| THE LORELEI SIGNAL |
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| Written by Sarah Wagner / Artwork by Lee Kuraganti |
| Make a donation to this writer |
| Blur of Tiers |
Korska looked down at the narrow band of water running through the Asherian grasslands. With the Trekmir only days
away, the pressure built up inside her, incubating her doubts. “Don’t let it get to you.” The girl standing next to her,
Metann, patted her shoulder lightly. “You can do this.”
“I wish I had your confidence.” Korska took a deep breath and peered over the cliff’s edge. It was a long way down to
the grasslands.
As if on cue, a family cluster of huge, four-legged beasts stepped out of the shadow of the cliff to the water’s edge. Dark
fur hung down in thick ropes from their massive bodies nearly to the ground. White horns curled down their jaws, spiking
out from their faces nearly two hand’s length. The young bull commanded only three cows and two hornless calves.
“They are so beautiful.”
“They are.” Metann agreed. “And whichever one you bring down will be the most beautiful maraph to ever fall in all the
history of the Trekmir.”
“Mine will be no more beautiful then any other. You give me too much credit.”
“Right. And it means nothing to you that you will be the first Dhymic below the second tier to ever even participate.” She
laughed. “You amaze me.”
“What? Why?” Korska shielded her eyes from the sun to see her friend better.
“You’ve lived a very different life then most of us.” Metann shook her head. “You are fortunate to be beholden to the clan
of Dakaan-D. Tevma-L, he is lord and master of all his lands.” She spit on the ground. “Yes, you have lived a different life
indeed.”
“Korska!” A high, feminine voice caused both young women to turn, back towards the outskirts of town. The woman
approaching was tall and slender with long, pale hair and a dress that cost more than all the clothes Korska and Metann
owned combined.
“I should go.”
“Why? It’s just Dia.”
“Just Dia to you maybe. To the rest of us, lower-thans, she is Mistress Dialorra-D.” Metann smiled. “I wish I could make
you understand. Good luck if I don’t see you before the ceremony.”
“Thanks.” Korska watched as Metann bowed reverently to Dia then ran towards Tevma-L’s estate. “Did you need me?”
Dia reached the cliff, pink from her exertion. “I thought you might be up here and I wanted to talk.”
Korska stared at her. “Did something happen?”
“No. Nothing like that.” She grabbed Korska’s arm and held it tight. “We’ve been friends forever, right?”
“Ever since we were tiny.” Korska laughed for a moment, before she saw the look in Dia’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“This is going to be just as hard for me to say as it will be for you to hear.” Dia took a deep breath, drawing out the
silence between them. “I need you to think about passing up the Trekmir. Tell them you can’t do it.”
Korska yanked her arm free. “Are you honestly asking me to turn down the chance to be in it?”
“Isn’t it enough you were the first third tier student to place in the honor circle at Giotku? Can’t that be enough? You have
to understand, I’m trying to protect you. I don’t want to see you get hurt.” Dia’s dark eyes pleaded, begged her to do as
she asked.
“I can’t just give this up.” She lifted two fingers to her temple, to the branded tier-mark there. “If I do, I’ll let them down.
All the other Dhymics like me. If I let this slip through my fingers, I’ll never get another chance. And neither will they.”
“You don’t understand! I’ve heard them talking, the Echelon men. There are a lot of Dhymics who aren’t happy with the
Council’s decision.”
“That’s their problem, not mine. The decision was made and I’m not turning it down.” Korska started walking back
towards Dakaan-D’s estate, her home. Dia fell in step beside her. “Is there more?”
“Nothing I say is going to get through to you.” Dia pursed her lips and remained quiet as they walked the dusty road.
They hadn’t gotten far when a small group of third tier women with young children approached them. The older ones
bowed deeply to Dia, the younger ones tried to mimic their mothers. Except for one girl. She was small with dark skin and
hair and black eyes that glistened in the sunlight. “Are you her?” She asked Korska, approaching despite her mother’s loud
hiss of reproach.
“Her?”
“The girl who’s going to fly for us all?”
“Oh. Yes. I am.” Korska bent down, nearer the girl’s level. “My name is Korska. What’s yours?”
“Hesha.” The girl grinned brightly.
“I am so sorry Mistress Dialorra-D.” The girl’s mother pulled her away, dragging her roughly over the path. “She meant
no disrespect.” The woman bowed so deeply Korska thought her forehead would touch the ground.
“It’s fine, really. Hesha is just a child. Right, Dia?” Korska looked to her friend but found no support. Instead, she saw a
person she did not recognize, a cold woman who showed no sign she’d even heard Hesha’s mother at all. “Go on. It’s
fine.”
The women left as quickly as they could, Hesha trailing at her mother’s side waving frantically, Korska turned to Dia.
“What was that about? Couldn’t you at least have acknowledged her?”
“That wouldn’t be proper.”
“Since when do you care about proper?” Korska felt a heaviness settle onto her shoulders.
“I’m not getting any younger, Korska. I have a future to plan. A mate to find. I must start playing by the rules of Dhymia.
I have to grow up. You should too.” Dia stammered a good-bye and ran in the direction of her father’s sprawling house,
leaving Korska alone on the path.
Stunned, Korska continued down the path to her small home on the edge of Dakaan-D’s estate where she and her parents
lived. Her mother ruled the kitchen and her father ran the other third and fourth tier Dhymics of Dakaan-D’s clan-lands.
They were servants. There was no way around that. Dia was right about one thing. It was time to grow up.
Korska shook her head sadly and walked past her home to her small work shed. Once sheltered in its comforting depths,
she wallowed in the metal and oil smell. Her shed was the only place that had ever been wholly hers. Dia’s father, Dakaan,
had given her the space as a gift when she had been accepted into the Giotku, the Dhymic School of Machinery. Korska
had cherished it, dusting the floor with wood pulp and shavings to soak up the thick oils, polishing every finished
mechanism to a high gleam. She took great pride in her work.
Even knowing she would never make the highest honors in Giotku, she applied every year with a new machine, a new
invention. She struggled to be better than the other students because she had to. One mistake and she would prove the nay-
sayers right. One mistake and she would become the shining example of why the lower tiers were lower. So she worked
hard and kept succeeding, exceeding the expectations, outshining the upper tier students. The Council had finally
acknowledged her by not passing her over for the Trekmir.
Korska ran a finger lovingly over the tip of a wing on her latest machine. The collapsible glider for the Trekmir was her
pride and joy. She had started it long before they ever announced the honorees. There had always been a small part of her
that held out hope she could bend the rules to suit herself. Arrogant on her part but she knew she deserved it. She told
herself that if she hadn’t been on the list, she would have offered the machine to the Council but she knew better. Korska
pressed a small button and watched as the wings slowly folded themselves into the pack, the metal frame collapsing the
thin kwalta skin.
The glider wasn’t much different from the ones the others would be using, her wiring was slightly more complex and it
was marginally heavier. She had added two loops of kwalta skin to the end of the wings to provide better control. A tail
piece controlled by large keys on the straps of the pack provided better directional capability.
Korska slung the closed glider over her shoulders, ashamed of her sudden distrust. With Dia acting as she was, she
couldn't take any chances.
