Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-five


Date unknown

Time unknown


Ban-Hezikal, Kalar




SVETLANA WAS EJECTED from her slumber, her eyes popping open amid a sudden, jostling commotion from the chamber just beyond the archway of her suite. As she and her alien comrades sat upright, they beheld Yigôzien as she ran into the chamber. There was no blue in her eyes. On the contrary, they were the darkest yellow Svetlana had ever seen.

She addressed Akàziendi and Toro-shun, both of whom had also been sleeping, in words that were tumbling out and running together. Seconds after she finished speaking, the two darishu leapt to their feet and rushed to the window.

Svetlana scanned the room for Ed. As soon as she set her eyes on the groggy Ithini, she snapped her fingers and pointed to Yigôzien. Seconds later, the connection was established.

There was no delay from Yigôzien. She spoke to Svetlana the moment the connection was felt. Beyond the translated words, her voice quivered. “Ophareim has come for you!”

Ophareim…? It was too early—too rushed an awakening—to think straight. “What?” she asked, blinking.

“The Kalareim are here!”

And that got Svetlana stirring. Throwing off her covers, she leapt from the floating bed and onto the floor. “The Kalareim?” With sunrise barely peeking over the horizon, she rushed to the window to survey the grounds of Ban-Hezikal. What she saw floored her.

It was a platform. A large, floating platform, hovering mere inches over the runa legras. Atop it sat what looked like a tent, its thick, fabric walls swaying in the wind. Standing before it, wrapped from head to toe in loose garments, was a row of figures. Not a single part of them could be seen. They were completely covered like desert wanderers.

“He has come for you,” Yigôzien said, her porcelain skin taking on a new shade of pale. “How he found us, I do not know!”

It looked like some nomadic tribe had moved in by the landing site, right there where Svetlana had taken her first steps on the surface. Finally registering Yigôzien’s words, she looked at her and asked, “Who has come for me?”

“The banner that waves over the tent. It is the sign of Tributurian!”

Tributurian? Why did that name sound familiar?

“He is the leader of the Kalareim!”

And that explained it. Svetlana wasted no time. After grabbing her steel blue mask and wardrobe, she began getting dressed.

“What are you doing?”

“I am going down to meet them.”

Yigôzien gasped. “You cannot!”

“I am the vecking Incarnate,” Svetlana answered with narrowed eyes. “I can do whatever I want.”

Her tenacity did nothing to quell Yigôzien’s emotions. “But they are here for you! There is no other reason why they would have come.”

All the more reason to meet them. “Then you must hurry, as must I. I do not wish to keep them waiting.” With her outfit on, she strode for the door.

Yigôzien moved to block her, but Akàziendi reached out with her hand to stop her. Svetlana registered her protector in the connection.

It was the very first time that Svetlana had felt Akàziendi’s presence in her head, despite the time they had spent together. Ed was never present for their sparring sessions, and the one time that Svetlana had ever heard Akàziendi’s translated words, they’d been in the voice of Yigôzien at Sélestere. For all practical purposes, Akàziendi had been an unknown until now.

Akàziendi spoke, her somewhat raspy voice speaking to Yigôzien in what was clearly admonishment. But for some reason, her words were untranslated.

It did not take long for Ed to chime in. Apologies, master. I am having a measure of difficulty relaying Akàziendi’s thoughts and words. They are not as easily discernable.

What do you mean? Svetlana asked.

Ed answered, There is a level of resistance that is not present in the other Kalarael that I have connected with. This is my first experience connecting with a darishu. I can only surmise that their thoughts and motivations are not as openly displayed as their brethren.

That made sense. Svetlana recalled the conversation she’d had long ago regarding the darishu and their helmets hiding their eye color. That Akàziendi no longer wore her helmet—or counted herself among the darishu, for that matter—likely mattered little. Old habits were probably as hard to break for the Kalarael as for Earthae.

I am making progress. You will now hear her in the connection.

Indeed, Akàziendi’s translated words emerged in Svetlana’s mind. She sounded American. “You know they will not depart until they have seen her,” she said scathingly to Yigôzien. “To sequester her here is to put all of us in danger.”

“How, sister?” Yigôzien asked. A new title between the two Servants of the Incarnate. It sounded strange to hear.

Akàziendi answered firmly. “If we do not go out to meet them, they will force their way in. The Incarnate has longed to see the Kalareim since we first made mention of them. Let her see them, and them her. I will go with her and keep her safe.”

Svetlana liked the sound of that, and she said as much. “Yes!” Both Kalarael looked at her. “Yes, Akàziendi is right. I have longed to see them. I must, if I am to properly understand the dynamics of this planet’s politics. I know how formidable a warrior Akàziendi is. She must be, to be deemed my protector. I trust her to keep me safe.” Whatever it took to see the Kalareim.

“I do not trust them,” Yigôzien said, the former invoker growing red-eyed as she bared her teeth. “The Kalareim are vile monsters.”

“It is not a matter of trust,” said Akàziendi. “They are clearly here to speak with her, and they are apparently willing to do so without bloodshed, else they would have stormed this facility. But you must know that if we do not respond, they will indeed storm it. Trusting them is not necessary. But responding is. So trust me.”

“Trust her,” Svetlana said, putting in her two cents. “I do, with my life. Now please, let me go and meet them. It is my desire, as Shanras Incarnate.” She’d play that card for as long as she could. Yigôzien’s eyes burned red. She was angry. But that constant reminder that emotions weren’t to be taken personally was finally beginning to sink in. Svetlana found herself not caring so much. Focusing her gaze on Akàziendi, Svetlana said, “Come. If the Kalareim wish to see me, they will see me. I am not afraid.”

“I remind you, Akàziendi,” Yigôzien said, “that you are the protector of Kukira’s chosen vessel.”

