The Secret Path
[01]

Epilogue

“I’hro, this is ridiculous.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I . . . I can’t go out looking like this.”

Yet again, as the ritual had been all that morning, Eto fidgeted nervously with the snuggly fitted sash that hugged her figure before smoothing her hands over the traditional Sangheili garb she wore. 

“You look lovely, Eto.  You’ll be fine,” I’hro commented cheerfully as she twirled with practiced grace upon the large, carpeted rug that occupied the circular room. 

“That is what I mean!” Eto moaned as she studied the garment—or rather lack there of.  “I feel naked. . .
I’hro, there will be men watching us!”

“Young warriors, Eto.  Shouldn’t that be exciting?” I’hro laughed as she took Eto by the hand and pulled her along in a lissom dance.

“Please don’t tease, I’m nervous enough as it is,” Eto sighed while hopping lightly upon her hooves in a well-practiced pattern of graceful movements.  She was rather dreading any sort of performance, for she wasn’t the most graceful of the Daughters, and she was hardly comfortable at the thought of dancing for anyone but the company of her fellow sisters.   Her mandibles curled into an unmistakable grimace as she took a misstep and scuffed her toes upon the floor.

“Gods, why a dance?”

I’hro quirked the ridge of her brow in amusement and glided into a sinuous arch as Eto did likewise in an attempt to recover.  Her enthusiastic demeanor was quite a contrast to her sister’s furrowing brow.

“Oh, come now, it’s not so terrible.  The daughters of the Temple are made to face far more daunting trials.  Of all our tasks, this is the most simple.  The Eldest have always given a dance at the end of their tutelage; do you know how many thousands of years we have danced?  And you’re not that bad at it either,” I’hro laughed.  “Just relax a little, and let the movement flow through your body . . . as L’amsi taught us.”

“Were it so easy,” Eto huffed as they rose again as one, hands clasped together at the center of the circle they were weaving.  She gave yet another reproachful glance at the snug, but elegant one-piece that shamelessly revealed the smooth length of her stomach. 

I’hro’s own outfit was a bit different.  She was as tall and willowy as ever, her clothing only accentuating her quite graceful poise.  But rather than exposing her belly, her garment opened up from behind and dipped low over the small of her back.  The split-front koulats they wore over this outfit made for a sensuous but practical arrangement.  The only feature that Eto appreciated were the glinting strings of shells that hung from either end of her belt. They swung and danced with the movement of her body, making tiny, soft chimes as they struck against each other.

It was a sound that she could focus on, a rhythm to take her mind away from her worry of those who would be watching. . .

“Do you think they’ll care to even look at my face?” Eto commented facetiously as they rehearsed together.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Eto.  You have beautiful eyes.  They could steal the heart of any warrior.” 

“Not as beautiful as green eyes,” Eto said wistfully. 

I’hro worked her mandibles in a soft warble, her exasperation evident for once.  “My eyes aren’t green, you silly Unggoy, they’re hazel.”

“Same thing.  Besides I’d. . . I’d rather not catch their attention.  The sooner this part of the ceremonies is over with, the better.”

“I think you worry too much, sister.  All of this dread, and you won’t be able to enjoy yourself.  You don’t have to accept an offer of courtship if you don’t want to,” I’hro said quietly.  “Let them look.”

They twisted in place together, their hooves tapping a soft rhythm amidst the soft chatter of their fellow sisters who had gathered in the room of preparation.  I’hro caught Eto’s eye with a subtle gesture of her head.  “You wear that crimson proudly,” she said, indicating Eto’s sash.  The fiery adornments were wrapped firmly beneath either of their belts, a testament to their coming of age.  Eto glanced downwards, her mandibles twitching as though she might smile.

“I will,” she replied.  “I’ve dreamed of this for years.  I’m just nervous.”

“Seihu says your nerves will help.”

