Tell No One

Tell No One.

Chapter 6

Vua Rapuung’s amphistaff hissed and spat venomously as his opponent’s own weapon clashed against it, twisting and applying pressure so as to pull Rapuung into a bind. Unfortunately for his much younger opponent, Vua Rapuung was able to yank the weapon free, sending the other amphistaff flying a short distance away. The now weaponless warrior was of a smaller build than Rapuung, and therefore distinctly more agile, enabling him to dart to one side and avoid a downward arcing blow that would surely have shattered his skull – and sent bone fragments stabbing down into the brain tissue below – and call his weapon back to hand.
Their vigorous training session was drawing to a close and from here, many of the young warriors taking part, would be divided into groups and sent to those worldships nearest the edge of the promised galaxy, or infidel’s galaxy as it had become known in the past klekket.
Daily combat training was essential and mandatory - the gods rested for no one, and neither should the Yuuzhan Vong.

Across the way, cleaning the blood from his recently sated coufee, Vua Rapuung could sense his brothers somewhat disapproving glare. Hul undoubtedly believed that he had shirked his responsibilities here this day, regardless of a supposedly valid excuse.
Or hasty lie.
The warrior knew his brother well, knew how his mind worked and in knowing this, he also knew that Hul Rapuung was not easily fooled. If Vua Rapuung wished not for this to lead him to ruin, he would need to be tenuously careful and watch his every step.

Parrying a last ditch attempt at besting him, Vua Rapuung watched his opponent’s amphistaff dance around disorientated in it’s masters grip for a second, a movement akin to that of a shapers headdress, he thought. Reminded of his secret love, his thoughts focussed on the memory of her cruel hand, the way her tendrils had curled and writhed as temptingly as she had, in those last precious moments together. Her scent, intoxicating, the way she tasted, sublime – it all sought to consume his senses and undo him. Just as this was a duel of combat in which he took part, his affair had been a duel of wills.

The needle sized puncture wounds he had sustained – inflicted by her – during their most intimate of moments, ached anew – burning faintly in comparison to the fiery need that he carried inside of him. The pain he felt when his opponent’s amphistaff caught his forearm, would have paled to nothing if it had not served as a potent reminder that the gods demanded he dedicate every fibre, bone and sinew, to this task here and now.

Pulling his arm free in a manner that required much skill – least he wish to lose the arm completely - he felt the serrated ‘bite’ of the amphistaff’s blade, cutting into the flesh of his forearm, deep enough to draw much blood, but not so as to sever tendons – lucky for him then.

Predictably, neither party wished to end the combat at a draw, there was no word for it in the Yuuzhan Vong language after all, no word that any warrior worth his weight in echtaa would be heard uttering. Vua Rapuung sought to end this with the simple parry and thrust routine that many a young warrior confused by its predictable momentum. That – Rapuung knew- would be their downfall. Believing he had the upper hand, the slighter warrior lunged in as if to break the next block, but Rapuung had already withdrawn his amphistaff , side stepping and bringing the flattened blade of his weapon round in a left-side arc.
His opponent over balanced and fell, catching themselves mid-stumble only to have the feet kicked out from under him. Turning as if to get up the warrior stopped short when he came face to face with Rapuung’s amphistaff, the creature hissed ominously, droplets of viscose poison bubbling from the gland above its fangs. The fallen warrior prepared for death, eyes no longer glaring up in hatred or blood lust, but low, subservient in their intensity – accepting.

Vua Rapuung withdrew, commanding the amphistaff to slither back into position around his uninjured arm where it rested patiently.
“Rise, go and join the other warriors by the awaiting yorik trema.” He ordered tersely.

The slighter warrior took a moments hesitation to actually obey – as if he were stunned by the outcome- but obey he did and unquestioningly. This was why, Rapuung thought, he had allowed this one to live. He fought with his all, obeyed orders even if they went against his personal views. They could use a few more like that, inter-domain fighting would be the death of their caste, domain disputes could not do anything but hinder their progress in the infidel galaxy – and that would not please the gods.

