User:Tacitus/The Dawn's Heralds

From Halo: Daybreak

Chapter One

Said the First Light: That which we regard as [perceptual normality] comes with a strangeness that goes without notice. The Twelve Kingdoms of Understanding the mystics of old so enshrined are but a fleeting [world-echo] of the Truth That Escapes Reason, as the shadow of a njemr tree is in the light of a billion stars. Observe, thus, that the [essence of meaning] lies in that which eludes you yet [confronts you with an intense stare], and therein lies the Secret Truth: beyond corners that ever turn away from our gaze. Many among us seek to give [thought-shape] to the seventh and hidden Sphere of Knowing, realizing not that it is one with [infinite corners?].

-- Translated excerpt from the Scroll of Revelations Most High, as inscribed on the Unbroken Edifice by the Ice-shepherds of Kobah Un



THE EON OF IEN-DJYRN, TIME OF INVITATION
FOURTH WORLD-YEAR, MONTH OF ADON TIMAR, SIXTEETH CYCLE
COMMAND DECK OF THE HENJOR-PATTERN ATTACK SHIP DESTINY'S CERTITUDE
APPROACHING PLANET HYASELE, GAHAN'S STAR, IKKET'HAI CASCADE, SIAKAR EXPANSE


Ien-Djyrn...

Schemahegumen Sabar Dur 'Yrjorni's neck-scales bristled with shivers of righteous pride as he meditated on the way of his fathers, and their fathers before them, and their forebears so many generations back, under the glorious light of the stars of Tiarn's Cradle. It was the sacred fire of Ien-Djyrn, he knew, that kept his wits sharp, his senses keen, and his body potent. Only through that one truth, the only constant in the great Continuum, could all beings reach true Understanding and thereby salvation. And it was his task, and his only, to lead them there, whether he desired it or not; for he was Usaan ha'adai -- the Re-kindler of the World-Fire.

Sabar had always known it would be his lot to shoulder the terrible burden of truth, since his fathers first took him to his Rites of Revelation in the hallowed caves, where in the light of torches dancing upon great columns of mountain-stone carven with strange symbols he had taken his first steps toward manhood, and toward the Understanding his people alone bore, as they had faithfully borne for so many generations.

Yet he could never have dreamed that it would be he, Sabar 'Yrjorni, scion of the Keep Upon the Southern Slopes and the Line Untarnished, who would raise the next Great Host and lead the disciples of Ien-Djyrn to victory over the false-believers. All his prior distinctions - his clan, his service as a shipmaster of the Siakar garrisons, were as morn's pale embers in contrast to the great bonfire that was his new task.

All of those centuries his people had sung songs of yearning for a time that had now come; a time when the wretched Covenant and its false prophets were no more. History now flowed along a favorable current and his people - all peoples once under the yoke of the Deceivers of High Charity - were free to flourish under the one true faith.

And now, just four world-years ago, Sabar had issued his ultimatum and sent forth to the stars missionaries carrying the gospel of Ien-Djyrn. They would convert locals to the True Faith and gather loyal disciples, who would then be trained and sent to worlds yet more distant, and this process would be repeated until all of creation shone with the light of the Secret Truth.

The coming flourishing of the True Way had cost them much, it was true. The great Sky-Pendulums that used to trace their mighty arcs across the horizon of Chasitre and, the most woeful loss of all, the sanctuary-city of Sohrk cradled by the snow-crowned embrace of Umman.

Sabar suppressed a sudden pang of sorrow as he recalled his youngling days in the gardens and winding alleys of the precious city during summer days of golden sun and long nights of starlit wonder; and the blossoming of springtime upon the blue-green meadows and lush groves where clear mountain streams ran in the shade of ancient njemr trees, just off the city walls. So powerful were Sabar's memories of that time he could almost hear the bustle of the taverns bathed in holo-light and the shrill melodies of the gisord players, and smell the njemr blossoms and the exotic spices from faraway worlds sold by the street vendors in the narrow bazaar-alleys of the merchant district.