“Yes, well,” Eto smiled and slowed to a stop.  “If I stumble and fall down, then you can just do something fancy to divert their attention.”

I’hro’s face contorted with the effort of suppressing a loud snort, but unavoidably they both burst into laughter.  Mitsu and Jisoh, who were themselves practicing nearby, paused at the unseemly noise with curious gazes. 

“Best you keep it down, sisters,” Mitsu grinned.  “L’amsi seems to be taking this very seriousl—”

“I’hro!  What in the name of the Heavenly Forerunners, child . . .”

Eto froze at the crisp tone of the Second Mother’s voice, a stupid smile still lingering upon her maw.  I’hro, who had been enthusiastically demonstrating her most “fancy” of moves, performed a last shimmy before assuming a more demure stance at L’amsi’s approach.  With only the barest trace of embarrassment, she gave a tiny cough.   
 
Eto smiled inwardly, envying her. 

“Dancing. . . L’amsi,” I’hro replied brightly.

“Dear Gods, is that what it was.  Your lack of deference is not amusing. . .” she growled as she looked I’hro over closely.  “What are you wearing?” 

L’amsi picked at a colorful band of cloth that hung conspicuously from I’hro’s belt and fixed her with a sharp gaze, her brows arched in an expression that was almost comical.  At least, Eto was finding it difficult not to laugh. 

“Family colors, Honored Mother, forgive me,” I’hro said in her sincerest of tones.

L’amsi’s gaze hardened ever so slightly before she seemingly dismissed the matter with a soft huff.  “Begin from the start, once more.  Properly this time; light hooves, all of you,” she said primly.  “You can captivate them well enough without the ground shaking.” 

Eto snickered softly as she turned to I’hro and struck the dramatic starting pose.  “Family colors?”

“Of my own design,” I’hro replied smartly with a vaguely distasteful glance at her silky coverings.  “The outfit was boring.”

Eto merely clicked a mandible in amusement at her friend’s most unconventional sense of style.  Admittedly, I’hro was looking a little mismatched with the addition of the gaudily colored scarf around her hips. 

“Eto, pick up your feet!” L’amsi scolded from nearby. Catching sight of I’hro’s garb once more, she blanched and muttered fervently as she drifted towards a flustered-looking Iisu across the way.  “Blessings of the Hierarchs, if that girl manages a mate . . . egregious . . .”

Eto caught I’hro’s eye briefly with a tentative expression, but her companion’s face had taken on a distinctly stony look.  “It’s nothing to me, Eto.  Let’s just dance,” she answered bluntly.

Knowing she likely could not press the matter further, Eto complied, and they swayed silently together, feet as lively as their minds were racing. 

With the unease that had settled into the pit of her stomach, Eto wondered if at all she might be able to rid herself of it by the afternoon’s ceremonies.  Breathing deeply, she shut out all but the sound of the shells as they collided and rang against each other. 

Chime, and step . . . chime, and step . . .  Closing her eyes, she willed the flow of her movement to memory. 

 

All too soon, the air came rushing up to greet her when first her hooves met with the cool of stone.  The dry, warm draft stole her from her meditative thoughts, and once more the familiar sense of unease crept into her belly as her ears slowly filled with the throb of drums.  Ever so slowly, she lifted her head to the deepening sound.  Her pupils were narrowed to slits in the bright mid-day sun, creating a fierce visage that belied her child-like timidity.  The small city of Sol’sta had always been a delight to her, but today it filled her with dread. 

“I’hro . . .” she whispered hoarsely.  The drums had begun to throb more deeply.  “Why are there so many?”

Her friend stood beside her, basking in the warmth of the Urs and her sister stars.  A smooth, composed look had replaced her normally carefree features, but her eyes were glinting with excitement.  “This is how many usually come,” I’hro said in hushed tones.  “You’re just anxious.”

“Anxious?” Eto hissed.  “I feel as though I were ten years old again.”

“Hardly becoming of one who has just turned her 20th year . . .” I’hro teased with a smile. 

