Silently, Sabira stood and looked one last time at her caller, his eyes still closed to her, before turning and walking back toward the entrance.
“Sabira,” he said a moment before she left the shrine.
“Yes, Caller.”
“You are not the first to wear the nine eyes on your back. You won’t be the last. All of us have . . . made unwise choices. Especially when we were young skins. Offer your pain to the Gods. And remember what I’ve told you.”
You are right. I see you. I hear your words and know you are right. Actions. Sacrifice. Results. That is how I will make you see the truth of me, Arrow. And I of you.
13.
THE ENTIRE TRIDENT of Servants, over two thousand named warriors, filed into the Servants Hall on the drummers deck of the Ihvik-Ri. They were blessed to be among the very few humans to travel the stars. Blessed to be the enforcers of Divine Will. Blessed with names. With purpose. And Sabira was blessed to be one of them.
Once inside the hall, the trident organized themselves into three prongs. Within the prongs, they configured their divisions from line to duty to task to crew. Each crew arranged itself into triangular wedges, interlocking with the two other crews of their task.
The great hall reminded Sabira of Warrens Zevna. Both were wide enough to hold thousands of humans below a high, cavernous ceiling. Where the pillarwood trees and carved-out rock walls of the warrens were splattered with generations of graffiti, the ceramic walls of the great hall were spotless and gleaming white. Banners of all the warseers and their crews, colored in green, crimson, silver, and black, lined the walls like tattoos on a servant’s scalp. They hung below a high mezzanine enclosed in dark glass that ran the length of the hall on all sides. The Gohnzol-Lo oversaw their rites from behind the glass. Sabira wondered if they held their own ritual celebrations up there before heading to battle.
Two hundred forty-three crews made up the trident. And her crew was one of only three to be called for special orders. She knew it was an honor to be drafted into Warseer Ahzk Vohg’s infiltration crew. Usually, servants who grew up among the Diggers or the Aggies were assigned to infantry tasks. Infiltration crews needed the most skilled and able servants for their missions. During Servant Discipline, Sabira had heard rumored exploits regarding some of the same infiltration crews she now served beside. For nine pits she had proved herself worthy of the Servants, and now that she was here, she fought to prove herself worthy of her assignment.
I’ve earned my name and my scars, she thought. Maybe I haven’t truly earned a command summons, but I’ve earned my way into this crew. Let anyone who doubts it come make me prove it. If any doubts about her worthiness still lingered after these rites, then this mission would finally bury them.
Their mission was going to be the most dangerous challenge of her life. Infiltrating an entire hive city of infidels to retrieve stolen humans and bring back enemy prisoners, all before the entire planet is under full assault from the Warseers, it sounded more like a suicide mission the more she considered it. Maybe this assignment wasn’t such an honor after all.
From the moment they made landfall to the moment they docked back into the pyramid’s hanger, they would be in constant lethal danger. She would need to rely on her crew, and Arrow’s right arm especially, every moment for her survival. And they on her. But did Caller Arrow really believe she was up to the mission?
Sabira had three days before they boarded the wrecker and infiltrated the target planet. The gathering of the trident for the drum rites of Dancer and Conqueror was her best and only chance to prove herself to Arrow before their mission. Gods see her, he would know the truth of her before the rites were done.
After the crew had taken their place on deck, the servants stood at attention, drums resting silently at their feet. No one could begin drumming until the chosen had come through and consecrated them with the sacraments. When the last crew marched into position, a deep gong resounded throughout the deck.
The Chosen were the only other shaft where humans could earn a name glyph. They toiled in service to the Akuhn-Lo Godseers, the priestly caste of Overseers, as the Servants did for the Gohnzol-Lo. As their shaft name implied, the Chosen were individually selected by the Godseers. Many, though not all, of those to be Chosen were ahno, an androgynous minority. The Chosen initiates must transcend nine trials to earn their names. But Sabira seldom saw a chosen with the scarification the average servant proudly bore.
Draped in ceremonial robes of green and white, the chosen entered the great hall intoning a song of prayer. Hundreds of voices chanting in slow, deep unison created a hypnotic drone. Sabira lost herself in reverie for a moment, dreaming of the rites to come. Invoking Conqueror with Caller Arrow was the smart choice, but in her reverie, she called Dancer, as he had done in her initiation.
