Disclaimer: you know the deal, I don't own it, but all the original characters r mine.
Author's Note: ok, this is jst my little Cala obsession, but I'm coming up w/ some very kool GW stuff to add in here, so enjoy! (and please, please, please! Review)
Chapter 1
The First
On a secret space base, a little less than a decade ago…
The bright morning sunshine warmed his dark face and he beamed at the warmth. Of course, it was only artificial sunlight, but it still felt amazingly good against his face. The boring old assembly and reception welcoming new students and soldiers was finally over and he had helped some of them settle in and could finally take a break. Or at least tend to his assigned duties, like all the other older cadets. He paused in his lazy stroll down the cement sidewalk, as cars zoomed past. It was such a good day, in this first week of the brand new semester. Everything in his life was finally turning the right way.
He was top of his class, valedictorian in every major, and promoted to class senator cadet. These were excellent accomplishments. Competition for either of the positions was fierce, the scale could have tipped either way, but he had come out triumphant. In the private boy's military academy, competition was always harsh. Everything had to be fought out. And in the end he had prevailed.
Clutching the important papers that he was supposed to be delivering to the Commander tightly in his hand, he set off again. He did not want to loiter, messenger to the senior officers was also a sought after position and he did not want to lose it. And as he was only a newly inducted second year, aged thirteen, this was impressive. Most students were not allowed privileges such as he had until they were at least third year, aged fourteen. (And anything was better than those toilet scrubbing, potato peeling, and dish-washing duties that his fellow cadets were assigned were). He was told by certain reliable sources that he was considered, by the teachers, as a natural leader that would eventually become a lieutenant and command several younger students in a small platoon of foot soldiers, or if he was highly recommended by a high senior officer, mobile suit pilots.
And he was damned proud of it.
The Commander, head of the Academy, himself, had chosen him especially as a messenger. Actually, the Commander was just called 'the Commander'. He was really a full colonel. It was really a pretty impressive accomplishment, he'd been told. Rarely anyone made it past major status, but the Commander had done it at the mere age of 23 years old. He was now at the ripe old age of 29 and very close to being promoted to a lieutenant general. He had been appointed the position of governing and administrating the Academy only a few years before his promotion to colonel.
As he walked his usual brisk pace, he thought of how frightened had been when he had first come to the school. It was in the middle of uncharted space, specifically unknown coordinates so that only those who needed to know the location knew. Everything was top secret and it was scary. The security guards checked for metal devices, while entering the unnamed space colony. His father had had to force him to step onto the transport leaving Earth, coaxing, threatening him, and even bribing him the whole time. Cemal had not wanted to travel alone on a large, terrifying military transport.
He had been such a wimpy, little kid.
No wonder his father had wanted him to attend the Academy. It put a little backbone in him. He was thankful now. Exceeding thankful, onto grateful. In any case, he had risen up in ranks and the teachers were all very pleased with his improvement. He was now thinking of the desolate colony, in the middle of nowhere, with no civilians whatsoever, as home. Simple as that.
He finally reached the business building that the Commander's office was located in and stepped inside, the door swishing closed behind him. A rush of cool air engulfed him and he walked on, nodding politely to the busy secretary, who in glancing at him saw his uniform and went back to answering phones and typing frenziedly on a desktop computer. The click of his heels echoed in the empty corridors of the building.
"Second floor, third door to the right," he muttered, pushing the door marked 'STAIRWAY' open and climbing up a story. He reached the door and knocked on it.
"Come in," growled a low voice inside and Cemal creaked open the door and stepped through it. There was a big, intimidating man, sitting at a desk with his brown-haired head bent over, inside. The artificial light from the outside of the building was filtered through darkly tinted glass windows. He had never actually met the Commander, face-to-face before, so was considerably nervous. He cleared his throat anxiously. The Commander did not look up.
"Um, sir? I was- uh- sent to- uh-" he stuttered inarticulately, not quite remembering what he was sent for. The Commander inclined his head a fraction of an inch, stared at him, then went back to doing paperwork.