The pungent smell of roast kwalta assaulted her senses the moment she entered her home. The meat of the small desert
dweller was good enough but Korska was growing tired of it. They’d had little else since she had killed enough of them
for the wings. She hoped she wouldn’t tire of maraph as quickly.
Certain there was no one else in the house, Korska went into her bedroom in the back and shrugged out of the pack. She
stood on the bed and pushed open a ceiling panel. The glider fit into the opening with little room to spare. She had just
repositioned the panel when someone knocked on the door.
She rushed, flinging open the door without checking to see who it was. Dakaan stood there, his face somber. “Good
afternoon.” She bowed. Glancing at her work clothes, she was horrified she hadn’t changed into something more
presentable. “Please, come in.” She ushered him into a tidy sitting room. “Can I get you something?”
“No.” He smiled strangely. “Did something happen between you and Dia?”
“Yes.” She stared at the floor. “She has asked me not to attend the Trekmir.”
“Really? And what did you say?”
“I told her no.” She waited for the rebuke.
“You told her no?” Korska flinched at his tone, reprimanding herself for being too stubborn, again. “Good for you.”
“What?” Shock drained the color from her face. “Aren’t you angry with me?”
“Of course not. I was when I came here but only because Dia told me you changed your mind. That you were afraid and
didn’t want to go through with it. She said I could rescind the invitation since I was the one instrumental in extending it.
To help you save face.”
“You were?” Her heart fell.
“No. You have impressed everyone who matters. I didn’t need to interfere.” He ran a finger lightly down her jaw, brushing
her dark hair out of her face. “I came here to find out the truth. I didn’t believe my daughter.” Korska felt her cheeks
heating. “Has she said anything to you about this sudden shift in loyalties?”
“She believes I will be in danger if I participate.” She wanted to say more, to tell him anything and everything if only to
keep him there, talking to her.
“I am glad you are willing to face it, to take that chance.” Dakaan placed his hands on her shoulders. “You have much to
do in this life, Korska. You will make your husband very proud. Were I younger or had I a son, I would petition your
parents myself.”
“Thank you.” She whispered, keeping her eyes on the floor, not wanting him to see the disappointment there. She should
have known better than to hope. Age was not all that separated them.
“Get your rest, Korska. I am looking forward to watching your success at the Trekmir.” He let himself out of the house,
leaving Korska in shock.
#
The next morning, Korska woke to a commotion outside her house. Vicious words were hurled loudly towards her, each
hitting their mark. Anger filled her, mixing with the strange relief that her parents had already left for Dakaan’s house.
She'd been waiting for it to begin, the protesting of the upper tiers. It wasn’t enough that the lower tiers served them, that
they were branded like livestock and traded like commodities.
She had been very lucky to be born into a family that served the estate of a kind man. Dakaan did not gather young
women for his harem-house. He did not have his lowers beaten or shackled. Too many young women of her age and
position certainly could not say the same, already having their wombs stripped and removed to better please their masters.
As she listened to the protesters outside her window, Korska reeled in shock to hear voices answering back. Other lowers,
like her, were there too. She peered out the window, trying to remain unseen. Outside her house there was a line of men
and women between her home and the protesters. Men and women who were risking everything they had, everything they
knew, to protect her.
One man, larger than most his companions with sun-darkened skin and a build that suggested to Korska he was one of the
Ebjerons. A man who was essentially a beast of sport. Trained and fed by his master to fight other Ebjerons to the death
for a profit. That he was standing in front of her door likely meant his master was dead. Or at least his trainer.
The blaring concussion of an explosion jarred her from her thoughts. Korska ran to the tiny window in her bedroom and
stared. Her beautiful work shed belched out thick, oily smoke. High blue flames, fed by the chemicals, licked the roof and
reached for the sky.
A violent stone had been cast. There would be more to come soon. Korska rushed to get her glider down from its hiding
place in her ceiling and threw some of her clothes in a bag.
She didn’t trust the crowd outside enough to wait them out until dark to run for Dakaan’s house. They would kill the men
and women at her doorstep and burn her out.
The back door of her home broke apart, the jamb splintering as it was kicked in. Korska froze, paralyzed by panic. There
was no relief in seeing Dakaan’s familiar face; her blood was pulsing loud in her ears as the adrenaline filled her. “Come
on! We’ve got to get you out of here.” He grabbed her bag and her glider, slinging them over his massive shoulder as he
lifted her in his arms. As he mounted the jittery dromin, a curly-furred beast of travel, Korska pressed closer to him,
relishing even the slightest bit of solace amidst the horrifying crackle and hiss of the fire and the caterwauling of the
demonstrators.
She clung to him in silence as they rode hard over his estate-lands to his home. Tears poured down her face when she
peered over his shoulder towards the only home she’d ever known. Flames danced in wicked jubilation against the midday
sky, mocking her progress as a Dhymic. It didn’t matter. No matter what she did, how good she was, she would never be
anything more then a token lower. She’d never be anything more then a pretend step in the direction of progress.
Everything she’d worked so hard for was a lie. Korska pressed her face into Dakaan’s shoulder and sobbed.
“We’ll rebuild the house, Korska.” He rubbed her back gently. “There’s no use crying over it.”
“I’m not crying over the house or anything in it.” She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and refused to say anything more.
Dakaan helped her down and led her into the house. “I think you should get some rest. The next few days are likely to be
more of the same.”
“I hope not.” She shook her head and held out her hand for her glider. “I think I’ll keep that with me.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“It isn’t you I don’t trust.” Sadness permeated her voice. Dakaan eased the glider onto her shoulders. “Thank you. For
everything.”
“There is no need.”
“But there is.” She smiled as best she could. “Were I a part of any other first tier estate, I would be living in a harem-
house somewhere and not learning the inner workings of mechanics.”
“Unfortunately, that is probably so.” His voice revealed more than Korska could understand. “It shames me to know my
own peers can be so cruel and not see the truth for what it is.”
“Good night, Dakaan.” She turned away from him, unwilling to let him see the adoration in her eyes.
Korska found her mother waiting in the foyer and followed her to a small bedroom on the second floor of the large house.
She tried her best to sleep, tossing and turning in the unfamiliar bed. When she’d come to terms with the futility of it,
Korska got up and dressed. If she couldn’t sleep, perhaps she could find something to read.
As she wandered the house, looking for the library she knew was there, she realized with some surprise she was not the
only one awake. Voices carried well in the middle of the night.
“You are going to ruin everything!” Dia was shouting at her father.
“Ruin everything? Just what do you think Korska’s success will ruin?” While much calmer and lower, Dakaan’s voice
carried better then did Dia’s. “She deserves to be treated with the respect she has earned.”
“She is a third tier. Her parents are your servants! If you want to bed her, attach her to a harem-house and do what you
want.”
The sound of flesh on flesh made Korska cringe, pressing into the shadows in shame. “Don’t you ever speak that way
again! You have no right.”
“What part do you not understand, Father? We are first tier, she is third. There is protocol to be followed. Proper
manners. Etiquette.”
“And all of it is false. You think you’re better than anyone because you are branded with a different iron at birth? Because
that’s all that divides us.”
“Heritage divides us.” Dia was crying, her voice hiccuping between sobs. “Mother would hate you for this.”
