Chapter 8: 'Calito' (4094 words)

Encountering a prisoner on his journey home, Vievel decided to try and free them, not knowing that the prisoner - was a human.

The human sat on the filthy stone floor, his legs sprawled out and his back firmly pressed up against the rough gemstone wall that stood tall behind him. As he lifted his head to glance at Vievel a wry smile flickered across his lips, perhaps for the manner in which Vievel had crashed into the room, or perhaps for the means in which he had led Vievel to open the door. The amethyst embedded in the pockmarked rock twinkled in the new light from the hallway outside, and beside it, Vievel could've sworn the human's eyes glinted similarly.

Possessed of a stocky build and great height, at least a full head taller than Vievel had he been standing, the human struck an imposing figure even whilst sitting down. He wore dark linen trousers that stopped just shy of his ankles, and a series of bandages and wrappings that stretched from the very bottom of his abdominal muscles up to his right shoulder. A patchwork brown long-coat lay beside him, showing signs of age, fraying, and repeated mending; that it was so carelessly discarded and slung on the dusty ground, despite the obvious love someone had shown for it, puzzled Vievel.

The human tilted himself toward Vievel so only part of his body was visible, most of his face covered by sleek dark hair that fell so straight and orderly Vievel imagined it must've been weighted by something. What Vievel could make out of his face was similarly obscured, hidden behind wild hair that grew all over his face unkempt and without order. Two things stood out from beneath his strange facial hair, two things that struck Vievel as he stood in vigil beside the doorway, unwilling to move from it in case he had to suddenly turn and run. Firstly the human's face was marred by a vertically curved scar, a mark that looked aged and worn. It was ragged and moved erratically as it travelled down his face, the reddish outline bisecting it by way of his nose. The second feature was a lone eye visible to the side of his long hair, an eye with an iris that was comprised of an unnatural and striking yellow.

The man (for that was what the humans called their Aelfr) breathed in once and then held the air in his lungs for what, to Vievel, seemed an unfathomably long time. After Vievel had counted three of his own breaths, the man exhaled, looking not at all uncomfortable or worse for wear.

"Pop a squat kid," he said. He nodded toward the opposite wall, from which hung two massive crystal manacles. Vievel felt nervousness wrack his body, from his chattering teeth down into his hands, the left of which clasped his right wrist to stop them both from shaking. All the while he kept his fake revolver, his flashlight wrapped with a rag, pointed at the man.

"You're a-" Vievel shook his head. Part of him imagined he'd somehow fallen asleep in the tunnel, or perhaps even earlier. Perhaps he was still resting in his bunk on the Ulmadr home ship. No-one had seen a human in centuries, at least no Aælfir.

No Aælfir which lived to tell about it at least. The dark thought seemed ominous for his current circumstance. Vievel took an uneasy step backward, looking at the deadbolt of the door and wondering if he could close and seal it before he got to him. A doubt rode the idea even as he thought it. Humans were indomitable, relentless, able to condition themselves into any state necessary for survival; the home ship's scribe had once recited a story to him that humans could keep moving forever, never stopping. Did that mean they were fast? Vievel took stock of the man in front of him, the bandaged man sitting with his back to the gemstone wall. Had the stranger been an Aælfir, even a Dwurkn, Vievel would have already made for the deadbolt, tried to seal the room again. He knew enough of both races to, at the very least, make an educated guess on how to react. Facing down a human all he knew for certain was that he knew nothing for certain; having no sense of the creature's capabilities but fable and legend, Vievel felt blinder than a one-eyed Tvusktha.

After several moments spent watching Vievel's indecision the man in front of him sighed.

"I ain't gonna bite," he said, a low drawl to his words. "Least not you. Sit". The demand hammered itself against Vievel's ears, weighty and powerful. He felt compelled to obey yet feared giving up his position beside the door. Some smaller part of his inner self cried out to indulge the human, to sit and speak with him; his curiosity of the myth in front of him was uncontrollable.

