In Her Name

by Michael R. Hicks

  Shera-Khan trembled in mourning at his mention of his mother.

  “The Empress now is she,” he told Reza, sending a burning flare of apprehension through Reza’s heart. “Oh, Father, She lays dying. Broken is Her heart, silent is Her spirit. We are lost!”

  Instinctively, Reza pulled Shera-Khan close, wrapping his arms around him as his mind grappled with the boy’s words.

  It was then that he heard another voice, old and familiar, speak to him in the language of the Old Tongue. “Come to me, my son.”

  Turning to the left, toward the far wall of the cell, he saw the great warrior who had been so much a part of his life, who had given him her legacy of knowledge and power, who had given him her love.

  “Tesh-Dar,” he whispered, rocked by her state of mourning and her weak condition. Holding Shera-Khan close at his side, he swiftly knelt beside her, taking her great hands in his, her skin cold to his touch. “My mother.”

  Her wise eyes took in his face, and she smiled in the Kreelan way, an expression of joy in such an hour of sorrow. “Reza,” she whispered, “my son, you are alive. The animal…” She stopped herself. “No. Your friend’s words were true.” She pulled him close to her, his head to her breast, and smelled his skin, his hair. Running her hands across his braids, pausing at the seventh that had been severed and where the hair had ceased to grow, she said, “Great was my fear, my child, that the human’s words that you yet lived were false, that the sword of your love did take your life. I would have killed him, had I not sensed that he spoke truly.” In but a few words, she described to him how Eustus had saved her and Shera-Khan, and how she had discovered that Reza was still alive, or at least had been given the hope that he was.

  “And that has been my only hope, my son,” she told him painfully, “for Shera-Khan, for the Empire. For without you, we are doomed.”

  “What has happened?” Reza asked quietly, watching with alarm as Tesh-Dar struggled for breath. Beside him, Shera-Khan pressed close, his body shivering with a grief no human could ever imagine. Reza would have felt it, too, except that his connection to the living Empress had been severed. He had lived the years since then in acute spiritual loneliness, but he had also been spared the horrible fate of the peers.

  Tesh-Dar closed her eyes, and Reza feared that she had lost consciousness, perhaps for the last time.

  But then she began to speak of the legend of Keel-Tath.

  * * *

  Long ago, so the legends say, after Keel-Tath cursed Her people for their treachery and what She believed to be the murder of Her lover, the First Empress was filled with anger and grief, sorrow and melancholy. The breath of life no longer appealed to Her, and so it was that She decided to hasten Her soul unto the Dark Place, where She could lament Her fate in solitude, forever. With a trembling hand, she raised a dagger over Her heart to steal away Her life, and that of Her people.

  But a young priestess, Dara-Kol of the Desh-Ka, beseeched the heartbroken Empress for a chance for Her Children, now fallen from grace, to redeem themselves in Her eyes. So passionate was the young priestess’s plea that Keel-Tath, Her wisdom overpowering Her distress, granted the young one’s wish.

  Gathering around Her a host of the now stricken males, the Imperial Guard, Keel-Tath returned them to their former grace and glory. “My guardians, My companions, shall you be, throughout Eternity,” She proclaimed. The warriors fell to their knees in devotion to Her, their voices as one pledging their eternal honor to Her name, in life and in death.

  Turning to Dara-Kol, who alone had had the courage to venture into the Empress’s presence after the Fall, She produced a crystal heart. It was a work glorious to the eye, which was the greatest and last gift from Her lover. “When I rest,” She told the young priestess, “this shall be the key to My awakening. For the one who holds the good fortune to find it, and has the courage to brave the host of guardians, the one who lays a living hand upon My heart shall awaken My spirit and My call to thee.

  “But the Curse shall not be broken,” She warned, “until My heart again feels the warmth of love. If I rise in spirit without such love, damned shall we all be to everlasting Darkness.”

  Dara-Kol fell at the Empress’s feet in thanks, even then mourning the passing of the First Empress from the Spirit that bound their people together, the loss of Her power, Her magic. Her love.

