by Teel James Glenn
in Issue 108, January 2021
A Story of Altiva
Chapter I.
Extortion
“Bring General Torvad to us to kill or the girl dies,” the whispered voice rasped. No face accompanied the voice, only a vague shape swathed in tattered cloth that seemed to fade in and out of existence in the flickering torchlight.
Ku’zn of Zn’Sa lay on her back, unable to move and stared at the ink black of the moonless night sky. She was blue furred like all her race, unique to the world of Altiva and muscular as befitted a warrior. She did not feel very warrior like, however as the nightmare figure continued to speak.
“You have five days to bring that miserable persecuting bigot to the old temple of Ashun outside of town or we will kill your little friend slowly.”
The voice seemed to echo from far away suddenly. Ku’zn felt as if her paralyzed body were floating on an ocean swell.
Then teenage Alma’s high-pitched angry voice yelled “Leave her alone, if you’ve hurt her I’ll cut you like a-” The sound of a scuffle followed and a muffled indistinct cry.
“Alma!” Ku’zn tried to cry out but her throat muscles would not obey her commands. She knew her girlfriend would not relent in her struggles and wanted to cry out,
“No, stop, don’t give them reason to hurt you; I will do as they ask”, but no words would come out just strained, unearthly sounds. If she could yell then Tee Kay, her traveling companion who was at their camp not half a mile away would stop the masked devils—but still her voice would not come.
“Bring the General to the temple of that decadent religion so we may end his life for his crimes against the children of the Markoffan prophet with our own hands.” The tatternalion face entered the woman warrior’s line of sight, leaning close so she saw the burning eyes within the mask. “We know you killed guild assassins at the Portal Inn in Kentak; we know many things about you, furred barbarian; that you are a fierce warrior by your reputation. That is why we used the Thodist tipped dart that holds you helpless now. You can kill the guild guards bringing Torvad across the border to be executed for crimes against Cozen.”
The masked speaker paused, whether to catch is breath or collect his thoughts, Ku’zn could not guess. When he continued it was with a quiet religious certainty. “I know you are thinking ‘why must we kill him when the corrupt state plans to execute him for his crime against them?” Now he paused as if he expected her to speak up and ask why.
“You see it is the principle of the thing: he must die in the proscribed way for his crimes against the Five True Gods while he was military governor of the provinces and he must know it. The world must know it. His death can’t be for some petty crime like treason.” The voice calmed, as if kidnapping a teenage girl and forcing her lover to kidnap a deposed general was the most reasonable and correct way to achieve justice. Or revenge.
“They ride through the Borgho Pass in two days,” the voice said. “Be at the temple with him by moonrise on the fifth day or her death will be a hymn to agony tenfold.” The hooded bandit called to his confederates and the group left.
Ku’zn heard them mounting their vorns and riding away.
Then the paralyzed Z’n lay alone on the cold ground, tears of frustration coursing down the blue fur of her cheeks.
****
Alma was more angry than scared. One minute the petite dark haired girl had been walking at the outskirts of the village of W’nJick with Ku’zn and the next, her friend and lover was on the ground struck by a paralyzing dart.
When Ku’zn suddenly dropped to the ground, the dart protruding from her neck, the scarecrow figures in tattered hoods leapt from the darkness and seized the tiny teenager. They paid dearly for their prize as she kicked, clawed or bit every one of them before they got a rope around her. They made their demands of the fallen Z’n, then spirited the pale skinned urchin into the night, gagging her as well or her curses would have melted the ears of her abductors.
They rode through the night, a group of about a dozen nightmares.
The entire trip, Alma saw the image of Ku’zn, normally so strong and in control, lying helpless, filling her mind’s eye. And feeding fury. At last, the group reined up before a stone holding at the edge of a swamp. It was an old building, one with the feel of a frontier fort from the Victish wars that had been added to and ‘civilized.’” Windows had been enlarged from arrow slits and several wooden additions gave it a sprawling posture.
“Azarn and Koth tend to the vorns,” the leader of the scarecrows called. None of the riders had removed their fearsome masks the entire trip.
“Yes, Uvan,” the two said, taking the reins of all the vorns.
After being jostled in an uncomfortable position for so long, Alma offered no resistance when the one called Uvan lifted her out of the saddle and carried her into the building.
The interior of the stone building was as crude and utilitarian as the exterior. The masked leader deposited the girl in a penned off corner of the main room, where livestock had once been kept. He did not unbind her, but he loosened her gag.
“Let me free, you tvekdung,” she said.
