by Matt Forbeck
Yet, that Kasha even felt inclined to lower herself made Molly feel more comfortable. She appreciated the gesture. It would have been easy for any adult—much less a school headmaster—to put herself in a position of authority, but Kasha had actually taken pains to avoid that. It was surprisingly selfless.
Molly stared openly at Kasha, taking in all the strange details of her form. Molly had seen stills and brief vids before with Sangheili in them, but they’d always been hidden inside armor. Kasha was a saurian biped with ashen leathery, reptilian flesh—lean and strong but still quite large. She had a flat face on the end of a long, thick neck, and her eyes were a golden color, with the slightest black pupil slits. The Sangheili had no perceptible nose, just nostrils at the center of her face, but the oddest part by far was her mouth.
It had sharp, pointed teeth that lined not only her upper jaw—which was shaped roughly like a human’s—but her four lower jaws as well. These were longer than a human’s, hinged like mandibles that could splay out. When Kasha pressed them together, she could form words in Molly’s language, but when they separated, they looked terrifying and strange.
Kasha’s hands each had two fingers in the middle and an opposable thumb on each side of them. Both her arms and fingers were long, but not fragile. They looked as if they could rip Molly to pieces if Kasha was so inclined.
The Sangheili reached one hand out. Molly started to flinch away but then realized that Kasha was offering to shake hands.
Despite the alien’s effort at courtesy, Molly didn’t reciprocate right away. To her, the notion of shaking this creature’s enormous hand seemed bizarre. Why should I?
Molly must have hesitated for too long, unsure what to do or how to possibly get out of touching the Sangheili at all. But it was too late.
Yong gave Molly a nudge from behind, and she finally stuck an open hand out toward Kasha and accepted her greeting. Molly’s hand disappeared into Kasha’s odd and massive claws, and she gritted her teeth behind what she hoped was a smile.
To her surprise, Kasha’s skin was warmer and much softer than Molly would have guessed. She imagined it would have felt like a serrated vise, but the headmaster shook hands with a gentle grace Molly would have thought impossible.
“I am pleased to meet you, Molly,” Kasha said. “I look forward to seeing you in school very soon.”
Molly gaped at her, entirely unsure how to respond.
“She’s excited too,” Asha chipped in for Molly. “It’s just been such a long journey for us all to get here.”
“I understand.” Kasha’s facial expression may have been intended to be a smile. “It is all right. You should have plenty of time to adjust before you report for classes.”
“I will,” Molly said, almost as a question, but unsure why. Then, before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “Are there a lot of Sangheili children there too?”
Kasha gave what seemed to be a kind sound, which told Molly that Kasha must have understood the impulse behind the question, maybe even better than Molly did. “Not many, but some. Most of the students are human, but we have several Sangheili fledglings at the school, in a wide range of ages. There are a number of them in your class, in fact.”
“Are there other aliens too?”
Kasha’s mandibles pulled back a bit, just barely exposing her rows of teeth. “Yes, there are . . . but we do not like to rely on the term alien when referring to those in our school. Although we are all different species, we believe that there are no aliens in Paxopolis.”
Molly cringed at the response, concerned that she’d already done something to offend the alien—being? creature?—in charge of her education. She felt a slight measure of shame, but at the same time she wondered why she even cared. “I-I actually didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Of course not. It is not a slur to call someone an alien. But it is not especially useful in this place. Remember, to a Sangheili fledgling, you are the alien, correct?”
Molly shrugged. “I suppose so. But what other kinds of children are at the school then?”
“As I said, we have many humans and a good number of Sangheili. We also have a few of the Unggoy. None of the other races from the Covenant are here, since they are not part of the alliance between our people and yours. Only those who were committed to mutual peace between our kinds joined us here, most belonging to the camp of the Arbiter. Rest assured, Molly, there is no one here that is fond of war.”
