A few days later, when he had determined that she had had enough time to get used her new life, he started her in school. As soon as they stepped into the Warden's office, Azalel attached herself like a bur to her father's leg.
The Warden, a Protoss named Kazaar, and his assistant, a Terran named Elizabeth, peered over their respective desks at her. This is your daughter, yes? Kazaar murmured.
Yes. Her name is Azalel.
Elizabeth stirred. "I thought her name was Victoria."
It was Victoria. We have changed it. Azalel, these will be your Wardens; Kalai Kazaar and Miss Elizabeth Thrink. He shook his leg slightly. Do you think I would allow anyone to harm you, little one?
"No," Azalel whispered. She detached herself from him and stared up at them. "Hello," she said softly, still gripping the hard muscle of her father's calf with one hand.
Good morning, child.
"Hello, Azalel," Elizabeth added. She looked at Kazaar. "I think she would go well with Homeroom #171."
Kalai Liezea? Yes; I believe you are right. Kazaar checked his screen for confirmation; he nodded. She will do quite nicely. Please accompany Miss Thrink, Azalel.
She looked way up at Xarral, who nodded. I will be back to bring you home after noon.
Shyly she went with the older woman, though she refused to take her hand. She looked over her shoulder frequently before the doors closed behind her. Kazaar leaned back. Has all the information on her been entered into the archives?
Yes. She does not practice the Terran custom of a "last name." She will be known simply as Azalel.
"Brave child." A fitting name for her. Through her fear I could feel her curiosity. She is also determined not to let you down.
Yes. I am aware of that. He smiled. Azalel could not "let him down" on any occasion.
Why did you take the child as a daughter, Xarral? Kazaar wanted to know.
That is my business, the old High Templar said flatly, and that was all he would speak of on the matter; he left.
The classroom was huge, though it only held about twenty students; the Protoss needed twice the room that a Terran did. They sat by alphabetical order—Terrans in front by their last names, and as they were so much larger, Protoss in back by their names. Time was when they would have been separated by clans, but that no longer mattered. Azalel sat right behind a girl named Suzanne Ackner, a chatty girl who tried to learn Azalel's age, likes, dislikes, and where she lived within the first fifteen minutes of class. Azalel didn't answer—she knew that Suzanne's patience would wear out and she would ignore her, just as everyone did.
Azalel liked the teacher, an elegant Protoss woman who walked up and down the hallways of desks as she spoke. At Azalel's desk, she paused and rested a hand on her tiny shoulder. If there is anything I can do to make you feel more comfortable, Azalel, all you have to do is ask, she said, thus warming the child's attitude towards her.
They had an hour for lunch, and most ate outside as it was such a nice day. The older Protoss and Terran children sat around in groups; the younger ones ran around to play. Azalel studied the faces of the others with a quiet sadness. She walked to a tree in the middle of the schoolyard, a big old twisted thing, and sat. There she would eat her lunch, alone, as it always had been.
What are those?
Startled, she looked up. A young Protoss boy, one of the students in her class, stood over her. Blue-streaked green scales glinted in the daylight, dancing with the patterns of the moving leaves above him. His eyes glowed orange-red, and his tunic was a simple gray.
Completely baffled, she asked, "What?"
Those strange white things. In your mouth.
Still confused, she put a hand up to her mouth. "Teeth."
What are they for? Asked another who had come up beside him. There were four of them, three boys and a girl. She thought it was a girl—that feminine quality is known everywhere, even in aliens.
"Eating," she said, and giggled.
Strange.
The sound she made or the "teeth?"
Both.
My name is Tolar, the first said abruptly, extending his hand. Timidly she put out her own inside his; even as a young one his hand was at least three times bigger than hers. "I'm Azalel." They shook solemnly.
En Taro Tassadar, Azalel. What is the moving thing in your mouth?
She giggled again. "My tongue!"
May I touch it?
She shrugged and extended her tongue, whereas Tolar put out his claw and stroked the smooth side of it against the pink muscle. His friends—Saschnaz and the two twins, Z'lirra and Zyram—crowded around, each taking turns in touching it. Azalel laughed throughout the entire time. She was bombarded with questions about other extremities of her Terran body until Tolar told them to stop.
