Refugee Barrens - Chapter 1
For those you waiting on your ficlettes, let me say: they are coming. Today, however, the beast which is my own story - Refugee Barrens - wanted out, and I didn't deny it. It's been quite some time since its debut here, so this is the link to the story's prologue, if you need a refresher:
http://blythechild.livejournal.com/215437.html
Without further yammering, here is Chapter 1.
Even to a soldier, life had moments of unexpected and startling beauty. Rai was finding that this morning - dazzling and crystalline - was shaping into one of those moments. She awoke early. It was good form for the commander to rise before the bulk of her troops, but certainly not before the cook had boiled some water for a bracing cup of tea. Truth be told, Rai loved sleeping and one of the few things that she regretted about her choices in this life were the sacrifices that she made to her sleeping habits. Gone were the days of her youth spent languorously in feather beds sleeping until the sun was high in the sky and the maids had practically wrenched her from her bedclothes. Now, it was always encampments amongst smelly, noisy soldiers or sleeping rough under the canopy of night, or, occasionally, at an inn along a trading road. Maybe, if she lived long enough, she would again know the bliss of sinking into a soft bed each night with four sturdy walls to keep the weather and the animals at bay. If she lived to be ‘old’; she did not know many ‘old’ soldiers…
Shaking idle contemplation from her mind, she cupped her mug of tea in both hands taking in the brilliance of the morning. The sun rose triumphantly in a cloudless sky, which spoke both to the cool night just past and the stunning day to come. Rai rolled her neck and shoulders slowly, loosening the night’s tightness from them. Once packed up, the army could cover quite a lot of ground on a clear, calm day like this, even carrying the wounded and toting the heavy armaments and new supplies that they had obtained on their passage south. It had been two years since she had been home - two years of warring. She was eager to get back and finally put the vulgarities of the heathen lands behind her. Even if where they were headed was not, technically, her motherland, it felt like a long-lost place that her heart pined to see again. A place of refuge and peace - she craved stillness and the opportunity to ground herself once more: there was no room for meditation during a time of war. Sometimes, she was overcome by her desire for peace, at any cost. It was not a sentiment that befitted her station, and she hid it from all others afraid that the men she commanded would chalk it up to her femininity and dismiss her as they would any other woman. She had worked too hard to allow that to happen. Winning over the loyalty of these backward, under-skilled men had been the ultimate challenge, and she had transformed them into a fierce, unified, disciplined force that was feared across continents. The Prasham had foreseen her success even as she backed away from the challenge that now defined her not only as a woman but also as a warrior. Rai lifted her face towards the sun and sent out a wordless prayer to him: he knew more than she could ever guess - perhaps he was the earthly incarnation of God after all.
“Commander!” The voice cracked her shroud of contentment.
She turned and saw the emaciated figure of the boy known only as Pang, by the troops. They had picked him up crossing the Mediterranean, and for reasons that still remained foggy to her, he had decided to travel with them, despite being an outsider and a sickly child unsuited to rough labor. His lanky brown hair fell into his wane face as he bent over double, hands on his knees trying to catch his breath.
“Steady there, boy. Breakfast’s not gone yet…”
A small smile creased her lips that she hid behind her teacup. She liked Pang. He was an outsider, like her, the only difference between them was the respect that she earned from her men. Pang was just a child - it would take him years to be accepted as she had been. But he was on the right road: he had accepted their new name for him; he was learning their language and the ways of their faith. In time he would have friends, find love, and perhaps, achieve a level of influence among them that evolved into respect. Perhaps. The people of the east where suspicious and insular to the extreme, cutting themselves off from the rest of the world and defending that privacy with ruthless efficiency. It had been a minor miracle that the Prasham’s army had chosen to accept the lead of a foreign commander, let alone that the Prasham should have sought her out for the task in the first place.
Rai walked over to Pang, still breathing as if demons chased him, and raised his grubby chin in her hand.
“Is this desperation for a strip of jerky with your morning meal or do you have something to say?” Her tone was imperious but her green eyes shone down on him softly.