“Your mother died when you were too little to know the difference! This was a cause we shared, her and I. You never
knew her so don’t you dare tell me what she would or wouldn’t think today.” A tear slipped down Korska’s face.
“The Echelon will never allow this travesty to happen. Do you understand that? They will kill her. What then of your
cause?”
“I refuse to believe I raised such a girl as you. The cause does not live or die on the shoulders of one; but is the burden of
us all.” Dakaan said, his voice angry in a way Korska had never heard him before.
Ashamed to have caused such a rift, Korska slunk back to the room Dakaan had so graciously offered. She had never
meant for anyone to get hurt. Sleep crept towards her on silent, predatory paws, claiming her at last as visions of fires and
riots and death filled her head.
#
The night before the Trekmir arrived without fanfare. She did not attend the ceremonial bonfire and feast, afraid for her
safety. Korska could not sleep. The pressure on her was a burden, one she’d carried for many years but never noticed.
Messages had been coming since the fires, other lowers who saw her as a shining star, hope for a better life for their
children. All of Dhymia was watching her, taking sides. It had been building up since Dakaan first made it possible for her
to go to Giotku and she’d been young enough, naive enough not to see it.
Fear and shame filled her. She wasn’t worthy of the adoration of anyone, let alone scores of lowers. Her life had been an
easy one, her doors opened by one kind man. Suddenly, people were depending on her. As if she was something more
than she was.
In her mind, she walked through every step of the ceremony. The march to the cliffs, the blessing from the Council, the
placement of the ashes on her skin, leaping from the edge into the sky, opening the glider and trying to land on the largest
bull. Korska drilled it into her subconscious, over and over, exactly how to maneuver the glider, how to grip the beast’s
head and steer it. How to draw the kliptek, the ceremonial blade, across its throat and kill it.
When the sun reached its first rays above the horizon, Korska dressed in the ceremonial garb sewn by her mother’s
practiced hand. Soft maraph-hide pants, snug so as not to be adverse to her aerodynamics. A shirt of finely woven threads
dyed black with the berries of the sacred shutuy bush. The same uniform of every Trekmir.
Dakaan, her mother and father, and several unfamiliar men were waiting for her in the large kitchen. “Did you get any
sleep at all?” Her mother asked as she kissed her cheek.
“No. I couldn’t.”
“I don’t think anyone slept last night.” Dakaan nodded. “I’d like you to meet some friends of mine, Korska.” He motioned
to the men. They all bore the mark of the fourth tier and the build of Ebjerons. “This is Gediel, Urichi, and Kitall.”
“You have Ebjerons?” Korska eyed Dakaan warily.
“No.” Dakaan laughed. “I meant what I said. These are my friends.”
“We have come to walk with you.” The one called Kitall stepped towards her. “The protests have raged all night. It is not
safe for you to make the journey to the cliff on your own.”
“If you think they will kill me, what makes you think they won’t kill you?”
Kitall laughed. “We have spent all night freeing all of the Ebjerons. There is not a Dhymic Warrior who will take us all on.”
“How many of you are there?” Her eyes grew wide, disbelief and wonder filling her.
“Enough to protect you. This is a line that must be crossed. The uppers killed fifteen innocent people yesterday as
retribution for the beating of one. It will never stop.”
“Thank you.” She whispered in awe. She understood at last—she was nothing more than a figurehead. The real work was
being done by people like Dakaan in secret. He helped put her in a position to be the catalyst. This was not about her at all.
“I am forever honored by your actions and your intent.” She bowed to them each in turn.
“Why are you bowing?” Kitall shook his head. “You bow to no one.”
“I disagree. I bow to those who so selflessly give of themselves.” She smiled at him, warmth flooding her as she saw the
color rise in his cheeks.
“We should be going. It is going to be a long journey.” Dakaan cleared his throat. “Keep a sharp watch on her.”
The Ebjerons nodded and opened the door for her. Korska stepped out into a throng of large men who encircled her. For a
moment, she felt like a queen, a warrior headed for battle.
The first sight of the path to the cliff nearly stopped her. So many people had come to protest. Her protectors circled her,
holding back the bold demonstrators who tried to rush them. Men and women, children just learning to talk called her
horrible things from either side of the path. They threw stones and rotten food with their words, cheering as anything
struck the Ebjerons, screaming as a rotten bit of meat struck Korska.
She glared at them defiantly, her resolve strengthening even as tears flowed over her cheeks. Figurehead she might be but
it was still personal, it was still her life’s work at stake. Her hands trembled, fear and anger twining through her.
“Who are you that you think you can take generations of traditions and destroy them?” One man’s voice rang out over all
the others.
She was more than halfway to the cliffs, she knew she should keep moving, but Korska stopped. The voice was not
familiar but the sentiment was. Korska laughed loudly, scornfully, from within her circle of warriors. “Why is it enough
that you are born to a father who is first tier? Who decided who was going to be better than everyone else?” Korska
screamed to be heard over the noise around her.
“And are you better than the upper tiers?” Venom dripped from his words as he shouted.
“No. I don’t pretend to be better than anyone but I am not beneath them either.” She turned away from him then and
continued her journey, desperate just to reach the cliffs in one piece. It took a great deal of effort, almost more than she
had, to block out the resumed curses, to ignore the sting of stones, as she finished her march but she held her head high,
refusing to be shamed by those around her.
She was the last to arrive at the cliffs. Dakaan stood waiting for her, smiling as she took her place at the end of the line.
She tried to smile back but found she couldn’t. She felt as if she’d been torn apart and put back together wrong.
The Head of the Council, Ishtic, had begun the blessing rights, traveling down the line, to each young man and woman,
marking them with the ashes of the ceremonial fires. When he reached her, Korska saw the look in his eyes, the
disapproval and resentment.
“Step back, Korska of the Dakaan-D estate-lands.” He did nothing to hide his satisfaction. “In the interest of keeping our
ceremony peaceful, you will step back.” The protesters had given him exactly what he wanted, the chance to undo the
mistake made by the majority of the Council Elders. As Head, it was his right to revoke it without discussion.
“You aren’t going to allow me to participate?” She stared at him in disbelief.
“Of course not.” He turned his back on her and walked away.
Korska did not step back. She listened as the others shouted in triumph and leapt from the cliff. Her eyes searched the
crowds, coming to rest on the face of a young girl. Perhaps the very one who had so wronged Dia a few days earlier. The
girl’s eyes were filled with tears, disappointment. Korska could see the hope dying.
Korska stepped to the edge of the cliff, seeing the wings of several gliders spreading open. Her eyes met Dakaan’s. There
was fury in his eyes that matched her own, fueled her own. She would not allow her dreams, the dreams of every other
low tiered girl, to end when she was so close. She would not accept the decision. The Trekmir was as much hers as it
was the other members of the ceremony. Korska took a deep breath and dove off the cliff in silence.
Korska kept an eye on the warriors beneath her as she plummeted through the air. Head first; she broke through the pack,
dropping under the others before turning herself horizontal. Time sped by and she prayed she hadn’t underestimated her
drop speed. As the metal and skin wings slid out, she whispered her thanks and jerked viscously upward as the draft
caught, cradling her in the air much closer to the ground than she had anticipated.
