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The Priestess and the Warrior - To the Convent Born
Date: 26 December 2004, 8:16 PM

The Priestess and the Warrior

Author: Jillybean
AN: Since Saia' and the Arbiter were taking over Parcel o' Rogues, I've given them a showcase in here. Hope you like :D
Also - it upsets me that I don't know the Arbiter's name, so I took a wild stab at it. If it turns out to be wrong I'll cry.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To the Convent Born

The Prophet of Solitude had a genuine smile on his face when he met with High Priestess Fera' Kianall. He waited for her protracted bow to finish, before he clasped her hands and kissed them.
       "It is good to see you again, Kianall."
       "And you, noble Solitude." Kianall beckoned him through to her private sanctum on High Charity.

Solitude sat, watching as the Honour Guard escorted the first daughter of the prestigious Saia' Lyeeum family into the room. The tiny Sangheili was overawed at the vastness of the quarters, something that even her privileged upbringing could not rival.
       "This will be Saia' Jalahass," Kianall mused. She nodded to the little Sangheili and was graced by a nod in return. "Would you like a drink, noble Solitude?"
       "I would." Solitude accepted the crystal beaker full of the emerald Jiralhanae Brandy that Kianall favoured so much.
       "One of my guilty pleasures," Kianall sat opposite him, smoothing her long amber robes.
       Solitude noted the pallor of her grey skin, and the gauntness of her flesh. "One would think you had taken an Oath of Fasting, you do not look so well Kianall."
       The High Priestess laughed. "Why is it I look so much older than when we first met, but you are exactly the same?"
       Solitude waved it away, laughing. "I was old when we met, Kianall."
       "Yes," Kianall nodded. "Yes you were. I remember you taking me to meet a Junior Priestess when I was not much older than Jalahass here."

"About that," Solitude cleared his throat. "Saia' Lyeeum's death was a great loss to the Covenant. Her mate has not recovered."
       "No. Jua' Sagath was a devoted mate, more than any Sangheili could wish for." Kianall trained her gaze on her hands.
       "Indeed," Solitude handed the crystal beaker to the Honour Guard. "And the Council suffers for his grief."
       "This child is her first granddaughter, is it not?" Kianall mustered herself to say. "I have heard the honour of her father is great."
       Solitude inclined his head to agree.
       "My father?" Saia' Jalahass piped up, her voice still struggling to comprehend the language of the Prophets. "Is my father here?"
       Regarding the tiny Sangheili with a cold gaze, Kianall shook her head. "Silence, little one. You must not speak out of turn."

Solitude turned, beckoning her closer. "You have been awarded a great Honour to be trained with Fera' Kianall. She is one of our greatest Priestesses. Do you understand?"
       "I want my mother and father," Saia' Jalahass grumbled.
       "No more of that. Speak of them again and you will bring great dishonour on their names."
       The little child sniffed, and stayed silent.

"I spoke with Supreme Commander Hans' Galatash yesterday," Solitude straightened, watching for Kianall's reaction.
       "I will not go back on my Oath," she murmured quietly.
       "That's politics," Solitude spat. "You are punishing yourself for Mercy's sake. His folly was the loss of that fleet, not your own."
       "My advice led him there. The Forerunners did not guide me with the surety they ought. I had thought that region important, yet it resulted in many lost lives."
       "It may yet be important," Solitude replied. "We will return with better ships, and perhaps Hans' Galatash may be given a second chance, Priestess?"
       Silently, the Priestess inclined her head. "The mistake was mine, Noble Prophet, and mine alone. His Excellency may do as he pleases, but he is my mate no longer."

###

Saia' Jalahass was the youngest Priestess in the dormitory. The other Sangheili watched her with glee, delighting in their newest Sister. They were aware of the connections a good friends could foster in the first granddaughter of Saia' Lyeeum.
       Jalahass curled on her cot, pretending to sleep. Beneath her all of High Charity sprawled in its glory. The many denizens of the city were going about their lives, placing faith in the Forerunner that their Great Journey would save them.
       Jalahass had thought the High Priestess would be much happier. She was the closest any Sangheili could hope to get to the Forerunner. Why then, had she seemed so sad?

"Who's your father?"
       Orna' Fulsamee looked at the two much older Sangheili before him and gritted his mandibles together. "My father is Gul' Tarmassan."
       "Who is that," laughed the eldest child, elbowing his companions. "I've never heard of him! What honour is there in being Gul' Tarmassan's son?"
       "I've never heard of the Fulsamee family either," braved the second child. "I doubt Fulsamee will get far in this training course. This is for Covenant Elites, not pathetic, minor family -"
       "Take it back," Fulsamee grated.
       "Or you'll do what?"
       Fulsamee charged the oldest boy, sending both of them flying to the dirt. Fulsamee pummelled the face of the child relentlessly, ignoring the scrabbling hands of his ally trying to drag Fulsamee off.

"What is this?" A gravelly voice sounded throughout the grounds of the training compound. Strong hands pulled Fulsamee off, dragging him through the air. "Fighting on your first day?"
       "He started it!" yelled the antagonist.
       "He insulted my father!" Fulsamee screamed, still trying to reach his bloody opponent.
       His Excellency laughed, setting the youngest Sangheili down. "You three . . ." he began, "will go without food tonight. And tomorrow we shall see how much like fighting you feel."


"Scrapping already?" Gui' Natanna watched his companion return from the grounds. He chuckled. "My, they are eager this year. Who was it?"
       "Orna' Fulsamee and Lia' Wuanna." His Excellency joined Natanna in a stroll to survey the new recruits.
       "Fulsamee . . ." Natanna tried to think of a female who bore the name Fulsamee, but came up short. "I'm not familiar with that Lineage."
       "No," his Excellency paused, watching the children as they played battles. "Orna' Fulsamee is of no genetic inheritance. He got through to this unit because of his incredible scores."
       Natanna was suitably impressed. "Well, if the Priestess at his naming ceremony chose to name him Orna', then perhaps he too will earn a place in the stars, as the legend tells."
       "First he must learn to hold his tongue in the presence of his betters. Though Wuanna will go hungry tonight also."

###

Fulsamee's belly ached. He watched the other children scoff their dinners
       Wuanna clicked his mandibles from across the table, his own stomach rumbling also. The son of a wealthy aristocrat, Wuanna did not deserve to be treated this way. Fair enough that the wretch be starved, but Wuanna was worth something. Wuanna should have been allowed some flatbread at the very least.
       "This is not my fault," Fulsamee growled, his eyes fixed on the sloping table.
       Wuanna gripped the edges of his seat. "It is, Orphan."
       "My parents are alive."
       "Then they are Honourless."

"What is going on over there?" Natanna's voice rang out over the heads of the recruits. "Do I see troublemakers?"
       "No, Excellency." Fulsamee and Wuanna could not tear their eyes from each other.
       "Are you sure?" Natanna laid a hand on Wuanna's shoulder, guiding him out of his seat and onto the floor. Beckoning Fulsamee over, he turned to all the recruits. "You must learn that in battle, the only Honour which matters is your own." Stepping back, he allowed the antagonists their space. "And sometimes even that is not enough."

Fulsamee hesitated, unsure what to do. Unfortunately his opponent had no qualms about charging him. The older child sent Fulsamee to the ground and began scratching and biting with all his fury.
       Pain radiated from his vulnerable chest as Wuanna scored a deep weal into his rib cage. Instinctively he curled into a ball, managing somehow to bring his knees up underneath Wuanna. He did not miss the opportunity to kick out at the older Sangheili, winning a much needed respite.
       Wuanna skated across the floor, crashing into a chair. Fulsamee sprung towards him, balling his fist and punching upwards into the cavern of Wuanna's mouth, left open by the gap in his mandibles. The older Sangheili roared in pain, using valuable time to express his rage.
       Smaller, faster and smarter, Fulsamee kicked him in the guts, grabbing Wuanna's skull an driving it down onto the ground.

"That's enough," Natanna pulled him off. He stood, glaring around the silent hall. "Do you see? The only Honour which truly matters is the Honour you call your own. Orna' Fulsamee may not be as powerful as Lia' Wuanna, but unless Wuanna learns his lessons, Fulsamee will kill him."
       Lifting his head, Fulsamee sat back in his place. Hunger didn't matter. He had won.

"And that which may be done, I give my thanks that my soul be borne, pray my Lords that I be forgiven my sins in all their wretchedness. Hold my Honour and my Glory in your great wisdom and hold my family in your esteem. Give my sons great opportunity and give my daughters great power, let my children be blessed, let my mate beholden to me in our great faith."

"What is she doing?" Saia' Jalahass whispered to Junior Priestess who had been caring for her.
       Hera' Solatta turned, her ornate head-dress jingling as her head moved too fast to be gainly. Gritting her teeth and taking the time to compose herself, Solatta reached down to silence her young charge. "That is a second level Priestess," Solatta whispered. "She broke her Oath of Fidelity."
       "Oath of . . ." Jalahass repeated, her mouth finding it difficult to make the words sound right in the tongue of the Prophets.
       Solatta tugged at her hand and retreated into the side chambers of the cathedral. "Her Oath of Fidelity. As a second level Priestess she had to take one of the Oaths of the Prophets to make it to the first level. The Commander of the Graceful Treasure proved too much for her to resist." Solatta crouched, sweeping her long scarlet robes aside. "Jalahass, if you reach second grade, I advise any oath, but the Oath of Fidelity. I'm told the ship commanders take it as a personal challenge."
       Jalahass blinked.
       "If I reach second level," Solatta told her, "I plan on taking the Oath of Fasting. Starvation is the least of the evils."
Jalahass peered around her minder, watching the kneeling Priestess in her robes of finest azure.

"Bless my Great Journey and bless my Lineage. I beg for my blood to run pure, I beg for my Honour to be bestowed on my children. Let my name be remembered by the generations down my Lineage and give my faith my all, my soul, my blood, my glory, my honour,"

"Jalahass," Solatta tugged on her arm again. "Do not stare. Her dishonour is great enough."

The Priestess led her to the antechamber where the classes were beginning. The rest of the seventh grade priestess' were already seated before their teacher and they stared at Jalahass as she entered. She was easily the richest of all the students there, perhaps more prestigious than their teacher.
       "I will be back to fetch you after class ends," Solatta told her. "Do not go off without me."
       "I shall not," Jalahass promised.

Class was extremely boring, thought Jalahass, she didn't care about the Oaths of the Prophets, or the faith that they demonstrated. It didn't matter to her how many Prophets had been killed in the war with the Sangheili, nor how many ages had passed since the Great Journey had been discovered.
       She thought about the Priestess in blue, laid before the altar and quoting endless words.
       Jalahass quoted scripture every day. They prayed often, far too often in her opinion. The words didn't mean anything to her. Though, she would certainly have considered it a punishment if she had been sentenced to it.
       If Jalahass was a God she'd be doing far more important things that listen to boring old words. She would play all day and sneak into the kitchens to eat sweet foods.
       "Saia' Jalahass, what do you think of the Oath of Poverty?"
       Jalahass stared at her teacher.
       Fera' Kianall glanced around the class, all of them very interested in what the aristocrat would have to say about this. "The Oath of Poverty, Saia' Jalahass. What do you think of it?"
       "I think . . ." Jalahass' mind raced. "That the Prophets would not have . . . sworn the Oath . . . if the Forerunner did not need it from us." She remembered something she had heard the older Priestesses say. "And may it please me to serve my Gods."
       Priestess Kianall smiled. "An excellent answer, Jalahass, you are wise beyond your years."

###

Solatta frowned at the young trainee. "You are a very quiet child, aren't you?"
       Jalahass shrugged, peeling off her robes and diving into the baths.
       "Full of action," Solatta commented wryly. She eased herself into the pool, sighing as the hot water lapped over her. "Ah I miss this."
       "The bath at home is much larger," Jalahass surfaced, blowing bubbles.
       Solatta chuckled. "Bigger than this? It must be huge."
       "It is." Jalahass dived back under, surfacing with a coral. "My Great Grandmother designed it."

Stretching out, Solatta let go of the side and paddled to the middle. "Really? I'm impressed."
       "It's the biggest Sangheili bath." Jalahass grinned. "Only the Prophet Hierarchs have a larger one, and everyone knows they don't use baths anyway."
       Solatta smiled, taking the coral off the young girl and squeezing the water from it. "I have often wondered why the Prophets spend so much, yet use so little."
       "The Prophets don't bath," Jalahass pointed out. "It's against their faith. But they deserve the biggest baths anyway."
       Changing tact, Solatta asked her about the classes.
       "They're very boring. But the teacher said I was wise beyond my years."
       "Your parents will be very pleased," Solatta smiled.
       "May I tell them?" Jalahass asked. Her eyes lit up and she clung to Solatta's arms.
       "They will be told at the end of the year, I am sure." Solatta eased her claws away. "But you know you cannot speak to them."
       "I want to speak with them," Jalahass whimpered. "I haven't spoke with them for a whole cycle . . ."
       "The Oath of Privacy is the first that Priestesses must endure. Jalahass," Solatta's eyes filled with sympathy. "My dear, you will be able to speak with your family and friends, and be allowed out of the convent once you reach the sixth level."

"Oh!"
       The door hissed open and a fourth level Junior Priestess stumbled in, leading a Sangheili warrior by the hand. His black armour glinted in the soft lighting, showing no battle scars.
       "Find somewhere else, Priestess," Solatta warned. "Saia' Jalahass is under my care and I would prefer not to report this transgression."
       "Oh!" Properly humbled, the Priestess who was technically superior to Solatta, bowed and apologised profusely. "I beg forgiveness, Saia' Jalahass. Had I but known . . . come on, Excellency," she giggled, tugging her lover away.
       "Once you grow older," Solatta turned back to her charge, "you will enjoy life at the convent."

Wuanna shook Fulsamee by the shoulders, holding a hand on his throat to muffle any noise he might make.
       "Wake up, Fulsamee!"
       "What?" Still groggy, Fulsamee sat up, looking at the small cluster of trainees around his bed.
       "We go to the kitchens," Wuanna shook him again. "Aren't you coming?"

Fulsamee stretched, wincing as his muscles ached. "We ought not to, Natanna will be furious if he catches us again."
       "He won't . . . come on, Fulsamee," Wuanna pleaded. "It's no fun without you."
       "If we get caught this time, Wuanna . . ."
       "Oh what have you got to worry about," emboldened by his friends's inclusion on the escapade, Wuanna dropped his grovelling routine. "You never get into trouble. Hurry up, I'm starving!"
       Fulsamee led the way to the door, nodding to the two weakest trainees to take their flanks as they hurried through the hall. "Perhaps if you won more games, Wuanna, you would not be so hungry."
       "We cannot all be God-like," Wuanna retorted. He hushed up as they reached the purple military corridor. He waited at the rear to make sure all their strike team had made it through the long hallway.

Fulsamee ducked low past the guard, knowing that they would need some sort of distraction. He nodded to the others, gesturing that they should crawl on the floor past the office.
       As they fell to their bellies and slid silently past, Fulsamee entered the guard's room. The guard was a boring old Grunt, far too fat to really be of much use. Already Fulsamee was the height of him and could take him in a fair fight.
       Unfortunately, Hoa Kap was armed with stunners and authorised to use them on disobedient trainees.

Fulsamee crept to the other side of Hoa Kap's workstation, surprised to see that the Grunt wasn't sleeping for once, instead he was watching some sort of theatrical performance. He was heavily engrossed, so it was easy enough for Fulsamee to program a small glitch in the perimeter watch, enough to warrant Hoa Kap's attention, but not enough to alert anyone else.
       The female Grunts in Hoa Kap's viewer appeared to be at war with each other, it didn't interest Fulsamee. He made his escape and hid around the corner, waiting until he heard the cursing that accompanied Hoa Kap's every move.

"We were beginning to think Hoa Kap got you," Wuanna said, ushering him inside the kitchen. "Worms?"
       "I prefer fish," Fulsamee replied, vaulting to the worktop surface. "Hey! Sweetened flatbread!" He divvied it out among his comrades, delighting in their admiration of him.

Back in their bunks they did not share with those who had been too cowardly to come with them. Sipping the last of his crushed berry juice, Wuanna turned his attention to the others.
       "What do you want to be when you grow up?"
       There was silence while they contemplated the question.
       "I want to be a Ship Commander," was the general consensus until Saahny thought he would like to be an Arbiter. Even those who wanted to be Special Ops were swayed by that thought.
       "Fulsamee?" Wuanna looked up at the boy who sat on his cot. "Would you like to be an Arbiter?"
       ". . . can I be anything at all?" Fulsamee questioned.
       After some deliberation, Wuanna nodded. "Anything you'd like."
       "Then I want to be a Prophet."
       "That would be wondrous!" The others all agreed.
       "Except," Saahny hesitated. "I'm not sure we'd be allowed to be Prophets. And they don't like to swim. I love to swim."
       "I'd be a swimming Prophet," Fulsamee decided.

Jalahass kneeled before the altar, daydreaming as she recited words of penitence.
       She thought about home. Her mother, Saia' Sorenza had been carrying when she'd left. The child would be well hatched by now. Jalahass wondered if it would be a little brother or a little sister. At the Naming Ceremony, had the High Priestess picked a name of Fortune, or Glory, or Honour?
       Jalahass had been named for Fortune, taking the name of the first Saints of the Sangheili. Her name, given to her by the Forerunner's vessel, was meant to indicate her lot in life. Had she been a male, the Priestess would have chosen her first name and her mother would have passed along the second name.
       'Saia . . . Talsamee, if it was a girl. Talsamee, the Glory of the first Sangheili to die in service to the Prophets.
       Or if it was a boy . . . Karte' Sorenza, the Honour of the first Arbiter.

"Jalahass," Solatta stood before her. "Have you paid for your acts?"
       "I have, Priestess," Jalahass replied.
       "Good. You may rise." Solatta smiled. "And don't tease those who have taken the Oath of Silence. If you're not careful, you will have to take that Oath and then I hope a terrible little child will come and upset you!"
       "Yes, Priestess," Jalahass feigned shame, knowing it wouldn't fool Solatta one bit.

"The new Priestesses are arriving today," Solatta told her as they walked from the altar. "To begin their seventh level."
       "Would that mine was over," Jalahass groaned. "I feel as though I have never seen the outside of these walls. I want to feel fresh, uncycled air!"
       "I know it feels as though you'll never escape, but your time will come, I promise you that."
       "Five years is a very long time," Jalahass glanced up at her ward. "See? I have grown to your shoulder in the time it has taken for me to grow bored of this convent."
       Confronting her, Solatta folded her arms and glared. "Many Sangheili would kill for your place in the Great Journey. You should not treat it so lightly."
       "Bless my soul and let it live forever," Jalahass repented.
       Giggling, Solatta stopped to right her headdress. "And it's 'Bless my lineage and let it live forever'!"
       "Forgiveness is thine to allow," Jalahass teased.
       "How your teachers mark you so highly I will never understand."
       "I make it all up," Jalahass confessed. "Every bit of it. Every test."
       "And this is how you race up your level." Solatta shook her head. "We are here. Are you ready to welcome the young ones?"
       Jalahass smoothed her grey robes and nodded. "I am ready."
       "Good. Let's go then."

Ten and fifteen new Sangheili daughters were being inaugurated on this eve. Ten had earned their way and fifteen bought their places. They stood in rows of seven, with the most aristocratic standing alone.
       Jalahass eyed her. She didn't recognise the new recruit, but five years ago the youth wouldn't have been allowed to any social function Jalahass had attended with her family. Her first name turned out to be one that Jalahass considered to be a minor lineage, but compared to Saia' most were.
       And now for the day long prayers. Seeing the dismay on the little ones faces, Jalahass hid a smile. They had better get used to it. There were occasionally entire weeks of prayer, as horrible as the thought was.
       "And so it begins," Solatta whispered, then, with the rest of the hall, "for the Forerunners Honour!"

###

"Saia' Jalahass?"
       Exhausted, dirty and grumpy, the young Priestess whirled on the intruder to her silence and was shocked to see a Prophet stand before her.
       "You do not recognise me?" Solitude asked, amusement flickering over his features. Standing behind him, Fera' Kianall shot a stern look over his head to bring Saia' Jalahass back under control.
       "Why . . ." Saia' Jalahass fought to remember what she should say. "Noble Prophet, thine is not a forgettable face." Blast, that should have been spoken with far more respect.
       Solitude laughed. "Well you look far older than when we first met!"
       "You do not," Jalahass cursed mentally. This was not going well.
       "I trust you are keeping healthy?"
       "Why, yes Noble Prophet, I am." She walked with him around the great hall. "Though after the prayers, I confess to some tiredness."
       "Ah yes. Youth so often does not appreciate the Forerunners."
       "It is not that!" Jalahass exclaimed. "Not that I contradict a noble Prophet, but that I . . . I do not know what I speak, Noble Prophet, forgive me." She kneeled before him. "I deserve punishment for such insolence."
       "I do not think so," Solitude mused. "Fera' Kianall tells me you excel in all your studies. You are far above the rest of your playmates in your level."
       Jalahass didn't know what to say.
       "I think it is time you sat your First Rites."
       Fera' Kianall puffed up with pride, reaching forward to touch Jalahass' forehead. "This is a great Honour. You will be one of the youngest Priestesses of our Age to sit the First Rites."
       "An . . . an Honour indeed," Jalahass managed.
       "Go to prepare," Solitude told her kindly. "You leave tonight."

Jalahass wanted to bathe, she didn't want to have to prepare for the most trying seven weeks of her life. Her stomach rumbled, but her mind kept throwing up statistics.
       Only twenty eight percent of those inaugurated survive the First Rites.
       Suddenly she found the air leaving her lungs.
       "Oh, Jalahass," Solatta was by her side, guiding her into a private antechamber. "It's okay. It's okay, my love, you will be okay."
       "I will die!"
       Solatta pulled back, taking Jalahass' face in her hands. "I have never known a more resourceful child in all my years in the convent. Nor have I ever met a cleverer Sangheili. The First Rites are not impossible."
       "I have been given no time," Jalahass sobbed.
       "You have been given this time," Solatta corrected. "Use it."
       "I need to bathe, I need to sleep . . ."
       "You will feel worse by the end of the Rites," Solatta glanced around, checking they were alone. "Eat as much as you can now, sleep as you travel. Bathing is not a necessity."
       "But!"
       "Jalahass you must listen to me! If you are to survive you must not think like a Priestess. In all seven of my weeks I was not visited by a vision once. All you must do is survive, you don't need to do anything else. And you will survive, Jalahass. You must!"

###

The sand was whipped into little flurries as the Phantom lifted off the dune, reaching a safe altitude then soaring into the horizon.
       Jalahass stood, in all her finery, feeling despair rise in her throat. Finery was pretty, but it would not protect her from the wild beasts that roamed the desert. Nor would it give her food or water.
       How could they do this to her? Most Priestesses were given at least three days to prepare. She had been given a few hours.
       The fresh air she had craved so much bit into her skin, flapping her robes and rustling the beads on her headdress.
       Fury overtook her, she flung the crown away from her, ripping at her useless robes until they were shorter in the length and in the sleeve. Hesitating, she inspected the thick fabric she had worn. The headdress glinted ahead of her, its sharp prongs sticking into the sand.

Swallowing the rants in her throat, she approached the jewelled ornament. She crouched, taking a firm grip of the gold, already hot from the suns beating down on her shoulders. With a soft prayer, she started to bend the gold, working away at it until a point twisted away. Holding her new blade in her teeth, she hefted the rest of the metal and started down the dunes.

Lia' Wuanna was silent, giving his friend the time he needed to watch the funeral pyre.
       Gul' Tarmassan's body burned, his thick blue armour melting in the heat of the plasma flames.
       The meagre group of spectators watched this, all sober, but none so wracked with grief as the only son standing at the head of the pyre. Orna' Fulsamee watched the flames, tears in his eyes. His light build seemed dwarfed by the two soldiers stood beside him, dressed in their finest regalia.
       The Priestess sprinkled some halli blossoms into the fire, to mark the start of Gul' Tarmassan's Great Journey. "And bring my Honour into your light as I undertake the last steps of my Journey," she prayed.

With the ceremony complete, the other Sangheili began to make their departure, speaking quietly among themselves and avoiding the bereft son.
       "He was your father?" A tall, well dressed Elite approached Orna' Fulsamee.
       "He was. I am his only son to Asa' Fulsamee."
       Nodding, the Elite glanced to the fire. "He spoke of your mother often. Asa' Fulsamee may not have been a prestigious Sangheili, but none other held his heart."
       Lifting his head, Fulsamee extended a hand. "I am Orna' Fulsamee."
       Gripping his elbow in the age old gesture, the Elite smiled. "My name is Supreme Commander Hans' Galatash. And your father saved my life."

"I am sure a young thing like you will think that I am a fool," Galatash spoke as they walked by the lakeside. "But my mate took an Oath of Privacy to repent for a mistake she made. The Oath would last the rest of her life. She was not allowed out of the convent and of course, mere Supreme Commanders are not allowed in."
       Orna' Fulsamee nodded to show he understood, Galatash had been effectively cut off from his mate.
       "Your father was a great support to me. He had lost Asa' Fulsamee many years ago, but the pain was still new to him. I owe him my life several times over, though I could never prove it to a council. Your father was worth more than the rank he achieved. I am sure that had he the strength of a Lineage behind him he would have gone far."
       "He served the Prophets as best he could," Fulsamee replied, clasping his hands behind his back. "It is all any of us ask for."
       Turning to face him, Galatash seemed to see something he liked. "You will be nearly finished your basic training, I assume?"
       "Only two more years, then I will be posted on a ship."
       Galatash nodded. "Yes. I don't suppose you have earned a patron yet?"
       "No, Excellency, I have not. Natanna tells me, I apologise for the lapse your Excellency, Gui' Natanna says he is always on the search for willing patrons."
       "Indeed he is, of that I am sure. Yet, for those unsponsored, it is far more difficult to rise through the ranks. Your friend, Lia' Wuanna has his family to back him. What have you?"
       "With respect, Excellency, I have my skill."
       Galatash laughed. "Your skill, as great as it may be, is nothing compared to a seasoned Elite." He placed a hand on the young Sangheili's shoulder. "Do not bristle like that, lad, I assure you I meant no disrespect. If you would accept, I would like to be your patron, and to offer you a place on one of my ships when the time comes."
       Fulsamee was speechless. "I . . . Excellency! Are you sure?"
       "Of course I am, Orna' Fulsamee. The son of Gul' Tarmassan is not to be denied his place in the stars."
       "I . . . I do not have the words to thank you, Excellency."

Galatash stared out over the lake. "Will you do me one thing?"
       "Anything, Excellency."
       "Will you always remember your father as an Elite with great Honour, and understand that though his armour did not show it, he was a better Sangheili than both of us."

Saia' Jalahass hefted her bone spear, just in case the Phantom before her was an illusion and the Prophet she saw approach was in fact a beast.
       "Well . . . Priestess," Fera' Kianall stepped forward, easing the haft from her grip. "I am very glad to see you are alive."
       "Saia' Jalahass," Solitude smiled, thumbing his chair forward. "You are now a Sixth Level Junior Priestess. How do you feel?"
       Jalahass lifted her aching head, her vision swimming from a blow she had received what felt like a lifetime ago. Her skin was peeling from the relentless sun and more than anything she wanted to rest her limbs down and sleep for longer than a few minutes uninterrupted.
       Solitude watched her, expecting an answer.
       With as much dignity as she could muster in her tattered robes, Jalahass bowed before the Prophet. "I feel Honoured."

The Priestess and the Warrior - Debutante Freedom
Date: 2 January 2005, 5:42 PM

The Priestess and the Warrior

Author: Jillybean
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Debutante Freedom


The lines of Elite soldiers were less substantial than Natanna would have liked, but there were some very good Sangheili in the crowd.
       "Prophet on deck!" he called ceremoniously, smiling to himself as they snapped into rigid conformation. At the front, Natanna could see his prize student, Orna' Fulsamee.
       "On this," the Prophet of Fury began, "most Holy of days, you Sangheili will march forth to serve the Prophets. For generations the Covenant have looked to this holy alliance . . ."
       He would go far, that Orna' Fulsamee. Natanna could see greatness in him already. The Prophets may look him over, but all soldiers knew that true Honour comes from the battlefield, not from soothsaying.
       Beside the rangy figure of Fulsamee, his friend Lia' Wuanna stood. Natanna could see the family of Wuanna sitting in the balconies, their high status affording them the best seats in the house.

"Fear is not a word the Sangheili understand," Fury was saying, gesturing expansively. "And indeed I owe my life many times over to the bravery and skill of the Elites in my service. Those I see before me today are set to carry on this fine tradition . . ."
       Natanna could also see Supreme Commander Hans' Galatash in the gallery, watching his adopted charge. Galatash's eyes did not flicker from the young Elite at attention, not even when the best of the class were called up to receive their awards.
       They walked down in their shining blue armour, holding their ceremonial energy swords tightly.

Lia' Wuanna was called up for a specific award in Naval Excellence. Walking tall he approached the Prophet, kneeling before him to receive the hilt of the energy sword. Such a weapon was not allowed in the hands of mere recruits. Accepting the hilt, Wuanna stood, stepping to the side and igniting the plasma. The light flickered over the blue helmet he wore and he returned to his comrades, nodding subtly to Fulsamee.

"Lastly, for the Award of General Excellence, Orna' Fulsamee."
       Natanna roared the loudest as Fulsamee collected his sword, aware that a richer child would have been given a more respectful applause. Later, as the Prophet spoke at length with him about his new warriors, Natanna could see Fulsamee slipping away from the crowds. Staying barely long enough to pay his respects to Fury, Natanna hurried after him.


"Fulsamee!"
       "Master Natanna," Fulsamee nodded his head. He stood on the balcony overlooking the great city of Soltashaa. His training complete, he would not be planet side for quite some time.
       "It's beautiful, isn't it?" Natanna waved at the stars above them. "I have often thought that Sangheil was the most spectacular of the Covenant planets. Perhaps I am biased." He smiled, shaking his head. "Have you spoken with the Supreme Commander about your first post?"
       "He says he is working on it," Fulsamee replied, swallowing.
       Secretly laughing, Natanna managed a sober nod. "Do not be too disheartened, Orna'," he smiled at the use of the informal first name. "And I hope you will now consider me a friend, my Brother."
       Orna' Fulsamee turned to him, his eyes bright. "That is the greatest Honour you could have awarded me . . . Brother."
       "Congratulations!" Hans' Galatash's voice boomed over the balcony. He approached, resplendent in gold. "You are now a fully fledged Elite, Fulsamee. How does it feel?"
       "It feels good," Fulsamee replied, smiling.
       "Excellent," Galatash rested a hand on Fulsamee's shoulder. "I have arranged for a private party in your honour at my villa. Would you care to join us, Gui' Natanna?"
       "I certainly would."
       Fulsamee looked between the two, trying - and failing - to decipher their knowing smirks.

###

"Here," Lia' Wuanna wove his way through the aristocratic party goers with two glasses clutched in his hand. He reached Fulsamee at the window and pressed on into his grip. "To us."
       "What is this?" Fulsamee sniffed the clear liquid and winced.
       "Unggoy brew," Galatash answered for him, towering above Wuanna. "Really, just because you may now drink doesn't mean you cannot be Elites with taste."
       "Yes, Excellency," Wuanna said, a little unsure of himself.
       "Come," Galatash nodded to the nearby Kig-Yar to dispose of the glasses.

"This," Galatash reached a bureau, "is what Elites should drink. You'll have plenty time for Unggoy brew when you have to wile away the hours shipside." He removed a hooded bottle from inside the cabinet, setting it down. "Brandy, especially Jiralhanae stuff, that is acceptable. It would be preferable to drink a Sangheili whiskey." He lifted the hood from the bottle to reveal a light pink, incredibly fluid liquid.
       "Leave it too long in the light and it evaporates," Galatash said, pouring three glasses.
       The two Elites held theirs, not sure if drinking it would be tantamount to heresy.
       "This is the drink of the Prophets, a very fine rum." Galatash swirled the glass, smelling its contents with a contented smile. Covering the bottle, he replaced it in its dark home and turned to the congregation.

"My fine Covenant," he began, waiting for them to focus their attention. "We gather here to congratulate the newest of our warriors-"
       There were rowdy cheers from all the races gathered together, even the Prophets Fury and Solitude, who had deigned to visit the party.
       "Yes, yes. Settle down . . . I see you there Holota, had a little too much to drink I think? As I was saying, we gather here to celebrate those like Lia' Wuanna, Orna' Fulsamee and their classmates. It gives me great pleasure to announce this now, as top of his class, Orna' Fulsamee has earned his way onto my cruiser, the Solemn Thunder . . ."
       The rest of the speech and the tumultuous roars were lost to Fulsamee, who stared into his rum, trying to comprehend the magnitude of this. A posting on the Solemn Thunder was an honour far and beyond his station. Sangheili and Prophet alike approached him to offer their words of wisdom and congratulation. He managed a response, barely.
       Swallowing, he downed the rum in one gulp, feeling it ignite all the way down his throat.
       "You've done so well!" Lia' Wuanna hissed, grabbing his arm. "Celebrate!"
       "I . . ." Fulsamee turned on him. "I have done nothing. Galatash has given me this."
       "You've impressed him enough." Wuanna sipped his rum. "I'll be back, but my first night away from the facility deserves a far more attractive presence than yours."

"He has the right idea," a soft voice spoke by his shoulder.
       Fulsamee turned to see a young Sangheili step forward, arching her neck as she watched Wuanna slip off into the mass of others. "Do you think so?" he asked, struggling for something to say.
       "I do," she said, glancing up at him.
       "I apologise, I do not think we have met," Fulsamee said to her, inclining his head.
       She smiled. "Of course. Father speaks of you so often, I forget that I do not actually know you."
       "You're - ?"
       "Fera' Talsamee," she bowed her head, very close to his.
       Fulsamee wracked his memory, coming up with the second oldest daughter of the union between Galatash and Fera' Kianall, the High Priestess. This child hadn't seen her mother in over six years, only spoken with her father on the most formal of occasions. Her rather forward attitude was typical of an aristocrat raised by servants. He doubted that she had ever not got her way.
       "Your father has done me a great service, I owe him many thanks."
       "Well then," she beamed. Her amber eyes matched the neatly tailored two piece robes she wore. "You can start by entertaining me. Tell me, do you dance?"

###

"Hans' Galatash!" Solitude hobbled across the floor, refusing to be reliant on his chair as age crept upon him.
       "Noble Solitude," Galatash excused himself from his second in command and his new mate, choosing instead to guide Solitude to a comfortable seat. "How have you been?"
       "Very well, thank you. I must say," Solitude smiled breathlessly at the room full of Sangheili. "I have not seen a party like this since Kianall left the running of your home to her daughter."
       "Fera' Soffinna has done very well," Galatash agreed.
       Nodding, Solitude seemed lost in thought. "Fera' Talsamee is getting on very well with your young ward," he murmured slyly. "I would watch that, if I were you."
       "Would you, now?" Galatash frowned. "Talsamee is a very ambitious young lady, the Priestesses named her well. I worry that she does not have enough to channel her energies."
       "Really?" Solitude paused in thought. "Have you thought about politics for her?"
       "Politics?" Galatash repeated. "I hadn't. She is very young for such talk."
       Penting his fingers, Solitude pursed his thin lips. "I do not think so. You must have heard the rumours Galatash."
       "I have," the Elite spoke quietly, concentrating on his daughter on the floor. "But such signs . . . they are so far away? And we may not even know if a civilisation exists."
       "I believe it does," Solitude turned to him. "I believe there is another race out there. Every piece of Forerunner evidence we have found speaks of a holy place, one uninhabited. That sector of the galaxy, unexplored and unforeseen . . . I sense a great revolution coming for our Covenant, Galatash. We will need all of the finest pieces on the board."

"And thus let your soul be carried from this mortal plane and borne on the Great Journey."

Solatta waited for Jalahass to finish her first ever ceremony, watching the very young seventh level priestesses finish their prayers and get up to leave.
      "Have a good night," Jalahass told the little ones, waiting until they had filed out before sighing with relief. "Oh, Solatta, that was terrifying!"
       "You were very good at it," Solatta soothed her. She noted that the brown robes of a sixth level priestess had been cunningly tailored by her dorm mates to give it more shape. The emerald stitching on the cuffs looked buffed as well.

It was tradition for the sixth level priestesses to go out into the city of High Charity after their long years of internment in the convent. And it was also tradition for them to give their keeper the slip and pay penance for many days afterwards.
       Solatta recalled quite clearly her own 'escape'. Though now she had a charge of her own, she wished she could erase the night from her memory. Her first alcoholic drinks figured prominently.
       Duty and plain respect dictated that she take Saia' Jalahass into the city soon. The young Sangheili would be meeting her parents this next cycle for the first time in six years. It was unheard of for a priestess not to have gifts for her family upon her visitation.
       These gifts were often plain, since the sixth level priestesses undertook the Oath of Poverty and were denied all but the most basic of essentials. Still, Solatta reflected, Jalahass did not suffer. With the full facilities of the convent at her disposal, it was only personal items that were limited. With no contact from the outside world since her arrival, her only possessions included a doll and a down brush that had been long outgrown.

The older priestess did not fail to notice Jalahass' slight pause at the window, nor the hint of resentment in her tone when she spoke.
       "They were a very good audience."
       "They were. Not so long ago you were one of them." Solatta smiled at the indignation on her charge's face. "It's true though. To me it feels like yesterday."
       "Liar!" Jalahass chuckled, pushing the older Sangheili. "You've passed into the fourth level, and stopped growing since I got here!"
       "Yes so you'd better not push me so much, these bones are older and far more fragile."

Giggling to themselves, they bowed respectfully at a passing second level Junior Priestess.
       "I have a thought." Solatta took her hand. "This way!"

They navigated the winding corridors to the last great entranceway with the huge doors. A legion of Honour Guard stood rigid, their eyes sliding across the floor to watch the young priestess as she stared up at the only barrier to her freedom.
       "I want to feel fresh air."
       Solatta hesitated. "Technically, Jalahass, the air out there is just as recycled as it is in here." Off Jalahass' look, she shook her head. "But let's go." She nodded to the guard and waited for the purple doors to part.

The long arching bridge seemed like forever to Jalahass. Their sedate pace, a necessity to keep their head-dresses on, was terribly frustrating. Jalahass wanted to run!
       They passed two sightseeing Unggoy with a serene wave, and headed for the main lift that led to the city's centre.
       "Is it what you'd hoped for?" Solatta asked as the platform descended. The merchant city sprawled beneath them, filled with the richest denizens of High Charity.
       Jalahass breathed in through her mandibles. "I want to eat out," she murmured. "Let's eat out!"

After some deliberation they chose to eat in a smaller establishment, not wishing to draw too much attention to themselves. Sitting in the tall seats, they ordered simple meal of spiced worms and, as a special treat for the younger Sangheili, Brandy Mucus to drink.
       "You know," Solatta slurped the intestinal worms from her bowl. "They can say what the will about the cooks at the convent, but at least they manage to resurrect some taste."
       Jalahass chuckled, wiping her mandibles over her tongue. "Thank you for taking me out, Solatta. I was beginning to wonder if you ever wood."
       "Just remember," Solatta warned, "I've studied every escape method ever attempted. You won't get away from me so easily."
       Jalahass sipped her Mucus. "I don't think I want to. I haven't seen my family in over six years, and if I'm paying penance I'll miss my first opportunity to visit them."
       "Hmm," Solatta hummed. "Would you like to go out to the market?"
       "Perhaps," Jalahass stood. "I'd quite like to visit the monuments to the Arbiter, I went once when I was very small."
       Nodding, Solatta made to stand, before getting thumped over the head with a heavy, ornate crown.

Jalahass sighed as she watched her mentor fall to the floor in a heap. She crouched, pulling the money pouch from Solatta's belt.
       "Make sure she gets back to the convent," Jalahass said, tossing some coins in the direction of the Lekgolo staff. "And tell her 'I doubt she studied my methods'."
       She smiled down at the teacher. "I am sorry," she whispered, stepping over the clutching hands.
       "Oh, and does one of you know of a good tailor?" she asked.
       Glancing between each other, the Lekgolo chattered amongst themselves, then one jumped forward. "If you please," he hissed, leading her down the streets.

"And these are your quarters." The deckmaster on the Solemn Thunder eyed the young Elite. "I do hope they're satisfactory."
       Gazing around the tiny two bunked room, Orna' Fulsamee couldn't imagine anything better. "I thank you, Excellency," he said respectfully.
       With a snort of laughter, the deckmaster left him to it, muttering about 'Excellency' and unable to decide if the seldom used formality was a tease.

Glancing at the second bunk, Fulsamee slid his case under the cot, then he hesitated. What was there to do now? His duty call wasn't until the morning and there was no one in the cabin to tell him what to do.
       He thought of Lia' Wuanna, shipped out to a post in the distant end of the galaxy. All his other classmates were out of reach too, no doubt finding their own path in the stars.

The long corridors of the Solemn Thunder were decked out in purple hues, the last of her repairs completed as they prepared to get under way. Orna' Fulsamee tried not to stare as he passed, the occasional Engineer fascinating him.
       Pausing at a long window he looked out at the dockyards surrounding the Engineer homeworld, Dannchatta. Covenant Cruisers lit trails in the sky as the departed from their dock, and others crawled in, beaten and bruised from their latest tangle with the universe. Shuttles zipped between the stations, giving the hectic sky the appearance of solidity.
       "Hey there," a blue clad Elite paused in the corridor, giving him the once-over. "New recruit, I'd wager my next rations on it."
       "I am. My name is Orna' Fulsamee," Fulsamee bowed respectfully.
       Nodding slowly, the Elite touched foreheads as Brothers did. "Come on, you're on the Solemn Thunder now. No better ship and no closer crew."

His new friend led him to a small common room where various Elites and Grunts were relaxing. There was a heated three-player game of Jaheijagaj in the corner where two Elites and an old special ops Grunt looked set to come to blows.
       "Has' Lannay, Has' Yahnaa," Fulsamee's companion nodded to the two blue Elites in the middle of the room. "This is Orna' Fulsamee."
       "I know that name," Yahnaa sat up straighter. "I believe you have taken the extra bunk in my cabin."
       Fulsamee felt the urge to apologise, but he quashed it.
       "Sit," Lannay ordered. "And tell us about yourself."
       "What would you like to know?"
       Lannay thought about this.
       "Your favourite Jaheijagaj strategy might be an idea," Fulsamee's original companion glowered in the direction of the game.
       "Oh silence, Rolamee." Yahnaa belted the Elite over his tender chest, protected by the armour he wore.
       "May I ask . . ." Fulsamee began, startled when the others paid him his full attention. "I was warned that I may not get a warm reception on my first posting." He looked between them, realising that they looked completely blank.
       "Fresh out of training?" An older Elite, dressed in the informal black gel-suit worn under the armour, approached them with a smile fixed on his mandibles. "Let me tell you, Son, that your training no longer applies."
       "None of it?" Fulsamee snapped back, before he could help himself.
       The Elite laughed, the rest of their audience with them. Now that the room's attention was on Fulsamee and the much larger spec-ops Elite, Fulsamee regretted his sarcastic tone.
       "We're your teachers now," the Elite informed him. "Us and the Thunder. You'll have learned more by tomorrow than you have in all your years in training."

Saia' Jalahass eyed the two Honour Guard that were escorting her back to the convent. Surely . . . most likely . . . they could be subverted too. All the Elites she'd met in High Charity had been extremely helpful.
       These Honour Guard were not so friendly, depositing her in the plush office of Fera' Kianall. Solatta stood by the door in respectful deference, but her eyes blazed with fury.

"You're not pleased with me," Jalahass deduced.
       Kianall shook her head, her mind recalling the night of her escape with brilliant clarity. "I shall leave the terms of your punishment up to Solatta, you insolent child," she scolded. "You bring dishonour on us all."
       She managed to wait until both junior priestesses had left her office before she collapsed into helpless snorts of laughter. The Honour Guard eyed her, a twitch forming at the corner of his mouth.
       "Where on earth did you find her?" Kianall asked, standing and righting her headdress.
       The Honour Guard hesitated. "A brothel, my Lady. I do believe she was attempting to liberate her Sister Sangheili."
       Kianall pinched her mandibles to keep from laughing again. "And did she succeed?"
       "We do have a bill for damages . . ."

###

"I am outraged!" Solatta paced in front of the altar. "That you would so blatantly go against my wishes!"
       Jalahass kept her eyes slightly closed. Unggoy Brew was not the drink of choice from now on.
       "And to attack me!" Solatta paused for a moment, regarding her young charge. "I don't understand though . . . why waste this opportunity to see your family?"

Jalahass let one eye slide open. She inched herself off the floor, forgoing her forgiveness prayer for the answer. "I'll see them next cycle. I've waited six years, Solatta, another month will not kill me."
       Solatta frowned, folding her arms. "Continue your prayers," she ordered, but she did not shout. "I'll be back later with food."

Fulsamee felt the fabric around his head tighten and the ropes secure his arms to his body before he was fully awake.
      He struggled, kicking out at his assailants, but strong arms pinned him down.
       "Move it, Narnay!" hissed the voice of Fulsamee's bunkmate.
       "Get the paint!" That was definitely Rolamee. The actions became clear to Fulsamee and he relaxed. This was a prank.

"Oh I wouldn't get too comfortable," an Elite whispered in his ear, mandibles brushing Fulsamee's skin.
       "What do you plan on doing?" Fulsamee asked before a wad of fabric was tightened around his throat, impeding his speech.

He was lifted from his bed, blind and mute, and carried down what he felt sure were the hallways of the Solemn Thunder. He tried to keep track of the twists and turns, but his captors doubled back several times and sang rowdy drinking songs to deafen him to the Thunder's unique noises.
       At one point he heard a Jiralhanae grunt "Elites," in a tone of utter contempt. This worried Fulsamee. He had no wish to appear naked and painted with obscene symbols in the middle of the Brutes common room. The Jackals or Drones he could handle, but he feared the great oafs that made up the Brute nation.

Narnay, the spec-ops Grunt, was tickling his underside, making him wriggle in the grasp of his captors. One of the Elites carrying him pretended to drop him, and it felt like a long way before Fulsamee was caught once more.
       "Hey!" shouted an Elite, Fulsamee recognised the voice as one of the old spec op leaders. The Elites started chanting, obviously liking whatever plan the spec-ops leader had gestured to.
       "Ohhhhh - My - Brute shot got no shot, no shot, the shot not got my Brute shot not,
All around the deck hands sing
About the Brute shot not got shot no Brutes!"
       Fulsamee truly wished that they were not carrying him to the Brute halls.

He was roughly dragged through long narrow shafts, he assumed they were the Grunt passageways, before he could make out the tiniest chinks of light through his blindfold.
       "Oh the Supreme Commander will be furious," cackled another one of the Grunts.
       This was worse than the Brute halls.
       Fulsamee tried to protest, muffled though his voice was, but the Grunts pushed him through a vent and let him fall.

Hans' Galatash looked up from the dinner their chef had set out and was infinitely glad that his ceremonial helmet hid the expression on his face.
       Across the table the minor Prophet brothers looked completely stunned, choice segments of their dinner hanging off their ears.
       The poor, young Sangheili who had falled from the ceiling vents was trussed up tight, with many a strange and misspelled expression painted on his body with . . . what looked, to Galatash . . . to be deck paint.
       "Is that . . ." the Prophet of Honour lifted his long fork and used it to prod the Elite, eliciting a pained jerk from the body trying to play dead.
       Coughing slightly, Galatash nodded to the two other Elites at the table. Please, please realise what I'm doing, he prayed under his breath. Fera' Kianall if you could use your way with the Forerunners now . . .
       Galatash sipped his rum, holding a hand up for the Grunt servants. "Another bowl of gasoh please, this one is quite finished."
       Sol' Nakaka, the Ship Master, spluttered violently, managing to hide his face in the bowl of mucus worms he had.
       Honour and Glory stared at the Ship Master as he resurfaced, face dripping mucus. "Is . . . is this normal, Sol' Nakaka?"
       Nakaka put on a brilliant show of ignorance. "The gasoh going off? Well it is a very delicate meal. Our cooks are quite heavenly," he added, enjoying himself now.
       "Indeed," the field master Saammee proffered a napkin to Nakaka. "Some may think it trivial, I say an army marches on its stomach. Especially a Grunt one!"
       All the Elites laughed at this.

The only other member of the table was a Brute Chief, Gorgon. Gorgon's inclusion had not been Galatash's choice, but the will of the Prophets. Galatash found that Brutes rarely made entertaining dinner guests and Gorgon was no exception. Even now, he ignored the Prophets polite disbelief and stood, circling the table to get a view of the young Elite.
       "Is your food quite palatable?" Galatash asked.
       Gorgon sneered at him, grabbing the Elite on the table and wrenching him off, flinging him to the floor. "This is a Sangheili!" he snorted.
       Galatash hesitated, he knew he shouldn't say this. Finishing his rum he set the glass down and tented his fingers. "Is it? I hadn't noticed."

###

Fulsamee was miserable as Sol' Nakaka removed the last of his bonds.
       "There, good as new. Well," Nakaka frowned quizzically, "except for the paint."
       "Spectacular," Saammee added, bumping foreheads with Fulsamee. "I have had a wonderful dinner, haven't you Hans'?"
       Hans' Galatash paused at the door to his private office, looking at his young ward. "Fulsamee," he growled. "What did you think you were doing."
       Fulsamee slumped, mustering enough respect for his commanding officer to stand and bow. "I am . . . ashamed for myself, Excellency."
       Pulling off his helmet, Galatash grinned. "Don't be! We'll be talking about that for years!"
       Cheering, the other Elites started to scrub the paint off. "The Thunder really knows how to pick her warriors, doesn't she?" Saammee said, scrubbing so hard it hurt Fulsamee's skin.
       "You're not . . . you do not feel anger?"
       Galatash crouched beside him, bumping foreheads. "Understand this, Orna', we have our work cut out for us to placate the Prophets . . . but we laughed and we became Brothers for it. That is a reward too great to be angry with."

Fulsamee hesitated, there was one question he wanted to ask, but he wasn't sure if it were allowed.
       "You're wondering about the Brute Shot song that's been scribed all over your legs," Nakaka surmised, a smile gracing his features.
       "Oh!" Galatash cackled at the thought. "Ooohhhh myyyyyyyy Brute shot got no shot, no shot, the shot not got my Brute shot not,
All around the deck hands sing
About the Brute shot not got shot no Brutes!
They tell about that shotless Brute with got not shot that Brute shot not
And asked about that not shot Brute got not
I said shot not Brute did the Brute shot, but the Brute shot hot the Brute not shot but Brute not shot shot!"
       Fulsamee's eyes widened. "Shotshot," he mumbled. "Isn't that . . ."
       "Incredibly rude in the Jiralhanae language?" Nakaka grinned. "Well - had we known, I'm sure it would never have become a traditional drinking song . . ."

The transport set down on the landing pad and the passengers disembarked, all off to their own business.
       For Jalahass this was the first time she'd set foot on Sangheil since she had been a child. Though many still would consider her a child. Sangheil's sweeping orbit around her sun was far longer than any of the other Covenant homeworlds, and the Elites still counted time in those long years.
       She gazed around the platform, wondering if her parents were there. She barely recalled their faces.

There were no other priestesses standing on the platform as the commuters moved away. Surely her mother and father would recognise her. Would speak with her.
       Her mother would hold her, her father would lift her upwards.
       "Saia' Jalahass?" questioned a richly adorned male Sangheili. He inspected her. "You've grown rather scrawnier than one would have hoped."
       Jalahass swallowed. "Father?"
       A second Sangheili joined them, her expression pinched. "Saia' Jalahass. We were glad to hear of your survival."
       Jalahass looked upon her mother, Saia' Sorenza, and felt an odd calm descend upon her. "I was glad also to be able to speak with you once more," she waited, head held high for her parents to remember their manners and bow to the sixth level priestess.
       "Priestess Saia' Jalahass," Sorenza corrected herself. "Would you care to meet your siblings?"
       "Yes." Jalahass followed them, resolutely determined not to cry.

The Priestess and the Warrior - A Rebel Base
Date: 7 January 2005, 3:10 PM

The Priestess and the Warrior

Author: Jillybean
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Rebel Base

"I had no idea there were any rebels." Orna' Fulsamee lifted the two nadier above his head, crossing them to avoid the blow reigned down by Hans' Galatash.
       "More than you might think," Galatash replied. He backed off, swirling the nadier in his claws. The ceremonial iron rods were the length of a fully grown Elite's arm and as thick as ones wrist. Their grips were cushioned with blessed ribbon, cut precisely by Priestesses. The nadier had been Galatash's gift to Fulsamee the previous year. He had said he only wished a sparring partner, but the sacred art of fighting with nadier was one that not even Nakaka knew. Galatash had been one of the last to learn from the great masters. Now he taught Fulsamee.

"Jiralhanae," Fulsamee shook his head. "Why force them to join the Covenant? We're better off without them."
       Galatash huffed with laughter, lunging forward with his nadier held under his arms.
       Defensively, Fulsamee swept backwards, hitting the wall. Had he retreated so much?
       The surprise of his opponent gave Galatash the opportunity to whip one rod out and buckle Fulsamee's knees. "You must learn to attack, Orna', you're getting nowhere."
       Fulsamee grunted, rolled and blocked the next blow. The polished nadier slipped off each other and Fulsamee lost his balance.
       "Your dead," Galatash pointed out, two rods pushing down on Fulsamee's rib cage.

Backing off, the tutor let his pupil recoup. "The Brutes rebel because they do not believe in our cause that females should not fight."
       "It is not a females place," Fulsamee shrugged.
       Laughing again, Galatash dived forward. "I agree that our females should be kept safe and honoured. How would we ensure our Lineage to the next generation if we endangered them?" He delivered two quick blows to Fulsamee's back. "Attack me! By the Forerunner, boy!"
       "Yes, Excellency." Panting, Fulsamee pulled himself to his feet. He paused, drawing breath to compose himself but Galatash attacked again.

"Ow! Hans'!"
       "Then get up and fight me!" Galatash roared.
       Staggering upwards, Fulsamee swung half heartedly at his commanding officer, losing balance and stumbling past. Galatash scored three hits in succession.
       "You're tiring," he crowed. "Come on you motherless son of a Grunt, get up and hit me!"
       Fulsamee hissed through gritted mandibles, fighting for control over his emotions. He twisted, blocking the next blows almost in spite of gravity.
       "You're still worthless," Galatash goaded, dancing around him. "Am I supposed to worry about you?" He turned his back, still blocking Fulsamee's attempts. "Pathetic runt!"
       "Why do Brutes wish their females to fight?" Fulsamee grunted. He kept low as he moved, twirling the nadier.
       "They're unnatural, heathen beasts," Galatash replied. "A bit like you, Jackal-Bait."
       Fulsamee grinned at him. "Insult me all you wish, I do not care."
       "The stink off you . . ." Galatash only got that far before Fulsamee lunged, whacking his master twice across the chest before he had a chance to defend. Galatash was pressed backwards by the furious ,onslaught only stopping it by crunching his pupils neck with the nadier crossed.

"Now . . . that . . ." Galatash panted, on the floor, "is how you ought to fight."
       "I hope I'm not interrupting," Saammee approached. He extended out his claws to help the two to their feet. "Look at him, Hans', you've beaten the down off his back."
       "Contemptuous beast," Fulsamee twirled the nadier in mock anger. "I lost my down long ago!"
       "Of course you did, young one," Saammee grinned.
       "Well," Galatash rubbed his skin down with a towel. "He did very good. Down or no."
       "Good. And now I rescue him from your clutches. Fulsamee, I want you to be on my team that escorts Wisdom and Fury to the Brute Rebel Base."
       "Me?" Fulsamee gasped.
       Galatash grinned. "An excellent choice, Field Commander." He slapped Fulsamee on the back. "I'm sure we on the Thunder can spare you a few weeks."
       "The negotiations will take that long?" Fulsamee asked, deflated.
       Saammee laughed. "My thoughts exactly. The quicker we get those Prophets down there, the quicker they can work the will of the Forerunner and the quicker you can get back to this suicide."

###

The Solemn Thunder was out of place among the hodge podge of Brute vessels orbiting the ancient space station. Orna' Fulsamee looked out over the immense space scape, marvelling at the structure.
       "Noble Prophets," Saammee turned to them. "Our Phantom is going to dock in five minutes. You may wish to secure your chairs."
       Fulsamee nodded to Rolamee, and the two stepped forward to help the Prophets.
       "Why, thank you Soha'," Wisdom said to the richer Elite.
       Fulsamee stepped backwards, wishing Galatash had not riled him so yesterday.

"This is very important for us," Fury addressed the Phantom's crew. Field Commander Saammee, the Spec Ops Grunt Narney, Soha' Rolamee, Gorgon the Brute Captain, a contingent of Jackals and Fulsamee himself. Relations were understandably strained.
       Gorgon had never forgotten that night, years ago, when Fulsamee had dropped in unannounced in Gorgon's first formal dinner. Rolamee was stung at Fulsamee's constant promotion, which was of course unrightful and contrived. The tiny fact that Rolamee owed Fulsamee his life twice now, was insignificant. Narney and Saammee were Fulsamee's companions. Narney often telling him to change his line to special operations, Saammee also. Fulsamee knew, however, that he was technically the third in command on this mission. Not that it would mean anything.

"Docking now," Saammee announced. He nodded to Narney and Gorgon who took point at the door. Fulsamee positioned himself with Rolamee, to the front of the Prophets.
       "Airlock cycling."
       The doors opened and the foul stench of Jiralhanae filth filled Fulsamee's nostrils. He glanced at Rolamee and the two fought the urge to slap the airlock closed again.
       "May we present," Gorgon announced to the committee awaiting them, "their most Noble Highnesses, Wisdom and Fury?"
       "Pah!" An gargantuan female Brute laughed at them. "Minor Prophets. Until they send those of the Hierarch, we are not interested!"
       Their airlock cycled closed and Fulsamee was left, along with the others, trying to placate their furious Prophets.

###

"This is a problem," Galatash agreed from the command room of the Solemn Thunder.
       "The Prophets are demanded we return to High Charity," Saammee told him. He glanced over his shoulder as Fulsamee approached. "I do not want another ten years of bartering before we obtain another opportunity like this."
       "Have you spoken with the Prophets about trying again?" Galatash asked.
       Saammee shrugged. "I think that with Rolamee's help, I may be able to coerce them. Lana, the leader of the Rebels, is another matter. She won't budge."
       "May I ask a favour?" Fulsamee piped up.
       The older Elites looked at him curiously, before Galatash nodded his consent.
       "I would speak with Lana. The research indicated that the Rebels are not so . . . antagonistic towards Elites as our Brutes are." He glanced at Saammee before continuing. "Saammee has tried, Gorgon has tried. What is left to ruin if I fail?"
       "What indeed," Galatash agreed. "You have permission. Please do not stay in this stalemate for much longer. It is not a favourable state of play."

"An Oath of Silence . . ." Jalahass mused, pacing her large chambers. "And yet you manage to go and get yourself paired off."
       Solatta glowered at her, claws crushing the delicate fabric of her dress.
       "Stop that," Jalahass commanded. She folded her arms and took a step back to regard Solatta's appearance. "Don't you think more lace would be . . . oh, I don't know . . . prettier, somehow?"
       The Kig-Yar attendants raced to their kit and pulled out a great swathe of lace.

"Is that okay with you?" Jalahass asked her mentor as the Jackals began pinning to the cloth. Content with Solatta's stoic silence, Jalahass walked towards the balcony. She leaned on the rail and looked out over the city of High Charity. "It feels strange to think that you will be living somewhere else. I've gotten so used to you being down the hall." She blinked, refusing to look round and see Solatta's face. "Still, Commander Neb' Sunn is a very Honourable Elite. I'm sure you two will get along perfectly."

The Jackals glanced at each other as they worked. The two Priestesses were sniffing and crying, and as much as duty and respect bound them, the Jackals couldn't help a little laugh at their expense.

"You may leave."
       The Jackals scattered, talons over beaks, in fear.
       Solatta waited for their complete departure before she sat down on Jalahass' bed. "I don't know how to run a home! Preach, that I can do! But live?"
       "It's easy," Jalahass rested her hand on Solatta's forehead. "I promise no one is more suited to terrorising her offspring than yourself." She kneeled before her sobbing friend and sighed.
       "I don't want children," Solatta shivered. "All I ever wanted was this. The convent! But my parents arranged this. Sunn's dowry has been paid." She sniffed. "If I had been . . . richer," she whispered, "my parents wouldn't have needed the dowry so much . . ."
       Jalahass hesitated. "I know, Solatta, I know . . ."

###

"Priestess Kianall!"
       Fera' Kianall turned as Saia' Jalahass ran up to her, a hand on her crown to steady it. "Yes, Priestess?" she said archly.
       "I need to speak with you," Jalahass panted.
       "Very well." Kianall glanced up and down the corridor. "My office?"

In the large sanctum of the Senior Priestesses office, Jalahass perched on the day bed, moving the brightly coloured pillows aside. When she had been younger she had loved the dizzying colours of the convent. Nowadays she longed for something beige.
       "I have been gifted with a vision," Jalahass murmured, her head bowed.
       "A vision?" Kianall took a deep breath. She circled her desk and poured herself a glass of Brandy. "Please, go on."
       "I stood upon a beach." Jalahass had intended for something far more straight forward, but she realised Kianall would expect something more. "And the waves were beating down on the sand. I looked to my feet but . . ."
       "Take your time, remember every detail," Kianall soothed.
       "My feet were covered in blood. There was a great thunderclap and I was at some sort of celebration. Yet still I saw the bloody seas." She hesitated, how to link this to Solatta? "I went to ask one of the Sangheili what they were celebrating, but they were all tied together and I could not make them speak to me."
       "This vision," Kianall said. "When did you have it?"
       "During private prayer, Priestess."
       "This is grave." Kianall slugged the brandy. "You say that none of the guests would speak to you?"
       "None. I sensed that they were refusing to speak, rather than unable."
       "I shall ponder this vision," Kianall smiled at the younger Sangheili. "You may leave. Oh," her eyes widened slightly. "You will be attending Solatta, preparing for her Bond Ceremony?"
       "Indeed I will. It will be a wonderful party," Jalahass smiled at her. "Thank you, Priestess. This vision has left me quite uneasy."
       "Yes, but no worries now my dear. Go. Have fun."

"Oh Mighty Forerunner I have done only what I think is best." Lying by her altar in her private chambers, Saia' Jalahass felt tears welling in her eyes. "If I have angered you, my Lords, it was not my intent. I wished only to see Solatta happy and this bonding was not for her! Her misery cannot aid you. I do not wish to go against your will."
       She waited all night for the Forerunner to strike her down.

They did not.

Fulsamee tried not to inhale as the Brutes escorted them to the conference room. While the Prophets had rained down praise on Fulsamee's head for arranging the meet, it killed him that he had to suffer for his brilliant negotiating.
       "Oh, the stench," Rolamee hissed.
       "Ssh." Fulsamee did not want to cause a social gaffe.

Their conference room was in the most ancient section of the station. It was a long room, its window looking out at the nebula, with the Solemn Thunder still visible in the distance.
       "Prophets," Lana, the female Brute nodded to the two Prophets as they entered. "Welcome aboard."
       Her feral grin did not sit well with Fulsamee.

Once everyone was seated in the large Brute chairs, and the Jackals stood in their lines behind the Prophets, Lana began to list her terms. The unification of this faction of Brutes would not be an easy one. For one, Lana wanted to be able to fight on the front line on equal standing with male Brutes.
       "You understand that the Covenant teachings prohibit this," Wisdom told her. He lifted his hand to stall any further arguments. "Surely the enlightenment of the Great Journey is enough to placate you?"
       Lana cackled. "Your Great Journey will mean nothing to me if I cannot live before I step on the road."
       "My dear child, that is simply not so. The Great Journey will rescue you from you wretched existence and you shall live forever in glory and honour. On the Great Journey you may do as you please."
       "Pah." Lana spat on the table.

Fulsamee swallowed roughly, catching Saammee's eye and twitching his upper mandible. The tiny sign of amusement buoyed them both and they resumed their patient wait.

"I assure you!" Fury exclaimed, "we do not intend to incorporate you into the Great Journey - you - you heathen!"
       Fulsamee felt the tendons in the back of his eyes strain as he rolled them for what felt like the hundredth time that hour. 'Heathen'. Lana cared less, he was sure.
       "How long has this been going on?" Rolamee whispered at him. "My knees ache from these seats."
       "Silence, Rolamee," Orna' Fulsamee understood his pain. He wanted to get up, have a big stretch and a bath. The filth of the Brutes seemed to be clinging to him.
       "And to be sure," Lana leapt to her feet, the other Rebels following her. "We will not join this Covenant!" She upturned the table in her rage, sending the Prophet's chairs spinning.
       Fulsamee and Saammee dived forward to block the Prophets from the Brutes. No one in the room had been allowed weapons, but a rampaging Jiralhanae was just as dangerous.
       "Rolamee," Fulsamee growled, his eyes fixed on Lana and her Rebels. "Gorgon, Narnay . . . go."
       The Brutes sneered as the Prophets retreated, covered by their tiny task force. Bringing so few had been a mistake, but the Prophets had been so confident . . .

"Do you believe you can escape?" Lana asked, growling low in her throat.
       "You have much to learn about the Sangheili if you wish to fight beside us," Saammee growled. He glanced at Fulsamee, trusting the young Elite to stay with him, distracting the Brutes as the Prophets escaped. He only hoped the Jackal guard would be enough to get them to the Phantom.
       "I will never fight beside an Elite," spat Lana. She hefted the mace that her companion handed to her. "Fools. You come unarmed into an enemy stronghold."
       Saammee grinned. "An Elite is never unarmed."

Fulsamee dived, low across the shining floor, and tackled the legs of the Brute beside Lana. The kneecaps broke and he drove his fist into the back of its head, wincing as blood and brain oozed over his fingers.
       Saammee was wrestling with Lana's mace, his back exposed to the others.
       Pouncing, Fulsamee rolled with the mass of knotted fur. Two Brutes came out on top of him, pounding him with their fists. His shield flickered and his blue armour started to take hits. He opened his mouth and bit down hard on the jugular of the Brute directly above him. It roared, throwing itself upwards and dragging Fulsamee off the ground with it. The young Elite let go, flying across the room and hitting the long oblong window. He dropped, registering pain and confusion.
       "Kill it!" He heard words, but they didn't result in his death.
       Opening his eyes he caught sight of the Brutes setting upon the golden armoured Elite before him. He watched the final battle of Hoj' Saammee, completely helpless to move.

Shaking blood and sweat from their fur, the two remaining Brutes turned on him.
       He took a moment to thank the Forerunner that Saammee had been able to slay Lana, before he had started his Great Journey.
       The Brutes shook the floor as they stomped towards him, as injured as he was perhaps. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lana, her dead hands clutching her broken mace.
       Fulsamee waited for the Brutes to stoop, their grubby paws reaching out for his body, before he kicked off against the wall. His shields skidded over the shiny floor and he collided with the pile of bodies at the far end of the room. Grabbing both ends of the mace he broke it over his knee. Raising the two shafts over his head he took a deep breath, steadying his stance,.
       "Come get me," he growled.
       The Brutes charged. It was easy to defeat this enemy with the grace and skill that came from learning nadier. The broken mace shaft worked just as well and the satisfying crunch of shattering skull soothed him.
       With all his enemy dead, he crouched, lifting the dead body of Saammee over his shoulders and fleeing the room.

