Saving Hibreon Ch. 07

This chapter focuses on Lost. Her background is detailed in the short story, Getting Lost. If you've not read the previous chapters of Saving Hibreon, this one isn't going to make much sense.

I thank you for reading, and I hope you're enjoying the story. As always, I appreciate your feedback.

-Guinevere A. Hart

***

Lost sat between Araquies and Lem at Luma's main console. Lem focused on the ship's self-diagnostics, transmitting the information to his engineer back on the Eloua shuttle. Lost and Araquies opened the old research data stored in the logs.

Information about Hibreon that had been collected by Lost and her crewmates was still there, but those results had never been submitted to the Eloua home-world of Arcadia. Instead, Sabrael had sent falsified details. His version of Hibreon described inhospitable climatological and geological anomalies. Citing a population of "barely sentient, hostile, indigenous life forms", he'd declared Hibreon a Blight World unsuitable for Eloua colonization.

Araquies studied the conflicting reports, his color and radiance dulling further with each lie. Lost could feel the Ambassador's increasing disappointment and dismay. She placed a hand on his mantle, offering what comfort she could. They sat that way for a long while, until Lem excused himself to take some readings in the engine room.

Finally, in a voice laden with sadness, Araquies said, "We do not understand this. No Eloua would do such a heinous thing. Our predecessors long debated the fate of Sabrael and his mission. Based on the information they were given, they assumed fatality."

He looked into Lost's eyes, as if searching for an answer. The Eloua was as telepathic as any of his race, but he was also polite and stayed out of her head. "Oracle," he began, and she understood he spoke to her in her official capacity as counselor. "On behalf of our ancestors, we must apologize for their assumptions. We must believe they would have intervened had they known the truth. Please forgive us."

Lost gave a solemn nod. "They thought Sabrael an eccentric, and he was that. But he was also unwell. He'd kept it hidden, and they couldn't have known. He raised me as his ward, and even I didn't recognize it until it was too late."

"We are Eloua. We must be able to trust the whole of our collective. Ours is to carry the enlightenment of the Divines to the living worlds. It is not to spread chaos and madness."

The realization truly sank in of losing one of his own, not only to death, but to a madness that was unthinkable to anyone of his species. He was upsetting himself, letting his despair carry him adrift, and he needed an anchor. Lost offered, "I may be broken, but I'm still Oracle. What is your question, Ambassador Araquies?"

His wavering color settled on a more stable shade of pale aqua. "How can we know that this has not happened with other Elouan researchers on other worlds?"

Lost had been through a lot, and it left scars on her spirit. There was nothing that could ever cut her tether to her gods. She opened her mind to the whispers of ancient powers, but their answer wasn't what Araquies wanted to hear. "You cannot know this."

"But Oracle, how are we to proceed?"

She called upon an Eloua euphemism. "Those who swim backward are consumed by the Deep Colossus." The ship sized, shark like creature was a much-feared predator of the Arcadian ocean. "How do the Eloua proceed, Ambassador?"

It was a second anchor, further stabilizing Araquies' psyche. Lost was pleased to see resolve and balance restored in his expression and aura. He answered, "We collect all information available to us at the time, and we swim forward."

Lost gave an encouraging smile, "Then that is what you should do." She popped a data crystal from a port in the console and handed it to Araquies. The crystal format was two centuries out of date but Lost knew the Sil technologists would find a way to read it. "This data is old, but I'm sure there's more truth in it than what you have in the archives. It's a good place to begin your renewed Hibreonic research."

Araquies said, "Thank you, but this will not answer the question of our fallen colleague."

"Give me some time to sort my guardian's affects. If I find anything, I promise to share it with you."

Araquies stood up to leave, then he changed his mind and sat back down. "We could carry this vessel back to Arcadia. You could be reassigned a more modern research craft. Perhaps a custom design to accommodate your partners?"

Her smile turned to a grin, as she was amused by Araquies' underestimation of the Nephilumen. "He is old, like me. He has been asleep for a long time, like me. But Luma is mine, and I believe in him."

Araquies smiled and playfully asked, "With your heart? Or with your head, Oracle?"

"With my soul."

"Well, we cannot debate that. Just please, do not do anything rash until this vessel receives a thorough examination form our engineer."

She firmly stated, "I'll do nothing to harm my ship, Ambassador."

