Chapter Thirty-Two: Hapan Pride
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An indignant shriek pierced the air for the tenth time that day, and Lera groaned. How many times are we going to do this take? Jolesp was filming Saja and Kalis' emotional-turmoil-in-the-face-of-coming-danger scene, and Hasi had yet to accept any of the cuts as perfect enough. It was her way, after all, to make everything as difficult as possible. But once Hasi started talking about perfection, Jolesp always recalled his dreams of a masterpiece. Unfortunately, some of the repeatedly recorded scenes were—
"You don't trust me, do you?!"
—rather annoying to listen to ad nauseum. Especially with a headache.
"I can't believe you wrote this."
Lera looked up in surprise. Arelyk sat next to her, grinning, without further incentive. "I thought you liked Nichyn," he continued.
She blinked at him. "Of course I do," she told her best friend. "I don't know why you would—"
As if on cue, Hasi slapped Nichyn across the face. "I wish I had never met you!" the character half-hissed, half-sobbed. "Get out of my way."
Lera winced, but then chuckled under her breath. "I didn't write the slap," she pointed out. "That was all Hasi."
"You didn't stop her, though," Arelyk teased.
She reached over to ruffle his hair playfully. "Since when does Hasi listen to me?" she asked innocently.
The sandy-haired boy laughed at her. "Fine. You didn't have anything to do with the slap. But the next scene is going to steal Nichyn's virtue, and I know you wrote that kiss."
Breaking, she grinned at him. "Okay," she admitted. "You got me. But I couldn't justify not putting it in. Hasi would never have let me hear the end of it." Sighing, she leaned back in her chair. A wave of fatigue suddenly rose up in her and tried to drag her under, but Lera managed—just—to shake it off.
"Ler?" Arelyk's hand, warm and calloused, pressed against the back of her shoulder as if to anchor her. "Are you alright?"
She let her eyes close for a moment, but they shot open as a warm thrill tracing her spine. "Thanks," she muttered. Using some of his transferred strength, she mustered up a smile for him. "I just haven't been sleeping well lately," she offered when his look of concern didn't fade.
Arelyk went to say something, then reconsidered. In the conversation's pause, Nichyn made his escape with a frustrated studio door slam. Hasi theatrically burst into tears that somehow only made her look more beautiful.
"Perfect!" Jolesp exclaimed. "That one's a wrap! Grab some water—Hasi, clean up—and we'll get everyone together for the op briefing scene."
"Well, that's my cue—"
Arelyk kept his hold on her. "Lera," he entreated. His eyes were steady. Worried.
"I—I'm fine," she insisted, not looking at him.
"You aren't," he corrected. "I know you, Ler. Even with a new brother for me, maybe a new best friend for you—"
She flinched, and glanced at Nichyn. "Arelyk…"
"But you've been my best friend since before the war. I know when something's wrong."
Her shoulders slumped. "I'm just not sleeping well." Seized by inspiration, she said, "I don't much like the dark lately. It can feel like drowning."
At once, Arelyk accepted the explanation—or he at least pretended to. "Mom could help you with that. Or I can, if you'd prefer it—"
"Help you with what?"
Lera's nerves were skittering from weariness, and she startled a little when Nichyn spoke. He had come up behind when she wasn't looking. Silently, she scolded herself; she was usually much better at keeping track of her surroundings outside of the inspiration haze. "Hey," she said quickly. She smiled, and hoped both Nichyn and Arelyk would let it go.
They didn't, because Nichyn frowned. "Are you well?" he murmured. Looking her over, he shook his head slowly. "You don't look so great."
"I'm fine," she snapped at both of them. Standing abruptly, she focused on not showing any weakness. "I appreciate your guys' concern. Really, I do. It's just a lack of sleep."
Nichyn's paranoid eyes caught her minute disorientation. When her vision swam, he slipped an arm around her waist. "You should go home and get some sleep, then," he told her.