You can eat with us if you like, from now on, he told her.
"Okay."
What was life like? Beyond the warp gate?
"Huh?"
The warp gate.
"The big white thing?"
Yes.
She shrugged. Sensing she didn't want to talk about it, Tolar left the subject alone.
Xarral picked her up at the end of the day, like he said he would. He was surprised and pleased to see that she came to greet him with a big smile on her face. She was standing with a few Protoss children, talking cheerfully. When she saw him she perked up and yelled "Father!" and ran to him. He was slightly embarrassed, used to more restrained Protoss, but brushed the feeling aside. "I made some friends," she said, pulling him over to the small group. "This is Tolar an' this is Zyram an' this is Saschnaz an' this is Z'lirra," she said, pointing to each one of them in turn. They stood stiffly, not knowing how to react to the large, intimidating warrior.
I am pleased to meet all of you, he said, more for Azalel's interest than his own. It is very good that she is making friends.
They all bowed uncertainly, palms flat against their thighs and their eyes downcast in respect.
Azalel didn't seem to see them being all reserved. She beamed up at him. Come, he said, picking her up, and, with a last nod at the four, walked away.
"Bye!" Azalel called over his shoulder, waving enthusiastically.
Tolar raised a hand in a casual salute; the rest of them were too busy being relieved to notice.
"What does 'In taro tass'dar' mean?" she asked as they walked home.
En Taro Tassadar. It means 'in honor of Tassadar,' a famous Protoss warrior who destroyed the Zerg Overmind. It is the Protoss greeting, along with 'En Taro Adun,' another famous warrior from thousands of years ago.
"What's Zerg?"
Zerg are evil creatures bent on destroying everything. Or, shall I say, were, as they were destroyed almost five hundred years ago.
"Oh." She thought a moment, then added, "That's a long time."
Indeed it is. He changed the subject. Did you enjoy yourself at school?
"Yep! Tolar an' Saschnaz an' Z'lirra an' Zylam touched my teeth an' my tongue."
They touched them.
"They thought it was cool."
Xarral laughed, a low dry sound that startled her. Interesting.
"Yep."
Azalel stayed friends with the Protoss that she had played with during the first day, except Saschnaz, who went into the military service. His family was very old and traditional, and he was entirely Templar without any Khalai blood, so he did not have much of a choice. Gradually they grew apart. They did, however, make friends with another boy, a Terran named George.
When Azalel touched upon puberty, she grew at an astonishing rate. Only twelve years old, she nevertheless reached five feet and had the body of a much older woman. She was curvaceous but muscular, had full pink lips, a stubborn chin, bronze skin, and a particularly powerfully sweet singing voice. Her particular talents, as such, were the arts; she enjoyed both the visual, audio, and theatrical arts. She did not grow her hair out as she once said she would, because she enjoyed not having to do anything to it. She never did anything her father might frown upon—for frowning was all he had to do for her to promise never to do that something wrong again.
In ninth grade, Azalel had grown to reach her father's chest. She filled out nicely, though not much changed except her voice and her body—her voice deepened slightly, but remained a ringing soprano, and her body lost most of its baby fat.
"A boy named Chase in the grade above me was moved to a special class today," she told her father one day while they lounged in the living room, reading. "I thought the special classes were for kids with disabilities, and he's perfectly fine."
Who is Chase?
Instead of describing the boy to him, she called up a picture in her mind. It was easier for both of them; she didn't have to waste her breath and he could simply pick up the information he needed. She did it without thinking about it; it was that easy for her.
Ah. I met him once. He had a particular talent with telepathy, for a Terran.
"He's telepathic?"
Yes.
"Oh. That would account for the weirdness in my head whenever he was around."
You are telepathic as well.
She blinked. That was news to her. "Me?"
Less than Chase is, but yes. It comes from being with Protoss most of your life. You have not noticed it because you are used to it, and can only sense other telepaths and speak with them.
"During the Zerg Wars, telepathic Terrans were trained as weapons called Ghosts—well, you know that. Why aren't they anymore?"
He looked at her strangely. They are. Soldiers must continue to be trained, Azalel.
