Destiny's Blood by Marie Bilodeau (superbooks4u txt) 📕

corridor. She pulled her gun free, hoping she wouldn’t have to use it, and felt for which way to go.

Close. The other Berganda was close. So close that Josmere thought she could smell the sap pouring from her, although it was probably only her own leg. Again the ship jostled and, this time, Josmere lost her footing completely, hitting her elbow hard as she tried to shield her leg from impact. She gasped and gritted her teeth as pain shot through her body. She couldn’t tell where it was from anymore.

“Poor little plant-girl, green and bright, fallen on the floor and unable to fight.” The words taunted and teased her out of her pain.

Josmere spoke tightly as she pushed herself back up, hand against the wall for support. “So you’re also a poet.” Josmere looked upon a face very much like her own, but this Berganda’s eyes were not friendly.

Josmere cast her eyes down and spotted her gun, secure under the other Berganda’s foot.

“As a Berganda, I always thought it important to have an extra talent as an alternative, for when my life became a worthless farce.”

Josmere winced and looked up. “Mirial lies beyond that purple cloud. You still have hope. If you go there, blood-sister, you could save us all!”

Josmere didn’t see the gun swing around. It hit her hard on the side of the face. The blow rang in her ears as she fell hard, but not loudly enough to block out the other Berganda’s horrible laughter.

“Hope? You ask me to shed blood and you say there is still hope? Do you know how often I have bled?” Her foot came swiftly down on Josmere’s wound. Stars erupted before Josmere’s eyes and her stomach leapt to her throat.

“No soil is good enough! I have shed for my people, I have suffered, and no soil is good enough!”

Josmere dared not move, for fear of igniting further anger. She knew she couldn’t keep conscious through another blow.

Seela had moved and no longer stood on Josmere’s gun, but even though the weapon was barely inches from her, it seemed miles away. Josmere cringed as a cold hand touched her cheek, the hand of a Berganda. Her body reacted to the touch of a sister, unable to stop the transfer of thoughts; the telepathy was stronger than her will.

Josmere felt Seela’s deep despair: hailed as the last saviour of Berganda for so long, she was unable to fulfil what she had been led to believe was her destiny. And then her family had died around her, one by one, until the only blood she had left to shed was that of others; her own useless and dead.

Gently, Seela wiped a tear from Josmere’s face as though it was her own. Josmere wanted to scream at her, to tell her how alike they were, and how she could still choose life. But she couldn’t speak, and she knew that Seela had seen those thoughts as clearly as if they were her own. And she had shed them as easily as a tree would shed dead leaves.

The hand disconnected from her cheek. It took with it the knowledge of Josmere’s thoughts, but it also took away whatever hope Josmere had left, leaving her emptier than she had ever felt.

“So,” Seela whispered as she rose, pointedly putting her glove back on her slender hand. “Both twins are still alive. How fun. Now I still get to kill a saviour of Mirial.”

Josmere gritted her teeth, clenched her fists and fought against the feelings of failure that Seela had imprinted on her mind.

“You will not hurt them.” Josmere clenched her teeth. She could reach her gun now, but found herself unwilling to do so.

“What, you’re going to shoot the last fertile Berganda?” Seela jested as she followed Josmere’s gaze.

“Please,” Josmere pleaded. She no longer knew what to say. She could only hope that the strength of her emotion would change Seela’s poisoned mind.

A shot rang out and Seela jerked back, green blood dripping onto Josmere.

“Layela, no!” Josmere screamed. The other Berganda staggered and leaned against the wall, waves of terror emanating from her and crashing into Josmere, who swallowed hard against the flood of received emotions.

“She was going to shoot you, Josmere!” Layela screamed. Her arm was still outstretched, her finger still on the trigger.

“Please, please put it down,” Josmere pleaded, locking eyes with her. “Please, Layela.” She would probably pay for this with her life, but it was a small price to pay. “Without her, my people have no future!”

Layela’s eyes widened as though in understanding, and she lowered her gun slightly.

i

Mists clouded Layela’s vision, teasing reality away from her and implanting the memories of a vision seen too long ago to remember. The other Berganda looked triumphant as Layela lowered her gun. Without pause, she extended her arm and shot Josmere in the chest. The smell of sap filled the stale air.

Layela’s scream caught in her throat, held there by the knowledge that she was only seeing what was to be. In just a few seconds, Josmere would be dead. The vision receded and Layela brought up her gun again, ignoring the plea in Josmere’s eyes.

If the future could be changed, she would change it.

Layela pulled the trigger. She held her breath as the bullet raced towards the other Berganda, cutting through the last remaining misty threads of her vision.

i

“No!” Josmere screamed, trying to push Seela out of the way. Each movement was a lifetime too slow.

She felt Seela’s jubilation turn to confusion as she realized that Layela had shot her, despite Josmere’s plea. That confusion then turned to horror and fear and, for an instant, triumph.

I will not be the last. Josmere heard the thought and felt her own body withering around her. She didn’t need to open her eyes to see the gaping hole in Seela’s chest, didn’t need to feel her own flesh to know green blood was splattered on her. Its warmth and promise of life grew cold as Seela shook