I can’t do this, I have to clear my head. He got up and left. Thinking a change in scenery would help him forget his woes. And it did help a little.
As he roamed the tiny ship, trying to remind himself that he was part of something important that could save lives, he eventually found himself in the secondary hold where Rain had organized their medical supplies into a provisional infirmary.
“Hey Cal, what can I do for you?” Rain asked, sweeping a tangle of red hair out of her face. She smiled at him with such honesty and enthusiasm that Calvin was somewhat taken aback. He thought of the time Rain had confided in him that she had a terminal illness and only a few years left to live. He remembered thinking how young she was, and how unfair that a woman no older than thirty was going to lose out on so many opportunities. He’d expected her to be bitter or angry or depressed because of the prognosis. But she hadn’t been, and still wasn’t. Rather she’d told him how lucky she felt to have ever existed at all, against defying odds, and instead perceived the universe through a lens of awe and gratitude. Her words had stayed with him and he really admired how she focused more on enjoying the moment rather than obsessing about the future or the past. That was something Calvin wished he was better at.
“Oh there’s nothing I need in particular,” Calvin said, downplaying his upset feelings. Honestly he wasn’t sure why he’d come here. He just had. Probably because there wasn’t really anywhere else to go, he thought. He knew he could go play cards with Miles, and that his old friend would like that, but Calvin was not in the mood.
“Oh okay,” said Rain, she looked happy to indulge him all the same. Even if he didn’t have a legitimate medical reason for being here. “Having trouble sleeping?”
“Yeah, you could say that,” said Calvin. He folded his arms and leaned against the bulkhead. Staring past her and out the window into the blackness of alteredspace. He sighed.
Rain gave him a sympathetic look and then moved closer until she was standing next to him. Leaning against the bulkhead too. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked gently.
No, he wanted to say. No I don’t. But when he opened his mouth he was surprised to hear different words come out. “I miss Christine,” he said, barely louder than a whisper.
“Who’s Christine?” asked Rain.
“Do you remember when I told you about the ship I was on called the Trinity?”
“Yes, I remember,” she said, looking sympathetic. “You told me about the trauma you encountered on that ship. Really, you’re a very strong person to have gotten through it.”
“Yes, well, I didn’t tell you everything,” admitted Calvin. He couldn’t believe he was bringing this up, and yet he couldn’t help it. “When I served on that ship… before, you know, everything happened… there was this other officer named Christine. I loved her more than anything.” The memories flashed through his mind, her tender smile, the teasing looks she gave him, all the beautiful moments they’d shared, and how he’d believed they’d have a long life together. Filling the years and decades with delightful memories. And then suddenly, in a flash of terror, it had all been ripped away. Savagely. Brutally. Irrevocably. “Anyway,” Calvin cleared his throat, feeling tears well up in his eyes. He resisted them. Trying hard to make himself not feel any emotion at all. Like a stone. “She uh… she didn’t make it out. She… she died. And… I miss her. Hardly a day goes by when I don’t think of her.” He knew his eyes were red but he kept the tears at bay. Doing whatever he could to pretend he didn’t feel any of the regret, or the anger, or the tremendous sense of loss that choked him inside.
Rain didn’t say anything. Instead she put her hand on his arm sympathetically. It was a small gesture, but one from the heart. And Calvin found it oddly soothing. He even felt the urge to place his hand over hers, but he resisted. Choosing neither to take her hand nor brush it off.
“I guess, in light of everything that’s happening,” Calvin found himself explaining. He didn’t think about what he was trying to say, nor did he filter the words, he simply let them flow. “The king’s death, the Empire’s division, everyone arming for war, the isotome weapons, the dangers abroad, the chaos on Renora, the slaughter at Cepheus… the fact that we’re here now,” he paused, finding himself trapped in Rain’s stunningly blue eyes. “I guess in the teeth of such bleakness, it makes me wonder about what really matters.” He expected her to say something, but she didn’t. She just listened. And Calvin couldn’t stop himself from rambling. “I mean… we all die, right? In the end. But until that happens… how we live, who we spend our time with… I mean, maybe that what really matters, you know? At the end of the day.”
