Prince of Luster (10 page)

The slugs came in the night and took her father, mother, and other dissenters away. She saw them burned in the square like so many others. Soon after, her home burned down while she was in the marketplace trying to rally dissenters. Some came to her aid. And when several young men of the miner’s co-op demanded answers from Forrell’s constables, they were killed. One of them had been her lover and might have been her husband one day.

Afterward, a crowd rioted because of the murders of their friends and family members. Nova was among them. But the slugs appeared and released streams of fire
plasma on them all. That was when she was burned, while trying to escape.

When she looked down at Marcos’s severely torched body, her physical pain seemed like nothing. It’d be days or weeks before he’d be able to walk or even stand. And that was if she could keep infection from setting in.

But her mother’s ways, as passed down from all those ancestors, were useful. And she’d been taught them well. Not having an incubation unit had forced her to learn the ancient path and find curatives in things that existed only in nature. And that might be Marcos’s only hope, the only reason he’d survive.

Of the men she’d treated so long ago, she’d never seen one so well-endowed. There were small burns over his genital area, but she believed they’d heal. The plasma had thickened early and quit running down his body. And when he’d fallen into the dusty street and thrown dirt on himself, that’d also stopped much of the glob-like substance from sliding downward. The chemical hadn’t had time to sear his sex organs very badly.

There were many who ended up in the pit when their genitals were seared. She believed they might have taken their own lives even when the rest of their bodies hadn’t been nearly so torched as Marcos’s. Some of the men, especially, couldn’t handle what had happened to their bodies in that respect. Perhaps it was the pain. Maybe it was the complete emasculation.

She only knew there were many dead who’d received fewer, less severe burns than her patient’s.

She kept her mind on her task and carefully cleansed away every tiny bit of the plasma. Even the small bit on his genitals. Thankfully, Marcos didn’t awaken as she this. That kind of pain might have been too much.

There’d be times when a cool cloth dipped in herbed water might help him through the night and still the aches as scars formed. But at least he would be in no further danger from burning.

It was late into the afternoon when she finished. Marcos’s beautiful black hair was gone, but the lack of it would keep infection down until scars formed. She covered him with clean, dry sheets of lightweight material and checked her supplies.

She spoke quietly to the little dog lying right next to Marcos’s right ear. “I’ll have to provide for all three of us now, Una. But that’s all right. I don’t mind.”

To keep an eye on him and listen for any sounds of breathing distress, Nova put more wood on the small fire, and made up a comfortable pallet nearby. Amazingly, sleep overtook her very soon. If she had her usual nightmares, she never recalled. Hours later, a horrifying shriek awakened her.

Marcos lay on his back and tried to claw away at the now-absent, lava-like ooze. In his sleep, he was reliving the entire event.

She threw herself on his body so he wouldn’t re-open wounds that were already trying to heal. “Marcos, wake up! It’s over,” she cried.

He suddenly sat up and struck out.

She was knocked backward, against the cave wall, where she felt a sharp blow to the back of her head. Her vision suddenly tunneled, and she fell into blackness.

“Perhaps someone took his body to another part of the pit,” Adaman said as he wiped profuse sweat from his face and neck with a scarf.

The days now were scorching. At least Adaman felt they were, even as fall quickened. But perhaps it was just the constant company of the nasty slug leader that made him feel so clammy. The ugly slug just wouldn’t leave him alone. And now, there were more problems. Prometheus stood inside Adaman’s official residence staring at the barren landscape through an open window. There was one question on both their minds. Prometheus spoke of it first.

“For what purpose would someone move a corpse?”

Adaman spoke cautiously. “Y-you’re people have been known to … well, I don’t mean to be indelicate but … ”

Prometheus slowly turned and stared. “My brawlers do occasionally eat the flesh of lower life forms, but not any that have been exposed to plasma. That would be suicide.”

Adaman lowered his gaze subserviently. “I-I was only trying to suggest a p-possible reason as to why the body wasn’t where it was s-supposed to be.”

Prometheus paced in front of the large picture window as he spoke further. “It could be that the prince still lives.”

