Chosen by the Alien

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Chosen By the Alien

Ashley West

Prequel One: In Which Things Come Together

Atlas was five years old when he attended his first binding ceremony. It wouldn’t be the last, either, not with the way his people held bindings sacred, but it was the first, and it was the one that would always stick in his memory.

He arrived with his parents on either side of him, his mother glancing around at the beautifully decorated courtyard and making a wistful sound that made Atlas glance up at her.

His father looked down and ruffled his hair. Don’t mind her, he said. She’s just getting nostalgic.

It’s so beautiful, Atlas’ mother said. Do you remember when we were bound?

Of course I remember, his father replied. I was picking sparkle dust out of my beard for a month afterwards.

His mother rolled her eyes and flapped her hand at him, going back to admiring the space. Even as a five year old boy, Atlas had agreed that it was beautiful. Usually his people were not fond of frippery, preferring more monochrome colors and spartan designs, but for a binding ceremony, they went all out, making a point of showing how special it was.

At the moment, the courtyard was adorned with multi-colored lights that bobbed and danced in the air around the enclosed space. Shimmery silver and scarlet draperies were hung from the walls, catching the light and reflecting it back in a way that made sparks dance in front of Atlas’ eyes when he looked too hard at them.

There were tables loaded with an array of different kinds of food, and at the front of the courtyard, a dais was placed right on the path that led into the fortress where the King and Queen held court.

Their monarchs always attended the binding ceremonies of their people. They came to bless the binding in the name of the Creators, and already they were seated on grand chairs right in front of the dais.

Even though the monarchs spoke for the Creators, in a binding ceremony they were seen as less important than those who were going to be bound. Because in the eyes of the Korokali people, there was nothing more sacred, more joyous than finding your soulmate and agreeing to spend the rest of your life with them.

In every major story that Atlas had been read as a child, someone found their mate. The hero warrior always fought through legions of Drugan to save the woman he was meant to be with, or the scholar unlocked a way to keep his mate from dying of a mysterious illness. However it happened, the binding was always a part of the happily ever after, and as such Atlas couldn’t wait until he was old enough to find his own mate.

The entire clan was invited to each binding ceremony, and it took ages for everyone to file in. Atlas bounced anxiously in his seat between his parents as he watched people come in. Giant men in uniforms that marked them as being from the warrior sect and their mates, small and glittering on their arms as they walked past, civilians in bright colors, carrying or pulling their protesting children along, the priests and priestesses of the Eyes of the Creators walking in with their formal robes flapping in the slight breeze. All participants warmly greeted each other, and Atlas’ parents got up several times to accept hugs and to grasp shoulders with those they knew.

The Korokali were a tight knit group, but they were spread out across the planet most of the time, everyone having their own jobs to do. When they had a chance to come together, usually for things like this, they took it, and the outpouring of friendliness was always great to witness.

Atlas stood on his chair and watched everything with wide eyes.

It was a lot to take in for a five year old, and he was sure that as long as he lived he wouldn’t forget this.

Soon enough, it was time to start. Everyone found their seats, and the priests and priestesses filed up to the front of the dais to begin the Chant.

It was in the old tongue, and only those who had been called to the order of the Eyes of the Creators could speak it because only they studied it. Atlas didn’t know what was being said, but he enjoyed the way it sounded, listening to the cascade of voices as they rose and fell in melodic rhythm.

He knew enough to know that the Chant was meant to bless the people who heard it and bless the union of the two being bound that day.

Once the last notes of the Chant faded away, the First and Second of the Order stepped up onto the dais and held hands, lifting them above their heads for a full minute.

Atlas turned to his mother and poked her. Why are they doing that? he whispered.

His mother seemed reluctant to look away, but she leaned down to answer. It’s symbolic. They’re showing their binding to the Creators, reminding them of what will happen here today.

He nodded at her explanation and looked back to the dais.

The First dropped one of her hands from the Second’s and in a calm, clear voice called out, You who would claim your mate, step forward.

Usually, it was the male partner who claimed the female when the two being bound were of the opposite sex, but this time a woman stepped forward.

Atlas felt like holding his breath because she was so beautiful. Her skin was the same pale blue as the rest of their kind, but her eyes seemed to burn with a rich violet fire. Her hair was long and divided into many braids, hung with flowers and lights as she walked through the aisle of the seats with her head held high.

It had been the talk of the town when the medic’s daughter had turned out to be the Captain of the Guard’s mate, but it made an odd sort of sense to most people. They’d all expected some kind of noble woman to claim their Captain, but Amarell, the gentle daughter of the medic was a much better fit for him.

