It is midday, and in the barest shade of the Ausez cliffs, Vekka jai Kandakis is running.
Her breathing is sharp and fast; her lig swords beat the side of her legs with each step, to keep time with those whose feet pound against the parched earth behind her.
They are her own. Kolkpravis. What more need she say of them than that?
Even on the moors of Aschal-Kalee[****], in the cold ravines of Grendaju, they have heard that name. It is repeated, over and over, below a thousand's breath, like prayers for the new-dead. The kolkpravis, the victors, the kolkpravis, the brave. They have retaken the Rim from the Huk, and they can save us all and they will—or else what have we to hope for?
At this hour though, they are only the reinforcements to an unnamed town, at the base of the Ausez Cliffs. The kell-fields part before them, as though drawn aside by a thousand hands—an errant steppe wind, Kandakis would have assumed, save that nothing else moves around them. Her mouth draws back into a thin smile. It is good to have the dead of a place on their side. She's taken many a battle she should not have because of their actions—and, as well, her name: 'Kai nadak is, 'chosen of the dead[††††]'.
As she bows her head in an acknowledgment that requires no breath, a voice calls out from behind her, its sound strange and flat in the open air. "Look! Oh star-gaps[‡‡‡‡], look!" She raises her head. Then breathes out a low swear. As good as they are, she knows, the dead cannot do everything.
—And sometimes the kolkpravis is too late.
In the heat-smeared distance, Kandakis can see the armored forms of off-worlders (no doubt, in the pay of the Huk), stalking among the husk-walled houses. They do not face her and her kolkpravai. Instead, they are staring at some encounter (an argument? A negotiation?) play out between the two tallest prefab houses in town. Whatever it is, it must not end well, for almost immediately Kandakis hears an abrupt barrage of gunshots—off-worlder weapons— and, in response, the crack of a slugthrower. With the instincts of trained soldiers (or more probably mercenaries), the off-worlders fall back behind their swoops and jab their rifles at the place they'd all been so closely observing before. Damn, Kandakis snarls—
Damn, she—
She cannot breathe.
Her chest is tight, too tight, like the time that she let the others wrap her in kaitan brambles to play Bitthævrian war, and almost passed out in the heat. There are too many. More off-worlders than she has seen in her short life, more swoops, more guns. The reek of death hangs thick in the air, like the bitter taste of unripe kell, and she knows that, if she and the others keep going this route, they will not make it to the overhangs alive. Oh, if they were actually 'kolkpravis', they would, yet they are not. Only a group of hatchlings, as young as four standards, as old as fourteen, playing at war.
They are children.
And like a child, all she wants to do is crawl into the brush and hide there until she can hear her parents' voices, saying that they're all gone, she can come out now. Another round tears through the parched air, and one of the youngest starts to sob. An older hatchling lays a hand on their shoulder, yet they cannot be consoled.
Nesk looks around and does not know what to do, yet—
Vekka jai Kandakis does not panic.
She holds up her hand, signaling for the other kolkpravai to stop. "We'll have to double back to the foot of the Ausez. It's a harder route, but there's more cover there. Got it?"
No one speaks. Or, perhaps, if they do, their voices are not heard over the rockfall-loud sounds of the battle before them. However, she is still Vekka jai Kandakis, and when she turns towards the Ausez, they do follow.
Hatchling by hatchling, the game goes on.
…
Tanna knows each inch of his uncle's corpse.
As he cannot move, he has had enough time to take in the details of its short existence: how the cloak spreads beneath it to show the hand's-length tear that his father had repaired a month ago. How the limbs lie flat at odd angles. How the mouth hangs open, as though his uncle had been caught halfway through a sentence, the last word dying on his tongue at the same time he did.
Kid, I appreciate your spirit, but—
But what?
What is spirit supposed to be anyhow? Tanna knows that spirits are what go on after death, that they have to make a very long journey to get to the star-havens, and that, there, they get to see all of their relatives who also made the journey[§§§§]. Yet staring down at his uncle's corpse, Tanna cannot be convinced by this.
Maybe nothing happens after you die.
Maybe you die and then that's it.
He doesn't want that to be true, though, because he knows who else has been killed below. He can tell by how they cry out when struck. The one that's loud and hoarse, she's the neighbor that slips him dried kell buds at harvest. The one that's soft and low, he's the man who wrote his father love poetry when they were both hatchlings. The one that's half-snarl, she's barely more than a hatchling herself, and used to carry him around on her shoulders.
He has not yet heard his father's scream.
Despite that, he cannot think of anything besides his father's scream and what he will look like, lying flat, with his cloak spread out beneath him.
He starts to listen for it, a strange sort of desperation forcing his attention—at least, he thinks, if he hears the scream, he'll know, he won't have to fear what could happen. It is proof that the world has some concept of irony that, because of this attention, he hears the scrape of rock from the cliff-base below him and looks down to see the living, not the dead.
Nesk— She's flattened herself against the Ausez's shoulder, paces behind a group of ten hatchlings. Clenched within her hand, that same kaitan blade points towards the overhang ladder, and Tanna knows that she is Vekka jai Kandakis, and she is still playing the game.
Yet he also knows now that games are not real, and, even as the hatchlings start to scale the ladder, Tanna can see one of the mercenaries fall back from the group towards the rock face. Towards them.
He suddenly realizes he is able to move.