There wasn’t time to inspect the herd for the largest bull but she spotted a bull standing close enough to take. Any bull
would do. She took hold of the loops, pulling side to side as she aligned herself with his back. With the wings and the tail
stabilized, Korska held the glider straight over the unsuspecting creature, landing on his back. The beast reared up,
bellowing, shaking violently to dislodge her. Korska clamped her legs tight on his shoulders, digging one hand deep into the
thick fur. With her free hand, she drew the Kliptek and held it against the beast’s throat. One swift pull and the blade
ripped through skin and muscle, severing the arteries.
The blessed members of the Trekmir dropped around her on the backs of stampeding maraphs, going through the same
motions, riding the dying beasts until they bled out and fell dead in the grass. Around them, fleeing maraphs kicked up dirt
and clumps of grass. They were trampling each other to get away from the sudden smell of death.
When the dust settled sixteen of the nineteen blessed men and women had taken a maraph of their own. Korska shrugged
out of the glider and stood over her kill, waiting for her punishment. She had disobeyed, gone against everything she
knew. Whatever was to come, she was ready for it. Trembling beneath the weight of her fear, she waited for the Council
to reach the valley, watching as they floated serenely down on gliders.
She tried to feel the pride that should have been hers but fear would not allow it to rise. She watched the Council land,
heard them congratulating the others and waited. The sudden lash of a branch over her back was not unexpected. She’d
have far worse before it was done. It took everything in her to stand and face them, but Korska dug deep within herself
and unlocked the anger. The anger could keep her standing.
The Council Elder who had denied her blessing swung the branch and slammed her stomach. Korska doubled over, falling
to her knees, heaving in the dirt. Again, she struggled to stand. “You disobeyed the Council.” She said nothing, made no
sound as she was struck again. And again. Others of the Council had circled around them, saying nothing to stop him but
doing nothing to help him.
“Enough! Ishtic that is enough!” Dakaan’s panicked voice rang out over Ishtic’s cursing as he finally neared the ground.
“You’re going to kill her!”
“She should never have been allowed to come so close to the line.” He hit Korska again. Only the slight movement of her
hands, clenching and releasing gave any sign of life. Dakaan rushed to the center of the circle and ripped the branch from
Ishtic’s hands. “What are you doing, Dakaan?”
“Stopping you. She can’t take any more.” Dakaan moved towards Korska only to find himself pinned to the ground by
other members of the Council. Men he had known his entire life. He could do nothing but watch as Ishtic resumed his
attack on the now unconscious Korska.
From the cliffs, the protesters had fallen silent, shocked by the violence below. The sudden silence, punctuated by the
sound of wood on flesh and breaking bones, gave Dakaan a small advantage as he wrestled away from the men holding
him down. He rushed back to Korska, knocking Ishtic to the ground.
Her face was unrecognizable. Covered in blood and bruises, swollen eyes and lips, nothing was left of the beautiful girl
he'd known. Gently but frantically, Dakaan searched for a pulse. There was none. Her chest was still, no breath could fill
her crushed lungs. His eyes blurred as he pulled her broken body to him.
A sorrowful howl erupted from deep within him and was echoed from the top of the cliff, too many voices to identify. In
the way of their ancestors, Korska’s death was announced to the world.
When the air was once again silent, Dakaan stood with Korska still in his arms, towering over Ishtic. “I will see you stand
trial for her murder.”
“There was no murder.” Ishtic spat. “She committed the crime, not I. Go ahead and make your claim with the Council.
You know as well as I do that nothing will come of it.”
“Not this time, Ishtic. Korska will have justice if I have to claim it myself.” With Korska’s body still in his arms, Dakaan
traveled along the path back towards the city. He did not shield her face from those he passed and barely resisted
commanding them to look, to see what they, in their ignorance, had done.
He wasn’t sure when it began but between the grasslands and the outskirts of the city, a procession had fallen in behind
him, many low tiered people who left their positions to honor their star even under the weight of the grave punishment
they would receive for it. They remained silent, respectful of the monumental occasion. Dakaan refused to look into the
eyes of those he passed, even those he’d known his whole life. He did not want to know what lived behind their eyes.
The Council Hall came into view at the end of the main road through the city, the Dhymic capital of Frenochi. What had
happened at the Trekmir was disgraceful to all of Dhymia, to all of Asher.
The residents of Frenochi that had not attended the Trekmir were coming out of their homes, their businesses to see what
the unannounced parade was for. There were new howls of mourning as the low tiers grasped the truth. Korska, their
pride, had been murdered.
Dakaan continued in silence toward the hall.
Once he had climbed to the top of the stairs, he turned to face those who’d walked with him. “Something horrible,
indefensible, has occurred today. An innocent young woman was murdered. Korska. All she ever wanted was to be seen
for what she was, a bright girl and a brilliant machinist.
“Those people who protested this morning ought to be ashamed of themselves. She was Dhymic as much as they were.
Perhaps more so. Perhaps Korska is more worthy of the name Warrior than any of us. They told her she was not blessed,
that she could not participate in the Trekmir, something they have promised her for a long time. Korska chose to fight and
to take what was rightfully hers and she was murdered for it.”
Dakaan laid Korska’s body gently at the top of the stairs. “Come. Look for yourself at what was done to this girl and tell
me it was not murder!”
Dakaan saw the crowd that had followed him, congregated in the street. They were stepping aside, allowing a few people
to pass. It took him a few moments to realize that Dia was leading Korska’s parents through the throng of people. He
rushed down the steps to meet them. “Please, Javic, Visha, Dia, leave her in your memories as she was. Please. You do
not need to see what was done.”
“Sir,” Visha laid her hand on his arm, “I appreciate what you did today, what you are doing, but she is my daughter. I
must see her now, the way she is now. The whole world must see her now and know what was done to her. All of Asher
must know.” Tears poured down her face, her breath coming in sharp, hitched waves.
“Tell me what you want me to do.” Dakaan fell to his knees before Korska’s parents, his servants.
Visha laid her hand on Dakaan’s shoulder. “You have already done more than any other has ever done—perhaps would
ever have done.” She turned from him and walked shakily up the steps, clinging to her mate’s arm for support.
Dakaan could do nothing but watch as Javic and Visha knelt beside their daughter and howled. The sound echoed through
the city as others joined in, so many. Dakaan wondered if perhaps the Queen could hear the howl from her throne in
Kaihahn.
His gaze raked the center of Frenochi searching for a flame. He did not see one anywhere in the open but Dakaan did find
a small bakery. What he needed could be found in their ovens. At a quick pace, he went straight for the ovens and, using
an ember-shovel and a thick clay pot, gathered up some glowing coals. He hefted the pot up onto his shoulder and
returned to the steps of the Council Hall.
“These marks that separate us,” he pointed to his own First Tier mark on his temple, “have never done us any good!”
Dakaan unsheathed his kliptek and held it in the coals until it was searing hot, glowing. “We, as Dhymics, are one people
not four.” He lifted the kliptek high in the air and with no hesitation, laid the flat of the blade against the mark. A muffled
cry of pain escaped him, the scent of burned flesh filling his nose and turning his stomach as it danced with death’s thick,
cloying smell.
