Ynnead's Dream
Breath tickled Izuru's neck. An arm encircled her chest. Izuru found a hand covering her heart and squeezed it. "Izuru."
Izuru twisted. Cold sheets clung to her body. A damp pillow enveloped her head. Ellorias? Izuru slid her hand across the empty space beside her. Ilic? Korsarro? Izuru dug the sheets from beneath the mattress and crawled to the foot and rolled on to the floor. Swathed in the sheets, Izuru leaned on the smooth Wraithbone and laid her head back.
A pale-skinned, short-haired, ugly being sat on the floor staring at the ceiling. Izuru tilted her head and stared at the pathetic thing. A corner of the sheet slipped from her shoulder and she dragged the sheets over to the reflection and clasped the thin material to her throat. Why did you come back?
Izuru drew the bunched sheet up and pressed her fist in to her nose, squishing it. She lowered her head and arched her brows. Her feet trod the cold floor and she flopped on to the bed and lay on her back. Chimes hung in the space where the orbs hovered. Light. Light burned Izuru's reddened eyes. Soft. The shadows receded. Izuru sat up and bit down on her fist. They are gone forever. Gone and it is all your fault. Izuru bit a knuckle and sobbed.
Izuru stood naked before her reflection. Her hands made a V-shape then curled in to fists. I am violence, I am hatred, I am evil. Izuru spread her arms wide and ploughed at the air. Whirling her arm, Izuru thrust her fist at the other being. They do not love you anymore. Izuru twisted her arm and bent it, raised her knee and kicked. Her upper body jutted forwards and her neck stretched. Claws scratched lines in her chin. They never loved you.
Warm skin between her legs tingled where her fingers rubbed. Izuru shivered. "…Ahh." She screwed up her face and thumped the mattress. Her hands found a pillow and throttled it. Throttled every last bit of air out of it.
We are alone. You and I, Murekhalir. Take me. Shadows hid the reflection's eyes. Its arms swung by its sides. Izuru drove her fist through the being's face. Ripples shot outwards, eradicating the white visage staring at her. Bone cracked against the wall behind. Skin tore and blood crystals poured over Izuru's hand. "Uhh..." Izuru clutched her shaking hand and slathered her face. She collapsed on the bed, tumbled over the edge and wrenched reddened sheets off the mattress and in to a pile around her. "My sons!" Izuru threw her head back and clawed at her heart. "My world is ending!" Izuru pressed a bloody palm to her brow and inhaled through her nose.
One cycle faded in to another. The life left Izuru's joints. Sheets clung to her sticky skin. Red trails became crusted. Pins filling her feet, Izuru wandered in to adjoining rooms. Hexagonally-shaped tiles numbed her soles. Water shot from flared mouths at the end of curving tubes and pooled in a long depression.
Steam drifted in to Izuru's bedchamber. Clean-faced and clad in a silken robe, Izuru swallowed and touched a rune hovering below a dormant screen. The blank surface populated and showed her sitting with her back to the steam. The rune blinked in the lower right corner of the screen. "Um…" Izuru rubbed her elbows and frowned down at her knees. "This is for…" Izuru's hand slapped the stop rune and she lurched out of her chair.
Clear water warmed Izuru's hand and turned the white skin red. On her knees on the parapet, Izuru swirled the bathwater. A tiny gem, dangling from a cord around her neck, hung over the bath. Izuru lifted it between her thumb and forefinger and turned it in to the light. The Waystone did not sparkle. Izuru closed her fingers around it and pulled. The clasp snapped and Izuru carried it in to the cooler bedchamber.
"Captain… I—I think. Izuru Luminita Doria Numerial—Err, Doria Luminita Numerial." Izuru folded her hands over her clenched stomach. "Ranger… I think." Izuru's eyes flitted around the glowing rune tiles beneath the screen. "This unwanted existence forced upon my—my body and soul should never have come to pass." A muscle spasmed in Izuru's cheek. The skin between her brows crinkled. "Tell my sons I… mmph." Izuru held her mouth shut. "Tell them Cadia is where I lie. Where I gave my body and my soul for them." Izuru leaned in to the screen. "I speak to you from beyond the veil. I wish you a full and happy life under your—your father's guidance. I pr—I pray you find it in your hearts to forgive me." Her chest trembling, Izuru laid her Waystone on the desk. "May this soul be borne to the Craftworld Alaitoc and sent to infinity. There I will watch you, now and always." Izuru tilted her head down and covered her face. "My stars, my shining stars. I love you more than anyone, anything, always."
Izuru's knees poked out of the lukewarm water. Her hands clasped beneath her legs. Wrinkled fingers reached for a bone hilt. Sharpened Wraithbone caressed the inside of Izuru's wrist. "…Ahh." Blood crystals seeped down her arm. The shaking blade moved across and bared blood. It clattered on the edge of the bath and Izuru slid down in to the water. Two red clouds spread around her. Bubbles rose to the surface.
Arms and legs wheeling, Izuru fell. A bundle of rags formed in her arms and a tiny mouth suckled on a breast. "Ilic?"
"Izuru?" Ellorias cradled Korsarro. "Lost you for a moment there. What troubles you?"
"Uhh."
"Still sore?"
"Umm, no-no." Ilic's mouth parted from the nipple and he began to wail. "Ssh, sshh." Izuru dabbed at Ilic's mouth with the corner of a muslin. "Tired."
"You?"
"Both. Another sleepless night."
"We will pull through." Ellorias laid Korsarro in Izuru's lap and took Ilic. "My turn."
"Hungry?" Izuru drew Korsarro against her breast.
"Oh!" Ellorias twisted his head away from Ilic. "Gods…"
"Mate-of-mine?"
"The milk. It is rancid." Ellorias rushed at Izuru and plucked Korsarro from her arms. "Clearly, you are not fit to be a mother."
"No, no!" Izuru lunged for the twins and fell forwards. Rolling over and over, Izuru's hair billowed behind her. Her stomach leaped up to her throat.
"It's just you, Izuru." Hands caught Izuru and steadied her. A voice, deep and slightly nasal, spoke in Gothic. "You and me. It's how it's going to be from now on." Light blazed behind a figure with short hair and round ears, keeping his face in shadow.
"Who are you?"
"Just a grunt." The human's hand squeezed Izuru's and his arm crept around her waist. "With another grunt." His voice found her ear. "Do you know this dance?"
Izuru leaned away from the human. "I do not know you."
"You're one of us. Human, Eldar, we're all part of one big soul. Only soldiers – warriors – will understand why. Shoulder to shoulder, you and I stand." Fingers ran through Izuru's hair and down her neck.