Lost fully understood her inheritance by Eloua law. What had been Sabrael's was now hers— the ship, and everything in it, belonged to her. Araquies and his people would get only what she wanted to give.

Lem met Araquies at the airlock, but the Sil commander dipped his head into the doorway to have a word with Lost. He spoke quickly in a hushed tone, lest his employer hear. "This is why we love our ylf'nim Oracles. They actually live long enough to out teach our Eloua." He winked at her then and departed before she could say anything.

Clearly, Lem eavesdropped and determined that Araquies had failed to get his way somehow. For years, it had been her job to counsel the denizens of Arcadia. If she was in the presence of her Elouan hosts, she supposed it was still her job. As for Lem's transgression, Lost couldn't fault him for listening. She'd have done the same thing.

She sat quietly, waiting for the space of a full three minutes. She counted down the time in her head. It was more than enough time for someone to forget something and come back inside. Lost remained alone at the helm.

She placed a palm over a nodule in the side of her chair. Luma's skin was cold, but the issue would resolve itself in time as he regulated his temperature. His response to her was immediate— a flood of excitement and questions all punctuated by his continued love and loyalty. She sent her thoughts to him through their bond. "Yes, I've missed you, too. I'll answer your questions later, Luma. I want to see the biologics on board, please."

The dutiful Luma stopped his barrage of inquiry and sent the information she wanted to her head. A three-dimensional plan of the ship materialized in her mind's eye. Wyfrost and Kytia appeared as two red blips in the display. They were in Luma's drive compartment, where Lost would eventually take her place as Navigator.

She giggled, for no doubt Wy was boring Kytia to death with his growing biotechnical knowledge. Elouan dimensional travel was far superior to other travelers. The ships were larger, the mechanics more compact. Most important to Wy, there was no risk of insanity in hyperspace, so no need for the despised stasis tubes. She might get a good laugh to hear Wy try to explain how Lost's magic worked with Luma's to initiate long distance travel, but she had an agenda and no time for any sneaky listening of her own.

Lost sent, "Thank you, Luma. That's all for now." Luma followed with a request to mark Wyfrost and Kytia as members of his crew. "Not yet. Let's not upset Kytia with any of our 'alien nonsense' tonight." Luma then busied himself with a data search for some deeper meaning to the phrase "alien nonsense."

Lost got up and moved through the corridors to Sabrael's quarters. He'd have some private information stored in there somewhere, maybe even a journal like Pol's. He'd always appreciated ink and paper. It was simply a matter of finding where he'd hidden it.

Entering his room brought on a mixed bag of memories. Lost flopped down on his couch to just sit with those thoughts a moment. The good and bad all crowded together behind her eyes. She closed them and pressed her fingers against her eyelids until she saw stars. She forced herself to her feet and began her search.

The smooth, rounded furnishings in an Eloua ship were grown form the material of the ship itself. There were no spaces under couches or beds, no floorboards to lift, no secret wall panels. The only thing she saw right way was one lonely satchel on an otherwise empty set of shelves. It was a place to start.

She took the bag and sat with it in the middle of the floor. Without ceremony, Lost turned the thing upside down and dumped it. There was a travel kit of basic Eloua toiletries. He had a couple of scriptural texts, his copious notes and questions penned in neat squared letters along the margins of every page. There was nothing unusual in the satchel except for a single plush toy.

The doll represented a Kelp Grazer, a type of large shrimp considered cute by Elouan offspring. It was a common enough toy on Arcadia, but that one had been hers. She'd named it Plucky. The plush on its claw tips had worn away because she had chewed them to comfort herself when she was still a little child. When she was old enough to go to temple for training, Sabrael told her he'd given all her toys away in his culture's tradition of sharing. He'd kept Plucky.

Lost absently hugged the stuffed animal while she continued her search. She made a complete circuit of the room several times, becoming more frustrated with every turn. Then she remembered who she was, and the markings on her suit and body lit up the space. A softly murmured prayer led her back to the shelves she'd checked a dozen times already.

All the shelves on the ship were the same even space apart, but Sabrael had an extra top shelf. It was well over her head, so she stood on her toes and tried to pull it. She found the shelf could be moved, but it was held in place by tension and was stubborn. She set Plucky down on a lower shelf, elevated herself with her magic, then pulled and twisted the top shelf with both hands.

