at the waist, the rest fell in soft folds to her feet, which were encased in small slippers of the same color.
Where were they, and when? Was this a future yet to come? Carrie hated the M’zullian Valtegans; nothing would make her put herself in such a situation—unless she thought him dead and there was a way she could kill his killers. Hard on its heels came the thought—was he in fact dead? He recoiled further into himself, unwilling to even think about that.
She sipped her wine, coming closer and pressing herself against Chokkuh’s side, placing her other hand against his shirt.
“Straight from work?” she asked, wrinkling her nose delicately. “What were you doing this time?”
He took a small drink. “In the field again,” he said shortly. “Chasing your rebels.”
She took another sip of the wine, her fingers slowly beginning to unbutton his shirt. “Mmm, this is good.”
“It should be, it’s locally made.”
“We do make good wine. Did you catch anyone this time?” His shirt open, she slipped her hand inside and began stroking his chest.
Not like this, Carrie! he almost cried out. You’re being too obvious! Use your mind, not your body, dammit!
The Valtegan finished his wine in one mouthful and put the glass back on the table; then he reached for her, wrapping one hand around the back of her neck.
“No. We’re looking for a hideout in the forests to the east. Do you know anything of it?” His voice was harsher now.
She smiled up at him. “Me? I rarely leave here. What would I know of rebels? They hate women like me.”
At last Kusac was beginning to pick up some of his host’s thoughts. This was his favorite female, and he was angry with her for asking so many questions.
Oh, Gods, he had to help her, let her know he was here, inside the mind of this M’zullian. She must know how dangerous a game this was! Even on Keiss they’d had a saying, never be noticed by a Valtegan, and here she was, throwing herself at this one to get information!
Chokkuh reached out with his other hand, pushing aside the flimsy material covering her nearest breast, grasping it firmly, and letting his claws dig into the surrounding flesh.
She winced, but she kept the smile on her face.
“It would be a pity,” he said, flexing the hand still around her neck, “if you should ever betray me, Lise.” He released her breast and grasped the dress at the waist, ripping it off her, leaving her standing there rigid and naked. Keeping his eyes on her face, he drew a claw tip down the center of her body, leaving a thin red line. “You have no idea what the Inquisitors could do to a soft-skinned being like you.”
“Do you doubt me?” she asked, voice strained by his grip on her neck and throat. “You never have before.”
“Call it a warning. You’re good at what you do. It would be a shame to lose so—talented a slave.”
He released her, taking the glass from her hand and throwing it aside. “Enough talk! You know why you’re here.”
He didn’t want to witness this, but he had only two options: huddle deep inside and shut off his own mind to what was happening, or stay aware and gradually take control while his host was distracted. He couldn’t do it suddenly; if he did, he’d be fighting his host constantly when he needed to keep his attention on other matters, like keeping them both alive.
The M’zullian was rough with her, but as Kusac mentally crept closer and closer to the surface of Chokkuh’s mind, he began to sense her, and he realized that she was enjoying this treatment. It made no sense at all as the M’zullian left bite and scratch marks over her body, delighting in her ability to take what he dealt out. A change this basic in her nature could only be caused by a traumatic experience—he knew, it had happened to him, but he’d been tortured. Was she in fact a prisoner and not doing this voluntarily?
His instincts warred with each other, screaming out for him to take control now and stop this abuse, and at the same time telling him that something was not quite right.
At last, spent, Chokkuh fell back among the wreck of his bedding.
“Can I get you more wine?” she asked, slipping lithely off the bed.
“Yes, a little.”
Sure-footed, she padded off into the lounge.
Little things were beginning to add up now—she should have been stiff and wincing in pain given the scratches down her back, but it was as if she weren’t aware of them. There were other things, too, that made him think that no matter how like Carrie she looked, she was not the same person. Wait, Chokkuh had called her Lise. This wasn’t Carrie; this was Elise, her twin. She had no sense of pain because Carrie suffered it all for her! Somehow, he’d ended up on Keiss, back before Elise’s death. This shock, among the many he’d suffered so far, left him feeling only numb.
As she came back, carrying the glass, he sensed the tenseness in her body that hadn’t been there before.
Chokkuh must have been aware of it too as despite his physical languor, he was instantly alert.
He was setting a trap for her! This had to be the night she was taken prisoner. His immediate instinct was to do something—help her escape, distract Chokkuh. Then, like a shower of cold water, he realized if he did anything, then the present he knew would never happen. Unless Elise died, there would be no Kusac and Carrie. A wave of lightheadedness swept through his mind as he realized a younger version of him was already here, struggling through the snow with a badly wounded and infected leg. If he did anything to help Elise, he would die or be taken prisoner himself; his crew would risk capture as there would be no rescue message sent out, and the Keissians would suffer even longer under the yoke of the M’zullians. Everything he knew would cease to be if he interfered.
As if from a distance, he saw Elise give Chokkuh the glass.
He was jolted back to reality when his mind was flooded with the other’s emotions as Chokkuh leaped to his feet and grasped hold of Elise and the glass of wine. Calling for his adjutant, he stalked into the lounge, dragging her with him. The door was flung open, and three armed soldiers rushed in.
