In Her Name: The First Empress: Book 01 - From Chaos Born (4 page)

Four of those orders remained on the Homeworld, while the other three had migrated to the stars in generations past. Maintaining the balance of power had become the function of the orders, ensuring that armies from the Settlements, the colonies among the stars, did not destroy the Blood of the Homeworld, and vice versa. All the planets upon which the Kreela lived and breathed were worlds at war. So had it been, and so many believed would it always be, a stasis of bloodshed until the end of time.

One who questioned both the wisdom and the truth of that ages-old premise dreamed as he slept fitfully in his small chamber within the stone barracks of the Desh-Ka temple. Ayan-Dar’s sleeping mind listened to the ebb and flow of the souls that whispered in his blood, sensing —
knowing
— that something had just changed. His subconscious sifted through the strands of emotions that he thought of as voices in the great song of his people, searching, searching…

There!
A tiny voice, barely a ripple in the river of emotions that flowed through his mind, cried out. The voice was clear and pure, more than any other he had sensed in his long life.

His good eye snapped open and he stared up through the clear crystal dome at the roof of his chamber. Overhead, the great moon was sliding across the face of the sun, casting the world into an eerie darkness. It was his habit to sleep during the day, for he had long ago chosen to spend most of his waking hours in the quiet of the night, where he could enjoy the most solitude.

He frowned at the sight in the sky above him. There had been much pomp and to-do about the Great Eclipse, of course, but Ayan-Dar had not been overcome with excitement and awe as had the peers and acolytes. He knew they thought him little short of a heretic, but such spectacles held little interest for him now, in what he considered the sunset of his life. Unlike most of the peers, he had traveled among the stars during the last great war with the Settlements, and had seen such sights that froze him with awe and amazement, or made him tremble in fear. For him, the Great Eclipse was little more than a novelty of nature.

He focused his attention on this new voice that cried out in the Blood. He was better attuned to this sense than most, as his lineage was completely pure back to the original founders of the Desh-Ka early in the Second Age. The new voice, that of a newborn, was not the only one to appear under the Great Eclipse, of course. But there was something different about this one. He could sense it just as surely as he could smell the smoke of the celebratory pyres lit by the acolytes in the temple’s arenas. They celebrated because tradition held that the Great Eclipse was a good omen for all who witnessed it.
 

Ayan-Dar did not believe that the spiritual voice that had begun to sing as the great moon passed over the sun was a coincidence. He had long prayed to the Ancient Ones, the warriors of the spirit, whose voices he could hear whispering in the depths of his soul, for something to change the equation of his race, to take them on a path to the greatness he believed his people could achieve.

He wondered now if his prayers had been answered. For the first time in many cycles, Ayan-Dar felt the stirrings of a sense of purpose. It was a welcome feeling, for many cycles had passed since he had done anything that he considered truly worthy. How could he? The great challenges of his life, both those of the sword and those of the spirit, had already been fought and won. He went through the motions of life with little enthusiasm, for he had seen all there was to this existence. There were some days when he longed for an honorable death to take him from this life, but he knew he would fulfill his duties as a priest to the last.

With a groan, he rose from his bed of old animal hides and knelt on the cold stone floor. As with everything in the life of those taught to follow the Way, there was ritual to all things, even dressing oneself. In Ayan-Dar’s case, certain modifications had to be made, for he only had one arm. His right arm, and the eye on the same side, had been lost in battle many cycles before during the last incursion from the Settlements. The healers could, of course, repair such trifles, but Ayan-Dar had enjoyed the notoriety his wounds had given him. As any warrior, he treasured his battle scars, and no priest or priestess could boast more scars than did he.

His scarlet lips peeled back in a half-grin, half-grimace, revealing his worn-down and yellowed fangs as he began to strap on his armor. Unlike the other high warriors, he no longer had any acolytes, his last having mysteriously disappeared months before. There was no one to assist him in the daily ritual of donning his armor.

Not that I need anyone
, he thought with a quiet huff. As a high warrior priest of the Desh-Ka, he was not limited by the frailty of his body.
 