The shelf popped free, revealing that it was hollow inside. She found a slim, well used journal and a thin box nearly as wide as the shelf. Lost lowered herself back onto the floor and carefully extricated the items. She opened the box first and found it full of photos. She emptied it and fanned the pictures around her. They were very aged drone printouts of her, and the sight made her heart climb up into her throat.

For a second, she suddenly didn't want to do this by herself. She thought about calling for Kytia and Wy, but then she changed her mind. Lost reached out and used her magic to port Plucky to her. Gripping a chewed claw in one hand, she spread the photos further and tried to assemble them in chronological order.

They were pictures from before Sabrael had taken her in. They'd been taken using an insect like drone that the Eloua used to remotely record information. Those drones had been on the battlefields of the Infernal Tempest, and Sabrael's drone had been inside the bunker where she'd lived in with her parents and the other soldiers.

Lost barely remembered her home prior to Arcadia, and she'd sometimes longed for parents whose faces her mind couldn't quite make out anymore. The pictures brought it all back to her. She'd had prayer time and lessons. There were photos of magical and martial practice. She'd played outside when it was relatively safe from the demons. There were six years of birthday parties, bedtime stories, and skinned knees— and Sabrael recorded it all.

The longer she looked at the photos, the sicker she felt with a nauseating mix of nostalgia and dread. Sabrael hadn't just rescued a random six-year-old ylf'nim by fortunate coincidence. He had been stalking her and her family. He had chosen her, and he'd kept these photos from her for almost nine decades, because he didn't want her to know it.

As she sorted them, the pictures went back to before she'd been in them. Those were taken on a battlefield, where ylf'nim Holy Warriors of the Divines brought down an army of demons. As she studied these, Lost noticed the drone's focus was on a warrior that stood out from the others. The armor was built differently and had a brighter aura.

Sabrael's drone stayed on the wounded being while they crawled away from the carnage as the fight came to an end. The being removed their armor, revealing a form that seemed to be more energy than flesh. The pregnant female being struggled, wings of light flailing behind her as she dropped onto her knees. The drone coldly observed as she delivered her child and died.

At first, Lost didn't understand why these pictures were with the others. Slowly, it sank in that the people who found the baby were her parents. When they picked the infant up and held it, its form changed, becoming ylf'nim. "It turned into me," she whispered while subconsciously squishing the stuffed animal in her hand.

Lost suddenly dropped Plucky and looked at her hands, expecting to see some weird amalgam of flesh and light, but her hands were the ones she'd always known. Pale, skinny fingers, a little freckle near the base of her right thumb, they were perfectly ordinary ylf'nim hands. Everything about her was ylf'nim, except that she was a bit shorter than average for her kind. "What is my kind?" she asked the photos, but they had nothing more to say.

She reached for the journal and flipped page after page of Sabrael's tiny, precise, Elouan script. It was a lot of information to sift through. From a brief skim, she was certain that this book would help Araquies with his investigation. She would get what she needed out of it first. Flipping back to the first page, she began to read.

"What are you doing, sweetie?" Lost jumped when she heard Kytia from the doorway.

She could scoop it all and shove it back in the box before Kytia could look at it. There was little point in that. Kytia mistrusted anyone who didn't come from Hibreon. If Kytia would lose faith in Lost, it might as well happen sooner than later. Lost simply announced, "I'm not ylf'nim."

Kytia laughed. When Lost didn't join her, she said, "Of course you are." She entered the room and knelt beside Lost. "What are you talking about?" What's all this shit?"

Kytia picked up the picture of the infant in mid-transition, then she quickly tossed it back to the floor. She demanded again, "What the fuck is this, Lost?"

Lost Answered, "Sabrael's pictures."

Kytia couldn't look away from the photo she'd dropped. "Okay, you know what? No. No way. Fuck Sabrael and fuck his gods damned pictures. If this shit is upsetting you, then put it away. Just put it the fuck away, Lost."

"I'm not upset," lost lied. "You are."

Kytia sat there and stared into Lost's eyes for several seconds. Lost imagined a battle, much like the one in the pictures, going on between Kytia's emotions. When Lost refused to pitch a fit with her, or to even look away from her gaze, Kytia gave up. "Fine," she snapped. "Explain it."