"Well? Continue, boy. Finish what you were saying and speak up," the Commander said, his booming voice only muffled slightly. Cemal cleared his throat again.
"Oh, yes. Of course. My apologies, sir. I was sent to deliver you the papers that you sent for earlier this morning. They are from a junior officer of the department of admissions, Lieutenant-" the Commander cut him off abruptly.
"I know who sent them, boy. Give them here," he said impatiently. Cemal quickly hurried over to him and handed him the sheets. "Thanks," he replied taking the papers from Cemal and setting them on the desk, then returned to scribbling on the papers in front of him. Cemal waited a moment by the desk, to see if the commander was going to say anymore to him. But, apparently he wasn't going to say anything. Cemal sighed and turned to leave, knowing that he had blown his big chance to impress the Commander.
"Who told you that you could leave?" barked a voice behind him and he jumped. Turning back, he gulped. The head was still bent, but the voice was definitely from the Commander.
"No one, sir. I just thought-"
"You don't think, unless you are given orders to think. I did not dismiss you, yet. Don't be impatient, boy. Wait a moment and I'll be more attentive. One can only do one thing at a time." He paused and inclined his head again. "You're the son of Rashid Lal, aren't you?" he asked sharply, giving Cemal a quick sweeping look.
"Yes, sir. How do you know my father?" he ventured nervously.
"Lal and I were in the same regiment for some time. He saved my sorry ass a couple times back during the Sphere Alliance days." He sounded just a bit nostalgic, looking up at the ceiling as if a funny memory was posted up there. He turned back, narrowing his eyes on Cemal. "Of course, I saved his too. He was always a smart guy, is his son one too?" he asked, daring him.
"I believe so, sir," replied Cemal boldly, receiving a chuckle from the Commander.
"Yep, I definitely see the canny resemblance now. He was always a smart-ass, like you. Used to get us in heaps of trouble. Don't you go thinking that I'm going to favor you just because your father was a great soldier. Don't think it, but I'm going to anyway," he said bluntly looking directly at Cemal now. In that moment, Cemal decided that he liked the Commander.
"If you say so, sir."
"I do say so. Now, we're going to get going. I'm assuming that you're on your way to the dining hall now. I want to show you something before you go. Or actually vice versa. I'm sure lunch can wait awhile." And before Cemal could question his response, the Commander stood, revealing his full height. The man was enormous, towering over six feet. Unruly brown hair and brandy-colored eyes that were kind were at odds with his giant-like size. He stepped around the desk and clapped Cemal on the shoulder. Cemal almost fell over from the impact, but managed to stay on his feet.
The Commander led the way out of the building again and walked down the sidewalks with Cemal at his heels. They weren't on their way to the class buildings or the dormitories. They were headed towards the loading dock. What did the Commander want to show him in the dock? He already knew all the ships and transports that were registered there. All the stranger transports that had brought new students were gone by now. There was nothing new.
Nothing new that he knew of, anyway.
He strode behind the large man and looked out of the side space windows. They had entered the corridors that led to the docking area. There were air locks and tons of safety precautions so that if an emergency occurred the main part of the colony could be saved from the space's immense vacuum. There was nothing out in space, except for blackness and the range of eternal stars. The Commander stopped abruptly and Cemal almost crashed into him. He was standing before a bunch of space windows that looked over the B7 docking port. Cemal looked out there. There was an unregistered spacecraft parked there.
"Sir?"
"In due time, young Lal."
Cemal looked back out the window, three space-suited people climbed out of the exit of the spacecraft and jumped onto the guide rail, pulling themselves in. It was then when he realized that he was being assigned the prestigious duty of tour guide for the visitors and he allowed himself a quick burst of pride. The click of heels echoed quickly through the halls and Cemal turned to see that the Commander was off, striding towards the B7 airlock. Cemal hurried after him. By the time Cemal had caught up with the Commander, the three suited people had entered the airlock and were proceeding to enter the corridor. The Commander was there, greeting them.