As she spoke, Kasha softly touched Molly under the chin with the tip of one of her thumbs. Despite Molly’s best efforts to remain wary and guarded, she had to admit that the Sangheili’s actions were strangely affectionate, and they threatened to bring a smile to her face. Unwilling to grant that yet, Molly stopped the impulse in its tracks.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Molly,” Kasha said as she stepped back from the porch and stood up to her full, towering height. “And you too, Asha Moyamba and Yong Lee. It is my hope that we are all going to be good allies on this world.”
“I hope so too,” Asha said, as Molly stepped backward alongside her Newparents.
Molly, however, still wasn’t entirely convinced.
CHAPTER 8
* * *
* * *
Are you ready?”
“Yes, Pale Blade,” Ruk said. Buran responded with a silent nod.
A contingent of the Servants of the Abiding Truth prepared to enter the Forerunner portal near Panom’s keep. The Huragok—which had apparently called itself Even Keel during its time in the Covenant—had for some time been fiddling with a series of interfaces hidden on the side of the portal, and finally the creature indicated it was ready to activate it.
Dural and his Servants were fortunate to have found the Huragok on the Sangheili fortress world of Bhedalon, the water planet the Covenant had used as a seat of power, naming it Tide of Celebration. Even Keel had been alone, trawling the vast debris fields that floated on the surface, repairing what it could of the carnage that remained in the wake of the Great Schism. It took little convincing to retain Keel’s services. Most of what held value on that world had long since sunk to the bottom its dark oceans.
The portal Keel had activated was a large, circular aperture set into a wall nearly five meters in height. The site had fallen into disrepair over the long ages since its construction, not unlike Panom’s keep. The wall stood atop a circular dais three wide steps high. The structures, though dilapidated, were all obviously of Forerunner make, but over the centuries they seemed to have been altered, both by the vast passage of time and likely the people of Panom, who had added their own touches. One of those was a wide flagstone patio that fanned out from the now-roiling energy field framed in the wall. Dural imagined that the rustic Sangheili on this backwater planet had likely gathered here for centuries to offer up their prayers to the Forerunners, as well they should have.
“No one has used the holy gate since Jul ‘Mdama employed it to escape from human custody.” Panom shot a grim glance back toward his modest keep and the scores of Abiding Truth warriors gathered nearby. “Things are bound to have changed on the other side over the past five years. You cannot know who or what might be waiting there.”
“Has your defeat at the hands of the Swords of Sanghelios stripped you of all courage?” Dural asked.
The kaidon flushed at the insult. “We did not bring the forces of the Arbiter down on our heads. They came here to destroy your uncle and his damned ghost of a Covenant. We should never have let him and his people use Hesduros as their base.”
“The foolish suffer the consequences of their actions.”
Panom spat on the ground. “Jul not only despoiled our lands as he built up his factories of war so he could pursue his own ends, he commandeered our people! Now he is gone, off to take the battle to Sanghelios in some desperate plan, and he has left us defenseless despite all his promises. Were he here right now, I would show him the consequences of his betrayal.”
Dural put a hand on
Panom’s shoulder. “The Servants of the Abiding Truth are here now, and we shall not abandon you, Kaidon. As a show of gratitude for your permission to use this gate, I am leaving behind a complement of vehicles and weaponry that your warriors can employ to defend your homes should the Swords of Sanghelios ever return.”
The Servants of the Abiding Truth had no need to strike such a bargain with the kaidon, other than out of respect for his faith and sympathy for his situation. Dural had heard that his uncle had become faithless and mercenary in his actions, despite his promise to resurrect the Covenant. And Dural personally knew how ruthless Jul ‘Mdama could be with those who thought they had every reason to trust him.
Another factor for Dural’s offer to Panom was the regrettable fact that they had only now discovered through Even Keel that the portal on the receiving end was far too small for the Servants of the Abiding Truth to move much of their heavy equipment through. While there was space enough for even the largest of Dural’s warriors to pass, the ingress juncture proved too narrow to navigate even a Banshee, much less something as large as a Wraith or a dropship. If the Servants attempted to take one through, only the gods knew what kind of damage they might cause to the portal . . . or themselves.
