A/N: The Klingon Chant in this Chapter comes from Tremor3258's The Chant of War. It is used here with permission. You should also check out his other works.

Master Surot had Juliette stay after evening meditation. She had tried to appear unhurried leaving, but it was like he just knew she had other plans. Hopefully, T'Mar would at least wait to go to the summit, or even put it off for another night, but there was no way to let her know she was delayed. Juliette approached the mat to kneel when Master Surot raised his hand to stop her and rose to his feet.

"Come with me."

Juliette followed Master Surot down the hallway to the lift. Only when she felt the jolt of the car did she realize they were going upward.

"Master, where are we going?" Juliette asked. She expected a non-answer.

"We're going to visit the Kolinahr Masters, Juliette."

The masters! A non-answer would have been better. They felt like people - until one fell into the chasm of their emotional void. Soulless and empty. She looked below the grating of lift and watched the cable shiver into darkness. It was too late to make excuses and running was out of the question. What had she done to deserve this?

The lift rattled to a stop. His hand pressed on her back to encourage her hesitant steps out of the lift. "Still your mind, Novice Sri, and for now, see only with your eyes and listen only with your ears. Remain silent of both mind and voice."

Despite his instructions, Juliette's mind rambled through the avalanche of excuses to avoid the masters. Her mind couldn't, wouldn't be quiet as the hallway closed on her. Master Surot pulled his hood over his head. The upper levels had the same oblong hallways lit with inset lights, but Instead of banners, each alloy beam had been carefully etched in such a way that the letters glittered with a delicate grace on the dull gray surface. The thrum of the machinery of the lower levels didn't extend to this one, and the silence increased the sense of emptiness.

Surot guided her to a small chamber. The furniture had been replaced with floor mats and a small table for water. Both floor and ceiling were ornately etched with a circle over four squares. Six masters sat in rows of four; their robes were white with blue trim, that even ran along the edges of their cowls pulled over their faces.

How peaceful they seemed, Juliette thought, if she only looked with her eyes.

Master Surot led Juliette by the sleeve and had her kneel down on the opposite side of the chamber and pointed to her the medical gloves on her hands. She winced at the snapping sound the made coming off, but no one seemed disturbed. Master Surot took her hand as he removed his cowl, and positioned her fingers at his temple and cheek.

Juliette Sri.

She hadn't even noticed the connection, but it didn't feel as strange as before. Master Surot.

I suspect because you are an empath, that you experience the Kolinahr Masters differently from myself. I want you to see what I experience when in contact with another Kolinahr Master to see if it still distresses you. Vulcans are primarily telepathic through touch; this will be a new experience for both of us.

Juliette wished someone was familiar with the experience, but there was no point in arguing. One by one, she surrendered her senses, relying only on Master Surot's. The sixth was the hardest of all, but her curiosity won out over her prudence and her awareness opened to the Vulcans around her.

What she had experienced as an emotional void, Master Surot perceived as a brilliant cerebration; the flow of clear, precise contemplation unfettered from an emotional reaction. Each moment of lucid, perfect reasoning coalesced into a line, then to a point of pure logic. Juliette felt neither relief nor terror, just amazement at how freeing it was for the Vulcan mind.

As she observed through Master Surot's perceptions, she awakened her own awareness. The void within each of the Vulcans returned, but she let Master Surot's perceptions overlay hers so that void and not-void were superimposed.

Fascinating, Surot said. Why did you do that?

I'm not sure, Master Surot. I think because I could.

So you can see how their emotion would foil their logic, how emotion keeps them away from the Way.

I can. But I also see what is missing, what must be sacrificed to stay on the Way.

Indeed. But we have been here long enough, Juliette Sri. Nighttime chimes have already rung, and if you become tired, your perceptions may slip, and disturb the Masters.

But Juliette didn't feel tired in the least, and as they rose, the connection lingered. She found the impression neither disorienting nor distressing - but just a sensation that, that like everything, would pass in time. She did not feel hope, but certainty. It was only logical that she should get better, and master not only her own emotions but how she felt those around her. Even now, while she sensed the frustration of another nearby, there was no pain.

She shared the experience with Master Surot so that he might see the progress. Master Surot halted and caught her elbow.

"Perhaps," he said, his voice low, "a tangent is in order. Speak not, novice, and do as you are bid, no matter what we find."