"I let them down. I let everyone down. I cannot even remember their names." Izuru struck the human's shoulder. "Let me go."
"As you wish." The cold hands slipped away.
"No, wait—!" Izuru's fingers ran over rough stone and clamped down on a thin wrist. Two grey eyes stared at her. "No…" Izuru patted the statue's cheeks. "Who are you?" Stone fell from the statue's hand and crumbled in to dust. "No!"
Ash piled at Izuru's feet, covered her toes and rose above her ankles. Grey clouds wafted over Izuru. Tiny bumps spread across her neck. "Turn around, Izuru."
Izuru's dry lips peeled back from one another and her mouth fell open. Blue flame covered the skin of a lithe being with only one breast and a three-pronged horn protruding from its brow. Liquid fire dripped from burning runes floating around its body. Pointed teeth filled a lipless mouth. Izuru hunched her shoulders and clutched her neck. Blood crystals wept from gashes in her wrists. The being of ice swept at Izuru and expelled a cloud of air from its curving nostrils. Crystals sparkled and rolled down Izuru's fingers, over her hands, and around the torn skin. Blue crystals sprouted from the cuts and cauterised them. "Ahhh." The crystals crackled along Izuru's arms and spread to her shoulders and rose up her neck. Ice froze Izuru's jaw open and dug in to her eyelids. Her hair plastered to her skin. Fire shot from the being's claw and engulfed Izuru's frozen body.
Three days later...
Chatter filled one of the Dream's vast banquet halls. Eight-metre-tall statues of the Phoenix Lords surrounded the heaving tables, arranged in a wide oval beneath banners in the livery of the Craftworlds, the Commorrites, the Exodites, and the Harlequin Troupes.
Seated to the left of the Ulthwé representatives minus Eldrad and the right of the Biel-Tani delegation, the Prophet Yvraine stroked the smooth Gnalwood body of a mechanical chrono with a steepled roof and a face with two hands edging around runes painted in gold. Beneath the table, Alorynis slept next to Yvraine's foot.
"The Wild Host wishes you accept this antique as a token of our loyalty on this one-hundredth day of our alliance, noble Prophet," said Huntmaster Moishe Rhualt. A tiny felinoid shot out of a door above the chrono face and opened its jaws. Yvraine jerked her head back.
"Honoured to accept, Wild Rider." Yvraine laid the chrono down next to her platter and extended her arm. "Your presence at my table heartens Ynnead."
The Huntmaster kissed Yvraine's hand. "Your presence heartens me, Prophet."
Once the Saim-Hann representatives had returned to their table, Yvraine lifted the chrono from the table and placed it beside the large pile of gifts behind her chair. Do you think they are trying to say something, Laari?
Nothing that has not been said before. Only their eyes speak differently. The Visarch stood as ever at Yvraine's right shoulder.
Oh? Yvraine nudged the clock against a ceremonial death mask with her foot.
Every male in the room wants you.
Every male? My-my, Laari, I beg to differ. Wine sloshed in Yvraine's goblet and rose to the brim. Only Ynnead may have me.
Does it wear? This constant life under the spotlight?
Laari, you would be the first to know.
And does it leave me first in line for those trinkets at your feet?
Laari. Sneak!
Sneak? Not once have I seen more than a glimmer of interest in those eyes.
Then you are more perceptive than most. No, they mean nothing to me, but that is the politician's lot. Smile, smile, smile. Yvraine raised her goblet. Doth thou thirst desert thee?
Madam, I am on duty and must respectfully refuse.
Not even for one of those masks you covet?
A softer-hearted being might…
Hah! I knew you had a vice hidden somewhere.
Don't we all. The mask rushed at the Visarch's open gauntlet and he held it up to his own mask. All of us, governed by the masks we wear. Even you, Yvraine.
Did this conversation suddenly grow deeper? Yvraine pinched the choker at her neck.
Damned if I know. Now, what is this? The Visarch manoeuvred around the edge of Yvraine's table and caught a servant before he could stray to close to Yvraine.
"What is it?" Yvraine rose. "Release him."
"My… My…" The servant fell to his knees before Yvraine.
"Pay the servant in wine!" A Commorrite flicked his goblet at the servant. Pink liquid stained the back of the servant's tunic. "Fill his lungs."
The servant's head lolled. "Lady Prophet. It comes to you from the other side."
"What comes?"
"The other side?" Craftworlder, Commorrite, Harlequin, and Corsair threw eyes around. A goblet clattered upon the deck and rolled in a slow circle.
"As you were, Ynnari." Yvraine passed a hand over the Visarch's shoulder and moved to the centre of the hall. "Stay your tongues and lend your eyes and ears." Mist seeped across the floor. "Pay respect to the latecomer. It comes to us from beyond the veil."
Claws scraped along the stone. Blue flame dripped from a crystalline being gliding past the watchers. A burning trail lit up the carpet. Slanted eyes fixed on Yvraine. Her knee touched the carpet. Behind her, the Visarch's knee followed.
"Yncarne."
A curved claw pointed at Yvraine and loosed fire, forming a rune. A weeping eye filled the pommel of a sword suspended above writhing flame and housed in a shrine.
"The Eye—"
"—The Sword of Alaitoc—"
"—Iyanden's Shrine."
"Lady Prophet?"
A whip cracked. Light sparkled in the space the Yncarne had occupied. A burning footprint slapped upon the carpet, followed by another.
"Visarch! Be seated, all of you." Yvraine spread her arms. "Brothers and sisters, I must answer Ynnead's summons."
Does Ynnead call to you? The Visarch trotted at Yvraine's heel over to a row of portals at the far end of the hall. Alorynis clawed the carpet and bounded after them.
It has never spoken to me before through such a medium—no, Laari, do not walk in its footsteps. Walk beside it, never behind. You insult it.
Does it turn red if it angers? I would prefer not to misinterpret, but I do believe our friend from the other side has just gate-crashed our one-hundredth cycle feast.
We are all guests of Ynnead, Laari. These are his halls, after all.
The prints trailed through the Dream's wandering corridors, across chasms, and through many portals linking the battleship's two-hundred decks. Do you think it is trying to tell us something? Yvraine's fingertips brushed the charred edges of a Biel-Tani banner hanging from the ceiling.
Coincidence, surely.
My place of birth.
Paranoia, Yvraine. Let us not stray from the path.
Paranoia? Gods on fire, Laari, do not sour the mood further. I have to sit and smile at the leches drowning me in useless trinkets! You – the bodyguard – you are invisible. Not a being in that nest of reprobates and sycophants ever regarded you more than once—once!
Their high regard of you keeps them at Ynnead's table.