"Hafiz, you old dog! I see you've finally brought Cal here. Good, good. Cal will make a great soldier! I'm glad that you've finally seen that," exclaimed the Commander jubilantly. One of the space-suited people clicked his helmet off and a medium-sized man's face could be seen. Dark eyes and dark hair of the Arabian coloring. A warm smile was curving his mouth.
"Me an old dog, Ackerley?! Then you've got to be an old bat!" The man swiftly unsuited himself and embraced the Commander.
"Well, I never said I wasn't," he said grinning. "So, you've brought young Azim Rehman along with you I see. He's the son of Murad Rehman, eh? He's to stay with young Cal?" he asked, glancing at the other two suited figures, one of them obligingly clicked his helmet off and the face of a large young man, of about the height of the Commander in his early or mid-twenties appeared. The other, smaller suited figure remained suited, tacitly refusing to take off his helmet no matter what the Commander hinted.
"Yes, yes. Ax, we have to talk. There's a serious matter at hand," said Hafiz, his expression sobering.
"All right, we can talk in my office. Cal, young man, you can take off your suit and make yourself at home. Young Lal can show you and Azim around. This is to be your new home," the Commander said briskly, leading Hafiz away. After the Commander disappeared from sight down the echoing corridor slowly, the boy finally clicked off his helmet and looked around. The boy had a strangely feminine look, with slanted, dark ultramarine blue eyes, a serious, but vulnerable looking mouth, and dark black hair that hung freely at his ears. His skin was tanned, showing the effects of the desert sun. The other man quickly unsuited himself and helped the boy do so.
"Assalamu alaikum," greeted Cemal formally, nodding to the manservant behind the newcomer and to the newcomer himself. "I'm Cemal Lal, second year cadet in this private space military academy. It's a pleasure to meet you, Cal," he said politely. The boy stared at Cemal for a moment, defying the rules of proper etiquette in immediate response, and a feeling of indefinable vulnerability, as if the core of his thoughts and emotions were exposed, overcame him. The boy's intense gaze was delving into Cemal's more gold than green eyes, into his very mind and soul.
"The name's Calista, Cadet Lal. Please address me in such a way. And the pleasure is all mine," replied a regal female voice from the mouth of the boy, a distasteful expression set on his face. Then, Cemal realized…
"You're a girl!"
"I'm so glad that you've noticed. I was wondering when you were going to get to it," she said sarcastically, rolling her deep sea-colored eyes.
"Cala, you shouldn't have done that. Your uncle will be displeased that you have told someone," said Azim, speaking for the first time and frowning disapprovingly. His voice was low, baritone pitched and smooth, reminiscent of the wind blowing through riverside reeds.
"Good, he should be displeased. I can hardly believe that he didn't inform Colonel A. Stromston that I was a girl. I know that he's embarrassed, but there's no need to act irrational and not tell anyone about me. Like he was ashamed of me or something." There was a glimmer of hurt in those eyes, but it was gone in a flash and Cemal wondered if he had just imagined them. "Someone was bound to find out, anyway. It would have been impossible to keep it totally secret, you know. Eventually, they would find out," added the girl, a rebellious look taking on in her expression.
"What is going on?" demanded Cemal, becoming utterly confused.
"Oh, forget it. I strongly suggest that you just show us around, cadet. Just like your precious colonel ordered," snapped the girl. Cemal was taken aback, surprise melding with offense.
He had never been so snubbed in his entire life!
And by a girl younger than he was!
He opened his mouth to retort rudely, but there was a look in the girl's blue eyes that dared him to do so and face the consequences. There was something so regal, dangerous, and so utterly dominating in those deep blue orbs that overpowered him and forced him to back down.
Also there was the fact that the large Azim was clenching his fist menacingly behind the girl that factored into Cemal's decision to steer clear of unwanted trouble. Clearing his throat, he gestured in front of himself, letting them proceed before him.
"Of course. This way, please."