“Ma’am!” Pang saluted ridiculously. “The Prasham! He is HERE!”
“Here? Are you certain?”
“His cortege is 2 miles from the encampment, by the river. He sent a runner - he wishes to see you as soon as you are able.”
A thrill ran through Rai. She had a genuine love for the Prasham, as a daughter reveres a father. Add to those feelings his exalted position amongst his people and his ability to glimpse into the future, and it was hard not to fall under his thrall. But he wore it all so lightly: an earthbound deity, who was ticklish, liked red plums and whose face crinkled around the eyes when he laughed. Rai felt a warmth radiate out of her whenever she was in his company. So, her respect was borne out of legitimate affection instead of the distant reverence and awe that he inspired in others. She poured the rest of her tea onto the ground and returned her cup to the nearby fire. With a quick word to the cook and a nod towards Pang, she started for the river with as much haste as was seemly feeling good that her day was beginning with a visit from a beloved friend and an act of kindness towards another outsider. She hoped that Pang would enjoy his extra ration of jerky…
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When Rai arrived at the river, she headed towards the Prasham’s canopied tent on the far side of the cooking fire. The camp was small: 2 wagons with supplies, a smattering of tents and half a dozen armed guards with speedy mounts hobbled nearby. The guards nodded their obedience to her as she passed them but they neither addressed her nor rose to their feet. They respected her because the Prasham did but their purview was outside of her command and to them she was still just a suspicious outsider. Rai shrugged off the tacit insult. They had their job to do and she had hers, and they both accomplished their tasks well - if nothing else there was mutual respect for that. What did it matter if they personally distained her so long as they honored her leadership?
As she reached the front flap of the Prasham’s tent she heard splashing and laughing beyond the shelter, and continued past it to the river. The Prasham stood in the middle of the river, his long robe swirling about his thin legs in the eddies of the moving water, talking to a squirming fish that he held aloft in the bright morning sun. The fish alternately thrashed and stilled in the old man’s gnarled and leathery hands as the sunlight flashed across its slick scales. Flashes of pink and silver and deep, emerald green flared from under those tenacious fingers until at last, with an explosion of amused laughter, the Prasham lowered the fish back into the river’s flow and slid his fingers free watching the fish swim with the current downstream. He laughed again, his whole withered body shaking with it and his face multiplying its considerable wrinkles with new ones of merriment before he slapped his hand against his thigh and then turned to face Rai.
“Ha- ha! Stupid fish…” he chuckled in a wheezy way.
“Prasham, I am honored by your presence once again.” Rai made her obedience as was formally required and tried to hide the grin on her face at witnessing the earthbound incarnation of the divine wading around in a river arguing with fish in his pajamas. “Good fishing this morning?”
“Ah, such bounty!” The Prasham gestured around him and then ambled back towards the riverbank pulling his half-soaked robe above his knobby knees like an old woman. “But I was not fishing, my child. I was talking.”
Rai wanted to meet him halfway and help him back to the river’s edge. He was easily 80 years old and appeared tiny and breakable from where he was, but she held her ground. He was wily and though he seemed to be nothing more than a hollowed out tree stump, he had the strength of the most impressive oak about him; such were the benefits of the faith that he housed within him. Still, Rai held her breath as he hopped, sure-footed, from stone to stone in bare feet until he reached her side in safety. He breathed a huge sigh and smiled as he grasped her hands in his. His eyes nearly disappeared into the tanned folds of his face as his grin grew bigger.
“Rai, my dear, you are a never ending bloom. Your radiance grows with every day that passes!”
“It is so good to see you again, Prasham. I have missed your company and your counsel.” She smiled and added as she blushed. “And your unadulterated flattery.”
The Prasham cackled again and kissed her lightly on both cheeks.
“I am old but my eyes work just fine. You have always been a lovely woman to look upon.”
Rai took his arm as they walked towards the Prasham’s tent, the wet ends of his robe making odd slapping sounds against his thin calves.
“What were you talking about? With the fish in the river…” she asked.