  Keel-Tath looked upon Dara-Kol and told her, “Rise, My child. For you shall be the First of the Last. In your blood shall flow My blood, that you may lead your people in their quest for redemption.” Keel-Tath took the young woman’s hand, and with the knife she carried at Her side caused their palms to bleed, then bound them together. “Your spirit shall bind with those who may follow in your footsteps, so that the wisdom of the living Empress shall be ever greater, as shall Her power. One female shall be born each great cycle, born with white hair and strong spirit, one who may ascend to the throne. I vow that this succession shall not be broken before the day the Last Empress receives Me into Her heart. This shall be My Promise to you, to My Children.”

  Dara-Kol closed her eyes, feeling the power of Keel-Tath as Her blood mingled with her own. She trembled with fear and anticipation, of longing to lead her people to their redemption. “And how, Empress, are we to find you?” she asked.

  Keel-Tath answered softly, as if from afar, “That, daughter, shall be thy quest.”

  When Dara-Kol opened her eyes, Keel-Tath, along with the males who had pledged to guard Her forever, was gone. All that remained was a single braid of Her hair upon the floor, the Seventh Braid that joined Her to the spirit of the Empire. And as Dara-Kol watched, the braid fell into dust, to be carried away by a sudden tempest that swept through the great chamber and away into the great forests beyond.

  Alone now, no longer a high priestess but the living Empress, Dara-Kol heard the anguished cries of Her people in Her blood, and She wept in Her heart for their loss.

  * * *

  Tesh-Dar shuddered under Reza’s hands. “And so it happened, my son,” she went on, “that Esah-Zhurah was fated to be the Last Empress before Keel-Tath’s return.” The pain in her voice deepened. “But Esah-Zhurah’s soul was dead, for she lived in the belief that she had slain the keeper of her heart, that she had killed you, Reza. Black with mourning has been her body since the day you left us, and blacker still was her spirit after the day her sword pierced your breast. And when the Ascension took place, the old Empress passing Her flame to Esah-Zhurah, the new Empress took the glowing crystal heart in Her hands, for it was time for the last part of the Prophecy to be fulfilled, for Keel-Tath’s return to the Blood.” She moaned at the memory, her great hand constricting painfully around Reza’s. “Never have I known such pain, my son, as when She cried out, as if Her heart had been torn from her breast. Then she fell to the dais of the throne and lay still.

  “The Empire shuddered, my son,” she went on quietly, her eyes fixed on a place that Reza knew contained only agony, a Kreelan incarnation of spiritual Hell. “Billions of voices cried out in fear and pain as Her voice suddenly was stilled in their blood. And in the palace on the Empress Moon, the crystal heart, lying dark beside Her, began again to glow. But this time it was not as a summons, but as a warning. For all who attempted to approach the wall of blue light that it cast around Her body died, vanishing in a shower of sparks and the stench of scorched flesh.” She closed her eyes. “By the thousands did they perish, all the peers who witnessed the ceremony, all who tried to reach her. All of them. Gone.”

  “And you, my priestess?” Reza asked quietly.

  Tesh-Dar grimaced, turning her mournful gaze toward him. “I would have joined them, so stricken with grief was I, save that I was entrusted with the life of your son. Since the day of his birth, Shera-Khan’s welfare has been my honor and responsibility. Had I allowed either of us to be drawn into the fire, all my life would have counted for nothing but disgrace in Her eyes. Shera-Khan and I alone survived. Of the high priestesses and warriors, they ar
e no more, their spirits having fallen into darkness as their bodies burned to ashes in the light. I left with Shera-Khan, closing the doors to the throne room and forbidding anyone to enter, hoping to spare any more the fate of those already dead and gone. It was then that I left the Homeworld for the Nursery where Shera-Khan was born, where your human… friend… found me, for in my bereavement I knew not where else to go, for I believed you long dead.” She shook her head sadly. “But even the nursery was empty, the Wardress having evacuated all of her charges when Her voice was silenced, her fleet returning the children – even the males – home. All that remained there were the Books of Time, dead stone recounting the lineage of a dying race.”

