Chapter Six: First Leap
26th May, 2533 (UNSC Calendar)
Ninth Age of Reclamation, 8th Solar Cycle (Covenant Calendar)
Eayn, Y'Deio System
It was a huge surprise that only a few seconds passed after Major Nix's fatal announcement, before somebody actually spoke up.
"I'll do it sir."
I tensed up as I heard that voice - so young, nervous and unsure. Nevertheless, it took great courage for that person to speak up and put himself forward then at that moment, whoever he was...
"Thank you for volunteering Trau," Nix replied, his voice cutting into my thoughts.
Wait...what? That couldn't have been my voice...it couldn't have been...it couldn't...
"Now you can lead the way across the Ravine." Once again, that executioner's smirk returned. "Show us how it's done, recruit."
I had to take a few seconds to process the fact that I had been the one to put myself forward. It was a strange moment, one that I still ponder over to this day. I had not felt myself speak, nor had I felt the words leaving my throat. The voice that spoke up that day sounded distant, unknown, as if it belonged to another.
It was almost as if the sheer shock at seeing that monstrous ravine before my eyes lead to an out-of-body experience. My mind independently knew that this would be a major turning point - the flashpoint, my first great step on the path of the warrior.
Why was I the one who chose to jump first? That is something else I still ponder. It may have simply been that the sheer shock of the moment forced the pledge from my mouth. Someone was going to have to jump first - and someone else would have done, even if I hadn't spoken.
You should not be mislead into thinking that I was a special case among that group of T'Vaoan recruits gathered on the edge of the precipice that day. There were others who were no doubt physically and mentally bolder, stronger, quicker and tougher than I was. I was the youngest, I will grant you - but some of the others were older than me by only a few months.
For example, consider someone like my new comrade Par - he came from one of the harshest regions around Han City. The northern plantation fields are notorious for their hardy conditions. He'd worked in those fields most of his life, that was what made him tough. If there was anyone who would have chosen to jump the Ravine without a second thought, it should have been him. My story - or what I have told you of it so far - might make you think I was somehow uniquely pre-destined to perform great, heroic deeds. Yet this was not how I felt at the time.
Of course, I had nothing to lose if I fell to my death. I had lost what remained of my family after my father met his end. He had no living siblings to serve as my aunts or uncles. The same was true of my mother - and even if she still lived, she was no longer part of my life now. I had left my home behind, sold it away, cut all ties and pissed off my clan leader to boot.
There was nothing for me to go back to if I chose to pull out now. If I refused to jump this ravine I would be refused training - and then I would have no future, no home, no family, nothing. I would be forever tainted by the shame of turning away from the training ground, from the path of the soldier I had signed up for - society would shun me. What woman would chose a failed soldier as a mate, what employer would hire such a cowardly wretch? Add to that Chur'R-Fac's disdain - along with the influence she carried - and my outlook would be bleak.
On the other hand, if I failed to reach the other side and fell to my death, I would also be left with nothing - although granted, my existence in this world would be lost also. But dying would be a better option than leaving shamed and without any future, just because I didn't try.
That left the third, least likely outcome; that I jump the Ravine and make it. Then my path would be set, my future assured for the time being. It was the best of the three, the only outcome worth aiming for. Refusing was not an option, so that left either death or success. It boiled down to those two, and those two only.
Out of those two, I would aim solely for success. This is the reason, I think, why the pledge left my mouth.
"Prepare yourself recruit," Nix called over to me, "but we don't have the whole day."
I did not keep Nix waiting. As I stepped forward from the group of recruits, every man in the 4th, 5th and 6th Training Lances looked at me with a mixture of disbelief and bemusement. Who was this 17-year old, to leap to his death at his age? Some of the older ones had no doubt mentally prepared themselves for death in the future and saw the younger chicks like me as naive - my volunteering to jump must have come as a shock to them.
Soon, I was directly facing the edge of the precipice. I let out a few breaths and flexed my limbs - the feeling of exhaustion from the run was still there, and I needed to make sure I was fully recharged to make the jump.
Nix allowed me a few minutes to do this. He might have loved tormenting recruits, but he wasn't stupid. He knew the first to jump the Ravine would need some time to prepare, after such a long run. Forcing an exhausted man who had no energy left to jump would have been a death sentence. Our instructors wanted to reshape our lives - for that they needed us alive.
Well, most of us anyway. I already had a feeling that forcing us across this chasm served a very specific purpose - but I forced that thought away as best I could.
The ravine itself was wider than I had initially assumed - certainly more than three metres across. Four or five maybe, six, perhaps even seven. It was possible for a T'Vaoan to jump that distance, but it wasn't something I could just leap into. It would require a good running start, careful timing, good co-ordination...
"We're all waiting for you, recruit Trau." It was Major Krel who spoke this time. Take it from me - his voice and overall look was much more intimidating. I would take Nix over him any day. "Don't keep us here the full day."