“No … that’s not possible,” Adaman affirmed. “Some of my constables were in the marketplace when you blasted the man. They tell me no one could have survived such direct contact with plasma.” He aggressively shook his head. “It’s more likely that he fell among the rocks in the pit, and his body is wedged there someplace. The area has been blackened from so many exposures to incineration that your brawlers and my constables simply missed the body. The remains were probably destroyed along with the others when you ordered your ships to blast that area.”

“I’ll take no chances. Enforcers will come looking for him. We have to make sure there’s no trace of a Starlaw on this planet, or we’ll all face execution.”

Adaman plopped down on an overstuffed sofa and stared up at Prometheus. “I had no hand in it at all and will say so as many times as it takes to convince them. Though they may not want to believe me, the enforcers will remember their frequent uncivil contact with Limaxian fighters. They’ll know this was all your doing, Prometheus. You should have ignored him and let him go. He hadn’t seen anything but scarred citizens. There was no proof you or I had a hand in that until you revealed yourself in the main marketplace and blasted him. I still say he’s dead. He simply couldn’t have lived through what you did to him.”

Prometheus growled. “Take care, Forrell. No matter how you try to worm your way out of this, the king will hold you as responsible for his son’s torture and death as me. And you know it. That is why you were so shocked by the news that a Starlaw might be the man I killed. That you weren’t actually in the marketplace won’t matter. You’ve cooperated with me the entire time my brawlers and I have been present on this worthless dung heap. You wanted wealth and power; I gave it to you.” He snorted, then sneered. “I’ll remind you again of what will happen if you cross me.”

Adaman swallowed hard, clasped his hands together, then wrung them. If he didn’t stop Prometheus, things would quickly go from bad to worse. “Listen to me … if you go through all the households looking for a man who is likely dead, people will know something is wrong. Rumors will start as to who you’re looking for and why. We could have another rebellion on our hands, and your brawlers might have to work the mines themselves instead of depending on the forced labor of our remaining miners.”

Prometheus quickly turned away. “I
will
find out what happened to the enforcer. If it were possible for him to survive, he’d be seeking medical help. Someone with knowledge of healing would be necessary.”

Adaman thought for a long moment, and then a bit of trivia came to mind he’d not thought of before. “There was once a Wiccan healer helping the people. The family name was Drayton. The mother took up helping the sick and injured after I refused to buy incubation units. Her husband was Bellos Drayton. But you had them killed, didn’t you?”

“I remember humans with that name causing us trouble. If they
were
dissenters, then I had my brawlers seek them out.”

Adaman shrugged. “Bellos Drayton’s wife was the only healer we had. She was the only person with any kind of extensive medical knowledge at all. If she’s dead, there’s no one to whom an injured person can go. That’s why so many die and end up in the pits.”

“Were there no neighbors who might have worked with his woman? Someone she may have trained in the Wiccan ways?”

“No,” Adaman told him. “I can’t remember anyone helping her.” He sighed and shook his head in denial. “There simply isn’t anyone an injured stranger could rely on. I tell you the king’s son is dead. The only incubation units for the sector are those aboard your own vessels. The man has to be rotting somewhere. None of the remaining colonists would go to his aid, risking their life in the process. My constables say you had this man tied to a post, and that you didn’t miss. He’s in whatever afterlife he believed in,” Adaman insisted.

Prometheus snarled and clenched his hands into fists. “Still … my brawlers and your constables couldn’t find his body even as they located Codge’s. The enforcer and my dead minion were taken to the pit together. I don’t care what you say, Forrell, something isn’t right. I know a Starlaw is out there.” Prometheus turned toward the window again. “I will find him. I won’t rest until I see his cadaver.”

• • •

Marcos’s vision finally cleared, and he fought remnants of the nightmare. His body was covered with open wounds, but he was no longer in the marketplace or the rock pit where he’d been dumped. Then his fogged brain pieced together the events. He’d been rescued by some kind soul.

He gazed around as flickering tongues of flame leapt from a small fire. The cave in which he found himself was formed from pure red clay. The whimper of a small animal drew his attention. There was a furry mammal of some kind scooting around a small form at the base of one wall.

