Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 51862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Zain sweeps me up in his arms and carries me inside, towel barely covering me and it not mattering at all. I curl up into his massive alien body and I let my eyes close as I feel the rare and precious sensation of being completely and entirely safe.
Nothing is ever going to go wrong again.
3
Zain
Having fucked Emily to sleep, I get up and perform what will be my first patrol of the village. I need to ensure that the ship has been properly secured, and I want to get the lay of the land at night. The clock hanging on Emily’s wall declares the time to be one in the morning. Most of the humans will be dormant by now. I should be able to move around the village, inspecting what I want to with relative impunity.
Arkan and Kahn, my older brothers, would be absolutely thrilled at this opportunity. They would consider this experience to be close to an archeological find, except for the fact everybody here is very much alive, with the exception of what I have gathered was the pastor. Places like these have not existed for hundreds of years on most of the planet. The existence of this village is, in itself, a mystery.
I go to the Wrathelder ship first. It has been hidden crudely but effectively. My initial plan to fly it into the moon was probably a little hasty. It is not easy to make good decisions while ridden with blood lust.
There is still a problem, however. The ship is currently full of dead bodies. Or it was.
When I walk inside, it’s immediately apparent that my orders were ignored. Humans have taken everything that was not securely attached to the fuselage. Fortunately, the bridge was sealed, which means the controls have not been touched. In addition, the ship’s most important wiring is shielded and tucked away behind thick, heat-resistant, and more importantly, prying-human-fingers-resistant panels.
They have, however, stripped out many of the more superficial fittings, lights, wires, and bits of metal they will have absolutely no use for. The place is a mess, and that is saying a lot considering when I landed it was covered in blood.
Much of that blood has now congealed, but much more of it has been tramped throughout the ship by little human feet. I will have to find some of them when the sun rises and deputize them to clean it up.
The bodies of the fallen Wrathelder are also missing. There were at least a dozen of them, and now there is no sign of any of them. I am absolutely befuddled by this absence.
I do immediately notice that though it is late at night, and for the most part all the dwellings are dark with those sleeping, lights are on in one place in the village. It seems to be a large town hall, behind the church, a place for community gathering, no doubt. As I draw closer, I smell cooking in the air. Perhaps they are preparing for the funeral of their fallen comrade. I do not wish to intrude, but I do need to know what has happened to the dead soldiers.
I follow my nose and my suspicions toward the lights. The door to the hall is open and music is playing. My older brother Arkan always insisted we familiarize ourselves with human culture and tools. I thought it was boring at the time, but I now understand how valuable it is to know what is happening. If I were to have walked in here with no education, I would simply see a man hitting a vertical series of white and black keys, another drawing a string across several other strings back and forth, and another with a round metal object in his hand that he keeps striking with a wood stick.
I know, however, that these men are playing the piano, violin, and cowbell.
“More cowbell!” Someone calls for an excess of the percussive instrument. The player responds by hitting it with ever increasing gusto, the beat ringing out around the walls of the hall as piano and violin follow in what I can only interpret as a celebratory tune.
The music does not stop as I set foot in the hall. If anything, it gets a little louder, wrapping around me, assailing me with vibrations. It feels good against my skin and it lifts my mood, which I had not known was in any way suppressed before I heard the sounds of people making merry.
The scent of cooking continues to emanate from the back of the hall. I can hear clanging too, the sound of cooking. Some sounds and scents are universal. The sounds and smells of cooking are two of them, I think. The way protein smells when it is heated is rich and alluring. I’m not familiar with the spices they are using, but I can sense the tang in the air.