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StarCraft: Stewardship

Chapter 3: Conclusion

Runs Quite Quickly could no longer run.

He could barely even walk, as he stumbled over the solid cloud. The gods had let him be; their flying daggers had headed south, and so far not returned. But if this stemmed from mercy, or in knowledge that he was dead already, he couldn't say. Clasping his spear, now only good as a walking stick, he nonetheless continued northward. The shrine would be there for him. By luck or grace, if he could make it…

He let out a moan, and fell into the solid cloud. The blood from his stomach began turning it a sickly shade of green – like grass, but darker, and with a warmth that gave him chills. Perhaps it was the end, he reflected. Perhaps he would enter the Emptiness. Looking up with one eye, he saw that the golden orb of Raise the Glow was still in the hovering ocean, the daggers of the gods nowhere to be seen. Or were they the beings of the Emptiness? He couldn't say. Could not move his fur or arms to make any kind of indication as to what he thought. The brulokon could preach as he wanted, but Runs saw the people's relationship with the gods as being practical. The people worshipped and gave offerings, the gods provided them with the world and all its bounties. Like sangers for fur, or kerogawi for songs – non-names for non-people, but part of the world nonetheless. Perhaps he could lie here in the solid cloud, his body taken by Giver of Life, and his sha entering the Emptiness. Perhaps…perhaps…

No. Extending one arm down through the solid cloud, Runs felt the dirt on his palm. How it moved between his fingers, its touch coarse, but pleasant to his touch. He pushed up, and with his other arm, used the branch to steady himself. His fur was on end, and he nearly broke the silence of the people such was his pain, but nonetheless, he picked up his spear again and staggered onward, his feet going up and down through the solid cloud in regular succession. He was nearly at the shrine. Perhaps he would perish there, but if his prayers could be heard to Raise the Glow, if he could invoke her mercy and save his people from The Emptiness, his would be a life well spent. And if the gods themselves had come instead…well, then nothing could impede them.

His eyes opened and closed as he trudged along, as an icy wind ran through his fur, chilling him in both body and sha. He cast his mind back to what he knew of the Emptiness – not much, but he could ill bear to imagine what might be befalling his people in the village. He knew that the Emptiness was not always known to the people. Once, all that was known was that when they died, their bodies were taken into the earth, into the domain of Giver of Life – a gift from All Must End, according to the last brulokon, though the current one disputed that. The non-people had different, absolutely nonsensical ideas about the nature of the world, ranging from one all-powerful single deity to the idea that all life was equal in the eyes of the gods, but they were non-people, and of course, their ideas were wrong. But even so, at some point in the people's history, they had learnt of the Emptiness. Learnt of it through the beings that resided within it. Beings that came in weapons not dissimilar to the ones he had seen mere hours ago. The Emptiness reached into the world, and took people into it in chains made of polished stone. The Emptiness would have taken them all if not for Raise the Light.

He could see her. Not just her orb, but he could see the shrine in the clearing up ahead. He quickened his pace, even as his stomach continued to shed blood, as if it were the hovering ocean itself releasing some of its water onto the world below. Trying to separate his mind from his body, he recalled the tale of how Raise the Glow had unleashed bolts of light on the creatures of the Emptiness, and driven them into the darkness. On that day, the people had learnt of the Emptiness, and understood that one day, they would enter it. Perhaps able to find one another in the dark, but in death, forever removed from the world. But in life, they would give thanks to all the gods. For they were, after all, the gods, and the Emptiness's spawn was as nothing compared to them. Yet where were they now?

Runs stumbled onto the shrine. It was in the shadow of a wooden statue of Raise the Glow, carved from the oldest and sturdiest of trees, but the shrine itself was made of dark, polished stone, salvaged from the mountain of fire near the village. A gift from Kindler of Flame, telling them to honour the gods. And so they had, as best they could, dragging the stone into the forest and fashioning it into a slab through upon which they could rest their palms and heads. Through hands, they would touch the gods, and through heads, they would know them. He would do that in a moment, but before he did that, he rummaged through the herbs that had been arrayed before it, bundled in sanger fur. Herbs, he reflected with satisfaction. He gingerly pressed the leaves against his stomach, stemming the flow of blood. It was important to keep the blood in the body – there were times when a member of the people had been lightly wounded, but still perished. The brulokon said that it was the work of air sprites, unable to be seen or felt, and they entered the body through the opening to do mischief. Runs could only hope that the spirits hadn't found him yet. If so, then there was little he could do. His mother had succumbed to the furless plague, and no amount of prayer had saved her.