“It will pass,” Eto said after a quiet moment of attempting to regain her composure. 

“Yes, of course it will,” I’hro agreed as she gazed out from the dais of the Temple upon a growing crowd of curious faces.  Her mandibles parted in an eager grin.  If song and dance were the enjoyment their people, then the passage of the Bangala Eldest was not an event to be missed.  They had come to witness it, and they would all take part as they had each year before. 

“I wonder what they will name us,” Eto murmured softly.

An answer never came, for the drums had risen to a deafening roar, and I’hro’s reply was drowned out.  Glancing furtively to either side of the Temple Sanctum, Eto caught a glimpse of dark, muscular chests rising and falling with the fervor of the rhythm.  Ojairu, she mused for a moment.  Ceremonial drummers, and warriors in training.  She risked a better look and inched her head forward, only to find  that her view was obscured by a grouping of somber-looking girls standing nearby. 

Eto had to suppress a laugh, having almost forgotten the other Bangala Houses.  Of course there would be others.  She felt a fraction’s worth more confidence as her gaze wandered over the other two houses present, knowing that some among them must be as anxious as she.

Her eyes widened as they fell upon three tall figures who stood shadowed by the Temple’s eve some distance back behind the gathered daughters.  She had not noticed them until now.  She wanted a better look, but with a start, she realized that the drums had ceased.  All were silent and watching as the three figures came forward. 

As they stepped from out of the shadows, she immediately recognized one of these figures as Soht Ta’hramee, esteemed sword fighter and lord over the province of Ilah.  His had been a household name among her family, as it was with all of the hilly estates under his lordship.  The other two, she assumed, must then be the lords of Sohroon and Marui, which lay to the east.  They would honor the passage of the Eldest with their blessing, or so Umikala had told them some cycles ago when they had begun preparations. 

Her eyes followed them keenly as they passed among the expectant daughters.  She could see every minute, intricate design of their cloaks, and beneath them, the powerful stride of a proud semblance.  They were aristocrats, but above all else they were great warriors.

Eto followed suit as her fellow sisters dipped their heads in a respectful gesture of welcome. 

With her head hung low, Eto’s hearts began to race as she stared at the pale stone beneath her hooves.  Very soon, now . . . So lost was she in the churning of her stomach and the racing of her mind, that she barely registered that the province lords had been speaking, and were now finished, and had just said something to the affect of “a last task . . . a demonstration of the grace and refinement . . . our Bangala Eldest.” 

Her pulse leaping to a frantic pace, she snapped up her head with hardly a concealed look of alarm as the sound of music greeted her once more.  It was a different sound entirely, one that was lilting and joyful.  A low chorus soon joined in, for those gathered around the dais had lifted their voices in song.  It was the call to dance.  Eto hesitated, and in a sickening moment of despair, felt that I’hro no longer stood by her side. She glanced up to see her friend only a few steps ahead of her, a grin stretched across her face as she beckoned Eto to follow.  Despite all within her that whined to stay put, her companion had stepped forward, and so then must she. 

Gods, why a dance?                           

She took a short breath and stepped forward.

 

What followed next moved in such a blur that Eto hardly noticed as the afternoon wore on.  All she dared to focus on were the chiming of the shells as they swung from her belt, and I’hro’s unwavering gaze.  Their hooves wove together effortlessly, the combined movements of their bodies like the flowing of water.
 
Eto would not have known that she had been performing flawlessly.  I’hro merely smiled, wishing not to break her friend’s concentration.  By her best efforts, Eto was seemingly impervious to all else, including the chanting song of the crowd pressed close around them.  Only once was she momentarily distracted by the distinct glint of sleek armor from among the throng of celebrators.  It was then that her face began to burn in earnest. 

She tried to ignore it as best she could for all the flutter it was stirring within her, but she felt it was a losing battle.  I’hro peered at her quizzically, a smile still fixed upon her sleek features. 

