Stranger Skin ch 4: Pretending to Be Something

“Hello, Three-Two-Ones.”

“Sounds like someone’s learning to count backward.” Half a dozen long needles slid from Stevalok’s sleeves and locked into place between his fingers. “Maybe he’ll be able to start at five next time.”

Xlack didn’t get it. Lanox had told him not to mention Hrausq Three-Two-One anymore. It was apparently an insult.

Stevalok resembled a drill as he dove into the crowd. Chaos broke out.

How many were there? Eight, at least, but they moved like fish in a pond, darting every which way and impossible to count. Xlack felt like a tasty bread crumb dropped into that pond, easy prey for the fish.

Two jumped on him, needles in hand like Stevalok. Dwintas, Rifo had told him the sharp sticks were called. They had a penchant for exploding.

Xlack’s Kinetics shoved the weapons away but couldn’t do the same to the hands that clung to him. More charged, and shackled like this, he couldn’t dodge.

His temperature soared. Fire lapped at the edges of his sleeves, and the Aberrant scrambled back. He leapt to his feet to meet a punch from Stevalok.

“Idiot! No flames!”

“Why?”

“Just don’t!”

Back-to-back and surrounded, he wanted reasons, not stupid rules. Did Stevalok think he would accidently catch something on fire, or did it have to do with the glazed, trance-like look in Entrycii’s eyes?

A crunch called his attention as Rifo was deposited on the carpet, body limp and eyes closed.

An Aberrant stood over him, face speckled with silver-scaled Knalcal birthmarks and scars. They left little room for the facsimile of a mask burned into his skin. “Let’s make a trade.” A kanaber snapped on, hum rising in pitch as the laser blade fell.

Xlack reached toward it, but he was too far to overcome the Knalcal’s influence.

The knife hovered a hairsbreadth above Rifo’s throat, and the Knalcal Aberrant nodded at Xlack. “Master Rogii wants that Aylata. If you Three-Two-Ones want your buddy back in one piece, you’ll knock that one out and hand him over to us.”

Xlack’s heart became a stone, loading down his ready stance. Feet apart, his knees bent. He needed them to spring, to get him close to that Knalcal before anyone could move. But if that kanaber fell on Rifo…

‘Can you move?’

Rifo’s reply was as quiet as an insect’s wing. ‘Trust yer team.’

‘That doesn’t answer—’

Solid weight landed on Xlack’s shoulders, an arm wrapping around his neck and squeezing.

He stumbled. “Stevalok, what—”

“Sorry, but we’ve known Rifo longer. It’s a seniority thing.” Then a softer breath in his ear: “Two more steps and fall, got it?”

Xlack glanced back at Entrycii. Some hybrid of grimace and smirk twisted his teammate’s sharp features, silver-crescent freckles gleaming.

Apparently trusting the team equals volunteering to be the pawn and punching bag.

After three hobbled paces, he dropped. His hand slid beneath the Aberrant’s, taking charge of the kanaber as Stevalok launched off Xlack’s back, foot crashing into their foe’s face. Rifo lashed out, flowing into a spinning move that took down the next two closest Aberrant and earned him possession of the knife.

Chaos resumed.

Xlack’s heart raced, adrenaline gushing as he fought. They didn’t want to kill him, he noted, but their intent toward his hrausq members was beyond deadly.

They wouldn’t go down without a fight. In addition to the kanaber, Rifo held a metal circle. His fingers swiped across its surface, and it answered its master’s command, extending into a handle he could grip. Searing tendrils sprouted from either end, and though Xlack couldn’t see their pure-hued light, he felt their power cycling in tandem with Rifo’s life-signature. They called to his Kinetic senses in low, sinister voices.

A Magni Aqkashi.

Rifo slipped between two opponents, and the pair fell. Three took their place, but he remained one step ahead. He could read intentions, something Xlack had experienced first-hand when his mission to recover the crew of the Isike had put them at odds. When the skill wasn’t being used against him, Xlack had to marvel at the beauty of it.

But gawking at his teammates was slowing him down.

Xlack caught an Aberrant in his stare, and before he could impart a sleep suggestion, Stevalok was there. A swift jab of a dwinta’s skinny point to the neck, and the man fell unconscious. Both Adjuvants moved on.