"Fulsamee!" Rolamee sounded surprised to see him, and his jaw dropped when he caught sight of the dead warrior slung so casually over Fulsamee's shoulders.
       "Where are the Prophets?" Fulsamee demanded. He ducked round the corner to avoid a plasma bolt and saw the two Prophets. They were cowering behind a bulkhead, protected by a random scattering of Jackals.
       "Where is Gorgon?" Changing tact, Fulsamee scooped up a plasma pistol from a fallen Jackal and flung Saammee's body under the chairs of the Prophets. He ignored their squealing and grabbed Rolamee's shoulder. "Where's the Brute?"
       "He left us," Rolamee growled. "We're dead, Orna' Fulsamee. Look around! What are two Junior Officers and a Grunt going to do against this entire station?"

Fulsamee turned away from him, panting. The Prophets were watching him reproachfully and a Jackal was crouched behind his shield.
       "Get up, you," Fulsamee snarled, kicking at the shield. He grabbed the Jackal by the shoulder, suddenly elated as an idea came upon him. "You wonderful creature!" Swinging the confused Jackal around, he signalled to the others. "Get all of you together and use your shield like a shell. The first row crouch down, defend the bottom. The next row hold your shield to protect their heads. And the next row, same idea. Noble Prophets, get behind those Jackals!"
       He pushed Rolamee and Narney to the back, to shield the Prophets.
       "Now. Move!"

The Jackals started creeping forwards, pressing close together as plasma bolts rained on their 'shell'. One weakened red and flickered out of existence, Rolamee shoved another Jackal into the void left by the fallen.
       Fulsamee tagged behind, dragging Saammee with him. Their little task force was slowing down, sliding closer together as they moved deeper into the Brute territories.
       This wouldn't do, they were being forced into submission. Fulsamee stamped his foot, chanting under his breath. "Wort! Wort! Wort! Wort!"
       Rolamee took up the call up too. Even the Prophets joined in, the regular rhythm keeping them moving.
       "We're nearly at the Phantom," Rolamee hissed. They flipped over, the Jackals catching on quickly and reversing their march order to shield the Prophets on the other side as they approached the dock.
       The two Elites charged the Brute guarding the airlock, taking him out with little difficulty.
       Fulsamee leapt behind the forcefield as it sprung up, watching the Brutes charge the closing airlock.
       "Hail the Thunder. Tell Galatash we need cover fire." He pushed past the Prophets, leaning over Rolamee as the other Elite steered them out of dock. The Solemn Thunder, true to her name, loomed closer. Her cannons fired on the station, drawing enough fire to allow the Phantom an escape.

Fulsamee fairly pushed the Prophets off of the Phantom, sending their chairs spinning onto the deck of the Solemn Thunder. He waited until everyone was off the tiny ship and lifted Saammee into his arms, staggering from the darkness into the bright docking bay.
       "Excellency," breathed a Junior Officer, falling to his knees as Fulsamee's feet touched the Thunder's deck. Only one rank above, Fulsamee did not deserve the Honour, but it wasn't for the dead soldier in his arms either.
       He allowed the other Sangheili in the bay to prise Saammee's corpse from his grasp, and someone removed his helmet.
       "You're wounded."
       He blinked at Nakaka, stumbling as the Thunder shuddered violently.
       Nakaka placed a hand on his shoulder. "Go with Narney, he'll take you to the medics."
       "I can still fight," Fulsamee growled.
       "Go." Nakaka watched him retreat, swallowing as he turned back to his old friends corpse. "Take him to the morgue," he ordered. "We'll have a service when the Brute Rebels are dead."
       Those in the room cheered this statement, but Nakaka left with a heavy heart.

###

"Excellency," Fulsamee bowed before Galatash. The Commander stood in his plush office, watching the nothingness of slipspace. He glanced round as the younger Elite entered, and felt his soul warm.
       "Saammee would not want us to grieve for him, Orna'," he said. He touched foreheads with Orna', beckoning him to sit. "A drink?"
       Fulsamee hesitated. He had never quite felt at home with Hans' Galatash, for all the Commander called him 'brother'. Yet he had watched Saammee's fall and he had seen to it that Saammee would be afforded a proper Death Ritual by returning his body. The Prophets he had rescued were promising him great glory and riches. Even Rolamee had praised him unconditionally in his report.
       Still, it did not make up for the death of someone, a great Brother, who had died to defend Fulsamee's life.

Hans' Galatash sat on the day bed, watching the struggle play across Fulsamee's face in the twitches of his mandibles and claws. He hoped the younger Sangheili would say 'yes'. Hoped the younger Sangheili would understand something Hans' had been trying to teach him for years.
       "Rum. If you have it."
       "I always have it," Galatash beamed. He poured the drinks and set them on his desk, pondering how best to approach this next issue. "We return to Sangheill. I believe you will have even more females throwing themselves at your feet than last time."
       "If I can escape the Prophets blessing me for long enough," Fulsamee replied.
       Laughing softly, Galatash scratched his soft skin. "Fulsamee . . . Orna' . . . my daughter has asked for your spirit in a Bond."
       Fulsamee froze, not daring to look up from his drink.
       "She wishes to be your mate, Orna', what do have to say to that?" Galatash pressed.
       "Fera' Talsamee . . . wishes to be my mate?" Fulsamee repeated. "In a Bonding?"
       "Yes." Galatash stretched leisurely. "I would be . . . delighted if you would agree. You have been the Honourable son I never had."
       "Hans' . . . I have no dowry," Fulsamee whispered. "None rich enough for your family at any rate."
       "That does not matter," Galatash chided. "Come, son. Shall we send a transmission to your betrothed?"

Fera' Kianall found herself slightly lost as she traversed the great libraries of the convent. Here all the most ancient of Sangheili texts were stored, most written in an archaic form of their language, incomprehensible and full of pagan interpretations of the Faith.
       Here, Saia' Jalahass had been entombed since her vision.

Kianall sensed that the vision had disturbed the young Priestess, and it saddened her. Such a gift from the Forerunners should be nurtured, not feared.
       She rounded an archive and found the Sangheili, engrossed in a scroll. The language was indecipherable to Kianall, but Jalahass seemed to read it easily enough.
       "Jalahass? Dear, what are you doing here?" Kianall crouched beside her, patting the back of her head.
       Jalahass smiled. "I've taught myself this language. This," and she touched the scroll deferentially, "is an original document detailing the Oaths of the Prophets. Nine Ages ago, Kianall . . . think about it!"
       "Impressive," Kianall's eyes widened. "Very impressive. And you can read it?"
       "Priestess," Jalahass recovered herself and her respectful tone. "I can."

Thoughtfully, Kianall rocked back on her heels, gazing up at the other texts. "This may be your next Oath. The Oath of the Scholar."
       "For my next level?" Jalahass asked.
       Kianall smiled. "That is what I wished to speak to you about. Your vision has come to pass. There was a terrible attack on the Prophets Fury and Wisdom. I think it is good that we cancelled the Bonding between Solatta and her betrothed when we did. Obviously it did not please the Forerunners."
       "Obviously," Jalahass whispered.
       "So the Prophet of Solitude wishes you to be accelerated to a higher level. Jalahass, you are a remarkable gift to the Covenant. We will not waste you."
       Jalahass watched the Senior Priestess leave, and felt her sins weigh heavily upon her soul.

Her lies had been woven into truth and scripture.

She looked down at the scroll she was reading.
       And ye shall not fear the Arm of the Prophets, for he shall wield the Blade. Said verily unto him, by Truth in his self, "go forth childe and conduct my will". Thusly the Arbiter did approach the Untamed, giving unto them the Oaths of the Prophet, and relaying the command of Truth.
       And as did the Arbiter fulfil his task, no sooner was he struck down by the Blade he wielded. The Oaths of the Prophet being too heavy a burden to carry at once.

Jalahass rolled up the worn hide parchment and returned it to the hollow bone that it was stored in. Returning it to its home, she took a deep breath. Time to begin the preparations for her Third Level Priestess rites.
       What Oath should she undergo this time?

A thought sprung to mind as she left the library, the Oath of Fasting was traditional, but not compulsory. If Jalahass were to undertake the Oath of the Scholar, a lessar used Oath, she might unearth more of these scrolls.
       And she would not be 'wasted'.
       And her power over Kianall would grow.

Feeling slightly chilled, she left the library and its temptations.

The Priestess and the Warrior - The Dutiful Love
Date: 9 January 2005, 2:34 PM

The Priestess and the Warrior

Author: Jillybean
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Dutiful Love

"Oh congratulations!" Jalahass touched foreheads with Solatta. In the middle of the convent hallways, Solatta paused to be thoroughly praised by Jalahass. "My mentor. A Third Level Priestess!"
       "Well," Solatta glanced aside, her skin shivering with embarrassment. "You're already undergoing the ceremonies for Third Level." Still, she seemed pleased by her friend's warm welcome. "And to talk again! I missed speech!"
       "Oh I'm sure you did," Jalahass laughed. She escorted Solatta through long pink corridors to the food hall. "I was surprised you kept your Oath at all."
       Solatta pretended not to hear that.

They chose seats in the busy hall and waited for the Kig-Yar servants to take their order. Holograms of the most famous Priestesses lined the walls, secluded in their own alcoves. Each wore the same beatific expression, some bearing a totem of their faith, others simply watching over the eating Sangheili.
       Solatta sighed and pulled at her new azure robes. The stitching on the cuffs showed her previous levels, emerald for seventh, bronze for sixth, amber for fifth, gold for fourth and her robes were the colour of the third level.
       At the moment, Jalahass still wore the gold robes of a Fourth Level Priestess, and had the stitching for fifth, sixth and seventh. Some might say that her rapid ascension through the ranks did not merit the wearing of all the accumulated colours, but no one would dare speak such disrespect to her face.
       "You know," Jalahass mused, chewing on a stick of flat bread. "The Prophet of Solitude wishes to speak with me about which Oath I am to take?"
       "A great Honour," Solatta replied. She clawed at the table, eyeing the idling Jackals. "Will they never bring my meal? I am starved!"
       "Be glad you're not taking an Oath of Fasting," Jalahass sighed, setting the flat bread down. "That is one of my options."
       "I have taken that Oath," Solatta dismissed. "And you, foul child, teased me the whole way through it."
       Jalahass grinned. "All in good fun, my friend. But, coincidentally, how did you find it?"
       "A nightmare," Solatta groaned. "One meal a week. My belly ached."

"Priestesses," Fera' Kianall smiled cheerfully as she approached. "May I join you?"
       "Of course, Priestess," they echoed, standing and bowing as she sat with them.
       Solatta smiled at her. "Are you quite well this evening?"
       "I am feeling better, since my illness, yes." Fera' Kianall sighed, pale and gaunt. The tint of sky blue in her skin did not sit well with the cream robes of a senior Priestess. She looked almost like a sea and its clouds.
       "I hope you will be resting," Jalahass chided. "You do far too much work, Priestess."
       Kianall sniffed. "That is not you place to decide, child."
       "You are the second person to call me that today," Jalahass noted. "I tire of it."
       Kianall smiled and then again more fully as she spied their meals approaching. "Have you decided upon which Oath you will take, Jalahass?"
       "I have thought of one . . ." Jalahass mused.
       "Good," Kianall slurped at her worms. "Noble Solitude wishes you to be present to bless our new young hero."
       Solatta sat straighter. "The one who single-handedly saved Wisdom and Fury?" She blinked. "Jalahass, that is a great Honour." She pressed forward to whisper in confidential tones. "Priestess Jannas and Greysin tell me he is very much the charmer. They met him at a friends celebration, and they haven't stopped talking about him. I do believe Jannas thinks she may have a chance."
       Kianall laughed, throwing her head back and upsetting her head-dress. "Ha! I should like to see them try. Priestesses, it is my duty to inform you that he is betrothed to my daughter, Fera' Talsamee."
       "Priestess," Jalahass nodded to her. "I wish them every happiness. I'm sure Talsamee will make a good match with this . . . what is his name?"
       "Orna' Fulsamee."
       Jalahass' mandibles twitched. "Orna' Fulsamee, the Lineage doesn't come to my recollection. Am I that out of touch with the Sangheili?"
       "No," Kianall sobered. "He's an orphan, a fatherless, motherless son. My mate took him on as a ward out of the kindness of his heart."
       Jalahass smiled a little. It would be nice, even separated forever, to still refer to someone as your mate. "I am sure all will go well with them," she said.

Sangheil, the ancestral home of the Elites, possessed a hot, humid climate. In general it was only the Elites who inhabited the surface, the other Covenant races finding it too uncomfortable. In fact, only one Prophet resided on the planet, and he lived on the highest mountain where the cool breeze would blow through the windows in the evening.
       Solitude rested in his sanctum, reading the latest media reports of the celebrations on Sangheil on the holographic display. The Solemn Thunder would be leaving soon, and Solitude would be on board as it bore him to High Charity. On the great city he would bless Orna' Fulsamee and the Hierarchs themselves would speak with him.
       He turned, turning the environmental controls down another notch and increasing the dryness of the air. The communications panel lit up, blinking steadily.
       "Yes?" he thumbed the controls.
       A Brute bowed his head, displayed on the pedestal, no larger than a hand high. "Pray, your attention for the Prophet of Truth."

Truth was a young Prophet, and as such was below Solitude. Still, it was only with the barest of civil greetings that Truth spoke with him. It worried Solitude that Truth looked to be the next in line for the Prophet Hierarchs when Hope passed away. And Hope's passing would not be long now. As long lived as Prophets were, Hope was very old. He had lived through most of the Eighth Age and the Ninth and nowadays he spent all his time asleep. It would not be long before he began his Great Journey.
       Mercy was eager for Truth to take up Hope's position and when he did . . .
       Solitude feared Truth. The Prophet was not only power hungry, but a genius. His capacity for tactics and manipulation was unprecedented among the Prophet race. Truth would revolutionize the Covenant, and he would do it without them knowing.
       Solitude's one ally, Grace, was the third Hierarch. Still, Grace had always been a weakling, even when young and passionate. Solitude had demanded extra protection for the Hierarch, knowing that Truth would not be above an assassination, but if Truth was promoted . . . there would be nothing in his path.
       "Solitude," Truth began, turning his nose up at the older Prophet who stood on his own two feet. "Would you care to explain to me why this Orna' Fulsamee has not been transferred to my personal guard like I asked?"
       Solitude smiled, and hobbled away from the pedestal. "Noble Truth," he said. His attention was again focussed on the media reports. "Orna' Fulsamee is under Hans' Galatash's command and as such is under my jurisdiction. I refused the transfer because I like him where he is."
       "There have been threats made upon my life!" Truth spluttered. "This Fulsamee is obviously the creature we want to defend me, is he not? Or do you deny me this protection?"
       "Surely your Brutes will do fine," Solitude drawled. "Leave me alone you worrisome creature. I will speak of this no further."

Truth flickered out and Solitude breathed deeply, shaking despite himself.
       These were dangerous times.

"Orna'!"
       Fulsamee didn't have time to ready himself before his mate-to-be launched herself at him. She bumped foreheads and her fingers brushed his armoured chest, flustering him.
       "Talsamee, please," he began. He was fully aware of the Thunder's command crew watching him, laughing at the exuberance of his young mate-to-be. The landing pad was blessedly free of Grunt gossips, but the crew could be relied upon to bring this up at the most inopportune time.
       "Does it embarrass you that my father watches?" she giggled. Accepting his reluctance she stepped behind him, falling in line dutifully. "I am so sorry I couldn't be here for your promotion," she sighed. They approached the others, who were still grinning like fed Grunts.
       "Father," Talsamee nodded formally, still smiling. "I am glad to see you."
       "And I you, Talsamee." Galatash turned to Nakaka and the others. "Perhaps we ought to let Orna' escape our dinner plans?"
       "Indeed," Nakaka grinned. "Fulsamee, we'll meet with you tomorrow?"
       "Hah," another laughed. "I doubt it!"
       Galatash touched foreheads with them both. "Please, I do not wish to separate you any longer."
       "Thank you," Fulsamee replied. "I appreciate all that you've done for me."
       "Speak of it no more."

Talsamee squealed in delight once they reached Galatash's home.
       "It's been so long since I've been here," she exclaimed. "It's changed!" She hurried through the wide, airy hallways and peeked into her old chambers. "My sister has altered many of the rooms, I barely recognise the place!"
       Fulsamee didn't care about the decorative aspect. He peeled off his new scarlet helmet and set it down. "Where is the Unggoy?"
       "Here, Excellency," the tiny female Grunt bowed. "Shall I bring you some informal wear?"
       "Please," Fulsamee replied. He stripped off his armour and suit. "See that these are well cared for."
       "Yes, Excellency."

Talsamee was smiling at him, drinks in her hand. "Brandy? I know you share my fathers tastes but I can't drink the stuff. It makes me ill."
       "Brandy will be fine." Fulsamee took her arm. "May we move onto the balcony? I miss the fresh air."
       Sitting on the chairs, they watched the night life of Sangheil from the villa's vantage point on the hills. The steady purple flair of shuttles kept night from truly setting in on the city, but the stars were still clear.
       "I forgot what the sky was like, planetside," Talsamee whispered. "I've spent so long on High Charity chasing after this Councillor's post. Now that I have it, I'm everywhere at once, trying to take on all the Sangheili problems."
       "You are the youngest for . . . how many years?" Fulsamee asked.
       "Since the Seventh Age," Talsamee finished her brandy. "I'll be back in a moment, I'm hungry. Would you like anything?"
       "No, thank you."
       Fulsamee felt his eyes closing as he waited, his body relaxing under the safety of an atmosphere.
       The soft paws of a Grunt padded up to him. "Excellency?" The Unggoy held out a purple sarong for him to wear.
       "Thank you," he said, changing. "Have you served the family long?"
       "My Lineage has served the Fera' line for ten generations," the Grunt said proudly. Puffing out her chest, she continued. "My children will serve also."
       "Perhaps they will serve my children," Fulsamee said.
       The Grunt bounced with glee. "I should very much like that, Excellency!"
       Talsamee watched from the eaves, bemused as Fulsamee chatted with the servant. Still, each to his own. She supposed that coming from a nameless background, Fulsamee was unbothered by class and caste. Son of a Grunt, one of the Councillors had jeered when she had announced the news. Her rival stood, mocking her with his mandibles hanging loose as those of the nameless were said to do. 'Will your spawn be a slack jawed as that of the heathen you mate with?' Talsamee had lifted her head high. 'My spawn may look how they wish, so long as the Forerunner blesses them.'
       Still, Orna' Fulsamee was certainly not hard on the eyes . . . and she doubted their children would be either.

Galatash had lost his appetite, along with the rest of his dinner mates. Solitude's dire predictions were not easy listening, and the worst of them could have been called Heresy.
       The select few from the Thunder sat on the fine Brute pelts, their choice of delicacies laid out on the low tables before them.
      Galatash saw now why Solitude had requested only the most faithful joined them for dinner.
       "Of course," Solitude sighed deeply. He looked out at Sangheil, stretched out before his palace. "I hope I am wrong."
       "You are never wrong, Noble Solitude," Nakaka murmured. He glanced at his companions defensively. "It is true. He is not."
       "I wish that he were," muttered another.
       Galatash pushed his plate away, watching the meal spoil before his eyes. "Why can we not bring this new race into the Covenant with us?"
       Nakaka nodded slowly. "Surely they cannot be as vile as the Brutes?"
       "We do not know what they are like," Solitude felt very old. His feeble bones remembered all their years. "They are not supposed to be there. They are desecrating the sacred space of the Forerunner. We believe the Ark to be in that sector."
       "We will need to finish with these Brute rebels before we wage war against this infestation," Galatash mused, plucking at his mandibles in frustration. The timing is not perfect."
       "Yes. And at what price do we defeat the rebels?" Solitude murmured, still looking out over the planet. "Which of our fine new warriors will the Hierarch sacrifice?"
       "Noble Solitude?"
       Solitude shook his head. "An old fool's worries, Galatash. I have become so paranoid I see enemies where exists only the ambitious."

###

"The Oath of Pilgrimage?" Solitude sat back in his chair, his eyes fixed on the young Priestess on the pedestal. "An ancient, and rarely used Oath. What made you think of that, Jalahass?"
       On High Charity, Jalahass smiled. "You know how impatient I grow within the convent, Noble Solitude. I have often wished to leave these walls, but I feel it is only right to serve the Forerunners with my actions." Why did lies come so easily to one raised to speak the truth?
       Solitude nodded. The Solemn Thunder was humming all around him, carrying him speedily to High Charity and the convent. As much as he adored living on Sangheil, he had been away from High Charity for too long. Things were getting out of hand there. "Well, Priestess Jalahass. I am glad you have undertaken this Oath on your Third Level. I also have just the escort for you on your travels. You should be under the care of Orna' Fulsamee, he is a noble and honourable Elite. He will serve you well."
       "An Honour indeed," Jalahass bowed. "I am glad you approve, Noble Solitude."
       "Anything for our young prodigy," Solitude teased. "I will speak with you in person when I arrive."

The pedestal returned to its neutral glow and he pressed a panel, letting its holographic controls fade away. His quarters on the Thunder were spacious and homely, but formal. He felt more aware of his isolation than ever before. In his youth, travelling so far did not phase him. Now High Charity seemed obscenely distant.
       And Sangheil so far behind.
       All this paranoia was Truth's doing. What did he want with Orna' Fulsamee anyway? It could not be good, of that much Solitude was sure. Many fine Sangheili were being gathered for Truth's personal guard. Gathered and subverted to be loyal to Truth before even themselves. Solitude had never seen such behaviour in Elites before. Young soldiers, plucked quickly and secreted away in Truth's sanctum on High Charity.
       He was powerful, yes. Perhaps more powerful than any other Prophet.
       Solitude hesitated, there was one piece on the board that Solitude controlled and Truth did not. One piece that was greatly endangered.
       "I have been such a fool!" Solitude hissed. He would not risk contacting anyone through open transmissions, but once he reached High Charity . . .

The Honour Guard eyed Saia' Jalahass as she approached Fera' Kianall's private chambers.
       "Please," the Priestess waved them away. "Priestess Kianall wishes to speak with me."
       They lowered their spears, refusing access.
       Jalahass took a step back, raising her eyes to meet theirs. "I know Noble Solitude is with her, he arrived this morning. They have sent for me, now let me in!"
       "I am afraid we can not," the Honour Guard replied. "Please. Submit your DNA first."
       Shocked, Jalahass did so, muttering about Heresy under her breath. Finally allowed past, she swept onwards into the darkened quarters.

"Priestess?" she asked tentatively.
       "In here," Fera' Kianall called from the day bed. She lay there, her skin so hard and blue that she looked more like a shell than a Sangheili. Her robes were not those of a Priestess, but an informal tunic and sarong, made of the softest spun hatchling down.
       "Priestess . . ." Jalahass couldn't help but stare. "I had no idea your condition had worsened so! They said at service you were only . . ." she broke off, unable to continue.
       "Please," Solitude hobbled from the shadowy antechamber. "Do not overreact. Fera' Kianall is still as beautiful as ever."
       Both Sangheili managed a faint laugh at this. Jalahass crouched by her side, sweeping her robes out of the way and removing the cumbersome head-dress. With a silent tear, Kianall reached out to touch the younger Priestesses forehead.
       "Kianall must be well again for the ceremony tomorrow or there will be great ramifications," Solitude was saying. He handed the Elite a draught he had made. "It is imperative that she be seen with Orna' Fulsamee."
       "Why?"
       "Do not interrupt!" Solitude snapped. "Trust me when I say that the fate of many souls hangs in the balance. You will be travelling with Orna' Fulsamee, I have arranged for this already. His betrothed, Fera' Talsamee will be remaining on High Charity. Jalahass . . ." he hesitated, glancing to Kianall. She nodded, the faintest hint, showing her allegiance to him and the Covenant. "Jalahass - you must break their betrothal."
       Jalahass stood, her eyes narrowed. "You wish me to break their betrothal? But . . . Noble Solitude . . ."
       "Listen to me, Jalahass. Kianall is dying!"

Hearing it so bluntly shook Jalahass to her core and she sat, slowly, on the edge of the day bed.
       Solitude took pity on her, hobbling towards the drinks cabinet. "Imagine, Jalahass, we were heading towards a war in the near future. A war which only the Prophets, and their favourites knew about. Imagine that this war would eventually lead to our Great Journey."
       Jalahass gasped, her head was spinning.
       He handed her a glass of brandy. "If a young, ambitious Prophet thought he could make it onto the Hierarchy in time for the Great Journey, do you think he would stop for the sake of a Brute rebellion? "
       Jalahass shook her head. A numbness was creeping over her.
       "Fera' Kianall is not easily turned and for this she is being slowly murdered. The only way to defeat the Brutes is numbers. How many Elites will we throw at them to quench our thirst for Glory?" Solitude shook his head. "Jalahass - we must keep Kianall alive long enough for you to ascend the ranks to the level of a Senior Priestess. Then she may pass the mantle of High Priestess to you and we will have another strong piece on the board. If you are bonded to Orna' Fulsamee, he will be untouchable. He is very important and Truth knows that if he cannot turn him now, Orna' will be mine forever." The Prophet swallowed, realising he had let Truth's name slip. "Fulsamee is a very talented young Sangheili. In battle, I do not believe he can be defeated. With a member of the Saia' family as his mate he will be a unifying force, uniting all classes of the Elite. And you will protect him in our arena."
       Jalahass glanced at Kianall, her expression unreadable. "Fera' Talsamee isn't powerful enough. Is she?"
       "My daughter is Truth's." Kianall closed her eyes. "He got her where she is today. He is the one who convinced her to ask for Orna' Fulsamee's hand."
       Solitude took a deep breath. "It is a terrible thing to ask of you, Jalahass, but I must ask it." He raised the glass to his lips.
       Jalahass pounced, swiping the glass from his grasp and letting it fall to the floor. The hand made crystal shattered.
       "What are you doing!"
       "If I were poisoning Kianall," Jalahass murmured. "This brandy would be where I would start." She poured her own onto the floor and flung the glass aside. "If you will excuse me, I believe the Forerunners will send me a vision tonight."
       Solitude coughed, composing himself. "I hope that vision is a pleasant one, Jalahass."
       The young Priestess paused as she picked up her head-dress. Steeling herself, she clicked her mandibles in the subtlest hint of disapproval and marched out.

Orna' Fulsamee sank gratefully onto the floor of their quarters on High Charity, giving the Grunts a pleasant smile as they delivered their dinner to the low tables. Talsamee and Galatash sat also, Talsamee pulling the softest cushions towards her.
       "Ceremony," Galatash groaned, stretching his claws. "I swear this society runs on them."
       Fulsamee nodded. "I am exhausted. And tomorrow we have more. The Priestesses were interesting though, and the Convent very beautiful."
       Talsamee snorted. "If I were given a blessing for every Priestess I've seen causing trouble in the small outposts, I would be a Prophet by now." She reached over her father to grab at the flatbread. "I was travelling with Truth a few years ago in the outer belt and we encountered a Priestess who was trying to set up an aid centre." She bit into the bread, savouring its salty taste. "Initially I thought this was brilliant, but the ineffectiveness of her!" Talsamee shivered in annoyance.
       Galatash huffed quietly, under his breath.
       "What do you think that young Priestess meant by your futures being linked?" Talsamee turned to her mate-to-be.
       "Priestesses," Galatash snorted. "They are fickle creatures."
       Talsamee shrugged. "I do not remember Mother."
       Fulsamee choked slightly on his worms. "I do not think that is quite what your father meant."
       "It was," Galatash growled.
       Talsamee sat back, regarding him. "You have been in a foul mood since we met with the Priestesses, Father."
       Grumbling to himself, Galatash stood and left the table.
       "I think seeing Fera' Kianall upset him," Fulsamee sighed. "At least I can be assured you will never take an Oath of Privacy."
       Giggling, Talsamee shook her head. "No. I won't. Orna', the Prophet of Truth has invited us to dine with him after you meet with the Hierarchs tomorrow."
       "I would be honoured."
       "Good," Talsamee smiled. "I think you'll like him. I am Honoured to call him a friend."

###

Galatash tossed over on his bed. These guest quarters on High Charity were not his home on the Solemn Thunder. His body knew this and he could not sleep.
       That and Fera' Kianall.
       Her illness had unsettled him. The pain with which she moved, the careful watch that her juniors had over her. Even Solitude was concerned. Then she had grasped his shoulder, blessing him as though he were any other Commander. But he knew that look in her eyes.
       "Forgive me."
       It was only a half heard whisper as she moved away from him.
       What is there to forgive? What have you done that would merit my anger? He was sure that it was not her oath that she spoke of, this was something far more recent.
       Forgive what?

Restless, he rolled off the cot and stood, crossing to the window. High Charity. The convent towered in the distance, and he knew where he had to go. He had to speak with her.

The Honour Guard nodded to him as he passed them en route to her chambers. They seemed to expect him. Kianall's loyal servants. How kind of her to tell them he was coming.
       Was he that predictable?

"Hans'," Kianall spoke warmly. She was laid out on her day bed, attended by the young Priestess from the Saia' family and the Prophet Solitude.
       "What has happened to you?" Galtash exclaimed. Here, without illusion and disguise, she looked far worse.
       "Poisoned," Solitude growled.
       "The brandy." The young Priestess nodded to the drinks cabinet. "I would watch your supplies."
       "I . . . Kianall, who did this?" he snarled, clenching his fist.
       Kianall laughed, her breath rasping against her throat. "Hans', please. Would you slay the Prophet Truth for me?" She saw the answer in his eyes and sobered.
       "Touching as the sentiment is, you would not get close." Solitude shook his head. "I should have seen that Kianall was a target. But I have seen who is next. A strong, capable leader like the one you are sculpting."
       "Orna' . . . " Hans' gasped. He almost turned for the door.
       "Truth will not defeat Fulsamee by weapons or poison or any method you soldiers comprehend," Solitude shook his head. "No. He will use tricks and subtlety, a gesture far beyond you."
       "Thanks, old friend," Galatash replied, wryly.
       Solitude nodded. "Please, meet Saia' Jalahass. Soon to be betrothed to Orna' Fulsamee. The Forerunners have decreed it."
       Galatash shook his head. "No. No. Orna' is in love with Talsamee. Besides, he doesn't have the dowry for a family as mighty as the Saia'!"
       Jalahass folded her arms. "My vision was clear, Hans' Galatash. The Hierarchs themselves would not deny it."
       In silence, Hans' regarded the three of them. "Then . . . may I break the news to my daughter and son?"
       Solitude bowed his head, regret showing plainly on his face. "Would that it worked out any other way. Go, Hans'. And watch your back."

Fulsamee was led to the Hierarchs inner sanctum, unable to take in the splendour of High Charity or the sheer number of Honour Guard he saw.
       Talsamee had been furious, and had hit her father when he had delivered the news. Hans' had let her, saying only that the Forerunners could not be doubted.
       Fulsamee would not doubt them. He felt numb because any other emotion would be a heresy.

The vaulted sanctum was darker than Fulsamee would have liked, he felt instantly on edge. The stars twinkled outside, but they were close to the only lighting in the place.
       "So this is Orna' Fulsamee!" Grace floated forward to inspect him. He nodded to himself as he circled. "A fine specimen."
       "You will serve us well," Mercy added. "I forward Hope's apologies, but he was too busy to attend."
       "Noble Hierarchs, I am Honoured enough as it is," Fulsamee droned.
       "Yes," Grace settled back in his chair. "We hear of your betrothal to Saia' Jalahass. The ceremony is soon, is it not? You two will be bonded before the Solemn Thunder leaves on its next mission, or so we have been told."
       "Yes. The arrangements have been swift."
       "Young love is a beautiful gift from the Forerunner," Grace said. "Is it not so, Brother Mercy?"
       "It is. Now, begone with you, Orna' Fulsamee. I hope to see much more of you in the future."

Truth watched as the Elite left. He approached his brother Prophets with a smile on his face. "A brilliant soldier. Let us hope, that unlike many others, he will survive the trials of this war against the rebels."
       "Indeed," Grace said.
       "Noble Grace," Truth began. "May I discuss a new strategy with you?"

Fulsamee stood in the centre of the guest chambers, being pulled this way and that by the Grunts fitting his new armour.
       "Try to show some enthusiasm," Nakaka growled from his chair. "All of High Charity has turned out to see this."
       Fulsamee groaned, the weight of the worlds settling on his shoulders once more.
       From the window, Galatash snorted. "It looks more like all of Covenant kind. This kind of celebration will go down in history."
       "Yes. The only Sangheili to ever unwillingly marry a Saia'."
       "I am not unwilling," Fulsamee growled.
       Nakaka barked with laughter. "No! Then remember to smile for the media, or you shall be misunderstood on your bonding day!"
       "This match was made by the Forerunner," shouted Fulsamee, scaring the Grunts and even himself. "I will not dishonour them by refusing it!"
       Nakaka and Galatash bowed their heads.
       "My apologies, Orna'," Nakaka said. "I did not mean to speak with you so."

"Fulsamee!"
       Orna' turned, shocked and surprised at the sight before him. Lia' Wuanna stood by the doors, his arms spread wide.
       "Fulsamee, you have truly excelled yourself! A Saia'! Tell me," Wuanna grinned as he strutted in. "How did you do it?"
       "Divine intervention," Galatash muttered. "Wuanna," he said aloud, welcoming the young soldier. "It is good to see you again."
       "And yourselves, Excellencies." Wuanna smiled at his old friend. "No words for me, Fulsamee?"
       "You'll understand if I am overwhelmed by todays events," Fulsamee replied wryly.
       Wuanna laughed. "I hurried back when I heard the news, jumped ship. I could not miss my Brothers bonding ceremony."
       Fulsamee smiled a little, touching foreheads with him. "I am very glad to see you."

"You look beautiful," Solatta stepped back to regard the bright red robes that Jalahass wore. "Who would have thought? It's not been so long since we planned my bonding, and now here we are at yours!"
       Jalahass mustered a smile, brushing the red and gold fabric with her hands. "I want you to know that while I am away, I will think of you always."
       "I know," Solatta was cheery. "But you'll be very happy with your new mate, I am sure. You always get the good ones. I told you he was a good looking one, didn't I?"
       "You did," Jalahass felt her eyes mist up. She trembled, tears welling.
       "Saia' Jalahass," Solatta murmured very quietly. She leaned closer. "If you wish to back out . . ." she touched the other Priestesses claws.
       "No," Jalahass shook her head. "I will go through with my duty."
       "This ceremony is not a duty, Jalahass," Solatta pulled the veils over her head. "Dry your eyes. It would not do for you to be seen this way."

Orna' Fulsamee and Saia' Jalahass met in private for the first time as they waited in the small convent hangar for their chariot to be brought to them.
       "Hi . . ." Jalahass murmured.
       Fulsamee's cool gaze chilled her. "Priestess Saia' Jalahass. Good Morning."
       Jalahass glanced at her hands as they boarded the hovering vehicle. The Honour Guard approached and attached the two beasts of burden that would pull it through High Charity.
       "In time," Jalahass whispered.
       The doors slid open and the animals moved. The anti-grav cushioned the jerk as they were pulled into the artificial brightness. The onlookers threw down the blossoms of the halli tree, multicoloured eddies spinning in the air.
       "You may learn not to despise me."
       "I do as the Forerunners decree," Fulsamee whispered back. "They have asked that we bond. And we shall."
       Jalahass shut her eyes briefly. Sins that weighed her down before were crushed by this fatal blow. Lies came easy to those fighting Truth.

###

Solitude presided over the long and hurtful ceremony. He protracted each vow, allowing the Grunts to take several shots of the hand tying. He invited every member of the Covenant to join in the week of celebration, declaring a holiday and a great feast to be held in the Honour of the new mates.
       He turned them to face the crowd, holding their hands aloft so each and every soul could bear witness to the red rope that bound them.
       "Look happier," Solitude growled under his breath. "Jalahass, you have not just buried your mother and Fulsamee, the world has not ended. Get out there and smile!"

They presided over the feast, neither one eating very much.
       "I suppose you two want to escape all this publicity," the Prophet Wisdom called from his end of the table. "Well, your new mission will afford you plenty of privacy I'm sure!"
       "Yes, how fortunate!" Fury added. "That Priestess Jalahass would be undertaking this pilgrimage in the stars just before bonding with you, Fulsamee. The Forerunners are not fools. They want their favourite to be well protected!"
       Jalahass mumbled something about not wanting to be thought of as a favourite of the Gods.
       Those assembled laughed. "I am sure many would kill for your position!" cackled Fury.
       "What a terrible thought," Solitude said darkly. "One would hope Saia' Jalahass and her mate are well protected."
       "Indeed," Galatash finished his meal and set the plate down. "Still, once on the Thunder we have a long journey ahead."
       "Yes," Fury nodded. "Escorting Brother Solitude and Hierarch Hope so far is a perilous task. We trust in our finest."
       "We are fortunate to have Priestess Jalahass with us," Galatash bowed his head towards her. "Hopefully her presence will bless us. The Sacred Grounds of the Prophets are not without their own dangers. Hope is brave to try such a journey in his condition."
       "He believes it will heal him," Truth smirked. "I would be very careful with such a precious passenger, Brother Solitude."
       "I am careful with all of my own," Solitude replied.
       "If you will excuse me," Jalahass stood, her long red robes rustling. The crowded hall watched her as she made her excuses and departed.
       "Orna'," Galatash said quietly. "We will not keep you from your beautiful new mate."
       With a heavy heart, Fulsamee left also. The crowd cheered as he left their sight, delighting in this apparent consummation.

Solitude smiled at Truth. "I notice, Brother Truth, that you have yet to bless the bonding. Would you care to do so now?"
       Truth, with a tight smile, acquiesced.

The Priestess and the Warrior - Grave of the Solemn Thunder
Date: 14 January 2005, 7:05 PM

The Priestess and the Warrior

Author: Jillybean
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Grave of the Solemn Thunder

High Charity loomed in front of the third moon in the planet's atmosphere, surrounded by a hundred pin pricks that were the Covenant cruisers. Dwarfed by the city, their individual orbits blurred into a lazy defensive circuit.
       The largest dot was slowly making its individuality known. Bristling with cannons and recently fitted with the very latest shielding technology, it drifted further from its comrades. Once at a safe distance, it welled, an enormous bubble of energy encompassing it, and stealing it away from normal space.
       The Solemn Thunder was gone.

Orna' Fulsamee watched the nothingness of slipspace stare back at him from the Elite common room.
       "If you look anymore depressed, Fulsamee, you'll have our latest recruits thinking the Thunder's not the best crew in the fleet," someone drawled.
       The other Sangheili laughed. The oldest and most battle worn, Sian' Jaltamaa, a Special Operations member since before most of the others had been born, clicked his mandibles thoughtfully.
       "With a mate as pretty as yours, I wouldn't be spending my off duty cycles in here." Tapping his claws against the chair, he stared into the back of Fulsamee's head. "Is there trouble already in the nest?"
       Fulsamee knew, without turning his head, that the entire congregation was watching him. Repressing a sigh, he heaved himself up. "It's strange, Jaltamaa, all this time I thought you loved to mouth off. Yet you ask for the ability to be removed from you." He leaned closer, his jaws clicking together. "Permanently."
       And now was a good time to retreat. He could not order his soldiers to stop talking about his personal life, especially when it was so high profile. He could maintain dignity . . . but for that sacrifices must be made.
       His sacrifice would be to go see his mate for the first time since they had set underway.



Jalahass surveyed the boxed that filled the large, egg-shaped quarters on the Thunder. Although she had been unpacking for hours, nothing seemed to have been touched.
       As kind and considerate as the Unggoy were, they had decided to mix her stuff from her chambers in the convent in with Fulsamee's possessions from his old quarters in the lower decks. Presumably, this would have been to make her feel even more bonded to him, because it certainly couldn't have been the easiest option for the little Grunts.
       Her reluctance to move all of Fulsamee's belongings had intensified when she had found a beautiful, ceremonial green box. It had been carved from the green wood of the sacred halli tree, with intricate decorations emblazoned on the sides. She had opened it, curiosity getting the better of her, and found two nadier. Such a precious and personal item should not be shown to just anyone, and these were clearly well loved and cared for.
       She knew nothing about him. Except that he was deadly.
       "By the Prophets," she muttered under her breath. "There had to have been an easier solution to Solitude's problems than this."

The arching doors slid apart with a soft chime and Fulsamee entered, hulking over in his red armour.
       "Ah . . . I am so glad you're back." She dropped the beautiful down-hair pillow that was part of a set, a gift from the Hierarchs. "You may unpack your things now."
       Fulsamee watched as she retreated to the oval recession in the wall. It was a day bed, of sorts, though clearly intended for two Sangheili. "I see we were given the most luxurious suite."
       Regarding him from her recline, Jalahass shrugged her mandibles. "I had no idea the Solemn Thunder catered to newly bonded couples."
       "Nor had I." Fulsamee turned to the crates. Jalahass looked quite different without the imposing head dress and in less formal attire. Her beauty did not match Talsamee's, her skin was a little rougher and her body lankier.
       Removing his helmet he set it aside on top of one of the crates and peered into the one Jalahass had been rooting through. The items in it were not his, he moved on to the next. Inside there were robes of Jalahass' . . . and some of his old trophies.

"I . . . but . . ." he turned to her, seeing her smug face. "You knew!"
       Unfolding from her seat she circled the crate and pulled out a long azure dress. "Most of these are formal. Where's the wardrobe in this place?"
       "You haven't found it yet?" Fulsamee asked. He could feel a twitch in one of his mandibles coming on.
       Glowering, Jalahass scooped up an armful of fine fabrics and dumped them on the daybed. "You might not want to leave me doing the housekeeping. I left my home when I was a Hatchling, and we Priestesses don't do much tidying up."
       There was that twitch again. Fulsamee tried not to look at the tangle of clothing strewn over the floor and crossed to the storage compartments concealed in the wall. "Here."
       "How much space will you need?" Jalahass asked as she began folding haphazardly.
       "I'm not sure." He pulled out the next item on the agenda, a rebel Brute pelt, one of his first scalps of war.
       "Oh that's . . ." Jalahass corrected herself off his look ". . . quite . . . interesting. Perhaps it would look better over there?"
       Grumbling to himself, Fulsamee sent it sailing through the air. "I didn't even draw lines across the floor with my first bunkmate."
       "Wait until you've shared chambers with someone under an Oath of Fasting, Fulsamee . . . that's torture." She shoved the rest of her robes into the alcove and pushed it closed. Approaching him again she grinned. "Of course, that might be my next promotion."
       "When's that due?"
       "As soon as possible."

"Hmm," Jalahass pulled out his old Jaheijagaj board. "Oh. Do you play?"
      "You have to on this ship." Fulsamee was regarding a very old down brush. "Is this yours?"
       Jalahass lunged across the room to take it from him. "Yes."
       Fulsamee looked sceptical. "I'm sure you're far too old for that."
       "I am. It has sentimental value." She placed it on the desk that was rapidly filled up with her junk. She had collected a lot of useless items over the years, but the down brush had stayed with her through all of them. She needed it here too.
       Fulsamee sighed deeply, staggering back from the crates and collapsing onto his pelt. "This should be easier."
       Nodding, Jalahass set the brush down and approached him, kneeling on the edge of the large furry rug. She watched as Fulsamee struggled to remove his armour, eventually shedding the metal and sitting in the more comfortable dermo-suit.
       "You don't play Jaheijagaj?" he asked after a moment.
       "No," Jalahass shook her head. "It wasn't taught to Priestesses."

The Unggoy glanced meaningfully at each other as they served dinner to the two Sangheili sitting on the pelt. The pyramid shaped Jaheijagaj board sat between them, its four classes of pieces scattered on the fur beside them.
       "Jaheijagaj is as much about bravery and Honour as it is about skill and tactics," Fulsamee said as he sorted the last of the pieces out. "In a three or four player game, one wishes to have as many allies as possible. Being duplicitous will not aid you."
       Looking slightly baffled, Jalahass caught some worms wriggling in her bowl and chewed thoughtfully. "So how do you start?"
       Holding out one of each type of piece, Fulsamee set them out on the board. On each of the four sides he set out four pieces in a diamond shape. "Do you see on the bottom of the sets, your pieces are red, mine are blue."
       "How very complicated," she retorted.
       Grinning, Fulsamee paused to eat. "You might want to save the best of your witticisms for later, Priestess." Finished, he sat back. "Now. I cannot see your pieces and you cannot see mine. You can see the pieces on the boards on either side of you-"
       "Not very well."
       "Precisely. These are your Kiggyar, the half informed pieces. It's derived from Kig-Yar, yes." He smiled and thanked the Grunts as they left. "As there are only two of us playing they are not of much relevance . . . yet. The largest of your pieces is the strongest, but also the slowest. It may only move one space at a time, but it must be surrounded by enemy forces on all sides to be taken down."
       Jalahass frowned and Fulsamee waited for her to reason something through. "There's not enough forces for you to take down this one. Even combined with the Kiggyar."
       "These smaller pieces are your infantry. Three infantry clustered together spawn a fourth member."
       "Why are there different sizes of infantry?"
       "They represent your warrior's Honour. Those with greater Honour can overwhelm a warrior with less Honour. Now - to attack . . ."

Solitude approached the luxurious cot and peered down into the plush purple interior. An anti-grav cushion kept the Prophet of Hope from touching the sides of the bed, the effect only seemed to add to his fragility.
       "I truly hope we may heal you Brother," he whispered. Turning away, he hobbled past the holographic displays of the Graceful Wanderer. The planet was one of the most remote colonies, closest to the sacred Healing Grounds in the nebula where the Prophets had first found evidence of the Forerunner. The official reason for the Thunder's voyage was that Saia' Jalahass would be visiting the Graceful Wanderer on a public relations tour. The delay at the planet was a necessary evil. Lying before the altar, Solitude prayed. "Oh Mighty Lords, listen to this old Prophet's plea. Grant us safe passage to the Healing Grounds . . . grant Hope strength. Great Forerunner, give me the time I need."

Jalahass groaned and rolled over as Solatta shook her awake for morning prayer.
       "I'm not going!" she grumbled, grabbing the older Priestess and pulling her onto the sheets.
       "Oomph!" Orna' Fulsamee was considerably heavier than Solatta and he landed on Jalahass' bed with a considerable thump.
       "Fulsamee!" she gasped. She had never woken this quickly before in her life. Both Sangheili found themselves apologising, before Orna' cut her off with a gesture.
       "The Grunts are wondering if you will be breaking your fast with the officers, or in your quarters," he said, his mandible twitching in amusement.
       "Uh . . ." Jalahass glanced out at the window of nothing and grimaced. She stretched every muscle in her body, kicking off the covers and reaching for a robe. "Did you sleep well on the day bed?"
       "Yes . . . where are you eating, Priestess?" Fulsamee handed her the robe she was looking for. "Did you have servants to do everything in the convent?"
       "No. When I visited home I had servants to do everything." Shrugging the robe over her head, she smoothed the wrinkles of skin at the back of her neck and contemplated where to dine. "Are you going to be eating with the officers?"
       "I had planed to eat with the crew, but I will go to the officers mess with you if you wish."
       Chewing her mandible, Jalahass wondered how fair it would be to ask him to change his plans.
       "Come," Fulsamee took her elbow and pulled her out the door. "We shall go eat now before my duty shift starts."

Nakaka was the only one in the private hall when Fulsamee and Jalahass arrived.
       "A change of arrangements?" Fulsamee indicated the table he sat at. "You're not usually here."
       "I had a meeting with the Brute captain," Nakaka spoke with great annoyance. He downed his warm stew and bowed his head to Jalahass. "A fine morning to you, Priestess."
       "And you . . . Sol' Nakaka, am I correct?"
       "You are indeed," Nakaka turned to the Unggoy service passage. "Come on out you lot! Mouths to feed!"
       Jalahass sat down and sipped at the water that was laid out in a fine clay beaker. It was made by the Kig-Yar on their home planet, and was prized for its extremely delicate and patient detail work. Jalahass had seen a demonstration of it being made once, and she had been bored witless.
       "We may have a new Jaheijagaj champion on our hands," Fulsamee said as he nibbled on dry flatbread.
       Impressed, Nakaka bowed his head again to Jalahass. "Coming from the one reigning supreme, that's high praise, Priestess."
       "I didn't win! I lost dismally." Jalahass smiled despite this. "I understand the rules, except when they keep changing. He assured me he wouldn't use the Kiggyar but he did."
       "Yes, you must be very wary of Orna' Fulsamee in battle. He will do whatever it takes," Nakaka warned her.
       "Is it legal?" Jalahass let the Grunt place the food on the table before she dived into it, surprisingly ravenous.
       "Perfectly," Nakaka sighed. "My loss in Jaheijagaj, Priestess, is that I trust my opponents far too much."
       Fulsamee laughed, slurping the last of the stew down his throat. "I must leave now," he announced, standing and stuffing more flatbread into his mouth. "My duty shift starts in . . ." glancing at the chronometer he twitched his mandibles. "I must leave now."
       Nakaka and Jalahass laughed as he hurried off.
       "Well, Priestess, I'm off duty. Have you toured the ship yet?"
       "I have not. Would you be my guide?"
       "I would be delighted to, Priestess."

High Charity Ninth Age of Reclamation

"My Noble Prophet," Glory inclined his head as Truth approached. "How may we help you?"
       The darkened chamber suited the small eyes of the Prophet race, but there could be anything hiding in the shadows. Truth was always wary of the sanctum and always had his personal Brute guard with him when he spoke with the Hierarch.
       "I was curious. Has the Solemn Thunder reported in yet?"
       Glory eyed the young Prophet by Truth's side, but he slid his chair across the room, staring out into space. "Commander Galatash is brilliant tactician. It is unlikely that he will report in unless he is at the designated reporting co-ordinates."
       "Of course," Truth bowed his head. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Regret's attention and made a slight motion. Watch me.

Approaching the older Grace, Truth affected his most likeable persona. "I fear for Hope, with only one ship . . ."
       "It is a secret mission, any target on board would be Saia' Jalahass. No one knows of Hope on board." Mercy cut in, a little too quickly for Truth's liking. He hushed him with a look.
       "Admittedly, Noble Mercy."
       "And who," Grace turned to look at Truth, "would wish to target Saia' Jalahass?"
       "Who indeed," Truth said, surprised. "I see no profit in it for the rebels, ah, if you pardon my pun."
       "Should something happen to Hope," Grace faced him. "You would be a strong candidate for the next Hierarch."
       "Well . . . " Truth began.
       "I would not support you." Grace folded his arms.
       Truth narrowed his eyes. "Is that so?"
       "That is so."
       "Then, Noble Grace, I take my leave. Regret!"

Grace watched the exit, and felt as though he had just lost a battle. He glanced to Mercy, the old fool smiling to himself.
       "I suppose you're happy?"
       "I would support him."
       "You told him about the yoo-mans."
       "And you told Solitude." Mercy clasped his hands and returned to his private chambers. "And we were both told not to let it slip to anyone."
       "Perhaps Hope was the wisest after all," Grace replied.

Colonised world: Graceful Wanderer Ninth Age of Reclamation

Orna' Fulsamee gritted his four rows of teeth together as another Hatchling pawed his shining new armour.
       "How many scalps do you have?" he asked, grinding his mandibles together, forcing out a sticky goo which seemed to gravitate to Fulsamee's breastplate.
       "Enough . . ." he said, trying to disengage himself.
       "How many!" the Hatchling wailed, thumping a sticky hand off Fulsamee's leg.
       "Ahh, Excellency," the Unggoy teacher smiled at him. "You're a natural. You are a lucky one, Priestess."

Jalahass glanced over from the other side of the ceremonial hall where an older class was detailing their art projects.
       "This is the space ship I will use," the little Sangheili told her gravely. "And with it I will burn out all heresy."
       "What a brave little soldier." The expression of polite amusement was fixed so rigidly on her face it hurt.

The doors slid open, letting a little of the arid atmosphere in with a whoosh. Hans' Galatash smirked a little as he approached them.
       Fulsamee growled under his breath. "Commander, do you require assistance?"
       Galatash smiled, swooping one of the little Sangheili into his arms. It giggled and squealed in delight as Galatash tossed it up and down, much to the concern of the Grunt nurse maid who bounced around his ankles, eyes fixed on her precious charge.
       "I'm afraid I must take your new friends away from you," he told his young audience. He scrubbed the down hair on the Hatchling's head and helped Jalahass to her feet, she swayed, the extra gravity on the Graceful Wanderer making her head-dress all the more cumbersome. "Are you well, Priestess?"
       "Fine thanks," she replied. She tried not to giggle as Fulsamee escaped from his fan, and clapped her hands together. "Gather round, Hatchlings. I will bless you."
       The children did so, curling into little balls before her.
       "Very good," she said. "Let the Forerunner bless these Honourable warriors, giving each one the strength and courage they will need to defend their faith and their Lineage."

Once outside in the harsh wind, Fulsamee let out an explosive grunt of annoyance.
       "You don't want children then?" Galatash asked.
       "Not those children," he retorted.
       "I used to live in a crèche like that," Jalahass pointed out, one hand steadying her ornate crown. "My nurse maid was a cantankerous old Elite with only one arm." She tripped over a loose stone and was caught by Galatash and Fulsamee. "Thanks. Would you hold this?" Pulling off the head dress she gave it to Fulsamee.
       Fulsamee's eyes widened in surprise as he hoisted the heavy mass of metal and jewels. They continued over the orange dirt to the home of Hik 'Arumaa, the most influential Sangheili on Graceful Wanderer.
       "Feel the weight in this." Fulsamee handed the head dress to Galatash.
       "Hmm. You're stronger than you look, Priestess."
       Jalahass shrugged, ducking under the cover of the walkway. Now in an artificial environment she breathed a sigh of relief. "It saved my life during my first rites. It was my only weapon."
       "First rites?" Fulsamee handed her back the head dress and she righted it on her head.
       "Yes. To show I was blessed by the Forerunner I was marooned on an uninhabited planet, much like this one, to survive for seven weeks." She saw the surprise on Fulsamee's face and grinned. "If being a Priestess was easy, everyone would be doing it."



'Arumaa had taken to decorating his palace in the style of the Prophets, with high backed chairs and tall tables.
       Jalahass found this incredibly annoying. She preferred to sit on a rug on the floor and eat off low tables. She liked her line of sight to be uninterrupted with looming holograms of great historical figures. Most of all, she liked to eat in a way conducive to being polite. When eating off a high table, tipping food directly from the bowl to the mouth is remarkably hard.
       'Arumaa actually toyed with his food, even removing it from his plate when he got too excited. It made her feel quite sick.
       "And yourself, Priestess," his mate turned to her, smiling politely. "Have you started to make a home for yourself?"
       "Ah . . ."
       "Right now, Priestess Jalahass is under the Oath of Pilgrimage," Fulsamee interjected. He twitched his upper mandible at her in a reassuring gesture. "She is not allowed to settle down."
       "Oh." 'Arumaa's mate looked quite surprised. "It wouldn't be me."
       "If being a Priestess was easy, then all Sangheili would be one," he replied.
       Jalahass choked on her flatbread, trying not to laugh at the beautifully veiled insult.
       "Quite," 'Arumaa said. He brushed off his hands. "Now, tell me, Orna' Fulsamee. How much have you inherited through your bonding?"
       "Well, I . . ." Fulsamee began, flustered by the question.
       "Or is it too much for you to count!" 'Arumaa asked, getting his own back for insinuation that his mate was not good enough to be a Priestess.
       Galatash glowered over the table, about to speak when Jalahass interrupted.
       "Not quite so, 'Arumaa. I do believe my inheritance amounts to half of Sangheil, although Fulsamee and I have plans to expand. We do have holdings on the colonies, but Graceful Wanderer has enchanted me so much . . . I'm wondering how much you'd like for a few plantations?"
       'Arumaa stuttered and spluttered, unable to formulate a polite rebuttal.
       "Is the worth too much for you to count?" Galatash asked curiously.


Solemn Thunder Leaving Graceful Wanderer's Orbit Ninth Age of Reclamation

"Was that really necessary?" Fulsamee asked as he entered their new quarters.
       Jalahass glanced at him, taking off her head-dress and shaking herself. "Was what necessary?"
       "Did you feel it necessary to defend me?" Fulsamee asked.
       Surprised, Jalahass stopped and regarded him. "Yes I did," she answered truthfully. "I was doing you a favour, Fulsamee."
       He was silent, and he did not remove his armour.
       Shrugging, Jalahass moved through to their private bath and slipped into the water. She surfaced, trilling in delight. "Ah to be clean again! I don't know how 'Arumaa copes with all that dirt."

In the main quarters, Fulsamee weaved through the still unpacked crates. "So you do not intend to purchase any land from him."
       "What would I do with it?" Jalahass called. "They're not that profitable."
       "Then you lied to him," Fulsamee sighed deeply.
       Pausing in her ministrations, Jalahass swam to the edge of the bath. She could just see him behind a crate. "I did."
       "Please do not lie again for my Honour," he grated.
       "So why are you allowed to protect me, but I cannot do the same for you?"
       "I did not deceive anyone."
       "You have antiquated ideas," Jalahass retorted. She slipped underwater again, relaxing in the warmth. A shadow rippled over her and she surface, eyeing Fulsamee.
       "The Forerunner do not advocate deception," he said. Crouching by the edge, he touched the water, testing the temperature.
       Jalahass sighed, paddling backwards. "Yet we are only Sangheili, and some small deceptions are required." She closed her eyes. "Especially in politics."
       This upset Fulsamee further and he stood, heading for the door.
       "I won't be a trophy," Jalahass called to him.
       "Pardon?"
       "I won't be a trophy, Fulsamee." She stepped out from the pool, clenching and unclenching her fists. "If I had had the choice, I would not have chosen to bond with you. You are arrogant, pretentious, and you seem to think you know far more than a mere female."

Fulsamee stared.

Stalking across the chambers, Jalahass grabbed a fresh robe, shrugging it on angrily. "My name and position are not my only worth. "
       "I would not have chosen you either," snapped Fulsamee. "I do not think of you as a 'mere female', but understand you replace an exceptional Sangheili-"
       "'Exceptional'!" Jalahass grunted in annoyance. "She was Truth's plaything, Fulsamee. My role in this pairing is to protect you, Fulsamee. In the circles that you have no experience in."
       Fulsamee straightened. "What?" he asked.
       "To protect you," Jalahass repeated. She hesitated. "What is the matter?"
       "And the Forerunners decreed this?" he turned to her. There was a strange, almost hopeful look in his eyes.
       "No . . . the Forerunners didn't decree anything." Her eyes widened. "Did not Solitude tell you?"
       Fulsamee sat down with a thump.
       "I had no idea, Fulsamee . . . I was told to fabricate a vision . . . I-"
       "You mock me!" He erupted, grabbing her arm and shaking her. "How dare you ridicule me so?"
       "This is no joke!" Jalahass yelled back. She glared at him. "Let me go or, by the Prophets, I'll make you suffer."
       Startled perhaps that he was hurting her, Fulsamee let go. He stepped backwards and with a tight bow of his head, he mustered enough control to speak. "I will part company with you now. Sleep well, Priestess."
       "Don't you dare!" Jalahass shrieked as he made to leave. She grabbed at his armour, jerking him around to face her. Off balance, they upset a crate, spilling bonding gifts across the floor. "Don't walk out because I did what I had to do-"
       "You had to blasphemy?" Fulsamee retorted. He stumbled over an ornament, and kicked it away from him in fury. "You made a mockery of me and of my faith- you-"
       "And what of me?" A guttural scream escaped her and she turned away from him. "Did you think of what it meant to me?"
       "To you? Yes, such a trial it must have been for you," he sneered. "Poor little Priestess with all her Lineage and Power, suffers because she has another piece to play with on her board."
       "You think so little of me," she said softly. Facing him once more he was startled to see tears. "I envy you, Fulsamee."
       "Do not patronise me," he growled, storming across the room.
       "Then show me the same respect!" She followed him, running to catch up. Her foot caught on the shards of the ornament and she swore, hopping up and down.
       "So then, how has your life rivalled mine, Priestess?"
       "You were loved, weren't you?" she snapped, sitting heavily on the day bed. She plucked the shard of clay from her cloven sole and rubbed the wound. "Look around you. Presents from Galatash, from Nakaka. They are gifts chosen personally for you."
       "Your family gifted you with an entire estate on the colonies."
       "Yes," she drawled. "What a touching gift. A bit of dirt."
       "Poor little rich Priestess," he replied, equally sarcastic.
       "You are so good at what you do you need my name to protect you." Jalahass slumped against the pillows. "I left all that I have ever known since I was a Hatchling, the only family that have ever shown love to me . . . my mentor, Hera' Solatta. I left it because someone I never met had to be protected."
       "We all must do our duty to the Gods."
       "Your faith is so strong. I envy you that too."
       "Why should it not be strong?" he asked.
       Jalahass hesitated. Because they have never punished me for my sins.

The Solemn Thunder shook violently, flinging them both to the deck.
       "Are you okay?" Fulsamee yelled over the sound of frightened alarms.
       "Yes," she yelled back, eyeing the shard of ornament that landing on his armour had protected her from.
       "Stay here."

###

"What's going on?" Fulsamee stumbled as he entered the control room. Even this deep into the ship they were not protected.
       "Brutes!" Nakaka shouted at him from the central island. "We're surrounded, three ships to one."
       Fulsamee sprinted to the panels, checking the read outs worriedly. "Where's Galatash?"
       Nakaka crouched as another shockwave pummelled the ship. "He's securing Hope. It's you and I."
       "Those cannons are killing us," Fulsamee grunted. He stared at the figures scrolling quickly across the displays. Quickly rerouting some Engineers to more vital systems, he ordered the AI to continuously fire.
       "Oh, those sons of Grunts!" Nakaka yelled. "They've taken out our processing core! How did they sneak up on us like this?"
       "Who was here when you came in?"
       "No one!"

The door opened and Jalahass entered, two more Sangheili following her.
       "You!" Fulsamee yelled, pointing at the two crew. "Here and here. Jalahass, get back into the quarters."
       "Thank you, but no. I'll stay on the safest part of the ship. Grant me access."
       "Our targeting scanners are off-line," reported one of the crew.
       "Fire randomly," Nakaka snapped. "Jalahass, I've given you access to the Thunder's systems. You reroute personnel. Everything's down, people, we have to do it all ourselves. Lay out covering fire, I don't care if you can't target. Cycle our shields regularly. Fulsamee, you and I will attempt some evasive manoeuvres."

The huge Solemn Thunder curved away from her assailants, reeling from the relentless plasma burns scorching her silver sides.
       The hulking mix of rebel ships followed her. The two on her tail focussed on her engines, while the lightest and fastest circled her, hitting her vital systems intermittently.
       With her impulse engines crippled, the Thunder limped in her downwards spiral, thrusters bursting with their dying gasps.
       The biggest Brute ship circled, still only half the size of the cruiser. It snuggly hid beneath the Thunder's belly, then forced itself upwards. The shields flickered against each other, but failed completely. The two ships collided together in one, irreconcilable lump.

The lights in the control room flickered out.
       "I'll hold the control room for as long as I can," Nakaka said softly. "Put out a ship wide call to evacuate."
       Fulsamee reached under the island for a plasma sword, letting its fiery blade illuminate the bridge. "I will find Galatash." He stepped closer to Jalahass. "Go to the life pods. Get out of here."
       "But-"
       "Go!"

###

Jalahass let him shove her down the appropriate corridor before she stopped and ran the other way. She found a selection of special operations warriors preparing to fight.
       "Listen to me," she called to them. "The Brutes can't know we have Hope. We are going to distract them."
       The lead Elite stared at her, strapping on the last of his armour. "And how, Priestess, will we be doing this?"
       Jalahass spread her arms. "Bait."
       Sian' Jaltamaa grinned, lifting a second plasma rifle. "I like that plan. Elites! Fall in!"

###

"Fulsamee!" Galatash halted his twenty strong company and nodded to the younger Elite. "We have to get to the escape pods."
       Taking a glance at the unit in the corridor, Fulsamee knew their chances were slim. The best fighters they may be, but they guarded two weak and old Prophets. He noted that Solitude looked him right in the eye, as though he had not lied to Fulsamee at all.
       "We must have been compromised for this to happen," Fulsamee whispered. "A Brute rebel perhaps."
       "Indeed," Galatash replied. "Where is Nakaka?"
       "In the control room. Excellency, I do not believe we can escape with the pods."
       "What else do you suggest?"
       Fulsamee's face lit up. "How far are we from Graceful Wanderer?"
       "Ten minutes," Galatash suggested. "Providing our engines are not completely compromised, why?"
       "You," Fulsamee pointed. "Co-ordinate the Engineers. Make this ship fly. You," he pointed to another. "Return to the Control Room and defend it. Tell Nakaka we need to orbit Graceful Wanderer."
       "I know what you're thinking," Galatash said, falling in. "It's ludicrous. Hope will never survive."
       "He'll never survive the escape pod being blasted into nothingness either," Fulsamee grunted, he hesitated.
       "What?"
       "It's Jalahass. I told her to go to an escape pod."
       "All the crew has," Galatash gripped Fulsamee's shoulder. "Pray. The Prophets are our concern."


###

Tartarus led his small unit with pride. It was pride, and only pride, which had got him this position. He had argued for this and killed for this command. Now he would take the Solemn Thunder's control room and he would be richly rewarded. Once he had the control room, the Priestess would be found easily.

"Move!"

To their right, a blur of movement suggested fleeing Elites and in the crowd he noticed one without a weapon and dressed in the finest robes.
       "Halt!" he shouted, holding up his mace. "After them!"
       "But our orders-"
       Tartarus slammed the mace into the rebel's head. "I said . . ." he growled. "After them!"

"It worked," Jaltamaa growled, shoving the Priestess into a grav lift. They zoomed upwards as the Brutes round the corners, igniting the dark corridors with plasma fire.
       "When we get to the top," ordered another spec ops Elite, "make sure you move quickly to the common room. Continue through it."
       Jalahass didn't reply, priming herself for the sprint down the long corridor.
       The purple field spat them out by their ambush team and she pushed past, heart racing as she heard plasma burn behind her. She skidded under the opening door and through the upturned tables. Once in the kitchens she found the time to breath again.

###

A small group of dedicated Brutes finished their work on the craft they had used to ram the the Solemn Thunder. They did not contact their team mates, they were expecting it anyway.

The engines of the small, misshapen body inside the Thunder's hull overloaded, building energy.
      The Thunder didn't stand a chance as the Brute ship exploded, ripping her hull apart like a Hatchling would rip its shell.

###

"What in the name of the Forerunner was that?" Solitude yelped, clinging to a Sangheili in order to stay upright.
       Fulsamee picked himself up off the floor, sucking in a deep breath of air. "We're losing atmosphere."
       "And quickly," Galatash agreed. "They must have detonated their ship inside the Thunder. Hurry - to the launch bay!"

###

Nakaka gripped the pillar supporting the holographic panels. The gravity on the Thunder was failing on this deck, and the flickering holograms were going to be next.
       "This is Sol' Nakaka to all hands," he thumbed the audio. "Abandon ship, I repeat, abandon ship." Then, to make sure they got the point. "Engineers, that means you too. You can't save her now."
       "Foolish creatures." A large Brute floated in, aiming a Brute shot at Nakaka.
       The gold armoured Sangheili circled away, almost lazily. "The structural integrity of this part of the ship is very weak. I would not fire that weapon, if I were you."
       The Brute peeled back his lips from his yellow teeth, revealing a fierce sneer. "And if I were you I would be afraid too, Sangheili."
       Nakaka growled. "This ship is going to explode. We are very close to the planet and if we leave now we might make it to the escape pods in time. I'm giving you one chance . . ."
       The grenade fired from the gun, and Nakaka kicked off the pillar, spinning crazily. Luckily the Brute was also out of control, bouncing off the walls.
       Nakaka drew the plasma sword from his belt, keeping it deactivated as he secured it in his palm. He bumped off the ceiling and kicked hard, propelling himself to the disgruntled beast below. As he passed, he ignited the sword, letting his momentum rip the blade through the flesh of the creature. It roared in pain, twisting and grabbing for him. Nakaka let its fleshy grasp find purchase on his arm, before swinging around and driving the blade through the Brute's heart.
       "Filth," he spat, deactivating the blade and propelling himself for the hallways.