“See, sister, how they stare?” Eto hissed softly as they spun together and joined hands. 

I’hro glanced briefly into the crowd, her eyes falling upon a handful of particularly interested officers.  The grin upon her face only widened.  “Well, at least they’re not staring at your ass.”

“No,” Eto’s mandibles curled into a smug grin.  “I think they are too preoccupied with my navel.”

I’hro fought a laugh, and managed a muffled snort.  The crowd would not hear her.  “Ha!  Well, we are even then!” 

Eto wove slightly as they circled one another.  “Not quite,” she said in a somewhat strangled voice.  “I recognize two of them.” 

Wishing she could melt away into the crowd, Eto cringed for what was coming.  All of their sisters had now joined in with the Dance of Passage, and they must now each receive their namesake.  Surely, the young warriors she had met those years ago would recognize her. . .

“Eto, are you well?” I’hro whispered.

Eto fixed her with a worried look as she carefully picked up her feet.  “They’re here.”  At I’hro’s dour expression, she sputtered.  “I’hro, they teased me horribly!  It was all in play then, but I think they mean to court me,” she muttered urgently. 

“Shouldn’t you be glad of their interest?” I’hro said as her frown deepened.  They hopped lightly upon their feet and traded places as the tempo of the music began to change. 

“It . . . now is not the right time.  Not when I’ve found a calling, don’t you see?” Eto spoke softly.  She waited for I’hro to respond, sensing something was troubling her friend. 

“I’m going with you,” I’hro said suddenly. 

Eto turned abruptly to gaze at her. 

“You heard L’amsi earlier . . . and she’s right.”  Eto made to protest, but I’hro was startlingly stern.  “I can be realistic, Eto.  There’s nothing else that I am good at.  I don’t feel ready to keep my own house, let alone entertain a husband.”  A devious grin parted her mandibles.  “And were I to serve in the Temple or at the lord’s estate, I would likely go mad.”

Eto snorted.  “Or be made to bear his progeny.”

I’hro didn’t bother to stifle her laughter at this remark, earning her a number of curious glances from those nearby.  She lowered her head discreetly so that only Eto would hear her. 

“So it’s settled then.”

“And your mother?” Eto asked. 

“It is an honorable path.  I can become a healer with or without her blessing.  Though,” she said thoughtfully, catching Eto’s eye, “I would like to think that she would approve.  She had rather been expecting that I would take a mate, I think . . .” 

“There will be a time for that,” Eto said, a wide smile spreading across her face. 

“Yes.  But now, I think, you are being called.”

Once more, Eto’s head jerked up in alarm, only to find that I’hro had broken from her and was falling back to the outer circle.  A delighted expression had settled into her features as she glanced back.

“Just you now,” she mouthed before joining in with the others as they sang and pawed the ground with their hooves. 

Only then did Eto realize that it was her name that they now sang.  Glancing up to the step of the Temple, Eto could see Umikala where she stood proudly, now leading the participants in a song of christening. 

With an embarrassed smile plastered to her face, Eto quickly picked up the cadence of their song with the dance she had quite nearly failed to master . . . and thank the Gods, it would be the last that she would have to perform.  With a rueful glance skywards, she fell into the familiar rhythm, refusing to look anywhere but upon the stone at her feet for fear of faltering at their watchful eyes. 

Why?  Why the first of all things?  She asked of the weathered stone.

 

* * *

 

 

“ ’Kova,” a deep voice rumbled softly in her ear.

Startled, the small femme spun around, her hearts well into her throat at the sight that stood before her.  A young warrior, clad in the blue of a Watchman, had approached her amidst the throng of revelers who clustered around the newly christened Eldest.  He wore an unmistakable grin, for all his effort to appear composed. 