  Reza felt the meaning of her words settle upon his heart, oppressive and undeniable. He could not imagine the strength of will it must have taken for her to resist the urge to reach for the Empress. And the deaths of the high priestesses, the greatest of the Empire’s warriors, meant that…

  “I shall be the last,” he said slowly, the full weight of the responsibility he bore settling upon his shoulders. When Tesh-Dar died, he would be the last of the warrior high priests and priestesses.

  “True are your words, my son,” Tesh-Dar said, gently stroking his face. “For when death takes me, you alone shall be the last of the warriors to bear the mark of the ancient orders. You alone have the gifts that have been passed down from generation to generation. You alone have the honor to lead the peers in this darkest of hours. You and your love are the last hope of the Empire, for all that we are and have ever been shall be lost if the breath of life is allowed to pass from Her body. Breathes does She still, but millions die each moment She sleeps in Darkness, in mourning, their crying souls lost in eternal Darkness. And in the moment Her heart stops and Her spirit passes into the Beyond, the Empire shall be lost forever – and all of us with it.”

  Reza watched as her eyes closed and her breathing slowed. Her hand loosened from his as she fell into sleep, exhaustion finally claiming its due. Leaning forward, he kissed her tenderly on the forehead.

  “Sleep, my mother,” he whispered. Beside him, Shera-Khan had fallen into a troubled slumber. The pain of reliving those horrible hours as thousands had cast themselves into the wall of blue fire in the desperate hope of reaching the Empress had drained what few reserves of strength the boy had. Reza laid him gently on the other bed, his blood burning with a cold fire at the Way that had been laid before him, the final steps of a great journey that had begun millennia ago.

  Beside him, Jodi placed her tunic over the boy. Reza felt her hand on his arm.

  “Will they be all right?” she asked quietly. Eustus had told her what he knew and what had happened to bring them to this strange crossroads, and Jodi had found herself filled with empathy not only for the boy, but for the dying warrior, as well.

  Reza looked at her, and she was shocked by the stricken, almost desperate look in his eyes. “No,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion, “they are dying. All of them.”

  Eustus looked confused. “What do you mean?”

  “Unless I can find a way back to the Empire,” Reza told him, “the Empress… my wife, shall soon die. And with Her shall die our entire race. The Empire of Kreela shall be no more.”

  Jodi and Eustus exchanged a glance.

  “Reza,” Jodi said tentatively, not sure just how he might react to what she was going to say, “I’m not sure that would be… such a bad thing, at least for humanity. I mean, we’ve been at war with the Empire for nearly a hundred years. They killed your parents, remember? There aren’t many people who would shed any tears if they all… died.”

  “It doesn’t really matter,” Eustus added quietly. “Marchand told me that a fleet’s assembling for an assault into Kreelan space. While she didn’t say as much, I imagine that some genius at Fleet HQ finally figured out where the Homeworld is, and now they’re going after it. And whatever trouble the Kreelans are in is just icing on the cake.”

  “When is this attack to take place?” Reza asked sharply.

  Surprised by his friend’s intensity, Eustus took an involuntary step back. “It must be soon,” he answered cautiously, looking at Jodi, whose face bore an expression of concern, “but she didn’t bother to fill me in on the details, Reza. I’m only a grunt, remember, and a ‘traitor,’ at that.”

  “After all these years,” Jodi murmured to herself, “we’ve finally got a chance to beat them.” Looking at the warrior who lay dying, and the stricken child beside her, she said, “I’m sorry Reza, I really am. But if we’ve got the chance to put it to them once and for all, I’m all for it. We must be pulling every ship that can hold air for this battle, and when our fleet gets to the Homeworld and finds the warriors like this, they’re going to kick their asses. I just wish I could be there to see it.”

  “You do not understand the dangers,” Reza said ominously. “Every ship in the Empire is converging on the Homeworld by now, all the warships of a race that has visited more stars than are visible in the night skies of Earth. And while they are disheartened and disorganized, all will fight to the death to protect the Empress. The human fleet will die along with the Empire, and all those human worlds that depend on starships for their survival will be cast into a dark age that may last for centuries. It will be a disaster the likes of which humanity has never known.” He shook his head. “The only hope is for me to reach the Empress in time.”

