Verisimiltude
[01]

 

 

Sacred Hope . . . it was supposed to be beautiful.

It was rumored to be breathtaking— a jewel among the relic colonies, however small and clandestine.  It was the place, she had been told, where she would find favor with the Gods and honor among the Sangheili.  Not many were privilege to call it home.  Its very foundation and the sacred earth that sprawled rich and lush across its surface was said to infuse the warrior’s spirit with the strength of the ancient Lords, whose own courage had been tested there long ago.  It was a place to focus one’s strength in a convergence of faith and trial . . . and become whole.

One couldn’t spend any length of time on its verdant soil without feeling its holiness.  To live and apply oneself in the halls of its few and secluded conservatories was to invite illumination.  She would revel in the rigors of its enlightenment.          

. . . or so they had said. 

She was surrounded by all this blessed greatness, yet all Eto could think of was the sharp, bitter taste of the wet clay that filled her mouth.  The rain was persistent here, much more so than it ever was on Sangheilios.  It was falling down thickly now, pelting her skin with growing relentlessness.  She laid prone, the shame slowly boiling up within her at the feel of the mud snaking against her body.  But even as it seeped into her clothes, her humiliation was overcome by an overwhelming sense of exhaustion.  She felt the barest start of a tremble in her limbs that threatened to take her whole body if she didn’t do something.

Her legs responded feebly with an attempt to sit up, but in the end she managed only to plant her hands on the slippery ground and prop herself up from the sodden earth.  She thought she heard her name through the soft hiss of the falling rain, but in the effort of responding, found herself coughing violently against the mud caked to her palate.  Glancing up, she could see a figure in the wet mist now, its posture bent cautiously as it peered back at her.

She shouldn’t have stopped, Eto fumed silently.  He would be there at any moment.  She glared at the mud creeping up between her long fingers, her head bent low with a weak growl that came out sounding rather more like a moan.

As if to answer her grim expectations, she felt a number of heavy footfalls drawing near and hissed softly beneath her breath.  He could have been silent if he wanted to, but her guardian presumably took pleasure in making his approach as menacing as possible.  The lip of her muzzle curled in disgust as she willed for the strength to come back to her legs.  Her current situation was mortifying at worst, but these intimidating theatrics had little effect on her.  She felt the ground thump beside her and sighed. 

It was her shame that he would exploit. 

“Get up.”

The deep, drawling voice spoke slowly but boasted little patience this fine, wet evening.  A large, booted hoof landed close to her face, flecking her cheek with fresh mud, and the sleek, gleaming bulk of a drill officer’s harness came into view as the Sangheili warrior bent low on his haunches to glare at her.  Eto returned the stare, noting the dangerous glint of his eyes from under the shadow of the angular helmet.  She’d best not give him any ire this evening.  ’Kisuhoumee was surely in a temper. 

Eto’s jaws clenched, her four mandibles distastefully pressing the grit that still clung to her gums.  A notably worse temper, that was.  The secondary officer already possessed an unpleasant disposition to begin with.  Ignoring the queasiness that casually gripped at her stomach, she stood up with a slight wobble and dipped her head submissively.  How she would rather return his glare. . .

“Interesting . . .”  ’Kisuhoumee rumbled.  He glanced over his shoulder into the deepening fog of rain where the path led.  There was no figure now, only the quivering leaves of the dense foliage surrounding the trail. 

“Yet again you have managed to hold up your companions,” he commented, turning a cold gaze back to her.  His upper right mandible twitched slightly—his way of smiling.  “Supplements only tonight, ’Kova.” 

Eto stood patiently still, her eyes set firmly to her feet lest he see her expression.  She knew he was watching her closely, but at the flippant use of her namesake she seethed.  That and she had terribly wanted the meal.  Her stomach twisted mournfully.  She longed to take off and follow after the others, but he was almost never finished with her so simply.  True enough, he took a step closer and reached out with a damp, gloved hand.  She had long overcome the impulse to flinch and remained obediently silent as he lifted her chin with a rough jerk and leaned uncomfortably close.

“And ’Kova,” he said, regarding her smoothly, “wash the mud off of your face.  Shall we mar your beauty as well as your honor?”

Eto cringed inwardly at the brief stroke of his blunted claw against her mandible, but kept her gaze focused on the trail ahead.  The rain fell hot on this world; it hissed against her skin and ran down her brow in rivulets, making her eyes burn.  She hated it.    

“Go on.”

His grip relented, and she tore off with little hesitation at his release, wasting not glance backwards.  He would surely follow at a distance as he always did, and would likely be watching her until she completed the grueling last leg. 