Then he remembered
her
.

“Creator’s blood!”

He stretched one hand toward the woman and almost touched her left arm. “Please be all right. I had a nightmare and thought you were one of the slugs.” He’d lashed out and remembered her attempts to hold him down. “Please say you can hear me, little one … N-Nova. Y-your name is Nova. I remember!”

To his utter relief, Nova finally came to her senses, pushed herself halfway up, and shook her head. She put one hand to the back of her neck and scooped up Una with the other.

Marcos sighed in relief. “Please forgive me, I beg you. I-I’ve never struck a woman in my life.”

She shook her head once more and moved toward him. “Don’t move. You mustn’t get this red earth into your wounds, or they could get infected. Just lie still.” She sat next to him, gently pulled the clean sheet back up to his shoulders, and carefully pushed him back down on his pallet.

“I’m so sorry,” Marcos repeated. “Are you all right?”

She tilted her head and stared for a moment. “I was just a bit stunned. You’re the one who’s hurt. Don’t worry about me. I know you didn’t mean it.”

Marcos coughed hard as the chemical in his lungs blocked his airway.

Nova helped him turn onto his stomach just as fluid drained from his mouth and onto the cave floor. “Here, use this.”

He turned his head toward the soft cloth she held, and tried to stem his gut-wrenching coughs, but couldn’t. He violently vomited residue of the plasma chemical he’d breathed in. Every nerve in his body felt as if it was open and torn. His lungs felt as though they’d never draw air again. But after some minutes, he finally gasped inward, and the coughing diminished.

All the while, Nova kept holding fresh cloths for him to vomit into. The residue from his throat smelled horrible and looked toxic. She must have thought it was since she threw the cloths into the fire so they’d burn. As she did so, each vomit-filled bit of fabric flared when the flames touched them. When the worst of his retching was over, she helped him lie in a propped-up position that made it easier to breathe.

He began to shiver violently. She put a blanket over his shoulders. He yelped and tried to shake it off, but she put the covering back.

“You’re going into shock from the cold water I had to put on your body. It was the only way to get the remaining plasma off and stop the burning. I know you don’t like the blanket, but you have to stay warm,” she softly explained.

He eventually lay on his left side and gazed up at her. For the time being, he could do nothing more than shiver. Another wave of coughing began and his lungs felt as if they’d burn away. But his little savior stayed with him, right by his side.

He focused on the dulcet sound of her voice.

Occasionally, she’d rearrange the blanket around his scorched body and offer him another dry cloth to hold against his face.

Through hours of pain, torment, and anguish, he clung to the sound of her repeated words of comfort. The Creator must have sent her to him. Who else would have come to his aid and cared for him so diligently if not a messenger from the Divine One?

When he finally lay before her in an exhausted heap, she stretched out beside him and spoke quietly.

“You’ll get through this. I did, and so will you. I promise.” She smiled at him. “Just rest now. I won’t leave you alone.”

Because he was in so much agony, she was the rock to which he clung. Nothing existed but her.

Marcos finally closed his eyes and slept. The nightmare didn’t return. But only because of her. Even when his dreams threatened to turn dark again, her calm presence anchored him. And he felt hope. There was a chance he could survive. If she cared enough to risk her life helping him then he
must
try.

• • •

Hours or maybe days later, he opened his eyes and felt a cool cloth being applied to the open wounds of his body. He was on his stomach and tried to rise, but she gently pushed him down. The pain was still severe, but not nearly as bad as it had been.

“I’ve made some vegetable broth, so you should try to eat. You coughed a little in your sleep, but I think the worst of that crap is out of your lungs. Do you feel like talking?”

He carefully turned his head toward her. “I-I feel better,” he croaked.

“You look a great deal better. Your voice will come back eventually. Just don’t try to say too much if your throat hurts.”

“Sit … up?” he requested.

“All right. If you feel like it. It’s a good idea to move your hands, feet, and joints if you can. The scars leave them stiffened if you don’t. That’s why so many who’ve been exposed to the plasma limp or walk in a stooped posture.”