“Oh. I caught him and told him that I would let him go so that he would have a better knowledge of the world around him - to protect himself and his kind, you see. We should never loose sight that we are but parts of a greater whole, and he very nearly became someone’s breakfast this morning.”
“And what did he say?”
The Prasham leaned his head back and barked out a loud laugh.
“He called me an arrogant ass and asked why I was molesting him when I should be tending to the cares of my own flock. Little does he know that all things in this world are members of my flock…” The Prasham turned in the direction of the departed fish. “Stupid fish! I’ll see you again in time, my slippery little friend!”
The Prasham turned and lifted the flap for Rai and she entered into the incensed gloom of its interior. The Prasham moved forward confidently, as if they were both in broad daylight, and quickly lit a collection of small lamps. Rai stood and waited for him to finish, breathing in the calming scents of jasmine and bergamot. She sniffed the air deeply once, once again, and then her instincts screamed at her. In the moment that it took to draw a third breath, Rai had unsheathed a straight dagger from her belt and dodged into the tent’s darkened far corner where her body slammed up against a firm, much larger one. The larger body uttered a startled groan before grabbing her by the shoulder and waist and forcing her onto her back. With quick slices, Rai attacked the unseen hands that held her, triumphed in the sharp hiss that they elicited and then forced her opponent onto his own back as she sat on his chest pinning his arms beneath her knees, her dagger at his throat.
“That’s enough, Commander.” The Prasham spoke softly but in a manner that brooked no refusal. “Sheath your weapon.”
“Who are you?! Who sent you?!” Rai shouted at her captive.
Two of the Prasham’s personal guard burst into the tent at her yell, but the Prasham eased them back with a small wave of his hand. As the tent flap opened, light fell across the assailant’s face and the two guards seemed to recognize him, dismiss him and then bowed their way out of the tent. Rai sheathed her dagger but laid her arm across the man’s windpipe to maintain her control: she still had no answers and was not going to cede any ground until she did. The man relaxed beneath her but his face held a stoniness that spoke to restrained violence and an ego that would only withstand this forced submission to a point. It was difficult to see him well in the near darkness but Rai had seen the brilliant flash of copper hair when the guards had entered. His light skin was visible in contrast to the darkness of hers against him, and his silhouette highlighted sharp angles and broad planes in his face and torso. His body felt powerful, but not overly muscled, and the way that he had defended himself indicated that his power came from fighting experience. And he was large - much larger than eastern men - not big, but tall. Given all of this, Rai guessed that he was a Northern man. What was the Prasham doing with a heathen Northerner in his tent?
“Who are you?” she whispered as she moved her face closer to his in menace.
“Rai…” The Prasham warned her.
“It will be difficult to give you want you want” The assailant gasped, “without breath, my lady.”
“Rai, enough. Release him.”
Rai stared at the man for a moment longer. Despite the fact that she was choking him, he remained calm beneath her; his eyes stared back at her without fear. With one swing of her body Rai rolled clear of him and onto her feet. She stood staring at her prey, legs shoulder-width apart, and her arms free should she decide that she did not like him once again.
“Talk.” She growled at the man.
“Firstly, is ‘Rai’ your family name or your given name?” the redhead wheezed as he sat upright.
Rai was completely taken aback: not only did he not answer her questions; he posed his own on a point of social interest. Who was this man?! Her reserve was wearing thin.
“Commander,” The Prasham spoke up perhaps sensing that the meeting was about to take an unfortunate turn. “This is Eamon. We met in the Mongol lands and he has been of great service to me ever since. His skills are wasted on serving one wizened old man such as myself, so I give him to you knowing that you will make good use of him.”
Rai’s head shot around and stared at the Prasham in utter disbelief. She quickly tried to recompose her features and marshal her sense of calm as she answered him.
“I am always grateful for new recruits, Your Holiness.”
An insulted snort came from Eamon’s general direction.
“You misunderstand me, Rai - Eamon is to become your First Lieutenant in my army. I would have you take him and install him in this position immediately.”
