Ortai Legacy: Arrival

10.2 - Discovery (L)

TW: Suicidal Ideation

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I hated this. All of this. Why was I here—to reset my internal death clock? Would I really be doing this for the next three years? No, three years was the best case scenario. With my luck, it would be ten. And I was lucky compared to the other Earthen Ortai hybrids; from what Weylan had explained about Void, it was the element most tied to psychic magic—including translation. The others would be lucky if their weapons had translation enchantments, and even then, they would need to have them close to use them. If they lost those weapons, they would be completely helpless. Hell, even with the weapons—and even if the weapons had Interfaces—they would be nearly helpless; an AI assistant like Weylan wasn't the norm.

I should be thankful for AI Weylan's guidance and Mar'kost's support. I should be thankful for the opportunity to buy my own food Source and the money to afford it. I should be thankful for Cadmus's willingness to let a strange woman stay in his house on short notice.

I should be thankful for all of those things and more—but helplessness and sorrow pressed on every inch of my skin like a lead-weighted blanket. Years on an alien planet stretched out before me, devoid of family or Earth's creature comforts. I yearned to close my eyes here and open them to the world I knew. If that wasn't possible, I wished to close them and never open them again.

No, I couldn't think that. I was possibly the only Ortai hybrid who knew how to get home. No one on this planet besides the old Ortai would know how to reverse engineer the teleportation spell that took us to Vangorn. As far as I knew, there were no living Ortai on this planet, and Ortai writings had mostly been either destroyed or taken with them when they left. AI Weylan was the closest thing to a living Ortai—or a step-by-step guide—that any of us Earthlings had. I had a responsibility to help the others get home.

But why should I? This was James's fault. Somehow, he'd known about the spell—presumably his family had kept better records than mine—and he'd reenacted it with ten hybrids, each a descendant of a different Ortai leader. I could only assume that he wasn't attempting to commit murder-suicide, so he couldn't have meant to scatter us all over Vangorn. Either he hadn't really thought the spell would work, or he'd assumed it would teleport us all together and he would be able to brag about his superior knowledge of Vangorn.

That was probably right; I could easily imagine James pulling this crap just to show off. He'd likely planned to act as a deity so that Vangorn's inhabitants would worship him. Judging by the world map Weylan had shown me, James had ended up smack dab in the middle of the Desert Empire. I wanted to believe he'd screwed himself and thirsted to death, but in all likelihood, the Source there would've transformed him into something that was well-adapted to the environment.

He would get away unpunished for his idiotic move, while I was left to clean up his mess. No part of me wanted to fix his problems, but the rest of the hybrids were innocent. Weren't they? I mean, Olivia hadn't meant to partner me with a horrible guy; that was just a mistake. It was just a coincidence that she'd introduced me to James right after Rowan asked me out. Wasn't it?

A sob wrenched from my throat. I shook, pressing a fist to my mouth to quiet myself. Source or no Source, attracting monsters was a bad idea; it would just make getting out of here harder. My stomach lurched, but I gritted my teeth against the urge to vomit. My diet was basically gold; I couldn't afford to throw it up.

The sobs kept coming, quiet at first, then devolving into muffled wails. I curled in the fetal position, wrapping myself in graxi. Whether they were soundproof or not, I didn't have the strength to hold myself together.

***

[Liza?] It was Mar'kost. He was crippled in bed because I was so pathetic that he felt the need to reassure me by putting his life on the line.