Broken Circle (26 page)

Then, from the three-mooned planet Doisac came the big, brutish Jiralhanae. Vicious fighters, their wars had reduced them from a higher civilization to one hampered by only feeble technology—thus their resistance to the Covenant was short-lived. Added to this, they seemed to have an unfilled hunger for some theological meaning, and they quickly adopted the worship of the Great Ones and set out upon the Path to the Great Journey. They are like overgrown carnivorous primates, sometimes given to feeding on the meat of fallen enemies at the conclusion of battle; they are massively muscled, thumping about on enormous two-toed feet. The hulking creatures, now known as Brutes, are prone to feuds and megalomania, and while they are most useful in a battle, especially in close combat, they are known to privately jeer at the other members of the Covenant—except the San'Shyuum, thank the Great Ones, of whom they are in awe. They seem to have a particular dislike of the Sangheili, and are known to resent the high place the Elites have taken. In truth, I trust them not. It may be that . . .

(The text here is damaged, interrupted. It continues thus:)

. . . the war with the humans has for much of its history gone well, though lately events are taking a disturbing turn.

We have destroyed many of their colony worlds without quarter or relent since the very beginning, having discovered their colonies before they found us. Their discovery was really one of chance, by way of the predations of a Kig-Yar missionary vessel, when they came upon a world the humans called Harvest.

Signals consistent with Forerunner presence were detected there, but no intact artifacts were found. The Hierarchs concluded that the humans had sacrilegiously destroyed the holy relics—after violence erupted between emissaries of the Covenant and the humans, the Hierarchs decided, for reasons unknown to me, that the humans were so dangerous and heretical they must be wiped out completely. They declared the humans vermin, claiming that they were intent on desecrating Forerunner vestiges. I will only note that, curiously enough, other members of the Covenant, when first discovered, were thought dangerous and heretical—and yet allowed to join us.

After a furious battle, the planet Harvest was subjected to plasma bombardment and glassed, but not before many of the humans had escaped. More human colony worlds were found and destroyed. Yet we could not, for many cycles, locate their homeworld, something we had learned was called Earth.

Solar cycles of war followed as we fought our way from one human colony to the next, wiping them out. We took grievous losses at times in those cycles, but the humans won only a sparse number of battles. We were an unstoppable force, rolling over their civilization, which seemed over time to have encompassed impressively large portions of the galaxy.

Then came the planet they called Reach, which we supposed to be the cradle, the homeworld. It was not. Though the planet was eventually glassed, the events that followed began to set the war in a new, alarming direction.

A human vessel, fleeing this world Reach as it burned, came upon the first Sacred Ring—our Fleet of Particular Justice followed the humans to what we now know was Alpha Halo, discovering it at almost the same time. A great battle was fought on the Sacred Ring and it was ultimately destroyed.

The destruction of a Halo was a wounding of hope. We all experienced its loss with a deeply resonant grief.

There is yet the dream of finding. Perhaps we shall find other Rings someday—but that hope in my lifetime may be impossible. In the meantime, the humans continue to create obstacles to the Great Journey . . .

(Interruption in the text due to damage.)

. . . and so, given our willingness to incorporate other races within the Covenant, I have been confidentially puzzled about the Hierarchs' dismissal of any possibility of offering the humans and their colonies a proper place in the Covenant, at the very least in order to quell the endless bloodshed. Indeed, the humans were declared by the Hierarchs to be heretics, an affront to the sacred mission of the Covenant. Could it be because their energy, their expansionism, might possibly make them competitors for the Sacred Rings? But why could the humans, like the Sangheili long ago, not become allies in the search for the Great Journey? Their resourcefulness could be extremely valuable to us. And yet aggression has always been our first reaction to the humans.

Madness, for me to write what I have just written! But within me is the seed of centuries of historians. I have worked as communication engineer; I have been recently promoted to supervisor over a number of combat squads. And I am now being considered as an aide to a Hierarch, the High Prophet of Truth. But the deep desire for truth and knowledge, to make an accounting of the San'Shyuum's doings in the galaxy, is in my blood, my soul. I have always sought clarity—hence the name I chose for myself.

