Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty


Date unknown

Time unknown


Ban-Hezikal, Kalar



THERE WAS NO fanfare. There was no ceremonial fire. There was no procession. There was only a circle of mesmerized onlookers and the chill of wet runa legras beneath Svetlana’s feet. The Daystar had only begun its descent toward the distant, carnation-pink horizon. There was still plenty of daylight to go.

Kraash-nagun was standing almost ten meters away, crouched down with his head angled as if he was listening closely for any sounds other than the howling winds around the Ban-Hezikal structure. Off to the side, standing just before the Kalarael that encircled the designated arena, was Ei`dorinthal. The Ithini’s gaze was fixed, yet distant. Focused, yet all-encompassing. Attuned—and on lend.

The time had come.

Never had Svetlana felt more prepared for a task than she did this one, despite seeing Kraash-nagun’s prowess against Toro-shun earlier that day. Now that the dual of dominance had finally arrived, there was little doubt in her mind she would come through as victor. She was sure there was little doubt in Kraash-nagun’s, too. But such blusters, be they outward or personal, would soon have no influence. Soon, nothing would be left to conjecture.

Far behind Svetlana, like a pair of coaches, stood Tauthin and Akàziendi. With no extra Ithini available to connect them, there was nothing the two could say to one another to alleviate whatever fears they had—and no advice Akàziendi could freely offer to the Earthae she’d spent so much time training. Tauthin, for what it was worth, had said little himself. But both watched Svetlana keenly.

There were no designated rules for this affair; there was only the mutual agreement that at its conclusion, only one leader would remain standing. Whether or not that meant death to the loser was undetermined. Svetlana had no intention of killing Kraash-nagun. If Kraash-nagun was smart, he would dare not take the life of the Incarnate before an audience of zealous Kalarael. Whether he would be led by wisdom or principle was yet to be determined.

The build-up to the event was nearly nonexistent. The hour came, and the participants gathered. There were almost two dozen Kalarael around the arena—the full complement of Ban-Hezikal’s staff. No one would dare miss a battle between a deity and her insubordinate.

Standing near to Ed was Yigôzien, the counsel’s eyes dark yellow with apprehension—the sole color displayed by the one-sided audience. The only one cheering for Kraash-Nagun was himself.

Casting a brief look at Yigôzien, Svetlana saw that her fox-eared friend’s gaze was on her. Her whiskers and ears were pushed back like a worried animal. If Svetlana was honest with herself, she was worried, too. But this was no time for honesty.

“Kraash-nagun!” she shouted, loud enough for all those in attendance to hear. When the Bakma pushed up slowly to his feet, Svetlana removed her shock staff from her back. Upon mutual agreement, the lowest stun setting was to be used.

Holding his shock staff in one hand, one end buried in the pink mud beneath him, Kraash-nagun said, “I hear you.”

His tone was confident. So, too, would hers be. “Are you prepared to battle for dominance?”

There was a pause—one longer than Svetlana expected. “Yes,” the Bakma finally answered.

“And will you respect the results?”

Slowly, he angled his head. “Will you?”

Svetlana’s eyes narrowed. She tightened her ponytail then readied her staff in both hands. For a moment, she thought about praying.

“I am ready,” Kraash-nagun said.

Firming up her stance, she gripped the shock staff with white knuckles. He would strike fast. She would need to be ready. “Then let us begin.”

The Bakma elite wasted no time. Dropping out of his fighting stance—out of any semblance of a readied stance whatsoever—he tromped through the runa legras in her direction. His shock staff was gripped in both hands like he was holding a maul.

Brow furrowing, Svetlana shuffled several steps backward. What was this?

In as much time as it took for Svetlana to register the total change of fighting styles, the gap had closed. Kraash-nagun hoisted the staff up by its end, sending it screaming down in her direction. Dropping down, she lifted her staff to block. The end of Kraash-nagun’s staff hit the dead center of hers with thundering force. Svetlana’s feet faltered—she fell to her knees, eyes wide as he rose his staff again. For a second time in as many seconds, he slammed it down at her staff.

Pow!

This time, the blow was too great. Her left hand lost its grip, her staff slipping from it. By the time she reached down to grab it again, Kraash-nagun had already raised his weapon a third time.

She wasn’t going to regrip her staff in time. With only her right hand still with a firm hold, she abandoned all efforts at regaining a defensive stance and dove to the side. The end of Kraash-nagun’s staff smashed into the wet runa legras just as she cleared its path.

