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)!"
Flesh & Blood
Flesh & Blood Part I
ch'Rihan, Myrrk Forest "Will you be still!?" N'alae scolded 7 year old Jhu in an angry whisper. "If you scare away our prey, we'll never take you on a hunt again!"
Little Jhu scowled back at his sister but stopped fidgeting. N'alae was furious that she got stuck watching him. She wanted to be with the older kids up where the real hunt was happening!
"Someone had to stay with you on your first hunt," she was reminded. Well, if he could stay quiet for more than a siuren [minute], maybe they could find a small niefihr.
"Now listen," N'alae instructed, "like this." Her eyes half-closed as she turned her focus to every sound. She strained to hear the older children stalking far ahead of them. Failing at that, N'alae listened for a rustle, any sign of movement nearby, vaguely pleased that Jhu was trying to copy her.
It was then that the small hairs on the back of her neck went up. They were not alone... and it was behind them.
The Forge
Hauck burst through the door of the Forge with a triumphant smile. "Look at what we got!"
All the smiths turned to the young boy, Hauck had just reached the age when he would begin his Serona. Following him was Sa'wyir and Fuhnn, they were dragging a bound man. He had a stick gag in his mouth and his arms tied behind him. Fuhnn put his foot to the back of the man's knee, forcing him to kneel. Sa'wyir pulled the man's hair bringing his face up. He was flushed green with a swollen black eye and trickle of dried blood near one pointed ear. He was covered in dirt and tousled as were his captor boys.
"We were in Myrrk Forest looking for some fresh meat and we found some!" Hauck proudly boasted.
The smiths laughed. Harmakhis stepped forward. The bound man was a stranger.
"He had this," Hauck produced a thin metal rod. "Nothing else, no identification."
Harmakhis took the rod from Hauck. Bronwhin, a mastersmith, stepped up next to Harmakhis to see. Harmakhis handed it to him. It looked as if it could be a stylus of some kind. Bronwhin rolled it between his fingers, smooth and not a seam anywhere.
"Sophisticated," Bronwhin mumbled. He had served in the Fleet's engineering corp years ago. He ran a thumb over the rounded end which was very subtly different texture. "Scanner or sensor node." He shook his head. "Must be limited function, too small to be multi-purposed."
"Why bring him here?" Harmakhis asked the boys. "You should take him to Ishen."
Hauck answered, "He was stalking N'alae and Jhu."
Bronwhin almost took a step back from Harmakhis as a black storm of rage gathered around the Master of the Forge. The big smith was at the kneeling man in two strides, ripping the gag from his mouth. "What were you doing with my children?!"
If the captive man had any salvia he would have spit in his face. "You will pay for this with your life!" he hissed.
"You are on Evekh land. What are you doing here? I won't ask again," Harmakhis threatened.
The man unleashed a string of expletives. "Eneh hwai'kllhwnia na imirr-hlhhse!"
Harmakhis back-handed the man and his mouth filled with the copper taste of blood. "Untied him," he ordered the boys. Then to his smiths, he said, "Bring him."
The boys pulled the ropes free and moved back as the adults took over. Two smiths had the man by his arms and dragged him bodied over to an anvil. Harmakhis circled around the other side and picked up a hammer. When the man saw his hand being forced onto the anvil. He struggled uselessly. "NO!"
The Forge was filled with the sickening crunch of bone and screams.
The man had fallen to his knees, only the smiths held him upright. The man's every breath was a cry of pain. He tried to say something but no one could understand. Harmakhis came round. Using the metal hammer's head, he forced the man's head up, lips pulled back from bloodied teeth.
"Ta..." he tried again, fighting against the agony, fury in his eyes. "Tal Shi... I AM TAL SHIAR."
It was as if an arctic blast of air had frozen everyone in place. The three boys looked at each other, suddenly afraid.
Flesh & Blood Part II
ch'Rihan
Ishen brushed aside the heavy leather curtain to storm into the room that served as his private quarters. At least here no other would follow him - save one.