She smiled when she reached the dais and lifted her face to look at the First and Second. My name is Amarell, she said, her voice carrying in the hushed silence of the courtyard. And I would claim him who is the other half of my soul.

The Second nodded and held out his free hand. You who would be claimed and claim in return, step forward.

And then came the Captain.

He was the kind of man that Atlas aspired to be. Well over six feet tall, covered in the tattoos and markings that designated his rank, showing that he had led and won more battles than he’d ever lost. His hair was nearly as long as Amarell’s, hanging in a thick braid down his back and woven through with flowers. His beard was neat and trimmed, and his eyes were bright as he headed for the dais.

It was rare to see the Captain smile like that, and everyone knew it. He was happy, and they were happy for him, and when he reached the dais and took Amarell’s much smaller hand in his, a collective sigh went through the crowd.

The rest of the ceremony was lost on Atlas who was too young and too fidgety to keep up with the important sounding words that were said by the First and Second and then echoed by the couple.

He paid attention when the King and Queen stepped forward and offered their blessings, and when the First and Second wrapped the binding vine around the couple’s wrists, binding them symbolically and literally.

And then his mind was on the food.

The ceremony wrapped up after that, the gathered throng cheering as the newly bound couple walked back down the aisle, their hands clasped together and raised high. Everyone moved to the food for the less formal part of the celebration.

His mother filled him a plate, and Atlas stood next to her as she chatted with some of the others.

Just beautiful, said one of the women, and Atlas could tell that she was plump and heavy with child. I remember my own binding. I know the whole thing is just symbolic, but you can really feel the power in the air.

Oh yes, Atlas’ mother agreed. You can feel it. The binding is symbolic, but it’s also very real.

Either way, you’re stuck with him for the rest of your life.

They all laughed at that, and Atlas looked back and forth between them, unsure what the joke was. Wasn’t that the point of binding? Of finding your mate? So you’d have someone to be with for the rest of your life? Why was that funny?

He thought about asking, but realized that there were some things he didn’t want to know. Astute wisdom from a five year old.

I can’t wait to find my mate, he was saying before he’d even thought about it fully. His eyes drifted to the happy couple, watching as they moved around the open space, greeting their family and friends.

The adults all laughed again. Is that so? said one of them, an older man Atlas didn’t recognize. And what will this mate be like, do you think?

It was a very serious question, and Atlas licked sweet and spicy sauce from his fingers as he thought about it. Kind, he said finally. And really smart. Beautiful, too. And she’ll like me, and I’ll protect her.

Protect her from what? asked one of the others.

Atlas shrugged. Anything. Because he was also going to be a warrior, he already knew that, too.

And what if she can protect herself? asked his mother.

That’s okay, too, Atlas replied. We can protect each other.

He didn’t know if it was common for kids his age to have given this as much thought as he had, but he couldn’t help it. Everyone was fixated on finding their mate in this society, and now that he had attended his first ever binding ceremony, he could see why. It was beautiful and everyone looked so happy.

His parents, who were usually happy with each other, seemed even more in love that day, touching and holding hands under their table, his father brushing light kisses over his mother’s cheek like he had remembered all over again what it was like to be in love with someone.

Maybe that was part of the magic of binding ceremonies; because it had to be magic, didn’t it? The chanting, the ritual of it. The air was thick with the way it made Atlas feel, and there was a longing in him that he didn’t understand.

According to one of his mother’s friends, that was what happened. Once you see a binding, you know you want it. So you’re calling out to your other half, waiting for them to show up and complete you.

What about people who never find their mate? one of the other kids at their table spoke up, eyes wide with curiosity.

She looked older than him by a few years, and Atlas studied her for a moment, trying to see if he could feel anything when he looked at her. She seemed to know what he was doing because she shot him a look, eyes narrowed, and he glanced back down at his plate.

Well, his father said, voice low and thoughtful. I suppose that depends on what you mean.

Do they just long and pine and wait forever? the girl asked. Or do they try to get on with their lives?

Some of the adults exchanged glances, and Atlas leaned forward in his chair, not wanting to miss anything. They adapt, his father said finally. They take up their trades the same as the rest of us. They just do so alone.

But couldn’t they just be with someone else?

Now Atlas’ mother shook her head. They could try. But if there’s someone else you were meant for, you’ll never experience true happiness until you find them.

That sounds...depressing, the girl said.

Atlas shook his head. It’s romantic. You just have to hold out until you find your mate.