Lost then took Kytia through her timeline as she had it figured, thus far. To her credit, Kytia listened without interrupting. When her story was told, she waited for Kytia's disgust, her disappointment, maybe even rage. All Kytia had to say was a calm, "Huh. You were a cute kid."

Lost blinked at her, and asked, "What?"

"You were a cute ylf'nim kid."

"But Kytia..."

Kytia snatched up a picture of a birthday party in the bunker. "Look at these people. Look at their faces, their ylf'nim faces."

Lost said, "Ruven and Jasera. They were Deacons."

Kytia smiled. "Deacons Ruven and Jasera obviously loved you. It looks to me like they did the absolute best they could to raise a healthy and happy child." She picked up the photo of Lost's birth in her other hand. "I don't know who this is. I don't know who you would have been if she'd been able to bring you up. But I know who you are, and Ruven and Jasera had everything to do with that."

"So, you don't think I'm a gross alien?"

Kytia laughed and dropped the pictures. She picked up Plucky and announced, "This is a gross alien. What the fuck happened to its claws?"

Then without waiting for a reply, she put it down and took Lost's face in both of her hands. Touching her forehead to Lost's, she promised, "I told you, I love you. And there is not a gods damned thing in this universe, or any other, that's going to change that."

Lost asked, "What if I turn into that?" pointing at the photo of her birth mother.

Kytia drew away and shook her head with another chuckle. "Then we'll go through a lot less lamp oil, I'd imagine."

Lost needed everything to be all right, and Kytia seemed to sense that. Lost smiled and continued, "And what about if I turn into a krys'nim?"

"Shortest frost giant ever."

Getting into the game, Lost asked, "What about Eloua?"

"How do you know I don't already have a tentacle kink?"

"Ay'niki?" she asked.

Kytia smirked and raised an eyebrow. "Now, you're pushing your luck. Though I hear sex with a blindfold on is a thing."

Lost giggled while she leaned in to pick up the pictures. Kytia helped her clean up, and Lost asked, "Where's Wy?"

"He figured you'd want to sleep here tonight. So, he's gone back to the village for some bedding and breakfast supplies. That processed crap the Eloua called food is two hundred years old."

"Ew," Lost said. "I didn't think about that."

"It's okay. Between all of us, we'll get Luma back in shape. He'll be good to go in no time." Kytia picked up the journal and asked, "Is this it? Is this what you need to help the..." She paused while she looked for a word other than the obvious. Then she shrugged and finished her question, "The ghosts?"

Lost took the journal from Kytia and put it on the shelf with the box of pictures. She set her stuffed toy on top of it all, as if it would keep guard. "Sabrael tried to tell me once that I wasn't ylf'nim, but it was only after he'd lost his senses. I thought he was just being mean. I don't know what I am or what I'm supposed to do about any of this, Kytia."

Kytia stood up and drew Lost into a hug. "It's okay, love. We'll figure this out."

Kytia's fingers in her hair, tender kisses on her face and ears, eased Lost's moment of discouragement. Knowing that Kytia loved and accepted her, regardless of her lineage, gave her hope. No matter who she was or what she had to do, Lost didn't have to do it alone.

Kytia said, "We've had a long day. Let's leave this for now, and we'll get it sorted tomorrow." She took Lost's hand and led her into the corridor, closing the door behind them.

The largest room center to the ship was for meals, recreation, and research. Kytia said, "Crew quarters are pretty tight, so Wy and I thought the three of us could bed down in here."

Lost nodded her agreement. She took a towel from a compartment and dropped it on the floor. With one foot on the towel, and moving her leg in large sweeping motions, she cleared the dust layer from a good-sized portion of the floor. Having done so, the dust on everything else became more evident. Luma needed a serious cleaning, but that could wait until morning, too.

Kytia remarked, "I can't see my breath anymore. I think it's finally starting to warm up in here."

She started unfastening her armor. Lost kicked her makeshift mop under the table and moved to help her. Once Kytia was down to her tank top and panties, she helped Lost wriggle out of her own suit.

Kytia didn't stop with Lost's suit. She slipped her hands beneath Lost's camisole, drew the garment over her head, and tossed it to the floor. Kytia kissed her, soft and slow. Her firm, calloused hands rubbed every inch of Lost's torso. Lost reached up and worked Kytia's braid loose, releasing tumble of auburn tresses. As Kytia's touch awakened Lost's desires, their kiss intensified.