“There is nothing you need to tell me,” said Akàziendi back to her. “I will not allow her to be harmed.”

Red eyes simmering, the invoker stepped aside. “Then if you must go, go. Shanras protect you.”

“I am Shanras,” Svetlana said pointedly. “And I will be fine.” With no further words, she marched toward the elevator with Akàziendi in tow.


The Kalareim. The other species on Kalar. From the moment she’d learned of them from the Kalarael, she’d seen them portrayed as the villains—the sentient scourge—of the planet. But the same beings who had vilified the Kalareim had also deified her, some for the distinct purpose of using her. It was for that reason and that reason alone that Svetlana was unafraid.

The same could not be said, however, for the Kalarael themselves. The lobby was packed with the fox-eared beings, all of whom stared out of the windows in yellow-eyed fright. Whatever beings awaited Svetlana outside, the Kalarael were terrified of them.

The Daystar was bright in the sky, prompting Svetlana to shield her eyes with her hands. Akàziendi, who was walking just in front of her, did the same.

A row of Kalareim stood ahead. Roughly the same height as Svetlana, they were covered from head to toe in various wraps. It felt as if she was meeting with some traveling band of gypsies or Arabian warriors. In their hands were staffs. Lest she think that was their only form of weaponry, she took note also of what appeared to be sidearms holstered to their leathery sashes. Behind the row of guards, the massive tent flap blew in the wind and a single, hovering stepping disc led inside.

And now, as she drew within meters of the guardians, the nerves finally kicked in. She prayed this wasn’t a mistake.

Lagging behind Svetlana and Akàziendi was Ei`dorinthal. The Ithini’s voice emerged in her mind. I am detecting fear in you.

I am not afraid, she thought back, lying—and quickly knowing better than to have even tried it. I am doing what must be done. The Kalareim did not come all this way to not see me.

To her surprise, the Ithini agreed. We are of the same mind.

Is Akàziendi afraid?

Ed answered, I am continuing to have difficulty determining her thoughts. I am still encountering a resistance that I have not experienced before. Would you like me to try to dive deeper?

The training of the darishu. Svetlana shouldn’t have been surprised. No, it is okay. Leave her be; I only need you for translation.

I will try once more. It will be of no inconvenience.

Turning her head, Svetlana watched the Kalareim guardians as she followed Akàziendi past them, breaking through their line without so much as a glance from them. They held their posts firmly. Setting her eyes forward, she drew in a deep breath as she approached the tent flap.

She was mere moments away from seeing the Kalareim. From seeing the other mysterious species with which the Kalarael shared their planet. There was no denying it, now. Her breaths were shortening. Her heart rate was increasing. She was becoming afraid.

Suddenly, just as Akàziendi stepped aside to hold open the flap for Svetlana, panic materialized in the connection. It was from Ed.

Master, you are in grave danger!

Grave danger? Svetlana’s pulse skyrocketed. What do you mean?

Turn away now!

But I have Akàziendi—

Ed interrupted her—one of the few times the Ithini had been so bold. The danger is from Akàziendi. What he said next turned Svetlana’s skin cold. She is not Kalarael!

She was not…what? Svetlana whipped her head toward Akàziendi, but Akàziendi’s hand was already against her back. With a firm, but careful push, Svetlana was forced inside.

The inside of the tent was illuminated by lampstands from one side to the other. Aside from that, it was completely barren. Kalareim were standing along the entire perimeter of the tent’s interior, but her eyes didn’t go to them. They were fixated on the figure standing in the center of the tent, his head wrapped, his back turned. A tattered cape hung from his back—he looked like a veteran warrior. He looked in control.

Tributurian.

A new, unexpected sensation swelled from the connection. New connections were being made, all around them. She could sense they were from Ed, as if his frightened mind was reaching out to snag anything it could in an attempt to make sense of what he was sensing—and unexpectedly finding things to cling to. Unexpectedly finding a language he already knew.

Lifting his head with his back still turned, the Kalareim in the center of the room spoke. His voice, confident and cold, was unscrambled before Svetlana’s mind. It was a tongue she’d heard many times since her arrival.

“Do you believe in God, Incarnate?”

Though muffled slightly behind the head wrap, she could understand him clearly. There was no trouble deciphering his words through the connection. He was speaking Kalarael. And now, her fear was joined by confusion. She turned her head to look back at Akàziendi. The protector, now standing between Svetlana and the exit, was staring solely at the Kalareim in the center of the room. Svetlana turned her head back his way. “Yes…”

“And are you God, Incarnate?”

There was only one way to respond to that, too. Almost hesitating, she confessed the truth. “No.”

“Then you and Kukira indeed share something in common.” Reaching up with his hands, the Kalareim gripped the sides of his headwrap. The other Kalareim in the room did the same. Collectively sliding their hands upward, they revealed the sentient species beneath. Fox ears, colorful skin, and feathery manes. Turning around, the speaker faced her at last. “Tell me, visitor from the stars, what do you see?”

What she saw was plain as day—but more stunning than anything she could have possibly expected. “…you are Kalarael!”

He stepped toward her. “Do you not see a vile, detestable thing? Do you not see a child of darkness? The spawn of Ophareim? Look into my eyes and tell me…what am I feeling?”

And it was right then, at that question, that the difference was caught. It was the only thing that distinguished the being she beheld from the many she’d beheld since her arrival. Black, impenetrable eyes. Not a trace of color to be found. She answered in the only way she knew how. “I do not know.”

“And in that same vein,” he answered, “nor do the Kalarael know. If you were to test my blood, you would find that there exists only one sentient species on this world. But we and the Kalarael are not the same.” His dark gaze shifted to her protector. “Akàziendi is one of our best. A ferocious warrior. A cunning adversary to any who would dare bestow that title upon her. But more importantly than both, she is the embodiment of all that is good. All that values life and liberty. I am proud to call her Kalareim.”

