The Secret Path
[01]

Part Four

“Sit.”

The invitation was gentle but firm, and her voice commanded obedience.  Nine young Sangheili girls, perfectly groomed and dressed in their most presentable clothing, sat quietly on the soft cushions that had been provided for each of them.  Their eyes sparkled eagerly as they gazed intently at their new guardian, though not one of them could deny the slight apprehension that they were all feeling.

The Craftmother was an impressive woman, large in both stature and girth.  While seemingly stern and worn, she had a kind face with handsome features.

She stood with perfect poise as she waited for the room to become utterly still.  Her golden eyes surveyed the waiting faces of her new charges, pausing for the briefest of moments upon a particularly attentive girl with bronzed skin. 

She graced them all with a warm smile before inclining her head slightly in formal greeting.

“Welcome, young daughters,” she began her smooth, deep voice.  Every girl stared up at her with rapt attention.

“Do you know why you are all here?” she asked.

Some of the girls nodded faintly, while others sat still, daring not to move at all.  Not one of them spoke a word, fearing it would be too terrible a pressure.  But the stately woman before them smiled in understanding.

“I should expect that this new chapter in your lives has been shrouded in some mystery,” she said, and began to pace with slow, graceful steps before them.  Eto’s eyes were fixed upon the beautifully embroidered hem of her trailing skirts as she listened intently.

“But know that here, you will learn a great many important things,” she said, and paused to gaze at them quietly.  “You are my daughters now, and will be looked after under my care.  You may call me Umikala.”

Umikala.  Craft-mother in the Sangheili tongue.  Eto was torn between holding her gaze upon her new caretaker and looking around the room.  She vaguely aware of the fact that Umikala was now calling each of the girls by family name, and found her eyes wandering to other things.  Her sharp hearing could pick up the sound of hushed voices and soft footsteps nearby, and looking to a doorway towards the corner of the room, she was startled to meet the bright orange gaze of another.

There were in fact many sets of curious eyes watching her and the others from the shadows of the nearby room.  She tried to make out their faces, though it appeared that they were all girls of various ages, whispering to one another in hushed tones. 

Eto began to wonder, but jumped when she realized that her name was being spoken.  Shamed and alarmed, she snapped back to attention.

“Iol, Etoli?” Umikala said once more, stepping closer as she uttered Eto’s full name.

Eto nodded shyly, but wilted inwardly at the soft giggles coming from some of the seated girls.  Umikala smiled down at her patiently nonetheless. 

“There is no need to be afraid,” she said.  “Your lineage?”

Eto was frozen for a moment before she could regain her composure.  “Yes, she began slowly, her eyes darting nervously from the floor to Umikala’s penetrating gaze. “My father, Oruo, and my mother, Ahmesa, of the House of Iol.”

Citing the formal title of her family gave her some measure of confidence, though she was stung at the small cough of a snigger from one of the girls sitting towards the end.  Eto cast her eyes to the intricately woven rug beneath her cushion, fearing they must have thought her a fool for being caught off guard. 

“Yes,” Umikala said fondly, glossing over the rude sound, “I remember your mother well.  It was not too long ago that she was here, earning her namesake.  She was gifted and eager to learn, just as you are.”

Gifted?  Eto pondered what Umikala could mean.

She did not think of herself as being particularly good at anything. . . Except, perhaps, at what her father had shown her.  Wild thoughts raced unbidden across her mind as she felt the pang of her father’s absence.

“Each of you has a gift,” Umikala continued, lifting her head to address her attentive charges.  “It is by the honored tradition of our heritage that you come here to find it.  The Bangala is your place to grow and mature as you are molded by devoted application.  Your mothers,” she said, catching Eto’s eye, “were not always as they are now: graceful, poised, practiced. . . strong.”    

She emphasized the last word with resonating fervor.  “No, I daresay they were much like the awkward and shy young girls seated before me now,” she added with a reminiscent smile. 

“And what did they become?” she said, her eyes searching those of the youths before her.  A tiny hand reached up meekly, prompting a warm smile from the watchful Craftmother.