I narrowed my eyes, focusing on the opposite ledge. Fortunately, the rock face and cliff edge in front of me seemed to be perfectly solid - there was no chance I would slip on loose rubble, or worse cause a rock slide on landing that would drag me into the gorge's depths. It was a smooth surface of rock though, with only a light covering of grass; so there was some chance of slipping if I landed. I would have to land on all fours, so I could get maximum grip.
I let out a breath. No turning back now. I would tarry no longer.
I walked many steps backward from my original position, making sure that I would be building up as much momentum as possible. Then, a few seconds after doing so, I broke into a run.
I built up my speed, increasing the velocity and kinetic energy levels behind my planned jump. The cliff-edge grew closer and closer.
If I jumped to soon, I would fall short. If I waited, I might just run straight off the edge into the maw of the Ravine. Got to get this timing right...
It was at the precise moment upon reaching the very edge of the precipice that I flexed my legs, coiled my muscles - and launched myself into the air.
Those few seconds while I was airborne were several heartbeats of pure terror. The last time in my life that I had felt this way had been as a six-year old hatchling, carelessly playing near a tram line just outside Ream with some local friends.
We had been tossing a wire fly-ring between us, when one child of our neighbours threw it too far in my direction. I had dived to catch the ring as it overshot me, and landed right onto the line.
As I landed onto the rails, grabbing the fly-ring just as it hit the ground, the rumble of an approaching tram shook the ground beneath me. I just barely got a look at the railcar speeding straight for me, before a violent force pulled me away and off the tram-line to safety, with just seconds to spare.
It had been my father who had saved me; I can never remember him being angrier than he was that day. My mother was home at that time as well - I got the full blast from her, too. Yet what I remember most about that childhood trauma was the immediate sense that my life was coming to an end. It was a terrifying feeling, like being struck by a bolt of lightning, a tiny dose of terror felt within a split-second. I naively hoped at that time that I would never feel it again.
That same rush of adrenaline-fuelled terror came to me as I leapt across that great chasm of oblivion and hurled myself through the air. I knew for certain that in that split-second, this was where I would die.
But as quickly as it came, it was gone - replaced by the bone-cracking impact of my body with the opposite ledge.
I landed on the grassy cliff edge feet first - but I didn't get my timing, balance or posture right as the rest of my body arrived. As a result, it was a messy landing.
I tumbled across the grass, my legs, torso and left arm painfully striking the ground. Eventually I came to a rest face-down just beyond the rocky surface of the cliff edge on a dirt patch, just short of a spiny har-vak bush. I didn't end up in it, thank Chu'ot. If I had, it would have added even further to the pain I already felt from landing.
I let out a pained breath, blowing away the dirt beneath my face. I fought back the pain as I began to check that my arms and legs could still move.
I was lucky; none of the bones in my limbs were broken. Beneath my skinsuit I could feel the pain of a deep graze on my left-leg - that would need attention, as would the smaller cuts and bruises that I had no doubt received.
However, the skinsuit was clearly designed to manage wounds like these, as the blood was contained, appearing as a purple stain on the left-leg. In time, the blood would coagulate under the suit and by the time I arrived back at the training ground, a professional healer would be able to tend to it.
For now though, I would have to deal with this damn wound - and that meant standing, walking and running on it. Terrific.
I grunted with frustration. First, I had to know if I could stand. I gingerly moved my legs, raised myself on my hands and allowed my feet to find the ground.
Sure enough, I was able to stand - the pain was still there, but moving my limbs dulled it somewhat. My body was recovering from the rough landing, as it should.
It was then that I heard an odd sound on the wind, as it whistled across the ravine.
Was it screeching? Shouting? No...cheering...from the other side of the chasm, from where I'd taken off.
Yes...it was from that direction...the others were cheering me!
The chorus of cheering quickly grew louder from the other side of the Ravine - the side I had jumped from. I turned my head to see my fellow recruits whooping and hollering, waving their arms and jumping up and down like madmen. It didn't take long for the Majors to silence them - but the impact my first leap had on the groups as a whole was very clear.
Within a second, Par stepped forward and requested permission to volunteer next.
"Granted," Nix replied. I could see him grinning - but this was not the grin of twisted pleasure that appeared on his face whenever he had us at his mercy.
No, this grin was different. It was a grin of pride. For the first time, we had his respect. He followed it up with a bellow of encouragement.
"Follow your fellow to glory, recruit!"
Par also made sure that he took his time, and gave himself a long running start. My species are adept jumpers - the result of our light skeletal structure and avian ancestry. Even a Ruuhtian might have been able to jump this distance with enough physical training. We T'Vaoans are the best natural jumpers of all - but even we require training to get it absolutely right.
Today, we were proving our abilities one by one. Par gave himself a healthy bit of distance between his position and the cliff edge before he broke into a full run.
Only when he was at the very edge did he make the jump, spreading his arms and feathers wide like our ancestors would have done, eons ago. Those ancestors had been capable of limited flight - this ability had gradually vanished as my race evolved, but traces of it are more prominent in T'Vaoans today.