Oh, Laari, you do not understand how the sway of the weapon between their legs dominates their reasoning. Yvraine touched her upper lip. To them, I am everything below here and above the knee.
I do not believe that. Nor does the Mother. The Visarch snapped his fingers and lit a candle inside a shrine to Isha outside the gateway to a Healing House. May I offer a suggestion?
Must you?
Enter with mind open, free of prejudice.
There is not a single prejudiced bone in this dancer's body. Yvraine swept through the portal and danced down in to the darkened atrium. Alorynis ran in a circle around her and hopped up on to his hind legs. "All rise. The Prophet is upon you."
That may be difficult, Yvraine. Were any souls present… The Visarch's heels squeaked upon the floor beside the Yncarne's prints. Umbilical passages inside a liquid-filled basin connected individual spheres with the Houses. Flames spread over purple stalactites. The prints led in to a sphere occupied by a body housed inside a cocoon and suspended by a layer of gel. A being in a Cameleoline cape kneeled in front of the cocoon with its head bowed and hands folded.
"Lower thy hood, stranger." Yvraine flicked her fan open. "Drop the subterfuge."
"For a Ranger, it is a way of life." The being in Cameleoline lowered his hood. A fork-shaped scar curved around the back of his shaven head, across a patch of milky skin behind his ear. "As mine as it is hers."
"Prostrate yourself, Ronin. You are in the presence of greatness."
"Many wounds, Prophet." The Ranger dug his fingers in to his spine. His knees cracked. "And fewer ways I can contort this old body—ahhh."
Alorynis lowered his head. His ears folded back. The Visarch popped his sword's hilt from its sheath. Yvraine's fingers closed around the pommel and pushed it back. "So, Ronin, who demands your respect?"
"That is a family matter, Prophet. I do not—"
"—What is your name, Ronin?"
"First Captain Solene Yirryl, blood-brother to Amon Numerial, and uncle to his daughter, Izuru Numerial."
"Nephalem…" Yvraine pinched the folds of her dress. Alorynis bared his teeth.
"Suicide attempt, I was told. Heated issues within the family."
"An Outcast suicide is no concern of mine."
"Expecting a prize at the end of the trail, were you, Prophet? Then why did you come?"
"The—" Yvraine pouted and thrust her arm at the blue embers leading to the Ranger's cocoon. "A message! A message from beyond the veil."
"Not my domain. I deal only with matters of the living."
"Yes, fine, you have paid your respects, Ronin. Now, begone."
The Ranger laid his palm on the cocoon's membrane. "There must always be a Ranger keeping vigil. This one is no exception. You are in the presence of greatness, Prophet. Her father once saved my life, you know. Now word reaches me that his daughter's company made landfall on Cadia, fought to the last, doing what your Ynnari should have been doing, and received no commendation, no acknowledgment, nothing."
"Ronin, you need look to your Ulthranwé. Ulthwé's military arm marches at his word. Why would the Herald of Ynnead busy herself with the micromanagement of such a minor taskforce? Our cadres made no play at Cadia. No kin trod Cadian soil. What you heard was false narrative—" The Visarch caught Yvraine's arm and squeezed it.
Think before your tongue twitches!
"The—the issue shall be forwarded to committee." Yvraine wormed her arm free. "Recognition is forthcoming, First Captain Yirryl."
"Not for my niece only. For the one-hundred and fifty brothers and sisters lost in the field also." First Captain Yirryl's hand slid across the membrane. A smudge shot out and hit the inside and pushed at Yirryl's hand. "There. We are in agreement."
"If so, you may leave now, First Captain." The Ranger's hand left the membrane. "Your vigil is not necessary."
"Yet here I stand." First Captain Yirryl clasped his hands and stood, feet apart, before the cocoon.
A muscle twitched in Yvraine's temple, exposing a widening crack in her face paint. "May your watch remain undisturbed, First Captain."
Thank you, Yvraine, said the Visarch on the way out of the central sphere. A little compassion here and there shall go a long way.
Throw her to the hounds! The Prophet is above compassion. Rangers. Damned outcasts. No Phoenix Lord to worship even! Godless bastards!
What did I say about prejudice?
Yvraine flung the Visarch's hand away. "How dare you. HOW DARE YOU! What know you of the pressure exerted on my shoulders? WHAT KNOW YOU!"
Yvraine, let us find seclusion.
"Prince Yriel, Ulthranwé, that Huntmaster, now you! Whisperers undermining me at every corner – conspiring against Ynnead!"
False narrative, Yvraine.
"And that filth-blood Ranger stealing Ynnead's attention! NEPHALEM!" The Visarch uncorked a tiny skin. Yvraine snatched it and dumped the contents down her throat.
Let us remain here a moment. Soothe our spirits before we take our seats.
Yvraine shoved the empty skin against the Visarch's breastplate and rested her head on the bulging sapphire gems fitted to the Wraithbone. Alorynis rubbed his head on Yvraine's thigh. "I do not want to." Yvraine's palm caressed the breastplate. "It is so lonely at the top of the tower, Laari. No door, no windows, no other being there with me. Only leering eyes in the shadows."
With the spoils of victory, come the consequences. The Visarch removed Yvraine's hand. This was what Ynnead chose you for, Yvraine. It chose you to lead us to salvation. Forget the Ranger. You belong at the head of our table. The Mother commands.
"Does that make you the father then?"
The Prophet's Blade remains at the Mother's command, and she commands alone.
"Am I—am I wrong to keep distance between myself and my followers?"
The Visarch lifted Yvraine's hand and laid it on the cheek of his mask. Let your compassion be your weapon.
"How, Laari?"
The Lady Ellaria.
"Oh…" Yvraine scowled. "The constant breast-feeding!"
Approach her, make conversation, show interest in her newborn, let others see you do it. How can you claim to be of the people when you show no interest in them?
"I may need some stronger wine first. Do accompany me hand in hand, Laari. I feel naked alone."
Yvraine? The Visarch linked his arm through Yvraine's.
"Mm?"
Smile.
"I shall wear my courtesan's face. Hmph-hmph. Let them shudder at the sight of me; beautiful and terrible." Yvraine wafted her fan at her neck. "The beauty and the blade."
Ivy snaked around the curving pillars of a veranda overlooking one of the kilometre-deep trenches berthing a frigate. A week had passed since the suicide attempt. First Captain Solene Yirryl rested an elbow on a table and swirled his tea. "Ginger and lemon." Yirryl lifted a pot and poured sweet-smelling tea in to an empty cup. "I hope I chose well."
Two Healers, concealed head to toe in red robes, accompanied a chair-bound being. Short-haired and pale-skinned, dark circles surrounded the being's dull eyes. A patch covered the back of her hand and a tube ran up her sleeve. Yirryl moved a cup and saucer over to the edge of the table.