Still, I take a tremendous risk writing these words, as heretical as they may sound. Thus, as my ancestor Mken ‘Scre'ah'ben did with his own accounts, I will keep them locked away, at least for now.

High Charity

The Hanging Gardens

2552 CE

The Age of Reclamation

Zo Resken, the Prophet of Clarity, was using his antigrav belt to walk with unusual companions in the Hanging Gardens. He was a fairly young San'Shyuum and not particularly highly placed, so it was odd
to see him associating socially with the two Sangheili by his side. Uncommon but not unheard of. Still, if anyone noticed, they'd assume the Elites were most likely his personal protection. These Elites, however, were far more than that—G'torik ‘Klemmee was an important commander, and Torg ‘Gransamee a High Councilor. Torg was called G'torik's uncle, according to Sangheili custom . . . though in fact he was most likely G'torik's father, or so Clarity believed.

Zo looked around, unable to appreciate the spectacular view of High Charity from the Hanging Gardens. He was too concerned about unfriendly listeners. Two bored-looking Jiralhanae patrolled with heavy strides on a farther platform, hulking figures armed with spike rifles, native brutish weapons the Sangheili frowned upon but allowed in low numbers. A few dwarfish Unggoy were working in one of the gardens below, seeming to be arguing with a long-snouted toothy Kig-Yar. No one close enough to hear them, no surveillance drones in view either.

Zo, G'torik, and Torg had come here to the gardens to speak, as the spaces were wide around them; the greenery, blossoms and ponds, and artfully arranged stones were high platforms linked by gravity bridges—no one would hear their conversation.

“As you well know, Alpha Halo has been destroyed,” Zo Resken said glumly as they paused by a pond. Something finned and golden wriggled in the water, like a bright thought in a dark mind. “For a time, some wondered if it was the judgment of the gods. If we were not worthy of the Sacred Rings. Once, millennia ago, a unique Luminary was found—it might have changed everything for us. But it was lost, and it was believed that the loss was also a sign of our unworthiness . . .” He decided to say no more about the Luminary the Prophet of Inner Conviction had discovered on the homeworld Janjur Qom—he wasn't ready to discuss Mken's secret writings with anyone from the Covenant just yet.

“In my opinion,” growled the elderly Torg ‘Gransamee, “if there was unworthiness that cost Alpha Halo, it wasn't spiritual—it was military.”

“Perhaps it's not for us to say,” said G'torik gently—his way of reminding his uncle that they were speaking to a Prophet.

“Don't be concerned about speaking freely with me,” Zo said softly, glancing around again. “That is precisely why we are here. To discuss freely our allegiances.”

Musing, Zo glanced up, noticing two San'Shyuum who drifted by in rather gaudy antigrav chairs, deep in concentration. Both had the features of San'Shyuum in youth, with the nose protuberance, the closer eyes, the stronger chin, shorter necks. He'd been a little startled when he'd first seen humans—they reminded him of the young adults of his own species.

The two, though, rode their chairs around a corner, leaving Zo to peer past a small flock of angular Yanme'e winging aloft—creatures like giant insects with transparent, speed-blurred wings—and gaze out through the filmy transparent field that held in the atmospheric pressure for High Charity. On a personal display he had brought with him, he pulled up sensor images captured from what remained of the Holy Ring, and he could see the debris field of the remains of the Halo, spinning: a vast churning sea of fragments and liquids, of soil and metals, of Covenant bodies and pieces of those bodies, of machines that would never be fully understood. Sacred relics—and one of the largest they'd ever encountered, the Sacred Ring itself, now destroyed. The sight was like a great heavy fist pressing on his heart. High Charity, the great habitat that also acted as a gigantic space-faring vessel, had been stationed at the site of the cataclysm a short time before yet another discovery had rocked the Covenant—Delta Halo. It seemed almost inconceivable that a second Sacred Ring was discovered in
such a short time. Such sorrow mixed with newfound jubilation was almost too much to bear for Zo. But around the time High Charity had reached this new Ring, the word came that another catastrophe had struck—a high-level assassination.