And be alone and miserable until then, she scoffed back. No thanks.

All the adults exchanged looks, indulgent little smiles that said they knew the little girl didn’t know what she was talking about and was just speaking out of her youthful ignorance. Well, no one can make you wait for your mate, dear, Atlas’ mother said. But when you find them, you’ll understand. Anything you had with someone else will pale in comparison with what you feel for your mate.

It’s like...seeing color for the first time, someone else added. You see your mate and suddenly the world blooms into color and sounds that you never even thought possible.

For me, it was like warmth, another person chimed in. Like the warmest blanket suddenly wrapping around me when I hadn’t even known I was cold.

They all went around, trading stories of how they’d felt when their mate had walked into their lives, and Atlas was hungry for it. He wanted to know how it would feel when he found his own mate. Would they feel the same thing? Would they look at each other and just know? Would it be someone he’d known already and one day their eyes would meet? There were so many possibilities for how it would work and as each couple added their story to the pile in his head, Atlas entertained the idea of meeting his mate that way.

Korokali people tended to know how their lives would go from a young age. They were suited for certain tasks and they went and did them. Atlas knew he was going to join the warrior sect when he was old enough to, and he knew that he would fight to protect his people with everything he had.

He knew that when he found his mate, he would protect her, and that they would have a partnership and make each other happy. She would be sweet and kind and would be waiting for him when he got back from a fight, ready to massage his muscles and make him dinner, and he’d do the same for her when she needed it.

They would be like his parents, happy and equal and so in love that it was a little bit gross. It was so easy to picture it now, even though he knew it was far off in the future. Later that night when they’d returned home and his mother was tucking him into bed, he drifted off, trying to imagine what color hair his mate would have and how it would feel between his fingers.

Prequel Two: In Which Things Fall Apart

Get out! I don’t ever want to see your face here again!

Don’t worry, you won’t have to.

Good! If you ever come back here, I swear I’ll-

I just said you won’t have to see me. Why would I come back here?

"How should I know? I don’t know what goes on in your head! What makes you decide to do stupid stuff like run around with floozies in the middle of the night when your wife and kid are at home worried sick-"

You were not worried. Don’t drag lies into this. And keep your voice down. Kat’s around here somewhere.

You think I care? She should know what a louse her father is!

I’ve never been a bad father to her.

Oh, and cheating on her mother is an example of good parenting all of a sudden! How do you think that makes her feel?

How would you know how she feels?

"I know how I feel!"

And it’s all about you, isn’t it?

There was a crash. Something fragile and probably expensive being thrown against the wall. Kat didn’t flinch. It wasn’t the first time.

For Christ’s sake, Laura!

Next time it’s going to be your head! Get out!

Kat was fourteen years old, and this was hardly the first screaming fight her parents had gotten into. Honestly, she was surprised they’d stayed married this long. Maybe it was for appearances. Maybe it was for her. She’d never asked, afraid that it would upset the balance of the fragile peace that held when she was around them.

But lately, even her presence hadn’t been enough to keep them from screaming at each other, and when it had come out that her mother thought her dad was cheating, well. That had been the end of it.

She sighed and leaned forward, her arms braced on the rusty metal side of the fire escape, legs dangling over the edge. They lived on the fifth floor, so it was a ways up, but there was nowhere really that she could escape the yelling.

Kat thought about just leaving, but she wanted to see her dad before he went to who knows where. Her mother wanted him out, and it was clear he was done trying to stay.

She watched as he made several trips, bringing down boxes and bags of stuff, hastily cleared out of dresser drawers and closets. He seemed like he was trying to get it all out before his wife (soon to be ex-wife) could throw it out or set fire to it.

Kat couldn’t blame him. She’d never seen her mother so incandescently (and that was a great word; Kat was very into words) angry before, even with all the fights she’d witnessed.

But there was probably something about feeling like you’d been betrayed by someone you loved that brought that out in people, so Kat couldn’t really blame her for it. She couldn’t really believe her dad had done something like this, but she hadn’t asked him, either. How did you start that conversation? Hey, Dad, great to see you. So that thing Mom says you did? With the floozies? Did you actually do that or…?

Yeah. Not happening.

So she kept to her perch, flakes of rust crisping off the sun warmed metal bars and sticking to her arms as she leaned against them, watching intently as her dad’s car filled up with his belongings.

Part of her kept expecting to feel something. Sadness, maybe, that her family was being torn apart. But it wasn’t like they’d ever been much of a family to begin with. As long as she could remember her parents had been at odds, and even though she was ashamed of it, there was a tiny part of her that was glad she’d finally be able to get some peace and quiet without all the yelling. Or without the strained silences, which were sometimes louder than the yelling.