Rain took a deep breath and, just as Calvin was kicking himself inside for opening up so much, She gave him a heartwarming smile and said, “you’re right.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she said reassuringly.
“Sometimes…” he hesitated. “Sometimes I feel like, regardless of how hard we try, in spite of how much we care… does any of it even matter? I mean really matter? Sure it seems like a big deal now but what about in a hundred years? Or a hundred million?”
“I don’t know what the answers are, or what awaits us and the universe and everything else when we die,” said Rain. “Maybe it’s nothing,” she shrugged. “Or maybe it’s something glorious. But I do know this, as much as we might want to, we can’t control everything. Events happen. Sometimes they’re wonderful. Sometimes they’re tragic. I don’t know why terrible things happen. But I like to think that there is a reason. Even though I don’t know what it is, or indeed even what it could be, I can’t help but hope that there’s some order to all this chaos. Some significance.”
Calvin nodded. He’d often hoped the same thing, it was a more pleasant way to process the universe, but unfortunately a more cynical, possibly even more realistic, part of himself just couldn’t manage to believe that all the horror, and the needless suffering, and the unequal distribution of happiness and sorrow, was all a part of some grand design. More and more everything seemed random, the product of chance, an elegant unplanned chaos. Things happened. Sometimes those things were brutally awful. And that was all that could be said of them.
“I don’t know if there’s some kind of cosmic purpose behind everything that happens,” said Rain, as if reading his mind. Her eyes were so sincere and her face so candid, Calvin found himself lost in those pale blue irises, and drawn in by her slightly crooked smile and tangles of wild hair. “I don’t know if there is any grand, universal meaning to anything. But I know that the things we experience, what we value, what we believe, do have significance. Because they mean something to us. Maybe the meaning doesn’t last forever, because we don’t last forever, but in the moment, for however long we have it, whether it’s gone in a flash or lasts a lifetime, the things that have meaning to us do matter. And in a very real way.”
“Yeah,” Calvin nodded, supposing that was true.
“What you had with Christine, those feelings you shared. The feelings you still live with,” Rain looked at him intently. “Those are real. They were real to her and they’re real to you now. Because of that, they matter. The grief you feel, the longing for that time that used to be, that is very normal. And very human And very understandable.”
He felt uncomfortable and his eyes instinctively darted away. Rain brought them back by placing her fingers gently in both sides of his face and turning his head to face hers. He felt captured by her eyes. “And Calvin, it’s very important you understand that it’s okay. It’s not a bad thing that you feel those feelings,” her eyes seemed almost to plead with him. “It’s okay. It really is.”
He took her fingers gently in his hands and removed them from his face. Then he let go and looked away. Slowly processing what she’d said. Realizing that her words rang at least a little true. He’d never really allowed himself to be okay with the fact that he felt such crippling grief, no more than he’d allowed himself to be okay with the reality o
f Christine’s death. He’d buried and tried not to think about it. He’d believed that was what moving on meant. But he’d never tried to accept it and get through it. He’d always just wanted to get over it and be instantly whole.
“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” said Rain, looking embarrassed. Her pale face turned red and she took a step backwards, giving him some more distance. “Sometimes I don’t have a very good sense of boundaries, I—”
“No,” Calvin interrupted. He traced her face with his eyes and a faint smile formed on his lips. “You helped. Thank you.”
Rain nodded. Perhaps not believing him.
He thought of how kind Rain was, how much she wanted to reach out and heal others—physically and emotionally—and how her instinct was to help in any way she could, even if she didn’t know how, and she looked different to him. Like he was seeing her in a different light. It occurred to him that she was rather pretty. Beautiful even…
“Seriously, Rain. Thanks for the talk,” said Calvin. “It was just the thing I needed.”
