Nexus of Change (Tasks of the Nakairi Book 2) Read online

  Nexus of Change

  Tasks of the Nakairi

  K. E. Young

  Tasks of the Nakairi: Nexus of Change Copyright © 2018 by K. E. Young. All Rights Reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Cover designed by Clavis

  Portions of cover art Copyright 123RF Stock Photo

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  K. E. Young

  Visit my website at http://WorldsOfKEYoung.com

  This was the first book I started writing although it isn't the first one I finished. I wrote it in a difficult time and as a result, this book is dedicated to the fine gentleman (who shall remain nameless) who inadvertently encouraged me to open the door to being a writer by closing other doors in my face.

  Success is the best revenge.

  Contents

  Nexus of Change

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Prologue

  Eighteen Years Ago

  "Uncle Todd!" The little girl's tears trailed down her face.

  Her uncle picked up the six-year-old and settled her on his lap in the old rocking chair. "Aw, Kennie. What's wrong?"

  She sniffed. "I hate school. They're mean to me."

  He rocked her as he always did when she was upset. "Kids are like that. Two things you have to keep in mind Kennie. Number one. You're smarter than they are and deep down, they know it. That makes them feel bad, like they aren't good enough, and they want to make you pay for making them feel bad. I know it's not anything you can help. You are who and what you are, but when feelings get involved, things stop making sense.

  "You need to remember that they're just being defensive and point out to them when there's something they are good at, especially if it's something they're better at than you. Make them feel good about themselves. But be honest when you do it. Never lie to them.

  "Number two. Because you don't think like them, you'll confuse them. You won't react the way they expect and they aren't always going to react the way you expect. There will be misunderstandings. When that happens, don't lose that temper of yours, it'll just make it all worse."

  She gave a heavy sigh as she played with the silver dragon medallion on a chain around his neck. "People are weird."

  He laughed aloud. "Yeah, they are, sweetie. But I'll tell you a secret." He grinned down at her as she perked up. "It isn't just people that are weird. The universe itself has people beat hands down in the weird department. There's stuff out there we've been studying for hundreds of years that still doesn't make sense."

  She giggled. "Are you gonna stay for dinner this time?"

  "I'm afraid not sweetie. I needed to talk to your dad about some stuff that your grandma and grandpa left for us."

  She scowled then sighed. "No dessert tonight. Talking about grandma and grandpa makes him grumpy. When he's grumpy he's extra strict."

  "And why should that mean no dessert?"

  "I got in a fight during recess." Her shoulders slumped and she picked at the fresh scab on her knee.

  He tried not to smile. She was a spitfire. "What was it this time?"

  "Mom made me wear pink today. During recess, Jimmy Townsend called me 'Pepto Bismol' and pushed me down." The sheer disgust in her voice when she said 'pink' almost made him laugh. "So I pushed him down. He got mad."

  "And I'll bet you got mad right back."

  "Yup." She wasn't at all repentant. She never was.

  "Ah, Little Dragon. Someday, you'll realize that boys only pay attention to you if they like you."

  She growled in disgust and he chuckled. "Tell you what. I'll cancel my plans and stick around for dinner so you can have dessert. We'll go outside and look at the stars afterward if it's clear enough."

  "Yeah!" She threw her arms around his neck and gave him an enthusiastic hug. Uncle Todd was her favorite person. "I love you."

  "I love you too, Little Dragon."

  Chapter 1

  Day 1: 39th Day of Sanctuary, 3866

  I hate flying. It's uncomfortable and I don't work all that well with other people. For some reason, I make them nervous. I always have, even when I was a kid. Normally it isn't a problem. As a part-time librarian, my contact with the public is fleeting and limited. As a part-time martial arts instructor, the effect is useful. It makes the students focus.

  A week and a half ago, grandma died and I flew back for the funeral. My brother had been his usual greedy, bullying self. However, Grams had specified which part of her estate I was to receive and she had taken the trouble to itemize it in detail. She knew exactly what kind of man her grandson was so it's not too surprising. It didn't stop him from trying to pressure me into turning it all over to him 'for safekeeping'.

  As a result, I packed everything of value into my carry-ons. Everything else got checked. The pack held the jewelry while the duffel contained other pricey items and a few things grams had been keeping safe for me, things too precious to me to lose to light-fingered roommates in college and greedy boyfriends.

  It was a bad flight.

  Before the flight, TSA had been unpleasant about my carry-ons. Thirty-two million dollars in jewelry will make anyone sit up and take notice. That I had the legal documentation with me proving I owned it didn't calm them down much. They signed off on it though and I made my flight, barely.

  When I boarded I found myself stuffed in a non-reclining seat way in the back by the bathroom with way too many crying kids around me. Then the flight got delayed for a technical issue on the runway and we ended up waiting for 45 minutes with no air or bathrooms. It was hot, humid, and stank by the time we could take off. Topping things off, a storm was on our route and we had to fly around, delaying us even further.