As the click of the shoes on the metal floor echoed eerily through the corridors, silence ensued. He wouldn't initiate casual conversation with them, but he took notice that they were both wearing traditional Muslim attire of fitted tunics and baggy string trousers, known as shalwar kameez. Cemal, too, had worn this attire when he had arrived, before the academy had given him his uniform. They both seemed to be Arabian, though Calista did not have a traditional Muslim name as Azim did. How odd, he thought.
To fill the awkward silence, he explained the space colony's situation. "This base is strictly a military area. There are no civilians; even the teachers are some type of ranking officer. The majority of this place is the Academy, but there are plenty of soldiers and officers that run everything and keep it secret and secure." When he was rewarded with sulky silence, he ceased his chatter.
As they exited the metallic docking area and entered the more open campus, Cemal politely pointed out the dining hall, the barracks for junior and senior officers, and the dormitories for the students, etc. Azim, the big Arabian man, nodded politely in return to his commentary, but Calista remained silent, her face in a constant scowl. As they passed the classroom buildings, many students waved amiably to Cemal. They all glanced curiously at the two companions he led.
"Oi! Cemal! Over here!" called a jolly voice from behind. A slight red-haired cadet of about Cemal's age came running after them, waving for them to stop. They all paused and waited for the boy to catch up to him. In between gasping pants he continued, "Cemal, the Commander wants to see you and the new boy. Right now, so you'd better hurry. He's in his office."
Cemal nodded in reply. "Thanks, Ryan. I'll see you at dinner."
"Bye, then," said the boy cheerfully and he turned and hurried off again.
"So, Ackerley wants to talk? I suppose Uncle Hafiz has finally spilled the beans," said Calista almost bitterly as they started off towards the office buildings. Cemal didn't say anything. When they reached the office door, he politely held it open for Calista and Azim, then walked in himself. The Commander seemed to be in a state of shock.
"Cal, is it true? Are you really- a- a…" he trailed off, shaking his head.
"If you're asking for my gender, I must ever so unfortunately answer that I am indeed a girl. Sorry, if I'm disappointing you," she said with a slightly sardonic lopsided smile.
"Well, Hafiz, the boy- er- girl admits it. I suppose you're right." He turned back to Calista. "I'm sorry, my dear. You'll have to return home."
That was not the answer Calista wanted to hear, apparently. "What! Why?! This is completely unjust! There is absolutely no cause for such an action!"
"Cal, this is a boy's military academy. Stressing the particular word boys, not girls. There is no place for women here."
"What does that have anything to do with it?!" she demanded.
"Well, it's just inappropriate for a weaker-"
"Weaker! I am not weaker than any boy is! In fact I'm stronger than any boy here. Take this kid," she jabbed her thumb towards Cemal, "I could kick his a-carcass anytime, anywhere."
"Is that a challenge?" asked Cemal angrily and Calista whirled around to face him.
"It is if you want it to be," she sneered at him.
"Calm down, both of you," ordered a calm, commanding voice. "Cala, if Ax thinks that you should return home, you should." Calista whirled to face the voice.
"You told him to say that! I won't go home! If I'm just as good as any boy, then I should be allowed to stay," she exclaimed heatedly to her uncle. Cemal glanced at the Commander, who, surprisingly, was stroking his chin thoughtfully.
"Actually, Hafiz, that might not be such a bad idea."
"What?" asked Hafiz, frowning.
"Facing young Lal, here, against Cal. If she beats the boy, she can stay, if she doesn't she returns with you. How's that?" He was still stroking his chin thoughtfully.
"I don't think that's such a good idea," said Hafiz, his frown deepening.
"Well, naturally, the girl should be allowed to prove herself. It's all in chivalry, Khan. Both you and I know that." He glanced from Cemal back to Calista. "Let her prove herself," he reiterated.
"This is unfair," stated Cemal suddenly. "I'm bigger and stronger than she is. I'm also older and more experienced. I'd win easily."
"Would you bet on that?" asked Calista icily.
"Since you're asking…" Cemal threw back tauntingly.
