Zonaton Page 2

  Watch my shoes. I have a hole in my sock. My socks are getting dirty. Don't look at the gerons. Keep looking down.

  Emmala sniffed, then sneezed. The dust being churned up by the children hung thick in the air. She wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve and chanced a sideways glance around her. She could see several of her classmates also striding with her. She tried not to look at the gerons sitting and staring at them as they passed by. Many of the creatures were younglings looking to feed. A short distance from them, two larger gerons monitored the smaller ones, making sure their side of the pact was equally obeyed. As Miss Dofield had explained, the gerons were not allowed to chase a child, or in any way cause torment or frighten them. If a geron planned to take a child to feed upon, they were required to grab and go. Quick and painless. But sometimes, her teacher warned carefully, there were exceptions. Miss Dofield never said what the exceptions were, which left Emmala more curious than afraid.

  One foot, then the other. Left, right, left, right, left, right. I'm thirsty. How much farther do I have to go?

  A bit to her right, an immense shadow caught her attention. Unable to stop herself from looking , she saw the big silver geron turn its bird-like head to peer at her. She could see its eyes widen when it spotted her. A long time ago, her father had shown her a picture of a griffin, an imaginary animal used in fairy tales and folklore on their original home world. Papa had said the gerons reminded them of griffins, except their bodies were not lion-like, but nearly human, with muscular bodies, arms, and legs. Instead of fingers and toes, they had extended talons. Otherwise, the eagle-like head with its curved beak and the huge wings were very similar to the pictures shown her. This one was an adult of a silvery-white color. The other, slightly bigger adult, was a deep, dark, almost chocolate brown color. They sat on the ground, perched with their bottoms on the sandy dirt, knees drawn to their chests and their arms circling their legs. Their wings were slightly raised, not quite folded, but not fully extended.

  Emmala dragged her eyes away from the aliens and tried to focus on the crowd of people cheering and clapping and calling out to the children who were nearly halfway across the field. They looked so earnest. They also looked very scared. More scared than the kids.

  She spotted Hawse far to her left and slightly behind her. When he finally noticed her, she waved again at him, which he returned with a weak smile. Like her, he was trying to keep his head down and hold to a steady speed while ignoring the threatening glare the smaller gerons gave all the children.

  Bowing her head, she kept her gaze directed at the ground. At the sight of her own two feet moving forward. One foot, then the other. Over and over.

  "Don't run. Don't stop. Don't run. Don't stop." She softly repeated the words to herself because they helped her to cope with her fear, and she kept her sights on the crowd. Somewhere among all those people was her mother. A quick glance to her right showed her father, as well as several other fathers, walking the perimeter and shouting encouragement. For the most part, the gerons ignored the fathers, although Emmala saw the big silver one occasionally check to make sure the humans stayed beyond the rock circle.

  "You're doing well, Em! Keep going! Don't stop! Don't run!"

  She smiled and gave a small wave to Papa to let him know she'd heard him.

  The scream almost made her jump out of her skin. She'd barely turned around to look behind her when she spotted Vimmy, a boy from her class, take off toward the waiting crowd of parents. His little feet were furiously churning up dust as he raced for the other side of the field.

  The scream came again, high-pitched and shrill enough to hurt her ears. It came from a geron, a smaller one, dark purple in color. It screeched and flapped its wings, and took off toward Vimmy.

  Emmala shoved her hand against her mouth to keep from crying out. The geron was faster than the boy, taking long air-lifted strides to chase down the child, its muscular arms stretched out to grab the child. Bile rose in her throat when the alien's long, scale-covered neck stretched outward, and the shiny beak closed around Vimmy's arm. The boy yelled. Clutching the child around the waist, the geron jerked backwards, adjusted its grip around the five-year-old until it also had a hold around the boy's chest. Vimmy struggled silently as he fought the alien, but he was unable to inflict any damage to the creature with an arm trapped within the wide beak. The geron spread its wings then lifted itself and the boy into the pale pink sky. Miss Dofield said the creatures preferred to eat their victims in private.

