“The one who left. He had stayed here, broken like us, but then he left.”
“Who left?” Addie paid only cursory attention to Sathe.
“The one who led better than this Hoban.”
Addie could barely hear Sathe’s woe-us-who-have-seen-better-days wails for the din of the battle, but neither did she listen closely. Her attention was fully absorbed by the skirmish.
The defending For party, looking no less intimidating than their attackers, wasn’t going down without a fight. The nomad men’s tall bodies, heavy with muscle, were moving in a furious fighting dance. Their lips were curled in threat exposing long sharp teeth, their red-green eyes were blazing. Bathed in the mellow light of the gentle Ehr sun, the warriors looked demonic, and their animalistic growls made Addie shudder in fear and revulsion.
“This shouldn’t be happening!” Sathe’s voice broke into a hoarse screech. “And it wouldn't have, hadhestayed! He did things the right way, but then Samantha died, and he left. ”
Momentarily distracted from the fight, Addie turned to Sathe. “Samantha is a human name.”
“It is!”
“Who was she?”
Sathe’s lip curled, and it wasn’t in good humor. “They never told you. She came with them, with Iolanthe. She lived here, one of them.”
“What happened to Samantha?”
“She died.”
“Why? How?”
“It doesn't matter. It was before. Not your story, Addie-woman.”
Sathe took off, her damaged upper body taking away nothing from the astonishing strength of her For legs. She moved like wind, her feet barely touching the ground as she ran, and in a blink of an eye, she was gone from sight.
But the questions remained. Their small young city, it appeared, had a history that Addie wasn’t aware of. An untold drama.
Addie’s attention went back to the plaza that had become a gladiator arena, drawn by the sights, sounds, and smells that were impossible to tune out. Forget the past, it really didn’t matter; there was drama right here, happening right now.
Two men were clamped together in a wrestling match, grunting from the effort. Others used whatever means handy to stab, hit, bash, or otherwise inflict pain on their opponents.
None of it wasn’t real. It couldn't be. She was on Earth, about to wake up, and the bloody fight would dissipate like a bad nightmare along with the two years that preceded it. She could picture her bed at home so vividly, feel the plush weight of her comforter and the downy softness of the pillow under her head. Home…
“Get’em, bitches!” Iolanthe throaty shout cut through Addie’s mental blocks and forced her back into the present.
It was over. The foreign For, heavily outnumbered, managed to breach the circle of their attackers and ran for the hills. Two fell behind, their injuries robbing them of speed, and Iolanthe screeched at her men to follow, to finish what they started.
Wynn and another male grabbed their hunting spears designed to kill game the size of small elephants and threw them with a practiced hand.
Addie closed her eyes.
???
“Is this all there is?” Janna-Beatrix stared incredulously into her empty earthenware mug.
“Yes,” Addie couldn't keep shortness from her voice.
It had grown late in the day, and the festivities celebrating Hoban’s dubious victory over the unsuspecting traders had thankfully begun to wind down.
“It isn’t enough. I’m still thirsty.”
“I’ll get more tubers tomorrow,” Addie replied evenly.
“Tomorrow?” Janna-Beatrix whined. “You’ve been slacking! You’re so lazy that we’re all going to die of thirst!”