In his heart, silent, he vowed to make certain Ishtic paid for his crime. That all Dhymics paid for their part in it. As he
made his vows, others stepped forward to the clay pot and branded themselves over their marks.
away, the pressure built up inside her, incubating her doubts. “Don’t let it get to you.” The girl standing next to her,
Metann, patted her shoulder lightly. “You can do this.”
“I wish I had your confidence.” Korska took a deep breath and peered over the cliff’s edge. It was a long way down to
the grasslands.
As if on cue, a family cluster of huge, four-legged beasts stepped out of the shadow of the cliff to the water’s edge. Dark
fur hung down in thick ropes from their massive bodies nearly to the ground. White horns curled down their jaws, spiking
out from their faces nearly two hand’s length. The young bull commanded only three cows and two hornless calves.
“They are so beautiful.”
“They are.” Metann agreed. “And whichever one you bring down will be the most beautiful maraph to ever fall in all the
history of the Trekmir.”
“Mine will be no more beautiful then any other. You give me too much credit.”
“Right. And it means nothing to you that you will be the first Dhymic below the second tier to ever even participate.” She
laughed. “You amaze me.”
“What? Why?” Korska shielded her eyes from the sun to see her friend better.
“You’ve lived a very different life then most of us.” Metann shook her head. “You are fortunate to be beholden to the clan
of Dakaan-D. Tevma-L, he is lord and master of all his lands.” She spit on the ground. “Yes, you have lived a different life
indeed.”
“Korska!” A high, feminine voice caused both young women to turn, back towards the outskirts of town. The woman
approaching was tall and slender with long, pale hair and a dress that cost more than all the clothes Korska and Metann
owned combined.
“I should go.”
“Why? It’s just Dia.”
“Just Dia to you maybe. To the rest of us, lower-thans, she is Mistress Dialorra-D.” Metann smiled. “I wish I could make
you understand. Good luck if I don’t see you before the ceremony.”
“Thanks.” Korska watched as Metann bowed reverently to Dia then ran towards Tevma-L’s estate. “Did you need me?”
Dia reached the cliff, pink from her exertion. “I thought you might be up here and I wanted to talk.”
Korska stared at her. “Did something happen?”
“No. Nothing like that.” She grabbed Korska’s arm and held it tight. “We’ve been friends forever, right?”
“Ever since we were tiny.” Korska laughed for a moment, before she saw the look in Dia’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“This is going to be just as hard for me to say as it will be for you to hear.” Dia took a deep breath, drawing out the
silence between them. “I need you to think about passing up the Trekmir. Tell them you can’t do it.”
Korska yanked her arm free. “Are you honestly asking me to turn down the chance to be in it?”
“Isn’t it enough you were the first third tier student to place in the honor circle at Giotku? Can’t that be enough? You have
to understand, I’m trying to protect you. I don’t want to see you get hurt.” Dia’s dark eyes pleaded, begged her to do as
she asked.
“I can’t just give this up.” She lifted two fingers to her temple, to the branded tier-mark there. “If I do, I’ll let them down.
All the other Dhymics like me. If I let this slip through my fingers, I’ll never get another chance. And neither will they.”
“You don’t understand! I’ve heard them talking, the Echelon men. There are a lot of Dhymics who aren’t happy with the
Council’s decision.”
“That’s their problem, not mine. The decision was made and I’m not turning it down.” Korska started walking back
towards Dakaan-D’s estate, her home. Dia fell in step beside her. “Is there more?”
“Nothing I say is going to get through to you.” Dia pursed her lips and remained quiet as they walked the dusty road.
They hadn’t gotten far when a small group of third tier women with young children approached them. The older ones
bowed deeply to Dia, the younger ones tried to mimic their mothers. Except for one girl. She was small with dark skin and
hair and black eyes that glistened in the sunlight. “Are you her?” She asked Korska, approaching despite her mother’s loud
hiss of reproach.
“Her?”
“The girl who’s going to fly for us all?”
“Oh. Yes. I am.” Korska bent down, nearer the girl’s level. “My name is Korska. What’s yours?”
“Hesha.” The girl grinned brightly.
“I am so sorry Mistress Dialorra-D.” The girl’s mother pulled her away, dragging her roughly over the path. “She meant
no disrespect.” The woman bowed so deeply Korska thought her forehead would touch the ground.
“It’s fine, really. Hesha is just a child. Right, Dia?” Korska looked to her friend but found no support. Instead, she saw a
person she did not recognize, a cold woman who showed no sign she’d even heard Hesha’s mother at all. “Go on. It’s
fine.”
The women left as quickly as they could, Hesha trailing at her mother’s side waving frantically, Korska turned to Dia.
“What was that about? Couldn’t you at least have acknowledged her?”
“That wouldn’t be proper.”
“Since when do you care about proper?” Korska felt a heaviness settle onto her shoulders.
“I’m not getting any younger, Korska. I have a future to plan. A mate to find. I must start playing by the rules of Dhymia.
I have to grow up. You should too.” Dia stammered a good-bye and ran in the direction of her father’s sprawling house,
leaving Korska alone on the path.
Stunned, Korska continued down the path to her small home on the edge of Dakaan-D’s estate where she and her parents
lived. Her mother ruled the kitchen and her father ran the other third and fourth tier Dhymics of Dakaan-D’s clan-lands.
They were servants. There was no way around that. Dia was right about one thing. It was time to grow up.
Korska shook her head sadly and walked past her home to her small work shed. Once sheltered in its comforting depths,
she wallowed in the metal and oil smell. Her shed was the only place that had ever been wholly hers. Dia’s father, Dakaan,
had given her the space as a gift when she had been accepted into the Giotku, the Dhymic School of Machinery. Korska
had cherished it, dusting the floor with wood pulp and shavings to soak up the thick oils, polishing every finished
mechanism to a high gleam. She took great pride in her work.
Even knowing she would never make the highest honors in Giotku, she applied every year with a new machine, a new
invention. She struggled to be better than the other students because she had to. One mistake and she would prove the nay-
sayers right. One mistake and she would become the shining example of why the lower tiers were lower. So she worked
hard and kept succeeding, exceeding the expectations, outshining the upper tier students. The Council had finally
acknowledged her by not passing her over for the Trekmir.
Korska ran a finger lovingly over the tip of a wing on her latest machine. The collapsible glider for the Trekmir was her
pride and joy. She had started it long before they ever announced the honorees. There had always been a small part of her
that held out hope she could bend the rules to suit herself. Arrogant on her part but she knew she deserved it. She told
herself that if she hadn’t been on the list, she would have offered the machine to the Council but she knew better. Korska
pressed a small button and watched as the wings slowly folded themselves into the pack, the metal frame collapsing the
thin kwalta skin.
The glider wasn’t much different from the ones the others would be using, her wiring was slightly more complex and it
was marginally heavier. She had added two loops of kwalta skin to the end of the wings to provide better control. A tail
piece controlled by large keys on the straps of the pack provided better directional capability.
Korska slung the closed glider over her shoulders, ashamed of her sudden distrust. With Dia acting as she was, she
couldn't take any chances.
The pungent smell of roast kwalta assaulted her senses the moment she entered her home. The meat of the small desert
dweller was good enough but Korska was growing tired of it. They’d had little else since she had killed enough of them
for the wings. She hoped she wouldn’t tire of maraph as quickly.
