Chapter 4
Devotion
1200 Hours, January 5, 2549 (Military Calendar) / High Charity, Covenant Holy City.
The High Council sat before him. San 'Shyuum, esteemed Sangheili, and even some Jiralhanae all sat in a circle around the edges of the room, and in the very middle, the Prophet of Truth was seated upon his hovering throne. The glint of the amethyst walls shined upon each individual's polished clad and sparkled in each of their condescending eyes. They were skeptic. Mhar'laknee could see it in all of their eyes, that hidden fear, the disguised apprehension that was masked with arrogant superiority. They feared this new concept of a Human walking amongst them. How could it be? Truth had called her a "Saraph": the blade that would reap humanity's demonic blood as punishment for their sins; the most pure divine demonstration of redemption and remuneration. Mhar'laknee was viewed curiously from the Council's extravagant seats; they looked down upon him as though he were some sort of insect in a petri dish. They all wished to see what kind of a Sangheili would support such a seemingly heretical campaign.
But it was Truth's word. They trusted him. Didn't they? He had never led them false before. He was the backbone of the Covenant, the glue that bound all of them together. The Covenant must listen to him, and if he says a Human shall become of them, so it shall be. To go against the San 'Shyuum's decrees would be heresy, punishable by death. And so they trusted him.
"X'rafe Mhar'laknee, honored Executor of our holy Covenant, advocate of the sacred clairvoyant, Ravayne, our most privileged agent…" the Prophet of Truth said, his voice ringing through the room and bringing the Council members to attention. "We have gathered here today to discuss the status of this saved one; this Saraph. The Council has been informed of her existence among us, they know of her religious value, and they know that she is indeed one of us to the core. It is to be decided what her first task to aid the Covenant shall be. Speak, Executor, for you have the Council's ear."
Mhar'laknee raised his head, and nodded to the San 'Shyuum in acknowledgement. "I understand that there is doubt inside each and every one of you," he said. "Perhaps even fear has taken a place in your hearts, trust that has faltered in some way or another, and beliefs shaken. I am here to put your fears to rest. You all have been told about the new prophesy, this new revelation that mentions a mystic youngling that has been put into this universe to be saved from herself and her devilish kin. The San 'Shyuum has endorsed this claim, it carries no folly." Truth nodded. "You should know that she is here, within the boundaries of High Charity, right at this very moment."
A slight murmur echoed through the nervous Council. Mhar'laknee hesitated, let it pass, and soon respectful silence had taken the Council once again. "She knows the Covenant doctrines by heart, she believes every word, and would die for the Great Journey without remorse. She is one of us, a warrior who will fight against her own race in order to hasten the dawn the Great Journey, and she will do so without question, no different from any other Sangheili fighter from our military ranks. She is capable on the battlefield; I have taught her myself. There can be no disbelief about her – so says the holy Prophet of Truth."
Heads turned to their religious leader, and he swiftly straightened his posture and put a confident expression upon his face. They looked him over for a moment, their eyes sweeping over his frame and position, searching for any sign of faltering faith. As always, though, he looked assured and certain, and his poise set some level of calmness into the Council's troubled minds.
"What we have gathered here today to obtain is all of your graces' approval of her embarking on her first task, which would mean fighting alongside our military lines against the Human forces. She is prepared to take on this challenge, and we have heralds ready to deliver the message of her existence to the Covenant public. If any of you disagree with said mission, speak now."
Mhar'laknee's words were followed with a strange apprehensive silence. The words fell like a dare, enticing them all to articulate the heretical doubt harbored in their hearts.
Suddenly and surprisingly, the chieftain of the Jiralhanae stood from his seat and cleared his throat. "Your Excellency," he said, his voice sharp. "I do indeed have words to be spoken about this."
"Go ahead, Tartarus," Truth said, waving his hand as a cue.
"I feel I am required to vocalize the thoughts of all the Council members sitting in this room, for none of them seem to have the backbone to speak." The Council remained in accepting silence. "This notion of having a Human fighting alongside our military lines is absolutely preposterous! Forgive me, Holy One, I mean no disrespect, but this is pure heresy! I know that you have endorsed the being yourself, yet this goes against everything this Covenant stands for and what we have been taught. The mixing of Covenant and Human simply… cannot happen!"
