Warchild

by Karin Lowachee

  “He’d have me killed in public?”

  “Yes, of course. You would deserve to be disgraced and confronted directly. But this is for murder, Jos-na. We aren’t so strict for lesser crimes.”

  “You know, you aren’t all that different from the Hub. They have capital punishment too.”

  Hadu turned to me and set his rifle down on the sim controls, hard. “Don’t say that.”

  “What?”

  “Aaian-na is nothing like the Hub.” His wings fluttered as he brushed by me, toward Ter’tlo.

  I looked down at the rifle. A modified EarthHub one, not very bulky even with the sniper scope attachment. It fit my smaller than man-size frame and reach. I picked it up, set the pulse width, and aimed like Enas-dan had shown me.

  My human target died a perforated death.

  * * *

  XXVIII.

  I wrote comms to Niko even though nobody sent them. I marked off the days since he’d left. Three more months passed.

  Three years fled the same. Three years of training with Hadu-na and Ter’tlo-na, growing taller—though I was still only 157 centimeters at nearly fourteen years old, biologically, which was a whole head shorter and only a year younger than Hadu-na. Enas-dan told me I shouldn’t compare myself because they were striviirc-na. Naturally. And it was true, in the spars it never mattered.

  I worked with Ash-dan in comp simulations of complicated Hub satcomm grids, in scenarios that included retrieval and transmission, interception and ghosting. When I would ever use this knowledge, I didn’t know, but sometimes I dreamed of codes and symbols, constructing commands even half-awake. I buried myself in my room, diving problems Ash-dan set on me, and even enjoying it. When I was in the comp, I was alone and nearly unstoppable. I had an affinity for it, in the same way I had for shooting. I was faceless and skilled, and sometimes I even beat Ash-dan at his own game, in those sims.

  I ignored Ash-dan’s dark jokes and reminders about Falcone. When I was in the comp, or on the gun range, or in class practicing my denie, all of them became white noise. Enas-dan called it focus. For me it was peace. It was the place I could go where nothing mattered.

  My classmates chattered to me about the possibility of serving in space, an obsession they had, and every time they mentioned it I thought of Niko. Who knew how long it was for Niko? Maybe he didn’t feel the distance or the time. Maybe he asked Enas-dan about me just to be polite because he was my teacher. Maybe one day Enas-dan would come to my room, eat breakfast with me, then tell me that some Hub ship out in the deep had finally got the Warboy. I half expected it every morning I awoke. But the word never came.

  Niko’s face began to gray around the edges, like my parents’ . Maybe one day I would serve on a striv ship and meet him out in the deep. I tried to think what I would say to him, but nothing came to mind.

  Then I thought my classmates could have space, if they wanted it.

  Whenever she was around, Enas-dan took me to art shows and life-sized puppet theaters, martial and seasonal festivals, and boat excursions in the summer. I played in snow. Sometimes ki’redan-na D’antan o Anil accompanied us. He introduced me to artists and athletes, scientists and teachers, both striviirc-na and sympathizer, who always ended up talking about the war effort—and especially how difficult it was to sustain the conflict. Discussions about the war weren’t just relegated to the Hub Sends. Here on Aaian-na it was on everybody’s tongues. What was the kia’redan bae waiting for? He ought to push a peace, some said, and others said he ought to deliver a harder blow to the Hub to make them step back.

  In private, the Caste Master told me that a new space government had been elected in Hubcentral, and this one advocated a stronger, more decisive stance against Aaian-na. They were talking about eradicating Aaian-na’s spacefaring ability altogether. The fringe factions were now in control.

  My vocabulary list grew exponentially, and so did my dread for the future.

  I even picked up a few phrases in different dialects, though my classmates still teased me about my accent. So many days spent traveling and seeing new things, yet I knew they were just a pocketful of experiences compared to what Aaian-na offered. Sometimes I hardly believed how big the planet was and how much of it was simply unknowable.

  Whenever I wasn’t training, I painted and drew. I spent a month trying to capture the perfection of snowflakes. My room became stacked with canvases and scrolls, though I always threw out the artwork inspired by my darker moods.

