The Argos hung in orbit, a solitary speck of polished alloy tinged with red sunlight, suspended above the broad expanse of the sapphire-blue ocean of an unknown world. From the ship’s observation deck, the planet was a jewel of mystery: a bright, scarlet sun poured a thin, coppery veil over everything, while vast, unexplored continents twisted like serpents around the globe. The sea itself glowed with strange elements, a phosphorescent tide of liquid light that laved the uncharted shores of the jungle-shrouded land and cast a strange, wavering illumination on the cloud-scudded horizon.
Elliot Jackson stared at the view, his breath fogging the glass of the observation port. At thirty-two years of age, he was a senior member of Earth’s Interplanetary Exploration Agency, the kind of man who had spent a decade learning how to read a world from orbit. He had visually mapped the planet’s topography using a reflecting telescope and had identified a suitable landing zone on a thin strip of sand that hugged the western coast of the largest continent.
Using such basic analog methods of visual observation was frustrating, but he didn’t have a choice. The planet’s ocean emanated an unknown radiation that reacted with the globe’s ionosphere, producing further emissions that interfered with the ship’s high-resolution CCD cameras as well as its other sensors. The only way to collect the information he sought was to get below the distorting interference layer and step onto the soil of the planet. Being a one-man crew with no backup, it was a risky undertaking. However, what needed to be done must be done. Besides, the spirit of adventure was strong in him, and the lure of the mysterious world was irresistible.
“Descent module ready, Captain,” the ship’s AI intoned, breaking through his contemplation.
Elliot left the observation deck and climbed down the ladder to the module. He entered, sealed the hatch, took his seat, and adjusted his safety harness. Elliot’s strong hands tightened around the descent module’s control column. Despite the potential danger of his mission, he grinned; the fever of excitement and expectation surged in his blood.
To the ship’s AI: “Initiate decoupling.”
The propulsion field generator hummed to life. The module, a sleek ovoid of gleaming alloy surrounded by the blue aura of its drive, smoothly separated from the main cylindrical hull. It plunged toward the mysterious world and commenced its careful descent through the outer layer of the crimson-tinted atmosphere.
Elliot concentrated intensely. For a terrifying moment, as he had anticipated, the module’s systems went haywire as it penetrated the layer of interference. Elliot fought to stabilize the lander, his face grim, his eyes focused on the madly spinning dials. He was taxed to the utmost as he called on all his flying skills in a grim battle to right the madly tumbling craft.
Then he was through the chaos of the radiation zone. His flying fingers brought the systems back online. He stabilized the whirling craft and brought it to an even keel. The propulsion field flared, slowing the module’s dangerous plunge. Below, the jungle canopy rose like a vast living cathedral—tall, dark trunks capped with foliage mottled in vermilion and gold, each broad leaf catching the red sun’s light in a blaze of chromatic fire.
The lander touched down as lightly as a feather on a beach of coarse, lucid sand, whose strange prismatic nature broke the sunlight into a spray of rainbow colors. A low hiss rose from the luminous ocean; the mineral-laden waters sang a quiet lullaby as they lapped at the bright shore. After a moment, the bioanalyzer pinged. No dangerous pathogens had been detected. Elliot eagerly opened the hatch; the scent of warm, humid earth and the sweet fragrance of strange flowers flooded his nostrils. Heart pounding with excitement, he stepped onto the alien world, his boots sinking slightly into the odd sand, and he felt the thrill of the first true contact with the globe he would come to know as Izmu.
For hours, Elliot doggedly trekked through the steamy, primeval rainforest, his portable scanner beeping as it analyzed flora and fauna. The impressive trees towered a hundred meters above him, their scaly trunks thick with strange amber moss that smelled like vanilla. Vines as thick as his forearms draped from branch to branch, each profusely sprouting huge blossoms - crimson, peacock blue, and amber flowers that released a scent intoxicating in its rich exoticness.
