Welcome back to another exciting chapter from CAPTIVE, in which our heroine, Addy, receives some explanation about her new world...though perhaps not everything she's told is the truth.
Catch up reading here: Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter six.
An abducted cop and a gladiator prisoner must learn to
trust each other with their lives…and their hearts…to escape their alien
captors.
CAPTIVE
Chapter Seven
“Aye, I understand.” He plopped down beside her and patiently waited.
“How did you know my name?”
Duncan cleared his throat. “Ye dinna remember telling me?”
“No.”
“Och, well, that’s because ye were still drowsy after Ferly Mor brought ye in.”
“Who?”
“That’s the name of wee Hyborean. Me Da named him. Fitting, no?” He paused. “Ye mean ye’ve never heard the legend of Am Fear Liath Mòr?” He pronounced the Celtic words as “Am Fer Lee More.”
She shook her head.
“Am Fear Liath Mòr, or the Great Gray Man, is the name of a creature which haunts the summit of Ben MacDhui. That’s a mountain in Scotland, Earth. Ye see, Am Fear Liath Mòr has been described as a large, fearsome-looking humanoid creature covered in fur.”
“A Sasquatch?”
“Aye, in part. But it’s more than that. There is something verra queer about the top of Ben MacDhui. A malign presence there causes great fear in those who climb her. Many hikers are overcome with utter panic and flee down in terror. In their haste to escape the sinister feelings, some have even fallen to their death.”
“I don’t get it. Is the legend a Bigfoot or a ghost?”
“Neither.”
“Duncan, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I believe Am Fear Liath Mòr to be a Hyborean.”
“Let me get this straight. You think aliens are roaming the Scottish Highlands, scaring the mountain climbers?” She couldn’t help snickering.
“Well, I dinna think it’s for fun, aye? They are looking for strong, capable warriors for their survival races.”
Out of all the shirtless men demonstrating their combat skills, not one looked puny or out of shape. They all wore tight-fitting pants that hugged their muscles, and a silver choker around thick necks. Each man was indeed a strong, capable warrior. How did they end up here? Were they hiking along one day and snatched by a Hyborean? By Duncan’s Ferly Mor?
“A mountain is filled with many dangers. Not every soul brave enough to climb up is lucky enough to manage a safe return. Men can vanish.”
Wasn’t that the truth. Wilderness search-and-rescues were difficult. Sometimes people went missing for weeks. Sometimes they, or their bodies, were recovered. Sometimes nothing was found. Perhaps those poor folks hadn’t become carrion for scavengers. Perhaps they were abducted. Which fate was worse? She shivered. “You said your dad named the alien. Was your dad abducted in Scotland?”
“Aye. Taken from Ben MacDhui when he was a young man.”
“Why didn’t he run away when he felt the evil presence?”
“It wasna evil that he sensed. Rather he heard the soft, soothing call of a Siren, and he followed the lass higher up the mountain. It was the Hyboreans, using their minds to lure him to their ship, ye ken.”
“Minds?” She plucked a blade of grass and tied it in knots. “You mean telepathy?”
“Aye. Ye wouldna think it to look at all that fur, but Hyboreans are highly evolved humanoids. Their brains are verra advanced and have long ago learned how to communicate telepathically. They dinna have spoken language, and we believe they lost the ability to produce sound centuries before. They have no need for vocal cords, just as we have no need for an appendix.”
“But I heard them purring.”
“Did ye now? Or perhaps ye sensed them purring.”
Thinking back, the aliens hadn’t made actual noise. They worked together, but neither one spoke to the other. “Are you saying I’m telepathic?”
“Aye and no. Because human and Hyborean brainwaves and neural pathways are different, we dinna have the ability to transmit our thoughts or feelings telepathically. Thus, Hyboreans can no’ read our minds at all. Nor can we read their direct thoughts. However, we have a primitive ability that allows us to sense or perceive their emotions and feelings, though none of us interprets them in the same way.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We decipher the same idea—being soothed, for example—differently based on our own experiences. Ye had perceived Ferly Mor’s soothing ye as purring, whereas I might have perceived it as relaxing by a fire, drinking a hot toddy.”