###

Tartarus snapped the neck of the last Elite warrior, surveying his ragged troops. "Come on, the Priestess is here somewhere." He pulled himself through the corridor of corpses, hefting the mace in his grip.
       The doors to the common room groaned open, the lights inside flickering. "Fan out," he ordered his two remaining soldiers. "She won't be far."

Jalahass, perched above him on the support struts, swallowed the squeak that threatened to give her away. Her arms ached from holding onto the smooth beams.
       Only a little further.
       She watched the Brutes venture closer to the door at the opposite end, the smallest one stepping forward to activate the mechanism. It was hard to tell whether he screamed before or after the backdraft of flames set him and his companions alight. Either way, they were both dead when they hit the ground.
       Jalahass dropped to the floor, steadying herself. The largest Brute was screaming in agony, writhing on the deck. His fur and skin had been burned off, hanging off him in gelatinous globs.
       He would die soon enough, and Nakaka had called for ship wide evacuation. Time to move.

###

There was a rhythmic sound of footsteps running down the corridor, and Nakaka growled under his breath. He ducked behind a bulkhead, igniting his sword and waiting for them to round the corner . . .
       "Galatash! Fulsamee!"
       "You're okay," Galatash breathed. "We're going to the pod launch bay, we have-"
       "Fires have broken out that way. There's no way we'll get past," Nakaka reported. He deactivated his sword and leaned against the walls, panting. His armour bore scorch marks and there was blood seeping from a cut in his suit around his abdomen. "Wait- the Orbital Insertion Pods?"
       Fulsamee nodded. "They're small enough, they might get past the Rebel fire. The life pods won't and Hope is too valuable."
       Mind racing, Nakaka nodded. "Well we might get that far. There's a Grunt access tube here. There's no other way to reach the bay."
       "Sorry, your Excellency," Fulsamee said as he patted Solitude on the shoulder. "This won't be dignified."
       "The Great Journey will have to wait a little longer for me," Solitude gritted his teeth. "Lead the way."

The cramped and pitch black corridor was an incinerator. The heat emanating from the walls was hot enough to begin melting the armour on their backs as they crawled.
       "Here we go, your Excellency," Fulsamee slipped out from the hatch and helped the Prophets down. "Choose a pod."
       "I've never done this before," Solitude said as he was hurried over the deck and scooped up, deposited unceremoniously into a pod.
       "It's very easy," Fulsamee lied. "You won't feel a thing." Securing the pod he groaned. "Forerunners forgive me."
       "This is madness," Nakaka announced. He surveyed the bay as their remaining Elites stepped in.
       "Just set the controls," Galatash snapped. "Hope and Solitude are secure?"
       "They are."
       "Good - Fulsamee, what are you doing?" Galatash paused, half inside his pod. His young friend was studying an alert panel. It was signalling an attempt to break the seal in the outer doors. Fulsamee's expression was hidden by his helmet, although his mandibles were set in a tight line.
       "How long before the pods launch?" he asked.
       Nakaka hesitated, already standing in his. "Four minutes but they need to be in the tubes by then."
       "Go," he said, heading for the door.
       "Fulsamee!"
       "GO!"

Fulsamee broke through into the corridor, raising an arm to shield himself from the fires that blazed. He fought past the flames to the next set of doors, slamming his palm onto the blinking lights.
       It opened and Jalahass fell through.
       "How did you-"
       "Your access code wasn't high enough," he shouted over the roar of the inferno. "One of the panels inside wanted to let you in."
       The ducked past the flames, sprinting through the bay to the remaining pods.
       "This doesn't look safe!"
       "And the Thunder does?" Securing the pod from outside, Fulsamee leapt into his as it began to close. He managed to right himself as the pod sealed and shot down to the launch tubes. A tiny counter ticked down rapidly and then his world spun.

The Priestess and the Warrior - Bottle of Smoke
Date: 20 January 2005, 11:31 PM

The Priestess and the Warrior

Author: Jillybean
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bottle of Smoke

Twenty odd pods ripped through the atmosphere of the Graceful Wanderer, plunging into the orange dirt with the customary swoosh.

Orna' Fulsamee broke out of his blackened pod, shaking his head fiercely. The other soldiers were emerging from their metallic shells, each one silently counting those who made it.
       "See to the Prophets," he ordered, surveying the collection of scattered upright pods.
       Saia' Jalahass eased out of hers, blinking in the strong light. "By the Forerunner," she murmured. "I think I'm going to be sick."
       "It doesn't get any better," Galatash warned, rubbing his head. He crossed over to the two Prophets, collapsed by the side of the pods. "Noble Solitude."
       "This heat will kill him, Galatash," Solitude heaved himself to his feet. "It's nothing short of a miracle that Hope is not dead already."
       "Indeed," Galatash nodded to two of the soldiers. "Take the Prophets, we must hurry to find shade."
       Jalahass gazed up at the sky. "They'll know where we are."
       "Then we must move quickly," Galatash retorted. "Onwards!"

"Thank you," Jalahass spoke after a long while trudging.
       Fulsamee glanced at her, squinting in the bright sunlight. "I may disagree with you. I do not wish death upon you."
       A small, happy curve escaped her mandibles. "I am glad of that."
       Dropping back slightly, Fulsamee let the others pass them. Once he judged them to be far enough ahead, he lowered his voice and spoke privately with her. "You say you fabricated your vision, yes?"
       Jalahass didn't reply, uncomfortable with the topic.
       "Who is to say that it was not the Forerunners intent?"
       "What?" Jalahass turned to him. "Has the heat addled your brain?"
       "Listen, should the Gods desire something, surely they are powerful enough to make it happen, with or without an obvious vision."
       Contemplating this, Jalahass followed the soldiers. "Then, even though I had no vision, the Forerunners wished us to be bonded?"
       "Exactly," Fulsamee replied, pleased with himself.
       Jalahass grunted. "So much for free will."
       "I do not understand."
       Sighing deeply, Jalahass thought back to her teachings as a Priestess. "The purpose of the Great Journey is to sweep our souls off this mortal coil and into the heart of our Gods. Only those who are good may be carried away. If, as you say, the Gods are so powerful as to manipulate us without our knowledge, then why should there be any Heresy? Why should there be any wars?"
       "To test our faith," Fulsamee hazarded a guess.
       Jalahass smiled a little. "Why though? Why should an almighty being feel the need to test us so, in ways that he must surely be able to predict the outcome of? If I were a God, I would be doing far more interesting things than playing in the lives of my Priestesses."
       "Perhaps they find you interesting."
       "Yes," Jalahass drawled. "I'm sure my tiny world is quite fascinating."
       "Well something guided you to the Launch Bay on the Thunder, you'd never been there before."
       Jalahass frowned. "Actually, Nakaka took me on a tour. I was heading for the bays to commandeer a ship, but the fires got in my way. Is that all part of the Forerunners plan?"
       "Who is to say it is not?" Fulsamee asked.
       "So they toy with us, but they do not destroy us. How very sickening."
       "I do not wish to talk about this any more," Fulsamee announced.
       "See!" Jalahass exclaimed. "Your word and that's it, is it? Perhaps I wish to pursue the discussion."
       Stopping, Fulsamee turned to face her, exasperation clear in the way he held himself. "A dutiful mate is there to tend to the needs of the Warrior."
       "I am hot, tired and sore. I do not care for duty at the moment."

###

They camped by a small boulder with an overhang. The Sangheili had done their best to see the Prophets accommodated, but the conditions were not favourable.
       Galatash doubted that Hope would last the night.

Fulsamee approached his old friend, his muscles aching under the strain of being active for so long. The night time sky was alight with stars, and so far only stars. That was a good sign.
       "I think it was 'Arumaa who tipped off the Brutes," Galatash said. "He would stand to gain from such an alliance. Protection for his colony from the rebels, and further Glory from the Hierarchs for being the one to salvage the Thunder." He shook with rage at the thought of his ship being crawled over by Arumaa and his filthy servants.
       Fulsamee hesitated, not wishing to speak of his dark thoughts. "Could . . . Truth . . . have had a hand in this?"
       Galatash breathed in deeply. "I do not know, Orna'. If he did, he would not have attacked Hope outright. I . . . fear . . . he suggested that 'Arumaa targeted Jalahass."
       "You're talking about me," Jalahass spoke quietly as she approached them. Glancing between their downcast expressions, she gathered they had come to her conclusion. "I think I ought to visit Hik 'Arumaa, do not you?"
       "No," Galatash snapped. "I do not! He could slay you on the spot."
       "He would not dare," Fulsamee hissed.
       "Wouldn't he? This conclusion is easily reached. He will not chance Jalahass' survival."
       "He has ships, he has food, he has shelter," Jalahass pressed. "If Fulsamee and I were to arrive on his doorstep . . ."
       "We may be able to save Hope," Fulsamee added eagerly.
       Hesitating, Galatash prayed. "Go then. Be swift and be careful." He touched foreheads with Orna'. "Do not be foolish, Orna'."

"Tartarus," the Brute Chieftain stared down at his son, his skin burned black. "Who did this to you?"

From the eaves, 'Arumaa pulled at the skin around his throat anxiously. The low trilling sound he made only heightened the state of tension amongst the Unggoy who were serving him.
       The Brutes on his estate blamed him for the huge numbers of casualties they had sustained. 'Arumaa wondered what they'd expected to happen when they blew up one of their own ships inside the Solemn Thunder.
       He feared the outcome of this day. He thought about taking his mate and running, but he had chosen this path. Betraying a Priestess . . . the possibility of her survival made it feel all the more blasphemous. Truth had promised him absolution.
       There was something wrong when it was a Sangheili you were turning upon.

"That Priestess . . ." Tartarus gurgled.
       "We shall heal you," his father promised. He leaned closer, his paw hovering over his sons burns. "She will pay for her actions."

The endless sand dunes were beginning to wear on Jalahass, and even in the cool night, she felt in desperate need of a bath,
       Fulsamee trudged onwards, slightly ahead of her. Whatever military focus he was using, it was a meditation far and above anything she had been taught. Perhaps it was simple pig headedness.
       "Fulsamee, can we stop for a moment?" she begged. Pausing, she kneeled on the dirt. "I'm not used to this."
       Turning, Fulsamee regarded her for a moment. He was breathing heavily, the strong gravity taking its toll on him too. "Yes. We'll break for now." He sat down, a little away from her, sucking in deep lungfuls of air.
       "Are you well?" Jalahass asked, frowning slightly.
       He nodded, expression tightly closed off.
       "You're not."
       "A little burned. I'll be fine." He chuckled suddenly. "Perhaps next time, you should be the soldier. You seem to have come out of it better."
       Jalahass stayed silent for a while, thinking back to her time on the dying Thunder. Involuntarily, she shuddered, remembering the burning Brutes. "What made you decide on becoming a soldier?"
       "Shall we continue?" Fulsamee asked, standing up. He extended a hand to help her to her feet. "What else is there to be?"
       "You're clever," Jalahass told him as they walked. "A brilliant tactician. You could have been a Councillor. A merchant. A farmer. Yet you chose to fight. I find it odd."
       "The greatest Honour is to defend the Covenant. I was good enough to be accepted into the Sangheil Training Facility. It was my only ambition." He glanced down at her. "Why did you choose to become a Priestess?"
       "I didn't. It was chosen for me. I think I would have liked to have become a soldier."
       Fulsamee laughed. "You can't, you're female."
       "Well - next time, I'll be the warrior and you can be the Priestess, shall we agree?"

They reached the city just before dawn broke over the horizon. The denizens of Graceful Wanderer were going about their business, the streets fairly empty at this hour, and they did their best not to stare at the two Sangheili striding into town.
       "Something is very wrong here," Fulsamee murmured. "Stay close."
       Jalahass eyed the beings in the streets and shrugged. "They seem fine to me."
       "Precisely that." He stopped, a hand on her arm. "We'll go to 'Arumaa's as planned, but there's going to be Brutes there, I bet my scalp on it."
       "So," Jalahass murmured, "if you're wrong I get my first scalp of war?"
       His mandibles stretched in an unconscious grin. "I told you - I'm good at this."

The Unggoy servants fell over themselves trying to simultaneously escort the two Sangheili up the path to 'Arumaa's villa, and warn 'Arumaa that the two Sangheili were coming up the path to his villa.
       "Try to stay calm," Fulsamee instructed as they entered the hallway. He fixed a polite expression on his face as 'Arumaa approached, arms wide and mandibles smiling.
       "Why! Orna' Fulsamee, we did not expect to see you here so soon! Haven't you left orbit?"
       Fulsamee pulled the plasma pistol out, aiming directly at 'Arumaa's forehead. "Strange, but even on this wretched, backwater planet, you'd have seen the blaze of Glory that was the Thunder's grave."
       "Ahh," 'Arumaa glanced to Jalahass, then back to the overcharging pistol. "Saia' Jalahass! What is this you speak of?"
       "Fulsamee . . ." Jalahass shifted, uncomfortable with this new turn of events. "Weren't we going to stay calm?"
       "New plan." Fulsamee sneered at his victim. "Tell me how many Brutes you're hiding here, 'Arumaa. Then tell me who was behind this. I know it wasn't you."
       Jalahass sidled forwards, patting down 'Arumaa's robes and removing a pistol from him.
       "I . . ." the Sangheili closed his eyes briefly. "They're in the back, in the gardens. Ten score. Please don't hurt me."
       "Who was behind this?" Fulsamee repeated.
       'Arumaa sunk to his knees, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "I was only asked to dispose of the Priestess! I've known the Rebels for some time! Please! Please do not kill me!"
       Fulsamee gritted his four sets of teeth together. "What do you say?"
       Opening his eyes in surprise, 'Arumaa gaped up at him.
       "Say 'sorry'."
       "I am so sorry," 'Arumaa grabbed at Fulsamee's legs. "So very sorry."
       "Give me that pistol," Fulsamee ordered. "I won't be long."
       "Be careful," Jalahass murmured, detaching 'Arumaa and flinging him aside.
       Fulsamee hesitated, the first pistol now truly overcharged. "If I'm not back-"
       "I'll run," she said pleasantly. "But it's okay. You're good at this."

Fulsamee crossed the hall and made it through the villa's airy rooms with little incident. He overcharged the second pistol, making an effort to hold on to both. He was confident in his ability to take out ten Brutes.
       He was not confident in 'Arumaa.
       Crouching behind a pillar, he looked out onto the long, rolling garden. It was carefully cultivated, serviced by many Unggoy workers. The Brutes were there, nine of them, and one badly injured. The others seemed to be caring for it.
       Excellent.

Jalahass glanced up as the sound of plasma blazing echoed through the villa. She stooped, physically lifting 'Arumaa by the scruff of his neck.
       "You and I," she grunted, "we're leaving."
       The older Sangheili twisted, cutting into her wrist with two sets of teeth. He broke free, pushing her down and pinning her to the floor. "The Brutes really want your neck, Priestess," he spat.
       Jalahass struggled, finding it difficult with claws implanted firmly in her back. "Let me go!"
       "Truth really wanted you removed, you know," he hissed closer to her ear. His smooth, well-cared for skin rubbed against the back of her skull, sending shivers down her spine. "You endanger our Great Journey."
       "I'm gonna endanger yours . . ." she fought against the heavy gravity to say. "Get off."
       "Fulsamee won't last long," 'Arumaa placed all of his weight on her rib cage, compromising her large singular lung. A Sangheili's armour was designed to protect against crush injuries, for as well evolved as the Sangheili were, they had very few redundant organs, and rarely survived damage to their large, multichambered lung.
       'Arumaa pushed her face closer to the floor, grinding her skin against the stone. "Now, do you know how much of your internal functions can be compromised before you depart this mortal plane?"
       Ninety three percent. Jalahass remembered dusty old parchments explaining the sturdy, enduring Sangheili build.
       "Does it hurt yet?" 'Arumaa whispered.
       She freed her left arm from his grip and ripped through his face like plasma through tissue.
       He roared, rearing upwards and losing his balance. She surged forward, spinning to confront him. He was still lurching from side to side, half his eyeball hanging on Jalahass' claws.
       "Kiggari!" she spat.
       He slipped on his finely polished marble floor, wailing as he landed.
       She had no chance to make good on her threat, foot steps were approaching. She backed up, casting wildly around for a hiding place.
       "Jalahass!" Fulsamee rounded the corner, pistols in hand. "What happened?"
       "The Brutes, did you get them?" Jalahass ignored his question.
       "Get down," Fulsamee growled, pushing her down under the archway.

The villa shook as it was pummelled by plasma fire. The ornate cornices came loose, shattering on the floor when they fell.
       "Come on," Fulsamee grabbed her hand and dragged her through the home to the hangar bay. The long, flashy sport ship waited impatiently for them, hovering on its anti-grav.
       "Looks like 'Arumaa was just about to leave," Jalahass gasped as they ran up the gangplank.
       "Hmm," Fulsamee sat by the controls. "Let's hope he's as arrogant in is piloting as he is in every other walk of life . . . yes, no pass code."
       The ship flared into life, escaping from the hangar and eluding the Brute ship easily.

The arrow shaped glimmer broke free from the atmosphere, looping gracefully in the vacuum of space before it plummeted back to the dirt, firing rapidly on the Brute ship. The resulting explosion lit up the town in the murky dawn.
       Fulsamee whooped, turning around to grin at his mate. "Isn't she brilliant?"
       Looking a little blue around the food sacks, Jalahass managed to twitch one mandible in response. "Could we turn up the inertial dampeners a little?"

'Arumaa's villa and his servants became theirs, and shortly after returning from the desert with Hope, Fulsamee and Galatash were scheming in the dining room.
       "Thank you," Galatash grunted at the Kig-Yar who brought them a bowl of fruit. He pointed to the holographic star chart that hovered above the varnished wood. "We still have to cross the Starran Nebula before we can reach the Healing Grounds."
       "No chance of flying around?" asked a blue armoured Sangheili.
       "None," Galatash shook his head. He picked up a piece of sliced hallem and chewed thoughtfully. "And crossing it is perilous at best."
      "I think that Peace Class star hopper in the hangar could manage it," Fulsamee pointed out.
       Nakaka grinned. "Smitten as you are, Orna', that hopper is a sports vehicle. It's not designed for long journeys."
       One of the youngest recruits glanced up, about to say something. He thought better of it, and returned his gaze to the ground.
       "'Sanamol?" Galatash eyed him. "Do you have something to contribute?"
       "Uh . . ." Sanamol leapt to his feet, bowing his head. "Excellency, I do. Father has recently purchased a Peace Class ship, he says it's the fastest, most robust ship of its class."
       Galatash smiled. "It's a fine . . . and expensive . . . ship. Still, the Solemn Thunder was taking a risk flying through the nebula, the hopper wouldn't make it."
       "Hans'," Fulsamee held up a mandible to contradict him. "It's much faster, and has less volume than the Thunder. It's weapons are also . . . pretty incredible."
       "Even if," Galatash began, pausing when he spied Jalahass at the entrance.

The Priestess walked in, tired but pleased with herself. "Hope is resting, Solitude is with him now. I don't know if it's just me, but he seems to be improving. Perhaps all this excitement is good for him." She waited as a soldier vacated his chair and she sat down heavily. "The Sangheili maids tell me that 'Arumaa's mate is not willing to talk to us. She thinks we are, now let me get this right, 'Kiggari scum, sons of Unggoy and muck on her put'tah'."
       "Charming," Nakaka drawled.
       Jalahass held her hand over her mouth to hide her amusement. She failed miserably. "The maids also tell me that 'Arumaa bought that ship recently, after many meetings with some unsavoury Brutes." She sighed and stretched for a long, captivating moment. Tucking her legs under her, she smiled wearily at the others. "Basically I think that he was doing this . . . for protection. If 'Arumaa gave the Brutes a safe planet here, then they would leave him along. He decided to sell them me when the visit was announced, and bought the ship the next day."
       "I'd sell you for a ship like that," Fulsamee replied. "Don't take it personally."
       Jalahass blinked. "I'll try not to."

Colonised Planet Furious Revealer Ninth Age of Reclamation

Truth gripped the arm rest of his throne and tried to compose himself.
       "Really, Brother Grace, I'm . . . shocked to hear of it."
       "I'm sure you are," the Prophet hologram flickered as some interference broke the transmission. "Being in a completely different sector at the time."
       Truth raised an eyebrow. "Brother Grace, the Solemn Thunder's destruction is terrible, terrible news! I am delighted to hear that Commander Galatash has reported in with the Noble Hope unharmed."
       The transmission signed off and Truth screamed in frustration, startling the Brute guard.
       "Where is that incompetent 'Arumaa!"

Colonised Planet Graceful Wanderer Ninth Age of Reclamation

Jalahass inspected the star hopper and turned to her Mate, unsure what she was meant to do.
       "Would you feel safe travelling in it through the nebula?" Fulsamee pressed.
       "I'm unsure . . . it's very small." She crept inside, sneaking a look at the private quarters. "I'm not sure I could stand being cooped up inside here with only Solitude, Hope and a few soldiers for company."
       "Close quarters, yes," Fulsamee glanced around the main suite and shrugged it off. "Hope and Solitude could survive in here, the Sangheili would have to take the crew bunker."
       Suppressing a sigh, Jalahass glanced at him. "How many others would we be sharing with?"
       "Galatash and Nakaka are waiting here, I've chosen a security team of three soldiers."
       "I hate being a Priestess," Jalahass muttered. "If I was a Councillor I could stay on the nice planet too."
       Placing a comforting hand on her forehead, Fulsamee grinned at her. "You hate the planet, Jalahass, it's too hot."
       "Oh you know me so well," she quipped.

Stepping back out into the hangar, Fulsamee made a chirping noise and dashed back inside.
       Jalahass groaned in frustration. "Can't you bear to be parted with it for one more night?"
       He shook his head in mock disgust as he returned. "I took the ship up to inspect the Thunder's wreckage with Galatash today."
       "And?"
       "And I brought back this." He handed her the down brush. "I thought you might want it."
       Jalahass stared down at the soft wooden handle, with its few bristles still remaining. There were the tiny, crude initials she had carved into its hilt when she had undertaken her Oath of Privacy. In the times she had worried she would forget who she was.
       "Are you going to name it?"
       "The brush?" she asked, surprised.
       "No, silly!" Fulsamee grinned, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and turning her around. "The ship! We can't go around calling her 'it'. That's not very polite."
       Blinking, Jalahass felt the groan threaten to slip past her throat again. She stopped it, refusing to make the noise a third time. "I . . . what do you want it to be called?"
       "You have to choose. It's bad luck if a Priestess doesn't name a ship," Fulsamee told her. "Try to make it something we can sing about."
       "Wha . . . ?"
       "Every ship eventually gets a song dedicated to her by the crew," Fulsamee explained. He led them back through the villa where the Unggoy were laying out a meal.
       "What was the Thunder's song?"
       Galatash glanced up from his seat. "The Thunder's song?"
       "Orna' wants me to name his ship."
       For some reason, unknown to Fulsamee and Jalahass, Galatash seemed to take this very well indeed.
       "'Twas a wonderful craft
She was rigged fore and aft
And oh, how the solar wind drove her
She stood several blasts
She had twenty seven decks
And they called her The Solemn Thunder!"

Jalahass finished her stew after the crewmates had entertained her with another of the numerous songs they knew. "I had no idea you were all so musical."
       "It can get very tiring on a ship the size of the Thunder, on a long voyage," Nakaka explained.
       "Jaheijagaj tournaments," said the young Sanamol.
       "Ship wide pranks," Galatash grinned at Fulsamee.
       "Brute baiting," Fulsamee added. "But after a while it can get . . . boring."
       "I can imagine," Jalahass frowned. "And you never talk of theology?" She caught the look that Fulsamee tried to hide, out of respect of their new-found alliance. Trying to show him the same respect, she dropped the subject when they replied that they never did.

"Bottle of Smoke," she said as Fulsamee poured himself a glass of rum.
       They had commandeered the guest room they had been offered previously. It was really very spacious, they had only declined it previously because it meant spending more time with 'Arumaa. The balconette had a view of the desert and the two moons, which yesterday they had been crawling through.
       Fulsamee frowned, attempting to connect smoke with rum. "It's a Prophet drink."
       "No," Jalahass laughed, closing the shutters. "Your ship. Bottle of Smoke."
       Fulsamee mulled it over, then nodded. "I like it."
       "Of course you do. I chose it."
       A small chuckle escaped from the warrior as he shrugged out of his armour. He sipped from his glass. "Do you want a drink?"
       "Rum?" Jalahass grinned. "I got very, very drunk on that stuff after my First Rites. Please."
       Pouring her a glass, Fulsamee hesitated.
       "To the Bottle of Smoke?" she asked, touching the glass to his forehead in a time honoured tradition.
       "To us. Surviving. Despite having tried to kill each other." He brushed the crystal over her forehead and they both drank.

High Charity, Orbiting Furious Revealer Festival of Arbitration Ninth Age of Reclamation

Fera' Talsamee smoothed the front of her finest robes, trying to ignore the holosnappers as their Unggoy directors zoomed in on her.
       "Councillor Talsamee, you look fabulous," one of the Priestesses said to her. Hera' Solatta approached, touching a claw to Talsamee's forehead in the most formal of greetings. "It is a mercy indeed that the destruction of the Solemn Thunder did not dampen the spirits of the party goers, is it not?"
       Glancing around High Charity's thriving Great Hall, Talsamee had to agree. "The news of Saia' Jalahass' survival is heartening," she spoke pleasantly enough, but her fists involuntarily clenched. "This celebration of the Arbiter is very important, do you not agree?"
       "Of course," Solatta exclaimed. "The Festival of Arbitrationis one of our most prestigious events. I have never heard of it being called off, even during the Taming of the Hunters."
       Talsamee smiled, extending her arm to support Solatta. "You and I have much to talk about . . ."

Bottle of Smoke The Forbidden Sectors Ninth Age of Reclamation

Fulsamee didn't flinch as Jalahass slammed her palm onto the control panel for the cockpit door. The mechanism hissed and they were sealed inside the spacious, sporty piloting space, sounds of a rabble breaking out behind the bulkhead.
       "Jaheijagaj isn't worth it," she grumbled, sinking into the co-pilots seat. "Are we there yet?"
       "No," Fulsamee replied with a smile. "Not yet."
       "Why not?" Jalahass wailed, her head sinking onto the dash. "We passed through the nebula days ago!"
       "Just a little while longer - ow!" He grinned at her. "Don't hit me!"
       "How much longer?" she sulked, smiling despite herself.
       "A few hours."
       "Let's hope the Healing Grounds work."


Since the first Ages, the Healing Grounds had been a mysterious and seldom understood phenomena. The planet, an inhospitable rock orbiting the tiny sun of Gaua, was regarded as sacred by the Covenant. The surrounding sectors of space had been closed off.
       And it was here that lay the only chance for Hope.

Saia' Jalahass shook as she blindfolded Fulsamee, hesitating as she tied the final knot. "If you hear me screaming . . . it's an ambush. Please consider that as a formal invocation of the Gods for your aid."
       Fulsamee smiled a little, catching her hand. "The Brutes would not dare to set foot here."
       Jalahass glanced around at the other soldiers, each blindfolded and bound. "Here me Forerunners, I am but one glorious soul. I beg of you, grant this Priestess passage through your Holy Ground. Bequeath unto me thine knowledge and thy power, and aid me in my steps. Protect these Warriors, your Honourable Vanguard, and hold back the spirits from which the have no protection."
      Swallowing, she stood, her hand brushing Fulsamee's armour, though he would not feel it. "Noble Solitude, I am ready."

Solitude hobbled down the gangplank of the Bottle of Smoke, while the Priestess followed. In her arms she held the limp body of Hope, her claws tightening as she descended into the thin atmosphere.
       Whisps of grey gases curled around her robes and headdress.
       "The Spirits," Solitude murmured. "Be brave, Priestess."

Bravery. An odd concept. Jalahass couldn't close her eyes, she had to watch her step on the slippery rocks. Bravery was essentially foolishness. Fear was a mechanism. Animal feared. Sangheili ought to rise above it, above the animals. Fear is a disloyal emotion, it will betray you. Build your Honour on your Bravery.
       The First Rites bubbled down to this. Controlling fear. There is no place for fear in a Holy Priestess.
       Discipline. Strength. The Oaths of the Prophets instilled fierce regime into the Sangheili Priestesses from the beginning. Duty is beyond all desire.
       Duty bound her to her new Mate, Duty bound her to this terrifying parade through the mists.

The bleak, blue murk that surrounded her did not ease with the muttered prayers that she and Solitude repeated. Their mantra continued as they set up the ritual around Hope's prone form, waiting.
       She would not be scared out of her wits by cloying tendrils of smoke. Gases she could explain easily. Her apprehension was a learned response, her fear a knee-jerk reaction despite her vast knowledge.
       Reading about the Holy Grounds in the safety of the convent she knew this was where the first Forerunner artefact had been uncovered.
       A Holy place should not scare.

She glanced down at Hope, seeing the last breath escape his body.
       "He has passed, Noble Solitude."
       The old Prophet's shoulders shook. "We . . . we shall leave him here," he choked, sniffing a little. "We shall leave him here for the Spirits to take."

High Charity The Ninth Age of Reclamation

Jalahass watched the last explosions, signifying Hope's first step on the Great Journey. It seemed strange, but the somber Covenant members who had turned out in High Charity's cloaked streets to see the Last Ceremonies, seemed to be fewer in number than those who had celebrated her Bonding.
       A vain, but accurate thought.
       Fera' Talsamee was standing with the other Councillors, resplendent in the fine silver armour they all wore. She too focussed on the colourful display out in space.
       By Jalahass' side, Fulsamee glanced once at the Councillor, before returning his gaze to the memorial.

Truth was patient. The position in the Hierarch was open, and the competition was between him and Solitude. Mercy and Grace. High Priestess Fera' Kianall, conducting the ceremony, appeared to be regaining her strength. There were still two dedicated Priestesses by her side at all times.
       Now was the time to ease back, to let the board play out and to watch how the other players moved.
       Still, Truth reflected as the congregation broke apart, there was one task he still wished to perform.

The soft whir of a throne approaching turned Fulsamee's head. He bowed to Truth, his scarlet armour polished to its highest sheen.
       "Where is your lovely Mate on this sad day?" Truth asked, his quizzical expression almost comical. "I do believe I saw you two standing together."
       "Indeed," Fulsamee replied. "Noble Mercy wished to speak with her." He heard then, in his mind, Jalahass' frustrated snort of disbelief. Of course, he realised, Truth must already know this.
       "Ah, is that so? I must speak with her before we leave, she is a very promising young Priestess."
       "I will try to be there."
       Truth eyed him, the hesitation so brief it was not noticeable. "Indeed." It may be that you are already spoiled, young one. Unfortunate. "Ah! Talsamee! Come over here, dear child."
       Fera' Talsamee approached, bowing her head in respect to Fulsamee. "Orna' . . ." she murmured. "Glory and Honour on this day."
       "Talsamee," he replied.
       The female Sangheili swallowed. "Surely," she glanced at Truth and he respectfully gave them some room. "Surely you know me well enough to use my first name, Orna'."
       Fulsamee hesitated. "I believe . . . I believe very much in the code of Honour that I was taught by my father. I do not know you well enough to use your given name, Talsamee, I don't know if I ever will." He leaned down to touch her forehead with his. "My father never once called my mother by her given name-"
       "Mine neither," Talsamee croaked. "Not in front of me at any rate. We could have been so different Orna'."
       "But we're not." Fulsamee sighed. "And I can not . . . will not betray Saia' Jalahass."
       Growling low in her throat, Talsamee pressed closer. "And you do not think that perhaps she would betray you? That perhaps she already has? She's vain, Orna', and spoiled. Truth tells me he does not believe our engagement was broke fairly." She glanced up, eyes sparkling. "He wants to speak with you about it. He thinks he can persecute her for blasphemy."
       "Talsamee . . ."
       "And we could be together."
       Orna' hesitated.
       "Just . . . think about it, Orna', for us." Talsamee left.

Galatash frowned as he watched his daughter depart. "What was that?" he asked, handing Fulsamee a glass.
       "Temptation," Fulsamee replied.

The Priestess and the Warrior - Only the First Temptation
Date: 27 January 2005, 4:49 PM

The Priestess and the Warrior

Author: Jillybean
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Only the First Temptation

"What's he like?"
       "Is he tall?"
       Jalahass laughed, shrugging off the questions from her friends at the convent. "I'm really only here to collect some new robes, Priestesses, I don't have time to answer all these questions."
       "Is he good?"
       "Really!" Solatta gasped, turning to the young Priestess who had spoke. "That is no question to ask!"
       "But it's one to be answered," giggled another.
       "I'm leaving," Jalahass grinned, turning from them.
       "No!"
       "Oh don't go just yet!"
       Solatta swept to her feet, scowling at the others. "See, you've chased her away. Come on, Jalahass, I'll escort you to your ship."

High Charity's docks were clean and presentable, always kept in perfect order by the Engineers working there. Solatta had no issue with taking a long route through them to give her more time with her old friend.
       "Will you miss living on High Charity?"
       "Fulsamee's taking me to Brilliance to tie up some business there. Now that I am Bonded," Jalahass giggled, "I have to take care of the Lineage's Holdings. Or at least, the ones that I have sole control over."
       "Surely you could employ someone to do that for you?" Solatta asked.
       Jalahass thought of the complicated job and the ease with which certain figures could get 'lost'. "I prefer to do it myself."
       "Well, fair enough. So is your Mate going to be with you at all times?"
       "I doubt it. If it doesn't evolve an explosion of some kind, Fulsamee gets bored rather quickly." She grinned as she spied him up ahead. "Fulsamee! Isn't that right?" she yelled.
       "Is not what right?" Fulsamee asked.
       "Just agree."
       "Uh . . . I agree." Fulsamee smiled at her, knowing full well that he wouldn't if he knew what she was talking about. He greeted Solatta formally. "It is good to meet you Priestess, under less . . . terrible circumstances."
       "The Passing of Hope grieves us all," Solatta replied in her best 'official voice'.
       "I'll be back soon," Jalahass promised. "But I'm having too much fun in the stars to be cooped up again."
       "Jalahass," Solatta touched foreheads with her, "I do not think that you'll ever return to us at the convent. Be that as it may, I hope you enjoy yourself this time too."

###

The Smoke circled the city's airways, waiting for her flight path to clear. She was the only ship of her class in the air, and her silver sarrowheadhape drew quite a bit of attention from those in the docks.

In the cockpit, Fulsamee tried to make out Solatta's form in the pinpricks that represented the Covenant down below. "One day," he said, "I have to introduce you to Lia' Wuanna."
       Jalahass glanced at him. "A friend?"
       "Since we were recruits together," Fulsamee replied. "He tried to kill me on our first day."
       "Charming." Jalahass curled in the deep seat. Richly upholstered, deep and low, it was perfect for Sangheili. "Solatta was my body guard, of sorts. She was ordered to look after me."
       They sat in silence as the Smoke was finally allowed to break free. She popped out of normal space with a jerky, awkward movement.

"Is everything well with you?" Jalahass asked, keeping her eyes trained on the view of nothing.
       Glancing at her, Fulsamee's claws twitched in conformation. "I am fine." He turned to face her. "Why would you ask?"
       "No reason."
       The eerie quietness in the ship pressed in on them.

Rebel Outpost Free Dreamer The Ninth Age of Reconciliation

The frozen planet Free Dreamer was in the grips of a particularly vicious storm. The frozen blocks of ice were scooped up by the wind and hurtled over the planets surface at deathly speeds. There was no light to speak of, the thick, frozen clouds blocking out sun, moon and stars.
       The only visible light was an emergency up-light, the kind used by the Covenant army. This one was out of date, its purple beam barely breaking through the flurries of snow.
       The ship that struggled through the gales to follow the path lit by the purple haze was carrying a very precious cargo.

The long underground bunker ended in a deep, cavernous bay. The waiting Jiralhanae shivered in the cold, the heat from the ship's engines melting the icicles on their thick, fur coats.
       With a deep hiss the gangplank opened and the Brutes inside trudged out. They were battle weary and wounded, their moral low.
       Medusa was patient as she watched the soldiers disembark. Her son was borne down on a stretcher, his skin tight from the burns he had received. She stepped closer, leaning down look him in the eye.
       "Tartarus . . ."
       "Mother. I have failed you."
       Glancing at the others, Medusa signalled for them to take her son to the medical facilities. "You have. Pray that you may regain some honour."

Colonised World Brilliance The Ninth Age of Reconciliation

"Jackal Monks," Jalahass whispered to her mate as they entered the monastery. "Don't say a word."
       Fulsamee squeezed her elbow to show he understood, before he prostrated himself before the Kig-Yar Holy Ones.

In the huge, domed structure, the Kig-Yar Monks lived a simple life. They tilled the land, spoke nothing but their native tongue, and served as the Jackal equivalent to the Sangheili Priestesses. In this bare room, they received their visitors for their holy ceremonies, or blessed important visitors.
       As a Priestess, Jalahass had little problem with the Monks blessing Jackals. It felt . . . wrong . . . that they should bless Sangheili as well. She would carry out a service for any member of the Covenant, but the connection between the Forerunner and Sangheili was a special one, it should not be dismissed so easily.
       Of course, in the Ages of Doubt, when the Prophets had introduced the Jackal Monks, it had been a necessary move. The Priestesses of the time had fasted for years in silent objection. Many had died.
       The details were all in the library of scrolls, back on High Charity. Jalahass was very interested in seeing some of the Monk's scrolls about the time period, but she doubted she would be allowed in to see them.

The Monks blessed them in their own tongue, sending them on their way.
      "Well," Fulsamee said as they exited the monastery. Outside, Brilliance was lit by her single sun, two of her moons rising above the skyline. Notorious for her peaceful environment and abundant wildlife, Brilliance had become a fast favourite of many Prophets choosing to live planetside. As a result, the planet was heavily populated, with large, sprawling cities.
       They took a glass walk way through glittering silver spires, not hurrying to Jalahass' next appointment.
       "This isn't going to be more Hatchlings, is it?" Fulsamee asked after a moment.
       Laughing, Jalahass leaned closer. "I can tell you'll be leaving any future Hatchlings in the crèche."
       With a grunt, Fulsamee flexed his mandibles in distress. "Any Hatchlings of mine shall be better behaved."
       "Well, to reassure you, Excellency, the House of the Blessed Young is not a crèche, or a nursery, or a hatchery." She grinned. "It's a children's hospital."
       "Oh . . . Forerunners," Fulsamee groaned.
       With a delighted trill, Jalahass pushed him. "I'm not looking forward to it either. We'll visit, and then shall we go to eat?"
       "Sounds like a battle strategy to me."

On the escort ship, Lithe Assassin, the crew were going about their daily business. They did not think much about the general news transmissions as they chatted in the common room.
       It was when one of the younger Sangheili noticed who was speaking, a recently disgraced aristocrat from that Sangheili's homeworld, that they paid more attention.
       "Who is that?" Lia' Wuanna sneered.
       "Hal 'Arumaa," replied the young colleague, blinking. His expression was grave.
       The others were showing more interest now.
       "The one imprisoned for alleging with the Brutes?"
       "Kiggari!"
       "He did to attack the Priestess, we all know that."
       Wuanna growled low in his throat, kicking a passing Unggoy in his anger. "How dare he. Orna' Fulsamee is a personal friend of mine."
       "What's he saying?"

'Arumaa was saying quite a bit.
       Demurely seated in his cell, 'Arumaa spoke softly and comfortingly to the Unggoy reporter. "When I heard about the Holy Bonding between Priestess Saia' Jalahass and His Excellency Orna' Fulsamee, deep in my heart I knew there was something wrong. What I did was unforgivable, but I have faith in the Forerunner who guided me to my path. They wished me to take action, and I did. I am only sorry I could not fulfil their desires."
       "What on the Sacred Rings . . ." laughed one of the others. "He's mad!"
       "Is he?" asked the young Sangheili. "I mean, what if he's right?"
       "Yeah, Fulsamee broke off his engagement to Councillor Talsamee very quickly."
      "Because the Priestess commanded it!" The Commander was snarling now, unhappy with this conversation.
       Wuanna stayed very quiet, gnashing his mandibles.
       "The Forerunner's decreed it, it's common knowledge . . ." an Unggoy spoke respectfully, eyeing the doubters with a hint of warning in his eyes.
       "You know the Jalahass'! They'll do anything to get what they want. A good Lineage and you think you can do anything,"
       "Like 'Arumaa, obviously," Wuanna interjected. "Turn off the audio from that transmission. I tire of it. I do not remember 'Arumaa being declared a Holy One at any point. Do you?"
       Grudgingly, the others conceded his point. The young Sangheili giving the transmission one last, longing look, before it was cut off.

Watching the transmission for the third time, on another bulletin, Jalahass felt the righteous indignation begin to slide away. She stood in their streamlined quarters, the city rising up behind the windows, and felt cold.
       "Don't watch it," Fulsamee called from the baths.
       "What's he trying to do?" She shivered.
       The Priestess remained transfixed by the interview as the splashes in the next room ceased and Fulsamee plodded out, dripping wet. He crossed in front of the holo-viewer and cut the feed.
       "He's trying to regain some stature," Fulsamee dismissed. "Maybe he wants the Smoke back, who knows?"
       Jalahass was unconvinced, so to distract he shook himself thoroughly.
       Squealing, Jalahass ducked from the spray of water droplets, laughing despite herself when Fulsamee grabbed the back of her robes.
       "Let me go!"
       "No!" Fulsamee sniffed. "You smell."
       "I do not!"
       Leaning closer, forehead almost resting on her shoulder, Fulsamee sniffed again. "Yes you do. Go have a bath and stop worrying." He realised that she had frozen, uncomfortable with the intimate gesture they had almost made. Hesitantly, his grey hand released the smooth, rich fabric of her robe.
       "Don't let him get to you," Fulsamee murmured.
       "Thank you," she said softly, hurrying away.

Taking a square of material from the railings, Fulsamee towelled himself dry. He stood by the window, looking out over the advanced city. Talsamee had always spoke very highly of her time on Brilliance, but Fulsamee had bored of its clean lines. He missed Sangheil, and the hodge podge of war damaged architecture there. It didn't seem right to have buildings constructed entirely from metal and glass.
       He didn't feel safe there.

The holo-viewer chimed quietly, a private transmission.
       Fulsamee grunted his acceptance and a tiny hologram appeared on the pedestal.
       "Talsamee . . ."
       "Orna'," she spoke warmly, beaming up at him. "I wanted to talk with you. To warn you."
       "Warn me?" Fulsamee was taken aback, the words did not seem to match her happy demeanour.
       "Yes, 'Arumaa is pressing for a Hearing, he wants to be convinced of Saia' Jalahass' holiness." She clasped her hands together. "If Jalahass is found guilty, your bonding will be absolved!"
       Fulsamee's stomachs churned. "Talsamee . . ."
       "It's a legal proceeding," Talsamee assured him. "If there's even the remotest chance that Jalahass betrayed our Faith, shouldn't we do something about it?"
       Silence was Orna's only answer.
       With a shake of her mandibles, Talsamee corrected her eager tone. "If you could remember anything, Fulsamee, 'Arumaa would like to speak with you. He told me that he had noted Jalahass contradicting you."
       Eyes downcast, Orna' found himself fascinated by the insulated flooring.
       "Orna' - I know you'll do the right thing here. Truth told me he has faith in you."
       "I have to go."

The hologram fizzed out, leaving Fulsamee staring at the plinth.

High Charity The Ninth Age of Reconciliation

The Council chamber rumbled, there were so many muttered conversations. Sangheili and Prophet Councils alike stared at 'Arumaa, wondering at his audacity.

"And so," 'Arumaa concluded, bowing his head respectfully before the two remaining Hierarchs. "Priestess Saia' Jalahass has corrupted our Faith for her own ends. Can that be allowed?" His eyes were wide, and in his prison garb he looked every bit the humble, pitiful servant of the Forerunners.
       Solitude leapt to his feet. "How dare you decry Heresy! Your actions resulted in the death of Noble Hope!"
       Falling to his knees, 'Arumaa wept.
       "A fact," Truth began, "'Arumaa did not know at the time. The Forerunners will do with him as they see fit. Our issue is with the Priestess."

At the right hand of the Hierarchs, Fera' Kianall stepped forward, her body clearly failing her strong mind. Withered and stooped under the weight of her headdress, she cut a pathetic figure.
       "The Priestesses are under my jurisdiction. I have no reason to doubt Jalahass, she has been a close and trusted friend."
       Truth nodded slowly, his eyes crossing the room to rest upon Councillor Talsamee. "Councillor," he began. "What do you feel?"
       Standing, the young daughter of Kianall was proud to lift her head and say: "Only that my engagement was broken. My personal feelings are clouding the issue, and I cannot say for certain what should be done. I would believe the same is true for my elderly mother."
       "You . . ." Kianall snarled, "I am not going to be relegated to the sidelines for age!"
       "High Priestess," Mercy spoke, a little surprised. "There shall be no slander in the Council Halls."
       "Apologies, Hierarchs," Kianall's mandibles curled. "My daughter knows not her place."
       "I speak not as a daughter, but as a Councillor. My view is objective, yours, High Priestess, clearly is not."
       Fury stood, waiting for the rabble to die down before he spoke. "I see no alternative but to proceed with a trial."
       "I repeat -" Kianall began, before coughs wracked her body.
       "If Jalahass is innocent, then there is no need to fear."
       "It's insulting," Solitude snapped, his concentration on Kianall.
       "It's dangerous to have a Priestess who is possibly subverting the Faith." Fury shrugged. "A trial is the only way forward."
       Solitude slumped in his seat as the Councils roared in agreement.

Orna' Fulsamee ignored the looks he got as he walked through High Charity. He would not pay any attention to those members of the Covenant too ignorant to respect his privacy.
       The docks were busy as usual, but Hans' Galatash looked out of place as a furious set of shining armour, pushing through the crowds with no care to their safety.
       "I heard," he grunted to the younger Sangheili. "It's a disgrace. How is Jalahass?"
       "She worries," Fulsamee replied. "Were you brought to testify?"
       "I was indeed," Galatash cursed and kicked at the closest crate. "How dare they? What gave 'Arumaa the idea?"
       "He's trying to absolve himself of blame," Fulsamee soothed him.
       His expression quizzical, Galatash tilted his head to the side. "Do you think Truth could have . . . pushed him . . . in that direction?"
       "I could not speculate," Fulsamee said respectfully. "Solitude is waiting for you in your chambers. He wishes to speak with you."
       Galatash glanced winsomely out to space, then nodded. "I see you still have the Smoke." He pointed to the beautiful ship, just visible many tiers above them.
       "I don't intend to give her back."

###

"Galatash," Jalahass bowed her head towards the commander when he entered the convent. "I am glad to see you again."
       "Would that it was under better circumstances," Galatash said to her. He turned to Kianall, swallowing roughly. "And you, High Priestess."
       Kianall smiled. "The slow poison does its work well, does it not. I appear ancient. Do not fret, my mind is still sharp."
       Fulsamee glanced at Solitude, then he trilled gently to catch their attention. "Our presence is required in the Council Chambers. We should go now."
       "Yes, young Fulsamee, you are quite right." Kianall nodded to him. "Shall we?" She put a hand on her young Priestesses back to comfort the grave Sangheili. "With hope, this shall be over quickly."

###

Fulsamee stood towards the back of the chamber, along with the other witnesses and an assortment of guards. He could see Jalahass' profile on the stand, and hear her calm voice as she explained, again, about the visions she had received.
       It was her word against 'Arumaa's.
       Why was there so much trouble? Why were so many siding with the traitor on this issue? Galatash had said it was because the chance to slander a member of the prestigious Saia' family was too good to resist.
       It sickened Orna'.
       He noticed that Talsamee was watching him from her seat in the council. Her eyes peeking out from under the silver helmet.
       Orna' slipped backwards into the shadow, a strange sense of shame stealing over him.

###

The quarters they were staying in on High Charity were fit for a Prophet. However, the hour was so late when they got back from the trial that neither Fulsamee or Jalahass were willing to relax in luxury.
       "I could . . ." Jalahass began as she removed her headdress "I could admit that I lied."
       "You did it for Solitude." Fulsamee shook his head. "No, that would not solve anything. You'd be imprisoned and so would Solitude."
       "It would help you." She turned to face him. "I know this is difficult for you, to blasphemy like this."
       "Jalahass, no. 'Arumaa will not prevail." Sighing, Fulsamee rested his forehead on hers.
       She broke away. "If I act now I at least save Solitude. The trial is going so badly - 'Arumaa is cunning. You'd have Talsamee back, and you wouldn't be betraying the Forerunners anymore, isn't that what you always wanted?"
       Fulsamee was silent.

###

Convening again, the trial proceeded to its second day. The issues were clear. Since no one could be sure if Jalahass had a vision, no one apart from 'Arumaa was prepared to directly contradict her. Some official and important figures, including Truth and Talsamee, were willing to state that they 'had an ill feeling' concerning the bonding. That, combined with the death of Hope, appeared as a bad omen.
       "Surely," Wisdom was questioning the young Priestess, "you see that as the Forerunner's sign to us. Their sign that you have betrayed them?"
       Speaking calmly, Jalahass politely denied that. "If anything, I would take it as a sign from the Forerunners that Hope was a great Prophet. He is with them now on his Great Journey."
       The Hierarch Grace lifted his head at that thought. "Interesting, Priestess. Do you blame 'Arumaa for Hope's death?"
       "A controversial issue, Hierarch," Jalahass said. She paused for a moment. "You see, as a Priestess I believe that any death which is needless should be grieved for. Death, from a proper manner, such as war or sacrifice - these are deaths to be celebrated. I . . . know . . . that 'Arumaa's actions resulted in Hope's death. I believe that Hope's death has led him to his Great Journey, and for that there should be no blame. However, it is also my belief that the Journey was not 'Arumaa's choice to make for Hope. And for that he should be punished."
       "A definite perhaps," 'Arumaa snorted. He stood by the pillars, between two towering Honour Guard. "You are no more in touch with the Forerunners than an insect."
       "The Forerunners treasure all of their life forms equally," Jalahass replied sagely.
       "Perhaps, 'Arumaa, it is you who are not 'in touch' with the Gods," Orna' Fulsamee found his mouth working independently of his brain. This was not proper conduct, and the stares from the council reinforced this.
       Surprisingly, Orna' did not care. He marched down the long walkway to stand by Jalahass.
       "After all," he said. "I have not seen the mantle of Priestesshood on your shoulders. Perhaps I am blind."
      The attention of the chamber was on him now. He had already spoken, assuring the Hierarchs that the Forerunners had not sent him any visions or feelings that would put the integrity of his bonding in jeopardy.

'Arumaa growled quietly, but not quietly enough.
       "For you see," Fulsamee continued. "The circumstances surrounding Hope's death are incongruous, are they not? Saia' Jalahass certainly cannot be blamed for them, can she?"
       The murmur that rippled through the Council was a grudging affirmative.
       "Nor can she be blamed for the loss of the Solemn Thunder, in fact, her actions on the Thunder were commended by Supreme Commander Hans' Galatash."
       Grace and Mercy glanced at each other, wondering where this was going.
       "So, you, 'Arumaa, accuse my mate of fabricating a vision to disrupt my engagement to Councillor Fera' Talsamee. These are the facts, are they not?"
       "She did," 'Arumaa growled.
       In the stands, Truth and Solitude were unable to tear their gazes away from the young, scarlet-armoured Sangheili on the floor.
       "Then the only being affected by this so-called fabrication is myself, is that not true? Someone of Councillor Talsamee's stature does not need to worry about not finding a suitable mate. Her parents, the Honourable High Priestess Fera' Kianall and his Supreme Excellency Hans' Galatash have registered no complaint. As I am the only remaining affected party, any complaints will come from me. I have none. My bonding to Saia' Jalahass has been a great blessing, and I truly believe it was the Forerunners who engineered this. I thank them with all my soul."
       There was a moment of silence.
       "We shall discuss this in private," Grace said, his voice shattering the peace. "Would the impartial step outside?"

Jalahass reached the hallway and her knees seemed to collapse under the strain of holding her up.
       "Are you well?" Galatash demanded as he and Fulsamee lunged to catch her.
       "Thank you," Jalahass said to Fulsamee. "Thank you, Orna'."
       Galatash slid away, pulling Kianall forcibly from the scene. "Privacy, High Priestess, is an Honour."
       "I wanted to know what they were saying to each other," Kianall grumbled.
       Glancing down the corridor, Galatash broke into a smile. "They're not saying much at all."

The jail cells on High Charity were highly guarded, but it was surprisingly easy to creep in.
       One camouflaged Sangheili could easily make it down the grav-lift with the proper codes.
       Recently defeated, 'Arumaa was curled in his cell, the Honour Guards paid him little attention. There was no reason to. Now publicly defeated, what would he do if he escaped?
       A blur of invisibility slipped through the door as the Guards walked out, chatting to each other about the result of the Jalahass trial.
       The bars of 'Arumaa's cell slid up, and the aristocrat unfolded, peering into the darkness. "Truth . . . ?" he half wondered, hoping that his master had come at the final hour.

"No."
       Orna' Fulsamee blinked into existence by 'Arumaa's side. He struck so fast that 'Arumaa had no chance to react. The soldier's palm crushed 'Arumaa's throat, effectively muting him for life.
       "I know Truth put you up to this." Leaning so close to 'Arumaa that to be heard he barely had to whisper, Fulsamee placed his other hand on the vulnerable chest of his victim. "I know targeted my mate for the sake of his election to Hierarch."
       'Arumaa was sweating so much it was difficult to keep a hold of his slippery, leathery skin.
       "You won't dare do that again, will you?" Fulsamee whispered.
       'Arumma shook his head frantically.
       "You can't I suppose," the soldier reflected. "You can't speak."
       Confused for a moment, 'Arumaa settled on twitching his mandible in an affirmative.
       "I won't take the risk." Plunging his fist deep into 'Arumaa's rib cage, Fulsamee killed him instantly.

Closing the cell once more, Fulsamee waited, camouflaged, beside the door. As the Guards came in, he slipped out.
       Traceless.

"Orna'!"
       Fulsamee flinched, he had hoped to sneak in unannounced to their chambers.
       Jalahass was having none of it. She glowered at him, taking in his full battle armour and the energy sword hilt that hung on his belt. "Where were you?"
       "Visiting 'Arumaa."
       With a thump, Jalahass sat on the embroidered day bed. "I don't want to know," she whispered.
       Grunting in approval, Fulsamee removed his armour. "There won't be an inquiry."
       "No." Jalahass agreed. "There won't be." It would be the view of most others in the Covenant that 'Arumaa had got what was coming to him. Fulsamee had only acted to preserve his Honour. Any member of the Covenant could understand that viewpoint.
       "I do not think we should make a home on High Charity," Fulsamee was saying.
       Jalahass blinked. "No. Probably not. Orna', I'm sorry. I shouldn't have . . . it was my actions that caused all this trouble."
       He crouched beside her. "I have no way to justify my actions, or your actions, or the actions of Truth."
       "I'm sorry." Jalahass sighed shakily. "Your faith was so pure. And now I've destroyed it."
       "I love you," Fulsamee said, very quietly. He rested his forehead on her shoulder, palm of his hand on her abdomen. "Saia' . . ."

The Priestess and the Warrior - True Blue
Date: 4 February 2005, 4:38 PM

The Priestess and the Warrior

Author: Jillybean
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dedicated to Tina - who understands ;)

True Blue

Sangheil Ninth Age of Reclamation

Curled on the bed, Saia' Jalahass had a fine, Lekgolo silk pillow over her head, a matching sheet lying in a tangled mess by her feet, and a glass of Jiralhanae Brandy sitting on the bedside table.
       The windows were tinted, blocking her view of the outside world. She wondered if dawn had broken on Sangheil yet, it certainly felt like she had been awake that long.

An explosion of raucous laughter from down the hall bored into her skull and she tried to roll over, only to be blocked by her distended stomach. With a frustrated groan she heaved herself onto her back.
       "Orna' Fulsamee, I will kill you," she muttered.
       Choosing to build a new villa on Sangheil had been Jalahass' decision. She could have rightfully ousted her mother from the traditional Saia residence as a first daughter, but it seemed churlish to remove the family from their home. And this ancient, ramshackle 'hut on a hill' as Galatash put it, had captured her imagination.
       Unfortunately, Fulsamee had been called away on duty, leaving her pregnant with said ramshackle hut. Calling in the family, she had hoped they would offer her some support. They did not. The Engineers and Unggoy she had employed to refit the villa had worked quickly, and were now out of her hair. Jalahass' family were still eating her food and drinking her wine, insisting that they would not leave a Sangheili who was with child.
       Jalahass was almost looking forward to the uncomfortable laying period.

Something, undoubtedly something priceless, smashed in the living quarters. Jalahass eased herself off the bed, snatching a robe from the nearby dresser, and silently stalked through to the party.
       "Jalahass!" A drunken relative stumbled past, inadvertently sending the Unggoy maid flying. The little alien picked itself up, then hurried back to clean away the shards of the broken vase.
       "Mother," Jalahass growled, feeling a twitch in one of her mandibles. "It is very, very late."
       Waving her arms expansively, Saia' Sorenza spilled whatever it was in her glass onto the marble floor. "Do not fret, so!"
       "Ah!" A Sangheili that Jalahass did not recognise approached her, edging around her mother with great care. "Priestess?"
       "Yes?" Jalahass looked up at him, realising that he was sober, though very tired. He wore blue armour, with many battle scars impressed into the metal.
       "I am Lia' Wuanna, I was hoping Fulsamee would be here."
       Jalahass turned to one of the Unggoy. "Bring food to my private study, please?" Turning to Wuanna she gestured for him to follow her.

"I have heard about you from Orna'," she said as she sat slowly on the daybed.
       Wuanna took a seat on the rugs, blinking as the sun rose above the horizon.
       Jalahass clicked her mandibles and the glass tinted, the ambient lighting striking up instead. She thanked the Unggoy who set the food out, and reached forward for a bowl of warm stew.
       "Here," Wuanna leapt to his feet. "Let me help you."
       "Thank you," Jalahass replied. "I am not at my most graceful."
       With an embarrassed smile, Wuanna eased back into a sitting position on the floor. He stared at the array of dishes that had been set out on the low table and licked his mandibles.
       "Please, eat," Jalahass stressed, watching with mild amusement as the soldier tore into the foods. "I'm afraid Orna' is on duty right now. I do not know when he'll be back."
       "Soon?" Wuanna asked around a lump of flatbread.
       Shaking her head, Jalahass sighed. "I doubt that he will return for another few cycles of Sangheil's moons."
       "That long?" Wuanna sighed. "I had hoped now he was bonded that he would be allowed more time planetside."
       "It doesn't work like that. Was there something in particular you wanted? He doesn't get the chance to use the holoviewer often, but if you would like to leave a message with me . . ."
       "No! I mean, no, Priestess, thank you. I was -" Wuanna floundered, his skin tinged orange.
       The Priestess made herself more comfortable. "Perhaps I could help you," she suggested.
       "I doubt it," Wuanna laughed, a harsh bark of humiliation.
       "No, I imagine not. After all, you do not look like a Sangheili in need of religious guidance."
       Lifting his head to meet her knowing eyes, Wuanna seemed to crumble under the weight of his secrets. "Oh, I am . . ."

###

The soldier woke, staring up at a plain stone ceiling. Sun was peeking in through the half tinted glass, casting an orange haze over the antique furniture that decorated the guest room.
       Kicking the sheets away he surveyed his surroundings, eyes resting on his suit of armour, discarded by the door. He had been tired when he'd went to bed.

He headed down the long, cool corridors of Fulsamee's home, wondering if his friend loved it here. The mountains could be seen from every window, and the villa itself faced the long road down to the city. He passed by the spotless reception room and wondered where all the Sangheili had got to.
       "Excuse me, Excellency," a small Unggoy bowed before him. "Priestess Jalahass wonders if you would like to join her on the balcony."
       "Sure," Wuanna nodded.

Blinking, he was led onto a bright veranda, overlooking a steep cliff with a clear river running through the gorge below.
       "Wuanna," Jalahass smiled at him, turning the holoviewer down. The news bulletins nattered on silently while Jalahass gestured to the feast laid out on the wrought iron table. She was curled up on an arrangement of pillows and rugs, a shawl over her shoulders.
       "Are you cold?" Wuanna asked, sitting opposite. He eyed the flatbread and fruit puree.
       "Not really," Jalahass rubbed her arms despite this. "The pregnancy plays havoc with ones senses. Eat, Wuanna, don't just stare."
       Properly chastised, Wuanna dipped a hunk of the bread into the puree and chewed thoughtfully. "Where did the party go?"
       "I told them to clear off last night." Jalahass stretched, arms raised far above her head, even her mandibles tensing. "I insisted that I didn't need their help."
       "Are you sure?" Abashed, Wuanna quickly apologised, eyes downcast.
       "Quite sure," Jalahass drawled. "I'm not completely incapacitated. Though, I feel like I'll be like this forever." She patted her distended stomach and smiled at him. "You seemed to be distressed last night. I thought a good sleep would put you to right, but you still appear nervous." Nestling down into the pillows, she reached forward for the reheated stew. It was the only food she could comfortably consume these days. "Would you like to tell me what's wrong?"
       Wuanna's eating pace slowed and he found himself staring up at the mountain range, watching the large avian creatures soar on the thermals.
       "If you'd rather not, that's fine," Jalahass assured him. "I am a Priestess, you'd be surprised the things that Sangheili tell me."

"Excuse me, Priestess," another Unggoy approached.
       Wuanna noticed that they all wore the same colours, the soft red robes trimmed with gold. An antiquated tradition, but one that rung a chord in Wuanna, it created a sense of family in the underlings.
       "What is it, Ahana?"
       "The Practitioner is here to see you," Ahana waited for her orders, almost regretful to disturb them.
       Jalahass sighed deeply. "Send him in. Thank you, Ahana."
       "Yes, Priestess."

"The Practitioner?" Wuanna asked.
       His hostess wriggled her mandibles in annoyance. "They like to check up on me, oh - every five minutes?" With a little chuckle she leaned forward. "I know that the Lineage is important, believe me, I know." The little exasperated eyeroll led Wuanna to wonder how often the Priestess had been lectured on the subject. "But I am fairly sure the Forerunners would not have created a Laying process which would put the mother at risk. I feel fine. Awkward, but fine. The world treats me as though I was made of glass."
       "I hadn't put Fulsamee down as the father type," Wuanna ventured. "He's a fine Brother, I don't doubt his loyalty for a moment, but this beautiful home and children . . ."
       Jalahass laughed. "When he got his orders to ship out I didn't know I was pregnant. He was . . . polite . . . when I told him about it." She nodded in acknowledgement as the Sangheili practitioner came out onto the balcony.
       Wondering if he had touched on a dangerous subject, Wuanna stayed quiet.
       "If our bonding survived accusations of Heresy, I'm almost sure it would survive a child," she winked at him before addressing the newcomer. "Practitioner, I wasn't aware I had an appointment today."
       Sniffing through exceptionally long mandibles, the Practitioner crouched beside her. "I thought I told you that chairs would be preferable to rugs?"
       "This is more polite," Jalahass told him wryly.
       "Hmm," the Practitioner took some readings with his portable scanner, making the occasional disapproving noise. "And isn't it rather chilly out here?"
       "I'm dressed warmly," the Priestess continued in her long suffering tone. "Any more advice?"
       "Have you been eating well?" the Practitioner stole a glimpse of the contents of her cup. "I see not. There is insufficient protein in that."
       "Yes, Practitioner."

This went on for some time, and Wuanna continued eating until he was full, then he watched the transparent holograms silently mouthing the galaxy's news. By the time the Practitioner had packed up his tools and had been escorted away, the sun was baking the stone walls of the villa, warming the Sangheili comfortably.
       "I swear," Jalahass muttered darkly. "Once I'm agile again . . . he'll be one of the first to go."
       Wuanna chuckled.
       "I'm glad to see you're warming to me," Jalahass surmised. "So, why were you so tired when you got here last night?"
       "I'd travelled a long way," Wuanna did not miss a beat, but his short answer only frustrated the Priestess.
       "Orna' didn't tell me you were so stubborn. Though he did tell me that you nearly killed him the first day you met."
       Wuanna laughed. "Yes, that was . . . not my finest hour."
       Settling back in her pillows, Jalahass' eyes sparkled. "I've been dying to hear about it."

Rebel Occupied Unnamed Planet Ninth Age of Reclamation

An explosion of grass and dirt to Fulsamee's right blinded him, set his ears ringing, and threw him flat to the rocky ground.
       A tiny flower stared up at him, seemingly bemused by the battle being fought in its home. The open grassland was unused to such violence. Under the bright light of it's twin suns, the grass bowed before the might of the blood being rained upon it.
       "Excellency!" A Lekgolo swooped down, grabbing the back of Fulsamee's armour and dragging the Elite to his feet.
       With a sense of regret, Fulsamee was swept past the flower, and flung unceremoniously over the Hunter's back.

"Excellency," a young Special Operations Sangheili crawled over the damp earth to reach Fulsamee. "Oh . . . Oh Forerunners . . ." Blanching, he turned away.
       Another explosion rocked the cave to its foundations.
       "How far down does this go?" Saty 'Dahasamee limped to his feet, cradling his shattered arm against his white armoured chest. "We can't stay here."
       "Quite far, the scouting Kig-Yar couldn't find the end," the younger Sangheili replied. Licking his mandibles, he glanced back to their leader. "Should we leave him?"
       "No!" 'Dahasamee snarled. He nodded to the two Hunters. "Carry him." Taking a quick survey of his chances, 'Dahasamee realised that his only chance was to move further into the tunnels. The Brute army outside would know where they had retreated to, but they couldn't fight their way out.

Arms scooped Fulsamee up, bearing him over the grey stones, blurring them beneath him.
       A little, tuneless song filtered through the haze. Sleep tight . . . Honour is yours . . .
       Long fingers soothing away all his hurts, and a kindly smile.
       The smell of tired, ill flesh.

Fulsamee started awake, the sudden movement sending sharp pain down the left side of his body.
       "Oh! Stay still, Excellency," Kiz 'Taahilmee grabbed at him, only making the pain worse.
       "Off me, fool!" The words came out blurred.
       Saty 'Dahasamee crouched down, filling his line of vision. "Steady, Excellency, you took a bad blow to the head. What do you remember of the battle?"
       Aware of a steady dripping on the boulders beside him, Fulsamee peered around the dank cave. Emergency lighting had been installed, but that did not give him much confidence. Employing the soft, purple beams meant they could go no further.
       "I remember our dropship crashed," Fulsamee murmured.
       "Go on," 'Dahasamee said. He had two Kig-Yar crouched by Fulsamee's head, their hands on his helmet.
       Fixing his gaze on the shadows cast by the purple lights, Fulsamee gritted his mandibles together, forcing the words out. "Ambush. The rebel forces were waiting for us. We were forced down to the plateau after losing Glory Company."
      "We lost Vengeance Company also," 'Dahasamee told him.
       "Yes, they have Banshees. They bombarded the grasslands . . . I - ah!" He lost his concentration as the Kig-Yar pulled off his helmet. The shapeless rock face swam in front of his eyes and a worrying numbness spread over his body.
       "What did you do?" 'Dahasamee asked, working on Fulsamee's skull.
       Closing his eyes, Fulsamee fought to keep conscious. "I ordered the defence of the drop zone, we had to wait for rescue."