No one had asked her opinion about where she would go in all this, and it was just assumed that she’d be staying with her mom.

Kat tried not to take that personally. She was mature enough to understand that it probably wasn’t because her dad didn’t want her and was more because he didn’t know where he was going to end up.

She was already settled here with her school and her friends and a variety of extra-curriculars she had picked up to avoid being home as much as she possibly could. Her dad probably thought it was unfair to take her away from all that, right?

The yelling kept up every time her dad went back into the apartment for another round of stuff, and for the most part Kat blocked it out.

Bits and pieces filtered in: her mother yelling that something her dad was trying to take was hers, her dad retorting that he was the one who’d bought it for her so it was his by right, them yelling over each other so loudly that no individual words could be picked out.

Who even knew what the neighbors thought about all this racket. Most of them were probably used to it, and Kat didn’t actually care if it bothered them. This was her family that was falling apart at the seams, after all. They could just turn their music or televisions up and pretend like it wasn’t happening because it had nothing to do with them.

Sometimes she wished she had the same luxury.

The door slammed inside, and her dad came out of the building with what appeared to be his last bundle. He shoved it into the car and then shut the door, sighing and slumping slightly.

He looked older than usual. His hair was the same near black color that hers was, curly where hers was straight, and she could see how weary he was in his posture. Kat wondered if he’d actually cheated on her mother or if it was just a convenient excuse to get out of a marriage that was clearly driving them both insane.

Nathaniel Pierce was a professor at the local university and a good father by all accounts. He was the kind of father who picked her and her friends up from the mall and made horrible jokes the whole way home once he’d dropped the others off. He was the kind of father who took her to the fair and to the library and read her essays for school and told her that he thought she was brilliant and destined for great things. Kat didn’t think he was the kind of father who cheated, but that was more a husband thing than a father thing, and she couldn’t vouch for what kind of husband he was.

She watched him straighten up and then look directly at her on her perch, one eyebrow raised. Katlyn blushed, wondering how long he’d known that she was up there.

Can you come down here for a sec? he called. And be careful.

Kat nodded and stood up, brushing off the back of her shorts as she made her way down the narrow metal stairs, her shoes echoing off the steps as she did. She hopped down the last few to the concrete of the street behind their building and walked up to her dad, hands in her pockets.

This was going to be awkward.

So, her dad said, running fingers through his dark curls.

So, Kat echoed.

You heard all of that.

She nodded. I always do.

He winced, looking actually pained. Of course. Look, Kat, I just...I just want you to know that this doesn’t have anything to do with you, okay? This isn’t about you. Any of it.

I know, Kat replied. You’re never fighting about me. Not really. It’s always about coming home late and the groceries not getting bought and having to go to Grandma’s and now about the floozies.

Katlyn, he scolded. That’s not a nice word.

She shrugged at him. Sorry.

I know you’re upset, alright? And you have every right to be, to be honest. This...well, it isn’t fair to you to have to deal with this, and we were going to try to keep things together until you were old enough to go off to college and not have to worry about it, but four more years of this just… He sighed. Well, that didn’t seem fair to anyone.

Dad, Katlyn said, looking up at him incredulously. Did you think it was working before? I don’t think I woulda wanted to deal with four more years of you and Mom either cursing each other out or pretending like the other doesn’t exist. That sucked a lot. And yeah, this sucks, too, but maybe it’s better. I dunno. If you two don’t love each other…

We do love each other, Kat, it’s just...complicated.

That sounds like a load of crap.

"Katlyn."

I’m sorry, Dad, but it does. If you loved each other, you wouldn’t be like this. You’d work it out.

He sighed again, rubbing at his temples. It’s not that simple.

Why not? Kat demanded. Because of the floozies?

"There weren’t any floozies," her dad insisted.

Mom thinks there were.

Your mother thinks a lot of things, he said, voice tense. And I wish she wouldn’t say things like that around you.

I’m not a little kid, you know. I get it. You two don’t work. It’s fine. This is probably better than you trying to pretend, right?

Nathaniel shook his head and looked at his daughter with tired eyes. "You’re so much more grown up than we give you credit for, aren’t you? Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry. That I won’t be around, that you’re going to have to deal with your mother alone. I’ll call you when I get settled and you can come over whenever you want, okay? Whenever you need a break. Your mom and I don’t work, but you’re still my favorite daughter, and I’m