by N E Riggs
They spent the rest of the evening cleaning, then crashed in Nidor’s apartment. Nidor reached for her hesitantly, and Brigid thought he sensed it too: that, no matter how much they cared for each other, their time was at an end. “I promise to call you when I have free time,” Brigid said the next morning. She had only two large bags of possessions with her. She didn’t need much; she’d be provided uniforms and a small dorm. Nidor nodded but didn’t say anything. He carried her second bag to Kumarkan for her. Once there, he hugged her once, stiff and awkward, then left without saying goodbye. He must sense too that their time as a couple was over.
Brigid didn’t mourn the loss. She didn’t think she could ever mourn again. She had greater concerns now, and soon she’d have a vow strong enough to get her through any difficulty. She smiled. Her life was good again.
8
Side Story: Anur
Anur’s favorite show blazed across the screen, exciting and dramatic and only an episode away from the season finale. She barely saw any of it. The episode aired five days ago, but she’d been off world until yesterday. She had been looking forward to watching this the entire time, so much so that she barely noticed the monsters around her.
For months, this show had been her refuge from the world. She had a crush on the heroic, female lead, the male scientist was hilarious, and the story line captivated her. She and Niam had been terrified that one character wouldn’t survive the season. Twelve days ago, when everything was right with the world, they watched the previous episode, holding hands and squealing at all the same parts. “I can’t handle this pressure,” Niam said after, pressing her hands to her cheeks. “Why do we have to be off world next week? I can’t wait an extra two days!”
“We could ask to take leave next week.” Anur grinned. “Or pretend we’re sick.”
“No.” Niam played with her com pad. “I can’t miss Tikal. I can’t.”
Anur frowned and wondered, but she hadn’t asked. She should have: she would have learned that Tikal was Niam’s mother’s world. Niam had to be there to visit her mother and to introduce her mother to Conal. It should have been a wonderful occasion, with some monster hunting on the side to spice things up.
Then everything was ruined.
Conal was dead, Niam had fallen to the desolation, David had been kicked out, and Anur sat alone in her room, staring blankly at the screen. All the characters faced danger, but Anur felt nothing. She could work up no emotion over fictional people, not when the real people in her life were gone.
She shut off the screen and pulled her legs up against her chest, huddled in her bed with the blankets drawn up around her. She thought about Conal, because he was the easiest person to think about. She missed him terribly, his dumb jokes and his stubborn pride and the practice sword fights they had together. She couldn’t think about Niam and David. How could she? They had abandoned their vows, abandoned the sixth, abandoned her.
Didn’t they care?
With a groan, Anur jumped out of bed, tossing the blanket aside. She didn’t think she could ever watch her favorite show again. She and Niam had first bonded over the show. Now she couldn’t think of it without also thinking of Niam. Similarly, she didn’t think she could ever again explain Bantonan basics, having done so frequently with David. She gritted her teeth at that. Maybe if she’d tutored David better, he wouldn’t have gotten messed up with those people from world 1247, and then he wouldn’t have gotten kicked out of the priesthood. From Rolan’s grim expression, she thought there was more to it than that, something also connected to Alosh’s death. Rolan wouldn’t explain though, and Anur wasn’t sure she wanted to ask.
Her friends were dead or gone. She needed to get over them and find new ones.
In the lounge down the hallway, a group of people watched a talent competition. It was a stupid show, and Anur could hardly believe any of her comrades watched it. They all had beer in hand, with empty bottles strewn around the couches. Maybe they weren’t watching it. Lugh sat in the center of the couch, his wide face blank. He chugged a beer down without seeming to notice. As soon as he finished, Cid handed him another.
“Is that wise?” Anur asked Cid. She didn’t bother to lower her voice. She could barely hear herself over the music from the talent competition, and Lugh didn’t look like he was listening anyway.
“Alosh got killed by a Nephil.” Cid finished his beer. “I don’t ever want to be sober again.”