He collected samples of a vine that seemed to conduct a faint electric current, a leaf that changed color with the light’s angle, and a fungus that emitted a puff of silver spores when disturbed. Every new find was recorded, and upon returning to the ship, all the data would be uploaded to the AI of the Argos, which hovered in geostationary orbit like a silent sentinel in the sky. The ascent to the vessel would be far easier; he’d remotely activate the ship’s powerful tractor beam and use it to haul the module through the dangerous interference layer.
The sweating Earthman continued his exploration, and as Elliot pushed through the steamy undergrowth, he suddenly came upon a glade, a sense of profound wonder infusing him when he beheld what lay within. At the heart of the clearing, a ring of stone monoliths rose impressively from the ground. They were tall—about four meters high—and slender, their surfaces carved with intricate reliefs that reminded Elliot of the ancient totem poles of Earth. Spiraling serpents, stylized suns, and abstract human forms intertwined on the stone, each figure rendered with artistry that suggested a sophisticated culture.
His heart raced with excitement. This was a profound and historic moment. It was the first indication of sentient life that an Earth explorer had encountered. The strange interference had caused his ship's sensors to miss the evidence, and his telescope hadn’t been powerful enough to see any signs of civilization from high orbit.
Elliot stepped closer, running his hand wonderingly over a carving of a humanoid warrior with a strange blade protruding from his forearm. The jade-like stone was cool; the surface was silky smooth beneath his questing fingertips. A sudden rustle in the undergrowth disturbed Elliot’s focus. He turned and tensed. A group of savage figures surged swiftly from the foliage - warriors who guarded the sacred site the Earthman had unknowingly intruded upon. They rushed at him, their faces stamped with wild looks of blistering outrage.
3. Savage Capture
The warriors were lean; their dark ebony skin gleamed like wet onyx. Their eyes were a luminous sapphire hue, alive with hot anger and fierce purpose. They wore only leather loincloths, their apparel made from the hide of some large, scaled beast. From each forearm flicked a natural, blade-like weapon composed of keratin that deployed in the manner of a clasp knife - the only weapons permitted within the sacred glade.
Elliot’s training swiftly manifested. He dropped his bag of samples, drew his sidearm, and moved into a shooter’s stance. The first attacker lunged, his blade flashing in a wide arc. Elliot leapt back, and the natural weapon missed his throat by the narrowest of margins. Hesitant to kill, he fired a warning burst; the energy bolt blasted the ground in front of his attacker and sent a spray of soil into the air. The warrior recoiled, hissing in alarm.
Others rushed forward—ten, twelve, perhaps more, undeterred by the warning shot. Their movements were fluid, like dancers; their motions were coordinated. Their language resembled birdsong, high-pitched and melodic. Elliot’s pulse hammered in his ears; his heart pounded against his ribs like a drum. He fired, and a warrior fell, his chest blasted to gory ruin by the ray. Another warrior rushed at him, and the fellow’s sweeping blade knocked the force pistol from his hand before he could shoot again. Elliot ducked a scything strike, lunged, and slammed his shoulder against the foe, which sent his attacker sprawling to the ground.
But their numbers overwhelmed him. A blade stabbed into his back, the pain sharp and burning despite the wound being shallow. Elliot stumbled, his vision blurring as the weapon’s paralytic venom coursed through his veins. He fell to his knees. A heavy, calloused hand clamped like a vice on his arm. A low growl vibrated in his ear.
“Do not resist,” his captor warned in an alien tongue. The warrior’s voice was still canorous but carried an edge of hard command. Other strong hands grabbed him tightly, and Elliot felt himself being roughly dragged away, his boots skidding on the loamy soil.
His captors moved along a narrow jungle trail, the underbrush hemming them in with wild, exotic growth that was claustrophobic in its density. Elliot, though frightened, was also curious and a keen observer. The aliens’ bodies were slender, their musculature well-defined. But it was their startling weapons that were the focus of his fascinated attention. As he observed the aliens, they, in turn, observed him, some with wary curiosity, others with revulsion and hostility.
He tried to speak as he was dragged along, but the words caught in his throat. The venom injected by the blade had affected his vocal cords. He could only emit low, guttural noises that sounded like those of a frightened animal.
