I drew back the curtain and sat at the seat beside his bed. My father smiled and held my hand. His grip was weak. “You look so grown,” he said, no more than a whisper. “Akani did a wonderful job on your hair.”
“It hurts my head,” I said.
My father laughed, which was followed by a fit of coughing. “Only for a night more. Then you can wear it however you want, hm?”
I lowered my gaze, saying nothing.
He shifted, sitting up further in bed. Even that was a strain, and perspiration trickled down his temple as he winced. “Issu tells me your forms are perfect.”
I smiled. “The Blademaster is a liar.”
My father pinched my cheek and I was brought back to when I was younger. He would speak to Akani in the main hall and I’d race in, rumpled and unkempt from rolling around in the dirt, and he would shout with laughter, lift me up, and spin me round-and-round. The man before me now couldn’t lift his own weight out of bed, let alone me.
My heart palpitated.
“Tomorrow, after the Second Rite, you will be escorted to the Ophal Headquarters.”
His sudden statement shook me from my misery. I stared at him, stunned.
“The system war is getting closer to our skies, Laith. If it ever is to come, the OSC wishes to preserve its leaders. That is you now.”
So, that was why the OSC craft had landed here. “And you? And our people?”
My father shook his head, his response interrupted by another cough. “After tonight I will no longer be Dezidke, and I fear that after another season I will no longer be alive.”
And that did it. I hung my head and let the tears stream down my face. He tried to hush me, but my shoulders continued to heave. “I don’t want to go,” I pleaded. “I don’t want to leave you, or anyone else. Father, I don’t trust the OSC. Why would they take anyone from Svissa to preserve? They tried to kill us before.”
“That was a different time. There is peace now. By honoring their invitation to keep you safe, you will uphold our treaty and keep our people safe.”
“But… But how can I leave you here to die alone? What if the war comes before you are dead and the rebels find you?”
“Then the rebels find me. Laith, this is your birthright. Staying here and dying with me won’t do us any good.”
My father was right. He was right and I hated him for it.
I wiped my eyes, not responding.
His fingers brushed the side of my damp cheek. They were trembling. “You are strong and brave, and I am so proud of you. So proud that I am entrusting our future in your hands.”
I took his hand and entwined my fingers with his, pressing them against my forehead. “I will go.”
My father smiled and closed his eyes. “Visit me again, after the Rite.”
“Will you not be there?”
“I will be watching from the balcony.”
I nodded, and stood. My father had used all his strength to speak to me, and fell asleep again before I had even closed the curtain.
Holding my throat, trying not to vomit from a choking feeling, I left his chambers and fled the citadel.
*
The Twin God Tree, situated at the edge of the citadel grounds, stood taller than any other seedling on Jabron Isle. It was the only one remaining from the Great Forest, and behind it spanned a wild meadow that had risen from the ashes of our most sacred place. Nothing was built there; it was forbidden. To even walk across the meadow would curse you and your family for generations.
I wasn’t sure if I believed in our faith anymore. Not completely, anyway.
For centuries our lore was passed down by the tribecouncil and we followed it both fearfully and with the utmost devotion, but ever since the OSC moved into our world, bringing with it inexplicable gadgets and other things we could only describe as magical, many of us questioned the faith. Over the years dozens of citadel members and Jabron citizens moved to Ophal-III to modernize themselves. Others went to trade schools off-world and never returned, even though they’d promised to. Our culture and tradition were dying, and most of the still-devout blamed the alien colonizers for it. Svissa prohibited most forms of technology that the Ophal Confederation had introduced to our world. The only time I ever saw any of it was when they’d come each season for trade. Those who had left and returned spoke of their technology like one might a miracle. The older citizens simply spat on the ground to protect themselves from Kenlila’s wrath and avoided the topic.