Anur shivered and took a bottle. Maybe he had a good idea. She perched on the arm of the couch and joined the others. Four bottles later, the competition was amusing rather than stupid, Cid was hilarious rather than annoying, and Anur could barely picture her old friends. “He is shit.” She waved her bottle at the singer on the screen. His voice trembled on the high notes.
“Better than the lot they had last time.” Cid nodded multiple times.
“What, you watch this a lot?”
Cid glared at her. “Do not shame my hobby.”
“Sorry.”
“Why are we watching this?” Everyone turned when Lugh spoke up. He gripped his bottle tight. In the time that Anur had four bottles, he had drunk seven. Considering how many he’d already had, it was a wonder he was sitting up and able to talk. He was a big guy, but still. “Turn it off.”
“What?” Cid waved his bottle. “We’re just getting to the finale.”
Lugh glared. “I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to see anything. Alosh—” He closed his eyes and clutched his beer close to his chest.
Cid shifted closer and draped an arm over Lugh’s shoulder. “Let it out, man. You’ll feel better.”
Lugh sniffed a few times, then buried his face in Cid’s chest and wept. Anur couldn’t watch. She stood, left her half-full bottle behind, and walked out of the lounge. Bellon stood just outside, a sour expression on his face. “You shouldn’t hang out with them.”
“What?” Anur put her hands on her hips. “You think we shouldn’t mourn Alosh?”
“I didn’t say that.” Bellon scowled at something in the distance. “What’s the point of getting drunk? It’s not going to help Alosh. It won’t help you either.”
Anur remembered liking Cid for the first time. “It can help a little.”
With a snort, Bellon took her arm and dragged her away. “You’re talking like a civilian. It’s beneath you.”
Anur let him pull her only a short way down the hallway before she shook him off. “What’s your problem, man? You don’t like hanging out with us while we’re mourning our dead? Are you even sad that Alosh is dead? You didn’t cry when Conal died!”
Bellon flinched. “Just because I didn’t cry doesn’t mean I don’t miss him. Both of them.” He shook his head. A moment later, the vulnerability he’d shown was gone. “We knew what we were getting into when we chose the Sword, Anur. We all knew. Sword Priests have the highest death rate in the Bantonan worlds. The traditional is one of the worst. Losing only two people in four months is pretty good.”
“We didn’t lose two people. We’ve lost three.” She barely remembered Percy, and it burned her that she couldn’t care about him.
“We lost two!” Bellon clenched a fist. “Garna and Kemp don’t count! They’re an embarrassment and a failure, not only as Sword Priests but as Eternists. Forget them!”
Anur turned away. “I can’t.” How could she? Niam and David had been the closest friends she ever had. Growing up in Vele, she never grew close to the others her age. Her classmates didn’t understand her love of sword fighting. They didn’t wander into the forests with her, checking on the trees and animals and learning how to track. Sometimes she thought that she’d ended up a Sword Priest not because she wanted to serve but because only in Valal could she meet people who understood and shared her interests.
Her father could track even better than her. He was excellent with a sword, too. In his youth, he’d been a decorated athlete, wining many competitions. He never thought to join the Sword. Why should he, with so many friends among the
other swordsmen? It was only after he retired that he took up hunting and tracking as something serious.
He taught Anur everything he knew, everything except how to make friends. It didn’t help that few women trained with the sword. Anur competed a few times in school, but it left her with a shallow feeling, even if she won. She wanted something more, something that only the Sword could provide.
When she passed the test to become an acolyte, she hadn’t been surprised; she knew she was good. Terror filled her, though, when she wondered if even in Valal she wouldn’t be able to make friends. That fear vanished quickly. Within minutes of meeting Niam, they were giggling together. It didn’t matter that Niam didn’t use a sword, because they had everything else in common.
“No one talks to me,” Niam told her one night after training. “I should have gone to university. I got accepted into Pardis University and Takama University. A person like me isn’t supposed to want to fight, but I can’t help it. It’s in my blood.”
Anur had thought she understood what Niam meant, that Niam couldn’t help but want to fight and want to help people. Knowing now that Niam’s mother reigned over a fierce people, Anur understood even better.
