Private A Fever You Can't Sweat Out

[Vatrës Dhalis]

The clatter of Gerra's treasures sweeping off the table and onto the floor was as nothing compared to the rushing of blood roaring in Vatrës' ears as her pulse pounded painfully in her temples and her throat and throbbed in the gash she had sustained in Vahl's possession. Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt as he lifted her onto the table, arms flexed between pushing him away and pulling him closer, deeper -- an indecisiveness that played out across her entire being.

Vahl loomed large even in absentia, though her presence was vanishing then, replaced by the overwhelming presence of the Qhan. His broad, tall body was nearly all-consuming, warm and hard beneath her fingers even through the fabric of his clothing. There was something reassuring about his size and obvious strength. Something exhilarating about his power, palpable even in the absence of the Force. Something frightening about his disregard for the wishes of the goddess, and his devil-may-care attitude toward the consequences of this behavior.

Yet, in that moment the Avatara could not resist him and found that without the seething, hissing goddess in her mind, she didn't even feel the desire to do so. Still -- some token of resistance, in case Vahl could see despite being separated from her somehow, would be appropriate. She broke away from his kiss, turning her head slightly so that his mouth worked against her jaw. "You absolute -- " and here, the Avatara made a noise she could not, would not dignify with a description that began somewhere in her throat, " -- brute!"

Hasuras Na-Gerra​

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

Teeth gnawed and worried at her jaw, raking skin in a manner utterly primal and animalistic as though he might suck the very marrow from her bones. Gerra cared not for the propriety of man, or even gods. Only the taste of her skin, the salt and bitter tang, consumed him in this moment.

Only for a breath did he pull away from her, his eyes hot as twin glowing brands, searing her with gaze alone. His hands rose, gripped the two halves of her tunic - already partially ripped.

“Yes,” he snarled, “I am.”

Then he tore the garment clean in half and tossed aside the shreds like so much useless debris. They fluttered briefly in the air, helpless and frayed, drifting toward the deck.

In an instant, his teeth returned to her neck, scraping and sucking as if to consume her blood and marrow.

Strong, calloused hands roved her form.

And Vahl, blinded by the necklace, knew not what happened next.

Vatrës Dhalis

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

In time, the appropriated vessel of the dead Chosen emerged from hyperspace near the rendezvous coordinates. At the helm, Gerra glowered at the sensor readings.

“The last Chosen will not suspect us in kindred ship. This is why I have not summoned my fleet. You and I together can finish what we started, in ash and blood.”

The hulking Vahlan, cramped in the pilots chair, grimaced, “We meet upon their ancestor ship,” one of the few vessels in the Vahlan nomads that had last through the millennia and carried many of their priests and gathered knowledge. “That habitation sphere before us is the Chosen’s own. We disembark and slay all before us until we reach the Chosen. With our powers combined, who can stand against us?”

The plan was absurd, reckless, and employed brute force.

In other words, it well suited the warlord. He turned his eyes, red and golden with the touch of the Dark Side, upon the white haired beauty, Vatrës.

“What think you?”

Vatrës Dhalis

 

[Vatrës Dhalis]

The flight had left the Avatara slightly worse for wear by looking at her. She flinched at Gerra's deep, rumbling voice, and winced at some internal chastisement. She wanted to object; surely all of the people on the Chosen's habitation sphere did not deserve death. They were misled more than misleading, surely. Yet she could not muster the energy to be indignant, and Vahl did not whisper of mercy to her as she had in moments past. So she merely nodded listlessly.

"A sound plan," Vatrës conceded. Her voice was dull, as if reading from a reference text. "Viper or not, Inanna will not be expecting us, so we may yet have the upper hand. The goddess would have words with her before she meets her fate. She -- kindly requests -- that you not slay her before she has had the opportunity. Inanna will know the error of her ways before being invited to consider her sins for eternity."

The Avatara rose from her seat and left the warlord's company and the cockpit. She returned to the cabin, where she perused the clothes whichever unfortunate Chosen had owned this vessel prior to their untimely death. The robes she located drowned her slender frame. With her lightsaber she made short work of the hem. Not her best work, but the ragged, charred hemline were not unsuited to the task. And the flame motif of the golden embroidery that flanked her neckline and cuffs adorned fabric that was of much nicer quality than anything she had owned to date.

The riches of obedience, Vahl whispered within her mind. Yet more will be thine when you follow my commandments. And the Champion, too, as I hope he is beginning to understand.

"As you say, my Lady," Vatrës said, her voice flat.

Vahl chuckled indulgently within her. You may be as sullen as you please, little flame, as long as you remember the lesson. But for now, prepare.