"I-I have a gun," Vievel stammered, raising his cloth-covered flashlight. It was the best compromise his separated self could reach. "A revolver. Don't you try anything". Internally Vievel laughed at the ludicrousness of what he was saying, a deranged laugh which bounded about his head until he was sure it would burst from his skull. It was the smallest threat; he'd heard countless stories telling tale that humans could heal from almost anything, and Vievel's 'gun' was capable of much less than that.

His legs began to waver, partially from a still-present ache since his time in the cabinet, and partially from an impossible-to-ignore anxiety; With great trepidation Vievel moved to the other side of the small cell, pressing his back up against the gemstone wall as he stood between the two hanging manacles. He neither chose to sit down nor to take his eyes off of the human sitting opposite him. The human, for his part, was equally unwilling to stop staring at the young Aælfir in front of him. His eyes had remained fixated on Vievel since the door had opened, scanning the young Aelfr with the eyes of a predator making a decision about its prey. He sat with his hands clasping his knees as he looked over Vievel, tapping out an unfamiliar melody on his right knee using his fingers and knuckles.

"What are you?" he asked, looking Vievel over. He seemed suddenly interested in Vievel's identity, and a stone weight sat on Vievel's chest as he concentrated on keeping his faux-revolver trained upon the man.

Does he know I'm an Aælfir? Vievel wasn't sure how to answer his question, nor was he sure he wanted to. Humans killed Aælfir.

"Ah, it don't matter. Least you aren't one of those grumpy s***s," the human muttered, before Vievel's pause could stretch out to an awkward length. The man slowed the tempo of his rapping knuckles, looking Vievel directly in the eye then turning his gaze downward. He glanced at the fraudulent revolver in Vievel's hand with hungry eyes, lingering on it for a moment longer than he looked at any other part of Vievel.

After a moment paused between them without anything else being said, Vievel's curiosity spurred his tongue onward.

"The grumpy s***s-" he started, unsure of the word though he'd just heard it spoken. "Do you mean, Dwurkn?" Vievel asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I suppose that's what you call them," the human grunted. "I've been calling them names. Not proper of me, but it's hard to learn names when the only interaction you get with them is one grouchy sod who brings you meals". Vievel nodded, not particularly paying attention to the man's words but instead watching his jaw move; as he spoke he flashed slightly-yellowed teeth, with fangs to the side of his thicker primary teeth.

Do humans eat flesh? Vievel watched as the teeth darted beneath the surface of the man's lower lip; the fangs were similar to Dwurkn teeth. The comparison was unexpected - Dwurkn were so alien that Vievel had never considered any attribute of a Dwurkn could present in another species. Looking over the stranger in front of him he noted that the man shared several things in common with the Dwurka: hair that grew on his face, shoulders so broad they were wider than his hips, and strange bone-coloured sheathes around his fingers.

"'Spect you were thinking I was somebody else," he said, grinning toward Vievel. His voice was friendly and relaxed, approachable. As he looked him over Vievel couldn't help but feel a sort of warmth toward the man. He didn't seem as dangerous as Vievel had been imagining. Was it not for his peculiarly broad body and short arms Vievel could've perhaps mistaken him for an Aelfr.

Definitely didn't think you were a hu- Vievel stopped, the words falling limp before they reached his tongue.

"You ever met one of us before?" the human asked. He nodded and looked down, gesturing towards himself.

"No," Vievel answered slowly. "No-one I know has".

"Lot less of us out this way, past the horizon. I knew a few, but not anymore." He spoke quickly as he broke eye contact with Vievel, turning his gaze up toward the purple-studded ceiling. A pattern of amethyst stones, each stone smoothly carved in comparison to the rough and raw gems that decorated the cell walls, radiated out from the centre. Following the human's stare, Vievel noticed the ceiling's sparkling gems for the first time; the pattern spiralled outward, making tight turns at first then growing wider with each pass until it eventually reached the wall in a long loping arc that broke the spiral's own gravity. Even excluding the ceiling, the cell was distinctly adorned, especially compared to the plainer chambers and rooms Vievel had seen elsewhere, and the dull uniform corridor outside. The man seemed to agree, staring up at the ceiling for almost a full minute in silence before he spoke again. Throughout the silence Vievel thought of several questions to ask, but he didn't dare interrupt his concentration. Instead, he kept his flashlight-revolver pointed toward the man, wondering for a time if the stranger was finished speaking with him. The brief pause returned Vievel's thoughts to his journey home.