From far behind her, Tauthin and Akàziendi held their breaths.

After pushing herself up frantically with one hand and with half her body caked in pink, Svetlana scrambled away from the Bakma warrior as he strode unwaveringly toward her. There was no time to regain her fighting stance from her position. After a single twirl of the staff—the lone effort of finesse Kraash-nagun displayed, he took hold of the staff’s end with both hands; he swung it at her head like a claymore.

Once more, Svetlana lifted her weapon to parry, clinging to the staff as tightly as she could to brace for the blow. The Bakma’s staff smashed into hers with so much force, she lost her grip on it. As her palms surrendered and she toppled backward onto her rear, her staff flew across the runa legras, where it landed in the mud. She stared up at him wide-eyed. Panic set in.

This was not a battle of skill. It was not a test of weapon against weapon. This was a hammer in search of a nail. Kraash-nagun wasn’t attempting to outperform her—he was trying to destroy her.

Once more, Svetlana leapt out of the way to avoid a strike. Rolling across the mud, she scampered backward and away from him as quickly as she could.

For the briefest of moments, Kraash-nagun froze.

Svetlana stopped crawling backward; she cocked her head. He wasn’t advancing. He wasn’t attacking. It was like he suddenly didn’t know where she was.

Ed…

It came to her like a light bulb turning on. She could no longer see Ei`dorinthal on the sideline—Kraash-nagun was blocking her view of him. Which meant Kraash-nagun, who was using Ed’s vision to see, was now blocking his own view of her.

A weakness.

Whipping her head to the side, Svetlana sought out her shock staff. She could see it where it’d landed, sticking almost straight up out of the runa legras. But it was so far away—the moment she would try to run for it, she’d eliminate Kraash-nagun’s visual disadvantage.

A second later, he eliminated it anyway. Leaping sideways, Kraash-nagun removed himself from his own obstructed view. With Ed’s vision once again unhindered, the Bakma elite found her instantly.

Run!

There was nothing else Svetlana could do. She was closer to the shock staff than Kraash-nagun was. Leaping to her feet, she tore through the pink muck toward it. Only when she got close enough to reach out and snag it with one hand did she look back. Kraash-nagun was exactly where he’d been before. He hadn’t attempted to advance at all.

Svetlana reached down to wipe the mud from her hands, only to realize that her entire body was covered in it, anyway. Running her hands back over her hair instead, she wiped them as best she could before regripping the staff. Chest heaving, she watched as the Bakma warrior stalked toward her.

Kraash-nagun swung the weapon from side to side like a pendulum. Whipping the staff around his body, he slapped it under his armpit, where it held. Gripping one end with one hand, he opened his other hand and held it outward—an obvious fighting stance of some kind.

He was shifting gears, abandoning brute power for something more nuanced. Heart beating like a drum, Svetlana assumed the only fighting stance she—and apparently Nagogg—knew. Slowly, cautiously, Kraash-nagun maneuvered her way.

Get in front of him! Keep him between me and Ed. Svetlana sidestepped in an effort to do so, only to have Kraash-nagun match the motion. He was onto the tactic.

Closing the gap, Kraash-nagun snapped the staff around, sending its tip upward toward her like an uppercut. Bringing her staff down hard, she knocked the tip of his to the ground. Kraash-nagun quickly pulled it back then countered with several fast strikes, one after the other. Backstepping, Svetlana parried each attack with less and less effectiveness. He was fast. One strike came after another, after another, after another, each one increasing in velocity as if the kinetic energy of every parry added to the weapon’s momentum. Before she knew it, her defense was overwhelmed. The end of his staff struck her in the chest, the strength of the hit far greater than the low-voltage shock that resonated. Svetlana buckled forward and stumbled back, aimlessly raising her staff just to show some semblance of a defensive effort. The Bakma was having none of it, and with another lightning-fast strike, her staff was knocked from her grasp, landing several meters away in the runa legras. Yet again, Svetlana found herself diving not only to avoid a strike, but to reclaim her weapon for a second time.

Whack!

Twirling around, Kraash-nagun brought his staff spinning all the way around, smashing into Svetlana’s shins just as she made her move. The force nearly flipped her—she landed face-first in the pink mud. She whipped her head around just quickly enough to see the rough form of Kraash-nagun preparing for a jab. With her vision impaired by mud, she could only roll and hope to avoid the strike. Snapping the lower end of his staff sideways, Kraash-nagun popped her on the side of the face, hitting her mask squarely. Though it stayed in place, it left her sprawled out on her back and seeing stars.

