Their eyes were like black pools, their circular irises a golden yellow that contracted and widened with light. They had no whites in their eyes like us. It was eerie, spine-tingling to look into them. But a strange part of me had been fascinated. A strange part of me had thought them beautiful.
That day, a day that had started out like any other, had taken a shocking turn when one of the Dakkari males saw Mithelda—a young, timid blonde, eight years older than me at the time, who’d always been kind—and, promptly, taken her.
He’d captured her, tore her away from her aging parents and young sister, and the Dakkari had left as quickly as they’d come.
No one spoke of it. No one in our village saw Mithelda again, though news from another human settlement, four days travel away, had seen her with a horde as they’d passed, riding one of the black-scaled beasts, in the lap of a Dakkari male. The human settlement had reported she’d looked beaten, abused. Yet, no one dared to interfere.
From that day on, if the lookouts saw evidence of a horde approaching, all women in the village donned cloaks and hoods, to conceal our faces. Just in case.
Which was why, on that evening after the burning field, after a lookout had come running into the village with news of a horde approachingfast, I put on my thick cloak, tied back my brown hair, and pulled up the hood.
Kivan watched me, his fingers fumbling nervously.
“Luna,” he said, his voice trembling. “I—I just want you to know that I—”
“Shhh, Kivan,” I said, going to him. He was seated at our modest table, rocking the broken chair back and forth on its three legs. Crouching in front of him, so that we were eye-level, I squeezed his shaking hands and said, “I will always protect you. Mother made me promise, remember? You have nothing to fear.”
“I was only trying to bring life back to our crops,” he explained, as he had a thousand times since that afternoon. “I heard that on Laperan, they burn crops to—”
“We are not on Laperan,” I replied gently, squeezing his hands, meeting his eyes. “We are ontheirplanet. We must respect their ways. And today, we did not.”
Tears filled his eyes, which shocked me. I’d never seen him cry since Mother died. Not once.
“I didn’t mean for it to burn so much,” he rasped. “You’re right, Luna, Iama fool.”
“Stop,” I whispered, guilt eating at my chest, wanting to comfort him. It may very well be the last time I saw him, no matter what happened that night. “You were only trying to help us. It was an accident. I will speak with them. I will make them understand. Yes?”
Kivan shook his head, unable to meet my eyes, as his tears slowly dried up. But I stayed crouched at his feet, listening to the silence of our home, the silence of the village outside our doors.
“I love you, brother,” I said, lifting his face. “It will be alright.”
“They will give us up,” he said. He meant the villagers, our friends and neighbors, in an effort to spare themselves from the Dakkaris’ wrath.
Truthfully, I couldn’t even blame them for it.
“I will make them understand,” I repeated, my tone hardening. Because I had to.
It wasn’t much longer before we heard the horde approaching on their black-scaled beasts. It was like rumbling thunder, which sometimes boomed across the planet during violent storms.
Closer and closer, they came.
Until the thunder stopped all at once and I heard the sounds of heavy bodies dismounting outside the walls of the village, of deep, gruff voices that easily penetrated our flimsy door.
I looked at Kivan and then slowly stood from my crouched position.
“Stay in here,” I told him.
“Luna—”
I walked out of our home before he could say another word and closed the rickety door behind me. The village street was empty and eerily quiet. Some villagers had even left earlier that evening, to hide out in the mountains until the horde passed on. But most remained, though their homes were dark and silent.
Through the one small, dirty window of our home, I could see Kivan watching me from the table, his eyes wide. Taking a deep breath, I turned and walked to the center of the single dirt road that connected the entire village together. It was there I waited with a pounding heart.
The creaking of the village gates met my ears as they were forced open, like a shrill cry cutting through the darkness. Then I heard the unmistakable sound of Polin’s voice, perhaps the only person in the village brave enough to meet the Dakkari willingly. He was our leader, however, the head of our small village council. Polin saw it as his duty to meet with the Dakkari, but I had no doubts that he would direct them to our door, to wash his hands of Kivan once and for all.
But I would not give up my brother. Ever.
There were only two possible outcomes I would accept. One being I would exchange my life for Kivan’s. It was simple enough. I promised our mother that I would protect him and Ialwayskept my promises.