In the mirror Vatrës looked like hell. The wound she had suffered when Vahl ceased to possess her had scabbed, but her pale face bore shadows that might have been smudges if they weren't faintly purple-blue. Her hair, at least, was clean and tidy, having benefited from a shower. She adjusted the neckline of the robes until they framed the shard of Vahl just so. Inanna might fear her, or else recognize her and mock, but in any event she would know the cause of her death.

She worked her boots back on and tucked her lightsaber into the belt of her new robes, then returned to the cockpit.

Hasuras Na-Gerra​

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

"Battle is not so clean a thing that I may choose with a mere thought who lives and who dies," rumbled Gerra in reply, annoyed.

His clean shaven jaw flexed, skin gray as fresh ash tightening. "But so be it. If this pleaseth Vahl, and you, I shall spare the wretch long enough to see the goddess will be wrought."

The image of the self-righteous fool being immolated on her knees by Vahl quickly brought back Gerra's good humor.

"Hm. Good. The Vahlans who fought beside me will not oppose me. I know their hearts. They would challenge me in any other matter, but none bear love for this Chosen. They may fear her, but they will fear us more. And when presented with the Avatar, who among them would deny you?"

Golden eyes slid sidelong to regard the white-haired priestess.

"Prepare thyself. We approach."

A tractor beam snared them and drew them toward a massive hangar bay of the ancestor ship. A half-dozen queries lit up the display, but Gerra made no move to answer them. He possessed guile, but none such as others might seek to employ with gilded words. His lay in action, or the lack of it.

Vatrës Dhalis

 

[Vatrës Dhalis]

Vatrës shut her eyes briefly, eyelids pressing so hard that after a few moments she heard her pulse thrumming in her ear and a kind of sound that reminded her of a rushing river. She probed the spot in her mind she came to identify with Vahl, the brooding, capricious, sometimes malevolent, sometimes amused hollow of darkness. She imagined Vahl there, enthroned, watching, always watching. Vatrës offered it her thought: should they attempt to spare any of the other Vahla?

No answer came; the goddess mandated neither slaughter nor mercy.

The Avatara took a breath and suppressed a sense of vertigo, opening her eyes. "I understand, Champion," she said. Not a snap, but certainly terse.

Vatrës descended the ramp, fully prepared to make speak peacefully with whoever greeted them, but when they saw someone who was not the Chosen to whom the ship had belonged, they responded with predictable violence. The Avatara frowned, canted her head to one side. "Well... I tried." She and the Champion carved a path of destruction through the worldship until they reached Inanna, secluded in a ritual chamber.

"Attend you, all. She comes," Inanna said, her deep voice pleased. "As the portents foretold." She gestured, vaguely, to the broad circular platform at whose center she sat cross-legged. Her hands and forearms were crimson with blood, and the hems of her robes, too, blood from the ritual sacrifice whose limbs and organs were now strewn around her. "The Avatara and the Champion. I am in rarified company indeed."

The flames int he candles flickered, then glowed brighter, drawing toward Vatrës as she moved closer. "You call me Avatara," she said bluntly. "But you sent the Champion to kill me."

"I did," Inanna said, no attempt at evasion. "I would do it again. But not for the same reasons as the other cravens. They are content to enrich themselves from Vahlan hordes they are not tenacious enough to plunder themselves, and to twiddle their thumbs while the homeworld remains a wound, making no effort to locate and secure it. Fools."

"And you?"

Inanna remained silent a moment. "I long for the homeworld. I have seen it, you know -- farseeing, the goddess has blessed me with glimpses -- and it is beautiful and terrible. You possess the power to open the way. To bring about the Joining. I have seen it."

Vatrës felt her pulse quicken as she drew closer. "Yet you would stop me?"

"Aye," said Inanna, her voice amused but frank. "Has the goddess shown you the future? It's -- Vatrës, isn't it?" Inanna's tongue worked beautifully around her name. Vahh-trrrrayce. "You do not know the rituals yet. You will learn them, child. But the goddess has given me that gift. The ritual is not always precise, and the future she shows often less so. But this?" Another broad gesture at the corpse broken apart around her. "Crystal clear. Unambiguous. I will die today, and by the goddess' hand."

The Avatara inclined her chin; within her Vahl chuckled throatily. "Why would you prevent me opening the way? You are Chosen -- your one sacred obligation is to facilitate our people's return to the homeworld. Speak true, Inanna, I will know."

Inanna rested her bloody hands in her lap, lacing fingers together. "Our people were torn asunder by a failed Joining once, child. I am not confident it could survive another. And for every glimpse of the future that shows you triumphant, reuniting our people with Vahl, there is a glimpse where your failure is total, and the homeworld is lost even more." Inanna paused, her gaze flicking from Vatrës to Hasuras Na-Gerra . "Perhaps I should be more precise. It is the failure of the Avatara but the cause is the willfulness of the Champion."