  My fourteenth birthday fell on the first day of the Festival of Stars—Sh’aieda. It was a nationwide, four-day celebration of the first striviirc-na flight into space, some hundred fifty years ago. Now it was also an irony, since their few colonies had been razed by EarthHub forces and all striviirc-na who weren’t in the Warboy’s fleet were forced to live on Aaian-na. They would have explored more except the war got in the way. Planet resources went to that.

  The festival was held every eight years; it had followed this pattern since humans were discovered nearly forty years ago. Enas-dan told me that was because their soldiers served eight-year tours, so the interval commemorated their war dead and their current soldiers, those who could not return to the planet. This wasn’t an unusual striviirc-na trait, to celebrate and mourn at the same time. They accepted the conflict in the idea.

  Ter’tlo, Hadu, and I sat on the roof by the shadow garden, which was completely shadowed now, at night. Golden lights twinkled on all the houses up and down the mountain, striv imitation of the stars overhead. Every once in a while we saw a light arc and fall toward the sea, burning out far above the water and the tops of the trees… someone remembering a dead soldier. Falling stars made of paper and flame.

  Inside, Enas-dan and Ash-dan entertained the Caste Master and other high-ranking castemembers. I’d stood around and talked for as long as I could bear it, surrounded by striv faces and voices and the smell of food. The week before, Ter’tlo had been officially made a member of the ka’redan-na. She was no longer just a student. The strivs inside made much of it, while Hadu and I wished our time would come soon. Ter’tlo-na’s indigo tattoo adorned her newly pigmented pearl-white forehead in intricate swirls, seeming to make her black eyes glow, though it was probably just her pride. Enas-dan had ritually wrapped Ter’tlo-na and presented her before ki’redan-na D’antan o Anil. Many high-ranking assassin-priests had attended in the inija-na. Yli aon Ter’tlo had been resplendent in pure white and indigo and she’d performed her jiie-ko dance with perfection.

  Tonight I escaped at dusk to watch the stars above and below. The two strivs followed me, once the talk turned to the war.

  I dangled my legs over the roof edge. “Ter’tlo-na, when will you find out your duties in the caste?”

  “The Caste Master said after the festival.” She sat beside me and fluttered her wings. I’d learned that many of their emotions showed in how they flicked their diamond-specked wings. The easy wave now meant she was relaxed and happy.

  Hadu-na stood and looked toward the dark sea. His olive skin shone slightly under the moon. For night duties they smeared paint or wore a mask. On exercises I’d seen Hadu in black from head to toe. Even his eyes disappeared in the night. They crept quieter through the trees than the leaf-eating uurao. Sometimes I pitied those people who jeopardized the order of things. Though assassin-priests rarely dispatched people permanently, they still policed the population. Criminals were never noisily brought to justice if they could be taken in silence—unless of course you wronged a high ranking castemember.

  I understood now why Hub ships feared being boarded by the striviirc-na.

  Hadu said, “Let’s go for a walk among the trees.”

  Ter’tlo trilled an assent and we climbed to our feet.

  “I’d like you to come back inside,” Enas-dan said.

  I was startled by her voice, but the other two weren’t. She walked as softly as they did, I hadn’t even heard her approach, but strivs had better hearing.

  I said, w
ithout much hope and not a little sarcasm, “Are they gone yet?” All those chattering guests.

  She frowned. “Jos-na. Just come.”

  I sighed and trailed her back down the stairs and into the house, with my classmates trailing me. A walk would have been nice.

  I wove through the slender striv bodies in their iridescent festival garb and the scented human ones similarly dressed but without the rippling of wings. They were mostly strangers. I spied the ki’redan-na in a corner of the Tree Room, by the wide open window, in a wash of gold and silver lights strung on the great sunset tree outside. He wore gold and white robes with open arms and sides and he’d dusted gold specks on his wings that gently flew around his body when he flicked them.

  Beside him stood Niko.

  My walk through the crowd slowed to a dead stop.