That understanding came too late. Maybe, if she had known earlier, before they went to Tikal, she could have found a way to make Niam stay. She didn’t want to dismiss Niam’s grief; she’d never wanted that. Of course it would take time for Niam to recover from Conal’s death. They all would. But still Anur thought that she should have found a way to keep Niam. Maybe if she had supported Niam better, Niam wouldn’t have repudiated her vows and stayed with her mother on Tikal.
Anur blamed herself for it. She’d been so upset that Niam even thought about leaving the Sword and staying on Tikal that she couldn’t think of anything else. Her temper always got the best of her at the worst times. And of course David hadn’t helped.
A growl escaped her at the thought of David. She didn’t miss him. No matter how often she thought about their time together, she didn’t miss him. She didn’t miss the way the two of them mocked Niam and Conal for being lovey-lovey. She didn’t miss the way they rolled their eyes at Bellon being pompous. She didn’t miss the way David could make her laugh. She didn’t miss being able to play the expert on Bantong for his thousands of stupid questions.
If Niam had betrayed them, David had done something worse. Anur would never forgive him. Ignorance was no excuse, not with Nephilim.
“It’s Steward Duran.” Bellon nudged her arm and pointed. Down the hallway, Rolan appeared. He walked slowly, his shoulders slumped, heading towards Hue’s office. “Come on.” Bellon hurried to catch Rolan before he reached Hue’s office.
Anur followed, glad for the distraction. When he spotted them, Rolan winced and waited for them. “I’m sorry.”
“What for, sir?” Anur asked. “Did something happen?”
Rolan shook his head. “I was in Jod for David’s trial. I couldn’t do much, I’m sorry. He’s no longer a Sword Priest.”
“Yes, sir.” Anur felt nothing at the news.
Bellon sneered. “After everything he did, he got off easy.”
Rolan raised an eyebrow. “Yes, he did. If I hadn’t been there, he would have been exiled to Jahan. There was no Beloved Priest at the trial.”
“No!” Anur cried, staring. She didn’t believe that. She couldn’t believe that. Exile to Jahan was for capital crimes, and a Beloved Priest had to be present for those trials. “There aren’t illegal trials, sir. Are you sure you didn’t just miss the Beloved Priest?”
Rolan shook his head and opened the door to Hue’s office. “Do the two of you need some time off? We have no missions for the next few days. Hue and I will be answering questions about Tenin and whether he is actually a Nephil. If you two need some time, it’s yours.”
Anur and Bellon shared a look. “I’d rather be working, sir,” Bellon said. “I like having something to do.” Anur nodded to that.
Hue hovered just inside his office, listening to the conversation. Papers covered his desk, nearly spilling over the sides. Anur had never seen it so messy before. The sixth had never ended up in a mess like this, though. She could only imagine how many reports Hue must have to fill out. “There isn’t anything for you to do,” Hue said. “We have no missions right now. And you two have to stay nearby. There will be lots of questions about everything Kemp did, everyone he met. We haven’t been asked to bring you in for questioning yet, but we will. Trust me.”
“Yes, sir,” Anur said.
Rolan gave her and Bellon a kind smile, then stepped inside the office with Hue, closing the door behind them.
“Our lives are over.” Bellon stared at the door.
“What do you mean?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Kemp was a Nephil conspirator. He’s a traveler too, and he hasn’t been here long. People will want to know how he met the Nephil. Since there aren’t a lot of people he knew, we’ll be suspects. That’s what Vicar Teot meant by questions.”
Anur shivered. She thought about being stuck in a small, bare room with only one light. Sword Priests pointed agitators at her while a Beloved Priest loomed over her, reaching for her mind. She would have no secrets against a Beloved Priest. No one did. “I need to get out of here.”
“The last thing you need is more alcohol.”
Anur shoved her way past Bellon. “Leave me alone! I’m not going to drink!” He didn’t try to stop her. Good. Anur didn’t know what she might do if he did.