There was a loud sudden uproar from the Council at these words, some of them agreeing with Tartarus and some of them protecting their San 'Shyuum's decree. It continued for several moments before Truth held up his hand. "Silence!" he roared, his grand voice overpowering the buzzing arguments. "There shall be order in this Council!"
The bickerers immediately hushed themselves like children being scolded.
"Tartarus, your concerns are appreciated," Truth said, his tone returning to the soft semi-whisper. "But they are misplaced. I, as the face and religious leader of the Covenant, wholly sanction the Saraph and her importance to our advancement. You have been summoned here today to determine her first assignment, not to question her significance."
"The Prophet is, of course, correct," Mhar'laknee interjected. "Ravayne has far too much potential to be halted now. According to the newfound prophesy, she could well bring the Great Journey to pass far earlier than we had originally predicted."
Tartarus grunted. "A waste of time, I say…" he muttered under his breath. "Such a female would serve our Covenant far better by being thrown into the back rooms of the public cantina."
Mhar'laknee narrowed his eyes. "She is a rising manifestation of divine presence," he said in a low voice. "I will not see her used for sexual pleasure."
The Jiralhanae huffed cynically. "I think that perhaps our Executor here simply wishes to keep her all for himself!"
The Sangheili growled deep in his throat, and took several menacing steps forward, barely resisting the temptation to reach for the plasma rifle that he was so accustomed to keeping at his side. He had, of course, disarmed himself in the presence of the commission.
Truth held up a hand. "Enough," he said. "I'll not have your petty squabbles in my Council. The decision is yet to be made, and there shall be no more interruptions. Take a seat, Tartarus."
The Jiralhanae growled slightly as he gazed at the anger-ruffled Sangheili for a moment with contempt. Finally, he took up his seat once again.
"As time waits for no one, I will make this quick," Truth said. "As I'm sure you all are well aware, the most recent contact of our military lines has been the assault of the Human colony they call 'Paris IV.' The majority of the slaughter has already taken place, and the planet now lies mostly in smoldering ruin. It will be subject to glassing soon… but I want every single Human who once resided there to feel the pain of the Covenant's hand before the colony is permanently… removed. I believe that we should send the Saraph to Paris IV's surface so that she may fight alongside Covenant lines and taste Human blood for the first time. Her words will only ever be words, but this would be the true test of devotion."
Yet another quiet murmur crept through the Council, though they all knew that voicing any opposition would be foolish. The San 'Shyuum had already made up his mind.
"Council," the Prophet of Truth addressed them without giving them much time to digest the news, "are there any objections?"
The murmuring stopped immediately and they sat in deathly silence. Tartarus gave a quiet grunt of annoyance at how easily the Council was being manipulated, but he wisely said nothing.
"So be it." Truth cleared his throat and his hovering throne shifted a few feet forward, closer to the stands. "The Saraph shall be sent to Paris IV's surface in just a few days, and the public will be informed of her existence… I trust there will be no false information leaked to our soldiers about the new prophesies," he added, threat veiled in his voice. "This meeting is adjourned."
The echoes of hoofed feet rang throughout the room as the humbled Sangheili, San 'Shyuum, and Jiralhanae began to file out of the surrounding bleachers, still too lost in incredulous thoughts to speak. This new heretical idea had been forced upon them so fast that there simply was nothing to say, nothing to think.
"I must go prepare for my speech," Truth said to Mhar'laknee. "The public surely will have many questions they want answered."
Mhar'laknee nodded and bowed.
"Tend to our Saraph," the San 'Shyuum added before turning to exit. "She is nervous, I'm sure." With that, the hovering chair swiftly glided through the back door of the Council chamber and sealed the Prophet of Truth from sight.
Mhar'laknee began to follow the rest of the Council as they proceeded to file out of the room, but he was suddenly pulled aside by a thickly-haired, massive arm. The Sangheili found himself face-to-face with Tartarus, who seemed to have gone out of his way to be the last to leave.
"You're playing with fire, Executor," the Jiralhanae growled, his deep voice resonating in the nearly empty room. "Any slip up on your part, and you'll burn… and all the Sangheili will pay for your mistake. And I'll be there, watching, when you make that mistake." A sinister grin appeared on his gorilla-like face.
Mhar'laknee met Tartarus' eyes with a resentful glare, but it only seemed to give the Jiralhanae even more satisfaction. Slowly, Tartarus continued his exit of the Council chamber, smirking over his shoulder at the tense Sangheili who was simply too exhausted by stress to reply to his taunt. Mhar'laknee leaned against the cobalt metallic wall, sighing deeply as he watched the smug image of the Jiralhanae get swallowed by the automatic doors.