"Excellency!"
       "Do it!" Fulsamee stooped, grabbing a Needler from a fallen comrade. He vaulted forwards, keeping low in the long grasses. He knew 'Dahasamee wasn't pleased with this plan of action, but there was no possibility of their lone three companies surviving this onslaught
       What were the Brutes guarding on this little back-water planet?
       Flying through the air he landed in the middle of a strike team, firing a round of Needlers into the back of their Captain, feeling that much more alive with every glassy explosion. The other three were not put off by his wild plasma shots, crouching low and advancing.
       Sweeping backwards, Fulsamee raised his guns, noticing the darker grass, a length to his right. A hollow in the ground. He saw also the limp in the middle Brute, the odd mince that belied his weakness.
       He dropped the Plasma Rifle, igniting a grenade and hopped over the top of the middle Brute. He had guessed correctly and the creature was too slow to catch up with him. Rolling on the soft dirt he fell into the ditch, sheltering from the explosion of body parts.

"Stay with me, Fulsamee," 'Dahasamee growled.
       "The Phantom couldn't make the pick-up," Fulsamee hissed through gritted teeth. He thought of Galatash, orbiting the planet on the huge, new Covenant Cruiser. Why hadn't he offered back up? What was happening in space right now?
       He hated being so helpless.
       "Just one more stitch," the Kig-Yar helper clucked at them.
       "Then it all gets confusing."
       "You were caught in the blast of a plasma cannon. I thought you were dead." 'Dahasamee shivered. "I am glad I do not have to tell your pretty mate that I was responsible for losing you."
       Fulsamee laughed, just a little. "We're at a dead end, aren't we?"
       "Yes," 'Dahasamee thanked the Jackals. "We'll have to stand and fight."

The Ascendant Justice In Orbit Ninth Age of Reclamation

"We may have to give them up for lost," the Prophet of Fury was saying.
       Galatash tried not to listen, his fingers curling over the hilt of his energy sword.
       Glancing at him, Nakaka tried to respectfully shut the Prophet up, but Fury had had his mind set.
       "We shall not lose another cruiser to the Brute rebels! The Thunder was unfortunate, but losing the Justice can be prevented!" Slamming his fist down onto the throne, Fury glowered at the Elites in front of him. His jowls quivered, straining to stay silent.
       Before Fury could explode, Galatash turned to face him, making an effort to sneer. "This is a tactical decision, Noble Prophet. We will not leave."
       As if to emphasize Fury's outrage, the Justice shook.

Jalahass' Villa Sangheil Ninth Age of Reclamation

A marble figurine stared Wuanna down, its unpainted eyes boring into his soul.
       "It's from an archaeological dig," Jalahass said, mistaking the statue's malicious intent for Wuanna's interest. She smiled fondly, patting the miniature Sangheili on the head. "It brings me luck."
       They'd moved inside once warm, heavy rain began to fall. The Priestess didn't tire of Wuanna's stories, sharing a few of her own. It had dawned on the soldier that he trusted Jalahass, he trusted anyone who laughed when they heard Orna' used to fear the dark. But Jalahass had crowed with delight upon hearing the story, upsetting her pillows and prompting a coughing fit.
       If there had been nothing else, that alone would have won him over.

"Ahana," Jalahass paused by the little Unggoy. "Have you inventoried our supplies? I don't know how much the party ate."
       "I have, Priestess," the Grunt bobbed on her feet, her mask covering the cheerful equivalent of an Unggoy smile. Excusing herself from the study, the Unggoy left them.
       "It's my intended," Wuanna blurted out, unable to face the statue off any longer.
       Jalahass glanced at him, mandibles slack with confusion. "Come again?"
       "My intended." He rounded on her, frantic. "Her name's Kin' Olapaa."
       "Sit down," Jalahass instructed. "And tell me what's wrong."

"The dowry wasn't the problem, my family's very rich. But Olapaa and I . . . we were so in love." Glancing up at the Priestess, he didn't see the understanding he had hoped for. "We were foolish, and . . ."
       "I cannot help you if you do not tell me what's wrong," Jalahass said, very softly.
       "She fell pregnant, before we were Bonded. Her parents wanted the child killed so I . . ." he clenched his lower mandibles "I took extended leave and kidnapped Olapaa, hiding her. Our families can't alert the authorities without dishonouring themselves and-"
       "Enough," Jalahass held up her hand. "Where is she now?"
       "She's staying in the city," Wuanna stood. "I should go back to her. I had hoped Orna' could have -"
       "Could have done what?" Jalahass said tightly. She shook her head and leaned back on the plush daybed. "Go and fetch your intended."

She watched the soldier leave, confusion playing over her face. A simple mistake, yet one that the Forerunners condemned.
       Her beautiful home, her Honourable Mate, her healthy pregnancy - all blessings from the Gods.
       "And I have been so good for so long," she muttered. "Ahana?"
       The door hissed open and the Grunt hobbled in, looking up expectantly.
       "Ahana, I misfiled something, could you please contact the convent and ask them if they have a copy of the Bonding between Kin' Olapaa and Lia' Wuanna? I have a horrible feeling I've not sent them one."
       "Yes . . . Priestess," Ahana's face wrinkled as she processed this. "Would you . . . like me to pull up the forms for you to fill out?"
       "That would be helpful, Ahana."
       "Right away, Priestess."

Jalahass glanced out the convex window, looking to the sky.
       "Don't punish me for this . . . please . . ."

Unnamed World Ninth Age of Reclamation

"We need to fight." Fulsamee leaned against the damp walls, pushing himself to his feet. He caught sight of his discarded helmet, a fist sized boulder embedded in its metal skin. Resolutely, he returned his attention to the motley crew before him. "Our backs are against the wall."
       "The Rebels haven't come down here yet," 'Taalhimee spoke up.
       Shooting a quick glare at the insurgent, Fulsamee continued. "We'll extinguish the lights, then the Kig-Yar will scout ahead. You have the best eyes for the dark." He waited for their chirrup of approval, before he continued. He only had four Sangheili, and a few more Unggoy, but they were all capable of active-camo, except him. His suit was too badly damaged. "The Brutes haven't come down here for a reason. They're toying with us."
       Of course they are, because it's so like them.
       Why did he have Saia' in his head, ridiculing his tactics?
       I'm just pointing it out . . . there is a reason they're not here. I hardly think they have the intellect to play with their prey.
       If that's so Priestess, what are they looking for?
       How should I know? I'm just a figment of your concussion addled imagination. Work it out for yourself.

"Excellency?" 'Dahasamee seemed concerned by this lapse in concentration.
       "There's definitely nowhere else to go?" A quick glance around the cave confirmed this for Fulsamee. This was a dead end.
       "Why do you ask?"
       "It's almost as if the Brutes are . . ." he fought for the word, clicking his mandibles absently.
       "Afraid," guessed one of the Grunts. "They haven't set foot in this tunnel system."
       "So what are they waiting for?" Fulsamee asked, eyeing the Grunt.
       "What do they fear?" 'Dahasamee corrected. He shifted his weight, flexing the fingers on his broken arm and wincing. "It's not pain."
       "They fear the Gods," 'Taalhimee grew uncomfortable as the others stared at him.
       "I want this cave searched," Fulsamee growled.

As his soldiers reluctantly kicked about the rocks, Fulsamee approached the pair of Hunters.
       "I want you to go up ahead, give us an early warning if you see something coming. When we need to get out, I'll want you two at the front."
       They grunted in approval for this pro-active plan.
       Watching them lurch up the incline, Fulsamee hoped he wasn't sending them to their deaths.

"Excellency?" 'Taalhimee eased back from the base of a very large boulder. A very thin line ran up the centre.
       "What's that?" 'Dahasamee leaned over the younger Sangheili, running the fingers of his good hand over the crack. "I don't think that's natural."
       "No," Fulsamee eyed the Kig-Yar. "Your fingers are small, can you pry it open?"
       With a little squawk, the Kig-Yar tried, one by one, to ease the rock apart. It remained steadfast.
       "Bring that light over." Fulsamee squatted, running his claw down to the base. His fingers bumped over a tiny groove, too shallow to see. Gently, he pushed his fingers into what was a perfect fit, and then he touched the parting.
       The boulder split, jumping aside for him. Inside, a glowing blue crystal blinked out at them.
       "By the Forerunner . . ."
       "What is it?"
       Fulsamme grunted, lifting the crystal and slipping it into his belt. "A souvenir for my Mate. This was what the Brutes were guarding, let's move out!"

Falling into place behind his Excellency, 'Dahasamee peered around the blue clad hips to try and see the object. "Is that . . . wise?"
       "Do you have another suggestion?" Fulsamee asked quietly.
       "It's just," 'Dahasamee caught himself, glancing at the younger soldiers up front. "I was always told that Forerunner artefacts should be treated with reverence."
       "Reverence does little good if we're dead." Fulsamee paused, placing a hand on the chest plate of the Special Operations armour. "Trust me."
       "Your Mate would agree with this?" he asked, a tremour of doubt still in his voice.
       No, she'd actively seek my death, you idiot. "Absolutely," Fulsamee butted heads with him. "Trust me, Brother."

The Hunters had come to a halt a few lengths up the tunnel, hunched behind their shields.
       "There are sounds of Rebel activity up ahead," a Grunt reported.
       Licking his mandibles, Fulsamee took a Needler from one of his soldiers. "We have the Gods on our side," he told them. "Galatash, can you hear me?"

The transmission crackled with static.

"It may be the artefact," Fulsamee half murmured to himself. "We'll proceed. Slowly. Let the Brutes see our spoil."
       "Excellency," growled 'Taalhimee, "surely . . ."
       Aiming the Needler at the insubordinate, Fulsamee gazed coolly down the purple spikes. "Are you no better than the Rebels?"
       "Excellency! No!" 'Taalhimee was shocked, never had anyone dared to criticise him, son of a prestigious Sangheili Lineage. His parents had the ears of the Prophets!
       "Question me once more," Fulsamee flicked the muzzle of the gun away, eyeing all of his troops in turn. "We must be unified. We must be steadfast. We are the finest warriors that the Ascendant Justice has to offer. Are you ready to embark upon your Great Journey?"
       "Yes, Excellency!"
       "Then trust in the Gods! And trust in your guns!"

With a roar that thundered off the cave walls, the Hunters barged forwards, breaking into the main entranceway.
       All the Brutes saw was shining blue armour, before they were trampled underfoot. A few managed to launch some grenades, the explosions ricocheting off the stone, sending up shards of deadly splinters.
       Fulsamee ducked, aware that his head was completely unprotected. He caught sight of a glimmer, setting upon the Brute Captain; it had to be 'Dahasamee, compensating for his injury with stealth.
       "Jackals!" Fulsamee yelled, lunging behind them as the Kig-Yar fell into formation. Creeping into the light, the Kig-Yar dived behind a knoll and took up their positions, firing back into the fray with a deadly accuracy.
       A scream of pain heralded the first Brute victory, and 'Taalhimee fell to the dirt, a gaping hole in his armoured gut.
       Moving swiftly, Fulsamee covered the ground between him and the murderer, vaulting onto its back and aiming the Needler into its skull. He squeezed the trigger and . . .

And was forced backwards in a brilliant flash of blue light.
       He bounced, skidded and finally came to rest several lengths from the battle. Flat on his back and gulping at the air, he was completely unable to breathe. His skull hurt, his bones were on fire . . .
       "But ultimately the terms of your execution are up to me."
       "I am already dead."
       "Indeed."
       There was something in front of his eyes, a bulbous metal container, and inside was something Fulsamee wanted so very badly.
       "Your ignorance has already destroyed one of the Sacred Rings, it shall not destroy another!"
       And a Demon.

"Fulsamee!"

The light slowly faded, replaced by occasional red flashes.
       "Orna'!"
       "Hans . . ."
       With a sigh of relief, the older Sangheili slumped onto the earth. "By the Forerunners," he grinned down at him. "I would not have enjoyed explaining your death to Jalahass."

Jalahass' Villa Sangheil Ninth Age of Reclamation

"Saia' Jalahass!"
       The furious yell echoed through Jalahass' house, so she assumed someone was looking for her. With some effort she pried herself off of her anti-grav mattress, glancing at the chronometer.
       Ahana was pushed through the door by a large, irate male Elite, her little Grunt feet unable to move fast enough away from his kick.
       Folding her arms, Jalahass felt her mandible twitch in annoyance. "I beg your pardon," she said. "I don't think I know you."
       "You!" Jabbing a finger into her chest, the intruder stood uncomfortably close. "Oh I know what you did, Priestess."
       "And I can smell brandy on your breath," Jalahass coughed. "Please, leave my bedroom and preferably my home."
       Slightly taken aback that his onslaught wasn't having the desired effect, the drunken Sangheili staggered backwards. "You ruined my daughters life."
       Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ahana pick herself up and creep off, hopefully to fetch some sort of authority.
       "In case you hadn't noticed," Jalahass waved to her swollen stomach, "I'm not in any condition to be cavorting with daughters."
       "Insolent Grunt-Whore!" he raved, swiping at her.
       Ducking, Jalahass stumbled, feeling the first stabs of genuine fear.
"How dare you assault me?" She winced, feeling the soft shell in her stomach bend.
       "I know my daughter was not Bonded, Kin' Olapaa, do you recognise the name?" He circled her, still incensed. "It was for her own good! Wuanna was a bad influence. Our Lineage! Destroyed because of you!"
       It was an unfortunate time to feel the first contraction, Jalahass gritted her teeth. "If you'll look at the documents, I Bonded them many days before the pregnancy was detected. Your Lineage is fine."
       He spat at her. "You think you can play in our lives?"
       Closing her eyes against the demands of her body, Jalahass remembered the sun drenched planet she had been stranded on for her First Rites. Burned skin had hurt more than this.
       Surely.

"She was too young," her assailant sobbed. He sat heavily on the anti-grav.
       "Old enough," Jalahass grunted. "What would you have done? Murdered the Hatchling at birth? The Gods abhor that."
       "What would you know!"
       A boot connected with her spine and she screamed despite herself.
       "A lot!" she yelped. "Priestess! Remember?"

At that point Ahana burst in, wielding a plasma pistol. The gun was quivering with green energy and the Grunt let it fly.
       Jalahass exhaled shakily as the Sangheili fell to the floor, his skin shrivelled away.
       "Ahana . . ."
       "Oh Gods forgive me, I have sinned!" The poor Unggoy was inconsolable.
       "The Practioner! For Gods sake the Practioner!" Jalahass shrieked. "NOW!"

Ascendant Justice Slipspace Ninth Age of Reclamation

The Prophet of Fury eyed the blue crystal. It glowed, magnificently lighting the dark quarters on the Justice.
       "And you say you could not attack the Brute?" He turned his throne around to view the young Sangheili.
       "Well, something blew us apart. A Needler would never backfire like that," Fulsamee shrugged. He glanced at Galatash, his Commander leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the room.
       "Indeed," Nakaka confirmed. "It was the flash from the artefact that drew our dropships to that location." He whistled under his breath, grinning at Fulsamee. "Incredible, isn't it?"
       "Yes, yes it is," Fulsamee swallowed. "There's . . . something else, Noble Prophet."
       "Oh?" The Prophet raised an eyebrow. "Care to enlighten me?"
       "I . . . I had a vision." Fulsamee didn't know where to look. "I saw a Demon, plaguing us and . . . I saw an Arbiter called in the near future, to help us defeat the Demon."
       "Interesting." Fury looked to Galatash and Fulsamee couldn't decipher the expression on his face. "I suppose you will be wanting to return to your Mate?"
       "Yes, Noble Prophet."
       The Prophet stroked his jowls thoughtfully. "Yes. Well, when we reach High Charity you will have to answer to the Hierarch, but then I will ask for you to be put on leave."
       "Thank you."

Sangheili Medical Facility Sangheil Ninth Age of Reclamation

"Let me get this straight." Priestess Saia' Jalahass stared down the trio of Practioners that had been treating her. "You've taken my child."
       "To a nursery!" The regular Practioner almost yelled this. He flung his hands in the air and stormed out.
       The female, more used to placating patients, put a hand on the Priestess' arm. "The best education, the best food - and no danger. You see how dangerous it can be in the house of two high profile Sangheili?" The Practioner nodded her head, as if she thought it would somehow sway Jalahass.
       "I don't care," Jalahass stated. She forcibly removed the Practioner's hand from her arm. "I'm leaving."
       "No!" The remaining two medics shouted at once.
       "Now," Jalahass growled, kicking off the anti-grav. "And if you stop me I will kill you."
       "Priestess you're not-"
       But she had already walked out.

High Charity Ninth Age of Reclamation

Fulsamee made the familiar walk to the Council chambers take as long as it could. He was beginning to tire of it. One day he would return from a mission and not have it end in an enquiry.
       Priestess Hera' Solatta was waiting for him at the doors, her hands neatly folded over her azure skirts. "Excellency," she said warmly. "How are you?"
       "Tired," he managed a grin for her. "Have you heard from Jalahass?"
       "Well . . ." Solatta's entire demeanour changed. "I heard rumours."
       Cocking his head, Fulsamee was about to ask what when he was ushered inside.

The Council halls were not full, apparently the Councillors were tiring of his visits too.
       The three Hierarchs sat at the far end.
       "Noble Truth," he noted. "Congratulations on your promotion."
       "Why, thank you, Orna' Fulsamee." Truth smiled at him. It was as insincere as Fulsamee's words.
       "Yes," Grace coughed. "Please, Fulsamee, lets make this brief. I know your Mate is in the city to see you."
       "Ah . . . of course," Fulsamee interjected smoothly. Of course he knew that.

###

"Saia'," he exclaimed when he entered his quarters. "What are you doing - you're not fat." He was drawn off course as he noticed her slim figure.
       "They took it from me!" she whirled on him, rage burning in her eyes.
       "Uh . . ."
       "My child," she returned to wearing down the deck with her pacing.
       "Wait, who dared . . ."
       "The Practioners! For my own safety. To raise the child in a place appropriate for its station!" she spat. "Orna' I want it back. I never even got to see it hatch."
       Fulsamee ran his fingers over the healing scar on his head. "Yes, where's the nursery?"
       Taken aback, Saia' Jalahass blinked at him. "You'll . . . you'll come with me?"
       Demon!
       "Yes," Fulsamee said. "Of course I will."

The Priestess and the Warrior - Underground
Date: 19 February 2005, 11:32 PM

The Priestess and the Warrior

Author: Jillybean
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Underground

Truth felt a headache begin beneath the inter-pressuary point on his skull. A good massage was what he desperately wanted, and a dirt bath. He longed to feel his dead skin cells sloughing off in sand, and a drink of rum wouldn't kill him either.
      "Truth?" Regret pressed, leaning forward in his throne.
       Opening his eyes to the Hierarch chambers, instead of the Spa on Glorious Victory, Truth gritted his teeth against the spiteful comments he could make. Regret had to be handled with caution. He was useful, expendable mind, but preferably, Truth wanted the younger Prophet on his side.
       "Noble Regret," and he didn't even stress the honourable title, "I promised you a seat on the Hierarch-"
       "Yes! And it's been a year!"
       "And a seat on the Hierarch you shall get," Truth soothed. He smiled benevolently at the youth. "Understand that as intelligent and virtuous as you are, you would still be noticeable in the Hierarch for your age. Hope's death was a grievous affair-"
       "Hmmph." Regret's attitude was unsettling. Too ambitious. Still, Truth had primed him for this, and he would rather not choose another.
       "Give the Covenant time to recoup. The Brute attacks will intensify, the Forerunners have warned me personally."
       Another, slight, derisive snort.
       Eyeing the upstart, Truth moved his chair a little bit closer. "Your time will come, Regret. But it must be your time, no one else's. Do you understand?"
       "I . . . do." Regret relaxed into a sigh. "Noble Truth."

Three Sangheil Years Later
Convent High Charity Ninth Age of Reclamation

With a delighted squeal, Senior High Priestess Hera' Solatta swooped down on the cradle and swooped up the tiny baby into her arms.
       "Oh, but she's gorgeous, Jalahass!"
       Smiling, a little apprehensively it could be said, Jalahass watched her excited mentor play with Jalahass' daughter. "Thank you, Solatta. I'm just glad she is now a cycle old."
       Solatta's expression was sympathetic as she returned the baby, somewhat gingerly now, to the cradle. "The Forerunners would not allow a child of yours to be taken. That, I promise you, Jalahass. Although . . ." she hesitated, glancing around the crowded chamber. "Perhaps, it would have been wiser to give her to a crèche? They have experience with illness-"
       "No." With one claw, Jalahass tucked the Lekgolo silk cover over her daughter's tummy. "Saia' Lyueem is my daughter, and I'll look after her."
       Sitting beside her old friend, Solatta hid her amusement badly. "Jalahass, my sweet, you were on a spaceship in the middle of a battle when Lyueem Hatched."
       "I know." Shifting uncomfortably, Jalahass felt laughter bubbling inside her. "Ah. But she is alive and Named now. Excellent service by the way."
       Thinking back on the painfully long winded speech, the draughty Great Hall and the wailing child, Solatta shivered. "I suppose, for a Naming ceremony, it could have been worse."
       Jalahass cackled. "Do you remember Karte's? I swear until my dying day, Solitude fell asleep."

Drawn like a magnet to the sound of his name being slandered, Solitude hobbled up. One hand gripped his walking stick, the other a glass of wine. "I did not! Whatever it was you were accusing me of, dear Priestess."
       "Of course not, Noble Solitude." Jalahass reached forward and lifted her daughter up, delivering the gurgling bundle to Solitude once he was comfortably seated. "I am glad that you accepted the burden of Entrustee."
       "I am Honoured that you thought of me," Solitude replied. He cooed down at the squirming child and laughed as she reached for his jowls. "Lyueem, Priestess Solatta chose your Name well. You are indeed the Strong One."
       "Well, she seems perfectly happy," Jalahass stood, brushing off her gown. "If you'll excuse me, I have some social duties to perform."

From his secluded spot on the curving window ledge, Fulsamee caught sight of his mate working the room and suppressed a grin. She was looking for him and there was no way in all the Hells of the Prophets that he would be forced into making polite chit chat with the up and coming new Councillors.
       "Father," Karte' tugged at his sleeve impatiently.
       "Yes?"
       "Trick," he implored, pointing at the trinket that sat between them.
       "Ah yes," Fulsamee feigned thoughtfulness as he picked up his old trophy. "Now, if I remember correctly, this arrowhead disappears."

The crowd parted somewhat for High Priestess Fera' Kianall. Her tiny frame was dwarfed by the wampa fur she had draped around her shoulders, but her skin had a healthy orange glow and she walked unaided.
       "High Priestess," Jalahass said when she noticed Kianall. She conducted a formal bow in deference to the older Priestess, then embraced her. "You're looking very well. I'm glad."
       "Yes, I do look well," Kianall said, her tone odd. "May we speak in private?"
       Glancing at the corner where she had left Solitude and Lyueem, Jalahass hesitated for a moment.
       "Is there something wrong, High Priestess?" Fulsamee materialized beside them, Karte' in his arms.
       "I only wished to speak with Jalahass in private."
       "Go," Fulsamee bumped foreheads with her, pausing long enough to let their son do the same, before he retreated to Solitude and his daughter.

"Galatash used to be like that," Kianall remarked as they walked through the corridors. "Protective. He loved his children."
       "You loved him very much," Jalahass rubbed her arms. High Charity was built for all Covenant kind, and its temperature was just below the comfort level of the Sangheili. The convent's high, open windows chilled the entire place. Jalahass' formal gown offered little warmth and she appreciated why Kianall was wearing the fur.
       "Hmm," considering this, the High Priestess agreed. "But my choices were made long ago. I'm going to die alone."
       This brought an uncomfortable silence until Jalahass realised she was being lead down to the underground libraries, the place she loved the most in the convent.
       "Galatash took Fulsamee under his wing," Kianall didn't switch the lights on, and instead took an old oil lamp from inside a cubby hole. They proceeded by the flickering light of the flame. "If he hadn't, Forerunners know where you'd be, my girl."
       "Uh . . . Priestess? Where are we going?"
       "Do you ever wonder, Jalahass, what happens to the babies no one wants?"
       They came to rest in between two huge catacombs. Kianall no longer looked well and friendly, her face was strained and thrown into harsh relief from the flame. The shadow on the scrolls behind her was sharp and spiky, flickering as the fur shifted.
       Struggling with the silence for a moment, Jalahass hung her head.
       "I know that you did not misfile Lia' Wuanna's bonding. I know you too well for that."
       "They would have killed Kin' Olapaa's child," gritting her many teeth, Jalahass clenched her fists. "That cannot be condoned by the Forerunners, surely?"
       "Oh, but it is." Kianall glowered. "According to the Councils, according to the scrolls I teach those young Priestesses above us, according to the Covenant - what you did was wrong."
       "What will you do?"
       With a harsh cackle, Kianall shook her head. "I will tell you about my mentor, Hasamine, a wonderful Sangheili. She was a rebel. You think you caused me trouble? Hasamine told me, before she passed away, about the legacy her High Priestess had left her." Swallowing, Kianall turned to the wall, swiping her hand over the metal and revealing a holographic panel. "This place cannot be found by any of our AI, because quite simply - it does not exist."
       Jalahass peered into the dark hallway and knew that this was very real.

"I was much like you at the time. An Honourable Mate, I had three children though, including a First Daughter, whom I loved dearly."
       "Fera' Talsamee," Jalahass stuck close to the High Priestess. She was afraid of the endless shadow around her, and the flickering oil lamp did not give her much light.
       "Yes. Hasamine told me a heart breaking story about a servant Sangheili, a young child really. After Laying, this child died, in a back alley on some dingy little planet, and the egg stayed on the streets."
       "That's horrible."
       "The egg was Hasamine. She was rescued and brought to a secret group of Sangheili working to protect as many as they could."
       Jalahass stopped in her tracks. "Orna'," she guessed. "Orna' was one of these children, wasn't he? You pushed him through to be accepted in training, didn't you?"
       With a shrug, Kianall kept moving. "I may have. Undoubtedly Orna's prowess helped him along the way. However, in our world, prowess is nothing compared to blood. But I doubt you understand that."
       "Of course I understand it."
       "No." Kianall brought her into a long chamber. There were several Sangheili there, their eyes wide with apprehension as they saw the newcomer.
       A child, not much older that Jalahass' son, ran up to fetch his ball, giving her a sunny smile before fleeing back to his game.
       "These Sangheili," Kianall whispered to her, "truly have nothing. Dishonoured. Impoverished. Those who the Covenant have forgotten. Here, we do our best to educate them and give them a place in society."
       "I recognise you." Jalahass took a step forward, her jewellery and finery jingling as she reached out to point at the noble Sangheili female sitting on a low bench. "You're the daughter of that Heretic. I remember your face."
       "Splashed all over the news bulletins," the Sangheili spoke politely, although her face was very bitter. "Yes. I remember too."
       "I'm sorry," Jalahass stopped pointing. "I should have thought."
       "Fasamo had been sentenced to death for her father's Heresy. She lost her family, but still has her life. She teaches the children here."
       Staring around the chamber, Jalahass saw a few Sangheili with the Mark of Shame burned into them, others who were just born into the wrong family, or abandoned because they were too difficult to explain when your Mate had been shipped out for a year.
       "There must be more chambers," she realised quietly. "This cannot be all of them."
       "There are many, many more. Underneath the city."

In a tiny, but homely office, Kianall poured them both warm tea. "I'm dying, Jalahass."
       "You've been saying that for years, Priestess." This time, Jalahass knew it was true.
       "I look healthy because the pain killers I am taking are strong enough to sink a Hunter. Jalahass. I. Am. Dying."
       Setting the tea down, Jalahass hiccuped back tears. "You're asking me to take over all this? I could be killed for just listening to what you're saying!"
       "I know." Kianall leaned forward, pointing at the door. "But walk out there and return to your beloved family. Forget all about these children who don't have a father like Orna' to watch over them. Who don't have a mother like you to protect them."
       "You've made your point." Jalahass felt sick.
       "You'll be a High Priestess when I'm gone," Kianall said. "But will you really take over my work?"
       "Yes."
       "Reassign food for the convent? Make up excuses on your feet? Risk destroying your family every time you give another Sangheili a life that they may call their own?"
       "I said 'yes'."
       Satisfied, Kianall finished her tea. "I'll stay here for a bit. You go back to the ceremony."

Jalahass didn't. She fled through the long dark corridor and into the library, watching the wall seal behind her. In amongst the scrolls she still couldn't feel safe.
       "Forgive me, Forerunners," she whispered. "But I must blaspheme once more."

"Where were you?" Setting down Lyueem, Fulsamee frowned at his Mate. "Is there something wrong?"
       "Is Karte' sleeping?"
       "In his chambers, yes." Fulsamee let her pace around distractedly, he was preparing to go to sleep. "These functions exhaust me."
       "I know, Love. Thank you for covering for me," Jalahass called from the adjoining chamber. She returned with Karte' in her arms, easing onto the bed and settling him under the covers.
       Fulsamee frowned. "He hasn't had a nightmare yet."
       Fetching her daughter, Jalahass glanced at him. "Indulge me tonight."
       "Why change the habit of a lifetime?" Fulsamee shrugged. He shifted his son over to give himself some more room. "Will you tell me what it is you are afraid of?"
       "No."
       "Can't or won't?"
       Jalahass thought for a moment. "I . . . don't want to. I want to pretend it's not happening."
       "Maybe I could help?"
       "You probably could." She settled under the covers, regarding her children. "If we weren't rich, Orna', wouldn't you like to think someone was looking after them?"
       "Yes."
       "Did Wuanna tell you what I did for him and his Mate?"
       "He did. He was grateful. I can't say that I agree . . ."
       "So you would have rather had them all killed?"
       "When you put it like that." Fulsamee sighed. "I'm not going to get any sleep tonight, am I? Tell me what it is, Saia'."
       "You asked for it."

Glorious Victory The Ninth Age of Reclamation

The Kig-Yar servant hesitated by the archway, its chest heaving in the blisteringly dry heat.
       Down the alabaster sloping floor, the Kig-Yar reached the deep sand baths, the vestigial feathers on his neck bristling in anticipation.
       "Yes?" Truth surfaced from the dirt, eyeing the servant coldly.
       Chirping nervously, it proffered a data chip and scurried away.

Glowering into the shadows, Truth made sure that he was completely alone, before he thumbed the switch on the chip. Red letters scrolled in the air, flashing occasionally. Orna' Fulsamee's next orders. An escort service through the Gracious Nebula, a very Holy, but Brute infested area of space. The dignitary who had requested the mission was Regret's younger brother, Content.
       Now that was most advantageous. The death of a Prophet, albeit a minor one, would prompt further reform in the Council and ease Regret into Grace's position in the Hierach. Grace was tiring on the politics, and Truth sensed it would only take another blow to knock him out of the competition. Solitude, the only other candidate, would have his name sullied if Fulsamee could be implicated in Content's death.
       "Tassan!"
       The little Sangheil hurried through the room. "Yes, Noble Prophet?"
       "A massage," Truth rolled onto his stomach, settling into the dirt. "I need to relax."

The Convent of the Priestesses High Charity The Ninth Age of Reclamation

A large Priestess coughed politely at the entrance to Kianall's study.
       "High Priestess?" she asked.
       "I'm listening." Glancing up from the holographic display, Kianall rubbed her neck and blinked in the light. "What?"
       "Councillor Fera' Talsamee is here to see you," the Priestess said, bowing and retreating.
       Kianall sat straighter, stretching. The odd euphoria that came with the pain treatment dulled her wits and she didn't want to face her inquisitive daughter now.

"Mother," Talsamee greeted warmly. Kianall's First Daughter approached, bumping foreheads lovingly, and sitting opposite her desk. "What are you looking at?"
       "Work," Kianall said with a tired smile. She shifted in her chair to regard the Councillor, marvelling at how pretty her daughter was, and how deluded. "I'm sending more emissaries to the outer colonies."
       "Is that wise?" Talsamee frowned. "It's getting very dangerous there."
       "All the more reason to have spiritual guidance readily available." Kianall tapped her console and the holograms dissipated. "I know I've not been the best mother . . ."
       "You had your duties. And now I have mine. I know you're dying, Truth told me." Talsamee sighed deeply. "I would really like it if you appointed Hera' Solatta as your successor."
       Kianall gritted her teeth. "You know I can't do that."
       "Why not?" Talsamee wailed. "Solatta is a wise Priestess, she has never been accused of Heresy and she has never stolen anyone's intended either . . ."
       "Talsamee!"
       "It's true, Mother!" Growling low in her throat, the Councillor stalked the floor. "It would be easier for me too to have a connection in the convent."
       "Well," Kianall said coolly, "Jalahass' Mate was your intended, as you are so fond of reminding people."
       "She'd be as likely to go against my recommendations out of spite." Talsamee flopped onto the day bed, sulking.
       "I sincerely doubt that," Kianall murmured. "But most importantly, she will not be Truth's pawn. She will not be anyone's pawn. That is what this convent needs and that is exactly what Solatta could not give. Leave me now, I tire of your conversation."
       Talsamee stormed out.

That was the last time Kianall saw her daughter.

###

"Has Fulsamee gone already?" Solatta peered around the chamber that Jalahass used when she was staying at the convent. Their possessions were packed and Karte' was playing on the floor, his sister sleeping in her crib.
       Jalahass emerged from the adjoining room, folding robes over her arm. "Yes, he's escorting Content through the Gracious Nebula."
       "Oh." Solatta sat down beside Karte'. The news seemed to get her down. "I'd hoped to say goodbye to him."
       "Hmm," Jalahass said, taking a quick inventory.
       "Why not get the Unggoy to do this?"
       "I prefer to do it myself," Jalahass strode past her. "Fulsamee often ships out quickly. You're not usually so bothered about him, Solatta."
       "I forget that he can be polite company when he chooses to be."
       "All part of his charm." Jalahass returned into the main chambers, clicking her mandibles absently. "What have I forgotten, Karte'?"
       Her son blinked, shrugged, and rolled onto his back, reaching for the pretty head-dress that Solatta wore.
       "Oh no," Solatta reprimanded. "Help your mother, be a good son."
       Grumbling, he scrambled to his feet and reached his mother, tugging at her skirt.
       "Come here." She picked him up, searching the room for any stray items. "Do you have Lyueem's-"
       "Priestess!" An Unggoy fell through the door, breathless and frantic. "Come immediately! It is Fera' Kianall!"

###

The small congregation of Priestesses and holy figures that clustered around the door to Kianall's quarters were completely silent as they watched the two members of the Hierarch approach.
       Stepping forward, Solatta bowed, raising a hand to halt them. "You may not enter."
       "Why not?" Mercy almost snapped.
       Grace took a more understanding approach, greeting Solatta properly. "I take it the High Priestess is undergoing her Last Rites?"
       "She is." Solatta shivered despite herself. "She is bequeathing her status to Priestess Saia' Jalahass."
       Mercy growled low in his throat.
       "She did not run this decision by the Councils," Grace glanced at the few Councillors who were waiting. He noted that Kianall's daughter was not there.
       "It is my understanding that there was no time," Solatta choked back the guttural sorrow that threatened to overwhelm her. "Jalahass and Kianall were in agreement. Rather than risk being unable to complete the Last Rites, they wanted to make sure that Kianall would be safe in her Journey."
       "Understandable," Grace said, with a glare in Mercy's direction. "When will they be finished?"
       "I do not know."

Star Clipper The Gracious Nebula The Ninth Age of Reclamation

The small team of Warriors, Glory Squadron Hope, regarded their enigmatic leader as one of a kind. He inspired loyalty, brought out the true hero in every Sangheili, they said that his silence could be worse than even the cruellest Prophet's words. Even Hope Squadron's Commander was slightly in awe of Orna' Fulsamee, explaining in hushed tones that Saia' Jalahass had visited the Commander's sick son and healed him.

Fulsamee found it slightly ridiculous, and he was having trouble keeping his mandibles relaxed whenever the team bestowed another compliment upon him. Whomever had planned this mission had it in for him, because Glory Squadron Hope were incredible. He was keeping a list of their funniest outbursts, intending to compare notes with Galatash.
       Fulsamee believed in the Great Journey. He believed in the Gods. He knew that he was good, he knew that he loved his Mate and children very much. The Hope Squadron were hand picked for their loyalty, and everything that happened was the will of the Forerunners.
       Like the children Jalahass had told him about, living underneath High Charity. Did the Forerunners intend that too? He didn't try to reason these things through anymore, because they usually ended up with very long argument and him sleeping on the day bed in the study.
       Sometimes though, the Forerunners would plant these little doubts in his mind. The Gracious Nebula. Why give such a dangerous place such religious significance? Content was praying, his words evidently all the clearer for risking the lives of the fifty warriors on the Star Clipper.
       Of course they were.

Asking the AI to perform another sweep with the sensors, Fulsamee made a few adjustments to the frequencies. He knew of some Commanders who would refuse to let their AI even handle this much work. Fulsamee didn't see the point in that. AI were there to make your life easier, they didn't miss things, they didn't need rest or nourishment.
       Speaking of . . .

"Excellency!" The few soldiers in the mess leapt to their feet when he entered.
       With a nod to dismiss them, Fulsamee sidled past their bulky armour and fetched himself a bowl of worms. The Star Clipper may be fast and defensible, but she was a small and sparse ship. He had grown used to gourmet cooking in his time on the cruisers, the Clipper might bring him back to reality.
       Reality which now consisted of a family, a suit of gold armour, and more scalps than he could count.

The computer chirruped at him, wanting his attention in the control room. Carrying his bowl out with him, Fulsamee left the bumbling fools in Glory Squadron and retreated to his sanctum.
       Two erroneous blips were moving towards the Clipper, the nebula masking their trail. It was no mystery what they were however, Fulsamee was certain they weren't acts of Gods. The Clipper's great behemoths of engines couldn't power up inconspicuously, and a quick jump away from the nebula would not make Fulsamee the flavour of the day with Content. Considering Jalahass' latest hobby, perhaps it would be better just to ride it out . . .
       No. He wouldn't risk the lives under his command just for an easy time with a Prophet. He slapped the console, sending out the call to arms. Transferring control of the Clipper back to himself, he sucked in a deep breath.

Two Brute ships ripped out from the clouds of gas, all guns blazing. They were clearly startled when the Clipper let loose with her cannons, the bulbous little vessel bristling with guns.
       Even the inertial dampeners couldn't keep up with the wild manoeuvres Fulsamee executed to twist behind their attackers. The Clipper was a strong ship, but her best defence was her huge engines. This close to the nebula he couldn't go into slipspace.
       "This is the Rebel Coalition, cease fire and we will spare your lives," growled the Brutes over the transmission.
       Grunting, Fulsamee ignored them, concentrating on dancing past their range of fire. Where did the Brutes get these types of ships? One of them was an Avenger Class, a gun ship that even Fulsamee hadn't commanded.
       The largest plasma cannon on the Avenger gun ship glowed with energy, discharging and seeking out the heat signature of the Clipper.
       Fulsamee realised, too late, that the blast was focussed on the weak point in the Clipper's shields.
       He had a moment to wonder how the Brutes had known, before the ship erupted around him.

High Charity The Ninth Age of Reclamation

The convent was decked out in black, the long banners that decorated the Great Hall were emblazoned with Fera' Kianall's family crest, and she herself was laid out on the pyre.
       As the crowds gathered, preparing to be seated for the last tribute to Fera' Kianall, the new High Priestess knelt by her predecessors corpse.
       "I'm going to need your help with this one," Jalahass murmured, eyeing the gathering. "I will miss you, Kianall."
       She sighed, pushing to her feet. If she had thought her old headdress as difficult, this crown was impossible to keep on her head. The guests quietened as she approached the podium.
       "My Covenant," she began.

###

Fera' Talsamee allowed herself to be escorted by the Honour Guard into . . . into the study of the High Priestess. Talsamee still thought of it as her mothers.
       The new High Priestess was speaking with some minor Prophets, sitting on the day bed and chatting amicably. Talsamee was resigned to waiting in the eaves, her eyes fixed on the holograms that sat on the dresser, flickering images of herself and her siblings. A large wampa head was fixed on the wall, and Talsamee could remember the long story about her father killing it, and gifting it to the Fera' household as a dowry.
       "Councillor," the Prophets acknowledged her as they left, easy smiles on their faces.

"Ah, commiseration's Fera' Talsamee." The High Priestess stood to greet Talsamee, taking her hands and covering them with her own.
       "High Priestess," Talsamee swallowed. "I understand you were with my mother when she died."
       "I was, yes," Jalahass sat back down. It was a practised movement, designed to keep her dark coloured robes and elaborate headdress in place. She watched Talsamee sympathetically, waiting for the Councillor to say what was on her mind.
       "I . . ." Talsamee glanced down. "I need guidance, High Priestess."
       "Your mother was a wise Sangheili, Talsamee, and she loved you very much." Jalahass stood, pouring a drink for the daughter.
       Accepting it, Talsamee took a deep slug, staring into the depths of the whiskey she had been given. "I was a disappointment to her."
       "Why? Because you were strong enough to make your own decisions? No." Jalahass knelt beside Talsamee, shaking her head. "No, your mother may not have agreed with you Talsamee, but she could have wanted no more for you. I know, it's what I would want for my daughter."
       "I don't agree with either of you," Talsamee choked on tears. "Politics drove my mother away from me. And I don't change my position."
       "No, you don't." Stroking Talsamee's forehead, Jalahass sighed. "The Forerunner will not punish you for arguing with your mother."
       "They - they won't?"
       "No."
       Relieved, Talsamee made her excuses and left.

Sighing deeply, Jalahass went to the Guard outside the door.
       "Can you give me five minutes?"
      "Would that I could, High Priestess," the Guard told her. "But you have more visitors."
       Jalahass nodded and returned to her study, checking that both her children still slept soundly, before she plastered on her sympathetic face and faced another Sangheili aristocrat.

Hierarch Council Chambers High Charity Ninth Age of Reclamation

Orna' Fulsamee entered the chambers on High Charity, still limping, and he knew with a deadly certainty that this had been orchestrated. It often felt like other Sangheili had to point out the politics of a situation to Fulsamee, he never caught on as quickly as his Mate did, or as quickly as Galatash.
       He didn't need them to point it out now.

He bowed before Regret and the small selection of like minded Prophet Councillors who crowded the Hierarch chambers.
       "Tell me, Commander," Regret's voice shook. "Are the reports true?"
       "Noble Hierarch, Noble Regret, it is my sad duty to inform you that a rebel Brute attack on the Avenger gun ship Star Clipper resulted in the death of fifteen members of Glory Squadron Hope . . . and the death of Nobel Content."
       "No!" Regret wailed.
       Grimacing, Fulsamee gritted his mandibles and continued. "The Clipper was lost to us and only through the hijacking of a Brute ship could the remaining members of Hope Squadron and myself escape the ambush."
       Truth's eyes glinted at this, and he met Fulsamee's steady gaze. " 'Ambush' you say?"
       "Indeed, Noble Truth." Fulsamee stood, a gross act of misconduct. "We were ambushed. We have a spy among our ranks."
       "And not your incompetence!" Regret exclaimed. "No, it could not be!"
       "Do not accuse wildly," Truth reprimanded. "Orna' Fulsamee, we thank you for your report. No doubt you will wish to see your Mate."

Regret waited just long enough for Fulsamee to exit before he rounded on the others.
       "He killed my brother!"
       Grace shook his head, the lines on his face making him look very old. "Not true, Regret."
       "No? Who can say?" Mercy clasped his hands together. "Orna' Fulsamee is the only one who knows for sure."
       "Orna' Fulsamee is a highly decorated Warrior," Truth mused. "And we should not accuse him blindly."

The Convent High Charity Ninth Age of Reclamation

"We're leaving."
       Jalahass watched her Mate stalk the floor of her study, his expression grim.
       "I'm getting a deep space assignment," he announced. "A big cruiser, they accept families. We'll disappear for a few years, no one will have to worry about us. We'll be safe."
       "Orna' . . ."
       "We have to, Saia', Content is dead!" He paused, catching sight of the curtains rustling. "I do hope no child of mine is listening." This comment resulted in the sounds of scurrying footsteps away from the study.
       Jalahass smiled slightly. "I know he's dead, Orna', but that wasn't your fault."
       "Oh yes it was," Fulsamee replied. "In the eyes of Regret it was. You and I both know he's destined to be next on the Hierarch."
       "Orna' I can't leave."
       Fulsamee stopped his pacing and stared at her. "Saia' . . . Love . . . they'll kill us."
       "Take the children on the mission, but I can't leave." Jalahass leaned back on her day bed, chewing on a mandible thoughtfully. "The convent needs me. The underground needs me."
       "And your children?"
       "Don't say that to me," Jalahass snapped, her eyes flashing. "I've raised our children, while you've gallivanted through the galaxy I've stayed up all night, trying to convince Karte' that the monsters aren't behind the window."
       Properly chastised, Fulsamee sat down beside her. "I won't leave you here. In case you've forgotten, Kianall died because she was poisoned by Truth."
       "True enough," Jalahass admitted. "I can't leave."
       "You mean you won't."
       "That too."

The Priestess and the Warrior - First Contact
Date: 24 February 2005, 7:28 PM

The Priestess and the Warrior

Author: Jillybean
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

First Contact

Saia' Lyueem peeked her head through the doorway, her eyes fixing on her older brother with delighted glee.
       "If Father catches you playing with those he'll eat your mandibles."
       Karte' dropped the ceremonial nadier, glaring when he realised it was only his sister. "I'll eat your mandibles if you don't leave me alone."
       Snorting, Lyueem skipped through into the communal quarters shared by the family on the Deep Space Cruiser, Grave Leanings. She picked up one of the long, silvery sticks and waved it around.
       "Don't touch!" Karte' snatched at them, falling off his perch and landing with a thump on the deck.
       "Some warrior you are," Lyueem retorted, dancing away. She crossed her legs and sat down. "I'm telling."
       "You're not!" Switching to a different tact, Karte' composed himself and returned the other nadier to its box. "Because I'm telling."
       His sister squealed in rage as he dashed through into the corridor, making a beeline for the command centre.

"And where do you think you're going?"
       Lyueem rounded a corner in time to see her brother recovering from a collision with the sub-Commander, Rayl' Nahamee.
       "Children should not be allowed on the upper decks," Nahamee was saying, lifting Karte' up by the scruff of his neck. "How many more times -"
       Lyueem jumped as someone placed a hand on her shoulder, and a deep voice rumbled in her ear, "how many times, Lyueem, do not spy."
       Orna' Fulsamee stepped past his daughter and twitched a disgruntled mandible at his second in command. "Do you intend to hold him up there forever, Nahamee?"
       "Excellency, you know as well as I-"
       "That we are in peaceful space and have seen neither hide nor hair of civilisation in the past three years?" Fulsamee nodded in mock sobriety. "Indeed, we should be prepared for an attack at any moment!"
       Setting Karte' down, Nahamee gritted his teeth together. "There is no need to be facetious. Especially in front of lesser ranking officers."
       Fulsamee grinned, pulling his son along. "Now who's being facetious. You have command, Nahamee."

"Thanks, Father," Karte' said once they were out of the way.
       "You shouldn't be up here, the old wind-bag's right about that much." Fulsamee sighed deeply. "The next uninhabited planet we find, I'm leaving you two there."
       "No!" They shrieked, clambering over his gold armour.
       "You wouldn't!"
       "Mother would kill you!"
       "High Priestess, Karte'," Lyueem stressed.
       "Ah," Fulsamee peeled his daughter away and regarded her at arms length. "I see you still want to become a Priestess."
       "Of course," Lyueem wriggled away again, her soft down fur making it difficult to keep a grip on her. "And I want to go back to High Charity before it's too late."
       "We'll see," Fulsamee replied.
       Karte' dropped to the floor, sneering at his sister. "They only take good children into the convent you know. Like Mother."
       A badly contained explosive laugh shook their father, though he explained it as unforeseen decompression.
       "Didn't feel anything," Karte' replied, suspicious.
       "Have you two left your brother in the cabin?" Fulsamee asked.
       Shrugging, Karte' volunteered to go check.

"I thought your Mother had forbidden you to become a Priestess," Fulsamee said to his daughter when they reached the private dining area.
       Lyueem frowned, playing with the down on the back of her neck. "She did."
       Sitting, Fulsamee removed his helmet and scrubbed at the hot skin on his head. "We're rendezvousing with a mining ship in a cycle. They're heading back for Covenant space."
       "Then . . . would you let me return?" Lyueem asked. "The convent won't accept me if I'm over seven years old and I'm nearly six."
       "They won't accept you anyway if you can't convince your mother." Fulsamee glanced at the door, checking that his other children had not returned yet. "Lyueem, of all my children, you're the one who reminds me the most of your mother. Karte' is just like my father, and Hara' is clearly aspiring to be a warrior."
       Lyueem giggled. Her younger brother could already best both his older siblings in a play fight, and he was quickly learning how to beat Father at Jaheijagaj. "What about Kray'?"
       "He's still a baby, I can't tell."
       "I want to go back to High Charity, I want to live with Mother there and learn with her." She hesitated when she saw the expression on Fulsamee's face.
       "Saia's busy on High Charity, Kray' is being raised by her sister, Saia' Haelaay, and only until he is old enough to join us on ship."
       "But I could still learn with her," Lyueem begged. "I want to learn."
       "I know you do."
       "Hey, Fulsamee!" Lia' Wuanna strode in, dropping two Hatchlings onto the bench. "I think we have pests onboard."
       "Not a pest!" Hara' swiped at his honorary uncle, balancing his reach perfectly and connecting with Wuanna's blue armour.
       With a grin, Wuanna sat heavily beside him. "If you say so, kiddies. So, what's for eating?"

###

Nahamee was alone in the control room, save for a single Engineer. The drone was caressing the panels on the Grave Leanings sensor controls, lovingly restoring them after a meteorite storm.
       Nahamee watched, fascinated by the diligent care, and he felt almost sorry to see the beast float away.
       The Leanings deep sensors kicked in, providing a detailed picture of what was out there. A picture that included an erroneous blip, just at the edge of their sensing capacity.
       Some fine tuning revealed the blip to be an artificial construction, made of primitive alloys, and sending out scanning frequencies in a similar pattern to the Leanings. Their range wasn't long enough for the Grave Leanings to have been noticed yet, but Nahamee could pick up the transmissions. There was a selection of binary code, which appeared to be a signature of some type, and a repeating message mixed in with all the scanning frequencies.
       The AI translated them, surprisingly easily.
       "Deep Space Telemetry Gathering Mission Dock Harvest Ship Gazes Also Yu En Es See Code 34-21-345-2485."
       "Uh . . . Excellency," Nahamee's voice quivered over the comm. "You should see this."

All the ranking Sangheili tried to crowd into the Control Room, listening to the repeating message.
       Glancing at Wuanna, Fulsamee pushed the rest, tapping out a few commands on the console. The message ceased repeating itself, and the AI made some grammatical translations.
       "This is the Gazes Also, a deep space telemetry ship, gathering data. Dock: Harvest. UNSC Code 34-21-345-2485."
       "What is it?" asked a younger Sangheili at the back.
       "It's a standard tag," Fulsamee replied. "We transmit something similar."
       "So they're Covenant?" Another asked.
       Wuanna met his old friend's eyes, and shook his head. "No. That's not Covenant."
       "You're all dismissed," Fulsamee ordered. Reluctant, but too respectful to disobey, the crowd dispersed.
       "Excellency," Nahamee stepped closer, almost trying to exclude Wuanna from their conversation. "If you wish to . . . to retreat for the sake of your children, and the other families on board, I would stand by your decision."
       Fulsamee turned on him, lifting his head archly. "Retreat. We know nothing about these . . . these creatures. Except that they have space faring technology. I will not return to our homeworlds until I know exactly what's out there. Do you stand by that decision?"
       "Of course," Nahamee stammered.
       "Good. Keep us in dark mode and get us closer. Launch a warning beacon, make sure no more of our ships come this way. Oh, and lose all our tags. I don't want to transmit anything that will give us away."

###

Hara' stared out the porthole to the black expanse, his foot jiggling with excitement.
       "Sit at peace, Hara'," Karte' murmured. He stretched, glancing at his sister who was reading.
       "Just think! A new member of the Covenant." Hara' turned back to them, his face shining with the thought. "Think what we could learn!"
       "Well," Lyueem spoke up, "they'd have to prove themselves first."
       "I have a bad feeling about this," was all Karte' would say.

High Charity The Ninth Age of Reclamation.

Saia' Jalahass could barely contain her excitement as she watched the transport pod hover above the landing platform, taking an incredibly long time to decide how to land.
       The dignitaries waiting for an explanation about the unusually secretive return, watched on with some distaste as the High Priestess pushed through the crowds to meet the gangplank as it lowered.
       "Mother!"
       Laughing, Jalahass was knocked backwards by her eldest son, quickly joined by the other Hatchlings in an affectionate embrace. "You've grown so big!"
       Fulsamee pushed past his children, resting his forehead on Jalahass and placing a hand on her stomach. "I missed you."
       "I missed you too, but I didn't expect you back so soon!" Jalahass pulled Hara' up onto her hip, delighted that the proud child didn't try to protest.
       "We ran into some trouble," Fulsamee said quietly. He glanced backwards, checking that Wuanna was dealing with the authorities. "And I need you to tell Solitude everything."
       "All right, but Solitude has fallen ill and returned to Sangheil." Jalahass broke off as her sister and youngest son approached.
       "Kray'!" Fulsamee couldn't have snatched his son away from Haelaay quick enough. He grinned at the gurgling Hatchling and tickled his throat.
       "Commander Fulsamee!" Truth's voice boomed out across the docks, escorted by his contingent of faithful Brutes.
       Fulsamee leaned closer to Jalahass as he handed their son over. "Lyueem will tell you everything. I trust her, Saia'."
       "Good luck." Jalahass watched being escorted away, and ruthlessly squashed the growing sense of dread. "Will you all go with Haelaay?" she asked her children, taking Lyueem's hand. "I have some business to do."

Being treated like a fully grown Sangheili was everything Lyueem could have wished for. She sat primly on the day bed, difficult for one so small, and sipped the stew the Unggoy servants had given her.
       Her mothers study, the secluded chambers of the High Priestess in the convent, was decorated with trinkets from every world Jalahass had visited. There were also holograms, picturing moments in Lyueem's life that she remembered well.
       "What happened out there?" Jalahass asked. She was dressed casually, and she looked much younger without the heavy headdress weighing her down.
       "We were surveying an area, close to the outer arm of the galaxy, and we found a ship."
       "A ship?" Jalahass asked, frowning. "That far out?"
       "It wasn't Covenant. We stayed and gathered intel."
       Suppressing a smile at the use of the slang, Jalahass nodded encouragingly.
       "They call themselves 'humans'."
       "Your father was right, I must speak with Solitude." Jalahass sighed, leaning forward to bump foreheads with her daughter. "I wish I didn't have to leave you so soon. But I can't take you with me."
       "Mother . . . may I ask something?"
       "What?"
       "May I join the convent?"
       "Oh . .. Lyueem!" Jalahass stood and stalked the floor. "This isn't what I would have chosen for you."
"It's what I want though. The chance to learn. Father agrees with me," she added stubbornly.
       "Your Father still doesn't appreciate what it is to be a Priestess." Softening, Jalahass crouched beside her daughter, glancing into the stew bowl. "Eat up. And . . . I'll think about it. If you answer me one question?"
       "Yes?" Lyueem practically begged.
       "Do you believe in the Forerunner?"
       "I . . . I believe in them absolutely," Lyueem replied. "I believe in what they teach."
       "Hmm." Seemingly satisfied, Jalahass rubbed at Lyueem's downy head, and left the study.


Hierarch Chambers High Charity The Ninth Age of Reclamation

"Well," Mercy clasped his hands when Fulsamee had left. "The Council is going to have a brilliant time with this one."
       "I shall contact Talsamee," Truth agreed, "see if she can't pour oil over troubled waters. We knew this day was coming, Brothers."
       "It's about time," Regret hovered forward. "With this we may end the Brute Rebellion."
       "Indeed." Truth nodded. "How would you suggest we proceed, Wise Mercy?"
       The venerable Prophet thumped the arm of his throne with a fist. "We send out all our troops to engage the Brute Rebellion, and when the Rebellion is weakened, we offer them the chance to surrender."
       Shaking his head, Regret signalled to the Kig-Yar. The deaf creature approached, bringing with it a beaker of tea. "The Brutes have held out for too long. They want absolution, Noble Mercy, not surrender."
       "Then we give them absolution," Truth said. "We'll launch our assault, led by Hans' Galatash, Sol' Nakaka, Orna' Fulsamee, Sei' Batamee, Hro 'Salee."
       Mercy grinned, seeing the method in the madness. "The finest Sangheili the Covenant has to offer."
       "And when they have all suffered the tragic loss of war," Regret said slowly, staring out into space. "There will be a void."
       "A power vacuum, which we will offer to the Brutes. It will be easy to supplement the Elites." Truth smiled. "Send out those Sangheili still loyal to us to scout out these Human Territories. They are an affront to the Forerunner."
       "They are?"
       "They are," Mercy stressed. "And they should be dealt with."

Solitude's Home Sangheil The Ninth Age of Reclamation

"So, the last race has been found, as predicted by Hope so many years ago." Solitude reflected on this, forced to use his throne now he had completely lost the use of his legs.
       Jalahass followed him through his stately home, accepting a piece of fruit from an Unggoy servant. "In my time as High Priestess I have found it a struggle to reconcile the wishes of the Hierarch with my teachings of the Forerunner. I learn from the bulletins today that these humans were an affront to our Gods."
       "Indeed," Solitude said darkly. "Did you also see that all the cruisers are being recalled." He watched Jalahass intently, satisfied when he saw the flash of worry. "I know which Commanders they will give the last assault on the Rebellion to."
       "As do I, Solitude." Jalahass stood at the window, looking out on Sangheil. "I've been working so hard to keep the Sangheili together. Still, I see Family, Honour, Trust driven from our lives by the Hierarchs teachings. These things that the Sangheili hold so dear. They ask me how can I justify this."
       "What do you say?"
       Jalahass glanced down. "I give them some speech about the good of the Covenant."

Solitude turned in his throne, sending his Unggoy away and making sure they were completely alone.
       Jalahass sat down on one of the pelts. "I was visiting a bereaved family. They were rich, almost on par with my Lineage, but they were good souls. The Sangheili had just lost his Mate in an unexpected Brute raid on the ship she was travelling in. He had no claim to the money his Mate had in her family, and all they had was sons, so his children could not inherit."
       Looking closely, Solitude was surprised to see tears.
       "It could so easily have been Orna'. He was cut off from any income, and had no family willing to raise his many sons. He asked me, how could he continue to work without any support at all? And all I could tell him was: send your sons to train as warriors."
       "And you realised," Solitude said quietly "that it was all part of Truth's plan."
       Jalahass nodded. "With so many of our young training to be warriors, because it is the cheapest way to feed them, I realised we were heading for a war. And the Sangheili are to be on the front line. I realised what it must feel like for an Unggoy mother."
       "You can never tell the masses," Solitude grunted in pain as he shifted forward in his seat. "Their pride would not allow themselves to listen."
       "So what will show them?" Jalahass asked.
       Silently, Solitude conceded that he did not know.

High Charity The Ninth Age of Reclamation

"Galatash!" Jalahass grinned, bumping foreheads with the Sangheili she thought of as a father. "Oh I haven't seen you in so long!" She peeled off her officious headgear and glanced around her large personal quarters in the convent. There were many friends there, Warriors Fulsamee had befriended long ago. They had all been recalled to the Covenant city and they appeared to have settled in her home.
       "I'm glad you're back," Fulsamee murmured as he passed, bearing bowls of food.
       "So what have you been doing with yourself, Jalahass?" Galatash asked, guiding her to the long, low table. She sat down on the floor, and spied her children in the crowd, delighted to be part of the experience. They were sitting with Wuanna's two children, and a few others that Jalahass recognised from the families that were scattered throughout the room.
       "I've been keeping busy." The High Priestess lunged for a passing bowl of stew and sipped it gratefully. "I'm starving. The Smoke may be a fast ship, but she's not the most comfortable."
       "Don't speak about the love of my life that way," Fulsamee reprimanded. He squeezed in-between Galatash and 'Salee to sit beside his Mate. "Now did 'Salee tell you about what he and his lovely Mate did last year?"
       "Oh, Fulsamee don't you dare!" Screeched 'Salee's lovely Mate from the other end of the table.

"I didn't understand that joke," Lyueem confessed to her friends. They had stolen some food and were sitting some way off from the drunken adults.
       "Mother laughed," Karte' said, dubiously.
       "Hmmph," snorted Wuanna's eldest daughter. "I think it was rude. Your mother must be rude."
       "She is not!"
       "My mother looked embarrassed," continued Wuanna's daughter.
       Lyueem leapt in front of her brother. "I'll fight you for it," she challenged.
       "Girls shouldn't fight," sniffed Wuanna's daughter.
       "I do," Lyueem retorted.
       "That's because you're really a boy," Hara' mumbled around a mouthful of fruit.

Galatash sat, not entirely steady, revealing a bottle of the purest Prophet Rum that money could buy.
       "I was saving this," he revealed. Whipping the cover off the glass, the pearly pink liquid inside glimmered. "For a special occasion."
       "Oh don't open it now then," Olapaa said, resting her head on her mate's shoulder.
       Wuanna disagreed, elbowing her. "Open it now!"
       "Wait, wait!" Galatash held up a hand for silence. "I will open it now. I will. For this special, special occasion." He looked around the room. "We are all family here. I see friends, their Mates, their brothers, their friends. There is not a Sangheili here that I am not proud to know. When we ship out, I will hope to see you all again, but we must trust in the Forerunner for that. May I say now, that I have always adhered to four principles in my life. Freedom. Honour. Love. Truth. I wish these for you all, even if it may seem dark at times."
       There was a moments silence as they regarded their drinks.
       "To the Covenant," Wuanna said, deeply ironic.
       "The Covenant."

###

Fulsamee stepped over the sleeping bodies, pulling the blanket with him out onto the balcony.
       "Thanks," Jalahass said, wrapping it over her shoulders.
       "I used to listen to the old soldiers, when I was younger, and they'd tell me that after this battle they were going home."
       Smiling, Jalahass rested her forehead on his. "Did you mock them?"
       "Of course. It seems so cruel now."
       "Don't worry, the young soldiers under your command will mock you too."
       The city sparkled all around them, the tall convent building standing proud in its centre.
       Snuggling closer, Jalahass said thoughtfully "you will try to come back in one piece, won't you?"
       "I was planning on coming back in three, but if you insist."
       "Orna' . . . after this campaign, I'm thinking about resigning."
       "Me too."
       Jalahass giggled. "I used to be so radical."

Covenant Cruiser Justified Viper Brute Controlled Territories The Ninth Age of Reclamation

"Excellency?"
       "Yes?" Fulsamee glanced up from the report he was drafting. The young Sangheili was hovering nervously at the door to his study, swallowing repeatedly.
       "There's a transmission for you. The High Priestess."
       "Thank you, reroute it to this office," Fulsamee dismissed him. He finished the sentence regarding the exact death toll from their last glassed planet, and turned to the life size hologram in the centre of the floor.
       "Hello, Father," Jalahass said, sounding very annoyed.
       "Ah. Saia', love."
       Even through lightyears of space, Fulsamee could feel the force of her glare. "Don't you try that with me, Orna' Fulsamee. People are going to start wondering you know. This will be my fifth child."
       "My leave coincides with all of them," he grinned. "I checked."
       The hologram folded its arms over an already swelling stomach. "Your leave will coincide with your death."
       Fulsamee stood, holding his arms out in a gesture of openness. "Odd. I feel healthy enough."
       "So, girl or a boy?" Jalahass asked.
       "Hmm . . ." Fulsamee stood in front of her. "Boy."
       "And the stakes?"
       "I'll treat you to dinner."
       "Oh, such extravagance. I say girl, and if I win . . . you have to take leave for a year." The hologram leaned forward, closing her eyes as the light show passed through Fulsamee's forehead. "Be safe."
       "You too."

"Excellency?" The young Sangheili stood by the door, flushing orange with shame.
       "It's okay," Fulsamee beckoned him in. "My Mate's expecting again."
       "Oh. Con-congratulations."
       Taking pity on the confused soul, Fulsamee removed the data pads from his trembling hands and dismissed him. The latest tactical data, involving the location of a Brute stronghold, and the most recent update concerning ship locations.
       The console bleeped, and Fulsamee smiled, he knew who it would be.
       The holographic display blurred as it worked on the heavily encoded message, before displaying Sei' Batamee.
       Spreading his arms, Fulsamee feigned shock. "Batamee! Old friend! What a pleasant surprise!"
       "Indeed," Batamee inclined his head, eyes glinting with amusement. "How goes things on the Shaded Justice, old friend?"
       With a little snort, Fulsamee explained about Jalahass, and suffered Batamee's laughter.
       "Oh, you should watch her, Fulsamee. Far too pretty. I suppose you've seen the latest updates?"
       "I have," Fulsamee nodded. He sat down, glancing at the pad once more. "Looks to me like the Vengeful Whisper is only a few days travel from my favourite hunting grounds."
       "Yes. A coincidence, don't you think?"
       "One I fully intend to take advantage of. How many on the Whisper?"
       Batamee thought for a moment. "Ten Glory Squadrons, and two Angel Platoons."
       Fulsamee's mandible twitched in appreciation. "I have one Angel Platoon, their numbers are depleted. Thirteen Glory Squadrons though."
       "That's plenty." Batamee hid a yawn, reaching for a cup of stew. He sipped, reading something that Fulsamee couldn't see. "If we convene close to the twin stars, their radiation should mask our approach."
       "I'll see you there, old friend."
       "I look forward to it. To the best Warrior, goes the cut."
       "And I can guarantee it will be me."

###

Soon' Yalahass eyed his commander over the holographic display.
       "You seem . . ." Wuanna, the trusted second, confronted the Special Operations leader. "Doubtful."
       "Doubtful?" Yalahass repeated, choking a little. A distant relative of Jalahass, Soon' was the commander of Angel Platoon Fire. His white armour depicted a fiery sword on the shoulder, the ornate letters beneath spelling out 'Angel Fire'. "It won't work."
       "In your opinion," Fulsamee replied, his eyes fixed on the topographical representation of the planet's surface.
       "Fire Platoon is good," Yalahass said. "Not that good."
       "Back up will be immediate," Fulsamee consoled. "Earth and Air Platoon's following."
       "Hmmph."
       "After you've made the initial insertion I'll follow in the Phantoms with the Squads." Wuanna glanced at Fulsamee, aware that they'd have to do more to sell their battle strategy.
       "The Glory from this mission will be . . ." Fulsamee shook his head.
       " . . . How much?" Yalahass asked.
       Wuanna leaned forward to whisper: "we're talking an audience with the Hierarch."
       "At least," Fulsamee added.

Rebel Planet Free Dreamer The Ninth Age of Reclamation

The great lump of fur that heaved its way through the control room was looking for something. It growled to itself as it searched, sex indeterminate, even to a fellow Brute. Haydez was a roughed, battle scarred General who had worked tirelessly for the rebellion. It galled him that they were on the brink of surrendering, there was no reason for it, other than some unfortunate losses.
       "Tartarus," he grunted when he reached the artificial cave that served as Tartarus' quarters.
       "What?" Once, in battle, Tartarus had been badly burned. His fur had grown back a brilliant white.
       "Sir," Haydez grumbled, "our sensors have detected two Covenant Cruisers approaching. We're vastly outgunned."
       "What?" Tartarus erupted from his seat, grabbing Haydez by the throat. "But how!?"
       "Sir!" Choking, his eyes wide, Haydez tried to claw his way free. "I don't know!"
       Flinging him down, Tartarus stalked from the cave, reaching the panicked control room and seeing for himself. He had a fleeting thought that Truth had betrayed him, sent Cruisers to annihilate all the Brutes and not just the ones loyal to the Rebellion, the ones Tartarus had been feeding the Covenant armies.
       "Two Cruisers," a reliable veteran informed him. "The Vengeful Whisper commanded by his Excellency Sei' Batamee. It's new, well gunned. The other ship is older and has heavy damage to her port side. The Justified Viper, commanded by-"
       "By Orna' Fulsamee." Tartarus' skin tingled, the nerves remembering the cleansing fire. "The Viper suffered an ambush, she was the only ship to escape. On either side."
       Snorting, the veteran glanced up at Tartarus. "What should we do?"

