Destiny's Blood by Marie Bilodeau (best authors to read .TXT) 📗

didn’t lose her footing, using the momentum of her rebound to turn and hit the large soldier, only to be met by a grinning Glotch, tall, scaly and as yellow as the air, who easily sidestepped her blow.

A Glotch, here? Of all the rotten luck! Avienne pulled two knives free, but her eyes stung and the tears were making it hard to aim. She let the blades fly, not needing to see to know that she had missed.

Her body was already weakening, already begging her to take a deep breath, but she fought back, knowing the instant she let the atmosphere into her lungs and began coughing, he would down her.

“Cute little one, aren’t you?” The Glotch grinned, its large yellow teeth and protruding canines clear even with her impaired vision. She let another knife fly. Again, no luck, and he was getting closer.

Ardin was nowhere to be seen, and she guessed he had not seen the encounter.

Dying this way is too stupid! her mind screamed as she lunged at him. This filthy little planet would not be her grave. She had so much to live for, so many things still to do!

She hit the soldier as his arm struck out, catching her hard across her ribs and blowing all the remaining air out of her. She knew it was over the second she instinctively drew in air, the atmosphere burning the soft tissue of her lungs. Her entire body convulsed, the taste of bitter metal coating her failing senses.

That’ll teach me to play with dangerous chemicals, she thought as the Glotch picked her up. He grinned again; she coughed and her body heaved.

“Let me taste those final breaths,” he whispered, bringing her mouth close to his. Anger gave her limbs new life. She pulled a knife free and jabbed it into one of his yellow eyes. He screamed and threw her to the ground, where she gasped, her lungs and eyes burning.

“I’ll kill you now, before this air does, fire-girl.” He pulled the knife out of his eye, thick yellow blood oozing down his cheek. Avienne feebly kicked at him as he sauntered towards her, but with little effect. He grinned and stood over her, the knife dripping yellow blood on her cheek.

Really stupid way to die!

A shot fired and the Glotch’s eyes widened. Another one and he lurched and fell, half on top of Avienne, crushing her aching lungs. She tried to push him off, but her limbs barely moved, sleep teasing her weakened mind and blackness dancing in the yellow atmosphere all around her.

“Men.” Josmere shook her head as she pushed him off Avienne. The Berganda handed the oxygen to Avienne, who weakly brought the canister to her mouth, but she couldn’t force her tired lungs to take in the air. She realized her hand was cold, and she dropped the canister, unable to even hold it.

“This is a bit of a funny twist,” the Berganda said as she picked up Avienne with a strength the smuggler would never have imagined the slight green woman to possess. In what felt like seconds stretching into eternity, Avienne was in the shuttle, surrounded only by clean oxygen, and being injected with an oxygen compound directly into her blood.

“Enough fun for you yet?” Ardin asked as he looked down at her, his narrowed eyes failing to hide the worry and care in them.

“What’d I miss?” she heard Lang slur in the background, and was glad that she managed to grin before passing out.

CHAPTER 9

The shuttle skimmed the surface of the land, its thrusters aimed down to keep them afloat. The gentle hum of the recycled air was the only noise in the cramped quarters. The restricting space contained only four seats. Lang slumbered in his seat, his stench beaten back by the large quantities of chemical cleaners Ardin had poured, while mumbling his distaste, on the shuttle floor.

The shuttle glided effortlessly and the autopilot indicator blinked softly on the dash, its light dim and barely reinforced from a few other lighted settings. Only the red light of Collar pulsated the shadows into life.

Avienne coughed from the front seat, where she had sat quietly after waking from her ordeal. She had yet to swear once.

Layela sat in the seat next to Lang at Josmere’s insistence.

“Your lungs took a beating, too,” Josmere had whispered after dragging Avienne on board. Layela had been too weary to argue.

The Berganda sat wedged between Ardin’s seat and Layela’s legs, leaning against the side of the shuttle and staring at the other wall.

Layela felt drained to the core, her head too heavy to lift from the chair. She looked ahead towards the red, bleak landscape. Only a few mushroom farms marked the horizon, the giant purple fungi dotting the land.

It was gone.

All gone.

Before, when she’d had to leave an area, when she’d had to move to evade law enforcers, Yoma had always been with her. Laughing it away, soothing the pain of having to uproot once again with a gentle giggle or a well-timed joke. But Yoma wasn’t here now. She was elsewhere, possibly in worse danger than Layela.

She felt her throat constrict and she closed her eyes, picturing her sister and reaching out with her mind. They had always had that deep connection, through their powers of vision, to feel each other’s presence and moods. But, despite all that had happened to her and her desperate need to feel the soothing touch of her sister, Layela’s link remained quiet.

As though feeling what Layela forced her weary mind to seek, Josmere placed her hand on Layela’s folded hands and lowered her head to her lap, green hair spreading wildly.

Layela smiled, feeling closer to Josmere than ever before. Bergandas were not renowned for their loyalty, usually sticking only with their race, a people in self-imposed exile for reasons no one knew. She was grateful now that Josmere had seen something in the twins that had made her treat them as her own. Whether their connection was through