These are the stories of House Evekh.
A New Praetor
A Passing
ch'Rihan, Ki'Bahrytyhn
Kierlanh Residence
Llhrana's 300 year bones were troubling her more than usual this morning but the hru'hfe would not let that keep her from her duties. The tray carrying the master's porridge only shook a little. Her house slippers shuffled noisily along the wooden floor to the bedchamber door. With her elbow she pushed the button that would make a little chime announcing her entrance. She was one of the few granted permission to enter this room without prior authorization.
The door slid open and Llhrana shuffled in. The room was dark and the air stale with a medicinal smell of the rubbing ointment tr'Kierlanh used nightly. The hru'hfe placed her tray upon the little table next to the bed and went to open the curtains. On the bank of windows on the far wall, she cracked the window only slightly as she did every morning for the last one hundred years.
Light spilled into the room chasing the dark back into long shadows. "My Lord," Llhrana called as she returned to the bedside and waited. The mass under the blankets did not move. "My Lord," she repeated more forcefully.
When he still did not rouse, her bony hand reached out to shake him. He was slack under her grip; she turned him.
The old hru'hfe gasped and stumbled back so abruptly that she knocked the tray to the floor, splattering the porridge.
Evekh Ancestral Land
Eisn had only just risen above the horizon, its weak light all but absorbed by the black volcanic rock that covered this whole side of the valley. This part of the southern continent had be geological active since the Founding and it drew this fiercely minded Family to its forbidding landscape and called their own.
Ishen, the hru'hfirh (head of house) of this Lesser House, was up before dawn to begin his duties. This morning he knelt at the side of a fvai, carefully removing a stone that embedded itself between the pads of its foot. The nervous creature shifted, making a half-hearted effort to pull its tender foot from his grasp. He held firm but not roughly and spoke soothingly to the animal. When it calmed once more, he applied the blade again and this time the stone popped out. Ishen gently examined the area, reassuring himself that no great harm had been done. There was no blood so it was unlikely there'd be an infection, just some swelling that should be gone by the next day.
The Hru'firh released the foot and stroked the fvai's furred leg giving it an affectionate pat before rising to his feet. The normally silent servo's in his artificial leg whirred under the strain of raising his bulk. He had lost his right leg above the knee in his service in the Gai'Shian. House Evekh stubbornly kept to the old ways, the one notable exception was modern medicine; veterans of countless conflicts, they welcomed any advancement that allowed them to remain vital.
"Hru'diranov! Hru'diranov!" Spindly little Embr came running down the hill. She was not his blood granddaughter, regardless all the children called him Grandfather.
"Hru'diranov!" she panted and grabbed his hand, tugging. "You must come to the forge. Quick!" She threw her tiny body weight into yanking on his arm.
The elderly Rihanha smiled indulgently at the 10 year old but stood his ground. "And what is so important that I must come quick?"
Her black slanted brows pulled together into a frustrated pout at her inability to budge him. "I don't know. Harmakhis says if you don't come, you'll miss it."
Ishen's shaggy brows crept up slightly. His younger brother and Master of the Forge would not have summoned him unless it was indeed important, so he finally let Embr lead him back up the forge path. Impatient with his slow gait, she ran ahead only to come back with the command, "Hurry!"
He chuckled to himself, enjoying her exasperation, climbing the black rock steps worn smooth with time and use. The wind kicked up, the higher the elevation. With no vegetation to block its path the wind reigned supreme. At last the path peaked at the open door into the stone building carved into the side of the hill, reddish-orange glow flickered within.
One might expect the forge to be sweltering hot but it was expertly built and actually gave off little heat despite the blazing inferno that could superheat the heaviest metal. Harmakhis stood off to the side of the anvil, compact and all muscle, like a living tank, with his thick arms crossed over his barrel chest. His head was shaved completely so no one knew if he was beginning to gray like his older brother. He was intently watching the young boy at the anvil. Just beginning his apprenticeship, he was barely able to swing the steel hammer.
Ishen tilted his head as he watched the boy's efforts. Despite the clumsiness of an untrained arm, he quickly saw what had excited Harmakhis' interest. The boy was working the metal as if he knew it on some deep level, knew just where he need to push it, mold it. You could teach technique but this Deep Knowing was a gift.
When he looked over to Harmakhis, the brothers knew exactly what the other was thinking without needing to speak. The boy would be train as a sword-master. Harmakhis did not smile like his brother but pleased approval was in his black eyes.
A shadow filled the doorway. It was Na'keeta. Ishen's smile faded, she rarely visited the forges. He approached her. "What is it, my Wife?"
"Fvillha tr'Kierlanh has died."