“Yes, General?”
He thrust the glass at one of the others. “Drink that,” he commanded.
“General, what are you doing? Don’t you trust me? Why give him the wine?” asked Elise, trying to keep her voice even.
“We’ll see,” hissed Chokkuh. “I remember sleeping too deeply after your last visit. This time, someone else can taste the wine.”
The soldier accepted the glass and reluctantly took a small sip.
“Drink it all,” Chokkuh ordered.
Within minutes of doing so, the soldier’s eyes began to droop, then he began to sway on his feet before collapsing heavily to the floor.
Chokkuh turned on her. “I warned you!” he said, lashing her across the face with the back of his hand twice before flinging her aside. “Take her to J’koshuk! Tell him he was right, she is a spy for the rebels!”
Once they had left, still enraged, Chokkuh went to one of the cabinets and pulled out a bottle of hard liquor. He downed several shots in one, and then he headed back to his bedroom, collapsed on his bed, and turned the light out.
While his host slept, Kusac slowly extended his control and tried to think dispassionately about his and Elise’s predicaments. It wasn’t easy. Apart from the short hair, she was almost identical to Carrie; only he, who knew her so well, could spot the differences. He tried not to think of what was happening to her right now, but memories of what he’d suffered at J’koshuk’s hands came too readily to his mind. He was grateful Chokkuh hadn’t gone with them.
Elise had selfishly pursued her career as a spy in the M’zullian pleasure city despite knowing the pain and suffering it caused her twin. Dammit, Carrie—a virgin!—had been the vulnerable one, suffering all the pain of Elise’s encounters as a qwene! It was no wonder she’d been terrified of consummating their Leska Link, and it was even more of a miracle that she had been able adapt to the Sholan telepaths’ way of life, including taking Kaid as their Third.
He could feel his anger building, and he used it to keep all thoughts of sympathy at bay. Elise didn’t deserve his sympathy—she had taken a ridiculous risk tonight, and worse, she knew it. Now she was paying the price, mentally at least. She wouldn’t suffer physically, Carrie would. He’d seen her wounds himself in the days after she rescued him, and they were horrific.
Eventually his thoughts turned to why he was here, in this time and place. Obviously there was a reason, and his bet was that Ghyakulla and L’Shoh were heavily involved in this. Which meant it had to do with them wanting him to be an arbiter of their Justice. But what did they expect him to do? Save Elise? He couldn’t, he knew that now. There was also the temptation to kill J’koshuk—if he did, then he wouldn’t end up as the Inquisitor’s prisoner, and Carrie would never be raped by him, but what would that change? What the hell was he doing here if there was nothing he could do that wouldn’t alter the future and destroy all the good that had been accomplished, not to mention wipe out the existence of their children as well as Kaid and Carrie’s daughter.
If he could have moaned, he would. A male could go mad trying to work through the ramifications of every thought and action … Finally, sleep claimed even his mind.
K’oish’ik
“Explain to me what just happened,” said Kezule, looking at Kaid and Conner.
“In my office,” said Brother Conner. “M’kou, please order refreshments for us—strong ones.”
M’kou nodded and gave the order to ZSADHI as he followed them to the office.
Once they were settled, Conner began. “Kusac has talked to me over the last few days about his changing abilities. He found out by accident that he could alter the appearance, permanently, of things like that lump of bronze and of living things as well. He experimented on some flowers in his suite, changing their colors.”
“That’s a long way from shape-changing and disappearing!” snapped Kezule.
“Patience, General,” said Conner. “The other day when he collapsed down in the new village, he was taken by the Mother to Vartra’s Realm, where he met with her and L’Shoh.”
Kezule looked utterly baffled.
“He means our Earth Goddess, Ghyakulla, who is the same as your La’shol,” said Kaid. “They aren’t exactly deities, but they are Entities, the spirits or aspects of our worlds. Perhaps because we’re telepaths, we’re more aware of them, and they of us. They certainly interfere in our lives!”
“So you’re saying he had a vision of some kind?” Kezule asked, still confused.
“Not exactly,” said Conner. “He was mentally taken to one of their Realms, a place outside our perceptions, where they spoke to him about being their Avatar to bring Justice to the Alliance Worlds and deal with the M’zullians.”
Kaid had begun to curse under his breath, his hands clenching into angry fists where they rested on his lap. “Where is Vartra in all this?” he demanded.
“Vartra has been absent for some time,” said Conner, “and it has annoyed Ghyakulla.”
“Vartra?” echoed M’kou. “I’ve news of him.”
“What do you know about Vartra?” demanded Kaid, turning on him. “Tell me now! He’s up to his neck in this!”
“He’s been on Kij’ik. He was there when Kusac died—I saw him, or his shadow. He shook Shaidan and put him into some kind of trance.”
“So he was responsible for sending Shaidan after Kusac!”
“But that’s not my news,” M’kou added hastily. “They’re saying since yesterday, he’s been seen on Kij’ik, wandering around the corridors, lost. His appearance, since you can apparently see through him, is disturbing our troops.”