“What did you say?” Asked one of the warriors who was less hostile than the others, his voice a mixture of surprise and confusion, “If you cannot speak our tongue, then our wondrous ruler will use her astounding powers to give you this ability.”
Though Elliot was in a situation fraught with peril, he found that he could not help but be intrigued despite the extreme danger. This world was similar to Earth: the gravity, atmospheric pressure, and composition were almost identical. His captors were an amazing example of convergent evolution in an alien environment. To further keep himself from theorizing about his fate (undoubtedly unpleasant), he speculated on the level of their cultural development. From what he had seen so far, it appeared that their society was pre-scientific. Elliot was fairly certain he would soon find out for sure. The way they carried themselves with confidence showed that they were familiar with their environment. He correctly deduced that the settlement where they lived could not be far away.
After about an hour, the path debouched into a vast clearing that could have been a dreamscape, and Elliot’s speculations were broadly confirmed. In the center of the clearing stood a huge square building of translucent jade-like stone built around a central colonnaded courtyard, its walls smoothed to a perfect finish. The huge structure, with its external all-around verandah, had been constructed on an expansive, high stone platform, its sloping sides completely plated with glittering gold. On the huge platform, adjacent to the green palace, was a temple - a stepped pyramid of red stone, and at its dizzying, shining apex was the gilded sanctum sanctorum of strange, elemental gods.
Around the palace-temple complex sprawled neat agricultural fields planted with tall growths that resembled scaly tree ferns in broad appearance. They bore large, warty nuts, black in color, that formed the staple of the people’s diet. Elliot’s gaze was drawn to the plants' metallic purple leaves, laced with white, that shimmered in the sunlight with startling brightness. Thatched huts clustered like mushrooms around the perimeter of the extensive fields, smoke curling lazily from apertures in their roofs. From the number of dwellings, Elliot guessed the population was several thousand strong. He was later to learn that the village was the religious and political center for other settlements scattered across the region.
Villagers—identical in racial type to his captors—watched Elliot’s procession with wary eyes as the party passed through the settlement’s perimeter. Small children peered from hut doorways, their tiny hands gripping the carved frames. Word swiftly spread of Elliot’s capture. People quickly gathered to observe. The settlement seemed to hold its breath as the Earthman - an unsettling stranger in the middle of their world, was carried forward along a road of hard-packed earth, the way lined with muttering, pointing aliens.
Arriving at the palace-temple complex, Elliot’s captors hauled him up the broad stairway of the gilded platform to the white flagstones on its level surface. From here, the Eathman was conveyed toward the palace’s massive doorway, which was carved with the same totemic imagery as the glade’s monoliths. The chattering warriors dragged him onto the broad wraparound verandah of the palace, then fell silent as the timber doors opened with a sonorous groan under the pull of unseen hands.
The warriors stepped across the threshold. Inside, beneath the thatched roof, the air was cool, scented with spicy incense made from dried herbs that smoldered in colorful glazed pots hanging from brackets on the walls. The chamber was vast, with a colonnade of square pillars that bore more brightly painted carvings—this time of celestial bodies arranged in strange constellations and figures kneeling before a radiant sun. Fresh air and light spilled in from the central courtyard, illuminating a scene of barbaric splendor.
At the far end, on a raised dais, sat a young woman on a throne of intricately carved cream-hued wood. Her hair was a cascade of midnight tresses, threaded with braids studded with bright green gemstones. Her pert breasts were bare. She wore only a diaphanous, pale blue skirt, split high on the hip on both sides, its hem fringed with red tassels. It was ankle-length and woven from silky fibers that caught the light. Around her neck hung a cabochon pendant of polished crystal that glowed faintly with a golden aura. Beside her stood a much older woman, Abara by name - a gaunt hag, her skin drawn tight over bone, eyes like cold steel, and a skirt as black as her withered heart.
The warriors cast the Earthman onto the floor in front of the dais, then bowed before the young woman, their heads lowering in reverence and their keratin blades retracting silently. The leader of the party succinctly explained Elliot’s capture and how his presence had violated their sacred site. The young priestess-queen, Yalis, lifted a hand, and the angry murmuring of her gaudily dressed councillors grouped beside the dais fell away to silence.