"What? Why? There's nothing attacking us… is there?"
No, not at the moment. But the Hybrids had been withdrawn, and so quickly, that many think they have yet to bring their full-forced attack upon us. And—he paused, his mental voice darkening—there is still the matter of Ulrezaj, the Dark Templar traitor. He has yet to be completely dealt with, as he has disappeared.
"Oh." She was silent for a moment, then asked, "What happened to the Dark Templar, Father?"
The Dark Templar continue to wander the void, looking for clues of our creators, the Xel'Naga—we have more information now that they sent their Hybrids against us, but they have disappeared once more.
Azalel! boomed Tolar's unmistakable thought-voice. Come; we are in the forest!
Coming, Azalel called back. She put her book away. "See you later, Father!"
He was smiling. You see?
"See what?"
You called young Tolar with your mind.
"I did? Weird."
Azalel!
Would you hush? I'm coming! She stopped and grinned sheepishly at Xarral. "Oh," she said. "Huh." Then she ran out.
The forest—the five friends ran all about the woods, but there was a certain place they met to go romping. Azalel ran as fast as she could, entering the little clearing at a dead run. "Here," she called cheerfully.
We heard you, Z'lirra laughed.
Azalel grinned and trotted towards her. Zyram and Tolar were already wrestling, tussling about on the forest floor with obvious enjoyment, and George sat watching them. He waved at Azalel, who waved back. Then she and Z'lirra faced each other, bowed, and got right to the point. They clashed, the Protoss woman soon having the advantage and throwing the smaller one down to the ground. Azalel rolled to the side before Z'lirra's foot could come down on her ribcage, and used her agility to slip between the other's legs. As she rose, Z'lirra spun around just in time to catch a side kick at her knee and flip her around. Azalel landed on her hands and knees and scrambled to her feet. They circled, crouched into low, aggressive stances.
They battled for nearly fifteen minutes—then abruptly traded partners. Azalel found herself facing Tolar. They attacked each other immediately, gripping at one another. Tolar grabbed her upper thigh, trying to lever her up in a prelude to throwing her.
One clawed finger slipped up to penetrate the outer lip of Azalel's crotch.
Liquid warmth melted her insides, moving up to her stomach and back down again, and suddenly she felt wetness in her loins too. Azalel leaped away from Tolar's grasping hands, which had pulled back as soon as he realized her discomfort. Azalel? He asked, confused, stepping forward to reach for her. Are you all right? Z'lirra, Zyram, and George had stopped as well, watching with concern.
Azalel turned and fled, ignoring the mental and physical shouts of her friends behind her. Her face was red with humiliation. She ran to the almost abandoned school yard (there were a few Terrans playing around near the school), found that twisted tree that she always hung around, and scrambled up the trunk. She tucked herself into the smallest, quietist niche she could find between two branches and stayed there, the wind teasing her hair about her face. She remembered what her father had once taught her—to shield her thoughts when she didn't want anyone to find her, and closed her eyes.
The air cooled, the sun sank, and it began to spread tendrils of color across the horizon. Xarral found her then, and he called sternly for her to come down. She peered down at him—how small he appeared from up here!—and slowly unfolded herself from the branches, her body protesting the movement after so long a time sitting there.
As soon as she reached the earth, Xarral loomed over her, gazing down at her with his particular lofty, indignant, disapproving look. She found she couldn't look at his eyes, and stared at the ground. He didn't berate her—he never had before, and he never needed to—but said merely Come, and turned and glided away, that strange glowing ghost of him of psychic energy trailing behind him. She followed, eyes downcast, and neither of them said a word until they reached their home.
Sit, Xarral said flatly, pointing to her chair.
Azalel sat. "I'm sorry, Father," she whispered.
Are you even aware of what you did?
"Yes… no… not really."
You frightened me.
Wide-eyed, she looked quickly up at his face, then down again. "I did?" she said in a small voice. "But… you never get scared."
I was today.
She didn't answer.
I had no idea where you were. You learned to shield your thoughts to almost perfection. If it were not for the bond we shared, I may not have found you at all. Your friends were not going to give up looking for you until I sent them home. They were very worried.