Certain there was no one else in the house, Korska went into her bedroom in the back and shrugged out of the pack. She
stood on the bed and pushed open a ceiling panel. The glider fit into the opening with little room to spare. She had just
repositioned the panel when someone knocked on the door.
She rushed, flinging open the door without checking to see who it was. Dakaan stood there, his face somber. “Good
afternoon.” She bowed. Glancing at her work clothes, she was horrified she hadn’t changed into something more
presentable. “Please, come in.” She ushered him into a tidy sitting room. “Can I get you something?”
“No.” He smiled strangely. “Did something happen between you and Dia?”
“Yes.” She stared at the floor. “She has asked me not to attend the Trekmir.”
“Really? And what did you say?”
“I told her no.” She waited for the rebuke.
“You told her no?” Korska flinched at his tone, reprimanding herself for being too stubborn, again. “Good for you.”
“What?” Shock drained the color from her face. “Aren’t you angry with me?”
“Of course not. I was when I came here but only because Dia told me you changed your mind. That you were afraid and
didn’t want to go through with it. She said I could rescind the invitation since I was the one instrumental in extending it.
To help you save face.”
“You were?” Her heart fell.
“No. You have impressed everyone who matters. I didn’t need to interfere.” He ran a finger lightly down her jaw, brushing
her dark hair out of her face. “I came here to find out the truth. I didn’t believe my daughter.” Korska felt her cheeks
heating. “Has she said anything to you about this sudden shift in loyalties?”
“She believes I will be in danger if I participate.” She wanted to say more, to tell him anything and everything if only to
keep him there, talking to her.
“I am glad you are willing to face it, to take that chance.” Dakaan placed his hands on her shoulders. “You have much to
do in this life, Korska. You will make your husband very proud. Were I younger or had I a son, I would petition your
parents myself.”
“Thank you.” She whispered, keeping her eyes on the floor, not wanting him to see the disappointment there. She should
have known better than to hope. Age was not all that separated them.
“Get your rest, Korska. I am looking forward to watching your success at the Trekmir.” He let himself out of the house,
leaving Korska in shock.
#
The next morning, Korska woke to a commotion outside her house. Vicious words were hurled loudly towards her, each
hitting their mark. Anger filled her, mixing with the strange relief that her parents had already left for Dakaan’s house.
She'd been waiting for it to begin, the protesting of the upper tiers. It wasn’t enough that the lower tiers served them, that
they were branded like livestock and traded like commodities.
She had been very lucky to be born into a family that served the estate of a kind man. Dakaan did not gather young
women for his harem-house. He did not have his lowers beaten or shackled. Too many young women of her age and
position certainly could not say the same, already having their wombs stripped and removed to better please their masters.
As she listened to the protesters outside her window, Korska reeled in shock to hear voices answering back. Other lowers,
like her, were there too. She peered out the window, trying to remain unseen. Outside her house there was a line of men
and women between her home and the protesters. Men and women who were risking everything they had, everything they
knew, to protect her.
One man, larger than most his companions with sun-darkened skin and a build that suggested to Korska he was one of the
Ebjerons. A man who was essentially a beast of sport. Trained and fed by his master to fight other Ebjerons to the death
for a profit. That he was standing in front of her door likely meant his master was dead. Or at least his trainer.
The blaring concussion of an explosion jarred her from her thoughts. Korska ran to the tiny window in her bedroom and
stared. Her beautiful work shed belched out thick, oily smoke. High blue flames, fed by the chemicals, licked the roof and
reached for the sky.
A violent stone had been cast. There would be more to come soon. Korska rushed to get her glider down from its hiding
place in her ceiling and threw some of her clothes in a bag.
She didn’t trust the crowd outside enough to wait them out until dark to run for Dakaan’s house. They would kill the men
and women at her doorstep and burn her out.
The back door of her home broke apart, the jamb splintering as it was kicked in. Korska froze, paralyzed by panic. There
was no relief in seeing Dakaan’s familiar face; her blood was pulsing loud in her ears as the adrenaline filled her. “Come
on! We’ve got to get you out of here.” He grabbed her bag and her glider, slinging them over his massive shoulder as he
lifted her in his arms. As he mounted the jittery dromin, a curly-furred beast of travel, Korska pressed closer to him,
relishing even the slightest bit of solace amidst the horrifying crackle and hiss of the fire and the caterwauling of the
demonstrators.
She clung to him in silence as they rode hard over his estate-lands to his home. Tears poured down her face when she
peered over his shoulder towards the only home she’d ever known. Flames danced in wicked jubilation against the midday
sky, mocking her progress as a Dhymic. It didn’t matter. No matter what she did, how good she was, she would never be
anything more then a token lower. She’d never be anything more then a pretend step in the direction of progress.
Everything she’d worked so hard for was a lie. Korska pressed her face into Dakaan’s shoulder and sobbed.
“We’ll rebuild the house, Korska.” He rubbed her back gently. “There’s no use crying over it.”
“I’m not crying over the house or anything in it.” She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and refused to say anything more.
Dakaan helped her down and led her into the house. “I think you should get some rest. The next few days are likely to be
more of the same.”
“I hope not.” She shook her head and held out her hand for her glider. “I think I’ll keep that with me.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“It isn’t you I don’t trust.” Sadness permeated her voice. Dakaan eased the glider onto her shoulders. “Thank you. For
everything.”
“There is no need.”
“But there is.” She smiled as best she could. “Were I a part of any other first tier estate, I would be living in a harem-
house somewhere and not learning the inner workings of mechanics.”
“Unfortunately, that is probably so.” His voice revealed more than Korska could understand. “It shames me to know my
own peers can be so cruel and not see the truth for what it is.”
“Good night, Dakaan.” She turned away from him, unwilling to let him see the adoration in her eyes.
Korska found her mother waiting in the foyer and followed her to a small bedroom on the second floor of the large house.
She tried her best to sleep, tossing and turning in the unfamiliar bed. When she’d come to terms with the futility of it,
Korska got up and dressed. If she couldn’t sleep, perhaps she could find something to read.
As she wandered the house, looking for the library she knew was there, she realized with some surprise she was not the
only one awake. Voices carried well in the middle of the night.
“You are going to ruin everything!” Dia was shouting at her father.
“Ruin everything? Just what do you think Korska’s success will ruin?” While much calmer and lower, Dakaan’s voice
carried better then did Dia’s. “She deserves to be treated with the respect she has earned.”
“She is a third tier. Her parents are your servants! If you want to bed her, attach her to a harem-house and do what you
want.”
The sound of flesh on flesh made Korska cringe, pressing into the shadows in shame. “Don’t you ever speak that way
again! You have no right.”
“What part do you not understand, Father? We are first tier, she is third. There is protocol to be followed. Proper
manners. Etiquette.”
“And all of it is false. You think you’re better than anyone because you are branded with a different iron at birth? Because
that’s all that divides us.”
“Heritage divides us.” Dia was crying, her voice hiccuping between sobs. “Mother would hate you for this.”
“Your mother died when you were too little to know the difference! This was a cause we shared, her and I. You never
knew her so don’t you dare tell me what she would or wouldn’t think today.” A tear slipped down Korska’s face.