The chosen gathered together on a wide, raised dais at the front of the hall. Once they were all assembled, their chanting ceased, and a low-frequency gong resounded. Sabira felt its heavy vibrations in her chest. They parted in half, and three Akuhn-Lo entered the dais from a rear portal. The godseers solemnly proceeded through the chosen to the front of the dais and looked out over all the trident. Godseers tended to be shorter than Warseers, their horns rounder, their skin a paler gray than shimmering silver.
The lead godseer addressed them all in Ihziz-Ri, her voice amplified to fill every corner of the great hall. “In the ancient times, during the early days of the First Labyrinth, the Nahgak-Ri chose two hundred and twenty-three of the fiercest overseers and reshaped them into the Gohnzol-Lo. They were to be the Unity’s captains in the great crusade to bring Divine Will to the galaxy.
“Then, in accordance with the grace of Star Father and His son Conqueror, the Divine Masters granted the nameless khvazol two shafts of trials by which to earn their names and be seen by Heaven: the Shafts of the Chosen and the Servants.
“When the first servants ascended their nine trials, Gohnarus Conqueror looked down from the Gates of Heaven and was pleased. ‘You are enforcers of Divine Will,’ He said to them, ‘just as Star Father has decreed. Remain faithful and self-sacrificing to Our Will and you may call on My strength.’
“Conqueror’s sister, Ishkadil Dancer, also looked down from the Gates of Heaven and was pleased. She said to the first servants, ‘Remain faithful and self-sacrificing to Our Will, and you may call on My passion to join your flesh as one, unified in devotion and purpose.’
“Servants of the Pyramid Ihvik-Ri, in three days you go forth to conquer and unify another infidel world under Divine Will. May the Akuh-Ori see you from Heaven and be pleased. Let the rites of Dancer and Conqueror begin. Remember servants, with faith and sacrifice you shall be seen, you shall be victorious, and you shall unify the galaxy!”
Another low gong crashed, and the godseers departed. The chosen resumed their chant and descended from the dais. They branched into nine columns and began flowing into the servants. Within the nine columns, they separated into groups of three, one bearing a large canister of pitters brew, one holding a small trigonal pyramid in their hands, one with empty palms raised high above their head. They entered the crew formations and bestowed sacraments, beginning with the first drum then moving down in ranks to the skins.
The chosen with empty, upraised hands, drew a razor-sharp, biomech thumbnail across the servants’ brows, then used the blood to draw the glyphs of Conqueror and Dancer across the servants’ faces. Once marked, the second chosen poured a ceramic cup of the pitters brew into their mouths. The third, holding the small pyramid, continued the chanting in unison with the other triads.
Only after receiving the sacraments could the servant sit and begin drumming. Once all nine members of a crew were given sacrament, the triad of chosen moved on to the next. No one could invoke the Gods and call forth a challenge until every servant in the hall received the sacrament. Once the drum rites began, any servant could challenge any other, no matter their rank or their crew, and invoke
either Conqueror or Dancer. No challenge could be refused.
Sabira’s initiation into Ahzk Vohg's crew involved a smaller variation of the rites. Only her crew, Warseer Maru Ahzk Vohg, and a single triad of chosen had attended the initiation rite. After sacrament, all eight crew members called Conqueror or Dancer with Sabira, one at a time, as the others watched and drummed the ancient rhythms. Every crew initiated new members into their ranks with the rites this way for as long as there have been Servants of the Unity.
As the chosen moved among the crews, their hypnotic chant grew increasingly punctuated by insistent drumming. With each additional crew blessed by blood and brew, the pattering of drums grew louder, more powerful, until the chant was drowned among the echoing rumble, a faint murmur amidst pounding, relentless rhythms.
With hundreds of drums echoing around her, Sabira fell entranced long before the triad reached her. First Drum Lance stood at the apex of their crew. Caller Arrow and the right arm angled off to one side. Third Drum Misseila and the left arm angled off the other. After Lance received the sacrament and joined in the drumming, the pair of chosen zigzagged across the wedge, bestowing blood and brew in order of rank, starting with Caller Arrow and then Third Drum Misseila. As the last to be initiated, Sabira was the last to receive sacrament.
