Chapter 4: Hierarchy
On its own, High Charity would have been considered one of the holiest locations within the Covenant: simply its level of access to Forerunner artifacts, reams of knowledge and data, and to those religious experts who studied them would have been enough to catapult it onto a level that rivaled not only the Forerunner installations scattered throughout the galaxy but the very Halos themselves.
But it was the presence of the greatest artifact in the known universe that made it the absolute Mecca of the Covenant: the Forerunner Dreadnought, a fourteen kilometer-tall vessel left behind on the homeworld of the San 'Shyuum, who would revere the craft and later form the Covenant with the Sangheili, trading their racial name for the title of "Prophets." The ship itself was situated in the exact center of High Charity, visible from all locations and oriented directly beneath the large glowing disc that acted as the city's de facto sun. As the city was in constant motion, traveling through space from religious site to religious site, it had no sun, and therefore had need of the artificial one set into the massive dome that protected the metropolis within.
It was this very ship that Yarna 'Orgalmee's domicile looked upon, the window of his apartment gazing out over the city from its vantage point in the eleventh tower. He could look upon its hallowed frame every morning when he awoke, and reflect upon its glory at night as he slept. Truly it was a sight to behold.
The warrior in question was sitting at his desk in said domicile, allowing his mind to wander when he was supposed to be reading over the latest equipment roster. The data scrolled over the holographic surface on his desk, but his eyes continued to be drawn to a holographic still resting on the edge of his workspace. It displayed two forms, one tall and lanky and the other small and stunted: his good friends, Oriné 'Fulsamee and Rurut the Grunt. They had served with him on Halo and survived its horrors together.
Halo… The name brought back bittersweet memories. The Flood certainly spoiled everything, having become unleashed and decimating the Covenant forces on the ring. High Charity was currently in synchronous orbit with the ruins of the Sacred Ring around the gas giant Threshold. The flaming, shattered remains of the once great Halo floated in space, slowly spinning and throwing its atmosphere away to coil about it lazily in the hard vacuum.
He sighed and sat back in his chair. He almost regretted taking the posting as one of the Prophets' Honor Guards, seeing as how he was withdrawn from the front lines. Technically speaking, he held the rank of Elite Zealot, a rank which his own father had achieved before becoming a member of the High Council. Now, though, the only combat he knew was in drills and sparring, and in both of which lethal force wasn't authorized. If someone happened to die there was indeed not much in the way of consequences, but it would still be a hassle to complete the paperwork.
Groaning aloud he leaned forward again. Paperwork: that was something he suddenly had much more of, and he lacked the motivation to complete it all. Risking a glance at the opposite wall, he looked at the armor that was suspended in a gravity field next to his bed. It was a deep crimson, like the color and shade of human blood, but at the same time it was very metallic and shiny. He kept it in impeccable condition. There were ornate decorations all over it too; they even served a function: the glowing orange flashes and swoops all over the body and helmet added some power to the shield generators, giving the Honor Guard more protection and a better opportunity to protect the Prophets and Councilors.
With a growl, Yarna shook his head. I must focus, he thought, retraining his eyes on the data in front of him. If I were on the battlefield my mind would be sharp as a razor's edge. But now, in the world of politics, I cannot claim the same yet.
A chime sounded in his room. At first be began to stand, thinking it to be the warning that his shift was near, but he quickly realized it was simply the door alert, informing him there was a soul beyond the closed portal that desired access. With a grumble he sat back down.
"Enter," he called out, and the door hummed and slid apart. He looked over and saw that a Brute had sauntered up to his quarters and was now leaning on the doorway looking smug. He recognized him, too: Jobrinus, one who didn't mind pestering the Honor Guard even while they were on duty. He was beaten for it relentlessly; the scars criss-crossing his face attested to it.
Yarna growled. "What do you want?"
"Just checking in," Jobrinus sneered. "I assume you heard about the trial?"
A dark feeling settled over Yarna's mind. The trial this morning had been based on an accusation of heresy, but towards an unusual recipient: the Supreme Commander of the Fleet of Particular Justice. He had been in command when the Demon had succeeded in destroying Halo, and now bore responsibility for the loss. The punishment was severe as usual for heresy, but it had a much darker overtone. Not only was he answering for his negligence but also for compromising the salvation of all those in the Covenant.