He had anticipated there would be those who would not support him. To expect otherwise would have been foolish, after all, the Covenant had grown believing a certain set of prophesies that contradicted his new ones. Still, he found such open disrespect to be unsettling, and he could only hope that the public would not share Tartarus' criticism of Ravayne. It could mean danger for her and Mhar'laknee himself.
Thoughts of Ravayne soon roused him from his worry and doubt, and he remembered what the Prophet of Truth had just advised him. The Prophet was right: Ravayne was about to embark on her first journey outside of the Sanctum, and she had seemed a little uneasy when he had last spoken with her that morning. She surely needed him for support.
Mhar'laknee immediately set off for the Sanctum's green gardens. He was certain he would find her there.
The normal sensation of calm that usually appeared in Mhar'laknee's mind when he entered the Sanctum garden was nowhere to be found that day. Even the soft chirping of the cicada-like insects that concealed themselves in the surrounding green foliage and the gentle trickle of the stream that flowed through the marshy under-path could not dispel the nervousness that had taken over his mind. He followed the stone pathways that lead through the garden, guiding him to bridges over the muddy sections of the overgrown bog, and finally brought him to the considerable drier portion of the garden: a sector where grass grew tall and a thick canopy of treetops warded off the artificial light, Ravayne's favorite place to spend her free time.
He found her sitting on the sill of one of the footbridges, her fingers playing meticulously in the shallow stream that flowed below. She was dressed in casual wear and her shoulder-length burgundy hair was flowing freely about her shoulders. Mhar'laknee had thought it wise to keep her hair long so that she would blend in with the Human populace when the time came, though it had taken him some time to get used to the abundance of hair that Human women generally bear in contrast with Sangheili's hairless bodies. Now, he saw it as a beautiful thing – everything about her was beautiful to him, from her fair, almost creamy complexion to the way she would yield a slight little instinctual smile that she would try to suppress and substitute for several clicks of her tongue when she was genuinely amused. It was in her that he found traces of humanity to be attractive.
She didn't seem to hear him approach; her mind was probably just as occupied by anxiety as Mhar'laknee's was.
"Ravayne," he addressed her, and she immediately turned to face him.
"Master!" she said in surprise, quickly getting to her feet and rushing to meet him. She brushed away a few locks of hair that had fallen into her face. "How was the Council meeting?"
Mhar'laknee grunted softly. "Fine, just fine." Her inquisitive eyes continued to search him, expecting more. Her desire for information was rarely quenched by a three-word response. "They are… conscious of you," he continued vaguely.
"And my mission? Where are we going?"
"The Human planet called 'Paris IV.' It's already been decimated by the first Covenant lines, but apparently there's still work that needs to be done… I'm sure the Prophets have lined up a series of bloody tasks for you," he muttered in semi-disdain.
She regarded his last statement with indifference. "When do we leave?"
"A few days at the most, plenty of time to get your armor set up." He hesitated, watching her as she processed the information, expecting another barrage of questions. When it didn't come, he spoke once again, his voice low. "It's strange… I've spent the last nineteen years, time enough for you to become an adult, training and preparing you for the slaughter of Human filth… and yet, now, the thought of crimson blood staining your hands is strangely undesirable."
Ravayne clicked her tongue once in mild amusement. "What is this blasphemy coming out of your mouth? I'll do what I must, Master. You know as well as I that the Human demons must die – and I was saved to do so. I serve the Prophets, and I will do so until the end of my days."
Mhar'laknee lowered his head slightly, shamed by his student's degree of loyalty exceeding his own. He immediately regretted voicing his worries. "Ah, don't listen to me," he said. "I'm just a mournful guardian sad to see his child 'leaving the nest,' as the Humans say."
"'Leaving the nest,'" Ravayne repeated; her perfect English pronunciation superior to the Sangheili's own. She looked into his eyes. "I promise I'll not leave forever. Father."
He managed a weak smile. It was rare for her to call him "father," but the unspoken parent-child relationship they harbored was obvious to both of them. "There is still much I have to teach you," Mhar'laknee continued. "As soon as we set out for Paris IV, the Prophet of Truth will have my old military rank as Fieldmaster restored during battle times, and Vak'tomee will be reinstated as a full-time soldier under my command. We will be returning to the battlefield as you enter it."