Watching her crew members drink, faces dripping with blood, she witnessed the rush flow through them as the brew heightened their senses and ignited their passions. Eyes grew wide as they fell into the engulfing tide of drums. She paid closest attention to Caller Arrow. Having been raised in Warrens Ohna among the Chosen, he was the most deeply religious of the crew. If she was going to win his trust and respect, it would have to be through the results of deeds and sacrifice, in both devotion and fighting. Of course, invoking the Dancer could bring results too.
One battle at a time, she told herself.
Finally, the triad of chosen stood before her. Her palms and the small of her back moistened with nervous anticipation. The third ahno continued chanting as the other two approached. Just as the Servants bore nine tattooed glyphs for their pit victories, the Chosen bore nine for their trials of faith. The glyph of the Chosen marked their right cheeks. The glyphs of their name and ninth trial marked their left. Sabira read the names of the two approaching, Altaro and Scripturo.
The chosen wore robes of deep green. The glyphs of the Akuh-Ori, the Gods beyond the Gates, printed in white and bordered in silver, were arranged in a triangle across their thin chests. Scripturo held a black cylinder inscribed with red glyphs. Chosen Altaro approached, and Sabira could smell the coppery tang emanating from ahns blood-drenched hand.
“Remember, human, you are a Servant of the Nahgak-Ri and an enforcer of Divine Will. Your blood is their creation. Your life is their weapon.” Altaro quickly sliced ahns biomech nail across her brow. Entranced by the ritual, she barely felt the sting of the shallow cut. After drawing the blood glyphs across her tattooed brow and cheeks, Altaro prayed, “May the Gods see you.”
Scripturo approached her, and she salivated from the scent of pitters brew. A drop of blood dripped into her right eye, and her vision blurred. “Should you find yourself before the Shattered Gates of Heaven,” Scripturo intoned, “may the Gods find you worthy of eternal service.” Ahn poured the contents of the cylinder into a small ceramic cup and brought it to Sabira’s lips. She relished the strong, bitter taste of the brew.
“May the Gods see me,” she answered.
Slowly lowering herself to the floor, she felt as if her mind was splitting in two: part of her falling deeper into the trance of the rites and the hypnotic pulse of hundreds of drums, part of her igniting with a building pressure demanding physical release. Her hands found the drum and began tapping at its taut hide, joining into the larger rhythm of the trident. Every few moments another drum added to the surging force of their collective beats, and the fiery tension of the brew grew stronger within her. Once every servant had received sacrament the gong would sound, and the invoking could begin. Until then she would lose herself in the flowing, seemingly autonomous movements of her hands tapping out the ritual beats.
Sabira imagined how the rite would play out in sharp detail. Saw herself standing up from her drum and entering the center of the crew, gaze locked on the stark, pale eyes of Caller Arrow, fierce and wild from the brew. She would call him forth, but which God would she invoke?
Lost in her drums and reveries, Sabira almost didn’t register the deep, low gong when it rang through the hall. She opened her eyes and took in the sight of her crew. Like her, each balanced on the sharp edge between frenzy and trance. Some sat with eyes open and intent, others with eyes closed or rolled back, revealing only bloodshot whites. Across from her, Bomb, a skin in the left arm, pounded frantically away at his drum. Beside him, Servants Hatchet and Hatchita leaned into each other as they played. To Sabira’s left, Daggeira and Cannon beat out a steady, focused pulse. At the wedge’s apex sat the three ranking servants. Arrow and Misseila were both deep in the trance of the drum, eyes closed, bodies swaying in languid circles as hands tapped intricate rhythms. Between them, First Drum Lance sat playing his drum as solid and steady as a stone pillar. His intense, pale eyes focused right on her.
Something about his gaze gave her pause. Lance’s eyes were like Grandfather Spear’s in a way. Pale, ice-blue eyes that had seen a lifetime of war and death. But his gaze lacked the warm golden affection she saw so often in her grandfather’s. There was no hostility or aggression, though, just an intense fierceness that held her transfixed. She remembered the same intensity in his touch during her initiation rites, neither loving nor cruel, but undeniably powerful.