“The Echelon will never allow this travesty to happen. Do you understand that? They will kill her. What then of your
cause?”
“I refuse to believe I raised such a girl as you. The cause does not live or die on the shoulders of one; but is the burden of
us all.” Dakaan said, his voice angry in a way Korska had never heard him before.
Ashamed to have caused such a rift, Korska slunk back to the room Dakaan had so graciously offered. She had never
meant for anyone to get hurt. Sleep crept towards her on silent, predatory paws, claiming her at last as visions of fires and
riots and death filled her head.
#
The night before the Trekmir arrived without fanfare. She did not attend the ceremonial bonfire and feast, afraid for her
safety. Korska could not sleep. The pressure on her was a burden, one she’d carried for many years but never noticed.
Messages had been coming since the fires, other lowers who saw her as a shining star, hope for a better life for their
children. All of Dhymia was watching her, taking sides. It had been building up since Dakaan first made it possible for her
to go to Giotku and she’d been young enough, naive enough not to see it.
Fear and shame filled her. She wasn’t worthy of the adoration of anyone, let alone scores of lowers. Her life had been an
easy one, her doors opened by one kind man. Suddenly, people were depending on her. As if she was something more
than she was.
In her mind, she walked through every step of the ceremony. The march to the cliffs, the blessing from the Council, the
placement of the ashes on her skin, leaping from the edge into the sky, opening the glider and trying to land on the largest
bull. Korska drilled it into her subconscious, over and over, exactly how to maneuver the glider, how to grip the beast’s
head and steer it. How to draw the kliptek, the ceremonial blade, across its throat and kill it.
When the sun reached its first rays above the horizon, Korska dressed in the ceremonial garb sewn by her mother’s
practiced hand. Soft maraph-hide pants, snug so as not to be adverse to her aerodynamics. A shirt of finely woven threads
dyed black with the berries of the sacred shutuy bush. The same uniform of every Trekmir.
Dakaan, her mother and father, and several unfamiliar men were waiting for her in the large kitchen. “Did you get any
sleep at all?” Her mother asked as she kissed her cheek.
“No. I couldn’t.”
“I don’t think anyone slept last night.” Dakaan nodded. “I’d like you to meet some friends of mine, Korska.” He motioned
to the men. They all bore the mark of the fourth tier and the build of Ebjerons. “This is Gediel, Urichi, and Kitall.”
“You have Ebjerons?” Korska eyed Dakaan warily.
“No.” Dakaan laughed. “I meant what I said. These are my friends.”
“We have come to walk with you.” The one called Kitall stepped towards her. “The protests have raged all night. It is not
safe for you to make the journey to the cliff on your own.”
“If you think they will kill me, what makes you think they won’t kill you?”
Kitall laughed. “We have spent all night freeing all of the Ebjerons. There is not a Dhymic Warrior who will take us all on.”
“How many of you are there?” Her eyes grew wide, disbelief and wonder filling her.
“Enough to protect you. This is a line that must be crossed. The uppers killed fifteen innocent people yesterday as
retribution for the beating of one. It will never stop.”
“Thank you.” She whispered in awe. She understood at last—she was nothing more than a figurehead. The real work was
being done by people like Dakaan in secret. He helped put her in a position to be the catalyst. This was not about her at all.
“I am forever honored by your actions and your intent.” She bowed to them each in turn.
“Why are you bowing?” Kitall shook his head. “You bow to no one.”
“I disagree. I bow to those who so selflessly give of themselves.” She smiled at him, warmth flooding her as she saw the
color rise in his cheeks.
“We should be going. It is going to be a long journey.” Dakaan cleared his throat. “Keep a sharp watch on her.”
The Ebjerons nodded and opened the door for her. Korska stepped out into a throng of large men who encircled her. For a
moment, she felt like a queen, a warrior headed for battle.
The first sight of the path to the cliff nearly stopped her. So many people had come to protest. Her protectors circled her,
holding back the bold demonstrators who tried to rush them. Men and women, children just learning to talk called her
horrible things from either side of the path. They threw stones and rotten food with their words, cheering as anything
struck the Ebjerons, screaming as a rotten bit of meat struck Korska.
She glared at them defiantly, her resolve strengthening even as tears flowed over her cheeks. Figurehead she might be but
it was still personal, it was still her life’s work at stake. Her hands trembled, fear and anger twining through her.
“Who are you that you think you can take generations of traditions and destroy them?” One man’s voice rang out over all
the others.
She was more than halfway to the cliffs, she knew she should keep moving, but Korska stopped. The voice was not
familiar but the sentiment was. Korska laughed loudly, scornfully, from within her circle of warriors. “Why is it enough
that you are born to a father who is first tier? Who decided who was going to be better than everyone else?” Korska
screamed to be heard over the noise around her.
“And are you better than the upper tiers?” Venom dripped from his words as he shouted.
“No. I don’t pretend to be better than anyone but I am not beneath them either.” She turned away from him then and
continued her journey, desperate just to reach the cliffs in one piece. It took a great deal of effort, almost more than she
had, to block out the resumed curses, to ignore the sting of stones, as she finished her march but she held her head high,
refusing to be shamed by those around her.
She was the last to arrive at the cliffs. Dakaan stood waiting for her, smiling as she took her place at the end of the line.
She tried to smile back but found she couldn’t. She felt as if she’d been torn apart and put back together wrong.
The Head of the Council, Ishtic, had begun the blessing rights, traveling down the line, to each young man and woman,
marking them with the ashes of the ceremonial fires. When he reached her, Korska saw the look in his eyes, the
disapproval and resentment.
“Step back, Korska of the Dakaan-D estate-lands.” He did nothing to hide his satisfaction. “In the interest of keeping our
ceremony peaceful, you will step back.” The protesters had given him exactly what he wanted, the chance to undo the
mistake made by the majority of the Council Elders. As Head, it was his right to revoke it without discussion.
“You aren’t going to allow me to participate?” She stared at him in disbelief.
“Of course not.” He turned his back on her and walked away.
Korska did not step back. She listened as the others shouted in triumph and leapt from the cliff. Her eyes searched the
crowds, coming to rest on the face of a young girl. Perhaps the very one who had so wronged Dia a few days earlier. The
girl’s eyes were filled with tears, disappointment. Korska could see the hope dying.
Korska stepped to the edge of the cliff, seeing the wings of several gliders spreading open. Her eyes met Dakaan’s. There
was fury in his eyes that matched her own, fueled her own. She would not allow her dreams, the dreams of every other
low tiered girl, to end when she was so close. She would not accept the decision. The Trekmir was as much hers as it
was the other members of the ceremony. Korska took a deep breath and dove off the cliff in silence.
Korska kept an eye on the warriors beneath her as she plummeted through the air. Head first; she broke through the pack,
dropping under the others before turning herself horizontal. Time sped by and she prayed she hadn’t underestimated her
drop speed. As the metal and skin wings slid out, she whispered her thanks and jerked viscously upward as the draft
caught, cradling her in the air much closer to the ground than she had anticipated.