Ravayne frowned resolutely. "I am ready."
He nodded. "I know. And I will be with you every step of the way."
She smiled at him, and nearly all of the nervousness seemed to have dissipated. The outside world has always been a thing of mystery to her, and although she had many times fantasized about leaving the Sanctum and exploring reality, the idea had also terrified her. To know that Mhar'laknee would always be there for her was such a welcomed reassurance that it was beyond words to describe. Her eyes fell to her own hands, her pale, five-fingered hands, and she reached out to take a hold of his. "I won't let you down. These hands will spill demon blood, Master, as the prophesy predicted."
Mhar'laknee smirked at her slightly. "Come with me. Let's try on your armor."
1600 Hours, January 7, 2549 (Military Calendar) / Paris IV Orbit.
The armor was magnificent.
It was custom-made to perfectly fit Ravayne's body, but its design was so intricate and obscure that she was barely recognizable as Human. In it she stood seven feet tall, nearly the height of most Sangheili, and the armored plates that covered her body bended in such a way that it appeared as though her limbs moved and curved at unnatural angles – angles that made her look as though she were more Sangheili than Human. An ornate helmet adorned her head, one that looked vaguely like a Sangheili's arrow-shaped skull, complete with four jaw-like mandible pieces that protruded from where her human chin was concealed.
The suit itself was mostly pitch-black with streaks of sapphire blue that glistened beautifully as though they truly were veins of gems that had been crafted into the armor. Several glowing spike pieces curved upwards from her shoulders, resembling the regal orange armor that the Covenant Honor Guards proudly wore. This elegant pattern repeated itself by twining around her legs and forming a protective brace close to her torso. The suit was surely the Covenant's most exquisite example of both stunning design and efficiency.
Not only did the armor make Ravayne look almost two feet taller, but her physical strength was increased three-fold with its enhancive muscle-sensors. Her physical force now nearly rivaled any other Sangheili warrior, and when combined with the armor's plasma-powered energy shields, Ravayne had become quite the potent close-combat soldier. The suit even featured the Covenant's most advanced active camouflage technology, which allowed her to become almost invisible for longer than she would probably ever need.
But all of that was secondary for Ravayne. To her, the most important feat the armor presented to her was the ability to abandon the most inescapable aspect of her humanity: her physical appearance.
She sat with her head held high in the speeding Phantom as they headed for Paris IV. Mhar'laknee was seated next to her, equally proud, and he couldn't help but spare the occasional praiseful glance at his adoptive daughter as she wore the glamorous armor. It was that day, the day that Ravayne rode to meet humanity head-on, the day she stood next to Mhar'laknee in Sangheili armor, she had never felt more certain that this was where she belonged. It was that day she truly joined the Covenant ranks.
"We should be arriving on the surface soon," Mhar'laknee informed her, his deep voice in dark harmony with the low hum of the Phantom's machinery. "Vak'tomee awaits us there."
She nodded in acknowledgement and suddenly realized that she was squeezing the handle of her plasma rifle in anxious anticipation. Most of the nervousness had left her – the armor suit had seemed to instill a mysterious level of courage in her heart – and all that was left was a slight excited restlessness. She did not know quite what to expect to find once they landed, nor was she certain how well these Humans could fight. Mhar'laknee had trained her in effective use of every weapon known to Covenant and Human, but even his extraordinary instruction could not fully prepare her for every strategy of the battlefield. Only experience could teach her that.
In addition to her plasma rifle, clipped to her waist was the hilt of a plasma-powered energy sword. Although the swords were commonly used as only symbols of status and ceremony, the most elite guard were trained in the successful uses of these blades in melee combat. The sword had quickly become Ravayne's weapon of choice due to how perfectly it complemented her finely-tuned dexterity and agility, and also because it allowed for a potent close-combat attack even when she was unarmored and therefore lacking physical strength.
The Phantom droned softly in the background as she gazed curiously out the tinted windows. She had only seen the stars through the semi-transparent ceiling of High Charity's sanctum, and even then they had only been visible on rare occasions when the haze of the artificial atmosphere was settled. To see the vast expanse of space through the window and the stars twinkling like diamonds across every horizon was truly magical.