Entrycii was the next to come to his aid, three Aberrant caught between forcefields thrown from either side. A thunderous report sounded as the gossamer shields collided, and their victims collapsed, ears bleeding.

An enemy lunged at Entrycii from behind, but Rifo dove in, parrying another Aqkashi. A slash of the kanaber rendered his opponent unable to stand but not mortally wounded.

Another melted from the shadows, tendrilled staff raised to stab down into Rifo, but this one fell to Xlack’s sleep suggestion as Stevalok tackled an Aberrant at his back.

He knew the word ‘teamwork,’ of course, but the longer he danced in this chaos, the more he came to understand it. He was outnumbered but not alone. He didn’t have to defeat them all. He need only slow them so his team could step ahead. He could trust his hrausq to take advantage of every move he made, and he could do the same for them.

Leaving the unconscious behind, the Aberrant retreated, and Rifo said to let them go. Xlack didn’t agree—they would just return—but he didn’t argue.

“We’ll take the wounded back to base,” Rifo announced, meaning he and Xlack would. Entrycii and Stevalok would continue their guard duty.

But the treasure they were supposed to protect had enraptured Xlack’s attention. He stared at the semi-spherical jewel, eyes lost in its waves of leaf-etched silver. His legs wouldn’t move to carry him after Rifo.

“I can’t look away from it.” His knees folded, stabbed by the sea of glass-like plastic shards as he reached for the broach.

Rifo caught his wrist. “Most Magni feel the same. That’s why the Adjuvants’ founder stole it from the Aberrant and gave it to the Knalcal queen.”

It called to him, an irrefutable command to touch it, hold it. It brought to mind an old legend of Lakol Lake. There were said to be whispers calling Magni in. Desperate victims had dove deeper and deeper, drawn to that voice until they drowned.

If that was ever true at all, it was long ago. Xlack and his friend Ject had lived in Lakol and never encountered anything that led them to their drowned deaths.

Yet, the lake glowed inexplicably, and whispers could render water luminous. Ject had found this property intriguing and had left radiant vases around until a Zalerit in their mentor’s household had commented on their colors: “What a striking vermillion, Ravi Sirvette,” and, “A lovely azure.”

Nostalgia gave birth to homesickness, a tepid, sour feeling dripping down Xlack’s throat. It sizzled as it cascaded through his gut.

Is Ject even alive?

He shook his head to dispel the thought. This was his family now. He couldn’t let the past overcome him with unanswered questions and what ifs, not when there were tasks waiting to be done.

He knelt to help Rifo bind their Aberrant prisoners. When they went back to base, he would go see Twi. She would tell him this was where he belonged, that he had made the right choice.

Hands covered his eyes. “Guess who.”

Twi. She had snuck up on him. Disconcerting, but his heart fluttered nonetheless.

He spun to face her. “Aren’t you supposed to stay in the med-center?”

“Technically.” A coy smile teased her lips. “You seemed to be having such fun in my absence, I felt left out. Are you disappointed I’m here?”

A stupid grin pulled rebelliously at his face. “Never.”

“Ekymé,” Rifo called, “who are ya talking to?”

“Twi.”

Rifo raised an eyebrow.

“Shh!” Twi breathed, hiding behind Xlack. “Don’t tell Rifo I’m here. He’ll make me go back.”

“Maybe you should go back,” Xlack whispered, arms sliding behind him and wrapping around her. “How did you even get here? You can barely walk.”

“That’s a secret,” Twi cooed, just as she had back on the Isike. She grabbed his hand, fingers tracing the discoloration’s jagged lines. “What’s this?”

Surprise kicked him, and his pulse doubled. “You can see it?”

“It’s neon pink.”

He frowned, worry evolving into panic, but he managed to keep his voice steady. “That’s a form of red?”

She nodded, expression teasing. Pink was a shade of red—what infantile knowledge.

Red, a real color. Streaks of red grew across his skin. Wearing colors was one thing, but this was beyond that.

Palms on either side of his face, Twi made him look at her. The silver and chrysolite ocean of her eyes drowned only some of his horror. Chrysolite—the only color visible to Napix sight, the ethereal green-gold that marked everything of Magni.

“It’s punishment,” he whispered, “for pretending to be something I’m not.”

Her head tilted. “You believe you don’t belong here with us?”

“I don’t know.” Tears burned his eyes and squeezed his voice. He hated them, hated that he couldn’t hide them, especially from her.

