"But not everyone holds the Captain, I mean the Hadarr, in such high regard."
“Some in the Line of Elders do not. We might be more open than the people in our home system, but some of us still hold tightly to old traditions."
"I heard your people had fractured into three groups. They call you the Separatists."
"That is correct. Providing all goes well, those that call themselves the Enlightened will join us. My other brothers…well, they call themselves the Traditionalists for a reason, but we might win them over in time."
"Yet you have Kragak with more traditional leanings on the Foundry. What if they chose to attack us?"
"We have most of the Line of Elders, and half of the Circle of Shaman. It is true that some still feel loyalty for the Way of Warriors, but the right of hospitality will be observed during your stay aboard the Foundry, especially with representatives of all three Kragak groups on board. They would never attack a marked guest, even if some do still hate Terrans. If the Hadarr truly can give us the ability to reproduce again, perhaps he can change their hatred also."
"Giving your people back their ability to reproduce might not be enough?"
"It remains to be seen."
Clio didn’t like the implications of more Kragak in the galaxy. "Even if Grimshaw could, why should he? What would stop you from increasing your numbers and rampaging through the Galaxy again? You almost wiped my people out once before. You could try it again."
"That might be how other species think. But not the Kragak. Once an enemy is defeated, he remains defeated. Only the undefeated may challenge the defeated."
"You mean the Kragak will only attack if provoked?"
He nodded solemnly. "Even then, my people may not retaliate. The wounds you Terrans inflicted will scar our culture for many generations. We Kragak live long lives, and some might still live many lives depending on whether they are reborn. Since the war’s end, rebirth takes place at great risk. It will be a very long time before we forget our greatest defeat. We do not wish to repeat that."
"I wish I could believe you."
"Perhaps we will prove this to you in time. From what I understand, you will need allies in a coming battle with the old enemy…the ones you call Aphnai."
"You know about the Aphnai?"
"Of course, but we must not delay. We have almost arrived."
They turned a sharp bend into an area that opened into a cavern of sorts.
"Dolgoth’s Cave," the hunched Shaman announced, spreading his arms.
The cave was a hollowed-out shell of an ancient vessel so far as Clio could tell, though the walls had oxidized so heavily they could have passed for stone. They pushed deeper into the dead vessel and arrived at an area resembling a small jungle. Brown vines choked every surface, and bright green light shone between foliage draping from the high ceiling.
The hanging vines parted like curtains as Shaman Ishmarg pushed his way through, and Clio followed.
She was beginning to think the vegetation would go on forever when they entered a clearing. The vines hung in a broad circle like walls, creating a brown cylinder. A metal ring rested in the middle of the circle. Unlike whatever made up the ship’s carcass, the ring’s material seemed untouched by time. It was well-polished and reflected rainbow colors.
A small table stood to one side. Its surface was shared by a selection of plants, bottles, and other paraphernalia.
"I must prepare." He ambled to the stone table and worked at something. "It will not take long."
Clio had long since realized that the Kragak had a different understanding of distance and time. Or perhaps their L-viruses had not yet had a chance to synch correctly, impacting the quality of shared language. "You said you would have answers. I suspect there’s a computer terminal or something around here that connects to your archives."
"No," he mumbled without turning. "We ask the gods."
Clio thought she saw the vines moving, but when she turned, all was still. She was starting to get a bad feeling about the situation.
"You can speak to them directly?”
He shook his head. "We can speak to their mind."
"So, this is some kind of religious temple?"
"No. This is Dolgoth’s cave. The gods no longer inhabit the temples. Not since they grew angry with the Kragak. They might return, if the Hadarr appeases them."
"It sounds like you know a lot about your gods. Despite how far we’ve come, we humans don’t have the whole god thing figured out. Some believe in one god. Some believe in many, and some don’t believe in any. Do the Kragak have many gods?"
"All are gods and gods are all," he muttered a little louder, making a scraping noise with his tools. "Why so many questions? You are Terran. We are Kragak. Yet, you are interested in our ways?”
"We Terrans have a saying: Know your enemy."
"Good saying. We Kragak have a similar saying." He turned to Clio, offering a bottle filled with a yellow concoction. "Kill your enemy."
"That’s not really similar, but okay." She cocked an eyebrow at the bottle. "Do you expect me to drink that?"
"You are afraid? Fine. I will go first." Shaman Ishmarg covered the opening with a giant thumb and shook the bottle. He tipped the contents into his mouth, draining most of the bottle without so much as a gulp. He scrunched his face and shook his head. "Strong."
"What is it?"
"It is plant liquids." He gestured to the ring in the the clearing. "It allows the circle to speak."
"Speak?"
"To the gods." He nodded. "The cave remembers. It speaks through the circle. If you wish to know, you must stand within. If you are fortunate, the gods will make themselves known.”
"And if not?"
The Shaman merely offered a shrug. He walked to the ring and stepped inside to demonstrate. The ghosts of a dozen Kragak figures dressed in strange armor appeared in the clearing, startling Clio. She couldn’t see any telecaster sensors or lights. The Kragak phantoms fired their weapons back the way they had come before scattering and disappearing through the vines.