“I already have a First Lieutenant, Your Holiness.” She said after a long pause.
“Not like him, you don’t.”
Rai stared at the redhead who was rising to his feet in silence though his eyes never left hers. He rubbed his throat once and then let his hands drop to his sides mimicking her battle stance. Even in the dark she could see the blood from where she had sliced him.
“With respect, Your Holiness…”
“Am I mistaken,” The Prasham interrupted her. “Or am I not the supreme leader of my own army?”
“Yes, of course, Your Holiness.”
“Then, I order you to greet your new First Lieutenant, Commander Rai.”
Rai lowered her eyes to the floor and breathed out silently. When she rose to meet Eamon’s eyes she was fully in control of herself and had placed a mask of formality over her features. She strode forward and offered her hand.
“Welcome, Lieutenant. You will have plenty of work ahead of you: I run a tight outfit and I expect you to be able to keep up.”
Eamon walked towards her and gripped her hand firmly with his bloodied one.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Commander.”
As she moved to break the handshake, Eamon stepped in closer to her squeezing her hand tighter.
“So which is it? Given or family name?”
My, but he was persistent, Rai thought. Looking up at him she caught the glare of his stone cold eyes again. It was not just the stare that was stony, it was the colour too: deep, dark brown like the hue of freshly turned earth - bottomless and without reflection, as if they were caves that could swallow you whole. Almost without thinking she responded.
“Rai is the name of my father’s house. Kailyn is my given name, but you may call me Commander.”
“Of course, Commander.” He murmured while making his obedience. “I only asked because I understand that in some eastern cultures the family name comes before the given name, and I would not wish to give offense with my ignorance.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Rai said after a moment of reflection. “That is most considerate of you. And since we are discussing cultural differences, which one is ‘Eamon’?”
“Eamon is my only name, Commander.” Eamon bowed to her and then the Prasham. “I shall await you outside, ma’am.”
I'm trying to keep the chapter sizes reasonable in hopes of posting them more regularly *winks and crosses fingers*.
The Thylacines are so bloody stunned by the re-appearance of Refugee Barrens that they forgot all about their pirate campaign.
http://blythechild.livejournal.com/215437.html
Without further yammering, here is Chapter 1.
Even to a soldier, life had moments of unexpected and startling beauty. Rai was finding that this morning - dazzling and crystalline - was shaping into one of those moments. She awoke early. It was good form for the commander to rise before the bulk of her troops, but certainly not before the cook had boiled some water for a bracing cup of tea. Truth be told, Rai loved sleeping and one of the few things that she regretted about her choices in this life were the sacrifices that she made to her sleeping habits. Gone were the days of her youth spent languorously in feather beds sleeping until the sun was high in the sky and the maids had practically wrenched her from her bedclothes. Now, it was always encampments amongst smelly, noisy soldiers or sleeping rough under the canopy of night, or, occasionally, at an inn along a trading road. Maybe, if she lived long enough, she would again know the bliss of sinking into a soft bed each night with four sturdy walls to keep the weather and the animals at bay. If she lived to be ‘old’; she did not know many ‘old’ soldiers…
Shaking idle contemplation from her mind, she cupped her mug of tea in both hands taking in the brilliance of the morning. The sun rose triumphantly in a cloudless sky, which spoke both to the cool night just past and the stunning day to come. Rai rolled her neck and shoulders slowly, loosening the night’s tightness from them. Once packed up, the army could cover quite a lot of ground on a clear, calm day like this, even carrying the wounded and toting the heavy armaments and new supplies that they had obtained on their passage south. It had been two years since she had been home - two years of warring. She was eager to get back and finally put the vulgarities of the heathen lands behind her. Even if where they were headed was not, technically, her motherland, it felt like a long-lost place that her heart pined to see again. A place of refuge and peace - she craved stillness and the opportunity to ground herself once more: there was no room for meditation during a time of war. Sometimes, she was overcome by her desire for peace, at any cost. It was not a sentiment that befitted her station, and she hid it from all others afraid that the men she commanded would chalk it up to her femininity and dismiss her as they would any other woman. She had worked too hard to allow that to happen. Winning over the loyalty of these backward, under-skilled men had been the ultimate challenge, and she had transformed them into a fierce, unified, disciplined force that was feared across continents. The Prasham had foreseen her success even as she backed away from the challenge that now defined her not only as a woman but also as a warrior. Rai lifted her face towards the sun and sent out a wordless prayer to him: he knew more than she could ever guess - perhaps he was the earthly incarnation of God after all.