“What manner of monstrosity is this who dares to disrespect the burial ground of our revered priestess-queens?” a voice hissed. The sound was unmistakably Abara’s, an unmelodic rasp that slashed through the silence like a cutthroat razor.
The warriors turned to her, their expressions a complex mixture of respect and fear, for she was second only in importance to the young priestess-queen. One of them—perhaps the very person who had stabbed Elliot, spoke, his voice melodious. “We do not know, High Councillor Abara. He does not appear to speak our language. His origin is unknown.”
Abara’s malefic eyes narrowed. “It does not matter. He has profaned our holy ground and disturbed the spirits of our ancestors with his contaminating presence. He must die for this unforgivable affront.”
Elliot could feel the paralyzing effects of the venom wearing off. He couldn’t understand the words, but he could guess by the crone’s furious expression that they were hostile. He tried to speak, his throat dry. “I—”
Yalis’s gaze fell upon him. Their eyes met, and as she grasped the glowing pendant that she wore - the source of her mystic power - a strange, resonant vibration filled his head, cutting off his speech. For a moment, his mind was flooded with alien syllables, each one a note in a symphonic language. His heart pounded; his head spun dizzily, threatening him with nausea. The tidal wave of meaning was sudden, clear, and terrifyingly intimate.
Incredibly, he understood. A new language had been implanted in his brain. The Earthman fought through the shock of the amazing experience. How this astounding feat had been accomplished was a mystery. But what he did know was that he was in dire peril and needed to explain himself quickly.
“My name is Elliot Jackson,” he said in the melodious language of his captors, his voice steadier than he felt. “I am a peaceful explorer from a world called Earth. I meant no harm. I was unaware of the sanctity of the place where I was captured. If I had known, I would have kept away from it.”
A murmur rippled through the chamber. Abara’s nostrils flared, as did her hatred and paranoia of all things strange. “Lies,” she shouted wildly. “Apart from his crime of desecration, this man is a stranger, a spy. Look at how different he is from us. Differences breed enmity. His people would seek to conquer us and plunder our riches. He must be slain.”
Yalis raised her hand, silencing the babble of erupting consternation. She rose gracefully from her throne, her movement as fluid as flowing water. She stepped down from the dais, her bare feet silent upon the stone floor. She knelt and placed a hand on Elliot’s crown, her palm warm, and his mind surged again with her thoughts—her emotions, her curiosity, the presence of something unlike anything he had ever known.
“I am Yalis,” she said softly so only he could hear, “ruler of my people and intermediary of the gods. Through my mystic touch, I sense your mind is free from guile. You pose no threat, but my people must be convinced in accordance with our laws.”
Yalis stood and turned to face her court. “Heaven has not spoken yet,” she continued, her voice loud enough for all to hear and carrying the full authority of her high office. “I will not have this stranger executed out of fear and suspicion. He is different from us, that is true. But difference does not equate to evil.
“I shall let the divinities judge. He shall face the Trial of the Pit. If he lives, we shall deem him forgiven; if he fails, then he dies. Either way, the gods will have passed their judgment.”
Yalis turned back to Elliot, her sapphire eyes steady and unflinching, and yet behind this facade, the Earthman sensed her sorrow. “You will fight the strongest warrior from among our ranks. The Pit is not merely a hole; it is a place where the gods watch. Survive, and you may walk free. Fail, and your corpse will be cast into the jungle for the wild beasts to devour. What say you?”
Elliot considered. He realized that Yalis didn’t want him killed, but she was unable to simply free him due to the seriousness of Abara’s accusation. Yalis was curious, intrigued by his strangeness, and offered him the best chance at life that she could. It was slim, but far better than certain death at the hands of an unsympathetic executioner.
He swallowed, feeling the weight of his understandable trepidation. “I am a friend, not a foe,” he said, his voice resolute. “I accept your offer to prove that my words are true.”
Abara hissed a curse under her breath. She wanted no chance, no matter how slim, that Eliott might survive, but Yalis cast a sharp glance at her, and the crone fell silent. Yalis turned to the warriors, her skirt swishing softly. “The challenge has been accepted. Take him to the Pit,” she commanded.