"Enough you two. Fine, Ackerley, we'll have it your way. Cala will prepare herself as will young Lal and we will meet at the dueling courts in precisely an hour," said Hafiz rather grimly and he ushered Cala and Azim out. The Commander turned to Cemal as soon as they were out of earshot.
"Lal, you know that if you lose this duel you'll be a walking disgrace," stated the Commander unnecessarily.
"Yes, sir. Which is exactly why I'm not going to lose it," replied Cemal confidently.
"Don't be pert and don't get cocky. You haven't won, yet. You're dismissed. Meet me at the dueling courts in an hour and don't be late," said the Commander sharply, though his mouth had curved into a slight smile. Cemal saluted cheerfully and hurried out to his dormitory.
~*~*~
An hour later, at the school's fencing courts…
Cemal hurried along the dirt path that led to the fencing courts. For some unknown reason they were located in the middle of a thick batch of young trees. The architect of the academy was obviously fond of shade while fencing. Cemal had had time to polish his scimitar and change to appropriate clothes in the hour's span of time. He wondered what Calista would be doing.
He reached the edge of the courts just in time. Calista, Azim, Hafiz, and the Commander were all already there. The courts were fit with a few spare spectator seats and they were waiting patiently on them. The courts were very similar to tennis courts, except that instead of the large net and large boxed white lines, there were smaller boxed outlines. These were called 'strips', where fencers or duelers fought in.
"There you are, young Lal. We had thought that you were chickening out," called Calista derisively. She had changed to loose black pants and a simple mandarin-collared white shirt. Tapping his trusty weapon on the black dirt, he wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his hand.
"Sorry I disappointed you. Shall we?" he asked ignoring her mocking tone, absently unclipping the sheathed blade from his left side.
"Right, to business, then. Colonel Stromston will state the rules," she said and beckoned the Commander forward. He quickly walked over to Cemal and brought him closer to the rest.
"I assume that you both know and obey the basic laws of chivalry. They will be in play in this duel. Follow them. There will be two rounds, a third if necessary. Both of you must agree on one particular weapon for the first match. Then the winner will choose the next weapon," said the Commander briskly.
"Well, young Lal, what would you like to fight with?" asked Calista, her eyes glittering in the synthetic sunlight.
"I had thought that the sword would be an appropriate weapon," he replied, showing off the curved blade in his hand. Calista leaned forward interestedly to get a better look at the shimmering length of metal.
"Ah, I see you have acquired an Arabian weapon. Quite a beauty I must exclaim." She let out something akin to a giggle and he smirked at the girlish sound, thinking that the upcoming battle would be no problem. Immediately her eyes sharpened as she saw him make the assumption that she knew he'd make. "The question is do you have any idea how to handle such a tool."
"Would you?" he asked, biting back an urge to snap at her.
In one rapid effortless motion, Calista had leapt forward and snatched his sword from the sheath at his waist. And before Cemal had the time to register his surprise, she'd twirled around and with a flick of her wrist, held the scimitar's sharp curved tip at his throat. After a moment's pause she drew back and held the flat of the blade in her palm. She inspected it closely, running the tip of her thumb over the smooth metal.
"Hmm. One inch width, quite old, possibly an heirloom of sorts. Quite interesting. It's definitely an Arabian blade, scimitar, and hilt design; I was right in thinking that you were Arabian. Different type of metal than most, though. I think it's a type of space-mined metal, probably an alloy of one. It's probably one hundred years old or so. Not any more than that. Remarkably supple, wonder if you can actually appreciate that fully," she remarked absently. She flipped the end of the curved sword around and handed it over to Cemal hilt first as was appropriate when relinquishing a weapon.
He accepted it cautiously, still not quite recovered from his surprise over her speed. "It's interesting that you know how to handle swords of this type. You're right in thinking that it's old." He raised an eyebrow querulously, wondering how she knew.
