Skyler's POV
When I opened my eyes, it was a slow process that turned into a long string of blinking. My eyelids had been glued together, a crust of dust coating my lashes. Nothing moved around me, nor clacked with glee at the chance to torture me some more. The bright light hung from the ceiling from a chain, swaying gently to the movements of...the ship.
It all came back, and I curled away from it. A cold touch of air ran down the length of my spine, worrying my nerves into a flurry of snowflakes. Racking breaths gasped from my chest, my ribs opening into a black pit of rage. I would kill them. Small tears trailed down my temples, and I felt like scraping the top layer of my skin from my body. The imaginary filth and violation...there would be no way to be rid of it. It ran thick and unyielding in a mental covering of emotion.
That was when I realized that the restraints had been unlocked, and that my surroundings were bare. Nothing cluttered the walls or floor besides the few cabinet shelves that sat pushed to one side.
Scrambling to get up, I practically fell off the table. No pain stopped me in my haste to get away, and I stopped. Looking down at myself, I saw that no talon marks raked my skin anymore, nor broken, protruding bones. Not even a bruise to mar my pale skin. Blood still stained the little fabric of my underwear and bra, but that was the only evidence of my torment. My arms wrapped themselves tightly around my middle, and I sat there shivering for the next five minutes until my brain caught up with the rest of myself. A shimmery sheen caught my eye. Looking down again, I saw my left arm and where the long jagged line had been from the Sharve attack. It was no scar or cut that had been stitched up like Frankenstein, but a faint, iridescent swirly pattern set into my skin. It traced intricately where the wound would have been, cutting across my wrist and stopping in a last curl up my inner forearm.
Breath stopped, my right fingers ran over its feathery tracery. It only showed silver-clear when light hit it, nonexistent otherwise. My hand went to my face next, but I had no mirror.
Plucking myself out of the stuffy mind state, I skittered across the floor to the cabinets. I had no time to waste if they decided to come back for me, so I couldn't afford to be distracted. Tugging on the first handle proved to be locked. Growling, I tugged harder. The hinges ripped in a rain of metal and rust, the sharp, ricocheting sound hitting the walls. I froze, waiting for the sounds of clicks and snarls to come at me. Any minute now.
But nothing happened.
Cursing, I glanced inside the dark depths of the cupboard. It resembled a locker more than a cabinet, but I shook my head and shoved the unhelpful observation from my thoughts. My eyes snagged on the most minuscule things; a smudge of something rusty-brown, a blade that was coated in the same red-brown as the smudge, a tiny rock that hung from a chain...the small fracture that ran its tiny length. How the red-brown wasn't actually a blend of color, but separate beads mingled together like small M&M's sitting in a bowl. My head began to pound. Pressure rushed through my ears as I picked up the blade.
It was my dagger. But it looked different than before. Turning it over and over in my hands, I scanned the blood-coated jewels and metal. It was the same, but not. The jewels gleamed in a refraction of light as the beams hit a certain angle, the blood catching just the same. The metal now looked translucent, not solid metal as I'd come to know. My hand shaking, I tucked it under my arm as I went for the necklace next. It was unharmed, other than the little crack, so I tapped a fingertip to its edge.
How could I get it to work? Cursing his stubbornness, I hung it around my neck and thought of Jace giving it to me without instructions on how it worked. Maybe if I got hurt again... No way was I taking my dagger to my skin. It'd just have to wait. I caught the small shape of a pill-like item down in one corner. The Canister Rowan had given me. I tucked it into my bra. Nothing else sat in the locker, so I moved to the next.
This one wasn't locked. It squealed open and revealed a folded piece of light green fabric. Snatching it up, I reveled in the floating, velvety quality to it. It felt like running water over my tingling skin, so I let it fall out from its folds. It resembled a bed sheet, but was much too high quality for such a thing. I didn't know what it could be, but I certainly needed something to wear. Sweeping my hair to the side, I tied it over one shoulder and around to the other side, knotting it at my right thigh. It looked like a shabby-chic short dress in my minds' eye, but a very luxurious one at that. It opened to reveal my side, but it was much better than being mostly naked.
I examined the shelves next. Nothing sat on them but a light layer of grime. Sighing a breath of air, I didn't know what to do with myself. A small voice told me that I should be starving at this point, but I felt only...empty. As if a pumpkin spoon had been scraped along my insides to get the seeds of my immediate memories out. I found that I had to think hard about my family and Jace to get my experiences with them back. But when the scenes were found and replayed in my minds' eye, they seemed off- clear with color that I'd never seen before. Grabbing the knife off of the floor where I had set it took more energy than what seemed right.