There wasn’t time to inspect the herd for the largest bull but she spotted a bull standing close enough to take. Any bull
would do. She took hold of the loops, pulling side to side as she aligned herself with his back. With the wings and the tail
stabilized, Korska held the glider straight over the unsuspecting creature, landing on his back. The beast reared up,
bellowing, shaking violently to dislodge her. Korska clamped her legs tight on his shoulders, digging one hand deep into the
thick fur. With her free hand, she drew the Kliptek and held it against the beast’s throat. One swift pull and the blade
ripped through skin and muscle, severing the arteries.
The blessed members of the Trekmir dropped around her on the backs of stampeding maraphs, going through the same
motions, riding the dying beasts until they bled out and fell dead in the grass. Around them, fleeing maraphs kicked up dirt
and clumps of grass. They were trampling each other to get away from the sudden smell of death.
When the dust settled sixteen of the nineteen blessed men and women had taken a maraph of their own. Korska shrugged
out of the glider and stood over her kill, waiting for her punishment. She had disobeyed, gone against everything she
knew. Whatever was to come, she was ready for it. Trembling beneath the weight of her fear, she waited for the Council
to reach the valley, watching as they floated serenely down on gliders.
She tried to feel the pride that should have been hers but fear would not allow it to rise. She watched the Council land,
heard them congratulating the others and waited. The sudden lash of a branch over her back was not unexpected. She’d
have far worse before it was done. It took everything in her to stand and face them, but Korska dug deep within herself
and unlocked the anger. The anger could keep her standing.
The Council Elder who had denied her blessing swung the branch and slammed her stomach. Korska doubled over, falling
to her knees, heaving in the dirt. Again, she struggled to stand. “You disobeyed the Council.” She said nothing, made no
sound as she was struck again. And again. Others of the Council had circled around them, saying nothing to stop him but
doing nothing to help him.
“Enough! Ishtic that is enough!” Dakaan’s panicked voice rang out over Ishtic’s cursing as he finally neared the ground.
“You’re going to kill her!”
“She should never have been allowed to come so close to the line.” He hit Korska again. Only the slight movement of her
hands, clenching and releasing gave any sign of life. Dakaan rushed to the center of the circle and ripped the branch from
Ishtic’s hands. “What are you doing, Dakaan?”
“Stopping you. She can’t take any more.” Dakaan moved towards Korska only to find himself pinned to the ground by
other members of the Council. Men he had known his entire life. He could do nothing but watch as Ishtic resumed his
attack on the now unconscious Korska.
From the cliffs, the protesters had fallen silent, shocked by the violence below. The sudden silence, punctuated by the
sound of wood on flesh and breaking bones, gave Dakaan a small advantage as he wrestled away from the men holding
him down. He rushed back to Korska, knocking Ishtic to the ground.
Her face was unrecognizable. Covered in blood and bruises, swollen eyes and lips, nothing was left of the beautiful girl
he'd known. Gently but frantically, Dakaan searched for a pulse. There was none. Her chest was still, no breath could fill
her crushed lungs. His eyes blurred as he pulled her broken body to him.
A sorrowful howl erupted from deep within him and was echoed from the top of the cliff, too many voices to identify. In
the way of their ancestors, Korska’s death was announced to the world.
When the air was once again silent, Dakaan stood with Korska still in his arms, towering over Ishtic. “I will see you stand
trial for her murder.”
“There was no murder.” Ishtic spat. “She committed the crime, not I. Go ahead and make your claim with the Council.
You know as well as I do that nothing will come of it.”
“Not this time, Ishtic. Korska will have justice if I have to claim it myself.” With Korska’s body still in his arms, Dakaan
traveled along the path back towards the city. He did not shield her face from those he passed and barely resisted
commanding them to look, to see what they, in their ignorance, had done.
He wasn’t sure when it began but between the grasslands and the outskirts of the city, a procession had fallen in behind
him, many low tiered people who left their positions to honor their star even under the weight of the grave punishment
they would receive for it. They remained silent, respectful of the monumental occasion. Dakaan refused to look into the
eyes of those he passed, even those he’d known his whole life. He did not want to know what lived behind their eyes.
The Council Hall came into view at the end of the main road through the city, the Dhymic capital of Frenochi. What had
happened at the Trekmir was disgraceful to all of Dhymia, to all of Asher.
The residents of Frenochi that had not attended the Trekmir were coming out of their homes, their businesses to see what
the unannounced parade was for. There were new howls of mourning as the low tiers grasped the truth. Korska, their
pride, had been murdered.
Dakaan continued in silence toward the hall.
Once he had climbed to the top of the stairs, he turned to face those who’d walked with him. “Something horrible,
indefensible, has occurred today. An innocent young woman was murdered. Korska. All she ever wanted was to be seen
for what she was, a bright girl and a brilliant machinist.
“Those people who protested this morning ought to be ashamed of themselves. She was Dhymic as much as they were.
Perhaps more so. Perhaps Korska is more worthy of the name Warrior than any of us. They told her she was not blessed,
that she could not participate in the Trekmir, something they have promised her for a long time. Korska chose to fight and
to take what was rightfully hers and she was murdered for it.”
Dakaan laid Korska’s body gently at the top of the stairs. “Come. Look for yourself at what was done to this girl and tell
me it was not murder!”
Dakaan saw the crowd that had followed him, congregated in the street. They were stepping aside, allowing a few people
to pass. It took him a few moments to realize that Dia was leading Korska’s parents through the throng of people. He
rushed down the steps to meet them. “Please, Javic, Visha, Dia, leave her in your memories as she was. Please. You do
not need to see what was done.”
“Sir,” Visha laid her hand on his arm, “I appreciate what you did today, what you are doing, but she is my daughter. I
must see her now, the way she is now. The whole world must see her now and know what was done to her. All of Asher
must know.” Tears poured down her face, her breath coming in sharp, hitched waves.
“Tell me what you want me to do.” Dakaan fell to his knees before Korska’s parents, his servants.
Visha laid her hand on Dakaan’s shoulder. “You have already done more than any other has ever done—perhaps would
ever have done.” She turned from him and walked shakily up the steps, clinging to her mate’s arm for support.
Dakaan could do nothing but watch as Javic and Visha knelt beside their daughter and howled. The sound echoed through
the city as others joined in, so many. Dakaan wondered if perhaps the Queen could hear the howl from her throne in
Kaihahn.
His gaze raked the center of Frenochi searching for a flame. He did not see one anywhere in the open but Dakaan did find
a small bakery. What he needed could be found in their ovens. At a quick pace, he went straight for the ovens and, using
an ember-shovel and a thick clay pot, gathered up some glowing coals. He hefted the pot up onto his shoulder and
returned to the steps of the Council Hall.
“These marks that separate us,” he pointed to his own First Tier mark on his temple, “have never done us any good!”
Dakaan unsheathed his kliptek and held it in the coals until it was searing hot, glowing. “We, as Dhymics, are one people
not four.” He lifted the kliptek high in the air and with no hesitation, laid the flat of the blade against the mark. A muffled
cry of pain escaped him, the scent of burned flesh filling his nose and turning his stomach as it danced with death’s thick,
cloying smell.
In his heart, silent, he vowed to make certain Ishtic paid for his crime. That all Dhymics paid for their part in it. As he
made his vows, others stepped forward to the clay pot and branded themselves over their marks.
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