I Rachel
“Good morning Rachel. It’s 06:00 ship time. Your mother requests your
presence at breakfast in her gardens at 07:00.” Auriga’s voice is quiet
and implacable. I bury my head under my bedding, but her voice is
mental, so it doesn’t help at all. With a sigh, I sit up and rub my
eyes. “Good morning Auriga,” I mumble. “Did you not sleep well?” Auriga
inquires. “Not really. Too much to be excited about, and nervous.”
“Well, in that spirit, I would like to wish you a pleasant name day and
congratulate you on your blooming. How do you feel?” I snort. “Anxious,
nervous, excited.” Amusement touches her voice as she responds, “That is
understandable. Your matriarch was the same when we were first bonded.”
“Really?” I ask, surprised. My mom is the most together Felis I know.
“Yes, she was. She was a little less… settled though,” Auriga responds.
I laugh and stand. “You say I have a bit until my mother wants me?”
“Yes, 07:00.” I drop into some Veil poses to stretch, and snatch a clean
knee length kaftan from my spatial chest. Shrugging into it, I say, “I’m
going for a run and a swim to wake up before I have breakfast.” Auriga
sends her affirmative. “I will notify your matriarch. Do you anticipate
being late?” “No. I’m just running ten kilometers each way today. I’ll
be back in time to grab a quick wash.” “Very well. Enjoy your wake up.”
Grinning, I exit my quarters and start jogging for the lift channel.
II
A ten kilometer run is a little light for me, but I want to be back in
time to meet with mom. She hates it when I’m late. To be fair, she is
the First Spiral, so appearances matter more for her. Today is also
important for me, and the appearances matter more here for me too.
Normally, physical exertion helps me loosen up, and today was turning
out to be that kind of morning right up until I hit the halfway mark and
began looping back toward my starting point.
That’s when I hear it. The sharp, wet thud of fists on flesh. The scrape
of feet, breathless crying, the mean edge of laughter. When you grow up
around combat, you know the difference between a spar and an
ass-beating.
I slow just enough to listen, my ears shifting into a Cup?Scan to track
the scene and flicking in acknowledgement, picking out layers: two older
voices mocking, breath easy one younger, high and ragged. Close. Maybe
my age.
Well. It is my Blooming day.
“Fuck it,” I mutter, already grinning, my ears pricking forward and my
tail lifting into a high flag. All the nerves, anxiety, the pent up
frustration and anticipation… yeah, it would be fun to blow off a little
steam before I have to be super serious.
I reach inward, brushing the cool bright well of free Starfire under my
sternum. It answers swiftly and eagerly, pressure and heat sliding out
along my ribs and spine, then streaming down my limbs. My stride
lengthens. The biome’s resonance catches my acceleration. I feel the
deck’s Toneweave tense under my pads, a low hum chasing my feet as I
start to push.
Starfire surges, threading my muscles in a lattice of light and force.
The world stretches thin. Air thickens around me, resisting. Sound
smears into a single high whine in my ears as I slam through the sound
barrier.
The shock comes all at once: air piling up in front of me, then tearing
loose in a hard CRACK that slaps the biome deck and ricochets through
the acacias. The sonic boom shudders the living grass panels, rattles
branches, sends nearby fauna exploding away in a storm of wings and
hooves. I feel the deck’s lattice ringing fiercely. Auriga will be
annoyed with me, but she would hopefully understand. It would be bad to
be cut loose here of all places.
Too late to worry about that now.
The clearing opens in front of me in a blur of color: river glittering
to my left, acacia shadows to my right, and dead center, exactly what I
expected: two bigger girls, one on each side of a smaller one they’ve
got half-curled on the decking. She’s covered in blood and in the brief
glimpse I got, I saw they’d worked her over hard. Her limbs were angled
unnaturally, her ribs actually sunken on one side. Veyth faction stink
on both of the attackers.
Tariya I recognize instantly.
I don’t slow down and she turns, eyes wide, just in time to see me.
The pressure wave hits her a heartbeat before I do, air slamming into
her, ripping her stance apart. Then I’m driving through where she is and
I turn just enough at the last instant to keep from slicing her open
with my claws, turning a killing blow into a broad, brutal slap.
Impact detonates down my spine. Tariya leaves the ground in a spin, body
folding around the hit. She vanishes sideways in a blur of limbs and
hair, smashing into the living decking a couple dozen meters away. Soil
and root-mat spray, the Toneweave underlay groaning as it craters around
her.
I dig claws into the grass to brake, tail lashing hard to pivot.
Starfire sings its beautiful song along my bones, bleeding out into the
deck as I ground myself. It leaves a faint heat-haze trail in the air
behind me, a comet-smear of light that fades as I whip back toward the
second attacker.
She’s faster than Tariya and she’s already moving, lips peeled back from
her teeth, Starfire bright around her fists. Her first punch is an
overcommitted straight for my head, a tight white halo of compressed air
screaming around her knuckles. She’s not supersonic, even though she’s
already burning brighter than she should be.
I drop my center of gravity, bending backward so my spine parallels the
living decking and the compressed air from the pressure wave snaps past
my face with a flat, painful whump, tugging at my ears and the surface
of my skin. Hot, bitter dissonance ripples through the local Resonance
where she blows tears at the biome’s normal harmonious hum.
I go all the way down, catching myself on one hand and the ball of one
foot, free leg already coiling, then I unwind.
My kicking leg scythes up and across in a diagonal sweep, toe claws
fully extended, aimed across her ribs and gut. Starfire pulses down my
hip like a hammer blow, vectoring into the strike. The air hisses off my
foot in a thin, sharp snap, close enough that the shock front hits her a
blink before my claws do, robbing her of balance.
Her guard is only OK, but more than I’d thought she’d have for someone
who thinks bullying counts as practice. She starts to twist with it, arm
dropping to cover. Not enough. I feel contact along the tops of my toes,
then the heavier drag as my claws bite and drag through fabric and
flesh. Her stance buckles, and she stumbles sideways with the force of
the hit, clawed feet ripping trenches in the grassed decking.
I ride the momentum, roll through, and come up already on her again.
Out of the corner of my eye I catch the smaller girl, bloody, shaking,
scrabbling backwards into the acacias, dragging one leg that doesn’t
look right. I’m glad she is aware enough to get distance. I’ll deal with
them first, enough to drive them away, then I’ll have time to care for
her.
The second girl snarls and surges back at me, Starfire flaring harsher
now, yellow-white around her shoulders and fists. She throws a tight
combination at my head and throat, each strike leaving little ripples in
the air, tiny pressure pops that sting my skin even when they miss.
I push my Starfire into enhancing my perceptions, my Resonance awareness
instead of raw speed for a beat, listening.
The deck’s Toneweave is still ringing, but under that, I can feel her
rhythm, breath, stance, the way she leans a fraction heavier on her back
foot. Every punch she throws sends a small, ugly note down through her
legs into the decking.
I move between those notes.
Slip left: her fist whistles past my ear, trailing a line of hot air. I
answer with a short, savage elbow into her ribs, feeling the Starfire in
my shoulders focus, condense, then drive straight through the point of
contact.
Step in: her knee comes up for my gut; I catch it with my forearm, let
the impact roll through my body and out into the deck instead of my
stomach. I’m tossed backward, rolling to my feet smoothly and I come
back in hard.
I rake her forearm with my free claws on the way past.
She swears, flinching, then tries to buy space with a wild,
Starfire-flooded haymaker, but she’s fucking slow.
I duck under again, this time stepping into her instead of away. My
shoulder hits her centerline, and I let a controlled burst of Starfire
out through my legs and core, driving us both sideways. The deck buckles
under the sudden force, grass panels tearing around our feet.
