Hugh Howey - Molly Fyde and the Land of Light

He let out his held breath, then pulled in a new, hot, dry one. He had his Wadi Thooo.

But he was a long way from becoming a Drenard.

The lights in the shelter were on, making it easy to spot even against the glow of the city beyond. Several shapes moved inside. Molly hoped one of them was Cole.

A hundred meters from the structure, the door burst open and Walter ran out, his tunic flapping in the wind. As he rushed to join her, Molly noticed the bandage around his head.

“What happened?” she asked, her voice a hoarse whisper in a windstorm.

Walter didn’t seem to hear.

“I’m not allowed to help you!” he shouted, falling in beside her and matching her weary pace. “I’m a Drenard!” he added.

Molly could feel Walter leering at her bare arms and back; she had no cover other than the bundled Wadi across her chest, but she was too exhausted to care.

“Where’s Cole?” Molly shouted, but her words were dry paper tossed into a blaze.

The last dozen meters were marched in silence. The Wadi had stopped moving nearly an hour earlier. Molly felt sad for the little creature. It was strange, but she felt as if she’d bonded with the poor thing during their long march to safety. Safety for her, at least.

The Drenard guards were kind enough to open the doors for her. Molly stumbled across the threshold and sank to the stained carpet, the sudden absence of wind leaving a dull roar in her sore ears. She bent all the way forward until her forehead touched the soft floor, her small, motionless companion nestled between her stomach and thighs.

Exhaustion overwhelmed her, the end of the ordeal bringing an emotional release. She sobbed with relief, but there wasn’t enough water in her body to form the tears that normally accompanied the sounds. Blue hands moved all around her, joined by a chorus of cooing. Someone draped a blanket over her back and grasped her shoulders—someone else took her bundle away. A glass of water came to her lips, the wetness burning her cracked skin.

The Drenards surrounded her—tending to wounds and helping her to another room. In her haze she saw flashes of Walter, scurrying in and out of the way, but no sign of Cole.

She kept asking everyone where he was, but without the bands, none of the words were relayed.

All she had was a head full of her own, terrible, thoughts.

Molly awoke in an unfamiliar room. Her entire body was sore, her stomach hollow. She reached up to her head and felt a tugging at her arm, looked down at the IV taped to her vein, confused.

The ordeal from the previous day came back like a foggy dream. She sat up and a Drenard guard stiffened in the chair by the door. Their eyes met and his head bowed slightly, his chin dipping down toward his tunic. Molly looked at his lance, its point touching the floor.

She had a strange first thought: I lost my lance.

Swinging her legs over the side of her bed, she followed the tube leading out of her arm, up to the canister of fluids attached to the wall. As she slid her weight down onto wobbly legs, the guard came over to assist her. He popped the canister off its mount, held it aloft, then stood back a few paces. Molly thought about reaching for the blasted thing and doing it on her own, but both of her arms felt too heavy to raise, much less support something else.

She checked the coverage of her tunic and saw that it was a new one. Longer and more colorful, a straight-fitting dress laced up both sides with ribbon.

In the bottom of her vision, she could see something white on her face. Molly reached up and felt the bandage on her left cheek, saw the wrapping on her wounded hand. She shot the guard a look and shuffled toward the door.

As soon as she emerged, one of the officials rose and strode over to help support her. The two Drenards guided her to a soft chair in the lobby, and Molly saw they had the area to themselves. She settled into the upholstery and looked down at the bandage on her wounded hand. It no longer stung from the toxins.

An official approached her with a red band, the sight of it filling her with joy. It was like a mute watching someone return with their voice.

“Hello?” she thought, testing to see if it was in place.

“Hello, Lady Fyde. Congratulations on completing the Drenard Rite of Wadi Thooo.”

“It certainly wasn’t what I was expecting,” she thought, injecting as much venom in the tone as she could. “How are my friends? Is everyone back? Has Edison—has he shown up?” She had so much to ask, and not all of it kind. She rested her head back against the chair and reveled in the ability to think her mind, rather than speak it. Her mouth still felt full of sand and every muscle in her body ached.

“The little one returned very quickly with his Wadi Thooo. Not much of a specimen, though. The other human has not returned. Your large companion has been gone too long, I’m afraid. This last will likely sadden Lady Hooo greatly, she—”

“Anlyn?”

“Informally, yes. I believe she had feelings for the hairy one.” The cadence and vocabulary were strange, different than Dani’s, but still in her own voice.

“I have feelings for them both,” Molly thought. “We need to go look for them.” She tried to think it forcefully. She leaned forward as if to rise, but her body refused to cooperate. It was weaker than her will.

The Drenard official raised a hand, and the guard paused halfway between helping her and halting her.

“You are not in any shape to go back out there, Lady Fyde. And even if you were, the Light Side is no place for a female Drenard. I would not allow you to risk yourself.”

“Those are my friends!” Molly pointed toward the window, her hand heavy as a brick.

“And they assumed the risks that go with the Rite—”

“That’s crap! You told us nothing! You sent us out to die!” Molly found it easy to scream in her thoughts. Her throat even formed the words—she could hear them in her jaw. Her fist felt lighter as she shook it at both male Drenards, aliens more than twice her size.

The guard looked away, out the window and toward the bright canvas of colors. The official hung his head low, showing a humility Molly had not seen out of any of these people. Not even Dani.

“We apologize, Lady Fyde. We have been discussing this since you returned from your Rite. We were told lies about you. I think we even lied to ourselvesabout you.”

Molly had no idea what he was thinking about. She tried to force up one of the questions roiling below her surface thoughts, but they were tangled with one another.

The official supplied one of his own before she could unknot them: “Do you know why Lady Hooo ran away from Drenard?”

Molly shook her head. “I didn’t know she did. I always assumed she was captured, a prisoner from the war—”

The official bristled at this, his shoulders coming up to his ears; his eyes were wide, his mouth frozen in a lopsided grimace. “Our women do not go to war. Ever!” He shook his head and ran his long blue fingers down the front of his tunic, calming himself. His chest rose and fell with deep breaths before he continued: “Lady Hooo ran away from Drenard. She has been forgiven, but it was a great sin. It was a very bad thing she did.”