Conqueror sees this man, she thought. And this man sees me.
Movement to her left broke Sabira from Lance’s hypnotic gaze. Daggeira rose to her feet and stepped into the wedge.
No. The scar across Sabira’s chest felt tight and hot. Do not call forth Arrow. Don’t take this from me too.
Daggeira stood in the middle of the crew with her back to Sabira and faced the ranking drummers. Sabira was sure she’d challenge Arrow by invoking Dancer. Caller Arrow was the deepest handsome of the crew. She had to grudgingly admit Daggeira’s beauty as well. And with two breasts, full and unmaimed, of course Arrow would see Daggeira.
What a fool I was, thinking Arrow would see me, that I could invoke Dancer and Conqueror with such a warrior.
But Daggeira did not call forth Caller Arrow. After bowing to the ranks, she turned and faced Sabira. Again she wore that knowing smile, this time beneath wild, brew-ignited eyes. She stomped her foot and called out over the frenetic drums rumbling through the great hall.
“Gohnarus Conqueror, God beyond the Gates, see me,” invoked Daggeira. “Sabira, Servant of the Divine Masters, see me. I call you forth.”
14.
SABIRA BOUNDED TO her feet and locked eyes with Daggeira. This wasn’t how she planned for the rites to play out, but hopes weren’t lost down the shaft yet. If she could beat her quickly enough and call forth Arrow, then all the more honor in the eyes of her crew.
“Conqueror see me,” answered Sabira, stepping over her drum and into the wedge. “Servant Daggeira, I see you. I hear your call.”
The pounding rhythms inundated her, rising in intensity with the brew’s accelerants pumping through her blood. Carried on the shuddering air, the collective anxiety and passions of thousands of servants surrounded her. With her senses enhanced by pitters brew, the musky scent was as overpowering as the resounding drums. The campaign for Target System Thirteen-Nine-Seven launched in three days, and this may be the last drum rites for many of them. The fear of death brought an unmistakable odor to the hall.
Determined to beat Daggeira quickly and without expending too much energy, Sabira lunged forward. She swung her fist at Daggeira’s face, trying to get her attention to go high as she ducked low. The misdirection worked. As Daggeira’s hands came up to defend, Sabira dropped her shoulders and
drove into her. The same moment Sabira collided with her hard belly, Daggeira slammed her knee up into Sabira’s chest, right along her scar. The blow knocked some air out of her, but Sabira had her off balance and kept surging forward. Daggeira’s other foot came out from beneath her, and the two slammed to the floor in a tangle of limbs.
The accelerants in the brew urged on Sabira’s violence. It would have been easy to give in to the chemical rage. As much as Sabira wanted to earn Arrow’s respect, now she wanted to settle her grudge with Daggeira even more. She was the one who woke the grank, who called down the Warseers’ punishment, who ruined Sabira’s standing with the crew. Sabira didn’t want to just beat Daggeira. She wanted to dominate her.
But years of discipline reined in her hostility. Shift after shift the new servants had been fed pitters brew, getting them accustomed to thinking clearly and acting according to orders even as the accelerants tempted them with rage. It would mean even more punishment and dishonor if she seriously injured another servant in the rites before the upcoming invasion.
The rites were not only meant to honor the Gods and bring cohesion to the crews through the intimacies of pain and pleasure shared by the entire trident. The rites also gave them a chance to fight out their grievances while building trust that they would both stop before killing the other. When it came time to face the enemy, old grudges and rivalries would be settled and left behind.
Scrambling for position across the floor, Daggeira caught her wrist and slung her long, nimble legs across Sabira, trying to capture her arm in a lock that could potentially snap it in two. Sabira knew she was supposed to trust her not to break bones, but after what Daggeira did in the grank pens, she would be damned if she would submit. Before Daggeira could lock her arm tight, Sabira bucked, twisted, and rolled, relieving the pressure on her arm. She rolled again, pulled her arm free, and positioned herself behind her crewmate.
Before the Shattered Gates of Heaven Part 2: Infiltration Crew (Shattered Gates Volume 1 Part 2) Page 4
