Warchild

by Esther Friesner

  "I tried," Cedara said. "At first I thought that if I was extra helpful to Dr. Bashir, maybe he'd take us away when he went back to the station. Maybe he'd even train me to be a healer! On Bajor you have to belong to a healing order if you're going to be respected, but I didn't think I wanted to do that. You have to give up your life to the Temple! Then I heard about the search for the Nekor and—well …" She giggled again.

  "You were very helpful to me, Cedara," Dr. Bashir said. "I think you'd make a fine healer."

  "I think—" the girl said slowly. "I think that's what I ought to be. Not the Nekor, not just a symbol. Dejana and I are all right now, but what about the others? What about the kids who are still stuck in the camps, with no way out? They need healers—healers like you, Dr. Bashir, who care about their spirits as well as their bodies. I know I'd be more use to Bajor as a doctor than as the Nekor." She sounded downcast. "'I have come to heal, not to stand with my back turned to those who most need healing.'" Commander Sisko quoted Cedara's own words in the garden. "Why not tell Vedek Torin what you've just told us, Cedara?"

  "Do you think he'd listen?" Cedara asked, her eyes full of hope.

  "I could come with you and help him see," Dr. Bashir offered. He turned toward Commander Sisko. "That is, with your permission, sir."

  "Permission granted. Only this time, try not to take quite so long finding your way back," Sisko joked. Then, sincerely: "We need you here, Doctor."

  Julian beamed. "Yes, sir!"

  "She didn't fool me!" Nog exploded without warning. "I knew she was a girl right away!"

  "When did you know it, Nog?" Jake asked derisively. "Before or after she knocked you down and sat on you?"

  "Why, you—!" The Ferengi jumped on Jake and the two boys began scuffling right in the middle of the Replimat.

  "Think you can heal that, Cedara?" Dr. Bashir asked archly.

  Cedara watched Commander Sisko wade into the middle of the fray to pull the two combatants apart. "Men."

  EPILOGUE

  DR. BASHIR walked with Vedek Torin in the Temple precincts. He had never seen the wonders of that greatest of Bajoran sanctuaries, impressive even after the Cardassians' attempted destruction. They had been speaking for some time Vedek Torin contributing little to the conversation beyond the occasional murmur of agreement.

  At last the Bajoran said, "You pleaded Talis Cedara's case eloquently, Dr. Bashir. Perhaps you have missed your true calling as a man of law."

  "I know what I should be," Julian responded. "It's what I am."

  "But you did not know how best to be it," Vedek Torin stated. "Not until you encountered the child."

  "Cedara? But she never—"

  "I did not say how your eyes were opened, or even whether she is the child I meant." The vedek's face was tranquil.

  Julian's vision of the cavern came back at the vedek's words. The doctor shook his head. "I can't say I follow you, Vedek Torin. All I know is that somehow I've come to understand that I will always be able to do something for the children of Bajor, even when I can't be right there to see the immediate results."

  "It does not matter if we cannot live to taste the fruit; still we must plant the trees," Vedek Torin said.

  "By the same token, you should allow Cedara to pursue a career as a healer, even if she chooses never to enter any of the Temple orders. I myself would be willing to take a hand in her education, and when the time comes, to sponsor her studies at Starfleet Medical. She could bring more to your world as a doctor than as—"

  "—the Nekor? But she is only the Nekor to the Dessin-ka. Would you have her reject her spiritual calling altogether?"

  "Vedek Torin, I escorted Talis Cedara and her sister here at her request." Julian felt hesitant. What he had to tell the vedek was difficult to say. "On the way here, in the runabout, she told me that—that she isn't sure she has a spiritual calling. She has gifts, yes, but—"

  Vedek Torin's hands emerged from the folds of his robe. He clapped them sharply together and a novice appeared out of the shadows. "Fetch the child Talis Cedara," he said mildly.

  A short while later a slightly wary Cedara was brought to join the doctor and the vedek. They stood before a meditation niche where the object of contemplation was a tiny earthenware, drinking cup, its spring green glaze exquisite. Beside it stood a small silver cruse in a bronze tripod.

  "So, I have been hearing much of your wishes," Vedek Torin said to her. "But not from your lips. Shall I assume that you will need to call upon this man whenever you have something to tell me? That may be awkward."

  "I—I was afraid you'd be angry," Cedara replied. "I was afraid that if I told you I wanted to become a healer like Dr. Bashir, you'd say I was betraying the Kai Opaka's vision."

  "Do you have the Kai's last letter with you, child?"

  Cedara became indignant. "You entrusted it to me. I'd never leave it behind."

  "Give it to me."

  Still on her guard, Cedara produced the scroll and passed it to the vedek. He unrolled it in the niche and beckoned her nearer. "Tell me what you see here," he said.

  "I see I'm going to have to be the Nekor," she muttered sullenly, not even bothering to look at the scroll.

  Vedek Torin chuckled. "And this is the child who thought that no one used their eyes but she!" he told Dr. Bashir. To Cedara he repeated, "What do you see?" His finger skimmed the surface of the scroll, but it did not touch the lines of black ink. Instead it ran across the thick, ornate border of gold traceries on a background of blue.

  Cedara stared at the curling designs; her eyes grew wide. "They're—they're words!" she exclaimed. "Not just designs to make it pretty; they're words."

  "So I too discovered only recently, while meditating upon the Kai Opaka's last message. The Prophets saw fit to open my eyes and let them truly see what had been before them all this time. If there are words for you here, child, it would not be right to leave them unread," Vedek Torin said gently.