  My teacher wore layered white robes, gilded around the collar. His hair was tied back in a way I’d never seen it, longer than I remembered, bound in a tail at the base of his neck with gold string. The perfect angles of his facial tattoo showed dark against his skin. He spoke with the Caste Master and held a delicate tube of drink in his hand.

  I was looking across time, into the future where too much had changed.

  “The kia’redan bae,” Ter’tlo-na said in a hushed voice. She had never met him. “Jos-na, introduce me to your teacher.”

  “Not now,” I said, then walked around the bodies that stood in my way, leaving Ter’tlo and Hadu behind. Quiet striviirc-na reed music threaded through the voices and smothered my footsteps.

  But Niko and the Caste Master had excellent peripheral vision. They both noticed me before I was five meters from them. They both turned to watch my approach, but I met only Niko’s eyes.

  I couldn’t read them. They were as dark and impenetrable as the first time I’d met him.

  I stopped an arm-length from their corner and looked directly at ki’redan-na Anil. I greeted him out of formality and he returned it. Then I looked at Niko, up close. Despite the immaculate appearance, he seemed tired.

  He said, “Jos-na. You grew.”

  “Nikolas-dan. Kids do that.”

  Only then did my heart start to pound, deafening me. I couldn’t bring myself to call him by the familiar name. And he didn’t offer it.

  I wished all these people would clear out and leave us alone. And then in the next second I wished I hadn’t followed Enas-dan back to the party.

  Every little sound hammered in my head. My eyes built up pressure.

  “Your eye has improved,” Niko said, turning away slightly.

  I followed his gaze toward one of my paintings that Enas-dan had displayed on the wall. It was one of the mountains from the vantage of sea level, done in a black-brush technique I’d seen ancient striv artists use. Harshly outlined but blended toward the center of objects, with white and gray highlights. I’d detailed a lone striv standing on a lower balcony in the foreground, an arm outstretched as if he’d just tossed something into the air. The wing flared.

  “I experimented with the Oran era style, kia’redan bae.”

  “I would like one of your paintings for my house, Jos-na,” the Caste Master said.

  I remembered Niko and me sitting on the balcony, drawing together. I blinked. “By all means, Anil-dan.”

  “You must not be too hard on your teacher for being gone so long,” he continued. “He does my work.”

  I carefully didn’t look at Niko. “Of course, Anil-dan. I understand that.”

  I hadn’t been aware I had shown any resentment, even though in silent moments I more than felt it. I wondered, not for the first time, if striviirc-na had any telepathic ability. Hadu said no, but it could have been one of those things humans weren’t supposed to know. Especially an uncasted human.

  I said, “I won’t be hard on him at all, Anil-dan. I’ll challenge him to a spar.”

  The Caste Master found that funny. His wings waved briefly.

  Niko said, “Perhaps I can speak with my student in the inidrla-na, after which he then can fight me.”

  I met his stare, and his humor. “I’d like that.”

  Niko set his glass down on one of the low tables and cut through the crowd without a further word. I followed. His robes billowed behind him like a banner, caught in a cool breeze swept in from the open window.

  I captured my classmates’ stares as I passed. Farther in the corner Ash-dan stood. His eyes were smoked glass, hard and sharp.

  None of them stopped us. The hallway leading to the inidrla-na was off-limits to the party. As soon as I shut the door behind us, a quiet landed on our shoulders. Niko turned under the moon-glow of the ceiling lights and looked down at me with a different expression in his eyes. A softer one. For a long moment he just stared. He never needed to speak just to fill the silence.

  I schooled my face. I thought I did well. I’d had four years of practice.

  He said finally, “I had to be away, Jos-na. I’m sorry.”

  I didn’t answer.

  “I didn’t plan to be,” he said.

  I shrugged. “Didn’t you?”

  “I didn’t plan to be gone that long. But organizing defenses—” He stopped. Maybe he saw something in my expression. “How have you been? Tell me the truth.”

  “Your brother and Enas-dan are good teachers. They are my teachers, right? They’ve been my teachers for nearly four years. You were only my teacher for one.”