The guards led the Earthman from the building to the place of testing, which was located on the ground at the rear of the structure. The last of the paralysis had left him, and Elliot found that he could walk unassisted.
6. Trial of the Pit
They arrived at their destination. The square pit was deep, and a stone idol stood at each of its corners, gleaming ruby eyes, each the size of a hen’s egg, looking into the void. Elliot followed their gaze. The stonelined pit gaped like a screaming mouth. The sun was now low on the horizon. He could see the shadowed depths below, the faint glow of phosphorescent lichens clinging to the pit’s walls. He could hear the muffled heartbeat of the jungle, the rustle of wind-blown leaves, and the distant, spine-tingling ululation of an unseen creature that might be the very beast that devoured his corpse if he failed.
A rope ladder was fastened to stone rings and then lowered into the darkness. Elliot descended, his hand tensely gripping the timber rungs, his heart hammering at the thought of the trial. The air grew cooler, the scent of damp stone filling his nostrils. At the bottom, the pit ended in a flat arena, its walls rising a dozen meters high. The floor was made of packed pebbles, which allowed the torrential rains to drain away into the earth.
Shortly, a hulking warrior descended the ladder into the shadowed pit, his bulky form towering over Elliot by at least half a meter. The man’s name was Combas. His skin was a deeper shade of ebony; his muscles bulged like cords of steel. From his forearms, twin keratin blades extended, each one at least thirty centimeters long and as sharp as a tiger’s claw, their edges dripping with green venom. In addition to these natural weapons, hanging from his belt was a massive two-handed club, its lobed, globular head carved from blue stone. Elliot jumped nervously as a similar weapon thudded at his feet, a guard having tossed it into the depths from high above.
Yalis’s voice rang out from the edge of the pit, resonant and melodic. “The trial begins. If you bear us no malice, then may the gods guide your hand in blessed combat.”
Elliot snatched up his club in taut readiness. Combas raised his weapon and yelled a wild challenge, a thunderous sound that reverberated through the pit. For a heartbeat, the two doughty combatants stared at each other—one a son of Earth, the other a scion of Izmu—before the clash began.
From utter stillness, Combas exploded into violent motion. He dashed forward furiously and swung his club in a savage arc. The force of the blow sent shockwaves through the Earthman’s arm as he blocked the brutal stroke. Elliot leapt aside, attacking at an angle, his boots skidding on the pebble floor. His foe swiftly turned and blocked the leaping blow. The fellow’s eyes went wide, surprised by the unexpected strength of the Earthman’s swift attack.
Elliot’s training—years of handtohand, close-quarters combat—was standing him in good stead. He ducked beneath another rapid swing, lunged, and slammed his club into his foe’s stomach with all the force he could muster. But Combas had tensed his stomach muscles in time. The warrior grunted as he stumbled back, hurt but not debilitated. The alien swore. With a roar of rage, he fought through the pain and swung his club in a blur of speed.
The agile Earthman dodged the flying weapon and swung a furious counterstroke. Combas blocked the attack with his club. There was a crack like a gunshot. Elliot’s weapon split in two from the impact. He hurled the handle at his wild foe. Combas ducked and swung at him again. The Earthman lunged and seized his foe’s club with both hands, jamming the attack. The impetus of the weapon sent a jolt through his arms as he caught it, but Elliot used his opponent’s momentum. Stepping back, he heaved mightily. Combas, caught offbalance, toppled. He crashed to the ground, and Elliot wrenched the club from his grasp. The Earthman’s foe rolled aside as Elliot swung the captured weapon, and the purloined club slammed against pebbles, not flesh.
With a bestial snarl, Combas leaped to his feet. He blocked the Earthman’s strike with his keratin blade, then swung his natural weapons in a desperate counterattack. The envenomed blades missed the Earthman by a hair’s breadth as he leapt aside. One scratch, and he’d be rendered helpless by the paralytic toxin. Elliot saw an opening. His foe had overextended, and with a wild yell, the Earthman slammed his foot into Combas’s ribs before his opponent could recover.