Now Sohrk was no more, and when the First Twin climbed over the westerly peak of Hasr'hatan, no longer would her rays find the city's lofty cupolas and proud spires shimmering in the morning mist; and no longer would the mountain breeze rouse the maroon and silver banners that once so gloriously flew upon the battlements of the Inner Wall, which Sabar had once thought implacable. All that which had been good and sacred in that place had been laid to ruin, and only death ruled in its stead now.

Sohrk had lain on the sentry-moon of Ranna. Although unremarkable in the grand scheme of things, some of the most decisive of the battles of the rising Djyrn Ultimatum had been fought there, for it was the ancestral home of the faithful. It had been thought to be a sheltered, defensible location, with robust battlements rooted deep in the rolling foothills of a plateau nestled amid the Umman mountain range. Yet the enemies of Ien-Djyrn upon Ranna, led by the treacherous Tora 'Versim, had made league with the raider scum that called themselves the Sons of Heaven and launched a surprise bombardment that had not only devastated the city, but destabilized the stratified, cavern-riddled bedrock of the plateau Sohrk lay upon, and triggered a catastrophic series of groundquakes and landslides that plunged the besieged city - along with all its surroundings - into the depths of the canyons below.

With Sohrk had died the household of the Yrjorni line, as had countless other faithful families, and their entire past was now lost save for the songs and tales the scattered few survivors carried.

Sabar had grieved and raged and sought vengeange for many rotations, and Versim clan had paid for their crimes in blood. Not long after the ruin of Sohrk, Sabar had faced Versim's forces in battle. Then he had turned every weapon the Fleet of Impending Glory had upon that accursed clan's holdings in the northern plains of the Orrus Peninsula, and bombarded those redoubts until they could be bombarded no more. For weeks the fleet had prowled that region, and seen to it that nothing that drew breath escaped that inferno. So potent had that immolation been that what had been the Versim heartlands still glowed red-hot.

Yet that satisfaction had come at the cost of more losses still, including seven ships and Sabar's creche-brother Alrok 'Kusnai, who had been one of his finest commanders -- and a dear friend. With him, Sabar had shared his days of youth in and around Sohrk, and later still, received the sacred Rites of Revelation and thus became carriers of the flame. Theirs had been hearts intertwined, not by blood but by the sacred bonds of faith and brotherhood.

Worse yet, the Versim filth had expected such an attack, and most of their warriors were already off-world by the time the forces of Ien-Djyrn descended upon their keep. Even now, the vermin still prowled in the shadows of the countless stars of Ikket'hai; debased and without honor, like a flock of bhakim; no doubt plotting and gathering their strength for another strike.

It had been then that Sabar realized vengeance had consumed him. Sohrk was but one place from his past, and Ien-Djyrn was so much more than that. So he had steeled his hearts and given himself entirely to the True Teachings. Now all he had was the fight in the name of Ien-Djyrn. To do otherwise would be to dishonor the Unmourned Faithful who had kept the flame alive over those dark centuries, and to acquiesce to the very forces it was his duty to destroy.

It was rumored there were other adherents of Ien-Djyrn, around faraway stars; the ancestors of his people had been scattered far and wide in the Great Woe so long ago. Their ordeals had been long and dreadful, yet those trevails had proved the true test of their faith; for with the passing of generations many of the once faithful had forsaken the way of Ien-Djyrn in favor of the Deceivers' lies, or worse, perverted their ways with grotesque heresies. Sabar found himself shaking at the thought, and it was only through the quiet recitation of the Nine Axioms that the storm between his hearts calmed.


"Schemahegumen, we have achieved orbital velocity," announced the helmsman, the ever reliable Cimur 'Urnas, old yet still steady of hand, and endowed with the wisdom of age invaluable in a command crew mostly staffed by youngsters.

"Commence reorientation immediately," said Sabar. Acknowledging his order with the subtlest of bows, the helmsman relayed his command to the rest of the Fleet of Impending Glory even as he prepared the Destiny's Certitude itself for the maneuver. From anyone else, Sabar would have taken the curt acknowledgment for misdemeanor, but when it came to old Cimur of the Third Spire, he knew better.

