To be published by Stone Garden in September, 2007.
Chapter 1
Twelve-year-old Kera watched her father, the Pastor and religious leader of the group, leaving the ship with a heavy box in his arms. They traveled with the group, where ever they went, construction workers who erected space ports and living areas for humans and aliens alike. She heard the Pastor talking with the head of the construction crew that King Osiah of Kiel had hired the human construction workers to come to his planet to build a space port. They said his own people could dig in the soil and lay a surface but the intricate buildings, the electronics, all of these were beyond their ability.
Sighing, Kera lifted the smaller box and followed. In her arms, was a box of food items. Never mind that she was only twelve, that she limped, that she was constantly in pain. She was expected to help and she did, period. Kera walked, limping, slowly down the ramp. She hated the ramp for she often lost her balance and fell. She hated when she fell for the Pastor didn?t like anyone helping her, and she had to get up all alone.
When she was six, Kera had been diagnosed with Rhinehart's dystrophy. That disease was not genetic. It came from being in the Iron Fields where she had been born, and had been raised up until she was two. Those fields poisoned the nerve endings in her body. It slowly destroyed those below her waist. It would cripple her legs, permanently cripple her. One day she knew, she would end up in a wheelchair.
Her hair, a whitish blonde, hung down her back in one, long plait. Her eyes were a soft, dove grey. She was lovely, in a quiet way, yet her eyes held no sparkle, no happiness. The young girl wished she could wipe the perspiration from her forehead for it was a hot world. Yet, until she could settle the box down, that action would have to wait. She wished she could change into cooler clothing, like the other human children wore, but that would not be discreet, and it would anger her father for he insisted, at all times, that she remain circumspect.
She knew from her studies of that world, that they were on, that it had two suns, three moons. Most of the world was desert. The inhabitants wore short tunics, some, like on the king, decorated elaborately with bones and shells and beads. The upper class wore feathers in their hair, the more feathers, the higher up they were. The land around her was mostly desert, brown land that held very little vegetation. It rained very little.
She could see a native, tall and pompous, seemed to be everywhere, looking at everything, searching, seeking, nosy. She could hear the Pastor and the native speaking together. "Your majesty, I'm Pastor Smith," the pastor said when the king came to the building that had been erected for their temporary home. He wore a dark green jumpsuit with the red cross on each of his collars He wore his hair cut very short. It was faded blond. His eyes, travel worn, were purple. They bowed their heads to each other.
"I am King Osiah," the native said regally.
"Sire, I greet you, and welcome you to my humble home, such as it is."
"Humans fascinate me," the king admitted. "You said you were Pastor Smith?"
"I am. I?m their religious leader."
"As I am mine, among other things."
"Daddy? May I bring these in now?" Kera asked in a timid, very quiet voice.
"Please come here for a moment." She glanced uncertainly at the king as she walked toward her father.
"This is my daughter, Your majesty; this is Kera. Kera, this is the King, King Osiah."
He bent his head, once, towards her. "I greet you, Miss Smith. I am most pleased you are on our world."
She tried not to blush but she did for he was a strange creature, totally humanoid for all his huge, tall, hulking, dark-fleshed form. He had long black hair and piercing black eyes. There were numerous feathers in his hair, feathers of all colors. Bony ridges ran down the length of his nose. "Hello, your majesty; thank you." She wasn't able to bow but she nodded as he had. Hoping that what she had done was all right, she glanced at her father.
He nodded. quite pleased with the meeting. "You can bring that box in now," her father said.
Kera said, "Yes, sir," and started into the hut.
Though she was inside, she could still hear what was going on outside through the open doorway. A young boy came up and hugged the king. "You should be in school," the king said firmly, but he put his arms around the child.
"I'm doing a report on the humans." His dark eyes twinkled.
"Are you?" the king teased. "Pastor? This is Timon, my son."