Ravayne continued to watch the everlasting stretch of outer space, and after just a few minutes, an object came into her view. At first it looked like a tiny speck that she was forced to squint to see, but it began to grow into something much larger as they approached – a sphere of gray-green rock and craterous oceans with swirls of odd white wisps that streaked across its surface. It had first looked as though it were merely a marble, so small that Ravayne would be able to simply reach out and take it, but as their Phantom drew nearer, the planet was revealed for its true massive size. She watched in awe as their vessel slowed considerably and began to descend onto the planet's foreign surface.
Mhar'laknee spoke quietly. "Tread softly, Ravayne," he began. "The Covenant may regard you still as an alien, but remember always: the battlefield and its residents belong to the Prophets… and so they belong to you."
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "Let's hope they remember that."
The Phantom began to rumble and shake as it entered the planet's atmosphere, and a thick cloud layer shrouded the window's view. Ravayne held on to the bottom of her seat with her hands and kept her eyes fixed on the foggy exterior until the cloud covering melted away to reveal the very ravaged ground below. Scarce trees peppered seared dirt; their branches likewise burned and scarred by plasma scoring. It was clear that a great battle had already taken place here, though the conflict had been some time ago – the Covenant had now turned the battlefield into a makeshift camp. Ravayne could see about twenty dome-shaped purple tent structures scattered in a clearing next to where the Phantom was about to land, and her stomach gave a strange tumble as she also saw the Covenant inhabitants patrolling the encampment…
Mhar'laknee and Ravayne stood as the Phantom decelerated to a stop. The purple gravity lift towards the back of the vessel glowed to life and produced a tube of light leading down from the hovering Phantom to the ground fifteen meters below. Mhar'laknee stepped into it and Ravayne followed, clutching their weapons tightly as the lift slowly lowered them to the soil beneath.
Vak'tomee, clad in his polished red armor, stood waiting for them at the bottom of the lift. They were met with his subtle smile, which was then quickly concealed by a very low bow. "Exalted Saraph," he greeted Ravayne, still bowing. "It is a tremendous honor to have you present at my modest encampment." He turned to Mhar'laknee. "And esteemed Executor, it is likewise a humbling honor."
Mhar'laknee nodded to him in traditional formality. "We thank you for the welcome, High Major. The Prophets extend their regards to front line."
Ravayne surveyed her surroundings curiously as the two Sangheili spoke. The dirt beneath her feet was partially clotted with viscous plasma residue and an occasional patch of unidentifiable dried blood. The smell of the place was, of course, in rancid correspondence.
Several damaged Ghosts and a pair of sparking Banshees which looked as though they had seen better days composed a broken shipyard to their left. The vehicles were badly scarred by numerous bullet holes across their once-pristine chassis and now sat with gentle streams of smoke pouring from fractures in their framework. Most of them appeared far too damaged to be repaired, which left Ravayne to only wonder what sort of fray had ripped the machines so thoroughly apart.
Ahead of them, the makeshift tents which appeared to be a made of a fluorescent filmy fabric stood upon a gentle hill a mere twenty meters beyond where Vak'tomee stood. Several guard towers fitted with gravity lifts had been hastily erected at the camp's outskirts, and Ravayne could see a pair of toothy Kig-Yar armed with beam rifles stationed upon each these spires. She shifted slightly in her armor as she spotted she spotted a pair of blue-clad Sangheili standing near a close-by tent, watching her curiously and whispering to each other.
"This camp is a field of victory," Vak'tomee explained, turning to face the campsite and spreading his arms in attempt to illustrate its grandeur. "We slaughtered countless Humans here not one week ago, and its location proved to be a convenient staging point for our final siege upon the last remaining enemy outpost which is a mere thirty minute flight from here… a siege which you shall partake in, Saraph." He took a step forward and motioned for them to follow. "Come with me; I'll debrief you on the situation."
Mhar'laknee and Ravayne followed him as he led them to the outskirts of the camp and began to weave through the dome-shaped tent structures. "We have toiled upon this planet's surface for just a little less than a month, exchanging fire for fire and slowly taking the land from humanity piece by piece. We wanted to be sure to keep their military installations under lockdown so they won't be able to retaliate against our cruisers in space with any significant force when the time finally comes for this planet to be glassed."
Ravayne felt many eyes upon her from the patrolling guard as they walked through the encampment, but she tried her best to keep her own eyes fixed upon the path ahead. Her armor did conceal her human body, but the Sangheili could recognize kin from alien. The entire Covenant knew of her existence and supposedly accepted her religious value, but it seemed she was being greeted with lukewarm acknowledgment.