That evolutionary heritage had helped me make the jump - and it would help Par too. He cleared the distance in no-time, sailing towards the opposite ledge.
But he just missed it, desperately clawing at the side of the cliff for purchase.
Fortunately, he was able to grab on to a thick root that jutted from a crack in the rock face. He then clawed his way up that root, scaling the face of the cliff until he was right near the edge.
At the sight of my bunk-neighbour's near demise, I had instinctively rushed to the edge of the cliff. Now, I was crouched over the edge, stretching my hand out.
"Take my hand" I told him, reaching out as he got closer to me. But Par was far too stubborn for that.
"I don't need your hand," he grunted, hauling himself over the edge and onto the grassy rock-ground of the ledge.
He then crawled as far as he could from the maw of the Ravine, making sure he was a safe distance away. It wouldn't have done to have made that jump only to accidentally fall into the chasm.
Finally, he brought himself to stand, his eyes meeting mine.
"But thanks for offering anyway."
I found myself snorting in response.
"You might need it one day."
An amused little smirk appeared on his face.
"Not today."
Perhaps he was beginning to tolerate me, after all. But we didn't have much time to dwell on our still-budding comradeship - I could hear shouts of encouragement as more of our fellow recruits began to jump the ravine.
We both made sure we cleared the cliff-edge, giving our brothers plenty of space to land - before finding an out-of-the-way spot where we could watch them follow us in passing this brutal test of will.
Two older recruits in their mid to late-twenties from the 6th Training Lance were the next to make it; though they weren't from our Lance, we cheered them when they joined us. Anyone who could make that jump after such a long run was deserving of respect, regardless of their unit.
After they landed they joined Par and I at our spectators' spot, where we kept our eyes peeled for the next recruit to jump.
It was Par who spotted him.
"That fool again? Didn't think he'd be up for it."
I also immediately recognised that same loose-lipped recruit who'd been stupid enough to backtalk Nix when we had risen this morning; a sin that had triggered the Major's chilling lecture on the humans' elite Helljumpers.
He had volunteered himself, apparently - I didn't see him being directly ordered to jump. Clearly, he was looking redeem himself.
"I'm not so surprised," I countered. "He must have some guts to talk out of turn."
"Or no brains," Par retorted, "and a loose tongue."
"Still looks like he has the guts to make up for both, though..." I murmured quietly, not willing to give up my position but not wanting to draw out our argument..
The loose-tongue made sure to take his time and give himself a long-running start, too. He'd clearly been watching and learning.
I was more willing to give the man credit than Par was - he'd obviously realised he'd made a mistake earlier and was willing to risk his life to make up for it. If he'd been completely gutless, he would have waited until he was ordered to jump.
Besides, I couldn't really judge - not after daydreaming in front of Major Nix while being sorted into our lances, the day we'd arrived. I still hadn't gotten over that, annoyingly enough.
The loose-tongue built his momentum as much as he could - his running start was longer than mine and Par's - before he launched himself over the chasm.
He made it - just about. His feet fell short of the ledge but he managed to grasp the edge of the cliff with his talons. Now, he was dangling over the precipice, yelling in panic.
He might well have fallen then. I would not be in the least bit surprised if the Major had expected him to. But I would steer my fellow recruit's fate in a different course.
I got to my feet, dashing towards the dangling recruit, even as the pain from my earlier wound still throbbed. I thought Par would immediately get up and follow - but when I turned my head I could see he was still sitting and down and watching.
"Where are you going?" His tone was genuinely confused.
"Where do you think?" I jerked my head towards our dangling comrade.
"Him?" Par was bemused. His eyes said it all - what is that fool worth?
"Yes, him!"
I was exasperated by Par's indifference. That recruit might have nearly gotten us all collectively beaten earlier - but he'd made an effort to prove himself worthy. That had to count for something. True, he'd slipped and was now on the edge of death; but that was his own bad luck, nothing more.
I decided to go ahead with or without Par's help. He could give me flak for it later, I didn't care. Right now, a comrade's life was at stake.
I dashed over to the young man, still clinging on to the rock for dear life. I crouched as close as I could - I was wary of being dragged over the edge and falling myself. I reached out with my right hand, still doing my best to ignore the pain in my leg as I leaned over.
"Grab on!" I wasn't the strongest in my Lance - certainly not as strong as Par. But still I had to try.
The loose-tongue took hold of my arm with his left hand, and as I pulled he tried to haul himself up with his right.
But it still wasn't enough. He was nowhere near a good climber as Par, and he kept slipping every time he tried to bring himself up. Meanwhile, my strength was beginning to give out. It wouldn't be long before he slipped again, for the last time, and dragged us both down into this damned chasm.
But fate was kind to both of us today. To my shock, it came to us in the form of Par, along with one of those two older recruits from 6th Lance.
Par offered his hand to the loose-tongue, just as I had.
"Take it," he demanded, "if you want to live."
The loose-tongue was confused, glancing to his left. Wasn't his left hand already grasping my arm?
