If it connected to the seed and the unthinkable happened, Gertrude Hunt would perish. I had to shield it from the connection. But I couldn’t shield myself. The seed was reaching out and the compulsion to comfort it was overwhelming.
The Draziri pondered me. There was no way I was letting her inside the inn itself. It would be almost impossible to keep Gertrude Hunt from bonding with the seed.
“Come with me.”
I led her to the backyard and waved my hand. A patio slid across the grass, carrying with it two chairs. Her eyes widened. I sat in one chair and pointed at the other. The young Draziri sat, cradling the backpack.
We were in the middle of the yard, far enough from the house.
Gertrude Hunt leaned against my barrier. The seed stirred. Weak, hesitant tendrils of its magic slipped out, seeking the connection.
I’m here. Don’t be frightened.
The seed touched my magic and calmed. Just like a baby with a lullaby.
“The Hiru are an abomination,” Mrak said from the screen. “They are revolting. They are everything that is wrong with life. Life is beautiful, like this girl in front of you. Like the seed she carries. The Hiru must die.”
“Do you actually believe that?”
“It is enough that my people believe it.”
“You’ve destroyed their planet,” I said. “There are only a handful of them left, those who were out in space away from their home world. They are not fighting you. They just want to live in peace.”
“So does my mother,” Mrak said. “She wants to die in peace, knowing that she and all of her clansmen will find paradise.”
“Where did you even get it?” I asked. “The seeds are very rare.”
“I have connections.”
“Was the dark creature that stalked me at Baha-char also yours?”
He took a fraction of a second to answer. “Yes.”
He lied. He hadn’t known about it. I saw the surprise in his eyes.
“Did your connection become proactive and send it to chase me?”
“As I said, the creature was mine.”
“That creature is a living darkness. It is death and corruption. Whoever made it has dark designs and they won’t let you live.”
“You’re a remarkable creature,” Mrak said. “Here I am, offering you that which you hold most dear, and you’re trying to get information out of me. You would make such an interesting pet.”
“In your dreams.”
He leaned on his elbow. “What would you let me do to you for the sake of this seed?”
And this conversation went sideways.
“You don’t have to answer. You would do anything. You would debase yourself, but you don’t have to. Give me the Hiru.”
“There is something wrong with you,” I said.
“The time for insults has passed.”
“I don’t mean it as an insult. There is truly something deeply wrong with you. How is it that you never learned to be a person?”
He stared at me. “I am a person.”
“You flew across countless light-years to a neutral, peaceful planet to kill two creatures that haven’t harmed you in any way. For that purpose, you threw away dozens of your people, and now you sit here and make nasty comments about torturing me as if it somehow fixes everything and makes you victorious. What kind of a person does that?”
He looked taken aback.
“Staying here isn’t going to bring your dead to life. Killing defenseless beings who just want to be left alone won’t win you any absolution. Think about it. What kind of religion mandates that? Why would anyone want to be part of it?”
“Give me the Hiru.”
“Your mother is dying and that’s tragic. But all things die. If you had a choice to save a child or an elderly person, you would save the child, wouldn’t you? Children are the future. They are what carries us forward as people. You’re throwing away your young fighters. Look at this girl you sent in here. She’s terrified. You’re the head of her clan. She trusts you and obeys you. Shouldn’t she get something in return?”
“She knows her duty,” he said.
“Let’s say you kill the Hiru. Where would that leave you? You still will have lost the future of your clan. It will be generations before Flock Wraith will recover. It’s your responsibility as a leader to keep your people safe and take care of them so they can prosper.”
Doubt crept into his eyes. “What’s a few short years in this world compared with an eternity in paradise?”
“You don’t believe that. If you believed in paradise, you wouldn’t have killed an onizeri. What if there is no paradise, Kiran? What if it’s a lie?”
He knew. I saw it in his face. He knew their paradise was a lie, but he had come too far. “You are a heretic,” he said, his voice calm. “An unbeliever.”
I lost him. For a tiny moment, I got through, but now I lost him. “So are you. Why don’t you just leave? Leave and live your life the way you want to. You’re free to make your own choices.”
“No,” he said. “Freedom is an illusion. We are bound by restraints on every turn. Family, clan, religion, morals, duties; all those are restraints. For someone on the crossroads of worlds, you’re naive.”
“If you can’t have your freedom, then what’s the point of all this?”
“Give me the Hiru. Nobody has to know. We can do this in a way that leaves you blameless. I promise their deaths will be swift and painless.”
I wanted the seed. It called to me. I’d been playing for time, but I thought of nothing. No brilliant plans. No elaborate ruses. I felt so helpless.
“There is nothing to think about, innkeeper,” Mrak’s voice floated from the screen, soft, seductive. “The seed for two lives which are lost anyway. They have no planet. Their technology is dying. They can barely keep themselves alive. Death is a mercy. Make your decision.”
“Please give him what he wants,” the Draziri girl whispered. “Please.”
It felt like I was being ripped in two. The seed was right there, crying, begging to be saved. I could feel the two Hiru inside the inn. They were in the war room, probably watching all of this on the big screen. They stood very close. I wondered if they were holding hands.
“Please.”
I heard my own voice. “The safety of the guests is my highest priority. You will find no sacrifices here.”
“It is a pity, innkeeper.”
The Draziri girl cried out. Web shot out from her, clutching at me, binding me and the Draziri into one. She tore at her clothes. A bumpy metal object was attached to her chest. A door-maker, a small concentrated explosive used to breach the hulls of spaceships. A faint whine cut at my ears—the bomb was armed. Detonation was imminent. I had seconds.
There was no time to get free.
I flung open a door to the farthest connection the inn had. The orange wastes of the planet Kolinda rolled in front of me under a menacing purple sky. The door opened onto a cliff.
I lunged through the gateway, taking the Draziri girl with me, and slammed the door shut behind me. We fell off the cliff and plummeted.
This was it.
I hit the ground. The impact shook my bones. The backpack with the seed landed on top of me, the web stretching, binding it to me.
I blinked, trying to regain my vision. We’d fallen onto a narrow shelf along the cliff. The chasm yawned below us.
“Help!” The Draziri screamed.
Where was she?
The green web stretched from me over the edge of the shelf.
I crawled to the edge. She hung below me. The web binding us was so thin. Gray splotches spread through it. It was dying.
I reached for her. My fingers came a foot short. If I pulled her up, I could rip the bomb out.
“Help me!”
The web snapped. She plunged down and vanished in a fiery explosion.
Behind me the seed sprouted. I sat up. A glowing shoot with two leaves stretched from the remnants of the shell. Tears rolled down my face. It was too weak.
Its magic cried out, seeking a connection. It was scared and alone. I cradled it in my arms, bonding with it, sheltering it, reassuring it that it wasn’t alone. It was an inn and I was an innkeeper.
The tiny sprout wound around me.
It found peace.
And then it died.