Svetlana’s head was spinning. She was so completely confused. “…I…I do not understand what you mean.”

“Her sacrifice, her selfless and constant rejection of all that makes her Kalareim, is a model to be emulated. She, as all Kalareim, believes that all life is precious. That all life deserves a chance to flourish. It is not a value the Kalarael hold dear.”

“I don’t understand! What sacrifice? How are you even Kalareim? Whatever you are trying to tell me, I do not follow!”

He angled his head. “Do you not see, Incarnate? Do you not see our skin? Our plumes? Our forms? What is the only thing that makes Akàziendi unlike me?”

The answer was obvious. It was Akàziendi’s colored eyes. “Her eyes, but—”

“You are correct,” he interrupted. He looked at Svetlana a second longer before stepping past her and focusing on Akàziendi. “Given time, her eyes will revert to their true form, indistinguishable from those you see around you. For the cure for this ‘defect’ lasts only a while. But it is long enough to make a difference. At least, until her time runs out. Then it is up to her. Either she will live long enough to retrieve another dose of that which cures her, or she will be discovered by the Kalarael and be slain.”

Defect. Cure. Dose. Of all the words this leader was saying, those medical terms were the ones that meant something to her. Those were the ones unscrambling this mystery in her brain.

“Black eyes occur in less than one percent of all Kalarael,” he said. “It is usually discovered at childbirth, but occasionally, it will manifest within the first five years of life. The eyes lose their connection to the heart. We Kalareim correctly recognize it as a genetic disorder—one of no harm to anyone or anything. But to the Kalarael...it is a mark of evil. A symbol that the afflicted has been rejected by Kukira. That they have been adopted by darkness. Ophareim.” He spoke the dark god’s name with disdain. “Most children with this ‘condition’ are killed, some by their own parents, but many by the Sovereignty. Those that manage to survive long enough to escape…well, you behold them, now.” He dipped his head in Akàziendi’s direction. “Akàziendi is one of many Kalareim that we have inserted into Kalarael society. Their purpose is to locate and then extricate those who would otherwise be killed. They are the saviors of the future of the Kalareim.”

Svetlana looked into Akàziendi’s bright yellow orbs. The truth was finally revealed. “They rescue Kalareim babies before they are murdered.”

“That they do. It is by pure chance that one happened upon you. It is by even greater chance that they were selected as your protector. Believe me, it is not advantageous to her that she has been ‘elevated’ from darishu status. It places her in peril, for when the antibodies in her eyes fade, she will have no helmet to hide her darkness from view. At that point, no sense of kinship or camaraderie will matter to any of the Kalarael she has known. To whichever one kills her, it will be a great honor.”

Kalarians. The new term came to her mind. This planet does not have Kalarael and Kalareim. It has only Kalarians.

“We Kalareim do not introduce ourselves through bajuines, nor do we cling to customs or clan names. Simply, you may refer to me as Tributurian.”

Tributurian, as she had predicted. The leader of the Kalareim. Oppositional royalty.

He continued. “My time with you is short. Ban-Hezikal has surely sent out a distress call. We are no match for the might of the Kalarael. What we excel at is moving quickly.”

Considering they’d set up this tent under the cover of night, that seemed an understatement.

“I desired this meeting to implore you to do one thing: refuse to bless any attack on the Kalareim people. It would result in our eradication.”

Thankfully, she’d had no intention of it.

“It has been brought to my attention that Darishukan Korlustus is summoning the War Council. Though their intent may be to discuss the Khuladi, they will surely discuss a potential campaign against us. If you bless their efforts on behalf of Kukira, we will be destroyed.”

All this time, Akàziendi had been spying. What an astonishing turn of events. “Rest assured, I will bless no campaign against you,” Svetlana said, “but I must inform you that the situation we are in is not good. High Priestess Linjan has made it clear that we will not be allowed to leave Kalar until I make this blessing. If you have any suggestions, I would like to hear them.”

Tributurian answered, “I do not at this time.” He dipped his head toward Akàziendi. “Akàziendi will serve as liaison between my people and you. Any message I wish to relay, I will do so through her.”

Though Svetlana wondered via what means they were in contact, with time a concern, she opted not to inquire about it. “What made you come all the way here to meet me when it was such a risk to yourself? Were there not easier ways to tell me the truth? Could not Akàziendi have told me?”

“With her eyes as they are, would you have believed her? You have heard since your arrival of a second sentient species. I find it hard to imagine you would have thought her a part of it.”

Behind her, Akàziendi spoke. “My time with you has also been limited, Svetlana. As a darishu, I was not at liberty to discuss such important matters with you—particularly with Toro-shun nearby.”

Arching an eyebrow, Svetlana asked, “So he is not Kalareim, too?”

“Akàziendi is the only Kalareim you have met, until now,” said Tributurian.

Akàziendi continued. “If you wish to discuss things in further detail, we may. You will soon be engaging in a duel with the Bakma, Kraash-nagun. As your protector, it would be understandable that the two of us might train alone.”

It was a good idea. “We will do that, then. There is much I wish to discuss with you, to say the least.”

“I regret that our time must come to an end,” Tributurian said. “Though it may seem strange to go through the trouble of such a meeting for such a short period of time, it was important that you saw us. You have looked into the eyes of the spawn of Ophareim. You know that you have nothing to fear.”

Svetlana had no immediate response. She needed time to process this. “I understand. I do not wish you to be captured or killed.”

“I am glad to have finally met you, Svetlana. Were our circumstances different, I would very much enjoy discussing the stars with you. As it is, however, I will learn through Akàziendi’s experiences with you. You are safe in her care.”