As he watched the warrior before him salute sharply and then file out with others still leaving, Vua Rapuung came to wonder what the new galaxy held in store for him. He would surely be called upon, at some auspicious point, to join the many warriors already fighting to cleaned the promised worlds of infidels and their mockeries of life…machines,
And they would do, Rapuung was certain of it.
But what then? What would Yun-Yammka, the slayer, demand of them when the smouldering embers of the last sacrificial pyre turned to wind-strewn ash?
Would his domain be granted a world like so many others had been promised? Warmaster Tsavong Lah would see that request reached the ears of Supreme Overlord Shimrra, should the actions taken by their domain be exceptional.

A faint pang of indescribable feeling caused his heart to ache unpleasantly – would that world be safe for he and Mezhan Kwaad? Could they continue what they had so painstakingly started here? No, he thought with an ache that had turned to fire beneath his bones, they would never be safe, not from those around him, from his or her domain and not on some vast world. They would always be at risk, always watched – forced to live a lie.
And Yun-Harla delighted in those.

Again that repressed worry surfaced like a still-born yammosk – How long could they keep this from Yun-Yuuzhan’s potent and terrible gaze? How much longer would the lover gods dare his incomprehensible wrath?
The fire within Vua Rapuung burned relentlessly, searing into the bits of hi soul, tainting him forever. There had to be a way.
He needed to see Mezhan Kwaad now.
Sadly Rapuung knew, that to see her so soon after their last meeting could cause greater suspicion to befall him, especially among his own domain – namely Hul Rapuung. The night cycle then, when he would not be missed, he needed to see her as soon as possible.

*****


“Master Yal Phaath, I am honoured, ancient.” Mezhan Kwaad said, knotting the tendrils of her headdress in supplication, inclining her head as she did so.
The older shaper standing opposite her, was indeed her equal in rank outside of this worldship, for she had no reason to address him the way she had – not as far as she could tell.
But in this case, she felt, it was wise to tread carefully, and stroking another’s ego often went a long way with those as old as Yal Phaath.

Phaath was a spectacular example of how extensively and gloriously a master shaper could be modified, should they live to the ripe age he had. He stood tall, but with a slight stoop brought on with the onset of old age, disguised only by the fringed nature of some of the appendages that hung down low from his blue-green headdress. His eyes shimmered, catching the light from the damutek’s globes and reflecting it in glints of bright yellow.
Unlike her own maa’it implants, Mezhan Kwaad recognized his as some that had been shaped using the most difficult protocol of Kangg – one could only imagine what molecular wonders he saw with those eyes. To display his superiority over many master shapers, he had grafted not one, but two shapers hands in place of his own – adorned with a relative archive of shaping tools seldom used in the present day.

Yet sadly – for Mezhan Kwaad – this ancient and steadfast being had attained the rank of high master shaper aboard this particular worldship. Mezhan Kwaad’s saving grace came in the form of the fact that one day Yal Phaath would be deemed by the elite to be too old and senile to hold this rank, and then another would take his place. She kept an amused smirk sheathed behind ceremonially adorned lips. Instead the shaper looked on with all the expectancy of a shaper adept waiting to receive their new hand. And thus she waited to receive his words.

“Mezhan Kwaad,” He addressed her by name, not rank – somewhat insultingly. “Save your honour for those who truly deserve that misfortune, I come only to confirm my suspicions.” His narrowing yellow eyed gaze now flickered toward the specimen bulbs and bladder that were resting in the ornate coral rack, growing in intensity.

A cold shiver worked it’s way down Mezhan Kwaad’s spine, causing her to barely manage to repress it. She did, however, feign picture perfect innocence.
“Suspicions, Ancient?”
A single surreptitious thought was all it took to command her headdress to outwardly display a fake curiosity, the ends of each individual tendril curling slightly in a deliberately slow motion.

Yal Phaath’s unamused expression lost none of it’s potency and his brow creased with a well controlled rage.
“Do not take me for a fool, I know what has taken place here, you need only observe the nervous gait of one of your unfortunate and petulant adepts to see that!”

Mezhan Kwaad bristled, it was one thing to be suspected, another to be accused – yet Yal Phaath had not yet said what it was he suspected her of, he could merely be fishing for something that was not there, not to his eyes anyway.

“I know not of what you speak, do not come into my damutek citing such cryptic idiocies that you would aim at me simply to eliminate a direct rival!” She spat, tendrils now whipping about wildly – her anger was real enough, spawned by an undeniable will to survive this encounter, to protect her life’s precious work.

