Page 73 of The Space Between Stars

Footsteps descended the stairs, followed by the silhouette of a man, larger than any man had the right to be. Calver clenched the sickle-tipped edging tool in his fist. The boy’s eyes grew wide, and he scuttled into one of the aqueduct tunnels. The penalty for assisting an escapee was a direct trip to the mill. Calver would have done the same if he wasn’t sure the act would be futile—Cul’Mon would just find him again. He shifted into a dowagian guard.

Cul’Mon loomed closer. Calver’s anger rose again beneath his icy blue stare.

“I thought you’d grown past this,” he whispered.

{Submit. I will convince him to keep us alive.}

Void.

Cul’Mon’s twin daggers gleamed at his waist. Calver’s grip tightened on the edging tool. His master was bigger. Stronger. Faster. He anticipated Calver’s every move like no other could. He’d need to act fast; maybe a hit to the throat. Or the eyes. Or… using an unexpected weapon.

His thoughts flickered to the lamp, and something in his psyche suddenly shifted. He slipped into a trance-like state of flow. It had been years since he’d felt this—the feeling of invincibility which had always come to him while training in Calisto’s studio.

For the first time since his capture, Calver suddenly believed that, this time, he could win.

He launched himself for Cul’Mon’s knees, aiming his crude tool at them. Cul’Mon was too fast; he thrust a knee towards Calver’s face. A hair’s width from a collision that would have turned Calver’s nose into paste, he juked sideways and leapt over a water channel in the floor, putting distance between them.

“Don’t make this mistake.” Cul’Mon unsheathed his daggers, clenching their hilts in a reverse hold.

Master and apprentice stood still, engaged in a clash of wills for long seconds with neither gaining an advantage. Finally, Cul’Mon lunged over the channel for him. Calver hurtled his makeshift weapon, aiming for Cul’Mon’s eyes.

Cul’Mon’s knives crossed in a guard over his face.

Calver leapt, tucked his knees, and launched both feet into Cul’Mon’s solar plexus. He exulted as he landed without taking a hit.

Cul’Mon hunched, gasping for air. He’d actually winded him.

Without wasting a heartbeat, Calver jetted forward, latched on to Cul’Mon’s lowered shoulder blades, and swung around, clinging to his neck. He managed to gain a chokehold.

Cul’Mon raised his daggers. Calver gritted his teeth, preparing himself for the sting of steel. Instead, Cul’Mon took the hilts to him, beating them into his sides and head. Then he threw his back to the ground, crushing Calver under his weight.

Something cracked in Calver’s chest. He cried out, but still clung fast. Cul’Mon threw his head backward, smashing Calver’s into the stone. Once. Twice. Calver released, stars occluding his vision. He heard Cul’Mon roll away. Seconds later, a dagger lodged into his shoulder. He screamed. Arms clenched around his throat. First he beat at them, then tried to work his fingers beneath the grip.

Cul’Mon released him, but grabbed his wrists, pinning them to his sides. The pain in Calver’s shoulder was excruciating. He submitted, steeling himself for more pain. None came.

Cul’Mon shook his head. “Your predecessor was so much stronger. But more importantly, he knew I would always be two steps ahead. His compliance—his trust—is what gave him strength. It’s time you learned the same.”

Calver lay panting, hating and hating and hating.

“For this, I will give you three barbs. We will go to the labs, next ten-day.”

Cul’Mon made good on his promise.

When he threw Calver to the dirt floor of his cell beneath the manor house, Calver could scarcely move. Back torn, muscles aching, he fought his hunger for sleep and the Survivor’s lust to take back its control.

It was the first time he had chosen to bear Cul’Mon’s torturous insertions—he’d always let the Survivor take over before. The barbs knitted their way into his flesh, permanent insertions that tore him open with every movement. He’d received a dozen or more over the years. They took months to heal. The itching never really stopped.

His whole body trembled. His breath caught in gasps. Even so, he was still victorious: he’d kept control over his mind, and Cul’Mon had only removed his shirt. The cell door closed with a clash, and Cul’Mon’s footsteps padded up the stone stairs. Only then did Calver take off his boots.

The distortion core was still there.

He clutched it in a fist of triumph. The core didn’t have an activator—just loose wires that had connected to the one on the orb’s exterior. Getting it to work again was a problem for another day, but—

A steady trickle of energy coursed through Calver’s limbs. The core burst into light, singeing his hand. He gasped, dropping it. It remained activated for several seconds longer before fizzling out.

Calver wept. It was the most beautiful thing he’d seen in all his life. It spoke in a language that was just for him. He felt like he could communicate with it—take its light and make it his own.

He pulled the lamp into his hands again.