  "Emmala! Keep walking! Don't stop! Keep going, Emmala!"

  Her father's voice came to her. Terror, like a freezing wind, engulfed her as she realized she had come to a standstill, but she couldn't move. Her feet were frozen to the ground. She couldn't take her eyes off the reddish patch soaking into the dirt a few yards away where Vimmy had been.

  "Emmala! Go! Walk! Walk, Emmala!"

  A geron shrieked. She looked up to see a red one the same color as the blood on the ground coming toward her. Half-running, half-flying, it held out its arms and headed directly for her. Its screech was like metal on metal.

  "Move, Emmala!"

  She turned to see her father yelling at her, frantically waving his arms as he tried to get her to keep walking.

  Don't stop. Don't run. Don't stop.

  She couldn't lift her feet. She could barely move her head. Her body trembled violently as she watched the geron coming to get her. Coming to take her away and eat her. She looked up, and gasped.

  The huge, silvery-white adult swooped down on the smaller red one. The large beak closed over the other's neck, encompassing the long, serpentine length in its maw. With one quick turn of its head, the adult separated the youngling's head from its body. Blood sprayed her in the face and on her clothes, and she panicked. Not because of what she had seen, but because she knew Mommy would be furious that she got her clothes dirty. This was a brand-new outfit, and Mommy always told her she'd better never get her new things ruined before she outgrew them.

  "Emmala!"

  Somehow, her right foot scooted forward. Her left foot joined it. She took another step. Then another.

  A second cry came from behind her, but she couldn't look. Her eyes were riveted on the clear, colorless eyes of the silvery geron, who stared directly at her. It opened its beak, dropping the dead geron's head onto the dirt, then it started to come toward her.

  "Emmalaaaaa!"

  She took three more steps, but she couldn't take her eyes off the huge white geron as it drew closer and closer. That horrible scream sounded again, but it didn't come from the white one. A dark shadow appeared overhead. She gasped once she understood, and turned around to see a black geron lift its beak to bring it down over her.

  A bright, silvery wing swept around her, scooping her off her feet and sweeping her toward the adult geron. At the same time, the big creature let out a terrifying scream. Its head swung sideways, striking the smaller geron's body and knocking it away.

  Emmala couldn't move. The wing was too heavy to lift. She was being held, pinned against something warm and solid. The warm moved, and above the muted din of shouts and screams and cries she could hear a double thumping sound. A muffled thumping.

  "Gerons have large, multi-chambered hearts," Miss Dofield had informed them. "We believe it's because they are such large creatures."

  Its large heart. She was trapped against the thing's chest.

  Slowly, the wing moved, releasing her. She looked up, and the geron stared at her. Its large, crystalline eyes held her, mesmerized her, and the fear that had paralyzed her dissipated like smoke in the sky.

  The geron lowered its head until its face was even with hers. The eyes never broke contact. The thing's beak lightly nudged her shoes.

  Name.

  The thing wanted to know her name. "I'm Emmala," she answered without stammering.

  It blinked. Zonaton. Its name was Zonaton.

  Someone was shouting at her. Someone beyond the warm safety within the geron
's wings that continued to enfold her in their soft, leathery embrace.

  Are you hungry?

  Emmala shook her head. "No." She shivered and unconsciously hugged herself.

  Are you cold?

  "A little."

  Do not be afraid, Emmala.

  "I'm not. I'm not afraid of you, but I'm afraid of the others."

  He wouldn't hurt her. She knew he wouldn't, but she couldn't say why or how she knew. And he would help her.

  Don't be afraid of them. I will guard you from now on. Would you like to rest?

  "Can I sit down?" Her legs felt wobbly, and she was afraid she would topple over if she didn't get to sit. Her throat hurt bad, and so did her head.

  You cannot stay here. You are not safe here. Let me take you where you will be safe.

  She tried to breathe, and her whole body shuddered.