The legend of the Sacred Rings stated that only through the Halos could the loyal and devout species of the Covenant begin the Great Journey, but by allowing the ring to be destroyed he endangered the entire Journey. Thus, after the usual public torture session (which had gathered a larger crowd than any heresy trial before it), the shamed Elite had been dragged off to the Hierarchs to await execution.
However, Yarna did not blame the Supreme Commander for the loss of Halo. He had been one of the few to survive, and had seen the danger the Parasite presented; he understood that the Commander had done right by focusing his attention on the Flood first and the pitiful human forces second. Even the Sangheili race overall knew that the Commander had done his best, and that this degree of torture was unnecessary; the legend stated clearly that there were seven Sacred Rings, and only one needed to be lit to begin the Great Journey.
But the Covenant had needed a martyr, so they had created one where there was only dedication to duty. Yarna could not voice his disagreement, though, and neither could anyone who felt similarly. The Hierarchs and the High Council had spoken, and it was to be that the Sangheili warrior would be executed.
Yarna had found it strange, though, that the Supreme Commander had reminded him faintly of Oriné.
"How could I not? I was overlooking the entire scene."
The Brute shook his head as if he were chiding himself. "Ah, of course. How could I forget you were on duty?"
"Especially when you pestered me and insulted my race throughout."
"Yes, especially."
The Elite swiveled in his chair to face the ape-like creature. "Is there a point to this, Jobrinus?" Revulsion swept through his soul even as the Brute smiled.
"I merely wished to congratulate your race," Jobrinus said, trying his best to look sincere. "After all, it was quite a feat that Fleet Master achieved: never in recorded history has a Forerunner artifact of such size and splendor been destroyed."
Suddenly Yarna was out of his chair and had the monster by his throat. He slammed the furry body against the wall, forcing a yelp and gurgle of surprise out of the offending creature. "Not another word, you foul beast!" the Elite hissed, tightening his grip. "It was not the fault of my race or that martyred warrior! The failure can only be attributed to the release of the Parasite, nothing more." Growling, he slammed the other warrior's head into the wall before releasing him to slide to the floor. "If you come to my quarters again, I will not hesitate to kill you."
Jobrinus choked out a garbled reply, but he quickly righted himself and hurried out the door. Despite the severity of the situation, Yarna couldn't help but smile. At least he still had it in him to fight, even if the situation wasn't the same. Returning to his desk, he realized that he was in the right mind to finish the work in front of him.
Perhaps I should abuse Jobrinus more often, he thought wistfully before going to work.
After a while of working, Yarna decided it would be a good idea to stretch his legs. Heaving himself out of his chair, he did a rapid exercise regimen and exited his chambers. He wandered the hallways of High Charityfor a little while before finding his way to the Forums, emerging in a grand domed structure, easily over two thousand square feet. Inside were throngs of species, each grouping together to discuss the recent political and social developments of the city.
Pushing his way through the crowd towards a gathering of other Elites, the he joined with his brethren and listened in on the conversation. Apparently something big had happened while he was cooped up in his room.
"Impossible!" one Sangheili exclaimed, his eyes wide with wonder and bewilderment.
"I speak the truth," insisted another, "I saw him leaving the Mausoleum wearing the sacred armor. A new Arbiter has been selected!"
Murmurs spread rapidly through the gathering, even spreading into some of the other crowds. A new Arbiter had serious repercussions: the sacred warriors of the Sangheili were only called during times of great crisis. Clad in ancient and ceremonial armor, these soldiers were selected from the very best, chosen to be religious leaders to rally the Covenant against a great foe.
Yarna had been aware of a rising number of Heretics, a faction that had recently split away. The division had been sudden and without warning, leaving even the Hierarchs caught flat-footed in their wake, though Yarna believed their numbers to be too small to cause an actual panic; only a relative few had been drawn by the heretical ramblings of their leader, Sesa 'Refumee. But calling Arbiter, however, meant the Hierarchs considered it a severe enough problem to warrant the highest kind of attention.