At least that was one thing both the Kalarael and Kalareim could agree on—even if for entirely different reasons. Before they turned to depart, Tributurian handed to Akàziendi a small, silver case, no more than a half inch in length. “Another dose, for when your current one wears out,” he said. Akàziendi accepted it and then slipped it into her wardrobe. Tributurian’s focus returned to Svetlana. “A precaution all like Akàziendi must take. A new dose cannot be taken until the current dose fades completely, lest permanent damage be done. Though a Kalareim never knows exactly how long a dose will last, they can make a rough estimate. Akàziendi’s will likely come to an end soon.”

“We must leave,” Akàziendi said. “The Kalarael will respond to this visit quickly—with far more firepower than we can resist.”

Svetlana didn’t argue. Offering Tributurian and the Kalareim a final glance, she followed her protector outside the tent.


As she tracked across the runa legras and back toward the structure, Svetlana tried to wrap her head around what had just transpired. Of all the possibilities that existed in Svetlana’s mind as to what the Kalareim could have been, this had been nowhere near any of them. She was too floored to even put it all into perspective.

The Kalareim at post, all of whom still donned their headwraps, strode toward the tent. Svetlana turned to watch them. Within seconds of the last Kalareim’s entry, whatever antigravitational drives existed under the platform hummed to life. Moments later, the entire platform began to move away.

Svetlana could sense Ed’s presence in her mind. Though he had not entered the tent with them, he had stayed connected throughout her conversation with Tributurian. Now that the meeting was over, she very much wanted to know what he thought. Ed, what do you think about what just occurred?

The Ithini was ahead of Svetlana and Akàziendi, watching them approach as darishu rushed to the scene, Toro-shun among them. There is much for me to process, as there is for you, the Ithini finally answered. Though the Kalarael and the Kalareim are the same species—Kalarians, as you have dubbed them—their minds work in very different ways.

Akàziendi spoke to the darishu as they neared. Behind them, Yigôzien approached as well.

Whereas the Kalaraels’ natural inclination is to openly reveal emotions and motives, the Kalareim are the opposite. After spending so much time with the Kalarael, I fear I have grown accustomed to the ease at which I can probe their minds. Perhaps it has weakened me to the point where reading the Kalareim is a struggle.

The Kalarael exchanged bajuines in every direction. Svetlana didn’t care about any of them. Is it just a matter of rebuilding that mental muscle?

Ed’s answer came after a hesitation. I do not know. The Kalareim have been taught to hide their thoughts. I sensed much misdirection from Tributurian in the time I was connected.

Raising an eyebrow, she asked, Misdirection?

It would be premature for me to suggest that he possesses an ulterior motive, for his base argument is sound. But there is inherent distrust in his mind, far greater even than what exists in most Earthae. I am left with the impression that they have not only grown to despise the indicative nature of Kalarael eye color, but they desire to actively work against it. It is not that they intend to deceive. They seem to intend to hide true motivation. There is a difference, subtle as it may be.

She understood. The color-changing characteristics of the Kalarael were the reason the Kalareim had been rejected. It made sense that they would grow to hate not only it, but everything it stood for. The pendulum swung in the opposite direction.

I must connect you with the Kalarael.

I understand. A second later, the connection was widened to include Akàziendi, Yigôzien, and the darishu around them.

It was the invoker who spoke to her first. “Praise to Kukira that you are safe! Your decision to speak with the Kalareim was very unwise, and I harbor a great anger toward you for choosing it over my counsel.” Her red eyes verified the claim. “You must never put yourself in such a position again.”

Svetlana opened her mouth to express her own disagreement, but Akàziendi beat her to the punch. “In meeting the Kalareim on her own accord, the Incarnate protected the lives of everyone at Ban-Hezikal. They would have found a way to get to her, one way or another. The visit ensured that they did not charge through our doors with brandished weapons.”

It struck Svetlana as she watched the fervent, bright yellow eyes of Akàziendi, that what Tributurian claimed was true. All this while, Akàziendi had been playing a role. She played it, still. For a Kalareim to willfully adopt the very behavior that her species detested spoke volumes about the internal sacrifice it required. For all practical purposes, she’d stopped becoming Kalareim entirely.

What are you saying, Sveta? She chastised herself. There is no Kalarael or Kalareim. These are all the same species!

“This is an argument for another time, sister,” Yigôzien said, eyes still red with anger. “We must speak now with the both of you. You must tell us everything the Kalareim discussed. Come, follow us inside.”

Dutifully, the pair did as told.


For the next hour, Svetlana and Akàziendi were thoroughly debriefed on their conversation with Tributurian. Thankfully—and quite intentionally, it seemed—Akàziendi took the point position in all aspects of the meeting, going over it with all the fervor of a Kalarael zealot. It astounded Svetlana how her protector was able to essentially lie between her teeth while simultaneously controlling her emotions enough to influence the color of her eyes. The way she worded things, the way she spoke of things, it was all so intentional. All so…

…manipulative.

Slowly but surely, Svetlana was realizing that the color-changing aspect of the Kalarael eyes was not so much a built-in lie detector as it was a constant mood ring. As long as Akàziendi spoke in anger, her eyes would stay red regardless of the actual content she spoke. During one completely made-up recollection, she spoke of how the Kalareim initially tried to restrain her until Svetlana stepped in to usher peace. Her eyes glowed red with fervency, as one might expect. But as Ed revealed to Svetlana privately, it was not the anger channeled from the fictitious recollection that caused her eyes to simmer, but her anger toward the Kalarael in general. She had to keep this anger at the forefront of her mind in order for the ruse to work. It was remarkable, if not a bit disconcerting. In order for Akàziendi’s cover to remain intact, she literally had to monitor every emotion she felt. She had to play off of them in the right way at the right time. She had to care—about everything. It made total sense now why Kalareim like her were revered. It was total emotional self-control.