For the briefest moment, Eto was frozen in shock, too awkward to speak, before something familiar tugged at her.  She peered at his face, shadowed though it was by the angular slant of his helmet, certain of her familiarity.  His eyes were veiled in black, the HUD of his battle harness effectively masking his identity.  But Eto would know that scent anywhere. . .

“Very impressive, brother,” she said softly, her own mandibles spreading wide with astonishment and delight. 

Her reply was met with rumbling laughter, the veil of his eyes lifting to reveal a striking cobalt blue beneath.  To her surprise, he ducked forward and scooped her up into a crushing embrace that excited a number of warbling giggles from the girls nearby. 

“It is truly a joy to see you again . . . ’Kova,” he whispered. 

Eto smiled at his utterance of her namesake.  “It’s been too long,” she said quietly. 

“‘Gentle’.  It is becoming of you,” he said, releasing her. 

“How gentle is she who heals with her hands!” cried a sing-song voice.  It was I’hro, who had stepped forward with Jisoh to greet the newcomer.  The jubilant expression on her face was infectious.  “Eto ’Kovaiol.  It is a good name,” she remarked with a respectful bow to Puma.  “I, on the other hand—”

“Tsck, sister,” Eto interjected.  “’Jhe is a beautiful name, and it suits you.”

The word meant “slender”, and in the more specific Sangheili context, implied that which was graceful.  I’hro blushed only slightly, before seizing Jisoh by the arm.

“Come, let us give our sister a moment with her brother,” she said, already leading her startled companion away from the reunited siblings.  “Please, join us later in the festivities!” she called over her shoulder before they disappeared into the crowd. 

Eto turned and gazed up at her brother.  He had far surpassed her in height, that much was certain.  Not much else had changed to her, however; his mischievous, sparkling eyes the least of all. 

“I’ve missed you, Puma,” she said, a small grin parting her features.  She clung close to him, her hands wrapped about his arm.

“Have you any suitors?” he asked, the barest trace of a chuckle in his voice at what he perceived to be a clever façade. 

“They wouldn’t dare,” Eto commented, prompting an amused laugh.  His well-muscled frame was certainly a deterring factor to any who may have been considering an approach. 

“Do not forget, sister, that I have yet to earn my warrior status,” he growled softly. 

“Ah, but they won’t know that.  Your bulk could fool any of them.”

Puma laughed once more, but soon fell calm amidst the buzz of the sanctum festivities.  He seemed quiet, almost brooding.  One mandible twitched thoughtfully before he looked down to her with a disquieting expression. 

“Eto, I know you’ve been patient. . .waiting, as I have.  And the Gods have been listening to our prayers.” 

Her hearts seemed to stop.

“You’ve word about Father?  Is . . . is he here?” she asked.  She scarcely dared to hope for such a thing, but her eyes danced nonetheless.  Puma’s eyes, however, fell. 

“No.  He was denied leave . . . once more.”

“I don’t understand,” Eto said, her spirits plummeting.

“I . . . It is politics, Eto.  The Holy War is absolute.  He may have it come the time I have finished my trials.” 

“That is five years from now,” she said as frustration crept into her voice.  “Have they no mercy?”

“Come, Eto,” he growled gently.  “Stave your anger, if not only for today.  It is enough that he is alive and well, and he would wish for you to celebrate this day, would he not?”  He gave her hand an affectionate squeeze. 

Though her heart still felt heavy, she managed a small smile.

“Mother is here,” Puma rumbled softly.  Something stirred in her eyes, and it warmed him to see her features brighten at her mention.  “Come, let us go find her,” he said as he began to lead her forward.

Eto brushed away at the darkness that had quickly crept into her heart, for her brother had spoken the truth.  Oruo would want for her happiness, especially upon the day of her namesake. 

She wondered if he would know the name that had been given to her, and if it would please him . . . or more importantly, if he would know of the path that she had chosen.  Glancing up to her brother’s rugged visage, she smiled.  She would see to it that she could tell him herself.

And she knew, inexplicably, that he would be proud.