Par's slim patience quickly ran out.
"Your other hand, fool!" He snarled.
The loose-tongue did not hesitate. Neither did Par. The moment Par had the youth's right arm in his grip, he began to haul him up, together with the recruit from 6th Lance. I redoubled my efforts and together, we soon had the loose-tongue on solid ground, gasping and profusely offering thanks.
"Don't thank us yet," Par grunted, skulking off back to the spectator's spot. That other man from 6th Lance also walked away, back to his comrade.
I looked back across the Ravine. I honestly didn't know what our superiors' reaction would be. We were expected to live and train as a unit, as brothers to one another. Yet as warriors of the Covenant there would be little place for mercy or sentiment, especially in this war. I was relieved to see Nix giving an approving nod when I looked. The other recruits stood there, transfixed at the rescue they had just witnessed.
"Thank you," the loose-tongue said for what had to be the tenth time. "I owe you my life."
"Say no more about it," I insisted. "We might be doing that a whole lot more."
The loose-tongue gave in after that. I decided now was the time to connect properly.
"I didn't get your name."
"Vek Ton. Han City."
His family were most likely immigrants to Han from another clan, tenants of the Fac clan's territory. That made them fairly low-ranking. But as I've said before, I'm not one to really care about all that.
"Trau. Also of Han City."
I decided not to add about being from the Ream wetlands. Han was technically my birthplace after all. Again, clan names no longer mattered here, so for the first time I decided to omit mine. Besides the fact I didn't care about our clans, titles and statuses, I knew the Sangheili didn't either. It was a good idea to get used to using our first names only before we fell under their command - something I was still dreading about.
I helped the loose-tongue - Vek - to his feet. He needed to get used to that new rule too.
"Don't bother with your clan name next time you introduce yourself."
Vek nodded. On the other side of the gorge, another recruit prepared to jump.
This time, the outcome was very different.
The man did look physically fit - even more so than Par did. In fact, he looked exactly like someone you would expect to make the distance. Vek and I cleared the ledge, making way for what we were sure would be a successful landing.
However, this recruit was overconfident. He didn't give himself enough time to prepare, nor did he make his starting sprint long enough. Clearly, he believed making it to the other side was a done deal for him. He jumped way short of the edge, instead of at the last inch like I'd done.
As a result, he fell short of the mark.
I heard him give out a cry of sheer terror as he grasped at the rock face, trying to find purchase on one of the vines. But he hadn't flown far enough and was nowhere near any of the good hand holds closer to where Vek had landed. He slid off, falling straight down into the depths of the chasm, screaming for his life.
It was a good ten seconds or more before the screaming stopped - it ended with a loud, sickening crunch, the sound of shattering bone and crushed flesh. That was when we knew he reached the bottom of the ravine.
We all stood in silence. That man had not been from my lance - I hadn't known him at all. So perhaps I didn't feel the loss so much as those in his lance did.
Nevertheless, I has just seen death - sudden, swift death, right before my eyes. The death of a fellow recruit, a fellow soldier. A comrade.
It was a new feeling, seeing a death for the first time. When my father died, I had been struck with grief - but I had received news of it from a distance, so I didn't suffer the sight of his actual death. When my grandmother passed away, it had been completely natural; I had grieved, yes - but that late in her years it was to be expected.
Here I had seen a young man, not much older than me, die a horrific death before my eyes well before his time. He had been fitter and healthier than me - as I said, he was someone who you would have expected to have aced that jump.
Now I knew for sure the other purpose of this exercise. Our instructors did not expect us all to jump this ravine and live. We were being screened, our ranks weeded out and narrowed down.
We were being introduced to death, how it could come to any soldier without warning; learning that from this point on, death and loss would become a normal, regular companions.
This was a day not all of us would survive. It would not be our last such day in the army. Better we get used to it now, than later. Such was the way of our training.
The day went on. Others would make the jump and live - but there were still a few who failed and fell. Some were too nervous to know what to do. There was one youth of about twenty, shaking with fear and fatalism, who simply chanced a jump. He didn't even make it half-way.
There were others who were too cocky to prepare themselves better - like that first man to die - and of course, there were others who were just plain unlucky.
The latter group was the most common. I saw one who looked like he would make it - his feet landed solidly on the edge of the cliff, and his comrades ran forth to greet him.
However, he landed on a different part of the cliff edge from me. Here the edge was made up of loose rocks and earth. This all gave way from the young man's impact, taking the unfortunate recruit with it. He fell before any of his comrades could grab his hand, caught up in a great rock slide that swept him into the chasm, howling with terror.
I heard the impact of the rock slide below, together with the man's body. He was the last to die that day.
The final three recruits made the jump, before Nix and Krel joined us. They both made their jumps perfectly - such an action was second-nature to them. Once they reached us, they marshalled us all into our respective lances.
A total of seven recruits died crossing the Ravine that day. My lance had done better than the others - we had not suffered a single fatality, though Chu'ot alone knows why. The importance of luck cannot be overestimated in the game of survival.