"Many cycles, many years, and I still see Amon in those eyes." Gold eyes edged across the table to Yirryl and settled on his Cameleoline. "Words cannot express my relief at seeing you alive, niece-of-mine." Yirryl's scarred lips stretched in approximation of a smile. "Your Uncle Sol. Do you not remember?" Izuru's grey lips puckered. She squeezed her eyes shut and her fingers clawed at the arms of the chair. "Izuru…" Yirryl sprang from his chair and rushed around to Izuru and hugged her. "Oh, child of my brother. My heart wails at the fate these fiends beset you with."
"Saeros, Keladi, Ilic, Korsarro… I—I let them all down."
"Oh, no you did not. Never—never lay yourself so low! Pride fill your heart. You gave all for your family—for the Rangers! There is no nobler cause to give oneself to."
"I am unfit to be a mother."
Yirryl leaned back and clasped Izuru's shoulders. "But you are fit to take the Cameleoline. You wore it once. Wear it again with pride! You wile away your remaining years as a youth within this backstabber's den. Is that your wish?"
"My heart is broken."
"Look up. Raise your chin, Starstrider. We control our grief, channel it deep down, and lock it away and hold the key. We hold the key to our fear, our doubt, and we control it, and we do not open that chest of despair. Come back to me. Return from that dark path and…" Yirryl clicked his fingers. An orb shone near the ceiling, spreading light through the veranda. "…Return to the light."
"I cannot. Too much of me is tainted, indoctrinated, stained with unclean essence."
"Honour upon you, Sister-Captain." Yirryl dropped to the floor and grabbed Izuru's hands. "Let no fork-tongue lash your deeds or decry your service. Malice and ridicule be damned. The daughter of Amonther Numerial spits in the eye of the Great Enemy. Not today! Not today, says she!"
"She fell on Cadia—"
"As First Captain, I vow to fight for yours and your company's honour. This will not be forgotten, Izuru. The Prophet will rue the day her Reborn abandoned you."
"Uncle, I cannot. My fight is finished."
"Will you stand?"
"I cannot."
"Will you stand against the injustice dealt your family? Would you have your voice heard?"
Izuru pushed down on the arm of her chair. "I can barely stand…"
"So, your mind recalls your initiation. Pain, hunger, isolation." Yirryl stood over Izuru. "We make fear our weapon. The eradication of hope flies from our muzzles at four-thousand metres per second. Never seen, never heard. Unless you control and master your grief, your terror, then they are truly enemies to be feared—truly!"
A bony hand seized Yirryl's wrist and pulled. Yirryl grunted and gripped Izuru's forearm. "Yes…" Yirryl thumped Izuru's shoulder.
"Let me become their fear." Izuru's wet eyes met Yirryl's. Yirryl's shoulder connected with Izuru's shoulder.
"Welcome back, Izuru." Izuru sighed and fell backwards. "Steady!" Yirryl steered Izuru in to her chair.
"Thank you." Izuru propped her head up in her hand. "Thank you, Uncle Sol."
"Mm. I do hope the warmth is yet to desert…" Yirryl lifted the pot lid. "Damned teabags are difficult to obtain. We all use leaf."
"No-no, I am grateful for the tea, Uncle. Truly, I am." Izuru sipped from her cup. "I have missed this so much."
"My body yearns for the leaf. Too many addled evenings have stirred the cravings, I fear. I chew them. Numbs the pain." Yirryl's hand strayed down his leg. "It never felt right after they attached it. I envy you, Izuru. You of one body."
"Can we not…?"
"Yes, of course. Forgive me." Yirryl laid a tiny wooden box on the table. Inside lay a fine, grey powder. "Would you?"
Izuru shook her head. "How did you find me?"
"We listened."
"Ulthranwé told you, didn't he?" Izuru pushed her cup and saucer away. "The coward can no longer address me face to face. Nor could he even look me in the eye before."
"Many things the great Ulthranwé is. Coward he is not. Other, less-enlightened beings will take deep offence to that remark, Izuru."
"His influence wanes. Now his knee bends to this prophet's whim."
"She leads, we follow. This Seventh Path shall see us to salvation."
"And since when do Rangers fall for the rhetoric of a religious fanatic? She is a cult leader, for the God's sakes! Place no trust in her."
"Then Saeros and Keladi would have died in vain."
"Name them not!" Izuru cast the chair back, wavered, and leaned on a pillar. "What is trivial to you lies heavy on my heart, and will never go away. My greatest failures." Izuru's nose squished against the back of her hand.
"I apologise."
"I need no apology, Uncle—"
"—At least let me offer condolence! You have been through a lot, niece-of-mine, but that is no excuse to lash out with tongue or fist so readily. Your father—"
"—And speak not of my father." Izuru pressed her hand to her ribs.
"Your father kept us together in that minefield before you were even in your mother's womb. Grego and I lay in bloody pieces there. Your father never once contemplated running or giving up on us. Through his bravery, we lived. All three of us lived." The pot rattled. Yirryl massaged the side of his fist. "If only Grego and Amon could be here today."
"And the shame that would fill their hearts…"
"Pride."
"How does survival elicit pride? The shame of losing the whole company. The shame of it." Izuru's thumb rubbed across a red line cutting widthways over her wrist. "I fell on my sword. Still, they would not let me die."
"There. You have unannounced purpose. You live to see a task through. The Gods willed it, Izuru. They want you to take the Cameleoline once again."
"You want me to take the Cameleoline, Uncle." Izuru hobbled back to her chair and fell in it. "My time in the field is over."
"Your place of birth."
"My place of birth… was Iyanden. I was born by the fireside, beneath the Shrine."
"So you have been told."
Izuru planted her hand on the table. "Tell me everything—everything!"
"Take the Cameleoline."
"Tell me."
"Initiation first. Regain your honour and your rank, niece-of-mine, and I will tell you where you came from."
"My mother." Izuru clutched the edges of her thin medical gown to her neck. "You knew her?"
Yirryl drew a thin strip of Cameleoline, wrapped it around his wrist, and offered Izuru the loose end. Izuru pinched the end in her fingers and twisted her wrist.
"One Ranger. One rifle."
Yirryl's eyes gleamed. "One, one, one."
Four Weeks Later…
Thunder boomed outside the caves. Izuru squatted naked over a tiny fire built from grass and twigs and held her hands over the writhing flame. Vines tied her breasts down and wrapped around her feet. A stone knife lay on one side of the fire and a rope made from knotted vines was looped over her shoulder.
You cannot just wish it away. A voice whispered to Izuru from beyond the glow of the fire. The taint between your legs. Bumps rose on Izuru's arms. Nephalem.