Arelyk nodded quickly. "Definitely. Jolesp has enough guest rooms. Or one of us could walk you home. And it's the middle of the day—it won't be dark. Nothing like drowning."
That drew a sharp look from Nichyn. "Drowning?"
Lera protested. "We're behind on filming—"
"Well, I'm not sure Jolesp would appreciate your character sleeping through a strategy session." Arelyk grinned at her, now assured of her acquiescence.
His smile called out one of her own, if only briefly. "Okay, whatever, I'll go home. But I can walk on my own. Or take the trans," she added quickly, when Nichyn looked ready to protest. "I'm a big girl. It's just fifteen minutes away."
Arelyk smiled in relief. "Alright, then. I'll go tell Jolesp, okay? And call me tomorrow if you aren't feeling any better."
"I will," she agreed as he left.
Nichyn, however, didn't look as pleased—in fact, he looked more concerned than Arelyk had been. He didn't say anything (yet), though. She hoped for his sake that her sleeping problem resolved itself. Nichyn had enough to worry about without adding her to the list.
Besides, she had a feeling Nichyn might not like what she was doing. Even if it was for his aunt.
He was frowning, still, and Lera's stomach tightened. Leaning in on impulse, she kissed his cheek. "I'll be okay," she told him. She didn't smile too much, because she knew he didn't need that. "I promise."
He stared at her for a moment, until Lera's face turned red. Had she really just kissed Nichyn? she wondered in embarrassment. It had only been friendly, only meant to comfort him, and chase away the too-old look in his eye. But in retrospect, it seemed… Well, she couldn't see a Na'Lein girl, browbeaten or furious, doing anything like it. Had a kiss been too much?
But then he smiled crookedly, and she thought he knew that she had needed that response from him. "I will see you later," he told her. His accent seemed just a touch thicker than usual. "Yes?"
"S-sure," she stuttered. "L-later." Realizing that she was blushing, Lera reddened even more. What was going on with her, anyway? Sleep deprivation, suggested a shaky voice inside her head.
They shared a smile, and Lera's blush faded. "Later," she repeated.
She made it to her house, and just into her room, before everything spun and turned black.
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Lera's parents were fighting again when Nichyn visited that night. Hallis paused to greet him, and Jamut offered to bring up some treats for Lera and Nichyn. Extricating himself from the awkward situation as quickly as possible, Nichyn merely declined, thanked them, and ascended the stairs. If Lera had gone along with his and Arelyk's pleas, she would have had several hours' sleep. That done, he didn't doubt she would be back up on her feet by now.
He remembered to knock on her door. Shanya and Timmis had finally drilled the practice into his head a month ago. When no answer came, however, he entered without permission. Lera wouldn't mind. At least this time he had come in through the door, rather than the window.
Entering the dark room brought a frown to his face. She had come home to sleep, hadn't she? Or had she snuck out? It wouldn't be a very Lera-like act, sneaking out, but…
Without thinking, he flicked the lights on. Almost immediately, he dimmed them to half-brightness. Lera was only barely sprawled across her bed, and obviously still very much asleep. She hadn't even kicked off her shoes, let alone changed into sleepwear. Checking his second-hand chrono, Nichyn reassured himself that nine hours had passed since he last saw her.
He might have dismissed it, maybe, because his mother had occasionally spent days in her room resting. But Lera had never displayed his mother's symptoms. Besides, Lera was…Lera. And Arelyk might have been the first to comment, but Nichyn had noticed the way her health had been spiralling downward.
Hesitating only a little, Nichyn crouched next to Lera's bed. As her curtains were tightly closed, he could only just make out her features in the greatly dimmed light. But the new perspectives—for once more shadow than the familiar light—made Nichyn's hands itch for a stylus and sketchbook. There was something fascinating about the change.
