The Beauty of the Night

Beautiful Exception

The enormous red sun had finally dipped beneath the horizon, casting the world into shades of red and purple. In the sky, twin moons hovered against a blanket of stars, waiting for the opportunity to lend their soft yellow light. 

All of the women had gathered at the mouth of the cave, dressed in their battle finest. They sat, cross-legged, hands resting gently upon their knees, spines straight as arrows. A warrior's pose. A large fire had been built, and its warmth beat gently at their backs. In front of them, Sher and K'an stood, twin leaders of the dens, their arms crossed over their broad shoulders, bare feet planted sturdily into the earth, night black hair flowing free over their shoulders, down the their waists. The air was thick and heavy with excitement, not just for the ensuing Blood Challenge, but also for their guest.

The Kral sat perched slightly above them, on the lip of a jutting edge of rock at the mouth of the cave. Tonight, even Morgan could not deny that he was breathtaking. His hair was twisted into dreads that hung long down his back. Streaks of gold bead and wrapping decorated them. His bronzed skin gleamed in the light of the fire, lending him an almost godly hue, as though he could have been Zeus himself. He was dressed simply, in soft black pants that framed his strong thighs and calves. At his waist, he wore a wide leather belt, carrying gleaming weapons: a dagger, an iron club, and an axe. His feet were covered in soft leather boots, the soles hammered from silver. He was a sight to behold, and for Morgan, a sight to ignore - because tonight, when she looked at him, her heart began an odd hammering in her chest, and that ever present gaze made her feel overheated. She didn't understand her reaction, but she didn't care to examine it. She needed to focus.

From either side of the cavern, the soft rumble of drums began, beating a rhythm like a heartbeat. It rumbled like a roar, echoing over itself again and again so that it seemed to tremble and rattle Morgan's bones. Suddenly, they stopped.

"Who among you is willing to be called warrior?" Sher demanded in a powerful voice. Her bright silver eyes pierced the crowd of women, challenging them.

"I am," a Kazor female said from Morgan's left. Her name was Tezra, and she was here before Morgan had been. She was a fierce fighter, almost cruel in her relentless hunt for surrender and for blood. Goosebumps pricked Morgan's arm, and a hum of uncertainty threaded through her. Perhaps this was a mistake.

"I am," another Kazor named Junna said, standing to her feet. That gave Morgan more confidence. Perhaps she wasn't as strong as Tezra, but she couldn't be that much weaker than Junna from the little she had observed of the girl. At her side, Nk'ea jostled her, urging her forward. But something kept Morgan seated. She clenched her fists, trying to steel herself. Fear would not do. Nervousness would not do. She needed to be calm. Still.

"I am," another female said. Morgan could not remember her species. She had skin the color of ebony, slick and shining like oil. Her eyes were round and without white, embedded into a soft face that she could harden at will. On her head, she had tentacles, which moved at will, but seemed to have no deadly function. There was a long pause.

"Among you, three are ready to be called warrior! Tonight-"

Morgan found herself standing, almost as if the action was happening beyond her will. She straightened herself to her full height.

"I am," she said in a voice that was stronger than she felt. K'an's gaze snapped to hers. If she was surprised by the interruption, she couldn't tell. But the others clearly were. A wave of hushed murmurs tore through the crowd. Morgan could feel the heavy gaze of the other women who had nominated themselves.

"You do not qualify," Sher boomed. "Sit."

Anger bloomed like a well tended rose, its heat coursing to Morgan's feet. She clenched and unclenched her fist.

"Why not?" she asked coolly, meeting the gaze of the older woman.

"Do you understand what the blood challenge is?" Sher demanded, a snarl contorting her features. "You will die. Sit. Down." She took a threatening step forward, but Morgan stood her ground, now even more intent on her goal.

"I am ready," she answered firmly. "I am ready to leave here or to die."

Annoyance flashed like a lightning bolt across Sher's features. K'an turned to the ledge upon which the Kral sat. She bent to one knee, keeping her head down.

"Kralyeki, as is our custom, you will decide." 

Sher held Morgan's gaze for a moment longer, then stepped back and took a matching bow at her twin's side. Morgan's heart quickened, and she clenched her fists even tighter. She kept her gaze steadily forward.

"This is an anomaly," the Kral's steward boomed. "We will proceed as we always have. The off worlder will not-"

Morgan turned her head sharply to the ledge at the steward's sudden silence. The Kral was standing, his heated gaze locking her in place. All at once, it was as though she had been frozen in ice, and then set on fire. She couldn't look away.

"You believe you are ready?" he asked in an impossibly deep voice that compelled its target. Morgan swallowed, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice. This was her only chance.

"Yes," she bit out. Any more, and they might catch on to her terror, and her chance would be gone. The Kral sat. His gaze left her, and suddenly it felt like Morgan could breathe again. He gave a regal lift of his chin. Sher and K'an stood.

"Well if a soft-skin is going to join, then I will also," Ersai said loudly, aiming a haughty, condescending gaze in Morgan's direction. Again, the Kral lifted his chin.

"Five warriors enter the blood challenge," K'an boomed. "We begin."