The only door to the room was locked, and when I say locked, I mean it was bolted and chained multiple times over with a bar of metal melted into place. I didn't know how I knew this, since I was on the other side, but I did. I went to a wall and leaned, sliding down to sit on the ground with the dagger gripped at the ready in my lap. I coughed, making my head throb more sharply. The light flickered.
This would be a long wait.
*********************************
And here I sat, alone with my depressing thoughts, until I had to start pacing. Where was Jace right now? Were they all alright? Or had the Sharves gotten them too, holding them elsewhere in the ship? The worry and nagging sensation that chipped away at my calm pushed me into repetitive circles; at this point, I should have worn ruts into the metal floor. I couldn't tell how much time passed since there were no windows. But I had an inkling that I'd been taken awhile ago, enough so that it would draw plenty of attention. That is, if everyone were still back home. I slammed a balled fist into the one locker door that was still intact. It crumpled.
I tried the door again, rattling and banging with new resolve. Dents formed in its rusted surface, which fueled my effort more. Distantly, I wondered at my lack of pain or broken fingers, but that wasn't the most important thing. Nor was catching tetanus.
I had to get out. If they were hurt or dead, I didn't know what I would do, and just the thought sent my insides to a roiling mass of stinging panic. I had to see if they were okay, and I felt a surge of fire roll through my core, bursting outwards into a wave. A bolt of energy flew from the palm of my hand to the door, frying right through the solid mass of it. In a matter of seconds, there was now no door to speak of. In shock, I stared from my hand to the now obliterated space in front of me. The charred smell of melted metal and ozone filled my nose as I waved the same hand through the air. Nope, no more obstacle. My brain numb, I didn't think any more of the matter.
I tested it out further by stepping through into a tight corridor. A mix of wonder and horror shook me. Metal was everywhere; it was the floor, low hanging ceiling, walls, and doors. It filled my senses until I felt sick and claustrophobic. I ran a hand along the wall as I went, in case my body decided it had had enough, my feet propelling me forward with a sense of urgency. I tested a door. It was jammed shut. Putting a hand to it, I shut my eyes. Some instinct told me to do so, the same as the act that led to the now nonexistent doorway behind me. There was nothing of importance to me on the other side, the instinct said, so move on. I did.
And this was how it went for the next two doors, until I came upon an open area that gaped wide and open to anyone who walked through. It was a sort of hall, lined in pillared tanks that glowed in neon blue, lit from the inside at many angles. Bodies floated amidst whatever liquid suspended them. Human bodies. Eyes open and watching, but no movement, naked and still. Tubes snaked along their limbs in their own kind of restraint.
In fascinated horror, I wandered to one that held a boy no older than ten. He was olive skinned, with long hair that curled past his shoulders. His dark eyes followed my movements, and in a test, I moved my hand in a wave. They followed.
My breath coming in shallow pants, I knocked the glass. But it wasn't glass; it resounded like metal, not the sharp crisp notes of normal glass you'd knock on, say, in an aquarium or washing dishes. Banging my fist into it the same way I had dented the doors, I pounded until a dull ache spread up my wrist. It didn't budge. This couldn't be; he was a boy for Christ's sake. For that matter, these were all people, strung up and being fed things like lab rats. Bile burned a trail up my throat. I averted my eyes from personal body parts that floated into view as I whirled to search for a battering ram of some sort.
There was nothing. Despair choked me as I now turned to another tank. A beautiful woman hung motionless, her white blonde hair running in pristine tendrils. Her skin was perfect porcelain, as spotless and creamy as fresh milk, and I couldn't help but envy it. Looking closer, I realized that she wasn't human, but Morfilian. I recognized the glowing green eyes, the same as Jace's, that watched me with summer heat and life. She blinked, her eyes slowly roaming to my hand.
It's palm was to the clear barrier that separated us. My nails glistened clear and glittering as they curled into the hard surface. I felt a jolt of energy shoot down the arm, warm and seductive, and I tilted my head. Now I understood why they did that movement so much; it was all I could do not to throw the head completely back and laugh like a joyous maniac.
Intent now, I focused. My nails crackled with electricity as they continued to slowly gauge a deep indent into the barrier. Wetness began to trickle down my arm and drip to the floor, then flowed in a soft current. Gradually, I tore my hand downwards, mesmerized as I cut into the material like tough cardboard. It melted, the tank fluid mixing with liquified clear metal. I felt like an observer of someone else, my hand that of a superhuman vigilante and not mine.