Relaxing his mind, he focused on the armor and the straps, and the armor quickly wrapped around his torso and limbs, buckling itself into place as if guided by invisible hands. The gleaming black breast and back plates rose from their place on the floor, and he held out his arm as the metal clamshell closed around his barrel-chested torso.
 

The breast plate bore the cyan rune of the Desh-Ka, which matched the rune on the sigil device affixed to the front of his Collar of Honor. All who served the seven martial orders, from the lowest acolyte to the high warrior priest or priestess who guided the temple’s affairs, wore the same fashion of collar, a gold-trimmed band of living metal, black as his talons. But only the members of the priesthood wore the sigil device. And from their collars hung rows of pendants, starting with the Line of Stars that inscribed the wearer’s name. Below that hung pendants, formed of precious metals and stones, proclaiming the deeds and accomplishments of the wearer. While Ayan-Dar had long since fallen from grace among the other priests and priestesses for his heretical views, none could deny his legacy as a great warrior. From his collar hung more pendants than had been bestowed upon any other warrior in living memory.

He rose to his feet, and his leg armor levitated from the floor and attached itself like an outer skin around the black gauze-like undergarment his people wore. Stepping into his sandals, the leatherite straps wrapped themselves around his bulky calves. He was shorter than most of his peers, but of stocky build. And despite his age of one hundred and fifteen cycles, he could still defeat most of the young acolytes in any test of strength, even without using his powers.

His armored gauntlet rose from the floor and slipped over his left hand, his ebony talons fitting through the holes in the metal and leatherite as the clasps closed around his wrist. Three
shrekkas
, deadly throwing weapons with several curved blades around a central hub, whirled from where they had been stacked on the floor to snap into place on the right side of his breast plate. The weapons were traditionally carried on the left shoulder, but since Ayan-Dar had no right arm, a different arrangement had been required.

At last, his sword rose from a cradle next to his bed, the scabbard securing itself to the leatherite belt around his waist on his right side. Gripping the swirling gold handle, he pulled it a hand’s breadth from the gleaming black scabbard. The blade was as long as his leg, the living metal shimmering in the dark light of the eclipse. The sword’s handle molded itself to his palm, and he could sense the will of the blade, just as he knew it could sense his. While his weapon did not have a mind, he believed with all his heart that it was an extension of his soul.

With a deep breath, he stepped toward the thick wooden door of his room. Turning the ancient latch, he pushed it open, emerging into the main hallway of the barracks. Heading toward the open arch that led outside, he passed many other such doors, all standing open, the rooms empty.
 

Stepping outside, he heard the singing of the acolytes from the direction of the arenas. Grimacing, he moved toward the sound. He had once reveled in the ancient chants that were so soothing to the ears, but the sound now was wreathed in the same stifling sameness that permeated the rest of temple life, and it no longer brought him any pleasure.

He passed by the
Kal’ai-Il
, an enormous stone construct that was a fixture of every temple and
kazha
on the Homeworld and throughout the Settlements. Known as the Stone Place, it was a place of public atonement where punishment was delivered to those who had fallen from grace. It was very rarely used, for few strayed far from the Way once they first set foot on the path, but the imposing structure in the midst of their lives loomed over them all as a warning. The last time anyone had been unfortunate enough to find themselves shackled and whipped here had been fifteen cycles ago. Life in the temple, as it was outside, was harsh and often cruel, but Ayan-Dar would be quite content to meet his end not ever seeing such a punishment again, let alone experiencing it.

The thousand members of the priesthood and their acolytes stood around the five arenas at the center of the temple complex, singing as the celebratory pyres sent flames upward toward the darkened disk of the moon that now fully blocked the light of the sun. Despite his cynicism, Ayan-Dar had to confess to himself as he strode across the sands of the arenas toward the dais in the center of the main arena, that it was an impressive sight and sound. More than that, the power that resonated here was out of all proportion to their number: the five hundred priests and priestesses alone could destroy entire armies. And, in times past, the Desh-Ka had done just that.

He bowed his head and saluted T’ier-Kunai, the highest of the high among the priesthood as he took his place to her right.
 

With a tightening of her lips, she returned the salute, fixing him with a frigid glare. “I tolerate your intransigence because you have earned your honor, Ayan-Dar. But you need not set such a poor example for the acolytes.”