The burst of emotion was a single light in a darkened room, but the straight line of her mind was diverted by the physical walls and corridors between. They walked to dead ends and through rooms both empty and occupied. At least those inconvenienced were gracious, save a trio of masters who sat cramped in a far closet. Hidden behind their cowls, they looked like all the others on the Way but felt completely different.

"My mistake, Novice," Surot said, pulling Juliette back out of their room. "This is in use." He quietly shut the door and remained quiet, in both voice and mind, all the way back to the lift and down to the dormitory floor.

"One can expect," Master Surot said, "that you have a better understanding of the Masters."

"Yes, Master, I do. But I found the tangent confusing. Who were-"

"Do not concern yourself with that, and it is best if you did not discuss it with any of the novices or Initiates. Focus on your own improvement, and leave others to their own."

It seemed natural to meditate in her room as the connection with Master Surot waned. It would fade but remain a signpost - a guide to a way of living pain-free and stay connected to the minds around her. A world of pure reason, a reason that told her she could not live in the void forever, no more than Vulcans could live out of it.

A soft chirp came from her console and section of the panel blinked in FthinraKathi. Message.

"Novice Sri?" The voice was T'Mar's, high and thin through the speaker.

"Novice T'Mar. I did not know we could send messages through our consoles."

"I found a way to use older channels - these are kept private and outside of the channels used by Initiates and for novices to contact an initiate. We must leave soon if we are to get to the summit tonight. Can you still come? I scheduled the sensors to cycle so that we could be up here unobserved. There is still time."

"I do, but I want to share something with you.

"Perhaps it is the communication system, but you sound - different."

"It is not. Come to my cell."

"Let me check who is-"

"No one is in the hallway. If you leave now, no one will see you."

Juliette opened the door to her cell in unison with T'Mar and, as Juliette had sensed, the hallway was empty. Nevertheless, T'Mar moved quickly to Juliette's cell.

"There are no rules about you being here, is there?"

"Not during hours, though after hours like this is -"

"Improper?"

"Unusual. You do sound different."

Juliette knelt in the center of the cell offering T'Mar a place in front of her. "Master Surot took me to experience the Kolinahr Masters."

"What was it like?" T'Mar asked, kneeling across from Juliette.

"It is difficult to explain. It will not last, but I want to try something." Juliette removed her gloves.

T'Mar leaned away. "Are you sure this is safe?"

"Mostly."

T'Mar's frown gave way to a slight nod. She leaned forward. Juliette placed her hand at T'Mar's face, her skin softer than she had anticipated. There was no rush or pain as each cautiously waited on their side of the connection. T'Mar brought her fingers to Juliette's temple and cheek.

There were stumbles. Already the example from the Kolinahr Masters was fading, but enough to smooth the jolts.

This-This is the path I must walk. Juliette are you-

I am unhurt. I wanted you to see as the Masters saw, if only for a moment.

I have. I am grateful. I will walk this path one day.

You will.

Will you not?

I do not think I can. I do not think Betazoids were meant to be without emotion. But I am gratified we can communicate like this.

As am I. Now we know the how, we can try again after we get the logs from the summit.

Before they left, Juliette found the bird pin and pinned it under her scapular so that it barely peeked out under the cloth near her collarbone. The contact with T'Mar lingered after they parted, just like with Surot. But unlike Surot, she found that with just occasional glances or even a touch to the back of her hand, she could maintain the connection.

They drifted down the hallway, apart and together, to the lift. Outside at the summit, the wind tugged at their hoods and robes with warm gusts. Much of the very first monastic structures were left in place. Juliette ran her fingers over the worn scrollwork that turns its way up the scoured pillars.

Here is where Surak contemplated the Plain of Blood just days before the Time of Awakening. This is the first sight of civilization seen by those who walk the Sas-a-shar desert. Here is the spire for those that walk the Sas-a-shar desert. This is where P'nem and Lorot were bound. Where T'Mar's parents were bound, and where T'Mar and Danek were bound.

Juliette sniffed. Do you smell smoke?

I do. There is a fire pit near the center. Few make fires - especially this time of year. I hear voices. I cannot identify the language.

Let us see who they are.

What if they are an emotional species? Would that hurt you?

Possibly, but I feel - I do not feel discomfort, but if we do, I will go back.

But right now, no one can see what is happening on the Summit.

