“Record keeping,” replied a neutral voice.
“I maintain my father’s challenge of the fitness of Ricardo Allegra to lead the Syng,” she said.
“Second must speak.”
“The head of the Kumar seconds,” Hanu said.
“Challenge has been noted,” Records told them. “Joaana Kumar Syng stands as proxy. All concerned parties will meet at Council in three hours. The charges must be submitted within two hours or the challenge will be rescinded. Punishment will be four-year banishment from the Salak.”
“That’s fast,” Marco murmured. “Most of the people must be on-station.”
“We’re one day before the festival,” Hanu replied, shrugging. “What T’lasian would not be here?”
“Records away,” Joaana said. She turned and looked at Xai for a moment, her expression tense. “I would be honored,” she said finally, “if you would accompany me to the challenge, as my adopted sister.”
“I would appreciate that,” Xai replied grimly.
Joaana nodded seriously. Then, turning to her uncles, she said, “Come, I need your help to draft the charges.” She, Hanu, and Marco moved to the console.
Left to her own devices, Xai went to sit with Mika beside Joaquim’s sleeping, drawn face. While the others argued about the aspects of the challenge, Xai made a silent promise to his silent shape. She would not let this go unavenged. If it was the last thing she did, she would make sure the ones who did this to him paid for their crime. And God forbid he died. If he died, Xai thought fiercely, she’d make sure the rest of their lives were a living hell.
Chapter Forty-Six
JOAANA AND XAI took a pod together to the Salak proper—the first Salak, the perfect globe of a Space Station which had been in that portion of space for the last eight hundred years and was now the heart of these spinning circles of commerce.
Joaana sat besides her, staring at the floor, her usually vibrant face filled with apprehension. She wore a deep burgundy robe over her space suit. It was covered in inscriptions detailing the debts and obligations of different families, going back centuries. It had belonged to Joaquim as a direct descendant of Prama Aveira. Now it was worn by his daughter. She looked like a queen, stately and beautiful. Xai felt quite insignificant beside her in the space suit Mika had found. However, it fitted—an unexpected luxury—and the panels on her arms were reassuring in a vague, inexplicable way. The image of herself came to her suddenly: tattooed, bald; a small, fierce thing in a space suit. It was disorienting and natural, all at once.
Joaquim had been asleep when they left. Perhaps it was better that way, but the sight of his pale silent face had filled Xai with fear. Fear and anger. Xai wanted revenge so much she could taste it—a hard, bitter taste, acidic and burnt.
“I’m sorry,” Joaana said abruptly. “Perhaps I should not have asked you to come.”
Xai folded her hands in her lap and watched as the pod was caught by the docking slot and pulled down toward the Salak. “To my people,” she said finally, choosing her words very carefully, “no man is anything unless he belongs to a House. The House he belongs to is the heart of who he is.”
“I spent the entirety of my life between Houses,” Xai continued. “I was nothing until your father gave me a House. Of course I will avenge him. The trust he gave me demands it.”
Joaana stared at Xai for one long moment, her beautiful, dark eyes opaque. “And yet,” she murmured, “you still call the Messinians your people.”
Xai shrugged. “They made me who I am.”
“Docking completed,” the computer informed them. “Challengers, enter the Salak.”
Joanna rose quickly to her feet. Xai got up beside her. The door slid open. “Activate your boots,” Joaana murmured, keying the sigil on her suit. Xai did so. Joaana shifted the robe on her shoulders, took a deep breath, and strode out of the pod. Xai followed her, in Second.
The globe was hollow, a great hull holding a vast expanse of empty space. Stunned by the sheer size of it, Xai followed Joaana down a narrow pathway that seemed to hang without support inside the immense black emptiness. There was no gravity in the center of the globe—the only thing that kept them attached to the floor were their magnetized boots. In the distance, at the globe’s exact center, the path flared out to form a circle about twenty meters in circumference. The sphere spun slowly around the axis of the walkway and circle. The whole place seemed to drone slightly, as if its spinning made it sigh.
Small droids floated around them, following their every move. Joanna had told her they transmitted close-up, real time pictures to the T’lasian Council members. Xai ignored them and looked at the walls in the distance.