The Twin Gods, Kenlila and Garante, were our patron deities and figureheads of the Evgani pantheon. Their Great Tree, which I sat beneath on a rock overlooking a tiny spring, was said to be a tangible portal between the gods’ realm and ours. I’d come here alone only a handful of times between mandatory worship with the tribecouncil.
I didn’t fully believe in our lore anymore but there was something calming about this place anyway. Tranquil. Maybe it was the way the sun shone through the violet and blue leaves, leaving spears of light in a circular array around the grove, or the sound of birds singing afternoon songs in the distance. Trinkets and idols left as tribute to the Twin Gods glinted around its wide, sand-white trunk. Coincidentally my stomach stopped churning the instant I’d sat.
For a moment I just stared at my reflection in the spring, thinking about nothing. Then my gaze moved slowly to the symbols etched into the trunk of the sacred tree. Evgani script, like the ones on my father’s chamber door; only Dezid lineage and the tribecouncil were allowed to speak to the gods. I’d never tried to speak to them, but now felt I must.
I slipped my dagger from the belt around my dress, not yet sure of what to write. I needed to make my mark—leave something of myself, in case I never came back. I felt a tear trickle down my cheek as the dagger’s blade shook inches from a patch of unmarred bark.
And then a twig snapped.
I spun, wiping my face.
It was a … man?
I wasn’t sure if it was really a man. I’d never seen anything like him.
He stood a little ways from the grove, a hand resting on a tree near the stone path leading to the spring. His skin was as white as the bark of the Twin Gods’ Tree, his hair and clothes stark black—even blacker than tar. The features of his face were not that of any type of OSC citizen I’d seen, and it bared no expression. A symbol glowed from the breast of his clothes and his eyes were the same fiery color. Magic.
For the next several seconds I did nothing but stare at him, and he at me. Neither of us moved. I didn’t dare breathe. Was he one of the gods? Which one?
“Laith?” called another voice from behind me. Startled, I looked up at Housekeeper Akani, who looked down at me with a troubled frown. “You’re going to be late for the feast, child.”
I looked back toward the path. The man with the burning eyes was gone. Had she not seen him?
“I…” I said, stalling for time, trying to find a suitable response to whatever she’d just said. I hadn’t been listening. “Yes.”
Akani searched my face. It was evident from her expression that she’d noticed I’d been crying. I looked away in shame. She laid a hand gently on my shoulder. “Come, child,” she said again. “You can pray to the Twin Gods tonight.”
II
THE DRUMS BEAT STEADY AND I WATCHED the crowd gather on the citadel field—the very same field on which I’d played ‘kitch earlier today, but you wouldn’t know it now.
A massive fire was framed by large stones arranged in a circle, marking a path toward the seat of the tribecouncil. There were thirty of them, mostly elders, some younger initiates, all slowly making their way to watch the beginning of the ceremony. Shamans blessed the fire by spitting spirits into it, making it roar angrily. They reached into their satchels and tossed handfuls of colored powder, turning the flames from orange to green. Cleansing the space was a necessary ritual. The Twin Gods must give their permission for the Rite to begin.
I watched from the pavilion as the attendees gathered, careful not
to let anyone see me. My skin itched from the ornamental paint applied by the shaman after the feast, and I tried my best to ignore it. There wasn’t a massive crowd—only the most prominent families and friends of the citadel—but still my stomach flipped at the thought of having to perform in front of so many eyes. No one had ever considered me to be a shy girl; usually I was the opposite, but right now I wanted to crawl into a hole. One misstep during my forms or mistake of the recitations could result in the gods’ rejection of my Rite. There would be no one to succeed my father.
No pressure; none at all.
Somewhere in the crowd Kessu waited with his family. The idea of screwing up in front of him was even more terrifying than any divine judgment passed.
Blademaster Issu appeared in front of the pavilion, blocking my line of view with a pretend frown. The fire behind him framed his body in an orange glow. “No peeking, Kappo.”