“And now,” G'torik said, “the High Prophet of Regret has been killed . . . murdered by the Demon on Delta Halo.” It was his turn to look around nervously before he went on. “With perhaps aid from someone else . . .”

“But Regret did put himself in danger,” said Zo, changing his display to the space presently outside of High Charity, where the immense band of Delta Halo rose up toward High Charity. “Perhaps it was ambition, perhaps holy zeal—but he did not confer with the other Hierarchs before taking fifteen warships to seek the Ark . . .” The Ark—potentially the greatest creation of the Forerunners, an unthinkably massive star-shaped device, bigger than many a world, capable of activating all Halos everywhere and commencing the Purification for the Great Journey across the galaxy. Also, according to legend, it was the final refuge of the Forerunners during their great battle with the parasite known as the Flood.

And Regret somehow found the portal to the Ark—how exactly remained unknown. But when he arrived with the Fleet of Sacred Consecration at the portal site, he quickly discovered that it was the cradle planet of the humans themselves. It was the world called Earth.

The humans were dangerous, and numerous.

Zo added bitterly: “Regret fled in a rather haphazard way to Delta Halo . . . and he clumsily allowed the humans to follow him. Including the Demon. It was he who murdered Regret . . .”

Zo had great respect for the High Prophet of Regret—but who could not be angry at him now for his foolhardiness?

“Did the Demon perish as well?” G'torik asked.

“No body was found. Some say it is likely he was killed when we scorched the site of this treachery.”

“We have regretted underestimating that one before,” said Torg. “I myself do not assume that a thing like that could ever die.”

“What was it you said a moment ago?” murmured Zo, looking to see that the Jiralhanae were not close by. “That someone else may have aided the Demon?”

“Perhaps opened the door for the assassin,” muttered G'torik. “The word among Elites who were there is that hundreds of fresh troops were coming in on Phantoms to protect Regret—reinforcements who could have saved the High Prophet! But the Phantoms were withdrawn before off-loading their troops. And the order came from . . .”

He seemed hesitant to say the name. But they were meeting here because of Zo's connection to the one who'd likely given the order: Ord Casto. Or more commonly known as the High Prophet of Truth.

“So it is said,” Torg put in. “Why did he do it, Prophet?”

Why indeed? Zo squirmed inwardly, wondering. There was something so convenient in the loss of the High Prophet of Regret now. Truth had to share power before with two Hierarchs . . . now there was but one other. And that other, in his dotage, was obsessed with holy contemplation.

And why was Truth spending so much time in private discussions with high-level Brutes like Tartarus?

But aloud Zo said, “I can only guess. It may be that Truth took it upon himself to punish Regret for his brash expedition to Earth. There are hints of another reason . . .” There came a soft chime then at his collar communicator. A summons. “I must go—Truth has need of me. I suspect that Tartarus is about to arrive.”

Zo was the High Prophet's Secondary Administrator—the
title had sounded grander when he was first appointed to the position. But Zo had found himself relegated to the role of little more than a lowly assistant. Possibly Truth wanted Clarity as a buffer between himself and the Elites. Zo had been fortunate enough to be present at the discovery of the Sacred Ring—Alpha Halo—and had been engaged in overseeing combat units of Elites in their attempts to repel the humans. He was known for his rapport with Sangheili. He had just managed to help his troops honorably escape the destruction that followed, when the Demon culminated the humans' blasphemies by destroying the Sacred Ring.

And how had all that been rewarded? Appointment to Secondary Administrator.

“Thank you for speaking to us,” Torg said. “Events have unsettled us—and there is a reason the Elites trust you. Will you tell us what you learn?”

“I can promise nothing, but I am so inclined, yes.” Zo did not wish to become a spy for the Sangheili. But then again—they were eyes and ears for him, too. With the discovery of Delta Halo in the wake of the first Ring's tragic end, it seemed reasonable to solidify old alliances rather than weaken them.