She flicked the knotted grass. “If our brains are different, how do we communicate?”
“Hyboreans understand our tone of voice and body language same as we can understand the meaning of a cat’s purr or hiss. But alas, ye can jabber away as much as ye like. They dinna comprehend our language. Therefore, we can communicate, but canna converse. ’Tis a shame, really.”
“If they can’t talk to you, how do you know so much about them?”
“Same as any foreigner learns about a country’s society when they dinna speak the language. Astute observation and shrewd interpretation. And a wee bit of trial and error through the generations.”
People had lived on this planet for generations? Yesterday, her life had purpose and meaning. She was a law enforcement officer in Klamath National Forest. She was an athlete. She was free. Now, she was a small, insignificant being trapped on an unknown planet somewhere in the vast universe, forced to make babies for some alien survival race.
Deflated, she slouched against the hologram wall and looked up at the perfect sky—soft blue with wisps of white clouds—wishing she had wings to fly home. Home to her log cabin in the woods. Home to her cat, Zira, curled up on her lap while watching late-night TV. Home to her determined father whose life mission included cramming her freezer full of berries from his hyper-prolific patches. She couldn’t pull out an ice tray without causing an avalanche of plastic berry bags. Every year since she could remember, they’d have a marathon jam-making session. Who would help Dad can his blackberry jam now?
Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She forced them back, refusing to cry. Crying admitted defeat, and her fight wasn’t over.
“Come.” Duncan stood and held out his hand. “Let’s walk. There’s much more to show ye.”
Knowledge is power. Addy took his hand, determined to learn everything she could in order to figure out how to escape. She dusted off the back of her jean shorts. “I have no memory of coming here. Do you know how I was abducted?”
Before Duncan could answer, an enormous warrior whacked him on the back. “Hey, Gramps, bring me two more bottles of—” He stopped to size her up and down. “Hello, pet.”
Towering over Duncan, he must have been six foot six, but as he stood there in his militant stance scrutinizing her, he grew another foot. Sweat dripped off his long, dirty-blond hair and rolled down his Conan the Barbarian chest. He wore tight black pants—the kind a football player wore, only without the padding—tucked into tall boots that hugged his calves. A belt hanging low around his waist held his wooden sword and scabbard.
He was the winner of the sword fight.
Though he didn’t appear much older than she, perhaps twenty-five, there was no mistaking his commanding presence. Everything from the way he carried himself to his entitled gaze radiated authority and power.
Time paused while he appraised her as though he were the sole judge of a wet T-shirt contest. Shuddering from discomfort, she folded her arms across her chest.
“Regan,” Duncan began, “may I present Addy.”
Not wanting to appear as intimidated as she felt, she extended her hand to the warrior.
Regan gripped the back of her head, fisting a clump of hair, and jerked hard. His mouth ground against hers. She gasped for breath and his tongue snaked inside. He yanked her back. The taste of his sweat and salt lingered on her tongue. Stunned by his brusque assault, she forgot how to spit. “Did Gramps, here, explain the breeding box?”
His leering gaze boiled her blood. Would punching his smug face be considered police brutality? “He didn’t need to. I’ve already been there.”
Regan’s eyes lit with surprise before they narrowed. “Who was your stud?”
“Och, now it doesna matter, does it, lad?” Duncan stepped protectively in front of her.
“The hell it doesn’t. I’m the alpha in this Yard.”
“Mmph. Well, perhaps yer master doesna see it the same way as ye do.”
The angles in Regan’s face sharpened with contempt.
“But if it makes ye feel better, it wasna anyone from our Yard. Come, lass.” Duncan took her hand to lead her away, but the gladiator caught his shoulder and turned him around. A hand rested on the hilt of his sword as he stared Duncan down. No doubt Regan would get his answer by force if necessary.
