Of a sudden he came to a decision of the path to take, trying to finally, fully, set aside his arrogance. “I lost the Trial.”
Franks managed to constrain his reaction to a startled widening of eyes, but the rest of the gathered warriors moved and whispered as though a swift wind blew through a wheat field. After several attempts to find his tongue, Franks spoke. “You lost the Trial?”
“Aff. Galaxy Commander Rosse defeated me in honorable combat. Neither you, nor any bearing his seed, nor any of your warriors, will perish under my hand.”
The gathering seemed to hold its breath, taking in the words, before a smile swept Franks’ face. A smile not of relief, but of vindication. As though he had known what Kisho would say.
“Mystic. You came bearing a declaration of open arms. You proclaimed that the Spirit Cats and any with Nova Cat blood in their veins in The Republic could return to the fold. Does that still stand?”
Sudden humbleness infused Kisho in such an overwhelming rush that he struggled to breathe. The look on Franks’ face, the direction of his questions—there could be no doubt where it would lead. And after all I have done and yet you still accept. You still believe.
Kisho nodded numbly.
“Then my warriors would accept your welcome. We would cast aside our Spirit Cat trappings and pull on the mantle of Nova Cats.”
Even though he had known what was coming, the statement deprived Kisho of speech for long heartbeats as eyes roved away from Franks to take in the other Spirit Cats, identical determination painting shadowed faces in the lambent light.
Because of me? This came about because of me? A long look into Franks’ eyes once more and a new level of understanding emerged. You knew this all along, did you not, Master? But you never told me. You knew my destiny, knew that I was playing at a role. Yet you knew a greater role awaited. He waited for bitterness to surface, but instead further knowledge embraced him. I was not ready. I would not have understood such a simple concept. Once more, he mentally set aside another layer of arrogance, chipping away at the layers that kept him separate—a task he knew would take years and decades to accomplish.
This has nothing to do with me. I am simply the messenger. They do it for themselves. They do it because they desire. They believe.
And do I desire? Do I believe?
He slowly nodded; whether to Franks or in answer to his own question, he did not yet know.
With abrupt movement he stood over the kneeling man and, ignoring the screaming muscles and pulling wounds, he tore strips from his undershirt. He then settled into a crouch, where he quickly tied the scrap to the man’s wrist in a cloth cord.
Franks glanced down at the bondcord, accepting his absorption into the Nova Cat Clan. Suddenly, like a snake striking for its target, Kisho pulled the other man’s knife free from his belt and slashed the bondcord. He slowly stood, ignoring the disbelief twisting Franks’ face—mirrored on all those present—and moved to the fire, where he cast in the cord.
“You are abtakha,” he said, voice strident, filling the night to bursting with firm resolve. “Fully adopted into the warrior caste of Clan Nova Cat.”
“But, you cannot—”
Kisho simply glanced at Franks, the power of his visage shearing the man’s words instantly. “I, Mystic Kisho of Clan Nova Cat, make it so.”
The group hesitated for a moment, then the word seyla seemed to come simultaneously from all present. He nodded.
“There is much work to do. You have proven your worth a thousand times over: in your trials since the collapse of the HPG system, in the keeping of our traditions in the face of Spheroid contamination for decades . . . even in your fight against us.” He gestured towards the fire already consuming the makeshift bondcord. “And so our recent history is cleansed and forgotten. You are Nova Cat warriors.”
Franks stood, holding his wrist as though unable to believe no cord bound it. Then he nodded acceptance.
“There is much to be done, still. Our forces fight for Warlord Tormark, a mission we must return to with haste. And you will be a guiding light to other Spirit Cats—to accept, to believe. To return to us.”
The other man hesitated, then spoke despite visible discomfort. “Not all will follow you. Some will denounce us as traitors. They will call you a murderer of Galaxy Commander Rosse.”
“Aff,” Kisho said, face falling into inhumanity as he put together the bits and pieces. “But that is my surkai to accept. Some will not follow and will continue in their hollow quest to find a haven. But many, many will come to our banner. They will fight at our side, or will pass back into the Nova Cats lands in the Combine. And the Nova Cats will be strong again. There is much work still to be done. Let us be about it.”
The other Spirit Cats hesitantly moved forward, still in shock over the bondcords Kisho fashioned from his own clothing, which he then cut and tossed to the flames.
As he performed the rite, questions still raced through Kisho’s mind. Do I believe for Hisa? Perhaps not. Do I believe for me? Perhaps . . .
But rising through it all, he felt the comfort of that small voice, telling him it all stemmed from a single idea. A single seed. One so simple that bitterness, anger and, most of all, arrogance had not let him see it.
He had a desire to believe.
He felt he could now come to know the powers his mystic caste had laid at his feet. And now he would ask the right questions. A long path still lay ahead. A lifetime path. But it was one he now chose to take—not one forced on him by others, or dictated by his conditioning. Now he took this path because he desired it. For himself. He could finally start to forgive and understand. The pain of his upbringing slowly slid into context . . . and acceptance.