We’re close enough that I can smell her fear under the acid Veyth
perfume. I want to taste her blood on my tongue, to end her treacherous
life here, but there is an injured kitling who needs med care.
“Hi,” I say, and grin in her face.
Then I drive my fist up into her midsection and I don’t hold back on the
power. Starfire funnels down my arm in a clean, bright vector, the air
around my knuckles compressing.
When my fist lands, the sound is more crack than thud, echoing off the
river and up through the acacias. The shock ripples out in a visible
ring of disturbed air, flickering through the leaves behind her. The
biome deck’s Resonance screams for a heartbeat then settles, leaving a
ghost of her in the space she had been occupying. She folds around the
hit, flying backwards.
Somewhere beyond her, Tariya is finally peeling herself out of the
crater she made, spitting blood and dirt, eyes gone wide and feral as
she drags herself upright on an acacias splintered trunk.
Good. I hope it fucking hurt when she went through that trunk.
Tariya staggers forward, still spitting dirt and blood, Starfire
starting to leak off her in ragged little flares. The second girl is
hunched over her own ribs, clutching her side where I planted that
punch, but she’s still upright, eyes fixed on me.
About time they’re taking this seriously.
The biome is not happy. I can feel the Toneweave’s hum gone tight and
thin under my feet, flex patterns jittery from the hits we’ve already
traded. Air still wobbles around us from my first boom, the grass
leaning in slow-motion waves as the resonance settles. *I’m sorry,
Auriga. I’m trying to damage you as little as possible.*
“All right,” I say. “I’m guessing you started this shit. What the fuck
is wrong with you? Beating on a chorus mate, a convergencemate and a
kitling to top it all off. How small do you have to be to pick a fight
that one sided?”
Tariya ignores me, giving a short, ugly shout and kicks off. Her
Starfire floods her limbs in a thick orange blaze, heat shimmer crawling
off her shoulders. The air around her buckles as she pushes, there’s a
hard, sharp crack as she blows through the sound barrier straight at me,
the shock front chewing the grass into a ragged V in her wake.
The second girl isn’t far behind; her own Starfire spikes cleaner and
whiter, a narrower cone of pressure hugging her body as she sprints.
Both of them leave drifting contrails of light and disturbed air, their
Mach cones overlapping and sparking where they touch.
For a heartbeat, everything is noise and pressure and motion. Then I
respond.
My Starfire surges up my spine in a cool, almost metallic rush, not
flaming like theirs, but bright and dense and sharp. The world around me
narrows to a lattice of lines and timings, the cadence of their
footfalls, the angle of their shoulders, the rhythm of their breath
echoing through the deck’s Resonance.
The moment their shockwaves touch me, I push. It’s less a single crack
and more like a chord: three overlapping notes as we all cross that edge
at once. Air slams flat against my face and then let’s go; for an
instant I’m running in a tunnel of low pressure, Mach cone clamped tight
around my shoulders, the world outside blurred and warped.
To everyone watching, we’re just lines of force and flickers of light.
To me, it’s slow enough that I have no problem seeing and keeping track
of my opponents.
Tariya comes in at a high angle, leading with a right hook, claws out
and not holding back now, aiming to take my head off. Her cone bites
into mine, shock fronts grinding together in a jagged white ripple. Her
timing’s good, but she’s telegraphing way too much. Also, this is her
signature when she’s pissed and I think we crossed that line a couple
strikes ago.
I snapped sideways across her line in a micro-step the Chorus
swordmasters drilled into us until I was sick of it. The move tears my
cone open on one side; air claws at me, trying to drag me back into
normal speed, but I lean harder into Starfire and let Resonance carry
the rest.
Her fist shears past my cheek close enough that the compressed air
strips tears from my eyes.
I answer with a backhand that’s more vector than muscle, claws still
sheathed. Starfire focuses through my wrist, and my hand hits the side
of her jaw just under supersonic, so the shockwave and the impact arrive
almost together.
The sound is ugly. The deck’s Toneweave shrieks and then drops half an
octave.
Tariya spins away, her cone collapsing into a messy spiral as she
cartwheels end over end. The shock trail she leaves gouges a shallow
trench across the grass, clippings and soil thrown high in a ragged fan.
She hits the ground in a tumble and doesn’t pop straight back up this
time.
One down. For the moment.
The second girl is on me before Tariya finishes rolling.
She slides past on my left, a shrieking thrown spear, shock cone clipped
tight, Starfire ringing off her in a high, whistling tone. She snaps a
kick at my knee as she passes, the air at her foot going hard enough to
sting when it grazes me even though she misses clean.
I pivot with her, keeping my cone overlapped with hers so the pressure
gradients don’t tear my joints apart. For a few heartbeats we’re
circling each other at supersonic, overlapping Mach cones carving a
twisting tunnel in the air that picks up and sends debris tumbling.
Every time we cross paths there’s another sharp pop as the shock fronts
clash.
She commits first, a high feint, shoulder twitch, Starfire flare, then
she vanishes low, foot skimming the deck. She comes up under me in a
rising uppercut, the cone on her leading fist tight as a knife edge. If
she lands that under my ribs, I’m visiting the medbay or the morgue.
Bitch, you just made a mistake. Starfire rushes down my spine and out
through my limbs. I flow around her line like water, let her fist cut
through the space my chest was just in, and as she overextends, I anchor
my foot in the deck. I feel the biome under me, roots and Toneweave, the
slow song of the river, not as separate things but as one linked
pattern. I push my Starfire down into that, just for a heartbeat, and
Auriga is immediately present, agreeing to hold.
With that fulcrum under me, I spin and whip a heel into the side of her
knee.
The impact lands at just over Mach 1.
Her cone shatters in a glittering ring of pressure. The air around her
leg explodes outward; grass rips up in a circular wave. Her body tries
to keep going in one direction while her leg is blown out from under
her, and torn apart.
She screams and goes down hard, skidding across the deck on her back and
carving a long scar tens of meters through the greenery. Her Starfire
flickers wildly, trying to compensate, trying to heal the catastrophic
damage I just did. Not for weeks, if I let her live. I haven’t decided
yet.
By the time I straighten, Tariya is struggling up again, eyes unfocused
but hate still burning.
I don’t give her a chance to rebuild.
One breath. One step.
I focus Starfire into a straight-line vector acceleration and go through
her. All of that momentum, focus and my mass is packed into a narrow
lance. The cone narrows to a needle around my leading shoulder. Tariya’s
guard is still coming up when I hit her center mass, claws out and still
accelerating.
The impact hammers through her for the most part, but I have to still
ground some through the deck instead of taking the part of her hit that
she managed to get through. The Toneweave howls. Tariya leaves my
shoulder at an angle, body folding around the force, and sails out of
the clearing into the trees with enough momentum to go through some of
the trunks.
She doesn’t come back.
Silence falls in layers after that. Shockwaves echo off the river
cliffs, then fade. The biome’s Resonance begins repairing the damage we
caused, Auriga grumbling at me the whole time. Starfire still stretches
my perception of time, so it feels like I have whole minutes to just
stand there and breathe while my heart hammers against my ribs.
Then I realize the smaller girl is gone.
“Shit.”
I let my acceleration drop, taking the slap of air back into my face as
the world rushes down to normal timing. The leaves all fall at once.
Dust and grass fragments patter onto the decking.
I cast my senses outward, Starfire enhancing Sense instead of Vector.
The Resonance of the biome is messy, torn grass, bruised Toneweave,
little pockets of dissonance where impacts hit, but underneath that I
can pick out the thin, jittery note of panicked breathing.
Acacias. Left side of the clearing. She’s gone to ground in the thorned
shadows.