Truth wouldn't have sent Orna' Fulsamee to destroy him. No, Fulsamee and Batamee were high ranking officials. They had to have received intel on the Free Dreamer independently of the Hierarchs, and were acting without authorization. Not that they'd need it, they had standing orders to eradicate the Brutes, and in a tactical situation, they outranked many of the Prophet Councillors.
       "Bad luck," Tartarus murmured to himself. "If I know Fulsamee he'll throw everything against us. Expect the Orbital Pods to start dropping, but don't waste our fire. Target the Cruisers, keep them from Glassing us for as long as possible."
       "Acknowledged."

###

Wuanna grinned to himself as the purple Phantom sped across the white snow, after losing too many good Warriors to the Brutes in space bound battles, it felt good to be on the ground again.
       "Yalahass?" he called over the radio. "Vengeance and Fury Squadrons dropping in now."
       "Honour and Glory, Excellency," Yalahass shouted.
       Turning to his men, Wuanna lifted his sword. "Honour and Glory!"

###

Fulsamee watched from the Viper, the blips moving across the display.
       "Honour and Glory," he murmured.

###

Sprinting across the snow, Wuanna felt his lung pulling the cold, thin air into his chest. The cold was extreme, hampering the Grunts considerably. The heat of the energy sword in Wuanna's hand was the only warmth he had, that and the blood pumping through his veins.
       Reaching the embankment, he flung himself over the side, driving the sword into the bodies of two Brutes, pressed close together. With a roar, he spun, cleaving the arm off his next attacker, and skewering the Brute behind.
       A grenade went off, showering him with ice and snow. Shaking free of the white blanket, he dodged a plasma bolt, only to be hit in the gut by the wrong end of a Brute Shot.
       Haydez sneered as he lifted the Warrior up, impaled on the end of his blade. "Sangheili filth," he snorted, shaking the body free.

###

Sei' Batamee stumbled as the Whisper was rocked by a vicious blast.
       "Batamee," Fulsamee's hologram appeared, shaking with interference. "We should Glass the planet now!"
       "Fulsamee, no." Batamee gritted his mandibles together. "We don't have the firepower to complete the job."
       "We can start it though," Fulsamee glared at his old friend. "We're losing too many, Batamee! I won't lose another soul needlessly."
       Silent for a moment, Batamee weighed up the odds. "You're right. Order the evacuation."

###

The transmission was intercepted by the Brute command centre, and Tartarus merely smiled.
       "Get every out of here," he ordered.
       "We'll be shot out of orbit," the veteran told him.
       "Would you rather stay here?"

Taking a Brute Plasma Rifle, Tartarus hurried down the corridors, meeting Haydez on the return.
       "It's going well!" Haydez reported, a feral grin on his face.
       "We have to evacuate," Tartarus told him, brushing past. "They're about to Glass us."
       "Right -" Haydez froze. "How . . . how did you know?"
       "What do you mean?" Tartarus turned to regard him.
       "Just that . . . any transmission would be encoded. How would you have intercepted it?"
       Tartarus smiled as he saw the suspicion and ultimate realisation cross Haydez face.
       "You've betrayed us. You're in league with the Covenant!"
       "For a price," Tartarus agreed.
       "No!" Haydez couldn't dodge the fiery red blast that killed him, but he was too shocked to even try.
       Tartarus walked away.

The Priestess and the Warrior - Sacrifices
Date: 9 March 2005, 3:53 PM

The Priestess and the Warrior

Author: Jillybean
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sacrifices

"My son is dead."
       Saia' Jalahass, her neck aching from supporting her elaborate crown all day, and her stomach grumbling for food, paused in one of the long corridors. She regarded the troubled soldier before her, and gave a discreet signal to her assistants. They fell back, reluctantly it may be said, leaving only the two Honour Guard.
       "Was it the war?" Jalahass asked.
       The soldier leaned against the bulbous walls, resting his head in a clawed hand. "He was my world."
       "I have three sons. I love them dearly." Jalahass told him.
       Glancing up, her nameless companion glared at her fiercely. "Your sons are not dead."
       "No, but one has just joined a training camp. The other two have been posted on ships." She trailed off when she noticed the glint in the soldier's eye.
       The Honour Guard shifted closer. Jalahass raised a hand to placate them.
       Shaking his head, the soldier's anger melted away. "He was so young. My only child."
       "He has undertaken his own Great Journey." The High Priestess rubbed her neck. "Do you believe he has gone to a better place?"
       "What?"
       "Was he a good son? A loving son? Did he fight well, with Honour and Glory?" Jalahass placed her hand on his shoulder.
       "Yes. Yes, he was perfect. And he was stolen from me."
       "This war against the Brutes has taken many from our side. Our own Noble Regret lost a brother."
       "A brother is not a son." The soldier shook free. "No. We know how Prophets breed. Regret's spawn are not loved. Why did the Forerunners choose my son over one of Regret's?"
       "Perhaps they treasure the loved, far more than scum." Jalahass spoke very quietly, though she knew her faithful Guard could hear.
       Still unsettled, the soldier stumbled away.
       "Can you make sure he gets home? Or wherever it is he's staying." Jalahass asked the tall Sangheili to her right.
       "Certainly, High Priestess. It would be his barrack, I judge." The Honour Guard slipped away, and another materialised with her returning assistants.
       "You offer them great comfort," the other Guard told her quietly.
       "Hollow words."

Council Chambers High Charity, Orbiting Sangheil in the Heart of Covenant Controlled Territories The Ninth Age of Reclamation

"And although the destruction of the Holy Gale was an unfortunate event," Truth folded his hands in his lap as he said this.

Unfortunate. Jalahass gripped the arms of the chair she sat in. Unfortunate! Sol' Nakaka was dead and it was called 'unfortunate'.

"We are close to victory. The Brutes are willing to see the light of our Holy Path. I, myself, have been in discussions with Brute Chieftain Tartarus."

Crai' Browdee, her faithful Honour Guard, curled his claws tightly around the spear. Jalahass could see him from the corner of her eye.
       Browdee would die before he allowed Tartarus near his charge. The High Priestess was Browdee's life, he understood what every mandible twitch, every sideways glance meant. Although, when Saia' Jalahass had first met Tartarus, Browdee didn't need to decipher any code to see abject fear.

"Above Sangheil, a new treaty shall be forged. And we shall rise as a new Covenant, with our Brute Brothers by our side, to annihilate these humans from the Universe!"

Applause radiated from the Councillors, and Jalahass clicked her mandibles in a forced sign of approval. Anything else would have been beyond her acting abilities.
       Tartarus nodded to her from Truth's side.
       "High Priestess," Browdee murmured.
       "Leave it," she whispered.

With a nod to collect Tartarus, Truth approached the High Priestess. He smiled disarmingly.
       "High Priestess, doubtlessly you welcome this new alliance," he said.
       Aware that Browdee and his colleague were ganging up behind her, Jalahass bowed her head politely. "I believe it has some merits."
       "Some merits?" Tartarus asked.
       "I'm surprised at you, Chieftain," Jalahass said. "You always seemed so devoted to your cause."
       Folding his massive arms, Tartarus gazed down benevolently. "And I still am, but the Covenant have come to understand our point of view."
       "Yes," Jalahass smiled tightly. "Yet, your females are still not allowed to fight, much to their chagrin, and you have not won the larger slice of the ore trade, which were the Rebellion's two issues. I see how very much the Covenant have come to understand your point of view."
       Tartarus leaned closer, and although Jalahass didn't flinch, the Honour Guard casually brought the tips of their spears to Tartarus' neck.
       Eyeing the Sangheili Guard, Tartarus snorted. "One day, Brutes will be guarding you, Priestess."
       "Over my dead body," Browdee said, very quietly.
       "Ah hah!" Tartarus grinned. "The mutes speak!"
       "My father guarded the convent, his father guarded the convent, and his father. There has never been a son in my family not in the service of the Honour Guard." Browdee shook his head. "Brutes will not guard the High Priestess."
       Truth hovered closer, a self satisfied expression on his face. "High Priestess, I was hoping that you would accept the first Brute Priestesses into your convent as a mark of trust between our races."
       Jalahass clasped her hands together. "Oh, I would take all who showed an aptitude, Noble Truth, but you yourself refused to allow that charming Unggoy to join my convent. I believe you said 'no lesser race should be so deeply involved with the Forerunner'. I'm almost sure those were your words."
       Truth raised an eyebrow. "Quite."

"I thought you handled that well," Browdee told her as they returned to the convent.
       "Thank you, Crai'. I think if you ever want a career in politics, you'd be excellent at it."
       "High Priestess?" One of Jalahass' assistants hurried to catch up with her. "The Training Facility on Sangheil reports that Kray' Jalahass has arrived and is safe."
       Composing herself carefully, Jalahass thanked the assistant and kept on walking. "Any news from Hara' or Karte'?"
       "None, High Priestess, other than their shipping orders."
       "Of course not," Jalahass said. "You're all dismissed. I imagine you're tired, it's been a long day."

She watched her entourage dissipate, and politely made her excuses to the crowds. Leaving the Council chambers, she made the long walk to the convent, her muscles aching.
       "We've lost so many," she murmured. "I miss Nakaka."
       Crai' Browdee and his comrades were silent, they were well trained in their art of protection.
       "His death was needless." She paused by the great doors to the convent, turning to one of the younger Guard. "Could you, perhaps, fetch Hass' Najamee for me?"
       "Yes, High Priestess."
       "And could someone else fetch me my daughters?" She waited until it was just her and Crais' and the walls, before she ripped off the headdress and the suffocating heavy robes.
       Once safely in her study, she changed into a lighter tunic, feeling the need for a good, long bath.
       "May I ask something, High Priestess?" Browdee asked from his position at the door.
       "Hmm?" Jalahass crossed the floor, pouring herself a glass of rum. "Of course you can, old friend."
       Clearing his throat and keeping his eyes dead ahead, Browdee asked; "why do you wish to see Najamee? He is not a member of your Guard."
       "No." Jalahass downed the rum. "But you know why Browdee."
       "The Prophets would not approve."
       Regarding Nakaka's possessions, left in her care as Nakaka had dictated, Jalahass felt anger bubbling inside of her. "And would you do differently?"
       "No, High Priestess, I would not."

Saia' Lyueem and Saia' Kristassi entered a few minutes later. Lyueem smiled at her mother, smoothing down her Seventh Level Priestess robes.
       Kristassi, on the other hand, blinked unhappily at her mother, drooling slightly.
       "Oh, love," Jalahass crouched, wiping at Kristassi's mandibles. "You're still not feeling better?" She pulled her daughter's head this way and that, noting that the infection in her throat was still not clearing up. "I think, at this rate, we ought to send you to stay with Noble Solitude."
       "Wouldn't that be nice, Kristassi?" Lyueem prompted, smiling at her younger sister.
       The sibling sniffed slightly and asked to be excused.
       "Of course." Jalahass watched the polite little child leave, and felt her resolve waver.
       "Mother . . ." Lyueem sighed, scratching at the last of the down on her neck. "Kristassi is just ill, do not take it personally."
       "At least you, Karte' and Hara' spent some time with Orna'," Jalahass said. "But none of you have spent time with me. Kristassi barely knows her parents."
       "There's a war on." Lyueem swallowed, glancing at the Honour Guard tentatively. "Mother . . . do you know when Father will return from the outskirts?"
       "No." Collapsing on the day bed, Jalahass beckoned her daughter over. "No. With the fall of the Holy Gale he has to stay out longer, to show some presence. Why?"
       Lyueem played with the tassels on the cushion, her chest tight. "Priestess Hera' Solatta says I must begin to prepare for my First Rites." She blinked at her mother. "Are you angry?"

Before Jalahass could reply, one of the Honour Guard approached.
       "High Priestess, Hass' Najamee is here to see you," he said, bowing his head.
       "Ah," Lyueem nodded sagely. "We'll speak of this later, Mother, yes?"
       "You are such a good girl," Jalahass told her. She took her daughters hands, getting the affectionate bump on the forehead. "Thank you," she stressed.
       "Tell Najamee that I . . ." Lyueem trailed off, glancing at the Honour Guard. "Tell him I'm sorry for his loss."
       "I will," Jalahass said.


Hass 'Najamee, a long time Honour Guard, and very close acquaintance of Jalahass, entered her office a broken Sangheili. She could see it in the way he shuffled forwards, and bowed so forlornly before her.
       "Leave us," she murmured to the other Guards, even Browdee.
       "I sin," Najamee whispered, his eyes focussed on the floor. "I would rather be dead than live without him, High Priestess."
       I know, I know! Oh I understand how you feel, and if I lost Orna' or my sons or my daughters I'd lose my mind. I can tell you they have gone to a better place, and I can placate a thousand fathers, soothe a hundred lovers, but I can never return the ones you have lost. For that I hate myself.
       Jalahass swallowed. "He has joined a Great Journey, Najamee, you and I both know he is the better for it."
       Najamee clenched his mandibles closer together and nodded. "I cannot imagine life without him, Jalahass."
       No. Nor can I.
       "He was a great Warrior."
       "I don't want to hear that," Najamee croaked. He glanced up at her, imploring her to react, to show some emotion other than this effortless calm.
       Shout at me. Attack me if you must. But please, please don't ask me to grieve, Najamee. I can't do that.
       "Do you wish me to pray for him?" Jalahass' voice quavered as she spoke.
       "Priestess," Najamee murmured, "whatever makes you happy. I must go now."
       "Wait- " Jalahass leapt to her feet, reached out to catch his claw. She found herself staring into his eyes, deep accusing pools of sorrow. "I have some of Nakaka's possessions. He wanted you to have them."
       "I have no need of them," Najamee said.
       Jalahass watched him retreat, feeling her throat constrict. She knew what was going to happen, and she hated herself for letting him walk out, unaccompanied.
       I should be with you, Najamee. I should be helping you.

The Justified Viper The Ninth Age of Reclamation

Orna' Fulsamee, Hans' Galatash and Hro' Salee stood together, touching their glasses to their foreheads.
       "Those who are no longer with us," Galatash was saying.
       "And those who still are," Salee muttered wryly. "Unfortunately."
       Fulsamee slugged his drink, collapsing onto the rug and yawning. "I've had my share of the politics, Salee. I couldn't care less anymore."
       "Hah," Salee shook his head. "Politics still has a share in you, my friend. You fought well in this war." His left hand, or what was left of it, twitched in the memory of the sacrifices they had all made.
       "Have you heard?" Galatash asked. "We are to begin an offensive against these Humans."
       "Why?" Salee asked. "Our armies are depleted and demoralised."
       "They affront the Forerunner," Galatash shrugged. He sipped at the rum. "I was speaking with Noble Solitude and he tells me that our surveillance has shown some Forerunner Artefacts in the hands of the Humans."
       Frowning, Fulsamee sat up a little. "They are chosen ones?"
       "Apparently not," Galatash said. "I thought that odd too. According to the Hierarch, they are defiling the artefacts."
       "Then we must protect the virtuous Forerunner," Salee said gravely, "because they have done so much for Sangheili kind lately."
       "Speak wisely friend," Galatash eyed him. "Even bulkheads have ears these days."
       "They may have tried Sei' Batamee for Heresy," Salee growled, "but he was no more a Heretic than your lovely Mate, Fulsamee!"
       Galatash and Fulsamee were quiet, they all knew why Batamee had been executed, and they knew that deep down they almost, almost sympathised with him.
       "I'm tired of lying," Salee announced. "Batamee was a separatist. He didn't like the way the Hierarch were handling things and he was trying to convince the Sangheili to leave the Covenant!"
       "Quiet, Salee!" Fulsamee snapped. "I wish to return to see my children!"
       "As well you might," Salee growled. He flung his glass aside and stalked to the door. "I am going to get shuttled back to my ship, Fulsamee. I hope you both think about what I have said."
       Galatash twitched a mandible. "We shall surely think upon your drunken ramblings, my friend."
       "Get going, Salee," Fulsamee added, his humour restored by Galatash's calm demeanour. "We'll speak in the morning."

After Salee had stumbled off, Galatash let out an explosive sigh.
       "He is right though."
       "Hans', please do not." Fulsamee shifted uncomfortably.
       "My daughter told me as much." Standing, Galatash swayed, unsteady on his feet. "May I beg accommodation off of yourself tonight, my old friend?"
       "Of course, Hans'. The Kig-Yar will show you the way."

I just want to go home and see my family.
       Admit it, Fulsamee. The idea of a separatist movement is not unwelcome to you.
       The Forerunners should punish me for these thoughts.
       They never have. Despite all your blasphemous thoughts and actions, your entire family has survived the Brute integration. Isn't that something to be proud of?
       Is it?
       Yes! Oh, if your Mother could see you today.
       She was a devoutly religious Sangheili. She would be ashamed.
       She lived her life in fear. You live your life in love.
       I just want to go home and see Saia' once more. I want to speak with my daughters. I've never even seen Kristassi, and I've met Kray' only once.
       It is remarkable that so many of your children have survived infancy.
       Well, Kristassi has always been a sickly child.
       Further proof, I say, that the Forerunners do not punish you.
       Perhaps you are right.

Sangheili Training Facility Sangheil The Ninth Age of Reclamation

"You!"
       Kray' Jalahass turned around, eyeing the two Sangheili children who approached him.
       "You're the son of Orna' Fulsamee, aren't you?" questioned the first one.
       Drawing himself up to his full height, four year old Kray' Jalahass nodded. "I am."
       "Wow," the second child breathed. "My father speaks very highly of his Excellency Orna' Fulsamee."
       Kray' lifted his head, stretching his mandibles in a dreadfully important fashion. "Well my Father single handedly saved the Prophet of Hope once."
       "Didn't that Prophet die?"
       "Shut up," another classmate elbowed the rebel firmly in the ribs.
       Sniffing, Kray' nodded. "And my Father was responsible for the final surrender of the Brute Chieftain."
       From the back of the small crowd that had gathered, a diminutive little Sangheili coughed politely. "My Father says that it was staged and that Tartarus got 'his due for it'."
       The children reflected on this odd statement and decided that Fulsamee was still a hero - even is Tartarus was 'due for it'.

Bottle of Smoke En route to the Holy Planet, Sacrifice The Ninth Age of Reclamation

"Wake up."
       Lyueem snapped awake, cold fear grabbing at her heart, and very real fingers closing over her throat, inhibiting speech. She blinked up at her mother, steadying her breathing.
       Slowly, Jalahass released her daughter, quietly handing her a plasma pistol.
       "Mother . . ." Running her hands over the smooth metal, Lyueem knew she had to accept the gift.
       Jalahass stared at her daughter intently. "It was the best I could do."
       "I know. I love you."
       "I love you too."

The High Priestess retreated from the tiny cabin and Lyueem closed her eyes, secreting the pistol underneath her robes. Her heart was pumping fast, and she wished that she had been able to say good bye to her father.
       Just before I left.
       Just one last time.

Exhaling shakily, Lyueem's thoughts were confirmed. Hera' Solatta may have suggested that Lyueem undertake the First Rites now, but had it been left up to her mother, Lyueem would never have been allowed to go.

###

From the planet's surface, Lyueem watched the Bottle of Smoke retreat, knowing that it would be back.
       Clinging to the fact it would be back.

The desert was far warmer than the insides of the ship had let on. Lyueem struggled with her heavy robes, removing great swathes of cloth before she felt cool in the short under tunic. Shaking her headdress off, she searched among the fabric for her pistol, straightening with in in her claws.
       "And from now on . . ." she looked over the arid, inhospitable landscape. "It's just me and you."

The Convent High Charity The Ninth Age of Reclamation

Jalahass allowed the Honour Guard to escort her into her office, but once there, she dismissed them. She could help the little smile creeping over her mandibles as she saw Fulsamee, stretched out on the day bed, fast asleep.
       "Hey," she murmured, crouching beside him.
       Blinking, he sat upright. "Has Lyueem gone already?" Rubbing at his eyes, he swung his legs over the side of the day bed. "Kristassi said you were taking her . . ."
       "For her First Rites."
       They were silent for a moment, before they embraced, and cried.

Holy Planet, Sacrifice The Ninth Age of Reclamation

Lyueem grimaced as she saw the sun creeping towards the horizon. She was parched, and she could do no travelling at night, the large predators had too much of an advantage over her.
       She hesitated for a moment, wondering if she could risk another few hours travelling, or if she would do better to set up a camp immediately.

"And how is anyone supposed to be enlightened on this thing, anyway?" she grumbled aloud.
       The sounds of a spacecraft in re-entry answered her. As long as the time spent on the planet had been, Lyueem knew it was nothing close to the mandatory seven weeks. Her fingers closed over the grip of her plasma pistol, the knuckles bleeding as she tore the tight, burned skin.
       And that ship was not the Smoke. It was a Phantom.

She had no cover, and no way of evading the guns. Still, if this was an assassin squad, they wouldn't be so foolish as to kill her obviously. They'd get closer, pretend to be picking her up.
       Although she was shaking with anticipation, Lyueem listened to the voice of reason, which sounded suspiciously like her father. She lowered the pistol, hiding in the folds of her tunic, and waited for the Phantom to land.

"Dear child!" The Prophet of Regret hovered out, waving his arms in the expansive gestures he was prone to making. "Congratulations!"
       The Brute guards he had with him leered down at the little Priestess.
       "Seven weeks already?" Lyueem asked. Her voice surprised her, keeping calm and almost mocking the Prophet with this blatant lie.
       "Well," Regret dismissed her concerns with a sniff, "time flows differently when you are cut off from civilisation."
       "And I suppose you are civilisation?" Lyueem backed up a little.
       "Child . . ." the Prophet's voice had taken on a tone of warning.
       "My mother said she would collect me and I have no reason to doubt that. You, I do not trust."

The Prophet sneered and the Brutes lunged forward.
       Lyueem darted to the side, her small size made her a difficult target to catch. She spun as she ducked, pulling out her pistol and squeezing off three quick shots. All of them missed, but the Brutes suddenly realised she was much more of a threat than before.
       "Take your time when firing, because random shots never hit," her father had explained to her when she was a child, living on the deep space cruiser Grave Leanings. She, Hara' and Karte' had all learned how to fight there, and she remembered imparting similar advice to her youngest brother Kray', before he left to join the army.
       Dropping to one knee she aimed and pulled the trigger, letting a huge ball of plasma accumulate before she fired on the Brute bearing down on her. The hot plasma, at point blank range, stunned the Brute. He staggered, falling to the ground beside her.
       She scrabbled away, firing off more random shots behind her. They deterred the furred hand that had been reaching towards her, but the suspicious fitz noise that her pistol made told her there was only one good shot left.

The Brutes stood together, rubbing at their plasma burns. One of them howled, a ferocious, terrifying scream of rage.
       Lyueem eyed them, backing up slowly.
       "Don't make this difficult," Regret growled from the shade of the Phantom.
       Lyueem looked between the two Brutes, and then down at the pistol her mother had given her.
       The Brutes were coming closer.
       Lifting the pistol, Lyueem turned it towards her chest.
       You won't find me unmarked, lost to noble Sacrifice, doing my duty as a Priestess to appease the Forerunners. You will find me as I am - a victim.

High Charity the Ninth Age of Reclamation

Truth approached the four children of Orna' Fulsamee and Saia' Jalahass, and he extended his hand out for them to touch.
       "Words cannot describe your sorrow," he said.
       Saia' Kristassi nodded, accepting his hand. "Thank you, Noble Truth."
       The brothers could not bring themselves to look at the Prophet. They'd seen their sisters body lain out on the altar, before it had been burned away.
       "If there's anything I could do for you, Kristassi," Truth's fingers brushed her forehead, "I would only be too grateful."

The Prophet passed on, and before the next official could come up to them, touting his grief, the brothers turned on their sister.
       "Did you not see your sister lying there?" Hara' hissed at her.
       "I don't want the same to happen to me," Kristassi hissed back. "And if I have to befriend Truth then that's what I'll do."
       "My friends," Councillor Ara' Manaten stood before them. "Let her be carried on the Great Journey."

Jalahass and Fulsamee stood at the end of the line, flanked by Galatash and Haelaay.
       "High Priestess," Truth said as he approached them. The other two Prophet Hierarchs stayed behind him. "I cannot imagine your loss."
       Blinking several times, Jalahass couldn't say anything.
       "What could we have done?" Fulsamee spoke, his voice cracking, as though it was the first time he'd spoken since he'd learned of his daughters death. "Truth, what could we have done to anger the Forerunners so?"
       "Sometimes," Truth's eyes slid to the warrior, "the Forerunners actions are a mystery. Even to myself."
       Bowing his head, Fulsamee took the Prophet's hands. "I would like to repent, if you knew of a way to help me . . . ?"
       Smiling benevolently, Truth nodded. "I can help you both."
       Jalahass growled low in her throat. "I need no absolution." She stalked away, sending a ripple of shock through the congregation.
       Looking up at Truth, Fulsamee remained bowed before him. "Help me."

The Priestess and the Warrior - Demons of Lore
Date: 20 March 2005, 12:01 AM

The Priestess and the Warrior

Author: Jillybean
AN: Dark, dark, dark subject matter kiddies. Drug abuse and severe angst. Don't read it if your Mommy says no.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Demons of Lore

Fulsamee was aware of the ship around him. Of all of the ship. It throbbed with the power it gathered in its core, screaming to be let loose.
       "Excellency?"

For this is the will of the Forerunners. That we annihilate the abomination from this plane. Only once the galaxy is cleansed, may the divine wind carry us to our Great Journey. For when we find the Sacred Rings, our prophesy shalt be fulfilled, and our righteous place be taken, by the side of the Gods.

The Zealot leaned closer. "Excellency," he repeated. "The order to fire?"
       Fulsamee sucked in a deep breath through his mandibles.


These humans had put up a fight, though they were terribly outmatched. Someone, it might have been him, had given the order to gun down the escaping cargo ships. They would have been carrying children.

Orna', that plasma scoring on her chest was no accident, what are you doing!

For the Gods punish those who dare to flout their laws.

And this is my repent. That no more of my children may die. Fulsamee blinked. "Glass the planet," he said.

The small congregation in the control room cheered as the Blade of Justice let loose on the planet beneath them. The human colony of Harvest.
       "Very well done, Excellency," the Zealot confided. One of Truth's loyal fools.
       Like Fulsamee.
       "Thank you," Fulsamee inclined his head graciously. "When the last of the survivors have been killed, inform me. I shall leave to inform the Hierarch of our victory."


Once inside his darkened quarters, Fulsamee removed his gold helmet. Stripping his armour down he cleaned it, presented it on the specially made stand, and when the time consuming task was down he went to bathe.
       With rigid order he cleaned himself, finding little luxury in the warm pool. Scrubbing his skin with the soap sand, he worked hard until the skin was raw, and blood seeped from the tips of his clawed fingers.
       Retreating once more to the darkness of his sleeping chamber, he lay on the bed and the thick, expensive sheets. Resting his head on the gravity pillow, he screwed his eyes shut, waiting for sleep to come and claim him.

And the time dragged past, his heart pounding and his breaths ragged.
       Hating himself more every passing second, he reached out. With his eyes still close, his fist closed around the glass of Jiralhanae Brandy that sat on the stand. He With his other hand he found that he had the little pod all ready. He didn't remember doing that.
       Just to help me sleep.
       That's all the Medics said.
       He flipped the pod open, and still with his eyes closed he dropped a capsule into the Brandy. Swirling it, he sipped from the glass and waited for sweet oblivion, for his daughter's face to fade from his mind.

Sangheil The Ninth Age of Reclamation

"Kristassi, what a pleasant surprise."
       Kristassi eyed her Mother and unfolded from the day bed. Jalahass' flat tone didn't surprise the daughter, but nor did she find any comfort in it.
       "Don't worry yourself, Mother," she said. "I shan't stay long."
       Deflating, Jalahass watched her daughter stalk from the room. "I just didn't expect you, is all," she muttered.

Removing the light travel robe, Jalahass glanced around her home, trying to remember where the cloak room was. She gave up, dropping the swathe of material over the day bed.
       "High Priestess?" An Unggoy underling approached, her eyes wide. "May I help you?"
       "Yes," Jalahass stared for a moment at the little alien, before she gave up trying to put a name to the face. "I require food. And a drink."
       "Certainly, High Priestess," the Unggoy paused. "Would you be needing anything else?"
       "Nothing that you can help me with," Jalahass replied.

She sat down on the daybed and found herself staring out at the beautiful, orange skies of Sangheil.
       In a fraction of the time it took her to exhale, the comm bleeped and a hologram of Solitude appeared in her home. He smiled at her, nestled back in his chair with a warm, thick blanket wrapped over his shoulders.
       "High Priestess," he spoke warmly, but his voice was frail.
       "Noble Solitude," she bowed her head. "How are you feeling?"
       "Old!"
       Jalahass chuckled, waving his grumbles away. "You used to say that when I first met you. I feel old!"
       "Pah," Solitude sniffed haughtily. "You are such a short lived race. I believe that was what gave the Prophets the edge in the Prophet- Sangheili war." Eyes gazing skyward, Solitude seemed lost in his thoughts. "I have recently been to the Jackal Monastery and I was reading of the Sacred Scrolls. The Prophet- Sangheili war was much shorter than we had first supposed, and I believe the stalemate on both sides has been greatly exaggerated - Did you know that Sanghyl has its roots in the language of the Forerunner and that-"
       "Noble Solitude," Jalahass intervened. She saw the old Prophet blink at her, slightly confused. "That was a long time ago, remember? You went to the Monastery before 'Hara was born."
       "It was?"
       "Yes, Solitude."
       "Oh." Suddenly, the Prophet was showing every one of his years.
       "I'll come and visit you tomorrow," Jalahass told him. She nodded to the Grunt that was approaching, bearing food. "But I'm tired now."
       "Of course you are," Solitude nodded, regaining his confidence. "I shall see you then."

High Charity The Ninth Age of Reclamation

"Truth!"
       Truth pinched his jowls and calmed his mind before he paid Tartarus any attention. Brilliant, as the Brutes were for raw muscle, thinking was not their strong point. Truth almost missed the days when an Elite Guard would see fit to question him with a cutting remark. Brutes had no such finesse.
       "Tartarus," he said smoothly. He turned his chair around to view the Brute that stormed up to him. "What may I do for you?"
       "We need to speak." The Chieftain glanced at the Honour Guard on either side, growling low under his breath, like a Wakkan dog.
       With a tired sigh, Truth waved at the Guards. They left, very reluctantly. Of course, Truth knew that if they were truly opposed to the idea of Tartarus ripping the Prophet limb from limb, they would have stubbornly refused to leave. Further reason to quickly remove them of the responsibility of guarding the Hierarch. There was too much dissension among the ranks. The recovery of Fulsamee into Truth's bosom had only alienated the High Priestess further, and her support was growing. A likeable character, who empathized deeply with all members of the Covenant, not just the Sangheili, her opinions were highly valued by the public and until she supported the wars against the humans, the Covenant would remain fractured.
       Fractured was not good.

"What is it, Tartarus?"
       "I have been disrespected," Tartarus admitted. His fist was clenched, the memory clearly painful.
       "How so?" Probably some Elite snubbed him. Pride was such a weary thing.
       "The Honour Guard Crai' Browdee refused to allow me access to the convent. I wished to speak to one of the Priestesses." Tartarus growled louder. "He said I was forbidden to enter. This was not our agreement, Truth! I demand respect!"
       "I cannot control the Sangheili," Truth told him. The High Priestess does that. I must do something about this situation. I wonder if I may speak with Kristassi? I should send Talsamee, she would form a bond with young one. "All I can do, Tartarus, is tell you to be patient. Your time of glory will come."
       "It had better," Tartarus threatened. He stormed out, denting the door panel when he thumped it with his fist.

"Or what?" Truth snorted. He had to maintain a calm, respectful demeanour in front of Tartarus. Still, the Brute posed about as much of a threat as . . . as a Granech fly. The real threat came from a far more peaceful source.

Blade of Justice, Orbiting Human Outer Colony Harvest The Ninth Age of Reclamation

"Excellency?" San' Kanalee leaned over the sleeping Fulsamee and sniffed. He could smell the sweet hint of thenadrine, and his commanding officer was still deeply asleep.
       "Excellency." He shook Fulsamee's shoulder and sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Excellency? . . . Fu- Fulsamee?"
       Orna' slept on.
       Kanalee leaned closer, removing the glass that was clutched in his commanding officer's hand. "Wake up!" he yelled.

Fulsamee jumped from the bed, grabbing Kanalee's wrist and snapping it downwards. In retaliation, Kanalee automatically kicked out, sweeping Fulsamee's legs from under him. Fulsamee hit the deck with a resounding thud, his eyes focussing for the first time.
       "Kanalee?" he spluttered. "What . . . what in the name of the Forerunner do you think you're doing, you worthless son of an Unggoy?!"
       "Excellency, I apologise," the scarlet clad Elite bowed his head. "It was rather difficult to wake you." His eyes slid to the bed and the glass that was nestled in the covers.
       "I could have you killed for your insolence," Fulsamee snarled, climbing to his feet.
       "We have a Human."

Clothed in his gold armour, and drinking a fruit juice, Fulsamee stalked through the hallways. He was followed by an entourage of assistants, Kanalee trailing behind. The Zealot that was with him, Hackasan, was grinding his mandibles in anticipation of meeting the Human.
       Giddan, the Unggoy Intelligence Officer, was running along beside them. "We intercepted the Human craft, called a - and this is a rough translation - 'Flying insect'. The Human appears to be male, although it's difficult to tell. There are a few minor differences in their reproductive organs, mostly concealed, but their physiology is peculiarly similar."
       "Unnatural," Hackasan snorted.
       "Keep your opinions to yourself, Zealot," Fulsamee snapped. He handed his empty glass to the Jackal and turned back to Giddan. "What has the Human revealed."
       Giddan laughed. "Name, rank and number. Asides from that, its been uncommunicative."
       "Name, rank and number?" Fulsamee paused outside the interrogation room. "Why?"
       "It appears to be all they're authorised to reveal," Giddan shook his head. "Foolish."
       "Well, they are different to us." Fulsamee stepped inside and saw the Human for himself. "Very different," he admitted.

The Human started to chatter in its incomprehensible language.
       "Turn the translator on," Fulsamee ordered. He stepped closer, lowering his head in a sign of peace.
       "Oh God!" the Human wailed.
       "Is he calling upon the Forerunner?" Kanalee asked. The Sangheili circled the Human, watching the creatures frantic eyes follow him around the room.
       "Please don't kill me, oh please, God, we can work this out, we can make peace! Don't kill me!"
       Hackasan roared. "It disrespects its dead! Dishonouring the memories of those who have fallen by begging for its own life." Hackasan spat.
       Fulsamee said nothing. He looked down on the pale skinned, oddly plain appearance of the Human. There was something so . . . sculpted about them, as though they were not natural. Instead they looked as though they had been created.
       "They look like the Demons from Lore," Giddan whispered. Even his analytical attitude had been shaken by the Human.
       Kanalee nodded. "I was trying to think what it reminded me of. But it does, doesn't it?"
       Hackasan surged forward, but Fulsamee flung his arm out, stopping him in his tracks.
       "Don't presume to know my orders before I give them," Fulsamee snapped.
       "The Hierarch ordered that all Humans be destroyed," Hackasan growled.
       Stepping forward, Fulsamee reached out to touch the Human. The Human tried to pull away, but was too tightly restrained. For the tiny moment before his fingers brushed the Human skin, Fulsamee felt the fear of the Forerunners in his heart. He forced his fingers to meet the Human flesh, and he wasn't incinerated by its demon powers.
       "We can't let it live," Fulsamee acknowledged. Freeze it in the pods, try to keep it alive. I'll transport it in the Smoke back to High Charity. "Zealot, you have command of the Blade."
       "Excellency," Hackasan bowed his head.

Back in the corridors, Fulsamee felt his hand beginning to shake. He wanted to clean it, and then he wanted to return to sleep . . .
       "Excellency?" Kanalee called, hurrying to catch up with him. "Will you be okay to take the Human with you?"
       "Do you question my abilities?"
       "Yes, Excellency," Kanalee replied honestly.
       Fulsamee turned to him, growling.
       "Excellency," now the scarlet Elite appeared nervous. There were now grounds enough to have Kanalee killed.
       "If your concerns are so overpowering," Fulsamee sneered, "you may escort me. Is that satisfactory?"
       Bowing profusely, Kanalee escaped, and Fulsamee was left in the empty corridor.

Sangheil The Ninth Age of Reclamation

Hans' Galatash waited in the reception hall of Solitude's home. The Unggoy had barely departed to inform the Prophet of Galatash's arrival, when Jalahass came hurrying through.
       "Galatash," she gasped, bumping foreheads with him. "I'm so glad you're here."
       "I came as soon as I could. Your message said it was urgent?" He followed her through the halls, noting that the shutters had been pulled across all the windows and the temperatures were stifling.
       "I went to see Solitude the day after I got home, last week. He was confused, but no more than he has been usually."
       "Usually?" Galatash stopped, blinking in confusion. "What do you mean?"
       "He's old, Hans', and in the past year he's been so easily muddled. It's as though he doesn't know who he is anymore."
       Galatash reached forward and touched the Priestess' shoulder. "I had no idea."
       "Yes, well," Jalahass set her lower mandibles, trying not to display her anger. "You may be trying to distance yourself from Fulsamee because it hurts you that he's turned his back on your teachings, and perhaps you don't visit my children any more because it hurts you so much that Lyueem is dead, but life goes on. And it's gone on too long for Solitude, he's dying."
       "Jalahass . . ."
       "Don't," she muttered.

Once inside Solitude's private chambers, the smell of old flesh knocked Galatash on his back. He blinked in the darkness, approaching Solitude's bed cautiously.
       "Solitude?" he asked.
       "Ah . . . Galatash." Solitude smiled up at him. "How is your lovely Mate?"
       Glancing behind him, to Jalahass, Galatash decided to let it slide. He knelt beside the Prophet's anti-grav mattress and took his hand. "How do you feel, Noble Solitude?"
       "Quite well, this 'flu . . . so bad . . ."
       Galatash turned to Jalahass and mouthed "'flu?"
       The High Priestess shook her head. "He had the Unggoy 'flu before Fera' Kianall was inaugurated."
       "Terrible storms we've been having," Solitude coughed, his tiny body wracked with pain. "Bad omen, don't you think?"

After an hour of disjointed conversation, Solitude slept.
       Galatash left the room quietly, finding Jalahass sleeping on a rug in the public rooms. Crouching beside her, Galatash noticed the discoloration around her neck, the obvious signs of stress and illness and constant worry.
       "Jalahass," he murmured, reaching out to shake her shoulder.
       She woke quickly, focussing on him and leaping to the worst conclusion. "Is he - ?"
       "Sleeping." Galatash helped her stand, and asked for food from the Unggoy servants. "Do you think we should send a message to Fulsamee?"
       Jalahass shrugged, smoothing the front of her robes. "I doubt that he would care."
       "You don't think that's an unfair assumption?" Galatash asked.
       "I haven't spoken with him since Lyueem's ceremony." She picked up a piece of fruit from the bowl on the low table. Chewing a small piece off she tried to ignore Galatash's gaze.
       "Is that because he chose Truth's view on our religion, over yours?" Galatash asked, not unkindly.
       "No," Jalahass replied, equally condescending. "It's because he abandoned me to raise my children in the middle of war time while I'm fighting to keep some semblance of peace between the deeply unhappy Sangheili public and the Councils. It's because he's been so deeply affected by our daughters death that he took the first ship out of Covenant space to escape his other children. It's because -"
       Galatash let her rant on, placing a comforting hand on her forehead as she cried. When she had finished, he repeated his thought that Fulsamee should be informed.
       "Fine," Jalahass relented. "But you're doing it.

High Charity The Ninth Age of Reclamation

Kanalee remained a few steps behind Fulsamee during the long walk towards the Hierarch's Sanctum. He watched Fulsamee holding his golden head high. The journey on the Bottle of Smoke had been fraught. The demon like creature frozen in the cargo hold had set Kanalee on edge, though Fulsamee took it in his stride. It was the time ticking by that seemed to offset this Commander. He spent much of his time asleep, and though he tried to hide it, Kanalee knew it was a sleep aided by thenadrine.

The plant extract was a perfectly legal substance, usually used for administering field pain relief in Hunters, Brutes and - very occasionally - Elites. It's ability to eliminate entire days from existence, with relatively few side effects, was highly prized by medics.
       Kanalee had found himself reviewing the notes on thenadrine on the Smoke, and had found no reference to physical addictions. He didn't want to believe that Fulsamee was capable of being emotionally dependent on the stuff, but it seemed the most obvious conclusion.
       When Kanalee had been a young trainee, Fulsamee had hand-picked him, along with a few disadvantaged others, to serve on his ship. It was traditional for Fulsamee to give the poorer Sangheili a helping hand, and Kanalee had been grateful. He doubted that Fulsamee knew Kanalee was one of the hundreds who had been helped.

"Orna'," Truth said warmly, holding out his hand for Fulsamee to touch with his forehead. "You have brought our scientists a Human."
       "I have, Noble Truth," Fulsamee said. He nodded to Mercy, and bowed to Regret.
       Regret barely acknowledged him.
       "One of the Unggoy drew a comparison to the Demon from their legends," Fulsamee informed the Prophets. "The Human appeared scared to me."
       "These humans are Demons then . . ." Truth said slowly, thoughtfully.
       "Demon," Fulsamee corrected, eyeing the Prophet. "The Legend of the Unggoy Chosen tells of the sole Demon that had to be fought."
       Truth was blank for a moment, before he nodded. "Indeed it does."


"Do you ever wonder," Fulsamee said when he and Kanalee were outside once more, "if the Prophets truly understand our religion?"
       "In fairness, Excellency, I would not have known there was only one Demon in the Legend."
       "You are not a religious figurehead," Fulsamee told him. He trailed off as one of the Honour Guard approached. It was Crai' Browdee, and their relationship had been strained of late.
       "Excellency." Browdee showed him the utmost respect and bowed so low his helmet threatened to topple off. "Hans' Galatash sends word that you should meet him on Sangheil."
       "Galatash?" Kanalee said inadvertently. The greatest hero of the Brute wars was sending for Fulsamee and Fulsamee wasn't making all haste to join him?
       "What does he want?" Fulsamee asked.
       "Only that you meet him there. The High Priestess is on Sangheil also," Browdee said, "so that you know."

Sangheil The Ninth Age of Reclamation

The palace that Solitude resided in was decked out in dark purples and blacks, and all of Sangheil was in mourning for the much loved Prophet.
       Fulsamee had arrived a day too late to speak with the Prophet and it grieved him more than he could have guessed. Walking through the hallways of the palace, he turned to Kanalee to point out a particularly prestigious Councillor.
       "So many Sangheili owe their successes to Solitude," he murmured.
       Kanalee nodded respectfully. "He was a great leader, and we shall be the less for him," he replied formally.
       "Oh, Kanalee, you have no idea," Fulsamee exhaled.
       The younger Elite hesitated, catching sight of Hans' Galatash across the room.
       Noticing his companion's awe, Fulsamee felt the beginnings of a smile inside him. He remembered hero worship. Almost missed it.

"Galatash," he greeted his mentor stiffly.
       "We need to talk," Hans' was blunt. "You and I have been greatly misguided." He glanced at the dignitaries milling around, and placed a hand on Fulsamee's arm. "And I think we ought to be somewhere else."
       "My villa?" Fulsamee suggested.
       "Can you call it that?"

Despite Galatash's observation, they returned to Fulsamee's villa. Fulsamee noticed a few odd little changes, additions that he knew Jalahass would never have agreed to. She always hated those ancient Unggoy skulls that were so fashionable, and there were two sitting on opposite sides of the dresser in the public room. Someone else was living in and running this villa.
       Fulsamee wondered who it was.

"I haven't spoken to your Mate in quite some time," Galatash admitted. He stood out on the balcony, watching the night fall upon the mountains. "When she called me to Solitude a few weeks ago, I realised how long it had been."
       Fulsamee stayed quiet. There were no rugs and pillows on the balcony, which was odd. Jalahass loved sitting outside.
       "I used to tell myself: she works so hard at the convent, she's always busy; she's not even related to me, not my daughter, or even the Mate of my son; she has been so unreasonable about the war with the humans; that I don't agree with her personal beliefs . . ." Galatash trailed off in disgust. "And the children. I had promised Kray' a place on my ship when he had finished training, but I thought that it was so dangerous. " He sighed deeply and rubbed at his throat. "In truth, I didn't want to see him and think of Lyueem."
       Orna' closed his eyes.
       "The thought of seeing Kray' and Hara' and Karte' and Kristassi . . . I knew that all I would be able to think about was your clever little girl and the sacrifice I know she made. The sacrifice that I can't say anything about, because then another of your wonderful children, or my children, would be endangered. And I was angry that Jalahass had the courage to keep offending the Hierarchs."
       "It was my fault," Fulsamee interrupted. He opened his eyes, blinking back tears. "I convinced Jalahass to let Lyueem become a Priestess."
       "I didn't know that," Galatash said softly.

Shaking his head, Fulsamee stared down at the canyon beneath them. "She wanted it so much, but Jalahass was always opposed to the idea. I wish she'd fought me more. She could argue me down over every single matter, except for the one that cost our daughter her life? Why did she choose to back down then? Why?"
       "Perhaps because it wasn't our choice," Jalahass murmured behind him.
       Galatash quickly made excuses and left.
       "I know I'm wrong," Fulsamee told her. "But I can't help thinking it and I wish I could."
       Jalahass laughed hollowly. "Yes. You and Galatash. So sorry for your terrible troubles and how it hurts you both. I wanted so much to stop her but I didn't because she wanted to do her First Rites. She was scared, did you know that? But of course you don't, you weren't there. You weren't there when I had to decide whether or not to go against the law and the Gods and give her a plasma pistol and you certainly weren't there when I saw that my 'helping hand' had been what killed her."
       "No, Jalahass . . ."
       "Don't!" Jalahass tugged away from him. She sat down with a thump on the stone floor and stared at the house. "I know I can't blame you," she said. "Because you were just doing your job. And you've been a better parent than I ever was. Kristassi won't even look at me. She hates me. Apparently she and Talsamee have been in contact with each other."
       "Talsamee?" Fulsamee sat down slowly.
       "Yes, your betrothed, remember her?" snapped Jalahass.
       "I remember perfectly thank you very much. The one you usurped." The joke fell flat, possibly because Fulsamee really wanted it to hurt her.
       "Oh yes, of course," Jalahass drawled. "That old story. I am so tired of being the cause of all your problems, Orna'. It gets stale very quickly."

They sat in silence, feeling the night wind biting at their skin.
       "Do you really think that?" Fulsamee asked after a long while.
       "Think what?" Jalahass whispered.
       "That I blame you for all my problems?"
       Jalahass glanced at her hands. "Yes . . . it feels like that . . . sometimes."
       "I'm taking thenadrine to help me sleep," Fulsamee told her. "The Practitioner on the ship gave me some. Whenever I'm awake I see her."
       "I know the feeling."
       "And I remember that I was the one who forced you to accept Lyueem into the convent. I remember that I was the one who took all your children on a deep space mission so that you didn't see them for years on end. That I nearly had you convicted of blasphemy." He glanced at her. "I don't blame you for anything. It should be the other way around."
       Jalahass blinked. "I miss her so much."
       Shuffling closer, Fulsamee rested his head on her shoulder. "I know, Saia', I know."

The Priestess and the Warrior - A Really Big Ring . . .
Date: 20 April 2005, 6:50 PM

The Priestess and the Warrior

Author: Jillybean
AN: An illegal studying break - hush!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Really Big Ring, Just What I Always Wanted

Kristassi eyed herself in the long holographic mirror image. The traditional red robes of a bonding ceremony accented her dark skin tone, and the gold jewelry hinted at extravagance subtly, just enough to point out that this ceremony was an exceptional one.
       "Oh, Love," Fera' Talsamee clapped her hands on Kristassi's shoulders. "You look gorgeous. My son is the luckiest Sangheili in the universe."
       Smiling, Kristassi glanced back at the hologram. "I am looking forward to it."
       Talsamee watched her face sober slightly, and tapped her fingers gently over Kristassi's forehead in a reassuring manner. "So's my son, I assure you."
       "I just wish . . . I just wish Karte' could have been here to see me."
       "Hmm," Talsamee pulled her closer. "He is on his Great Journey, and there is no higher Honour."
       "I know," Kristassi signaled to the Kig-Yar tailors. "But I miss him."

Sangheil The Ninth Age of Reclamation

Fulsamee was awake the moment he felt tiny, cold hands pulling at the covers and clambering over his back. He opened one eye and saw that Jalahass was trying not to smile.
       Nyahasea curled up in between them, humming contentedly.
       The sounds of the Unggoy servants were well muffled, suggesting that it was still early in the morning. They were doubtlessly searching high and low for the baby Nyahasea, suspecting that she had sneaked in with her parents, but not daring to pursue. His daughter's cold skin meant that she'd already been bathed and outside playing.
       Still time to stay in this island of calm and happiness then. A few minutes before he or Saia' would have to get up and start to work.

Work. Oh there was so much of it. He was meeting with Galatash, Kanalee and a few members of the Council to discuss their strategy concerning the Human Demons.
       When Covenant kind had first encountered the Humans their similarities to the Demon in Unggoy legend had been noted. It was not until these so called Spartans began to fight in their MJOLNIR armour that the phrase "demon" started to truly apply.
       The pressing need to develop an effective combat strategy against the Demons was consuming Fulsamee. When Karte' was . . . lost . . . to the Great Journey, Fulsamee had taken a step back from the front line. His controversial think tank had solved more than a few problems. The irritating stubbornness of these Humans could often be exploited to the Covenant's advantage.
       These Spartans . . . these Demons . . . they were entirely different.

"Stop thinking so much," Jalahass murmured. She opened her eyes and frowned at him. "I'm trying to sleep."
       "Mother!" Nyahasea squealed in delight. She bounced onto her haunches. "You awake!"
       "No I do not," Jalahass twitched her mandibles and hid her eyes with a long hand. "See? I'm sleeping."
       "Mother!" Dismayed, the infant Sangheili tried to crawl underneath Jalahass' hand, growling as though she were about to go into battle.
       Fulsamee dragged her away, tickling her ribs ruthlessly. "I'm hungry," he said. "Aren't you?"
       "Yes!"

Delighted, Nyahasea followed him to the villa's balcony, bouncing on the pillows as she waited for her first meal of the day. "Father," she began quizzically, "do you think we'll see Kristassi before the ceremony?"
       Looking into his daughter's face, Fulsamee managed a shrug. "I do not know."
       "I don't think I want to," Nyahasea sat down, folding her long limbs underneath her. "She's funny."
       "Funny?" Fulsamee repeated. He could hear, in the distance, the noise of a Phantom.
       "I don't think she likes me." Daughter and father regarded each other, the silence broken by the Unggoy servant.
       "Excuse me, Excellency? But Hans' Galatash is here to see you."
       "Send him in," Fulsamee said, not sure why the Unggoy hadn't done so already.
       Shifting on its paws, the creature coughed politely. "He has company."
       "Ah." Fulsamee stood. "Company."

Galatash's company was not the kind that you welcomed on the balcony. Pulling a robe over his shoulders, Fulsamee hastily dispatched a Grunt to fetch his Mate, assuming his most political state of mind.
       "Noble Regret," he bowed low when he saw the Prophet. "To what does my family owe the Honour?"
       Hovering on his chair, Regret's upper lip curled back, revealing a perfect row of teeth. "Exalted One," he said, with only the slightest trace of irony.
       Galatash caught his protŽgŽ's eye behind the Prophet's shoulder, sharing a loaded look.
       "I assume you are here on business," Fulsamee made to sit down on the day bed. "Would you care for some food? I had not ate yet."
       Regret glanced up as Jalahass breezed into the room. She greeted the Prophet as warmly as a High Priestess ought to, ordering the Grunts about with the air of any aristocrat catering for one of society's elite. "Regret," she beamed at him. "I am so glad to see you. I had hoped to speak with you about the Bill of Lekgolo Rights . . . do you remember?"
       Digging his fingers deep into the arms of his throne, Regret nodded once. "I am here for Fulsamee. The Hierarch has a mission for him."
       The three Sangheili stiffened, Galatash going so far as to cough discretely.
       "A mission?" Jalahass repeated. "What kind of a mission?" Tucking the ends of her Jiralhanae pelt robe under her knees, she eyed the Prophet.
       "One that will bring him great Glory and Honour."
       "You've found the homeworld of the Spartans . . ." Fulsamee stated.
       "What?" Galatash dropped his composure, rounding on the Prophet. "The Demon Base?"
       Regret smirked.
       Fulsamee could feel his Mate's claws pressing into his hand, though it was the only display of concern. "You wish me to lead the assault?"
       "On the Ascendant Justice, yes," Regret smiled, clapping his hands once in delight. "I am so glad you accept this, Fulsamee. You give our Covenant great hope." The Prophet paused, catching sight of the little girl playing on the veranda. "They love you."
       "Because they know you've suffered," Galatash spoke through gritted mandibles.
       Regret smiled. "We have all suffered, Galatash." With one final glance at Fulsamee, he hovered off, bidding Galatash to follow him.
       "One of these days . . ." the Sangheili muttered as he left his old friends, "I'll make him wish he'd thought about his personal guard more carefully."

The Ascendant Justice Covenant Fleet Assembly Point Ninth Age of Reclamation

"They call it 'Reach'," Has' Yahnaa shook his head in disdain. "What sort of name is that?"
       Fulsamee glanced at the old Warrior. Lifetimes ago, Orna' had been a newly recruited shipmate on the Solemn Thunder, and Yahnaa had made his life Hell. He would have wanted no one else commanding his companion ship.
       Rolamee shrugged, biting into a select piece of fruit from the bowl on the table. "Perhaps it has some religious significance?"
       "Does it matter?" the minor Prophet asked from the table's head. "So long as we Glass it?"
       The congregation of ship commanders, aristocrats, and distinguished warriors, swivelled their heads to look at their Commander. Their Commander was stargazing out the window, listening to their conversation, although they would not know it.
       "Is there a problem?" Fulsamee turned to face them, his hands clasped behind his back. He did enjoy this, as much as he tried not to. Power was addictive.
       "Orna'!" Rolamee bellowed, laughing hysterically. "He is such a joker!"
       Unsure, those who did not presume to know the Commander as well as Rolamee, were slower to join the laughter.

"Do you not think we ought to be careful?" the minor Prophet approached him later that night. "After all - this is the home of the Demons!"
       Fulsamee glanced down at the unsure Prophet. "Careful, yes," he said calmly. "But one needs to possess confidence. Especially in a situation like this."
       "How do you intend to fight them?" the Prophet murmured.
       "In the same way I fight all my battles," Fulsamee told him. "In a way that I win."

High Charity Inside Covenant Space Ninth Age of Reclamation

Councillor Fera' Talsamee did not pause to acknowledge the Honour Guard as she entered the Convent. Nor did she notice one of them detach and follow her. She had considered bringing her daughter-in-law, but knew in her heart that it was a purely selfish motive. Jalahass was not so foolish as to be swayed by an emotional attachment.
       Talsamee admired that in a political warrior.

Crai' Browdee physically blocked her path when she attempted to stride into the High Priestess's office.
       "I cannot let you past until the High Priestess agrees," he said calmly.
       Rearranging her pointed helmet, Talsamee delivered her coldest stare. "I will see the High Priestess now."
       "Apologies, Councillor. I do not answer to you."
       "Yet," Talsamee snapped.

"Let her through, Browdee." The door hissed open and the High Priestess beckoned her in. "She'd only set up camp."
       Leading the way into the spacious office, Jalahass sat by her desk, sniffing at the cup of stew which had sat beside her for hours.
       Talsamee glanced around, not expecting to see any of the old touches that still remained of her mother. Nor did she expect to see the jet black Brute pelt hanging on the wall, and another adorning the spine of the day bed. A little chill passed down her spine. It often shocked her how blatant the High Priestess really was.
       "Did you wish to say something, Talsamee, or were you going to stand and stare all day?"
       Talsamee collected herself, clasping her hands in front of her. "Have you heard the latest news from Reach?"
       "The battle wages on," Jalahass shrugged. "It will not last much longer."
       "Indeed it will not," Talsamee stepped closer. "It will be a great victory for the Covenant."
       The High Priestess lifted her gaze to regard the Councillor. "What's your point?"
       "Only that your own figure will be thrust once more into the limelight. Surely it would be . . . wise . . . to denounce these Heretics who have sprung up."
       Jalahass frowned, her mandible twitching in thought. "I do not think I shall, Talsamee," she announced, as though this were a new decision.
       "Jalahass, think!" Talsamee exclaimed in frustration. "What could you do with your daughter by your side?"
       "Would Kristassi be by my side if I denounce the Heretics?" Jalahass asked.
       "I could persuade her . . ."
       "Then I definitely won't," Jalahass failed to hide a smile at Talsamee's indignation. "I disagree with my daughter on many accounts. She and I both know this."
       "You lost your first daughter!" Talsamee exclaimed, her angry gestures dislodging her heavy head-dress. "And you give up on your other! You are a dreadful mother!"
       "You would know, I suppose," Jalahass said. "You are the epitome of motherhood."
       "High Priestess," Talsamee said tightly, "I bid you good day. And I hope that your entire family meets their end one day. I have always tried to help you!" Mandibles shaking with rage, the Councillor stormed off.

Browdee slipped into the office the moment he'd seen Talsamee leave the Convent's grounds.
       "High Priestess?" he asked quietly.
       The Sangheili female was standing by the window, conspicuously facing away from him.
       "Is there anything I can do?" Browdee asked.
       From her vantage point in the tower, Jalahass could see Talsamee disappearing into the city. "There is," she murmured. "You know of the Heretics?"
       "Who does not?" Browdee approached the Priestess, a great breach of protocol, and the first instance he had ever done so. He laid a hand on her shoulder. "The Hierarch would have you condemn them."
       "Times are tough for our Covenant," Jalahass murmured. "Moral is low. They wonder why we do not invite these Humans to join us. The Heretics are offering an alternative, and that, the Prophets can never allow." She sighed deeply. "Oh, Browdee, times are changing."
       "They are, High Priestess. I do not know what the future holds." He frowned. "It . . . disturbs me. I do not know if my Guards can protect you and your family."
       "Not here you can't." She turned to him. "I want you to take Nyahasea and go to Sangheil-"
       "High Priestess . . ."
       "No! Browdee, listen to me! You have to take her. Take her, and take everyone you can to Sangheil. Everyone under the Convent."
       Browdee hesitated, he knew he was not supposed to know about them.
       Taking his hand, the High Priestess raised it to her forehead. "I'll give you the Bottle of Smoke and we'll run cargo ships. I want everyone loyal to me to be out of this city and safe on Sangheil."
       "I cannot leave the High Priestess . . ." he began, but he knew that he would.
       "Please," she bowed her forehead against his. "Browdee I ask you as a friend . . . please get them out of the city."

The Ascendant Justice Reach The Ninth Age of Reclamation

"Excellency!" Rolamee turned to him, his eyes bright with anticipation. "They are retreating!"
       "What of the ship the Demons were on?" Fulsamee asked, scanning the readouts. So many reports flickered up at once, reporting destructions and victories on vast space-scape.
       "It is setting co-ordinates." Rolamee hesitated. "Where is it going?"
       "Send transmissions to the Truth and Reconciliation and pick another ship. We're going after them!" Fulsamee quickly inputted the co-ordinates to the Justice. "I want that ship!"
       I'll have you yet, you son of a Kiggari . . .
       "Transmission sent, they'll follow us, Excellency." Rolamee eyed him. "Is this wise, Excellency?"
       "I am not losing the Demon!"

High Charity Covenant Space The Ninth Age of Reclamation

Jalahass was summoned.
       In all her years of working with the Hierarch they had never once sent out a city-wide announcement, ordering her to their sanctum.
       Had they discovered her underground operation? Had shipping them out been a bad idea? They had tried to move quickly and quietly, but there were hundreds of Sangheili to move, and the sudden increase of shipments to Sangheil were difficult to explain.
       In a moment of weakness, she wished she still had Browdee. The Honour Guard escorting her would certainly do their job, but she missed her old friend.
       Still. It was better that he was protecting her daughter. According to the Covenant staring at her in the streets, Nyahasea was still in the Convent. Jalahass would tell them that until the world stopped changing, and then she would allow her daughter back into the Covenant.

"High Priestess!" Truth turned when he saw her, rapture evident in every line in his body.
       "Truth?" she was too astonished to be polite. She had never seen the Prophet so . . . happy. The others in the room, the entire High Council, a few members of the aristocracy, including Kristassi, were all gathered.
       "You'll enjoy this," Truth said to her. He took her hand, gesturing to the holo-projector.

At first she couldn't see what the lines were representing. The long curve, the landmasses . . . and a representation of the Ascendant Justice in orbit.
       "A live feed from the Justice," Regret's hologram smirked at her. She wondered where he was.
       Kristassi dropped to the ground, quickly mimicked by the others. The congregation lay prostrate in front of the image.
       Only Jalahass and the Prophets remained standing, even the Honour Guard had dropped their spears to lie in reverence.
       "What do you say now, High Priestess?" Truth asked her slyly.
       "Halo . . ." she whispered. "It's real." Slowly, as though she were being forced by a giant, invisible claw, she lay before it. Her mind seemed to detach, composing a communal prayer for the service she would have to give later today.
       "Our Great Journey begins," Mercy whispered in awe.
       Nice line, she thought. She'd better use it.

The Ascendant Justice Covenant Space The Ninth Age of Reclamation

"Perhaps you ought to be praying more," the minor Prophet snapped at Fulsamee as the golden clad Elite passed him.
       "Prophet," Fulsamee muttered, accessing a panel. "If I prayed any more there wouldn't be time to do the righteous killing."
       Grumpily, the Prophet started to hum the words of a hymn under his breath.
       "Of course," Fulsamee noted. "If you hadn't killed my second in command and put his head on a pike I might have more time to pray."
       "You insist on dragging that up!" the Prophet flung his hands in the air. "How dare you question me?"
       "I dare because I have a grounded ship down there with the Flood swarming all over it." Fulsamee spun, glowering at the Prophet. "I want that ship destroyed."
       "The Truth and Reconciliation is a valuable piece of equipment!" the Prophet spluttered, following Fulsamee around the control room on his little throne. "I will not have it touched!"
       "And I will not see it in the hands of the Flood. I only hope it's not too late . . ." Fulsamee hesitated, noticing the two Brutes who had slipped through the door. Why were they on this deck.
       "I apologise, Fulsamee," the Prophet didn't sound sorry at all. "But I have my orders."
       One of the Brutes leered at Fulsamee, growling happily to himself.
       Fulsamee sighed, unhooking the Energy Sword from his belt and handing it to the Prophet. He removed his compliment of grenades and tossed the Plasma Pistol at the closest Brute. "You can't let the Flood off this ring," Fulsamee said quietly. "If you do . . ."
       "Take him away," the minor Prophet wasn't listening.
       The Brutes insisted on pushing him the whole way.

High Charity The Halo Ruins The Ninth Age of Reclamation

"It's an outrage!" Galatash stalked the floor of Jalahass' office. "How can you let this happen!"
       "Hans' . . ." she was lying on the day bed, a cold class of rum pressed against her throat. "Please, there is nothing we can do until the trial."
       "We should find his cell . . . " Galatash turned to her, incensed. "How can you just lie there!"
       The Priestess turned her head fractionally. "My throat hurts, Galatash. I've talked my mandibles raw. There is no way we can get in to see Orna', trust me, I've tried."
       The older Sangheili sat down with a thump. "I want . . ."
       "You are old, Hans'," she murmured. "Go to Sangheil."
       "You keep saying that," he muttered.
       "Perhaps I'm trying to tell you something." She eyed him meaningfully.
       Slowly, Galatash rose. "Be careful, Jalahass," he said to her. "Orna' would kill me if something happened to you." He flushed blue. "Well . . . I hope he'll be around to kill me."
       "You'll find a transport ship, the Good Falcon, to take you off High Charity." Jalahass called after him.
       "If I didn't know you better," he muttered, "I'd think you'd arranged this . . ."

The cell that Fulsamee was kept in was not uncomfortable. He'd lived in worse growing up, and he still had his armour. It kept him warm, kept him hydrated, there was little else he really needed.
       Whatever punishment they dreamed up for him, he would not give them the satisfaction of beating him.
       He knew that Kristassi had already renounced him. He had heard the public bulletin from the Honour Guard. It hurt him more that, if he was found guilty, Jalahass would be forced to do the same. And Nyahasea . . .
       He closed his eyes tightly. Whatever punishment. Even if they killed his youngest.
       To escape the shame he had brought upon his family.
       He remembered now, a long time ago, Jalahass being forced to stand trial for her own heresies. There had been less at stake then. No children to worry about. And how often they'd argued about her 'activities'. Why wouldn't she make some public statement about the Heretics? Why did she have to leave it so ambiguous, stirring the situation up? By rights, it should have been her locked in this tiny, squalid cell.
       He regretted thinking it, but a part of him argued that it was true. He was not a Heretic. The High Priestess was.
       One of the Guard passed him, tossing a chunk of bread into the cell as he did so.
       Quietly, Fulsamee moved to pick it up. He sat back against the wall and bit into it.
       "Forerunner forgive me," he murmured. Just in case.

The Priestess and the Warrior - The Heretic and the Revolutionary
Date: 13 May 2005, 11:28 AM

The Priestess and the Warrior
Author: Jillybean
AN: It's been fun :)

The Heretic and the Revolutionary

"Do you ever think we drink too much?"
           Hera' Solatta turned incredulous eyes on her long time friend, watching as the High Priestess approached her with a glass of rum in hand.
           "In general, I mean," Jalahass said. "Do you know how much rum I've gone through in the past day?"
           Smoothing out her robes, Solatta accepted the glass and took a long sip. "I have a feeling you're going to tell me."
           "Two bottles." Jalahass sat opposite, rubbing at her mandibles in anxiety.
           "No news?" Solatta asked gently.
           "None." She blinked quickly, glancing out the window as she watched the ruins of the Halo drift past. "There's a . . . a rumour."
           "I heard it," Solatta assured her. "That he's the Arbiter." She downed the pearly pink liquid in her glass, wiping a claw over her face. "I don't believe it. Why would Truth do that?"
           "Fastest way to kill him," Jalahass murmured.
           "But he was sentenced to death," Solatta sighed, shaking her head. "No, I don't understand the politics of it, so please don't explain it."
           "Don't explain the reasons for why we're going to war?" Jalahass asked sceptically. "We'll argue another day. Has the last transport vessel left?"
           "They have," Solatta stood, steadying her head-dress with one hand. "And best of luck to them."
           "Yes," Jalahass got to her feet, brushing foreheads with her old mentor. "Now I want you to leave the city."
           "There are barely enough Priestesses left in the convent to keep it running," Solatta berated. "I can't leave now."
           "Leave now or forever hold your peace," Jalahass warned. "I have a feeling that when I start to run, the rest of High Charity will be long gone."