Would prayer save him here and now? He used a long, thin branch to wrap the leaves around his stomach. He could only hope, but he had to pray for the people before he prayed for himself. So in silence, he pressed his head and palms against the shrine. They would hear his thoughts. See his fur, begging for aid. Whether they would act, he could not say. He drew himself back, looking past the shrine. He had done what had to be done. Now he dared look at Raise the Glow. Fashioned through wood, the work had been done to honour the sun goddess. When she had banished the creatures of the Emptiness. A being unlike any member of the people, he reflected – she was tall. Extraordinarily tall. She had no fur, two eyes, no nose or mouth, and her hands and legs (a mere two of them) were in strange proportions – thicker, for one thing Even her fingers differed, with two fingers and two thumbs, rather than the seven fingers every member of the people possessed. The gods had made the world, but they had not made the people in their own image. But the people had nonetheless tried to honour Raise the Glow in hers.

He looked up at the sky, to the golden orb still high above in the hovering ocean. Would the gods answer? Or would The Emptiness take them?

Lying down in the solid cloud and closing his eyes, Runs Quite Quickly could only hope that he would learn the answer before he entered the Emptiness regardless of the gods' actions.

Or lack of them.

"We have been here before. Haven't we?"

Selendis barely listened to Azimar. Her gaze was fixed on the observer feed, showing the drakul touch down in their Scythes, while their Pillagers remained in the sky, shooting back and forth with the speed of an acripide. The drakul raiders patrolled the streets of the village, while the latter had touched down outside its walls. They were large and solid enough that they would have easily crushed the eleesh's wooden homes without any effort, but Selendis supposed they didn't want to risk crushing any potential slaves. That, or damage any potential trinkets. She could make out the drakul themselves – shard rifles, plasma cannons, trinkets on their black armour that told the tales of previous conquests. Perhaps the drakul had their own twisted sense of honour and glory, but it was glory built off mountains of corpses, while their slaves toiled to maintain the mountain. The protoss had risen to their zenith by their own merits.

"Executor?"

She spared a glance at the prelate. "What?"

"The protoss. We have been to Barkul before."

"What are you talking about?"

He tossed Selendis an ihan crystal. With a brief use of telekinesis, she caught it in mid-air and brought it down to her palm. She probed the crystal with her mind, and thus beheld the data it contained. Eyes narrowed, she returned her gaze to the Nerazim.

"You retrieved this?"

"The archives of the Tsokavis are open to all. Even to those who did not fill them."

Selendis didn't dispute the point. Instead, she returned her focus to the crystal. Images filled her mind – not with as much clarity as a preserver might provide, but it demonstrated the point. Within the crystal, she could see the bridge of a carrier, centuries removed from hers in both time and design. Beyond its windows was the reach of space, as Illuminae-type fighters filled the sky, alongside a swarm of interceptors. But most of all was the executor on the bridge. The one she knew would soon descend to the surface of Barkul.

"Executor Nevosian."

The withdrew her mind from the crystal and pocketed it. Her fellow Templar continued their duties as was expected. Through the Khala, she could feel their presence, but her eyes were fixed only on the prelate.

"Three-hundred and six cycles ago, she commanded the carrier Machech to Barkul, in response to a drakul raid," Azimar continued. "Her single ship routed their entire raiding party, and the executor personally took to the surface to do battle. Not a victory that might be regularly discussed in the annals of your Empire's history, but given the rarity of female executors…"

He trailed off. Was he baiting her, Selendis wondered? Neither his words nor tone were barbed, but what purpose was there to telling her this? She tried to probe his mind with hers, but-

I have no secrets.

But she withdrew in frustration. Azimar was like a closed book, one with a cover as thick as the hull that protected her from the vacuum of space. If she was to open it…

"Why do you tell me this?" she asked. If she was going to open the book, she wanted to get it done quickly and efficiently. Once Artanis gave her his blessings to engage the drakul, Azimar's concerns would no longer matter.

"I am curious," Azimar said, "as to whether your judgement is clear on the matter at hand." Selendis made an attempt to respond but he continued to speak. "Even if one leaves aside the matter of Haven, one is still faced with the idea of glory. Over three centuries ago, an executor not dissimilar from yourself routed the drakul from this world. Now, the drakul return."

"Speak plainly, Azimar."

"I am not blind to the suffering of the eleesh, but I must ask whether your desire to aid them is based on the correct considerations. Is it by the dictates of the Dae'Uhl you seek to act? Or the dictates of honour and past glories?"