I pad that way, ears flicking, tracking the tiny disruptions: a bent
branch here, a scraped trunk there. The faint metallic tang of blood,
both hers and theirs, laces the warm scent of sap and dust.
Behind me, there’s movement.
The second girl is up again. Wobbling, but up. Her Starfire is a mess
now, sparking and flaring erratically, a faint shimmer wraps weakly
around her fists. But her eyes are full of hate and despair, knowing she
will at minimum face exile if I let her live after this.
And they’re focused past me, into the trees.
“No,” I say, already turning, but she’s faster than I expect in that
state.
She launches herself toward the acacias, not at me. Her movement is
sloppy, she’s leaking Starfire everywhere, but it still flattens grass
and snaps branches as she blasts into the shadows.
“Come out,” she shrieks, voice breaking around the edges. “Or I’ll
fucking kill you Starfall whore!”
There’s a sound in her tone I don’t like. Not just cruelty. Something
hollow and desperate under it. *Mistake, Rachel. You made a mistake.
Keep that girl from dying now*
She knows how fast I am. She saw what I just did to Tariya. Threatening
a hostage is a stupid tactic.
I don’t understand it, and I don’t have the luxury to stand here and
analyze it.
I call more Starfire, this time colder. Tighter.
I lift my hand and trace a quick curve in the air, fingers leaving a
faint after-image of pale light. Simple warding geometry, the kind they
use to muffle test explosions and training mishaps. I twist it, though,
just a little, nudging aside light and air resistance.
The sight-ward snaps shut around me with a soft thrum.
The world goes muffled. Colors smear at the edges of my vision where
light ducks around the ward’s boundary instead of touching it cleanly.
In the Resonance, I’m suddenly… less. Not gone, but blurred, like
someone smudged my pattern.
To normal eyes, I’m just not there anymore.
I roll my shoulders, testing the feel of it. The ward tugs faintly when
I move too fast
I breathe once, deep.
Then I move. Acceleration slams me back into the cone. This time, I
shape the Starfire tighter, hugging the pressure wave to my body,
letting the sight-ward ride along its surface. The boom that follows is
smaller and strangled, sound funneled up and away instead of out across
the clearing. To anyone watching, it’s just a sudden, violent shove of
air and a flicker of warped light with no obvious source.
The distance between me and the acacias disappears.
The second girl has the smaller one by the throat now, dragging her up
against a trunk. Her Starfire is flowing down and around her free arm,
coalescing in her hand and fingers, too bright, too sharp. She’s on the
verge of killing that Kitling. I don’t give her the chance.
I come in on a shallow angle, leading with my claws this time. Starfire
narrows along my arm in a razor line, not quite my lethal filament, but
close. The cone around my hand compresses into a wedge, a little ripple
ahead of it tearing the air and bending the light.
She starts to turn, some instinct screaming that something is wrong.
Too late.
My arm passes through her forearm just below the elbow.
For me, it feels almost clean, resistance, then a sudden give as
Starfire, speed, and physical force all agree on the same solution. The
shockwave hits a fraction of a heartbeat later, hammering bark and
leaves outward in a burst.
For her, it’s a lot worse. The smaller girl drops as the grip on her
throat just isn’t there anymore. I’m already reaching with my other arm,
scooping her against my side with a twist that drags her out of line
with what follows.
I plant a foot in the second girl’s chest and let one last controlled
burst of Starfire loose. I’m ninety percent sure she’s already dead when
the kick sends her flying backwards out of the trees, a streak of blood
and sound, crashing into the clearing and skidding a long, tearing
another scar through the battered grass. The biome’s Resonance surges.
I land in a crouch, the smaller girl clutched to me, sight-ward still
humming faintly around us, Starfire burning hot and bright under my
skin.
Only then does the shaking hit my hands.
I don’t know a lot of healing geometry or song, but I do know a little.
Now that the fight is over, I’m starting to panic a little at how badly
she’s been beaten. Her shimmering blood stains her lips and has made a
small pool under her head where she’s lying in the grass. I begin to
create the geometry, hands describing its lines in the air as I sing
quietly, just trying to stabilize her until I can get her to a med
chorus. The kitling coughs, spattering my face with her blood, and I
want to fucking cry. She can’t be more than fourteen standard, and this
was… no, I need to focus on the healing. Drawing my focus back in line,
I swallow, try a tone… and I begin singing. The healing geometry I know
hangs, burning a violet gold over her and in front of me. I hear a few
bones snapping back into place and squeeze my eyes shut. “Kitling.” I
finish the healing song I know and give her a few moments to settle
again. I examine her once again, and she is at least stable enough to
move. I gently slide arms under her and lift. I’m moving as smoothly and
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gently as I can, but she still whimpers, her claws digging faintly at
- I settle her as best I can. “I’m taking you to the med chorus.
You’re going to be fine. I won’t let anything happen to you.” I can feel
the tears on my face as I speak. I check my free Starfire pool, down by
a third, but plenty left. I slowly begin circulating Starfire through me
again, and start running.
III
The kitling is conscious, which makes it worse. Long-limbed, sharp-eyed
even through pain, two years from Blooming. Fourteen standard at most,
which puts her right at the threshold. She keeps trying to curl in on
herself and spasming with the agony of internal damage and broken bones
being jostled.
Blood is drying on my throat and collar. Some of it is hers. When she
coughs, it’s wet, and she sprays my face with fresh. I angle for the
nearest lift channel. The closest med chorus to the Central River Atrium
sits one deck up on Auriga’s Heartline.
“I’m taking you to a med chorus,” I say, low, letting my ears lift to a
neutral tilt and my tail curve mid?curve with a slow single tip?curl,
the Silent?Cant for quiet reassurance. “Stay with me Kiki.”
Her claws tighten against my kaftan and she whimpers, which tears at my
heart.
The lift channel takes us up swiftly, gently, with no sudden jolts or
jerks that would hurt the Kitling more than she already is. The
Heartline decks open in front of me.
Auriga’s presence brushes my mind. “Route me, please, Auriga.” Out loud,
I say, “What are you called, little one?” She coughs again, a mist of
blood settling on my skin. “Nyss…” hacking cough, “Nyssira.” Her voice
is strained, filled with agony. “Almost there, Nyssie,” I murmur.
Auriga returns and says, “Med Chorus Bay Seven is nearest. Healer Monika
is present.”
My stomach drops, then steadies. Of course she is.
Today of all days. My Blooming day. Mom waiting. The whole ship watching
who I’m about to become, then this.
The lift opens, and I run.
Bay Seven’s threshold field ripples as I hit it flaring and bursting as
I blast through it.
“Second mom!” I call.
Second Mother Monika stands in the opening in sleeveless med blacks.
Short. Muscular. Built for close work, healing or hand-to-hand,
depending on what the moment might bring.
Her eyes lock on the girl in my arms and her face tightens.
“Treatment cradle,” she snaps. “Now.”
The med chorus standing by leap into motion immediately. No questions,
no chatter, swift and economic movement. Sterile tools are collected and
set next to the treatment cradle. Diagnostic panels hum to life and
previously blank surfaces display statistics and test sequences.
I cross to the nearest cradle and lower Nyssira carefully.
The moment my arms leave her, she reaches after me, breath catching in a
rough, ugly rasp. She tries to push herself up and fails.
“I’m here,” I whisper. “Be still. I’m not going anywhere yet.” I take
Nyssira’s hand, stroking my thumb across her knuckles and singing
softly, the tears and rage returning.
Monika puts her hand on my forearm, still sticky with Nyssira’s blood. I
look down at my blood covered hands and my fury rises more, the desire
I’d felt during the fight, to kill both of the treacherous cunts and
take their Starfire. Under the fury and growing bloodlust, I feel the
horror and pain of seeing one so young and vulnerable beaten and broken
like this. *She’s not much younger than you, is she?* I think. I have to
close my eyes and slip into the practice of the Veil. “Tell me what you
did to help her, daughter,” Monika asks.
