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Chapter Text

The voice came to Umun on the cold night wind, whisking its way through the boughs of the baobab trees and slithering through the wooden slats of her window, drifting into the smoke from the oil lamp upon her desk.

YOU ARE NAMED FOR WAR.

Her hand dropped the heavy ink stone she had been writing her report with, splattering dark liquid over the papyrus and the knife that sat beside it.

HEAR MY WORDS, AND TAKE THEM TO YOUR HEART.

A chill down her spine, like a knife whispering over her hide.

YOU ARE MY CHOSEN IMPLEMENT ON THIS WORLD, FOR YOU UNDERSTAND THE TRUTH.

She felt as though she moved in slow motion, standing from her kneeling desk, knife clutched in both her hands.

“The war is all there is.”

INDEED.

The smoke of her lamp was whisked into shape by the wind- two horns pointing into the sky like swords, a silhouette she recognized from paintings kept hidden away in the closet of her mother’s home.

“Zo’Arath. Sharpest blade of our enemy, tester of will, War Incarnate.” Her voice reached barely above a whisper, fearful of any number of watching eyes and listening ears. The logic of blade and tusk had been declared foul and heretical by some emperor ages past, a wicked implement of the enemy, used to justify dishonorable slaughter- but upholding honor would not protect her from the ever hungering maw of death.

“You have my ear, hand of the many-edged truth.”

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

“The enemy awaits us in Sol, their forces do not fear death- and neither should ours.”

Umun’s voice echoed through the war room, bouncing off the domed ceiling. What had once been one of Calus’s many sitting rooms had been converted into a space to delve into Ghaul’s grand plan for conquest.

“Intelligence from the Skyburners tells us that death has no hold over the humans - you strike them down and burn their corpses, yet they return to strike again. They are strong, resilient, and will throw themselves again and again at the blade if it means they make progress.”

She looked towards Ghaul, trying to gauge his reaction. He was as still as a statue.

“The forward scouts we’ve placed on their homeworld have sent back data regarding fortifications- they have a single stronghold, guarded by a white globe-“

“The Traveller.”

That was what got him to speak. He didn’t care about the enemy’s power or their movements. His focus was solely on the power he could gain.

Umun grumbled in discontent. “Yes, The Traveller. According to the intelligence gained from OXA, it is a source of immense paracausal energy, which is sometimes referred to as The Light. Our scientists have reason to believe that this… Light is what keeps the humans from their deaths. If we can find a way to limit it, we would rob the humans of their advantage.”

There was a murmur of agreement from the councilors assembled. The only ones still in silence were Ghaul, his Consul, and Caiatl, who was staring at Umun with disapproval.

“Evocate-General, if I may speak,” from across the table, Otzot rose up, “This “Light Suppressor” that you propose is technology that would be simple to develop. I would gladly take on this project if it would benefit our empire.”

Her eyes narrowed at the Psion. She knew Otzot, knew her well, and knew that this was somewhat out of character. Our empire , she’d only say that at gunpoint.

But Umun couldn’t make a scene. Otzot was a necessary piece of Ghaul’s machinations. The stone he sharpened his blade on. Without the Psion’s intellect, they would grow weak and dull.

“If that is your wish, Freeborn. The materials recovered by the Skyburners will be yours to tinker with.” She stated, bringing her right fist over her chest, “I trust that you will make our empire glorious.”

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

“ Do you trust her?”

Caiatl was sat next to her in one of the many courtyard gardens of the palace, cleaning her slug rifle. Her tusks still hadn’t fully grown back after her deployment.

“Otzot? No.” Umun grumbled, running an oilcloth over the blade of her cleaver, “You’re not being thorough enough with the barrel.”

The Princess-Imperial snorted, “She wants to make a play, and you’re not going to do anything about it? Has my father’s fate not been enough of a lesson for you?”

Umun, satisfied with the state of her blade, leaned it against the bench they were sharing. She held her hand out to Caiatl, and the princess wordlessly handed over her gun.

“There is a saying. “Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.” I give her these projects not just as a sign of goodwill, but so I can keep an eye on her. Give her nothing to do, and she’ll leave the planet in a heartbeat.” Umun explained, fiddling with the mechanisms of Caiatl’s slug rifle, “We need her here.” She removed the barrel of the rifle, looking down at it and grumbling. “By Acrius, do they not teach you calves how to take a gun apart?”

The princess scratched at the base of her re-growing tusks, eyes darting towards the passing of servants across the garden. She was silent as Umun cleaned her weapon.

“You and I both know why Otzot does the things she does.” Umun grumbled, “Power. Desire. Superiority. I wish Calus had let me blow up that damn moon when we found what she was doing on it.”

Caiatl shook her head, “But that would mean no OXA, and a higher risk of the rebellion failing. Like you say now, we needed her.”

The princess’s eyes glimmer with a wisdom from beyond her years. Umun was almost impressed with her. Almost.