The quantum flames of the seventeen ships' deceleration burn flickered off and they executed a graceful flip, bringing their noses to face the direction of travel in preparation for orbital maneuvering. Sabar took pride at the synchronicity of the act, nearly as graceful as a konta performance. Only two ships seemed to break the beautiful symmetry; Sabar made a mental note to remind those shipmasters of their slight, should they survive the coming ordeal. For though the less enlightened may find such details trivial, it was in fact precisely the struggle to perfect every step of one's life-journey that brought one closer to comprehending the Secret Truth, and elevating oneself, as well as all of Ien-Djyrn, in splendor.

Hyasele loomed before him, presenting its night side to the Destiny's Certitude and the rest of the Fleet of Impending Glory. Sabar could see the lights of settlements glittering in the darkened face of the planet before him, and the occasional flaring speck of reentry or a craft climbing to orbit. Gahan's Star was but the faintest glimmer somewhere beyond the haze of the twilight line.

The scene seemed calm, yet there was unrest on Hyasele. There were a select few loyal to Sabar, and to Ien-Djyrn, who had done commendable work in advancing the cause on that world, but it had not been enough; and so his bannermistress, Eri 'Munq, had requested Sabar's aid in overthrowing the local planetary lord and his accursed minions. The loathsome heathen of a daakhon had rejected the True Way, and had instead pursued an alliance with the Conflux, an infidel rabble that had infested the Chikri-Merkaa Strand, a nearby stellar region. The Strand was located along not one but two key spacelanes, which gave the Conflux considerable wealth and strategic leverage even this many star-leagues outside their domain.

Hyasele was a world of but a minor stature, though it had once stood among the key centers of the Ikket'hai Cascade. Many ages ago, a trade route had passed through this system, feeding to greater lanes in the Chikri-Merkaa Strand, the Koor-Zaan Stream and beyond. The wealth carried along that slipway had brought power and prestige to the Hyaselen families, and the world had prospered for many an age. But as the marches of civilized space had pushed further spinward along the Raan-Uchaal Bridge, and more efficient, more powerful slipspace lanes were charted, Hyasele had fallen by the wayside. Yet a handful of its cities still retained a luster like a reflection of ages past, and it was no secret the local families who had not moved on sought a return to Hyasele's glory days.

It had been nearly ten world-years since Sabar last visited the Hyasele system, and already he could see some of the recent developments of which his spies had spoken. Even from orbit, tendrils of lights upon formerly untamed regions of the planet's surface told a tale of a widespread expansion of the local algae-farms and seasteads. Through the holotank, whose image was drawn from the dozens of sensors across his fleet, Sabar could see orbital ports, ore storage platforms and spacedocks that had not been there before. All this fit the picture his spies had supplied him; that Hyasele sought to become entirely self-sufficient, and stand once again as a regional nexus of Ikket'hai.

Very little of this was thanks to Daakhon Ersi 'Rilmar, Sabar thought. The planetary lord had grown old and weary, and was in these days little more than a figurehead for ambitious, younger and more potent kaidons on Hyasele as well as the mining consortium operating out of the local asteroid belt and the traders that had nestled among the moons of the unlit sun Shir-Hirul at the system's outskirts.

It was clear that the Hyaselen lords had greater ambitions, of which their dalliance with the Chikri-Merkaa Conflux was merely one part. Up until recently they had been laying low, as if attempting to gauge who would come out on top out of the emerging powers that had coalesced following High Charity's ruin. Now, they were making their move, and Sabar only regretted he had not managed to convince them sooner to pledge their swords to the cause of Ien-Dyjrn.

No matter. Once he was done here, Rilmar and his subjects would all bend the knee - or be destroyed.

Sabar had to remind himself that even this was but an unnecessary distraction on the road to True Salvation. Yet help would be provided. Heathens would be made an example of. For that was the way of those who struggled in the name of Ien-Djyrn.