The endurance treks had always been a stumbling block for her . . . quite literally.  It just seemed as of late that her every fault was multiplied.  Maybe this was how it was towards the end — a greater tribulation.  Eto built up her pace, washing the fatigue from her mind.  The rain didn’t feel so hot against her skin the faster she ran the winding path; if she could just focus on the rhythm of her breathing, all else would slip from her mind, and she could have peace.

She slowed a little, as presently the trail dipped down through a thick lush of darkening green leading into a narrow gully.  The suns were nearly set, so she spared little hesitation before leaping into the deepening ford that crossed her path a short ways in.  It was surprisingly cool.  She gladly welcomed the shock and delighted in the brief and simple pleasure of refreshment as the water rose up to her chest.  With a fleeting grin, she dipped under and rose gracefully on the other side, where she paused briefly upon the bank and noted the familiar tracks stamped lightly into the glistening mud.

The bastard, she nearly laughed aloud.  The tracks didn’t lie; she wasn’t the last one pulling it through this leg as she had thought.  It would seem that her guardian was set upon giving her as hard a time as he pleased tonight.  Her face twitched slightly with irritation, but with most of the mud now washed from her body and the assessment nearly over, Eto lifted her gaze to a place far ahead where the canopy thinned and the light wasn’t so dim.  She was almost done. 

With this thought in mind, she abandoned all notions of exhaustion at the jolt of youthful energy that coursed through her body and set to scaling the lower rise of the gully that awaited her.  The rocky embankment was slick with rain, but she knew how to handle this terrain well by now.  Before long, she was thrusting herself over the edge and picking her way over an arrangement of jagged slabs of stone that eventually yielded to the softer ground of the continuing course.   

As soon as the vegetation began to taper, she could hear the blissful hum of idling engines and catch the barest glimpse of the sleek, open-hatch transport awaiting her return beyond the line of trees.  In a moment, the undergrowth broke abruptly and yielded to a broad sward of stunted grass.  Perched on a low hill some forty units into the field was the welcoming sight of the dropship, its iridescent hull catching the purple glow of its open cargo bay. 

Eto’s mandibles curled into an uneven smile that was more a grimace of relief as she sprinted out into the open.  She hardly quailed at the sudden crack of deafening thunder that rolled overhead as the storm announced its presence.  Even as the darkening sky opened up and bled out all its torrid fury, her last few strides were nothing but joyous. 

Finished . . . thank the Gods, she sighed.  She would surely be sore with morning’s first light . . . 

 

* * *

 

Evening brought with it more rain.  Its incessant, dull roar possessed pleasantly meditative qualities in spite of its humid heat and the sour mood it fostered for those who had been out in it all afternoon.  The invitation to zone out was irrepressible.   

“Eto, it was just a bad day.” 

Eto blinked once, her eyes nictitating slowly as they refocused and dully recognized the bare, smooth stone of the table before her.  She glanced up, catching the earnest, honey-brown gaze of her companion.

“You shouldn’t have stopped for me, M’ree,” Eto sighed.  Her eyes drifted wearily over the dining quarters, noting an additional few females who sat still and somber, the space before them similarly empty but for a small vessel of azure liquid.  She had drained her own quickly, rather not wishing to dwell on the sentiments that lingered from staring at it.  Nutrient supplements would hardly cure the hollow ache in her stomach. 

M’ree sat across from her at the table, guiltily picking at the meal she had been awarded.  She was a curious girl — slight by Sangheili standards, with comparatively plain features to most who glanced upon her.  She wasn’t regarded among the very beautiful who had attended her Bangala in the heartland regions of the homeland, and all unfortunately due to the fact that she had been born with a few abnormalities.  The noticeable cleft in the lip of her muzzle naturally guided one’s eye to the large, pale birthmark that encircled her right eye.  Her Craftmother had deemed it ‘distracting’, and the oddity had hence born the brunt of many jests.  But despite what most had said, Eto considered hers to be an endearing, even striking countenance.

She glanced up often from her meal to study Eto with a vaguely discreet air, though Eto could guess that she was concerned.  With their sisters on either side of them absorbed with their evening meal and the spirited conversation that it encouraged, M’ree glanced cautiously around the room before casually averting her eyes to a chink in the table. 

“Eto . . . have some of mine.”  She nudged her bowl forward just slightly, her eyes darting up to catch Eto’s sullen expression.

“No, I can’t,” Eto said, her spirits sinking a little lower.  The food looked so good . . . “They’d see.”

M’ree stared at her for a moment, her soft features growing tense.  “I know, but you need to eat,” she said quietly.  She didn’t insist any further, but a seditious look flickered across her face as she pulled her meal back and leaned forward to eat.