Inside the modular home, Kera collapsed onto a chair. Her leg ached horribly. It was almost too much for a child to bear. She wanted to sit there; she wanted to give in to her need to cry but her father expected her to be strong and silent with this pain, as she was silent and strong about the other thing, that darkness that came in the shadows. She rose, awkwardly and went back out. Her father and the King had gone elsewhere but a child stood there, his long black hair caught back with a band. He too wore the tunic decorated with bones and shells and beads. He wore four black feathers, and one white one in his hair. The ridges on his nose were more pronounced than that of his father.
"Hello. I am Prince Timon, next in line to the throne. You have beautiful eyes." She flushed, lowered her grey eyes, hiding herself from his curious gaze. "What did you just do? Your cheeks turned pinker."
"I blushed."
Timon was naturally nosy. "Does it hurt?"
"No."
"Do all humans do it?"
"All humans can but most don't." Her tone was barely above a whisper.
"Ah! You look very busy."
Kera explained, "I am. I?m carrying in our things."
Pompously, Timon announced, "I will help you."
Kera?s tone was low, a little sad. It would be nice to have help, but she knew the Pastor wouldn?t like it. "I can do it, but thank you for your offer."
"I am Prince Timon and I have said I will help you," he announced regally. Kera giggled at the pompousness and then flushed, worried he would get angry and tell her father. "You are laughing at me!"
Kera quickly apologized, "I'm sorry. It's just, you sounded so ... funny." Her mind cried out in a silent plea, "Please don't tell my father!" Her stomach knotted. If this boy told, the Pastor would be so angry at her. She could almost feel his fist on her, the fist he always used in his rages.
"I did?" He seemed surprised. No one had ever told him that, and that astonished him.
"Yes," and Kera blushed again.
"May I help you?" he asked gently, smiling.
He didn't seem angry. Maybe he wouldn't say anything! Relieved, she answered him, "The blue boxes go into our home and the red ones go into the church," and she looked at the building they were going to use as a church.
"I cannot go in there; your god will eat me," he said, nervous.
Kera laughed in joy. "No, He won't."
Timon protested in shock, "He ate your leg!"
"He did not! I have a disease called Rhinehart's dystrophy," Kera told him. "God didn't eat it!"
"Then I will help you!" And then he added hesitantly, "Please?"
"All right. Thank you." Her stomach unknotted. He seemed nice. Maybe he wouldn't tell her father.
At first, he worked fast but he soon realized he would rather be at her side and he slowed down. They talked as they carried boxes into their temporary abode. Then he noticed the signs of exhaustion around her eyes and mouth. "You are tired. I will bring in the rest of the boxes."
Alarmed, she said, "No!" His brows lifted in amazement. She flushed at her hasty word. She told him, "Thank you, but I have to." Her father wouldn?t like her sitting while the son of the king worked.
He pushed, "Why?"
Fear tickled her stomach, altered her breathing, yet what could she say? What could she tell him? She told him simply, "My dad wants me to do it."
King Osiah called for his son just then. "Timon?"
"We are in here, Father."
The two men entered. "Father? I cannot go just yet. I have promised Kera I would help her and we are not finished."
The Pastor looked at Kera, sharply. She flushed and hung her head. She would hear from him later. Her stomach drew up in tightness once again.
"I see," was all the king could say. "Then so be it." To the pastor, he said, "I thank you for showing me around your compound."
"Anytime, Sire," the pastor said grandly.
That evening, when they were alone, the Pastor, eyes narrowed, asked roughly, his anger showing at the edges of his words, "You knew that job was yours and yours alone. Did you ask him to help?"
White, tense, she murmured, almost whispering, "No, sir. He asked and I was afraid to make him angry and he would tell his father and his father would get angry at all humans and make us leave." She could feel herself trembling as she looked down at her shoes. Her stomach ached with her fear.
"I see." He was silent, studying her. He finally said, "You did the right thing."
"Thank you."
"Go to your room."
"Yes, sir." She ran to her tiny room and curled up on her bed, holding her stomach.
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