Bright Star

by E G Manetti

  »◊«

  As host, milord was obligated to taste every dish offered to his guests, an elaborate variety so that all his guests could have what pleased. Overly full and grateful that milord preferred watered wine, Lilian hovers at milord’s left shoulder as the elite of Bright Star exit the feast to join the entertainment.

  A martial arts display stage has been raised in the center of the ceremonial chamber. Five discipline masters stand in naught but trial thongs and short boots. Unarmed challenge will be followed by armed challenge with guarded blades.

  “Lilian, select the first display.” Milord’s voice holds the smile his expression lacks.

  Unaware of her lifting in expression, Lilian lightly fingers her conservator’s seal as she steps toward the stage. Milord has forgiven her lapse. Sending her hand into the clear container, Lilian flips the tokens into a wild dance. There will be no outcry of ‘cheat’ at her selection. Grasping a smooth chip, Lilian pulls it forth and raises it without looking.

  “Socraide and Mulan,” Nickolas calls from the gathered throng, reading out the chip designation. Finding the protégé from his cry, Lilian tosses the chip. With a deft catch, the protégé nods at Lilian and presents the token to Lucius and his fellow Bright Star governors. At their nods, Lucius raises the chip overhead. The discipline masters engage.

  From her position, Lilian scans the assemblage for Damien. Twice her gaze circuits the chamber. The blonde warrior is nowhere to be seen. In disfavor so soon? It seems unlikely, yet what other possible reason could there be for his absence? Perhaps Fletcher or Nickolas will know something. It will need to wait until First Day. They dare not discuss their intrigue here.

  Returning her gaze to milord, Lilian watches a lovely Leonardo seigneur place a single finger on milord’s hand. At his nod, she leans in to whisper softly in his ear. Her position offers milord an unhindered view of cleavage and what Lilian is certain is a lingerie-free figure. After a moment, milord straightens and smiles, shaking his head infinitesimally. The lovely woman smiles in return and shrugs gracefully. Her offer is not withdrawn.

  Sending her attention to the martial display, Lilian focuses on its artistry. Socraide’s precision is countered by the tumbling style of Mulan. Mulan’s wild assault is thwarted by Socraide’s structured defense. A rustling in the throng indicates the prevalence of wagering.

  After five minutes, Lilian favors Mulan’s Master. At ten, she is certain. At fifteen minutes, she is proven as Mulan topples Socraide from the stage. Cheers and good-natured groans greet the defeat as the losers forfeit their wagers. A moment later, the match chime sounds as the Socraide Master mounts the stage. Both discipline masters bow in deference to each other and acknowledgment of the nearly two hundred appreciative elite.

  “Lilian, yield to Master Fletcher,” Milord calls.

  Nodding obedience to milord, Lilian turns to Fletcher as he approaches. As he steps to the chip urn, Fletcher flashes an encouraging grin at Lilian and whispers, “When Monsignor Lucius wills it, his stride can outstrip my moon-race flyer.”

  He did not voice that! Fletcher’s irreverent commentary on Lilian’s earlier lapse reflects a nature as incorrigible as Rebecca’s. Not that Fletcher lacks truth. Lilian is certain that did milord will it, milord could out-stride the planet’s rotation. Forcing back the ridiculous thought and a desire to laugh, Lilian enters the throng, invigorated by Fletcher’s unanticipated support.

  Noting the lightening in Lilian’s countenance, Lucius is curious. The moon racer is well regarded within the Cartel. That he is friend to Lilian is interesting. The young man has naught to gain from the association. Lucius will pay more attention to Kemeha and his protégé Fletcher.

  »◊«

  “Blooded Dagger is beguiled; that slut needs discipline,” Martin growls at his companion as he watches Lilian in rapt conversation with a Leonardo associate.

  “Cannot imagine what attracts Blooded Dagger,” Gregor Matawan remarks, following Martin’s gaze. The Matahorn associate was eager to renew his association with Martin Argon. They traveled similar, debauched paths at the university. With Martin newly come to the Third System and Crevasse City, Gregor happily exploited the highly placed protégé for entrance to the most extravagant and excessive of Indulgences.

  “Probably good with her mouth,” Martin hazards. “She spends sufficient middays employing it.”