"I thought the Kragak didn’t run from their enemies?"
"That is what a warrior today will tell you," Ishmarg said with some derision. "So much honor fills their heads, they have room for nothing else. When the old masters still lived, long ago, the worlds were full of different creatures. With some such creatures, running was the only option."
A being Clio had never seen before stepped into the clearing. Its head, paws, and tail looked solid, but the rest of its body moved like smoke. Ballistics and plasma passed through the creature without impeding its advance. It bounded after the fleeing Kragak and vanished. Her mind boggled at the thought of a creature even the Kragak might fear.
Ishmarg raised the bottle to her. "We can see clearer by drinking."
"Why are you showing me this?"
"I show you how Dolgoth’s Cave works so that you may speak with the gods. But first you must remember as the Terran who came before you."
"A human came here before me?" She tried not to sound suspicious.
“Long ago. He arrived here…injured. He fled his people. They hurt him. Like you, he had touched the Void. He asked that I help you remember when you arrived."
"He knew I would be here? How? Who was he?"
“You must ask the gods, for they remember best." He stepped from the ring and offered her the last of the yellow liquid.
Her interest piqued, she accepted and knocked it back as fast as she could. It didn’t taste half as bad as she expected. She handed the glass bottle back as her head began to spin. She stumbled to the ring and hesitated at the edge, looking over her shoulder at the Shaman.
"How will I know what to ask the ring?"
"You do not need to know." Ishmarg handed her a knife not unlike the one she’d seen Taza carry at times. He drew it across his palm in demonstration. "Draw blood and push the blade into the recess."
Clio accepted the knife and Shaman Ishmarg turned away and walked toward the
vines.
She looked to the circle and back to the Shaman. "You're leaving me here alone with that thing?"
Clio hated how desperate her words sounded. She didn't know what she had to be afraid of. She usually left things like superstition to people like Lieutenant-commander Dann and Riley.
"What happens between you and the gods must remain between you and the gods. I will return when it has been done."
He turned away again and pushed through the vines, leaving Clio in silence.
She looked from the ornate blade in her hands to the circle and squared her shoulders.
Damn, but this is fucking stupid.
"It is and it is not." Someone whispered behind her ear.
Clio spun, searching for whoever had spoken the words. "Who's there? Shaman Ishmarg, is that you?"
"Ishmarg has left this place. Join us."
She looked for the source of the words again and realized they were coming from the metal ring embedded in the rock. "Are you the gods?"
"Call with your blood and we shall answer. Join us."
"Who are you?"
No one answered.
She sighed and checked the ring. It was fashioned from metal with one narrow slit big enough for the knife. She stepped over the rim and waddled to the middle, trying not to lose her balance, feeling half way between drunk and stoned. Whatever was in the concoction was potent.
Clio winced as she drew the blade across her hand and crouched as she slid it into the recess. The ring pulled it from her grip like a magnet and it snapped into place with a satisfying click. She stood upright, fearing she might throw up and the room began to heave. She spread her arms for balance and an invisible force caught her hands, holding her like a concerned friend seeking to guide her. Whispering voices washed through the ring. They flowed into her fingers like the warmth of a fire in winter. They snaked up her arm and wrapped around her neck before delving into the base of her skull. The voices tugged at something, at thoughts and memories she had forgotten; things she didn’t even know were in her head. The voices swished along the sediment, dredging up things both wondrous and horrifying.
A scene materialized in the clearing, vivid and solid just as the Shaman had claimed. A woman crouched over a crib in a small room with simple furnishings. The woman stood upright and turned to face Clio, a grin on her face.
Clio’s eyes widened slowly when she recognized the woman. She had never seen her mother smile.
That means the baby must be…
Clio barely contained a whimper when she noticed the baby’s tuft of copper hair. Her whole body tingled whether from the drink, the machine, the experience, or some combination of all three. "What is the ring doing to me?"
Her heart suddenly beat faster.
"It is searching for what you would like to know," the woman said, smiling unnaturally. "You may ask the ring questions. If it is able, its memories will answer."
Clio’s eyes welled as several questions about her mother sprang to mind.
Why did you abandon me, you heartless bitch?
The scene shifted to a dark Morigan alley with the rain beating down on old cobbled stone. A dark figure wrapped in a soaked cloak pressed through the rain, deeper into the night, a basket under one arm. A baby’s wail tore through the darkness. Clio couldn’t bear to watch.
"No!" she cried.
The scene broke up and rearranged itself into a man standing against a dark backdrop. The cave had disappeared, the vines replaced with rolling rainbows and shifting shadows. As the figure’s features settled into place, Clio thought she recognized him, but she couldn’t put her finger on who he was.
He had a short red beard and wore his long red hair in a bow. He sported a deep scar across one eye. An old injury. The damaged eye had been replaced with an implant.
"Clio, remember to breathe."
She gasped and the dizziness quickly faded. "I’m breathing," was all she could manage.
"Take your time." His words were rich and rang loud and clear. His accent was unusual, but his voice sounded familiar, even comforting.