…
Vekka jai Kandakis sees the last of her kolkpravai disappear into the overhangs, and she falls still. Still as the Ausez above her, the rock an unflinching witness to the battle below.
To her back, she can hear death. She can hear it in the screams of blast-bolts as they wrest free of their weapons, in the screams of those hit, in the silence that remains. Kandakis does not know the names of the new-dead.
Nesk does.
Yet she does know that they gave themselves, so that others—old men who make vraka too cold, young hatchlings who tear up their gardens—could go on living. And she whispers to the smoke-bittered air that because of them, their clan shall not fall today. She will make certain of it.
She can make certain of nothing. She is only a child.
As she places a hand on the ladder, the dead respond. Neeeesssss— No—it is not the dead. The voice has the fear-roughened hoarseness of one still living. Yet—strange—it is also not kolkpravis.
Kandakis tilts her head. Who on earth are—
Nesk knows what Kandakis does not. Someone had called her name. She hesitates, then opens her ears to the din of battle and the death-screams that tear open the heat-still air like a wound. It is quiet but she can hear it. A voice—male, yet too high to be her father's. Tanna. Tanna is here, in the overhangs, not dead on the parched ground below. And he's—
He's telling her to run.
Kandakis' hand snatches at the nearest rung of the ladder—
But Nesk is too late. She drops to the ground, as a volley of blaster-bolts sends what feels like half the Ausez onto her head. Snapping her second eyelids shut, she scrambles to face her attacker: an off-worlder, perhaps one of the many that she saw earlier. Their face is concealed by their helmet, so Nesk cannot see their expression as they approach. She wants to scream that this is not her battle, that she is a child, but it would be in her own language, and they would not understand. Perhaps they would not even care.
Their rifle raises.
Kandakis takes a deep breath of the bitter smoke—
And Nesk is in the crop-fields, her mother's hand clasped over hers, showing her how to unwrap kell husks so that the bitter juice does not get on her skin. When she is not looking, Nesk licks the stem of the plant, swallowing the liquid that clings there in heavy droplets. It seems to thicken in her mouth, coating across her tongue with an almost oily residue, that lingers even as she tries to spit it out. It tastes of blood.
Kandakis hears the cock of a rifle.
Nesk hears her mother's quiet laugh from behind her and, though it is not unkind, her face still burns. "Why is kell like that?" she snaps.
Va shrugs, easing the plant from her clenched hands. "Because it has been taken from the earth when it was unready. We harvest it, each year, before it can reach full growth. And so, it is bitter."
It is that taste in her mouth, still, as Nesk raises her head.
Vekka jai Kandakis unsheathes her swords.
Far away, she can hear the low roar of repulsor engines, like kell waving in the wind.
[****] Literally, Western Kalee in near all Tarili dialects; ruled by the San clan.
[††††] In most Kaleesh theologies, 'the dead' and 'the gods' are near-interchangeable terms. Exceptions include: karassai (or, demigods), Kaleesh that have reached godhood when they remain alive, and kullai, (or, the wandering dead), Kaleesh that have not yet reached godhood, even though they have died.
[‡‡‡‡] Additional notes on Kaleesh theology to follow, but a rough equivalent to 'hells.'
[§§§§] In the majority of Kaleesh theologies, death is not the end of being. Instead, it is precedes what is known as the star- or death-wanderings, that begin at a Kaleesh's place of death, pass through a body of water (often the ocean or, a nearby lake) and end at the stars, where resides all the clans that have been and all those that ever will be. There that Kaleesh will become one of the gods.
Their travels are eased or hardened by the deeds they have accomplished in life, along with the abilities they have gained. Should they have done great things for their people, especially those which involve expertise, they shall find their journey easy— in part because of their own abilities, and in part because they may be helped by all those who have felt the effects of their life. Take this to the extreme and you have a karassa, or god that remains living.
Of course, the opposite is just as true— if someone has done great harm to their people, they may find their death-wanderings to be slow and challenging, at times hardened by all those who have been hurt by Kaleesh are called kullai, or the wandering dead.
The ocean and the void of space (or, star-gaps) are both said to be the most challenging places to cross, and so the kullai are often thought to linger there (though it's not uncommon for a village to blame all minor misfortunes on an unpleasant neighbor who died recently— then usually followed by a prayer that they quickly make it to the star-havens). However— the best-known among kullai, the King Under The Waves is a Kaleesh who chose to forsake the promise of the star-havens and instead rule those cursed to make their journey near-eternally. The ocean is his domain, causing this part of the journey to be especially dangerous for all who choose to undertake it. Additionally, those who die in the water are said to have particularly challenging star-wanderings, for the King Under the Waves will send his thralls and coerce them to avow themselves to his service. For this reason, most Kaleesh consider drowning to be among the worst of deaths.
Reincarnation is also not unknown in Kaleesh theology, yet it is rare (for if one makes it to the star-havens, what reason would they have to risk the journey again?) Most often, it happens in times of need, when a god hears the call of those on the earth below and is reborn into a new body.
Interestingly, there are no gods beyond those of the star-havens, no creator, akin to, say, the Maker of droids or Yun-Yuuzhan of the Yuuzhan Vong— when asked whether such a being exists, most Kaleesh simply shrug and admit their ignorance. They do not know— but should any one of them work that out, they'd certainly be willing to share it with the world.
Or rather, that is, the world, except for the Huk.