CHAPTER ONE: A Kell's Decision

There was a tension in the air aboard the ketch. It vibrated in the bulkheads. It passed in the whispered words of its crew, dregs and vandals and captains all. It thrummed in the ether they breathed. There was unhappiness with the one who sat in the throne of their Kell, and dactyls closed around daggers and swords. Everyone was waiting for the first person to loose their blade.

It was not an unknown feeling. Since the Whirlwind had swept their people off their worlds and sent them fleeing into the stars, they had become a spiteful race. Scavenging anything they could from worlds left dead by the Whirlwind. In some cases, the worlds weren't completely dead, and blood had been spilled as they took what they wanted from the remains. If the spoils weren't good enough, or if too many of their own perished in pain and lost ether, then the spite turned inward and upward. Vandals found themselves surrounded with the fury of their dregs. Captains, confronted by enraged or simply ambitious vandals. Barons, staring down the barrel of a captain's cannon. And, in extremis, Kells could be cast down from their high chairs. To show weakness was to invite a blade in one's back.

But the higher the blade sought, the more cautious it became.. One did not become a Kell because one showed kindness. A Kell was strong. A Kell was ruthless. A Kell's gaze must reach both far and broad and around behind. A Kell's hand was closed in a fist, not open in mercy. And thus the ketch had grown tense. Their Kell had made a declaration of intent, and the shock of its meaning had rippled through the House like a tidal wave. Those below the House nobility knew it would cause disruption and there would be the howl of a coup. But their Kell was savvy to this, and those seeking to overturn the throne were cautious in the face of it. And so the Barons made one final attempt to convince their leader of his folly.

"You would parley with the She'lot?" Baron Morsik's eyes burned, and the fur lining of his cape seemed to bristle with the anger that emanated from him. He was an older example of their kind, grizzled and battle-tested. He had once eyed the Kell's chair for himself, before the current Kell claimed it, and the whispers were he still coveted it. He slammed both right fists upon the high table. He welcomed the pain in his flesh hand, even as his metal hand left minute cracks in the surface. "After all they have done to us? They are thieves, hoarding the blessings for themselves, while slaughtering us at every turn!"

The thread was picked up by Archon Nemak. "They profess to be tolerant people, but they are liars, all!" The priestess smacked the shank beside him, and it obediently projected a series of holograms above the table. "Look back at their history, which we've pulled from the ruins of their cities! Hatred, warfare, violence, since before their histories started!" The sneer dripped from Nemak's words as she drew herself up, dactyls curling on the haft of her halberd of office. "Liars. Thieves. Killers. These are the people," she spat the word, "to which you seek to surrender?"

All eyes turned to the two other Barons around the high table. Both were highly placed in the Kell's trust, but this did not mean they followed him blindly. Lakonis had risen through the ranks in typical fashion, slaying vandal, then captain, then baron, but had done so in a methodical way. He did not take action rashly, and he used words like he used his wire rifle. He stood with both flesh arms folded, while his metal dactyls rested at his waist, within easy reach of his sword and knife. His ether-mask bore the scars of his battles, and he had long eschewed replacing it.

Across from him was the youngest to stand at the table, but this did not translate to weakness. She had earned her right to stand at the table many times over. The least of her accomplishments was surviving multiple confrontations with the Sha'ir. Though raised to Baroness, she was new enough to the rank she still wore the armor of a captain. All of her eyes were closed as she appeared to be deep in thought, her metal arms folded behind her back, the knuckles of her flesh dactyls pressed to the table.

Morsik growled. "Do neither of you have anything to say to convince our Kell not to treat with the She'lot?"

Lakonis' cerulean gaze shifted from the Kell to his fellow Baron, regarding him coolly. Then he spread his metal paws. When he spoke, his voice was a low rasp. "I have nothing to give to your argument. The Kell will decide as the Kell will."

"And what of you?" Nemak demanded of the young Baroness. "Tell us, Feniks, whether you agree that the Kell's plan will doom us all."

Baroness Feniks opened her out-left eye first, its amber glow fixing on the Archon. She straightened up and spread all four hands. "What more is there to say? Both you and Morsik have said it already. Anything I'd say would be redundant." All four eyes opened and she gestured to the figure sat in the chair at the head of the table. "Let the Kell now convince us why his path is the course we should follow."

Semakis leaned forward, breath hissing through his ether-mask. One hand held the haft of his primary sword in a reverse-grip over the arm of the chair. Thrust through a bandolier across his chest were a pair of shock pistols and his ornate crested mask turned to look from one advisor to the next. Rising to his feet, he smacked his fist on the console before him. The air crackled as he broadcast his voice across the ship.

"Eliksni of this House. This is Semakis, your Kell." Around the table, the activity of the bridge stilled, and eyes turned to the House's ruler. "You all know my intentions. To contact the humans of their City- what other Houses call the City That Docks- and petition for ceasefire between them and our House, in the hopes of a lasting peace between Eliksni and the humans."

He paced around the table as he spoke, both sets of hands clasped behind his back, the grand cape bearing his House sigil stirring behind him. "There are those of this House who question my decision. Who call me insane, inflicted with a madness like the rabid Wolf Skolas. I have heard their arguments- that I would sell my House into slavery to the humans, as the Wolves had been to the Reef Folk. That the humans are the She'lot, that they hoard the Blessings of the Great Machine for themselves, while sending their Sha'ir death-dealers to kill our people. That they are liars, thieves, and killers to a singular. That we are too proud to suffer the hand-outs of the She'lot, to expect them to show us mercy. That to even consider such an idea is a sign of weakness that proves I do not deserve to be your Kell."