A particularly sharp back-and-forth between Lera's parents penetrated the floor. The teenager scowled down at them—didn't they realize what they were doing to Lera? Movement from Lera's bed, however, soon distracted him. The fingers of her left hand spasmed, then did so again.
His forehead creased. Lera?" he whispered.
She muttered something; her fingers tightened, and her wrist moved jerkily. Her shoulders twisted. Lera almost whimpered—needy, lost, but not high enough in pitch. Her left hand was now speeding through motion—and he realized she was writing. Scrawling on imagined flismi. But whatever she was writing, it wasn't pleasant.
He spared only a moment's more thought—Lera cried something that sounded like "Sanar!"—then firmly shook one of her shoulders. She was trembling. "Lera," he said. "It's a nightmare. Wake up."
When she flailed again, he injected some steel into his voice. "Lera."
Her eyes flew open. "What—?"
His hands cupped her face. "Are you well? You were—"
But Lera wasn't listening. As quickly as she had woken, she grabbed a notebook from her nightstand. "Sanar, Sildar," she muttered. "Rafintair and then—"
Nichyn's lungs seized at the emperor's name. He knew he had not spoken it since leaving home. If there was even a chance that the Holy Brothers monitored galactic communications… He wouldn't have put Lera in such a situation. What was going on?
Lera hadn't taken a moment to get to her desk. Spreading the notebook across her knees—were they getting thinner?—she wrote furiously, nearly tearing into the paper. Still muttering, but incoherent.
Nichyn stared. Her stylus was clutched tightly in her left hand.
He thought of the thousands of times he had watched her write. He thought of his sketches of her—dreamy and pensive, strange and new, lovely. Even at her most inspired, soft—not weak. Stylus held properly in her right hand, not tight enough to cramp her fingers.
He watched Lera.
When she stopped writing, and started crying, he reached up. Took the flimsi—threw, he threw the cursed sheets away—and pulled her to him.
When she finally came back to him, his shirt was wet from her tears. Nichyn held her tighter.
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"I know you're awake."
She was, but only barely. Only in this state after what felt like hours of drifting between sleep and reality. Reality, Lera found, that was more painful than would have been preferred. She winced at her pounding headache—the tell-tale, increasingly familiar consequence of a session with Devnos. Apparently, her dreams had slipped into a trance. She hoped it was successful, at least.
Everything but Nichyn seemed muted, distant. He was lying next to her—when had he even gotten here, let alone ended up in her bed? But that didn't matter—here he was, his concerned face very close to hers, and his right arm wrapped around her protectively.
The girl tried to get her bearings, but they came slowly. She had come home from—her mind searched—from Jolesp's filming, and Hasi's irritating repetitions. Arelyk and Nichyn. They had been worried, and had convinced her to go home. For sleep. She grimaced. Whatever Nichyn had seen, it wasn't part of the "make everything look normal" game plan. But what had he…?
She had come home. Slept. She had definitely slept. But had she rested too long, and Nichyn had found her like that? But so often now she flitted restlessly from dream to consciousness; she would have woken up if he had made any noise…
Of course, she admitted, this was Nichyn. He could be very quiet when he wished.
Nichyn's breath was warm near her face. As if sensing her questions, he spoke. "You left Jolesp's house twelve hours ago. Three hours before this, I came to see if you were well. Instead, you were still sleeping, and I was concerned."
Okay. That's okay, Lera. You can fix that. "I told you," she tried, her voice rusty with too much sleep. "I haven't been sleeping well." She stretched her lips a little. "I must have been catching up."
He tucked her hair behind her ear. His expression, normally solemn, was particularly grim. His eyes were wider, more vulnerable than she had previously seen them. "That wasn't what worried me the most."
She didn't like where this was going. Didn't like the look in his eyes, or that he was so clearly upset. He didn't smile enough. Sometimes she could sometimes make him brighten—but now he was concerned for her. She might not be able to make him smile tonight.
"When you woke up, you—you were—" Nichyn's eyes finally told her what he could not say. Far too much for you to explain away.