  "Okay."

  A hand partially raised her upward, cupping her back and buttocks and lifting her off her feet. The geron dropped its neck to the ground. A mental image of her climbing onto its shoulders came to her, as clearly as if she was watching it on a vid. Without hesitation, she straddled the creature where the glittering scales overlapped the skin at the back of its neck.

  Hold on.

  She clutched a fold of loose skin with both hands, and the geron leaped into the sky.

  Emmala never heard her parents shouting her name as Zonaton angled for the mountain range lying in the distance.

  * * *

  He stared at the youngling, the human child named Emmala. She was sleeping, but it was a poor rest. The little girl often cried out, but it didn't sound like fear. It sounded like pain.

  "I'm sorry, Mommy. I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to. Don't, Mommy! Don't!"

  Shaking his head, Zonaton tenderly bent over the child and covered her with his warmth. The shivering soon ceased, but the nightmares didn't.

  Throughout the night, he tried to calm her, sending wave after wave of comfort to her. It helped some, but her mental agony would not go away with one night of safety. It would take years. Years he had no problem giving to the youngling who was now his. His to raise. His to teach. His to protect.

  His to love.

  Eimiss

  What are you doing?

  I don't know, but it felt right.

  How can you possibly Pair with that creature?

  I told you, I don't know.

  You are not a youngling. You are past your prime. You are too old to Pair!

  And I told you it felt right. As though it was meant to be. I felt her pain. I saw her agony. I had to take her, and I do not regret it.

  What are you going to do with it?

  Its name is Emmala. It is a female. At least try to show respect for my decision.

  Regardless, what are you going to do with it?

  I have Paired with her. It will be thus, and we will be together until the rest of her days.

  Why?

  Because it was meant to be. Because I believe I need her as much as she needs me.

  You are leaving the Nest for one of their younglings? You are shirking your responsibilities?

  My responsibility is her now. My future is with her.

  This is unheard of. An older geron Pairing! What if you depart this life before she does?

  Regardless, it feels right. I cannot explain any further.

  But when your life span ends before hers, you know you cannot bring her with you.

  That is a matter that does not concern me at this moment. What I must do now is protect her.

  Where will you go? What will you do?

  We will go where the others gather. We will do what we must.

  You are a fool, Zonaton.

  Call me what you will, Eimiss. Even that feels right.

  * * *

  He dropped the clothing next to the cave pool where Emmala was waiting. She had promised not to enter the water until his return, and she had kept her word. With his return, she quickly shed her too-small, bloodstained clothes and literally jumped into the cold water.

  She screeched from the chill. "That's coooooold!" Then laughed. It was such an innocent sound of joy, he smiled inwardly.

  "Where is the soap?"

  No soap. I am sorry. Do your best to scrub yourself clean with your hands.

  He watched as she grabbed her old tunic top and dipped it in the water, then used it to wipe the grime and dried blood off herself. He mentally nodded with approval. She was intelligent and resourceful beyond her years.

  As she bathed, he craned his neck over to where the small stream emerged from the rocks above the pool and drank. In a short while, the pool would empty itself out through the veins within the mountain, the water replaced with fresh. He had no fear of Emmala contaminating the supply. Not as long as the snows capping the mountains continued to slowly melt and provide them with an almost unending supply.

  He remained within reach of the girl, in case she needed his help. But once she finished removing the worst of the dirt, she continued to play in the pool. Ducking underwater to retrieve smooth stones from the bottom and bringing them up to put them in a line along the edge. Water splashed over the sides and onto the hard packed floor, but he didn't mind. It would dry and she was happy.

  How do you feel, Emmala? Do I frighten you?

  She shook her head, not taking her eyes from what she was doing. "I'm not scared of you."

  May I ask why not?

  "Cuz you don't hurt me." The innocent reply was followed by a handful of water thrown his way. Emmala laughed at his surprised expression.