The hilt of the sword was etched with beautiful swirled patterns and designs that were his family's symbol. The crest that was handed down generation upon generation and so on, right on from Mohammed's blessing himself. He had known that Calista would recognize that, as would all faithful Muslims, but not the type of metal and the design. Only true master swordsmen studied all the types and styles of swords. She couldn't possibly be a master swordsman and he wasn't even close to being true master of the fencing arts. And he knew of only one master, his father.
"I have learned many things that aren't very appropriate for a proper female," she said almost sardonically. She walked back over to the spectator seats and picked up a large mahogany box from the ground resting on the ground beside the stands. Setting it on a chair, she gestured for him to approach her and he obliged.
She clicked open the box and in it lay three gleaming blades, side by side, in the inlaid black velvet of the box.
"That is a classic fencing foil. That is a classic dueling rapier. And that is an Arabian scimitar. It's of the same caliber as yours, the same type of blade design, and even I think the same type of metal," she said, pointing to each blade. "You can decide which one I'll use. It matters little to me. I have a feeling that you'll pick the scimitar, though."
All of the swords were sharp and sturdy by sight, though they were undecorated and plain. No unique hilt designs, showing family crests or age. Nothing. Either the girl had no taste for antique weaponry or she wanted to hide something about her ability. These were all serviceable weapons for a beginner or any fencer at all; many advanced swordsmen preferred a particular style, something to help his opponent recognize his skill. Calista seemed to be confident on her ability with all swords, so Cemal decided the latter on his mental query.
"You're right. I don't want to take an unfair advantage on you. That's what I was planning before, but I guess that won't work," he replied, grinning.
"All right." A flicker of a smile appeared on her face, but soon was gone again. In a flash, the sword was in her hand and she had taken a fighting stance.
"Lal, get into position," ordered the Commander softly. Cemal's hazel eyes narrowed and he obediently stepped up into the white painted strip on the floor of the court, marking the boundaries of a duel. There was a frightening intensity in the quality of the Commander's voice as he continued, "This will be a free-fenced bout, but I hardly think that masks are necessary. It is not, and I emphasize not, a first blood match. I would to think that you both are experienced enough to fence without killing each other and I hope that this will be completely bloodless. Whoever yields first will lose the match.
"Ready, all? Begin!"
Immediately, Calista attacked. Cemal instinctively brought his sword up in a block. But before he could parry her offensive actions, she had stepped back and attacked again. Cemal barely kept up with her attacks, blocking when he could and dodging some. Her speed was amazing, showing extraordinarily as she darted lithely to and fro. Black hair flew through the air as she whirled around in a foreign type of motion. He couldn't help but notice how beautiful she was in the middle of battle, even when she was attacking him. Her aquamarine eyes flashing and her full, serious mouth opened slightly as she focused on the battle. Her face slightly flushed and an elated look in her eyes from the exhilaration that rushed through her as she cut through his defenses.
He had thoughtlessly and negligently studied her technique from both her lissome movements and motions when she had disarmed him. It was apparent to all and sundry that she was good. Very good. He had been pretty sure that he could match her. Of course, Cemal had not thought of her speed. She was so Allah-cursed fast! And although she used the familiar Arabian-desert style, like his, she was slightly spontaneous. Mixing, melding, and altering certain complex moves. How could she think of all that in a matter of milliseconds?
After a few minutes of tiring combat, she had disarmed him, knocked him flat on the floor, and was avidly holding her sword point at his throat. He gulped and glanced at the Commander, who looked about ready to apathetically allow Calista to slit his throat. Hafiz, apparently noting the ugly glint in his old friend's eyes, called out to Calista.
"Cala, dear, it's very obvious that you've won this match. You should stop and let him yield." For a moment Calista glared at her uncle and then she glared at Cemal, as if the blame for everything wrong in the universe lay on those two. Then, she sighed and lowered her sword point.
"All right."
Cemal saw his opening and kicked a foot up in the air, knocking the sword from her grip and reach. He grinned and when he had flipped himself back on his feet, took a fighting stance.
"I hadn't yielded yet. You shouldn't lower your defenses until your opponent has yielded," he said almost maliciously. Her glare appeared again and worse than ever.