I stepped back, allowing him entry. Housekeeper Akani wasn’t too far behind. She fussed over my costume and paint, even though I’d barely moved since everything was applied. I let her, only half-hearing her lukewarm encouragement that my father was watching.
“How are you feeling?” asked Issu, sensing my duress.
“Like I’m going to throw up,” I said.
“Stop watching the crowd and overthinking everything. Practice your forms and recitations instead. Be productive.”
I nodded, but did nothing of the sort.
Just then two men in armor appeared at the pavilion. The design was that of OSC military. They asked for Akani to accompany her to meet the Warden. I didn’t know what that meant, and neither did she apparently, as she left us wearing a confused frown. Issu defused the situation by placing his hands on my shoulders, forcing me to look at him.
“You will do just fine. You’ve been ready for years.”
“I know,” I said, looking back toward the entrance. Why were the OSC guards here—one of the most sacred occasions of the Evgani? The tribecouncil would have never allowed this.
With that Issu left to take his place at the fire with the council. It would be only moments until the ceremony began. I spent the remainder of the time searching through the shadowy crowd for another glimpse of the soldiers. I’d forgotten all about my nerves.
The fire was so hot by the time the Rite began that midway I was drenched in sweat. Judging by the cheers and rhythmic claps of the spectators, I’d executed my forms perfectly. The spar with a selected soldier caused uproar as I dismantled him and he knelt before me, his knife laying in the grass several feet away. That, of course, had all been choreographed. There was no way that I could have taken the weapon from a grown man with decades of combat experience. Everyone knew it, but they didn’t care.
The recitation marked the final part of the Second Rite. I stood in front of the tribecouncil as they judged me somberly, resisting the urge to wipe sweat from my cheeks. Their faces were the only ones I could fully see, illuminated by the blazing glow of the fire. The crowd had fallen eerily silent. The anticipation clung thickly to the air.
It was then when my heart began to race. My stomach bubbled. I kept a straight face.
Sezu, one of the eldest of the tribecouncil, stood and raised his hand. The recitation commenced.
*
Who are you now?
Kenlila’s shield. Garante’s apostle.
Who do you wish to become?
Kenlila’s sword. Garante’s voice.
With my dagger I made a clean slice across my palm, soiling the ground with my blood. Before the tribecouncil I knelt, stabbing the grass, leaving my dagger embedded so my blood and the dirt could mix.
The tribecouncil members left their seats and lined up at the fire. I stayed on bended knee, eyes trained on the ground, as one by one they poured a cup of blessed water onto the fire. At the second to last member, the fire fizzled out, leaving only embers and smolder that plumed into the night sky. The Twin Gods had spoken. No contest.
“Rise, Dezidko Laith,” boomed Sezu.
I did, and the crowd enclosed me with cheers. I was swept up by Issu into a big hug, while others touched my arms and head in admiration. The drums picked up and part of the crowd began to dance. I turned to see Kessu standing near the tribecouncil. He waved when our eyes met. I started toward him, but someone called to me and I looked right, toward the sound.
Housekeeper Akani stood between the two OSC soldiers that I’d seen before the ceremony. Her posture was rigid and her arms were crossed; it was clear she was uncomfortable standing with them. The soldier on the right had removed his helmet, holding it tucked under an arm. Rosy skin, sandy hair, square-jaw, small nose, thin lips and heavy brows—typical traits of an Ophal native. His build was short and broad, made even broader by his armor. His eyes held mine; his expression seemed gentle enough that I approached without fear.
“Dezidko,” said Akani, bowing her head. Her formalities took me off guard, but then again she was no longer my superior. Never would she call me child again. Such a realization made me sad. “Your father told you about your journey to Ophal-I?”
“Yes,” I said, eyeing the unmasked soldier. “Are you my escort?” I spoke to him in broken Ovam, tongue of the Confederacy.
The unmasked soldier shook his head. “We won’t be escorting you, Your Grace. We have brought someone here for that.”