  Barely a day had passed since he took her from the arena, and already he could tell how much the youngling had changed, as if she had found the courage to emerge from her shell. Able to take her first full lungful of air. Able to awaken to a day and a future without pain.

  Still, he had to ask.

  Yesterday, at The Walk.

  Emmala paused in her play to stare up at him, giving him her full attention.

  At The Walk, the young boy who was taken away.

  "Vimmy."

  That did not frighten you?

  "No."

  Why not?

  "Because Vimmy was mean. He liked to pinch and hit people. He pushed and tripped my friends, and laughed when they fell down and hurt themselves. He stuck jaraca thorns in willy worms just to watch them die. He even told Hawse he was going to climb through his bedroom window and lay a manioca on his tummy so it would bite him and eat into his guts."

  Zonaton shook his head. The child already recognized the diseased.

  It is time you leave the pool before you get too cold.

  Giving a little exasperated sigh, Emmala climbed out of the water. He huffed and blew warm air over her to keep her from getting chilled. She giggled.

  "It tickles."

  Turn around so I can get your back.

  She did, and he felt an immense blanket of sadness settle over him. The bruises, the welts, and the half-healed marks on her buttocks and legs were numerous. Evidence that was invisible when she was clothed.

  He quickly dried her, then nudged the fresh tunic and pants toward her with his foot. Picking up the top, she gave him a curious look.

  "It's too big." For emphasis, she held it up to her chest. "See? It's almost big enough to fit you." At the thought of the geron wearing the outfit, she burst into giggles.

  Wear it anyway. You will eventually grow into it.

  It took her all of one second to make up her mind. Grinning, she said, "Okay!" and hurried to put it on. The pants, however, swallowed her thin, nearly skeletal frame.

  Maybe I can try to find you something smaller tomorrow.

  "Don't bother. Look! I can roll up the legs and tie the belt real tight. I'll make do." She finished dressing and walked over to the fire pit to keep warm. Zonaton watched her with wonder. The girl was a survivor. She didn't complain, she didn't beg, and she didn't make demands. Even more astonishing, she wasn't a cryer. Yes, there were moments.
After all, she was a child. But the whining and tantrums he had heard that these humans were prone to have were not part of Emmala's makeup.

  She yawned loudly, drawing his attention back to her.

  Come. He motioned toward the pallet nearby. Come lie down.

  "I'm not sleepy," she wearily responded, but he could sense she was fighting her exhaustion. It had been a full first day together.

  Neither am I, but I am cold. Can you help keep me warm?

  The ruse worked. Emmala joined him on the pallet, curling herself almost into a ball against his chest. He lowered a wing over her in a protective gesture. In less than a dozen heartbeats, she was asleep.

  Zonaton stared at the little girl sleeping beside him, her body curled against his body heat. Never in all his life had he imagined he would Pair with one of the humans. He himself had been a newly born when the human ships had landed. He had watched as his parents took part in the partial eradication of what they had called the infestation.

  In the years that followed, he had been a reluctant spectator in The Walk, preferring to remain on the outermost circumference within the ring and watching. Observing. Learning. Feeling the waves of hideousness that arose from some of the small bodies moving past. Seeing how the others also caught those waves, then chose to act by removing the worst of them. Taking the child aloft to destroy it in private.

  If the humans wished to believe their kind was fed upon, let them believe it. But there was no way he or any of the other gerons would dare to contaminate themselves with the mental poison spreading inside the little ones.

  The girl moved. One thin arm burrowed closer against his ribcage where she could feel the hard, steady rhythm of his heart. Seeking his nearness, and needing unconscious reassurance of his presence. She was so pale. Vulnerable. Malnourished. Victimized to the point where he never thought twice about his decision. The moment they made eye contact, and he could see her brutalized soul hiding in the depths of her blue eyes, he had known. No doubts, no reluctance. She needed him. And now that she lay in deep, dreamless, restoring sleep, perhaps for the first time in her short life, Zonaton knew this was why he had remained mateless for all of his life.