“And if I do, what will you do?” the fright-faced leader asked.
”I’ll rip your throat out,” she spat.
“Well then,” he said. “Now, you know why I won’t.” Humor threaded through his voice, the first since the nightmare ride had begun. He untied the rope holding his hood/mask in place and removed it. The others took this as a signal and unmasked as well.
The youth of the face beneath the mask startled Alma. Uvan was blonde and fair with blue eyes that glowed hypnotically with power. When he focused them on Alma, she shivered in fear.
“Expect the face of a monster?” he asked. “Or perhaps a countenance like one of the Five?”
The mention of the hideous faced Markoffan gods, reminded Alma of why she had been kidnapped.
“A pretty face can hide a monster,” she said.
“All the more reason for me to fear you, little one.” He slipped a simple wimple over Alma’s hair in a gesture surprisingly gentle. Despite herself, Alma shuddered again, but this time her shiver was not entirely one of fear.
Chapter 2.
The Quest Begins
“Ku’zn,” T.K. Mitchell said. “You can’t trust any religious fanatic to ever keep his word; they always use their version of the scripture to justify whatever sinister urge they’re feeling at the moment.” The bearded Mitchell (whom Ku’zn called Tee-Kay), was just a bit shorter than she, wore his salt and pepper hair shoulder length, and had a myriad of laugh lines around his eyes that he had thoroughly enjoyed getting. He wore buckskin pants and a leather vest that expose his wiry arms and the Marine corps tattoo on his left arm that marked him as an offworlder, a ‘warp orphan’ happily trapped on the world of Altiva.
Wrapped in a heavy vorn blanket, Ku’zn held a cup of warm sack in her hand, though she seemed unaware of it. She watched her continental lover through eyes still a bit blurry from the effects of the paralyzing drug.
“What alternative to doing as they say do we have?” she asked. She had shaken most of the effects of the paralyzing drug near dawn and crawled back to camp. T.K. had spent the better part of an hour while she shivered with chills while she told him the story.
The Earthman walked over from the fire with a fresh cup for the Z’n to drink. T.K. limped slightly and often carried a carved cane. He’d lost part of his right foot in a war he called ‘Viet Nam,’ on his home world and in addition to an ankle support, part of the foot was metal.
“She may already be dead, Peachfuzz.” He crouched down to look her directly in the eyes. “You have to consider that possibility.”
Her green in amber pupils contracted with sudden rage, burning away the last of the effects of the numbing drug. “Then I will skin each one of them alive,” she said with a certainty that chilled the man. “And make a tent of their hide.”
The grizzle bearded Earthman smiled at the fire replacing the guilt she felt for ‘allowing’ the girl to be taken. He understood that anger was better than self pity.
“Well, then,” he said, “as long as we’re not wishy-washy about the whole thing.”
She was angry enough that she didn’t see the humor in his eyes, but stroked his beard in an absentminded comforting gesture.
“What can we do?” she asked.
He tugged his beard with thought. “First, drink that warm cup,” he said. “Then we’ll do our best to be devious and get that girl back.”
****
Juntla Mon watched the blue furred warrior woman through her hours of paralysis and recovery with a mixture of boredom and excitement. He was the youngest of Uvon’s group of Markoffan followers, a blond slight boy. He was adamant to tell all who would listen, completely devoted to the way of the Five. Uvan had instructed him to follow the woman to be sure she obeyed her directive from the Markoffan leader.
The boy followed the barbarian woman as she staggered back to her camp to be nursed by her continental lover. Then, still unseen, he watched when, barely an hour into the new day, Ku’zn rode her antlered mount, Craftdancer and led a pack vorn heading toward the Borgho Pass. She had a grim farewell with the bearded man, who loudly protested that he should accompany her. She yelled at him, “Stay out of this; I will save her by myself—what does some damn general’s life mean to me?”
“She heads in the direction of the Borgho Pass,” Juntla whispered to himself with excitement. He moved quickly from his place of concealment over the non-believer’s camp and raced to his mount.
Juntla rode for several hours in pursuit of the woman, puzzled that she moved so slowly on the open road. She seemed in no hurry to accomplish her mission and this annoyed the young Markoffan. “Perhaps she is making plans as she goes?” he thought, “or still not recovered from the numbing drug?”
At midday, she made a day camp, stopping to light a fire and cook a meal. The boy grew angry. “What is wrong with this creature, why are you taking so long?” He said aloud. He wondered if maybe he should ride back to get more watchers from the brotherhood in case the woman was unable to couldn’t complete her mission. He never had a chance to act on his inspiration, however, as a gruff voice from behind him interrupted his thoughts.