She’ll think I’m weak. I am, but I’m not supposed to be. I can’t let anyone see it.

Her breath crashed against his cheeks, warm in contrast to the chill of her hands. “Do you think you should have left me to die in that cave?”

“No.”

“Then you belong with us. You don’t have to pretend to be an Adjuvant because to me you already are one.”

The sentiment wrapped around him like a soft blanket, and he hugged her closer. “Thank you.”

“Adjuvants work as a team.”

He felt the words as a gentle breeze just before her lips pecked his cheek.

“We’ll find this solution together. Entrycii,” she called, and Xlack held her tighter. He didn’t want to share her.

Confusion overtook that jealousy as the Knalcal heeded her summons. Or part of him did. Entrycii sauntered toward them, but a second Entrycii stayed behind, collecting pieces of the display case.

Xlack’s frown deepened. “How are you doing that?”

The further Entrycii shot him an annoyed look. “I’m using my ’netics to fix the case. After your lecture earlier, you shouldn’t need any more explanation, but I could use your help.”

The closer one shrugged. “Doing what, walking? You’ve really led a sheltered life, haven’t you?”

Xlack retreated, towing Twi with him. “No, seriously, what are you doing?”

“Ignoring you so I can concentrate.” The Entrycii at the case sighed. “Stevalok, would you go make him be quiet?”

Stevalok plodded over, countenance slipping from chiding to stern to concerned. “Twi’s here? Ekymé, why are your hands pink?”

Twi slid out of Xlack’s grasp, hand extended toward the Lettaplexal. “He needs your help.”

He accepted her invitation, dark fingers sliding across her pale palm, confusion bright in his eyes like a moon’s reflection on a rippling pond. “I don’t understand how—”

Twi’s grasp tightened. A kanaber snapped on in her other hand and struck. Stevalok didn’t have time to flinch.

He screamed, an agonized, heart-wrenching sound. Doubling over, he cradled his severed wrist to his chest, on his knees, choking on his pain.

“It’ll grow back,” Twi excused to Xlack’s aghast look as she presented the disembodied hand. “Lettaplexal is good for you, right?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Sidestepping her, he dropped alongside Stevalok and slid a comforting arm around his hunched shoulders. Pain was a sandstorm’s coarse embrace, a buffeting, stinging howl scraping Xlack’s senses.

“What’s going on?” Rifo raced toward them, as did the further Entrycii, while the nearer one stood behind Twi as a shocked statue.

With a crack, he moved. A silver circle appeared in his hand, fingers rubbing its surface to evoke the Aqkashi’s tendrils.

Xlack started to stand, a shout bubbling in his throat, but he was too slow. The weapon pierced Twi’s shoulders, and eight twisted strands emerged from her front, hissing as her blood evaporated.

Just as quickly, they disappeared, returning to their handle, and she fell forward.

The other Entrycii crashed through the first, and they were one again, stumbling over Twi in his haste to reach his amaraq’s side.

Xlack couldn’t move. He was now the statue, rigid and heavy.

Get up, Twi. It’s not real. It can’t be.

But there she lay, and Stevalok shuddered in his embrace, refusing to show Rifo his missing hand, cries hoarse and ragged.

Twi didn’t move, just beyond Xlack’s reach, gaze empty, not breathing, life-signature gone.

Words were beyond him, her last sentence echoing in his head.

Lettaplexal is good for you.

He crawled toward her, dragging Stevalok with him. Tugging the Lettaplexal’s bleeding arm away from his bosom, he extended it toward Twi.

Like that would accomplish anything. She was dead, beyond his help, and now Stevalok’s blood stained his hands, and Xlack was sure he could see its red.

Red. One of the three colors specifically mentioned in the legend that told of color’s evil.

What was red supposed to look like, anyway?

“Red is the warmth of sunset on yer skin,” Rifo had explained recently, “the strength of saying good-bye to one ya know ya will never see again.”

Xlack understood that now in a way he wished he didn’t.

“Where’s this blood coming from?” Rifo called, med-kit in hand. Though he was right there, Xlack barely heard him, as if hills, oceans, and worlds separated them.

He slouched over Stevalok and fell headlong into the void.

Continued in Chapter 5: The Lie You Tell Yourself

Thank you for reading!