The inner hull of the hall was lined with booths facing into the center. Each booth had a series of sigils on it. The shapes of people could be seen inside the booths. There must have been close to ten thousand booths. Xai’s mind boggled at how many people were watching them.
As Xai and Joanna entered the central circle, one of the booths detached from the wall and approached them. When it entered the lights illuminating the circle, Xai saw its inhabitants were Marco and Hanuman, both wearing over-robes that looked much like the one Joaana was wearing. The booth floated over to hang beside the circle, within the spinning globe of the T’lasian Council.
“Records have been initiated,” a voice boomed through the great darkness of the hall. “Joanna Kumar Syng, daughter of Joaquim Salazar Syng, challenges the right of Ricardo Allegra Syng to lead the Syng. Kumar, lead vassal to the Syng, seconds. Challenge was posted in the required time. Sufficient time has been given for perusal. Will the people allow the challenge? Posting in one minute.”
Silence fell over the hall. “What’s happening?” Xai whispered.
“The people are voting,” Joaana whispered back. “If a majority allow it, then the challenge stands. If not…” She shrugged.
“The people have voted in favor of the challenge,” the Voice said. “Syng, come forward. Kumar is dismissed.” The Kumar booth faded back into the wall of spinning booths and another came forward. Ricardo was in it, along with a rather plump woman. Ricardo stood on braced feet, his arms crossed. The woman remained seated and contented herself with darting hateful looks at Joaana.
“How does Syng respond to the challenge?” the voice asked.
“I contest it,” Ricardo replied in a beautiful baritone.
“In what manner will the contest be couched?” the voice asked.
“With blood,” Ricardo said loudly. Voices rose in surprise and outrage. Joaana closed her eyes, as if this had been what she feared.
“Such is your right,” the voice boomed. “Do you choose to represent yourself, or will you fight by proxy?”
“I claim the right of contest by proxy,” Ricardo replied. The murmurs swelled again.
“Name your champion.”
“Aditya Andrie Harai,” Ricardo said.
“Aditya Andrie Harai, come forward.” A booth came up out of the darkness, holding in it two older women and a young, rather feline looking man. “Will you represent Ricardo Allegra Syng in his challenge for leadership?” the computer asked.
The young man bowed slightly from the waist. “It would be an honor,” he said.
“Enter the circle.”
The young man stepped out of his booth and over the circle. He then activated his boots and came into contact with the floor. He stood on the far side, his frame relaxed, as his booth recessed back to its place in the wheeling sphere.
“Who represents the challenge?” the Computer asked.
“I do,” Xai said. Voices exploded around the great hall, echoing off the distant walls.
“Xai,” Joaana hissed, “what the hell are you doing?”
“How can this be?” Ricardo shouted. “She is not even T’lasian!”
“Joaquim adopted me,” Xai said calmly. “My memories are on record. I claim the right as kin.”
“She was not confirmed!” Ricardo shouted. �
��Only I can confirm!”
“Xai!” Joaana hissed.
“Only the leader of the clan can confirm,” the computer said, “but the leadership is contested. The people must vote. Three minutes are allotted.”
“Xai, you can’t do this,” Joanna whispered.
“Why not?” Xai asked. She felt strangely calm. Things were as they should be—she could feel it.
“He might kill you!”
“I might kill him,” Xai replied.
“This isn’t your fight!” Joaana hissed.
Xai turned to look at her. “It is my right,” she said seriously. “I’ve known him far longer than you have. I saved his life, and this man now wants to take that from me. Who has more right than me? You have known him all of five hours.”
Joaana put her hands on her hips and glared at Xai. “You’re a child,” she said.
“I have never been a child,” Xai replied. Joaana scowled.
“A quorum has been reached,” the voice said. “The time is completed. The people will allow Xai Syng to represent the challenge. Joaana Kumar Syng will leave the circle.” An empty booth came up beside the circle. With a last, angry glare Joaana got into it.
“Put your boots on voice command,” she hissed.
“Why?” Xai asked.