She had no choice now. As he positioned himself above her, there was no rolling out of the way or making a dive for her weapon. Her only option—all she could do—was survive the attack. Tucking in her arms and legs, she prepared for the blows. A hit smashed into her ribs. Another hit her on the hip. The impacts struck her one after the other, the culmination of the shock causing her whole body to spasm. There was no question in her mind that, were he seeing with his own eyes, he would have delivered a finishing blow by then. As fate had it, she was imprinted so deeply in the runa legras, he likely couldn’t see her at all from Ed’s vantage point. Once more, it was the only advantage she possessed. Before the pops of voltage could totally incapacitate her, Svetlana grabbed a handful of wet runa legras and flung it as hard as she could toward Kraash-nagun’s face.

Impact! The glob struck him squarely in the side of the face, and he rasped and stepped backward. Though it wouldn’t impair his vision or do any real damage, it distracted him enough for Svetlana to propel herself backward on her back while he slung the mud down. Svetlana scampered to her feet and went for her staff. The moment she had it, she turned back around to face him. Wiping her hand across her eyes to smear away the mess, she heaved heavy breaths as she watched Kraash-nagun assume another stance—one more traditional.

Everything felt awful. Svetlana’s ribs and hips hurt where she’d been struck, her nerves were frayed by the pops of electricity. Even her hair was an impediment now, her ponytail so caked in pink mud that it felt like a five-pound weight was hanging from her head. The only thing she had going for her was that she was still able to fight.

It was right then, in her third faceoff against him, that a thought emerged in her brain. She’d just distracted Kraash-nagun by hitting him in the face with mud. Beyond the fortuity of actually connecting with such a sling for once, there came a recollection.

I don’t have to take out Kraash-nagun. I only have to take out Ed. All she had to do—the only thing she had to pull off—was to get close enough to Ed to hit him squarely in the face with mud. Just enough to affect his vision or sever their connection. Just enough to make Kraash-nagun blind again.

From the side of the arena and unbeknownst to Svetlana, Ed’s focus-wide eyes shifted to her.

They were right. Tauthin and Akàziendi were right.

Ahead of her, Kraash-nagun made his approach.

Crouching down, she picked up a scoop of wet runa legras. She clenched it in her fist.

Her spirit churned. Everything in her soul screamed out that this was wrong. That the ends didn’t justify these means. That it was better to lose fairly than win wrongly. That she was the one who had gotten herself into this—not her Ithini counterpart and friend.

Her spirit was right.

Svetlana’s hand opened; she left the wet mud on the ground. Regripping her staff, she prepared to defend herself once more.

Ed’s eyes remained on Svetlana for several seconds before their focus shifted back to Kraash-nagun. The Ithini went still.

The surge came suddenly. Lurching forward with his staff, Kraash-nagun thrust it toward Svetlana’s head. She leaned back and parried to the side. Kraash-nagun pulled back and swung for her legs. She angled her weapon to block.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Strikes and blocks came in rapid succession. Though she backtracked with every step, Svetlana felt the slightest hint of a battle rhythm coming on. It was the first semblance of an answer to Kraash-nagun’s aggression that she’d found. It also didn’t last long.

Ducking down, Kraash-nagun extended his staff at full length and spun, sending the tip of the weapon screaming for Svetlana’s legs. She leapt just in time to avoid the strike—but not quickly enough to avoid the follow-through. Using the momentum of his spin to make a second pass, Kraash-nagun whipped the staff around and up at a forty-five-degree angle, where it collided against the lower jaw of her mask with a violent pop. Her vision flashed as she caught air, landing a full meter away and flat on her back.

Svetlana couldn’t even writhe. Moaning dizzily from the mud, she blinked several times to stop the stars in her vision. By the time her head stopped spinning, Kraash-nagun was above her. Her eyes bulged as he pressed the staff down across her throat. Her airflow suddenly cut off, she gripped his staff as hard as she could in an effort to push it off of her. It wouldn’t budge.

From the side of the arena, Tauthin’s eyes widened. He took a single step forward, as if preparing to enter the arena. Beside him, Akàziendi did the same.