She wracked her brain trying to remember who the man was. Had he been a resident on Morrigan? No, he looked like a fighter…military type. Had she met him at the academy? Perhaps she had served with him on Colony 115 or even the Sentinel, but that didn’t seem right either.
"Who are you?" she said between breaths.
"Your father."
26
The Golden Krag
Grimshaw and Kaliff marched side-by-side through a broad hall supported on each side by many tall pillars. Between the pillars stood towering armored guards bearing pole weapons, the stances threatening, their visors glowing red. The closer they got to the arena, the louder the thundering of Kragak crowds grew. Grimshaw barely noticed any of it. His mind wandered, trying to make sense of what little he could remember. If only he could recall the visions the device had given him with greater detail, he might know what to say to the elders in the arena.
"Can you at least share the names of the Elders?" he asked, not expecting any useful information in return. He had asked several questions along the way and Kaliff had not been the most forthcoming.
"Twelve Elders sit above the circle. Not all are present at the Line of Elders in the arena. Zavallar sits to the far left. He is second in power only to High-Shaman Garjak. You will have his support if you can win over the others. Captain Haraus of the Unglakt sits to his right. He acknowledges your honor, though his first commander, Skah, stands next in line and he does not. Dossavak is given to strange moods, and his support could blow either way. Aglat and Gindorrg are close companions. They are older than most and often confuse tradition and honor as the old are inclined to do. They will stand against you."
Grimshaw committed the names to memory as best as he could. "High-Shaman Garjak will not be present?”
"The High-Shaman and the Circle of Shaman see to other matters with Agent Lamnon and her companions."
"What kind of matters? Shouldn’t I speak with him before seeing the Elders?"
Kaliff shrugged. "Shaman do not share secrets with mere warriors like me. The Circle of Shaman represent tradition. They have already named you Hadarr and sworn their support. The Line of Elders remain undecided. They represent all Kragak warriors and honor. Of honor and tradition, the first is higher, though we warriors forget as much at times. Without the Line of Elders the Circle of Shaman cannot actively assist you."
"Is there anything I should know about the Line of Elders and how I might sway those who oppose me?”
Kaliff spread his palms. "I have already said more than is customary. Show your honor and the universe will decide."
Grimshaw silently cursed Administrator Li for leading him down the path ill-prepared. Boarding a Kragak station hadn’t been part of the plan. He was supposed to show up, speak to them over the com-link, accept the anti-virus delivery, and leave. Even then, the Zaqaran delegation were supposed to deal with the Kragak, but they were nowhere to be seen.
They reached a set of handled doors so immense Grimshaw had never seen their like. The battles carved into the stone wrought panels made even those of Sentinel Tower seem plain in comparison.
He wanted to ask Kaliff about one particularly horrifying creature that made the carved figures of Krags look like mere blades of grass, but the door clicked open with a mighty thud, and the crowd’s booming screams spilled forth.
They continued through the high stands. Grimshaw expected to turn down one of the adjoining hallways and was surprised when they emerged onto the arena field.
They stopped by a low rail and watched two lumbering Krags wrestling in the sand circle about thirty meters away. The one being pinned down was larger than any Krag Grimshaw had ever seen; a giant among his own kin. He wore golden armor with blades protruding from the joints. The Krag on top sported familiar charcoal-black armor. He had the golden one in a headlock, muscles bulging from an uncovered shoulder. Narrowing his eyes under the bright
overhead lights, Grimshaw could see that the armor’s edges were cracked. Such damage would have required immense force.
His eyes darted about the field and found two large bladed weapons lying in the dirt. The nearest viewing platform was occupied by five solemn-looking warriors. Grimshaw reckoned they were the Elders. The arena walls were high enough that a human couldn’t climb them, but they wouldn’t have proven an issue for a Krag.
"Don’t the Elders worry about being so close to the field? What if one of the fighters attacks them or decides to flee?"
"Flee?" Kaliff looked down on him as a parent would a petulant child. "We do not know this word…flee," Kaliff said pondering. "Ah yes. This is what our enemies do when they are frightened. Kragak do not flee. We cannot. Our very blood forbids it. If we flee, the final death calls us."
Grimshaw recalled how during the war Krag fighters wouldn’t back down and would rather die than retreat. If all Kragak were like that, there was no risk that those fighting in the arena might scale the low walls. "I see."
"A warrior would never attack an Elder without first challenging him or her."
"Elders can be challenged?"
"Of course. It does not happen often. When it does, it draws a very large crowd."
Every seat in the arena was filled and then some. "The Kragak in gold is an Elder?"
"They both are." He pointed to the three empty seats on the Elder platform.
The black Krag punched the golden Krag in the face three times, slamming his head into the ground.
Those gathered chanted. "Imrorr. Imrorr. Imrorr."
Kaliff pointed to the field. "The crowd favor Imrorr."
"You don’t agree?"
"Imrorr is honorable and strong, but he is also young and foolhardy."
Grimshaw watched as Imrorr continually punched the much larger Krag, driving him back to the ground every time he tried to rise. "You don’t think Imrorr will win? Looks like he’s doing okay to me."
Kaliff snorted. "You know nothing of these things human. The crowd may cheer for Imrorr, but Aglat will win."
"What makes you so certain?"
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