There was, however, another repercussion to the calling of an Arbiter, one entirely too personal for Yarna. His own grandfather had been called, following the assassination of one of the Prophets in his own time. Though widely loved by the people and seen as a true leader, he had been given his own mission: to eliminate the Yanme'e Queen to bring the ongoing conflict with the Drones to an end. He accomplished it, at the cost of his life. Yarna had never know his grandfather; even his own father had been too young to remember with any great detail, though what memories he had were incredibly fond and inspired the young Sangheili so much that he often believed the spirit of his grandfather was watching over always.
The crowd continued to yell its divided opinions, some of disbelief and others of joy and enthusiasm, until a deep voice bellowed over all others. Rapidly that entire area of the Forum fell into silence, all turning to regard the newcomer. He was clad in pearlescent white armor and stood tall and proud, slightly more so than most Sangheili. Beneath his dermo-suit lay rippling, toned muscles, forged from hours and hours of constant combat. His eyes were an uncommon green, shining forth like two emeralds from beneath the rim of his helmet. In fact, he would have been considered irresistibly attractive were it not for a horrible facial disfiguration: his two left mandibles had been gruesomely and undoubtedly painfully ripped off. Left behind were two nubs that twitched as the Sangheili spoke.
Yet at a distance and even despite the injury, Yarna still recognized the warrior's face: Rtas 'Vadumee. Suddenly memories of Institution came forth, of sitting at a table in the mess hall and joking about the Jiralhanae, how foul and cruel they were. They had met through Oriné, Yarna remembered; they had even been in the same crèche sent to Jisako.
"Calm yourselves," Rtas said as he began to make his way through the crowd. Those before him parted of their own volition, either out of respect for his rank of Elite Ultra or simple shock at his damaged face. "The acquisition of a new Arbiter is to be expected. The destruction of Halo has caused a panic in the lower races, and it is necessary to rally them to prevent unrest."
"Has he been given his mission yet?"
Rtas glared in the direction of the voice, green eyes narrowing into slits. "I am not at liberty to say. But rest assured: the Prophets shall put this warrior to good use."
Nods of approval passed through the crowd, and gradually they dispersed into other areas, offering news and opinions to other species of the Covenant. Yarna approached Rtas, catching his eye. The white-armored Sangheili cocked his head curiously.
"Do I know you?"
Yarna nodded. "Yes, we two were cadets in Institution, commenced at the same time." He smiled. "I believe we know each other through our mutual friend, Oriné 'Fulsamee?"
Recognition lit the Commander's eyes from behind. "Ah yes! I remember you now." He scrutinized the younger Elite. "You have not changed radically, I see, but…" For a moment his eyes lingered on the breast of Yarna's dermo-suit. "You bear not only the sigil of the Honor Guard, but the Etching of Glory. Only four individuals received it… you were one of the survivors?"
"Yes, I was," Yarna replied, unconsciously puffing out his chest. "Myself and Oriné both survived the destruction of the Sacred Ring."
Rtas nodded, and fortunately did not pursue the subject further. The memories of Halo were still far too recent and painful for him to recall with any ease, and if the rumors were to be believed, the Commander had faced the Parasite as well, though in a much different climate.
"Was there something you wanted?"
His deep voice brought Yarna out of his momentary stupor. "Yes, actually," he began. "I wished to know… have you met the Arbiter?"
The Elite Ultra hesitated. "Not personally," he finally said, "but I have been introduced to him by the Hierarchs."
"What is he like?"
Rtas clicked his mandibles, the Sangheili equivalent of a shrug. "Quiet, withdrawn… everything you expect such a warrior to be."
Everything you might expect, Yarna thought bitterly. He nodded his farewell and took his leave, losing himself in the Forums. He drifted from group to group, listening in on a handful of conversations before finally wandering his way from the building altogether. Gradually he made his way back to his apartment, sitting down at his desk and gazing at the holographic image of his two departed friends. The shock was just sinking in; another Arbiter. One who was quiet and withdrawn. But… but he was supposed to be a beacon to the people, an icon of the Covenant's power. Those who were chosen were pure and holy, examples selected for their devotion and knowledge.
Weren't they?
Yarna started in his seat as a chime cut through the stillness of his room. He released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. With a forlorn look at the chronometer he realized it was time for the start of his guard shift.