“She ain’t ridin’ fast cause she wanted to give me a chance to spot and catch you, boy.”
Juntla whirled to see the gray bearded man who had argued with the Z’n. The boy grabbed for his sword. “I will kill you, cripple,” Juntla proclaimed said. “Then the lying Z’n below dies.”
Juntla had observed the non -believer he now faced limping and using a cane back at the Z’n’s camp; now the man grabbed that cane at both ends and gave a twist, to pull it apart pulling it into two batons.
“Don’t draw that sword, kid,” the grey beard said in a voice that was oddly ingenuous, and at the same time being menacing. “Or I’ll put a major hurt on you.”
Juntla drew his lightweight saber. Its keen blade gleamed with reflected sunslight as the boy whirled it before him in a frightening and complex pattern to show his prowess.
T.K. shook his head and gave snort of derisive laughter. “Sharp as a bag of grapes, boy.”
Juntla looked at him with only a dull comprehension of the Earthman’s jargon.
“Die for the glory of the Five.” Juntla yelled and attacked. His blade work was good; his footwork showed that he had applied himself diligently at his fencing lessons.
The greybeard spun and whirled the two batons like things alive. He blocked or deflected every cut and slash from the razored blade with ease. Each time he stopped the blade with one stick, he darted in and snapped a snake quick blow to the side of the boy’s head with the other. Not hard enough to incapacitate the boy, but with enough force that soon Juntla’s vision was blurred and it seemed to him as if temple bells were sounding all around him.
While they fought, the Z’n came upon them.
“Stop playing, Tee-Kay” she admonished the Earthman. “We are in a hurry.”
“Gotcha, Peachfuzz,” he answered. He whirled in at the boy, dodged a vicious cut at his head and returned the blow with lightning speed to strike the boy on the temple.
“Okay, kid,” He said, “time for you to sleep for the glory of the Five!” By then everything had gone black for Juntla.
****
The Markoffans gathered around a circular wooden table and held a ceremony of thanks to their gods, the Five. To Alma’s surprise it was not Uvan who presided, rather it was a white haired man they called “Uncle’ in a formal way that indicated that it was a title.
“Sons of the Five, sworn of the Prophet Markoff,” he intoned in a formal Cozen dialect. “ As this bread I hold is the gift of the soil made pure by the labor of the workers, so may the labors you perform in the name of the Five make you pure.”
He broke the loaf in half and handed it to the men on either side of him. so that it circled the table. Each man broke off a small piece then passed it on until it circled the table. When each man had taken a bit, Uncle signaled the women to bring the food and settled down to a hearty meal of Svor steaks, Arum slices, cheese and unfermented fruit juice.
The women were not allowed to eat with men in the Markoffan religion, being deemed “vessels and vassals” by church law and therefore inferior. The women wore simple coarse dresses in contrast to the brightly colored and fine clothes that the men wore (once they had removed their disguises) and had wimples that hid their hair so as not to offend the sensibilities of the men. All the women appeared to be pregnant.
Alma watched it all with growing annoyance as the women bowed and served the now jocular men. The women stood, eyes downcast, at the ready for orders as the men joked and ate. Finally, it was too much for her.
“You’re all a bunch of Tvek mannered weaklings!” Alma yelled at the top of her lungs.
The noise of the revelry abruptly ceased, leaving creating an awkward silence. The women who had been serving froze to rigid attention, their frightened eyes fixed on the young girl.
“Why else would you need Ku’zn to do your dirty work for you?” Alma continued, feeling satisfaction at the discomfort on all the men’s faces at her comments.
The silence now turned ominous. All the men at the table looked to the white haired Uncle, who in turn glanced at Uvan.
The blond Zealot rose calmly and walked with purpose to the bound girl.
“Come to explain why a big strong man is afraid of me?” Alma smirked.
Uvan slapped her across the face. The sound of skin on skin of the open handed slap sounded like thunder in the stillness of the room.
“Speak again and we will cut your tongue out,” The handsome blonde smiled. ”You will not need it to breed.”
Alma only heard his threat dimly, her ears ringing from the blow. Still, she bit back the curse she felt compelled to hurl at him.
The zealot leader returned to the table and the merriment continued as if the interruption had not happened.
Alma watched it all through a red haze. She imagined every sort of punishment she could inflict as revenge for the blow, while she tasted the metallic bitterness of her own blood.