"Our casualties have been considerable, but less than expected," Vak'tomee continued as they passed a tent housing several injured Sangheili and their medics dressed in gray, "and it is nothing compared to the losses the Humans have endured."
Ravayne watched as a medic applied a medicinal salve to one particular Sangheili's injury: a rather large bullet-wound in his left shoulder. The flesh had been both burned and ripped around the bullet-hole's edges, and Ravayne immediately could identify what Human weapon had caused the abrasion: a highly explosive 12.7x40mm M6D Pistol round. Mhar'laknee had often stressed the primitiveness of Human projectile weaponry, but these pistol rounds could easily pierce unshielded armor and cut straight through to the flesh, and a painful explosion beneath the skin was its encore. This Sangheili was lucky the shot hadn't landed anywhere nearer to his head, or his brains would have surely been blown out of his skull.
Vak'tomee directed them further along the central path and spoke as they walked. "Our business is nearly concluded here, and it has occurred with very few setbacks. Now that you two have arrived, we can arm ourselves in preparation for the finishing blow to this charred planet and hopefully be on our way to the Humans' last outpost first thing tomorrow morning."
"We shall be of service to you however we can, High Major. The successful assault of this planet has been a result of your flawless orchestration; you need only to tell us where we are needed," Mhar'laknee said.
Vak'tomee tilted his head curiously. "But, Excellency, I was told that with your restored rank as Fieldmaster you would be assuming position of command–"
Mhar'laknee interrupted him with an amused twitch of his left mandibles and several clicks of his tongue. "You have executed your attacks with precise planning and brilliant strategy every step of the way, and your results have been equally favorable," Mhar'laknee said with a slight grin. "This planet is yours to claim in the name of the Covenant."
The High Major gazed at his friend for a moment, and then a wide smile appeared on his face. "Thank you, Fieldmaster," he said with a very low bow of gratitude. "I will make certain that you do not regret this decision."
"I'm positive that I won't. Now, is there anything we need to do in preparation for embarking in the morning?" Mhar'laknee asked.
Vak'tomee glanced upwards at the dusky sky. "No, no. There is little left to contend with, for darkness will fall upon this place soon; the day is spent. Phantoms will arrive tomorrow to transport us to our rally point, and from there, our final siege upon the Humans shall begin. I suggest you both get some rest."
They nodded in acknowledgement.
"This way; I'll show you to your quarters." Vak'tomee set off towards a far corner of the camp and they obediently followed, pursued by long shadows from the last rays of evening sun.
Ravayne couldn't shake the feeling of being watched intently as they walked. She had expected a more animated greeting from her fellow Covenant, but she couldn't decide whether the Sangheili's curious silence was beneficial after all. An "animated greeting" had some very intimidating connotations that she was fortunate not to have encountered.
Vak'tomee led them through the hushed surveyors with a business-like brisk walk as though he didn't notice the odd glances his Sangheili were giving him. Or, at least, he was trying not to notice.
"This will be your quarter for the night," the Major said once they reached a particularly large filmy dome. He placed his palm over a sensor next to the door, motioned them inside, and they discovered a surprisingly roomy space within, complete with two bunks on each side. Ravayne noticed a spare plasma rifle sitting at the foot of both beds and a well-fortified chest upon the floor where she presumably could keep her armor safe while she slept. "It's not glamorous, but, well…" he glanced at Mhar'laknee and grinned slightly. "Welcome back to war."
Mhar'laknee returned the grin. "It's good to be back, my friend."
Vak'tomee began to walk back towards the exit. "I'll leave you two to get some rest." He stopped and glanced at Ravayne who was inspecting the plasma rifle on her bedspread. "And Ravayne," he said.
She immediately straightened to attention at the sound of her name.
"Nice armor. You've never looked better," he commented with an amused smirk.
She clicked her tongue with a smile. "Jealous?"
Vak'tomee laughed. "Hardly," he said as he raised his head proudly, boasting his own shining red armor in jest. He then quickly gathered himself and bowed before both of them one last time. "My sincere apologies; I waste your time with banter. I shall leave you to your rest."
"Sleep well, Vak'tomee," Ravayne smiled, waving to him as he turned to make his exit.
The automatic doors slid closed behind him and clicked as they locked. The dark golden shadows of the impending dusk filtered through the slightly-transparent filmy covering of their tent; a telltale omen of a pitch-black night just around the corner. The camp seemed strangely quiet. The hushed Covenant outside continued their patrols per the norm, but tantalizing curiosity and fear kept one eye fixed upon Ravayne's tent at all times.