“I stabilized her the best I could,” I answer. “I used the little
healing geometry I know and I sang to help support the healing. I heard
bones shifting, and I waited until I was sure she was as stable as I can
make her. I put those who did this down, but I don’t know for how long,
so I didn’t hang around.”
Monika’s eyes move over Nyssira’s body, the blood, the bruising, the
damaged throat and misaligned bones. Then she inhales once.
Her nostrils flare.
“Veyth faction?” she asks, although she doesn’t need to.
The name scrapes against my nerves. The smell of those two is still on
my skin acid-sweet under sweat and blood.
Monika makes a sour face and looks like she wants to spit.
She uses scissors to start gently cutting Nyssira’s top away, exposing
bruises, swollen ribs, what looked to be a broken clavicle, her swollen
and misshapen throat. While she does that, I step away to wash my hands
and get a cloth so I can at least clean the blood painting her face.
Nyssira bares her teeth at Monika, but she doesn’t flinch. She places
her hand gently at Nyssira’s sternum, feeling her breath. I watch how
her Starfire flows into Nyssira as I gently swab her skin. She deadens
Nyssira’s pain first before starting. It spreads further until it finds
her injuries, and begins to steadily heal them. Bones my healing efforts
hadn’t touched move back into place and flesh reknits.
Second mom interrupts my thoughts by asking, “Where did you find her?”
I blink, refocusing on Monika. “In the Central River Atrium biomes when
I was heading back from my run,” I say. “Near the acacias. It was two
against her. I reacted before I thought. It’s not fucking fair!” Second
mom smiles at me. “Very little is, my lovely daughter. You got her soon
enough, and the first aid you did was helpful. She should be fine, given
time, healing and rest.” I exhale, settling onto a stool next to
Nyssira’s treatment cradle.
Monika’s jaw tightens. “You’ve informed the First Spiral?” I nod. “Am
now.” I glance at the time display by the entrance. *Auriga?* *I’m
here.* *Please let my matriarch know I will be late. I need to grab a
shower now and with everything else…*
*She is aware of the situation. I made her aware when you committed to
fighting the two Veyth supporters.* I send my gratitude to her and with
a gentle squeeze of Nyssira’s hand, I reluctantly let go… or try to.
Nyssira clings tighter to my hand, so I stay seated a moment longer,
rubbing her knuckles gently. Yelena, another of ElyndraMom’s mates hands
MonikaMom an auto injector filled with a sedative, some kind of nervous
suppression drug. Now the blood is gone, the battered state of her face
is very apparent, and my heart squeezes again, hands shaking with the
desire to find them and… *slow, deep breaths, Rachel* I think. *Remember
your training* I get a handle on myself again and look up from Nyssira’s
face to see MonikaMom looking at me. “She’ll be safe here, Kiki.” The
pet name she always uses makes me smile a little. “Mooomm…” She snorts
quietly. “She’s safer here than in her own chorus, apparently.” “Maybe
ElyndraMom will agree…” Monika looks at me. “What, daughter?” “What do
you think about bringing her in to our chorus? They hurt her, badly, one
of their own chorus and… from the look of her, she hasn’t eaten in too
long either, and with how plentifulfood is, that is inexcusable.”
MonikaMom frowns. I can tell she is unsure about the idea, but what she
asks is, “What are your plans for the rest of the morning?” I don’t
answer. She sighs. “Kiki, you’ve already got at least two matriarchs
pissed at you for… what is it? Oh yeah, future claiming their daughters.
Don’t you think we should talk about this?” I look at her incredulously.
“Seriously? Are you talking about Lyssi… my voice catches and I have to
stop a moment. I clear my throat, then resume,”Saskia and Lyssara?
Nothing has happened between Lyssara and I except some talking and
nuzzling. And Saskia…” Her hands were up now, a defensive, “Stop,”
gesture. “Sorry, Kiki, I shouldn’t have brought up those two. Of course
we can talk this over as a chorus.” I suddenly find that I have no
desire to talk to her anymore. Searching for an excuse to leave, I
glance at the time display again, then at Nyssira. I see Nyssira’s eyes
fluttering, trying to stay open. I take her hand again gently and lean
in, speaking close to her ear, the soft tuft tickling my lips. “I’ll
return as soon as I can, Nyssie. My second mom is taking care of you.
You’re in good hands.” She doesn’t say anything, she drifts closer and
closer to complete sleep. I squeeze gently and let go, stepping back.
“Please take care of her.” “Of course,” Monika says and gives me a
gentle smile. “I know you’ve got responsibilities, so go.” She doesn’t
push, and gratefully, I give her a respectful bow and leave.
IV
I slip out of Bay Seven on quiet feet, the corridor lights are
unforgiving when it comes to all of the dried blood on my throat and
collar, my hands and arms and soaked into my kaftan. The kaftan itself
is ripped to hell, not designed for what I had just put it through. It
would need to be recycled, since it was unsalvageable. Auriga’s presence
brushes my mind, showing me the quickest route. I keep my pace steady,
head high and shoulders back, and take the nearest lift channel down
toward my quarters.
I pause for the threshold field dispersion, then step in, already
peeling the knee-length kaftan off my body. It hits the recycler intake
with a wet slap. I step straight into the bathing stall and crank the
water hot. I rinse first, long and thorough, letting the water carry the
worst of the blood, dirt, and debris down the drain. Then I scrub
properly: shoulders, arms, throat, ribs, hands, under my claws, between
pads, behind ears. I use the simple act of bathing as a kind of
meditation. It might cost me a bit more time, but I need to recenter. I
tilt my head and work cleanser into my mane until it runs clean, fingers
combing through to the roots, then rinse until the water is clear. Then
conditioner for my mane and tail, lather and rinse.
I shut off the spray, and towel off with brisk, practiced strokes. I
pull a brush from my spatial chest and work it through my mane in clean
passes, roots to ends, untangling, smoothing, setting it the way I like
it to sit. Then I dress fast and simple: soft snug bottoms that don’t
bind at the hips or knees, and a fitted top that leaves my shoulders and
arms bare, dips just enough at the front to show a hint of cleavage, and
opens at the upper back. No rips, no blood, nothing that smells like
Veyth corruption and sweat. I leave my feet bare, and give my tail a
flick to make sure it was properly threaded. When I’m done, I check
myself once, clean, contained, presentable, then turn back toward the
threshold field, and beyond that the gardens and my waiting matriarch
and First Spiral.
V
I leave my quarters with one thought foremost. *I’m not sure I’m doing
as well as I believe.* Oh, it’s not the violence. Every Felis is well
acquainted with violence by the time we are bloomed, with out exception.
Not all of us are warriors, but we are who we are. That doesn’t mean
that we do this to our daughters and sisters. Kitlings, our daughters,
are sacred to us. I’m not stupid or naive enough to believe that we
never fight amongst ourselves, but it’s been a very long time since
we’ve had any kind of big internal conflict. Why bother? The cosmos, the
entirety of the multiverse, is surely big enough for everyone to exist,
right? I shake my head at my musings. Ultimately, sophonts have choice,
the ability to walk their own path, and people will do what they want.
*Only ten minutes late.* The gardens are only a few decks away, the
sprawling sweep of lush greenery and water part of my mother’s place as
the First note of her chorus, and Chordweaver of Auriga.
ElyndraMom’s table sits where the riverline bends, half under a canopy
of trained vines. The table is simple, but Elyndra Starfall at that
simple table makes it regal.