Rain smiled weakly, still looking embarrassed. “Good, I’m glad.” The words came out softly and she had to clear her throat. “I, um, I have some sleep aids here if you’d like to take something to help you get some shut-eye.”
“Thanks, but I think I’ll be all right now,” said Calvin. He wished her a good night and left. The universe still felt grim and dark and cruel, and there was still a certain haunting hopelessness that seemed to hang in the air, but for the first time in a long time, it didn’t seem quite so bleak.
Chapter 21
It was an alien ship. True, in many superficial ways very different than the human ship Nighthawk, but it was still every bit as alien.
As Rez’nac walked throughout the tiny vessel, sometimes pausing to place his hand flat against the bulkhead and feel the life of the ship, he found that there was none. No soul. No energy. No being. Simply a skeleton of metal and conductors and wiring and computer chips and other scraps of technology that, amazingly-enough, somehow allowed them to glide between the stars.
The Rotham and the humans saw their technology in the same way. An artificial enterprise of breaking and forcing and compelling the beautiful, intricate patterns of nature into forms and functions suitable to their desires. For Polarians it was different. Though metals and alloys and computer chips were still essential, they were weaved together with a gentle, spiritual consideration. The souls of the materials were always taken into account and the resulting products were ships that, in a very real—though admittedly subtle—sense, lived and breathed and glowed with spiritual energy. With life-force. Unaware and unintelligent but possessed of spirit notwithstanding.
The Essences which guided and governed all things were the beacons of meaning that filled the universe with a light so transcendent, that it could only be seen by those with awakened eyes. Rez’nac had never known whether that light was something physical or if it was more of a feeling, but the Oracles and the Seers received guidance and higher orders of knowledge because of the light, and no one more so than the High Prelain. The transcended being who was the spiritual shepherd of all the Polarian people. The embodiment of the Message. The physical incarnation of hope, destiny, and all that could be considered divine. Rez’nac had never been privileged enough to know the subtlest truths of the universe—that had never been his role, it wasn’t his Essence. But he’d seen the effects of the virtues and truths of the Essences everywhere, every day. Most telling was the story of how the Polarians had emerged from their dark, primitive history after abandoning the Old Ways and finding the Essences. Now they roamed the stars and tamed the beasts that lived there.
It was a rare and profound honor to be born Polarian. To be gifted with Essence from birth. No other species had such a privilege. Sure the Rotham and the humans were complex, intelligent life that had also discovered a way to dwell in the very heavens themselves. But they were finite. Here for a moment, as the Essences saw fit, but ultimately destined to fade away and disappear. There was never any promise for them to inherit the stars and tame the beasts. That gift had been granted to the Polarians.
The other species, through no fault of their own, lacked the capacity for enlightenment and afterworld glory. They lacked the Essences. They were rakh.
But the Polarians, they were kissed with the very breath of life, raised from inception to be creatures of greatness. After life’s end, each who proved worthy would be added upon and brought into the warmth of the ancestors, joined forever to an Essence. The throes of death have no power over us, thought Rez’nac, if we are worthy. The unworthy, however, did not share in the promise and were devoid of all hope. They were no better than the rakh. Indeed, they were worse off. When a rakh died, he stopped existing. But when an unworthy Polarian falls from the true ways and disgraces himself and his Essence, he is forever cast out, dispelled of his Essence, of his innate value, and he becomes a dark spirit—a Dark One. And when he dies, his spirit will wander alone in darkness forever. With no knowledge. Only misery.
Rez’nac had lived and served and bled for his Essence. Ever since the seer had discovered for him that he was of Khalahar. One of the mightiest and most privileged of the Essences. But in one stroke he’d undone it all, revealing his unworthiness. He’d shown the Essences that he lacked the strength of will to complete the Arahn-Fi and slay his son. A son who had constantly defied him and had shed innocent blood. Had Rez’nac been strong, had he true to Khalahar, he would never have hesitated. He would have dealt justice and preserved the balance.