  What should have been a two and a half hour flight from gate to gate ended up taking almost four hours. Being paranoid about my bags did not make the flight any easier to bear.

  I was last off the plane and it was late. The last flights in had long since cleared out so the concourse was empty. Only the backs of the last few people ahead of me were in sight as I trudged down the long curving concourse towards baggage claim, the deep blue terrazzo floor gleaming under the lights.

  I never made it to baggage claim. You don't expect lightning while walking through an airport. The light and roar struck me and the world went dark as the sensation of falling overwhelmed me.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  My eyes opened on torchlight and shouting. The circle of odd black stone ringed by mud and silvery pylons told me I was no longer in the Kansas City terminal. From the pain, I must have hit my head. My breath steamed in the chill predawn air. Surrounding me were about fifteen men holding torches.

  As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I could see they weren't human. They resembled a cross between humans and gorillas wit
h dark ash-brown skin, receding chins with heavy jaws, and pushed-in noses surmounted by bald scalps and tattooed faces. Armed with short swords and spears, the thickly muscled fireplugs made Neanderthals look elegant and poised in comparison. They shouted at me in a guttural incomprehensible tongue.

  One of them approached me with a length of rope and motioned me to hold my hands out in front of me. Oh, hell no! I fought back as best I could.

  I had gotten in trouble a lot when I was a kid for fighting. The school counselor had suggested martial arts as a way for me to learn to control those impulses. As a result, I had been training for the last fifteen years, so my best was better than most despite my grogginess. As a martial arts instructor, I hadn't been as strong or powerful as my male counterparts, but I made up for it in speed, precision, endurance, and imagination. I was good at fighting, and I had never backed down in my life. Besides, Krav Maga is meant for just this type of scenario.

  It took six of them working together to get me pinned so they could tie me up. I would not go along with whatever they had planned. Being tied up was never a start to anything good unless it involved safe words and mutual consent. Sheer numbers won out and they wrapped me like a mummy. I had bruises over a significant portion of my body but was still in better shape than some of my attackers.

  They herded me out of the muddy clearing and down a path through the woods. The light grew as we headed out, but we missed the sunrise due to the heavy cloud cover.

  We hiked for a couple hours until we came to an encampment. Off to one side, there was a herd of odd-looking horses with horns. They shoved me to the center of the camp and tied a rope around my neck then staked it to the rocky ground so I couldn't stand.

  I tried my best to either pull the stake out or break it but it was almost impossible to get a grip on it with my hands bound behind me and my leash wasn't long enough for me to bring my legs to bear. My remaining option was fraying the rope enough to snap it. I worked on it all day, hampered by the necessity of hiding my efforts from my captors. The day was cold so I needed to take breaks now and then to flex my muscles to ward off stiffness and the chill. I was still trying to free myself hours later when the light faded towards sunset. The stake was a lost cause, but I was making good progress abrading the tough fibers of my bindings.

  I had to admit it. Despite the roughness of their weapons and armor, they made excellent rope. Bastards.

  I was there all day but the heavy cloud cover saved me from sunburn. They gave me neither food nor water. Those who passed would often aim a kick or swat at me on their way by. I kicked so they didn't get close enough for their abuses to connect. Some spat. It was gross but at least it was painless.

  The lack of water worried me. It told me they had no intention of keeping me for long. The sole heartening factor of the situation was when I saw my pack and duffel put in a tent. If I could get to them, I had stuff that might give me an edge in getting away.

  An hour before sunset, the clouds on the horizon cleared and the sun washed over the camp. The ape-men didn't seem to enjoy it much and I understood why when a wave of riders came over the hill and broke over the encampment.

  The ape-men were on the defensive from the start and I wanted to cheer. However, I didn't know if the riders were allies or enemies so I wasn't willing to wait for a rescue that might not come. I had never been that kind of girl. With my captors distracted, it was a perfect time to escape.

  I pulled on the rope as hard as I could. It snapped and I kicked out at the first ape-man who got near me. I knocked him down and then stomped hard on his throat. He lay there and writhed giving out a thin, high-pitched scream. I squatted next to him and grabbed the knife from his belt.

  I dropped it twice and had to kick out at a couple more ape-men before I could reverse my grip on it so I could cut my bindings. Before I accomplished my task, a tall man leaned over me with a grin that made me think of evenings spent wrinkling sheets. He finished cutting the ropes then pushed me behind him to take on the ape-man who had come up brandishing a sword.

  My would-be savior was jaw-droppingly handsome with bronze skin, brilliant blue-green eyes, and long straight black hair pulled into a tail. He wore a dark leather breastplate and matching pants, boots and wrist-guards, leaving his muscular back and arms bare. He moved like a panther and smelled better than a man has any right to without cologne.

  Although, I wonder about a guy who thinks leaving your back bare is a good thing to do in a battle. Knives don't care what side of you they stick in.