Na'keeta calmly swept the curtain aside with an arm and entered. She watched her husband intently as he pace the small room. It was nothing like the personal rooms of any Great House, no displays of extravagant wealth, no altars to their vanity. In fact, it could have been the rooms of a head farmer or stable master, all the furnishings were good and solid and seen many years of use. Here and there were bits of equipment, many in need of repair. The only sign that the occupants held some status was the House Sigil carved into the bed's headboard - the B'althraig, the mythical fire bull whose spilled blood created the firefalls when it was slain.
Her outward calm was a lie, she knew as well as her husband the Family was in serious trouble. The House Healer was tending the Tal Shiar agent but he was already screaming to use their comm unit. Finally she ventured, "We could kill him, destroy the body... there will be no one to know..." Someone had to say it.
Ishen gave his wife an irritated glare. "Are you mad?"
"No one will talk--"
"Do you think the Tal Shiar will care?!!" He sliced his hand through the air as if cutting through all her arguments. "They know they sent him here, if he does not return, that is all they need to know!"
She fell silent and the silence lengthened as Ishen continued to pace. An impatience began to grow in her until she could contain it no longer. She set her jaw and spoke. "You know what brought him here."
He threw her a warning glance, but she ignored it; someone had to make him hear. "I know you are fond of her, but you cannot protect her from this." He turned his back to her but she would not let him off, her voice rising in volume. "Not at the expense of the whole family. You are Hru'hfirh! You MUST disown her. You should have done it--"
Ishen was suddenly before her, his hand lashing out stopping only just short of her throat. Gone was the kindly, indulgent man the children called Hru'diranov [grandfather], there was only the hard steel as unyielding as his brother. "She is our blood! The day this Family is too afraid to stand next to its own is the day I'll see this House burn to the ground!"
Flesh & Blood Part III
Tal Shiar Complex, ch'Rihan
"Look at what they did to me?!" Toriifv clutched his bandaged hand as evidence. "I want them to pay! I---"
"You want?" A menacing whispered voice came from the doorway.
The Tal Shiar agent and his handler snapped to the slim little man silhouetted in the door frame. He stepped into the light and although neither men recognized his face his Aendah [major] insignia was unmistakable.
Erie'Arrain tr'M'idhael, the handler, had the good sense to become nervous. What was an Aendah doing here? Tr'M'idhael oversaw a unit of enEredhs, like Toriifv, which he dispatched on errands usually on behalf of political officers, very low level priority, nothing that merited a personal visit... unless there had been a failure... like Toriifv.
"They attacked a Tal Shiar! They must--"
"Must?" Though the slight Aendah rarely ever raised hisvoice yet it held such quiet threat that it could silence whole rooms. He continued then in a tone that warned retribution to any who interrupted or contradicted. "When does an enEredh give orders?"
A suddenly chastened Toriifv, answered, "They cannot be allowed to insult the Tal Shiar..."
"And who are you to say what constitutes an insult, hmm?" Aendah tr'Hasimir murmured. "You were sent to take a few simple pictures and you were captured... by children, yes?" He turned his head to pin Toriifv with an unmerciful stare. "This agency does not defend ineptitude. Your training is... wanting."
Hasimir then dismissed Toriifv by turning his attention to erie'Arrain tr'M'idhael. "This matter is no longer your concern. Delete all files on this subject, yes?"
M'idhael bobbed his head hastily in compliance. And before he could even utter an 'Ie, Aendah', Hasimir was gone.
Aendah tr'Hasimir's Office
The lights flickered on automatically when Ferhin tr'Hasimir entered his personal code on the door lock. As he strode in, he pulled his gloves off, tugging at each finger, and placed the gloves, one on top of the other on his desk.
As much as it pained him to do admit it, that EnEredh was right. However much that oaf deserved what he got, they could not let an assault of a Tal Shiar officer go unpunished. But punishing House Evekh was not as easy as it ought to be. Ferhin pulled out his chair and settled into it, leaning back to give this some thought.
This had all started with the political officer at Ahuian Colony who was threatening the family to gain the cooperation Arrain t'Evekh. A rather foolish use of an asset, really. The political officer thought to exploit the connection t'Evekh had made while she served in Starfleet, which had, not too surprisingly, gone nowhere. Starfleet wasn't completely brainless, every officer the Arrain contacted made it clear they suspected that all communications with her were monitored by the Tal Shiar and so filled their responses with banal trivia. They hardly needed her to monitor t'Rehu's activities now that she was exiled. No, the Arrain was far more useful employed in other ways.