Vatrës followed Inanna's gaze to Gerra. "I don't believe you," she told Inanna without looking away. "The Champion and the goddess have come to an... understanding. I have no doubts as to his loyalty."

Inanna's chin tilted back to Vatrës, a sadness in her eyes. "Does he know what she will demand? Do you?"

The last thing Vatrës saw was the surge of the flames in the chamber, the golden glow growing and then guttering completely, then all went black as Vahl took her.

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

The hulking warlord stood in the background as the Avatara spake with the last of the Chosen. His mien both disgusted and aloof, for his lips turned down at the corners as he surveyed the room littered with Inanna's sacrificial offerings. The air reeked of offal and copper, a thick and wretched stench beneath the wafting fumes of burning incense.

His gaze traversed behind the Chosen, wary of a trap sprung in secret for this all seemed far too easy. But Inanna had ever been the cleverest among the priesthood. And the most zealous. The muscles in Gerra's jaw rippled as he ground his teeth, waiting for their conversation to meet its inevitable terminus.

When Vatres looked to him along with the Chosen, Gerra did not look away, chest swollen with pride and eyes blazing like twin stars. He met their gazes and dared them to lay all their miserable prophecies at his feet. And so Inanna did, speaking of what she saw in the flames.

Derision twisted Gerra's features and he let out a snort.

"Some last desperate ploy," he spat, "an attempt to turn us upon each other in the hopes you will be spared."

Suddenly, the presences in the room shifted and Gerra took a step back as the Dark Side billowed forth from Vatres like smoke, announcing that Vahl had manifested in full.

"Kill her, goddess. End this farce."

Vatrës Dhalis

 

[Vatrës Dhalis]

Vahl ignored the Champion. A mortal, command a goddess? Unthinkable.

And besides, there was more she would know of the Chosen. She was not what the goddess had anticipated. She knew that Inanna must die, but the goddess had heard something that gave her pause. "Chosen," Vahl said, and the difference in the demeanor and voice between the aspect of Vahl and Vahl herself was unmistakable. "Your disobedience shocks and disappoints me, when I had always counted you among my most faithful."

Inanna's gaze flicked to Gerra once, then went back to the goddess. "You were correct, O Great Flame. I am your most faithful. I seek only your will."

Vahl followed Inanna's gaze toward the hulking warlord, and something stirred within her. Suspicion, perhaps, or maybe it was paranoia. She strolled forward, almost ephemeral among the viscera of the sacrifices the Chosen had made. The Chosen rose, though not by her own will; Vahl had taken her by the throat with unseen tendrils of the Force, lifted her, while others bound her hands behind her back.

"Embrace the Flame," Vahl declared, and leaned in, pressing her Avatar's forehead to the Chosen's.

What passed between them took eons and moments. The goddess saw Inanna -- all of Inanna, from her birth to this very moment -- and knew her. Her heart was Vahl's. She spoke true; Inanna had been her most faithful. She longed for the Joining, had dedicated her life to it, had battled the other Chosen on the fields available to her to see it done. And yet she had doubts, or perhaps Inanna had seen more than Vahl meant to share, because they were doubts that the goddess herself had.

The question was not whether Vatrës could open the way and return the Vahla to their lost homeworld. Vahl knew that she could. The question was whether the Avatara would have the strength to do what she must to anchor the world back to realspace -- and whether Gerra would relent -- for once -- and obey once he understood the cost?

"Come home to Me," Vahl murmured gently, and she felt Inanna's life leave her body, the mortal woman's form arching back. Flames erupted from her eyes and the goddess released her as she took the Chosen's essence within her. Home, where all Vahl belonged. By the time she reached the floor Inanna was cinders, and she shattered, the ash mixing with the blood from the sacrifices. Vahl stood silent for several moments. Before she turned, the candles around the room flickered back to life.

Black eyes turned on the Champion. "The faithless Chosen are no more, Champion. You have earned your reward and more yet will you earn as we seek the homeland." She approached him, her use of the Avatara's body quite different from Vatrës' own: more confident, perhaps, more capable of harnessing its treasures. A hand raised to brush across his forehead, pushing his flame-kissed hair back behind his ear -- that in itself marking him as graced and favored by Vahl.

How apropos.

"This mortal shell is weak and will fail when I retreat from her. I bid you to take her somewhere safe and once it is done, you will take this ship and all its treasures as your plunder. Use it as you will. I trust you, Champion, and your dedication to our Great Matter." Vatrës' hand turned, the backs of her fingers tracing down his cheek to his jaw. "Prepare -- "

The whites of Vatrës eyes reappeared, her pupils unseeing, unfocused, and the Avatara gave a terrified gasp as she slumped backward, the world receding from her like a violent tide.

Hasuras Na-Gerra​

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

The flames reflected in Gerra's eyes, where satisfaction glowed at the sudden immolation of the last of the Chosen. His gaze passed from the ash heap of Inanna to the pitch-black void of Vahl's kohl-dark stare.

