The Secret Path_Part 05

The Secret Path
[01]


Part Five





It was dim and indescribably still, as it had been for so many nights before.  Pale blades of grass danced and swayed at her sides as she stood once more in the midst of a great, rippling field.  There should have been the tug of the wind against her skin, but there was nothing.  Only silence.  

She turned, and recognized the three figures who stood at a distance from her.  Their names did not come to her, but she knew them well . . . loved them.  They were speaking to her, mouthing silent words as the grass continued to sway all around them.

She felt the urge to run to them, but she stayed rooted to the spot, watching them as the field shivered and began to grow dark.

“Eto!”

Everything winked out as she felt her head bobbing against something warm and soft.

“Eto, Eto wake up!” Jisoh laughed as she gently shook Eto’s side.

Eto growled, rolling away from her and into her pillows.

“I’ll skip breakfast,” she slurred from beneath one of her bed rolls.

Jisoh looked helplessly from Eto’s stubborn backside to the curving windowsill where I’hro was comfortably perched, gazing out into the still-dim grounds.  She laughed at the look in Jisoh’s eyes and nimbly hopped down.

“That’s not how you do it,” she said, and without warning, she pounced onto Eto’s curled form.  Eto flailed and rolled as I’hro tackled her and attempted to slip her cold fingers down her exposed back.

“GAH, your hands are like ice!” she wailed before twisting around to swing playfully at her friend.  “I was dreaming, you stinking kig-yar!”  

I’hro dodged her blows and laughed as she pinned Eto beneath her weight.  “Good dream or no, we’re going into Sol’sta today, remember?  It’s time to get up!”

“I know,” Eto quipped before whumping I’hro in the face with her largest pillow.  

A loud “Oumf!” was all I’hro could manage as she toppled backwards and hit the bed.  

“I’m still gonna get you back for that!” Eto cried as she lunged forward with her brandished weapon held high.

Jisoh merely coughed in amusement before gathering their clothes and heading towards the door.

“Hey—unh, wait up!” I’hro choked with a muffled snort of laughter from beneath a velvety cushion.  Eto leapt up from her captive and bounded out of the room after Jisoh with a drowsy stagger, I’hro close on her heels.

“I hope the water is still hot!” Jisoh remarked as they trotted briskly down the hall towards the bath house.


It was still in the early morning hours that they found themselves gathered in the company of their elder sisters some time later.  Together they made up some twenty-seven girls, all of whom were engaged in various stages of grooming as they sat together on the thick rugs that covered the old bathhouse stone.

Eto stood among a handful of girls from her year and fingered the indigo sash that now adorned her waist.  Had it really been the passage of years?

Twelve cycles ago she had discarded the dusky green of her initiation, and had been given the more vibrant hue of the intermediate.  It had been a proud moment . . . and, her mother had been there.  Her stay may have been brief, but Eto had treasured it.  

Every third year would be counted a new accomplishment, and every third year she would accept a new vestment until she wore the crimson of womanhood on the eve of her tenth, and final year.  It seemed distant to her now, more so by her youthful assumption that there was all the time in the world.  Their tasks and studies may have been strenuous and even trying at times, but Eto was enjoying herself.  

Yet as involved as she had become in her learning, Eto had not forgotten the thrilling possibility of what Umikala had spoken of.  It had indeed been four years ago; dim, as in a memory, but persistent like a smoldering in her heart.  She had been patient the course of time, but she grew restless.

When would the Craftmother see fit to speak with her mother?  Eto hoped it would be soon.  

“Eto, would you help me tie this?”

Eto blinked slowly as if to clear her thoughts, and smiled at her friend.

“Of course, I’hro,” she said, drawing tight the loose ends of I’hro’s silken sash.  She tucked the folds neatly, pulling either end through the loop she had made.

“What do you think they’re so worked up about?” Eto said, indicating the older girls nearby.  All of their elder sisters were behaving somewhat strangely, chattering excitedly without end and preening themselves rather excessively.  

“Not too much oil, Zashe!” one of their red-clad sisters chided.  “You’ve got enough on without burning their eyes for the glare.  Though I daresay they would keep staring regardless!”

The trio of the eldest girls broke into wild giggles at this remark, pawing the ground with their hooves in amusement.

“I don’t know, but they sure are acting . . . funny,” I’hro replied.