Head depressed into the runa legras, Svetlana frantically tried to lift the staff. It moved not a millimeter. She swiped at his head with her hands, trying to claw at him. He stayed just out of reach. Tauthin was right. He was going to kill her. As her entire head was pushed beneath the mud, her consciousness threatened to fade.

Kraash-nagun suddenly flinched. His head and hands jolted, as if experiencing something unexpected in the midst of his triumph. His downward push relented.

It was all the relenting she needed. Desperately shoving upward, Svetlana was able to push the staff off her neck just enough to suck in a breath through her mask—the only part of her head not beneath the runa legras. Gasping for air loudly, she reared back with her hand and swung it wildly where Kraash-nagun’s head had last been. Almost to her shock, it connected. The Bakma was rocked sideways, and his downward pressure on her disappeared. As he stumbled briefly to the side, she rolled over to crawl hurriedly away.

Every part of Svetlana’s head was caked. Wiping her eyes, she desperately sought out her attacker. When her eyes were finally cleared enough to see, what she saw stunned her. Kraash-nagun was standing where he’d been moments before, having risen from his stumble. One hand outstretched, he looked frantically in every direction, as if he was trying to find her. As if he couldn’t see at all. In that same instant, a thought emerged in her mind.

Kill him, master.

Ed. He had severed the visual connection on his own. Kraash-nagun was blind.

Svetlana looked where her staff had fallen. It was lying in the runa legras not far from the Bakma elite’s feet. No effort was made to move quietly. With Kraash-nagun discombobulated, Svetlana dashed as fast as she could.

He swung his staff wildly in her direction, at what would have been chest level. Leaping into a roll, Svetlana avoided the attack completely. Her hand latched onto the middle of her shock staff. Jerking it toward her, she managed to get both hands on it just as Kraash-nagun sent his staff screaming down at her. In a response of more instinct than true readiness, Svetlana raised her staff to block. Twisting her legs, she kicked at Kraash-nagun’s ankles with every ounce of her rapidly diminishing strength. While it wasn’t enough to knock him off his feet, it was enough to force him to regain his balance. Kicking away from him, Svetlana staggered to a stand. In the same second that she came to her feet, he came at her again, whipping his weapon wildly in her direction.

Dropping straight down as Kraash-nagun swung high, Svetlana jabbed at his neck with the end of her staff. Though her aim wasn’t perfect, it was close enough to hit him in the chest. The staff discharged, and Kraash-nagun was knocked backward. Though he didn’t fall completely, the blow was solid enough to drop him to a knee. Face twisting in rage, he hopped up, turned his head in Ed’s direction, and screamed in Bakmanese, “Traitor!”

Surging forward, Svetlana struck out at Kraash-nagun’s head. To her utter astonishment, he managed to parry it. Her next attack, however, was true. Bringing the staff around sideways, she smacked it hard into the side of the Bakma’s chest. Clutching the point of impact, Kraash-nagun attempted to one-hand his staff into a defensive position. It was too little, too late.

Thrust after thrust, Svetlana’s attacks hit true, pushing the Bakma backward. All the while, he attempted to move his staff into a parry position—occasionally, and quite shockingly, managing to do so. Svetlana knew she couldn’t afford to let him acclimate to his blindness. He was certainly skilled enough to. She needed a decisive blow now.

She swung at his hip—it connected. A follow-through to the other side of his body—it was blocked. With every second that passed, her efforts were being staved off more and more. But she needed that opening. She needed that one moment when she could land a haymaker. That one opening to fully exploit.

At long last, she had it. Striking at his legs twice back to back, Svetlana forced Kraash-nagun to place all of his focus on protecting his lower half. In doing so—for that one, single second—he left his upper body exposed. Knockout time. Thrusting her arms around in a snapping motion, she sent the tip of her staff screaming for Kraash-nagun’s chin.

Crack!

The tip of her shock staff hit him solidly, the combination of the hit and the discharge rocking his head backward and lifting his feet from the ground. For the first time that fight, the Bakma elite was down. Landing flat on his back in the wet runa legras, Kraash-nagun went still.

Svetlana couldn’t believe it. Almost stumbling as her body attempted to recover, she locked her eyes onto Kraash-nagun’s chest to see if it was still heaving. It was.

Kill him.

It was not Ed’s thoughts in her mind now, but her own. He was defenseless. His own staff was strewn to the side. As she staggered toward him, she switched the staff to the kill setting.