She’s already seated, her posture relaxed but upright, her hands folded,
her gaze lingering on the water for a moment before turning to me. “Good
morning, daughter.” She speaks in Common-cant. I stop at the edge of the
pavilion and bow deeply. “Good morning, Matriarch.” I respond also in
common-cant, a practice every Felis maintains. Outside of immediate
chorus we keep to Common-Cant, but our Silent-Cant, the unvoiced
language of ears and tail, still runs beneath it, carrying courtesy and
intent for those attuned… chorus. It’s not a good sign or a bad sign, I
think, my tail giving two quick tip?curls in anxious Silent?Cant. *She
has always been this way with all of us, even her chorusmates in
public.* She is First Spiral, and while that isn’t like other leadership
positions outside of the lineages, it still requires certain public
appearances. Thus my nerves and anxiety.
Her eyes flick over me: clean clothes, dampness where my mane hasn’t
dried fully, the way I’m holding myself… a little too tense and stiff
where I took a couple hits earlier, and my traitorous tail. The bruises
and cuts are already starting to heal, but they still exist. She doesn’t
mention the time. Out of all my moms, ElyndraMom is the one who is best
at seeing through and calling out my shit. It isn’t always pleasant, but
truth is always better than ignorance. Instead, switching from
common-cant to heart-cant-hearth, she says, “How is your body, my
daughter? Speak truth with me.” For a flash moment, I’m there again,
watching as those two bitches beat and break Nyssira, and the fury and
grief threaten to come back. *Nyssira is safe and in MonikaMom’s care.
She isn’t… nothing can get to her past MonikaMom* I shake my head. I
take a breath, schooling my face and shifting my ears into a Neutral
Lift and my tail into a Low Drape, and say, “Bruised and a few cuts. My
Starfire pool is…” I pause to check, “about three fourths full. I need
to meditate and integrate.” A faint softening touches her mouth, and she
nods. Her ears tilt more forward and she asks, And your mind?” “You came
here from bathing and the med bay, correct? You would not have had a
chance to meditate afterward. I hold her gaze.”No. And I am troubled,
matriarch. *She* grows louder, more bold.” My ears slam into a Hard?Pin
and my tail freezes rigid. That earns me a real smile, brief as a blink.
“Ilyra Veyth always pushes boundaries. This isn’t the first time, but it
is escalating quickly. I fear I know why and something must be done
eventually,” here she stops and sighs. I blink. My matriarch isn’t
emotionless… She’s reserved though, and it’s only when she speaks in
heart-cant that I really know her emotional state of mind. She taught me
to read the tells and little gestures, but she has had significantly
more experience than me. ’We’ll address that.” She says. ElyndraMom
gestures at a low seat across from her and I take it as Two pre-Blooming
girls ghost from the garden path. They can’t be more than eleven
standard. One carries a tray with a covered bowl and an obviously warmed
stack wrapped in cloth; the other carries cups and folded cloths, and a
lidded pot that smells like shepherd’s tree and spice. Their hands are
steady, their posture carefully precise. They come to the table, kneel,
and set breakfast down with practiced precision. No chatter. Not even
any fidgeting. *Kitlings aren’t supposed to be that still* I think. They
rise and withdraw to the edge of the pavilion, remaining standing after
they serve, a respectful distance back, eyes lowered, ready to run for
anything we ask. I find it… distasteful. ElyndraMom follows my gaze
without turning her head. “They are in voluntary service rotation. They
requested the gardens this quarter-cycle. They like the riverline. It
still makes you uncomfortable?” I nod. “Yes mother. It feels, wrong.”
She reaches out and takes my hand and squeezes. “Keep that discomfort,
that awareness of them as people, daughter. That will keep you from
being careless.” I nod, no worries there. *I don’t think I could accept
people serving me.* Mom lifts the lid from the bowl. Steam rises.
Beanpot broth, thick and mild, the daily pot made of legumes and greens
with a low spice and no Starfire content. Beside it, hearthcakes:
stone-plate mealie cakes stacked under cloth so they stay soft at the
center, with a small dish of marula glaze and fire-chilli relish set off
to one side. Simple, safe food, all of it free of Starfire. ElyndraMom
pours the tea herself, not letting the girls do it, and slides my cup
across to me. “Eat,” she says. I dive in, ravenous. The hearthcake is
warm in my mouth, the marula sweet for half a heartbeat before the
vinefire heat opens behind it, and the broth finishes it perfectly. The
little moan of pleasure makes ElyndraMom smile. This has always been my
favorite post fight food.
ElyndraMom watches me for a bit longer before she says, “Tell me about
Nyssira.” I swallow my mouthful, take a sip of tea before speaking. “I
found her in the Heartflow Atrium biomes, about a quarter kilometer from
lift channel 508. All I know is her name. Nyssira. I know too that I
will be following up with her chorus. If they are not involved in this,
I’ll bring her home and ensure she has everything she needs to recover.
If they are involved… I smelled the Veyth corruption on both of them.
It’s close enough to feral that it’s hard to mistake. If they are
involved, I will not allow it to stand.” Mom’s gaze sharpens.”You’re
positive it was Veyth?” I nod, ears pinned and tail rigid. ElyndraMom
goes very still, and I can feel her presence pushing steadily against
me, not overwhelmingly, but steady and pervasive. Even the two Runners
feel it from where they are standing, and one begins to cry quietly, her
face full of terror. I stand, angry at mom for not keeping a tighter
control over herself, and at these two Runners for volunteering to serve
anyone. I cross the seating area, and drop to one knee before them. I
draw the weeping kitling into my arms and stroke her mane gently,
tenderly massaging her ears and rubbing her back. As I comforted her, I
also push back steadily against mom, pressing outward with my
Fundamental Harmonic . I get she’s upset, but this is over the line.
“Go,” I say to the other Kitling, and she looks at me, at mom, and darts
away. “Why?” I ask without turning, or stopping my ministrations to the
young one. I don’t bother expanding. She knows what I mean. “Apologies,
daughter.” She draws her Fundamental in, and the extreme pressure of her
presence fades from the pavilion. I keep my face blank as relief loosens
my ribs, and I too draw in my Fundamental. When she has calmed herself,
ElyndraMom says to the still weeping young one with her face buried in
my shoulder, “You are dismissed for today. Please accept my apologies,
little one. Thank you for your help this morning.” I give the Kitling a
squeeze and she straightens, still watery-eyed but slowly getting
herself in order. “Yes, Aunt Elyndra.” I catch mom’s face lighting up
with joy and my own grin is equally ridiculous. She turns back to me and
clamps me in a tiny, fierce hug. “Thank you big sister.” I kiss the top
of her head and she darts away, already drying her eyes and calling
after her friend.
I look up at my matriarch. She is still smiling, and I know my face is
wearing the same expression. “Well, since you haven’t had a chance to
meditate and integrate this morning, let’s do it here. It’s perfect, you
have to admit.” I look at my cradlebearer, the woman who bore me and
gave physical birth to me. “Can we talk about your loss of control
please? You basically traumatized those Runners, and you are old enough
and high level enough to know better. What is going on?” I expect her to
refuse to talk about it, which is her go to move honestly.
“Do you know the origin story of the lineages?” I shrug, ‘Sure. Who
amongst us doesn’t?”
“Sadly, Star, all too few. In the span of our lifetimes, it wasn’t that
long ago. But the dissonance has an impact, even here I suppose. Tell me
your understanding of the origin story of the lineages.”
I stare, surprised, then frowning I began to recall and recite.
“Before all things, there was song, vast and deep, harmony unsung, in
endless sleep.
From the One, three woke: Flow took breath and learned to roam, Light
found form and built a home, Pattern stirred and saw the whole, harmony,
structure, memory: one soul.