“Don’t toy with me, Gramps. That body”—he pointed at her but kept his eyes locked on Duncan—“was meant for breeding gladiators. Who was her stud?”
Duncan tapped his lips in a slow and deliberate show of contemplation, further annoying the warrior. “I do seem to recall a name.”
“Well?”
“I believe it was...Max.” Duncan smiled as if he’d laid down a royal flush.
Regan howled with laughter.
Why he thought her being in the breeding box with Max was funny, she had no idea. Funny wasn’t close to the word she’d use to describe it. She lowered her gaze, suddenly interested in the grass.
Regan’s meaty hand covered her shoulder. “My poor pet. Having to endure that old man. Lucky for you, he couldn’t last long, eh? Don’t worry. I’ll show you what a real man can do.” He slapped her butt.
Heat surged angry through her veins. “He’s more man than you.” Max had jumped off her after she called him an animal. This cocky bastard would never do that.
“You say that now because you don’t know any better. I’ll see you in the breeding box.” Stepping closer, he licked his lips and whispered in a husky voice, “If not sooner.”
She pushed him, but her hand slid off his sweaty shoulder. He didn’t move. “You’ve got spunk, pet.” His mouth curled into a wicked grin. “I’m going to have fun with you.”
“Ye best get back to practicing, lad, if ye wish to best Max at the championship.”
“Ha. Beating Max is no wish, Gramps.”
A musical tune like a cell phone ringtone sounded behind Regan.
“If I’m no’ mistaken, it hasna been reality either, aye?” Duncan grabbed Addy’s hand and quickly ushered her away, but not before Regan’s face flushed with anger.
“I expect my whiskey before I leave tonight,” he yelled after them.
Once out of the warrior’s sight, Addy turned on Duncan. “Thanks a lot for introducing me to Mr. Alpha Jerk back there. Who the hell does he think he is? It wasn’t my fault I was in that stupid box with Max. Why doesn’t he go pick a fight with your stupid Hyborean?”
“Settle down, lass. I had no choice in the matter. Regan is the Yard’s alpha gladiator, and no mistake. That wee display of power was his way of explaining things to ye.”
“Well he didn’t have to hurt me to do it.” She rubbed her sore scalp. “A simple ‘Hi, Addy, I’m in charge here’ would have sufficed. This planet is insane.”
“Aye, well, Hyborea is different, to be sure.”
“Different? I’ve been here one day, and half the people I’ve met shoved their tongues down my throat. I’m like S’mores at a Boy Scout jamboree. Duncan, these men can’t help themselves to me whenever they want. I won’t allow it.” She smacked a low-hanging branch out of her way. “I can’t stay here.”
“Dinna fret, lassie. It’s no’ so bad. Ye’ll get used to the way of things.”
Was he serious? Who could possibly get used to being a sex slave? A human broodmare. He was as insane as the rest of the planet. She stopped to face him and lowered her voice. “Max told me he knew someone who had escaped.”
Duncan’s face changed from surprise to sadness then back to normal. He shifted his weight to the other leg. “Did he now? Perhaps that was another of his wee fabrications.” He started walking again, his pace quicker than a moment ago.
Clearly, Max wasn’t the only one lying.
* * *
They spent the rest of the day walking the perimeter of the Yard—which, according to Duncan, was three miles long by one and a half miles wide—to prove there was no way out. Duncan agreed to the trek on the condition they take multiple stops to rest and eat some food they picked along the way. He led her around like a proud museum curator, spouting facts and numbers about the Yard he grew up in.
She committed every detail to memory.
“The Yard is over 2,800 acres. We’ve training fields, woodlands, farmland, and many water bodies. All the flora and fauna ye’ll find is indigenous to Earth.”
Just how many times had he’d given this little everything-you-need-to-know-about-the-Yard speech? It sounded way too rehearsed to be off the top of his head.
The sun crossed the sky as they strolled by people swimming, fishing, and lounging in hammocks. Groups played soccer or practiced some kind of martial arts. They passed three women knitting baby blankets. Two of them were pregnant. The third wore her baby in a sling. Duncan waved to someone farming in a field.