This complicated Dural’s plans for their invasion of Onyx, in that they would have to proceed there by foot, until they found a receiving portal large enough to accept some of their smaller craft. Nevertheless, it did not hamper his determination in the least. All obstacles were only a proving ground on which to test his faith and courage. He would not falter on the path like Jul ‘Mdama.
If Dural was forced to leave such things behind with Panom, better to leverage them to protect the keep and the portal in case the Arbiter himself or even Dural’s uncle felt the need to return to Hesduros. If what was written of this place called Onyx was even marginally true, Dural did not anticipate ever needing to come back to Hesduros. Even so, it would be foolhardy to cut themselves off from their only avenue of retreat.
Although some of his own warriors might have balked at such a transaction, it was practical and necessary given the decisions they had already made. It might also grant the Servants an exit strategy if their efforts proved unfruitful, though Dural refused to doubt that they would. He had always planned to leave the vast majority of his complement here for the time being, while only a handful of his most trusted men scouted ahead with him.
Deep within, something told Dural that, if Onyx was what had been prophesied, then it might have other means for getting the vehicles safely through the same portal on Hesduros. He would risk keeping the vehicles here while leveraging Even Keel’s talents on Onyx. Panom likely knew the real motivation behind Dural’s show of kindness was self-serving, but the kaidon was cunning enough to not turn such resources down, no matter the motivations behind them.
“You have our thanks,” Panom said, and Dural turned away.
The Pale Blade had accomplished many feats in his relatively short career as a leader among the Servants, but he had never been through a portal such as this before, and the idea of using it slightly concerned him. Stepping through this field of light—the writings claimed—would somehow transport him to a location countless light-years away, but for Dural, the journey would seem to take only an instant. That violated everything he knew about how the universe worked, but much of what the Forerunners had created seemed to occupy that category. That was a key tenet as to why the Servants continued worshipping this ancient race, even after the revelation that the San’Shyuum, who had once led the Covenant, had been false prophets. As Dural’s former mentor had often remarked, A god who creates tools is still a god. It is not for us to impose qualifications upon the divine or presume to guess its intentions.
With a dozen of the Pale Blade’s warriors at his back, Dural took one last look at Hesduros on either side of the wall and deeply breathed in the air. Then, gripping his carbine tightly, he pressed forward and threw caution aside, putting his fate in the hands of the Forerunners.
Dural turned to Ruk and Buran as he approached. “May I see you on the other side.”
The light swallowed him whole, its brightness drowning out all else. It felt like millions of fingers—or perhaps cilia like those at the ends of the tentacles of a Huragok—were pressing into his flesh and then tugging it apart. The sensation was somehow not painful, although he could not say he cared for it.
A moment later—unsure how much time had passed—Dural emerged inside what was clearly a Forerunner structure, an interior that looked much like many of those he had visited on other worlds: smooth gray walls, floors, and ceilings formed into vaulted spaces with long lines of lighting embedded throughout. Dural could have been anywhere, on any of the countless planets the Forerunners had visited and left their inscrutable mark, but it certainly resembled the place Jul ‘Mdama had once described as the temple through which he had escaped the shield world.
The place the humans called Onyx.
After a long moment, the others eventually came filing in after Dural. Ruk came first, and Buran followed close on his heels, both shivering briefly as they recovered from the effects of the journey.
Ruk glanced around the area and shook his head in disbelief. “Tally yet another victory for the Pale Blade and his bravery! To think we have made it all the way to this most glorious facility! The one the ancient texts spoke so highly about!”
Buran hissed. “And without the humans being made aware of our presence. Let us see how long we can keep it that way.”
“Do you fear taking on the humans, Elder Buran?” Ruk said.
“I fear us giving away our hard-won advantages without cause.”
Dural stepped between the two of them. “Which is precisely why I asked only a dozen more warriors to come through with us for the time being. We must scout the area before we send back for the others.”