Juliette felt T'Mar's self-control win over her worry. A relief, sometimes even the sparse emotions of a Vulcan could hurt. But for now, she could follow the growing presence to the center of the summit.

From the shadows of an obelisk, they watched a twisting column of fire silhouette two bulky figures seated at the rounded edge of the pit. A third leaned on a stout walking staff, his robes billowing in the wind, as he chanted in harsh, guttural tones.

Klingons. T'Mar thought to Juliette, her hand on her forearm. They are not usually here. We will have to go back another night.

We cannot. Do you see the lights on top of the sensor spire, they are signaling another sandstorm. It may be days if not weeks before we can come back here. By then, the sensor data might be gone.

You are right. Perhaps we can go around and approach the sensor station from the shadows.

As Juliette turned to follow, she stumbled over a small canister in the darkness. It tumbled and make a hollow gong sound as it toppled to the stone.

The chanting stopped, and a low voice growled, "Who is there? Show yourself or run as a coward."

Juliette caught T'Mar's sleeve before she could retreat. We have no logical reason to run.

I believe your logic is flawed.

It is not. We belong here, they are guests, and the Klingons fought for the Federation against the Dominion.

That does not make these Klingons our friends.

Have you met a Klingon before?

I have seen them in Shikahr City. I am not sure-

A Klingon's voice cut off T'Mar's thought. "Who is there! Show yourself, coward or not!"

"We are not cowards," Juliette called out, throwing her cowl as far forward as it would go before stepping out of the shadows. She could feel the pressure of T'Mar's apprehension. "We did not want to disrupt your … presentation."

One of the seated figures leaned forward. "Vulcan monks, and women, from the sound of them. Just when the desert was losing its luster. Sit, drink bloodwine, perhaps play one of those harps of yours."

The Klingon's lecherous attention felt slick and oily, but there was no pain. She sorted through refusals in her mind when the one standing brought his staff down with both hands with a loud crack.

"Enough. Tekkas." The Klingon pushed himself forward. He was a mountain that moved, the buckles of his armor strained under his robes. He had ropes of gray hair that cascaded down to his shoulder blades but was cut back in front to show his thick brow ridges, split by a deep scar. The furrow went to his chin, running under an electronic eye plate that flickered over T'Mar, and then Juliette.

"These are not comfort women for you to bore with stories of gore and conquest, but novices of the Monastery below - no older than my Grandson, no doubt. But monks none the less." The false eye flared red, then dimmed to an amber coal. "Ignore Tekkas, the Blood Worm, he is full of drink and himself. I am Groth, Lore Singer of House Kor. You have met Tekkas, of House Grilka and his brothers, Kras, and Morrd."

Juliette started to speak, but T'Mar cut her off. "I am Initiate T'Mar. And this is...Novice P'Jul."

"Welcome to our fire. As as for interrupting, I have sung during the ritual slaughter of thirty Targ for the Grand Feast. If I can get through the entire lineage of Mogh over that squealing, I have no concern being heard over a pair of monks. Sit, if you wish, and hear the end of the tale."

We should get our information and go, T'Mar thought, but…

I, too, am curious. Is there time.

We cannot stay too long, but the summit scanners are notoriously slow to get back online.

Juliette positioned herself next Tekkas and kept her hood up; T'Mar sat next to her and slid hers back.

"What of your friend?" Tekkas asked indicating Juliette with his flagon. "Is she to hide in her robes?" He smelled like the contents of his cup; both burned Juliette's nostrils.

"She has taken a vow," T'Mar said, and Groth slammed his staff to the ground once more. The volume of his chant flowed in and out with the gusts of the wind.

"D'ellian of M'ara, daughter of merchants" spoke steely eyed Jm'pok

"You have fought against the Demons, in the void and the ground.

"You have fought them well, led other great warriors to battle

"And were entrusted with the honor of a noble-born House leader."

"You have done all these things that were asked, and the Chanter has said your honor

"He has spoken well of you and yours. Of your cleverness in building an army

"In your strength at fighting the attack from dishonorable curs

"In your honor in holding the troops and the Lowlands"

Steely-eyed Jm'pok spoke to the witchborn and the crowd

"So we name you still General in the KDF, General to the Council and leader

"But we name you also a great warrior, unparalleled in honor

"D'ellian, daughter of merchants, we name you Dahar Master!"