“Commander!” The voice cracked her shroud of contentment.
She turned and saw the emaciated figure of the boy known only as Pang, by the troops. They had picked him up crossing the Mediterranean, and for reasons that still remained foggy to her, he had decided to travel with them, despite being an outsider and a sickly child unsuited to rough labor. His lanky brown hair fell into his wane face as he bent over double, hands on his knees trying to catch his breath.
“Steady there, boy. Breakfast’s not gone yet…”
A small smile creased her lips that she hid behind her teacup. She liked Pang. He was an outsider, like her, the only difference between them was the respect that she earned from her men. Pang was just a child - it would take him years to be accepted as she had been. But he was on the right road: he had accepted their new name for him; he was learning their language and the ways of their faith. In time he would have friends, find love, and perhaps, achieve a level of influence among them that evolved into respect. Perhaps. The people of the east where suspicious and insular to the extreme, cutting themselves off from the rest of the world and defending that privacy with ruthless efficiency. It had been a minor miracle that the Prasham’s army had chosen to accept the lead of a foreign commander, let alone that the Prasham should have sought her out for the task in the first place.
Rai walked over to Pang, still breathing as if demons chased him, and raised his grubby chin in her hand.
“Is this desperation for a strip of jerky with your morning meal or do you have something to say?” Her tone was imperious but her green eyes shone down on him softly.
“Ma’am!” Pang saluted ridiculously. “The Prasham! He is HERE!”
“Here? Are you certain?”
“His cortege is 2 miles from the encampment, by the river. He sent a runner - he wishes to see you as soon as you are able.”
A thrill ran through Rai. She had a genuine love for the Prasham, as a daughter reveres a father. Add to those feelings his exalted position amongst his people and his ability to glimpse into the future, and it was hard not to fall under his thrall. But he wore it all so lightly: an earthbound deity, who was ticklish, liked red plums and whose face crinkled around the eyes when he laughed. Rai felt a warmth radiate out of her whenever she was in his company. So, her respect was borne out of legitimate affection instead of the distant reverence and awe that he inspired in others. She poured the rest of her tea onto the ground and returned her cup to the nearby fire. With a quick word to the cook and a nod towards Pang, she started for the river with as much haste as was seemly feeling good that her day was beginning with a visit from a beloved friend and an act of kindness towards another outsider. She hoped that Pang would enjoy his extra ration of jerky…
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When Rai arrived at the river, she headed towards the Prasham’s canopied tent on the far side of the cooking fire. The camp was small: 2 wagons with supplies, a smattering of tents and half a dozen armed guards with speedy mounts hobbled nearby. The guards nodded their obedience to her as she passed them but they neither addressed her nor rose to their feet. They respected her because the Prasham did but their purview was outside of her command and to them she was still just a suspicious outsider. Rai shrugged off the tacit insult. They had their job to do and she had hers, and they both accomplished their tasks well - if nothing else there was mutual respect for that. What did it matter if they personally distained her so long as they honored her leadership?
As she reached the front flap of the Prasham’s tent she heard splashing and laughing beyond the shelter, and continued past it to the river. The Prasham stood in the middle of the river, his long robe swirling about his thin legs in the eddies of the moving water, talking to a squirming fish that he held aloft in the bright morning sun. The fish alternately thrashed and stilled in the old man’s gnarled and leathery hands as the sunlight flashed across its slick scales. Flashes of pink and silver and deep, emerald green flared from under those tenacious fingers until at last, with an explosion of amused laughter, the Prasham lowered the fish back into the river’s flow and slid his fingers free watching the fish swim with the current downstream. He laughed again, his whole withered body shaking with it and his face multiplying its considerable wrinkles with new ones of merriment before he slapped his hand against his thigh and then turned to face Rai.