It was also necessary.

Though there was much that Svetlana didn’t understand, she had picked up on the temporary nature of this “cure.” At some point, possibly without warning, it would fade. She could only imagine the dire circumstances that that could leave someone like Akàziendi in. It also brought into perspective the grave danger her promotion had placed her in. Under the helmet of a darishu, she’d been safe. That was no longer the case.

There did come one point during the debriefing, as brief as it may have been, where Svetlana turned the tables on her questioners—and specifically, Yigôzien. With the truth now revealed, she asked the former invoker the obvious: why had they not told her that the Kalareim and the Kalarael were a part of the same species?

The answer, as disappointing as it may have been, was not terribly surprising. Yigôzien explained, in no uncertain terms, that they were most certainly not the same species. In the mind of the Kalarael, such vast differences in moral composition were more than enough to categorize the Kalareim as something different, regardless of what science said. Information about the Kalareim had not been shared with Svetlana because it’d been deemed unwise to expose her to Ophareim’s influence, particularly when the two “species” shared such similar physical characteristics otherwise. For her part in playing the role, Akàziendi agreed. But she knew that her new Kalareim friend knew better. She looked very much forward to discussing it with her in private.


As the debriefing closed and all parties went their separate ways, Svetlana found herself seeking out the runa legras alone. She found herself needing the solitude to gather her thoughts. It was a task that was not so easy.

Since the moment she’d found herself in Kalarael company, the concept of truthfulness had been at the forefront of her mind. It was such a noble ambition to strive for: to be a truth-speaker, to be honest. Yet when faced with a society that thrived on that concept, at least in principle, she’d found it far more unnerving than enviable. Now that she’d beheld the Kalareim, there was no doubt in her mind that regardless of their reputation, they felt far more relatable. They felt normal.

It was good to be around people who could lie.

And it was that thought—that desire to be around the potentially deceptive—that vexed her. It felt counterintuitive to morality. It felt sinful. But it also felt safe. If the Kalareim could lie, so could she. If misery loved company, so apparently did the ability to bear false witness. There was a comfort in knowing that she didn’t have to tell the truth all of the time. Sometimes, she could omit it. Sometimes, she could twist it. Sometimes, she could outright embrace its antithesis. She’d done so in playing the role of the Incarnate when she knew it was untrue. She’d used her own ability to deceive to her advantage—just like the Kalareim. If anything, it made the Kalareim feel human.

But did that make it right? Was the ability to lie important? And did it matter if that lie was of great magnitude or, ultimately, harmless? Did a harmless lie even exist? For the life of her, if a friend back on Earth came to her with a deep, emotional conundrum, would she not offer slight falsities in an effort to lift her spirits? Would she not tell her that things would be okay even if she knew they would not? Was that level of “helpful dishonesty” permitted? Was it okay?

It’d always been said that a friend tells the truth at all times. It was a concept that was even scriptural. But if a child came to her with a concocted “breakfast” that they were proud of, wanting her to taste it, would she not smile and tell the child it was delicious no matter what? A Kalarael wouldn’t. A Kalarael’s eyes would glow red and it would tell the child that its attempt at a meal was awful. It would crush the heart of a little boy or girl. By telling them the truth. She could not imagine that God would do the same. That, by itself, unsettled her.


Svetlana managed to claim almost an hour of solitude on the runa legras before footsteps approached from behind her. It was Akàziendi, with Ed obediently in tow. When the telepathic pinprick emerged in Svetlana’s mind, she addressed Akàziendi as the Kalareim approached. “Prior to becoming my counsel, Yigôzien was called invoker of custom. What do the Kalareim call secret agents like you?”

Stopping several meters away, Akàziendi scrutinized Svetlana—the façade of the loyal Kalarael protector falling for the first time. “We are called”— there was a pause in the translation before the alien term emerged— “the tasharin.”

Ed’s voice clarified. Much like the term darishu, there is no direct Earthae equivalent to tasharin.

Continuing with her line of questioning, Svetlana asked, “And when did you become a tasharin?”

Akàziendi’s yellow eyes darkened—though their significance to Svetlana, at least so far as the tasharin was concerned, had diminished greatly. “I was born in a city far from here. It is called Obek. It is a city of Clan Voolrevan.” She looked off into the distance. “I have not returned to it since the day that I turned. I was a child on that day—old enough to realize when I saw my reflection that something was wrong. I recall going to tell my mother and her eyes burning with fear and rage. I recall her trying to kill me with a blade and my running out of our home. Though I was old enough to know that something was wrong, the full ramifications of the turning did not come to me until after I was rescued.”

It was hard for Svetlana to even comprehend what she was hearing. To have her own mother try to kill her.

“I was fortunate enough to be found quickly by a tasharin who happened to be walking the streets. His name was Hsan-jin. He was the first Kalareim I had ever met. I did not even fully understand at the time what a Kalareim was. We had only been taught to run from anyone whose eyes reflected Ophareim.”

That part confused her. “But does a Kalarael’s eyes not turn black when they are afraid?”

“They do. You must understand, however, that pitch black eyes are exceedingly rare for a Kalarael and only occur in moments of great inner turmoil.”

Yigôzien’s eyes had been black in the Zone Runner, after her capture—though she imagined that considering those circumstances, it was understandable.

The tasharin continued. “I, of course, did not know that Hsan-jin was tasharin when I met him. His eyes did not reflect Ophareim, as Kalareim normally do.”

Svetlana noticed a distinct lack of disdain in Akàziendi’s voice when she spoke the name Ophareim, at least when compared to the way Tributurian had said it. Perhaps she wasn’t as inwardly hostile toward the Kalarael religion as her leader was.