“Yes, I’hro,” she murmured. 

Eto craned her neck to see who she had spoken to, but needn’t have done so.  The girl who stood was easily the tallest among them.

She smoothed the folds of the brilliantly colored kebo that threatened to fall from her lithe little waist as she rose.  Some of the girls giggled at her somewhat mismatched clothing, but I’hro seemingly did not hear them as she lifted her confident gaze to Umikala.

“They became the Honored Mothers of our Covenant, Umikala,” she said stoically.

“Yes, the highest honor;” Umikala said as she observed the gangly young girl, “that, and more.  You may sit.”

She resumed her slow, graceful pacing across the cool stone floor, her softly tapping hooves hidden beneath rich folds of cloth.

“Your time spent here will prepare you for the noble tasks that await you as the head of your house.  You will work hard, my daughters.  Fingers may bleed and muscles may ache, for there is no growth but through adversity.” 

Here she paused, knowing all too well the slightly uneasy expressions her girls were wearing.

“Look forward, as you always should, to the day when you will come of age and be given your new name,” she added with a comforting smile.  Several of the girls straightened even more so as they heard this. 

“A namesake and perhaps, a mate, shall you take when this honored day comes to you; but until that time, guard your hearts carefully and devote yourselves fully to the arts.”

A familiar little hand shot into the air once more, without hesitation.

“Yes, I’hro,” she replied patiently.

This time Eto had to stifle a giggle as the enthusiastic girl hopped up from her cushion once again to address the Craftmother.  Umikala’s plump maw parted in a kind if not somewhat amused smile as she gestured for I’hro to stay put. 

“Umikala, forgive me, but what arts?” I’hro asked as she absentmindedly twisted a loose fold of her sash in her small hands.  Eto listened intently, for she shared in I’hro’s confusion.

“Why, the domestic arts, of course,” Umikala stated bluntly.  She quietly regarded I’hro as the child lowered her head with an almost crestfallen expression. 

Eto’s lower mandibles clicked softly with a similar feeling.  At the mention of “arts”, her imagination had been aglow with the image of the dancing blade as she imagined herself pirouetting and diving with the grace of a practiced warrior.

“My dear child, were we born of greater sires, I daresay this would be a Holy Temple and I, your honored Priestess,” Umikala chuckled, but her gaze had fallen upon Eto, whose eyes were misty with the fading of her brief vision of excitement.

“And you, Eto,” how do you see this?” she asked smoothly.

Eto gave no small start as she was jarred to attention shamefully once more.  “I. . . er,” she stuttered lamely.

“Our calling?” Umikala suggested.

“Is. . . our given honor by the Gods,” Eto said slowly as she frantically scoured her head for the right scriptures. 

“Precisely,” Umikala said as a pleased expression crossed her features.  She looked as though she was about to continue, but something had struck Eto.

“Then. . . are we never to serve the Covenant?” she asked suddenly.  She was uncomfortably aware of the reproachful looks coming from her peers, who evidently considered this to be a most impertinent question to ask.  All but I’hro, who had blinked thoughtfully at Eto’s words and now gazed up expectantly at their Craftmother.  The latter was observing Eto with calculative interest.

Eto fought against the urge to fidget under the long, quiet look of discernment.  To her relief, Umikala smiled, if only faintly. 

“You forget that we have been blessed with a most sacred gift to our Covenant,” she said softly.  “You will all carry within you our next generation of holy warriors.”

Eto stared up at her blankly. 

Umikala took their mixture of confused and embarrassed expressions with benevolence.  “My young daughters, you have much to learn.  Time alone will reveal this miracle to you.”  She looked up as L’amsi stepped from where she had been silently watching by a nearby column, and came to stand by her side.

“L’amsi will now show you to your rooms, where you may get ready for the first of your tasks,” Umikala said and gracefully bowed her head to the seated girls.