“Ha- ha! Stupid fish…” he chuckled in a wheezy way.
“Prasham, I am honored by your presence once again.” Rai made her obedience as was formally required and tried to hide the grin on her face at witnessing the earthbound incarnation of the divine wading around in a river arguing with fish in his pajamas. “Good fishing this morning?”
“Ah, such bounty!” The Prasham gestured around him and then ambled back towards the riverbank pulling his half-soaked robe above his knobby knees like an old woman. “But I was not fishing, my child. I was talking.”
Rai wanted to meet him halfway and help him back to the river’s edge. He was easily 80 years old and appeared tiny and breakable from where he was, but she held her ground. He was wily and though he seemed to be nothing more than a hollowed out tree stump, he had the strength of the most impressive oak about him; such were the benefits of the faith that he housed within him. Still, Rai held her breath as he hopped, sure-footed, from stone to stone in bare feet until he reached her side in safety. He breathed a huge sigh and smiled as he grasped her hands in his. His eyes nearly disappeared into the tanned folds of his face as his grin grew bigger.
“Rai, my dear, you are a never ending bloom. Your radiance grows with every day that passes!”
“It is so good to see you again, Prasham. I have missed your company and your counsel.” She smiled and added as she blushed. “And your unadulterated flattery.”
The Prasham cackled again and kissed her lightly on both cheeks.
“I am old but my eyes work just fine. You have always been a lovely woman to look upon.”
Rai took his arm as they walked towards the Prasham’s tent, the wet ends of his robe making odd slapping sounds against his thin calves.
“What were you talking about? With the fish in the river…” she asked.
“Oh. I caught him and told him that I would let him go so that he would have a better knowledge of the world around him - to protect himself and his kind, you see. We should never loose sight that we are but parts of a greater whole, and he very nearly became someone’s breakfast this morning.”
“And what did he say?”
The Prasham leaned his head back and barked out a loud laugh.
“He called me an arrogant ass and asked why I was molesting him when I should be tending to the cares of my own flock. Little does he know that all things in this world are members of my flock…” The Prasham turned in the direction of the departed fish. “Stupid fish! I’ll see you again in time, my slippery little friend!”
The Prasham turned and lifted the flap for Rai and she entered into the incensed gloom of its interior. The Prasham moved forward confidently, as if they were both in broad daylight, and quickly lit a collection of small lamps. Rai stood and waited for him to finish, breathing in the calming scents of jasmine and bergamot. She sniffed the air deeply once, once again, and then her instincts screamed at her. In the moment that it took to draw a third breath, Rai had unsheathed a straight dagger from her belt and dodged into the tent’s darkened far corner where her body slammed up against a firm, much larger one. The larger body uttered a startled groan before grabbing her by the shoulder and waist and forcing her onto her back. With quick slices, Rai attacked the unseen hands that held her, triumphed in the sharp hiss that they elicited and then forced her opponent onto his own back as she sat on his chest pinning his arms beneath her knees, her dagger at his throat.
“That’s enough, Commander.” The Prasham spoke softly but in a manner that brooked no refusal. “Sheath your weapon.”
“Who are you?! Who sent you?!” Rai shouted at her captive.
Two of the Prasham’s personal guard burst into the tent at her yell, but the Prasham eased them back with a small wave of his hand. As the tent flap opened, light fell across the assailant’s face and the two guards seemed to recognize him, dismiss him and then bowed their way out of the tent. Rai sheathed her dagger but laid her arm across the man’s windpipe to maintain her control: she still had no answers and was not going to cede any ground until she did. The man relaxed beneath her but his face held a stoniness that spoke to restrained violence and an ego that would only withstand this forced submission to a point. It was difficult to see him well in the near darkness but Rai had seen the brilliant flash of copper hair when the guards had entered. His light skin was visible in contrast to the darkness of hers against him, and his silhouette highlighted sharp angles and broad planes in his face and torso. His body felt powerful, but not overly muscled, and the way that he had defended himself indicated that his power came from fighting experience. And he was large - much larger than eastern men - not big, but tall. Given all of this, Rai guessed that he was a Northern man. What was the Prasham doing with a heathen Northerner in his tent?