Combas staggered, his eyes alive with rage. He swore, his blades spurting venom. He charged, consumed by primordial rage, his bare feet pounding the pebbly floor, his yell a savage roar. The two combatants collided in an unrestrained melee. A swift exchange of savage blows ensued. Elliot drove his club through his foe’s guard, slamming it against Combas’s chin. The impact was like a piledriver. It shattered his opponent’s jaw and sent him flying backward. Combas collapsed like a felled tree. His head struck the stones with a sickening crack. His natural blades slowly retracted as the life faded from his eyes.
Elliot stood panting, his chest heaving, his hands trembling around the club. He looked up as a chorus of alien voices rose from the pit’s edge, the melodic cadence of the watchers swelling into an exalted chant.
“Survived!” Yalis’s voice rang, bright with triumph. “The gods have spoken. He is forgiven. He is free.”
Abara’s face was a mask of rage, but she said nothing. She simply turned, her black garments swirling around her as she departed in high fury.
Discarding his foe’s bloodstained club, Elliot began climbing the rope ladder, each rung bringing him closer to light and liberty. He looked down a final time, his eyes resting on the corpse of his slain opponent. He shuddered at the reminder of how close to death he had come. But the danger hadn’t passed. He was sure that the club he had been given had broken due to being deliberately weakened. Someone was determined to see him dead. Pushing aside these disturbing thoughts, he emerged onto the paving stones surrounding the pit. Yalis awaited him, her sapphire eyes shining with a mixture of admiration and something softer—perhaps affection, perhaps curiosity.
She moved toward him, her hands raised, palms upward in salute. “You have shown great courage, Elliot Jackson. The trial has proven that you have earned heaven’s forgiveness.”
Then, to his surprise, she embraced him, the contact sending a faint, warm pulse through his entire body—an echo of the mindlink that had briefly united them moments before. Now that he was free, the sensible thing to do would be to return to the module and depart with all haste. But despite the danger, Eliott found that he was unwilling to leave. “Thank you,” he said, his voice heavy with emotion. “Now that I am free, I… I would like to know more about your people.”
Yalis smiled, a slow, deliberate curve that added extra beauty to her already attractive features. “You shall,” she said as she released her hold on him.
7. A Dark Betrayal
Night fell over Tatan, the settlement’s thatched huts glowing softly with the light of phosphorescent insects that flitted in cages and served as living lanterns. In the priestess-queen’s private chambers—an intimate space of woven mats, fragrant incense, and the gentle melody of wooden wind chimes—Yalis and Elliot sat on carved stools opposite each other, the faint night noises of the jungle threading through circular windows piercing the palace walls.
Elliot spoke of Earth—its natural and man-made wonders, the diversity of human culture, teeming cities, and soaring skyscrapers that pierced the heavens, and of a united global endeavor that had succeeded in sending humans to the stars. Yalis listened, her eyes widening at each revelation, the trace of a smile playing on her lips.
“This world… Izmu,” she said softly, “has no machines like yours. We live in harmony with nature, venerating that which sustains us: earth, air, fire, and water. Occasionally, we have wars, but these battles are small, ritualistic affairs, not the global, civilization-wrecking conflicts that you have discribed.”
Elliot nodded. He felt a kinship with Yalis, a link that transcended their physical and cultural differences, and he was humbled by the simplicity of her people’s existence, yet aware that beneath the surface calm simmered intense rivalry - tribal politics as ruthless as that of Earth and exemplified by the power play he sensed brewing between the priestess-queen and the crone, Abara.
A sudden crash shattered the peaceful moment. The heavy wooden doors of the room burst open, and three wild figures surged into the chamber. Their faces were hidden behind grotesque wooden masks, each carved with swirling patterns. Their bodies were armored in tough leather reinforced with bone, and their weapons—natural blades, were augmented by wooden clubs studded with cones of carved granite.
Elliot sprang to his feet, instinctively grabbing the nearest object— the low stool he had been sitting on. Now in full fighting mode, he hurled it at the first assassin. The seat struck the fiend’s mask. Wood cracked, shattering. The attacker fell, sprawling unconscious on the floor’s paving.