“Talk smart like that to your superiors and you’ll be cleaning the war beast pens with a scraping stick.” The Evocate-General chuckled, handing the gun back to Caiatl, “But I will let it slide. Now go off and practice your shooting, you’ll surely need it in the battles to come.”

Chapter Text

The statuette had to be rescued from the boxes of her mother’s things. It had a chip in one horn and was covered in dust, but it was the best she could do on such short notice. She placed it on her desk with uncut jade and polished obsidian, as was tradition. The ritual incense was lit in accordance with the ancient scripts and placed upon the blade of her own sword.
And then she waited.
As the final rays of the sun filtered their way through the wooden slats of the blinds, a cold wind blew into the room, extinguishing the whale-oil lanterns, a chill crept into the air and-
“Evocate General, are you decent?”
She scrambled to cover the altar with a bedsheet- if she was caught something as heretical as this, it would spell catastrophe. Distrust from the people in their legions, removal from the war council, no one else would be able to protect them from what she saw.
“Patience!” She growled to the mysterious knocker. This was her private quarters, no one was meant to be disturbing her here, especially at this time. Now that she thought about it, who would even know where her apartment was? Caiatl, maybe, but she knew better. Ghaul of course, but he didn’t care enough to visit. Imoli was too much a coward.
Pleased with how she had hidden away her altar, Umun went to the door separating her main room from the hall and flung it open. She wished she hadn’t.
Otzot, standing in the hall, all too displeased. “Ghaul’s called an emergency briefing. Shayotet is dead.”
And he made me play messenger like a petty common servant was probably what the Freeborn was thinking.
“He wants you there. Imoli is fetching the Tea-Seller.” Ah yes, getting the gang all back together once one of them died. How considerate. “Why were you sitting in the dark?”
Umun snorted, ignoring the question. “I assume he wants us in his personal war room?”
The question was answered with silence. Get what you give, she supposed.
For the second time that day, they were in the converted sitting room. Ghaul was standing over his war table, still as death. Caiatl was at his right hand, head hung low but her watchful eyes scanned the room. The Consul paced behind them like a caged animal.
Otzot peeled from Umun’s side and sidled to the left side of the room. The silence with which the psions moved often left Umun unnerved. Had she not knocked then-
“Evocate General.” Ghaul’s booming voice wrenched her from her thoughts, “I assume Otzot has told you?”
She gave a short nod of acknowledgement, shuffling away from the doorway so that Moli Imoli could enter behind her, with Iska’al in tow. The tiny tea merchant had his hands filled with cups and a steaming kettle.
“Apologies a thousandfold for our tardiness,” Imoli started, “We would have been here sooner, but Iska wanted to bring the Mourner’s Draught..”
“It is a necessity-“ The small man insisted, placing his belongings on the table, “-That we must remember Shayotet now, when his memory is freshest in our minds. The funeral arrangements must come before business. I can get his family in contact with the greatest planners I know, provide the finest kindling for his pyre and the most skilled gladiators to fight in his honor. It is the least I can do for a dear friend.”
The Consul growled from the back of the room, stopping in his pacing to glare at Iska. “This sort of hesitation and opulence-“ he spat the word like an insult, “-is one of the exact reasons why Calus’ regime was weak. In my time we burnt the bodies and went on with our lives. The killer is still out there, we must deal with it before it takes any more of us, instead of planning for gladiators and kindling.”
The Aedile took a step forward, poised to speak, but stopped when Ghaul raised his hand. “Imoli. Stand down. Vraged, silence. This arguing shall get us nowhere. Iska, pour me a cup.”
As the merchant obliged, Umun’s attention shifted to the Consul. He had gone bone still at the invocation of the name he had lost so many years ago. Ghaul was the only one who still used it, but he had never done so with such firmness. She glanced to Caiatl, and could see no change in her stance. Hiding any shock well.
Ghaul took his cup of tea with a respectful bow of the head, “Your adherence to tradition will keep us grounded, Iska.” He rumbled, “We should not forget our past in pursuit of the future.”
Wise words. Words she had given to Caiatl, once. As Iska poured more tea, her eyes wandered back to Otzot. She could feel the disdain practically radiating off the Freeborn. She kept her walls high but hung her feelings on them like banners. When Iska offered her a cup, she hissed at him and shooed him off. Umun would not have expected her to behave any differently.
As Iska handed her the cup, she lowered her tusks in a sign of deference. The old man held to tradition, she admired that about him- but he was also flexible and wily enough to survive the changes of the markets, the rise and fall of multiple emperors. A man like Iska’al could change the outcome of a battle without even altering the troop formations. And yet, he stayed humble. A beacon of shining light in the shadowy war room.
As she sipped on the Mourner’s Draught, all she could think of was how, besides Iska, Shayotet had been the only one of them with any sense in his skull. Imoli was a coward with a backbone of dry twigs. The Consul was a pompous brat whose tantrums could rival those of Calus himself. Caiatl, though a good student, was young and brash. Ghaul’s vision for their future was narrow, and poorly planned. Otzot…
Otzot was gone.