But I did not, he reflected sorrowfully. And yet, strange though it was, he did not regret his decision. For it had been genuine, and had revealed his truest self. It had been a test of his Essence and he’d failed it. Revealing that he was unworthy. That he would not be joining the Essence of Khalahar after his life ended. His unjoining had been a tragic blow to his sense of self, destroying his pride and even stripping him of his lifelong identity, but because of it... Grimka had lived.
Grimka was not a perfect son. Indeed he left much to be desired. He lacked knowledge. He lacked empathy. He lacked grace. And perhaps most of all he lacked wisdom. But, because of Rez’nac, his lungs still drew breath. And in time, Rez’nac hoped, the young Polarian would be fostered by the Essences, filled with experience beyond measure, and develop the wisdom and virtue that would make him a great honor to his Essence. Had I slain him during the Arahn-Fi, as our ways demanded, then he would not have had any hope, thought Rez’nac. Through his disgrace, he’d purchased for his son a second chance, and though the consequences were eternal and without end, Rez’nac knew it was true to himself to do what he’d done, even if it hadn’t been true to his Essence.
The Rotham ship sailed on through the empty void of alteredspace, ever onward toward some mortal mission. Something that, to everyone else on the ship, seemed unspeakably urgent and profoundly meaningful. But Rez’nac knew it wasn’t. Their actions now, indeed their very lives, were but mere breaths. Blinks of the eyes. Mere flickers of light sputtering against the unceasing darkness, there one moment and gone the next. They had no Essences, no enlightenment, no higher purpose nor transcended meaning. And now neither did Rez’nac. I am rakh like them, he thought. Accepting that he was nothing to the Essences now, devoid of all his potential, but refusing to believe he was truly a Dark One. Even though the High Prelain, had he been there, would undoubtedly tell him he was.
Still, despite all of the emptiness that seemed to burden every action, Rez’nac remained a man of his word. Though his word was technically of no value, at least in the sight of the Essences, he knew he would never, indeed could never, betray his friends or his oaths. And so, out of respect for the other rakh he was serving with on this strange, Rotham ship, he made every effort to do his part. Followed the instructions of the human captain, Calvin Cross, as exactly and completely as he knew how. My life is as naught, he reflected, but, even though it is of no value, it belongs to Calvin and the humans
. As a price for how Grimka wronged them by slaying their brother Patterson, and as penalty for my decision to stay my hand during the Arahn-Fi and choose for justice to go unfulfilled…
After the ship had been travelling for some time. Rez’nac found himself alone in the cargo bay, where he and the one named Alex, a Rotham, lived. He set about performing the rite of the Pon’yor. The Offering. An act of immense gratitude to the Essences, pledging one’s loyal service to them in exchange for safe passage through the dangerous black ocean of space. It was the way all journeys were supposed to begin, and a measure of protection against the threat of being lost forever in the cosmos.
As he performed the ritual, Rez’nac knew his gesture was empty. That the offering he made would neither be heard by the Essences nor accepted. He was dark in their eyes, invisible, indistinguishable from the blackness of space itself. The light he’d once carried within him, the very torch of his soul, had been extinguished forever by his unjoining. And so there wasn’t any point to the Pon’yor anymore, not for him. And yet he couldn’t get himself to refrain. He’d begun every journey this way. Even on the Nighthawk, after he’d returned in disgrace, he’d still felt compelled to perform the Pon’yor. And he had. Completing it in the privacy of the quarters they gave him, alone, in the sight of no one and no Essences. A waste of time, he’d known. But he’d done it all the same. And now here he was again. Wasting more time. Walking himself carefully through the chants and actions of the ritual, with sharp attention to every detail, making certain every aspect was done with perfect exactness.
When he was nearly finished with the Pon’yor, the door opened and Calvin entered the cargohold. It seemed to take him a moment to realize what Rez’nac was doing and then the human looked apologetic. He seemed about to leave, clearly not wanting to interrupt the ritual, but Rez’nac did not want him to go. It was nice to not be alone. Polarians were not meant to be solitary creatures, in life or in death. It was unnatural.
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