Kill him!

She towered over him, as he had towered over her. Raising her staff, she prepared to end him for good. Then, she paused.

He was down. His weapon was out of his grasp. He might have even been unconscious. There was no need for Svetlana to push this any further. All she had to do was declare herself the victor. All she had to do was deem the fight over. With Kraash-nagun’s life there for the taking, she did the one thing she was sure he wouldn’t have. Removing her hand from the power toggle, she took several steps backward and away. Bending down, she retrieved his discarded weapon even as he woozily began moving his head.

Thrusting both staffs into the air, she swiveled her gaze to the gathered Kalarael. As if their thoughts were attuned, they erupted with acclamation.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the Bakma elite rise. Turning back to him, she readied herself to defend.

Snarling loudly, Kraash-nagun said, “This was no victory. I was betrayed!”

“I have defeated you. Whatever circumstances caused you to lose, they were not ordained by me!” It was true. “Do you defy these results?”

“I defy any notion that suggests you are in any way superior to me! This was a farce and you know it. You were defeated.”

Holding her staffs out each to a side, she said, “Yet here I am.”

The rage on Kraash-nagun’s face was more fervent than any expression she’d seen on a Bakma. He was completely incensed. But her words were true—she had done nothing to cause this turn of events. Whatever issue he had, it was with Ed.

“I will not accept this ruling,” Kraash-nagun seethed. “Not now, not ever!”

“Then live your life blind,” she spat back, throwing his staff in the mud at his feet. “I am Ei`dorinthal’s master, not you. If I tell him you are never to see again, then rest assured, you never will.”

Of all the things she’d spoken to him, it was that threat that made him go quiet.

“I will give you a choice now, Kraash-nagun. Accept this defeat with what little dignity you still possess, and I will allow you to see once more. But if you defy it—if you deny my victory this day—then blackness is all you will ever behold, I swear it. Now make your choice.”

Despite the fact that none of the Kalarael around them could understand the dialogue taking place, their fox ears were perked. As if waiting to hear—waiting to see—what the one who defied the Incarnate would do.

For several seconds, he did absolutely nothing. He simply stared in her direction as the winds howled past the Ban-Hezikal structure. She knew as well as he did that this fight had been skewed in her favor. She knew that in his heart, he would never accept this. She also knew that he wanted to see. In the end, it was clear what won out.

Growling dangerously, Kraash-nagun lowered himself to one knee. Not for any moment during the gesture did his empty eye sockets leave her direction. It was as if he wanted her to see them. In a voice laced with pure hatred, he said, “I accept my defeat.”

There was no hesitation from Svetlana. Thrusting her staff into the air, she pivoted around for the Kalarael crowd. For a second time, their voices erupted.

Yigôzien ran toward her through the wet runa legras. As Svetlana faced her, she felt Ed’s connection link them. The invoker’s voice emerged. “Are you victorious, my goddess?” The enthusiasm in her voice indicated she already knew the answer.

“I am,” Svetlana said. The blue in Yigôzien’s eyes brightened further. “Kraash-nagun has accepted his defeat. The duel of dominance is finished!”

Clasping her hands together, Yigôzien said, “I shall announce it to the crowd!” Turning, she addressed the circle of Kalarael.

Svetlana had no interest in hearing any proclamations about her success. Her eyes were already seeking Tauthin and Akàziendi. Both were watching her from the same places they’d stood all fight long. Though she couldn’t see their expressions at such a distance, she knew they must have been proud. In front of her, Kraash-nagun pushed up from his knee. Despite the rage on his face, he made no effort to retrieve the staff she’d thrown in the mud before him. Turning from her, he trudged away in defeat.

Her address finished, Yigôzien faced Svetlana again. “What shall we do now, my goddess? Shall we have a celebration?”

That was the last thing she wanted to do. “The only thing I want right now is to get clean.” She was a pink wreck, yet again. “Explain to them that once a duel is finished, it is finished. There is no celebration.”

“As custom dictates,” Yigôzien said.

“I wish now to go to my chambers to clean. I request privacy during this time—the only one I wish to accompany me is Tauthinilaas.”

Yigôzien bowed. “As you wish, my goddess.”