This was the first time he had ever scolded her. "I'm sorry," she whispered again.
He remained in his upright position for a moment more, glaring at her. His eyes glowed and sparked. Then he relaxed, stooping down to gaze directly into her face. With one finger, he chucked her under the chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. What happened? He asked softly.
She told all. He listened intently as she spoke, and at the end just looked at her. Then he murmured, What overcame you to hide from me?
"I—"
I am your father. I will listen to, and understand, anything you have to say or anything that goes wrong. Do you comprehend this? He had suddenly become the age he actually was, and sorrowful. I am upset you would even think of hiding from me.
And he did look upset—so much so that Azalel threw her arms around him to reassure him that he was her only love in the world. He hugged her back, pulling her to sit on his lap on his own larger chair. As they sat there together, she remembered when she was in sixth grade and had started her period while climbing that big twisted tree. She had freaked out and ran home, where Xarral had spent the better part of half an hour to calm and explain the menstrual cycle to her.
And why did you not run home this time?
Azalel shrugged, looking down at the floor. "I dunno."
Feeling such a thing is normal, my daughter, especially for one your own age. Your body is maturing, and you will feel more and more like what you did this afternoon. All you must do is learn how to control it.
"How, Father?"
You will have to find that out by yourself.
They were silent for a while, Azalel curled up against his broad scaled chest. Then she murmured "Father?"
Yes.
"Who were my parents?"
She felt him stiffen. His arms around her tightened their grip. What makes you think of that now?
"I… I don't know… I was just thinking how a Terran might have explained that subject to me and… well, you should know!"
He hesitated.
"What's wrong? Were they bad, or something?"
No…
"Well then what?"
…child…
"What?" she sat up, alarmed. "What's wrong?"
Your parents came from another world.
"Oh, another planet? What's so wrong about—?"
No. Not… Not as you are thinking. Another place, another time. A different reality than this one.
She sat there a moment, completely shocked. "I…" she wet her lips and whispered, "I'm not sure I know what you mean."
Xarral shifted her off his lap and stood, gazing down on her. Tomorrow, then. I will explain tomorrow.
"But Father—"
No. Tomorrow. Go to bed, Azalel.
She did as she was told. And she dreamed.
She ran, stumbling, through the woods down the path only she knew, barely ahead of those who chased her. Her small legs tangled in spider webs, branches, and vines, attempting to trip her every step of the way. Just behind her, grasping hands reached to pick her up and take her back to the bad place… she cleared the forest and her feet thumped on wood.
Immediately there was a blinding, burning flash of light that permeated everything. She heard cries behind her, but somehow the light didn't hurt her eyes.
And then he came. Him. Her savior.
"I knew you'd come," she said.
Azalel, boomed his voice. Awaken.
Azalel opened her brown eyes to her father's inquisitive glowing ones. You usually wake up early, he commented. I thought it might be best to awaken you now.
"Huh? Oh! What time is it?" she asked, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.
After sunrise. School starts in a few minutes.
"Oh, no," she groaned, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "Why didn't you get me up earlier?"
He cocked his head, and she ducked hers to hide her grin. "Okay, okay. I'm going."
Azalel could get ready in record time, and today was no different. She raced through cleaning herself and getting dressed, then grabbed a piece of fruit on the way out. "Bye Father!" she paused at the door to glance back at the Protoss. "Remember you promised to tell me about my parents when I got home!"
I will not forget.
She beamed, waved, and bolted out.
Xarral stepped out of the house, watching his daughter charging across the lawn into town. He watched until she was gone, and then sighed and stretched. His aging body did not quite creak, but it came close. Shedding his clothes until he wore only a loincloth, he began going through a few old exercises from long ago. As his body warmed up, he closed his eyes and swept through the air, using his power to lift him about a foot from the earth. Long years of doing nothing with his telekinesis left it starving for attention, and the only release he got was from exercising and meditating. Ah, how he yearned for battle once again! The blood rushing through his veins; the noble, ancient fire that burned in his heart!