Why is she doing this?
Whose body is this?
They never loved you.
You teeter on the threshold. One foot in darkness, one foot in the light. Do not deny it changed you.
You make your nightmares real.
Nephalem.
A drop landed on Izuru. Yellow, shining mucus dribbled down her collarbone. Izuru lunged for the knife and dived over the fire, kicking grass behind her. A screech ripped inside Izuru's ears. A body thumped upon the cave floor. Claws scraped and swiped at the burning grass. Damp rock slid away beneath Izuru's feet. Her backside skidded over moss. Water rushed up to her and slapped her face. Sharp rock cut in to Izuru's feet. Her teeth clamped down on the knife and she kicked out, sweeping her arms through the water.
Izuru's head broke the surface. Shafts of light shone through gaps in the stone ceiling. Stalactites pointed at the pool below. A violent splash behind doused Izuru. Spines rose and sliced through the water towards her. Izuru's hands hit rock. With the bottom shelving beneath her, Izuru waded up a soft soil slope and dug her fingers in to a wall. Water roared beneath her and splattered the rockface. Claws lunged and gouged marks beneath her feet. Izuru pushed upwards and dragged herself on to a shelf. A double layer of teeth gnashed inside a lipless mouth.
You can never escape.
Izuru whirled the rope above her head and threw the looped end at an outcrop. A splash sounded. Bony legs stalked across the rock at the edge of the pool. Izuru yanked the rope up to her and launched it at the outcrop. The loop fell over the rock. Izuru gave it a tug and pushed away from the shelf. Lidless eyes followed her. Muscles tensed.
Dangling over the pool, Izuru hauled her body up to the tip of the stalactite and pressed her knees against the rough stone. "Mmph." She shook her arms and rolled the joints. Inch by inch, Izuru clawed up the stone. Vines ran down her shoulders. Roots snapped in her hands and earth poured through her hair. Izuru spat out dirt, worked a vine around her wrist, and pushed up. Beneath gnarled roots Izuru wriggled, the rough wood tearing at her skin. Slimy mud coated her body. Raindrops seeped through a green canopy and showered Izuru.
The knife splashed in the mud. On her knees, Izuru tilted her head back and stuck out her tongue. Leaves rustled and branches snapped. Izuru pattered at the mud and grabbed the knife. Claws sliced at a tree trunk. Izuru reversed the knife and lifted it above her head. Six legs bounded at Izuru. Spittle flew from open jaws. Izuru brought her arm forwards, flicked her wrist, and fell sideways in to the mud. A shadow lunged over her and collided with a tree trunk. Legs kicked and a whine escaped the maw. Izuru stole up to the creature, drew back her hand, and rammed her palm in to the knife protruding from a bleeding eye. Black blood spurted from the socket. The creature bucked and screeched. A tail flapped and thumped. Izuru punched the knife deeper and deeper until the screeches turned to moans then to nothing.
A mud-spattered, blood-covered ghost crouched in the undergrowth. Teeth bit down on a blade. Raindrops shone on black skin. Izuru crawled forwards. Rainwater poured from leaves. Lighting flashed. Izuru froze. Figures bulked up in body armour, wearing bulging night-vision goggles prowled along in single file. The human on point swept a lasgun at Izuru and lowered itself to a crouch. Behind, the others settled on their haunches and covered their sectors. The point laid the palm of his hand on his ballistic cover. Water dripped from the weapon's muzzle. Another human crept up behind the point and stopped by its shoulder. Round lenses settled on the scrub where Izuru lay. Rain ran over Izuru's brows and in to her eyes.
The human on point rose. Feet squelched closer. Izuru's fingers tightened around the knife. A shadow passed across her. Boots trod inches away from her, flinging water from grass stalks in to her eyes. Bad breath. Izuru waited and listened for the tail-end to pass. An unfolded bipod wobbled. Linked ammunition clinked. Holding the knife backhanded, Izuru followed the tail-end. Ten feet, five feet, two feet. Izuru aimed at the base of the human's neck, just beneath the edge of his cover.
A shout ripped through the trees. Izuru ducked and lurched sideways. Bloody cloth and ceramite fragments burst from the human's back. He wobbled another two paces then collapsed to his knees and toppled forwards. Izuru bolted. Branches and leaves scratched her arms and face. Lasbeams scythed through the trees, blasting steaming bark from the trunks. The vines around Izuru's feet tore free. Blood crystals stuck to roots and grass. "Ahh." Izuru hopped over to curving roots and burrowed beneath them. Little clouds of steam rose from the trees where the lasbolts had struck. Humans crashed in Izuru's direction. Turbofans roared and a searchlight swept through the sky. Torchbeams played around at ground level. Oh, Gods. Izuru wormed deeper in to the roots and pulled herself around the trunk. A pink flare rocketed in to the sky. The knife between her teeth, Izuru climbed the tree and pulled herself in to the lower branches. Bark rubbed the skin on the inside of Izuru's thighs and calves raw. The vines binding her breasts fell away and sharp leaves and branch-ends prodded them. Blood crystals wept from her soles. Squatting in the branches fifty feet from the ground, Izuru clamped her hands beneath her arms and laid her chin on her breast.
Looks how much it's changed you.
This is the price you pay.
Embrace your darkness.
It hunts you.
Let it see you.
A searchlight passed overhead and moved away. Leaves fluttered down to Izuru's shoulders. The branch trembled from boots landing on it. Cameleoline-shrouded beings lashed cords around Izuru's neck and dropped from the branch. Izuru's head slammed back against the branch. Her body twisted and her legs flailed. Her eyes rolled in to the back of her head. The rain pattering her skin died away. The branch beneath her disappeared and the forest faded.
Water exploded in Izuru's face. A hand ripped a cloth covering away. A masked, hooded Ranger faced Izuru across a table fitted with leather straps. Rangers stood in the edge of her peripheral vision holding batons. "Six cycles, seventeen hours. You almost made it. Almost." Energy binders trapped Izuru's wrists and ankles to a chair. Coarse material itched her skin. "Do you have something you want to say?"
Batons smacked Izuru's arms and legs. Red marks spread. "While your body holds, your mind betrays," said the Ranger. "Did it hurt, your family leaving you all alone? How does it feel knowing you are not good enough for them?" A baton sunk in to Izuru's cheek. A tooth cracked. "Unfit for motherhood, unfit for the Rangers. Gods, we should have let you lie cold and forgotten in that crypt. You would have stayed a hero there. Now you are a failure. A has-been." A haft whipped Izuru's head around. Phlegm sprayed from her mouth. The Ranger paced around behind Izuru. "Keladi, Saeros, all the nameless Rangers, Fire Dragons, Dark Reapers you squandered the lives of." The Ranger's head moved close to Izuru's ear. "Warriors under YOUR COMMAND!" Izuru's head twitched. Her cheek and lips swelled. "Unfit for command, unfit to lick the shit clinging to the sole of the rawest initiate's boot." The Ranger lifted a leather strap and stretched it.