“Who are you?” she whispered as she moved her face closer to his in menace.
“Rai…” The Prasham warned her.
“It will be difficult to give you want you want” The assailant gasped, “without breath, my lady.”
“Rai, enough. Release him.”
Rai stared at the man for a moment longer. Despite the fact that she was choking him, he remained calm beneath her; his eyes stared back at her without fear. With one swing of her body Rai rolled clear of him and onto her feet. She stood staring at her prey, legs shoulder-width apart, and her arms free should she decide that she did not like him once again.
“Talk.” She growled at the man.
“Firstly, is ‘Rai’ your family name or your given name?” the redhead wheezed as he sat upright.
Rai was completely taken aback: not only did he not answer her questions; he posed his own on a point of social interest. Who was this man?! Her reserve was wearing thin.
“Commander,” The Prasham spoke up perhaps sensing that the meeting was about to take an unfortunate turn. “This is Eamon. We met in the Mongol lands and he has been of great service to me ever since. His skills are wasted on serving one wizened old man such as myself, so I give him to you knowing that you will make good use of him.”
Rai’s head shot around and stared at the Prasham in utter disbelief. She quickly tried to recompose her features and marshal her sense of calm as she answered him.
“I am always grateful for new recruits, Your Holiness.”
An insulted snort came from Eamon’s general direction.
“You misunderstand me, Rai - Eamon is to become your First Lieutenant in my army. I would have you take him and install him in this position immediately.”
“I already have a First Lieutenant, Your Holiness.” She said after a long pause.
“Not like him, you don’t.”
Rai stared at the redhead who was rising to his feet in silence though his eyes never left hers. He rubbed his throat once and then let his hands drop to his sides mimicking her battle stance. Even in the dark she could see the blood from where she had sliced him.
“With respect, Your Holiness…”
“Am I mistaken,” The Prasham interrupted her. “Or am I not the supreme leader of my own army?”
“Yes, of course, Your Holiness.”
“Then, I order you to greet your new First Lieutenant, Commander Rai.”
Rai lowered her eyes to the floor and breathed out silently. When she rose to meet Eamon’s eyes she was fully in control of herself and had placed a mask of formality over her features. She strode forward and offered her hand.
“Welcome, Lieutenant. You will have plenty of work ahead of you: I run a tight outfit and I expect you to be able to keep up.”
Eamon walked towards her and gripped her hand firmly with his bloodied one.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Commander.”
As she moved to break the handshake, Eamon stepped in closer to her squeezing her hand tighter.
“So which is it? Given or family name?”
My, but he was persistent, Rai thought. Looking up at him she caught the glare of his stone cold eyes again. It was not just the stare that was stony, it was the colour too: deep, dark brown like the hue of freshly turned earth - bottomless and without reflection, as if they were caves that could swallow you whole. Almost without thinking she responded.
“Rai is the name of my father’s house. Kailyn is my given name, but you may call me Commander.”
“Of course, Commander.” He murmured while making his obedience. “I only asked because I understand that in some eastern cultures the family name comes before the given name, and I would not wish to give offense with my ignorance.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Rai said after a moment of reflection. “That is most considerate of you. And since we are discussing cultural differences, which one is ‘Eamon’?”
“Eamon is my only name, Commander.” Eamon bowed to her and then the Prasham. “I shall await you outside, ma’am.”
I'm trying to keep the chapter sizes reasonable in hopes of posting them more regularly *winks and crosses fingers*.
The Thylacines are so bloody stunned by the re-appearance of Refugee Barrens that they forgot all about their pirate campaign.