Three peoples rose: Felis follow where currents guide, Dracil build with
steady stride, Mnethari watch the woven tide, three paths walking side
by side.
The first balance:
Felis mend the strain, Dracil set the frame, Mnethari keep the weave.
Thus does the Lattice of the Cosmos stay whole.
The fracture: one sang alone; the song turned thin, a crack began where
none had been.
Three responses: Felis mended where the wound lay bare, Dracil shelter
those in need of care, Mnethari mapped the future’s snare, each one with
a part to bear.
The young races: new worlds whispered, some sang bright, some can’t yet
sing, but hold a hidden light.
Three interpretations: Flow says longing starts the day, Light says form
must lead the way, Pattern says threads choose their play, truth has
room for each to say.
The threefold principle: when many voices weave as one, the First
Harmony is begun.”
“Well sung, daughter,” she speaks in Heart-cant. “Your voice is as fine
as ever. Now, as to why? Partially, it’s because it’s what we’ve always
done, as smooth brained as that sounds. We’ve only come to open warfare
among the named clans three times in living memory. It’s partially who
we are. We fight, fuck, hunt, and move.”
I want to give her the time to finish, I really do, but… “Forgive me,
matriarch. I could have sworn I heard you just say we fight each other
because it’s what we do.” My ears are half pinned back and the tip of my
tail won’t stay still. I’m not quite angry at her, but seriously?
“I said partially,” her voice was calm, but an edge of faintly amused
irritation runs through it. “The other part is probably more personal.
The short explanation is that if you would have been born two hundred or
so years ago, you would have had a den sister. Ilyra Veyth took her from
me when she was just bloomed. Until we had you, I had no real desire to
have another child.”
Tears gather at the corners of her eyes, and she makes no effort to
brush them away. My ears fold back slowly, then return to neutral, and
her hand grips mine, accepting the wordless apology. “I am worried,
daughter. I have no desire to lose another daughter, but I cannot keep
you here against your will. And with the guests we have coming for your
blooming and for the singularity event in a month, there is a lot of
opportunity for accidents.” I bow my head briefly, then, “What was her
name?” ElyndraMom’s face freezes, then she says, “Celeste. Her name was
Celeste.” Together, we bow our heads and I imagine what it would have
been like, growing up with a den sister. “Let’s meditate and get back to
a reasonable morning. It’s your blooming morning, after all, and you’ve
got a long day ahead of you.” I hesitate. “Now?”
“Yes. Now.” ElyndraMom stretches and her mask slips back in place. She
waves me out of the pavilion and follows close behind.
VI
The Heartflow Atrium air is always damp in the morning, being by the
river, it’s damp all day, but it’s cool in the morning, which is why my
mom takes breakfast and trains here. It smells like wet soil, crushed
leaves, and something citrus-bright from the trained vines on the
pavilion. Water rushes past in a ribbon about two kilometers in width…
Auriga’s Heartflow.
The mist from the river clings to my skin. Somewhere overhead birds
chatter and call, going about their business of living, pollinating,
having babies and so on.
In a small clearing shaped into the acacias and reeds on the bank,
ElyndraMom faces me, “Neutral cadence.” I face her in neutral and run
the breath: inhale four, hold two, exhale six. On the first round, my
breathing is off, I don’t get a full breath… I’m breathing into my
chest, not my diaphragm.
“Lower,” she corrects, and in the second round, my breath is deeper, my
shoulders soften, and my hands loosen.
“Good. Driftwork.” ElyndraMom’s voice is soothing.
We start with Quiet Step Walk, slow forward steps, then slow back steps.
I feel my weight roll toward the inside edges of my feet and correct
until pressure is even across heel and pads. The air tastes faintly
mineral when I swallow. The scent shifts as the airflow changes; the
citrus note brightens, then fades.
Arc Turn: hips initiate, shoulders follow. My first pivot is slightly
too wide; my ankle tightens.
“Smaller. Hold Cadence through the turn.”
I shorten it. The pivot tightens, and the ankle relaxes.
Crescent Reach and Thread Hands: arms circle, wrists turn, hands pass
without gripping. ElyndraMom watches my fingers.
“Quiet the Claws.”
I loosen them. Nails stay disciplined, hook-ready, not tense.
Low Coil Rise and Side Drift: controlled down and up, then lateral steps
with level hips. Heat builds in my ankles and hips, from exertion, not
strain. I hear the water more clearly as my body returns to balance.
Rail Pivot: a light tap against one of the trunks in midair to redirect
my motion. My twist is a half beat slow.
“Mind your hips, daughter,” ElyndraMom says. “Run it again.”
I repeat until the turn is aligned. Hips, then shoulders, then hands.
Back to neutral. Breath steady.
“Now, cadencework. Short holds.” I don’t comment, only falling into
cadence.
Stacked Spine Stand comes first, alignment and breath. Inhale four, hold
two, exhale six. My mouth is full of the taste of the biome’s air. Then
low Coil Hold… my thighs tremble a bit on the fourth breath.
“Remember to stack, daughter.” I grimace, but she’s not wrong.
I shift my pelvis a fraction and the tremble reduces.
Ridgeback Hold next, Open Rib Gate, Hip Hinge Line. My left side resists
where I took a hit earlier, but I breathe and stretch into the move
until the resistance eases. Ankle Cadence Hold makes my feet feel
grounded, and I don’t even have to worry about rolling or collapsing
this time. Wrist and Claw Quiet, controlled flex and release. I feel
satisfaction as no tension creeps in to my hands or forearms.
Long Spine Fold to down-regulate.
“Reset in Hush.” ElyndraMom stands still across from me. We match breath
and posture without effort and I close my eyes. The Starfire from
earlier is gathering and refilling my pool more rapidly. There is quite
a lot of it. I must have actually stolen from those two. *What a shame.*
I guide some of it toward my spiral, letting it settle like a mist, then
flowing into the whorles and angles. As the Starfire integrates, I note
with pride that I am now copper kindled. *It’s nice that some good came
out of that event.* *That and Nyssira is safe now.*
I open my eyes and she has returned to the pavilion. I re-take my seat
across from her and pick up a freshly poured cup of tea. “Better?” she
asks. “Yes,” I say, and mean it. “Good.” She taps the table once. “Now
we speak of consequences.” I want to be angry, but she is the First
Spiral. Mom continues, “Auriga has the incident logged. Monika will file
the medical account. Security was at the site within minutes. The Veyth
faction will not be permitted to shape this story.” My ears flick in
acknowledgement. “They’ll try anyway.”
“They always do,” Mom agrees. “So we will not let them.” She pauses.
“You will have to give a formal statement on your Bloomingday, daughter.
I’m sorry. I would have you avoid politics on this day of all days if I
could, but it isn’t possible with something like this.”
“What about Nyssira?”
“Monika will keep her safe,” Mom says. “When she is well enough to be
moved later, she will be relocated to a quieter bay with fewer patients.
Did you have something in mind?”
I nod. “Her chorus needs to be investigated. Like I said before, If they
aren’t actively supporting Veyth, then I’m sure they’d be glad to rid
themselves of some traitors. If, as is more likely, they are involved,
then we remove a thorn in your side. Besides, even if they aren’t
involved, they are clearly neglecting her. She is malnourished and
showed signs of previous beatings. This wasn’t the first time. She
deserves better. I want to give it to her” My claws flex once.
ElyndraMom leans forward and touches my hand, her Hearth register rich
with her compassion and anger at the situation. “First, you are an
adult, bloomed today. You can do as you choose. Living and working as a
chorus is not always easy, but its worth it. I knew Nyssira’s
Cradlebearer. She would have rather her daughter been safe.” She pauses,
fury etched across her face. “This will be investigated and dealt with.