The Election
ch'Rihan, Evekh Ancestral Land
Eihss'kaevra (Sunheart), the Evekh's House Seat, resembled a fortress more than a home, built in a defensible location, constructed in stone and the same Duranium/Tritanium composite that comprised the hulls of warbirds. It sat over a geothermic generator that powered all its needs. Over the centuries, it played host to more than one siege, today it would host a different kind of warfare.
Family of all ages scurried through the halls, hastily preparing for their soon to be arriving guests. The Family was rarely in residence during the summer months as it could become unbareably hot. To that end, Na'keeta was setting up the meeting place out on a small courtyard where a little garden was maintained to cool the flag-stoned terrace.
"Come," the House's Lady snapped. "Over here," she instructed the teens struggling with a heavy wooden long-back chair. Smaller children brought in stools to be arranged next to the chairs.
Ishen arrived and regarded the setup. His wife unfurled a woven cloth embroidered with the sigils of the Houses that would be attending today. She draped them over the long back of the chairs. The Hru'hfirh approached, idly touching the stools meant for each House's attendees. "Not the most comfortable arrangement," he noted.
Na'keeta eyed her husband sharply. "There is little enough room as it is. You would prefer to sweat inside the Hall?" She came to stand beside him and touched the same stool. "If their backs begin to ache, then perhaps it will encourage them not to linger over their decision."
Ishen laughed out loud and he kissed his wife on the cheek. Bless her cunning mind. The limited space would also ensure that only the principles would sit in the meeting. Anyone bringing entourages would have to leave them outside - Keirianh the most likely to do so. The largest Family on the continent, they frequently dominated affairs. The last two praetors came from their family and the others were already outraged that they thought they could have a third. Ishen had fielded several calls; the maneuvering for the next praetor had begun.
Ju'uneth
An Offer
i'Ramnau, ch'Rihan
Ju'uneth strolled idly by the small shops and booths of the public market, crammed together leaving each vendor only a modicum of space. The street was noisy with the talk of shoppers and merchants all competing for attention.
An enticing smell of a meat dish drew the 227-year old man to a nearby eatery. Open to the street with a tiny space for patrons that was literally standing room only, with tall tables and counters to stand at while they ate.
Ju'uneth approached the counter where a fat woman took orders.
"What is the dish I smell?" Ju'uneth asked.
"Swedhaells," the fat woman answered. She mopped her brow with a stained dish rag.
Even from his side of the counter, Ju'uneth could feel the heat of the kitchen where a woman slaved away at the grill. Her age was hard to determine with her hair bound in a cloth. Ju'uneth suspected that a hard life made her look older than she was.
"I'll have a bowl," he said and produced his chip, swiping it over the scanner to deduct from his account the cost of the meal.
The fat woman barked an order and behind her a boy of about twelve filled a bowl with steamed grain and covered it with the meat-gravy, then brought it to the counter.
Ju'uneth took the bowl to the wide doorway for a bit of air and enjoyed the simple but flavorful dish. When he finished, he returned the bowl and left.
Late that Evening
Galorre, her back aching, the skin of her hands chapped and dried from the last of the cleaning, rolled the shuttered gate down and locked it. She put up the hood of her robe despite the warm weather. It was not always safe traveling at this late hour and in this part of the capital city.
Silently she shuffled back to the rundown apartments she called home. Trudging up the stairs to the fifth floor, the lift had been broken for over a month now, she at last reached her door and let herself in.
Some five minutes later, there was a knock on that door. Suspiciously, Galorre peered through the door's spyhole, asking who was there.
"Fvillha tr'Evekh," Ju'uneth replied.
Galorre scoffed. What praetor would come to this part of town?! But then he held up his badge of office to the spyhole.
"Open the door," the man ordered.
Fear beat in her heart. Why would he come here?! What did he want? It could not be good, no matter how she thought of it, but what could she do? Saying a prayer to the Elements, Galorre waved the children into the only other room to their little apartment, then swallowing hard she opened the door. "Aefvadh, Fvillha," she bowed deeply, keeping her head down.
Ju'uneth entered, casting a sweeping glance across the hovel before turning his sharp eyes to the woman he saw at the market eatery. "Where is your husband?"
Galorre fought to keep from trembling. "Dead, my lord, four years now." What did he want, what did he want? The question raced in her mind at the same pace of her beating heart.
"You are a mother?" he questioned again already certain of the answer given the clothes and one or two toys about the room.
"Y-yes, my lord," she did not dare lie to him, her alarm growing.
"Be at ease, mother," Ju'uneth waved his hand impatiently for her to stand straight. She did but keep her eyes on the toes of her worn shoes. "I came here to offer you a place in my house."