Still, Ferhin needed to conclude this affair first. Such nonsense getting pictures of the Arrain's young siblings as a means of intimidation. The Tal Shiar hardly needed produced evidence that they could reach any family anywhere. Their reputation was proof enough, pictures merely belabored the point, the Aendah thought irritably.
How to punish them that would not escalate this into an interminable problem? House Evekh, like so many of the lunatic Khelliana, believed in blood for blood. They weren't so foolish as to strike back directly but they'd look for ways to make trouble until they'd be forced to make an example of them. Their homeland, that back-end of the Empire, was so hostile that few visited so strangers were easily identified. The terrain was a logistical nightmare for small forces. To truly make a difference, one had to send a small army. Aerial bombing had to be precise, the place was littered with holy shrines, one missed mark and you'd have religious zealots screaming to the Praetor. The Rei'Krannsu's Black Suns considered their sword-smiths an Imperial Treasure and would protest any attack on their forges.
Ferhin drummed his fingers on his desk for a moment, then a quite pleased smile pulled at his thin lips. He opened a comm channel.
...
"He never identified himself. Had we known, he would not have been touched," Ishen explained. "We have a right to defend our territory."
Hasimir regarded the hawkish face on his monitor dispassionately. "And because of this, Hru'hfirh, we are willing to be lenient. We will not ask for a life." He paused to draw out Ishen's discomfort waiting for the hammer blow. "Send us the hand that did the deed and that will be an end to it. Otherwise... we will have to continue until we are satisfied."
One finger lightly touched a button and the screen went dark.
Flesh & Blood Part IV
Sed'nar'Siae, Kaevra-llaiir'Rhienn, ch'Rihan (northern city on a southern continent of Romulus)
"You have your nerve, girl!"
Lhura stopped short in the sterile hall of medical ward when Na'keeta emerged from the room at the end of the hall and saw her. Ishen's wife and House Evekh's Lady could never be called a beauty but she had a rough appeal like well-worn leather, every crease a story of her life of hard living and hard loving, every nicked edge only added to her character.
Lhura stood her ground though she did not advance. "I want to see him."
"YOU want?!" Na'keeta spat. "Always what you want! This happened because of your want... the cost to the Family and what have you to show for it?"
Muscles tightened around her mouth as Lhura endured Na'keeta's scolding and knew she would be lucky if she only lashed at her with words. Quietly but evenly she repeated, "I want to see him."
The fury built in Na'keeta. "Generations of your ancestors bled for the Empire, fought the lloann'mhramel, for what? So you could wear their uniform! Tell me it was worth it." Lhura averted her gaze and Na'keeta scoffed.
"I will see him," Lhura stated softly but with meaning and she shouldered physically past Na'keeta. Just as she thought she might get away with it, Na'keeta sneered, "Better you had the sense of your brother and followed your mother to the grave."
In a flash, the heel of Lhura's open hand connected with Na'keeta's nose. The older woman staggered back from the unexpected blow, her hands coming up to her nose, warm, green blood pouring down.
Lhura's mouth dropped open and she didn't know what stunned her more - that she had struck the Lady of her House or that she had been overwhelmed by a dormant anger that she hadn't known was there. She had endured taunts about her mother throughout her childhood that had led to many beatings both given and received but they had not been outbursts of uncontrolled anger, they were lessons to her cousins that they could not slur her mother and go unchallenged; they soon came to respect her. Only the adults made the occasional remark but Lhura had been indifferent to what they thought, so where did this sudden anger come from now?
It hardly mattered though as Na'keeta's face twisted in rage and with a scream she launched herself at Lhura catching her square in the mid-section. The automatic door opened swiftly and they tumbled through landing hard on the floor. The two women grappled, fending off the other while fighting for a position from which to strike.
"LLILLA (enough)!"