"You said you could tell me the way to my home ship," Vievel said. The human didn't look down but his fingers stopped drumming on his knees, the delicate melody coming to an abrupt halt.

"That I did," he said. His voice was low and sharp, suddenly much more threatening than the jovial lilt he'd projected up until moments ago. "You thinkin' of leaving?" he asked. Vievel shifted uncomfortably, feeling one of the uncut amethyst stones pressing against his back as he did.

"I have to get home. You said you'd tell me how," he said. Part of Vievel wanted to invite him along, and he wondered if he could convince the man to join him; the implications of a friendly human staggered him, even beyond a possible peace with their race and end to the Aælfir fear of a human return. They could learn much from him, about the pre-horizon, about the human culture, and perhaps even about their weaknesses, if they had any such weaknesses. He could make a powerful ally... but... he could make an even worse enemy. Before he could lose himself to the possibilities a louder part of Vievel begged for sense to prevail; it was a human. If the man decided that he didn't want to be an ally, well then, to bring such a thing to his people... Vievel fixed his gaze on the gems of the opposite wall, watching the twinkling of reflected light whilst he tried to cut his train of thought off. The visions of what he could do brought a nauseous burning feeling to his chest.

"I opened the door, that was the deal," Vievel said, swallowing bile. The stranger opposite him looked down from the ceiling suddenly, bringing his eyes to rest on the young Aelfr.

"Say I changed the deal".

"W-what?" Despite knowing it wasn't real, Vievel tightened his grip around his flashlight 'revolver'. It brought him little comfort.

"Stay and talk for awhile," he said.

"Talk?" Vievel said, incredulous. "The ship is dying, we haven't time to talk!" Vievel raised his voice, yelling at the man. Realising he had perhaps been ruder than he thought it safe to be, Vievel corrected his voice to an almost-whisper as he continued. "We'll die if we stay," he said. "At least, I will". He didn't know if humans could or couldn't survive in the deep and dark; it wouldn't have surprised him to learn that they could. Some things could.

"Do you need a ship? My father has a ship-" Vievel's mind turned back to the glory he could win if the man came with him willingly. He had no illusions about being able to force the human to join with him, he doubted Sera Odill or even the entirety of the Ulmadr Advance could physically force a human to come with them, if it was to be done, it was to be done diplomatically and oh-so-carefully. The decision on whether to stay and convince him, or to leave, to step away and potentially regret it, weighed on Vievel.

The ship can't hold itself together much longer. An invisible clock hung over his thoughts. To stay and talk would be risking his life, particularly if he was still further away from the breach than he thought; in addition, every minute he lingered he was further risking getting caught. Indecision paralysed him but as Vievel considered the problem he noticed an uncomfortable look had settled upon the man's face, a brief spasm of pain followed by distress.

"Are you okay?" Vievel asked. The human nodded.

"Yeah," he breathed. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just peachy."

His breath was laboured for a moment, but the man continued to speak.

"Say, what's your name kid?"

"Vievel," Vievel replied.

Vievel Vaegath Ulmadr, he thought. He didn't use his family name for fear he might recognise it as an Aælfir name. The man's breath resumed its normal pattern and he shifted, sitting up straighter against the wall. He grunted as he moved.

"You going to sit with me Vievel? Or you gonna make me ask you a third time?"

"We can't stay and talk Sera... I-" He suddenly didn't know what to call the man; he didn't even know if humans had names. Dwurkn didn't. Other monsters didn't. "Sorry, do you have a name?" Vievel broached, eyeing him carefully in case he was offended by the question.

"Sure do," he replied. Vievel felt his shoulders drop slightly. The motion surprised him, he hadn't noticed that his body had been tensed up before. "It's Calito," he said, a roguish smirk breaking across his face. "So now we're prim and proper, properly introduced, as they say, I ask again, you going to sit and talk?" Calito braced his hands against the floor. It was perhaps an innocent movement but it unnerved Vievel, the man looked as though he was preparing to stand up. He shook his head softly, eager to break his disagreement as gently as possible. The human seemed too adamant that he stay.

