Malachi Read online

  "Then back the way we came it is. Look out for cars."

  They raced down the hill, the three of them on their bikes, laughing and teasing each other. The wind rushed through Emma's red hair, sending it flying out behind her as she took her fingers away from the brake on her bike, letting herself gather speed. She shot past Daniel, who just grinned at her instead of sulking, and she grinned in triumph.

  It was almost like flying, and she laughed, full of joy in that moment.

  At ten years old, Emma was a happy, bright child. She laughed more than she cried, and she wanted to be a part of everything. When her dad wanted to go to the farmer's market on the weekend, Emma wanted to go with him, insisting on sitting in the middle seat in the truck and being allowed to hold the basket until it got too heavy for her little arms.

  When her mom made cookies on Wednesdays, she insisted on being allowed to help, standing on a chair next to her and stirring things, cracking eggs, measuring vanilla into a teaspoon with the utmost care.

  Hump Day Cookies were a tradition in their family, and her dad always grinned when he got home from work to find a tin of bumpy oatmeal cookies or melty chocolate chip on the kitchen table.

  "These taste like Em had a hand in them," he'd tease, biting into one with a smile.

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  And he'd laugh. "That they taste better!"

  "What's that supposed to mean?" her mom would say then, and they'd all laugh.

  If Daniel was home, he'd come through the kitchen and roll his eyes at all of them, but he'd take two cookies to his room either way.

  She loved her family. Even when Daniel was in a mood. Emma worried that she would have the same problems as Daniel when she got to be a teenager, but it never happened. Her thirteenth birthday came and went, and she kept being bright and happy, singing in the shower, helping her mom bake, and helping her dad at the market.

  When Daniel went off to college, her smile dimmed a bit. As much as they butted heads sometimes, her brother was practically her best friend. He'd taught her most of what she knew, and had always been there for her when she needed him, regardless of his moods.

  She stood on the porch and watched him pack up his car for the two hour drive to the state college he'd been accepted to.

  "Don't look so sad, Em," he said, slamming the trunk closed. "I'll be back for Thanksgiving. Probably before that if I need to do laundry."

  Emma tried to force a smile, but it wasn't easy. Her lips kept wobbling, and she knew she was going to cry.

  "It's not gonna be the same without you around here," she said, fingers gripping the smooth stone of one of the columns that stretched between the roof and the rail of the porch. Daniel was on the other side of it, and though the barrier was mostly just for show, and to keep them from falling over into their dad's rose garden, it felt symbolic.

  "Well, yeah," Daniel said. "I won't be around to drop you off at the mall whenever you want." His grin said he was teasing. Emma didn't laugh. He sighed and walked up the steps to where she was standing, leaning against a column. "Emma," Daniel said. "I'm not leaving forever, okay? We'll still hang out when I'm home."

  Emma fidgeted, not wanting to admit what she was really worried about. It made her feel like she was ten years old all over again, and she hated that. "But what if..." she bit her lip.

  "What if what?" Daniel asked. "You may as well say it."

  She sighed. "What if you don't come home? What if you make cool new college friends, and you never wanna come home?"

  Daniel stared at her for a second and then laughed, which honestly didn't help make her feel any better.

  "Don't look at me like that," he said. "I'm not laughing at you. It's just funny that you think Mom and Dad would let that happen. They'd drive down and haul me back here themselves if I said I wasn't coming home for Christmas or something. And anyway, I'm sure I'll be ready to come home for a while by the time the holidays roll around. College isn't all partying and hanging out, you know."

  "I know," Emma said. "You promise?"

  Daniel nodded and held a hand out to her, a gesture reminiscent of all the spit promises they'd made when they were younger, only minus the spitting part this time. "Promise."

  Emma smiled finally and shook his hand, laughing when he used the grip to pull her into a hug. "I'll miss you," she said into his shoulder.

  "I'll miss you, too, little brat. Behave yourself, okay? Stay away from boys. Don't think I won't drive back up here just to beat up some punk kid for messing with my sister."

  "Daniel! I can take care of myself."

  He ruffled her hair. "I know. You're a good kid."

  The next morning, Emma stood with her parents and watched as Daniel drove away, waving until her arm felt like it would fall off and the car had disappeared around the corner.

  "He'll be back," Emma murmured to herself.

  With a smile, her mom wrapped an arm around her. "Of course he will. This is his home."

  By the time she was ready to go to college herself, Emma had learned quite a few things.

  She knew how to bake cookies on her own. She knew how to knit socks and the sleeves of sweaters, and she could use her mother's sewing machine to fix holes in her jeans. She knew how to drive a car, both automatic and a stick shift, and she knew how to go to the market by herself on Saturday mornings and pick out fresh produce. She was still learning how to turn those ingredients into a meal, but life was about learning, she was pretty sure.

  She also knew how fast a car needed to be going to kill the driver of another car on impact. And she knew how it felt to walk into a hospital with the absolute certainty that one of the people you loved most in the world was dead.