Selendis stood there. She was taller than Azimar. Physically, his superior. Deep down, in one of her hearts, she almost wished he would yell at her, or by the gods, attack her. War was simple, and war, she could fight. A duel with Azimar she could win. But he just stood there, plainly speaking through his telepathy. Just letting out blunt, uneasy sentences. Sentences that made her other two hearts writhe.

"Executor."

She didn't turn – she recognised Malekis's voice.

Templar?

Contact from Shakuras.

Put it through.

The conversation was silent - far more efficient than the worded communication she had with Azimar, and right now, she had nary a second to spare. Looking up at the viewscreen, she saw Artanis standing before her, in front of the seated members of the Hierarchy. Here, with only visual communication, she could not feel Artanis's mind through the Khala. But it mattered not. He was here, and would give her his blessings. Azimar had tried to obstruct her, but in the end, the drakul would feel the blades of the Templar.

"En taro Tassadar, Hierarch," Selendis said. "Your quick response is appreciated."

"As is your dedication," Artanis responded.

"I have more than just dedication. Give me your blessings, and the drakul will see our wrath as well."

She nearly said "my" wrath, but went with "our." She was not so naive as to believe that all of the Hierarchy would agree with Artanis's decision to engage the drakul. But the Daelaam, and the Hierarchy especially, was built on compromise, and it would do their hearts good to know that she spoke for all the protoss, not just the ones who-

"Executor, you are ordered to return to Shakuras immediately."

She froze.

She had never frozen before. Not in battle, not in peace, never. It was but for a moment, but in a moment, the universe would turn, stars would be born and die, and entire species could be snuffed out of existence. For but a moment, she stood there in silence. For a but a moment, she felt the claws of eternity.

"Hierarch…" She began. The moment had ended, but her confusion had not.

"I have listened to the Hierarchy's counsel," Artanis said, his eyes dim, his voice weary. "And I must decide that we cannot afford to engage the drakul. Not in this hour."

"But the Dae'Uhl-"

"May one day be again upheld, but our people must be whole to enforce it. The zerg are gone from the Koprulu sector, but united, the drakul could turn into a formidable threat. One we cannot afford to deal with."

"The drakul are…" Selendis trailed off. She couldn't believe it. Not from Artanis. Not after all they had seen together. Aiur, Shakuras, Braxis, Char, they had fought while others had perished, they had held back the night, they had shepherded their people into a twilight dawn. The one member of the Hierarchy whom she could call friend without reservation, one as close as any khas'lor…he would do this to her?

"You hesitate, Executor." It was Nahaan who spoke. "Are the hierarch's orders not heard?"

She remained impassive – of course Nahaan would want her back on Shakuras. So might other members of the Hierarchy. But Artanis had the final say. He was obliged to listen to their advice, not follow it. And yet, he was giving her orders that she could not comprehend.

"I hear the hierarch's orders," Selendis said slowly. She fixed her eyes on Artanis's. Both were the colour of sky, however dim. "But…" She paused. A storm raged in her mind, and while she was connected with the fellow Templar of her ship, from Artanis, there was only a void in the Khala, such was the distance of space.

"This is not Haven," she said slowly. Her voice low, her eyes dim.

"I did not suggest that it was."

"I have continued to transmit the observer feed. You know what the drakul have done. What they may do to other eleesh."

"I am aware of their plight."

"And you would have me flee."

"I would," Artanis said. "We both know that at times, flight is the only recourse left."

"And how many times do cowards give that excuse?"

She regretted the words immediately. Artanis was not a coward. After all that he had done for the Firstborn, she could never call him a coward. And yet, somehow, she had just done so. Looking into her hierarch's eyes, Artanis looked…hurt, she wondered? If so, only for a moment, because soon his eyes blazed with the glory of a newborn son. If she had hurt his spirit, that was secondary to the act of criticizing him in front of the Hierarchy.

"You shall return to Shakuras," he said firmly. "That is my decision."

And with that, the viewscreen winked out. A darkness remained on the screen, mirroring the darkness of space. The darkness of Shakuras that Artanis would bid her return to. A darkness that welled up within her soul.

"Executor."

She looked at Malekis. At all the other Templar on the bridge. They were silent, but through the Khala, she could feel them. Their thoughts. Their sympathy. In some cases, shame.

"Your orders?" Malekis asked.

Her eyes twinkled. Orders. The hierarch had given them orders, and yet he sought to hear the words from her. The words of an executor. Of a carrier commander. Of a warrior.

She strode off, paying no heed. Right now, she had no orders to give.

Only shame.