A ravenous sigh left the hulking warlord's nostrils at the brush of the goddess' hand against his cheek. She issued a command, then collapsed.

Gerra stretched out an arm and an enormous hand caught the woman as she slumped like a puppet with strings cut. Unconscious. He grunted noncommittally, then tossed her over a shoulder as though she weighed nothing. His hand and arm wrapped around her thighs to steady her so she would not slip and fall the eight feet to the floor.

Once more, the warlord surveyed the carnage wrought by the goddess in this hall, then he stretched out his thoughts until he found the Flame-Seer awaiting with his fleet nearby.

"Come."

Hyperspace distorted all around the vessel as Gerra's corsair fleet emerged and disgorged dozens of shuttles to commence with their raiding of their own. A cannibalistic act to consecrate this vessel further in blood and fire.

Bearing the avatara off over his shoulder, Gerra strode imperiously through the halls until he found the personal quarters of Inanna and tossed Vatres down upon cushioned furniture, surrounded by silken pillows and fabrics. Not the pelts and furs of Gerra's own ship.

He grunted, running a hand along some silk fabric hanging from the walls, soft to his touch.

Rummaging through the quarters, he found more of Inanna's personal wardrobe, including a dress made of shell spidersilk, inky black and yet Gerra knew it would soak up energy blasts with ease.

When Vatres awoke she would find him in this manner, ransacking the quarters and heaping what items he liked in a pile.

Vatrës Dhalis

 

[Vatrës Dhalis]

Vatrës smelled smoke.

Not just smelled. She tasted it. It had made her throat burn, as if she had been breathing it in. Vahl had been. Again.

She was on something soft and reasonably comfortable, which was a step up from how she normally came back to herself when the goddess attended. Typically it was the hard floor of the sanctuary, or the cold decks of the ship, but now she was on some kind of cushion, she thought. Vatrës allowed herself to remain in repose for some moments, listening to the sounds of things being handled. Her head was pounding, as it always did. After a few moments, she allowed her eyes to open to survey her surroundings.

She was clearly in the Chosen's quarters. The comfort and luxury was a sharply distinct from the utilitarian corridors they had tread and the ornate rituality of the sacrifice chamber. Her eyes focused slowly and alit upon the hulking form of Hasuras Na-Gerra who, in everything but formed, looked very much like Vatrës pictured a Core world housewife deciding between two garments in a department store, except that there was no possibility that either would ever fit him.

The Avatara shifted experimentally. Her body seemed to creak in protest as she sat up. She was on a kind of chaise, but broader, with cushions piled behind and beside her. She drew her legs up beneath her and settled against one of the armrests, watching Gerra. He tossed one of the garments to the side, placed the other in a pile before picking up something she didn't recognize. Whatever it is seemed of interest to the Qhan.

Absurdly, even in the ridiculousness of her observation, she still felt a stab of something sharp -- want -- as she watched him. Something darker coiled within her -- not awoken, but stirred.

"Inanna is dead, then," Vatrës observed. She had meant her voice to be soft, unobtrusive -- gentle, so as not to startle or discomfit the warlord -- but it was a rasp. Like sand paper instead of the fine silks that hung around them. Experimental hands went to the back of her head, then her shoulders, testing for fresh bruises. Nothing. "You carried me here? I am in your debt, Champion. Normally when the goddess is finished with my body she simply discards it like so much litter."

She waited a beat, then shifted forward, long legs extending again. She slipped to the edge of the cushion, then let her feet touch the ground. She didn't stand yet. "What is that?" she asked, nodding at the object in his hand, before seeming to remember herself. Her chin lowered and she looked away from him, to the deck plates. "If I may ask."

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

A noncommittal grunt answered her. The warlord tossed aside a scrap of cloth that displeased him and rummaged for another, still holding the midnight slip in his right.

“Fire consumes,” he said at last, eyeing a string of pearls between his overlarge, scarred and burned fingers. “It leaves behind naught but ash and embers. Vahl is fire and destruction. Why does it surprise you that you are treated like ash when you have not shown yourself to be an ember?”

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes smoldering with ever present intensity and heat.

“An ember does not beg leave to inquire. It sears at the touch. You wait to be trod on and so you shall be trod on.”

The warlord shook his head in disappointment, then held up the black garment and tossed it to her.

“Plunder from our conquest. Inanna’s own wardrobe. Come. See if it suits you. The material is fashioned from the silk of shell spiders, impossibly strong and durable. A vibroknife’s thrust may bruise the flesh beneath but it would not pierce. And its properties disperse the energy of a plasma bolt. All this, though it appears but a dress.”

More jewelry lay heaped at Gerra’s feet as well as other curios and bits of exotic fabric and attire that pleased his eyes.