A quiet laugh turned their attention.  “Oh, you know, they’re probably excited because today is the celebration for their coming of age,” Jisoh commented from where she sat cross-legged on the rug.  She was intent upon working a smoothing stone over the soles of her feet.  

“No, I don’t think so,” said a stout girl with refined features.  “That doesn’t explain all the others.”

“This is the first year we’ll be allowed to accompany them into the city, Mitsu; maybe there’s something really exciting that we don’t know about yet,” I’hro added thoughtfully as Eto finished tugging on her sash.

“Maybe,” Eto said as she studied her handiwork.  “I’m just glad that we get to go now.  It’s been so long since I’ve been!”



But for all her excitement, the day seemed to drag on through the ceremonies for which Eto hardly found she had the patience for.  It was certainly an important event, as it seemed that all of the province citizens and the respective Bangala houses were there, adding to the din and the crowd of an already bustling little city.  

Eto was at a loss to figure out how so many people had managed to cram into the Temple District to which she was confined for the time being.  To her surprise, she caught the glimmer of sleek armor among the sea of golden and ivory garb.  Apparently, all had come to honor the event.      

She craned her neck in hopes of seeing her brother among the warriors present, but was disappointed by the limited view her height granted her.  

It seemed an agonizing eternity before they were finally permitted the freedom to go about the rest of the city.  Eto dashed off the moment they were given permission, weaving her way through the crowd with deft precision.

“Eto, wait!” I’hro called after her as she ran to catch up.  “Where are you going?”

“To the Market District,” Eto said as her pace quickened.  “My mother might be there, c’mon!”

The rest of the city proved to be far less of an obstacle course to traverse; in fact it seemed strangely empty as the two of them navigated a winding street that sloped downwards into a more intimate layout of sleek buildings and lush terraces.  Small waterfalls adorned the walkways and mingled with the screams of playing children who chased each other beneath the shady awnings that stretched over quiet alleys.  

Though she sped by it all, Eto felt a fond twinge of recollection as familiar sights and sounds began to greet her.  A grin parted her mandibles as the first stretch of the market pavilion came into view.

Eto laughed.  “It smells the same!” she said breathlessly as she slowed to a trot.  I’hro followed suit, and lifted her head to the air.

“Mm, it smells good, like I remember it,” she said and turned a sharp corner after Eto.

While it was still more empty than usual, there were more people here, and once again they had to weave carefully in between the passersby.  Many a curious or reprimanding glance was thrown their way as Eto raced down the walkway with I’hro close on her heels.

I’hro squeaked at the sudden stop as Eto came abruptly to a halt.  She skidded on the pavement and nearly collided with Eto, but caught her balance as she leaned into her companion.  

“Eto, what is it?” she gasped as she steadied herself.

“She’s not here,” Eto replied as her eyes searched among the various displays of artisan goods and trade items.  “We would always come here, and she would sell the spices.”

“She probably isn’t in town today,” I’hro said and curiously began to eye the different stalls.  “Let’s have a look while we’re here,” she added as she caught a whiff of something delicious.  “L’amsi gave us money to spend today. . .  oh, look!  Eto, they have choro nuts!”

Already, I’hro was drifting towards a colorful array of fruits and dried herbs across the way, but Eto had half turned to glance down an adjoining pavilion.  I’hro paused to look around and beckoned to her.

“Eto, come, let’s buy some of these,” she said.

“You go ahead,” Eto called to her, “I’ll be back, there’s one more place I want to look!”

“Wait!  Eto!  L’amsi said we should stay together,” I’hro shouted, but already Eto had turned and vanished out of sight among the passing women and children.

Eto raced down the less crowded street, past old shops and gardens that she had once been familiar with.  Every so often, Ahmesa had taken her to a special place in a more quiet part of the Market District, where there was a breathtaking view of the rolling hills and the distant outlying provinces.  There was a small pool there, and a flowering vine that always grew on the curving lattices that shaded it.  Maybe she would be there, waiting for her . . .

Eto smiled at the thought of her mother’s cool, gentle gaze and looked for the shortcut she used to take.  She saw the narrow opening of the side alley she was thinking of just ahead, and turned the corner without a second thought.

She didn’t see the towering figure that had been making its way up the very same path as she connected painfully with something cool and metallic.  She stumbled back with a pained cry and nearly lost her footing, but she caught herself and stared wide-eyed into the shadowy visage of an armored warrior.  His unblinking gaze returned her blank expression for the briefest of moments.