Her eyes came up at that, surprised and suspicious.
"I need a cook," he explained. "If you are willing to work hard, you will have room and board for you and your children. I was Hfihar'Afweirha (tutor) for House Evekh. I will ensure your children will receive a proper education. If you prove yourself, you may join my House."
Galorre so far forgot herself as to let her jaw drop open. These things did not happen to people like her... she could not believe this was real. She searched for words, "My lord-- you could afford to hire a -- real cook. I am a poor fvehai (worker)..."
"The poor make better fveha and fvehai is what I want," Ju'uneth answered back. "Will you work for me, give your loyalty to me? If you do, you will never be without the protection of a House again."
The mother stared at him. He was offering her a way out of the hell she slaved away in, but was he only offering another kind of slavery in return? She made her choice, anything was better than this.
"Ie, my lord."
Ju'uneth nodded approvingly. "I will send a message to your former employer to seek a new cook. I should warn you the house I have inherited was left in disrepair." A petulant punishment by House Keirianh for losing the election.
"Gather your belongings, you leave this place tonight."
The Declared
ch'Rihan, Fvillhaih Rhe ( praetorate chamber )
Ju'uneth hauled his girth from his chair and stepped out onto the painted marble floor. The light from the circle of tall windows above gave the chamber the look of a temple and there was a hushed expectancy from the gathering of praetors in their robes of office for Ju'uneth rarely addressed the assembly, far more content to let others do all the talking, particularly since he was the representative of the southern continent of ch'Rihan, populated by farmers, fishers, craftsmen and priests who cared little for the machinations of politics.
The old House tutor folded his hands behind his back as if he was back in his school room, mentally preparing his lessons. Then he lifted his face, a face that drew gasps from those who saw it for the first time. The left side was badly disfigured, a battle prize during his years of military service. He had been fortunate not to lose the eye but he had lost all peripheral vision on that side and in the last year, it was growing fuzzy. Yet his mind was clear that was all that matter to Ju'uneth.
"A rumor has come to me," he began, his thick voice slightly slurred from the destroyed muscles that made it impossible to enunciate properly as if he suffered a slight stroke. "A disturbing rumor."
"There is talk that the traitor Shiarrael t'Rehu's exile may be ended." A low murmur went around the room, and he continued, "I hope that this is nothing more than street vendor gossip or the wishful dreams of her 'privileged' family... that the Empire might have become so lost to its own honor as to forgive an officer who has laid down her own is too terrible to consider."
Ju'uneth strode slowly across the chamber before his fellow praetors, crossing the stelai ler'lloann (neutral zone) depicted in the marble. "T'Rehu was once a glorious officer, winning many triumphant victories for the Empire which is why her betrayal cuts deep to the heart. How could such a loyal daughter debase herself with a hevam? Bare and give suckle to its spawn? She has made her bed," Ju'uneth pointed to the Federation space portrayed on the floor beneath his feet, "let her lie in it, and let it be her final resting place."
"Evekh," came a voice from the seats, "did not your own kin cross that same border?"
If his face was grotesque already, it became truly awful as anger exploded across it. His anger though was not necessarily for the aspersion to his family but that he had to defend it. "Do NOT compare what t'Rehu did to that of my great-niece. She may have walked among the htirrn (enemy) but she did so as a Rihanha, she never resigned her commission in the Galae and the transfer was approved by the Raenasa (High Command) because it was still during the days of the Confederacy. And she never - NEVER - disgraced herself with a hevam."
None spoke when Ju'uneth fell silent and he took it as a victory though he knew well that it was more likely won by the Evekh reputation to fight than the efficacy of his argument. "Kaevra-llaiir'Rhien (southern continent he represents) supported the alliance with the Lloann'mhramel (UFP) to fight the Dominion. We recognize that sometimes we must fight along side our htirrn-a (enemies) to defeat an even more powerful htirrn, but that does not make our htirrn, our daehlen (friend). What daehlen treats us this way? After the First Dominion War, did they heed our advice? They cast us aside and coddled the Founders and allowed them to come back and threaten us all again! And how have the Lloann'na treated us now? Again they spurn us and made their own peace with the Dominion after promising us we would be partners," Ju'uneth deliberately slurred that last word.
"NO, they are our htirrn as they have always been our htirrn." Passion filled his voice with force that reached the back walls. "They are a pestilence. And they have found a more insidious form of invasion, they mean to breed their way in! What they could never take from us in battle, they will take from us in peace IF we are foolish enough to forget what they are -- and who we are. Mneaniy na Rihan (We are the Declared)!"