  “And then what?” Eustus asked. “Are all the warriors going to spring back to their feet just in time to blow our ships out of space? No,” he said. “No, I don’t think I want that, Reza. I’m sorry.”

  Reza looked at him as if Eustus had slapped him. “You doubt me,” Reza whispered incredulously. “Have I ever led you astray, lied to you, in all these years? I tell you truly, my friends: if the fleet attacks the Homeworld as you have said, it shall meet its end. But if I can reach Her, save Her, there may be hope for us all. You see, as Empress, She cannot destroy the heritage of Her only son, the child of Her very blood: Shera-Khan is half-human, and She will end the war. But only if I reach Her in time.” He looked at them pleadingly. “You must believe me. I cannot do this alone. Please.”

  “Reza…” Jodi began, feeling helpless and fated to lose the best friend she had ever had, even over and above Nicole. “I… I don’t doubt you,” she said, “but I can’t help you, even if everything you say is true. I’m a Confederation officer, Reza, and the Kreelans are my enemy. I know I’m here because I’m accused of crimes that I didn’t commit, but that doesn’t mean that I’m ready to do the real thing. What you’re talking about is treason, and… I just can’t. I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too,” Eustus said hoarsely, feeling like he wanted to die. “I’m sorry, Reza.” Eustus turned his eyes to the floor in shame.

  * * *

  In Erlang’s skies, the human fleet gathered. Enya watched the tiny lights as they flicked into normal space, sometimes individually, sometimes by the dozen. The Council of Erlang had been informed by the commodore aboard the Furious of what was happening, and had also been told that the new president and the entire Confederation Council would be aboard the flagship that would lead the great armada into enemy space. And President Borge had invited – decreed was more like it, Enya thought darkly – Erlang to send a representative along on this “most glorious of occasions.” Under the circumstances, with thousands of Confederation warships soon to be orbiting their home, the still-struggling inhabitants of Erlang were hardly in a position to refuse.

  Enya had immediately volunteered. She was intelligent and strong-willed, and was more aware than most of the risks their people were taking in carrying the war to the Empire. It also gave her a chance, no matter how slight, of seeing Eustus before fate would have a chance to steal him away from her forever. Little did she know that he was under arrest on charges of high treason.

  The shuttle from Warspite screamed in the night air, its engines howling like a hurricane as its three sturdy landing struts mad
e gentle contact with the ground. The hatch hummed open and a helmeted crew chief poked his head out the door.

  “Good luck, lass,” Ian Mallory said over the continued roar of the shuttle’s engines. He took Enya in his arms and hugged her tightly. “Godspeed.”

  “Thank you, Ian,” she replied, returning his affection. He had been her father since she had lost her own. “I’ll not be away for long.” Kissing him on the cheek, she gathered up her single bag, a worn but respectable leather traveler, and darted into the shuttle.

  With a final look around to make sure the hatch and ship were clear, the crew chief pulled himself back inside and the door slid shut behind him. As the people around it waved farewell, the shuttle’s engines roared with power and it began to lift from the ground. It was barely above the trees when the landing gear retracted and the ship accelerated rapidly out of sight, leaving nothing behind it but a glowing contrail that quickly faded.

  High above, The Armada continued to assemble.

  Forty-Nine

  “Merde, but this will not work!” L’Houillier sputtered angrily, slamming his fist down on the table. “This insanity has cost us fourteen ships already from collisions around Erlang, and there will be three times as many ships appearing in the target zone. And those blasted politicians strutting around this ship like a bunch of cheap whores, pandering to that… that…” L’Houillier’s vocabulary failed to provide him an acceptable descriptor for the new Commander-in-Chief.

  Sitting across from him, Zhukovski added to the fleet commander’s gloom. “And that is without interference from Kreelans,” he muttered. In all the years that the two had been friends, this was the first time that Zhukovski had seen L’Houillier lose his temper. Fortunately, it had been in private, in Zhukovski’s stateroom. Had such words been uttered beyond the Russian admiral’s electronically screened quarters, or within earshot of the wrong people, Borge would have acted quickly to see that L’Houillier – or anyone else, for that matter – quickly found his way into retirement. Or worse.