"You do not follow the rules of chivalry precisely. I was about to let you go without injury, but now I see that I cannot. I'll continue this fight hand to hand without weaponry, since you seem to insist," she said, her voice cold. She curved her arm over her head and her other arm, beckoning him forward in a kung fu Chinese combat position.
Cemal unconsciously gulped nervously. From her rigid and confident stance, it was quite obvious that she was also somewhat experienced in the martial arts. Something that he had not accounted for. He had hoped that if he had gotten her scimitar away from her she would be at a disadvantage. He knew what the consequences would be if he lost this battle. The future wasn't looking too cheery at the moment for him.
He knew some defense procedures for hand-to-hand combat, but they were only for self-defense combat. And all Muslims learned self-defense to protect themselves from renegades and raiders in the isolated desert. The desert wasn't exactly the safest place in the world.
From the look in Calista's deep, dark eyes, he knew that he wouldn't be getting any mercy. None, whatsoever.
He was in major trouble.
After a split second's pause, she attacked full out. She did not even bother to bow or give any other type of formality. It was obvious to any of the spectators that the girl was rather upset. Make that very upset. Oh, no. He was definitely in major trouble.
Sweat started to sting the skin on his forehead as Calista repeatedly struck his weak defenses. Kick, kick, punch, punch. The offensives never seemed to stop. He was stumbling backwards, trying to avoid her breath-winding kicks. He could feel sharp pains jet through his forearms, protecting his face and chest. There were bruises already forming there.
Suddenly, in an unexpected low kick from Calista he was knocked off his feet. He struggled to stand up once again and glanced up at his opponent. Calista was waiting for him and Cemal considered staying on the ground. But he could feel the Commander's stare on him. And in the corner of his eyes he noticed that there was another man who had joined Calista's uncle, Azim, and the Commander as spectators of the duel. Cemal had seen him around before, but had never spoken to him. He was a thin man with dark hair and dark eyes, with an arrogance about him that captured people's attention. He was one that wouldn't take no for an answer and-
There was an opening! Miraculously, an opening appeared. He forced his eyes away from the intriguing man to see the obvious opening that had appeared on Calista's almost flawless defense. Like lightning, he had jumped up and grasping her wrist latched onto it, yanked, and twisted. Victory shined like a lighthouse beam to a lone ship on a stormy day.
To his enormous shock and surprise, Calista waived to his pull and fell into his fold. Then, she slammed her elbow into his soft stomach, at the same time freeing her wrist and breaking his nose with her now free hand. Sticky red blood splattered over her white shirt, as she whirled away from a falling Cemal.
Just as he hit the ground, just before all went black, he saw her eyes. Those deep blue orbs, glowing, glittering in an overly pale face. They were not only angry, but to his surprise, they were sad. Almost disgusted. Full of pity. Pity… for him? Then he knew no more…
A horrible stench filling his blood stuffed, aching nose awoke him from total oblivion. He turned his head, attempting to avoid the choking scent, but it followed him. Finally, he pushed aside the hand in front of his face and sat up, blinking a few times to clear his vision. Taking a couple deep breaths to clear his airway helped, but it made him cough and his eyes watered. A strong hand patted him on the back to help his coughing cease, while another squeezed his shoulder. He looked up to see Calista's uncle and the Commander kneeling besides him. The mysterious man was gone. He was afraid to look into their eyes and see their true feelings through them.
He was afraid of what he would see in them.
A quick glance into the Commander's face confirmed Cemal's thoughts. There was disappointment lodged in them, though concern for Cemal dominated the kind brown eyes. Hafiz's eyes were sad and concerned too for Cemal. Brushing the back of his hand against his nostrils, he coughed a little more. With a streak of blood on the back of his hand and the salty taste of blood in his mouth, he knew that he was looking pretty messy.
"I'm all right. All except my pride," he said, struggling to stand.