"Umph." A baton hit Izuru's knee.
"Made a name for yourself at Cadia? Wanting to grasp all the glory for House Numerial?" The Ranger planted his hands on his knees and bent over Izuru. "Beggars and wastrels, baying at the table of the mighty for scraps." He flicked his arm up and batons fell on Izuru's shoulders. "Shame stains the name. Shame!" Izuru worked the loose tooth free with her tongue and spat it out. "It takes a special breed of selfish abducting your offspring, stealing them from their father, and driving that wedge between your family. We have no Phoenix Lord to respect so our brothers and sisters are all we have. Do you want to be a part of this fellowship? I do not think you deserve a place among us again." The Ranger moved behind Izuru and muttered in her ear. "All of it is your fault. You did this. Those marks on your wrists – coward! May your head leave your body and the Serpent sodomise your soul in aeternum."
Cords tautened in Izuru's neck. Her lips bulged. Warmth seared her skin. Orbs drifted down and blinded her. Izuru rolled her head back and clenched her jaw. Her ragged nails scratched at the arms of the chair. Light surrounded Izuru. On and on the heat soaked her body, burning through her swollen eyelids.
Icy water flew in Izuru's face. A bucket clanged. "Twenty more hours. How could a weak-willed suicide hope to last twenty more hours? Take the honourable way out and yield. Yield and fade away. You have nothing to gain here." A baton-head plunged beneath Izuru's ribs. Her head shot forwards and mucus flew from her throat. "You flew away with your orders and collaborated with the humans?" A Cameleoline blur paced around. "On whose authority?" A haft struck Izuru's nape. "The winged vermin feasted on the bodies of our brothers and sisters that day, all of it a product of your hubris. Treason and deceit stain the Cameleoline you once wore, now nought but a mark of shame on your miserable, filth-blooded history." The blur flew at Izuru. "IT IS OVER! Let the name Numerial be remembered as filth. Filth-blooded soul, filth-blooded offspring who hate the mother that bore them. Be remembered as the one who spread her legs for a human. Accepted the two-legged hound inside her." A hand gripped the back of Izuru's neck. "Now, what do we do with failures and human-lovers?" The glow in the energy-binders died and they retracted. Propelled from the chair, Izuru's stomach smacked the edge of the table and her cheek thudded against the surface. Feet booted Izuru's legs apart and a body mass held her in place. Her arms lay flat on the table, stretched out in front of her.
A lasblaster prodded Izuru's cheek. "You enjoyed it, human-mattress. Enjoyed the disease between your legs." The lasblaster withdrew and pointed at another being bound to a chair; this one in olive grey. A bag covering their head sucked in and out. "Kill the lesser species. Wipe the stain from existence." The lasblaster banged upon the table and a hand slid it along to Izuru. "Kill it." Fingers dug in to Izuru's hair, pulled, then slammed her face on the table. "If you cannot kill the lower vermin, you are nothing!" The tabletop cracked against Izuru's cheekbone. "MOTHERLESS, DISLOYAL, DEGENERATE."
Izuru's fingers scrabbled for the rounded grips. The body pushing her against the table retreated. Izuru straightened up, levelled the lasblaster and pointed it at the bag. Blood splattered the wall behind the human. Cloth fragments, skin, hair, and grey matter stuck to the red canvas and oozed down it. A bag came down over Izuru's head and the drawstring tightened around her neck. Thrust back in to the chair, Izuru sat still and waited for the binders to clamp around her wrists and ankles. Both remained free. Was I supposed to shoot?
Footsteps approached. The drawstring loosened and the bag was whisked away. Izuru blinked at a brightly-lit and uniformly blank chamber, thirty metres by thirty. No table, no blood, no human, only Uncle Sol stood there with a rolled-up blanket tucked under his arm.
"Tell me I passed."
Uncle Sol unfurled a brand-new Cameleoline cape. The soft material caressed Izuru's bruised shoulders. "You are now permitted to pass out, niece-of-mine, or should I say, sister?"
Swollen fingers took hold of Uncle Sol's arm. Izuru wobbled to her feet and clutched at Uncle Sol's shoulder. "Isha, I could not take much more of that."
"Can you walk?"
"Mmm, I can walk." Izuru let go of Uncle Sol and hobbled along beside him. She drew the cloak around her tightly. "How—how many others were there?"
"Later, later. You are now off-roster for two full cycles. Use it however you please."
"I have nowhere to go."
"That has been seen to."
Unmasked Rangers lined the corridor outside the Grey Chamber and applauded Izuru. Fists thumped Izuru and cheers broke out every now and then. Broad grins followed her. Arms reached out and tried to lift Izuru off her feet. "Away! Away!" Uncle Sol swiped at the gaggle rolling after him and Izuru. Smile! So few have walked where you walk, and even fewer for the second time in their lives.
Hollow. Izuru's eyes never left the floor. Every other eye was fixed on her. How did they know about Cadia?
Uncle Sol took Izuru's arm and lifted it up and hauled her along. "One Ranger, one rifle!"
"ONE, ONE, ONE!"
Cameleoline swathing Izuru ballooned outwards in her descent. Arms caught her and spun her around. "Do you know this dance?" Darkness hid the human's face.
"I do not know you." Izuru squirmed in the human's arms. "I do not know you."
"Let me show you. It's easy."
"I DO NOT KNOW YOU!" Izuru flung warm sheets off and lurched upright. Cold, blue light kept the shadows at bay in the small cabin. Wraithbone bulkheads hummed softly. "I do not know you." Izuru laid her head on her folded arms.
"Izuru."
Izuru jerked her head up and wiped her eyes. "…Yes?"
Uncle Sol's voice came from an intercom beside the entry portal. "If mind and body are rested, I would have you join the company in one hour's time. Have you a speech prepared?"
"Oh, speech…" Izuru freed herself from the sheets and opened up a slate sitting on a table next to a pile of crushed meal containers and squashed juice packets. "Speech, speech, speech."
"Do you remember?" A being stepped in to the oval-shaped mirror on the other side of the cabin. "Do you even remember why we went up that tower?" Shadows in bright khaki, olive grey, and khaki drab formed behind the bearded human, all with pallid skin and sunken eyes. "Or how many Imperial soldiers you killed?"
"Stop."