Yal Phaath merely studied her for a moment, keen eyes observing the subtle changes in her body’s make up, all the subtle changes she was undoubtedly seeing in his own. With all the deadly calm of an amphistaff sliding from the groves that birthed it, the elderly shaper took several steps forward toward Mezhan Kwaad, reaching forth to the coral slab that was behind her. The younger shaper visibly tensed, her hand-spears itching for painful release. Reaching around her, Yal Phaath’s many spurred hand delicately plucked the specimen bladder from it’s resting place – holding it up to the incandescent light of the damutek’s globe.

Despite his close attention, he noticed no change in Mezhan Kwaad at all, either she was telling the truth – and he hoped she was not – or she had become adept at covering her heretical tracks.
“Tell me, Master Mezhan Kwaad, what is this?” he asked in a tone so icy cold it made the vacuum of space seem tepid in comparison.

Steeling herself, Mezhan Kwaad responded, “I was hoping you would tell me..”

Yal Phaath’s tendrils recoiled back against his head in outrage – not unlike the cornered stance of an angered Vua’sa, and those were not to be taken as vulnerable either.

“You suggest this has something to do with me?” The words were expelled from his mouth amid an angry and outraged laugh.
“This,” he continued bluntly, “Is your furtive and futile attempt at concealing the blatant heresies I witnessed here barely a cycle ago!”

Now that was unexpected, Mezhan Kwaad thought, and judging by the way he had so venomously hissed those words at her, he was not lying either – he actually believed she had done this to her own work to the end of covering her tracks. Perfect, it gave her a new option with which to hurl the proverbial nang-hul in his direction.

“What proof do you have of these accusations? What proof other than that which you stealthily placed here yourself?” She fixed him with her narrowed and sharp eyed gaze, “I put it to you that you have none, because you see, I was called away from my damutek last sleep cycle, which would give ample opportunity for someone to gain entry to this damutek and do your bidding!”

Yal Phaath’s expression was one of pure contempt, his sagging eyesacs darkened in hue, to an almost bluish black. Mezhan Kwaad could almost feel the anger radiating from him, burning through to the surface. The elder shaper’s hands shook, clasping the bladder full of sickly liquid-dweebit so tight, that it bulged either side of his eight fingered grasp- threatening to burst. But still he remained silent, prompting Mezhan Kwaad’s sense of mild triumph to rise further still – she was not in the clear just yet.

“Which begs me to ask the question, who among my adepts would be persuaded by one, such as yourself, to plant such blasphemous work in my private chambers? Who would have given them the knowledge with which to open that porthole?”

She almost certainly knew that Yal Phaath would send someone less conspicuous to do his dirty work, if that had indeed been the case, a high ranking master shaper could seldom go anywhere unseen, it would be highly detrimental to his plans to come here in person. Plus the only way to access this part of the damutek would be to possess her bio signature, the only way to gain that would be from any remnant of her blood left on the qasah’s containing the information she needed to record daily.
Whoever had done this, though, was not working by the gods given protocols themselves and Yal Phaath was as set in the old ways as one could be. He was not responsible for the sabotage – but then who? Either way, it served her purpose to blame him for now.

A light relief washed over her like a cleansing wave, even as she observed the quaking form of her rival, she could not help but inwardly sing with mild amusement.

“Yun-Harla continues to smile upon you, Mezhan Kwaad, for now.” Phaath sneered disdainfully, “But mark my words, the eyes of the gods are upon you, and when the cloaked goddess no longer delights in your actions, I will be there to delight in your dishonourable fall.”

Too consumed in her thoughts to care for Yal Phaath’s ravings, she motioned toward the entrance membrane derisively, “You openly seethe like the senile! One wonders why the gods have not put you out of your misery –“

He struck her then, cutting her last words short with the back of his modified hand –connecting with her cheekbone causing her head to snap round to one side, the drawback splitting her lower lip to spray fine droplets of blood in an arc up the deep-red coral wall.

“Fool,” Yal Phaath spat with a strength that was unseemly for his age, even as the younger shaper glared at him with all the ill intent of a coufee pointed straight at his heart, “As high master shaper, all of these damutek’s fall under my jurisdiction, you would do well to remember that.”

He stood there for a moment more, appearing to wait for something – her supplication, no doubt. He would be waiting a long time for that and he knew it. Tendrils still swaying erratically with rage, he strode from the chamber with a gait that beguiled one of authority.