“Come with me,” L’amsi said before stepping briskly away to an arching doorway towards the back of the room.  There was a rustling shuffle of cloth and hushed whispers as all nine of the girls eagerly rose, bowed respectfully to their caretaker, and departed closely after L’amsi.

Eto hardly had a chance to get a good look at the inside of her new home as they were swiftly guided to a sprawling wing of the main house where the living quarters were situated.  Each of the cozy, soft-lit rooms had four bunks, upon each of which rested a neatly folded set of uniform garments.  L’amsi had left them for a short while to change into these new clothes and situate themselves, during which Eto lost no time in investigating their new surroundings. 

She had just crept into what appeared to be a curving hallway that conjoined all the rooms around a circular commons when the smart tap of hooves on the smooth floor caught her attention.  She looked up to meet the lively sorrel eyes and sleek features of a familiar face.

“Oh. . . I’hro, right?” Eto asked tentatively.  I’hro nodded briskly, apparently flustered over something, but she gazed inquisitively at the shorter girl.

“I’m Eto—at least, that’s what my friends call me,” Eto added.

“Eto,” I’hro said thoughtfully and smiled.  A raucous noise down the hall distracted her momentarily, and Eto noticed that her colorful assortment of mismatched clothes was bundled unceremoniously beneath one arm.

I’hro turned back to look at Eto with a dark expression.

“They’re rude,” she said, nodding her head vaguely in the direction of the room from whence she came.  “Can I bunk with you instead?” she asked hopefully. 

Eto nodded gladly.  Her room had ended up with the odd number, one of whom, a pale girl named Iisu, seemed to be disgruntled about having to share a room with a “tomboy who asked ridiculous questions.”  Her other roommate was a quiet, ebony-skinned girl who hadn’t introduced herself yet. 

“It’s just down here, C’mon,” Eto said and beckoned I’hro to follow her.  “I’m sure Iisu will be glad to swap out with you, anyways,” she added humorously. 

I’hro bundled up her clothing tighter as she loped after Eto and laughed.

 

It was seemingly only moments later that they found themselves gathered outside in a large shaded clearing that rested between a dense outcropping of forest and the low, open building that Eto had seen before.  It was now occupied by a number of other girls who appeared to be finishing a meal while stretching their toned limbs. 

They all, however, looked up from what they were doing at the sight of the nine newcomers who now stood together in the dappled shade, picking at their sandy-colored outfits. 

Eto observed them with curiosity.  Many of these girls were taller and moved with a deliberate grace as they came to stand beneath the eve of the bungalow.  They wore the same snug-fitting tunics and simple trains as she did, with the exception of their differently colored sashes.  Eto’s, as well as the others’, was a dusky green color, but many of these older girls wore bright saffron and indigo hues about their waists.  Here and there, a striking crimson sash stood out on a few who appeared to be the eldest of the young women. 

They watched quietly from the open step as the last of them congregated around the low stone pillars.  It occurred to Eto that the entire tutelage of the Bangala had gathered to greet them as one from within their midst lifted her proud voice to break the quiet.

“Imshaihlo-wrassa!” she cried in a loud voice, and all who had gathered echoed her call in unison.

Eto recognized the warm greeting and dipped her head respectfully along with the others who stood beside her.  Several of the older girls waved enthusiastically to their new Bangala sisters as they laughed and spoke amongst themselves.

L’amsi watched all of this from where she stood upon the veranda at the back the main house.  Her face was expressionless, her hands folded neatly upon her richly embroidered kebo.

“They are an eager young bunch,” rolled Umikala’s rich, deep voice as she stepped from the shadows of an arched doorway to stand by her side.

“Indeed,” L’amsi said, her features for once belying her amusement.

“Eager, but blissfully ignorant,” Umikala added pensively.  L’amsi’s brief smile faded and was replaced once more with a stern countenance.

“War affects all, Imladri,” she said softly, “and they will soon come to understand it.”

Umikala observed her new daughters quietly as they timidly exchanged shouts of greeting and friendly gestures with the others in the shade of the ancient cypri trees. 