“Or try any of these. Do not inquire for permission. Take.”

Vatrës Dhalis

 

[Vatrës Dhalis]

Vatrës watched impassively from the chaise, one fine white brow lifting in a silent challenge to his assessment of matters. " Hasuras Na-Gerra , I would never presume to instruct you on how to fight a war, or how to tear through a fleet, or how to ravage a woman. Do you know why?" She caught the dress he tossed and examined it casually, then stood and crossed to a mirror. Her fingers began to work the fasteners of her borrowed robes. "Because you have been doing those things -- living that life -- for years. I have no particular insights into how to improve your process."

Slender fingers tugged the wrap of the dark robes aside, exposing the snow-pale flesh of her shoulders, then her chest and abdomen, then at last the whole of her, down to her sandaled feet. The Avatara was not immodest, but Vatrës had no secrets from Vahl, and none from Vahl's Champion, either. Carefully, she draped the robe over the back of a chair, then lifted the spider shell silk dress and slowly worked it over her bare form. Her form was slightly more slender than Inanna, and slightly taller.

She cinched the belt of the dress more firmly around her waist. The hem of the dress would have swept the floor as worn by Inanna. On the Avatara it kissed her ankles. Her fingers gently caresses along the silk of the dress, enjoying the inconceivable soft smoothness that draped the subtle curve of her hip. "What must it be like to be your own person. Perhaps at the end of this -- when we have opened the way to the homeworld -- the goddess will bless me and I can live your philosophy."

Something within her yet far, far away twisted with exquisite amusement. Vatrës turned, perusing the jewelry. Nothing there suited her fancy.

In fact, as she looked up from the jewels to the Warlord, she really only wanted the gold and ruby collar that might shut out the goddess, that would allow Vatrës to indulge. She allowed a hand to settle against Gerra's wrist, then her fingers walked up his forearm as she rounded behind him then drew away to cross to an as-yet untouched cabinet, which she pulled open. More finery, more jewels, and on one side, several bottles of what looked like quite premium liquor.

Vatrës took a bottle and pulled the stopper, lifting it to her lips to take a whiff before taking a swig from it. It burned pleasantly, pushing away the smoke from her throat. She set the bottle down and examined the drawer. Gold bracelets, some encrusted with precious gems, some intricately engraved. Rings and necklaces and earrings. More wealth than one could use in a year, sitting in a drawer. She picked up a bracelet in a flame motif and placed it on her wrist, working the clasp until it was secure there, then lifted her arm and watched it glint in the light.

Another swig from the bottle, which she held as she went back toward Gerra. "This one's nice," Vatrës said, offering the bottle. "These clothes are nearly fit for the goddess. I will have them." She paused a moment. "But I will need a place to put them. A ship of our own." She took the bottle back and went to a small display on an antique sideboard. She disengaged the glass display case and reached in to take a small dagger, one of a set of five on display, from where it sat. They were aurodium, it seemed, gold in color but she could see even in the dim light how cruel the blades' edges were.

"And these," Vatrës said. She flipped the blade so the handle landed in her palm. Throwing knives. How fun.

"We should take this ship. It would make a fine base from which to conduct our search."

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

Heat roiled in his eyes which blazed as twin furnaces at the brazen manner in which she followed instruction. His lecherous gaze poured over her frame when she donned the new dress and his nostrils flared with a heavy breath. Approval simmered in his stare, growing more and more intense with the way she traipsed about and fluttered her claws against his skin.

Seizing the neck of the bottle offered to him, Gerra quaffed greedily on the contents, relishing the richness on his tongue until it overflowed his mouth and dribbled down the corners of his lips. He wiped the back of one hand across his mouth and let out a satisfied grunt.

“The search,” he rolled his eyes, “how can you search when you know not where you look?”

Still, she was right. This would serve as a base of sorts. The vessel was one of the ancestor ships, hundreds of years old. More of a world sphere than a war ship.

“My corsairs will purge the inhabitants. By tonight, there will be none remaining who do not swear allegiance to me… and the Avatara of Vahl.” Nearly an afterthought. Nearly.

Gerra eyed the plunder Vatrës took to her own and nodded slowly in acknowledgement. It would take her time to realize her own power. Time and tribulation.

“You will need new Chosen. The priesthood cannot be left vacant.”

Vatrës Dhalis

 

[Vatrës Dhalis]

Vatrës considered what the Qhan said, her black eyes examining the blade in her hand. "The Chosen have will have access to the histories of prior searches. Vahl has shown me that Avataras past have set foot on our homeworld. There will be records: the Broken Road, the Hollow Flame. The Chosen know more than they tell. I will know all their secrets before too long. It will put us upon the Road."

Here the Avatara spoke with the authority and confidence of the goddess herself, though she was unmistakably still just herself.

