Azalel awoke when it was midmorning, the sun rising directly in front of her. Her wrist no longer stung and burned, but throbbed in a slow beat of dull pain. She rose, dizzy, and looked at it. The flesh peeking out from under the band of metal was flaming red, and in some places already horribly scarred. She knew she would never be able to take it off without healer help.
Around her, karkaru were flying and calling, going about their daily activities. They completely ignored her, and that was fine with her. She drank as much as she could from the stream, knowing she'd need it. Then she sat and considered the bracer. She took off her shirt, allowed the cords to coil around her arm and her crystal, replaced her shirt, and went to work.
She managed to produce a tolerable psi-blade twice over the next forty-five minutes. After that time her head ached and she was exhausted; but she knew how to do it.
The days passed by; so many that Azalel finally gave up counting them. She simply existed; her entire life revolved around drinking lots of water and eating the tough vegetation of the desert below. Sometimes a fight between karkari dropped a nest, and she ended up eating the eggs. She had days to think, so that was what she did: she thought, and meditated, and contemplated her life, and her father's life. She remembered Xarral sitting for hours in a cross-legged position, eyes closed or half-closed, sometimes for an entire day. Now she understood why. After a while, she simply existed. Feeding herself and meditating didn't take any doing. It merely happened.
One day Azalel looked up to see the karkari acting oddly. They were all flying; none were resting. Usually one of a mated pair would keep their roost in order to safeguard it from other karkari. Now, they were all spinning, whirling madly in the air, crying their warning calls. Azalel, who had only heard a warning call once, wondered dimly what could possibly be frightening them so when one of them jerked, let out a choked gasp, and tumbled to the earth. Azalel hurried to its side to inspect the gaping wounds.
Several spines jutted out of its chest and head; its eyes were glazed over in death. Azalel pulled one free and inspected it. It was bone-white and razor-sharp at the tip, and perfectly straight. She knew what it was. Somewhere in her mind, she knew what it was… it was a Hydralisk spine. The Zerg were here. But why were they killing her brothers and sisters? Her mind whirling in confusion, she lunged to her feet and began to climb the cliff and soon reached the peak where she stood, framed by the screaming karkari who flew so close they brushed her with their wings.
There. Hundreds of Zerg, crowding and gibbering madly and climbing the mountains. The Hydralisks fired wildly at the animals, snarling and cackling with either glee or amusement as one after another karkaru fell. An Ultralisk tossed its head almost lazily, carving a karkaru in half with one of its tusks when it flew too close. Zerglings ran in crazy circles, furious that they could not participate in the senseless slaughter. None of them saw the Terran standing on the ridge before them.
Azalel whirled. Confused with the sudden attack, the karkari were not responding the way they aught to. They were still flying in circles, not diving and attacking their enemies with their full force or retreating. "Go," Azalel whispered. No one heard. Three more karkari flopped to the ground and the Zerg hissed in pleasure.
"Go!" Azalel cried, lifting her arms, searching for anything in her mind that would link her further with the creatures. "GO! Fly away!"
Either the karkari got their act together at the exact same time, or they understood her. They rounded themselves out, grabbed as many eggs as they could in their talons, and took to the air in an orderly withdraw like they were meant to. Perhaps they were animals, but they evidently had far more intelligence than the common dog.
Azalel's knees felt weak and she leaned against a rock in her relief. They were safe; at least for the time being.
A shadow fell over her. She looked up.
The Zerg had found her. A Hydralisk loomed over her, snarling in anger that she had interrupted their "play." Its scythes lifted, preparing to stab her into pieces.
What happened next Azalel didn't quite understand. It seemed like she activated the psi-blade, but with far more intensity than she could ever have managed before. And then the Hydralisk lay, beheaded and twitching, on the ground. The Zerg hordes were roiling towards her, an immense unstoppable wave. She stood and waited for them on the ridge, her mind still distant. When the first Zergling reached her she spun, cutting off its front legs then the claws on top of its back. It was trampled by its brethren as they surged forward, trying to get at her. Two more Zerglings died, and then a Hydralisk cut her left arm deep until it scraped the bone. It fell uselessly to her side, pumping blood. Fortunately it was not her sword arm. She stabbed the Hydralisk in the heart and it fell.
Then the full weight of the brood fell upon her and slowly dragged her down, pinning her arms and legs and holding her tight. They were going to infest her… the thought did not surprise her; nor did she panic. She simply observed them; the glowing red eyes of the Hydralisk leaning over her, the chittering Zergling who lay with its full weight on top of her stomach.
Suddenly the Hydralisk jerked and fell, the gray mass of its brain showing. The Zergling on top of her was jerked off and flung off the side of the cliff. The others were killed mercilessly; Azalel struggled to her feet to watch the carnage as invisible Dark Templar slaughtered the Zerg who, caught unawares, ran in circles trying to find them. The Hydralisks and Zerglings were quickly mopped up, but the Ultralisk, understandably, was a little more difficult to handle. It writhed and twisted, each turn of its head slicing up both Zerg stupid enough to get in the way and Dark Templar. They leapt onto its back and under its legs, slicing and cutting. Azalel ran to join in, ignoring the agony of her arm and over her chest and several other places she had no idea when it happened.