"Oh." She sat up slowly, her back to him. "Um, I—I see. S-so you s-saw…"
"What is going on, Lera?"
She crawled out of her bed, and stood. It was so cold for Gallinore, tonight. Making her sleep-heavy muscles work, she went to her closet and searched it quickly. She found an oversized sweater, and pulled it on over her T-shirt. Finally, she turned around to look at him. "I'm not sure how you're going to react," she said nervously.
"Then I think you should definitely tell me." He sat up, but had not moved any more than that. Lera expected this to change soon.
"A-a couple m-months ago, I—that is, y-your uncle—I-I mean…"
Nichyn's expression darkened, and his entire body tensed in preparation for a blow. "It's really bad. Isn't it?"
She snorted, and shook her head at her own dramatics. Way to make everything worse, Verili. "No. I mean, yes—but not for me. For your aunt, it could be very bad."
"My…aunt?" he repeated blankly.
Lera slowly nodded. "Sanar. It's about the—the prophecy."
"Prophecy." He stared at her for a moment. He shook his head. "What prophecy?"
"The one Devnos recorded. About destroying Pucijir's Order."
"Devnos? Devnos—as in my mother's brother? Isn't he—" dead, but he shook that off as unimportant. "Lera, what— How do you even know any of this?"
Her hands twisted in the bulk of her sweater as she looked away. Nichyn wasn't going to take this well. She wished she had never gone home and slept while he and Arelyk were worrying. "I don't now h-how to say this without making you think I'm c-crazy."
Nichyn took in her pallor, her darkened eyes. "I won't," he promised. "Just tell me."
It was her turn to stare. "I—" With frightening intensity, she flashed back to drowning, and a voice in her head promising she would be okay. It would have been helpful for that voice to show up again. He had come to her, after all.
"Whatever it is," Nichyn said, "we'll get through it. Come on." He patted the spot next to him coaxingly. His eyes were still too dark.
She took a hesitant step, and then another, and then finally crossed the room and sat next to him on the bed. "It started a couple months ago, not long after—after I almost drowned. I never told you something that happened."
He stiffened. "You didn't really speak of it at all."
"No, I—I couldn't." She found his left hand, and squeezed it. "When I was—in the water—I was barely conscious, because of my head. I almost blacked out completely, but a…voice kept me with it, and helped me work through the concussion. If he hadn't helped me, I—I would have died."
She saw him swallow. "A voice. Devnos?"
"I didn't know it was him until later—at the time, all I knew was that it couldn't be just my imagination. Nichyn, I grew up with Arelyk. I know what a Force voice feels like. He's real."
"I believe you," Nichyn was quick to assure. "What happened next?"
"A few weeks later, he came and told me—he said I was the only one he could reach. They were blocking him." At Nichyn's confused expression, she clarified. "Prophecy and—and Vengeance, I suppose. Although I get the sense that Vengeance…doesn't have the full story. About what happens to Sanar." She frowned warily. "Nichyn, what's wrong?"
He had paled considerably. With a wordless look for her, he stood. He walked the length of the room, then turned around and paced back. When he came to her again, he stopped. "What is supposed to happen to Sanar?"
Nichyn hadn't claimed either Sanar or Devnos as family. Lera thought it strange, as she felt oversensitive to the blood links. At his question, however, she flushed. "I don't—I can't really say."
"He didn't tell you?" Nichyn demanded. "You're losing sleep, ruining your health, and he didn't—"
"No, he told me," she corrected. Her voice was a touch too harsh. "The first night, he told me everything. But it isn't…safe for me to know. Prophecy might pick up on it, and stop me from helping. I remember—I remember how horrified I was, how much I needed to react to the truth. But I can't recall the details."
"Then how are you supposed to help?"