  “Doxy tricks,” Gregor agrees. “At least you were able to offer her a strong lesson awhile back.”

  “Monsignor Sebastian was well-enough pleased,” Martin acknowledges.

  “Is that why you were not served as the Volsteds?” Gregor asks. “As I recall, all that befell you was a brief holiday on Sinead’s World.”

  Martin is not about to admit he is banned from Bright Star. “It was well witnessed that I did not overstep the protocols. I did not realize Mercio was so enamored of his doxy.”

  Gregor blinks at the slur. “Enamored, you say?”

  “Too strong,” Martin retreats. Even he will not dare suggest that Lucius Mercio harbors illicit affections for his apprentice. “Enticed is better. Her skills must be exceptional. I would not have thought it.”

  “You would have not have lessoned her?” Gregor inquires.

  “I would have allowed her to draw my blood,” Martin contradicts. “She would have been caned for certain.”

  “She blooded Volsted without reprisal,” Gregor challenges.

  “Different matter.” Martin takes another glass from a passing servitor. “Without provocation, three drunken louts assaulted her on the public transitway with a clear intent to violate Mercio’s property rights. It is hardly equivalent to a Cartel training chamber lesson delivered to a doxy by one of my rank and lineage.”

  “Her existence is provocation,” Gregor declares, finishing his drink and signaling for another.

  “Monsignor Sebastian would agree,” Martin nods. “I expect Monsignor Horatio as well.”

  “Broken Blade?” Gregor questions. “Why would Monsignor Horatio have an interest?”

  “He is not pleased to have that tainted doxy as part of Bright Star,” Martin states with conviction. It may even be true. Martin has no means to know. He is certain that Gregor has even less knowledge of Horatio’s will despite that overly familiar ‘Broken Blade.’

  Swallowing his vodka, Gregor watches as Nickolas engages with Lilian and Aidan from the Leonardo Society.

  “Truly is an undisciplined slut,” Gregor mutters.

  “Yes, she is,” Martin confirms. “And the one who proves it may well have Lucius Mercio’s gratitude, as well as that of Grey Spear and Broken Blade.”

  21. The Five Warriors’ Festival

  With their alliance, the Order of the Warriors was established. Systemic stellar warfare ceased. Civil unrest, piracy, and regional conflicts continued well into the third century, disrupting commerce throughout the then Eight Systems. To protect their growing wealth and provide temporary havens for the devoted, the Warrior Shrines became fortresses of order as well as archives. What are now sacred pools were once water sources. Light and air were circulated by the fireburst niches and roof openings.

  Although more elaborately ornamented in the modern era, shrine architecture and Warrior Ring formation are unaltered since the third century. Beginning with the Shrine of the First at slightly east of true north, a clockwise progression moves southeast to the Shrine of the Third Warrior, Mulan and Socraide’s first ally among the warlords. South of Mulan’s Shrine is the Shrine of the Second Warrior, Rimon Ben Claude. As Mulan served as a buffer between the First and the Second Warriors, so does her shrine. Sinead’s Shrine follows, located between those of her allies, Rimon and Jonathan Metricelli. The northern wall of the Fourth’s Shrine holds the Adelaide Alcove, which faces Socraide’s Shrine in reflection of her dual loyalties. ~ excerpt from The Foundations of Order, a scholarly treatise.

  Sevenday 44, Day 4

  “Katleen, do not forget your water vial,” Lilian admonis
hes as she places hard-cooked eggs with the fruit, cheese, and bread already in their satchels. “We will be several bells in the Warrior Ring before reaching the festival vendors.”

  As Katleen obediently fills the vial, Lilian glances sharply at the flimsy silver sandals Katleen has donned for the Ring Walk. The delicate footgear complements Katleen’s flowing tunic and mid-calf skirt in Sinead’s peridot green and silver. The bright color sets Katleen’s pale skin glowing and brings her red-gold ringlets into brilliant relief. The graceful style, cinched with the silver belt that was Maman’s gift, displays the exuberant energy of the young girl’s form.

  “Did not Maman instruct you to wear your training boots?” Lilian continues to stare at Katleen’s feet.

  “Lilian, they are not as nice,” Katleen protests with a whine at the thought of the well-worn black ankle boots. “And you know how it is with Maman.”