Stepping away from her fox-eared counsel and with her staff still in hand, she called out to Tauthin as she walked toward the structure. “Tauthin! Come with me, please!” Her endorphins were surging. She almost couldn’t believe it. She’d come so close to being defeated—so close to utter humiliation. Ed saved me. By cutting off Kraash-nagun’s eyesight, he allowed me to win. Why? Turning her head, she sought him out in the dispersing crowd. He was standing in the distance, getting an earful from Kraash-nagun. Svetlana was unconcerned. There was zero chance that Kraash-nagun would harm Ed with his vision hanging in the balance. Ed would endure the sore loser’s tirade then move on. What a good friend I have in him. For whatever reason he helped me, I will forever be grateful.

After turning her head back to the structure, she trudged inside with Tauthin in tow.


As soon as she was in the elevator and moving up, she let her emotions loose. Beaming behind her half-mask, she spun to face Tauthin. “Did you see that? Did you see it?” No time was afforded him to answer. She carried right along. “He was so incredibly good! Every time I thought he would fight one way, he fought in another. At first he was like, this machine, just pounding at me, then he did this like…I don’t know what it was, I’d never seen it before, but it was crazy!” Her heart was pounding as if she was still in the fight. The elevator door opened and she stepped inside the suite.

Tauthin followed in silence.

“I don’t know if you could tell, but there was a point where he suddenly lost his vision. It was so funny, because I actually thought about doing what you and Akàziendi said and taking out Ed to get the same result!” She gasped. “Wait a minute, was that why he helped me? Did he know what I was thinking of doing and did he repay me for not going on with it? Could that have been it?” Maybe he’d been in her mind the whole while and she hadn’t known. Toward the cleansing pool she went, tossing both the staff and her half-mask on the floor as she waded into it. Wincing, she said, “God, this water’s cold! Could they not like, keep it heated up?”

Behind her, Tauthin bent down to pick up a bucket.

“Anyway, then it was like bam, suddenly he had no vision, and I was able to smack him, like this.” She gesticulated wildly with her hands as if wielding the staff right then and there. “He couldn’t believe it! He was so caught off guard. But I am telling you, he was still so good! Even blind, I mean, obviously I was better, but he would still block some of the attacks.” Her pantomiming continued. “And then when he least expected it,” she said, whipping her arms up to mimic the winning shot, “it was like, boom!” She turned to face Tauthin.

It hit her in the face right when she did. An enveloping wave of cold water—a veritable tidal wave. Mouth agape as she sucked in a breath, she immediately bent forward and gasped as water invaded her nasal cavities. Coughing as she shook her wet head, she wiped her eyes and strained to see through the newfound blurriness.

Tauthin was standing there, dripping bucket in hand—and glaring.

“Tauthinilaas!” Forced to wipe her eyes as the now dripping runa legras literally melted over her head, she coughed once more. Sucking in a chunk of the pink muck from one of her cavities, she spit it out of her mouth and into the pool. “Why did you—”

A second blast hit her, dead in the face and sending her sputtering. Nearly stumbling backwards, she erupted into a waterlogged, hacking fit. Wiping her eyes and covering her cavities, she cried, “Stop it!”

“You arrogant fool,” Tauthin said.

Jaw set like a stone, Svetlana wrung out her ponytail with vehemence. Beneath dripping lashes, she listened as he spoke.

“Do you have any idea what you have done?”

Running her hands over her hair—which was at least partially cleaned—she drew in breaths of ire.

“Any creature with eyes could plainly see who the superior warrior was in that battle!” Tauthin shouted. “That you were victorious is irrelevant. He excelled in every capacity!”

“But I did win!” she shouted back.

Pointing toward the outer window, Tauthin asked, “In whose eyes? Do you think you won in Kraash-nagun’s? Do you think you won in Wuteel’s? All you have done is prove to them that you are inferior!”

Now she’d had enough. “I won!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. Her face flushed deep red. “I was the victor! I won the duel of dominance! What more is there to prove?”

Tauthin matched her tone in kind. “The whole point of the duel was to prove yourself to them! To the other Bakma, not to the Kalarael! The Kalarael already adore you!” Throwing the bucket to the floor, he raged on. “Setana, do you not realize what you have done? You have gone in a complete circle! All of this practice, all of this foolish pursuit of a made-up custom, was to prove to Kraash-nagun that you were worthy to be followed. Not only did you do the opposite, but you undid whatever strength you held in Wuteel’s eyes, as well! Now you have two Bakma who believe you are unfit to lead.”

She cocked her head. “Did Wuteel say that?”