With one last push, I stepped back. The tank imploded, neon blue gushing everywhere, curling around my feet and soaking the bases of the other tanks. The Morfilian ended up facedown on the floor, perfect skin coated in the grossness. I stepped to her side, avoiding her long hair, and gently rolled her to her side. Her eyes were glazed, unseeing, but slowly began to focus and blink. She coughed wetly. A gurgle of blue came up and she spit it out, shaking. Her body curled in on itself.
"Shhhh, it's okay," I murmured awkwardly. In shock myself, my brain briefly emerged from its numb calm. What had I done? I was not supposed to to be able to do these things. Impossible. But here I was, doing them as if it were natural, as if I'd done them forever. I softly shook alongside her, patting her shoulder. I wished I had a jacket to drape over her nakedness, but alas, I was lacking.
"What's your name?" I asked to distract myself. Then I realized she may not speak English. I dug for any Morfilian words I may have gotten from Jace or the others, but nothing came. He hadn't spoken any when around me, which I now found strange.
She coughed again, then whispered something unintelligible. I leaned closer. Everything stank of a cross between...mint...and fish. No wonder she coughed. And who knew how long she had been held in there.
"Lirahsten," she croaked, pushing to sit up. "Lirah for short. Who are you?"
I sighed. So English. Cool-a minor relief among all of the crazy. "I'm Skyler. Sky, for short, if you want. How did you end up in here?"
She gazed at me with knit brows. Her eyes glowed so much like Jace's that my heart tugged. Her little nose was pert and straight, and I searched for any imperfections in her features. There were none.
"I could ask the same of you. I hope they do not come."
Shit. I strained my ears for any sign of Sharve, and heard nothing but a slow drip from the damaged tank. I stood, ignoring her question, and moved to the little boys' tank. "Well, if they do, then I'd better get going. Can you help, or are you too weak?"
She groaned and wobbled to her feet. She looked drained and fragile, but she lifted her chin. "I will try. I am not Morphed, but I am strong."
Avoiding staring at her equally perfect body, I nodded and gazed at the little boy. I closed my eyes and tried to dig around for whatever new instinct drove me to this point, but found emptiness. Growling, I gripped the slick surface of the tank and yanked with both arms wrapped halfway around its' circumference. I had to get as many out as possible before this impeccable luck ran dry. The resurgence of panic lit the fire under my ass that I needed; I pulled at the powerful core of whatever flowed in thick rivulets in my veins.
Sparks flew from the top and bottom of the casing. The compartment that held him was torn from the metallic holds that sucked it into place. It's weight felt like lifting a heavy basket of clothing as I leaned back under the sheer size of it, pulling it completely free. The neon liquid flowed out, washing the boy out like a fish out of water. He stopped about five feet away, face to the ceiling. I propped the compartment back into the holds and ran to him. His little body was so thin and frail that I second guessed touching him at all. I braced my hands flat on the floor as a tremor shook the ground. The tank lights dimmed. Okay then.
"Are you okay?" I whispered breathlessly. Just a boy. They had taken him at this age? Rage flared hot and steady in the cold emptiness of the hall. I wondered how many times I would mull over this as I brushed a soaked strand of hair from his forehead. Those eyes were closed now, unresponsive to my touch. Maybe he had been kept for too long?
Then his chest lifted in a deep breath. It rattled and sucked through his nose as his body jerked. His eyes flew open, wild with fear.
"It's okay!" I said again, scrambling backward. I worried about all the noise, that the Sharves would finally come and destroy us all. The boy's eyes caught on my face and froze, his hands balled and shaking. His breaths were quick.
"What's your name?" I asked softly. Maybe speaking some more would reassure him.
"O que?" he replied hoarsely. "Onde estou?"
"Sorry, I don't speak..." Spanish? Italian? Something whispered Portuguese. I mimicked. "You're okay." Okay then, apparently I could speak Portuguese. All of this would surely hit me in a tidal wave later.
He stopped looking around and stared at me. His face was round and cherubish, made more so by the curly locks that dripped with goo. He didn't speak again, just looked. Uncomfortable, I peered about and watched as Lirah pulled a similar maneuver to get her tank free. The man submerged inside was also Morfilian, an impossible height with periwinkle skin that glowed brighter than the neon blue liquid. LIrah almost toppled backwards, but before I could even blink, I was suddenly by her side and helping her to lower it to the ground.
She shot me a grateful glance and sank next to the man. I hoped that wasn't all of her energy; it looked like we had another fifteen tanks to free, maybe more if we continued down the hall to find more walls lined in these things. The man sputtered, not temporarily frozen in place like the other two had been. He began to get to his feet, but fell back down.