As the meal progressed, she realized one of the women risked glancing in her direction on more than one occasion. Once she made eye contact with the woman and a communication beyond words passed between them.
Alma took solace that though she may not have found a liberator, she had at least found an ally.
Chapter 3.
The Scent of Salvation
“Your choice is simple, my little religious chum,” T.K. Mitchell said to Juntla. “Tell us where your friends have Alma or I make your remaining minutes on the planet really miserable.” The man was bent over as he spoke because Juntla was tied with his hands behind him, his feet bound and his body propped up against a tree stump.
T.K.’s handsome bearded face had an ‘I don’t care’ grin and a slightly mad light in his eyes. Even so, the devout boy felt a chill at the man’s casual attitude to violence.
“Let me practice my sail knots with his intestines,” the Z’n hissed. “I will make him sing the location of Alma.”
“Try your worst,” Juntla challenged, strangely less afraid of the fanged and furred barbarian then the genially smiling man. “The Five will strike you down for your brazen ways, you vessel of filth.”
T.K. barely managed to restrain the Z’n from jumping on the boy, pulling her a distance away. “Easy, brazen woman,” he said, “Calm down,” he whispered in her ear. She growled, then turned, her green-in-amber eyes focused on the boy and gave an eerie smile, her eyes glowing and her canine teeth shining in the afternoon suns.
“You may break my body, but my strength is the strength of the Five.” Juntla said. “You can not break the strength of a devoted of the Five.”
Ku’zn smile widened and she said, “I’m counting on that.” Then she trilled a half-growl half-laugh. She moved slowly to the boy and began to slowly unlace his doublet.
“Take your filthy hands of me, you North Country barbarian.” Juntla tried to squirm away from her touch. “You are unclean.”
In answer to his command, she leaned down and licked along the boy’s throat from collarbone to chin and up his cheek to his temple. Then she sniffed, inhaling his scent deeply and trilled again.
“Oh boy,” T.K. said. “You shouldn’t have ticked her off, buddy.” The Earthman settled down on a rock about ten feet away and produced a svorskin of wine. He took a long swig from it. “Now she’s gonna go all Gene Roddenberry Pon Far on your ass. Pity; you seemed like a nice, if dumb kid.”
The boy looked at him with an uncomprehending expression on his face. “What are you talking about? Get her away from me!”
Ku’zn stepped back from the boy and removed her clothing. She began to dance and sway as if to the rhythm of an unheard primal drum. Her hips and breasts swayed erotically as she growled a chant in her own language. All the time, she kept her eyes locked with Juntla’s.
“Oh man,” T.K. said after a long swig on the svorskin. “She’s gonna make this one last.”
Ku’zn swayed, gyrated closer with her dance and yanked Juntla’s trousers to his ankles.
“What is she doing?” Juntla screamed. “Stop her.”
T.K. laughed darkly. “I told you boy, she’s doin’ the Pon Far ritual of her people.” Juntla’s eyes showed no understanding so the Earthman elaborated. “It’s where one of the females in heat gets themselves all riled up on hormones and chanting then find some helpless male—that would be you monkey-boy…then well…sort of have their way with him.” T.K. smiled evilly. “Again and again and again ‘til he literally begs to die or his heart gives out. Really ugly.” He spoke calmly as if the whole affair was of no particular interest to him.
“Sh-she can not,” Juntla said. “I am sworn pure to the Five. I live an unsullied life.”
“Well, she’s gonna sully you something fierce, buddy.”
“She cannot force me to compromise myself: my faith in the Five is complete.”
The Z’n pulled the boy’s under drawers down to his ankles, exposing his complete ‘faith’ to the afternoon air.
“Oh boy,” T.K. said sagely, “Z’n women got powers boy. Trust me, I know. They can get a man interested and keep him interested no matter how exhausted he is. Eventually the whole body sort of implodes, I guess. It’s a wonder there are any Z’n men left.”
Juntla fought frantically to wiggle his body away from the blue furred apparition and fight his own biology at the same time. “Be gone from me, unsanctified creature,” he ordered. “You are unclean.” His voice was strained and his body was perspiring profusely
Ku’zn continued to growl and she gyrated sensually. She grabbed the boy’s ankle, pulling him back to the tree stump. She swung her head from side to side while she continued to mumble phrases in her guttural language. Her hair lashed him across the naked chest and he whimpered with each contact.
“St-top her!”
“No can do, Sparky,” the Earthman said. “When a Z’n goes all hormonal, I’m not getting in her way.” He shook his head and made a ‘tsk’ sound. “Only way to stop her is to give her something she wants more than your scrawny hide: I’d guess she wants her girlfriend.”