Like I said, though, you are going to need to make a statement.” I
scowl. “What do you expect me to say?” I throw up my hands. “Oh, yes, I
did kill two of your chorus mates in the Heartflow Atrium this morning.
They were kicking the absolute shit out of a girl in the beginning days
of her threshold years. Am I sorry it happened? Well, no, no I’m not!” I
snarl and stand, my ears hard-pinned to my skull and my tail stiff
behind me. She just watches me. “No one is asking for your apologies
daughter,” she says dryly. “I suppose you could say that if you chose,
but I was thinking something more like a notification of the event and a
reminder about the consequences of attacking a Starfall in our home.” I
pause, forcing my face smooth, and regard her. She is standing now too,
and is leaning across the table, discarded cups and dishes between us.
“You are my daughter, the High-Daughter of clan Starfall. As such I
entrust you with this duty, daughter.” She switches to Heart-cant-vow
and I blink. “I request with standing that you find the source of this,
and make a firm example.” As she speaks, my fury doesn’t disappear, but
it begins to refine, to focus. *This was her plan, for me to handle this
myself.* I take a step back, and give her a deep bow of respect. “Yes
matriarch,” I respond in Vow register. I straighten and she gives me a
firm nod. “Good. Ridding ourselves of this infection is imperative, and
you will have Auriga’s gratitude,” here she pauses and switches back to
Hearth Register, “and my gratitude as well, my daughter.”
My throat tightens with emotion and I only nod.
ElyndraMom settles back into her seat, and I take my own as well. “Two
more things, daughter before you have appointments to keep. First, some
news. We are having a celebration in your honour tonight, as well as
having some guests from the Eclyptine.” I blink. The eclyptine is a flag
ship of the Voidfrost clan. As vast as Auriga, but the biomes and
interiors as a whole are quite different. Fortresses to our great living
biomes. “Who?” I ask, trying not to sound to eager. ElyndraMom knows me
way to well, though. Her laughter rings like sweet bells in the atrium
air. “Xela Voidfrost, for one. She’s…” “Veyra Voidfrosts daughter,
daughter of the First Alchemist? Yeah, mom, I know who she is.” Her
laughter fills the pavilion again. “Good, good Kitling. We are also
playing host to two Voidfrost choruses and one mixed chorus containing
Xela. The other two in that particular chorus are Lyssara Starfall and
Kaelra Starfall.” I feel my heart skip. *Lyssie’s going to be here too?*
Mom does this sometimes. Just drops major bombshells like it’s not a big
deal, and just moves on. “Wait, wait! Lyssie… Lyssara is going to be
here and this is how you tell me?” Her ears flick and she cocks her
head. “Ah, there is some history there, isn’t there?” I roll my eyes.
“Um, yeah, mom, you could say that.” “Well, that brings me to the second
peace of this morning’s business. I wanted this to be more of a
ceremony, but it’s not about me, is it. Happy bloomingday, daughter. May
this gift serve you well.” ElyndraMom gestures to the side, and that’s
when I notice the box properly. It’s been there the entire time,
untouched. A neat rectangle wrapped in violet-gold paper that catches
the garden light. A fine silk ribbon crosses it, tied with elegant
precision. My pulse jumps. “What is that?” I ask. Mom’s mouth curves
again. “A gift.”I stare at it. Mom grins and the expression makes her
seem a lot younger than she acts most of the time. “I know you want to
open it, so do it.”
I lift the box. The ribbon is cool and smooth beneath my fingers, and I
slide it free without tearing anything. I set the package down a moment
and catch my mane, pulling it back and weaving the ribbon through. I
return my focus to the package and, unwrapping it, reveal a plain box,
dark, smooth, expensive in its restraint. It bears the mark of Clan
Starfall.
Inside is not jewelry, but a Crownstone.
A pendant-keystone, Hushsteel dark and about one centimeter in
diameter,, with faceted edges. It sits in a fitted recess, and I can
feel it without touching it, it’s presence, it’s potential. *A growth
item!*
Under the Crownstone is a folded Quietweave harness.
The fabric is exquisitely soft and absorbs resonance and stray Starfire.
When I lift it free, the fold opens just enough to show the shape: a
sternum-and-rib seat with a flat retention line built to disappear under
clothing and still hold under force.
And then I see the twin holsters. A dual heartseat arrangement stitched
into the inner face of the harness, close enough that they’ll move as
one with me, but separated cleanly so they don’t crowd each other. One
pocket is shaped for the pendant in the box. The other is empty, waiting
for my caster.
My throat tightens, sharp and sudden.
Mom doesn’t look at the Crownstone. She watches me.
“That,” she says, nodding once at the pendant, “is your Crownstone.”
“My Aegis,” I manage.
“Yes.” Her voice is calm. “Owner-locked. Spiral and Starfire aligned. It
will answer to you and no one else.”
“The second pocket is for your Caster core. You will forge it with Aya.
Not with me.”
I look up. “You’re not witnessing?”
“I am your matriarch,” she says, quiet and final. “I cannot be your
witness.”
Aya Starfall. My mother’s mate and chorus member. Strictest of my
mother’s chorus mates. She cannot interfere, but she is and always has
been a perfectionist. Mom’s gaze stays steady. “She loves you. She wants
you to be the best you can be. Now put the harness on.” I shrug out of
my top and toss it over the back of my chair. I unfold the Quietweave
and settle it across my shoulders and sternum. The fabric molds to my
form, fitting neatly and comfortably. Mom gestures at the box.
I lift the Crownstone from its recess. It’s heavier than it looks. I
slide it into the first heartseat pocket. It’s a snug, silent fit,
retention flap laying flat across it.
The second pocket stays empty. Mom nods, a gesture of finality. I shrug
back into my top and gather the box and paper, folding one into the
other and replacing the lid. “You have a lot to do today. Go and forge
your caster first. When you are finished, come to Transit Well 12. We
will greet our guests together, and get them settled, and the
celebration will start at 19:30 ship time.” I bow. “Yes, Matriarch.”
***
I link with Auriga as I step out of the gardens. *Route?*
*Forge chamber. Aya Starfall.*
*Acknowledged*
Auriga’s presence is calm and soothing, easing a little of the anxiety
remaining. The route lights up in my mind, an awareness of AyaMom’s
location and the quickest path to get there.
I take a deep breath of the atrium air, and consider again my matriarchs
choice for dealing with the Veyth situation. The harness moves with my
breath, never catching or creaking. The Crownstone is a new presence,
warming with my body heat and steadily growing more aligned with me as I
feed it Starfire.
I pass crew who bow and wish me a happy Bloomingday. I offer a smile and
my gratitude and keep going, not wanting to make AyaMom wait any longer.
She’s already going to look at me like I disappoint her. I think I’m
more nervous about this than my breakfast meeting with ElyndraMom.
I step into the waiting lift channel and the ride is smooth and quick.
When the field dissipates, AyaMom is already there.
She is small for a Felis, maybe one hundred seventy centimeters tall,
but her posture is loose and dangerous, ready to move at a moment’s
notice. She looks up at me as I step out of the lift, and for the first
time in quite some time, she is smiling at me. “Welcome, High-Daughter
of Starfall. Even on Bloomingday, especially on Bloomingday, one must be
punctual. Having heard what happened, however, your delay is
understandable.” My brain kind of locks up for a minute. *It can never
just be, “I’m glad to see you well daughter.” She always has to point
out how I failed too.* “Yes, AyaMom,” I respond automatically,, for want
of anything else to say. She stands outside a plain threshold,
sleeveless, hair pulled back. Her eyes flick to the harness line under
my clothing, then to my face, then to my hands.