“Work them hard,” she said quietly.  “They must become strong, otherwise our future warriors will be born into weakness.”

L’amsi nodded stiffly, focusing her gaze once more upon her youthful charges.  “Yes, we cannot afford such a travesty in these times, she said heavily.

“Then you know what to do,” Umikala said as she looked on.  L’amsi said no more as she bowed her head and departed from Umikala’s side towards the sound of excited voices below. 

There was, indeed, much work to be done.
 

 

* * *

 

  
Eto panted as she came to the top of yet another steep grade.  Her lungs had begun to burn, but she ignored this slight discomfort in favor of keeping up with the others.  L’amsi had set them on the forest trail almost immediately, having instructed them to tie up their skirts securely.  They must have been running for almost an hour by now. . .

Eto’s toes sunk into the rich red soil of the winding trail as she pushed the length of her strides further.  She hadn’t run like this in a long time, not since she had chased hopskats in the fields with her brother.  She smiled at the fond memory and batted impatiently at the tickle of perspiration as it began to snake down her brow towards her eyes.  I’hro kept pace alongside her with relative ease as she trotted along with great, loping strides.

“Hey,” she said in between breaths, “I think that’s the checkpoint up ahead.”

“I think you’re right,” Eto panted as a small dappled clearing came into view. 

“C’mon, we’ll be the first to have a drink,” I’hro said cheerfully before sprinting ahead past the others.

Eto grunted and pounded the earth beneath her hooves to catch up with I’hro.  The sudden cool of the shade as she raced into the clearing was glorious.  She slowed to a relaxed pace as she struggled to catch her breath. 

“It’s over here,” I’hro called from among a pile of old pillars and vine-encrusted ruins.  She stood by an equally ancient-looking fountain that held the promise of cool refreshment. 

“What do you think this place is?” Eto breathed as she came to stand by I’hro.  Her friend had already begun to splash the fresh water over her face, and without warning, flicked her dripping hands at Eto, who squealed with laughter and danced away. 

“Come get a drink,” I’hro laughed, “it tastes good!”

The water was indeed cool and refreshing.  Eto now sat upon the edge of the small pool and stretched her shaky limbs as the rest of the girls came in panting and gathered around to get a drink.  She gazed up into a crumbling dome that sheltered the fountain upon its weathered dais.  Beams of sunlight and curling vines were coming through the numerous gaps in its surface, and the sound of echoing bird calls seemed to be captured and gently muted beneath its expanse.

“It’s so old, and peaceful,” Eto commented aloud as she leaned back on her palms and continued to gaze upwards.

“You would say that,” came a disdainful voice from the other side of the fountain.  Eto tore her gaze from the ruins to look over her shoulder.  Her eyes fell upon Iisu, who regarded her with a smug expression despite her slight pant.  “You’ve lived on a farm all your life, haven’t you?  That’s what my mother said.  So you would like it here, wouldn’t you?” she said sharply.

Eto frowned at her accusing tone.  She’d always thought spice farming to be a good way of life during peace time.  And she didn’t live on a farm, it was a beautiful villa.  Eto felt the barest trace of a growl rise in her throat.

“Yeah, so?” she asked calmly.        

 Iisu clicked her mandibles airily and rolled her vain, auburn eyes.  “My mother says I should have been accepted into the Temple, not running around some decrepit old place like this.  My father,” she said, narrowing her gaze at Eto, “hasn’t been spending all his time pushing soil.”

Eto stood abruptly, her small hands balling up angrily at her side as she returned Iisu’s glare.  “My father,” she said softly, “is an honored voice on the counc—”

“Ha,” Iisu cut across her, “and he’s what, a major domo?  They speak awfully high of one for so low a rank, don’t they?” she added savagely.  The four or so girls gathered behind her sniggered cruelly. 

Eto was so put out by this unfair treatment that she was momentarily at a loss for words. 