“There were different means in those days by which Kalareim could hide their identity. The injection method that I use is not the same method that Hsan-jin used. In those days, they wore color-changing lenses over their eyes. But these were not tied into the true emotions of the tasharin, therefore they had to be manually controlled. A tasharin had to choose which of the Purities to reflect and to what extent. Though they were highly trained, it was imperfect, and it made the role of the tasharin very dangerous.”

Using mention of the Purities as her segue, Svetlana decided to address the issue of belief. “You speak of the Kalarael faith differently than Tributurian. There is no animosity in your voice as you speak of them, as I heard in Tributurian.”

“I do not harbor the same atheistic beliefs as do most of my people. My understanding of Kukira is…different.”

“Different how so?”

Akàziendi hesitated before answering, “The Kalarael live under the assumption that their beliefs are correct. The Kalareim do the same. It is my belief that we are all mistaken in one way or another—that there must be core aspects of our existence that we do not fully understand, as we were never there to witness them come into being.” Her yellow orbs returned to Svetlana. “The Kalarael believe in a creation event. They call this the Exhalation, for they believe that in a single breath, Kukira brought into existence all that we see. The Kalareim, in contrast, reject such a notion. They believe that there are cosmic causes and effects that set things into motion—that we are the result of such a process. They believe that life is inevitable, not ordained.”

Angling her head, Svetlana asked, “And what do you believe?”

“I believe that it does not matter,” she answered with conviction. “I believe that if the Exhalation took place, the Kalarael cannot possibly understand it as it truly was. And I believe that if we were a biological inevitability, it can never be comprehended as it occurred before our existence. Perhaps neither are true. Perhaps both are. In the end, it has no bearing on our lives, therefore it is not an argument worth having.”

There was so much honesty in her words. Coming from a Kalareim, she couldn’t help but find it a little ironic. “Some in my species also believe in a creation event. I am among them.”

“Then perhaps that lends credence to the notion. Perhaps the consciousness that inhabits the universe has a preferred way of doing things. Or perhaps in the absence of evidence, different species can reach the same conclusion as there is nothing else they know.”

Svetlana narrowed her eyes in scrutiny. “You must believe in something.”

“I believe I have a genetic disorder that the Kalarael mistook for the mark of Ophareim. And I believe that the Kalareim have allowed their hatred of the Kalarael to cause them to reject beliefs that may well be true.”

Akàziendi, quite simply, was a skeptic. Perhaps in the truest sense of the term. She believed concretely in nothing at all.

“I do not hate the Kalarael,” Akàziendi said, “but I do pity them. In exiling my kind, they have removed a portion of their population that has value. It was an act of fear. That act of fear has spawned acts of hatred from those they exiled. It is a dance of death by two parties that refuse to make an attempt at understanding.” She fell silent. “I often feel alone in my own understanding of things.”

That made two of them. “Does Tributurian know how you feel?”

“He accepts me for what I am. That is something the Kalareim do well with their own kind. Unlike the Kalarael, there is no single belief system among the Kalareim that must be followed. There exists among us many adherers to atheism, agnosticism, and skepticism in general. There are even those among us that are highly religious, viewing their own condition as a symptom of Ophareim’s influence. They are few, but they do exist. They live their lives plagued by guilt, which is unfortunate. We come in many colors—as opposed to restricting ourselves to three.”

It was the closest thing to a zinger that Akàziendi had laid down. But by and large, the Kalareim sounded as diverse in their belief systems as humans did. After living with the rigidity of the Kalarael, it was refreshing.

“There are things we must discuss,” Akàziendi said, her contemplative expression replaced by one of sternness. It was time to get to business.

“So we must. Where should we begin?”

Akàziendi began pacing around Svetlana. “The summoning of the War Council is of no small significance. That they will discuss us at this summoning is of grave concern. As your protector, I will be permitted wherever you go, so long as you deem it desirable. It is imperative that you allow me to accompany you to this summoning.”

“Listen,” Svetlana said, running a hand through her hair, “our plan is to leave this place as quickly as possible. As quickly as we are allowed to, anyway. You know what Linjan said to us. Any advice you have concerning that, I will gladly hear out.”

The Kalareim looked off into the distance. “I am afraid there is little I or my people can offer. We are of no threat to the might of the Kalarael.”

“They sure don’t seem to think so.”

“They see threats where none exist.”

Humans did that, too. “There is the Zone Runner—the Bakma spaceship—at Winduster. If my engineer, Wuteel, can figure out how to repair it so that it can dematerialize, then we could use it for escape. Provided we could get into it, that is.”

“Do you propose that we assist you with that?”

“The thought is crossing my mind, yes.”

Akàziendi fell silent, her yellow eyes looking off into the distance. At long last, she replied. “I will send this proposal to Tributurian for consideration. We may be able to muster forces of our own to help you capture the spacecraft. It is not beyond our capability.”

A path. That’s all Svetlana needed.

“You must understand that assisting you in capturing the Bakma spacecraft will further kindle the Kalarael’s anger toward us. At that point, what you have or have not done will matter little. They will blame us for tainting the Incarnate. No War Council decision will be necessary—they will attack us outright.” Slowly, Akàziendi’s eyes narrowed. She fell quiet—like a being in sudden, deep thought.

A knot formed in Svetlana’s stomach.

“I offer a proposal. As Tributurian’s entrusted liaison to you, I may do so.” The tasharin sauntered toward Svetlana. “We are outcasts on this planet. You have heard their words against us—witnessed their lust for our blood. They are willing to blackmail a goddess to quench it.”

On this planet. On this planet. Before Akàziendi said another word, Svetlana knew where this was going. Oh no…

“It is clear that Earthae and Kalareim can biologically coexist. We breathe the same atmosphere. We can survive on the same sustenance.”