Juntla tried to absorb T.K.’s statement, but by then the Z’n had crawled up to hover over him, her hair forming a tent over his head. He could smell her musky scent as well as her sweet hot breath. Her trill sounded like thunder in his ears.
“I am sanctified of the Five,” he said, though now it was not a statement so much as a question.
She licked his chest and whispered, “You are mine!” Then the Z’n reached down and her long nails brushed the boy’s genitals and he screamed.
“The girl is in an old line fort near the Vuna and Yonta creeks. Five lengths west of W’nJick. Please, please, please: take her from me!”
Ku’zn stood and backed away from the boy, spitting as she did. “He tastes like incense and perfume,” she said with disgust.
T.K. stepped in and snapped his walking stick against the side of the boy’s temple, knocking him out.
“Well,” T.K. said, “Now we go get her.”
Ku’zn dressed and the two of them hoisted the unconscious Juntla over the saddle of his vorn.
“How did you know that Far nonsense you invented would get the boy to talk?” she asked when they were mounted and riding toward the site the boy indicated.
“Oh,” the Earthman said, “All the holy-roller types on my world are afraid of their own humanity, and nothing reminds them more of it than a woman in complete command of hers.” He smiled genially at her. “I figured it couldn’t be much different here.”
Despite the grim nature of their mission, Ku’zn smiled warmly at the grizzle bearded man riding beside her. “For a man who tries to stay drunk for most of the time, you have a very keen grasp of the mind of the continentals.”
He grinned back. “I just hope I’m not too drunk the next time you go Pon Far on me, Peachfuzz. It’s definitely the way I want to die.”
Chapter 4.
The Truth Hurts
“And so through the perfect engine of the male, the imperfect vessel of the female is guided to the path of Markoff.” Uvan smiled beneficently at Alma.
“Tvekdung!” She spat at him. “I’m supposed to look to a witless, groin controlled child like you for salvation? Forget it!”
It was late at night at the Markoffan fort and the Zealot leader and the prisoner were the only ones awake. He’d come to her when the room had quieted and softly begun to lecture her on his religion.
“You see, little one,” Uvan said with great patience, “that is the thinking that proves you need male guidance to The Way.”
Alma almost vibrated with annoyance and anger.
“Oh,” she snarled, “ and the Zondrians or the Kova got it all wrong in making women equal partners and priests?”
She stood on her tiptoes to put her face as close to his as she could. She found herself getting even angrier with herself for the flashing thought that his blue eyes were beautiful.
“You are pathetic!” She concluded.
The handsome man seemed unfazed by her statement. “It will be a gift of the Five to reveal The Way to you, little one.” The Zealot wrapped his arms around the girl and added, “Don’t be shy—we will stay undisturbed out here on my orders.” Then he gave a little laugh. “Some tasks of the Five are truly pleasant.”
Her arms were tied behind her and Uvan’s arms were wrapped tightly around her upper body, but Alma struggled urgently against his embrace. When the blonde attempted to kiss her, she bit hard on his lower lip so that he gave a short sharp scream.
“You bastard son of a Tvek!” She proclaimed.
“Ow you bitch!” He flung her to the ground at his feet. He clutched his bleeding lip in a vain attempt to staunch the blood even as he pulled his belt knife.
“I’ll see how you bite and curse with no teeth or tongue.”
Uvan grabbed Alma’s hair in a rough grip and tried to force her clenched teeth apart with the blade point.
“Open you Hellion,” he commanded,” it is for your own good.”
The girl struggled frantically and made whimpered cries as he shook her head in an attempt to loosen her locked jaws. When it didn’t work , he poked her in the cheek with the sharp tip. This made her involuntarily cry out and he used the opportunity to stick the knife blade between her teeth.
She froze with horror and clamped her teeth on the cold metal of the knife.
“Why can you not see the logic of The Way, little one?” He lamented, ”You have such pretty teeth it; is a waste.”
Suddenly the back of the Zealot’s head seemed to explode into a shower of pottery fragments. His eyes rolled back in his head and he dropped to the ground, unconscious.
The young girl from dinner stood behind Uvan as he fell, the handles of the shattered amphora still in her hands.
“Thank the gods!” Alma exclaimed. The blade had just missed cutting her lip but her cheek was bloody. “ He almost-“ she stopped speaking as the girl snatched the fallen knife up and quickly cut the Orian loose.