  Now he was silent.

  “I didn’t expect you to come back,” I said. “And now that you are—” I shrugged again. “How have I been? I’m fine. I’ve learned everything you wanted me to learn. In fact I’m really good. But Enas-dan probably told you that in one of her reports.”

  “I can see that you’re really good,” he said mildly. “With words. I understand them.”

  “I knew you would.” I headed for my room. No need to linger over things.

  “Jos-na.”

  I stopped at my door and looked at him. “Yes, Nikolas-dan?”

  “It hasn’t been four years for me. But it’s still good to see you, s’yta-na.”

  I slid my door open. “I’m glad my face pleases you.” I went inside and shut the door behind me. I didn’t turn up the lights.

  * * *

  XXIX.

  I went to bed early and lay staring at the dark ceiling, unable to sleep. The window screen was up and the glass open, revealing the span of stars and the sound of drumming in the distance, mingled with that curious wailing flute that was classical striviirc-na music. The festivities would go on for another three days. Flaming lights descended from houses above us, fallen soldiers extinguished in midair.

  An hour before dawn a shadow passed outside my door; I saw the movement in the narrow gap near the floor. The door slid aside and a silhouette stood there.

  “Jos-na, may I come in?”

  During my language lessons he’d never asked. But now he did. Somehow he knew I wasn’t asleep.

  “Yes.” Even to my own ears I sounded restrained. I slowly released the bunched sheet in my fists and climbed to my feet out of respect.

  He stepped farther into the room, shutting the door behind him, but didn’t call up the lights. Fading moonlight spilled at his feet. He approached and brought with him the scent I always associated with the first time I’d awakened aboard his ship, when I was still healing from Falcone’s shot. Faint oil and some sort of spice. I thought he was going to stop in front of me but instead he went to the window and looked out for a moment. I held my hands behind my back.

  “Look,” he said.

  I walked over slowly until I stood by his shoulder. He seemed smaller. The top of my head reached his chin now instead of the middle of his chest. I looked up to search for the familiar facial tattoo. In the white moonlight it showed clearly, as did his eyes. Lines had appeared beneath them where none had been before.

  “Look, Jos-na.” He pointed to the sky.

  I saw stars. Then I noticed a brighter shape in the nig
ht, pinned there like a diamond brooch.

  “Turundrlar?”

  “Yes. It’s docked at our repair station. We had—casualties.”

  I fingered the back of my sleepshirt.

  He looked at me and held out his hand. On his palm was a small, silk-wrapped object.

  “What’s that?” I didn’t take it.

  “For your birthday. In the Hub, you said, gifts are given.”

  I didn’t think he’d remember, or bother. I barely remembered.

  “It’s not an explanation,” he said quietly. “Just a gift.”

  I took it. It was light, the silk white and soft. I unknotted the ends and a round silver object spilled into my hand.

  My parents’ faces looked up at me, inlaid in a chained disk ID, like the one I’d once had. Young faces. They’d been young.

  My sight blurred so suddenly I couldn’t stop it. Something invisible folded around my shoulders like heavy arms.

  “Where—” But the words stuck.

  “Mukudori’s homeport was Siqiniq. I had a contact there forward me part of the archived crew files. Then I had this made. Look on the reverse.”

  I turned it over with clumsy fingers. My homeship’s bird-in-flight symbol was engraved there. I couldn’t breathe. “Why’d you go and do this?”

  He sounded concerned and a little distressed. “Does it bother you so much? I’m sorry, Jos-na. I thought you’d want it.”

  I wanted it. I closed my fist around it. I wanted it so badly, so suddenly, it was impossible to shut out. To shut him out.

  “When are you leaving again?” I couldn’t look up.

  “When you’re ready to come with me.”

  The words released the grip in my chest. But I couldn’t believe them.

  “I want you to return to space with me, Jos-na. Do you want to go back on a ship?”

  “I want to go with you.” It fell out of my mouth the way truth did, without thought or adornment. I felt my face flood red.

  He said, “Do you have a flamelight?”