Stepping back, Svetlana held her palms out. “Now, wait a minute…”

The tasharin continued. “By helping you capture the spacecraft, we are invoking the wrath of the Kalarael. That is a great risk to us. But if as a reward, we may establish a Kalareim colony on your world…that is a proposal Tributurian might agree to.”

Ed’s voice emerged in Svetlana’s mind. I advise extreme caution.

Svetlana already was. “Akàziendi, I am no species ambassador.”

“But you are, even if you did not intend it. Did your God not place you here? Did your God not put me, a Kalareim, in your path? Did your God not present us both with a dilemma for which this is an obvious solution? Would your God not want you to save an oppressed species such as mine?” The whole while she spoke, she circled Svetlana like a predator. “We have technology that far surpasses your own. We would gladly present it to you. Your ship can traverse space. Slowly but surely, you could ferry our people across the stars to your world. You have these means, Svetlana. We do not ask for much—merely a colony where we are safe from oppression.”

Safe?” Svetlana laughed. “Do you think Earth is safe? We have been targeted by the Khuladi. They wish to enslave us.”

Akàziendi interjected. “Then they will face the combined might of the Earthae and the Kalareim.”

“I don’t think you understand the enemy we are facing here.”

“Did you not face it, boldly, at Winduster?”

Argh. “Yes, but—”

“Is our mutual deliverance from the Khuladi beyond the scope of your God’s power?”

She saw what Akàziendi was doing and she didn’t like it. “Please do not invoke the Name of my God to gain an advantage over me.”

“Or is your God the way so many of my people view Kukira? Merely an illusion?”

“Nothing is beyond the scope of my God’s power. He delivered me from the Bakma—He can deliver our species from the Khuladi. My concern is not faith in my God. It is trust in you.”

Akàziendi’s ears flicked—just a single time. “For what reason do you not trust me? Have I been dishonest with you? Have I not worked with you to prepare for your duel with Kraash-nagun? My anointing as protector may have been by the Kalarael, but it is of no lesser importance to me. For as long as I am able, no harm shall befall you. Unlike the Kalarael, I am not attempting to subvert you. I am being open and honest about the intent behind my proposition.

“As far as the invocation of your God, it is a legitimate question from a being such as me. I may not worship Kukira as my misguided kin do, but it does not mean that I believe in nothing. Perhaps your God is the God I shall someday serve—but if I am never given the opportunity to see Him intervene, then how am I to ever believe? I have little use for speculation in the realm of religion. If your God is real, I must be given the opportunity to see proof.”

She was so good at manipulation. The ease with which she twisted words, conformed them to guide Svetlana to the conclusion of her choosing. For as misguided as the Kalarael may have been, every bit of Yigôzien’s warnings about the Kalareim were ringing true in her mind. “My God does not prove Himself. That is not how faith works.”

“That is not how your faith works. I am not an Earthae. Our histories as species are completely different. How would I ever know of your God had you not come to this world? It is only logical—only reasonable—to surmise that if I am to put my faith in the deity of another species, I must be given a measure of proof first.”

“If you seek God,” Svetlana said, “you will find Him.”

Akàziendi resumed her circling. “Seek what God? Seek it where? How am I to seek a God I do not know exists? I am willing to give your God a chance. That alone should pique your interest. Or is sharing your God not a concern?”

“Of course it is a concern.”

“Then please do so. I wish to believe.”

She wished to believe like Svetlana wished for another pie to her face.

Perhaps sensing Svetlana’s hesitance, Akàziendi stopped pacing and said, “May I ask you a question?”

Svetlana let out a sigh. “Of course, you may ask me a question.”

“What have I done to lose your trust?”

Opening her mouth to answer, Svetlana caught herself before the words, “You are Kalareim,” could leave it. But it was the truth. Yigôzien’s warnings repeated in her head. The Kalareim were vile, they were detestable. They were evil. Svetlana had presumed that prejudice was entirely because of eye color, but what if there was more to it than that? What if the reflection of the Purities was merely on the surface? What if the outward appearance of prejudice was masking a truth about the Kalareim that Svetlana, in her open-mindedness, did not wish to see? What if, eyes aside, they were everything she’d been warned about? There was something about Akàziendi’s mannerisms, the way she circled like a shark, the way she dipped her head and bored deeply into Svetlana’s soul. There was a darkness to her. She was talking like someone with ill intentions to hide. Posed a question, however, she had no choice but to answer—so she did in the best way she knew how. “You have done nothing.”

“So your trust in me remains?”

“My trust—” She stopped again. She didn’t know what to say.

Ed, in his ever-vigilant way, chimed in. I can perceive the reasons behind your distrust, namely concerning her mannerisms. If I may play devil’s advocate, it may benefit us to keep in mind that just as the Kalarael have their customs, so may the Kalareim. The Kalareim may act outwardly in a way that arouses suspicion—but it may simply be their natural outward expression, not an indication that they are acting in ill faith.

Now she was just frustrated. Was it not you who advised me to exercise extreme caution?

I advised you to exercise extreme caution—not to discredit Akàziendi outright. I do not know her motives. She has hidden them well, even from me. There are natural barriers in her mind that may have been a lifetime in development. For this reason, I advised you to be cautious. It is not because what she says does not have merit. Just as I advised you not to read into the Kalarael’s eye color, I will also advise you not to read into Akàziendi’s body language.

This was getting complicated. Okay, fine. I will not judge her by her mannerisms.

Then again, maybe you should.

Svetlana gave him a flat look.

“Was there something you were going to say, Svetlana?” Akàziendi asked.

Focus returning to the tasharin, Svetlana thought before answering. “You must understand my position. I have spent many days with the Kalarael. I have grown accustomed to their means of expression. Yours is…different.” That was the best way she could think to phrase it. “I must adjust the way I perceive Kalarian mannerisms.”