"Well, son, be more careful what you do and say to people you don't know much about. I wanted to warn you…" said Hafiz, trailing off, his eyes shooting up to a figure standing about five feet away. Cemal followed his gaze, spotting Calista, glaring disdainfully at her uncle.
"It's his own fault for underestimating his opponent. You needn't have warned him at all. What was there to warn him about?"
"Cal, dear, as the rules for dueling state, you now choose the next match. The weapon, etceteras. I'm sure you know the details," said the Commander, rather humbly. Calista pried her eyes off of Hafiz and stared at the Commander for a moment.
"You are correct- sir. I do know the rules. I'll choose the weaponry and time later. Now, it's more important to see to Cemal." And for the first time since he had waken up, Calista looked directly at him. She seemed somewhat apologetic. "I guess I got a little carried away."
"Yep, guess you did," he replied, uncomfortably. He was unsure what to do. Girls were so confusing sometimes.
"Colonel, sir?" asked Calista attentively, switching her focus to the Commander.
"Yes?"
"May I speak to you, privately?"
"Yes, yes, of course." Calista walked over to the other side of the court, beckoning the Commander to follow. The Commander glanced over at Hafiz and Hafiz just shrugged.
"Master…" Hafiz gave the confused Cemal a benign smile.
"Khan, just Khan, boy."
"Er- yeah. Khan, what did you want to warn me about?" A small frown of worry creasing Cemal's forehead. Khan held out a large, white handkerchief to the boy, motioning for him to mop up the mess that was his nose. Cemal smiled weakly and took the handkerchief, dabbing his nose and wincing from the stabs of pain that shot through his nose.
"I forgot to mention to you that… well, Calista has always been a little apt with these sort of things. That's why she wanted to enroll in this military academy. I, myself, attended here years ago and she wanted to become a soldier, like I was during a few of those wars. I didn't have the chance to speak to you alone and thought that you might be offended if I told you that Calista was most likely better than you," he said, hesitantly.
"Oh." He paused before continuing. "Why did she all of a sudden become so harsh? I just took an opening that she offered," he asked, becoming bolder by the second as the pain began to wear away, since he didn't breath through his nose.
"Cala has always been very conscientious about chivalry and you should be too, boy. She could have killed you as the laws of chivalry states, but she allowed you to yield and you didn't respect that. You took it as a given that she wouldn't kill you and that's always an extreme insult. You underestimated your adversary," he said, his tone now clipped and very stiff. His face had become taut and Cemal knew that he had offended the man under some unknown circumstances.
"Well, Cemal, if I know Calista as well as I think I know her, she'll prolong the wait to the next battle, coming up with some stupid excuse or other. Anyway, my advice is to just return to your dormitory or visit the infirmary. Don't worry about leaving the battlefield. She won't start without you," continued Hafiz, glancing over to where Calista and the Commander were conferring, the Commander's head bent slightly to better hear Calista's soft voice. He patted Cemal on the shoulder, seeming to forget his offense at the boy.
"If you say so, sir." Cemal turned and began to walk away, but a strong browned hand caught him by the shoulder and refused to let go. Cemal's head whirled around, to stare into glittering dark eyes belonging to the amazingly strong hand.
"Aren't you going to fetch that sword of yours?" Hafiz asked, jabbing his thumb in the opposite direction, towards the tree line where the shimmering scimitar lay in the dirt.
"Oh. I forgot." He gulped nervously, seeing something in those eyes that he didn't want to see. Strength emanated from the older man, something that intimidated Cemal.
"Yes, you forgot," agreed Hafiz, releasing Cemal's shoulder. Cemal hurried over to the tree line and picked up the scimitar, quickly wiping it on his pants. Then, hailing Hafiz with a soldier's respectful salute he left the dreadfully bright fencing court at a fast trot.
* Author's Notes *
hey there!
This is my new fic, about Cala's past. My editors thought it was "very cool" so I thought that I should post it up. Don't worry, no real spoilers here and I'll have finished my other story when I get to the good parts here. Hehe, onto the next chapter!
-w.r