  Daniel had kept his word through college, coming home for every holiday break to spend time with his family. During the rest of the year, they talked on the phone and sent emails to each other, instating a new tradition where they sent each other funny videos they'd seen online along with a paragraph of what Emma called 'fake wisdom', fortune cookie worthy phrases of hope and determination to keep each other going.

  When he graduated, Daniel moved out, but to an apartment not far from where his parents and Emma still lived, so in the year between his graduation and Emma's first year of college, they hung out plenty.

  Summer came again, and Emma had been accepted to a smaller school, a bit further away from home, planning to focus on her love of performing there. Daniel and her parents were bursting with pride for her, both for getting accepted and winning several scholarships to cover the tuition.

  Her parents were out of town, visiting friends, when Emma got the call.

  They'd found Daniel's cell phone, still functional in the backseat of his car. Her number had been the one at the top of the recent calls list. She knew what her contact info looked like in his phone. Her name with the shooting star emoji next to it.

  It had been late at night, nearly eleven, and she'd just accepted a pizza delivery.

  She didn't think she'd ever forget that voice. The deep tones of the officer who'd called her. "Hello, is this Emma?" Yes. "What's your relationship to Daniel Chambers?" I'm his sister. Is everything okay? "I'm afraid not, ma'am. There's been an accident."

  Of course, she must have taken down the information the cop had given her because she'd known where to go in the hospital when she'd gotten there, but she had no memory of it.

  She couldn't remember dropping the pizza or putting on her shoes or getting in the car. All Emma could remember was that voice and what it had said and the way her heart was in her throat, nearly choking her.

  She wished she could forget the way Daniel’s body had looked, covered with a sheet, but clearly broken and bloody. That wasn’t her brother. It couldn’t be. Someone had to have stolen his car, his ID, his phone. It had to be some kind of mistake. Her brother couldn’t be dead. He was too full of life for that, and Emma couldn’t accept that she’d never see him again.

  But they’d pulled the sheet
back, enough that she could see his face. And it was him. It was Daniel. He was never coming back again.

  At some point she’d called her parents, because they’d arrived some hours later, her mother in tears, her father holding them both up.

  Then there was the funeral, full of nice speeches about how bright and wonderful Daniel was. Emma didn’t speak. She didn’t think she remembered how.

  Summer ended. She didn’t go to college. She didn’t smile much anymore.

  Eventually, lying around in a funk got old. Emma knew her brother would want more for her, so she tried. She applied to school again, she gave it her best effort. Her skill at singing and performing hadn't diminished, but instead of sweet, happy songs, the ones she sang now were mostly slow and sad, heavy with the feeling of loss. Her songs moved people, so clear were the emotions in them, and she did well.

  Her parents were sad to see her like she was, though. Their once vibrant daughter, now dull and meek. In a way they had lost both of their children on the same night.

  Emma didn't think she would ever be the same again, and no one could blame her. Loss changed a person, changed their makeup and the things that motivated them. Especially when the one you lost was someone close, someone you had never pictured living without.

  She graduated from college, looked for a job, did the things that her friends were doing, just to keep her life going. It was one thing to be miserable, and another to let her life grind to a standstill. That wasn't what Daniel would have wanted for her, and she didn't want to make her parents more upset than they already were. She could keep going, keep carrying on. It was hard, getting up some mornings, when all she wanted to do was curl up in her bed and stay there, but she did the best she could.

  Of course, her pain, her sadness, wasn't the only thing going on in the world.

  Years before, she might have been excited when the news started reporting strange sightings in the sky and people disappearing. She might have called Daniel to discuss it with him, and they might have gone on a drive to a place where they could see the sky clearly to watch for these strange sights.

  As it was, she mostly ignored it.

  People were continually claiming to have seen something weird, and usually it was just an airplane or a drone or something. There was always an explanation.

  Unfortunately for her and most of the rest of the human race, there was an explanation for this, as well, but that didn't make anything better.

  One day, Emma walked from her apartment to the lounge club she had been hired to sing at for the night. The sun hung low in the sky, and she had two hours to get ready and rehearse before she had to be on stage.

  She was feeling better than she usually did, excited to be making money on what she loved for a change. Emma had told her parents all about it, and they had sounded relieved over the phone, glad that she was getting out of the house and doing something.

  As she walked, she hummed under her breath, mouth curved into a smirk as the shadows deepened along the street. That was normal for evening time in the summer.

  What wasn't normal was when the light seemed to be blocked altogether, plunging the street and everything along it into deep shadow.

  Emma frowned. She turned her head to see if clouds had suddenly been blown across the sky, and what she saw made her eyes widen and stopped her in her tracks.

  There in the sky was...some sort of craft.

  It looked like an airplane at first glance, but it was made of a shiny black material and was much larger. So large that it was blocking the sun and creating odd shadows. She didn't know what to make of it, and it seemed like no one else did either as people stopped to stare along with her.

  Something was happening. And when it was clear that there were more of those crafts in the sky, people began to question whether or not it was something good.

  Chapter One: Seeking

  Daytime on planet Dorn was always a warm affair. There were two suns in the sky, after all, both of them distant, but bright enough to lend plenty of light and heat to the surface of the planet.