  “I know that whenever possible, Maman is to receive a daughter’s duty from both of us,” Lilian returns coolly. “Warriors honor their parents and genetic ancestors as befits those descended from the Shades.”

  With a huff, Katleen challenges, “Well I’m not a warrior. Neither are you. Gariten saw to that.”

  “Katleen!” Abandoning the satchels, Lilian grasps Katleen by the shoulders. “What ails you this day? You are dedicated to Sinead Standingbear and will one day be consecrated. You are a warrior by faith, if not rank. Nor does lack of warrior status justify a failure to honor the Warriors and their tenets. Think you Chrys or Rebecca or Clarice lack devotion or honor?”

  Hanging her head toward the pink-tinted toenails peeping out from the contested sandals, Katleen mumbles, “I beg pardon, Lilian. I did not mean it. Only the boots are old and scuffed. The new garb is lovelier without them and I wish to wear your gift.”

  Katleen lightly strokes the soft linen and silk blend as she offers contrition.

  Adelaide aid me. Other than the necessities of academy uniforms and training garb, Katleen’s attire is pulled from the remains of Lilian’s university wardrobe. The somewhat haphazard results make the newly purchased festival garb and sandals all the more precious. Nor is Lilian oblivious to Katleen’s fascination with Chrys and its impact on her desire to appear at her best. Raising a hand to Katleen’s curls, Lilian suggests, “The sandals weigh naught. Add them to your satchel. You may change for the picnic.”

  “Truly, Lilian?” Katleen’s head rises and her sunny smile appears. “You are so brilliant. I had not thought of that.”

  Helena had demanded that Katleen don footwear suitable for a warrior pilgrimage. Once the Ring Walk is done, their pilgrimage ends. Delighted by Lilian’s solution, Katleen skips away, leaving the satchels to Lilian.

  »◊«

  “Lilian, they are here, hurry!” Katleen calls excitedly up the staircase even as Lilian descends.

  Unlike Katleen, Lilian is in the battle garb required for commoners who have made their devotion and warriors who have passed their competency trial. Katleen is still several years from competence with Sinead’s Discipline and the right to don battle garb for the festival. Lilian’s black tunic, trousers, and ankle boots are the same she donned for her consecration, as is the black leather belt from which hangs her thorn and the scarlet conservator’s seal. In the unlikely event that they encounter Lucius Mercio, Katleen will lift the sheathed thorn from Lilian’s belt and tuck it away to avoid stricture violation.

  Reaching the entry hall, warrior’s queue swinging with her haste, Lilian momentarily mourns the Artesia nape ties lost in milord’s office the day Seigneur Marco announced Bright Star. It is a brief vanity, quickly dismissed in anticipation of the day’s activities.

  “Master Chrys, Mistresses Rebecca and Clarice, well come!” Katleen calls as she springs down the front steps, Lilian a pace behind her.

  “Well met, Mistress Katleen.” The trio chimes in return. Douglas, Aristides’ apprentice and Socraide’s devoted, stands quietly to one side as he awaits introduction. It takes but moments. Shortly after ninth bell, a small parade sets out from the base of the steps. As Lilian leads the way, Katleen weaves among the apprentices, always careful to step between Lilian and Chrys when the movement places them together. It is an attractive group. Those watching cannot fail to note that Serengeti continues to select its apprentices for comeliness as well as merit.

  It is a perfect day and the Garden Center is already well populated as Lilian’s complement approaches the Warrior Ring. The lack of interest in their passage is further confirmation that Lilian’s notoriety is fading even as the conservator’s seal dangling from her belt increases their safety. Even better, Lilian notes that the small crowd of young men they pass barely glance at her as their eyes follow the alluring forms of Clarice and Rebecca. It had not occurred to Lilian, but in her drab black, she is barely visible among her comely companions in their vivid festival dress.

  The external path that surrounds the structures is the foundation of a long-dismantled barrier wall. Acreage that was once used for crops has yielded to an appealing arrangement of small gardens and water features.

  As spokes to a wheel, the pathways from the external path pass between the shrines, which face inward to an elegantly landscaped circular plaza and central fountain. As each pathway intersects the interior ring path, waiting shrine attendants intercept the devoted and provide a token to the group leader. It indicates the shrine where their pilgrimage will begin and the direction, clockwise or counterclockwise.