“He did not need to! You were clearly inferior! The moment you are back in the Zone Runner, they will string you up and flay you. You have affirmed their every suspicion!” Reaching down, he grabbed the bucket again and filled it up.

“Tauthin…” she said warningly.

He rose with it filled to the brim. “And now you stand here, basking in your own imaginary glory as if you achieved some great feat!”

As he readied the bucket again, her volume intensified. “Tauthin…”

“You…achieved…nothing!” Rearing back, he slung the contents of the bucket in her direction again.

Lowering her head, Svetlana took the douse, then screamed. After whipping her sopping ponytail from her face, she marched in his direction. As he reached down to fill the bucket again, she reached out to snag it. “Give me that!”

He yanked it back. “You have wasted all of our time with your needless quest for validation!”

Growling, Svetlana jerked the bucket back in her direction as hard as she could. When he released it, she went toppling back under the water. Rising with mouth gaping, she wiped her hands over her head and glared at him.

Tauthin knelt down at the edge of the pool. “You are an idiot.”

It wasn’t the word that made her pause; she had been called far worse. But the conviction with which he’d said it struck her. Heaving heavily with her hands on her hips, Svetlana stared at him.

How could he say that? How could he call her that after all that she’d done? After all she’d accomplished? She had removed Nagogg from leadership. She had freed them from the grasp of the Khuladi. She had established them as her very own on this strange, alien planet. And she had proven to them—undoubtedly, unequivocally—that she deserved to be their leader. It didn’t matter how she’d won. It mattered that she’d won. She had won. She was the victor. In this instance, the ends wholeheartedly justified the means. They justified it in the same way they had when she was deemed a goddess, and it put her in a position of influence. They justified it in the same way they had when she’d agreed to let the Kalareim help her steal the Zone Runner, for the purpose of her and her friends getting home. They justified it in the same way they had…

…when she’d struck Tauthin with her staff, lied about the intent behind it, then called him a slave. Because it satisfied her lust for dominance. Because it provided her with a feeling of power. Of validation—just like he’d said.

Oh my God.

Deep within her, like the distant rumble of thunder, there emerged a throbbing hurt. A horrible, realized guilt. It was exactly as Tauthin had said, what felt like so long ago. She had become the hunter she’d sought to escape. She’d become Nagogg. She’d become the Khuladi. She’d become General Thoor.

A justifier.

Turning away from him, she raised her hands from the water to place atop her scalp, where they came to rest. What have I done? What have I been doing? Tauthin had been right in proclaiming her a hunter of validation. He’d been right in calling her an idiot. She was willing to go on an entire needless side quest for the sole purpose of convincing—no, forcing—those under her to respect her. She’d been willing to delay the mission to return to Earth to achieve it. She’d been willing to expel every ounce of energy she had every single day, to trundle back to the structures covered from head to toe in pink mud, for it. To risk humiliating defeat, not only to the detriment of herself, but to the detriment of everyone in her party. But it was necessary. To have all hands on deck was necessary. But not this way.

Not this way.

What have I done?

An idiot. An interstellar ambassador. An idiot. The Fury of Shanras—the Incarnate.

An idiot.

She realized in that dreadful, stomach-turning moment, the extent of her folly. It was much more than a folly of pride. It was a betrayal of not only who she’d always been, but who she had striven so hard to become. The kind of petty pursuit she would have formerly condemned, yet that she’d now embraced because it benefited her. And for all of that time, for all of that dedication, she had gained…nothing. In fact, she had lost ground.

In that instant, with her only true friend on that side of the galaxy glaring down at her like a displeased parent, her aura of invincibility shimmered. Teeth still clenched, but now trembling, Svetlana continued to look away from him—the goddess unable to look at the slave.

Tauthin’s bony, narrowed brow softened. His fists slowly unclenched. As Svetlana closed her eyes, raising a fist to her forehead as she shook, he rose to his feet and stepped into the pool. “Setana.”

And now, it came out. For so long, she’d staved off those tears. For so long, she’d pretended that that wasn’t her anymore. Who had she been kidding? As her face twisted, the façade fell. She was no goddess. She was no war maiden.

She was Svetlana.

“Forgive me,” Tauthin said. “My words were untrue. I do not know why I spoke them.”

That statement—that declaration of misspoken intent—was the only untruth from his lips. Everything else had been spot on.