“It’s a wonder he’s on the council at all,” Iisu drawled at their encouragement.  “My father serves the ranger elite, but I hear yours hasn’t seen any action for years.  What did he do?  . . . I bet he got kicked ou—”

Eto stamped her hoof forcefully against the cracked stone of the dais, so that a resounding echo suddenly drowned out Iisu’s slander.  I’hro snapped her jaws with indignant disgust, but it was Eto who made the jeering girls uneasy as she aggressively stepped towards them.  She stopped a few paces before Iisu, who continued to lean nonchalantly against the fountain. 

“My father wanted to raise a family,” Eto growled.  “He chose to be with us.”

“Well he’s gone now, isn’t he?” Iisu said quietly.

“They all left,” Eto snapped.   

“Well,” she said, leaning closer, “now maybe you’ll know what it feels like, farmer.  Nothing changes the fact that some of us deserve better than to be stuck here.”   

Eto wanted to hit her.  Personal insult was one thing, but insulting the honor of her sire . . . it made her boil up inside.  Her balled fist had tightened, but taking a step towards Iisu, she thought better of it.

“If you feel so important, Iisu, maybe you should just sit and wait for L’amsi to come get you,” Eto said with forced calmness before turning her back on the now silent group of girls.  She paused to take one last drink from the fountain before taking off along the continuing path at a brisk pace.

At the mention of L’amsi’s name, several of the girls had jumped up from where they had been idly at rest.  I’hro turned to follow after Eto, but paused at the edge of the step to look back.

“See you back at the Bangala,” she laughed before darting down the steps and disappearing down the trail. 

 

* * *

 

 

Eto ran the rest of the trail so hard that she couldn’t tell if the moisture streaming along her darkened features was sweat or tears.  Her muscles had started to ache, but she didn’t care.  The sting of Iisu’s words was still too fresh in her mind.

“He’s gone now, isn’t he?”
 
Eto choked down an angry sob and pounded the dirt beneath her feet harder.  He left because he had to.

A well of unpleasant thoughts had begun to bubble up within her when she heard a second pair of padding hooves jogging alongside her on the path.  She looked up in surprise.

“I’hro!” she gasped for breath as she ran, “Gods, you’re fast.”

I’hro laughed.  “That Iisu girl, she’s never worked a day in her life,” she said with disgust.

“How do you know?” Eto panted.

“We grew up living next to each other,” she snorted derisively.  “She’s a pampered house-brat.  She is gonna get it so hard when L’amsi cracks down on her, you’ll see.”

They ran the rest of the way in silence, but one thing was for sure, that by the time the two of them had reached the clearing where L’amsi stood waiting, Eto’s scowl had been replaced with a faint grin.

“Catch your breath,” L’amsi said, indicating a wide tatami mat close by, “you will need it for the calisthenics next.” 

Eto and I’hro exchanged weary glances, but eagerly trotted over to stretch out on the thick, shady mat.  Yet Eto felt a firm grip upon her shoulder before she could go and join her companion. 

“Eto, if you will come with me,” L’amsi said, directing her towards the main house.  Eto obediently complied, but threw a glance over her shoulder at I’hro, who shrugged quizzically. 

 

Moments later, Eto found herself standing outside a pair of sliding doors set beneath the veranda of the main house.  They, like everything else that adorned the Bangala, were ornately carven and old-looking, but to her surprise they slid open of their own accord like the modern doors of her Ilah home. 

“The Craftmother wishes to speak with you,” L’amsi said, looking down to Eto.  “You may go in.”

Eto stepped hesitantly through the open doors and into a low room full of soft, filtered sunlight.  Towards the back of this room, a squat table rested upon a rounded, woven rug.  Eto looked up to meet a familiar golden gaze.  Umikala smiled warmly from where she sat behind the table and beckoned Eto forward.  She stepped tentatively towards a large cushion that had obviously been set for her before Umikala’s table, and seated herself quietly. 

“You look flushed,” she said genially.  “I trust you had a good run, then?”

Eto nodded fervently; her chest was still heaving somewhat as her breathing began to regulate.