“Ahmar, what in damnation did you just run into?”

Eto started as a second warrior stepped out from behind the first, his maw spread wide in amusement.  Ahmar gave a sharp bark of laughter.

“Look for yourself, brother,” he said as he gazed down at Eto.  “I nearly flattened a little hopskat.”

A mischievous grin spread across the face of the second as he noticed Eto.  “That would have been a veritable shame.  She’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she?”

“Indeed,” the other replied, taking a step closer, “but I presume she is a bit young for you, Rajh.”

Rajh chuckled.  “Perhaps,” he said as he came to stand at Ahmar’s side a few paces from Eto.  His dark features, while somewhat concealed by the smooth plates of Sangheili armor, had an undoubtedly roguish look.

“And what might be your age, lovely little sister?” he rumbled softly.

Eto was momentarily frozen where she stood, still apparently in shock at such an awkward and unexpected encounter.  She blinked away her stupor in an instant as her voice returned to her.

“I’m fourteen, most honored warrior,” she replied timidly.

The warrior’s smile widened.  “Oho, she has exquisite manners as well,” Rajh said emphatically as he placed his hands on his hips.  “What do you make of that, brother?”

“From one of the Bangala houses, I expect,” Ahmar commented as he massaged his lower mandibles  thoughtfully.  “She would make a fine mate when she comes of age,” he mused as an afterthought.  

“Agreed; we may just need to plan a return in a few years’ time, mightn’t we?” Rajh laughed as he nudged his friend.  

Eto, meanwhile, was growing steadily uneasy under their watchful eyes and playful banter.  She took a few steps away, but met the cool of the wall at her back.  Ahmar, the taller of the two, stepped forward to crouch down and rest on his heels so that he was on more of an even level with her.

“What is your name?” he asked gently.

“Eto,” she replied as she glanced furtively between his unwavering gaze and the plasma rifle that was clipped to his belt.  Now that he was so near, she could see the finer details of his face, and she realized that he was still quite young.  Though the shining bulk of their blue armor made them both appear quite large and intimidating, there was no denying the youthfulness of their faces.

“Are . . . are you both in the service of the Covenant?” she asked hesitantly.  A thought was slowly forming in her head.

“Just took our oaths not but a day ago,” Rajh growled with pride.

She thought she could see their chests swell every so slightly.  Perhaps . . . perhaps they would be willing to talk to her.

“Have you heard much?” she asked cautiously.

Ahmar cocked his head quizzically.  “Pardon?”

“About the war with the humans,” she said as she grew more bold, “about what’s been going on and where we’ve been fighting?”

She held her breath as the two warriors exchanged surprised glances.  

“I would not think such things would concern a young female such as yourself,” Ahmar said kindly, though a detectable edge had crept into his voice.

“Please, forgive me . . . but I do want to know,” Eto insisted.  She hoped she had not gone too far, but she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to learn what was going on outside of Sangheil . . . and how her father might be faring.  

She gasped faintly as Ahmar leaned forward and gently took her chin in his massive, gloved hand.

“Had the Elder Master heard you, he would have punished you severely for such a question,” he said softly as his glittering eyes narrowed somewhat.

She felt her lower mandibles tremble slightly beneath his touch and hoped to the Gods that he could not feel it.  She knew it had not been her place to ask such a thing, but more than ever she desired to know.

“Please,” she said weakly, “I mean no disrespect.”

Ahmar studied her quietly.  His eyes were not angry, rather they had a curious look in them.

“Ahmar, you bastard, you’ve gone and frightened her,” Rajh growled wearily.  His companion replied with a soft chuckle.

“No, I do not think this one is afraid,” Ahmar said quietly as he continued to gaze intelligently at her.  “Are you?”

Eto shook her head slowly as she held his gaze.  A small smile parted Ahmar’s features, and he brought his hand away from her face to lean on his knee.  

“Very well,” he murmured.  

“Ah, he means to humor the lass?” Rajh  teased under his breath.

Ahmar ignored this quip entirely.  “Even one such as you knows the might of our Holy Covenant,” he said as his mandibles curled into a fierce smile.  “Our forces are continually advancing on a network of outer colonies the humans have spawned in their laughable conquest,” he said softly.

Rajh crossed his arms over his chest as a smirk spread across his face.    

