The Way of the Matring

The way of the Matring-sample preview Shyann startled awake from her dream. An older man, dressed in a uniform and wearing a silver medallion decorated cap stepped out from the cargo hold carrying a crate full of bottles and wrapped packages. He had shut the door firmly behind him. She was still tired, but okay, having just fell sleep, her head jostling in the corner of the head rest of her isle seat. She wasn’t afraid this time. Her brother’s memory cast a calming influence over the usual shadows. Shadows that normally deepened during space travels. No one was watching her, no one knew. The dreams came and went at will, some more intense than the mild one she just woke from. He reached in as he walked down the aisle and took out one of the clear bottles filled with a yellow-orange fruit juice. Nalada juice they called it. “Care for a refreshment?” the older man held one out for her to take. The shadows melted completely away. “No thank you, Captain. I’m fine.” He smiled politely with a nod and continued on. Yep, she relaxed again, everything was going to be okay. On the trip over, the people were all excited about the new adventure they would have and eagerly awaited the landing, so they could begin. But the air was tense, hushed, in the beginning. The three school age girls had huddled in their corner, talking non-stop about winning the tickets to see the new world for a whole week. They joyfully chattered the whole way in the transport from the sky platform to the planet’s loading platform. The Admiral’s daughter was there to meet them and show them the way to their quarters the moment they landed. And to their surprise, she had a daughter about their age waiting there as well. Not everyone was thrilled to have such young enthusiastic passengers in the completely filled transport. There was the angry man in the corner, stiffly seated between two enormous stern faced men dressed in plainly labeled --but unmistakably --military uniforms, a tiny half-moon crescent on the button-down collar to signify rank. One moderately large and unusual, etched symbol wrapped around each of their left arms in a distinctive glowing pale green on black. A mark, she assumed, of the new world’s peacekeepers, their version of military police. A gruff looking pair not to be trifled with for sure. The man was dressed in much the same way as them, except for his lack of brass. He had no medals of honor or rank on his shoulders. His collar and chest were bare, too. Now, to his disgrace, the worn bare spots once proved he had carried them before. Furtive glances his way were met with scowls, and not just from the man’s lips. His eyes held some secret to them--the luster of some hidden charm and the pull to stare into them was irresistible. Should he escape, would he come for us…or me? The whole affair was being duly noted in the picture journal she was drawing in right then, of course. She looked down at the rough picture but it took a minute to realize the man’s face was— --missing? Not just missing, blank. No. Distorted. It was all shadows and not just the six-o’clock rubble that needed a good shave. His deeply piercing eyes, his rogue smile, his rugged handsomeness. The youthful mischievousness that played around his face. She could see them plain as day, but they stubbornly refuse to appear on the dull paper. For some reason she couldn’t see his features, or her fingers couldn’t at least. She looked at the man again and caught him staring at her. Her eyes widened as it took her by surprise, but she wasn‘t afraid. The fear --that very moment-- was being drawn out of her for reason‘s she didn‘t understand. He didn’t glare as he did at the others, he just focused on her from under his brow and then his lips slowly curled up into a playful smile. She smiled back. It seemed to be the right thing to do. He was flirting with her --that was until he got a painful knock to the ribs as one of his guards elbowed him again. The prisoner looked at his guard with a scowl, but the man only shrugged his shoulders, and then snorted out a laugh. “This is going to be a long trip,” the prisoner snorted impatiently, and then he closed his eyes and leaned back his head onto the seat with a huff. She turned back to the drawing. The picture, like so many others on the ship, didn’t want to be recognized. It felt so strange to know that--to know that the picture seemed to have a mind of its own. She put the lead to the paper again, but still the face wouldn’t appear. It wasn’t the first time this had happened. A few of her other drawings had the same feeling…a feeling of incompleteness. She sighed and closed the book.