Aftermath - Ann Aguirre [72]
“Try not to worry,” Vel says. “I did not sense harm in them.”
He reads me so damn well . . . and without the benefit of Psi powers. Bittersweet memories of March fight to rise to the forefront, but I push them back. This is not the time; countless mysteries await us in the village. I’ll turn my thoughts to that instead.
A short time later, Dace comes to fetch us.
CHAPTER 23
Overhead, the gauzy sun-star that warms Marakeq twinkles in the dreamy twilight. Full dark never falls here, just this magical grayness. Fog has set in as well, a cold front pushing against the warm rain. Marveling at the biotechture, I follow Dace deeper into the village. There are mounds everywhere, and the glowing lights twinkle brighter against the mist.
We stop in the center; everything is laid out in circular fashion here, rings on rings, forming a larger pattern. Vel glances about with great interest, no doubt his ocular cam recording everything for later scrutiny. Around us, the Mareq celebrate with rhythmic dancing, perfectly in cadence. Each social set appears to have a certain role to play, steps to perform, and they’re all singing. Hatchlings frolic at our feet, splashing in the green-cast water that pools on the ground. One day, Zeeka, the one I stole, will take his place among them. I feel easier knowing that; some of the damage I did has been repaired.
“Come,” Dace calls. “Dance!”
It’s somewhat ridiculous, but Vel sets down his pack, and I try to mimic their movements. Their legs bow outward differently than mine or even Vel’s for that matter, so we can’t manage a perfect match. Yet there’s pleasure in the shining curtain of rain. The mottled Mareq hides gleam wet, paler patches making them difficult to spot in the jungle, no doubt. I never thought I’d see the somber bounty hunter dancing, but in all honesty, he’s better than I am. His limbs are closer to the Mareq’s than mine. I can only lumber along in the line, my feet arched outward. Their long, webbed toes bend as mine don’t, adding layers of meaning to the dance.
In some ways, I feel like a cripple here, but there’s no judgment, either. The song swells from so many throats that it begins to sound like one note, endless and beautiful. As I dance, I realize I have tears in my eyes, and I don’t even know why. I’m sliding in the mud, bumping the Mareq ahead of me, and he croaks at me, a friendly sound that the chip attempts to translate:
“You’re clumsy. But it can’t be helped. You are who you are.”
It feels like the answer to a question I feared asking, like I’ve been searching every galaxy for this message. You are who you are. The Mareq accept, and it is the loveliest, most desirable thing. They should be trying to stab us, rend us with their primitive weapons, but instead they see our arrival as a gift. They see me not as the one who stole from them but who gave back. I want to protect that innocence from the universe, and I don’t think I can. Not once others learn we’ve made first contact.
That knowledge grieves me.
The party goes on for ages. They offer us food and drink, but after Vel scans it, he shakes his head. “We should decline politely. Toxicity levels indicate it might make us sick.”
Switch to Mareq, I tell the vocalizer.
“We’re not hungry, but thank you.”
Later, we retire to the hut allotted for our use, exhausted but content with what we’ve seen. In the morning, we can be on our way though I don’t know where we’re going. Maybe we can explore some uncharted beacons between paying out wrongful-death claims.
My comm beeps. “Everything okay, Jax?”
Though she’d never admit it now that the war’s over, Dina cares. We bonded on the Dauntless through mutual grief and loneliness. But since that crisis has passed, we’re back to sarcasm and ribbing each other endlessly. I’m more used to that dynamic anyway.
“No problems. The Mareq were glad to see Z2. Turns out his name is Zeeka.”
“Huh.” By her tone, she