“You will get accustomed to it as your body strengthens,” Umikala commented placidly.  “I have heard that you like to be called Eto?”

“Yes, Umikala,” Eto replied. 

“Well then, Eto, have you found your new home comfortable thus far?” she asked as she offered Eto a small, glazed cup full of steaming liquid. 

Eto nodded earnestly and carefully cupped her mandibles to sip at the hot drink.  It was sweet and tangy, like the spice tea her mother often made.  It was very good. 

Umikala took a small drink of her own before setting her cup gently upon the smooth surface of the table to observe Eto.

“You’ve seen much of the sun, haven’t you?” she mused.

Eto smiled faintly.  “Yes, I help my Papau in the fields sometimes,” she said timidly.  “We grow spices all year . . . and herbs, sometimes.”

“Ah, yes.  Your father, Oruo.”  A broad smile graced her kind features.  “Do you know, he courted your mother here at the Bangala?” she said fondly.

Eto shook her head, smiling at the thought of a young Ahmesa and Oruo meeting for the first time.

“An honorable man, your father,” Umikala added thoughtfully.  “You should be proud that he has returned to the service of the Covenant.”

“I am,” Eto said stiffly.

“Then you have peace knowing that our Lords have divine purpose for him there?” she asked, her features softening.

“Yes,” Eto said after a lengthy pause.

Umikala watched her carefully as she spoke, and leaned closer towards her young pupil.  “There is purpose for you too, my child; a gift and a calling from the Forerunners.  You have but to find it.”  She folded her weathered hands upon the table before her.

“You seem to have expressed an interest in serving the Covenant yourself,” she said softly.

Eto snapped up her gaze from where it had lingered dolefully over her cup and stared at the Craftmother intently.

“I . . . I want . . .” Eto trailed off uncertainly.  What did she really want?

“I was once very much like you,” Umikala said with a warm smile.  “So tell me, you said you have helped your father with the care of the fields.  Are you familiar, then, with some of the medicinal properties of plants?”

“Yes, my mother taught me, a little,” Eto said with growing interest.

“Well,” Umikala said significantly, “you should know that there is a small percentage of gifted women who are permitted work in the medical field, where their natural talents are put to extraordinary use.  These women directly serve the well-being of not only our great people, but the whole of the Covenant as well.”

Eto had set her cup down and was leaning forward intently, her maw slightly agape. 

“You mean . . . they make medicine for the Covenant?” she asked. 

“That is but a small part of it,” Umikala replied.  “Technological advances in the medical field are an ever-changing need that our Covenant has relied upon for the indomitable health of our warriors.  If you are interested, Eto, we may be able to further discuss this with your mother,” her words flowed into a rich, rolling chuckle at her daughter’s reaction.  Eto hadn’t said a word, but the eager look on her face told all.

“I think, Eto—and this is just speculation, but I think you might excel in this field of study.  We will explore the possibility when next we meet with your mother.  Until then, there are many things you must focus on.  Ah,” she paused as Eto opened her mouth hesitantly, but nodded her consent. 

“I was just wondering, Umikala, do you . . . speak with the others too?”

The Craftmother seemed amused by this, but humored Eto’s curiosity.  “I believe in the importance of coming to know all of my daughters, Eto.  Every one of you is precious to me.”

Eto felt an unexplainable rush of gratitude towards this kind and motherly woman, and thought of how she might be able to express it.  All she could manage was a meek little smile.  Umikala returned the gesture, perhaps understanding Eto’s youthful awkwardness.

“Yes. Well,” she said, and neatly smoothed the folds of her tunic, “let us now discuss the nature of you regular education . . .”

 

* * *

 

 

Eto could hardly bring herself to fall asleep that night after having learned of so many exiting things in that brief meeting with the Craftmother. It seemed the same spirit was affecting them all, for she could hear the restless fidgeting and hushed whispers of the other new girls as she lay quietly in her bunk.