"The other Chosen will have had these ships, no? When the Vahla were scattered -- six fleets, six Chosen, six Ashlords. Each would have a similar vessel. Perhaps we will find their more about their whereabouts onboard. I believe they might be a key." Vatrës turned back to Gerra. "We will find where the Chosen Inanna held court. Have those purporting loyalty brought to us there. The flame will tell it true."

There was something in her mind then, the presence of the dark goddess. Vatrës suddenly looked far away as she listened to Vahl, the knowledge imparted with the usual searing psychic pain. Vatrës at least managed then not to outwardly react except for a sharp inhalation of breath. "My Lady has the names and faces of those she might consider Chosen in our new Ember," she told him. "They will be given visions with instructions. Those who can untangle the meaning, those who come will be... tested."

Vatrës came toward him again, the silk of her dress flowing like water against her skin. When her hand reached up, it was not the cool touch of the back of the goddess' knuckled she gave him, but the soft warmth of her palm against his cheek, the gentle graze of the pad of her thumb on the ridge of his cheekbone. "You, Hasuras Na-Gerra , shall bear a more significant role still. High Ashlord besides Champion of Vahl and Qhan of Khans. Your authority will be second only to the goddess, for your service is greater than almost all other of her children."

Her thumb brushed over his cheekbone again before she allowed her hand to slip away from him. "Except that which is necessary for the Opening of the Road, all earthly and mortal possessions taken in Her name shall be yours as reward. And now that the task the goddess has set before you is complete, you will have all the reward that was vowed." Her black eyes met his molten ones, and there passed between them a flicker of a promise, of an understanding.

All that thou hast in thy hands...

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

Hasuras na-Gerra stared down at her whilst she caressed his face.

All that he had in his hands...

One of his calloused, scarred, and alchemically mottled hands came up and gripped her by the slender waist. His eyes flashed like the flickering of twin embers as he felt the warmth of her skin bleed through the thin material beneath his palm.

"Will I? Perhaps I have supped too fully on these riches already and am sated."

A chuckle came, low and thrumming in his throat, rippling up from deep within his gut for all who knew him knew that his appetites were not so easily sated. Whether for blood or wine or other desires of this mortal coil.

"You speak of things to come. Of new Chosen and a throne to rule them from. Of a home that we shall find at last."

Gerra shook his head, tossing his red mane about.

"Such high thoughts have been thought by many in bygone centuries. So many came before who believed they held the answers. I know not the ways of guile or such musings of futures in flame. Only that which I can forge by my own will and grip with my own hands."

His fingers tightened on her waist.

"You still say that you only wish to serve, a mere lamp-tender, nothing more than a vessel?" Gerra's eyes narrowed in suspicion and he snorted, "I know not Vahl's mind as you, but I have felt her heat and hate and know that she would see the ascension of her vessel beyond your simple station. Vahl is goddess, but you are Avatara. You must be the first among Chosen, therefore only five others would you need, yes? And from where would you rule? This bedroom?" He laughed.

Vatrës Dhalis

 

[Vatrës Dhalis]

Despite the malaise she had felt following the goddess' possession, the precise way in which the warlord's comparatively large hand settled at her waist quickened her blood, whether because of memory or anticipation. "A good jest, Champion," she answered, a smirk playing across her lips. "But all of us -- my Lady, her Avatara, and her Champion -- know better, don't we?" She stepped closer, eliminating the brief space that had existed between them. "The day your hungers are sated is the day the light will go from your eyes, and you will be with Vahl in paradise." She had to crane her neck to keep his gaze. She wanted him to see that there was no judgment in her gaze, no derogatory edge to her observation.

A simple knowledge. A subtle appreciation. Her hand went to his chest, almost feather-light.

"I have seen flashes only, tastes," Vatrës confessed. "Of the homeworld. Of the Way. And I feel it here more strongly than ever -- on this ship. The veil between myself and the goddess is at its thinnest. My understanding of her will, my understanding of her lessons, are connected to the ancestral knowledge here. Gathering the others will serve as a focus."

No, the soft correction came in her mind. An anchor.

"Our mission is clear. In your good time, Champion, and in hers."

Her hand slid down him, then dropped from him as it reached his navel. "First of the Chosen I shall be. Though until we are assured of the loyalty of those in the Ember, my true nature must not be revealed. There will be assassins, I am certain. There were Chosen, even, who would have stopped us opening the Way, and it stands to reason there will be more still outside of the Chosen."

The Avatara gave the Champion an enigmatic smile. "As for the seat of my authority..." She canted her head to one side. "Perhaps I ought perch on your shoulders. No one would question the goddess astride such an imposing steed." Vatrës inclined her head thoughtfully. "This ship will have something to suit. The Chosen have lived well, and exalted themselves. There will be a throne or altar or some such monument to their pride. Their false authority will be ours true. And before the five come to complete the Chosen I will commune with the goddess so as to learn how to ensure their loyalty and obedience."