There were two kinds of beings in the universe: those who accepted Ien-Djyrn and those that did not. And it was this distinction, he knew, that separated beings with a soul from mere beasts: for a thinking being to live without the Secret Truth was to be without an inner light and, indeed, without purpose altogether. Without that light, one was but an automaton, a sad simulacrum of a sapient pitifully unaware of one's wretched state. Yet the light could be kindled even in sinners and unbelievers, so long as one repented and suborned one's will to the True Teachings.

Sabar could not comprehend why anyone would reject the Way - for was it not the most righteous and just of all ways? - but he had come to the conclusion those ones were simply ignorant and must be demonstrated their error; as a father punishes a misbehaving youngling: firm, so that the lesson will not be forgotten, yet gentle, for the child does not know better.

Even now, he knew Hyasele's planetary defense fleet would be coming about the planet to meet the Fleet of Impending Glory. Their deceleration burns would have been hard to miss, even if their planetary surveillance had failed to notice the fleet exiting slipspace.

Good; let them come, and let them meet their doom.

As the planet turned below, Sabar nearly found himself weeping, so touched was he by this moment in time, this chaotic serenity. For how could anyone feel anything but joy upon such an occasion? How fortunate these beings truly were, to be able to bear witness to the coming glory of the Dominion of Ien-Djyrn?

Sabar would take this stellar system, and all systems of the Ikket'hai Cascade and all of Siakar. He would build great fleets and raise mighty armies; he would then set their sights on the ancient core of Ien-Djyrn, far in the shimmering stardusts of the Rainbow Havens. Yes... He would smite the heathens from the skies- he would take the hallowed Chinnath Naur itself!

With a prideful fervor that so often accompanied such upwellings of his ambitions, Sabar set his gaze beyond the planet's horizon, as he had many times on many worlds, and beheld the river of light that was the hazy smearing of stars of the Raan Spine and beyond it, the nuclear regions and other tendril limbs of the Great Spiral: the radiance of suns beyond counting, all to be liberated for the True Way.

It did not bother the Schemahegumen that at the moment, the dominion consisted of only three and a half settled worlds along lesser slipspace lanes, and some two dozen orbital habitats and refueling stations; for was it not a universal fact, one known even to heathens, that all great things sprang from small things? He put his fist on each of his hearts in silent affirmation of this truth.


"My lord? The heathen fleet will cross the twilight line in two minutes."

Sabar knew the voice belonged to the Acolyte Kuro 'Nihami, his personal steward. It seemed insolent of 'Nihami to interrupt Sabar's glorious solitude, yet there were important matters to attend to.

With all the menace inherent to his form, Sabar turned to face the intruder. 'Nihami bowed his head in turn, and Sabar could detect the faintest nervous twitch in his mandibles. The Acolyte was a lanky junior officer - still a boy, really, bony yet smooth of features, with the small and delicate mandibles of a youth. He was clad in the silver and maroon harness of Ien-Djyrn draped over with the plain stole of one who, despite being seven world-years past his First Rites, had only just given his life over fully to the True Teachings. And he had not yet learned to carry himself with the air of a proud officer of Ien-Djyrn.

Sabar himself was a terrible sight to behold: though just over ten springs Nihami's senior and merely of average height, he had a powerful frame with pale eyes on a grim, scarred face crowned by a helm whence a pair of great horns protruded- horns that Sabar himself had pried from the skull of a qhall beast after a glorious hunt. He had clad himself in dark maroon battle-harness and a surcoat of the finest Kulbhat weave, a battle-vestment traditional of his house for generations.

Just for this voyage, his fleet's seamstresses had worked day and night to embroider his livery with the secret runes of Ien-Djyrn in bold, triumphant configurations; the gold and silver streams of glyphs running upon his coat told an arcane tale of the Road of Trevails- of hardships past, and those yet to come. The beautiful symbolism of the embroideries would go unappreciated by heathens, yet be clear as day to one initiated in the mysteries of Ien-Djyrn.