The girl was not much older than Alma but her green eyes had the sadness of the ages in them. She handed the knife to Alma and made a low guttural sound while pointing to the outer door of the room.
Alma gasped. “You- your tongue–”
The girl nodded and looked down at her fulsome belly with an expression of shame.
Alma reached out to grab the girl’s arm but she pulled away and pointed once more at the door.
“No-“ Alma whispered,” You have to come with me.”
The girl shook her head emphatically ‘no’ and stepped away from Alma.
At that moment Uvan gave a low moan and rolled over. The pregnant girl’s eyes widened with fresh terror.
“Oh, puke!” Alma said. She stepped over to the man and kicked him as hard as she could in the head.
The pregnant girl made a startled sound at the violence.
“No argument,” Alma commanded, “You can’t stay here with these Markoff morons.” She pulled the girl to the door and looked her in the eyes. “We are going, Sister,” She said simply. “You have two to save.”
Luck ran out for the two girls then.
One of the Markoffans, disobeying his leader, peeked around the corner of the doorway from the communal sleeping room and saw the situation.
“The hostage is escaping!” he yelled. The man charged into the room with his belt dagger drawn.
“Get out and run,” Alma called to the girl. “Save your baby from these monsters.”
Alma stepped toward the center of the room as the girl unbarred the door behind her.
“Come on you Tvekdung girl beaters” the Orian challenged. “Try to cut my tongue out!”
The whole of the assault force of zealots poured into the room, some fifteen fighters and the old ‘uncle’ priest.
Alma felt the air from the open door behind her but dismissed the idea that she could turn and run out the door to a mount. She knew the Markoffans would overtake her easily. She knew that the pregnant rescuer’s only chance at freedom was for her to delay the kidnappers for as long as possible.
“Well,’ she snarled when she saw a hesitation in the eyes of the massed zealots. “You cowards afraid of a girl who can fight back?”
“No, nuisance,” the Z’n’s voice came from behind Alma,” they are afraid of two.”
“Ku’zn!” Alma cried. She risked disaster to look over her shoulder. The blue furred warrior stood filling the doorway, her twin short swords drawn, a savage smile on her lips.
“Did you think I would not come for you, little one?” Ku’zn said.
“Not for a minute,” Alma replied with fierce pride.
“Better step aside and watch my back,” The Z’n said, “ I have work to do.”
Alma stepped back in dazed amazement as the blue furred warrior literally leapt forward to hack into the advancing Markoffans like a whirlwind of steel.
T.K. stepped over to the young girl and smiled at her as if he were just making a delivery from a local pub.
“Hi, toots,” the Earthman said. “You know you gave her a bit of a worry.”
Before she could say anything he sprang at one of the Markoffans who was trying to slip past them out the door. Once more the two batons in his hands snapped and whirled like twin snakes and the Markoffan was down, but this time for good.
Ku’zn showed no mercy as well, growling and slashing with a ferocity that was terrifying to behold and pointless to oppose.
****
Later, by the flicker light of the burning line fort, Alma bandaged Ku’zn and T.K.’s minor wounds. All the while she babbled the complete tale of her kidnapping in excruciating detail.
“Does she ever stop talking?” The Earthman asked.
“Not since I’ve known her,” Ku’zn smiled.
Four of the five women of the Markoffans stood uncertainly beside the trio of friends. The fifth woman had taken her own life after the Earthman and Z’n had killed all the men in the fight.
Alma paused in her recitation to lean in and whisper into Ku’zn’s ear. The woman smiled and nodded and the young girl ran to their pack vorns. She rifled through the saddlebags and pulled out a leather pouch.
Then Alma went to the pregnant girl who had saved her, who she had learned was named Zonia.
“Zonia,” Alma said in a quiet voice, “You have to go far away from these people,” she indicated the burning building. “You have to protect yourself and your baby. And you have to love her.”
The girl looked confused and started to shake her head, but the Orian stopped her and pressed the coin filled pouch into her hands. “Family is everything,” Alma said,” and all of you are family now.” The girl started to cry and threw her arms around the Orian. Soon both of them were crying and the other women joined in with their own tears of joy.
Ku’zn rested her head on T.K.’s shoulder. “She never does shut up,” the Z’n whispered, “but every once in a while she makes a lot of sense.”
©January 2021, Teel James Glenn
Teel James Glenn’s award winning work has been seen in Weird Tales, Mad, Sherlock Holmes Mystery, Scifan, Fantasy Tales, and Mystery Weekly and previously in Swords & Sorcery. Visit him at theurbanswashbuckler.com.