She rounded him, then placed her hand on his back, neither compelling nor inviting, merely the comfort of a now-familiar presence and connection. "I would find it now," Vatrës said after a moment, then lifted her hands from him and turned back to the desk to collect the other knives, which she strapped into the arm cuffs also in the display. "The sooner we secure this vessel and your men are able to cleanse it, the sooner we can feast."

Hasuras Na-Gerra​

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

Perch atop his shoulders? The warlord snorted, but could find no fault with her plan to move straightway to the seat of power. Gerra was no philosophizing sophist, but he knew the strength of awe and performance. How better for his corsairs, soaked in blood and soot, to find the Ashlord and Avatara than enshrined and holding court.

"Truly thou speaks, better for us to find it first than to come upon it with a pretender seeking apotheosis in the chaos. I do not need to read the flames to know even now the assassins you speak of prowl the halls, perhaps even among my corsairs, waiting for their moment to strike."

He watched her arm herself, then moved to depart the room.

"We shall make an offering of their corpses to Vahl's pyre."

Finding the court of Inanna proved no difficult thing at all and at a great juncture in one of the very large corridors through the ship that served as a thoroughfare, Gerra located a map of the station on a holodisplay. Following this, they moved through groups of corsairs run amuck busily painting the worldsphere's interior in crimson and coal until Gerra and Vatres came upon the great doors to the court. Gerra shoved them open and his booted feet thudded on the alloyed metal beneath.

An immense throne room lay before them, utterly empty. A walkway lit by braziers led to the foot of an altar on a raised dais and then from there to a thronelike structure on an even higher dais, behind which sat a glowing conduit. Gerra supposed it to be one of the station's reactor conduits left exposed here for a sense of grandiosity. It shone golden and brilliant, flickering, behind the throne. The walls of the chamber were of a dark alloy and lined with Vahlan weapons and armaments, many taken from other cultures over the centuries of piracy.

Gerra paused on the walkway and stared down at the enormous emblem of Vahl, a living flame, etched into the surface of the metal beneath his feet. He grunted and continued on, coming to a stop at the foot of the altar. The enormous altar appeared carved from dark volcanic glass. The warlord's eyes looked around it and saw that fine grooves led from the altar to nearby troughs, which were stained with use.

"Blood sacrifice," he remarked.

Beyond the altar, up a set of stairs, sat the throne, which looked fashioned from the same dark alloy as the rest of the interior of this court. Behind the throne the exposed gigantic power conduit tube ran vertically down into the rest of the innards of the worldsphere.

"Well? Does this please Vahl?"

Vatrës Dhalis

 

[Vatrës Dhalis]

Vatrës' feet took to the path easily. She avoided trailing blood on her sandals, but she did not flinch from the violence being done in the name of the goddess. She felt a sense of satisfied justice resonating within her mind. The sinners would perish, and spirits -- the essences, the Force resonance -- of the Vahla would be bound to this anchor. Fuel and weight would be necessary for the opening of the Way. Their disloyalty and sins would be meaningless once they were Joined to the goddess.

Inanna's court was an impressive, cavernous chamber. Too grand, perhaps, for a mere Chosen. But for the Avatara, for her Champion? It would suit.

She paused at the emblem on the ground at some unseen instruction -- or perhaps it was a genuine act of humility before her goddess -- and dropped to her knees. Her lithe body stretched forward and lowered until she was all but prostrate on the ground, her hands stretching into the emblem. "Vahl," she murmured as softly as a prayer, her lips close enough to the carved alloy to kiss. "Dark goddess, Opener of the Way, true guiding compass of your children. I sanctify this chamber to your service "

The emblem flashed as an otherworldly ember outlined its carving, illuminating from its center where Vahl's hands lay, spreading to the outward edges. When Vatrës rose, the emblem was very like the brand at her chest, and as if in recognition the braziers flared brightly before settling once more. "She is among us," she told Gerra solemnly.

She crossed to the altar then, taking in its grisly purpose. Her hand took a leather cuff, one of a pair at the head of the table. Two others waited at the foot of it. She made a thoughtful noise before rounding the altar, moving to the stairs. "Come, Champion." Vatrës took his hand and mounted the steps. Thanks to Hasuras Na-Gerra 's efforts, she looked fit for such a seat, in her silken dress and jewels. At the top of the stairs, she stopped, let go of his hand, and studied the throne.

Take it, Vahl whispered in her mind. Sit the throne as my loyal servant, and never forget that you sit it by my own grace. Take it in my name, and from this moment, you will be wayward nomad no longer. Take it, and the three of us shall unite the Vahla and meet our destiny.