Forerunner Installation Halo Ruins The Ninth Age of Reclamation

Fulsamee didn't question who this Heretic was. But he probably knew him. He knew a lot of the warriors on this team, including the prestigious Special Operations Commander, nick named Half-Jaw by his underlings. This was an honourable platoon . . . the kind Truth didn't give a Grunt's litter about. He watched as Half-Jaw ordered his grunts forward, not foolishly, but with great intent.
           "Arbiter?" Half-Jaw queried, his grossly disfigured face twitching with amusement. "What concerns you?"
           "Nothing," Fulsamee murmured, trying to get used to the sound of 'Arbiter'. The duties and the honours rolled over him, his chance to redeem himself in front of the council, in front of the Hierarchs, and in front of the Forerunner. The Forerunner which, if Half-Jaw's disdain for Fulsamee was any indication, still played a strong part in the beliefs of every Covenant. Sometimes, secluded on his cruisers with a Mate who blasphemed as soon as she breathed, he forgot that the Forerunner ruled over his species with an iron claw.
           A Phantom soared overhead, burning through the orange skies. Fulsamee could feel the heat of the thin air as he sucked another breath into his lung.
           Slipping into active camo, he tensed his fingers around the hilt of his sword. The others would not reveal themselves until he began, his whirling dervish of destruction. How many of the Sangheili through this door would he know? And why was it so much harder to cut out the heart of infestation when the heart bore a face he recognised?
           The doors slid open and he vaulted through, igniting the sword as he dropped onto the first Elite he saw. The sword plunged through the soft flesh at the neck of the heretic, the smell of seared meat reaching Fulsamee's nose.
           "Heretics!" screeched a rampaging Grunt, and Fulsamee had no more time to waste on this fallen enemy. He swung backwards, cutting off the barrel of the nearest heretic's carbine.
           "Fool!" The heretic lifted his chest to begin his final battle cry, but Fulsamee lunged forward, cutting the honourable battle rage off before it left the heretic's chest. With a vaguely surprised expression, the Sangheili fell, bouncing off the deck. Fulsamee moved on, he had no honour any more.

Half-Jaw paid the Arbiter little attention. The warrior could do his job, at least. The years of sitting on cruisers hadn't dulled his skills, and for that Half-Jaw was thankful. He was well aware that Truth had sent the Arbiter here to die, on the hope that two Jackals could be killed with the one stone. If the Arbiter took the Heretic out, then marvellous. If the Arbiter died as that happened, well it was simply an added bonus.
           Half-Jaw wasn't a fool. He knew that Truth, Mercy and Regret were not fond of him. His allegiance was first, foremost and always to the Forerunner, and not to the Hierarch as they would wish. But he shared their contempt for the Arbiter and for the Heretic. He killed a passing heretic Grunt, smoothly breaking the creature's neck with a blow. Still . . . it worried at him, like a Hatchling with a bone.
           Watching the Arbiter pace outside the Heretic's sealed door, he wasn't denying the grudging respect he felt for the warrior's skill. A warrior must always what is in their hearts, for honesty is freedom.
           "Get your warriors out of here," the Arbiter said, his concentration fixed on the representation of the station.
           And as Half-Jaw did so, he couldn't help feeling that he was playing into Truth's hands . . . and that never made him feel better.

High Charity the Ninth Age of Reclamation

Tartarus shook his fur out with ill-concealed glee as he set foot in the Hierarchs chambers. The silence on the ride up from the Phantom with the Arbiter had been delightful. The Arbiter, much vaulted saviour of the Sangheili race, was too afraid to speak with Tartarus, Chieftain of the Brutes.
           "Noble Hierarchs," he gravelled, bowing before the two Prophets. "I bring you the Oracle."
           Two of his henchmen stepped forward, their paws gripping the shining, blue sentience.
           "Ahh yes," Truth smiled coolly. "The Great and Almighty Oracle. Tell us, Oracle," his eyes rested on the orb. "Tell us of the Great Journey."
           Pulsing with light, the Oracle chirped up. "I have no idea why you members insist on - "
           The Oracle was cut short by a pulse of high intensity data, a sharp purple beam cutting into the metal flesh of the creature. Tartarus lifted up the data-stick, removing the source of the Oracle's 'pain'.
           "The Great Journey," Truth continued. "Tell us of our Forerunners."
           The Oracle hesitated for only a moment before it began again. "I would be most glad to enlighten you, but I can assure you that there is no Great Journey and that on - "
           Tartarus moved forward again, pressing the transmitter into the back of the Oracle.
           "Containment!" the Oracle screeched, it's blue light flaring up. "Containment is - necessary!"
           "Enough, Tartarus," Mercy purred, holding up a hand. He waited for the Oracle to reassemble its thought processes, before he let his hand fall. "Again, Tartarus."
           "Containment!" it shrieked, the words echoing through the chambers.

"They won't let you see him," Solatta murmured, playing with the hem of her robes in agitation. "You know they won't."
           Jalahass glanced up from the console she was working on. "Oh stop worrying and hand me that sonic screwdriver." She held her hand out, impatient until Solatta reluctantly handed the tool over.
           "You used to lead me into these things when we were junior Priestesses," Solatta hissed. "And I didn't like it then!"
           "No one forced you to come along," Jalahass smirked as the console obligingly released its control console.
           "You were my charge, I'd have been out of the convent if I'd let you go anywhere alone." Solatta didn't say anything else as the door to the private chambers of the Arbiter slid open. "You know . . ." she hesitated as Jalahass stood, fully intending to march inside. "They wouldn't have locked the doors if they didn't want people to see him."
           Turning to regard her old friend, Jalahass extended her long claws. "Go home, Solatta. Go home to Sangheil. You can't stay here anymore."
           "But-"
           "You know too much," Jalahass shrugged. "Go." Without a backward glance, she stepped into the darkness of the chambers.
           Solatta hesitated, blinking into the void. "Forerunner forgive you," she murmured, touching her forehead. Glancing down the corridors she wondered which was the quickest way to the docks.

The darkness of the Arbiter's chambers was oppressive. The only glimmers of light came from the purple power nodes on the very edge of her range of vision. Once, as a young Priestess overseeing the Festival of the Arbiter, she had made a pilgrimage here and meditated for a whole day. She'd escaped and bribed a street urchin to meditate for her. It was a pity because a frame of reference could really help about now.
           There was a swish of movement behind her; she could feel air running across her robes. Without a second thought she lashed out, swinging around to face her would-be attacker, only to stumble in the blackness.
           "Relax, Saia'," Fulsamee chuckled. "It's only me. Although you're lucky there are no guards."
           "Well I was going to rescue you," she muttered, casting her gaze around for any hint of her Mate.
           "With what weapons?" He had moved, she spun, trying to keep up with his voice.
           "Guile, charm and wit," she muttered, backing into something.
           "I missed you," he touched his forehead against hers. "But you can't stay here. We'll be at another Sacred Ring soon."
           "The Heretic . . ."
           "Please. Saia, don't."
           She hesitated, and then pulled away from him. "Good luck, Arbiter."
           "We didn't know him," he said as she reached the door. "We didn't know him. He wasn't one of ours."
           It made her feel a little better.

High Charity In Orbit over Delta Halo the Ninth Age of Reclamation

Jalahass hurried down the corridor, trying not to trip over her ornate robes. She'd given up with the head-gear, carrying the High Priestess's crown as she ran.
           "Commander!"
           The white clad warrior paused, turning to face her with a vaguely amused expression. The smile on his face got lost somewhere around the region of the grossly disfigured jaw.
           "High Priestess," Half-Jaw bowed respectfully. "What may I do for you?"
           "I just spoke with Truth," she gasped, leaning on the wall to regain her breath. "This is suicide."
           Half-Jaw's expression clouded, and he turned from her.
           "You can't lead your warriors into this!" she exclaimed, reaching forward to grab at his forearm.
           "You think I don't know?" He spun on her, spittle flying as he yelled. "But, High Priestess, unlike some I have honour and I have a duty to perform and I shall do as the Hierarch asks!"
           "Even when it's wrong?" she snarled back.
           "That is not for you or I to decide," he said, drawing himself up. Regaining his calm composure, he bowed once more to her. "Now if you'll excuse me. I must go to the surface, there has been an issue regarding the containment with the Flood."
           "And if ever there were demons," Jalahass said bitterly. She saw his odd expression, and pulled the crown onto her head. "If you'll excuse me, I must go and give a speech about 'right' and 'wrong' to our waiting Covenant. But I ask you," she stepped forward, glaring at him. "If you don't choose what's right. Then who will?"
           Half-Jaw watched her storm off, his mind not eased by the encounter.

Jalahass hesitated as she stood on the podium in front of so many Covenant for her daily address. Her pre-approved speech from Truth was burned into her mind, every last word of it.
           And beneath her was a sea of expectant faces. Sangheili, Unggoy, Lekgolo, Kig-Yar, Jiralhanae, Drones, Prophets and Engineers. They were waiting for her.
           And far, far below her, the Arbiter was no doubt fighting for his life. Perhaps he'd managed to join forces with Half-Jaw, but more probably not. Her speech made no mention of the terrible struggle facing the Covenant, of the wily Flood that had been released on their Sacred Ring. Her speech detailed the achievements of past Hierarchs and past councils. Look to them for inspiration, Truth had told her to say.
           "High Priestess?" one of her juniors coughed politely.
           "Yes, I know," she began, about to start a different speech entirely.
           "No. Noble Truth is broadcasting a message."
           Jalahass whirled, watching the holographic representation of Truth clutch the Sacred Icon. Behind her, the gathered religious members of the Covenant 'oohed' appreciatively. The rumble of their whispers was deafening her.
           She almost didn't notice the look of panic in Truth's eyes, but her mind picked up on it, transferring feelings of warmth as Truth raised his arms in terror.      
           Demon was good for something.
           Jalahass didn't bother looking at the crowd. With a satisfied smile she headed off the podium, peeling the crown from her head.
           "High Priestess!" shrieked the junior, trying to calm the crowd. "High Priestess, do something!"
           "I am doing something," she replied, throwing the crown at the poor girl's feet. "I'm resigning. Congratulations."
           "But!"
           The Honour Guard transferred their attentions to the junior, as their training dictated. Jalahass shed their protectiveness like a second skin. With a feeling of freedom, she turned her back on the convent and headed into the city.

Delta Halo The Ninth Age of Reclamation

These humans reminded Fulsamee of playful Hatchlings. Their methods were not always the best, but they showed surprising ingenuity. From his hiding place behind a bulk head, he could hear Tartarus bemoaning the reduction of his shield. The Arbiter wouldn't have thought of using the sniper to pick away at the Brute's defences, but then again, the Arbiter wasn't such a good shot as this Sergeant Johnson.
           In his shoulders, one of his muscles protested at every movement. There was a dull ache in his head, one that even the exhilaration of finally taking Tartarus down couldn't erase from his mind.
           The heavy Brute stepped closer and Fulsamee moved. He through his weight behind the lung, sending the tip of his plasma sword slicing through the great beast's belly. Even as he gutted the loathsome traitor, he could hear Miranda leaping for the Sacred Icon.
           Tartarus looked into Fulsamee's eyes as he slumped against the Elite. "My Great Journey begins," Tartarus hissed, his eyes glazing over and his tongue lolling out.
           Fulsamee ripped the blade out from the creatures flesh, stepping backwards over the body of a dead Councillor. He had never been so sure of the blatant lies surrounding his religion.
           The Oracle was talking to the humans, and Fulsamee dropped the sword, approaching these new allies. "And where, Oracle, is that?" he asked.

High Charity the Ninth Age of Reclamation

With only a gun and old, battered armour, Jalahass didn't hesitate to wriggle through the air vents on the Forerunner ship, the prize of High Charity.
           The ship vibrated, preparing to break free of these earthly tethers, and she braced herself against the wall.
           If she could, she'd kill Truth herself.
           Unbidden, a phrase from the First Prophet of Joy's speech appeared in her head.
           We shall not find ourselves free, until we first understand that freedom is sometimes being wrong


Fin

The Priestess and the Warrior - Touchdown
Date: 5 May 2008, 1:51 am

The Priestess and the Warrior
Author: Jillybean

Touchdown

And the Forerunner were wise. And knew when to step back. The Forerunner knew to chose to leave the questions for the Impartial. In great need. They cast you as their Arbiter.

Re-entry had hot air blasting through the vents, raising the temperature of the metal. Saia 'Jalahass lay on her back, the air stung with the acrid smell of her formal High Priestess robes burning inside the loose armour she had borrowed. Her skin redistributed the warmth, Sanghelios was a naturally hot planet and her species had the mechanisms to cope with it.

The heavy footsteps of a Jiralhanae guard echoed up to her and she clenched her fists, waiting for him to pass. She caught herself praying that the fans would suck away the smell of her burning clothes. No more prayer, no more High Priestess, no more convent, no more Covenant. Let all that burn away. It would burn with far more flare and notice than her expensive fabrics. The whole galaxy would witness this fire.

The guard passed and she pushed the grate open, wriggling until she fell to the deck. Instantly the cool air wrapped around her, welcoming her as the Prophets preferred it. She pushed her palm up against a socket on the wall, crouching as she heard a beep requesting reassurance. If that guard appeared now, the former High Priestess would meet an ignoble end.

And not now, by all that was never holy, not now. She would never again have to tell a Sangheili mother that she should send her hatchlings to a crèche, because that was what the Prophets told her. She would never again tell a son that he would stand to gain nothing from the estate of his mother. No more idiotic headdresses that damaged the bones in her neck. She would stand up and tell the whole galaxy that she fully supported the actions of her mate.

Her beloved Orna. She redoubled her efforts to convince the ship that she needed this escape pod. Backdoors through the Covenant's battlenet was one of many talents her poor, orphan, treacherous, heretic mate had taught her. Orna 'Fulsamee, son of no one of any import, a Sangheili who had made his way with his wits and skills alone. Even married the eldest daughter of an old and noble family, one that owned half of Sanghelios. She had never pretended to be ashamed of her mate. Not even when he had been blamed for the death of Regret's brother. Not when he destroyed the sacred ring. Never. And if he was dead now, she would still not be ashamed of him, because he had died fighting this battle.

The escape pod opened, the ship remained unaware, and Saia crawled inside, letting the door close once more. She curled against the cool deck, the heat from her limbs being soaked away. Shrugging out of the armour, she scratched her bare scalp. Her long fingers curled around the intricate bracelets over her forearms and she pulled them off one at a time, dropping them to the floor. Each one jingled, rolling towards the window that flared with re-entry fire. The robes flowed around her arms and she ripped the fabric, fiddling with her two belts. The gold one unclipped easily but the broader, ruby studded under belt needed patience. Her maids would help her with this part of the ceremonial garb . . .

. . . she had left High Charity and all that behind, asking her dearest friends to flee. She had begged her personal Honour Guard to return to her home, to find her children. She had evacuated the poor and the vulnerable, she had protected her kind . .

. . . and all this had been done as the High Priestess. Removing her necklace, she ripped a shred of umber skirt and wrapped the platinum up. Her fingers stilled over the silk and she closed her eyes. She had never been more in need of ancestors and forebearers watching over her with the Forerunner. "Fera," she murmured, thinking of her predecessor. Everything the High Priestess had entrusted to Saia was now gone. Saia stripped off her robe, letting it pool like blood spilled in the name of Gods who never were. The shift she wore underneath was woven in the lightest fabrics that the Kig Yar could weave. Even the undergarments she wore could feed the poor.

Tilting her head back against the bulkhead of the escape pod, she closed her eyes and truly, for the first time in years, prayed.

***

"He's sleeping." The tiny human stood in the doorway, hands on hips as she glared up at 'Vadumee. "You can't see him."

'Vadumee towered over the frail woman. He drew in a breath that expanded his single lung, a classic warning to anyone versed in Sangheili fighting tactics. Miranda Keyes didn't step down. She didn't even flinch. Orna might have assumed she didn't know 'Vadumee was preparing to rip her limb from limb, but he didn't think she was so naïve.

He rolled off of his bed, splaying his palm over the deck. This class of cruiser had been commandeered mostly for Prophets so the living quarters for the commander were small. Keyes had worked from the desk, having to stand to access the panels with Fera 'Talsamee helping her. Two of the human marines had remained with Keyes, though to protect her from the Sangheili or from the Oracle, Orna wasn't sure. The blue orb hummed away while Keyes worked, not interested in the capacities of the Forerunner ship the Demon had stolen away on.

As a gesture of good faith, Orna had removed the sacred armour of the Arbiter. It shouldn't have happened until he had died, and his body would have been entombed anonymously with his kindred Arbiters. He had lowered his bruised body onto the bed and slept, not to prove his trust in this new alliance, but to close his dry, pained eyes.

"Rtas," he growled, heaving to his feet. He ached everywhere. Ballistics fired from Keyes's gun had punctured his shoulder, hastily patched up by his medics.

Fera 'Talsamee whirled when he spoke, lifting her head. Her amber eyes flashed with something and she stepped forwards reaching for him. "No, Orna, you're not well."

Rtas stepped forwards, squeezing past Miranda and causing the marines to shift restlessly. His armour had been buffed out and cleaned. 'Talsamee, by contrast, hadn't removed her cracked headdress. Her silvery armour still possessed blood stains. Orna couldn't help the thought that she was waiting for a holocapture so she could pose for a moment. The caption would be something like 'heroic Councillor, daughter of former Supreme Commander Hans 'Galatash, forges valiant truce with human kind'. She flexed her thumbs on her right hand, reaching towards Orna before Rtas glared at her. He scowled at her, peeling his upper mandibles back. "Pardon me, Councillor, but when I last checked you were nothing more than Truth's pawn!"

"Rtas!" Orna shouted to be heard over the commander's raised voice. He saw Keyes raise a hand to stall her marines. "Politics aside, we have greater problems," he said. "I assume you didn't come here to wake me up." 'Talsamee stepped to the side, her mandibles tightly clenched. Her hand rested under Orna's shoulder blade, the touch light through his protective suit. Orna stepped away from it, raising his head to give him added height over Rtas.

With a sigh that whistled through his deformed mouth, Rtas swivelled to include Keyes in the discussion. "Your Sergeant calls for you. We are nearing Earth and he thinks your codes will be more acceptable to the MAC guns than his." He clicked at her, waiting for a reply.

This would be harder than you or I ever imagined – mused a voice in his head, one that had followed him throughout his promising career. The humans have no idea how much we rely on blood, and how little value we place on sweat.

He cleared his throat, clicking back to appease the commander. "I will meet you on the bridge," he said to them. Bowing his head to Keyes he held her gaze for a moment. "Is this acceptable?"

Her pale, featureless face crinkled around the edges before she nodded. If the expression was one of amusement or fear, Orna couldn't tell.

Well done. Accord her an honour that it would be polite to bestow on even me, and take no offence that she does not receive it properly. It rams the point home to all.

He smiled to himself. The inner voice sounded pleased.

The humans left with Rtas, the Oracle following in an absent manner, barely making it through the doors before they hissed closed. The holopad closed down, allowing the purple safety lighting along the walls to cast the quarters in dark shades.

'Talsamee stooped to lift the intricately etched helmet of the Arbiter from the deck. She straightened slowly, turning it over in her hands. "Who would have thought, Orna?" she murmured, drawing the tips of her fingers over the symbols.

Caution urged him to skirt along the outside of the room to the bath. He scrubbed his face with cold water and dropped the cloth back into the porcelain bowl. It unfurled slowly, dirt spiralling away. Dirt from another Halo. A speck of blood that could have been from Tartarus.

"Orna?"

He turned to see that 'Talsamee was closer. Evading her once more, he picked up the first shin guard and strapped it to his leg, hearing the hiss as it sealed to his suit. Taking the next, he sat on the edge of the bed, studying the deck instead of meeting her gaze.

"Orna . . ." She crouched beside him, compassion flooding her face. Resting her hand on his knee, she closed her eyes briefly. "High Charity is lost."

"So many ships got out in time." The harshness in his own voice surprised him.

"And so many did not." Her hand tightened on her knee, dislodged as he lowered the armour into place. "She is most likely dead."

Orna waited for that inner voice. Be it his conscience, his inner demons, or even a message from the Forerunners taking the tone of his wife's voice, he had always looked to it in times of need.

The voice said nothing.

"Shouldn't you think of your children?" 'Talsamee whispered, standing as he did. She held his helmet in her hands still. "This isn't your fight, Orna. Your fight . . . our fight . . . it's back home."

"There won't be a home if Truth gets his way." Taking the helmet, he hesitated, looking down at his once betrothed. He softened his voice. "Should I die, would you look after my children?"

'Talsamee moved forwards then, pushing her forehead against his chest. "It pains me to think you need ask." She stepped away, whirling around so he could not see her face. Her decorative armour shone in the dim light, hiding the battle scars.

Fitting the helmet snugly to his head, he made for the bridge.

###

Miranda glanced around as the Arbiter entered, suited and booted and every inch the enemy. She schooled her face into an impassive expression, returning to Hood's visage with her body controlled. "This is the Arbiter," she extended her hand towards the Elite, holding her breath as she felt his presence. His armour bent the air, much like the Chief's seemed to do. The physical presence of the shield tingled. She had heard marines talk about it, had experienced it herself when an Elite was dying and its shielding gave out. The tangible relief of her own held breath mixed with the soothing of her skin as the ions returned to their calm state.

"I wish I had the time to argue with you, Keyes," Hood said, glancing to his side as an aide approached. The other human was fuzzy on the imager and Miranda couldn't make out the face.

"Do we have permission to land, sir?"

"Southern Kenya, yes," Hood began. He swore as his surroundings shook. "Damn it!"

Orna looked away, scanning the readouts the cruiser was displaying over its walls. Miranda saw his eyes narrowing. "Sir," she began for Hood. "More Elites are on their way, what should we do?"

The Arbiter moved, grabbing the purple armour of a nearby alien. "Name?" he demanded coarsely, reaching out to draw his fingers over the displays. They changed willingly.

This . . . thing . . . had killed so many humans from a bridge like this one. Miranda swallowed.

"Usze 'Taham," the Elite responded willingly, eagerly even. His eyes seemed to glow and the skin on his mandibles flushed blue.

The Arbiter hesitated, doing a double take. Miranda wondered if he was smiling. His expression certainly changed, however indefinable.

"'Taham?" he repeated, his voice growing warmer. "'Taham, are you comfortable with target mapping?"

"Arbiter?" Miranda interrupted, satisfied when he at least turned towards her.

"We can target those cruisers," he said, gesturing to the two depicted over the moon. "We can take them out before they can return fire, if we act quickly. The Dreadnought is too heavily armoured and already entering the atmosphere, we can't - "

"The Chief's on that ship," Miranda told him. "Lord Hood's held off."

"Keyes." Hood's voice was low. "The Chief's about to leave that thing, if you can get down there, you can help him. There are Covenant . . ." he hesitated, glancing down, "Loyalists down there."

"We will help you," Rtas said simply. "N'tho 'Sraom has been preparing a data file for your soldiers. The Loyalists are nothing to us." He latched upon the phrase.

Again, the Arbiter seemed amused by something. He approached Miranda once more, crouching to meet her eyeline. "I will be of more use to you on the ground. Let Rtas command this ship with you. I will go with your marines."

Miranda could felt that crackle again, that jolt of static across her skin. "I need a cool head here," she said. "And you seem to know your way about a ship." As he drew breath to protest, she reached out to put her hand on his suit. It stung for a moment, the discharge of energy, before it settled. "Arbiter. You fought bravely on Halo, but Councillor 'Talsamee told me a little of your history, mentioned that you might have some score to settle with the Prophets."

The Arbiter stiffened, straightening slowly. "Do you know what I am?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave. "I am the Arbiter. I am the Blade of the Prophets. I am all that the Covenant aspires to and I am all that shall be forgiven. I am atonement. I am the dervish of justice and reason that shall sweep infidels and heresy from this earth. I am shamed and I am ascended from that shame. I am also a father, and a mate, and a son of a Sangheili no one cared for. My daughter is dead. I have sons fighting somewhere, sons who will undoubtedly be targeted for who I am. No one, no human, no Sangheili and no Forerunner shall hold me back from my vengeance. I will have the Prophets' heads. I will have Truth's head." He glared at her, his stony gaze belying no sympathy for her mere concerns for her species.

Miranda counted silently, waiting until five. She could feel a smile tugging at her lips. "Well I guess I can't stop you. Take one of those U-Boat dropships of yours and get going. Recover the Master Chief. Take out the Prophets. And Arbiter? Good luck."

The Priestess and the Warrior - Erudite Celebrant
Date: 29 May 2008, 9:00 pm

Erudite Celebrant
Author: Jillybean
AN: A 'concise' (considering this fic is very long) explanation of the previous chapters can be found here, http://hboff.bungie.org/viewtopic.php?t=5272 I'll also take the time to remind old readers and inform new readers that this fic was started before we knew as much about the Covenant. The human terms (eg Elite, Brute) are military slang terms when used within the Covenant. If Saia is to say 'Brute' she is not being polite.
###


"Damn this heat." The human marine drew his fingers along the collar of his army issue shirt. "I can't stand it. I wasn't bred for this, you know? I'm from Shillady. It's not like we have long Indian summers. I hate it."

"Marine," Johnson growled, rolling his head on his neck, "if you don't stow it I will feed you to squid face."

Orna took no offence. He wasn't sure what a 'squid' was, his translator didn't come up with anything appropriate and left it as the peculiar, elongated human sounds. For him the moist heat was bearable, his suit wicking away the moisture from the close air. He preferred the arid heat of his homeworld, but he could tolerate this easily. One of the heavy green fronds brushed over his shoulder, dislodging water droplets on those behind him.

"There, that oughtta refresh you," another marine joked. "April showers."

"It ain't April."

"Oh shut your trap."

Orna caught sight of 'Usze's armour flashing in the sunlight. The young Sangheili was good, undoubtedly, but badly trained. The purple metal should have been invisible, shaded by the good foliage on offer here. This ravine was so clouded by plant life that Orna could barely see the Sergeant at the head of the procession. He had sent 'Usze to scout ahead, preferably uphill, and had held hopes that 'Usze might have been from the same school as Rtas. So few were these days. So many had been killed in the Jiralhanae Rebellion, and those that weren't had retired. Orna had lamented before about this new crop, pledging a case to the Hierarchs that he couldn't be expected to defeat the humans if his army was so dilapidated. A feral grin stole over his features and he glanced back at the diminutive creatures following him.

"What are you looking at?" muttered the cantankerous soul.

"You really don't like us, do you?" demanded N'tho. He shot Orna a rebellious look. "We are trying to help," he pointed out, in a quieter voice.

"Do you expect the humans to forgive and forget?" Orna asked, raising his voice.

"Damn right you shouldn't," the marine continued his mutterings.

Forcing himself to slacken his grip on his gun, Orna concentrated on his footing. "I don't."

Don't. Didn't. Wouldn't, perhaps, he wouldn't allow himself to expect more than their aid. His body ached with the effort of convincing himself he needed their help. His body still twinged from fighting the Flood. He was not as young as he used to be. And so that was why he needed these humans. And their allegiance allowed him free rein on their planet.

"Excellency?" N'tho prompted him, his concerned expression shaking Orna more than his tone.

"Yes?"

N'tho hesitated, stepping closer in a vain attempt at excluding the humans watching them. The forest dripped with humidity, the air condensing on the wide leaves, water steadily falling from leaf to ground. Animals, Terran animals that Orna had never seen, made their noises as they moved. Perhaps the humans would allow his people to hunt here. The young Sangheili dipped his head. "Should we wait here? They think they have found the Demon."

Noticing 'Usze lope back towards them, Orna nodded curtly. "If the Demon is close, he knows we are close," he warned Johnson as the marine led off.

"I know," Johnson muttered. "That's what worries me."

The humans moved out, leaving the three Sangheili waiting under the canopy. "It looks like a crater," 'Usze announced. "Fell hard and fast. I don't think anything could have survived that."

"Have you fought the Demon?" N'tho asked quickly, lurching around. He still moved as though he was uncomfortable in his armour, his right eye scrunching closed.

'Usze shook his head. "I have not. I was not favoured by the Prophets." His dry tone only served to inspire the younger Sangheili and Orna shook his head, rolling his shoulders as he walked away from them.

"Why?" N'tho murmured, his voice still carrying in the heavy air.

"I refused a position with the Honour Guard."

"It's lucky you did, as it turned out."

"Luck had nothing to do with it. Nor divine intervention."

Divine intervention. That was a nice thought. Orna skulked lower to the ground, tracing a path through the undergrowth that would disturb as few plants as possible. The foliage on this planet was delicate, he could not hope to stalk silently. He could hear Johnson. "Stay sharp."

"What about you? You're not long out of training, are you?"

"Service," N'tho said, with the right amount of humility for a Sangheili who didn't care for promotion, would serve his time, and leave the military.

"His armour's locked up. Gel layer could have taken most of the impact . . ."

"What are you going to do when it's over?" 'Usze asked.

N'tho did reply straight away.

"Radio for VTOL, heavy lifting gear. We're not leaving him here."

"Will you go home?" 'Usze pressed.

"Yeah." Orna stiffened. That voice was familiar. That voice pervaded his mind. He hulked closer to the ground, wondering if he could have imagined it. "You're not."

"I don't have much to go to home to," N'tho whispered.

His active camouflage was on. He had moments at best, the generator was fried. I don't have much to go home to . . . no, nor do I, Brother. Orna stepped forwards, his fists tightening around his carbine. The Demon saw before Johnson, was moving even as Orna's shields gave up. Orna reared backwards, the abnormally tall Spartan shoving a pistol into the sensitive roof of his mouth. The gunmetal tasted acidic, a little blood trickled down Orna's throat. The others, the humans, they flurried around like snowflakes above a fire.

Go ahead, Demon. Pull the trigger.

Slowly, the Demon removed the gun, paying more attention to Johnson than Orna did. He snorted softly, feeling that rush of anger and fear leave him. The heat left his mind and he was aware of their surroundings, of the two young Sangheili behind him. The Demon stepped backwards. Tasting blood in his mouth, Orna growled. "Were it so easy."

"Arbiter?" It was 'Usze, moving into the clearing, weapon in hand. He took in the tableau and, with the kind of thinking that would earn him a promotion in time, he turned to Johnson. "The Brutes have our scent. They'll be here soon."

Nodding, Johnson tugged his flak jacket down into place. "Then they must love the smell of bad ass!" With a wave of his arm he assembled his men. "And I left a present for you, Arbiter. And I'm walking away." He cackled, cracking forwards into the lead.

###

Saia was beginning to believe. Her hand splayed over the top of the crater. The Earth's crust soaked up heat from the sun and baked her palm. She glanced back at the Dreadnought, towering above the plain. She didn't dare look down to see how far she had climbed. She hadn't attempted an exercise like this since she was a much younger Sangheili.

Draping the upper half of her body over the top of the cliff, she pulled herself to safety, her shaking muscles giving out her. Out in the open, she was not far enough from the Dreadnought to take this time to relax. Although her mind argued she should make for the shade of the rocks and mountains, she remained splayed out on the cliff top. Her arms and legs were weakened by the climb and the flood of relief. Far above her, the whine of a Phantom pressed home the need to run. The Brutes would have no problem with killing her . . . no Jiralhanae would, even if they knew exactly who she was when they found her. At the moment she was dressed in the simple gel suit that went under armour. It was designed to keep her cool or warm as environment dictated. It had protected her on her flight from the Dreadnought, her escape under darkness, and her climb in the morning hours. Only her hands were scratched and cut from the sharp rocks.

This planet was beautiful. She opened her eyes to consider it. Yellow rocks bleached by the sun were artfully thrown together under an azure sky. It reminded her of Faithful Bride, the planet she had grown up on before moving to High Charity to join the Convent. If the Covenant had ever conquered the humans she would have happily considered a second home here. Her villa in the mountains of Sangheilos was too perfect to give up all together. The easterly breeze in the mornings brought the taste of snow with it, requiring Lekgolo wool shawls if one wanted to dine out for breakfast. That was her favourite thing. A late morning breakfast on the balcony overlooking the canyon and snowmelt river that would lead down into the bustling capital city, where the heat was dry and cracked soft skin, but up in the mountains it was pleasant.

Easing herself onto all fours, she crawled towards the rocks, settling in the crevasse between boulders.

The sun climbed in the sky. Multilegged exo-skeletoned creatures scuttled around her, going about their daily business, and Saia felt her body regain control. When she felt capable, she stood, and limped away from the plains where the Dreadnought had landed.

And where, Priestess, are you going?

Resolutely not listening to the inner voice, she followed the terrain as it rose and fell, coming to a stop when she reached a long, flat construct. She hesitated, standing on the black rock and feeling the slightly tacky texture under her hooves. It smelled too, of oil and . . . something she couldn't register. "This is a road," she murmured, studying the lines. Now the thought had come to her, she wondered why she hadn't seen it earlier. Although her mental image of a road was of the curving indigo lines, ready to cushion hover pads to stop them veering off, this fit better with what she had seen of human technology. The black too, they favoured earthy colours, colours that blended. It seemed to her that humans didn't strive for the heavens, they were happy to wallow down here in the dirt.

She thought of her villa. She had rejected much of the heavenly aesthetic that the Covenant's cities were built around. None of the glorious colours of the Forerunner could be seen in her home, except for when they were woven into some of the Unggoy art she adored so much.

But road meant people. People brought the chance of being discovered. Swallowing, she crossed the stretch of black rock and moved into the banks of sand and boulder that would disguise her.

The possibility of being caught was looming in her mind. Human or Prophet, which was worse?

###

"'Usze!" The marine dropped to one knee, taking aim and firing a steady stream of bullets at the Brute looming above 'Usze's prone form. The Brute stalled, jerking backwards as his shields fought the onslaught.

Orna could hear his shields beeping, warning him against staying out in the open any longer. He lunged for the crate that had fallen into the river bed, he rolled in the water as his shields gave out with a fizzing sound. Pressed against the crate, he lifted his carbine and eyed the charge left in its battery.

"Come on, King Kong," the marine hollered. "Take me if you dare."

From his position, Orna could see the human's face. The helmet was crammed down low on its brow, but Orna could see the pale skin. From what he knew, this human looked terrified. Dropping its spent rifle, the marine reached for a side arm, continuing firing as the Brute roared furiously.

The building hum of Orna's shields was too slow.

"Come on, you bastard," the marine hissed, more to himself than anyone else. His weight on the loose shale bank of the river bed was sending tiny stones tumbling into the water.

"Infidel!" the Brute bellowed, coming into view. It raised an arm, ready to swipe the marine aside.

"Move!" Orna roared, leaping forwards with plasma grenade active in his hand. He saw the marine drop into the water, the Brute turn with deceptive nimbleness. With sure aim, Orna planted the grenade, continuing his run into the forest as the plasma exploded. The Brute's anguished howl was cut short and Orna was tossed forwards by the impact. He landed on the dirt painfully, all the air expelled from his single lung. Grunting and gasping, he scrabbled for purchase against the loose earth.

"Gotcha." Someone pulled Orna to his feet with ease. The Demon's visor flashed in the sunlight as he shouldered his shotgun, steadying Orna until he was ready to stand.

Straightening to his full height, Orna looked down upon the Spartan. His mandibles faltered on 'thanks', he could taste the swollen, hot lump on the roof of his mouth. Between the trees, the moment passed, and the Demon turned away. "'Usze," Orna called out, stalking back to the river. The river was cloudy with blood and dirt, but with no fallen marines, thank the Gods . . .

"Thanks," the marine called out to Orna. His colour was returning and he was sitting with 'Usze. "I don't know the first thing about patching you guys together . . ."

Orna didn't question the marine's strange altruism, and he suppressed his guilt at not thanking the Demon. Aware that the other marines and N'tho were watching them curiously, he crouched down beside 'Usze. "He is not badly hurt, a little concussed I think. He owes you his life," he added to the marine, infusing his tone with all the gravitas he could muster. Even N'tho seemed to reel from this revelation.

"I do," 'Usze coughed.

"Not a problem," the marine assured him, patting 'Usze on the shoulder. It was such a simple gesture, something that Orna might have expected N'tho to do, or something he might have done himself, that Orna was forced to step away from the pair.

"We'd best move on," he said.

"Wait." The Demon's low voice sounded almost amused. "Patterson, how far now?"

"I reckon about half a klick," the female marine responded. Orna had gone to great trouble to memorise her gender. Poor N'tho had already made that blunder.

"We ready to move out?" the Demon asked, surveying their small band. "Then let's go."

###

Saia could smell Brutes. The scent of the Jiralhanae pervaded the air. She crouched low to the ground, listening out for the tell tale grunts and snorts that would announce their presence. The sun beat down on her shoulder blades, she could feel the skin at the nape of her neck beginning to blister.

"Valitous," a gravelly voice called out, "there's a report of more humans back at the gully."

"Is Tronus back?"

"No."

For a moment, Valitous was silent. Saia pressed her back against the stone and closed her eyes, slowing her breathing. The Brute spoke again. "We cannot spare any further Jiralhanae. Send the Unggoy and Kigyar if there are any left."

"The Prophets will not be pleased . . ."

"Then we will not fail."

Sliding her foot along the rock, Saia began to edge away from the voices. She shivered as a breeze whipped over her head, her sweaty skin was chilled.

"Wait," Valitous announced, his command coming out in a snarl. "Sangheili!"

Springing forwards, Saia ran back in the direction she had come, taking the smaller boulders at a bound. This headlong flight was dangerous, she would fall and snap her neck if she continued. Stumbling as the rocks gave way to dry, compacted earth, she risked a look back over her shoulder. Two Brutes were looming over the top of the boulders, one sighting her with his pistol. The third, a brawny creature with braided hair over his shoulders, was barrelling towards her. She would never make it. The Brute reached her, forcing her to the side with a ferocious backswipe. Bouncing off the rocks, she cried out, stifling her own screams as the Brute lifted her by the back of the neck.

"A female," the Brute she recognised as Valitous was practically purring as he carried her back to his comrades. "This is interesting."

"I'm starving," muttered the underling, licking his lips.

Frantic kicking was getting her nowhere, and the pinch of Valitous's hands against her neck was making her dizzy. From this new vantage point she saw a stretch of desert, spotted with troops and a single Covenant cruiser above them, dropping Phantoms like mites.

"A female," Valitous repeated, dropping her to the soft earth. "Why are you here, heretic?"

"Your Gods are false," Saia spat into the dirt.

"I know you." Crouching, Valitous's tilted his head as he contemplated her. His fur bristled. "I do know you," he announced, pleased with himself. "My honoured brothers, we have a distinguished guest."

"For dinner?" muttered the underling.

"No," Valitous was softly spoken, reaching out to lift Saia by the shoulder. "You are the High Priestess. I recognise you. Even without that ridiculous headdress."

She stared up at him, nausea clawing at her belly. "That's blasphemy. That headdress was ceremonial."

Smirking, Valitous gave her a little push. "We'll take her back to Truth. He may have a use for her. Perhaps against the Arbiter."

Losing her balance as he shoved her, Saia gritted her mandibles together. "My mate is dead," she snarled at him.

"Hah." Valitous shook his head. "He's punching a hole through our defences with the Demon and the rest of the damned."

Turning so he wouldn't see her expression, Saia knew she was pathetically transparent none the less. Orna was alive. He had survived what had happened on the Sacred Ring.

"Your mate killed my cousin," Valitous murmured. "In the rebellion."

"Your Prophet killed my daughter," Saia responded softly. "Let's see which one of us lasts the longest."

The Priestess and the Warrior - Serendipity
Date: 20 June 2008, 12:55 pm

The Priestess and the Warrior
Author: Jillybean
Serendipity

Saia 'Lyeuum. A daughter. A beautiful, intelligent daughter with wit and grace. A daughter who Saia had spent so little time with.

Placing one foot in front of the other, on this alien planet, surrounded by Brutes, Saia dredged up memories that were fading with time and use. She remembered her daughter's body, rotting on that Gods forsaken planet that she had been murdered on. Saia remembered seeing the pistol in her hand. She remembered seeing the plasma burn on the little flesh that remained, and how her friends had tried to keep her away from it.

Things she had never allowed her mate to see. Not if she could spare him that.

The Jiralhanae reached forwards to push at her shoulder and she stepped up the pace, avoiding the force behind the movement. Her hooves tripped at the loose shale and she groaned, rolling her head backwards on her neck, feeling the muscles pop.

"Not used to this, are you?" Valitous asked her, his long loose gait eating the distance between them. He was walking beside her now, his trailing knuckles brushing over the scrub grass that was took root in the arid landscape. "You are pathetic."

With a wave of her hand, more suited to occasions of greeting her adoring crowd, she dismissed him. "I'm tired. We all get tired."

Valitous laughed, a guttural laugh that echoed in Saia's ears. He watched her side-on, beady eyes narrowing. "You're weak. You've spent your life in a tower."

"Your grasp of architecture astounds me. The convent is indeed built around seven spires."

Shaking his head slowly, Valitous allowed himself a huff of exasperation. "I was too young to fight in the rebellion, but my mother fought, I believe she had a right to. You, Priestess, have spent your life directing people to fight on your whims. When the Great Journey comes, you will receive justice for my people."

"The Great Journey is for devoted mothers," Saia retorted, "is that not what the Prophets teach? Some small heresy of yours. Pray the Forerunner look kindly upon it." She sidestepped Valitous's blow, and sped up to leave him behind her.

She had never thought of herself as a religious soul. She had been very young when she had discovered the Forerunner did not care what she did or whom she talked to. Once, as a child in the Convent, still forbidden from leaving its smooth walls, she had found herself in the great hall late at night. Her mentor, 'Solatta, had retired to bed early, feeling unwell.

It had been after the Festival of the Arbiter. Now, Saia knew that 'Solatta had drank a little too much wine and danced with too many Majors, but she had once been naïve enough to believe 'Solatta's explanation.

In the cool darkness of the vaulted hall, lit only by shivering holographic martyrs, she had found a lone Sangheili sprawled over the steps to the altar. He had a bottle by his side, and was humming softly as he languished in the night. She had approached him, wilfully ignoring the warnings she had been given in the past about Ultras and Honour Guards who might think above their station. She had seen older Priestesses with their preferred rank before. None of them had paid her any attention. She was too young, and their consorts would whisper as she passed – that is Saia 'Jalahass – and they would keep far from her, lest her family's ire cast a shadow upon their reputation.

This Sangheili had no such care. When he spied her skulking in the shadows he beckoned her over. "Well, little one?" he had asked her, tilting his head as though he had difficulty in seeing her. "Have you enjoyed the Festival?"

She had been so young, she still had down on her neck, she hadn't understood what it meant for him to have a brand over his right mandibles. Ignoring his question, she asked him what he was doing, and curiously, she had added that she hoped he wouldn't find trouble for his activities. She wasn't supposed to be in the great hall, but neither was he.

He had laughed, scratching at the old brand thoughtfully. "Sleep well, Priestess. Run along and don't worry about me."

"You're drunk." She accused him. She wouldn't have done so if she had known he was a convicted murderer.

"Yes I am. But I deserve to be. I have lived another day." Heaving to his feet, his loose robes rustling as he did so, he wavered for a moment before raising his bottle to the ghostly spectres that watched them from the pedestals. "Do you hear me, friends? I have lived while you wallow in the great waiting room for our Great Journey." Taking a deep swig from the bottle, he spilled droplets onto his neck. The bottle had been designed for Unggoy use, with a narrow neck, instead of the widened lip the Sangheili needed to use for their mandibles. Saia smelled the acrid alcohol and backed away, wanting to leave the poor soul alone. He saw her, his attention fixing upon her. "You don't know what service you provide to the likes of me," he said, mocking her with a sweeping bow and his insincere words.

She had always remembered the encounter. A little research on his brand told her the soldier was a murderer, with three unwarranted kills to his name. He had been most likely kept alive because he was a good soldier, though how he had made it into the Convent, she never guessed. When feeling particularly maudlin or heretical, she would think back to him and thank the Forerunner that he had not chosen to kill her. Now she did not believe, she had no one to ascribe the act of good fortune to. It was a moment of serendipity with no one to guide it.

"Hold, Valitous," one of the Jiralhanae said, raising his hand. "Do you hear that?"

Saia didn't. Her hearing was not so acute.

Valitous turned, the echo of his lumbering steps fading out as he stopped to listen. Only Saia saw the grass in front of them ripple, the heads of seed bending as something moved towards them. Saia stepped to her right, clearing the way for whatever it was to the Brutes behind her. Ducking to the ground, she crouched on the grass as a blur of a cloaking shield whipped over her head. The physical attack was unexpected and Valitous tumbled, roaring with fury. His fist connected against metal and the shield shorted out, revealing a special operations Sangheili, the hilt of his plasma sword gripped between his mandibles as he fastened both hands around Valitous's neck.

"Move!" a voice whispered by Saia's ear. Another Sangheili grabbed her arm, tugging her into the long grass. He was bleeding from under his helmet and his armour hissed occasionally. "I don't know what you're doing here," he said, handing her a pistol, "but I hope you can aim." Spinning, he fired at the advancing Brutes and unloaded a whole clip from his Needler. The Brute convulsed before falling, another of the Sangheili task force finishing him with a sword.

The battle was over quickly, Valitous falling last of all. He sprawled on the earth, his eyes rolling backwards into his skull while the black armoured Sangheili who killed him straightened slowly. He was still panting, wiping sweat from the skin that was revealed by his armour. "I don't know who you are," he drawled, his gaze sliding towards her, "but you better have a damn good reason for being here. Captured by the humans? Smuggled after your lover?"

She blinked, staring at the Sangheili. He was handsome enough, his orange eyes would have been very attractive had they not been narrowed with suspicion. His outer colony accent didn't make him sound slow like it did for others, and his fellows grouped beside him expectantly. Wrinkling her brow, she eyed him. "Do I look young enough to sneak after my lover?" she retorted.

He jerked his head to one of his subordinates, who took the unspoken order to leave. Saia presumed he was going to scout ahead. Placing the hilt of his plasma sword on his hip, he extended a hand for her to elbow. "Sen 'Nakomo," he introduced himself.

"'Nakomo?" she repeated, returning the gesture limply.

"I do not go by the Forerunner 'honorific'," he warned her. "What about you?"

"Saia 'Jalahass," she said, and while their minds made the leap from knowing to comprehending, she continued "And I'm not sure what part of my name is the honorific, and which is the Sangheili."

###

"Where'd you find him?"

Orna caught Commander Keyes' gaze and nodded, knowing she would rather greet her kinsman than him. Besides, he was about to infringe upon the human hospitality even further, and he didn't know how they would take it. The Kig Yar were notoriously difficult for sharing their medical supplies. Perhaps the humans would be the same.

The hangar had plenty of injured humans in it, and a bright red sign for the human health industry was daubed over one corner. He turned to help Usze from the Pelican to find that the diminutive human was already trying to prop him up.

"Hey, Mac!" shouted the human. "Do you reckon an anti-coagulant will work on Uzi, here?"

"Usze," Orna corrected, about to come to the other side of his comrade before N'tho beat him to it. The younger Sangheili's eyes were wide with concern and he looked to Orna for reassurance.

The human that had been addressed as Mac looked doubtful at first, but was already looking through his crates of equipment. "It should do, blood's blood, right?"

"Yeah." Lowering Usze onto an especially low pallet bed, the marine waited to make sure he wasn't about to topple over. "Sorry, what did I call you?"

"It's fine," Usze murmured, "I find your name difficult, Shann."

"Sean," the marine repeated, peeling his lips back in the human version of a smile. "What about you?" he asked, looking up at Orna.

"He has no name," N'tho said quickly, raising a hand to stop Sean from making a cultural blunder. He treated Sean like a child, Orna thought, though not especially skilfully. It was easy to see N'tho had no Hatchlings of his own.

"Here," Mac said to Usze. "Take off your armour. Let's see how this works."

"Wait here with him," Orna instructed N'tho. "Thank you," he said to the marines, turning and loping off after the Chief and Commander.

"The Prophet of Truth's ships breached the Lunar Perimeter. They smashed what's left of the home fleet," Keyes was saying. "Terrestial casualties from the subsequent bombardment were extreme. Truth could have landed anywhere, but he committed all his forces here, East Africa, the ruins of New Mombassa." Glancing to Orna she raised her head in acknowledgment of his presence. "Then he started digging."

While she filled in the Chief, Orna let his mind detach. All his limbs were present and accounted for, working well and not too sore. His shoulder, an old injury that acted up from time to time, was working well in the humidity. He caught sight of a marine working with an Engineer, the purple blob of a creature humming contentedly with itself as it worked. "Are you watching it?" he demanded of the human, pointing to the Engineer as it lifted a human tool and produced sparks from one end.

"Yeah, but," the marine shrugged, "I have no idea if this is good or bad? It left me behind half an hour ago. It brought our generators back up though. Your Ship Commander said we could trust it. He said they only care about fixing things?"

"That is true." Keeping his gaze on the creature's activities, Orna huffed in dissatisfaction. "Be careful. They do not register bugs or explosives. They make sure it works. They make sure everything works."

"Yes sir," the marine responded automatically.

Sir. Trying not to smirk at the human's assumption of command, Orna turned back to those who were in charge. The Chief was waiting, his armour giving no sense of the kinetic energy the creature inside could generate. Orna had seen him rarely, but watched the holovids religiously. He had formed a think tank to combat the Spartans, the Demons of Unggoy legend, something else he would neglect to tell the humans.

The Chief was asking the right questions, briefing himself as quickly as possible on their situation. Orna couldn't have asked for a better soldier. When the lights went down, the Chief was quick to thumb on his torch, his visor glinting as he twisted to look to Orna.

"You are all of you vermin," Truth's visage flickered on screen.

The humans tensed or swore or joked, as their personalities dictated their reactions to this apparition. Orna clenched his fists, digging his talons into the flesh of his palm. He felt his warm blood pulsing against his fingertips.

He would feel Truth's blood pumping under his hands . . .

The humans were quick to regain control, banishing Truth from the room.

"Cocky bastard," Johnson muttered, holding Orna's gaze. "Always loves to run his mouth."

Forcing himself to nod in agreement, Orna made a conscious effort to relax his fists.

"Does he usually mention me?" the Chief asked quietly.

Orna's head snapped around so fast he could hear his neck crack.

"Give the order, we're closing shop," Keyes was saying, brushing past him to reach her marines. She lifted a gun, firing out orders as she went. Orna grimaced, following along behind. Though what good he would be, he wasn't sure. He was just the sword of the Prophets, after all.

###

"Your mate is out of communication range," Sen said to Saia, dropping into a crouch by the stream. The gravel under his hooves crunched together and he reached into the clear water to run his hands through it. "A phantom will come to pick us up soon."

She nodded as she listened, not paying him much attention. The human weapons that Sen and his team had incorporated into their arsenal looked like a mere military necessity when she had first cast eyes upon them. She didn't think anything of a rifle here or shotgun there. It had been the pride in Sen's eyes when he had told her of this alliance with the humans, an alliance that Orna spearheaded. Easing herself down onto a boulder that received some shade from the tree's sparse foliage, she turned to watch him. "You seem pleased about these humans working with us."

Sen shrugged a shoulder and instead of watching her, watched his team as they cleaned up. "It's a better alliance that the one with the Prophets, Priestess."

"I'm not a Priestess any more," she said, the words tasting of dirt.

"Jalahass," Sen conceded. It seemed grossly informal. "After this you will be able to retire." A grin coloured his features as he thought about it. "Do you have any hobbies you can take up?"

Bristling, she bit back her answers and looked up at the clouds drawing in. "Do you really think there will be an 'after this'?" she asked him.

"It's always been about after this," Sen told her. Splashing his face with the water, he nodded to his soldiers. "Come on. Let's get out of the open." Waiting for her to get to her feet, he extended an arm to help. "You may not know it, Jalahass, but some of us have been thinking along these lines for years."

Gritting her rows of teeth together, Saia nodded. "Perhaps you can educate me back on the cruiser."

###

The sight of Usze and N'tho prompted a cheer among the marines Orna was with. He glanced back at them as he coaxed their battered 'Hog up the incline to where reinforcements were waiting. The engine sputtered out as they reached their companions, Orna slamming the brakes before clambering out onto the tarmac. The Chief and the others had cleared enough for the Pelicans to land and they hovered among the wrecked signs and shipping crates like kiigg hesitant to perch.

"Sir!" Sean greeted him with a sharp salute. "We're about to head into the city, to take it back from Truth."

Orna nodded vaguely, waving him away. He could see the Chief, staring out over the plateau to the Dreadnought. Whenever the Demon stopped moving, he looked to Orna like a statue.

"Arbiter?" Usze pressed, his voice lower in pitch than the humans.

"We'll wait for our orders," Orna told him. He saw the Chief move fractionally. "Join up with the others," he informed the marines he'd been travelling with. Stay away from me.

The Priestess and the Warrior - Relive, Relieve
Date: 6 August 2008, 10:21 am

The Priestess and the Warrior
Author: Jillybean

Relive, Relieve

The sweat was gathering on N'tho's brow, a slick line that followed the young Sangheili's evident concern. A bead dripped onto his mandibles and he twitched them irritably, his fingers flexing over the barrel of his gun. He was pressed against a shipping crate, his shields whispering quietly from the pressure against the metal. His weight made his feet sink into the sandy ground, the drizzle from the storm front turning the dirt to mud. A human was crouched beside him, loading a clip into its assault rifle. Orna felt the tableau should be pictured, or commemorated in verse, Ode to Desperation. To Terror.

"What are you thinking?" The Chief said quietly, barely a crackle coming over his speakers.

Orna hesitated, confusion and surprise warring within him until he realised the Spartan was indicating to the AA gun on the horizon. The Spartan's metal encased head nodded towards the bursts of super heated plasma that arced into the sky. Breathing a sigh of relief, Orna turned his attention onto the hillock, bristling with Grunts and plasma cannons. "If we storm it we'll take heavy losses, but I don't see that we have another option."

The Chief grunted, silent for a moment as he contemplated that fate. "We have to get that gun down," he said, resigning himself to the loss.

"You are not the solider I thought you were," Orna said quickly, the words rushing to come out before common sense could stop them. He trained his gaze on a solitary Grunt on the perimeter.

"Nor you," the Chief murmured. He twisted so his visor pointed in Orna's direction. Orna had the feeling that if he could see the Chief's face, and accurately read human expressions, the Chief would be disappointed. He was a little disappointed in himself too. It was a hard nugget in his mind, the only part of him that felt anything other than tired and obedient.

The Chief drew his assault rifle, it unlocked from his armour with a clink, checked the sites, then handed it to a marine with a shake of his head, taking the human's needler instead. Orna thought it an odd choice, but perhaps he wasn't thinking of his own safety.

"Arbiter," Usze growled at him, brandishing a first aid kit. "You told me you would see to that bleeding."

The cut on Orna's forehead dripped into his right eye and he shoo his head. "That is a human kit."

"It works just as well." The Sangheili stood beside him, cracking the seal on the plastic before Orna had a chance to complain. "You would not have me explain how the Arbiter died of blood poisoning, would you?"

"One did," Orna said, watching with some fascination as Usze carefully peeled the wrapping off a gel pack. His long fingers found the human trappings awkward.

"There are more of you?" the Chief asked.

"Many more," Usze said, vehement. He pressed the gel against Orna's skin, concentrating on the skin of his superior, rather than the cyborg beside him.

Taking pity, Orna waved a hand at the Chief. "They're not likely to come for you, not unless we find ourselves unexpectedly and inexplicably on the Great Journey. And then we'll have bigger things to worry about. They're dead." He scrutinised the flat visor for any hint of emotion. "My rank is not supposed to live."

"The Hierarchs intended to kill you," Usze said, finishing up. He wiped his hands off on the ground, flicking congealed globules from his fingers. "But they needed you too badly."

"Needed me. Needed my supporters to think I was dead." Rising to his feet, Orna prodded the lump on his skull. The gel held fast, protecting the cut. "Form up," he called to the others, glancing to the Chief to give the final order. The helmet swivelled to the AA gun. The soldiers waited for an answer, holding in pattern that automatically placed N'tho to the right flank, where he could break away with his superior speed if needed. Orna gritted his teeth. "Move out," he told them, taking his own position upfront.

The Arbiter who had died of blood poisoning was Efne 'Zuhammee. Old style ballistic needlers had left him with improperly cauterised wound on his leg. Before his death, he destroyed three platoons of rebel Jiralhanae, succumbing to the fever as reinforcements arrived. Over two Ages ago. Orna's death wouldn't be so noble, he knew that now. Childish dreams of dying in battle had been replaced by lucky shot by a Kig-Yar, into the base of the skull and he'd know no more. He lay down suppressive fire for the Chief to reach the glowing base of the gun. White hot, the AA gun seemed to pulse with energy.

One of the workers fell, his arms splayed to break his fall. Orna crouched beside him, using his own shields to protect the human as one of the gun's legs crumpled and it fell, bringing rocks and trees with it down the cliff, thunder ringing out to echo its demise.

"All ships," Hood's voice crackled over the comm. "Fire at will!"

Reaching down to help the human off the yellow rocks, Orna turned his face towards the Dreadnought. His fingers dug into human's shoulders and it hissed in pain, flinching away from him.

Light exploded over the dark skies, the ships bucking away like shying animals, frightened of the Dreadnought's released power. The Chief froze, his suit making no motion, and on Orna's HUD he saw a confusing array of signals, the Spartan pinging KIA. With a whine so eerie it would have ruffled his feathers if he had still been a Hatchling, the Dreadnought sent a pulse of energy upwards. It became so bright, Orna looked away, shielding his face with his arm. Perhaps this would kill him. A sudden death, with so many others, just one more with no one left to grieve.

Ignoble.

Unworthy of him really.

The human worker cried out again, the light blinding it.

Orna twisted, arching his body over the human. "Get behind me," he growled, "hold fast."

"What did Truth just do?" Hood demanded, his lungs giving out as he spluttered his way through his demands.

Giving the human a gentle push back to his comrades, Orna approached the Chief. The fire tingled over his skin still as the Dreadnought rose in the air.

"No, sir, but he certainly did something," Keyes announced.

The Dreadnought rose, reaching the suspended glowing orb in the sky with all the gentleness of a kiss. Now Truth was going to escape, to trigger the Great Journey, or simply bring more suffering to races who had suffered too much too often for too long. The fire was being absorbed through his skin, into his muscles and bones, into his mind, burning away the soft, reedy mess of fear that had allowed dust to gather. He threw back his head, barrelling out his chest, and he let out a roar of dignity.

"Evac wounded and regroup. Wherever Truth went . . ."

"Sir! New contacts slipping in!"

Yes let them come, Orna thought, seeing a billowing cloud rip across the skies. "What is it?" he said to the Chief, trusting to the sensors in his suit, better than Orna's eyes. The Spartan was certainly more able to grasp situations, refusing to give orders when Orna found himself weakened. "More Brutes?"

The Chief seemed to shiver, his armour giving away only the barest hints of movement. "Worse."

Now the ship was closer, breaking through the storm front. Orna almost thought he smelled the stench of death. "Get the workers to an evac point," he hissed to Usze. "Now." To his credit, Usze didn't hesitate, herding his charges towards the belly of a Pelican. "Gather all the short range heavy projectile weapons you can find, the, uh," Orna hesitated, raising a hand to his head as he thought, his fingers accidentally brushing his tender wound, "shotguns, yes! The human shotguns, and if we have any carbines they'll work too." He turned away from the hill, casting his gaze over those who remained. "You're wounded," he noted of one marine, who clutched his arm to his side. "Go."

"Sir, I can fight."

"Go, or I will have you escorted to the Pelican," Orna snapped at him. His teeth clacked together, the marine paled and left, limping from the hillock to the ground beneath him. Orna nodded, taking a deep breath as he regarded the task force before him. "Chief, we will not have long. If the Flood have landed on your planet, it must be cleansed. Do you have flamethrowers?"

"There are few within the city, with other squads," another marine responded. She too looked pale, but her grip was steady on the shotgun she had acquired.

"Then we go, defend the city as long as we can. If we can cleanse the ship, maybe this planet can be saved. Move out."

###

Sen landed on the scored flooring of the Shadow of Intent, turning to help Saia off the drop ship as though she was a dignitary visiting to bless the hull. Or a frail old Prophet who could should accept the use of his chair. She took his hand none the less, wobbling a little as she felt the ship's gravity on her.

"Nakomo," shouted an Unggoy deckmaster, his grizzled face contorting as it saw Saia. "What are you doing? Who's this?"

Sen took a step forwards, raising a hand. "I have to speak to the Ship Master."

"Hah!" The Unggoy threw its head back and cackled. "Now? The Flood has landed upon the human planet and R'tas wants the whole thing glassed. There's no time to speak to the Ship Master!"

Before Sen could argue, Saia placed a hand on his arm. "Take me to the bridge," she said in a low voice. "I've met R'tas Vadumee once or twice, he served under my mate. I can't let him glass this planet."

Sen's eyes narrowed and he turned to her, clicking thoughtfully. "He doesn't need this in the middle of a battle."

"My mate is still down there," she hissed. "And our allies, the human allies you were so proud of when we were back down there with them. Take me to the bridge, you can leave after that, he need not know your involvement. Come on!" Tugging him towards the corridors, she noticed the battle scarring all over the [I]Intent. She had seen plenty of gunfire in her halls. The ship and her crew looked as though they had been dragged over hot coals to prove themselves. How had they taken this fleet from the Sacred Ring to Earth? In the face of this order, her plan to simply stop Truth by being there felt hollow.

Sen led her through the wide hallways, ignoring the few crew they met, and none recognised Saia. The guard on the door of the Bridge paid them little attention, allowing them access to the control centre. The darkness was broken only by the flickering holo screens, the ship's many AI holding off the drones. She saw R'tas standing on the podium, his armour stained with blood and dented from his last battle. He had his head tilted to one side as he listened to a human voice coughing through the speakers. Half his jaws had been ripped away, leaving a stump that twitched as though trying to express disgust. Saia almost stepped back, shocked as always by the disfigurement. It had turned his once plain but pleasant face into the stuff of nightmares, hatchlings would point in the street, females would certainly recoil. But then, he didn't have a mate, did he? Too poor to offer a dowry.

"You are running out of time, Lord Hood, the Flood must be stopped!"

"That's our home" the human responded, a hacking cough cutting him off.

"And it will be destroyed, by the Flood or by glassing. We'll help you evacuate one." R'tas reached forwards to end the communication, catching sight of the newcomers on the bridge as he did so.

For a moment Saia was sure she wouldn't be recognised, that her hopes had been pinned too high on this bloodless, hideous individual. But then R'tas's body convulsed as though he was about to bow but stopped himself. She raised a hand. "No cause for formality, R'tas, my institution is burned to the ground by now. At least I should hope."

"'Jalahass," he said, bowing his head to offer some sign of respect. "We had thought you died on High Charity."

"You - " she paused, her steps faltering. "You did?"

"There were no reports of you on the evacuated fleet. We assumed the worst. One of your aides said you stayed at the convent till the last. It's what many would have expected from you," he added, narrowing his gaze. "You condemned your mate for heresy after all."

Suddenly, without armour or robes or ceremony, Saia felt quite exposed. "Would you have had me support him? Then we both would have been executed, and our children too. The hierarch was not impenetrable, I knew he would be saved for the Arbiter. I did what I had to do. Does he know I'm alive?"

"He thinks you're dead. He will be too if we don't evac that planet."

"You can't," she began, stopping herself with a little dignity left intact. "I won't beg, but you can't do much worse than to kill the Arbiter, R'tas. Our society has been shot through the heart, we can't survive if we lose everything."

"No?" He spun on her. "We use this opportunity now! The Councillors are useless, your convent was merely a tool of the Prophets. The poor were crushed underfoot, the bloodless had even less. Those poor kiggari who chose to invoke the ancient warrior right of mating were hated by their females and their mates, their children had no great honour. And if you chose to be noble and leave females to the mates they had chosen you had better hope you had a dowry worth shouting about. You have no idea."

A chill settled down Saia's spine. She took one step closer, so she stood at the foot of the ramp and had to gaze up at the commander towering above her. "I have done more for the plight of our species than you could ever imagine. I have risked my life, the life of my mate, the lives of our family to do the work that my convent has never been able to speak of. I was never the puppet of the Prophets. They hated me, would have had me ousted, if I was not so popular with the crowds at every blessing. I blessed you, did I not? You all devoured the lies I gave you, so don't try to blame me for our problems. And now my mate and our allies are on that planet and you want to glass it, I will not allow it."

"How will you stop me?" he snorted.

She pointed over his shoulder to one holoscreen. "That is the continent, is it not? It's isolated, water all around it. Refine your fire to that landmass, it saves most of the planet."

"And if the Flood spread?"

"Then do it quickly."

R'tas glowered at her, waving imperiously. "Take her away, but make sure she's comfortable at least."

"Think about it," Saia implored, as Sen took her by the elbow and led her away, murmuring a hundred apologies as they moved off down the corridors. He brought her at last to what would have been the guest of honour suite, placing his palm on the door lock as the AI made a soft enquiry. "Something wrong?" Saia asked, narrowing her eyes as Sen stared the reading.

The doors parted and a fully adorned Councillor stood before them, in ceremonial silver armour, headdress bearing the legend of her constituents. She gasped when she saw Saia, her throat muscles going slack in a way that would be unattractive on most Sangheili, but only made Fera 'Talsamee more beautiful. She surged forwards, extending both elbows in a gesture of delighted greeting, leaving Saia with nothing to do but clasp them awkwardly in her hands. "Saia 'Jalahass, oh it is so good to see you!"

"Really?" Saia managed, her voice coming out in a squeak.

"Yes," 'Talsamee said vehemently. She shook her head. "We though you were dead!"

"Because of you I nearly was. Traitor."

Sen stepped between them while 'Talsamee drew back as though wounded. "Priestess," he began. "'Talsamee was imprisoned with the other Councillors. Truth betrayed her like he betrayed us all."

"She had fair warning." Closing her eyes, Saia placed her hands over her skull. "Find me other rooms, Sen, I can't speak to her now."

"You would want to know surely," 'Talsamee said, "that my father is still alive and co-ordinating the evacuation to Sangheil." The note of desperation in her voice gave Saia cause to look at her again. 'Talsamee bowed her head. "I hear he has Saia 'Nyahasea on the planet."

If 'Talsamee had drawn a pistol on Saia, she couldn't have made more of an impact. Sagging against the bulkhead, Saia let a grin take over her expression. "She's alive?"

"Yes. And well." 'Talsamee raised her hands, palms stretched out to forestall any attack. "And Saia 'Kristassi is alive too. She is here."

"Councillor 'Kristassi," Saia gave her older daughter her formal title.

"Yes." 'Talsamee sucked a deep breath into her lung, her hands making fists. "My son died getting her onto a transport."

There was nothing that could be said for the other Sangheili. Losing a son-in-law was nothing compared to losing a son, Saia knew, she had lost a son and a daughter. She wanted to ask about Kray and Hara, her remaining sons, but didn't know how to without grieving the poor Sangheili further. The Intent shuddered, lights flickering, and Sen glanced up. "We're glassing the planet," he warned.

Saia reached forwards for 'Talsamee's elbows, taking a firm grasp and pulling the Councillor closer. "I am so sorry," she whispered. "Nothing will ever make up for the loss of such a soul. He will watch over you always."

"From where?" 'Talsamee choked out as a long flicker of power coursed through the Intent.

"There may not be a Great Journey, but your son could never leave you," Saia promised, gripping tighter. Over 'Talsamee's shoulder she could see Earth through the window, watching the continent as it was set ablaze, the heat distorting the shape . . . she had seen that shape before. When she had taken her Oath of Learning and lived in the libraries of the convent for what felt like long Sangheili years, she had seen that symbol in only the oldest texts, untranslated from their original form. That symbol had been translated into three words: peace resting place. She watched the old glyph burn into the surface of the Earth even when her eyes were closed against despair.