She bristled at his tone. "I write. It's—hard to explain, but I—it's like I'm…in a trance, and Devnos dictates a message. It takes so long because it's garbled with my thoughts, and so that Prophecy can't catch on. I think we're almost done." She smiled at him.
Nichyn loosed a torrent of Na'Lein words. They didn't sound particularly polite. Finally, "I cannot believe you agreed to this. Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? Do you? Or do you just not care?"
Instantly, she was on her feet and nose-to-nose with him. "You're completely overreacting," she firmly told him. "Devnos is taking every precaution—"
"Every precaution would be leaving you out of it," Nichyn all but snarled.
The force of his anger nearly bowled her over, but Lera refused to be intimidated. "—and," she continued, "I happen to think that saving a life is worth a little risk!"
"A little risk?" Nichyn repeated, aghast. "Lera. If Devnos is telling you the truth—"
"He is."
"Then you're going against—against prophecy, against the will of the goddess. Why do you think Devnos is trying to be so 'careful'? This is dangerous, and you have to put an end to it. Right now, before They do catch on, and you end up hurt—or worse."
"This is about saving a woman's life." Lera's voice was quiet, but it couldn't be described as weak.
"How do you know? You can't remember what is supposed to happen, can you? For all you know, she gets hurt. Maybe she—she loses a leg. I'm sure her brother would want to prevent that, but it's none of your business. Sanar used to be part of the Resistance, she accepted the risks years ago."
"Didn't your mother do the same?" Lera retorted. "Gantik? But you'd help them if they needed it."
"You don't even know Sanar," Nichyn hissed. "How is your life worth that of a stranger?"
"Someone is in very real danger, and I can do something to help them." Lera crossed her arms over her chest.
"And it is very noble of you," Nichyn replied, his eyes still hard. "But I cannot accept the risks."
She raised her chin. "They aren't for you to accept."
Nichyn's hands became fists. "I can't protect you when you do something like this." Panic flitted across his face.
Her temper abated some at his concern. Still, her pride pricked at his assumption that she needed a boy to save her. "I didn't ask for it." To soften the blow, she placed her hands on his shoulders. "Nichyn. You aren't on Na'Lein'yhpaon anymore. I'll be fine."
"You cannot beat the gods, Lera. Nature gets what It wants, and It will destroy anything that gets in Its way. You're just a girl, and that makes you—"
"Yes?" She crossed her arms over her chest. "It makes me what?"
He opened his mouth to speak—stopped—swallowed. Searched her face. "I've seen too many girls hurt, Lera."
"I'm not going to stop." The pride of the Hapan matriarchy stiffened Lera's voice. She had never really bought into the gender inequalities—her father, and Gallinore's mildness had seen to that—but challenge presented an irresistible opportunity. "And you can't change that."
Nichyn's concern turned into anger. "Then maybe I should go."
Lera took a deep breath—and released it. A dozen reassuring responses crawled over her tongue. Capitulation—easy, gentle agreement to make him smile and not worry—called her name. She held her ground. "If you think it best."
He didn't move as the anger slowly drained from his face.
She shuffled her feet a little, glanced at the window. The silence went on, on and on, and she ached to realize that it wasn't their typical, comforting brand. It felt stifling.
She thought of her parents, and one of them obliged her with a slammed door. Lera wondered if it was her mother's or her father's turn to cry alone.
"I don't want to fight with you," she murmured. "I just…I want you to understand."
Nichyn only glared at the floor.
When he didn't leave, she struggled to smile. "So, how did you end up in my bed, anyway?" Make him smile, Lera.
He looked up, but his jaw had tightened. "After he finished—when you stopped writing…you started crying, and I just wanted to…" He stumbled for words. Now adjusted to using Basic, it seemed Nichyn only fumbled for words because of her. "Comfort you. You were so upset." He looked away.
"I don't remember that," she confessed in hushed tones. "I—I guess—"
He strode from the room, and didn't look back. She had chosen the wrong response. No smiles tonight.
"Thank you," she finished miserably.