Something clamped over her arm, yanking her to a stop. She looked and saw—nothing. Yet something held her uninjured sword arm in a viselike grip. Still, child, said a voice, barely reaching her remote mind. You have done enough.
But she wanted to continue the fight. She wanted to get back at them for killing the karkari.
Be still.
Beyond them the Ultralisk finally fell, its front legs buckling first, allowing the Dark Templar to vacate the space under it. Then its head jerked, blood spraying, and it died. The rest of the Zerg were mopped up quickly, and Azalel suddenly found herself surrounded by swiftly appearing Protoss, their many-hued eyes glowing as they assessed her. She looked back, dimly relieved. Well. At least she didn't have to live on the mountain anymore.
The Protoss were talking. The Terran wears a psi-blade.
She was using it as well. How did she manage that?
She may be a powerful telepath. I cannot tell; she is very far away.
Perhaps that is best for now, considering her wounds.
Someone pulled her left arm out straight and wrapped cloth around it, tying it tight. They did the same with her chest and mopped up some of the blood from the more minor cuts. Come, child, one said, tugging her arm. She followed the tug, allowing the Protoss to accelerate her to a jog and then a run and soon they were all running in one direction, the Protoss circled around her protectively.
Hours later Azalel stumbled, exhaustion and the loss of blood slowing her down. Hands helped her upright and someone wrapped an arm around her waist. Almost there, little Terran.
She couldn't go any more…
Yes, you can. Come. They slowed, allowing her to rest a little while. Then they sped up again. They entered a ravine and climbed another cliff, Azalel mimicking their movements until they were at the top, where they faced an enormous plateau. In the distance she could see blue lights… were those pylons?
Yes.
Oh good…
It took them only a few minutes to race through the desert and enter the camp—camp? City!
They took her through it, earning stares and confusion from the Protoss there. Most were Dark Templar, but there were some High Templar there too, and Zealots, and Dragoons… and there was a Reaver… overhead, Scouts and Arbiters and Corsairs and enormous Carriers… Azalel searched vainly among the High Templar for a familiar face, but there was none…
Somewhere along the line they had lost the other Dark Templar, and it was just the one who held her up; a female warrior. They climbed the steps of a Nexus and stopped in the middle of the building. There they waited, Azalel at the point of collapse, until she saw movement in the shadows. Two Protoss stepped out into the open: one was younger and fierce-looking, and the other was older and aloof, wearing the elaborate robes of a Judicator. They approached them, the younger one coming much closer to gaze down at her. She stared back. She knew this one… she had seen this one's face before…
Have you? The Protoss said, peering at her. Then, Yes, you have.
How can we trust her? The Judicator said suspiciously. She was found in the mountains and she can wield a psi-blade! It's unnatural.
She was also fighting Zerg. We will question her when she wakes up. The Dark Templar reached down and touched her on the forehead. Come back, little one, he said softly. You are too far away.
She felt something pull on her—
—and suddenly she slammed into her body, so hard that she swayed. Pain throbbed everywhere; she looked down and saw with confusion that she was leaking blood all over the place. "What… huh?" she managed to say, then collapsed out of sheer exhaustion. The other at her side scrambled to hold onto her.
Before she faded into sleep she saw the Dark Templar's face peering down at her, and it hit her all at once. Zeratul. Aldaris…
She closed her eyes.
He cannot be expected to bring her back alone! Tolar raged, pacing angrily. Of all Azalel's friends, he was the only one who refused to leave. The others were made to by their parents, and Zeratul himself, to go home. Tolar had flatly refused, but told the others to leave. As he was the leader of their little group, they obeyed.
Zeratul watched quietly as Tolar quickly rode up to full battle-fury. The technicians pulled away from him, but the Patriarch walked up to him. Peace, young Tolar.
I can't. I can't! She's alone on Shakuras and she may die! he was afraid for not just Azalel, but of himself as well. Growing up in a time of peace he had never experienced the brunt of the Protoss' infamous battle-rage and was unused to the terrifying killer's nature. He wanted to lash out at something, anything, if it meant that the wrath would dissipate.
Zeratul had, obviously, experienced his first rage. He had also seen thousands of young Templar experience theirs. He understood. But it was not helping right now. He studied the adolescent, trying to think of something to say, when he saw an emotion festering underneath Tolar's anger. It was completely out of place, but comprehensible …
You are in love with her, he said simply. Tolar stopped pacing for a moment, nodded shortly, and continued pacing.
Does she love you?
Leave her out of it. It doesn't matter right now. What matters is she's there alone! Tolar swung around, glaring at him. You were there. You know how dangerous it is!
I do. But that cannot be helped now.
Cannot be helped? Tolar cried, and before he knew it he had lashed a punch at the Patriarch's head. Zeratul caught it calmly, holding his fist in an immobilizing grip. Tolar yanked back, but he was held mercilessly. Tentacles of cold and darkness wrapped him up to his elbow, and Tolar gasped. I understand your trepidation, Zeratul said gently. But you must use your head.
Tolar glared at him. The aged Protoss sighed, letting him go, and Tolar jerked away, rubbing his arm ruefully. If you feel you must go, then go. He stepped aside, clearing the way to the warp gate.
Tolar leapt through.