“So you can manipulate the magnetism without having to use your hands!” Joanna shouted as the booth withdrew. It came to rest fifteen meters away, maintaining its position above the circle, directly opposite her uncle’s booth. Xai quickly keyed her boots to voice.
“Let it be known,” the voice boomed, “that Joaana Kumar Syng has challenged the fitness of Ricardo Allegra Syng to lead the Syng. Ricardo Allegra Syng will contest the challenge, represented in proxy by Aditya Andrie Harai. Xai Syng represents Joaana Kumar Syng through her right as kin. The challenge will be resolved through blood. Present the knives.”
Droids flew up to both Aditya and Xai, each carrying a rack of six knives of varying length and weight. After some deliberation, Xai chose the third, longer and thinner than the rest, with a wide fist protector—vaguely reminiscent of the cian’xou and of the same general heft. Looking up she saw Aditya waiting for her, knife in hand.
Xai took a deep breath. This was it—the battle for which she had spent most of her life preparing. The droning of the Salak reminded her of exactly how many people were watching her. Xai’s heart began to pound and there was the taste of metal in her mouth.
“You may begin,” the voice said.
Aditya walked forward. “Do you know the rules of such a challenge?” he asked.
Xai shook her head. “No,” she said.
“Blood must be drawn,” he told her. “After blood has been drawn, at any given moment either party may surrender without dishonor.” He looked at her for a moment, a tall, graceful, dark-skinned man perhaps six or seven years her senior. Suddenly he put the knife to the back of his left hand and nicked it. Blood welled up in the superficial cut. A deep, satisfied murmur was heard around the hall. “I would not have it be said that we are savages,” he told her. “You need only say the word.”
Xai cocked her head to the side. His offer made her uncomfortable. In all her imaginings, she had never thought she might have to fight an honorable man. She stared at him, not certain what to do. Suddenly, a line by Chaim, the religious fanatic, came to her. “If I cannot break the bow-man, I have no choice but to break the bow.” In all the stories he had been a cunning old man—a fox among wolves, outlasting them all, even the ancient Abbot, T’laat. “I thank you,” Xai said, bowing slightly. “But my honor demands that I continue.”
“So be it,” Aditya replied. He turned and walked to a distance about six meters away.
A strange, eerie thrumming noise began to fill the air. Aditya bowed to her and fell easily into a crouch. Xai nodded back and slipped into t’ao, First Stance—a deceptively relaxed pose, perfectly balanced.
Aditya began slowly to circle her. Xai kept the t’ao and turned with him. “Save your effort,” her uncle had always said. “One never knows the length of the battle, the width of the war.”
Aditya moved suddenly, startlingly fast, his knife blade darting toward her left arm, aiming to disable her. The crowd murmured, excited. Xai launched herself to the side to escape the blow. Too far, too fast. She was barely able to stop herself at the edge of the platform and teetered there for a moment, trying to regain her balance. Aditya waited in the center, his frame relaxed. Xai flushed, embarrassed. “The gravity is somewhat different here,” Aditya murmured.
Xai nodded tersely, well on the way to being annoyed.
He moved again, slipping left. Xai turned with him. He feinted, once, twice, then stabbed at her leading arm. Xai parried, knife meeting knife. Gravity once again betrayed her. She swung too far and he brought the knife back, beneath her guard. She felt its tip slice through her suit at her stomach, felt it nick flesh. The crowd murmured and broke into vivid applause.
Aditya stepped away from her and smiled for the vids, nodding up at Ricardo’s booth. He looked like a hero. Xai took a deep breath and allowed him his accolades. He could have killed her then, easily. Joaana watched from above, her features tight with distress.
But Xai understood it now, the feel of it—perhaps not enough to do anything spectacular, but enough to grasp what was allowed, what not. The best fighting for this gravity was Early Covenant, she thought, formal, without flourishes, seeking always the swift kill. She watched Aditya walk the circumference of the circle to the applause of the T’lasian crowd, feeling certainty seep back into her.
He returned, still smiling, feinted, darted and attacked. She moved with him, keeping her gestures precise, tight, neat the way the hologram of old Tem’eit Wu had so often ordered. In the practice sessions there had been a box out of which she had never been allowed to move. She imagined it there for herself now, and aimed each of her moves to end precisely at it edges.