Vatrës looked over at Gerra. For once, there was neither the gentle uncertainty of the maid, nor the cruel harsh of the goddess Vahl, but rather some middle ground. Neither mercy nor vengeance would she bring, but justice. She met his fiery eyes for a long moment, and then turned and seated herself on the throne. It dwarfed her physically, but the straight line of her spine, the confident resting of her hands on the armrests, the imperiousness of her black gaze spoke to her comfort there. The braziers once more flared in recognition.

"We are pleased," Vatrës told Gerra, and a satisfied smile curled her lips. "Bring them in."

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

A single eyebrow rose on the Ashlord’s craggy brow.

He, who cared not for justice or concepts embodied in words less than deeds, grunted at her order. His gaze moved from her as she sat, lithe frame most comely upon the throne, down to the altar below, then the open doors beyond.

Reaching out with his mind in the Dark Side, Gerra pressed upon the minds of his captains the intent to bring forth the chiefs and lesser priests of this place to make supplications to Vahl. The fractured bits of intent assented and before long the corsairs gathered at the far end of the chamber in a small but growing host. Many still had weapons drawn and with them they herded the former rulers of this world sphere before them like cattle toward the walkway and the foot of the altar.

“Behold,” Gerra rumbled, voice booming in the chamber, “The Avatara of Vahl.”

Vatrës Dhalis

 

[Vatrës Dhalis]

Gerra's booming voice echoed in the cavernous room momentarily. When the last of the reverberations gave way to a near-silence, accented only by the crackling of the fires in the pyres and the subtle humming of the reactor conduit that rose behind her seat. She surveyed the priests and others Gerra's Vahla corsairs had gathered there imperiously for a few moments.

"The Chosen are dead," Vatrës announced without preamble. "By command of the goddess Vahl herself. They have lost sight of their purpose: to find and secure the homeworld for you -- for all of you, her children and mine. Their blasphemy has been repaid in blood and fire. This is the dawn of a new era for our people, a new Ember. Today, all those who served these wicked Chosen are offered clemency, our lady's mercy. My children will not suffer for the sins of their leaders. You have a choice."

Here, Vatrës stood, and the braziers flickered, then flared. The assembled saw; a murmur went through them.

"I will open the way to the homeworld. Doing so will require much of our people. Obedience. Loyalty. It is not a demand, but a choice."

As she spoke, she descended the stairs and then rounded the altar.

"You are here because you did not take up arms against Vahl's Champion and his men." She raised a hand to indicate Hasuras Na-Gerra . "You will remain because you choose it." She approached the line of Vahla, surveyed them before stepping close. She worked her way left to right, locking eyes with the priest in front of her.

He is pure, Vahl whispered. To the next, she said: Duplicitous snake.

"Stand on the stairs," she said, her voice pleasant but firm. She didn't wish to give the game way. Not yet. It went on like this. Most of them, the goddess did not condemn. But more than Vatrës wanted to see were condemned, and were sent to the stairs. The ones who were sent to the stairs exchanged looks, as did the ones who stayed where they were.

Finally, Vatrës took to the stairs and embraced the dark side. Vahl empowered her, and the same flame-lashes that had bound Gerra bound her sacrifice. "Fear not," she called over the shocked gasps and murmurs. "Vahl herself brings a cleansing flame to burn away the rot that would threaten our people."

"Blasphemy!" shouted one of the men on the stairs, his grey robes marking him part of the priesthood.

She rounded on him, and the golden lashes lifted him, almost like a noose. "It is blasphemy to ignore the will of Vahl," she countered. "I am her Avatara. She manifests her will through me. If you do not know it by now, you will." The lash deposited him on the altar before her and she drew one of the gold knives from her arm cuff and without ceremony, slashed it across his throat. He sputtered, grunted, struggled against the lash to try to cover his throat, to staunch the blood as it erupted like a geyser from his severed jugular and carotid artery.

There was nothing to be done for him.

Vatrës watched, black eyes dancing with reflected flame, until the blasphemer lost consciousness, then flicked her hand and threw him from the altar. The lash raised another, who immediately began to plead for his life, swearing he was loyal. Vatrës did not listen. Vahl had already judged his fate. By the time the judgment was over, Vatrës stood over a pile of corpses, blood smeared on her knife, her knuckles and fingers, even streaked along her forearm.

"These," she announced to the remaining Vahla, Corsairs and others alike, "Have shown their true colors to the goddess, and they have paid for their treachery. Be aware that the goddess sees, and the goddess knows. From this fire shall rise a new Ember, one loyal to Vahl over itself."

The Avatara reached into the Force once more, and the fires in the throne room leaned toward her, and a moment later the pile became a pyre, the smell of burning fabric and flesh rising.

A worthy sacrifice, daughter, Vahl murmured approvingly within her. You understand at last, I think, the nature of obedience and your role.