Still, to have seen those people die...people you had seen living, breathing, talking, bantering with their friends or even people who had stood beside you just moments ago...that was a harsh new experience. That day at the ravine was the first time I had truly witnessed such death. Not the deaths of wild game my father and I had hunted when I was younger. That seemed trivial now.
I had seen people die. Strangers, yes. But that didn't change the fact I wasn't going back to the training grounds unscathed. None of us would this day.
Major Nix had a talent for knowing our thoughts. He was quick to address us.
"Those that stand here today," he declared, making a sweeping gesture to us all, "are survivors. You have passed the first test. You have survived where others have not. You survived because you had strength of mind and body. As for those that did not have both..." he gestured to the chasm behind us, "...the Ravine has seen to them."
I grimaced. Nix sure had a way with words...and sure enough, I had been right about the purpose of this exercise. We had just been weeded out, probably not for the first time. How many more would die, in training alone, never mind the combat that would follow?
"I know the feeling," Nix continued. "I've felt it many times before. You will feel it too, hundreds of times after this day. You might as well get used to it now. Brave men died today. Honour their sacrifice by pushing on - by completing your training. You owe it to them, having survived a test they failed."
He then nodded to Krel. The larger Major took in a breath before barking out his orders once more.
"All Lances form up! We march back to the grounds!"
The run back to the Vara training grounds was uneventful. We took the route south along the Eastern coast of the Ha'chut peninsula, back towards our base of training at the base of the arrowhead of Ha'chut.
Here the land was much less developed, much more remote. There was little sign of civilisation other than the odd rustic farmhouse or hunter's lodge in the woods. As we passed the shining waters of the coast, now glistening in the early afternoon sun, I saw a couple of isolated fishing villages. Their harbours were ringed with low sea walls, packed with clustered boats. The smells of salt and smoked fish wafted over our group as we jogged past.
I saw the boats as they plied the coastal waters, cruising in and out of the harbour mouths or floating in small clusters in the sun-sparkling water. Some of them were modern designs, floating quietly above the water on anti-gravity drives - yet others chugged along on older, more primitive engines, or even glided along on copper-red sails.
On the rocky cliffs that overlooked the villages, I could see a noisy colony of Nav-Yar - large flightless seabirds that are a common sight on Eayn's coasts. They are roughly torpedo shaped, with stubby wing-limbs and long legs with webbed feet. The head of a Nav-Yar bears some resemblance to a Ruuhtian head, minus the brain-capacity - they share the same genetic ancestry as Kig-Yar. Their bodies are coated in water-proof feathers, with a layer of blubber beneath.
On land they are cumbersome, crudely hopping or dragging themselves around. In the water however, they are beautifully adapted. I saw them moving like swift darts beneath the waves, leaping in and out of the water as they hunted schooling fish and molluscs; they are truly remarkable animals. They evolved from the same genetic ancestor as Kig-Yar - scavenging birds that plied the plains of Eayn's ancient supercontinent, which split into the two that dominate our homeworld today.
Once the continent split, our ancestors went different ways. Many spread to different parts of the world, gradually shedding their flight, developing tools and sentience. The ancestors of the Nav-Yar also shed their flight, but focused only on reaching the coasts and taking to the seas, where they became the perfect marine predators they are today. They spend much of their lives at sea, roosting in the open ocean and only returning to land to mate, nest and raise their young. I knew that now was the nesting season, hence their presence on these rocks.
It was surreal observing them - these creatures were of our blood, they were us, in spite of being animals. In our ancient religions, they were held as sacred - hunting them was punishable by death in times past. Some of the old shrines and temples dedicated to Chu'ot were deliberately positioned near Nav-Yar nesting grounds, and kept them close as sacred guardians.
One such small shrine was indeed here, right on the cusp of the headland. Cylindrical, with a spherical, painted domed roof crowned with stone rings, imitating the Great Mother Planet. Incense smoke wafted from a small brazier at the entrance - the people here still observed the old traditions. Even after centuries of belonging to the Covenant, worship of Chu'ot still continued openly in places. The Prophets were never able to eliminate it - they had little time or care to do so.
Alas, that indifference did not apply to the Nav-Yar. The Prophets had not eliminated our traditions - but they had managed to erode them. The ban on Nav-Yar hunting was lifted many centuries ago, after the War of the Asteroids. Our merchants soon found that their rich meat, feathers and oil were tradable resources, prized by the economy of the ever-growing Covenant. Nav-Yar hunting soon became a lucrative industry, and our people happily set aside tradition in favour of profit.
Parties went to the coasts and crews of men camped on their breeding islands throughout every breeding season - all for the sole purpose of hunting Nav-Yar. Flightless and cumbersome, they were easy prey on land; hundreds were killed en masse, boiled in cauldrons, and then skinned for their feathers and blubber, which was also boiled down for oil. The killing was so intense that corpses were used to keep the plasma fires burning - with or without the feathers still on them.