Aditya nodded again, seeming pleased. “You understand how it feels,” he told her. Then he lunged toward her, still with that extraordinary speed. Xai felt the blade slice the edge of her shoulder as she dodged too late—a sharp, bloody sting. The crowd roared, wildly excited. Aditya grinned, lifted his arms into the air, and walked around the perimeter of the fight space, acknowledging their cheers. The vid droids swooped in around her, aiming for the sight of her pained face, the blood seeping into the edges of her suit.
Xai let him to bask in the ovation. “If they desire victory, give it to them,” Tem’eit Wu had been fond of saying. “You keep their death.” Xai was beginning to think Aditya had no idea what he was up against, and almost felt pity for him. Almost. He turned back to her, that cocky smile still on his face.
Xai took four swift steps in his direction. Aditya leapt into the air, murmuring something. Xai watched, mouth open, as he soared over her head, spinning around so as to land behind her. This was obviously the reason why the magnets were on voice command. He stood easily behind her, that arrogant grin wider now on his face, waiting. The crowd was chanting his name.
He lunged toward her with that frightening speed. Xai let her blade reach and deflect his knife. “All blades seek to meet,” Tem’eit Wu had used to say. “Metal loves metal far more than it loves weak and paltry flesh. Let the blades do the battling. Save your will for the flesh.” There was a truth to that. The knife seemed to take on a life of its own and move to clash with Aditya’s knife, using Aditya’s force to flick it on, so that from an exterior viewpoint it seemed almost as if he had missed, staggering past her to the other side of the circle.
The crowd roared excitedly. Aditya whipped around, his expression more tense than it had been a moment earlier. Xai waited in the t’ao, watching him.
He lunged again, again with that extraordinary speed. Xai let her blade reach and stop his on the hand guard. She could almost feel the metal notch, as if it were not the steel but her flesh that felt the impact. The crowd was on its feet now, shouting with bloodlust. X
ai balled a fist and hit him in the jaw—a sharp, sudden, stinging blow that sent him staggering to the side, dislodging their knives. Aditya wheeled about, his face tight now, angry.
Aditya leapt into the air, flipping twice this time before re-activating his boots to land squarely on his feet on the other side of her. It was a beautiful maneuver, breathtaking in its soaring flight. The crowd cheered enthusiastically, calling out his name. Xai shook her head, amazed by the stupidity of the act. His whole body was open to a blow, utterly vulnerable. But it appeared to be a part of their ritual, and Aditya did it again, seeming to regain courage and equanimity by doing so. Xai glanced over at Joaana, who watched him glide through the air with an anxious expression. The crowd was roaring. He leapt into the air for a third time, spinning. The crowd was chanting his name again, wild with excitement.
Xai had had enough. Slipping the knife out of her fist she threw it. The blade whipped through the air, a sharp, glistening wheel of steel, and embedded itself in his right shoulder. Aditya let out a strange, pained cry. The crowd fell suddenly deathly silent. Aditya activated his boots and landed roughly on the circle, his left hand cradling the shoulder from which protruded Xai’s blade.
“Have you no honor?” he cried.
“What do you think this is, a game?” Xai replied. She couldn’t stop the contempt from seeping into her voice.
Aditya flushed bright red. With a strange, strangled roar he charged her, his left arm cradling his shoulder, the knife in his right hand.
Xai slipped into t’ei, Ready Stance. Now, now was the time—when he was angry, when shame filled him with foolishness. When he was within range she pivoted on her right foot and sharply kicked the knife in his hand with the metallic sole of her boot. Aditya staggered toward the edge of the circle. In three swift steps Xai was behind him. She punched him in the back, twice, in the region of the kidneys. Aditya groaned and fell to his knees. The crowd was completely silent, apparently unable to believe what it was seeing. Xai reached down, put one arm around his neck and grabbed the knife with her other hand. She twisted the knife in the wound. Aditya let out a strangled scream. “Drop the knife,” she said. Aditya dropped his knife. “Surrender,” Xai hissed, tightening her chokehold.
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