She had not at all been surprised to find that Iisu had indeed taken up I’hro’s old bunk; rather, she and I’hro had been quite cheered by it.  The quiet, dark skinned girl who shared their room had shortly afterwards introduced herself as Jisoh from the House of Suhn.  Eto immediately knew that she like Jisoh, especially at her thorough abuse of Iisu’s attitude.  She now slept quiet soundly on the bottom bunk across from Eto, snoring softly.  Apparently, her excitement had not been so great as to keep her awake. 

Eto sighed into her pillow, stretching her aching limbs slowly before rolling onto her back to stare at the underside of the top bunk.

“I’hro?” she whispered tentatively.

“Hm?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Me either. What are you thinking about?” I’hro said, and the rounded muzzle of her face peered over the edge of the bunk.

“Everything,” Eto said, and folded her arms over her stomach.

“Well if it was me, I would have socked that girl in the face,” I’hro hissed softly.  “I don’t see why you didn’t.”

Eto tittered under her breath.  “I dunno,” she said and looked up.  “I was thinking more about what Umikala said.”

“Huh?”

“After we ran.”

“Oh,” I’hro replied through half of a yawn.

“Do you think history and artifacts will be boring?” Eto asked.

“No, ‘cuz we’ll get to learn about battle armor, eventually,” she said as she peered curiously down at Eto.  “How it’s designed and where it wears down, and how to maintain it . . .”

“Yeah, well learning Covenant Basic will be boring for sure, won’t it?” Eto replied.

“Not as bad as etiquette and customs,” I’hro snorted.

“What else did Umikala tell you?” Eto asked curiously.

“The same as you, I think,” I’hro said as she ran her palm along the rim of the bed.  “She asked me about my parents and what I was interested in, but that was pretty much it.  How ‘bout you?” she asked, and this time her mouth had opened wide in an even bigger yawn. 

“She said I could help the Covenant,” Eto said in an excited whisper.

“What?” I’hro said a little too loudly.  Jisoh stirred slightly in her sleep, but did not wake. 

“She said it was a possibility,” Eto said softly.

“How do you mean?”

“Medicine.  And medical advancements, I think,” she said as she tried to control the excitement in her voice.  “I’hro!  Wouldn’t it be great to help?”

“Mmmmhmm,” she replied drowsily, “I think it would be.”

Eto sat up in her bed, propping herself up on her elbows as she fixed I’hro with a bright gaze.  Something fierce had leapt up inside her.

“I’hro, I want to see my father,” she said suddenly.  “I miss him.”

“I miss my father too, Eto.”

“Maybe, if I can get out there where everyone else is helping, I’ll see him,” she said excitedly. 

“I’hro gazed at her quietly in the dim of the room for a moment before she spoke.  “You will,” she said softly, and slowly pulled back up out of sight.  Eto could hear the soft rustle of the bedding as she settled back into the bed above. 

“I’hro, where do you think your father is right now?” Eto asked as she lay back against her pillow. 

There was a long pause, and for a moment Eto thought that she had already slipped out of consciousness.   But I’hro’s reply came back softly.

“He went on the Great Journey,” I’hro whispered faintly. 

These words hit Eto in her moment of hopeful excitement so that she was numb.

“I’m sorry, I’hro,” she said in a hollow voice that didn’t feel like her own.  A cold thought had struck her. 

“I’m happy for him,” I’hro whispered back, more faintly now.  “I just miss him.”

“How did it happen?” Eto asked after a long, quiet pause.

“He was killed by an alpha Jiralhanae during a patrol,” she replied with the barest trace of a snarl. 

Eto could understand I’hro’s sentiment all too well; the apes were treacherous creatures, and the feud between their two people had been long and bloody.  She wondered if these humans the Prophets spoke of were just as vile . . . or dangerous.  Despite this gnawing worry, her body trembled wearily with the threat of sleep.  She could feel her eyelids growing heavy.

“I’hro?”

“Hmm.”

“Do you know what a human looks like?”

“. . . no.  Mother says that they’re weak.”

“Good,” Eto said as she began to drift inevitably into darkness, “good . . .”