“Their weapons are weak against our superior technology and strength,” he continued in lowered tones.  “Have you heard of Eridanus II?” he asked.

Eto shook her head vaguely.  He made a broad sweeping gesture with the palm of his hand.

“A human colony, taken with ease naught but a cycle ago.  Glassed it clean, just as we did with Harvest, and left no trace of the filth.”

Eto stared back at him quietly.  “I never was told,” she whispered, “what they did.”

“The humans?” Rajh hissed.  “They carelessly took what was not theirs to claim.  Holy artifacts of our Lords, squatted upon beneath their sprawling warrens, and quarried up to be prized as curiosities.”  He spat vehemently upon the ground.  “It is a gross transgression upon all that is Holy, and they shall pay for it with their lives.”

“You see, Eto,” Ahmar said, “they are a pestilence, unworthy of the absolution of the Covenant.”

Eto was silent, as she was unsure of what to say.  It was more than she had ever been permitted to know, and such passionate hatred confused her.

“Do you pity them?” Ahmar asked shrewdly.

Pity?  Eto pondered the thought for a moment.  “I don’t know,” she replied honestly.

“Hmm,” he growled before standing up to his full height.  “Well know this, daughter of the Bangala.  The Gods show no mercy to those who are vile and unclean, and therefore neither shall we.  The humans face their utter extinction.”

Eto pursed her mandibles firmly in thought before stepping out from under the shade of the eve to bow her head respectfully.  “The will of the Gods is our law,” she said with demure grace before smiling feebly.  “Thank you, honorable warriors . . . for telling me such things.”

Ahmar huffed softly.  “You would do best not to share your knowledge on the matter with anyone but yourself.”

But Rajh laughed.  “It was our pleasure, brave sister.  One so eager and intelligent is capable of such knowledge,” he said and dipped his head to her.  “I still say you’ve frightened her,” he shot at Ahmar, who snorted.  “There will be no chance of her having either of us now, I fear,” he said with a boyish grin directed at Eto.

Eto could feel her face beginning to burn, and she hastily looked away towards the path that led back up to the pavilion.  She wished more than ever to be able to slip away unseen, but the young soldiers were still gazing at her intently.

“We were headed to market,” Ahmar said with a friendly gesture.  “Would you care to join us?”

Eto blushed a deeper shade of violet and fussed with the loose end of her sash.  “Please, I couldn’t,” she began lamely.  “You’ve already been too kind . . . I couldn’t.”

Rajh laughed once more and struck Ahmar playfully on the shoulder.  “You see, what did I tell you?”

“Ha,” Ahmar huffed smugly.  “Well then, Eto.  Perhaps we shall meet again.  Until then, may the Gods smile down on you,” he said with a genteel bow.  

Eto returned the gesture before making a flustered turn and tearing back up the road she had come from.  She had all but forgotten her original destination as she cut down a different street to avoid them seeing her heading back to the market.  She turned yet another corner, and with a flood of relief she found the first busy street that led up to the other pavilions.  

She wove into the scattered crowd of civilians, nearly all of whom were women with their children, farther up into the higher streets until she was comfortably lost among the taller Sangheili who surrounded her.  She slowed to a meandering pace, though her heart was hammering beneath her chest.

Inexplicably, a satisfied grin began to spread across her face at the thought of her privileged information.  She should have been fearful, or at least shamed, but . . . she wasn’t.  

For a moment, it was as though she had been one of them.  

“Eto!”

She spun on her heels at the sound of her name and caught sight of a slender figure bobbing its way toward her through the crowd.  It was I’hro.  

“Eto, I was looking all over for you!” I’hro said as she cleared the pedestrians and sprung to her side beneath a dappled awning.  She was clearly flustered.

“Not everywhere, I suppose,” Eto said, her grin widening.  

“What’s that silly look for?” I’hro said, somewhat annoyed.  “You know L’amsi only gave us a short amount of time; we should probably be back by now!”  She had taken Eto’s arm and was pulling her back towards the street in the direction of the sanctum courtyard.

“Already?” Eto asked as she followed I’hro reluctantly.  In all her eagerness to find her mother, she hadn’t gotten to enjoy perusing the market bazaar.   

“Well, if you hadn’t run off . . .” I’rho began, “Where did you go, anyways?”

“I went down to see one of the gardens,” Eto replied simply.  

“Did you find her?” I’hro asked after a moment’s thought.