“Enough of this Vartra! Where is Kusac?” interrupted Kezule, banging his fist on the table. “I want him brought back now!”
“We can’t reach him. He will return when They’re finished with him,” said Conner. “I believe They may be testing him.”
“He was only supposed to be forming an illusion,” said Rezac. “How did he manage to change himself?”
“I was asked to teach him what my predecessor taught the last Avatar,” said Conner. “One of the things I was going to show him was how to draw energy from the earth. As he was creating the illusion, he tried to do it for himself, and I believe, because he didn’t know how to wield the power properly, it took over and triggered the actual physical change.”
“How permanent is it?” asked Kezule as a servant slipped in with a tray of glasses and a bottle of spirits, which M’kou took and began to dispense. “Assuming he returns,” he added dryly.
Kaid tossed the lump of bronze onto the table, where it fell with a dull thud. “As permanent as he wants, apparently,” he said. “We may not be able to reach Kusac, but we can talk to Vartra.”
“Take Shaidan,” said Conner, accepting a glass from M’kou.
“I don’t need Shaidan,” Kaid growled. “He’s going through enough right now. Vartra has been plaguing me for years with visitations and visions! He’ll talk to me.”
Conner caught his eye and held it. “They are of one blood,” he said gently. “He may not talk to anyone not of his line.”
Kaid stiffened, then sighed his defeat. “I’ll take Shaidan tomorrow. It’ll keep his mind occupied if his father isn’t back by then.”
Ghioass
“This is intolerable,” hummed Zaimiss from the floor of the Camarilla Council chamber. “I demand explanation why Giyarishis and others sent home, Unity disabled for hours in Sand-dweller Palace and dismantled on Kij’ik! This allowed control over Hunter Entity to fail and him to escape us!”
“Because we. Do. Not. Control Hunter,” replied Shvosi from her position on the Speaker’s podium. “Annuur in the field, he sees more immediately than us what happens. Had he not done as he did, we would now be discovered.”
“Not know this for sure,” countered the Isolationist Leader. “Now this Vartra can tell them all that they only guess!”
Aizshuss rose to his feet, eyes swirling as he focused on Zaimiss. “Why you so concerned?” he asked lazily. “Surely this what you want—our withdrawal from the lesser species?”
“Not when we need to monitor and control the Hunter!”
“I told you, we do not control the Hunter! Study the actions against him you have sanctioned, and you’ll see most were to prevent him from discovering us.”
“Where is he now? He has done yet another disappearance on us!” said Shumass, rising. “A shambles, this is!”
“That’s not our doing,” snapped Shvosi. “Power failures at our weather controls allowed the Entity to escape.”
“Six inches rain before it fixed,” said Kuvaa mournfully, wrinkling her snout. “Lightning striking, my garden destroyed.”
“I care nothing for that,” hummed Zaimiss, glowering at her. “What’s your few weeds to me when our plans crumble! Unity, show us potentialities!”
When nothing happened, Zaimiss began to hum angrily, his draperies shifting around his spindly legs as he emitted an angry scent. “Unity, obey!”
“You are not Speaker,” said Shvosi with studied gentleness. “Do you forget Unity will not respond to you?”
“Insolence!” Zaimiss’ voice thrummed with anger, and he began to stalk toward the podium.
A sudden movement from the side of the room and two guards, one Cabbaran, one TeLaxaudin, moved to block his way.
Khassis got to her feet. “Return to your place, Zaimiss. This behavior not acceptable.”
“Since when we needed guards to interfere in our meetings?” demanded Shumass.
“Since your party abandoned all rules of protocol in Chamber,” hummed Khassis angrily. “Shvosi, if you please?”
“Unity, display current predictions,” Shvosi said, acknowledging Khassis’ request as Zaimiss sulked his way back to his cushions.
The wall behind her came to life, showing a screen of dark, angry colors with a roiling nexus in the center. Even the nearest ribbons of movement were leeched of their color.
“Look at it!” screeched one of the younger Cabbaran members. “Utter chaos! We will be destroyed!”
“Be quiet, Rekkur,” snapped Shvosi. “This not chaos. This is merely potentialities of now while the Hunter is not in the calculations.”
“We should be doing more than sitting here debating,” hummed Zaimiss.
“And what do you Isolationists suggest?” asked Shvosi, sarcastically. “Intervention is against what you believe, is it not? There is nothing we can do but wait for his return.”
“We can get the Hunter Entity back before he tells all,” said Shumass.
“To what purpose?” asked Aizshuss. “He was only once contained because he was actively interfering. Now he cannot. I Speak strongly against that idea.”
“I Second that,” snapped Shvosi. “Maybe, Shumass, we should rename your party the Meddlers since you leave nothing alone! Our purpose is to aid lesser species to survive, promote understanding, and prevent wars, not kidnap and torture them! Yes, we know you tortured the Hunter Entity both times you had him in your control! That was not sanctioned!”
“Shvosi, no insults,” warned Khassis, coming forward to take the podium from her. “There is nothing to be done till the Hunter returns, so I will close today’s session. Until then, representatives from each party may study the potentialities if they wish. The Reformists will be first,” she said, acknowledging Shvosi’s gestured request.