“Gods preserve us,” Buran said as he peered around the chamber. “Are you certain coming here was right, Pale Blade?”
Buran glanced about as if the ceiling might suddenly come to life and fall on him. Then the older Sangheili became transfixed by the ancient symbols that glowed on the walls. He stumbled toward one in particular, taken by its beauty—yet fatally distracted and open to attack.
“Good to see an old warrior like that give himself over to the faith,” Ruk commented.
“His preoccupation with mere machines exposes him to injury,” Dural said, checking his own armor to ensure it still functioned.
Ruk looked at Dural sidelong. “Are you giving voice to doubts in the gods? After having traveled through that?” Ruk pointed back toward the gate, through which the remainder of the advance strike team was still streaming one at a time.
“I have no doubts about our mission, our warriors, or our gods,” Dural said in a loud voice. “I only have doubt in blind faith. The Servants of the Abiding Truth hold a faith that is well-founded because we have seen what the Forerunners left behind. They did this for the benefit of those who would follow, so we should not doubt what we have seen. Yet we should take care to not be overwhelmed in the present at the cost of the future. We all know how well such foolishness among our people served the Arbiter when he sought to set Sangheili brothers against each other.”
Buran snorted at that and turned from studying the symbols, seemingly freed from his trance. “Would you have refused to withdraw from the Covenant then, when the Prophets betrayed us?”
“We did not leave the Covenant,” Dural said, his voice a low growl. “The Covenant left us.”
If Dural was honest, however, he knew there was truth to Buran’s remark. Many of the people of Mdama had already begun to give up on the Covenant late during the war. By the time Dural’s mother, Raia ‘Mdama, had died, the ancient rites outlined by the San’Shyuum had meant nothing to him anymore. Following the Prophets had been the epitome of blind faith for his people, which is perhaps why he despised it so.
Still, Dural wanted a reason to believe, even as a
child—and his mother’s death had led him to that.
It happened at the start of the Blooding Years, when Jul ‘Mdama—both Dural’s uncle and the kaidon of Bekan keep, where Dural was hatched and raised—plotted with the Servants of the Abiding Truth. Their efforts were simple: a full-fledged naval attack against the Arbiter and his native forces on Sanghelios.
During the days leading up to their strike, though, his uncle was lost, and when Jul went missing, Dural’s mother, Raia, left the keep, following in his wake, hoping to find him. Instead, she found Field Master Avu Med ‘Telcam and then demanded to follow the Sangheili leader as he initiated the assault. Raia was on the frigate Cleansing Faith when it was shot down during a battle with the Swordsman, the personal cruiser of the Arbiter himself.
Only later did Dural discover that Jul had survived, but the Sangheili leader never returned to Bekan keep. Naxan, an elder and great-uncle in Dural’s clan, was forced to take over in Jul’s absence. The moment Dural could manage it, however, he went looking for Jul himself. He refused to be abandoned by the only true leader his keep had left.
Reflecting, Dural wondered if he should have simply stayed at Bekan keep, but the Swords of Sanghelios knew of the connections between the Servants of the Abiding Truth and his family’s estate. It would have been foolish for them not to make an example of Bekan once they had the chance. And after the death of his mother, Dural only had one other family member he trusted: his brother, Asum. But even he stayed only for a time.
Distraught over their mother’s death, Asum went off into the fields around Bekan keep to grieve, and that was the last time Dural saw his brother. Asum never returned, though Dural did not stay long enough to know his fate for certain.
In the end, it mattered little. Dural had already made his decision.
Left alone in those moments to contemplate his purpose, Dural pledged to follow in his mother’s footsteps and try to finish the task she had begun: to find Jul ‘Mdama, wherever he might have gone. But after the failure of the Servants’ initial assault on the Arbiter, there was no way to tell what had happened to Jul. Only the barest of clues existed: Jul had reached out to Naxan in the days after the passing of Raia, sending a message from a remote world. Where that had been and what his ultimate plans were, Dural still did not know.