Eto shook her head dispassionately and adroitly avoided collision with an oblivious child who stumbled into her path as she trotted alongside I’hro.  She had all but forgotten in the wake of her encounter with the warriors in the alley, and her head hung slightly.  

I’hro peered at Eto out of the corner of her eye.  “Well, don’t look so down, you’ll see her soon enough I’m sure,” she said in hopes of cheering her.  “Here, we can share my choro nuts,” she smiled as she lifted a small leathery bag that had been clutched in her other hand.  

Eto smiled at her friend’s encouragement.  If only she could tell I’hro . . .  She wished desperately to share everything that she had seen and heard with her, but something held her back for the time being.  

Perhaps it would be best to wait.  

That, and the thought of telling anyone about the peculiar things that the soldiers had so teasingly spoken of embarrassed her terribly.  She got the uncomfortable feeling that there was much she did not yet understand . . .

“Eto, what is it?  You look kind of odd,” I’hro piped up as they reached the plaza that led into the Temple District.  

“Nothing,” Eto said placidly.  A handful of their gathered Bangala sisters had just come into view up ahead.  “Just ready to head home.”



* * *




It was in the early evening, not long after they had returned from Sol’sta, that Eto was met with a most unexpected surprise.

She had dallied in the commons while washing up, having wanted a quiet moment to herself, and was just making her way through the lantern-lit grounds to join her sisters for the evening meal in the bungalow when a warmly familiar scent greeted her.  She stopped dead in her tracks.

“Amma?” she mumbled aloud.

She turned back to look towards the main house, and as her eyes fell on the veranda deck where the Craftmother had met with her some time ago, she saw a tall, shadowy figure making its way across the grass.  

In a heartbeat she knew it was her mother.  There was no mistaking the careful, graceful gait and calming aura that she loved so well.  

Whether Eto’s voice had carried faintly on the evening breeze or she could sense Eto’s eyes upon her, the figure turned, and Ahmesa’s fine features were revealed in the glow of a nearby lantern.  With a delighted cry, Eto abandoned the path and made to run to her, but stopped short as her mother gently raised a slender hand.  

“No, Eto, not just yet; you must go and join your sisters,” she said with a soft smile.  “The Craftmother has called me here this evening to speak with her, and mustn’t keep her waiting.”

Eto, out of initial shock and her growing excitement, simply nodded in understanding.

“Go on then, beloved.  I will see you soon,” Ahmesa said as she beamed down at her daughter.

Eto took a moment longer to gaze up at her mother’s face before turning and hurrying back to the path.  She stole a glance over her shoulder to see the last of Ahmesa’s trailing skirts disappear into the shadows of the veranda, and doubled her pace as she raced down the winding flagstones.  

She hopped nimbly up the steps and into the company of her sisters as discreetly as possible, but spotting the low table where I’hro, Jisoh, and several other girls from her year were seated, she made an excited beeline straight for them.  

“Eto!” I’hro called happily.

“We thought you might skip out on dinner,” Jisoh said as Eto slid down to a halt rather ungracefully upon an empty cushion at the table.  

“Here, we saved you a bowl anyways,” I’hro said and slid a still-steaming meal before Eto.

Though the contents of the bowl smelled undeniably delicious, she ignored the hot food in front of her and clutched a stitch in her side.

“My mother’s here,” she panted as she leaned against I’hro.

“You saw her?” I’hro asked.

“Just now.  She’s meeting with Umikala!”

The other girls seated at the table were staring at her curiously at this bit of unusual news.

“Why is your mother here, Eto?” Mitsu asked from across the table.

“Has she come to take you home so soon?” Iisu laughed loudly a few seats down.  A tremor of giggles could be heard around the table, but Eto spoke in a low voice to I’hro as if she didn’t hear it.

“I think they’re going to decide tonight . . .”

“You mean . . . about the special training?”

Eto nodded fervently.

“As we speak?” I’hro added, the excitement for her friend now dawning on her face.

“Yes, oh I’m so nervous, I’hro!  What will my mother say?  Do you think she’ll let me do it?”

A devious sparkle appeared in I’hro’s eyes, and taking Eto by the forearm, lifted her up as she stood abruptly from the table.  The evening meal had been completely forgotten.

“C’mon,” I’hro said in an excited whisper as she glanced furtively about the room for L’amsi’s watchful eyes.

“I’ve got an idea.”





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