The bearded human dug his fingers in to the stomach of a quilted jacket and peeled the material away. Blood gushed from pulsating organs. "This was all your fault."
"NO!" Izuru kicked the sheets away and sat up. Her shift clung to her back and the mattress beneath her was stained. "Gods, no…" Izuru touched her hammering heart. The mirror staring at her remained cloudy.
"Izuru?"
Izuru's shoulders twitched. "…Uncle Sol?"
"If mind and body are rested, I would have you join the company in one hour's time. Have you a speech prepared?"
"Yes, I… I saw it."
"Very well. I expect you in an hour."
I saw it. Izuru went barefoot to the table and pushed the crumpled containers to one side. Light caught the red scars above the veins in her wrists. I saw the future in brief. A rough thumb rubbed at a scar. Another paler scar ran between two lines on her palm, this one also straight as if cut by a blade. A cursed soul, forever damned to pine in isolation. Izuru hitched the shoulder of her shift up and unfolded her slate. I was Ranger once. Izuru pressed her hands over her nose and closed her eyes. I am Ranger still.
Seven-hundred Rangers took seating for twelve-thousand inside a public chamber four-hundred metres high, and two hundred wide. Each pod, granting seats for eight, had a screen enlarging the speaker's head and shoulders to that of a giant.
"So few," Izuru whispered to Uncle Sol, fearful her voice would carry to the audience. "So few have come."
"But is it not the mightiest gathering of the family you have ever witnessed?"
"I would agree if these eyes could discern a single brother or sister out in this pit…"
"Speak no ill! We are fortunate to snatch time to use these facilities. I wish you well, sister."
"Gratitude, Uncle." Izuru stepped over to the low barrier. A tiny platform, no more than five feet wide, awaited.
"Remember, you have Ynnead's favour. Speak well of it. Praise Ynnari virtues. Other ears lean towards you."
Izuru nodded at Uncle Sol and crossed the gap. The energy barrier parted and reformed behind her. The platform whisked Izuru out in to the centre of the chamber. Wind flapped her Cameleoline cape. So far above the floor was she that mist hid it from view. No eyes found her, but Izuru sensed the expectant stares of the seven-hundred. "I have been provoked," Izuru said. "But the guilt, the shame, weighs on my heart only. All have witnessed the violence and the humiliation dealt them by their interrogators. Lineage, service, orientation, any slight, any deviation from our lonely paths are turned to insult and thrown in our faces. An impressionable, naïve initiate scarcely free of maidenhood took the Cameleoline then. Another, very different being returns to you after earning the old colours, and the honour to be accepted in to this close-knit clan is all mine." Izuru paused and held up her right hand. "The Eldar." She lowered it then raised her left hand. "The human and every slur that follows."
A voice boomed across the chamber. "Sympathiser!"
"Cadia was spoken of during my trials. The name means nought to you gentlebeings now. Its ashes lie beyond the veil, a faded memory to all. I call in to question the disownment of the Third Scout Caste of the Wayforger's Own. I am all that remains of the one-hundred and fifty, though rightly I should fall on my sword for bringing dishonour upon our family, a higher power denied my passage beyond the veil. It stole choice from my hands and granted life anew. My words, be assured, brothers and sisters, are my own."
"Indoctrinate!"
"To kill a human is not murder!" Izuru lifted her right hand. "Their blood stains my soul." Izuru then lifted her left hand. "To kill a xenos is not murder!"
"If I may speak!"
"Among you I may be, but one of you I am not. A foreigner, a being of two faces speaks without deceit. We are nothing but two sides of the same face, and we are killing each other while horrors pour from the Immaterium and sweep through the galaxy, ravaging Imperial worlds and Craftworld alike."
"Round-ear!"
"Among the Imperials I fought, one of them I was not. The enemy – Zeke – we found kinship with, for the flames of combat unite warrior without regard to the flags they bear. Know that these humans were not tail-less hounds staggering on hind legs, but men borne from their mother's wombs; just men. Men grown old before their time, forced to become adults before they could even experience childhood. I ate, fought, and died alongside those humans for kin and human alike. Beings of one soul who would never know us or how hard we fought, who would not care or wish to know the sacrifices young men and women – kin and human – made to ensure our sons and daughters have a future. By making war with every other race in the galaxy, we commit collective suicide."
"I WISH TO SPEAAAK!" A platform soared down from a higher tier. "Our keenness to jump in to bed with the humans is not shared, has-been!"
"Where were you all when the silver canisters fell, and liquid fire bathed my brothers' and sisters' bodies? Or when the giants came from the sky and fought in hand-to-hand combat with Imperial soldiers without any of our gifts! No power, no connection to the Warp, nothing. I am more Ranger than any of you, and though it turns my stomach to follow in the footsteps of this cult leader – this prophet – in my heart this is our path, the future we must bear upon our shoulders, lest we visit the same mistakes upon our children."
"Immoral!"
"Hypocrite!"
"Abuser!"
Izuru flew back to Uncle Sol's pod. A senior Ranger cadre held audience around Uncle Sol. Many were on their feet when Izuru crossed the gap. "Cult leader? First Captain Yirryl, are these your words—?"
"My words were my own!" Izuru shoved her way through the cadre. "None of you can understand!"
"Izuru—" Uncle Sol pushed after Izuru. "Stand aside, damn you!"
"Yirryl, what is this?"
"You will find out when you wake up from your coma." Uncle Sol shoved the Ranger back in to his seat. "Stop me when I am walking again and I will jam you in that cocoon myself and vent it."
Izuru blinked from the portal outside the chamber. Crowds of Biel-Tani in white and green robes queued outside for the next spectacle. Warmth stung her ears and flooded her cheeks. One Ranger, one rifle. What shit.
"Izuru?" Uncle Sol clattered down the stairs behind her. "Izuru!"
The crowds split before Izuru. Biel-Tani rushed to the sides of the corridor, away from the Prophet, her hulking bodyguard, and the Gyrinx. "Cult leader?" The Prophet smiled and fanned her neck.
"IZURU!" Izuru barrelled at the Prophet and lashed out. The Prophet's head snapped to one side. Her headdress flew off and hit the deck. Arms snapped and gems scattered. Biel-Tani dived for the glimmering pieces. Uncle Sol lunged at Izuru and dragged her away from the bodyguard's drawn sword. The Gyrinx at the Prophet's heel lowered its head and hissed.
"SPIT BLOOD!" Izuru pulled at Uncle Sol's arms and swung her fist, despite being ten feet away from the Prophet.
"I will give you that." The Prophet touched her nose and wiped. "At least you stand for something. It is more than could be said for the cattle filling Ynnead's halls scrambling for scraps." The Prophet aimed a kick at a Biel-Tani stuffing gem fragments inside his tunic. "Three meals, Ranger, then watch the Chaos descend."