  Dr. Bashir peered over Cedara's shoulder. "Words?" he echoed. "In the border design?" His brow wrinkled. "It doesn't look like any form of Bajoran I've ever seen."

  "It was written by one who meant her true message for only certain eyes to find," Vedek Torin responded. "It is a form of our language older than the one we use in our ceremonies, hidden from all but a handful of scholars." He smiled at Cedara's expression, intent as she pored over the antiquated script. "Some do not need to be taught what they already know."

  "I think—I think I understand this," Cedara said. She began to read aloud: "'The enemy is gone and we return to our old, contentious ways without a thought to what our madness does to this world, this day, and tomorrow. A healer must be found who can bring together the hundred warring factions of Bajor if we are to survive. The Prophets, in their wisdom, have given me to see that the healer is a child—any child. Where is the monster so heartless that he can look into the eyes of a child who has known war and turn his hand to new battles? The time of the ancient prophecy's fulfillment has not yet come, but the time when our healer must be found is now. The same factions whose quarrels weaken the government and our hopes for unity and peace will vie with one another to see the fulfillment of their own causes in the child of prophecy. They will unite in her name, and in her name healing will be brought to our world, our children, and our souls. May the Prophets in mercy forgive me for what I do in their name, as I invoke prophecy in the name of mercy.'"

  Cedara raised her eyes from the scroll. "Then … I am not the Nekor?" She sounded as if she didn't know whether to be happy or sad.

  Dr. Bashir gave her a hug. "What you are hasn't changed. And what you can do stays the same."

  "But if the prophecy means nothing, I'm—I'm useless," the girl said in a small voice.

  "Child, take this." Vedek Torin handed her the cup from the meditation niche. She cradled it in her palms, uncomprehending, as he filled it with sweet water from the silver cruse. At once the dozens of invisible, unsuspected cracks in the fragile vessel began to
leak. Automatically Cedara's fingers moved to cover the cracks so that not a drop of water fell to the ground.

  "You see?" The vedek smiled. "To restore a thing of beauty to wholeness is not useless, whether it is a cup or a world … healer." He took the cup from her hands. The cracks were sealed.

  Later, Julian walked in the gardens with Cedara clinging to his hand and chattering eagerly about her plans for the future.

  "—and I'm going to study with the Temple healers, and I'll write to you and talk to you and visit you whenever. I can—I have to; Dejana's got a crush on you and she'll never forgive me if I don't give her some excuse to come see you—and it's so lucky because this novice who takes care of us is also studying to be a healer and she's awfully nice and you've got to meet her and—Oh! There she is with Dejana now! Come on!"

  She tugged her hand from Dr. Bashir's and ran across the garden to where Dejana sat in the shade of a fruit tree with a lady swathed in the traditional habit of the Temple novices. Julian followed at a more sedate pace. As he approached the little group under the tree, he began, "Talis Cedara says I have to meet you …"

  The words faded on his lips as the novice lifted her head and he looked into the face of Borilak Jalika.

  She rose to her feet with the same breathtaking grace he remembered from the caverns, and her smile cut through him like a knife. As he stared at her, Cedara grabbed Dejana's hand and dragged her little sister away to play hide-and-find among the blossoming shrubs and hedges.

  "You do not look happy to see me, Julian," Jalika said, a touch of melancholy in her voice.

  "I didn't—I never expected to see you here—to see you like—like—" He gestured helplessly at the allshrouding robes. With a pang he recalled what she had told him of the life of a novice Temple healer. "There's no room for me in your life here, is there?" he asked hoarsely. "Your whole world's become study, devotion, work—All I can ever hope to be for you now is a—a teacher."

  "I could not ask for a better one. If my instructors here permit it—"

  "I want more than that, Jalika, and you know it."

  "There can be no more than that for us, Julian." Her words trickled away like water over stones. "Not anymore."

  He seized her by the shoulders. "How could you do this? How could you make this choice, knowing—?"

  "I chose the healer's world freely, Julian," she said, gently shrugging off his touch. "So did you, long ago. Do you remember telling me that it was wrong to keep you in the caverns, to prevent you from going on to help others who might need your skills?"

  "I remember." His own words lodged in his chest and burned. "I told you that you knew it was wrong, no matter what we felt for one another." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You will make a fine healer, Jalika. You've chosen well."

  "I did not make my choice for or in spite of Father—or anyone else; only for myself. I want you to know that too."

  "I would have come back, Jalika," he said. It sounded like a plea for forgiveness. "I promised I'd come back."

  "You have come back, beloved." She lowered her eyes. "We have both come back to what we know we must be."

  Her pale hand stole into his darker one, tightened for a moment, and was gone. He knew she spoke the truth. Bound by more than any embrace could ever hold, they stood together in the garden. Over their heads, echoing back from the Temple walls, racing through the flowers, came the laughing voices of the children.

  About the Author

  Esther M. Friesner attended Vassar College and holds a Ph.D. from Yale University. She was severely criticized by her first college English teacher for choosing Star Trek as a subject for expository writing. (Hence we learn that Creative Writing does not always mean it, especially when it's listed in a college course catalog.) The author of nineteen published, fantasies, her most recent works include Majyk by Accident, Majyk by Hook or Crook, and Majyk by Design. She is also the editor of the Alien Pregnant by Elvis! Anthology. Her short stories have appeared in numerous anthologies and such magazines as Asimov's, Fantasy and Science Fiction, and Amazing. She lives in Connecticut with her husband, two children, two obstreperous cats, and as many hamsters as the market (and the cats) will bear.

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