The priestess-queen, eyes blazing, followed his example. Seizing her stool, she hurled it with all the skill of a well-trained pitcher. The speeding projectile struck the second assassin’s knee just as he cast his club at Yalis. The attacker’s leg buckled, his patella shattered by the stool’s impact. He fell to the floor, howling in pain, the cry cut off as his head fatally smacked against unforgiving stone. But his flying club had struck Yalis a glancing blow on her head - a blow that sent her falling senseless to the floor.
The third assassin, a taller figure, his scarred face hidden by his crimson mask, rushed at the unconscious priestess-queen, his karatin blades jutting from his forearms, glinting with exuded venom. Elliot rushed at the fiend. He tackled the charging killer, bringing him down heavily. One of the assassin’s blades snapped as he struck the floor. The injured man howled in pain and rage as his club bounced free of his pain-loosened grip. Despite the agony, he threw off the Earthman with a surge of strength and scrambled erect. The assassin snarled, uttered a feral scream, and prepared to lunge again at Yalis, the primary target of the bloody mission.
Elliot though on the floor, wasn’t helpless. His hand shot out. He grabbed the killer’s ankle and hauled mightily. Again, the foe crashed to the ground. Both men scrambled to their feet, their bodies colliding in a brutal grapple. The assassin’s strength was immense. He broke free. Elliot ducked under a wild swing, drove his fist into the assassin’s ribs, and then, with a desperate rush of raw power, slammed a straight right into the killer’s throat, sending him sprawling and fatally choking on his crushed larynx.
Silence settled, broken only by Yalis’s groan as she struggled to sit up. The three felled assassins lay motionless, their masks askew, their weapons scattered on the floor.
Elliot quickly moved to assist the priestess-queen as she got unsteadily to her feet. “I’m not badly hurt,’ she reassured him as he braced her and, with concern, examined the shallow cut on her scalp.
After a moment, Yalis knelt beside the first assassin, the only one still alive. Her eyes narrowed as she extended her keratin blade and pressed its envenomed edge to the now conscious man’s throat. Elliot bound the fellow’s hands with his belt as Yalis began to question the hired killer. “Speak,” she demanded, voice low, “who sent you?”
The assassin, his eyes wild, whispered hoarsely, “Abara… she sent us. She… she wants the throne. She thinks you love him, that you are compromised by your desire for the stranger - an alien enemy. She wants you dead so she can claim the priestessqueen’s mantle.”
The words struck Elliot like a body blow. He felt a cold dread coil in his stomach. Abara—the old woman who had demanded his death—was the mastermind behind the attack and, no doubt, the person who had sabotaged the club he had been given for the trial of the pit.
Yalis rose, her face a study in of fury. “You,” she hissed, pointing a finger at the wounded assassin, “are a traitor.” She turned to Elliot, her sapphire eyes softening again. “My advisor… she has plotted against us. She would kill me, kill you, to claim power.”
Elliot tensed, his own pulse still racing. “We need to stop her before she does any more harm.”
Suddenly, a rustle sounded from behind a tapestry that hung on a nearby wall. A figure slipped out from behind it—a bitter, withered woman, her keratin blades extending with deadly menace from her forearms. It was Abara. She had been hiding there to gleefully watch her killers do their bloody work. But her plans had gone awry, and now her face was a mask of rage, the lines of age deepened by the ferocity of her dark ambition.
“Yes,” she hissed. “I want you dead, Yalis. You consort with an enemy. You would spread your thighs for him.” Her eyes were wild as she spoke. “You are a disgrace, unfit to be our ruler.”
Abara lunged, her natural blades flashing. Yalis moved with the speed of a striking tiger, her own blades snapping out, blocking the wild strikes of her deranged assailant, driving her back with a swift counterattack. Abara’s eyes blazed with hatred; she screamed and tried again, this time slashing at Yalis’s throat. The priestess-queen fell back before the whirlwind of the frenzied assault. Elliot, seeing Yalis hard-pressed by the crone, rushed forward and tackled the old woman, slamming her to the floor.