"SPIT BLOOD, BIEL-TANI!"
"Shut up!" Uncle Sol got Izuru in an arm-lock, spun her around and quick-marched her away. Biel-Tani retreated before them. "You could have been killed for that!"
"I want her spitting blood! Vermin feast on her entrails!"
"Shut up!" Uncle Sol clapped Izuru on the back of her head. "Gods, you're insane!"
"There's no sanity here! Ignorance and lies prevail."
"Be quiet! I know you dug your grave on Cadia after that little dalliance, now you do your best to bury yourself once more—alone!"
"Uncle, you—"
"Do yourself a favour and shut up!" Uncle Sol twisted Izuru's arm upwards. "Look at what trying to be a hero does. No family, no friends. I will help you regain some honour in your career, but your family—that is on your shoulders. Hold your tongue!"
"Send me back in to the field."
"That I can deliver." Uncle Sol steered Izuru up to a portal and nudged her through. "And never let me hear you use human nomenclature again. Zeke! Anyone would think you had converted to their false god." Away from the Biel-Tani onlookers, Uncle Sol let go of Izuru's arms and pushed her forwards. "Amon would not recognise you."
"Well, I am sorry to disappoint, Uncle." Izuru popped her shoulder. "Amon's little girl chose her own path."
"And are you choosing to throw your career away too? That is your choice to make, niece-of-mine."
"Just get me back in to the field."
"If that is all that keeps you sane then fine."
"So, we are in agreement on that at least."
"I have a ship."
"And our destination…?"
"Were I so forthcoming, I would have to silence you forever. An outcome wholly undesirable to the daughter of Amonther Numerial."
"Uncle, you said that—"
"You may be unsuited for endeavours less pulse-raising than combat, niece-of-mine. I would not deny you the sanity of the field, if that is all you have left." Uncle Sol opened a little snuffbox and offered it to Izuru. "I may have assignment befitting your nature."
Izuru grasped a pinch. Powder poured from her fingers, and she inhaled.
"Three-hundred warriors on foot, seventeen officers, one commander answering to First Captain Yirryl. Your command, Captain Numerial." Runes flashed up on the angled screen before Izuru.
"I refuse."
The Ranger officers sat around the table turned their heads to Izuru. "You do not hold position to refuse offer from your betters," said one.
"First Captain Yirryl grants you instant elevation to company command, Ranger!"
"I would sooner join battle beneath Corsairs banners before commanding humans," said Izuru. "A collaborationist unit would be welcome only to the scrags and the malingerers, if that. Laughter and derision are all you deserve for entertaining such fantasy."
"Sever that tongue for insolence!" A Ranger raised a fist and brought it crashing down on the table.
"Peace, brother-of-mine," Uncle Sol snapped.
"The Blueskin has auxiliaries. Their Gue'vasa—"
"Gue'vesa, Brother-Captain. Though the Ynnari need no human aid, military or otherwise, sanctuary should be considered. With so many displaced beings clinging to the hems of our robes in the aftermath of Cadia, I believe it only fair to offer sanctuary from the bootheel of the Imperium of Man."
"Delivered to your tongue by Ulthranwé." Izuru sneered. "If military aid is not sought, why do you ask of me, a warrior, to nurse refugees. Where are our civil agents? Cadres with their teeth in the affairs of the weak. Uncle, do you really want this for me, or is it the wish of Ulthranwé and the false-prophet to keep me within eyeshot?"
Heads sunk in to palms. Knuckles turned white. An elbow collided with a glass and knocked it over. Water spread across the reflective surface and dripped in to a recess. "The Blueskin—"
"Ranger Numerial!" Uncle Sol's head rose above his own screen. "Sister."
"First Captain, my brothers and sisters are my calling." Izuru spread her hands. "No self-respecting human would prostrate themselves for us. You may try surrounding them with four walls and a roof but they will lash out with such ferocity, it would be as if the Gods had their backs. You do not know the ways of the human warrior. Be it Traitor Guardsmen or even Astartes, the human grunt stands resilient, never faltering in the face of certain death. The bonds that bind him to his brothers triumph over all. They are a family of fighters, just as we are, and wholly deserving of respect."
"You have seen this?" A Ranger scratched his temple. "These… grunts fighting Traitor Astartes."
"Yes, I have."
"If we have something to learn from this, could you be perhaps a little franker?" A Ranger leaned his head against his fist. "Just how deep did this knowledge go? Enough to satisfy you?" Chuckles flittered around the table.
"First Captain, if I may offer a suggestion? Let these Ynnari treat with the human delegation. We need no more mouths, no more bodies to cloth and to cleanse. I say we abandon the idea of raising auxiliaries or even caring for the—the old and the weak. We observe, nothing more. With helpless babes suckling at our breasts, we abandon our warrior mantles, and I have not the authority to dictate the affairs of the human."
Rangers sat slouched around the table. Some drank, others picked at their nails. "First Captain, might be advance to the briefing for the intrusion?"
"No—" Uncle Sol swiped his arm out.
"Be quiet, fool!" The Ranger at the tongue-flapper's shoulder gave it a prod.
"What intrusion?" Izuru's eyes passed around the Rangers.
"She was not to know!"
"Well, gratitude for the loose tongue, Brother-Captain!"
Uncle Sol banged the pommel of his sword on the tabletop. "Preparations are being made for an intrusion. You play no part in it."
"You will not deny me the field."
"You play no part, niece-of-mine—"
"YOU WILL NOT DENY ME THE FIELD!" Izuru flew to her feet.
"But I can deny you rank and the privilege it brings. You are no longer welcome at this table, Ranger."
To the Warp with you all. Izuru stepped away from the table and left the briefing room.
"Izuru!" Uncle Sol's voice followed her.
"I have no wish to discuss further, First Captain."
"Nor need you, niece-of-mine. Your uncle wants the best for you."
"Then send me back in to combat without rank or the privilege it brings." Izuru whirled on Uncle Sol. "I can never – will never – command troops in the field again."
"I… I feel obliged to Amon to protect you—"
"—I NEED NONE!"
"Please! Please." Let us converse with discretion.
A being worthy of mockery! Is that all I am to them now?
Please. Uncle Sol took Izuru's arm. Gods help you if the Prophet wishes your demise.
The veil refused me once. It may well refuse me again.
You cannot run that risk! The sooner you are off the Dream, the better for us all. Hurry now, I shall brief you myself then shuttle you to one of our corvettes.
Tell me. What is our destination? Where am I bound?
Have patience, Izuru. Patience. But know whatever decision you make; you will always have my support. Always.