The soft down feathers beneath the main waterproof coat were used to fill the gilded pillows in the mansions of the Kig-Yar rich (Chur'R-Fac, amongst others, had countless examples in her parlours), the great San 'Shyuum apartments of High Charity, or in the keeps of Sangheili nobles. The oil was used as a machine lubricant, and also for lamps used in the Prophets' numerous ceremonies.
Just another example of how our worlds nobly provided for our Covenant of believers. Not that I could do anything about it, of course.
This Nav-Yar colony was now a rare sight - the species was classed as endangered and hunting limits were being slowly introduced. The people here were more traditional however - I suspect they still refused to hunt our genetic relatives.
Soon, I found myself wandering from the trauma of the day's events for a moment, taken in by the idyllic view. This scene - the villages, the sea, the boats, the Nav-Yar colony, the beautiful Shrine - would have made for a fine painting, like the ancient art prints from the seafaring age. Of course, those fishermen would have had to worry a lot more about piracy back then.
But I didn't have much more time to enjoy all that scenery. We ran on, leaving the beautiful seaside villages behind us, the cries of the Nav-Yar echoing away.
Soon, an old enemy returned to plague us - the dust. As I said, the eastern half of Ha'chut was much less developed - it was all dirt roads from here on in. As usual, the dirt turned to dust in the sun, the fine grains kicked up by the heels of running men, choking throats and stinging eyes. We endured that all the way back to Vara.
But whereas before it would have drawn grumblings and griping, and the odd exclamation of profanity, we were now all silent. After seeing comrades die screaming before our eyes, simple privations didn't seem to matter. We were just too numbed by what we had witnessed.
Slowly but surely, we were becoming soldiers. Not hardened veterans by any means - but we were all beginning to understand what being a soldier meant.
That, as I said, was the point of jumping the Ravine.
We kept running until we reached Vara in the early afternoon. No complaints, no incidents - no-one even fell over this time. We were learning quickly, that was for sure.
By the time we had all gathered in the main courtyard after filing through the southern entrance, we were all exhausted. Thus it was easy for us to remain silent, stood at attention.
Champion Xen was there to great his returning recruits. I saw Nix and Krel march up to him, both saluting. A brief conversation followed, before Xen gave a satisfied nod. Then he addressed us.
"Recruits of Training Lances Four through Six - you have survived your first trial. There will be many more to follow, and you must meet them all as you did today - with conviction, courage and force of will. Do not allow yourself complacency. Rest this evening, but know..."
Soon after the Champion spoke the word 'rest', I found my mind wandering away again. I felt the pain in my leg as the injury throbbed back up; I grimaced once more, having ignored it for so long. I just hope it wasn't infected...
I vaguely heard the Champion speaking in my direction - but I thought nothing of it. Maybe I'd imagined it. I didn't even register the glances of Par and Vek, who were stood either side of me. All I could think of was of the good shower and rest that would come soon...
"Recruit Trau!"
Aw hell...not again...
It was Major Krel who had screamed at me, his teeth bared in anger. He brandished a bu-vao stave menacingly as he advanced. As a torrent of curses erupted in my mind, I prayed that this was a dream I would soon wake up from - or failing that, that the ground would swallow me up and protect me lovingly from that bloody stave.
Krel did not let up.
"Our Champion was addressing you, recruit," he snarled, "who do you think you are to ignore his summons?!"
I stood up straight, unable to find my voice. It was probably for the best - whatever I said could only provoke the Major even further. As I said, he wasn't someone you really wanted to confront. I knew that a beating was almost certain.
But Champion Xen had other ideas. He held up a talon, stopping Krel in his tracks.
"These men have been running for hours, Major - and as I was about to say to this recruit, he bears a wound."
He then marched straight up to me, stopping at eye-level. His half-burnt face was inches from mine - I almost thought I could smell the burnt flesh, the crisped feathers. His right eyeball, located on the burnt side, peeked out from a ruined socket - it was a miracle he even still had that eye. Unlike the Sangheili, my people are not averse to medical treatment - but the reconstructive surgery must have been extensive. I still had no idea what could have caused such injuries.
Xen's war-torn gaze bore straight into mine, even as I tried to stand firm.
"Am I not correct, Recruit..." he paused, as if trying to remember my name - I knew he was subtly asking me a question.
"Trau." I replied instantly, not wanting to be caught out. "Trau Fac." In my haste, I forgot about the redundancy of our clan names.
But the Campmaster let it slide. If anything, he seemed curious.
"Trau..." he recited my name wistfully. His thoughts seemed to be drifting, too. Finally, he snapped out of it, turning to a nearby subordinate. "Minor, escort this recruit to the medical centre. Majors, you know what to do."
Xen nodded to his underlings, before marching off. The Minor he had summoned strode up, taking me by the arm.
"Follow me, airhead," he ordered briskly, pointing me in the direction of the med centre. Behind me, Krel and Nix marshalled the lances, their shouts echoing in the wind.