Who am I? What have I become? What am I becoming? For as much as she’d despised the woman she once was, she now realized the one she’d become was worse. One for whom a once humble demeanor had been replaced by a demand for recognition. One for whom a servant’s heart had been replaced by a thirst for position and power. One for whom a once tender, healing touch had been replaced by the strike of a staff. She’d achieved tangible victory through moral necrosis. And she’d been okay with it.

But she wasn’t okay now.

I’ve failed You.

What a mess. What a disjointed, irreparable mess. She was a free captive, believed to be a goddess, playing both sides in a species’ blood feud, thousands of light-years from home. She felt totally alone. “I am sorry, Tauthin,” she said, tears falling. “I am so sorry for this.”

His talons squeezed her shoulder. “You do not need to apologize.”

“I do.” Moist eyes averted, she nodded her head a single time. “My faithful friend, I do. You were right about everything.”

The Bakma remained silent.


There was something to be said for hitting rock bottom. Svetlana had thought that rock bottom was being chained to a brig wall without a nose, or being forced to perpetually kneel next to Nagogg’s chair while Mishka christened her with urine and drool. But there was no rock bottom like this. There was nothing like knowing that failure was not due to some unforeseen or outside circumstance, but solely the result of one’s own moral insufficiency. Solely due to who they were. But if there was one good thing about rock bottom, it was that only one direction served as a viable option. And so, Svetlana looked up—not to her own wisdom or cleverness, not to how she could impact her situation or crawl out of the mire under her own strength, but to the One Who had put her there in the first place. The One Who had allowed her to fail for the purpose of reaching that very moment. Class had been in session for some time now. It was time to finally pay attention.

You delivered me from Nagogg. You made my weakness my strength. You allowed me to put myself in this unwinnable situation. My God…I need a way to win. I need a way to escape this world. I need a way to get out of this war between the Kalarael and Kalareim. I need a way to win the hearts of my comrades. And none of it…none of it…I can do on my own. I have tried. God, how I’ve tried. But I know now that I need You.

It was the first time she had prayed those words since being Nagogg’s prisoner. Once more, they came when she was in need of help. When the stakes were down. When there seemed no path forward. How much different might her situation be had they come every day?

There was only one way to find out.

I need You today. I need You tomorrow. And the day after that…and the day after that. There will come mornings when I forget to say it, but it will always be true. Remember my words now. Remember when I refused to deny You, even as I was tortured. Remember that and not who I have been since—for that woman is never who I have striven to be. You have allowed me to be put here for a purpose.

Forgive me and use me for it.

There was so much that came along with that statement. To be used by God was rarely to be put in a position of comfort. More often than not, it came with the opposite. The question was—it always was—was a child of God willing to endure it? Were they willing to endure the trial to receive the reward? Were they willing to trust that all things worked for the good of those who believed? Were they willing to relinquish control?

All the while that Svetlana sorted out her feelings, Tauthin held her. Neither spoke during that time, the understanding seemingly shared between them that no words were needed. Svetlana was going through something that Tauthin didn’t understand. She, on the other hand, understood it all too well. She understood the hurt. She also understood the hope. And it was the latter she would choose to cling to. Though unwinnable by her, she was yet to encounter a situation that was unwinnable for God. Even amid the waves in her heart, she felt that something bigger was brewing. Some purpose beyond winning an insignificant duel of dominance. Bigger than her failures. Bigger even than hitting rock bottom.


The rest of that evening was spent in emotional solitude in her chamber. Eventually, after her cleansing, she was joined by the various other lifeforms with whom she shared the structures at Ban-Hezikal. Yigôzien came to heap praise. Akàziendi came to distantly observe. Kraash-nagun came, perhaps rightfully, to cast visible ire. As for Tauthin—Tauthin stayed by her side the whole of the evening, his vigilance unmatched even by the former darishu assigned to protect her. For as much as she was feeling, she sensed he was feeling something, too. Perhaps, in some small, but not insignificant way, he was beginning to feel how it felt to be human. She hoped he was ready for that journey. Though worthwhile, it was rarely smooth.

As evening set over Ban-Hezikal, the vibrant, pastel hues succumbed to darkness—and to the beauty of a billion stars shining behind a set of planetary rings. From her window in the suite, Svetlana watched it with reverence. Even there, God’s artwork shone. She was ready to see what His artist’s hand could do with the mess she’d made of herself.

She was finally ready.


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