As he spoke these words, he paused behind Morsik, who growled. Semakis met his gaze levelly. "To anyone who thinks me weak, I invite you to step forward and try to claim my seat in the throne." He and the Baron glared at one another, but Morsik subsided, breaking the stare-down first. The Kell continued, "I have heard the objections. And now let me explain why this is the only way forward."

He resumed his pace around the high table. "We all know what the other races call us. They call us 'Fallen.' And why? Because they look at us and they can see signs of what we used to have." He clenched his fist and raised it high. "We are Eliksni! We were a proud and noble race. We had spread to countless planets, we enjoyed prosperity that some races can only dream about attaining. But then," he thumped his fist on the table again, "came the Whirlwind. The innumerable Houses of our shining era were scoured from the worlds, leaving a paltry number to flee to the stars. Now our people are left to scavenge and starve.

"Some might say that we have nonetheless survived." Semakis snarled with a rattle of his teeth. "The Houses have dwindled. We fight each other for the meager things we have stolen. We climb the ranks by slaughtering those above us. And the humans- all the races that look upon us- see these things and so they call us 'Fallen.'"

His voice turned somber. "Because we have. Where is the nobility we once had? Lost to the Whirlwind. We take from those who have what we want. The Wolves once swore fealty to the Reef Kell, and they broke their oaths and made war upon her. If someone opposes us, we offer nothing except fire and blade and death. You say that the humans are thieves, liars, and killers? Then what does that make us?"

Semakis paced around the end of the table and moved on. "We do, as a people, need to unite. All Houses together. But not to fight the humans. They fought us off at our strongest, but we are not strong now. The Winter are without leaders. The Exiles are oath-breakers and outcasts who refuse unity. The Wolves were scourged and culled for their treason. And the Devils have been broken thrice over for their warmongering. The Houses have tried to steal back the Great Machine, and we have been docked for it."

He looked to Nemak, who straightened up proudly. "I claim no prophecy. I am not of the House of Rain, lost to the Whirlwind. I claim no true foresight." He resumed his walk, his eyes roaming around the bridge. "But I can see our future, spooling out to its end. We continue to dwindle away. We squabble over scraps. We turn on each other. We starve. It won't be the human City that ends us. It will be our own petty hatreds and stubborn pride that finally does it. I will not see our people fade away to such a fate!"

His shout shook the halls of the great ketch as he pivoted back at the head of the high table again. "So any Eliksni that disagrees with me," Semakis drew his swords and roared, "Be they Kell or dreg, face me and burn!"

Silence fell as the Kell stared down the table at the other leaders of his House. Morsik's dactyls flexed around the butt of his rifle, and the Archon's halberd scraped on the deck plating momentarily. Lakonis said nothing, merely watched the others around the table. Finally, Baroness Feniks spoke.

"Seeking peace is not weakness." She drew her blades and laid them on the table, hafts pointing to the throne. "However, seeking war is not strength. Asking for parley with the human City is not treason to the House, but if the humans reject peace, then so be it- this House will bring them war." She drew herself up and glared at Morsik and Nemak defiantly. "Baroness Feniks stands with our Kell."

Lakonis turned to look at her, arms still folded, and then nodded once. "She speaks higher reason." He picked up his wire rifle and placed it on the table, the stock pointed toward the throne. "Baron Lakonis stands with his Kell."

There was a raspy growl from Morsik, who looked ready to speak. Nemak tapped her halberd against the deck to interrupt him. "I have seen too many of our Servitors destroyed by the She'lot. Other houses have seen their Prime Servitors slain." She growled and shook her head from side to side. "I have no wish to see this House's Prime destroyed like the rest. So." She lifted her halberd and held it out in her metal palms toward the throne. "Archon Nemak stands with the Kell."

All eyes now turned to the last Baron. Morsik growled again, then turned and walked away from the high table. Nemak watched him go. "Baron Morsik stands apart from the Kell," she declared. She turned to Semakis. "Is he cast out?"

The Kell watched Morsik leave, and as the Baron reached the hatch, he finally spoke. "Morsik is no longer Baron of this House." He saw the old Eliksni stop. "He is cast out. He has no rank here." Morsik turned to look at him, and Semakis added, "But I am moved to be merciful to the one who taught me the arts of battle. I will not dock him of his arms. Go, old friend, but do not show yourself in my presence again. Seek your place with another House, if any will take you." Morsik glared up at them, then reached up and tore the cape from his shoulders. He threw this onto the deck, before clasping both right fists over his breastplate. He bowed stiffly, then swept around and stormed out of the bridge.

Semakis nodded and then his voice raised again. "The leaders of this House have spoken. The way forward is clear. The Whirlwind will rage, but we Eliksni will howl our defiance to the finish. Keep your weapons ready. Though we will ask for peace, we must be ready for war. Semakis, Kell, has spoken."

Afterword: After some thought, I decided to abandon my Destiny fanfic "The Black Hole of Calcutta" in favor of telling different stories in the universe. Some characters and concepts are being recycled and redeveloped for this story.

Eliksni translations:

She'lot. Thief (of) Blessing/Traveler. Fallen term for humanity.

Sha'ir. Gift (of) Light. Fallen term for Guardian.