That was the big picture, the vision for his path. But more immediately, he would hunt down the parties responsible for the latest carnage. Not for revenge. But for justice. He was wrong to divert from the task of aiding Warlord Tormark. Wrong to be sidetracked from the task of strengthening the Clan, even if that meant strengthening the Dragon as well. But he would not needlessly divert again. I will hunt down those who murdered the mystics and Galaxy Commander Rosse. Lines of Kev’s glory that Kisho would add to The Remembrance were already flowing.
And by The Founder, they will pay.
Epilogue
Unity Palace, Imperial City
Luthien, Kagoshima Prefecture
Pesht Military District, Draconis Combine
9 February 3137
The calm of the room caressed senses with silky confidence.
Ramadeep Bhatia opened his eyes and placed the cold sake cup back on the bamboo tray to his left, while right-hand fingers once more nestled rice paper into a reading position. The cool bioluminescence coating the room allowed his coal black eyes to absorb all the information once more.
The geisha makes progress. He grunted at the idea, but marginally dipped his head once more, as though a salute across a field of battle to an unexpectedly talented foe. Not equal. Iie. Not that. More a devious geisha, using her wiles to snag a samurai lord above her station.
He knew it was time to put the paper aside. He had already dedicated more time this day to the geisha concern then he had anticipated. But the chagrin of her continued successes in The Republic—four more worlds pacified?—coupled with the realization of one of his own pawn moves, along with a very surprising development . . . it warranted extra time. Albeit only a little.
Galaxy Commander Rosse dead. Go stone placed, enemy removed. His lips quirked with pleasure. I doubt even the Maskirovka would have the delicacy to subvert a Clanner into killing one of his own. How did the agent manage that? The smile slipped momentarily at the knowledge that even his Internal Security Force might not have managed it either, as the deed actually originated through the Order of the Five Pillars. The smile tugged his mouth into a crescent once more, knowing he pulled strings within the Keeper of the House Honor’s own organization to execute the deed.
With the leader of th
e Spirit Cats out of the equation, that cult of personality would likely evaporate. At the very least, most of them would be in no great hurry to join the Nova Cats in any form.
Just what I need, more strength to their numbers. He scanned the last few lines of the missive. But this. This is interesting.
Nova Cat Mystic Tanaka murdered. Nova Cat Mystic Hisa murdered. Bodies brutalized. Agent(s) unknown. Reasons unknown.
The textured feel of the paper slid from his fingers as he placed it on the smaller of the two piles, fingers twitching to pick up the next and continue the night’s reading. His eyes lost focus as possibilities unfolded.
Who would kill those mystics? Even safeguarded by the best the Nova Cats could provide—their Watch a travesty, even with O5P meddling, mere decades old compared to over a half millennium of ISF diligence in safeguarding the Dragon from enemies without, as well as within—he knew well the perversion of Kurita blood into the Nova Cats new mystic caste. Seers? Prophets? Visions? Ha. He knew of the O5P’s experimentations into systemic, hyperanalytical conjecture, with quasi-quantum mathematical sequencing and genegineered superlative observance acuity and blah, blah, blah.
He’d read the report, but found most of it to be either meaningless or preposterous. It appeared they were trying to create someone who could predict the future based on observations. From that report, he knew of years of horrible failures. Further, he knew that some of that might have spilled into the O5P–Nova Cat relationship. Though that continuing bond bothered him, he was more than willing to allow the O5P to divert time and precious resources into such ridiculousness.
Yet, despite his own distaste concerning the mystics’ blood, or their O5P links, striking there would prove to have . . . troublesome consequences. Might as well attack their genetic repository. No better way to turn tenuous allies into the most fanatical of enemies. Especially pressed so near our heart here on Luthien.
No. That was a bed he had refused to make, yet now someone turned down the sheets, laying a mint on the pillow. Who?
He straightened marginally, the taut move at odds with the calm of the room, disrupting the harmony of his refuge. His lost pupil? The fake Bounty Hunter? Kappa? He tongued his teeth, while questions tumbled. But he apparently stood with the geisha now. Why would he seek to undermine her like this? It simply didn’t make sense. And yet, of all the people who might act in such a manner, damned be the consequences . . . that, that fit Kappa like a glove.
But it was an ill-fitting glove, overall. Was he truly behind it, or was something, or someone else behind it? Ramadeep filed a mental note to pull on the threads of his hidden empire slightly concerning Kappa, the mystics, and the geisha. See if any of the pieces fell into a recognizable pattern.
With that, his mind closed off that chapter for the day, another rice paper sheet already in hand, black eyes drinking in new knowledge of actions unfolding elsewhere.
About the Author
Randall N. Bills began his writing career in the adventure gaming industry, where he has worked full-time for the last ten years. His hobbies include music, gaming (from electronic to RPGs to miniatures to all those wonderful German board games), reading (of course) and, when he can, traveling.
He currently lives in the Pacific Northwest where, in addition to his more-than-full-time gaming work, he pursues his writing career. Randall has published five novels and two Star Trek novellas. This is his sixth novel.
He lives with his wife Tara Suzanne, children Bryn Kevin, Ryana Nikol, and Kenyon Aleksandr, as well as an eight-foot red-tailed boa called Jak o’ the Shadows.
Contents
Acknowledgments
Prologue 1
2
Interlude I 3
4
5
6
7
8
Interlude II 9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
Interlude III 19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
Interlude IV 31
Epilogue
About the Author
Heretic's Faith Page 24