He muttered in a lilting tongue, and it struck me with the complexity of years and history that must have forged it. It must be the language the Morfilians spoke. A moment later, the meaning clicked. He'd said," What is this place?"
Lirah responded in kind, her lyrical voice flowing in tune with the flowing quality of what she spoke. The man looked me up and down, eyes flashing a fire red. They were unnerving, and his look made me want to do the same so that he could feel how it was to be scrutinized. But he was naked, and that was immature.
"We need to get moving," I said instead.
Lirah nodded. She got to her feet again, helping the man to his. I guessed he didn't know English, same as the boy, and that maybe it meant he hadn't been sent to Earth. And that Lirah had.
On we went, in the same fashion, neon blue liquid splashing up to my knees with lukewarm intimacy. I wanted to take a lifetime long bath when all of this was done, if we made it out. The boy stood off to the side, watching as we worked, seeming to be the only adolescent in the bunch. We were almost done when Lirah stood from where she crouched next to a middle aged woman.
"She is dead," she said quietly. She had closed the woman's eyes. My stomach tightened. Was it our fault? Maybe it was a bad idea to take them all out of their vegetative state without proper precautions. I shook my head and turned away, looking at the last tank at the end of the left wall. It held a woman with espresso colored skin. Her head was thrown back, curly hair swaying in the fluid as the ground rumbled again. I hadn't yet seen one that hadn't been neutral and unmoving, so it made me pause. I glanced at Lirah, questioning.
"Go ahead. She'll die anyway if we left her," she replied.
I sighed and reluctantly moved to the tank. The woman was curvy and tattooed with light colored ink. Interesting. I pulled my arm back, opening my palm. The warm burn of energy fizzled along the skin, amping up to an intensity that shot to the clear barrier. It exploded, purple sparks and melted metal pouring around me. Liquid gushed around my shins as I stepped back to let the woman's body slide out. Behind me, I heard multiple gasps, but ignored it as the tank settled back into stillness.
"Who is she?" someone whispered.
"I do not know," another replied. I wondered how I could hear their conversation from this distance, but shrugged it off. It didn't matter, but it made sense if I were a changed person. It won, my brain cooed joyfully. I am dominant.
Cringing, I stood over the woman who now lay on her side in front of me. Her eyes fluttered and opened, a gasp of air sucking into her lungs.
"Where am I?" she asked. She was speaking Hausa.
"On a ship," I murmured. I added Hausa to the list of languages I could suddenly speak. "You're okay now."
She groaned and got to her hands and knees. Everyone stood huddled at the center of the hall, watching me with a kind of wonder and confusion. I saw that they were a smattering of human and Morfilian alike. I didn't understand why the Sharve would collect them instead of draining them, but I was glad they'd been spared.
"We need to go," I said to them all. My eyes were wandering to the ceiling as I imagined peeling them out of my sockets. So much naked skin...it was orgy worthy. Mentally, I slapped myself.
The man with red eyes stepped forward, but before he could speak, the ground vibrated. A clanging of metal on metal echoed down an adjoining hall. I stiffened and met his eyes.
"Let's go," he agreed, grabbing the little boy's hand. The group, staying in a tight band, moved forward. I noticed that the Morfilians had surrounded the humans in a protective layer from what was to come. Only I stood as an outsider.
That was okay. I turned and started the way to the clanging. The tunnel that connected to the hall of tanks was short and stank of rust and stale water. The group's circle narrowed to fit. I could hear some whispering in their various languages; prayers and last words, last words to distant loved ones that would never hear them. My heart fluttered at that new realization-that I could die, that I'd never see Jace, or my parents ever again. Riley. Even Rowan and Rayne and Jaden.
"Are you alright?" Lirah asked, coming up to walk slightly behind me. My breath was uneven, and she could most likely hear it.
"Yeah, just...not wanting to die is all," I replied lamely. "I was stolen out of my hospital bed. No one at home knows where I am, if they've not been taken too."
"Hospital? Interesting word. I see," she murmured. I could practically smell the sympathy and wariness rolling off her skin. "I was taken in an attack on my people. About three years after Arriving."
"Where did you Arrive?" I asked curiously. Her English held a certain accent, almost as if she were also trying to match my dialect. But if she already knew it, that was strange.
"Mycenae," she said in a far away voice. "But I spent most time in Pylos."
I choked, almost stopping completely. "Excuse me? Mycenae, as in the Mycenaeans?"
She was silent for a moment, and I could feel her mood change. "You are correct."
My brain raced. Impossible again. "That was..." I thought about it, back to my AP history class from freshman year. "Over 3100 years ago."