The soldiers stepped back from Akani, revealing a shadowy figure situated several feet behind her. The figure approached as the soldiers retreated further. My breath caught in my throat as a pair of fiery eyes burned into mine.
It was him.
He was my escort?
Shaken, I took a tiny step back before catching myself. I stood firm then, not allowing my fear to show. The man stood next to Akani; listless, unexpressive.
“Dezidko, let me introduce Ziranel Throm,” said Akani, carefully. “The Confederacy has sent the very best that they could find to act as your warden on the journey to Ophal-I.”
Zee-ra-nell.
“You’re not from Ophal-III,” I said in Ovam.
“I am not,” he responded, in perfect Evgani. The corner of his mouth crooked upwards, amused by my surprise.
“Which Confederate world are you from?” I asked.
“None.”
I hesitated, looking to Akani. She only nodded assuredly. “You have many questions, Dezidko. There will be time to get acquainted with Ziranel before you leave. We must speak to your father now.” Akani retreated from the crowd with the soldiers. Ziranel lingered, looking me over once more.
“Congratulations, Dezidko,” he said, gesturing to the celebration around us. His voice was neither deep nor light, but somewhere in the middle. He turned to follow my Housekeeper toward the citadel.
“Ziranel,” I called, and he paused.
“You were at the Twin Gods’ Tree earlier today.”
He turned and faced me, saying nothing.
“Why?” I demanded. “Why were you there, watching me?”
“I was exploring; I didn’t mean to come across you,” he said. “And please, call me Zira.”
Before I could respond he melded into the crowd, becoming shadow once again.
I was left there stunned, watching the place where’d been moments ago. He’d spoken perfect Evgani; not even an accent. Never before had an off-worlder sounded so native.
Someone bumped me lightly while they danced, shaking me from my trance. Then Kessu was at my side, patting me on the back. “You did great, Laith.”
“You should call me Dezidko now,” I teased.
“No way,” he laughed.
Our moment of pleasantries was knifed by the realization that he and I would never play another game of ‘kitch. Come tomorrow, there was a chance that I would never see him again at all.
I swallowed hard, looking away. Kessu sensed my grief.
“Laith, what’s the matter?” he asked.
“I’m leaving,” I managed, near-whisper.
His expressio
n switched from concern to… something else. It was rigid. “When?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“I can’t tell you,” I said. “I’m not allowed to say anything.” I shouldn’t have even told him I was leaving, but he was my best friend; he deserved to know.
Kessu lowered his gaze, nodding. “Well, can you dance with me then?”
“Of course,” I said, forcing a smile. Then I caught a glimpse of Sezu seated with the tribecouncil behind Kessu, watching the celebration. He waved me over. “But later.” Kessu looked at me in question and I nodded to the elder. He immediately understood.
“Find me,” said Kessu before joining a group of acquaintances and dancing off into the crowd.
Issu sat with the council. He cheered when I reached the dwindling fire. All of them sipped from mugs of fermented juice. Even though I was now their Queen, I was not permitted to consume such drinks for another year by Evgani Law. Funny, that.
Disregarding the law, Issu handed me his mug. I looked to Sezu in caution, but he only held up his own in salute. I sipped the drink, cringing at the pungent aftertaste. The council laughed as I handed the mug back to Issu, shaking my head in disgust.
“She’s still Kappo,” said Issu. “You’re only an adult when alcohol tastes good.”
“No adult likes the taste of alcohol,” said Sezu. “Our worldview just sours and then alcohol makes it sweet again.” To me, he asked, “You are leaving us tomorrow, hm?”
“Not willingly,” I responded.
He studied my face. I made sure to let him see the defiance that scorched my insides. “You are not abandoning us, Dezidko. You are preserving us. Whatever happens here, we live on through you.”
“I don’t see a point of preserving something that is gone, Elder. If Svissa is destroyed, then what will I be Dezidko of? Ashes?”
Covenants: Elegy (Hymn of the Multiverse Book 8) Page 2