Ayan-Dar cast her a sideways glance as he observed the celebration around him. The acolytes and the priesthood, all in their ceremonial armor, made a magnificent display against the backdrop of the massive and ancient buildings of the temple. The magenta sky was ribboned with clouds that reflected the strange light that poured from the Great Eclipse.
 

He did not bother responding to her rebuke for being late to the ceremony. He rendered few apologies in these days. It was unkind to her, he knew, and he felt a faint shred of shame that he quickly pushed aside.

“You have sensed it.” He spoke loudly enough to be heard over the crooning of the acolytes, but not so loud that any others could hear. T’ier-Kunai did not hold him in high regard in many ways, but more than any other in the temple, he trusted her.

She paused before answering. “It is a cry upon the wind, Ayan-Dar. Nothing more. The song of the child’s soul stood out because we are all more attuned in the fleeting darkness of the Great Eclipse. Such has been recorded in the Books of Time in ages past. You know this.”
 

“Indeed, my priestess, which is why I know this is different. I feel it in my bones.”

At that, T’ier-Kunai offered him a rare smile, baring her long and brilliantly white fangs. “And how, great warrior priest, could that be? Your bones are so old they have turned to stone.”

He bared his own fangs, engaged by her humor, even at his own expense, as T’ier-Kunai sang the chorus, the priesthood answering a verse posed by the acolytes. Out of habit more than anything else, Ayan-Dar joined in, his deep baritone blending into the harmony.

When the chorus was over, he leaned closer to T’ier-Kunai. “With your permission, my priestess, this ossifying old priest would like to pursue the matter.” His voice turned serious. “I believe we dare not do otherwise.”

Sparing him a look, she sighed. “You know that you need not ask my permission to undertake such quests of curiosity, Ayan-Dar. You have spared me consideration enough times in the past.” She leaned closer. “But do not embarrass me by again making your way across the arenas as you depart.”

“As you command, my priestess.” Ayan-Dar saluted, bowing his head. “It shall be so.”

With a gentle rush of cold air, he vanished as the edge of the sun reappeared behind the dark disk of the great moon.

* * *

After leaving T’ier-Kunai’s side, Ayan-Dar had reappeared at the entrance to the stables where the
magtheps
were kept. He saddled up one of the beasts and bridled two others as pack animals. This was a task normally appointed to acolytes, but all of them were free of their duties for this day as part of the celebrations. Ayan-Dar did not begrudge them their temporary freedom from toil, for he preferred to do such things himself, without the over-eager help of the well-intentioned younglings.
 

Next to the stables was one of the temple commissaries, and he took for himself bags of water and ale, packages of dried meat, a shelter, and a few other items that he thought might be useful. He was not sure yet where he was going or how long he would be away. The first part of his quest would be to find a place of quiet solitude where he could seek out the voice, to learn the location of this child among all who had been born that day. All he knew now was that the child, whom he believed to be female from the tone of her spiritual voice, had been born of Desh-Ka lineage. Most likely she was here on the continent of T’lar-Gol, but she could as easily be among the stars. The Bloodsong, as some called it, knew no bounds, was not constrained by any distance or laws of physical reality.

Having strapped the various bundles to the snorting
magtheps
and tying off the reins of the pack animals to his saddle, he took one last look at the sky, which was now an ugly blood red as the eclipse ended.
 

With a quiet
humph
, Ayan-Dar mounted the lead animal and headed toward the winding path that led down from the plateau to the valley below.
 

After two days of easy riding, he arrived at a hilltop he had visited long ago. It was not a great mountain, and did not have a view of endless vistas. Its appeal for him lay not in such things, but in the ancient ruins that lay there. Among the withered granite bones of the buildings that had once formed a small village was a circular structure not unlike the
Kal’ai-Il
. Its true purpose he did not know, for there were no records of this place in the Books of Time, so ancient was it. Unlike most habitations from olden times, which had either been destroyed and rebuilt countless times, or obliterated from history forever, this place had somehow survived. The endless wars that swept over their world like waves of blood had always parted around this place, as if it possessed a secret magic all its own.