The two struggled; Abara’s bony body, fueled by rage, was surprisingly strong, her grip like iron. Elliot, using his training, twisted her arm, forcing her to submit. She screamed, her keratin blades jetting venom. Her natural weapons scraped against the stone, and with a final effort, Elliot pinned Abara’s arms, his knee on her back.
“Enough,” Yalis demanded, stepping to the cursing woman’s side and pressing her own natural blade against Abara’s scrawny neck.
A cacophony of footsteps thundered as the temple guards arrived, alerted by Abara’s wild screeches, their faces a mixture of shock and anger. They seized the wounded assassin who had been attempting to crawl away during the distraction of the fight. Then, when the killer was fully secured, they turned their attention to Abara, binding her wrists with cords that tightened like steel cables. Yalis turned to Elliot, her expression a mixture of gratitude and sorrow.
“Your courage saved me,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “Abara will be judged by the council. Her crimes are many.”
Elliot nodded, his chest still heaving. “And what of… us?” he asked, his eyes searching hers, hoping to see in her the same emotions that were growing in his heart.
Yalis smiled, a faint, genuine curve. “We shall see.”
A day had passed. The council convened, the ancient stones of the ceremonial hall echoing with the low chant of the elders as they prayed for guidance in their deliberations. Abara and the surviving assassin were found guilty of treason. Their execution by strangulation was carried out according to the rites of the land. Their bodies were then cremated and the ashes cast into the river, its flowing water carrying away their malavolent spirits.
Yalis, now unburdened from the shadow of her treacherous advisor, focused on strengthening the trust between her people and the stranger from the stars. She invited Elliot to stay, not as a captive or an alien curiosity, but as a teacher and advisor - someone who could prepare her people for contact with Earth, for other explorers would surely come to Izmu.
Elliot, his homeworld now a memory of his past, for he had eagerly agreed to her proposal, took to walking the fields, learning to harvest the ovoid nuts, attentively listening to the concerns of the people, and studying the stone carvings that told the histories of their culture. He grew accustomed to the rhythm of the planet, its tides, its storms, and its quiet mornings when the red sun rose like a glowing ruby.
One evening, as the sun dipped low, casting a rose-colored glow over the fields, Yalis and Elliot emerged from the gilded sanctum sanctorum at the apex of the stepped pyramid of red stone. Yalis had granted his request to witness the ceremony of offering, where fruit, flowers, and incense were laid on the high altar before the four deities of earth, air, fire, and water - tall painted idols of androgynous appearance. The ritual complete, the couple sat on the uppermost step, the cool night air brushing against their skin. Below them, the villagers were returning to their homes from the fields, and laughing children exuberantly chased nocturnal insects that glowed like tiny stars.
Elliot turned to Yalis, his eyes reflecting the last light. “I was sent to explore, to bring back data, to report on new worlds. I never imagined I would find love, that you would ask me to become a bridge between our peoples.”
Yalis rested her hand on his, the warmth of her skin a reminder of the life that pulsed through the planet. “You are more than just a bridge to me, Elliot. I’m very glad that you decided to stay; we will learn from each other. But if you ever decide to return to Earth, I’ll understand.”
He smiled, a slow, genuine smile that reached his eyes. “I will stay. There is much more to discover—about this world, about us.”
Yalis’s smile blossomed like the first buds of the jungle flowers at dawn as they opened to welcome the light. “Then we shall walk this path together.”
They leaned forward, their lips meeting in a kiss, the world around them brimming with life. The red sun slipped below the horizon, the sky shifting from crimson to deep violet. The jungle whispered its ancient song, the palace’s stone pillars, carved with sacred symbols, standing sentinel over the new covenant formed between a man from Earth and a priestess-queen of Izmu.
Above them, far above the canopy of the lush jungle, the Argos still hovered, its lights blinking softly—a symbol of humanity watching, waiting, perhaps ready to be called to this world. But for now, Elliot’s destiny lay on this planet, beneath the towering trees, their leaves mottled in vermilion and gold, beside Yalis, the priestess-queen who had opened a world to him, and a world that had opened itself to him in return.
The End.