She left Oisin Tower to wander the streets of Valal. It was early evening, the weather beautiful, so people crammed the streets: Sword Priests and civilians who worked for the Sword on their way home or to dinner or entertainment; tourists marveling at one sight after another; a handful of priests from other sects who had business in Valal. Pardis never slept, Valal least of all.
Anur didn’t watch where she went. Familiar faces caught her attention, and Anur stopped in front of a shop with screens in its front windows. The screens played the latest episode of Anur’s favorite show. The characters crowded close to one another, trying to fight their way to freedom. Anur jerked her gaze away. She couldn’t watch the show now. With Niam gone, she didn’t think she could ever watch it again.
Near the edge of Valal and the next suburb, Anur saw an infantry division waiting. Most held their agitators at ready, grim-faced, while the others kept civilians away. A moment later, a gateway sprang into existence. Anur reached for her agitator even though she saw no monsters and wasn’t close enough to do much to help anyway. The infantry didn’t lower their weapons and didn’t look away from the gateway, though only open fields showed beyond.
“There are never monsters when you really need them,” Anur muttered. She turned and continued on, out of Pardis and into the suburbs. She’d been out this way before once, with Niam and David and Conal. They’d gotten bored with Valal and walked further afield for entertainment. They ended up at an outside concert. Niam and Conal snuggled up close to listen while Anur and David made a thorough search of the nearby food stands. It had been a good evening.
Anur made sure to walk in a different direction. She wanted nothing that would remind her of her friends. She passed many interesting things, but nothing appealed to her. She didn’t want food, she didn’t want arts, she didn’t want sports, and she promised Bellon she wouldn’t drink.
She stopped while crossing a street, staring at a building on the other side. Pictures of swords covered the front. A car honked at her, and Anur hurried towards the building. Sword training halls weren’t rare but neither were they common. Anur spent most of her teen years in and around places like this. Her father’s was the best, but they all seemed to be of a type.
A group of children, mostly boys, aged ten to twelve, practiced strokes with plastic swords as Anur gazed inside. Mirrors covered one wall, so the students could see their own form. The instructor paced behind the children, making small corrections where needed. Anur recognized him.
; She hadn’t seen Tekkei Sertok in years, not since they’d both been seventeen and competing in the final against each other. He hadn’t changed much. Fewer pimples scattered across his brownish-yellow face, and he wore his dark hair shorter and slicked back. He seemed broader too, filled out from his teen years. As he walked among the students, Anur saw a dignity she didn’t remember either. Tekkei used to be full of energy. That energy was still there, but carefully contained. He made no wasted movements now, not even while doing something as simple as walking a practice room.
If she had any desire to leave before, that was gone now. Anur lingered in the doorway, smiling as she recalled doing these same exercises at that age. Some day, these children might compete like she did. Maybe some of them would even become Sword Priests.
As the lesson came to an end, Anur slipped inside. Tekkei happened to glance in her direction and spotted her among the gathered parents. He grinned, boyish again, and tilted his head to the side. Anur grinned back and nodded.
“An old friend of mine is visiting today,” Tekkei told his class. “This will give you a chance to watch a real sword fight. Sit along the side of the room and watch closely.”
Whispering with glee, the children scurried off to the side. Anur toed off her shoes and stepped out onto the wooden floorboards. They felt smooth under her socks – too smooth, so she took her socks off too. Tekkei was good enough that Anur couldn’t afford anything that might throw her off. She took off her jacket too, which made both the children and the parents murmur. She kept her agitator; a Sword Priest never let their agitator get far away from their sight, not even somewhere as safe as this.
She picked up a plastic sword from the rack and swung it a few times, getting a feel for its heft. It was lighter than her sword. That would throw her off. Tekkei would be used to the weight, which would give him an advantage. He, however, had spent the last few years teaching children and, judging from the pictures and trophies along the far wall, winning many competitions. Anur had passed through Sword Priest training and had to fight for her life. Most of the training hadn’t focused on sword fighting, though Anur had improved that too. While fighting for her life, she rarely depended on her sword or bow, her agitator being more effective in most situations. She was stronger and faster and fitter than ever before; she had the gift too.