Two Hyboreans had been in the Yard until the sun lowered and the temperature fell. Then more aliens—children, presumably, by their shorter stature—had come out to play catch with their full-grown human pets. None of the aliens had paid Duncan or her any attention, thankfully.
“How come some people wear chokers and others don’t?” If she didn’t want to get zapped while escaping, she had to get rid of hers.
“The decision is up to the individual master. Mostly though, gladiators, Earthlings, and anyone new to or visiting the Yard wear them. Most Hyborea-born humans—or Hyborhus, as we’re called—don’t.”
“Do you and Tess wear one?”
“No, lass. Except when Ferly Mor takes us on his travels.”
“He lets you out? Where does he take you? How often do you leave? Will he be going back to Earth?”
“Och. I hope ye’re no’ of a mind to escape. Ferly Mor won’t let that happen.”
The metal around her neck seemed to tighten. She tugged on it, though not as hard as yesterday. She didn’t want to risk pissing off the Hyboreans. Would they remove this damn shock collar if she demonstrated good behavior? Searching for an answer, her gaze drifted up at the holographic mural. The wall could barely be seen behind it.
“Duncan, how high would you say that wall is?”
“Too high for what I think ye’re thinking.”
“You don’t believe I could climb over it?”
“Ye canna. The Yard is no’ what it appears. The walls enclose us in a synthetic habitat. Our sky is nothing more than a brilliantly engineered holographic dome. Hundreds of ultraviolet lights brighten and dim in correlation to the Hyboreans’ solar system.”
“Wait a minute. Are you saying we’re actually inside a giant atrium...with a planetarium roof?”
“Aye. That about sums it up. Ye must agree the 3-D forest mural is a nice touch. We dinna have to look at ugly buildings like in the subclass’s Yards.”
The sun setting behind the trees painted the sky in a pink-and-orange glow. A gentle breeze, carrying the scent of wild onions, swept hair across her face.
How could all of that be fake?
Duncan’s eyes shone with tenderness. “I ken this is difficult for ye to understand, but what I show ye tonight will help. Come, lass. We’re nearly home.”
By the time darkness covered the Yard, Duncan pressed a black button in the camouflaged wall. A section sublimated. Hyborean doors didn’t open on a hinge, slide, or revolve. Their matter transitioned from a solid state to a gaseous state without becoming a liquid first, like dry ice.
She recalled Max appearing in her bed as if out of a white fog. That must have been when the Hyboreans sublimated the door and placed him inside the breeding box.
They stepped through the swirling white vapor into Duncan’s kitchen. The doorway crackled as the gas transitioned into its solid state once again. She never would have guessed they’d been standing outside of Duncan’s home. When she’d sprinted out of there that afternoon, she hadn’t looked back to notice the “glass” wall was only transparent from the inside like a window in an interrogation room. How many other houses were concealed behind the hologram murals?
She followed him to the back of his living area where he pressed another button on that wall. A section sublimated from solid to gas. A blast of icy air hit her. She shivered.
“Put on this cloak.” Duncan wrapped the heavy garment around her, then took his eggplant-colored cloak from another peg on the wall. When they crossed the smoky threshold, the room illuminated without flipping a light switch. “This is our master’s apartment.”
The stark white room nearly blinded her. Brilliant walls, ceiling, and floor shimmered like ice crystals and appeared to be manufactured from the same material as the breeding box. To her right, a long white table stood as tall as her head, and the cushions of the accompanying chairs came up to her waist. His ceiling must have been twenty feet high. Each step on the staircase leading upward was about knee height.
Other than some Hyborean-sized furniture and a potted evergreen-type tree in the corner, the room was empty. There were no bookshelves, no knickknacks, no lamps, computers, TVs, nor wires of any kind. The only visible technology was the 3-D holographic pictures on the walls and side table that played short movie clips of other aliens or of Duncan and Tess before starting over again.