  I wasn't about to play damsel-in-distress and allow someone else to defend me without making an effort. Reversing my grip on the dagger again, I stepped toward another of my erstwhile captors. I deflected his sword with my knife and kicked him in the balls. When he went to his knees, I skewered him in the eye. My next target was one of those who had tied me up in the first place so knew to avoid my feet. It took a little work to get close enough to swipe my blade across his eyes, then swing behind him and cut his throat.

  The pain and stiffness of my beating washed away in the adrenaline. I had always had what I called my inner demon in tough situations, a part of me that assumed control in a real fight. It had never been this strong, cold, deliberate, or deadly angry before. This time, my inner demon saw them as prey, not as opponents or enemies. The distinction may haunt me later — or it might not.

  At last, there were no new targets and I had a moment to look around. My defender was finishing his current opponent and all of the ape-men were down, occupied with defending themselves, or fleeing. I had a shallow slice on my side, and both hands were slippery with ape-man blood up to the elbow. I was also a little breathless and bespattered.

  All during the battle, I had felt as if I was riding around in my own head watching while a psychopath took care of the business of fighting. I could monitor the thoughts and decisions that occurred, but no conscious control. My inner demon was in charge of survival and I had spent the last fifteen years training it how to fight.

  The result was appalling in an intellectual, civilized way but I still couldn't get upset about it. I suspect the fact the killing didn't bother me, would trouble me more than the killing did. Most modern women never meet their animal side, but my demon and I were old friends. There was a reason most people found me uncomfortable to be around. In our sophisticated society, we're supposed to hide our primitive sides, our animal instincts. I had never been good at that, so I made people nervous.

  My defender looked over at me and gave me that devastating grin again. I saw a patch of light reflected from my necklace move across his eyes as I shifted. His gaze dropped to see what blinded him and his eyes widened. With a delicate touch, he lifted the pendant to examine it more closely. I had fabricated it myself as a test piece when teaching myself how to sand cast. It had turned out perfect and I had spent days refining it and carving details, then baking on a touch of enamel to give it color. The resulting pendant was of a dragon carrying a key. The dragon was so detailed it almost moved. He released it after a moment then tapped his chest and said, "Mero," before pointing at me with a questioning look.

  "Kendra."

  Soldiers were going tent to tent, salvaging. I surprised Mero by ducking into the one where the ape-men had dumped my bags and retrieved them before the salvagers could grab them. I hugged them saying, "mine." He got the idea.

  Mero motioned he wanted to see what was in them. I wasn't sure if I could trust him, but he had freed me so I took a chance and opened them up for him. Besides, something about him felt almost familiar.

  I unzipped the top of my backpack and he peered inside. His eyes widened in shock and he clutched at the opening glancing around to see who else might have seen the contents. He barked orders to one of his men and motioned me to close it back up again. He didn't even bother checking out the duffel bag.

  After a time, the soldier returned with a not-horse fitted with a packsaddle and large, heavy leather sacks sewn thickly with metal rings, e
ach with twin padlocks on them. Mero loaded my bags into the pouches and handed me the keys to the first locks, keeping the second set for himself.

  A tough-looking gray-eyed woman led another horse-thing over and helped me mount. Close up, they looked less like horses than they had from a distance. Its head was broader than a horse's to support the horns, with a split lip like a llama. The lion-like mane and tail were black as were the eyes while the hide ranged from deep brown to tan with darker stripes. I thought it looked cool, like one of those horse-zebra hybrids you see on the internet.

  My hours riding as a child helped me to get astride, but was useless for directing the beast since there were no reins, just a wide fitted collar with grips resting about a hand-span up the neck, linked to the pommel with an adjustable strap. Mero came alongside on his own steed and pointed ahead, then showed me the exaggerated command. I copied him and my now obedient mount stepped forward. Mero then demonstrated the way to direct it left and right, slow down, speed up, then how to stop. The collar, it seems, is just a handhold. You give directions with your feet.

  By the time he had finished my cliff's notes lesson, the rest of the troop had mounted up and was ready to go. Someone tied the lead for the pack-beast with my belongings to my saddle. The same soldier rode behind to guard it, which I appreciated.

  Dark had fallen when we moved out. It was already late in the evening when the lightning hit in the airport and while I had been unconscious, I didn't think it was long. The emotional upsets before my flight had been draining all on their own and then I spent my day working on the tough rope rather than sleeping. Added to all that, I had burned an enormous amount of energy during the fight with no food to supplement it. Two days of emotional and physical strain had taken their toll. Exhaustion dragged at me.

  We passed the muddy clearing with its ring of silvery pylons and pressed on for another couple of hours. During the ride, the skies had cleared and two moons rode high in the heavens. Bisecting the misty swath of stars covering the sky was a sight that took my breath away, rings. They were pale and almost colorless, traced with a transparent fineness. We were enough above the equator that the rings showed as an arc rather than a line. The shadow of the planet interrupted the arc and it occurred to me that it would be an excellent way to gauge both time and latitude. I'd be willing to bet navigation was never as much of an issue here as it had been back on earth.