Upon his hip was secured the frugally ornamented hilt of an energy blade fashioned according to the K'hannim tradition, and in his back the Qorn's Lance: a one-of-a-kind particle rifle gifted to the Yrjorni household by travelers from a faraway world countless ages ago. Ancient as it may be, the sleek weapon had been maintained in prime condition by the Yrjorni line, and still ever struck true in capable hands. While designed as a hunting weapon, Sabar always carried the rifle with him, whether it be on the hunt or the field of battle. It was the Qorn's Lance that had brought down the qhall upon Umman at the conclusion of that fateful hunt, and had sealed the fate of many a foe. It was also one of the few worldly possessions that remained with him after the ruin of Sohrk, saved from that fateful day only by Sabar's insistence on carrying it on his person at all times; where many of his sires of old had been content with letting it rest in the trophy-hall of the Keep.

Sabar addressed the Acolyte: "Warm up plasma lines. Prepare for battle-maneuvers. Open a general channel; I wish to address the entire fleet."

"I am honored to fulfill your command, Lord Schemahegumen," the Acolyte said, bowing. 'Nihami was a dedicated disciple, albeit not his brightest one. Yet he served his purpose where he was for the time being.

Sabar turned his grim countenance away from the Acolyte, then raised his voice to address the entire command deck. Deep as thunder in the mountains his words echoed across the chamber:

"My faithful, remember this day. For it will be sung of as the day the Light of Ien-Djyrn shone upon Hyasele!"

All would hear his words, Sabar knew; Shipmasters and command crews of his fleet, his warriors and storm-furies in the shuttle bays and the rangers reciting their final prayers in the launch chutes of their insertion skiffs; the machinists and Huragok performing their arcane rituals to bring the ship to final readiness; the star-lancers in their gunnery stations and the pilots of the flights of warcraft entering battle-meditation as their minds coupled with their attack ships and stasis fields suspended them in place; the lowly Unggoy and Kig-Yar deckhands upon the hangars and storage holds going about their duties.

The rising fervor of the faithful… was this not the purest, most holy of rites? It was this that Sabar lived for; not the heat of battle but the anticipation; that moment of perfect, ecstatic harmony before the chaotic eruption.

"As we ride to battle, remember what we fight for. The glory we claim for ourselves this day is but the palest glimmer next to the radiant brilliance of Ien-Djyrn. Yet this is our hour. For the Deceivers' bones are dust, and it is now in our hands to bring this world and all others under the light of the Secret Truth!"

"Remember your reward in the next life. Each of you carries the colors of Ien-Djyrn, and that is the signet of the Undying; as long as your hearts are true to the One Faith, you may welcome death as you would welcome a dear friend. Yet our enemies should know fear, for nothing but oblivion awaits them, and only death shall be their lot this day. We will wash over them as inevitably as a rising tide. Strike hard! Strike true! Let your hearts beat for Ien-Djyrn!"

The rising clatter of fists on battle-harness echoed across the dim cavern of the command deck as the crew beat their chests in affirmation. Sabar frowned with distaste at the Unggoy crewmembers' attempts to do the same, for it was anything but glorious, yet competent crew were in short supply and the Unggoy, when properly trained, could be surprisingly bright. And they were some of the most committed among all adherents of Ien-Djyrn. Theirs were souls unburdened by doubts and artifice, earnest and receptive as those of a hatchling. Perhaps in that, they held their own sort of nobility. Sabar wished more than a few of his own kind had been blessed with such virtue.

Yet Sabar would continue his rousing speech, for the furor of the moment was upon him, and fire was in his veins.

"For Victory! For the Secret Truth! For the Undying!" Sabar roared, and his warriors responded in kind; and the Schemahegumen of Ien-Djyrn, first of his kind in this eon of the world, raised his fist toward the enemy fleet as it rose into view from behind the planet, glittering specks barely visible against the blinding glare of Gahan's Star as dawn broke over Hyasele.