Addy’s breath clouded in front of her. Her teeth chattered, and she drew the hood over her head. “It’s freezing in here.”
“The Hyboreans live in an arctic environment. They’re verra comfortable in the cold. Ferly Mor usually keeps his home about ten degrees below zero on your Fahrenheit scale, which is a wee warmer than outside.” He crossed the alien’s room, jumped onto the couch, and climbed up the back. “Come see for yourself.”
Addy followed him up, peered through the transparent wall, and nearly tumbled backward.
Outside bustled a monstrous frozen metropolis. Enormous white buildings lined the streets. Hovercrafts skimmed over crystal powder. A flurry of Hyboreans rushed down frosted sidewalks sparkling beneath city lights.
The aliens looked like giant Eskimos wearing fur suits in a supersized, snow-bleached New York City. She imagined the Yard as a large Central Park walled off by the city’s buildings and a hundred-foot-high roof.
“We’re on the second floor? We never walked up any stairs.”
“Aye. The Yard is about twenty feet or so deep with dirt.”
“It’s not the real ground?”
“No, lassie. That’s the real ground out there.” He pointed down at the snowy street.
A weight fell on her heart. Tunneling out left her with one less escape option. Lights from distant spacecraft climbed into the starry night sky, where two silver white disks—one bigger than the other—hung full.
“You have two moons.”
“Aye. Luna Major and Luna Minor. The Yard’s celestial holograms are synchronized exactly to Hyborea’s thirty-hour day. We’ve twenty hours of daylight and ten hours of darkness.”
“Hold on. Back up. One day is thirty hours?”
“Aye. Every new day dawns at one o’clock, or zero one hundred hours if ye prefer. We’ve six days in a week and four weeks in a month. Essentially, one month on Hyborea is comparable to a month on Earth. Twelve months make up a year—”
“Stop. Stop it. Please.” She rubbed her temples to alleviate the dull ache behind her eyes. “Don’t tell me anymore. I can’t take it.” Resting her forehead against the windowed wall, she stared out into the frozen city. An icy chill seeped through her hood. Who cared about Hyborean weeks and months and years? She wouldn’t be around here that long. She was going home to Earth to live free twenty-four seven.
But how the heck would she escape? And where would she go when she got out of this building?
The alien’s apartment door sublimated. The monster stepped through the cloud into his living room, took off a silver ring from around his head, and tossed it on the side table. The gas crackled as it transitioned back into its solid state. Even if there had been enough time to jump off the couch and run through it, she couldn’t. Her legs were frozen. Her breath came out in quick puffs of smoke.
The creature approached slowly—probably so he wouldn’t frighten her (too late for that)—and picked up Duncan, embracing him. Duncan returned the hug, and Addy sensed the alien’s happiness. It gave Duncan a pat on the head and set him down on the couch’s seat.
“It’s okay, lassie,” Duncan called from below. “He won’t harm ye.”
Before she could say anything, the monster picked her up and cradled her in his arms. Squirming made her hood fall back and the cloak twist and tighten. The alien untangled the material and repositioned her before drawing the fabric around her again. He gripped her firmly enough that she couldn’t get away, but not tight enough to cause pain. His soft, furry body emanated warmth and the scent of black licorice.
She hated black licorice.
His long, spindly fingers stroked her hair, and she couldn’t help wondering if her cat, Zira, had felt as uncomfortable in her arms as she did right now in the alien’s?
“Can ye sense it, lassie? Ferly Mor cares for ye verra much. Ye’re no’ just any human to him. Ye’re his human.”
#
Can you imagine what it would be like to be a human pet? Keep reading next week to find out how Addy and others think about their roles on Hyborea. Chapter 8
Romance with a rebel heart
Another great chapter. A lot to take in, but all beautifully detailed. On my first read, I didn't remember the yard being so huge--2800 acres! (But I did remember Regan. *cringe*)
ReplyDeleteYes. The Yard is huge. It's more than 3 times the size of Central Park!
ReplyDeleteRegan, unfortunately, is an unforgettably bad dude.