I was lead to the Northern entrance, steadied by the Minor. I was just glad he was here, in spite of being one of our tormentors. My leg was beginning to swell and I wouldn't have liked walking the final distance to the local healer.
At the Northern gatehouse there was a post stern gate carved into the arch interior that I hadn't seem before - it must have passed me by in the early morning darkness, when we had left through this entrance. The Minor produced an electronic key, unlocked the door, and lead me inside.
We entered a short winding corridor, lit by plasma torches. The walls were formed of ancient stones, and just as the door closed behind us, a haggard old voice echoed down the hall.
"Brought another one, have you?"
"Injured leg," the Minor grunted. "Shouldn't be too hard for you, Gakh."
"Then don't dawdle," the voice snapped. "Bring him down."
The Minor muttered something obscene under his breath, and then led me down the corridor. This healer obviously didn't like being kept waiting. The voice's accent was off, though - it didn't sound T'Vaoan. Our kind trained separately from all others - but maybe that didn't apply to healers.
The corridor opened into a vast, circular room. I could see healing berths lined along one side, along with all the accompanying instruments. On the other side was a set of diagonal framed windows, which spilled sunlight into the whole space. There were also several bookshelves, with some of the tomes looking as if they dated back centuries. Tapestries depicting ancient gladiator fights and ocean voyages lined the walls.
In the centre of the room stood an oval-shaped table, lined with medical instruments. In a solitary seat was a grizzled, grouchy-looking elder - to my surprise I immediately saw that he was Ruuhtian, his yellow flesh shining in the sunlight. Clearly, the T'Vaoan Reformation allowed for some loopholes. He regarded me with his old grey eyes, peering out of their rough sockets.
"So, a bad leg. Got that at the Ravine, did you?"
I nodded.
"Be thankful it's just your leg. Could have been your life instead." After the healer - Gakh - gave his needless reminder, he gestured to the Minor. "Lay him down."
The Minor lead me to one of the berths, gently guiding me onto the soft bedding. Gakh came to my side with a tray of medical tools. I grimaced with nausea as I noted that some of them were razor sharp blades, designed to saw through bone. Alongside them a plethora of syringes, probes, braces - the whole thing looked more like a tool-kit than a set of medical supplies.
My ill-feeling must have shown, because Gakh cackled at my expense soon after probing my leg with a hand-held medical scanner.
"Don't worry - I don't think I'll need to do any amputations today. I've done that before, with other survivors of the Ravine. They made it, but paid with a limb...or two. Heh," the old man chuckled and coughed as he turned back to his tray. "Fine warriors, they were. The survived the Ravine, only to be rendered unfit for further training and service. Really sad, for all of them - but you won't be such a case. Something else you should be thankful for, eh?"
I only nodded and grunted. I really couldn't find words in response. To put myself in the shoes of those men; they must have thought they were destined for great things, only to be rendered invalids for the rest of their lives after passing the first hurdle. Gakh was right - I had much to be thankful for.
He turned to the Minor.
"I'm sure this young man can find his own way back to his block when I'm done with him. Go - the Majors will have need of you."
The Minor skulked out of the medical bay, muttering to himself. The grizzled healer turned back to me, producing a booster syringe.
"Disinfectant antiseptic," he explained. "This should get rid of any pathogens that might have gotten into that leg of yours - and keep any out for a few hours."
Without warning, he plunged the syringe into the injured part of my limb. I clenched my teeth at the stinging pain.
"So, Trau Fac," Gakh stated matter-of-factly.
"I didn't tell you my name," I was just able to squeak the words out over the pain.
"You didn't need to," he grunted. "The scanner identified you from your skinsuit data chip." He put a compress on my leg, preventing it from bleeding further as he continued to dress it. "You're not the first of your family I've patched up."
My eyes widened, but before I could reply Gakh spoke over me.
"I was there, you know," he continued. "On Doisac, all those years ago, in the last Age of Doubt. It was during the siege of one of the last Jiralhanae strongholds. The Citadel of Hephestus, as I recall."
I blinked upon hearing the name of that battle - one I had heard before during my father's tales. The Siege of the Citadel of Hephestus, a particularly ruthless Jiralhanae High Chieftain, was one of the final and most bloodiest engagements of the whole War of Jiralhanae Conversion - perhaps more accurately called their Subjugation, shortly after the Missionary Ships discovered Doisac.
Most of the packs and tribes, already weakened from bombing each other to near-oblivion and losing their once technologically advanced status as a result, elected to join the Covenant. Others, however, clung to their old ways and resisted.
Thus it was in Hephestus' stronghold that his pack, one of the most powerful of their Alpha Tribes, continued to hold out. Due to the presence of a Forerunner Artefact directly under the mighty fortress-citadel, glassing the whole thing from orbit was out of the question. So a ground assault was mounted; my father was one of thousands of Covenant troops involved in that battle.