  Malachi had his shirt off, and was sparring with Thyrra, his second in command, in nothing but his loose pants, and still sweat beaded on his tanned skin. It was impossible to live on Dorn and not be tanned a light brown color, and most of the Randoran ended up with dustings of sun spots on their faces, shoulders, and backs.

  He was no exception to that, and he showed it all off for those who had gathered to watch the Champion spar with his second.

  Females watched with appreciation for both the skill of the fighters and Malachi’s form, his tall, muscled figure looking all the more impressive and tempting when it was sheened in sweat and gilded by the sun.

  Strong fingers were wrapped around the hilt of his sword, and his dark eyes flashed with good humor and determination. His hair, the same dark brown color as his eyes, was long, kept braided back out of his face and coiled into a knot at the back of his head, though the knot was coming undone a bit with the exertion.

  Fighting Thyrra was never easy.

  She was small, both for a female and in general, but she was cunning, dressed in loose pants and her chest covering and nothing else. Her bright eyes were just as determined, and she swung her sword lazily, tempting Malachi to come closer.

  “What’s the matter, Champion?” she called, red lips curled into a mocking smirk. “Too scared to come closer? It’s just me, small as I am.”

  The assembled watchers laughed, and Malachi shook his head. No one here was falling for that. “We’ve all seen you fight, Thyrra,” he said. “I do not take you lightly.”

  “Good,” she said, and then lunged without warning, sword raised and eyes locked on him.

  Malachi was ready for it, and he used his size to his advantage, blocking her swing with the beam of his own sword, a clash of sparks and light resulting when the two beams met in the middle. Muscles bulged in his arms as he pushed her back easily, using his solid stance to keep her from gaining any ground on him. With a grin, he knocked her into the dirt of the ring they’d been sparring in.

  “Need a hand up, jolrena?” he asked, using the proper term for a lady of some status.

  Thyrra glared and was on her feet in seconds, coming after him again. She put him on the defensive, barely giving him time to dig his heels in as she forced him back and back some more, making him lean back to avoid a slash aimed for his throat.

  The energy in the air was electric, both in the ring and outside of it, and more people arrived to watch them, calling out encouragement to whoever they were pulling for.

  “Put him on his back, Thyrra!” cried a woman from the crowd.

  “And then ride him,” called another, sparking laughter from everyone assembled.

  “Charted that space already,” Thyrra replied, grinning wickedly.

  “I didn’t hear any complaints then,” Malachi pointed out, grunting when their swords met again. “But then, your mouth was full for part of that night, wasn’t it?”

  Thyrra rolled her eyes and then dropped, rolling under his swing and then sliding around behind him quickly. “Do you ever get tired of the sound of your own voice?” she snipped, and Malachi felt the heat from her blade as he jumped away just in time.

  They could have gone on all afternoon like this, using their off duty time to keep in shape and entertain themselves, but a hush fell over the crowd, and someone cleared their throat, making both warriors look up, surprised.

  Abalin, the General’s messenger had stepped into the ring, looking done up and important and overly warm in his stuffy clothing as he regarded them. “Champion, Marena Thyrra,” he said, using Malachi’s title and the address for a female member of the warrior ranks.

  “Abalin,” Malachi greeted, saluting lazily. The man didn’t outrank him just because he collected information and ran errands for the General, but he liked to think he did. Malachi didn’t really care either way. “Come to try your hand at this?”

  The messenger sniffed,
nose in the air. “No,” he said, as if Malachi had just suggested he go swimming in a sandpit. “The General wishes your presence. Both of you.”

  Thyrra and Malachi exchanged looks. “Did he say what for?” Thyrra asked.

  Abalin inclined his head. “The expedition to Lavin has returned home.”

  And that was all he had to say to get them moving.

  Weeks ago, the General had put together a party of warriors and sent them to the planet Lavin to see what was to be seen there. That was the planet the Alva had originated on, though they didn’t always stay there, preferring to orbit the planets of their victims and enemies in their giant ships.

  Normally, they wouldn’t have had to go looking for the Alva. The beasts had no problems coming to them, after all, and usually there would have been no end to the skirmishes and all out battles.

  Usually.

  Oddly enough, it had been some time since the last attack by Alva, and the General, rather than sharing the relief his people seemed to feel, had been suspicious. “Never trust a quiet Alva,” he’d said, and then assembled the group, sending them off with orders to see what there was to see and report back.

  For the General to be summoning them now, meant there was something he needed to say to them, and it was probably something serious.

  Still, they took time to clean themselves up, wiping sweat from their skin with damp cloths and changing into clothes that covered more and weren’t stained with dirt and sweat. They powered down their weapons and hung them at their hips and then met in the middle of the road to make their way to the fortress.

  The General’s chambers were at the center of it, rarely entered by anyone other than the servants and Abalin (adding to his sense of superiority, of course). Usually, when the General had something to say, he came down to the rank barracks and said it there, or stood in the center square of the capital and called for his people to stand around him.

  This was different, and Malachi didn’t know how to feel about it.

  “What do you think’s happened?” Thyrra asked in a hushed voice as they stepped into the cool, shady fortress, making their way for the heart of it.