Pride wounded, Mezhan Kwaad waited until he had gone to move from her position, when she heard the membrane to the chamber iris shut, she brought fingertips to her lip in an effort to dab away the blood welling there, smearing it between fingers and thumb as she drew her hand back. She would find cause to take extra care in hiding her heresies in the future, and while she was at it, find out who had been behind the sabotaging of her work.
Her thoughts then turned to Vua Rapuung, clinging tightly to the memory of their last moments together in faint anguish – memories were never enough alone, no matter how recent.
Yes, she would have to take care in her heresy, all of it.

*****

Hul Rapuung, strode into one of the worldship’s high chews with an air of confidence and purpose. If he could not satisfy his suspicions regarding his crèche brother, then he could at least satisfy his hunger.

All thought of sating his appetite vanished however, when his gaze fell upon a small group of warriors sitting opposite the entrance upon fleshy humps protruding from the smooth coral floor. Every single one of them seemed oblivious to his entrance, content to amuse themselves in whatever conversation they were engaged in rather than to pay passers by any mind. Among them Hul Rapuung recognized few – that was nothing new to him, members of the same caste could go a whole lifetime not speaking to all contained within it. The ships they dwelt in were like vast scaled down replicas of entire worlds, or perhaps several fragments of what had once been Yuuzhan’tar. One warrior Hul did recognize, stood out from the rest to his eyes – Suun Esh.

Even as Rapuung approached the group, he felt a great burden of guilt press down upon his shoulders, like stampeding rakamats. He should take his brother’s word for this, he really should. But something – some sense – kept urging him to make sure.
‘For the fate of our domain’ he told himself inwardly, ‘to that end.’

A polite stamp of one huge foot was all it took to make the striking subaltern look back over her shoulder. Upon setting eyes on the one who had demanded her attention, Suun Esh turned, crossed her arms in salute and lowered herself to one knee.
“Belek tiu, Commander.” She offered at once – as was expected.

Hul Rapuung noted, that if his crèche brother was indeed telling the truth, then he had made a fine choice. The female warrior was a stunning example of the consummate devotee – quick to respond without question, and no doubt loyal to their gods as her spectacular scars displayed. Long whirls of embellished tattoos and burn puckers littered her arms and elegantly slanted forehead, all taking great care to avoid the intricate domain markings seared into her skin at birth.

Hul Rapuung waved away her standard request with one motion of his hand, indicating that he had not approached her regarding formal matters. She did however rise at his command.

“Subaltern, I wish to inquire about the whereabouts of Commander Vua Rapuung – he did not arrived at his post come the break of the day cycle,” He lied, taking great care not to betray such lies in his tone.

Suun Esh looked on blankly for a moment and then allowed a frown to crease her scar-littered brow – Hul could already see a look of utter confusion creeping into her dark eyes from all sides.
“I know of no such things.” She responded evenly, looking more confused than a second ago.

“That is not what I was informed,” Hul Rapuung persisted daringly, despite the icy cold chill from the invisible hand now gripping and twisting his gut.

“My life in payment for saying so, but I speak the truth. I have not seen the one you speak of.” The subaltern insisted, a slight edge to her voice.

Beside her, a young warrior, originating from domain Val, bearing some of the most exotic looking ear implants Hul Rapuung had ever seen, rose to the subaltern’s defence,
“There is no Vua Rapuung here.” She insisted, which drew a slight awkward sideways glance from Esh..

Had Hul been in any other state of mind, he would have painfully reprimanded the warrior for her insolence, and Suun Esh for not berating her subordinate sooner. But dread had wound it’s way into his core – bound him to it’s will.
‘Crèche brother, what have you done?’

“He was not with you last sleep cycle?” Hul Rapuung’s voice had become a barely audible hoarse whisper.

“No, Commander.”

If she was offended by the suggestion, the subaltern did well to hide her anger – somehow Hul Rapuung wished that she would not. Someone needed to get to the bottom of all this. Ignoring the peculiar glances spared his way, along with the conversations now issuing from the exuberantly confused group of warriors, Hul turned away slowly –not bothering to issue a dismissal to the subaltern or her prehensile-eared counterpart.
Having completely lost his appetite, he made for the exit.