Mhar'laknee watched Ravayne sit on the edge of her bed silently as she gazed into the flickering sunlight that leaked from the edges of the door. She seemed to be coping with the stress of the adventure quite well, although Mhar'laknee had not taught her to speak openly of emotions like fear and apprehension. All sorts of anxious thoughts could be circling through her mind and her body would never portray it.
"Are you going to sleep, Ravayne?" he asked.
She turned her head towards him, though he was acknowledged only by the lifeless Sangheili-shaped faceplate that concealed her eyes. "I don't know if could sleep well tonight, Master," came her slow reply.
"You will need your strength tomorrow."
She was silent for a moment and the direction of her head returned to door. "Do they fear me?" she finally asked.
Mhar'laknee sat down on the bed next to her. "It's probable. Though you'd have to pin a Sangheili to the floor with an energy sword to his neck to hear him admit it," he added with a chuckle.
"Will it always be like this, Master?"
Mhar'laknee frowned. "We've talked about this before, Ravayne," he said. "I can't make any promises as to what will happen… but I will make a prediction that the entire Covenant will grow to look up to you, respect you, love you, as I have."
She managed a weak smile, but it quickly disappeared. "Why do they doubt the Prophets' word? The prophesy… about me… it's the Prophet of Truth's holy decree. Disbelief borders on heresy."
Mhar'laknee thought carefully as to how to answer her query. Too much information, or too little, could spark doubt in Ravayne's adamant belief in what she had been raised to trust. "Your prophesy is one the Covenant is unfamiliar with. It takes time for a new concept to become universally accepted, especially one that is so… foreign. You were the only one saved from humanity's damnation, but such an occurrence was unforeseen. Once the public learns of your wholehearted loyalty to the Great Journey, you will be welcomed as the Covenant's Saraph."
Ravayne frowned in thought, but Mhar'laknee interrupted her before she could ask any more questions.
"Enough of this," he announced, standing up. "We must sleep, regardless of restless minds."
She nodded absentmindedly and tried to push her thoughts from her mind. Mhar'laknee was right; now was not the time for such questions.
Ravayne was somewhat reluctant to dismantle her armor suit and secure it in her footlocker to prepare for sleep. She felt almost out of place without it, as if she didn't belong in the military's vicinity while in her Human form. That armor was the only thing that so blatantly blurred the lines between humanity and Covenant, the only thing she could hide behind. Even as she climbed into her bunk wearing her gray under-clothing, completely concealed in their tent, hidden from the foot soldiers' eyes, she felt strangely self-conscious and awkward.
Still, as she shifted her thinking to the awaiting battlefield that she would venture to the next day, she remembered that this was where she truly belonged. There could be no doubt about that.
And so, with thoughts of fulfilling her duty to the merciful Covenant in her head, Ravayne forced herself to sleep.
She awoke to the sound of her name.
"Ravayne. Ravayne, rise," the deep voice said.
She rolled over in the bunk to discover that she was completely blind in the total darkness that engulfed the tent. Squinting for a moment as her vision adjusted, she managed to make out the silhouette of the tent's open door. It must have been well past midnight, for an eerie silence had manifested itself in momentarily resting camp and she could see a piece of the pitch-black, moonless sky.
The profile of a Sangheili appeared in the shadows before her. "Vak'tomee?" she asked, straining to see his face.
The figure seemed to nod ever so slightly. "Come with me."
"What's wrong? Are we under attack?" she asked urgently as she threw off the covers and immediately reached for her plasma rifle.
Vak'tomee didn't reply. He simply took a few steps backwards and stood in the doorframe, waiting for her.
Ravayne quickly rose to her feet, plasma rifle in hand, and Mhar'laknee stirred from the opposite side of the tent. "Ravayne? What's happening?" The Sangheili was immediately on his feet as well, giving Vak'tomee a questioning look.
"Come with me," the Major repeated, his voice a strange business-like calm.
Vak'tomee turned and exited the tent, followed by the curious Ravayne and Mhar'laknee. They entered the ghostly calm of the night beyond and were met with a slightly shocking chill of the barely-notable breeze. The light fabric of Ravayne's gray attire shifted slightly in the wind, and she was suddenly reminded of her vulnerable, unarmored state. She glanced left and right, half-expecting to see malicious Humans jumping out from the battered foliage.