Eto raised a brow in mild surprise as M’ree made a small flourish to pick at another bite and deftly tucked away the largest morsel with her other hand.  It disappeared into the folds of her garment without a trace.  The smaller Sangheili glanced up with the barest hint of a smile, but the harder edge in her eyes forbade Eto to protest.  She was glad to do what her friend had done more than once on occasion for her. 

“Look at is this way,” M’ree commented casually as she stole away an additional portion.  “At the very least, he was decent enough to let you bathe after the ordeal.”

Eto laughed and played with her empty chalice, sliding back and forth between her slender palms. 

“Thank you, M’ree,” she whispered low to the table. 

“It is nothing, sister.”

They sat in silence for a short while, and Eto took a moment to smooth the creases out of her simple uniform before glancing about the room once more.  Boredom compelled her, but she couldn’t deny the subtle enjoyment she got from studying her peers.  There were only seventeen of them—unmarried, educated women, all still in the youth of their years with a certain eagerness about them despite their weariness after any given day’s training. 

It was clear purpose—determination and hope, that they all shared. 

Eto knew it well, both nuance and creed.  It was reminiscent of the day that her gift had first been named, when she had chosen to learn the ways of healing—that certain knowing and thrill of becoming.  How it should become that they would all share this in a sisterhood of the Covenant still floored her.  It was unimaginable.  As much as she sometimes found life here insufferable, she spent her moments before sleep in prayer to the Gods, thanking them night after night for every day lived on Sacred Hope.  Or rather, survived.  It surely hadn’t been easy . . . 

Her eyes continued to wander across the far end of the room, where they fell upon the familiar hunched bulk of their ever-watchful warden.  He paced the dining room slowly, observing his female charges with anything but a readable expression.

“A whole year,” Eto hissed softly as she eyed him distastefully.  “A whole year we’ve sweat and bled and trained under his watch, and still I do not know what it is that Tzao ’Kisuhoumee carries on his shoulder.” 

“Hmm?” M’ree smiled meekly.  Her sash had a definitely lumpy look now, and smelled vaguely of timber spices. 

“He vexes me,” Eto growled, turning her gaze back to the table where M’ree’s bowl now sat empty.  She paused.  “You put that all in your sash?”

“No, I ate some,” M’ree replied, folding her hands smoothly over the evidence.  “What I think is,” she added and leaned a little closer over the table, “he isn’t at home.”

“Well, obviously — ”

“No, what I mean is that he was somewhere else before this; a different assignment.  He didn’t want to come here and he’s out of his element.”  M’ree glanced furtively in Tzao’s direction and leaned closer. 

“You can see it in his eyes,” she hissed softly.  “It burns him up inside.”

Eto suppressed a snort.  “I’m sure it must,” she whispered as she lowered her voice, “. . . to be stuck with training women for a little-known field when he would rather have them as bedmates.  Oh Tzao, what must you have done to be punished so?”

“Eto!”

“You know it to be true,” Eto countered, her eyes narrowing.  “We didn’t sign up to be harassed.” 

“Well no, but then we didn’t know what to expect, did we?  I don’t think any of us did, really . . . at least, I didn’t.”  M’ree settled onto her elbows, her eyes turning to fall upon the newest visitor to enter the dining hall.  “The Grandmaster has been good to us,” she added thoughtfully as she watched the weathered old elder pass under the open eve and stand quietly towards the back of the hall.  “And Tzao answers to him.”

“Thank the Gods,” Eto huffed.  “. . .or we’d all have lost our virtue by now,” she added bluntly before resting idly upon her palms.  The growl of her stomach was more loud than M’ree’s nervous tsking.

“He’ll hear you one day, and then there won’t be much you can do to keep him from doing as he pleases to put you in your place,” she whispered cautiously. 

“No, M’ree . . . he won’t,” Eto said softly.  “Today marks the seasons’ completion.  We’ve come full circle, and Kesii will be returning any day now.”  A broad smile spread across her dappled face.  “And this time, we’ll be leaving with her.”

M’ree had little to say to this, but she glanced nervously to the side once more with a stiff stretch.  “Your dinner is getting cold,” she teased as she patted her stomach.  Eto merely hunched and glowered. 

“Could the Master wait any longer to call the evening retire?”  Eto groaned.  “I think they delight in our longsuffering.”

M’ree laughed at her friend’s overly agonized expression before smiling and leaning close once more.  Patience was as much a part of them now as was their devotion and camaraderie.    

“Welcome to the Masoona,” she whispered.