And the nobles once again roared, now with steely-eyed Jm'pok

Seeing beneath the smooth skin, and the green

Seeing beneath it all to the heart of the Klingon that beat there.

To the honor done to their home by a daughter of merchants.

Juliette imitated T'Mar's bow. She felt neither admiration nor respect within the Klingons as they filled his mug several times, and clapped his broad shoulders. Especially in Tekkas, from whom she felt wariness and loathing despite his boisterous laughter.

So this is what hate feels like. Watery and mean. Venal. No wonder Matron never wanted her to witness it. Through the clarity of logic, Tekkas' hatred only seemed a waste, but held an intensity that burned and forced her to put attention elsewhere.

With a glance, T'Mar's alarm surged to Juliette. The one called Tekkas keeps staring at me.

He only wants to unnerve you. Ignore him.

Tekkas asked, "Will you play the harp, or give us a lively poem, girl? Wait I have one for you, Every Seven Years, a Vulcan wench-"

"We really must be-"

Juliette stood. "I have a poem."

You do? T'Mar asked, for connected as they were, Juliette's lie was obvious.

The Loresinger lumbered to a seat, draining and filling his mug yet again, which Juliette took as a sign to stand. What poem could she use? Free of panic, her mind was clear. She took a deep breath and reached at the Loresinger - not for the thoughts, but for his rhythm - that deep pulse that started with his heart beat.

Surak was alone,

Followed by one,

One who followed him

Across the Plain of Blood

You seek answers,

Said Surak,

For you have followed me

Across the Plain of Blood

He who followed said nothing

And Surak moved on

Only to ask again

And upon the third such ask

He said,

How can you give me answers when

You know not who I am?

Surak said,

I know who you are,

He who followed me

Across the Plain of Blood.

You are Death and you have followed me

Long before the Plain of Blood

Now my time is close

Do you not fear me? Death asked

I, who followed you

Before the Plain of Blood

Surak said,

Why should I fear the logical end

Of all that lives?

Fear

I have left behind

Anger

I have left behind

Hope

I have left behind

Love

I have left behind

Juliette let the words flow through her and let the moments with the Kolinahr Masters permeate her mind and like in the Operas, pushed it outward, through her words and thoughts. The Operas had their choruses to emote to the audience. Juliette only had herself.

Surak, I,

The question of trillions,

Question you.

Will you not fight tomorrow?

You will win and

Rule for a century

Surak said,

I shall not fight,

To win a kingdom of cinders.

I will not be

An emperor of glass.

Then, said he who followed

Across the Plain of Blood

You will die, and those who would

Fight for you

Die.

Alone. On the Plain of Blood.

Surak said

I die.

As all dies.

But logic dictates

Otherwise is folly.

He who followed

Was quiet.

And then said,

Rejoice then, for

You Die and yet

A century of centuries

Will Vulcan know peace

And Live Long

And Prosper

Surak did not rejoice

Surak did not lament

And his logic

Cooled the Plain of Blood.

Juliette remained still at the last word even as her head started pounding, and for a moment the Tekkas and his brothers sat stunned, the bloodwine forgotten in their hands. Juliette squeezed her hands together in the silence to still their trembling.

The hate of Tekkas was dulled, and she could see him in his entirety. She gasped to herself.

The Loresinger lifted his staff and slammed it to the ground three times. "Well done, Novice of the Sas-a-shar. You would make a passable Loresinger, even if your songs lack blood." He looked her over carefully with his false eye flickering. "Initiate T'Mar, I would consult with your novice in private. House of Kor vouchsafes her hale return."

T'Mar looked to Juliette, and then to the listless Klingons, who drank without spirit.

That was a most unusual tale.

It is from the opening of Laerta of the First House, mixed with our history lessons.

I do not remember Surak's meditations on the future of Vulcan involving a consultation with Death.

It is an allegory.

I am not sure Surak would have approved of allegories, though I approve of its effect on the Klingons.

Let me speak with Loresinger Groth. I have something to tell him.

T'Mar pretended to consider the Groth's words, then nodded. "Take a circuit of the outer wall. I will finish our rounds and wait for you to keep the word of House Kor."

Groth pushed himself upward with his staff. His gate was deliberate, each thud of his staff a challenge of wood, sand, and stone. The pathway along the outer wall was bordered by motes of light embedded in the stone. He was quiet until the T'Mar and the rest were far away.