The struggling women froze at the thunderous command. Breathing hard they looked up at the medical bed. Ishen sat up against the headboard, glaring down at his brawling kin. "Get up," he growled.
Na'keeta broke out into angry speech but Ishen cut her off. "Leave us, Ailhun (wife)."
Glaring, she pressed her lips together in a tight line and pulled herself up. As she got to the door she turned. Despite everything, Lhura awed at the image that Na'keeta unconsciously struck, hair wild, blood down her face, the very picture of fearsome fury. "How much blood must this family give while she sheds none at all?!"
The door swooped open and then closed behind her, leaving a profound silence. Lhura raised herself to her knees, turning her eyes from the door to Ishen and was shocked again. It had been almost two decades since she had seen her uncle last, he looked old, haggard and frail, not so much in physical size as a loss of energy and she had to wonder how much of it was in the last couple of days. His right arm lay carefully across his chest, the forearm bound in a white plastic cast, ending in a stump where a hand used to be.
Pain welled up inside Lhura and she could not keep it from her face. Leaning her head to the side of the bed, she brought up a hand but then couldn't bring herself to touch him and instead clutched at the bed cushion. "Forgive me," she whispered.
Ishen made a disgusted sound. "Get up," he gritted. "On your feet or leave this room."
Appalled at his rejection and her own weakness, Lhura pulled herself to her feet and forced herself to lift her face to him.
"Who is this aehallh (illusion/false image) before me?" he demanded. "Where is the girl I once knew? I loved that girl like my own daughter. When knocked down, she got up laughing."
Lhura may have stood tall but she could not meet his iron gray eyes, her throat tightened painfully choking off her voice.
The old man's eyes went up to the short cropped white-blond hair that capped her head. "Your spirit cannot be entirely gone." The sudden thought of Harmakhis' reaction if he could see his wayward daughter now pulled at the corners of his mouth, reminding him fondly of why he had always liked his niece... and why it pained him now to see her standing there, covered in shame.
"What can I do?" she said quietly.
Steel came back into his voice. "You can remember who you are!"
"Why did you not disavow me?!" she cried finally. "If you had just... this would not have happened!"
Ishen again made the disgusted sound, growing truly angry. With his good hand, he thumped his artificial leg. "In my life, I have given my flesh and blood in service for the glory of the Empire!" He lifted his severed arm proudly. "I have given it in service of my Family. It was my duty but even more it is my honor - my pleasure. We are Evekh, We are Rihannsu! No one will tell us different - least of all the filthy Tal'Shiar!" He pinned her with a hard glare. "You are Evekh. You are Rihanha. That is your blood. Let no one tell you different, not even Na'keeta."
With a certain paternal gratification, Ishen saw her chest swell with pride and a fighting spirit in her face and he was glad. This was costing him strength but it was be worth it if it gave her what she needed. All of this was causing his arm to throb painfully but Ishen was finding that this sacrifice had its uses.
The Tal'Shiar had demanded the hand that struck their agent but he doubted they'd pay much attention to just whose hand they sent them. And Ishen wasn't about to cripple their Master of the Forge, that would cripple the whole Family so he evoked his right as Hru'hfirh, to stand for the House, their representative in all things, in council, in ceremonies, and in place of any member of the Family. But by having Harmakhis wield the sword that cut his hand served as more than his brother's punishment, impressing upon him the consequences of his violent temper... it also protected Ishen's own position.
His best years were behind him, now stretching before him were the long years of decline. Each decade would take more and more and he would not be able to hide it from covetous eyes. The Evekh were never easy to rule, they respected strength and despised weakness. There would be those who would whisper in Harmakhis' ear, that he was no longer fit to lead. Ishen had never worried that his brother ever plotted against him for he never desired anything other than the forge. But as he saw his brother fade, Harmakhis might begin to think he would have to act for the sake of the House. Ishen smiled inwardly as he had just purchased himself a final safeguard: Harmakhis would now never raise his hand against the brother who had given his own for him.
And it seemed, it worked equally well with his daughter. His missing hand might just prove to be more useful than if he had kept it. He leaned back against the headboard, tiring. "Go now, find the girl I knew," his voice losing its force, but none of its authority. "Do not return until you do."