Akàziendi angled her head. “Kalarian?”

“Is that not what you all are? You call them the Kalarael, you call yourselves the Kalareim. But you are all children born on Kalar. You are all of this world. You are all Kalarians to me.”

As Svetlana would have now expected, there was nothing that outwardly indicated how Akàziendi viewed the term. But the pause in her response was indicative of something. “An interesting descriptor.”

“Not quite so interesting as your proposal, I am afraid.” Setting her hands on her hips, Svetlana thought upon it. “You must understand that a Kalareim outpost on Earth, even without the threat of the Khuladi, is not so easy as it seems. If you were to be discovered by my species, you would immediately be distrusted.”

“Distrust is something to which we have grown accustomed.”

How could Svetlana make her understand? “It’s not like that. I don’t mean you would just be distrusted. You might be studied, or imprisoned, or…or even cut open.”

“Cut open?”

“The Earthae are not the most inherently hospitable species. I am…I don’t know if I would say an exception, but there are certainly governments that would care more about your anatomy than your well-being. That is a risk. A real one.” She scratched the back of her neck. “You would have to be hidden somewhere. Deposited, on an island, or a jungle, or…or a cave, I don’t know. Then you would have to learn how to survive. That is not so easy. There are a lot of things on Earth that can kill you. For all I know, mosquito bites could do you all in.”

The tasharin raised an eyebrow. “Mosquito bites?”

“You don’t have to know what that means,” said Svetlana. “The point is, your colony would be at the mercy of a planet you are unfamiliar with. You would face weather, animals, sickness…even the gravity is different. It is heavier on Earth. Not by much, mind you, but it is heavier. I am sure you could function, but it might take adjusting.”

At long last, Akàziendi shifted, turning to face Svetlana straight on. “Acclimation is not a concern. We are survivors. Gravity aside, all of the dangers you speak of are common, here.”

“Are you sure? Does it even rain here?” She lifted a foot, which was caked in wet runa legras. “I mean, look beneath us. What you all call the valesprings and the overflow, there is nothing like that on Earth.”

Steadfast to the last, Akàziendi said, “We would rely on you to guide us. Perhaps some of your kind would be willing to remain with us in seclusion to teach us how to survive.”

There was no getting through to her just how difficult a proposition this was. Shaking her head, Svetlana said, “The point is this—

“The point,” Akàziendi interjected, “is that we are outcasts on our own planet. We are rejected by our own kin—our own blood. We are hunted, we are killed. We must live amongst the rocks and the shadows. We have learned to move quickly because our existence depends on it. If I were to choose between the life of exile we live here or hope on a new, but dangerous world, I would choose hope. Tell me if you would not do the same.”

Svetlana didn’t need to think about that one. She would choose hope in an instant. But the moment she conveyed that, she would crack that door open. Drawing in a deep breath, she exhaled it and looked away.

“I see you understand.”

And there was the crack.

After a pause, the tasharin spoke again. “I will ask only this: that you consider my proposition. Do so without the prejudice of Yigôzien or her kin lording over you. Should you decide that it is a chance worth taking, I will present it to Tributurian. I believe I know what he would say. But please, decide quickly—or you will have the War Council to deal with. You have already experienced the treacherous tongue of Linjan. You will find the task of going against her not so easy…even for an Incarnate.”

In that, Svetlana agreed. With a measure of hesitance still remaining, but perhaps not so much as before, she nodded her head. “I will consider it.”

“You have my thanks, on behalf of myself and my people. Our future is in your hands.”

She certainly knew how to lay it on thick.

Reaching down to her sash, Akàziendi pulled out her shock staff. Pressing the button, she fully extended it. “It is understandable that the two of us might converse after our meeting with Tributurian, but we should spar as to not arouse suspicion. Privacy is an Earthae and Kalareim custom—not Kalarael. If we are alone here for too long, Yigôzien will wonder why.”

“You think she would suspect something?” Svetlana asked.

“I do not believe so, as she does not suspect me to be Kalareim, but she would certainly not hesitate to insert herself in our conversation. While I can lie, the less I am forced to do so, the better.”

She certainly understood that. Sighing, she reached behind her to pull out her staff. Holding it, she half-frowned. “Just so you know, it is very hard to wash this mud from my hair.”

“Then do not allow your hair to touch it.”

Touché.

“Your skills are improving—so let us begin.” With a deft spin, Akàziendi brought the end of the staff soaring toward Svetlana’s midsection. Svetlana’s staff met it with a crack.


For the next hour, Svetlana and Akàziendi trained on the wet runa legras. Though her blond locks did eventually become casualties, she found the tasharin’s words to be true: she was getting much, much better. Just the same, Akàziendi was skilled—extremely skilled. More and more, Svetlana felt the burning desire to make the tasharin’s face hit the mud, just once. Just to get one good ha in. But it wasn’t the end of the world if it didn’t happen. In light of the multitude of other problems facing her, getting a little dirty wasn’t so terrible.

Her conversation with Akàziendi and the tasharin’s proposition had left her with much to digest. Logistically, ethically, realistically…there was no shortage of things to figure out. The more time she spent with Akàziendi, the more she began to realize that the Kalarael and Kalareim were indeed like two entirely different species—even down to their learned mental behavior, as Ei`dorinthal could attest. She understood why the Kalareim might want to flee Kalar. That she understood it only made the decision tougher.

She needed advice. She needed wisdom. She needed someone to talk to who would be open, honest, and blunt to the core. Someone who wouldn’t be afraid to tell her, right to her face, if she was wrong. There was only one person she knew of who would be willing to do that to the level she required it. He’d done it before.

There was no doubt he would do it again.


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