"Know well, Novice, that I have traveled far to hear the songs of the Galaxy. I have recited the great chants of Qu'nos, and seen the Carnal Clan Dances of Orion - are stories not yet for your young eyes, to be sure. I have heard the Terran Symphony of the Third War, and the Seven by Seven Trill Sermon of Mak'ala."

"Those must have been magnificent experiences."

"They are to stories of a full life well lived, and yet there are many more to be heard and sung. I have also experienced three Betazoid Passion Operas - after all once does not just see or hear those, do they?" His voice trailed away. "You have a gift girl. A mighty one at that. I have never seen the fiery spirit of House Kor so cooled. And so, know that I know - your eyes are black, your blood flows red, and your deception is revealed. But this is no Klingon song, where liars are gutted and consigned to the hell of prevarication. Few will keep your secret better than I."

Juliette paused, then slid her hood back, if only to better see the path. "I am grateful."

"Then perhaps the Betazoid witch would show her gratitude, and tell secrets only her black eyes can see."

"Know that the brothers of the House of Grilka hate you, and would kill you before you complete your journey across the Plain of Blood."

Loresinger Groth stopped and stared at her, then erupted in a harsh laugh. "I said tell me something that I do not know, girl. Yes, they will fight me on the Plain of Blood, and I will die a warrior's death and go to Sto-ko-vor."

"Tekkas means to kill you unaware, after you have passed out on Bloodwine, and resign you to the hell of cowards and drunkards."

His laughter ended with unease. The skulls in his beard rattled as he scratched it in thought. "Then he is to be disappointed. I am no longer thirsty, and will sleep lighter than he, and-" He paused and raised his staff, pushing aside the fold of her scapular to expose the pin beneath. "maw'Tok! Why do you wear that?" He prodded her hard with his staff.

She staggered backward more the abrupt burst of anger. "I found it. Do you know what it is?"

"I know that had I seen you wearing it before your story, I would have killed you straight away. No one wears the sigil of the raptor." But his sudden rage diminished as he studied her, and he once again leaned on his staff. "It is foolish to adorn yourself in things you do not understand, girl."

Juliette removed the pin, holding it in her hand between them. "Tell me what this is, and why it makes you so angry."

Loresinger Groth leaned close and studied the pin, the light from his fake eye playing across its damaged surface. "Yes, indeed. It is one of theirs. If in a style over half a century old. How is it that you found a badge of the Tal Shiar on Vulcan?"

Juliette swallowed. "What is the Tal Shiar?" Just saying the name brought out a sense of loathing from the Klingon.

"Know you after the Time of Awakening, those that would not follow Surak left under the banner of the Raptor?"

"The Romulans?"

"Yes, the Tal Shiar was formed to protect the Romulan Star Empire from its enemies, both without and within. Now it serves itself, and Romulus is a planet lost dark with the shadows of intrigue and paranoia; the protected live in fear of their protectors, and the old lessons of Vulcan are to be played anew. That is the symbol you wear, Betazoid witch, one that is despised among all civilized peoples."

Juliette stared at the bent, scarred little bird. How could it be so hated? And how could-

P'nem. Or was it Lorot? Danek? No, not Danek. He told her to go get a robe from the store room. Had it been on the recycler? Or had it been in that box she had pulled down?

Did whoever was the owner miss it?

Were they looking for it?

"Thank you," Juliette whispered. The badge felt cold and heavier than before as she secreted it in her sleeve. She felt sad Groth would die, but his resolve was as solid as the mountains around them. If he stayed sober, Tekkas and his brothers would have to fight him, and the Loresinger would die as he chose. Come tomorrow, as he had said, her secret would be kept within the Sas-a-shar.

Juliette pulled her hood forward before they rounded the corner. T'Mar alone arose as the brothers of House Grilka snored.

The data has been put to a crystal. We can examine it in our cells. But we must hurry, the summit sensors will soon be working again.

Juliette bowed low. "Farewell, Groth, Loresinger of House Kor."

The Loresinger replied with a stern nod. "Qapla, Novice of the Sas-a-shar."

They hurried to the lift.

What did you talk to the Loresinger about?

Between the poem and the Klingon's emotion, Juliette's head throbbed. I will tell you later. I have something to show you.