"I can't. We've got to go- don't you want to go?" Vievel said, his voice rising slightly. He looked toward the open door.

"Oh I've got no need of that," Calito said, looking at the door as well. "I'm gonna go kid. Just not like that," he said, grimacing in plain distress again.

Calito shifted on the ground, shuffling into a more comfortable position; as he moved he exposed a bloody wound that was slowly making a mess of his wrappings, making of them a grisly canvas. His hair moved, briefly exposing his other eye, or the space where his other eye should have been. A thick black patch was strung across it, tied by a band around Calito's face and scalp.

"Andlátta!" Vievel swore. "What happened?" The man's bloody wound was tremendous in size but clearly still growing, the bleeding showing no signs that it was slowing, let alone stopping, and yet somehow he continued to speak and act as though nothing was the matter with him.

"It's just a sign of the end," he said. "This old body of mine is getting a bit worn".

"I can help, I've got a bunch of meds," Vievel said, sitting down on the floor and lifting his knapsack from his shoulder. There were still countless Dwurka medications inside, but he didn't know which would serve the human if any. How many could be useful to his alien body?

Medigauze, why didn't I bring gauze, Vievel thought bitterly.

Calito heaved forward all of a sudden, doubling over as a series of short explosive barks rocked his chest. The coughing fit subsided quickly but it left his voice with a croaky quality that betrayed the soreness of his throat.

"You can't help me with those Vievel," he said. His words weren't tinged with sadness, nor fear of his death. He spoke with acceptance, a peacefulness. Whatever grieving the man had done for his situation was since over; only a hard-edged certainty remained to his declaration.

"I can help, I can do something-" Vievel replied. With all the medicine he had, there must be something, anything, that was able to help the man; he couldn't let the lone human in the universe die. He upended his knapsack so the contents fell out in front of him. "How about this?" he said, brushing aside his own possessions and grabbing one of the Dwurkn boxes. The box was made of white plastic, and it featured several Dwurka runes as well as a series of green flower glyphs arranged in a line. Calito squinted for a moment and then laughed hoarsely.

"That's for indigestion," he said. His smile twisted sadly as he looked at the boxes in front of Vievel. "I guarantee none of those boxes, most anything there, will be of use to me right now".

"Most?" Vievel asked. "Something is?" Vievel grabbed a second box at random, offering it to the man. Calito shook his head and then nodded at the mouth of Vievel's knapsack.

"There," he murmured. "The drink".

"The drink?" Vievel glanced down at his knapsack where a clear plastic bottle, half-filled with an amber liquid, was sat.

"Yeah, that'll help more than anything else there". Calito gingerly unfurled his fist, leaving his palm open and resting on his knee. Vievel hesitated briefly then grabbed the bottle, giving it a forceful push so that it rolled across the cell floor. The contents sloshed around noisily as it approached the man's crossed legs; he reached forward to grab it once it was close enough, removing the clipped-on lid with a single flick of his thumb whilst lifting the bottle to his lips. He drank heartily from it, finishing his swig with an appreciative gasp.

"Ah- I've always loved the little after-burn," he said. He sniffed at the open lid, inhaling deeply. "This - this is surprisingly good," he said. "Where'd you get it?"

"Stole it," Vievel blurted. The confession slipped out before he could stop it. He avoided the human's eyes and instead glanced down at the floor.

"Aye?" Calito sounded amused. "Who from?"

"-ah...my father," Vievel admitted. With half the truth already out the second half came much easier.

"Your dad's got good taste," Calito nodded. "This helps," he said, drinking again. After he finished his second sip Calito offered it back to Vievel; the man's hand hung outstretched for a moment, the bottle gripped tightly between his fingers and thumb.