Suddenly switching to Heart-cant, she says quietly, “I am glad you are
well, Rachel. When I heard,. I was worried. Knowing you, perhaps I
should not have been.” She bows her head briefly and touches the
threshold field. It disperses with a soft ripple. “Come in. Daughter”
I’m still having a little trouble processing how the conversation
changed from what I was expecting. *This morning is not going how I
thought*, I think as I step into her work space. AyaMom gestures to the
table. “Sit, daughter.” I settle into one of the chairs, my back
straight and my tail curled around me to keep it out of the way. AyaMom
sets two objects down on the tabletop.
First is a Hushsteel blank, a compact faceted prism, as dark as a
starless night in the physical realms. Second is a crush-safe Stellarum
capsule, smaller than the one I expected, measured down to the Grain.
One full bar of stellarum. I stare for a moment, in awe of the amount of
work and energy that went into creating or obtaining that amount of
stellarum and hushsteel.
She doesn’t push them toward me yet. What she does is sit across from
- “For a long time now, I have been aware of how my actions have been
received by you. You believe I am too hard on you specifically. Not to
mention that I’m well aware of the fact that you see me as chorus
breaker.” This isn’t entirely correct. I know my other mothers discussed
bringing her into our chorus. She was vetted and participated in the
traditional process of rejoining a chorus. So, no, I don’t see her as a
chorus breaker. She must see something in my eyes, because she says,
“Speak your mind, daughter,” In Heart-cant. “As you say, MotherAya. I
don’t believe you are a chorus breaker. I do believe based on observable
evidence that you are manipulative, inflexible, and you drive the
Pouncers and Runners too hard. You’ve always driven me hard as well, but
that isn’t really the issue since I am the High-Daughter of our clan and
hard work is expected of me. I respect you, but I do not like you.”
“Thank you for your honesty, and for your respect.” Here, she pauses to
take a deep breath. “To be perfectly honest,” she starts, and I shake my
head. “Whenever people say that, it means they are about to lie, or
misdirect. No thank you, MotherAya.” She stares at me a moment. Then she
begins to grin, and breaks out in to laughter. “You may not like me, but
I like you, daughter. Please, be at your ease. We are Bloomed women.
Honesty is necessary among those who must live and work together, is it
not?” I nod slowly. “As you say, MotherAya,” I repeat, but say nothing
else. Her grin widens a hair, and she says, “Well then, let’s get to
your forging. This is a crucial time in any Felis’ life. Not all choose
to forge a caster, but many do. Do you understand how this process
works?”
“I weave my true concepts into the lattice of the prism and feed it
Stellarum.”
“Essentially, accurate. You will weave the true concepts you have
developed, as well as yourself and your personal truth. The caster is
part of you, daughter, as are your ears and tail.” I nod, deep enough to
show respect and catch her brief smile. AyaMom’s hand grips my wrist
gently, and her skin is warm and smooth. “So there is no disharmony
between us, I have always loved you, daughter. From the first moment
your Matriarch introduced me to you. I push, because your safety and
long life are more important to me than anything else.” I stare at her,
shocked. *Is she trying to destabilize me before the forging?* I give
her words the consideration they are due, sitting in silence a moment.
*If this is some attempt to destabilize me before my forging, could she
be a part of the Veyth Corruption seaping into our clan and our home?*
*If she really means it, this can be an important development in your
relationship.* I shake my head again. “You have my gratitude for your
words, AyaMom.” *I’ve got to give a little bit I guess.* Her smile this
time is lovely, almost radiant. An acceptance of my words and the
meaning behind them.
“Now,” she claps her hands, seemingly more relaxed after her words,
’let’s begin the process of forging your caster.” As she stands, she
gestures for me to do the same. “Find your cadence,” AyaMom says
quietly, “and we’ll get started.” So I do. I fall easily into the 4-2-6
breath cadence and using that as a steppingstone, expand my awareness
through Sense, feeling Auriga’s vastness around me, the woven tapestry
of song and life that is our home. AyaMom is restraining her Fundamental
Harmony, but the shape of her is still brilliant and full of power and
*her* song. I close my physical eyes, only feeling the shape of the
room, brushing up against it’s boundaries. Once I’m accustomed to the
ambient song of my area, I carefully put up the containment and
grounding wards. “Very good!” AyaMom says. *Seriously?* *Is she fucking
with me?*
“Take up the prism.”
I lift the restform into my hands, it’s cool weight real, and full of
potential. Carefully, I reach through Weave and begin to weave the
threads of concept and self into the lattice of the prism. First, self,
because you cannot have anything without a base of self. The pattern
settles into the lattice, and it’s surprisingly beautiful, an infinite
fractal mirrored spiral, *my* mirrored spiral. My body is distant, I am
so focused on the weaving. I’m still aware of the trepidation, though.
Not like I was hiding it, sure, but now I *couldn’t* hide it. *Well,
here goes everything.*
Next in the weaving are the true concepts that I have refined and grown
throughout my training. I draw the concepts from myself, not removing
them, but weaving them through the pattern I imprinted upon the restform
prism. First comes Shear, what it means to cut, to sever, to separate
cleanly. The feeling of weaving something so integral to my core is
fucking strange. Not bad, but weird, like something you are positive is
supposed to stay inside being slowly and steadily drawn out. I keep
breathing, checking my cadence and focus. Still good. Next is Vector.
What it means to adjust angles instantly, and no crossing the space
between points. What it means to accelerate at an angle away from the
target and still land a clean blow, or to change angles and accelerate
through a target if necessary. What it means to be a projectile,
vectored perfectly and no way of tracing the shot back to its source. I
check stability after weaving Vector, and take a brief pause for the
next weaving. The last is Weave. I could spend the next two hours trying
and failing to explain what it’s like to thread the concept of a thing
through that thing. I almost lose my guidance of the thread of concept,
as the passing thought, *Lyssie would be perfect at this* flickers
through my awareness. I barely manage to correct the drift I’ve fallen
into, and bring everything back into alignment. On the edge of exhale
and verge of inhale, I begin channeling Starfire into the restform, and
it opens, flowing over my hands and forearms. The caster shifts, still
fluid and unstable seeming, seeking a baseline wearable form. After a
moment, twin bracers, from elbow to knuckles wrap my forearms. Short
blades extend from my wrists, then retract, or rather flow back into the
substance of the caster. Longer blades emerge from wrist to elbow, and I
move smoothly through several Astral Fang forms. I return to neutral, or
Ready stance and the longer blades are reabsorbed. *one final truth.*
The bracers flow back down my forearms and reform into the caster
restform. I close my physical eyes again, and reach through Weave.
*Misdirection.* Even in my focus, I see the pride in AyaMom’s eyes and I
almost drop my weaving again.
When I am finally done, I open my eyes and gaze at the relatively small
prism, ten centimeters in length and about a centimeter in diameter.
Reverently, I slide the prism into its place at my heart, then call it.
The bracers are on my hands and forearms in a blink of the eye, short
blades already extended. I dismiss the caster, and AyaMom stands, taking
a step back and bows to me. “Well done, and well forged, Rachel
Starfall, bloomed High-Daughter of clan Starfall. May you always find
harmony. May your enemies fear you, and never know your position. May
those you love thrive under your protection.” I bow to her and she
rounds the table, and takes me in an embrace that is just one more in a
series of what the fucks this morning. “Happy Bloomingday, Rachel.” I
hug her back, then take a step back. “We have guests from the Eclyptine,
according to ElyndraMom.” She nods. “Yes, yes. She wants you there to
greet them, I’m sure.” I laugh quietly. “She does. Will I see you
there?” “You will, daughter. Now go on. I’m proud of you.” “Thank you,
AyaMom,” I say, and this time, I mean it.