For hours he kicked and slashed at the air with his feet and psi-blades, a whirling menace. When the sun was at its highest point, he stopped and went back inside, cooling himself down with a few slower exercises. He then took out his Khaydarin shard, settled into a comfortable position and concentrated on the tiny psionic flame that burned inside it.
He didn't know how long he sat there, reveling with quiet joy the energy that strengthened his own. He was so deep that he didn't hear Azalel's pounding feet, and the creak of her step on the floorboards.
Azalel felt the power as she raced along the path home. She peeked in the front door: her father sat cross-legged on the floor, cradling his Khaydarin shard with both hands and emanating serenity and bliss. She sat down on her chair to wait. This was his time to be happy, and she wasn't going to interrupt.
Presently Xarral stirred, opening his eyes. Child, he said without looking up, you should have spoken to me.
She shrugged. "You love doing that; why would I?"
Xarral cocked his head at her, then stood, cupping the crystal in one hand, and went to reattach the silver chain to it and place it back around his neck where it belonged. He came back and quietly walked outside, Azalel trailing behind.
Your parents, Xarral said tonelessly.
"Yes?"
He sat in the grass, gesturing for her to do the same. She slid to the ground.
Ninety-three years ago, he began, this was a fledgling colony. It was the second colony to have both Protoss and Terrans living here.
Azalel was silent. Her father almost never said something without meaning, so this had to have something to do with her parents.
The construction of a warp gate did not go particularly noticed, for all Protoss worlds and colonies had warp gates—and, soon, the Terrans would too.
However, something went wrong with this particular warp gate. I am not exceptionally good with the intricacies of the mechanics, so I cannot tell you what happened exactly. All I know is that something went wrong—and the other end of the warp gate opened up in a different time zone than this one. A time or a place where the Terran outlaws have not yet been shunned to other worlds.
Both Terrans and Protoss were intrigued, to say the least; they studied the ancient culture to find out how Terrans lived before. We do not know if it is another dimension, or merely more than a thousand years ago, but any attempts to replicate what had happened failed.
And then a disease swept the colony—a species-oriented, age-specific disease. It killed ninety percent of Terran children under the ages of twelve before we could decipher a vaccine.
Azalel's eyes widened. How awful…
It was about that time when I arrived on this planet, and settled on the edge of the town. Since the war ended, with Protoss help, there were not many orphaned children on any Terran planet… so we took a few from the world that had opened up so invitingly. We took children who were orphaned, sick, or beaten—those who we could give a better life to, and those who other people would not miss.
So she wasn't missed back there? What…
Hush, Azalel.
"Sorry," she muttered, stilling her mind.
It was then I volunteered to contact a child, to speak to and to lure him or her into our warp gate. I do not know why I decided to—perhaps I was lonely… there were plenty of children who were in much more pain than you were, and more who needed love of a family more. But, as I was searching, I was drawn to your determination and your simple delight at everything around you. You were an ignored child, Azalel. Your parents never listened to anything you said, never spent any time with you. And yet you kept trying, talking to them, forcing their attention back to you.
"You left a note for me," Azalel whispered. "You left a note for me in the roots… by the dock…"
Do you remember?
"Not… not everything…"
"I knew you'd come," she'd said.
Your name was Victoria.
"Victoria?"
Yes.
"I'm glad we changed it."
I was not sure I was going to keep you at that time. I was about to hand you to another couple, two Terrans who had two sons. One of these sons is your friend, George.
"Really? He was going to be my brother?"
Yes. But you did not want it. And I… I had to keep you. I was already attached to you; had grown so during our long correspondence. I remember when you came running towards me, and just stood there for me, arms outstretched. You were unafraid of me, of the warp gate, of anything. And so I took you. I took you to my home, and I changed your name. I have been your father, and you warmed to that fact. The rest you know.
He was about to say more; there was something else needed to be said—but he just bowed his head and fell silent. Azalel was dumbstruck at what he had just told her, and couldn't find her voice for a long few minutes. Then she asked, "Have any of the other children been told any of this?"
I do not know, though I do not believe so. Terran adults are afraid to tell their offspring the truth if it might hurt them.
Azalel's brow furrowed. She opened her mouth, closed it, and made a decision: she went over to crouch in front of him.
"I wish to meet them," she said.