Vak'tomee led them towards a distant corner of the camp. One isolated tent came into view, nestled between a charred tree and a sagging bush. Two Sangheili guards stood on either side of the tent's door holding carbines across their chests, faces completely stone.
They stopped several paces in front of the tent's entrance. Vak'tomee turned towards both of them and motioned Ravayne inside. "Enter."
She peered at him curiously before obliging to his direction, but she couldn't seem to find any trace of sentiment in his shadowed face. Slowly, squeezing her plasma rifle intuitively, she began to walk towards the tent's open door.
Mhar'laknee started to follow, but he was halted by a hand on his shoulder. He looked behind him to find Vak'tomee holding him back.
"She goes alone."
Mhar'laknee narrowed his eyes and locked them with his friend's for a moment. His calm demeanor seemed to imply that she was in no potential harm, so Mhar'laknee gradually stepped back resignedly and resorted to watching intently as Ravayne's figure disappeared into the tent.
Ravayne discovered a dimly-lit, almost completely bare room inside. One flickering fluorescent lamp hung from the middle of the ceiling, pouring a sickening yellow light, and her stomach jolted as she noticed what was sitting, chained to a chair, in the very center of the room.
A Human.
He sat solemnly before her, his head bowed in despair. He had clearly been beaten badly and was oozing blood from numerous gashes and plasma burns, and several oddly jutting bones in his arms and legs showed severe fractures. His UNSC uniform, which had once been a jungle-green, was now a dirty gray and spattered with dark patches of his own dried blood. Upon hearing her entrance, his head rose to reveal a black eye and bruised jaw, topped with a momentary expression of terror since he surely expected another beating.
But when he saw Ravayne rather than a malicious Sangheili, the look of fear instantly dissipated.
"Oh, thank God!" he exclaimed, a wide smile exposing two rows of broken and missing teeth. "Thank God, thank God! You – you're here with the auxiliary team, right? They finally came to rescue me!"
She tentatively took several steps closer, examining him carefully. This… this was a Human, a demon, an abomination against the Covenant. Her blood brother.
"Please…" the man continued, his voice a hair-raising whimper. "Please, get me outta here, just get me outta here!" His beg quickly turned into a wretched mixture sobbing and pitiable snivels. "Just make it end, please, take me home…"
Ravayne inched closer until she was standing over him, her eyes sweeping him up and down. His skin, although scarred and bruised, looked like hers – the same pale, creamy texture, and as she leaned slightly around the back of the chair, she saw one of the unmistakable marks of the Human race that she had always felt particularly ashamed of: five fingers on each hand. She absentmindedly reached up to touch her own burgundy hair as she observed the stubble of the military buzz-cut upon his head, noticing that it was clotted with dried blood and sweat.
His breathing rapidly quickened as she lowered herself to a slight kneel, leveling herself with his face. Finally, she looked into his hazel-blue eyes.
Fear. Confusion. Panic. Weakness.
He was the face of humanity as she knew it.
And suddenly, she knew what to do.
She rose to her full height and looked down upon his shaking frame, a new notion of utter disgust taking over her mind. Slowly, she raised her plasma rifle and positioned it a few centimeters in front of his face. The panic in the man's features became even more pronounced, and he immediately began to struggle desperately against the adamant chains that bound him mercilessly to the chair, but his efforts proved fruitless.
Ravayne muttered something to herself.
"Redemption is beyond their grasp."
The rifle roared in an explosion of glowing, sizzling plasma as she pulled the trigger. The man's cry of pain short; he was quickly silenced by the relentless plasma fire that burned his skin and seared his flesh, disfiguring him horribly to the point his face was no longer recognizable. The rampant shooting elicited an upsurge of his blood that spattered her clothing and pattered onto the dusty floor. And Ravayne held the trigger. She held the trigger until the frantic jerks of his limbs stopped, until all life had been drained from him. One less Human in the universe. The first on her tally.
Outside, Mhar'laknee felt himself wince upon hearing the sharp whine of plasma fire. He craned his neck in an attempt to get a better view of the tent's interior, but after a few moments, he didn't need to.
He watched, with a terrible mixture of pride and dread, as Ravayne emerged impassively from the shadowed door, her clothing blotted with crimson badges of devotion and her hands completely stained with the red blood of her own kin.
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Forbidden Amber