The Priestess and the Warrior - Sangheili Rampant
Date: 13 August 2008, 3:32 pm

The Priestess and the Warrior
Author: Jillybean

Sangheili Rampant

Orna grunted as the Phantom landed heavily on the deck of the Shadow of Intent. He raised a hand to ward off the Chief, aware that the weight of that armour would crush him, but the Spartan's reflexes were good: he barely shifted.

"Arbiter, the Ship Commander wants to see you," announced the deckmaster as the Pelican doors opened. The little Unggoy leapt backwards as two Engineers drifted past him, heading for the Pelican.

"Yes, of course," Orna said, turning his head to watch the others come out with him. "So long as he doesn't jump before our human counterparts agree on what to do," he began, getting an appreciative laugh from Johnson.

The Chief lifted his head fractionally before Orna had the wind knocked from him by another Sangheili pushing her forehead up against his and pressing her hand against his thorax in the most intimate gesture a Sangheili could make. Usze whooped crudely, while N'tho spluttered with shock. Around them Sangheili were laughing or cheering, the more prudish turning away to avoid the moment. Orna didn't care. He pressed his own hand over his mate's ribs, breathing in the smell of her – though she was admittedly more singed and less clean than she usually was. "I don't know who to thank," he whispered, mandibles brushing hers because of their closeness.

She giggled. "We need new Gods, love."

"I thought you were dead." Pulling away to check she wasn't, he caught sight of Fera 'Talsamee behind his mate and growled, a hand reaching for his weapon.

"Father, no!"

He hesitated, unused to being addressed as such, and he felt Saia's hand withdraw. "Don't," she murmured, before turning to face their daughter.

"'Kristassi." He gaped at his Councillor daughter, shocked that he hadn't recognised her, for she had been there all along. Her usually dark skin tone was so flushed with blue and purple around the neck she looked like a Sangheili twice her age. She had lost her headdress and the fore-arms of her armour, the rest of it scuffed. Orna realised the silence was stretching on too long and glanced to his mate for help.

"I am afraid we have lost our son-in-law," she said to him, her voice respectful though her eyes burrowed the message into him. He was supposed to act as though he cared about the son of a kiggari who had helped 'Talsamee and Truth spirit their daughter away.

"I am sorry for your loss. Both of you," he amended for 'Talsamee. "I would not have had it that way."

"R'tas is waiting," Usze said to him, shrugging regretfully.

"Come, Saia," he began, using her name regardless of protocol.

"I can't," she pressed her forehead against his again. "Go. I have to stay. The councillors," she added under her breath. "Go. Go."

"Arbiter," Usze pressed.

"Our children are alive," she promised him, stepping away to join the Councillors. He glanced back at her as he was dragged away and she was struck by how old he looked. She smiled at him, not feeling as confident as she hoped she looked. She was aware of the silence in the hangar as the warriors filed out, 'Talsamee placing one hand on her daughter-in-law's shoulder. The older Sangheili leaned in to murmur something and Saia felt a prickling of annoyance. 'Kristassi met her gaze.

"Mother," 'Kristassi began, her voice coming out gravelly and hoarse.

"I'm here," Saia responded automatically. Her mind was racing ahead of her, trying to build a picture of how the Council had been arranged before High Charity had fallen. "'Kristassi, how many Councillors live?"

Her daughter blinked, glanced to 'Talsamee, then shrugged. "I can't say. There are ten on board, rescued from the Sacred Ring and the transport I – the transport I was on," she forced the words out with barely a hiccup.

"We need to convene the Council, we're in danger of allowing the military too much power." She caught sight of Sen standing at ease, watching her much as her Honour Guard used to. "Sen, it would be a great help if you could round up the Councillors on this vessel. I don't think we'll be here long," she added to 'Talsamee, hoping the older Sangheili might give her more help. "Can you find out where the other Councillors are? I'll sort out transport for all of us."

With her orders given out she retreated to a display that the deckmaster showed her. He logged her into the system, the AI recognising her queries and working away to flag up the individuals on the other cruisers. She wished for a personal file to make notes in, or even an aide to voice her thoughts aloud to. Applying a history to each name on the screen taxed her mind, and she was sure she had confused one of them with their predecessor.

"'Jalahass?" Sen returned, grave faced. "You were right. All non-essential personnel are being moved off the Intent, we are to pursue Truth."

Nodding and clamping her mandibles down on the protests, she closed the screen down. "Do you have the Councillors?"

"Most."

"Excellent, can you please - " Orna returned to the hangar deck, pausing only to seek her out. " – the Councillors," she continued, a little lost as Orna headed straight for her. "See they're all on the same dropship, thank you. Orna, what's happening?" She grimaced as he pulled her away from Sen, further into the corner. "Tell me."

"We're following Truth, to the Ark," he hissed. Checking over his shoulder, he stiffened as the Demon walked in. "Get to Sangheil. Go there and stay there, we'll stop Truth. We'll stop the Flood."

"How?" she whispered, taking him by the arms. "Orna, how will you do it?"

"Their construct," he admitted, the prospect evidently not giving him much hope. "She is advanced. The . . . the Chief trusts her."

Her head snapping backwards, Saia stared at him. "You're trusting the Demon? And a construct? Orna, what's gotten into you?"

"A little faith," he muttered, shaking his head. "Please go home."

"What if I wanted to come with you?" She dismissed it off his look. "There's too much to do. I can't leave yet."

"The Councillors?" he guessed.

"Saia 'Jalahass!" Sen shouted over, waving his arm. "You have to leave now!"

Closing his eyes, Orna let his forehead touch hers, briefly. "The Hope of Reflection is staying behind to help defend Earth against anything else. She's an older cruiser, solid though, like the Solemn Thunder. They know who you are now, but how long . . ."

"How long I'll still be important?" she guessed.

"This is your opportunity to get home."

"And this is your opportunity to put down your armour." Satisfied by his silence, she made to move away, surprised when he caught her again. "Orna, please don't make this harder . . ."

"Bless me," he said quickly. "Demon, come here!" He shouted aloud, gesturing for the Demon to approach. "Indulge me, both of you."

"Bless you with what?" Saia asked, eyes wide as the hulking great metal clad form of the Spartan came to a stop in front of her. The helmet swivelled to look at Orna, before returning to Saia.

"Anything, I don't care." Orna crouched, pulling the Demon down with him. Saia had the impression that the Demon allowed this, rather like an adult allowed Hatchlings to pull on their arm.

Shaking that disquieting thought away – the Demon should not have anything soulful about him – she placed a hand on each of them. "You should have done this when I still had a faith," she muttered.

"Do it while we still have time," the Chief retorted.

Suppressing a grin, she sought inspiration by looking to the planet outside of the force field. "Peace," she began abruptly. "Resting place. You two are warriors of your peoples, upholders of faith. Not the blind faith that we would have believed, but faith in our souls and in our own ability." She glanced down at her mate. "This betrayal was a long time coming. And these allies a fitting friend to fight by our side." Relinquishing her grasp, she stepped backwards. "Now I have to go. Demon . . . I hope you find what you're looking for."

The helmet snapped up, the faceless visor staring at her. The gauntleted hand reached up for hers and she accepted it. "You are a soldier," she murmured, staring at him. "I see that in you, but your loss is . . . Orna fight for everything he has. You fight for everything you didn't have." The helmet turned away from her and the Demon rose to his feet. Saia turned to her mate. "Orna. Come back safe."

He nodded. "Don't change everything while I'm gone."

She couldn't look back as she headed for the dropship. "I'm only going to redecorate."

The face of the surviving Councillors were coloured with disbelief, even scepticism as she climbed into the Phantom. One went so far as to step aside, Scel 'Henidae curving her upper mandibles and turning her head away to murmur to her neighbour, "I've seen Unggoy with more honour," she hissed. "You can bet High Priestess 'Kianall would have died rather than leave her convent."

Glancing to her predecessor's daughter, Saia forced herself to smile reassuringly. She wondered if the old High Priestess could have known, when she had taken her vow of privacy to atone for a mistake she thought she had made, that the ramifications would still be affecting her family. She wondered if Truth had known that ''Kianall's slow assassination would have offered Saia this position of power, or if Truth had hoped being a High Priestess would overcome Saia. Certainly Truth had expected the bloodless hero of the Jiralhanae rebellion would have joined his Honour Guard. Hans 'Galatash, mate to the High Priestess, had sponsored Orna 'Fulsamee and what a perfect ending it was to the story. It was heart warming that Supreme Commander 'Galatash's daughter was going to join with the urchin who had distinguished himself.

No one would have suspected that the Forerunner would intervene directly to change the course of that ceremony. And when the Sangheili gathered to watch it on the holo-screens, it was the first daughter of Sangheil's richest family who was joining hands with the hero of the poor. They loved that more. The Prophets couldn't argue. Truth couldn't touch Orna 'Fulsamee, couldn't force him into the Honour Guard. Saia 'Jalahass was well placed to become High Priestess when Fera 'Kianall finally succumbed to Truth's poisoning.

But Fera 'Talsamee was left broken hearted. Saia didn't think the Councillor had ever stopped loving her stolen mate.

The Councillor was leaning backwards in her seat, eyes closed as the Phantom powered away from the Shadow of Intent. 'Kristassi sat beside her, one hand clasped over her mother-in-law's. Who was reassuring who, Saia wasn't sure.

The note of the Phantom's engines changed as it was escorted into the belly of the Reflection by a trio of Banshee's. Some of the Councillors looked a little ill, showing their fear of space travel when not in their expensive sporty ships. She thought of the Bottle of Smoke Orna's prized baby. Even that would have been too old for these Sangheili. She doubted that they would spend hours tinkering with it like Orna did.

"Fellow Councillors!"

Saia jumped at the greeting. Closest to the door, she was too close to Jen 'Konenkee's enthusiastic shout. He stood on the deck of the Reflection, arms spread wide to better show off his shining unmarked armour. When he saw her, he changed tact, clapping his hands together to summon two Unggoy.

"Saia 'Jalahass! Your family will be delighted to know you are well. Escort her to some chambers, suited to her status," he ordered the Unggoy closest to him. "Make sure she's comfortable."

"I'm comfortable here," she snapped, raising her hand to stall the Unggoy.

Jen 'Konenkee stepped forwards to help Fera 'Talsamee from the Phantom. He held her arm as she managed the large step down onto the deck. "Well I'm afraid you will have to entertain yourself, 'Jalahass. We have an emergency convening of the Council."

"Which I'm coming to," 'Jalahass said firmly, keeping her voice low as she made her own way off the Phantom.

'Konenkee turned, forgetting his considerate act as he stepped forwards into her space. "You are not a Councillor, 'Jalahass. You are not a Priestess. You are not a military advisor. You are not coming." His leaned closer to her, showing his teeth.

"I may not be a Priestess any longer but I am undoubtedly a part of life in the Covenant and I do have tactical information."

"And if I may," one of the Unggoy interrupted. "But Saia 'Jalahass has long had the support of the Unggoy Matriarchs."

Ish 'Manatee came to stand behind 'Jalahass, his head held higher than usual. "Not to mention the Kig-Yar Monasteries, which Saia 'Jalahass worked hard on her whole career."

"The Kig-yar have not joined us," 'Konenkee snapped. "And 'Jalahass also worked in close coalition with the Hierarch."

"I would not have been a very good High Priestess if I didn't," she said in a clipped voice.

"My mother is too modest," 'Kristassi announced, her hoarse voice cracking with the effort of speaking loudly. "That so many Sangheili escaped High Charity is because of my mother. The convent has always supported those incapable of supporting themselves. Many Sangheili are alive because she risked her life, her position and her honour to provide shelter for those without family." She shifted under the studied gaze of the other Councillors. "She is no traitor. She has fought Truth all my life."

"It's true," Fera 'Talsamee murmured. "And if anyone should be punished for supporting him, it ought to be me."

"That is not the point," 'Konenkee said to her softly, his expression changing as he looked to the other Councillor. "You are a Councillor."

"A post bought with money, like all ours. My mother is here because the Covenant loves her and she loves the Covenant." 'Kristassi averted her eyes when Saia looked at her. "We need her more than she needs us. She could overturn our fragile government with a word." Even as she spoke, the Unggoy were nodding.

"Then let her sit in," 'Konenkee relaxed abruptly, shaking his hand in her direction. "I have more important things to worry about. Come, my friends. Food and drink will be provided for us, I have a room arranged. We must start work now, friends. We are so far from Sangheil."

Saia fell into step with the others, grateful to find Ish 'Manatee locked in on her left side. She had never thought much about the Councillor. A perpetual bachelor, not for lack of a dowry, he was thought of as a simple soul who was never going to cause trouble for anyone. She liked Ish enough, had invited him to dinner parties when she needed a space filled by someone inoffensive. She hadn't counted him as an ally. He walked beside her now with his shoulders dropped low, as though he was about to walk into battle. Likewise, 'Kristassi had her head close to her chest, claws extended.

'Konenkee had evidently been planning this meeting for longer than Saia had. He had retrofitted one of the mess halls, arranging the tables in a long line and allowing for Sangheili style benches to sit on. It was a significant change from the Council chambers on High Charity, where the Prophets had styled the chambers in their own way, making for an uncomfortable session. Along the table military style rations were set out in the plain metal bowls that were a trademark of the Covenant army. Saia's own stomach grumbled in sight of the worms and she heard some of the Councillors sighing in relief as they saw what was expected of them. Wine and water was set out in decanters, more wine than water, and nothing more flavoursome than either. Catching the little Unggoy before she sat down, Saia leaned forwards to speak quietly. "Can you fetch us tea? We'll need something to clear our heads."

"I was told not to," the Unggoy murmured. "I'll get it now."

Taking a seat near the head of the table, and having a silent fight with another Councillor for it, Saia took a quick head count. Eighteen Councillors were present, and herself. Some, like 'Konenkee, were in better condition than those who had escaped High Charity or been imprisoned on the Sacred Ring. She wondered how they'd got out and could have kicked herself when she realised that she had told her Honour Guard, Crai 'Browdee to evacuate everyone he could from her Convent. Many Priestesses had friends or family involved with the Council. 'Konenkee was likely only here because of her.

The little Unggoy had worked fast and several entered with fine clay tea pots, no doubt taken from the Ship Commander's personal store. They were greeted with delight by the Councillors who were making themselves comfortable and any proceedings were delayed as the Councillors unanimously dealt with their needs first.

"Fellow Councillors," 'Konenkee said at last. He had not eaten, evidently having sated himself beforehand. "I believe we have one goal here today. We must return to Sangheil, centralise our government, and focus on repairing the damage done to our people."

Saia spread her hands on the table and pushed to her feet, her limbs feeling like lead. She chose not to look at 'Konenkee, instead focussing her attention down the row of Councillors. "Our people consist of more than the Sangheili. Only a handful of Lekgolo followed Truth. The Unggoy are divided. The Kig-Yar may be a lost cause, and the Jiralhanae, but there are civilians there too."

"I knew this would happen," 'Konenkee muttered. "Let us discuss this now, then, friends, if we must. We are Sangheili. We must care for our own!"

"We are lightyears from Sangheil," Saia snapped back.

"And these humans are our last line of defence," 'Manatee added. "We would be cruel to leave them."

"Ish 'Manatee is correct," an older Councillor spoke up. "We are committed to this planet."

"Why?" 'Konenkee shrugged. "This is a dangerous place to be. The portal is here."

"Should our fleet lose we are lost anyway," the Councillor continued. "I know more than the rest of you about this Flood, my son was one of those to escape the first Sacred Ring." He glanced to Saia for a moment, eyes narrowing. "He knows about the Flood first hand. Should the Flood escape to the rest of the galaxy, we are all dead."

"We must assume the Flood will not escape," 'Konenkee said firmly. "Or all this is for nothing."

"Agreed," the old Councillor continued. He remained sitting down, but his presence was a sink hole in space, captivating the audience. "But that is not a reason to flee back to Sangheil. There is no reason to return to our homeworld. Even if we choose to protect our own species above and beyond any other, we are spread out over four main planets and a dozen other colonies that are mixed. Not to mention the smaller presences we have on maybe twenty other worlds. Our space is vast. We governed from High Charity before. There is no need to run. We can rule effectively here." The Councillor folded his arms and waited for someone else to speak.

Saia 'Kristassi rose to her feet, waiting for 'Konenkee to acknowledge her. "I for one believe we have to protect those races who sided with us." A general murmur of assent greeted this and 'Kristassi sat down. Another Councillor, a young male, leapt up to second.

"Fine," 'Konenkee snapped. "We stay here. We rule for those left."

"Do we?" 'Kristassi asked, her gaze darting towards him. Sheer loathing seemed to fill her for a moment as she rose to her feet once more. "I will be the first to admit that I was never a ruler before. I voted for my own reasons, not for the good of the races I supposedly represented. I bought my status, with money hard earned not by me, not by my blood. I am everything that should be weeded out from this system."

Saia stared at her daughter, a hollow feeling rising up in her throat. This was not the 'Kristassi who had advocated belief in the Forerunner, who bent over backwards to accommodate Truth. Saia suddenly wished she had known her son-in-law better. After all, he was the grandson of Hans 'Galatash. He couldn't have been all bad.

"What are you implying?" Neth 'Theanalass asked her. "My family has held this seat for generations."

"Precisely!" 'Kristassi interrupted. "It's wrong! All of it! Wrong! My mate," she sagged against the table. "Only one of us could reach the transport ship. He said I could do good. But if I died, he would have had nothing!"

"Saia 'Kristassi is grieving," 'Konenkee said soothingly. "I am sure she doesn't mean what she says."

"I'm sure she does," Ish 'Manatee murmured. "But that is not the matter at hand."

"We need to think about what is happening now," 'Konenkee agreed. "I propose a strategic withdrawal from human space. I believe we are over extended. I am concerned that the humans will use this opportunity to strike at us. By withdrawing, by solidifying our defensive abilities, we can return again to finish them off."

"I disagree," Saia said quickly, realising too late she had overstepped the mark. It would have been better to let her allies tackle this. Still, now she was committed . . . "We are not going to attack these humans. We are allies now. We won't betray them. Maybe they will join us."

"Join us?" spat 'Konenkee. "Why?"

'Talsamee rose to her feet, clasping one hand over the back of her neck. "My family's riches come from mining, now we may be an offshoot of that branch of the family, and like Saia 'Kristassi I bought my place here with money that was not my own. However, I have continuously used my position to advance the rights of my family, my aunts and cousins who contribute to the familial wealth. With this . . . schism . . . we are weakened, financially, economically. We took heavy losses during the Jiralhanae Rebellion and we have been fighting to put up with an influx of Jiralhanae workers, including the Council funded subsidiaries to promote Jiralhanae abilities. Now the humans have a fully functioning infrastructure. They are a whole new market, one that if we open to trade we will stand to make a good profit. For almost an entire Age we have been gearing our trade for war, first with the Jiralhanae, then with the humans. The growth is unsustainable. We can either keep fighting with the humans, we can absorb the humans, or we can work with and against them, promote competition and save our own businesses." She gestured to another Councillor further along the table. "Ili 'Lananee will be a better judge of internal markets than I am, he has long since ruled over the Ministry of Commerce with an iron fist."

'Lananee stood up. "I concur with 'Talsamee. We need to sustain our market by opening negotiations with the humans. However, I'm not sure how well they will receive this."

"May I suggest we send Saia 'Jalahass to be our . . . emissary?" 'Theanalass asked. "She is bonded to the Arbiter, a prominent figure that the humans can identify. She has a good grasp of our own politics and is currently in need of a position out of our way, if she won't retire gracefully."

"If you think I'm stepping back," Saia began, spittle flying, before 'Manatee tugged her back into her seat.

'Talsamee nodded. "An Ambassador perhaps. But it needs to be an official position, one that carries weight, or we insult the humans and invalidate ourselves as a government."

"How much power should such a post wield?" 'Konankee shook his head. "I'm uncomfortable with giving her power."

The doors opened as the Councillors raised their voices to be heard over one another. The Ship Master entered, escorted by two zealots, a plasma sword hanging on his hip. He sought Saia out, smiling when he saw her. "Priestess 'Jalahass, it is good to see you once more."

Saia grinned. "'Kanalee!"

"Call me 'Kanal, I have given up the honorific." San 'Kanal shrugged it off. "'Fulsamee sent word that I should look out for you. I am sorry I didn't come earlier, I didn't expect you in this hive." He gestured to the Councillors.

"Outrageous!" Scel 'Henidae bridled at the insinuation.

"Shut up," 'Kanal snapped. "As far as I'm concerned you're all traitors. I was one of 'Fulsamee's recruits, I stayed loyal when he was accused. You stood by and did nothing." He turned to one of the zealots beside him and murmured an unheard command. "You Councillors hold no sway over me. It's why I was chosen to stay behind. This crew is loyal to me. And I am loyal to Orna 'Fulsamee."

More than loyal, Saia thought, she remembered 'Kanal well. He had been a friend to Orna when Orna had been at his worse.

"I'm here to consult you, 'Jalahass," 'Kanal continued. "The human commander, Lord Hood, has contacted us. He wants a meeting on Earth, he wants reassurances."

"What if we assign 'Jalahass to that," 'Konenkee said quickly, "fully ratified by the Council."

"Thus granting us legitimacy," 'Kristassi added darkly.

"I'll speak to the humans," Saia agreed. "But I need authority to bargain with, or it is an insult."

'Manatee rose to his feet beside her. "I recommend we keep 'Jalahass's autonomy. As High Priestess she was influential but not part of the Council. This way treads on less toes."

"I can't go to the humans as a spiritual leader," Saia said.

"No, but you can go as Ambassador, and we will listen to you as an Ambassador."

"Providing I listen to you," 'Kanal muttered.

"A military dictatorship is not what we need right now," 'Talsamee growled. "You would invalidate us, Ship Commander."

"You deserve little better."

Saia glared at him, clearing her throat. "This squabbling is getting us nowhere. I'll retreat from your battlefield, 'Konenkee. I'll go to Earth."

The Councillor relaxed, gesturing for his fellows to sit down. "The Council moves to create the post of Ambassador, tied to the Ministry of Concert. We propose former High Priestess Saia 'Jalahass for this post, her previous experience as High Priestess and knowledge of the Ministry's work make her an ideal candidate. Objections?"

None. Saia bowed to the Councillors, retreating from their table and following 'Kanal out of the room. "Watch over them," she murmured in the empty hallways.

"Like a Kig-Yar sniper," he responded, his tone equally dark. "I have a score of volunteers to escort you planetside, Pri-" he cut himself off. "Ambassador." Subtly guiding her through the confusing maze of corridors, he brought her to what she recognised as his quarters. "Everything you need to freshen up is inside," he informed her, standing to attention. "I'll have your new Honour Guard waiting for you."

"New Honour Guard?" she asked, grinning. "I don't want Honour Guard."

"Protectors then," he said, bowing his head slightly.

"Thank you, 'Kanal." Impulsively she reached forwards to brush her forehead over his. "You have been a good friend to my family."

"Well without you, Ambassador, I wouldn't be here. I'd be nothing." He blushed all the same.

The Priestess and the Warrior - Spark in the Casket
Date: 19 September 2008, 9:47 am

The Priestess and the Warrior
Author: Jillybean

Spark in the Casket

The human who met Saia 'Jalahass seemed to be a spectacular example of the species. His pale skin was almost translucent. He had a protruding belly but angular shoulders, a thin covering of dark hair on his scalp. He bowed three times before she had managed to fully disembark from the Phantom that had been cleared to land on Earth.

"Oh . . ." the Honour Guard on her left trailed off for want of a deity to swear to.

"I am Ambassador Saia 'Jalahass," she said, extending one hand in the human greeting. The human took it, slicking her palm with sweat, and he shook her arm thoroughly.

The silken robes she had borrowed from 'Kanal were a little too large for her and began to slip off the shoulder. Knowing the humans took a dim view on the lack of clothes, she reached up to tug her garments back into place, sending the human what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

"Excellent, excellent, yes, ah!" Groaning, the human fumbled with the files he carried. "My name is Jeb McKinnon."

She bowed her head politely, catching the gaze of Elte 'Frelle as she did so. "These are my Honour Guards, purely assistants, please do not be alarmed by them."

Jeb McKinnon hesitated for a moment, as though the thought had not occurred to him. "Of course," he said, his words tripping over themselves in their haste to leave his tongue. "Come on, this way, there must be somewhere to sit, and I've got so much that we're going to have to discuss, I don't know how much you'll know, but there's always a chance, isn't there?"

Saia said there was, but she doubted he heard as he led her down the paved streets.

###

"Hey, Uzi, you ever play trumps?"

Orna didn't spare any time for the marine, sliding into the Scorpion's driving seat with little room to spare.

"I do not believe so," Usze said, he had long since ceased correcting the marine over the mispronunciation. If anything, Orna thought Usze liked the shortening, liked the acceptance with the humans. Not that he could argue it himself. He could see the demon run over the baked earth, his boots sinking through the dry layer on top, to the harder packed earth underneath. The Chief mounted the treads of another Scorpion, struggling as Orna had with the minimal space inside.

"Are you ready, Spartan?" Orna asked, waiting for an affirmative before he started the unstoppable roll forwards. The fine, clay-like surface seemed to shatter into tiny particles of sand, a choking cloud that issued out from behind their vehicles. Pushing the engines as far as they would go, he veered closer to the cliff face, sneaking his own Scorpion between the rock and the Chief's. He heard his passengers shout, along with the Chief's, close enough for them to reach out and touch each other – or close enough to the cliff face for them to raise their legs and pray if they were on the wrong side. The Scorpion slipped into darkness, stealing the lead by a tiny, slow-growing margin. He nudged the aim of the Tungsten firing cannon, sighting the glow of the Ghosts up ahead. Machinery clunked into place, sliding a round into the cannon and firing it along the precisely calculated trajectory.

"Tank beats Ghost!"

Swinging the turret around as they plundered through the cave, Orna fired again, his own round sailing underneath the Chief's. Twin explosions knocked out the Lekgolo fools who had chosen the wrong side.

"Tank beats Hunter!"

In the light, a tower powered into the air, the grav lift sparkling in the sunshine. Orna tugged at the controls, bringing the tank closer to the centre. For a second the light blinded him and he fired, not trusting his eyesight as the white aurora dimmed.

"Tank beats everything! Man, I could do this all day!"

The Chief thundered forwards, taking the direct approach. It was a tactic that suited Orna well, allowing him to skirt the edges, to drink in the situation and perform a tactical strike, or to worry at the edges of the defences to enable the forward push to get through. The Chief had commented, not long after landing, that it wasn't dissimilar to the way the Covenant fleet had worked with the humans. Of course it wasn't, Orna had responded, I was the Supreme Commander. It was my decisions, my choices. It was him who had killed so many humans. He fired at a band of choppers as they propelled off of a rise, their wheels spinning freely as their riders focussed entirely on the Chief's tank. They exploded into glowing shards of twisted metal.

"Hoora," the marine who had been teasing Uzi was quick to leave the tread of the Scorpion, running towards the bodies of the fallen Brutes. They oozed blood onto the Forerunner walkway, reflected by the light of the Oracle as he zipped past.

Easing himself out of the Scorpion's driving seat, Orna was thankful for N'tho's hand to help him. "I knew them," the young Sangheili said quickly, quietly.

Still holding N'tho's hand, Orna tugged the younger soul away from the humans. "Who?"

"The Lekgolo pair. They were posted on my first mission." N'tho's eyes were wide. "They gave me silk to send home to my mother."

"And they would have killed us all," Orna said softly, tightening his grip. "Remember that." He caught sight of the Chief watching him and sent N'tho towards Usze. Usze was with his human companions, picking over the corpses for new weapons, or sharing a drink of water to guard against the heat.

The Chief's steps echoed off the alloy under their feet as he walked towards Orna. "Everything okay?"

I killed a friend of his. I'm sure I've killed a friend of yours. "He'll be fine." Orna forced himself to relax, flashing a smile at the Chief. The humans were beginning to recognise these expressions, and he was confident in at least understanding the basis of their body language, but the Chief was protected by his visor. "How are you holding up?" he asked, eager to turn the subject away from N'tho and past transgressions. "Any more imaginings."

The MJOLNIR clad shoulders drew together by a hairsbreadth, the tiniest sign of discomfort from the Spartan. "None," he admitted.

"You've stopped denying them," Orna observed, careful to keep his voice low. "Do you think it is your Construct?"

"I know it is," the Chief said softly.

An abhorrent cool breeze brought a shiver to Orna's skin. He turned towards the Chief, stepping closer. "What are your intentions, Demon?"

"I'll get the mission done," the Chief said quietly.

"There we are," the Oracle chimed. "Please, follow me." The doors opened and Oracle hovered through, humming to himself.

Gesturing for the marines to take the Scorpions down, Orna took the lead, the Chief falling in alongside. "I don't doubt that you will," he said carefully, "but I am concerned that your Construct may try to persuade you otherwise."

"She knows what she has to do."

"Knowing and doing are very different."

"Cortana has her priorities."

Sighing, Orna let the matter rest. "I suppose she is a Construct after all."

"Your mate," the Chief began, "she was part of your religion?"

"The High Priestess. A figurehead, if you will. The convent was long ago cut out from the council, but she was a spiritual leader, yes."

"And here you are destroying everything she believed in." The Chief paused at the control panel. "What does she think of that?"

"She never believed. She was a spiritual figurehead, but I would hesitate to call her a religious leader." In the cool dark of the Forerunner structure, Orna's gaze was caught by a metal pillar. He approached it slowly, surprised when the casing shot up. "Another one!" he said in surprise, touching the golden globe that he had seen before, earlier in the canyons.

"Hmm?" With the light bridge activated, the Chief hoisted his rifle, waiting for Orna to finish.

"Listen to this, 'activation is murder. A genocide larger than . . . this galaxy . . . has ever known' . . ."

"Is it talking about the rings?"

"I believe so. It's a transcript of a conversation. Librarian and Didact." Orna shook his head, skipping through the fractured data. "Librarian had the right idea."

"You think? It's still genocide."

"Would you prefer the alternative?"

"I'd fight until we had nothing left."

"Hmm." Orna sighed as the terminal closed up again. "You sound like my mate."

"I think that's a compliment."

"Hah!" Clapping a hand on the Chief's shoulder, Orna shook his head. "I hope I didn't give you the wrong impression about her. She's manipulative, scheming, too clever for her own good . . ."

The Chief inclined his head to the side, "she sounds like my Construct." A shudder ran through the installation and he tightened his grip on his gun, glancing to Orna. Without consultation, Orna sprinted forwards and they exited the building together, skidding on the ground as a Scarab's leg slammed into the earth before them. Orna ducked, checking the rounds in his carbine. He would need something with more firepower to take out that Scarab.

"That does not look like any Scarab I've seen," one of the marines shouted.

"It's worse than any you'll have encountered," Usze announced, staring up at the creature-like mechanism.

"Son of a Kiggari!" Orna swore, drawing his mandibles tighter. "I put in for that model and they only ever gave me the damn mining versions."

"Hah!" Stacker's voice crackled through the comms. "Nice to see funding strikes the Covies too. How do we deal with it?" The screech of a Hog's tyres heralded his arrival and he vacated the driver's seat for the Chief. "Same as before?"

Orna nodded. "Enough concussive blasts to the legs will disrupt the Lekgolo pathways connecting it to the main control hub, they'll take time to stabilise again, giving us an opportunity."

"You heard the man, er, alien," Stacker slapped him on the arm, skipping easily over his faux pas. "Get to it!"

The Scarab skipped to the side as one of the Scorpions fired at its legs. The nimble machine regained its balance by propping one leg against the cliff, pushing itself off. The Lekgolo infused systems vastly outstripped the old neurogel models – what had been Regret's exact words: "We can't simply give you an ascendant model Scarab! The expense must be explained!"

"And my Sangheili are not worth the cost of one Scarab?" Orna had snarled, losing his patience. He had brought this to Regret's attention because they were consistently outperformed in ground combat. Regret seemed to enjoy reading the casualty reports – and of course he had, it had been music to his ears to hear of so much death, less for the waiting Jiralhanae to overthrow.

"Take some from the Honour Guard if your troops perform so poorly," Regret had sneered, leaving Orna to stalk from the Hierarch's chamber and wish that this visit to High Charity had coincided with his mate being in the convent, but she had been on Sangheil for once and he had taken the Smoke that very night, furious with bureaucracy, and he had gone AWOL for a while. The Hierarchs had punished him with further cutbacks. Saia had bought him a Scarab for their anniversary present, out of her family wealth, and he had used it on Reach.

The Scarab went up in a plume of plasma and blue fire, arcing in the sky and causing a momentary glare in Orna's visor. He blinked to clear his vision, hearing a crackle over his comms from the plasma's energy. "Not bad, Spartan," Rtas said. "I saw that explosion from orbit. Truth's fleet lies in ruins. Find where the liar hides . . . so I may place my boot between his gums." The vehemence in his voice was enough to make Orna reach up for his helmet, clicking his lower mandible to open a private channel.

"Arbiter!" Usze called him over. "This carbine has jammed again," he waved a claw at the malfunctioning weapon he had in his hand. "I think it's done this time."

"Damn," the marine by Usze's side grunted unhappily. "I like that gun."

"Well it's a newer model," Orna said, breaking the gun apart. "Did you check for grit melting onto the trigger?"

###

The human meeting room was bedecked with a long beige couch – oddly similar to something Saia had seen in her brother's house many years ago, if proportioned differently – and bright yellow cushions that she had taken a fancy to. As she tried to listen to McKinnon drone on about the human's significant financial problems, she let her right hand run over the fabric. It was finely made, it rivalled Kig-Yar quality, and when she thought about it . . . had anyone thought to send a detail to the Kig-Yar planets? The monks who trained the snipers were perfectly capable of fending off waves of soldiers from their fortified monastery. Who was reassuring the Unggoy that they weren't going to sacrifice clan safety now the Covenant was in ruins? Which of the Councillors had thought to take a note of how many Jiralhanae were inside the hatcheries and in our cities and . . .

Why was she here?

Clearing her throat, she rose to her feet, startling McKinnon so much he dropped the writing implement onto the ground. "Have I said something?" he asked quickly. "I know we're asking for a lot."

"Excuse me," she said, folding her arms around her torso as she made her escape, hopping over the low table McKinnon was writing on. Her guards followed her, respectfully silent, but she didn't dare glance back. The human corridors looked out onto a beach, golden sands and blue skies sparkling. She could see a satellite moving into position and wondered if it was a new MAC gun, or if her own people were helping and –

"My apologies!" Someone walked into her shoulder and she stumbled, her speed taking her grace.

"Not at all," she said, turning to see the human. He was instantly recognisable as Lord Hood, his hairless head pock marked with scars. His face tightened when he saw her fully and she made an effort to let her shoulders slump and appear less threatening. "I wasn't looking where I was going."

"Hmm." Hood raised a hand to cover his mouth while he coughed. "You are . . . Saia 'Jalahass?" he asked, only fumbling a little with the pronunciation.

She inclined her head. "And you are Lord Hood. Your people have a great respect for you, Lord, I had heard of you years ago."

Hood hesitated a moment before nodding once, as though accepting the compliment pained him. "One of your kind has arrived on Earth, looking for you I believe. McKinnon should escort you to the courtyard. Where is he?"

Glancing over her shoulder, Saia shrugged one mandible. "I left him working."

"Hah." Hood grinned – at least Saia thought it was a grin. "I'll escort you. He has someone watching him, they can watch you too."

"You don't trust me on your planet, do you?" she asked, following him. "Even though we're unarmed. And you should have seen how difficult it was to persuade these two to relinquish everything." She jerked her head at her Honour Guard and received a scowl from both of them.

Hood raised his hands. "You've killed enough of us."

"We're under new management," she muttered, stepping out into the garden that Hood had referred to as a courtyard. It was more of an oasis, a watering hole. She could see refreshments being served beside a pool, a few humans sitting and talking, while one decidedly not-human stood at the far end of the bar, sampling a drink that the human server was reluctantly pouring. Saia dropped all pretence of control and sprinted over the grass, leaping towards the Sangheili. "Hans!"

"'Jalahass!" Hans turned in time, bracing himself to stop her headlong flight. "It is good to see you!"

She crashed her forehead against his, sighing as she breathed in the smell of the older Sangheili. "You're alive, oh thank the Forerunners, you're alive."

"Of course I am," he scolded, giving her a gentle push away. "I'm too old to die in battle." His grin was feral.

The tightness in Saia's chest stopped her from speaking and she eased herself onto one of the human stools, watching her Honour Guard as they approached with great reverence.

Hans 'Galatash turned back to the bar, raising the glass that the human had offered. "It's called Brandy," he said to her. "As far as I can tell it's made in the same way as our brandy."

"You're not going to drink it, are you?" she asked.

"It's not toxic, I checked." Raising the large glass he tipped his head back and poured a generous measure down his throat.

"It doesn't look like brandy," she muttered, watching as he swirled the brown liquid. The brandy she was familiar with was always a shade of pink.

Hans coughed, setting the glass down. "I could certainly get used to that," he said, sliding the glass towards her. "Go on, try it. I'll be back here," he added to the human. "I'll be sampling everything."

"A drunk Elite," Hood muttered. "Just what we need." He shot a glare at the human server who seemed almost eager to speak with a fellow connoisseur, then he turned his dour expression onto Saia. "Were you leaving?"

"Leaving?" Hans repeated, staring at her. "I was told you were our new Ambassador. I nearly promoted 'Kanal there and then. A sensible choice I though. You've always sympathised with these humans." He slapped a hand onto Hood's shoulder, starting a coughing fit. "And you're smart enough not to be taken advantage of. I could think of a better Ambassador for our people. You've been fighting Truth longer than these humans have been alive." He met her gaze and drew his left mandibles towards each other, a subtle reassurance. "Not to mention your own losses," he glanced to Hood. "You killed her son."

Remembering belatedly that Hans had lost a grand-son as her daughter had lost a mate, Saia swallowed roughly, reaching for the drink. "It was war. Now we have a chance for peace."

Hood grunted, taking a step backwards. "Are you staying planetside?"

"Yes." She took a drink, surprised at the warmth in the liquid. "Yes I am staying, Lord Hood. But I request a different liaison. Jeb McKinnon has no authority here."

Hood almost grinned again but he quashed it quickly, nodding. "If you expect the politicians to listen," he muttered, walking away.

"But you'll tell them?" she called after him. He didn't respond with anything more than a grunt, but she couldn't help her self from grinning and finishing the brandy. "I need your help, Hans," she said to him. "We have to repair a lot of bridges."

Hans shrugged, pointing to another bottle of brown liquid. "We'll manage. I repaired your relationship with Orna, didn't I?"

She hit his shoulder affectionately, realising the humans at the other end of the bar were watching them, one an expression she didn't quite recognise. This human stood up, smoothing her shirt before she approached. "Hello," she said, her voice sounding strained. "I'm Armita Sangha, CEO of the Sangha Mining Corporation." She licked her lips and nodded to the server. "I'll have a vodka and orange, and one for my friends here," she said. "I want to talk to you about those lovely thick hulled Phantoms you use."

###

"This is the cartographer?" N'tho asked, lowering his weapon as the entered the room.

"Keep your guard up," Orna warned, approaching the precipice as the Chief began manipulating the controls. He looked out over the constructed world they were on. The deserts began to give way to mountains by the barrier, snowy peaks no doubt housing machinery, that was how the rings worked.

A hologram sprung into life beside him and he twisted, recognising the iconic image and homing in on the part of the galaxy he knew best, Sangheil. Tearing his gaze away, he focussed on the world in front of him, on defending their position. The knowledge that he was so far from home prickled at the back of his mind and inadvertently he found himself watching the skies and the flares of the battle overhead. A Phantom howled towards them and he braced himself against the railing, shouting a warning.

"Chief, you got a whole mess of hostile air inbound. Get back inside while we take 'em out," Johnson shouted over the radios.

Orna crouched, roaring a challenge to a circling Banshee. The foolish pilot took him up, veering closer at too steep an angle to fire. He leapt, his grip tenuous on the Banshee's seamless skin. Forcing his foot between the canopy and the hull, he broke the seal, tossing the Jiralhanae to the ground as he slid into the heated space. His hands fastened around the controls and he jerked the Banshee upwards. In the skies he was at home, responsible only for himself. He could protect the troops on the ground, but he didn't have to direct them, to provide for them, to grieve with them. This was his element and he celebrated by bringing a Phantom down in a blaze of glory. He curved around the installation, seeing the Spartan make short work of Chieftain, using the swells of gravity to leap out of harm's way. Orna grinned, turning back to the fight in the skies. N'tho was so safe the poor youth was bored.

Escorting Johnson's Pelican to the pick up point, he made lazy circles over the top of the drab human ship, nearly colliding with a rapidly ascending Sentinel. Thrusting backwards to find a safe place he watched the horde of machines rise into the sky.

"No! Don't shoot! They mean us no harm. Those units have a priority task," Spark shouted, his voice higher pitched than usual.

"Oh, yeah? And what might that be?" Johnson muttered. Through the radio, Orna heard the click of the safety on the machine gun.

"I really can't say... not for sure. But if you allow me to find a terminal closer to the Core . . ."

"No, Oracle. We must keep the Prophet of Truth in our sights," Orna interrupted. He tipped a wing as he passed by the Chief, the Spartan making no move to acknowledge him.

"But what about your Construct?" Spark sputtered, "her solution to the Flood? With more data, I - "

Keyes was quick to halt him, the Chief raising his head as the transmission came through the comm. "The Arbiter's right. We have priorities too. Until we kill Truth, stop the Rings from firing - nothing else matters."

Pushing his mandible against his comms, he opened a private channel. "Do not let your concern for my welfare commit you to this suicidal scheme," he quoted.

The channel remained silent for a moment before the Chief responded, his voice quiet despite their privacy. "We have our priorities. Perhaps we are doing so from a worm's eye view." He stepped into the waiting Pelican and the comms went quiet.

The Priestess and the Warrior - The Covenant
Date: 4 October 2008, 5:46 pm

The Priestess and the Warrior
Author: Jillybean

The Covenant

The shoulder guards of the Arbiter's armour were showing the evidence of a long fight. The Arbiter was not supposed to live long enough to need to change his armour, things like rips in the gel suit were not accommodated for in the design. Resting the chest piece on the deck of the Phantom, Orna cast his mind back over long forgotten history lessons. One Arbiter, one who had been called to fight a rogue AI on High Charity, had lived for over a year, until sacrificing himself in a room that had the air sucked from it while he disabled the AI. He still had some time to live before he went about taking the honour of longest surviving Arbiter. Easing his upper body out of the gel suit he took the repair-kit from N'tho, breaking the tube of liquid sealant open. He could see the other Sangheili watching him. They stared, or tried not to stare, at the mark on his chest. It was almost healed now, the scabbing subsiding as new flesh grew underneath. He didn't think about it any more. It didn't ache constantly, or pull with every quick movement, and he had other things on his mind. Seeing it now, at the bottom of his vision, made him aware again.

What did they see when they looked at him?

"We're coming up on the island," the pilot warned them. Orna pulled the gel suit back on, feeling the left over resin where the tear had been mended. Replacing his armour, he took a deep breath, testing the limitations of his own body.

"One of the human Pelicans has been brought down!"

"Are they alright?" Orna asked. He didn't expect the Spartan to be wounded, but if the humans needed assistance, he would be prepared to re-route the second Phantom.

"They're pushing forwards."

"Then we continue as planned." He reached up for the bulkhead as the grav lift powered up. "Ready?"

Commander Shef 'Lahara nodded. "We are here Arbiter. We're ready."

Orna took a step into the haze of the lift and sank onto the surface of the Ark. Grey mountains rose up in front of him, great trees clinging onto the scree and eking out an organic life on this oversized machine. Orna missed real planets, missed real sun, and missed the stars over the canyon in the night when he was at home. These mountains were not the same as those back home. The pebbles under his feet were rough, too young to be a real planet, and the grass was too regulated, without a single patch overgrown. He turned away from the Ark's beauty to watch the others disembark.

Shef 'Lahara left the Phantom first, known to Orna through years of work. Shef was one of the traditional Sangheili, with a substantial dowry that had allowed him to bond with a Priestess. Saia had kept in touch with that Priestess but never spoken much about her, protecting her perhaps, protecting another heretic like herself. He looked up when he landed on the ground, clocking Orna and approaching slowly. If his gaze lingered over Orna's chest, it was a momentary lapse in his demeanour.

And then it was Usze, relaxed and confident as he approached the tree line, scanning the horizon. He was untrained but not unskilled. Usze could become a very fine soldier. As if feeling the weight of Orna's gaze on him, he turned, raising his head in acknowledgement.

Mor 'Flesamm was next, one of the Covenant's finest. Young, but impressively trained, the shining star of his family. This was the first time Orna had served with him, and his expectations had been surpassed so far.

And lastly it was N'tho, who almost stumbled on the way down. He was so busy checking that no one saw, he nearly tripped again. N'tho held a human shotgun, his favoured weapon, and he tightened his grip as the Phantom powered up its thrusters and moved away to engage the loyalists.

Orna holstered his gun and waited for them to approach. "You are here because we . . . we Sangheili have reclaimed our independence. It has been thousands of years since we worked for ourselves, since we had a hand in our fate, and did not follow the every whim of a Forerunner that were all knowing and all seeing. I will tell you of the Forerunner, brothers, they were like us. Like us, they feared the Flood, like us they made sacrifices, like us they loved their families. This is the way the world ends, my brothers, and we are the harbingers of doom. Onwards!" Arching his spine he roared a challenge into the trees, birds taking flight, shrieking as they rose into the skies.

And from up in the hills came an answering roar, primal, mammalian . . . Jiralhanae.

With a grunt, Orna motioned for Usze and Mor to go on ahead scouting the terrain. They hurried over the rough ground, leaping from rock to rock, leaving the heavier weapons to the three who could afford to take the slower route.

"Take this," Orna handed N'tho one of the human rocket launchers. "Use it carefully, it has more power than you think." He knew it was a needless warning, N'tho had used them before and had so far succeeded in not killing anyone. He couldn't help but think that if this were an opera, it would be N'tho who died in the final act, and though the soliloquy would be beautiful, he wouldn't rise for a curtain call.

Then again, if this were an opera, he would likely die too. He had too much to atone for.

With that thought haunting him, he took the easier path on the grass up the hill. He would leave tracks but he didn't care, no one would be alive to follow him this time. Shef hoisted the plasma cannon and dropped into line behind him, his breathing a soft rasp as he did his best to keep up. An unpleasantly smug feeling burned inside of Orna. He was still capable of out-running these younger Sangheili.

"We've taken out a Ghost and the Unggoy," Mor said through the radio. "But there are two choppers down there and I suspect more enforcements in the tower's base."

"Hold position. We'll take out the vehicles with the fuel rod cannon," Orna responded, coming over the rise to see that the Ghost was still functional. The purple skin nestled into the undergrowth, the engine still purring. The two Unggoy who had been posted on guard had been dragged to the rocks, bodies respectfully turned over as the Unggoy preferred. Orna wondered if that had been Mor or Usze.

The tower rose up from a basin in the mountain side, but the only way down from this cliff face was a direct path into the valley. They'd be spotted the moment they left the cover afforded by the tall trees. Mor was crouched by the base of one, sighting the valley with his carbine. He raised one shoulder in acknowledgement of Orna's approach, but concentrated on the troops below. "I think they're about to replace the Unggoy," he said quietly. "Another Ghost is powering up."

"Hold here," Orna muttered. "Hide." He strode towards the Ghost, hitting the shut-off switch and climbing onto its blunt nose. From here he was hidden from the view of the path, only Mor was still visible and he hunkered down in the bushes, almost unnoticeable.

The Ghost was coming towards them, the nose and wings coming over the rise of the path first. The Unggoy were talking and Orna shut his mind to the conversation, he could ill afford to feel guilt now. He sprung from his hiding place as the Ghost's engines sent a waft of hot air his way. His foot on the Unggoy's neck snapped the smaller beast's spine and it fell to the ground as Orna wrestled the Ghost back under control. He spun it around, motioning to Shef. "Take the other. Follow me down. They'll expect one but not two so we'll have to be damned quick."

"We'll cover you with the heavy weaponry," Usze said, taking the fuel rod cannon from Shef. "If you stay out of the shadow of the tower we should be able to stay on you."

"Heads up," Mor warned in his low voice. "They're looking restless."

Firing up the Ghost, Orna pushed its engines to the limits and felt the Ghost soar down the steep path, the wind whipping past him and drowning out the surprised cries of the Jiralhanae. He opened fire, hot plasma being flung off in all directions as he veered to the side to make way for Shef's second barrage. A blob of fluorescent green exploded in front of one of the Choppers, discouraging anyone from their use. Orna brought his Ghost around, feeling the searing heat under his feet from the hot ground. A well aimed Brute shot knocked him off balance and the Ghost spun towards the sea-cliff. Now was time to run. He turned tail and fled back up the hill, Shef ahead of him. They reached the safety of the treeline as N'Tho loosed a rocket at a foolish Chopper plundering up behind them.

Leaving the cockpit of the Ghost and letting it crash to the ground, Orna grabbed the fuel rod gun from Usze. "Take the Ghost," he snarled, turning back. "We're charging them."

"Arbiter - " Mor began, his worries lost as Orna shouldered the fuel rod gun and took a deep breath, filling his single lung with all the air he could.

Orna roared and plunged forwards, Mor and N'tho on his heels as the others overtook them with the Ghosts. Orna's limbs were moving so fast he could barely keep up with himself and when he hit the bottom of the valley he dropped to one knee, staring at the Wraith as it lumbered towards him, gunnery convulsing as it prepared a measure of plasma. He fired at the gunner, killing him instantly. The heat blistered his face as he dived out of the way of the plasma. Some of the vegetation caught fire, red and orange tongues licking up the bark of the trees. Leaving the fuel rod gun on the ground he sprinted towards the hulk of the Wraith, planting a grenade on the hatch as he continued his flight over it's back, escaping.

"Arbiter!" N'tho howled in warning.

With a turn against momentum that ripped his shoulder muscles, Orna slid to the ground to avoid being trampled by a Chopper. He heard the spurts as the Jiralhanae fired a spiker at him, the lethal barbs embedding in the ground as they tracked closer to where he lay. Orna rolled, knowing he only had a sword, the fuel rod cannon out of reach. The sky above him showed him his galaxy and the relentless hammering of the Shadow of Intent. He brought his elbows under him and pushed off, landing ungainly against the ground as the Chopper rounded and came towards him. He grabbed the hilt of his plasma sword and clambered to his feet, running towards the wheel. Without allowing himself to think about the consequences of failure he leapt, placing one foot on the wheel and nearly being sucked under. With every muscle screaming he reached the handles – solid and unmoving. He ignited the plasma sword and allowed his speed to sever the Jiralhanae's head from its body. Suddenly uncontrolled, the Chopper bucked, throwing him through the air. He twisted as he felt gravity working on him and he landed on his feet, knees cracking as they flexed to take the impact.

"Arbiter," Shef approached him slowly, fuel rod gun languishing in his hands. "Are you . . . we're ready," he said, changing his tact quickly.

"Good." Extending his hand to take the gun, Orna rolled his shoulder, feeling the muscles and ligaments complain. Later. "Onwards, brothers," he said, casting a quick look over his comrades. All still alive and whole.

"Arbiter, we're sending more weapons your way," the Phantom's commander announced, the heavy green pod swooping into the canyon. It spat weapons cases into the canyon and Shef began breaking the seals open, handing out short range weapons. He grinned when he came out with extra ammunition for the Brute Shots that were left behind.

Away from the heat of the plasma fires, Orna felt the first sharp smacks of the cold breeze that came in off the mountains. He could taste snow in the air and wondered if it was only their proximity to the salt sea that kept the ground clear. In the shadows of the tower's tunnels he could smell the stench of the Jiralhanae. "Remember this," he murmured. "Remember that smell."

"It will be a long time before we allow the Jiralhanae back on our ships," Shef agreed.

Even so, Orna wondered if they would ever return. Before Truth had struck his bargain with the rebels, they had been happy on their auxiliary worlds, mining ore and trading on the outskirts. They were far from human territory, with the shipyards between them and the rest of what remained of the Covenant fleet. Would they want to join a new society, or would they prefer to slide back into anonymity?

Shef and N'tho advanced first, using their carbines to clear the corridors as the hid behind the corners. Orna reloaded the Brute Shot slowly, humming under his breath. He murmured the odd word of the song, knowing that the joke was lost when the rhyme didn't repeat itself, and he remembered fighting the Brute rebels when he had first joined the fleet. A long time ago.

Hearing a snippet of the song, the last Jiralhanae defending the elevator flew into a rage, storming into the prongs of Shef's energy sword.

Stepping onto the platform, Orna rolled his shoulders as N'tho activated the elevator, bringing them up into the waiting jaws of a Chieftain and his loyal few. Diving behind a glass barrier, Orna thanked the Forerunner for the foresight in proofing the glass against even high powered gravity pulses. If his good luck held, he might have to begin praying again.

"What now?" Mor called from the left corner, brandishing his pair of Needlers as a blur moved between the pillars.

Bringing the Brute Shot out, Orna kept his hands under the solid shelf of the barrier so the Jiralhanae wouldn't see his signals. Not that there was much strategy in his plan. Five Sangheili against five Jiralhanae? Even odds. They broke ranks, ploughing into the trunk of the room. Orna ignored the Jiralhanae on either side, confident his brothers would deal with then. His target was the Chieftain. The first grenade he launched was blown aside by a smack of the hammer. Orna used the push of gravity to vault off one of the pillars and he drove the bladed butt of the Brute Shot into the skull of the Chieftain, splattering his armour with blood.

"Arbiter?" The Phantom Commander's voice crackled in Orna's ear and he remembered the barrier. Leaving the Brute Shot where it was, nothing short of Lekgolo would pull that out of the spinal chord, he walked to the tower's controls and disengaged the barrier quickly.

"Arbiter, Sergeant Johnson's team has been compromised. Commander Keyes requests that we meet the Spartan at the third tower. Come out and I'll pick you up."

Orna nodded, bracing himself on the panel as he watched the Shadow of Intent. "We'll be there," he said, turning back to his fellows as they returned to the elevator. He was almost out of the tower's base when he caught sight of another of the terminals. "Go, I'll be one moment," he said, hurrying to access the panel.

"Arbiter?" Shef turned his weapon on the terminal as it slid apart. He frowned, expression half hidden by his helmet. "We don't have time."

"It won't be long," Orna said, flicking through the screens and reading the transcript as his radio recorded the data. "Your history is an appalling chronicle of over-indulgence and self-appointed authority, you have spent millennia navel gazing while the universe has continued to evolve and now you claim the mantle is justification for impending nature's inevitable refinements. You are deluded but through death you will transcend ignorance . . . confirmed rampant" he murmured, watching as the terminal closed up again. Something didn't want him seeing these data.

Or wanted to restrict it.

"Come on, Arbiter!" his radio shouted at him. "The Spartan is in the air!"

Hurrying outside to the waiting Phantom, Orna let the grav lift drag him into the belly of the ship. It jerked as it turned, the atmosphere placing stresses on the little vessel as it manoeuvred to avoid the loyalist Banshees. Holding onto the ship like an inexperienced graduate, Orna hurried to a seat, strapping himself in as the Phantom dropped like a stone.

"Any word from Johnson?" he called through the radios.

"None, the Chief will need help disabling that tower, the anti-aircraft guns are making an approach difficult," Miranda responded.

Gritting his jaws together, Orna nodded. He would have preferred to be in this battle, to be flying at the helm, but some things couldn't be helped. He would rather know what information the Ark held secret even if it meant sacrificing a Banshee to a comrade.

"Watch out, Arbiter, we're coming in hot," the pilot warned him and Orna could feel the rapid deceleration of the Phantom. He dropped out of the grav lift and hit the ground running, noticing the solidity of frost under his feet. He could see the Spartan leaping from a Hornet and charging at a nest of Kig-Yar. The Spartan raised an arm in salute and Orna responded with a holler, leaping over the hastily erected barricades and using his last remaining round in the fuel rod gun to spill superheated plasma over two Jiralhanae .

"Arbiter!" Mor retreated quickly from the entrance of the tower. "Drones!"

"Assault rifles and Needlers," Orna began, the words shocked into silence as a pulse of green energy smacked into Mor's chest and sent him backwards. The Sangheili fell to the ground, armour burned and twisted, his chest ripped open. "Hunters!" Orna heard himself say, while he stared at Mor. "Take cover!"

He crouched beside Mor, taking his shoulders and hauling him backwards while the others dealt with the Hunters. Spreading his fellow Sangheili out on the cold ground, he pressed his hand into the back of Mor's cooling neck. "Sorry, brother," he murmured. "I have nothing else to give you."

It wasn't your fault.

He shook the thought of what his mate would say out of his head and entered the tower, cleaning up the last of the drones. "Darken this tower and the barrier will fall," he said to the Chief. As the Mjolnir suited human hesitated, Orna felt a growl ripple through him. "Go, Spartan! We have no time to waste!"

"There's another terminal there. It seems to be open for access." The Chief gestured to the upper level. "Record it."

Bristling at the command – and the loss – Orna walked to the orb, activating the stream of data.

"What is that?" N'tho asked, his voice trembling a little.

Glancing at the younger Sangheili, Orna forced composure over his features. "These terminals crop up all over the Ark." He grimaced and swore as the control was stolen from him once more. "Something stops me from accessing the whole database though. We've been recording them for posterity, the Spartan and I, in the hope they will offer some clues, some valuable . . . for when we return home." He didn't look at N'tho. "We will return home," he said softly.

"'My work is done,'" N'tho read from the screen. "It's Cyrillic Sangheili," he said in surprise.

"And yet it's also Latin English." Without elaborating, Orna scanned the report. "More of the Librarian and the Didact."

"Wait." Laying a hand over Orna's to stop him from flicking through, N'tho leaned closer to study the passage. He tensed. "'Be proud. The mind claims victory but it still doesn't suspect. You've outwitted it, my love. And now you can destroy it.'" He shivered, his sombre tone attracting the other Sangheili and the remaining marines. "'But you cannot save me.' Who was she?"

"He, she, it, it doesn't matter." Reaching the tactical reports, Orna raced through them quickly while N'tho related what he had read to the others.

"He ought to have saved her, if he could," Usze announced, with so much boldness in his tone that Orna had to laugh. He seemed affronted by Orna's cynicism but continued as though his leader had made no comment. "She was a friend of his. We would not leave our brothers behind."

"Wouldn't we?" Shef asked. "Forerunner knows one of us bears the mark of our loyalty."

Orna's chest itched.

"We had no choice, and the Arbiter does not blame us," Usze spat back. He was too riled up for Shef's casual words. The humans were watching with concern, exchanging uneasy glances.

"Then perhaps Didact had no choice either."

"Perhaps Librarian left him no choice," Orna murmured, his hands going still as the meaning of the words on screen impressed into his mind. "Dear Forerunners on the Journey," he hissed. "They sacrificed everyone."

"What?" Shef asked.

"They . . . they used it like a cudgel, to beat their enemy into submission. No elegance here, no grace." He stepped back as the terminal closed up on itself and was startled by the sound of the elevator moving back in the shaft. Except it wasn't. "What is that?" he demanded, hearing the crackle of their radios as the noise grew louder. "Out!"

"High Charity?" R'tas' voice seemed to crack with the strain. Emerging back into the sunlight, Orna could see the sky being ripped apart by the slipspace rupture. "By the Gods, brace for impact!" R'tas warned as parts of the delicate city spiralled out of control.

"Back in the tower, they're going to land right on top of us," Orna warned feeling the ground shake from the impact. He could see the Intent and to him it looked as though High Charity was heading straight for the carrier . . . a trick of the light surely.

"High Charity?" Shef whispered, his skin pale. "Who knows how many the Flood could have turned."

"Shipmaster, what's your status?" Keyes asked. Orna fell to his knees as the ground shuddered underneath them.

"Significant damage, weapons systems disabled!" R'tas boomed back. Orna closed his eyes. He remembered meeting R'tas, a poor Sangheili son, steeped in tradition and frustration. He hadn't got along well with Saia . . .

"Here they come," N'tho warned, opening a burst of rifle fire on the spores swarming towards them.

"Move to a safe distance, stay away from the Flood!" Keyes ordered him. She was a good human, she would have made a brilliant Ship Commander, had she been Sangheili. And male.

The thought of Saia arguing for her gender's right to fight made his blood run cold.

"Why would the parasite come here?" R'tas asked, almost to himself.

"The Ark is out of range of all the active installations!" Even the Oracle was panicked. "Priority: We must contain this outbreak before -"

"No! First, we stop Truth! Then we deal with the Flood."

But Keyes was too late. Orna watched, his gut clenching sickeningly as he saw the first of the Flood's combat forms lurching through the doorway. He still looked like himself, only overrun by the plague. One of the humans fired a shot gun at Mor's chest and he fell. "Chief, come on!" it yelled as the elevator slid back down into place. "We gotta clear this room."

Orna glanced down as the Chief came up to his left shoulder. "Demon?" he said, half in acknowledgement . . . half waiting for the reassurance of a response.

"Arbiter," the Chief echoed, nodding his head. And he opened fire on the Flood, pushing forwards with Orna back into the Ark.

The fading light glinted off of the hull of a Pelican as it landed, dropping warthogs and marines off. One of the warthogs slid on the frosty ground, tyres struggling to find purchase. "Shipmaster's carrier is out of commission, Chief," Keyes informed them. "I need you to take down Truth. The Flood's just going to put pressure on him and accelerate his plans. Punch through the cliffs! Get inside that citadel!"

"Spartan with me," Orna said, taking one of the Warthogs. The Chief took the gunner's seat and Orna accelerated quickly, letting the wheels spin in their haste to find grip.

"Quickly!" the Oracle swept down beside them, flashing irately. "I must see the point of impact; assess the damage done to the Ark."

"To the top of these hills, Oracle, no further! We cannot risk your capture by the Flood," Orna growled, aware he was scolding the Forerunner artefact like an errant hatchling but Forerunners willing he would see his own hatchlings soon – and that would be less likely if the damned thing was captured. They emerged from a tunnel into a snow drift, the hog powering through with the help of the heat from Gauss cannon as the Chief neatly took out the waiting Wraiths. The Scorpion behind them had nothing else to do but pick off the stragglers with its machine gun. Skirting a path along the cliff edge, Orna could see the citadel in the basin below. It looked familiar, like so much else he'd seen. It was like the oldest parts of High Charity, cannibalised from Forerunner technology, or the identical rooms in the sacred rings and on the ark itself. The citadel was nothing more than a place where someone worked . . . where someone had to make the choice to release Offensive Bias, to sacrifice all for the slender victory . . . where someone chose to kill those they loved.

And now he was here.

The sound of the atmosphere being punctured heralded two Scarabs falling from the sky and unfurling on the snow.

"I count two Scarabs, repeat, two Scarabs!" the radio shouted.

Slamming the brakes on, Orna left the Warthog idling, heading for the two Hornets left on the cliff. "Left or right, Spartan?"

"I'll go left," he said, almost flippantly, leaping across the snow to reach his Hornet at the same time as Orna. Even as they left the rock behind, the Scarabs were turning their guns on them.

"Then I shall take right. My finest pelt for you if you bring your down before I do." The Prophets would hate this. Gambling with a human? So vulgar, even if it wasn't blasphemy.

"I don't know what that is, but I'll take you up on it," Stacker responded in place of the Chief's stoicism.

Orna grinned and slid down under the Scarab's fire, dancing under the legs as it skittered to the side in an attempt to sight him once more. The marines hitchhiking on his Hornet did their best to help, firing their rifles at those on the Scarab's decks. He could hear the Chief's Scarab wailing as it sank to its knees, quickly followed by his own. "Hold on," he warned his marines, sending snow spiralling into the air as he reversed the engines on the Hornet. He began firing, dancing the Hornet from side to side as the Scarab fired on him. He could see the conduits heating up, the disruption in the core of the mechanics with the repeated rocket fire.

"That's both Scarabs down," Keyes announced.

Orna soared into the air, scanning the horizon for any sign of his former allies. The Scarabs were lying crumpled together, fires still smouldering where the snow didn't extinguish them. "All Covenant forces eliminated," Shef's voice came over the radio.

"Not all," Orna murmured. He let the Hornet drop, too quickly, the marines cried out. Landing on the citadel's bridge he left his vehicle, watching as the Oracle began tinkering with the citadel's door. "Spartan, come to me. This platform hides a path," he called over the radio, noting the electronics shining through. A drawbridge. A Forerunner drawbridge. His daughter had so loved studying the ancient Sangheili architecture. The deep space cruiser he had taken command of . . . what was it called? The Grave Leanings, that was it. Saia had remained on High Charity after Regret's brother had died, while he had run and taken his children with him. That had been his daughter's home and she had studied planet bound life in holo-vids and ancient texts, while her mother had worked tirelessly to help the Sangheili regain their place in the world after the dishonour Orna had done by not saving Regret's kin. His daughter was dead now. He could remember Truth's condolences as though it was yesterday.

The Spartan joined him, reloading his rifle as he did so.

"The Flood scale the citadel's far wall," Orna warned him. "Activate this bridge, Oracle!" As the Chief made to move past him he reached out to halt his progress. The Spartan was like a stone golem, stopping because he did not wish to break Orna's hand. Leaning in closer, Orna could feel the prickle of their respective shields fighting the close contact. "The Prophet will die by my hands, not theirs," he hissed. The Chief nodded, returning the contact with a hand on Orna's forearm.

The bridge lit up and they crossed to the citadel at a run, halting only when inside and the doors slammed closed. The Chief sagged suddenly, lurching into Orna's shoulder. Before the weight of the armour could crush Orna, the Chief regained his footing, vitals flashing KIA as the screens lit up with a human visage.

"It asked and I answered . . . for a moment of safety I loosed damnation on the stars!"

"Your construct," Orna waited for the Chief to regain his strength. "She's close."

The screens cut out, returning Truth to his audience. "My faithful . . . stand firm."

A growl rippled through Orna's chest and he sped up, the Chief keeping to his heels.

Truth continued, his words pounding into Orna's skull. "Though our enemies crowd around us, we tread the blessed path! In a moment I will light the rings, and all who believe shall be saved."

But did you ever believe, Truth? Orna had to wonder. Devious, scheming, brilliant in his wickedness – Truth was no fool. He chose to orchestrate the long game, to cripple Orna's people and make room for the blindly following Jiralhanae, so the war with the rumoured humans was more difficult than it ever should have been. Truth knew to take young, impressionable Sangheili and offer them too much to refuse – like Fera 'Talsamee. He had even thrown aside his own people, like kind Solitude.

"Chief, how close are you?" Keyes asked, her voice quiet and resigned.

The Spartan looked to Orna and then tilted his head backwards to gauge the distance. And now, Truth, you sacrifice another, Orna thought, his growl becoming more audible. The Chief lowered his head. "Not close enough."

Orna paced the confines of the elevator as it began its slow rise.

"We'll get there," the Chief said quietly. "We won't lose. Not now."

Rolling his shoulders backwards, Orna hung his head. "We can lose at any time, Spartan. It's not over . . ."

"Until it's over."

Sliding his gaze over the Spartan, Orna smiled. "And when it is, I will know your name."

"And I will know yours," the Spartan agreed, tensing as the elevator slowed.

"You were weak," Truth's voice carried, barely, over the length of the room yet to travel. "And Gods must be strong."

"The rings," Orna began, activating his sword as two Flood forms dropped in front of them.

"Do not shoot, but listen! Let me lead you safely to our foe. Only you can halt what he has set in motion!" the Gravemind spoke, the words echoing more in Orna's skull than in his ears. The spores began trickling past Orna's feet and he suppressed a shudder, moving forwards with the Chief.

"How could I have known the Parasite would follow?" Truth howled, his holograms twitching as they tried to keep up with his movements. "Undoubtedly this is the Heretics' doing! A final, bitter curse. Clear evidence of treachery long hidden!"