"That's okay," Vievel said, shaking his head. "You drink it". Calito grunted in approval softly, bobbing his head once in appreciation, and continued to drink. Vievel watched as the liquid began to drain away, wishing that he had drunk more from it. He'd only taken it in case he needed it to steady his nerves, nerves which now seemed more unsteady than ever, but he'd found it to his liking. Vievel considered changing his mind and accepting the offer, but he dared not get any closer to the man than he already was.

"What do you call it?" Calito said, shaking the bottle.

"Skulla," Vievel said. It wasn't the name for the brewer, the name which the particular make went by, but a local common name of the drink itself. He didn't dare use an Aælfir word in front of the human. Calito turned to look at the drink for a moment.

"Huh," he murmured. "I still call it whiskey". He pressed the bottle to his lips for a moment and then drew it back, a thought seemingly occurring to him.

"What are you kid, like eighteen?"

"W-what?" The question startled Vievel. Calito had asked it without the usual contempt that Vievel had come to associate with the question. The Ulmadr might cherish their children, but any member of an Aælfir ship without prestige, from spoils, salvage, or kills, was prone to being treated like a second-class citizen. Even the Patriarch's son.

"How old are you? Eighteen?" the man repeated. He sounded concerned, worried for him. It was a reaction that struck Vievel as perhaps almost equally offensive.

"Seventeen long-cycles," Vievel said, cautiously waiting for Calito's reaction before he decided on whether the man had meant offense. Calito drank from the bottle and then placed it flat on the floor, reaching out for the discarded lid so he could close the plastic container tight.

"Is that young for an Aælfir to have a drink?" he asked. His pronunciation was clumsy, enunciating the first, silent, letter along with the spoken ones, but otherwise, he expressed the word properly. The fake revolver in Vievel's hand had dropped steadily throughout their conversation, as Vievel had become increasingly more relaxed, but he suddenly jolted it up again and levelled it at the man.

"You know what I am?"

"Didn't think you were a human kid". Vievel didn't know what he'd thought Calito believed him to be, only that the man's civility had suggested he didn't know him as Aælfir.

"But if you know, why-"

"Why did I ask? Why are we talking?" Calito smiled. "Well I suspected it, wanted to see if you'd admit it; I was pretty sure of what you were back when you were still bangin' around in that vent, but the way you pronounced Skulla, that was enough. As for the second..." His voice drifted off as he watched Vievel for a reaction. Calito's admission made Vievel's heart run hot, a burning sensation in his chest exacerbating the rapid beating alongside it; his heart drummed so loudly he wondered if the man could hear it.

"You're not denying it then," Calito murmured. Vievel swallowed a protest, for a moment thinking there was some combination of words that could convince him otherwise, and then realising the truth of it.

"No," Vievel said. "-S-so what? So I'm an Aælfir," he said. "I'm still the one with the gun". He tapped the faux-revolver, hoping it looked threatening. He just needed to stay the human's bloodlust long enough that he could get to the door. He just needed to get behind the door, just-

"You tried to get me to come back to your ship," Calito murmured. "Lot of you there?" he asked. Every trace of friendliness that had been present in his voice was now gone. His words had turned cold, calculating.

"Just s-stay where you are," Vievel said, his voice cracking slightly under the strain of his adrenaline. Keeping the faux-revolver pointed toward the man Vievel shifted his knees and braced himself against the gem-studded wall that lay behind him, using it to pull himself to his feet.

Calito sighed.

"Kid, stop," he said. "It's not a gun". Vievel's feet stalled.

"Y-yes it is," he offered weakly.

"It hasn't been a gun the whole time you've sat here, and it ain't a gun now". The man grunted and placed a knee forward, hauling himself to his feet with some difficulty. He towered over Vievel, striking a powerful figure in contrast to Vievel's much smaller frame.

Illandr andlátta Ganymede-above. Despite Calito's words, Vievel gripped the cloth-covered flashlight tighter still. He now stood opposite him in the cell, his chest heaving forward and backward, the slow melody of his breath seeming weakened and exaggerated all at once.

"Why?" Vievel asked. His words were quiet enough that they barely sounded audible to his own ears, yet Calito heard them. Before the man replied, Vievel felt like he already knew the answer.

"Why? You're here, cos I wanted you here Vievel".