He had been roughly eighteen or nineteen cycles of age at the time - a young soldier in his first campaign. He had survived when many others hadn't - the legion he was assigned to suffered a casualty rate of over 50%. Perhaps that was why he didn't like to go into too much detail, whenever he had mentioned that battle to me.
"It was a night attack," the healer droned on, as he patched me up. "One of many that evening. The army's mission was simple. Take the big hills surrounding the Citadel. Fur-faces lose the high ground, we get a full view of their city and the whole place is in the sights of our artillery. Our legion got assigned the largest hill right in the middle. They called it Hill 128."
He paused, letting out a cough. I was just grateful he kept it well away from my wound.
"The plan was for the four-jaws and gas suckers to lead a straight forward assault on the central line. They were happy to do it, but it was just a distraction. Not that they'd admit it. Our kind and a few four-jaw officers - we were to go for the left flank and cut the fur-face lines open while they faced the four-jaws. Your old man was part of it. One of four T'Voan lances that day. The rest were my kind. I was the main field medic for that assault."
"What happened?" I finally got a chance to get a word in edgeways.
"It went wrong. The fur-faces have puffed heads and small minds, true - but they aren't stupid. They spotted us as we came around them. Some fool trod on a landmine as we scaled the left-hand slope - that was what alerted them."
I knew about that part. From what my father had said, he'd been pretty close to the mine victim during training. To lose a friend that way at eighteen...
"From then on it started to go to shit. The Major hand-picked for command of that assault's T'Voan element got on the wrong side of one of their damn firebombs. Guys were falling left and right - I remember all those damn spikes striking my shield, cutting us all down. There was spiker fire, mortar fire, rocket fire, grenades, you name it. We all thought we'd blown it."
I listened, my concentration not slipping for a moment. Even the pain seemed to vanish into the background.
"They say a young minor lead the charge, in the face of all those red hot spikes. He didn't shout, he didn't make a speech or any of that...he just ran straight into it. Everyone else - Kig-Yar, Sangheili, everyone - decided 'if he can do it, I can.'"
Just like the Ravine today, I thought. I hadn't shown any leadership - the others just saw me jump and decided to try themselves.
"So they all followed him. A lot of us got cut down and the fight lasted on until daybreak - but we drove them off that hill. The fur-faces got pasted, and we met up with the four-jaw assault force at the top of that mountain. The other hills fell, the citadel fell with it, Hephestus got overthrown by his brother, who joined our Covenant; you know all the rest."
He chuckled.
"That crazy young fool paid a lot for his trouble though. I had to pull spikes out of his backside after he got too close to one of their grenades right at the end, after storming through four mortar nests. I patched him up though. Fine young man - name was Mal, I recall. He did the Fac clan proud."
I lay there, stunned.
"He never told me..." my voice was a near-whisper. "I knew he was on Doisac...I knew about Hill 128...but he never said anything about rallying his unit. He never took credit for anything like that."
"No, he didn't at the time, either." Gakh chuckled once more. "Humble sort, he was. The Major who got burned survived to credit him, though. I patched that one up too. Your old man got the Hero's Gauntlets for that stunt of his."
I still remember those gauntlets, in my father's cabinet of decorations at home. Then a thought came to me. I felt a small smile purse my lips.
"That burnt Major - it wouldn't have been a Major Xen, would it?"
Gakh laughed. "His burns were a dead giveaway weren't they? Well, I made sure he lived that day - but I've never claimed to be a miracle worker. A fur-face fire grenade is a nasty piece of work. Not as bad as some of the flame weapons I've seen the humans use, though..." he shuddered. "They have stuff which sticks to you, then burns your flesh straight off your bones in seconds. You'll see soon enough."
I felt my guts stir - sooner or later, I'd have to face the humans. From what I was hearing so far, they were a lot more dangerous than the news made them out to be. I tried to distract myself with another question.
"You heard about my father, then?"
He set down his tools for a moment.
"We all did, we of his old unit. You should have seen Champion Xen. Nix, too. We all thought he'd make it to retirement. Harvest claimed many lives - we just never thought one of those would be a certain Mal Fac."
He sighed again, picking up another sealant - the last he needed to apply.
"Do us all a favour, young Trau - make him proud. Our Champion expects nothing less from the son of Mal. Nix owes your old man his life."
I blinked - no wonder the Major had been so reluctant to take me on. Before I could pry further however, Healer Gakh ushered me off the berth and out of his med bay.
"You should be able to walk on that normally now - but don't go tearing that bandage off until after three days. The sealant I've applied under it needs time to work. Got it? Good. Now scram."
I did so, heading back down the hallway. The pain in my leg was gone, but the weight of expectation placed on me, that I had placed on myself - it still remained on my shoulders like an overloaded pack.
Still, I had survived the first hurdle. Now, I thought as I stepped back into the sunlight, to survive the others.
A/N: Sorry this took nearly a year guys. I'm currently working on a dissertation through the summer - we'll have to clear that before I can even think about submitting anything else, for this story or others. But I will post when I can - that's all I can promise. Hope this chapter satisfies you!
