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English.
Was that the name of the language they spoke?
“If not, then where did you learn it?” she asked.
“I didn’t have to learn it. It was the language bracks spoke when they trapped me.” He rummaged through his memories of the almost-forgotten lessons. “I’ve heard that when traveling between worlds, the first language you hear becomes your own.”
She shifted, coming closer by the sound of it. Worry spiked inside his chest.
“Careful,” he warned. He’d grown too comfortable with Amira, risking to forget she wasn’t his kind and he could easily kill her. “Just put the orange on the bars, then step back, will you? Please.”
“Okay.” She leaned against the crate, stretching her arm over it to the opening in the top.
He hid in the shadows inside the crate. Shoving his hood lower over his eyes, he twisted his senties into a tight knot under it, not allowing any to escape.
Peeking carefully from under the edge of his hood, he saw her hand holding a small, round fruit. Slim, pale fingers with trimmed nails in the same color looked almost translucent against the light above. On impulse, he reached for them, wishing to feel her skin.
She gasped in surprise and dropped the orange as he seized her hand.
“Kyllen…” she exhaled a shuddering breath, but didn’t take her hand away.
He closed his eyes, holding her hand. It felt cool and fragile, like the delicate paw of a pond gecko, and almost as small. Her skin was soft and smooth, in contrast to his rough and dry. He ran his fingers over the hard patches of calluses on her palm—she clearly was no stranger to physical work.
“Tell me, Amira, please,” he said gently, using the most tender voice he could. “Tell me, my friend, why did you stay away? Are you afraid of me?”
“What? No. Of course not.” Her fingers tightened over his, holding his hand back.
He didn’t think she feared him. She might’ve been wary of him at the beginning, but her natural curiosity helped draw her out of her shell. Until yesterday, she’d appeared to seek his company any chance she got.
“Are you scared of getting caught here with me? Are you afraid of Ghata? Madame?”
She inhaled deeply. “I’m always afraid of her.”
He used to think he needed to win her trust, but that had proven easy enough to do. Amira was a trusting person. Life hadn’t treated her fairly, but it hadn’t killed her faith in people. She longed for a connection, drawn to him and his silly stories. He knew she enjoyed their time together. Without even noticing when or how, he started to enjoy spending time with her, too.
It wasn’t about earning her trust that he had to worry but about conquering her fear.
“Let me take you far away from here, to a place where Ghata would never find you.”
“To Nerifir?”
“Yes. Ghata won’t return to Nerifir. She fled, escaping a prosecution, and she risks being captured, tried, and most likely executed if she ever sets her foot back in that world.”
“Is she really a goddess?”
“A disgraced one,” he scoffed. Fallen gods were pathetic, even if they remained dangerous.
Unlike werewolves, gorgonians stopped creating physical embodiments or living effigies of their gods long ago. The ethereal spirit of Great Serpent and its court of disembodied deities remained in their divine realm where they belonged, communicating solely through their priests and priestesses if needed.
“Ghata committed too many crimes back in Sarnala, the land of werewolves,” he continued. “People stopped believing in her, which caused her to lose most of her power. The werewolves wish to get their paws on her and hold her accountable. She’ll never go back. You’ll be safe with me. Help me, Amira, and I will help you. Or…you can go and forget I exist.” He released her hand. It was a gamble, but gambling was something he was good at—the right timing was everything for success.
She didn’t leave. On the contrary, she clung to his fingers as if her life depended on it.
“How do you want me to help you, Kyllen?” she whispered.
Oh, this was a great progress. They’d moved from a firm “no” to “how.”
“Leaving the menagerie won’t be difficult,” he assured her. “I got rid of my shackles with the tool I made from the things you’ve found for me. Nothing binds me. Soon, I’ll be strong enough to open this box. But I’ll need to know how to get from this world back to mine.”
“I don’t know anything about traveling between the dimensions, Kyllen.”
Sadly, neither did he. Now, he wished he’d paid more attention to his tutors when he was a child. Somehow, he’d thought there’d be time to catch up on the lessons when he was older. That time never came, and now he needed the knowledge he’d missed.
He tried to remember the little he’d learned. “There must be a way to open the portal between the worlds. The bracks do it all the time. I need you to find out how. Can you do that for me, my friend?”
“I’ll try,” she said.
He couldn’t believe his ears. Did she finally relent? Did he convince her, after all? Thrill rushed through him in effervescent tingles. Hope grew stronger.
It was good. But not enough.
He proceeded carefully. “I don’t know this world. I don’t want to roam through it, turning its inhabitants to stone everywhere I go.”
Oh, he would, if he had to.
Now that his hands and feet were free of the iron and his strength was slowly returning, he’d make it out of this crate.
But then what?
Turning bracks, Ghata, and every unsuspecting human in his path to stone wouldn’t bring him any closer to getting back to Nerifir. Rocks didn’t talk. He needed someone to tell him how to open the portal that would take him home.
“I need a guide,” he said. “Someone who will help me find my way back home. I need you to come with me. And in exchange, I’ll do anything you ask once we’re in Nerifir.”
She released a long sigh. “I can’t come with you, Kyllen. I can’t leave Radax.”