  “Katleen, you must claim the token,” Chrys insists to sounds of agreement from the other apprentices.

  Glowing at the honor, Katleen skips forward and pulls a small disk from the basket. Holding it high, she exclaims, “The Second Warrior! Clockwise!”

  Spinning, Katleen bounces to Rebecca, who is splendid in a tightly tailored tunic and trousers in Rimon’s royal blue and silver.

  Presenting a small silver coin, Katleen offers, “Mistress Rebecca, the festival coin is yours. May the Second favor you in the coming year!”

  Rimon Ben Claude, Rebecca’s patron Shade, marks the start of the sacred rotation. Tradition holds that the devoted who begins the rotation gains extra benefit from her patron Shade, purchased by the small silver shrine coin every member of the complement adds to Rebecca’s shrine offering.

  Holding the devotional offering in her clasped hands, Rebecca leads the way through the two-storey, riveted steel doors of Rimon’s Shrine. An uneven pentagon, Rimon’s Shrine is entered through its western face. The two far walls come together at a forty-five-degree angle pointed east. Within the point is a wrought iron effigy, nine feet in height. Rimon Ben Claude is depicted in battle triumph, one foot on a fallen enemy, fire-pistol in one hand and saber in the other. Both arms are raised in victory, his mouth wide in a battle cry.

  Ten feet aboveground and accessed by a raised gallery, narrow windows typical of shrine architecture imitate ancient fireburst slits and ring the exterior of the shrine. In the center of the shrine is a pool of water that reflects the bright sky visible through the wide opening in the ceiling. The devotional area in front of the effigy has been sectioned into three stations, with another three temporary stations established around the perimeter of the shrine.

  As Lilian hoped, the shrines are lightly attended at the early bell. Only two of the devotional stations at the effigy are in use.

  “This way.” A pudgy Rimon acolyte directs the low-status group to a temporary station away from the effigy and then remains to observe the lovely Rebecca.

  Rebecca places her small pile of silver coins at the feet of a miniature version of Rimon’s effigy before collecting the shrine blade to slice her little finger. After anointing the silver, Rebecca cleans and replaces the blade and then steps back and bows to the small statue. The financial offering is followed by physical devotion as Rebecca executes a stylized and abbreviated version of Rimon’s Discipline.

  “Rebecca, you have done well in your training,” Lilian remarks as the group passes
through a side exit nearest to Sinead’s Shrine.

  “You do well in the classes,” Clarice chimes in. “So much better than at first.”

  When Rebecca first attended a Cartel training class, her skills proved so poor that she was not allowed to remain.

  “Seigneur Thorvald is an excellent instructor,” Rebecca returns as they enter Sinead’s Shrine. Discovering Rebecca’s limited skills and favoring the lovely blonde, the militia seigneur added training sessions to his midday attendance requests. Lilian is certain that Rebecca enjoys both the instruction and the militia seigneur’s attentions.

  “Well come, devoted.” Helena’s greeting ends the discussion of Rebecca’s skills. To Lilian’s intense relief, the seer is not in a talkative mood. Silently, Helena guides them through the gray stone hexagon of Sinead’s Shrine, past the devotional pool with its elaborate fountain of bronze, silver, and gold glass, and halts before the bronze, silver, and gold statue of Sinead braced for battle. Warrior’s queue constraining her hair, the Fifth Warrior has a fire-rifle slung across her back, fire-pistols on her hips. Her right hand clasps the hilt of a short sword while her left hand hovers over a dagger at her thigh. She is the only effigy in the ring that is smiling.

  The seer’s daughter will make her devotions at the prominent central station. Not yet proven competent, Katleen does not demonstrate Sinead’s Discipline after anointing the shrine offering with her blood. Instead, she pulls a small set of silver pipes from her satchel. Lilian’s gift on Katleen’s tenth birth festival, the antique instrument yields a familiar, haunting melody.

  Pleased by her sister’s choice of devotion, and lacking even minor musical ability, Lilian softly recites the well-known prayer. I am the sum of my ancestors. I am the foundation of my family. Honor is my blade and shield. Honor knows not fear. Honor endures. Honor acts as duty commands.