The air burned Orna's lungs, every sinew aching with the effort of hurtling forwards, fighting with the stinking creatures that swarmed over their opponents. Fitting that the last of the Covenant should fall to the diseased corruption that worked at its heart for so long.

"So far are we along the path that I must strain to hear the clumsy patter of their feet. Know this my brothers. They may foul the way with their charred and broken bones, but they will not stop the Journey!"

He never knew the path!

Orna passed the Flood that had destroyed the Jiralhanae. He saw Johnson on the ground, Miranda laid out beside him and barely registered the significance of the tableau. Shutting down his sword, he strode to Truth, the Prophet splayed out over the engraved floor. Orna seized him, hauling him off his feet and yet still not at eye level, Orna had to hunker down to look him in the face.

Truth face tightened before a smile escaped him. "Do you see now, Arbiter? The moment of salvation is at hand."

Pushing his talons into Truth's flesh, Orna's growl almost overcame his words. "It will not last!"

Truth's eyes narrowed. "Your kind," he trailed off, the grin becoming lecherous, "never believed in the promise of the sacred rings."

A daughter. A son. Brothers. Family. Lineage. Orna's fury was so consuming he nearly dropped Truth when the Gravemind spoke through him.

"Lies for the weak! Beacons for the deluded!"

Deluded still perhaps. Orna activated his sword, drawing back a little from the Prophet. "I will have my revenge," he growled, "on a Prophet, not a plague." On one Prophet, not a race. On one person, not a society. On Truth.

Pain contorted Truth's features and he arched his back, pustules breaking out over his skin. "My feet tread the path! I shall become a god!"

"You will be food - nothing more."

Truth's eyes rolled in his skull, catching sight of the Chief reaching over the panels. "No!"

With all the force of a hatchling's sigh, the anger left Orna's body. Not this Prophet, nor a hundred would ever bring back the lost. Not this victory, nor a thousand repent for the sins he had committed against innocents. He could not replace any father's son, any mother's daughter, and Truth was already a negligible threat. The Gravemind had him.

Now Truth sputtered, wracked by the throes of infection. Stirrings of pity in Orna's soul made themselves known. "I am Truth! The voice of the Covenant!"

What Covenant? Driving his sword through Truth's spine, Orna pulled him closer. "And so you must be silenced," he hissed, letting the body fall. Shaking his hands to cleanse them of the Prophet's stench, Orna roared into the cavernous room, hearing his own voice reply. The Covenant . . . what was left of it? An anarchic Priestess who found the traditions of her own people too stifling? A repentant Fleet Commander who remembered too well the sting of being poor?

Was there anything worth salvaging?

How can you ask that?

It wasn't Saia's voice in his head but Hans 'Galatash's. The mentor and father figure. Orna could see himself as a young warrior, holding the nadir as he watched the older Sangheili rant and rave about some social issue that Orna didn't really understand.

Even now? Why are you here, Orna?

Luck. Will of the Forerunners.

You're here because of a certain Sangheili. A warrior named Gul 'Tarmassan. You and me both. He saved my life and in turn I looked out for you when he died.

Honour. The will of the Forerunners.

Really? – now that was Saia's influence, amused, teasing.

You're here, Orna, because I could not leave the son of a friend by the wayside. You're here because Gul 'Tarmassan adored his mate, Asa 'Fulsamee, and spoke of her often when I missed my mate so. You're here because when Gul 'Tarmassan succumbed to illness I wanted to pay my respects. You're here because even with the promise of a rich sponsor as myself you wanted to work for it and you spent your years fighting for it all. You're here because of our people, Orna, and you must serve our people.

Was there anything worth salvaging in the Covenant? There was him. And there was Saia. And there were his children. Even if there were nothing else, he would still have that.

But there is something else, isn't there?

Usze. N'tho. R'tas.

And he had a name to learn.

The Chief met his gaze with a little nod, remaining silent as Johnson stooped to lift Keyes's body from the floor. Orna glanced away, brows furrowing as he noted one of the combat forms rising to its feet. As he drew breath to question it, Gravemind's tentacles shot into the air, snaring around the pillars and platforms. Orna backed up against the Chief, judging the distance between them and the Pelican.

Gravemind's voice echoed around them once more, "Now the gate has been unlatched, headstones pushed aside, corpses shift and offer room, a fate you must abide!"

With a snort, Orna tilted his head towards the Chief's. "We trade one villain for another."

The Priestess and the Warrior - Traxus
Date: 23 October 2008, 2:34 pm

The Priestess and the Warrior
Author: Jillybean

Traxus

"'Kanal I need to speak with them, now," Saia said to the flickering holo-image of the Ship Commander. "I have to offer the humans aid, and we're already discussing rates. If the Council doesn't have a financial minister in position yet than they are not doing their jobs!"

"'Jalahass," 'Kanal interrupted her, clicking his mandibles together. "You know my feelings on the Council, but they are working as swiftly as they can. Fera 'Talsamee and Saia 'Kristassi are both fighting for you. They believe, as do we, that the humans deserve recompense. But we barely know what state our own planets are in."

Sighing, Saia bowed her head. The Earth's single moon shone through her window, silvery light dancing off the lake outside of the hotel suite she had been set up in. Hans was through an adjoining door but her Honour Guards had refused to leave. They stood at the entrance to the suite, obliging her by not taking up their posts in the bed chamber. She reclined on one of the human pieces of furniture, not unlike a daybed she had in her office on High Charity, and watched the tiny figure of 'Kanal stalk across the coffee table. "Any word from home?"

"Your cousin, I believe, has set up a trust fund for the unexpected influx of homeless from High Charity," 'Kanal told her. "I received a transmission from Crai 'Browdee, do you know him?"

"Yes, he was one of my Honour Guards."

"The message he left was cryptic but he assured my subordinate that you would understand. He said his charges were safe and no one would ever know of them."

"Thank you," Saia said, heartfelt.

"May I enquire?"

"Refugees. I kept them safe in the convent for years. 'Browdee was in charge of getting them out and making sure they were cared for. If I know him he will simply have folded them into the ranks of the other refugees."

"Ingenious."

"Practical. It's his way."

"He also said he had word of 'Nyahasea. He said the Unggoy staff had kept her safe and now he had guards at your villa, I don't know what that means."

Slumping against the cushions, Saia placed her hands over her face. "It means my youngest daughter is safe," she said through her fingers. She dragged herself to her feet, reaching for the controls on the panel. "I shall speak with you again in the morning, 'Kanal, get some sleep. I - "

A sharp knock on the door cut her off and she paused, looking around as her guards went to answer it. A single human male stood in the doorway, his greying hair sticking up in messy spikes and his clothes rumpled. He tracked sand into her room as he walked past her Honour Guards as though he was a Sangheili born to privilege. "Saia 'Jalahass?" he said, a passable pronunciation.

Drawing her robes together with one hand, Saia extended the other for him to shake.. "That's me. You have me at a disadvantage." He firmly returned her grip.

The human grinned and sat on the large chair opposite the recliner. He pressed his hands together, finally acknowledging the Honour Guard with a glance as they advanced on him. "My name is Graeme Scott," he announced. "I am the CEO of Traxus. And I have an offer for you, Saia 'Jalahass."

"I have already made arrangements for some of Earth's entrepeneurs, however my hands are tied, I - "

"'Jalahass, I'm not here as an Earthling to an alien Ambassador." Graeme leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his knees. "I'm here as one individual to another. Traxus has been in my family for generations. And as I understand it, your family owns quite a few companies yourself."

"The Saia Conglomerate is not as large as some might say," 'Jalahass said carefully, again under the impression that Graeme Scott was a blooded Sangheili rather than some human who, apparently, walked into her hotel suite off the street. Where was human security?

Her Honour Guards had seemingly come to the same conclusion and were advancing slowly, unsure how best to physically force the human from the room.

"My sources tell me you own half of the Sangheili home planet," Graeme said quietly. "And the other half owned by various groups who are blood owed to your sub families, which as I understand it, means they're not going to do anything you don't like."

'Jalahass gritted her mandibles together, raising a hand to stop her guards. "How did you find this out?"

"My AI are among the best money can't buy."

"Your understanding of a blood oath is incomplete. Any sub-families to the Saia name are autonomous. Trace any Sangheili's lineage back far enough and you'll find some connection to my family."

"So you don't agree that this political process is moving too slowly?" Graeme asked, raising his eyebrows. He glanced around as the door burst open and three human security guards ran through with guns drawn. "Gentlemen," Graeme continued as though this was a minor inconvenience. "I see you're using the new Sim-Pech radios. Did they ever sort out the jamming problem?"

As one of the guards turned puce with rage, Saia rose to her feet and extended a hand. "Is this man a security threat to me?" she asked, raking her gaze over the human's frail body. Graeme grinned in response.

The guards hauled Graeme to his feet, patting him down while the Honour Guard held him still. "He's clean," the humans said, letting him go reluctantly. "Not even a gun."

"Then leave him. My guards will be able to evict him should he bore me." She remained on her feet until the humans had left and then she turned to her guards and gestured to door. "Go. This is a private matter."

"Ambassador . . ."

"Go! I could snap him like a twig," she jerked her head in Graeme's direction. "Go now!"

As the door was closed, Graeme laughed a little, pouring himself a drink from her bar. "Can I take it then that you're ready to listen?" he asked, turning. With satisfaction, Saia saw surprise in his eyes. He hadn't expected her to be towering over him when he turned around. She moved silently for something more than half again his size.

Lowering her head she drew her mandibles back in a grimace. "I want to know what you know about my family," she growled. "Talk now."

"I know the Covenant doesn't have competition laws," he said quickly. "I know that you wouldn't be doing anything illegal if you chose to forward my name to one of your relatives. And I know it would be extremely profitable for both of us." He smiled tentatively, pressing the glass into her hand. "I don't know about your society, but here, things will only get done if money changes hands. Our government will never ask you for aid even though they need it. But I can make deals. I can forge alliances."

"Sit," Saia ordered, stepping back. "And let me contact someone."

###

With one last spurt of energy, Orna dived into the vent shaft, the darkness closing in around him as the soft click click clack of the Flood's feelers echoed in his ears. He landed with a thump onto the cold floor of the citadel's service passages. For a moment he lay there, winded, unable to stand, unable to breathe. The smooth, stone-like floor was like a salve to his bruised flesh, removing the heat from his injuries, allowing his blood to stop roaring.

Pushing to his feet, he glanced behind him. The citadel had thankfully closed its vents in response to the Flood threat. No little infective agents followed them on this headlong flight.

The Chief stood in front of him, gaze drawn by something unknown . . . except for a flicker on the edges of Orna's vision, as though the implant which controlled his HUD was receiving interference – those shielded implants, so routine for Sangheili and human alike – never received interference.

"What do you see?" Orna asked quietly, not wanting to disturb the Chief. He followed the Chief through the corridors, shaking his head to clear shadows from his vision.

Rounding the corner, the Chief hesitated for a second before approaching a large console. With a few sure commands he had called the technology into life, winning an approving hum from the darkness. Orna raised his gun before realising it was only the Oracle, watching them from the shadows. He returned his attention to the shield world outside the window . . . and the machinery rising up from its depths.

Cold fear clawed in Orna's gut. Another Sacred Ring . . . his Sacred Ring was being resurrected in front of his eyes. An act of the Forerunner indeed. He forced himself to swallow, to wet his throat. "A replacement. For the one you destroyed."

The Chief twisted to face the Oracle. "When did you know?"

With a little sputter, the Oracle swept towards the window. "Just know. But I had my hopes."

Orna looked back to the ring. The mechanics of the thing were exposed, revealing circuitry and mechanisms beyond his comprehension. Had he not just killed Truth, he would have been able to ingratiate himself with the Hierarch once more with this discovery.

"What will you do?" Spark pushed.

"Light it." The Chief's words were so absolute that Orna turned to face him.

"Then we are agreed! A tactical pulse will completely eradicate the local infestation! I will personally oversee the final preparations." Carrying on in this vein, 343 Guilty Spark whirred away, his blue glow becoming lost in the gloom.

Once more, Orna looked at the ring. It was incomplete, and if memory served, activating the damn thing in the first place had been more difficult than he had foreseen, and even that was before the Flood were released and his only thought had been to get his warriors to safety and off the accursed Halo. He looked back to the Chief. "How will you light it?"

"Cortana."

The tightness returned to Orna's chest. He could see the remains of High Charity burning on the surface of the Ark. Even from here they could make out grotesque organic protrusions over the city's hull. "There are other ways."

"Not fast enough. You heard Sparks." The Chief's voice remained level, but his fingers tightened on the butt of his shotgun.

Shaking his head, Orna lowered his voice. "It's suicide, Demon, and you know it."

"What do you suggest?" The hissed exclamation was so unfamiliar coming from the Chief that Orna straightened in surprise. The Chief gripped the edges of the console, turning away and hanging his head. "She's in my head, all the time. He's hurting her. I have to . . . I have to try."

"Then I am coming with you."

The helmet whipped around, the fires of High Charity glinting off the visor. "No."

"If you go in alone, you will die."

"Then - " the Chief hesitated, sagging once more. His grip on the console was so tight that the edges of the metal began to deform.

"I am the Arbiter. I was created to die for the Covenant. I will go, retrieve your construct."

"And what about your family?"

Orna sighed deeply, rocking back on his heels. "I will not let you go alone and you will not let me go alone. What is left?"

"I won't let you go at all."

Drawing himself up to his full height, Orna narrowed his eyes and drew his upper mandibles together. "High Charity is a mess, but I will still know it better than you. However if you wish to waste time fighting me, we can settle the matter here and now. I don't pretend to think I will win, but I will slow you considerably." For a moment they paused, facing each other, before the Chief turned away. "Excellent," Orna muttered to the Spartan's retreating back. "I see you agree."

###

Graeme leapt from the deck of the Phantom as though he had been disembarking from the shuttles all his life. His knees flexed as he landed and he took a moment to balance himself before turning back to her with a grin. "I never thought I'd be here," he confided in a low voice, crowding closer to her as she led the way through the dimly lit docking bay.

"I can't say I predicted it," Saia murmured back, waiting for her Honour Guard to open to the door. 'Kanal ran a tight ship; she had no doubt that the vessel's AIs would inform him if she used her clearance. It wouldn't be long before one of the higher up commanders got wind of the shuttle landing, and 'Kanal would know where she was soon enough.

If she got to her daughter first, it would be enough.

She led him through the corridors as fast as she dared. He struggled to keep up, panting heavily as she ducked around a corner to escape two off-duty councillors. "They're clearly not busy enough if they're not using the night cycle to sleep," she muttered to her guards, getting nothing from either of them.

Graeme conceded to her observation with an affirming grunt. "Politicians, eh?"

"Hmm." Stepping towards a grav lift, she beckoned him onto the platform too. "Don't worry about this."

"Worry? I've never done anything like this before in my life!" he hissed, his face flushed. "I wouldn't miss this for the world."

Anticipating the odd jerk at the end of the lift, Saia reached out to steady him as they reached their destination. "This way." The living quarters were darkened, complying with the night cycle regulations despite the fact the regulating body had been destroyed. She found 'Kristassi's suite and pushed on the call pad, hearing the soft chime from within the small chambers. "Return to the hangar deck," she ordered the guards. "And don't think about wandering off to find 'Kanal either," she added as the door opened.

'Kristassi blinked at her for a moment, eyes wide and bleary from sleep. Instead of dressing traditionally in a robe, it looked as though she was just wearing the stripped down skin-suit that went under her armour. The short trousers revealed un-muscled legs and the vest showed off a med-patch on her abdomen.

"What happened to you?" Saia demanded, pushing Graeme into her daughter's room.

Glancing down, 'Kristassi brushed one hand over the bandage. "Nothing. High Charity. What is that doing here?" she demanded, pointing to Graeme.

"Ah." Saia glanced around the small room. The sleeping pod had one blanket, twisted and half fallen onto the deck. Of personal possessions, Saia could see none, not even a set of clothes. The silvery armour of a Councillor was cast aside beside the small commode. It was not fit for any daughter of her lineage, much less one who bore the 'Saia' name. With two fully grown Sangheili and one human, the place felt crowded.

As the silence deepened, 'Kristassi shifted from foot to foot. "We can't all be Ambassadors, mother. What do you want?"

Pulling herself together with a shake, Saia nodded. "I need you to do me a favour. I need you to take a ship to Sangheili and introduce Graeme here to my cousin, 'Baromee."

Unfolding her arms, 'Kristassi stared in horror, her lower mandibles tightening. "You can't possibly be suggesting that I leave my post and simply take one of our FTL ships and . . . and . . ." she glanced to Graeme, a flash of fear showing behind her eyes, "and simply introduce this human to Lekl 'Baromee, the Sangheili in charge of our wealth?"

"Forerunner damn you, 'Kristassi, our wealth means nothing!" Saia interjected, grabbing her daughter by the shoulders. "We have no time. We must make ourselves strong, now."

"No, you're making the humans strong." 'Kristassi wrestled out of her grasp. "No offence intended, human, but I simply cannot condone the meeting of one of our oldest institutions with a human."

"If I may," Graeme asked, raising his eyebrows. "I own Traxus, a company on Earth, but our shipping plants have taken heavy damage in the war. I'm prepared to come to your planet, alone, with no weapons. If that doesn't constitute good will . . ." he trailed off, his eyes meeting Saia's.

"The slur is not on you," 'Kristassi assured him. "My mother simply doesn't understand how the world outside her little domain works. Now that things don't proceed according to her every whim, she wants to upset everything."

Breathing heavily, Saia made fists of her hands. "So help me, I have never touched one of my children in anger before. I will not start now."

"It's true!" 'Kristassi spat. "You're so used to being the High Priestess, to have everyone deferring to you, that you don't, can't understand that our world doesn't work like that. Father learned that the hard way when they shamed him. You couldn't protect him then, could you?"

"I didn't see you standing up to support him either, 'Kristassi. You sat on the council and you watched as they burned him." Saia's words came out harshly, unexpected tears pricking in the corners of her eyes.

"Would you have had them kill me?" 'Kristassi asked sharply. "Would I have finally stood up to 'Lyueem if I had died for your beliefs?"

Stepping backwards, Saia curled over as though she had been punched. The air was gone from her chest and the vision of her oldest daughter flashed, unbidden and unwelcome in her mind. Her beautiful daughter, suicide to prove foul play. "How dare you," she growled.

'Kristassi recoiled. "She was my sister too, mother."

"And you turned to Truth."

"Because he would have protected me!" she screeched. "My own parents wouldn't look out for me, so I had to." Wrapping her arms around her torso, she backed into the wall, shaking her head. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, an expression of pain flitting over her features before she composed herself, making a tiny gesture towards Graeme.

It was the little twitch of her mandible that brought Saia back into the present. "He doesn't understand," she murmured.

Perplexed, 'Kristassi glanced to Graeme before she unfolded her arms. "I apologise. You don't need to hear this." Giving her shoulders a shake she strode forwards, passing Saia with enough distance between them to minimise the risk of bumping shoulders. She had inherited Orna's height and lanky frame, and his good looks. Pushing the door control she stepped aside to allow Saia to exit, and her eyes widened in surprise. Before Saia could ask, 'Kristassi stepped through the doorway, a beautiful smile lighting her features. "'Kanal!"

"Kiggari," Saia swore, beckoning Graeme forwards. Grabbing him by the shirt she dragged him into the corner of the room, pushing him against the sleeping pod. Pushing against his throat to keep him quiet, she frowned when he raised his eyebrows at her.

"Saia 'Kristassi," 'Kanal greeted the Councillor, the exhaustion in his voice making an excuse for his informality.

Graeme lifted Saia's hand from his throat and placed it on his lips, looking amused. Rolling her eyes, she let him go, trusting that he had her message. She listened intently for 'Kristassi, a fierce new pain in her chest, pride and fear and hope warring together.

"Your mother left Earth, and we think she's here," 'Kanal said.

From Saia's hiding place she could see her daughter's left shoulder. 'Kristassi shrugged. "I've not seen her. I'm glad you're here, I need you."

"If she's here and she doesn't want to see me, I can only assume she's doing something I would approve of," 'Kanal continued, growing stern. "'Kristassi, I came here alone," his tone switched abruptly, cajoling. "May I see Ambassador Saia 'Jalahass?"

"Whatever my mother is planning, and whatever I or you think of it, Commander," 'Kristassi's use of his title was a soft rebuke. "Nothing you or I do will be the solution to it."

In the silence, Saia could feel her own skin prickling. Her daughter's mate was not the most memorable Sangheili in the universe, but 'Kristassi had seemed so heart broken that Saia had almost changed her opinion.

You're hiding in your daughter's room, eavesdropping on what an old friend thinks is a private conversation and planning your bonding speech instead of grieving for a lost son.

Her stern inner voice could have made her blush.

"San . . . may we go to the commissary?" Now it was 'Kristassi's turn to plead.

Again the pause stretched out. "I stood up to your father once," 'Kanal said, his voice pitched so softly that Saia had to strain to hear her. "I don't suppose he would ever have told you about it."

"I don't think he ever did."

"Then maybe I'll tell you over dinner. Or breakfast."

Saia released the breath she had been holding as the doors closed.

"What does that mean?" Graeme asked.

"It means we have a little more time to find a ship to take us."

"You're leaving Earth?"

"I'd rather not," she answered honestly, pacing the short distance to the far wall. "This is the right thing to do, Graeme. Your government and my council won't come to any reasonable conclusion about aid. It's a precedent we'll have to set ourselves." She raked her hand over her throat. "It is the right thing to do," she murmured.

###

'Kristassi waited for the ship's sensors to realise there were Sangheili in the commissary, her eyes adjusting to the lighting as it gradually increased. 'Kanal fetched two bowls of pureed sinth worms and the unlevened bread that was a poor imitation of the sort that 'Kristassi would eat back on Sangheili.

"Why is it that food tastes different starside?" 'Kanal mused, handing one bowl to her and placing the other on the low table. He sat opposite her and glanced around the empty commissary. "It's made with all the same ingredients. Not to insult the Unggoy, but this is dreadful."

"Even on High Charity," 'Kristassi agreed, ripping her bread in half. "It doesn't taste of home."

Nodding, 'Kanal began to eat, his attention focussed on his meal.

Quartering the bread again, 'Kristassi dipped it into the puree and half raised it to her lips.

"It's not that bad, is it?" 'Kanal asked softly, eyes raised to look at her.

"It's been a long time since I was home," 'Kristassi told him. "And I miss it."

"No shame in that," he said, dropping another chunk of bread down his throat. As two Sangheili, they could eat politely without disgusting their fellow Covenant members. "Of course, there's no shame in missing your family, either."

Leaning her elbow on the table, 'Kristassi tilted her head to the side. "What did you mean about my father?"

Flushing, 'Kanal broke her gaze. "It's not important."

"It is to me. You said you went against him once. Now maybe I have to do what my mother asks." Pushing a sliver of bread deep into the puree, she forced herself to swallow a mouthful.

"Is that such a bad thing?" When she didn't answer, 'Kanal reached for her hand. "If she wasn't your mother, and was only Saia 'Jalahass to you, would you do it?"

"Would I cause trouble for myself to cause trouble for her?" Ducking her head, 'Kristassi nodded slowly. "I know she wants what is best for us, our people. She doesn't always want what's best for me though."

"Could I do it?"

Surprised at the offer, she smiled at him. "No. You have too much to lose. I am a second rate Councillor, with no power and no prospects. If anyone should risk the wrath of society for the good of us all, it should be me," she drawled, her smile growing tight. "My mate would have told me not to. He would have told me to stick up for myself." She lifted her hand out of 'Kanal's and pushed the food away. "But she's right. I can't hide from that." Rising to her feet, she blinked when 'Kanal hastily stood as well.

"I've seen your father at his worst. He was still the greatest Sangheili of our time. I admire your parents but I can only imagine what it's like for you."

Nodding, 'Kristassi swallowed roughly, clamping down on any irritated words. She turned to go, stalled by his hand on her shoulder.

"I won't say you were a spoiled little rich hatchling, that's not fair. I will say that if it wasn't for your parents I wouldn't be here. I wouldn't have been trained as I was. I wouldn't have had my opportunities. But I wouldn't have realised our Covenant could become better than it was. I don't believe that your mother is asking you to throw yourself upon the pyre, 'Kristassi, despite what you think of her motives."

"No," 'Kristassi conceded. "I was burned on the pyre long ago." Tugging away from him, she bowed her head. "Ship Commander."

"'Kristassi . . ."

"Thank you for your time."

###

Saia had the shuttle's flight plan logged when she heard Graeme cough. Exiting the hatch, she looked to where he was pointing.

"Don't say a word," 'Kristassi warned her, climbing in to the shuttle. "And when Father returns . . . if he returns . . . we must talk." She stood in front of Saia, bearing nothing of her own to take back to Sangheil. "I want to make you both proud," she continued in a smaller voice, her gaze darting to the side. "I want you to be proud of me. But your standards are too high – no, please. Don't speak."

Saia closed her mandibles and pressed her hand to her throat to stifle a sob. She nodded, exiting the shuttle.

"I trust you," 'Kristassi whispered, turning to look at her mother. "That's why I'll do this."

"I am proud of you," Saia said, the words tripping out.

"But you weren't always," 'Kristassi responded, closing the hatch.

The Priestess and the Warrior - Shorn in Half
Date: 31 October 2008, 2:14 pm

The Priestess and the Warrior
Author: Jillybean

Shorn in Half

Graeme leaned back in the Sangheili designed seat, his feet dangling off the floor and his shoulders sliding down the smooth surface. 'Kristassi was perched neatly on top of hers. With the swivelling seat reversed, her backwards knees were accommodated for. He watched her as she drummed her long fingers off the control panel. She stared out of the viewport at the heaving space port they had landed in. Bulbous, brightly coloured Covenant ships remained with their docking tethers leading down into the seething mass of people walking between brightly covered stalls and merchants.

"It won't be long," she murmured, more to herself than to Graeme. "That stall over there, the one with the chequered cloth, used to sell the sweetest sugared fruits. When I came here to meet mother or father off a ship, we would buy some."

Graeme nodded appreciatively, even sitting up straighter to see the stall in question. "Can I ask something?"

"Hmm?" She glanced at him, then nodded. "Ask."

"What's attractive for an Elite? I mean all those guys out there," he waved to the masses, "they look all equally strange to me."

Turning to face the odd little human, 'Kristassi curved her mandibles in a smirk. "Are you planning on making an acquaintance?"

"Thinking ahead for marketing," he responded, grinning at her.

"It's difficult to say, I suppose. The traditional concepts of beauty have changed. We Sangheili favour a flat skull," she pressed a hand to her own skull, which was level.

"Are you beautiful?"

Blushing, 'Kristassi ducked her head. "I've been told so. My father's good looking. My mother is pretty I suppose. Um . . ." she tilted her head to the side, wracking her memory for every Sangheili she'd ever considered attractive. "I like slender mandibles, my mate had a broad thorax and . . ." she trailed off, watching Graeme from the corner of her eye. "I think you would be better discussing this with those who specialise in our culture. I can only tell you my preferences."

Graeme's eyes narrowed but he smiled and nodded at her. He continued to watch her until she looked away, back to the tableau outside. Even then she felt sure he was still watching her. Perhaps it was a human thing. She could feel her skin prickling nonetheless. The short flight had not endeared the human towards her. He made the air feel greasy. She longed to pop the hatch and feel the dry trade winds on her face. To calm her skipping heart beat she accessed the computer's databanks and the five classical pieces that seemed to be included with any software that had a playback facility. Her own runabout had a complete collection of Unggoy Rebellion era holtpo music, which her mate mocked her about relentlessly. Or used to.

"This is beautiful. It sounds almost like something from our databanks," Graeme was saying, closing his eyes as he listened. "Yes it's very sweet, very haunting, absolutely beautiful."

And would be more so if you shut up, 'Kristassi reflected, gaze falling upon the door lock as the readout bleeped. "Stay here," she ordered, rising from her chair and taking a pistol from under the console. The gun's barrels sprang apart and glowed as she removed the safety. She crossed to the door, placing a hand on the panel and waited with bated breath.

"'Kristassi? It's Hara."

She smiled at the sound of her older brother's voice. For her the loss of Karte had registered so much more than the loss of 'Lyueem. Much of 'Kristassi's early life had been in the convent, raised by her many poorer aunts and seeing her mother once a day, if the day was uneventful. 'Lyueem had been a passing presence, deeply involved in being a Priestess. When her first rites had gone so tragically wrong, 'Kristassi had been too old to join the Priestesses, even if she had wanted to. Karte was training, so was Hara and Kray, and she was alone, left defenceless without an institution. Truth and 'Talsamee had been there with their politics and she trained for the Council from then on. But while her parents retreated from their cause to lick their wounds they isolated themselves from her. And it was many years later, after Karte's heart breaking death, that her two remaining brothers brought her news of the birth of their youngest sister. Her brothers had attended her bonding ceremony, and not long after her father destroyed the sacred ring and it seemed as though all was lost.

Hara grinned rakishly when she opened the door. He was dressed plainly in a rough sarong and kaftan, looking much more like a traveller than a decorated warrior. If Graeme had wanted an idea of Sangheili sexual ideals – he needn't have looked further than this example standing before him. The spiker slung over his hip only helped his rogue persona. He was well known as a heartbreaker, but less well known for being hopelessly devoted to an Honour Guard – former Honour Guard, 'Kristassi reminded herself – who quite sensibly refused to commit himself until Hara's wild ways ended.

Hara hooked elbows with her and then bumped foreheads in a sibling greeting. "You look awful," he commented breezily. "Greetings," he added to Graeme, barely batting an eyelid. "So this is your precious cargo?" he asked of 'Kristassi. "From your message I thought you were smuggling a Prophet in."

"What do you mean?"

Removing a cloak from his satchel, Hara tossed it to Graeme. "Come on, we'll pretend you're an ill hatchling."

"Wrap it over your head, like that," 'Kristassi told him.

"Some people are calling for a cull of the Prophets. Crai 'Browdee has formed up a volunteer group of Honour Guards and they're protecting those that are left. But there are some former Guards on the other side too."

"Is Liftse among them?" she asked, concerned.

"Which side?" Hara asked darkly, thumping the side of the ship with his fist. "I told him we needed protection at home, but he laughed that off."

"Who needs protection?"

"'Nyahasea," Hara said, as though it was obvious. "And the servants at the house, the Unggoy. Mother had 'Browdee protect them, but he's satisfied that Kray will do it. No one has come close to harming us. We're more holy than the Hierarch ever were. But Liftse, Forerunner damn him, thinks that there are still some Prophets who need protecting."

"Don't you remember Solitude?" she pulled Graeme's hood further up over his head to cast his features in shadow. "He was good to our family, and to many Sangheili."

"Let's not talk politics, little sister. I presume that since you had me send for Lekl 'Baromee that this matter involves business."

"That it does." Following him into the streets she helped Graeme climb into the hovering selkie – hardly an inconspicuous mode of transport. It was another of their father's and a top of the line personal transport vehicle. "I'll drive," she added, taking the controls.

Hara frowned at her. "Are you sure?"

"I am not having you driving up those mountain roads," she scolded him. "And besides, I've never driven this model."

###

The mountain villa had been purchased after Saia 'Jalahass and Orna 'Fulsamee had been bonded. When Orna had spent a considerable sum on the vacant building the society gossips had gone wild. Would 'Fulsamee squander away 'Jalahass's fortune? Impossible, it would take generations of poor spending to come to that conclusion.

Now the villa and its surrounding grounds was the statuesque dream home of any Sangheili. From the entrance, 'Kristassi could see the canyon stretching off into the distance, the balcony along the villa's north face hanging out over the yawning crevasse. The curving outer walls were lined with tinted glass, glistening against the bare yellow rock like a diamond half buried.

"Now this is impressive," Graeme announced as he threw the blanket back into the selkie's interior. "Cold though," he noted, wrapping his arms around his torso.

'Kristassi tilted her head back and took a deep breath of the sharp air.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Hara murmured beside her, a smile gracing his handsome features. "Hey!" His tone warmed considerably and 'Kristassi turned to see a young hatchling running from the door.

"'Nyahasea," 'Kristassi murmured, taking a step backwards as her sister leapt into Hara's arms.

"Hello," the little Sangheili said, waving at her.

"Hello." Extending a hand to brush over the downy skin on 'Nyahasea's elbow, she couldn't help herself smiling. "My name is Saia 'Kristassi, I'm your sister."

"I know," 'Nyahasea sounded almost scornful at this explanation. "There are holos of you in the house." She turned back to Hara, pressing her mandibles against his shoulder and squealing in delight as he whirled her around. "I missed you, Kray said you might not come back!"

"Did he now?"

"And he said that if I didn't eat my dinner mother wouldn't come back either."

'Kristassi hesitated, catching sight of her other brother in the doorway. "Kray!"

"Wonderful," Hara drawled, reaching the warm insides of the house. "I leave you to look after her and she's traumatised."

"I'm not," 'Nyahasea protested, wriggling out from Hara's grasp. She clung to his hand still, eyes widening as she looked Graeme. She came up to his abdomen.

Kray rocked back on his heels, crossing his arms. "The Unggoy are worse than useless. They're barely cooking meals."

"Yes, how dare they react to the greatest schism our culture has ever known," 'Kristassi remarked sharply. She crouched beside 'Nyahasea. "Your mother and father are coming back," she said, placing her hands on the hatchling's shoulders. "They miss you very much and want you to be brave."

'Nyahasea leaned into Hara's thigh and sucked on one of her lower mandibles for a moment. "I'm not scared," she said defiantly. "Kray said I should be, but I'm not."

Glaring at her brother again, 'Kristassi pushed him on the shoulder. "You'll be a wonderful father. Is 'Baromee here yet?"

"Yes, she's sleeping." Leading the way into the parlour, Kray collapsed onto one of the daybeds, calling for an Unggoy. "Can I leave now?"

"No," Hara growled, taking a seat and allowing 'Nyahasea to curl up on his lap. "We're staying together until mother and father come back."

'Kristassi eased herself onto the Jiralhanae pelt on the floor and felt her limbs turn to lead as though a switch had been thrown. All the weariness of the past few days caught up with her and the thought of sleep was almost too much to resist.

'Baromee swept into the room, her short Lekgolo silk kimono being the only garment she wore. Graeme's eyes widened and he averted his gaze. 'Kristassi didn't bother correcting any social misdemeanours, letting 'Baromee's quick business speak wash over her. Soon, Graeme was joining in, arguing or agreeing, 'Kristassi wasn't quite sure.

"Hey," Hara nudged her with his toe.

She blinked, surprised to find that she had dozed off. Her brother was standing above her, holding 'Nyahasea in his arms. She too was sleeping, a little drool seeping onto Hara's tunic.

"Sleep in father's room," Hara advised. "It's free."

Too tired to argue, she clambered to her feet and pressed her forehead to his to bid him a goodnight. She did the same to 'Nyahasea, though she slept through the gesture. Her parent's room had changed somewhat since she'd last seen it. The glass wall that looked over the canyon was shaded with several holos, Hara's promotion ceremony, 'Nyahasea when she was just hatched . . . and 'Lyueem in her Priestess garb, Karte in his armour. The circular bed had a patchwork quilt on it, the greens and blues identifying it as having been made by Sangheili traditional methods. 'Kristassi stripped off her clothes and crawled under the covers, noticing a holo of herself in a Council ceremony on the bedside table. Wrapping the quilt over her shoulders, she drifted off to sleep.

###

Scooping a handful of snow off the ground, Orna pressed it to the underside of his mandibles, feeling blood seep into the cool compress. He whirled, dropping his hands to his carbine and firing at the approaching Flood. The decaying body lumbered backwards. "Move!" Orna roared at the Chief, the words hurting his raw throat.

"Don't let this ring be the end of us, Chief!" Cortana's voice echoed over the radios as the Chief picked himself up off the ground, his armour shaking as he brought himself upwards.

"Come on," Orna growled. "Come on . . ."

###

'Kristassi awoke to Hara crouched over her bed. He placed a hand on her throat to stifle any noise she made. "Quickly," he murmured. "We have . . . we have a problem."

His sombre face sent chills straight down her spine and she flung the covers aside, clambering off the bed. "What's the matter?"

Hara handed her the skin suit she'd been wearing. She noticed that he was wearing his maroon armour, sans helmet, and a plasma sword hung on his hip. "Justice," Hara said darkly. "They want it."

"Who's they?" she asked, tugging her suit back on. The stench of her own sweat repulsed her.

"Half of Sangheil."

In the corridor she was met by Crai 'Browdee, seemingly so exposed without his Honour Guard uniform. He wore battered blue armour, borrowed from some Sangheili who was miraculously as large as he was. He greeted her with a gruff grunt, lowering his plasma rifle as he spoke to her. "Keep away from the windows."

"Where's 'Nyahasea?" 'Kristassi asked, raising a hand to stop Hara from hustling her away.

"In the servants quarters with the Unggoy, it's safer."

"What's happening here?"

Hara and 'Browdee exchanged a dark look before Hara took a deep breath and met her gaze. "I told you Liftse was guarding a Prophet. He had to bring it here. They want to hang it."

"He endangered all of you," 'Browdee murmured. "But his only other choice was to let them tear Deliverance limb from limb."

Placing a hand over Hara's forearm, 'Kristassi nodded. "He did the right thing." As her brother looked as though he was going to argue she shook her head. "He did the right thing, Hara. Deliverance deserves trial for any crimes he may have committed."

Ducking his head, Hara leaned in closer. "They will burn this place to the ground before they leave without him."

Led to the pyre.

"Is the Smoke in the hangar?" 'Kristassi asked, ignoring the treacherous inner voice.

"Yes, but they cut off access," 'Browdee reported, standing to attention. "We have Deliverance in the parlour because if they breach the perimeter, we'll be able to lead them away from the servants quarters, where the Unggoy, 'Baromee and your human are."

She nodded. "They're at the front?"

"Yes."

Burned on the pyre long ago.

"Then take me to them," she said, forestalling Hara's complaints with a raised hands. "They won't go by themselves, Hara. If worst comes to worst, you take 'Nyahasea, the human and 'Baromee and you get to the Smoke, do you understand me?"

"No," Hara ground his mandibles together. "I refuse."

"Kray can't do it, you know what he's like. You could." She pulled him closer, bumping foreheads. "Go now. Go."

"This could all be for nothing," he whispered. "You know that . . ."

"We paid too heavy a price for it all to have been for nothing." She stepped away from him and nodded to 'Browdee. "Let's go. Now."

The Honour Guard who had accompanied her mother on so many missions led her through the house of her youth towards the front entrance. She could hear the steady chanting of her people, a rumble that shook the vases on their stands as she stood in the hallway. Kray and Liftse stood at the windows, fearsome guns aimed through the glass. Outside it seemed only to be a mass of bodies, grey and brown Sangheili, Unggoy eyes glowing underneath.

"Open the door," she murmured.

Kray glanced to Browdee before obeying, and the three soldiers stepped out first, invoking further rage in the crowd. The hot red anger of the crowd rolled over 'Kristassi like a wave, singing her skin. She stepped forwards, raising her hands. "I'm unarmed," she shouted, her voice scraping her throat. "I'm unarmed!"

"Burn the Prophets!"

"Bring him!"

"Stop!" she called out to them. "You'd undo everything we've ever achieved to claim your vengeance. Deliverance will pay for what he's done. He will pay in front of all of us. Sangheili. Unggoy." She saw two hulking forms in the midst of the crowd. "Lekgolo! But it has to be in front of all of us!"

"Who are you?" someone shouted.

Her pride stung and she wondered if her ego could have grown any bigger. "I am Councillor Saia 'Kristassi," she shouted into the mumbled roar of the crowd. "I am an official of your government. You will heed me."

"Councillors! You're no better than Truth!"

"My family is dead!"

"My son!"

"Do you forget our family?" she hollered back at the distressed female. Pointing a talon at the individual, she shook her head. "Do you forget the name of my sister? Of my brother?" She placed a hand on Kray's shoulder. "My family is in this building, they're laying their lives down to protect - "

"To protect a Prophet! You're traitors like the rest of them!"

"To protect our society!" she countered, whirling to see that anonymous commentator. "If you mete out your punishment on Deliverance, then you turn yourselves back into what we were before we rose up. Is everything you see abhorrent? Did our belief in the Forerunner . . . in the Covenant . . . did it bring us nothing?"

"You can leave!"

"Let 'Fulsamee's family leave!"

"Safe passage," someone closer to the front added.

"No." She drew herself up to her full height. "We're not leaving. This is our home. We are waiting here for our parents to return. When Saia 'Jalahass returns to her children after forging peace with the humans. When Orna 'Fulsamee returns to us after bringing Truth to justice. We will be here in our home. Our family will remain here!" She was shaking now, blood dripping from her palm where her talons were cutting into her flesh. "I won't have them return to find that all they fought for has been ripped apart by those thuggish individuals who felt the need to pass some time." She stared around at the crowd, feeling the cool breeze blow in from the canyon. "Kray," she said in an undertone. "Go to the Unggoy, tell them to start boiling tea, now." Raising her voice once more, she addressed the crowd who were beginning to mill uncertainly. "I know some of you have come a long way. We'll do our best to offer you refreshments. Let it never be said this house refused hospitality." Was it her imagination or was the crowd beginning to break up. "I will also authorise the use of our own vehicles to help some of you return to the valley."

"Councillor?" One of the Unggoy raised its hand.

"Yes, matriarch?" she asked, recognising the paint on the creature's head.

"What provision will be made for us?"

"For the Unggoy?" she repeated, floundering in the sea of expectant faces turned her way. "The Covenant . . . the Covenant has had an important role in protecting the Unggoy . . . however . . . it may be said that some Unggoy have been exploited. Some of you may know," she added, raising her voice again, "that my mother has always insisted upon fair wages for our house staff. Our Unggoy house keeper is paid equal to what a Sangheili would earn. Fairness . . . partnership. That is what the Covenant should represent."

"And inheritance laws?" asked a young male Sangheili.

"You're talking legal and social overhaul," she said, stepping aside to allow the first of the servants to start passing beakers around. It looked as though every cup, mug, glass and carafe in the house had been commissioned into service.

"I inherited nothing when my mother died," snapped the young Sangheili. "I had to join the army or live on the streets."

"You know my father has set up many funds," 'Kristassi nodded along to his plight. "I myself campaigned for a change in the law, you may know that it is my younger sister who will inherit, as when I was born and named I still had an older sister. Her death, a tragedy, also meant that I and my brothers were cut off from the Saia fortune. 'Nyahasea is now in charge of our wealth should something happen to our family. We know the system is not fair. We also know that it has its roots in our history, we can't simply throw all that away." She stepped off of the porch and onto the dirt road, reaching her people in a stride. "What else?"

###

Gunning the ignition on the Warthog, Orna sailed the gap, the wheels whirring over the thin air between them and a long, sticky death. He didn't dare look behind him to see how the Chief was coping. The first time the Hog had tumbled he had thought it would be their end, until he saw another, dropped by the Dawn, and he had sprinted for it while the Chief righted the other.

His Hog hit the deck with a scream of torn metal and he vaulted from the wreckage, stumbling to escape the incoming approach of the Chief. Metal howled again and he twisted to see a Scorpion escape its bindings. Lurching behind crates he huddled as the tank slid into his refuge, the buffer of the reinforced storage crates. Hauling himself over the Scorpion's tread he glanced back for the Chief, nodding to him before heading for the bridge. His lung ached with the effort of the run, the recycled ship's air drying his throat. Static discharges ran along the length of the bulkheads, leaping to his armour and flowing over his shields. He collapsed into the pilot's chair, taking thruster control from Cortana and pushing the Dawn into the portal. The blue light played over the dark entrance way.

"If I don't make it . . ."he murmured.

You'll make it.

He clenched the arms of the chair as the static crackled around him, burning the air to cinders.

"I'll miss you."

The Priestess and the Warrior - Peace, Remembrance & a Heavy Price Paid
Date: 18 December 2008, 8:08 pm

The Priestess and the Warrior
Author: Jillybean

Peace, Remembrance and a Heavy Price Paid

"Ma'am?"

Saia turned to the human who'd addressed her, unclenching her mandibles long enough to tersely ask him "what?"

"It may be better for you to go inside," the marine informed her.

She looked away from him, back over to the water and the twisted wreckage of half the Dawn. The beautiful earth sunlight made the ocean sparkle like topaz and only the faint smell of boiling metal hung in the air like a spirit watching the proceedings. The workers who scurried over the hull of the carrier were using their torches to slice through the thick shielded plates. One of them shouted, a mechanical suit lumbering over to help him pry the deck plates apart. Saia leaned further out of the Pelican, her grasp on the webbing hand hold slipping. "Is it him?" she asked the marine, nausea rising in her gut.

"Ma'am, please come inside," the marine reached for her and she sprang from the Pelican's platform, arcing into a dive. She cut into the water like a knife, the height of her dive forcing down into the depths of the sea. Light flickered from within the Dawn as she kicked her way back up to the surface. She thought of every anniversary she put on hold for some ceremony or every mission Orna had taken instead of his full leave. Such regrets seem so obvious at the end.

Propelling herself from the water she moved up the hull, pushing aside the humans who tried to stall her.

Clutching his shoulder, Orna leapt from the Dawn's interior. He blinked in the strong light, casting around to note his surroundings. "Saia?" He sounded mildly perturbed to see her and he hesitated, looking to one of the humans for guidance.

"It's good to see you, sir," the human responded, patting his arm. "There's a dropship waiting to take you to the Silent Guardian for a med check-up."

"Orna?" Saia called his name, approaching him slowly. "Orna, do you hear me?"

He nodded absently, glancing back at the gaping hole in the Dawn's hull. "The Chief, he was in the hangar . . ."

The marine hesitated, checking his HUD for a status report. "Sir. Only half the Dawn made it through the portal," he said, looking to Saia for help. "It's a miracle you survived."

"The Chief," Orna repeated, gripping Saia's arm.

"We'll wait," she assured him, waving the Pelican down. "Come on inside, love. We'll wait for him."

"I have to know his name," Orna murmured, leaning on her shoulder. He ducked his head to protect it from the spray kicked up by the Pelican's descent.

"We will," she assured him, reaching up to help pull him into the Pelican's underbelly. "We'll wait right here until we know for certain."

###

"Councillor?" the Unggoy head of the house entered the study with a smile in her eyes, her mask covering the rest of her expression. "The Fleet of Retribution has just entered orbit."

'Kristassi hesitated, her fingers poised above the panel she'd been working on. "With the remaining Councillors?" she asked, not quite able to lift her gaze from the speech she had been composing.

"I believe so, Councillor. But I believe there is still a fleet around Earth. The holo-casts are calling it the Fleet of Particular Justice."

She had half risen from her seat but sank back down at this news, tears in the corners of her eyes. "Then . . . the Arbiter?"

"I cannot speculate," the old Unggoy said kindly, patting her arm. "However, I do know that the Fleet of Retribution is not headed by the Shadow of Intent."

Nodding, she noticed an icon blinking in the corner of her screen and she pressed it, watching the glowing specks of light reform themselves into a miniature version of San 'Kanal.

"Ship Commander San 'Kanal of the Carrier Refleciton, flagship of the Fleet of Retribution, wishing to speak with you," the AI announced, while 'Kanal shifted impatiently, the tiny figure shuffling along her mother's desk.

"Yes, I accept," she waved the AI aside, leaning in closer. "What's happening?"

"Your father's alive, the Fleet of Retribution returned to Earth," he said quickly, meeting her gaze. His features softened with a smile. "He's a little bruised, but he'll live. The first thing the Council did was reinstate him as Supreme Commander of the Fleet of Particular Justice. About three ships," he added in an aside, shaking his head. "And the Intent is badly damaged, something to do with High Charity I hear and . . ." he trailed off, leaning against an unseen support. "I was sent here to escort the Council to Sangheili. Hans 'Galatash is with me."

"Is your duty over?" she asked, leaning back in her chair. "We would be delighted to have you and Hans over for dinner."

'Kanal tilted his head to the side, contemplating this for longer than she truly wanted him to. "I suppose this will be my only chance to come planetside," he mused cryptically. "We will be delighted. Shall I . . . inform anyone else of this?"

"No. Family and friends only," she announced. "I'll see you tonight," she added as he reached to end the call.

"Take care," he said, his image returning to the flat projection of her speech. She rubbed her forehead before leaving the study and searching the house keeper out, wondering what sort of a dinner party she could throw when the whole planet was changing underfoot.

###

R'tas 'Vadum entered the medical bay of the Silent Guardian with a slight limp. He bowed his head to Saia who stood from her chair to greet him. "It is good to see you again, Ambassador, I hear," he added, favouring her with a rare smile. Turning to the Sangheili on the bed, his smile grew genuine. "How are you, Orna?"

"Fine," Orna muttered. "I don't need to be here at all."

"Until your shoulder blade forms a working socket again, instead of shattered remnant of bone, you'll stay here," Saia ordered. "It won't take much longer," she added, glancing at the chronometer.

"It itches," Orna informed her, wriggling as best he could under the stasis field.

"'Kanal reached Sangheili," R'tas informed them "Thought it seems as though the fighting has ceased. We need to send diplomats to the Jiralhanae planets. At the moment there's a blockade."

"I've fought the Brutes for almost my whole life," Orna groaned. "I do not want to keep fighting them. We should allow them the chance to join and if they don't want to, they can back the hell off and stay in their space."

"The humans are attempting to form a coalition, a United Space-farer Organisation was the last name I heard for it. They don't want to join the Covenant, but they'd like for us to join them," she grimaced. "I promised myself I wouldn't talk business."

"Business won't wait." Orna sighed heavily. "I want marines in our academy," he said, closing his eyes. Possibly to avoid seeing R'tas's expression.

"Orna, don't you think - "

"I own half of the Yermo College, I'll do what I damn well please," Orna growled. "I want marines. In our academy."

"Yes, Arbiter," R'tas bowed his head again. "Rumours have reached us of riots in the outer colonies," he added, "I've dispatched some of the Fleet of the Righteous Justice back into that area. The commanders know it well, I felt they would be best suited to the task, leaving the Fleet of Retribution to guard the inner colonies."

"Fine," Orna muttered.

"Thank you, R'tas," Saia said pointedly, taking a step towards the door to show him out. "You've done exactly what Orna would have." As the door closed she turned back to her mate. "Almost."

"He's a good soul."

"I never said he wasn't but I've always said he was far too serious." Pulling the chair towards his bedside she lifted the reports she'd been working on. "I love you," she said abruptly, looking back down at the figures. "And I know you feel guilty, but if I had to choose, I would have chosen you over him any day."

Orna had his eyes closed, but they crinkled as though he was trying to stop himself from seeing. "I had a thought," he whispered. "Of teaching at the college with him by my side. Guest lectures. For everyone, graduates and students. I saw it so clearly."

Saia bent over him, pressing her forehead to his. "I'm sorry."

###

Reaching into the wardrobe once more, 'Kristassi flung one of her mother's robes onto the bed and dragged her hands over her scalp in frustration. "Does she have nothing casual?"

'Nyahasea popped her head up from one pile of discarded fabrics and clicked her mandibles. "The grey one is still prettiest." She dived back into the sea of tailoring and emerged with a large golden filigree bracelet that 'Kristassi had never seen before in her life. She wondered if some portal to another wardrobe existed under the bed.

"Society crumbles," 'Kristassi mused, staring at the vestments of her mother's life. "Blows away like dust. And we've only got the bare bones left. So we try to dress them up like a corpse, instead of interring them like we ought."

"I'm going to have stew tonight."

Jarred back to earth, 'Kristassi smiled at her sister. "Good. I think the stew will be very nice."

"Who's coming again?"

Turning back to the bed, 'Kristassi lifted the grey and silver sari from its resting place on the pillow. Wrapping the first swathe around her hips, she gratefully accepted 'Nyahasea's assistance. "It's only going to be Hans 'Galatash and one of the ship commanders."

"San 'Kanalee . . . Kanal," 'Nyahasea corrected herself.

"Yes." Throwing the end of her sash over her shoulder, she reached for the silver headband and regarded her reflection with and without it.

"Is that them?" 'Nyahasea cocked her head to the side at the sound of someone moving around at the far side of the villa. She took the headband from 'Kristassi's hands and placed it over her head, scurrying away in a flurry of soft pink Jiralhanae wool. 'Kristassi followed along behind her, with one last swift glance at the mirror. She rounded the corner of the hallways in time to hear 'Nyahasea shriek with delight as Hans lifted her off her feet and tossed her into the air.

"You're too old for that, noble warrior," 'Kristassi said, her stomach lurching as much as 'Nyahasea's must be. "You'll drop her."

Currently dangling the once well-presented hatchling by the foot, Hans brow shot upwards. "I never dropped you."

Behind him, 'Kanal have a sharp bark of laughter. He stifled it with a hand over his throat, but his eyes sparkled. "I should very much have liked to see that."

"Stick around," Hara promised, brushing past 'Kristassi with Liftse, Crai and Kray in tow. "Come on, I'm starving, and we can hardly stand on protocol today. It's not going to be a seven course meal I'm afraid, though the Unggoy have done their best, it's just us, isn't it?"

'Kristassi nodded, hanging back to make sure she seated herself with 'Kanal. "We'll have to put up with my brother's hosting, it seems."

"I'll be sure to lament it," he returned, still grinning.

"These two argued ever since they were little," Hans announced, pointing to the siblings and leaning closer to Liftse.

"It's true." Crai was already ladling out food for 'Nyahasea. "'Kristassi was sick when she was a hatchling, and the boys refused to include her in any of their games. Kray would just run off but Hara always stops to argue."

"Sounds very familiar," Liftse observed, getting elbowed in the ribs for his trouble.

'Kristassi served out worms for herself and for 'Kanal, wondering how the Unggoy had managed so many dishes when stocks had been low. They must have gone to market today and scrounged and used every bit of weight Saia name carried to get fresh worms. "How was my father?" she asked, lowering her tone so 'Nyahasea wouldn't hear.

"Concussion, fractures, but nothing that won't be healed by now," 'Kanal promised. "And the Ambassador has been making slow progress, I believe she intends to return home with the Arbiter until the humans are satisfied. She seems to think that she's done all she needs to assure a profitable future for all." He leaned in closer, dropping his voice ever further. "I heard 'Baromee was planetside. Why would she need to be here I wonder?"

"Well High Charity has been destroyed."

"Hmm."

Losing her patience, 'Kristassi set her bowl down. "What would lying to you accomplish, San? Besides embarrassing both of us? It'll come out in time."

"What are you two discussing, so secretly?" Hans asked, peering at them. "Speak up! Old ears aren't what they were."

Having ate more food than she'd seen since leaving High Charity, 'Kristassi found herself on the balcony in the frigid night air. She had come in search of 'Nyahasea and spotted her instantly, in the company of the one other missing soul. Her little sister had San 'Kanal's undivided attention and was explaining the seasons and the contours of the canyon to him. She glanced around when she heard 'Kristassi approaching and sighed regretfully. "You're going to tell me to go to bed," she said.

"It was going to be a suggestion, yes. It's also considered very rude to steal all of a Ship Master's time, you know. In polite society we try to spread the interesting conversation around."

"You said society was crumbling into dust," 'Nyahasea was quick to point out, prompting laughter from 'Kanal. Triumphant, the hatchling folded her arms. "And besides, mother says that anyone who plays by the rules at dinner deserves to be bored to tears."

Taken aback, and wondering what dinner had brought about this comment – and 'Kristassi could just hear her mother's sharp tone – 'Kristassi pointed inside. "Regardless, it's time for you to go to bed."

Thinking about it for a moment, 'Nyahasea came a little bit closer and reached up for 'Kristassi's hand. "When I wake up, will mother and father be home?"

Seeing 'Kristassi flounder, 'Kanal stepped in. "I don't think so, I'm afraid, but I hope it won't be long."

'Nyahasea accepted this with another small sigh. "Will you still be here?"

"I have to go as well. I expect new orders tomorrow." He met 'Kristassi's gaze over her head. "But I will think about you when I'm gone, like your mother and father do."

For a moment, 'Nyahasea quivered, her fingers tightening on 'Kristassi's hand. "They told me," she began in a quiet voice, "they told me father was my shame."

Before 'Kristassi could think of how to reply, 'Kanal was on his knees beside 'Nyahasea. "It's not true. You should be very proud of him."

"They said I'd be better off dead," 'Nyahasea whispered.

"They said the same to me," 'Kristassi murmured, lifting the hatchling up. "Do you think so?" As 'Nyahasea shook her head, 'Kristassi agreed with a soothing hum. "They're wrong, 'Nyahasea. And if anyone tells you that again you will come and tell me and I shall be very angry with them."

She returned to the balcony a short while after, to find that 'Kanal had breached one of the many stashes of Jiralhanae brandy about the villa. She grinned as she approached him, stifling a shiver. The others had retired, Hans 'Galatash taking the only bed she could have offered 'Kanal. "So you're leaving?" It was out before she had intended to ask him. Accepting the glass he gave her, she pressed it to her forehead.

"I expect I'll be posted near Jiralhanae space." Leaning over the balcony rail, 'Kanal grew sober. "You weren't wrong when you said society was crumbling. I heard about what you did when they came for the Prophet."

Taking a slow sip, 'Kristassi eyed the comfort of the parlour through the windows. "Word travels fast."

Setting his mandibles as though he didn't want to voice his thoughts, 'Kanal stared out at the stars.

"It exaggerates too," she added

"You're a much better diplomat than you are a councillor. You have experience with the Brutes and the Prophets but you're a Saia and you're beyond reproach." Straightening and looking at her directly, 'Kanal finished his drink. "If I am posted out there, I'd want someone like you with my fleet. Goodnight, 'Kristassi."

"Ship Commander," she said, smiling. "I'd offer you the daybed in the parlour but I don't think you'd take it."

He shook his head. "I've been away too long already. My ship will be missing me. But thank you. I think this will be the last moment of peace for some time." He bowed before leaving and 'Kristassi remained on the balcony, savouring the last of the brandy.

###

"I don't like this," Saia announced. She was sprawled over a Jiralhanae pelt in one of the private suites on the Intent. The Engineers had done their job well and the ship was clean and safe.

Orna looked up from the holo screen and took a quick stock of the room, trying to guess what was offending his mate. She looked comfortable enough, her work scattered around her. In fact, he thought she looked quite contented, calmly going behind the backs of humans and Sangheili alike to create a trade alliance that would last longer than any political making-nice. "I give up."

"You're working," she said, as though it was obvious. "You're barely back from the brink of death and you're sitting there working."

With a click of his mandible, Orna began saving the little work he'd managed. "What's your excuse?"

"Force of habit." She rolled onto her back and stared out at the stars framed by the soft purple lighting of the oval window. "'Baromee tells me that 'Kristassi is preparing to leave Sangheil soon."

"Leave for where?" Orna asked, closing the final document he'd been working on. As he stood, he caught sight of his armour shining in the corner. A shudder of anger surged through him, rapidly becoming familiar.

"I have no idea." Watching her mate as he left his work and came to join her, she narrowed her eyes. "I don't know if she will even tell me herself."

"We'll be home soon." Orna lay on the rug and stared up at the stars. "We'll be home very soon." Pushing her forehead against his, Saia hummed under her breath, her fingers playing with the deep fur of the pelt. It was like this that R'tas found them when he arrived to announce the time. Orna donned his armour quickly, his hands only shaking a little as he touched the shined metal. While Saia remained in simple robes and a small headdress that was nothing like the formal attire she would have worn if Priestesses still existed.

In the corridor, Saia joined N'tho and Usze, walking with them as Orna led the way to the transport. As Supreme Commander, Orna knew he ought to have worn his ceremonial armour, but nothing fit him like the old silvery shoulder plates of the Arbiter's final dress. Like Saia, when the fires came, he had not been hardened by the experience, but stripped bare. In many ways, the Prophets had been correct. A divine wind had swept over them, and like on Sangheil in late summer, it had brought the flames behind it to scorch the rocks and devour the life.

This was not the same Orna 'Fulsamee who had joined the academy hoping to claim some honour for himself, for his unknown mother's Lineage. He was barely the same Orna 'Fulsamee who had climbed from the wreckage of the Dawn. He had seen good souls die, and he had seen some die who deserved it.

He knew loss. Seeing the 117 carved into the hull plate, roughly embedded in the Earth's soil, he knew loss well. Saia met his gaze over the heads of the humans gathered to remember the dead and he crossed his left mandibles. She responded in kind.

The sword of the prophets. The ender of wars.

The leader of the Covenant.

He shook that last thought from his mind, listening to the gunfire echoing over the flats. Hood was watching him, intent on a meeting, or to chase him off this planet. He glanced around as N'tho and Usze approached, the sunset glinting off their armour and making his eyes ache. Usze went straight for the marines he knew, while N'tho hung back, smiling none the less when one human approached him with an extended hand.

"Supreme Commander," Hood coughed, walking towards him with two armed aides following along behind.

"Arbiter," Orna corrected. "I was stripped of my rank and I don't acknowledge the council."

Hood's eyebrows arched but he made no comment, looking instead to where Usze was participating in a human ritual, huddled together with several smaller marines. "I remember how this war started. What your kind did to mine. I can't forgive you. But you have my thanks, for standing by him to the end."

Taking his hand, Orna bowed his head.

"It's hard to believe he's dead."

Saia was approaching the Phantom, leaving her human companions behind as she slipped into the shadows. Orna tilted his head backwards, looking up to the Intent and the promise of home. Did he really refuse to acknowledge the council? It was the first he'd heard of it, but it rang true. The council were nothing, they had never been anything. The power was all wrong, held by the wrong hands. And now he could change it, not as the Supreme Commander . . . but as the Arbiter?

Hood was trying small talk, he ought to reply and commiserate over the fallen companion. All the same, his son had died in this war. Sent to his death by people like Truth and Hood, while Orna had known Spartan 117 better than any commander who thought he was just a soldier with exceptional kill rate. Known him but not known his name. He looked to Hood and nodded. "Were it so easy."

Jiralhanae planet Thunder
Age of Rebirth

Spuria rose from her chair slowly, staring at 'Kristassi through a dark matt of hair. "What guarantee do I have that anything you say will be upheld? Do you even know who's in charge of your planet?" she asked, clenching her fists and resting them atop the table.

Behind 'Kristassi, the other Sangheili bristled at the perceived insult. 'Kristassi shrugged her shoulders, drawing the drafted agreement towards her. "Well the Arbiter is my father," she said.

Spuria glanced back, her eyes narrowing. "I met your mother once," she said, straightening the Chieftain sash around her shoulders. "After the first agreement was drawn. She visited my planet on a tour of force I think."

"I'll ask her about it," 'Kristassi responded pleasantly.

"Yes I tried to kill her. She took it very well. I was sentenced to death." Spuria laughed, a full throated Jiralhanae roar. "If your father's government stays around, maybe we will be able to work together. But not with the humans."

Standing, 'Kristassi clasped the documents to her thorax. "You may find it difficult to live without them," she said, ignoring Spuria's snort of disagreement. "Until next time." Tightening her fingers around the edge of document viewer, she waited for Spuria to exit the bunker, followed by her guards.

"Ambassador?" Usze stepped forwards, his plasma sword's hilt still clasped in his hand. "The Ship Commander wanted a report the moment the Jiralhanae left."

"Then shouldn't you be communicating with the patrols?" she asked, leaning on the table to annotate her notes. Her report would be seen by the Arbiter and his Parliament, and in a less official capacity by the Ambassador to Earth who was in the middle of a troublesome lawsuit regarding the legality of establishing trade between two bodies who had no idea of how to recognise each other, despite the fact that trade was doing so well. Not that 'Jalahass seemed interested in the oncoming legal difficulties. She seemed more interested in corresponding frequently with 'Kristassi regarding the unification of the now fragmented Covenant. So much so that 'Kristassi wondered if her mother wouldn't rather be doing this than dealing with the argumentative, but ultimately useful humans. Everyone agreed with Saia 'Jalahass these days. It was her daughter who was considered the long shot, still negotiating with the Jiralhanae on the borders. What an odd young Sangheili she was.

Usze gritted his mandibles. Sent by her father, he had been quickly assigned to every mission she had and she couldn't shake the feeling it was a ploy hatched by 'Kanal and the Arbiter to make sure she was never too far out of sight. It could be much fun for the war hero though. He stalked off to check with the reconnaissance unit and confirm that the Jiralhanae contingent was gone. She retreated to the grav lift, knowing it wouldn't be powered up until the risk of the Jiralhanae overtaking it were completely minimised, and sat down to inform the Ship Commander of the day's progress.

San 'Kanal's hologram didn't seem to have slept since she'd left him, and she wouldn't be surprised. He frowned up at her before releasing an explosive sigh. "Are you coming back?"

"Soon. She seemed . . . prepared to do business, if I'm going to be optimistic, and I feel like being optimistic today."

"Good." He leaned against something unseen and raised a glass to his mouth. "See you soon then."

"See you soon," she responded cheerfully, shutting off the communication as Usze returned. As much as she felt sorry for him, she wasn't going to make his job any easier. If the family was spying on her, well her mother would have to find gossip some other way. Grinning at Usze, she indicated the grav lift. "When are we going back?"

###

A human helmet with faded green paint and more than a few bumps and scrapes had pride of place above the fire grate in Saia's villa. The orange visor shone when the flames danced off the wall. Everyone who entered this room remarked upon it, how it stood out from the Unggoy clan paintings and the Jiralhanae pelts that were kept despite their politically incorrect nature. Mjolnir they were told.

It had taken a few months to obtain, a few favours promised, but it was an old helmet of a man who had once been called 117.

Saia passed it by, raising the bottle of brandy to it in deference. Pushing the door to the veranda open with her hip, she clinked the glasses off the bottle to draw Orna's attention. He glanced around, his head tilting to the side as he read the vintage scratched on the glass. "Where did you get that?"

"Hans. He had a private stock which the physician said I ought to confiscate. It was me or Fera 'Talsamee and I thought we deserved to celebrate."

"Celebrate what?" Taking one glass from her, he held it out for her to pour the bright pink liquid.

Crouching to set the bottle on the floor, Saia raised her glass to his. "To your becoming the Arbiter."

Suppressing a smile, Orna leaned against the railing. "Do you remember the large festival, with the fireworks and the show of banshees and the entire fleet orbiting Sangheil? Do you remember that speech you agonised over?"

Scowling at him, Saia shook her head. "I don't mean your new appointment, dear, I mean the first time," she said. "In front of everyone." Laying a hand over the brand concealed under his loose shirt, she sighed softly. "When the world was it's darkest. I think we should celebrate that."

"Okay . . ." Narrowing his eyes, he raised his glass and tipped his head back, drinking as she did. He took the bottle up and poured a second glass. "May I ask why?"

His mate contemplated the second pouring. "Some might say the Forerunner work in mysterious ways. And I chose to save myself, to save our family, and those we cared about. I disowned you then."

"It was for the best."

Knocking back the second drink, Saia nodded, pouring again. "I know. But still I did that. And you never disowned me, not when I was accused of heresy, or when the Hierarchs wanted me gone, or when I took risks that endangered all of us."

Orna cut her off by pushing his forehead against hers, sighing against her scalp. "That was different and you know it."

"Perhaps." Peering up at him, she blinked a few times before pouring another glass. "So I'm celebrating that. You, Orna 'Fulsamee, became the Arbiter on that day. And I acknowledge that, I acknowledge you."

Orna smiled. "Thank you, Priestess, for the unnecessary, but appreciated gesture."

"Well I can think of a better gesture," she said, rocking back on her heels and grinning. Waving the bottle between them, she pointed to the lights of the city in valley below. "Your parliament slumbers, like your youngest daughter, the Unggoy are off duty and the soldiers at rest in the docks, spending their pay. The traders are making business, the faithful recouping, and the humans and our galaxy is at peace and is safe. For tonight at least, we have some time to ourselves. Come here."


Fin.

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