Page 2 of Taken to Lemora
She squints at me while, behind her, Tana drops the bridge and the slightly more oxygenated atmosphere on our ship whooshes out into the gold-and-prince-filled world we’ve landed on. I hate gold. I hate princes! I hate whooshing! Pagh!
“You sure you’re feeling alright?” She’s got one eye slightly squintier than the other even though both eyes are locked to my horns.
I realize I’m fingering the base of my right horn, completely unaware.I never touch my horns. What’s wrong with me?I drop my hand and cross my arms over my chest. The depth of my chest makes it difficult, but I struggle against the strain in my shoulders and bark, “My horns are fine! I’m not getting off of the ship.”
The other clan chiefs roll their eyes at me and descend the bridge into the gold hangar in this gold world. Alone, I glance around at the hated clans exiting their ships in smiles and giggles and walking around the circular platforms to reach the various entrances to the golden castle that link directly from this open air dome to the many hallways that lead into the king’s palace. Ironic, considering that the last king died rotations ago. Now, there are only princesses and princes. Loads of them.
My blocky hands twitch against my ribs, where I’ve got them tucked under my arms, as if I’m purposefully restraining them from reaching for the controls. I debate what level of pain and suffering I’d be in if I were to commandeer the ship and fly back to Lemora without the other clan chiefs.A world of pain,I decide, then reconsider,Nob, not a world of pain. Worldsss.
I huff after them down the ramp, shaking my fist as I shout, “Fine. But I’m not going into the castle!”
In the castle, standing at the edge of the ballroom, looking in on the horrifyingly bright colors and the hundreds of kings, queens and chiefs gathered, I growl, “Pagh! I’m not going into the ballroom!”
In the ballroom, I edge backwards, toe-heeling my way farther and farther from the crowd that’s gathered until I bump into horns — Reyna’s. She nudges me forward. “We all know why we’re here,” I hiss under my breath, “and these beings still feel like pressing their ugly faces in on one another and pretending that they care about the answers to the questions that they ask. Pagh!‘Oh, how are crops farming in Quadrant Eight?’” I say in mock imitation of a Quadrant One prince. “‘Oh, very well? That’s so lovely.’Nob! It isn’t. Don’t they know that Quadrant Eight farming is impossible! The Oosa only eat synthetic foods!”
As I’m speaking, a contingent of Walreys from Quadrant Five fly close enough to be heard — close enough that I can see myself reflected in the enormous purple orbs they have for eyes. “Kintarr for sale?” Is what we hear through the translatorstheywear. We wear no translators, but we speak Meero, the universal trading language, and that’s what we hear through their two-way translator boxes now.
“Nob!” I shout back in Lemoran, before shouting the word in Meero for good measure, “Centare!”
Bebette chokes back a laugh. Reyna shoves me in the back. Tana drops her face into her hand. Merquin pushes me aside and approaches the Walrey contingent with the diplomacy that I lack. “We have kintarr for sale. We sell at thirty-thousand credits per pouch, three million credits per tun, or resources and wares of equivalent value. We’re interested in Walrey silk threads…”
“And Walrey honey,” I blurt. It has healing properties that my clan uses both for medicinal purposes and recreational enjoyment. Its popularity is only increasing at the markets.
They reply, “Raw or treated? Treated will cost more.”
“Untreated. We treat it ourselves with our own dyes, but we would like to buy some of yours, specifically the amber and yellow shades. We can’t manufacture shades that light.”
“And the Walrey honey,” I whisper again, irritated that I’m here. Irritated that I’m negotiating. Irritated that no one is ohring listening to me!
The Walrey out front makes a buzzing sound, the transparent wings on his back flapping too quickly for me to see them at all. His thin forelegs rub together in front of his fanged maw and he nods his head. “We’ll only be able to give you amber and gold. The yellow is out of season.”
“Fine. But we expect at least one tun of silk and two tuns of dye for every kintarr pouch.”
The Walrey’s need time to confer. As their leaders turn away to face the others, I hiss, “Walrey honey.” Merquin flaps her hand at me behind her back so the Walrey’s can’t see. I growl in a voice that’s deeper, but louder, “Wal. rey. hon. ey.”
“How much?” Tana leans over to whisper in my ear.
“Six pouches. I’ll trade pouch-per-pouch for kintarr.” She lifts both of her hairless, protruding brows, clearly surprised. Kintarr is one of the most valuable commodities in the known quadrants. To trade one-to-one for it is unheard of. But I don’t negotiate. The others might, but I don’t. So I pay what I can afford for what I think is the value of an item’s worth.
I nod, then say, “We value it highly in my clan.”
“Apparently.” Her surprise releases and she nods at me once. I am satisfied my request will be taken and the order will be placed with Tana, so I use the opportunity to back out of the ring of Lemoran clan chiefs and head for the closest exit. I need air. I have no idea how I’m going to survive another half-lunar of this. That’s how long it will take me to get off this planet with no shrubbery and no trees and another solar’s journey after that, I’ll be back on the moss-covered rock that I call home.
The ballroom entrance is guarded by a curtain. I slip behind it into a foyer that’s almost entirely made of helos — a brilliant white and black stone — with chandeliers dripping from the ceilings in the shape of stalactites. Wait a second…did they make those out of…Pagh!
“The damn lights are made out of kintarr! Probably from my own ohring mine! Those are a rare energy source. Not meant for decoration!”
I’m still shouting up at the ceiling when a cheery voice booms across the room. “Raingar!”
I wince. I’ve been spotted. Pagh!
I growl and look sideways over the edge of my horn at the Niahhorru pirate sprinting towards me. Seeing my own horn in my peripheral vision, I realize I’m touching the base again. What the…
It’stight.The skin has been tight ever since we entered orbit. I wonder if it’s the stress of this horrible place. Yeffa, that must be it… All I know is that I just don’t like it.
“Raingar, how are you?” I notice that he’s wearing the traditional grey tantu leather pants Niahhorru pirates always wear — a clear sign he’s breaking with the formalities of this nonsensical affair — and I remember that he’s one of the few beings here I like.
Tolerate.
