- Xark'ion -

The blade hit the piece of wood and chopped off a small corner of it.

“Let your eye travel right in front of the blade,” Truri'ton said. “The eye cuts first, then the sword.”

Xark'ion slashed at the wood again, missing completely.

“Relax the back muscles on the side away from the blade. Let the iron do the work.”

It was the kind of thing that the swordmaster would say to absolute beginners, little boys practicing with wooden swords.

Xark'ion felt the shame of it, but he obviously needed the instruction. Not only did he seem to not be getting any better with the sword, he was getting worse.

He couldn't concentrate. All that filled his mind was her. He saw her face everywhere, heard her voice in every sound around him. Even here, in the village where he had lived from birth, and she had only been once. The fireplace reminded him of her and her sore weeping and her thoughtful eyes. His tent reminded him only of their last time making love, when it had seemed more meaningful than ever because they finally knew each other.

Again he hacked at the wooden block, and again he barely hit it and only cut off a small sliver that flew into the woods.

“Your mind isn't in it,” the sword master said. “Let's take a break.”

“I don't know, Truri'ton. I thought avenging Groti'ax would set me at ease and provide some kind of relief. But now I find things have only gotten worse.”

“Yes?” the older man said. “That's strange. Or perhaps you thought you could bring him back by avenging him. I mean, not consciously, of course. But a hidden part of you.”

“Perhaps.” He knew that wasn't it. Avenging Groti'ax had meant betraying his mission. And Ava. That look in her eyes ... he winced at the recollection and knew he would have nightmares about that. A long time from now. For the rest of his life.

He missed Groti'ax. But what he felt for Ava was far beyond that, what an ice cold avalanche was to a snowflake, so overwhelming that he had to concentrate to stay on his feet when her absence hit him with full force. Which it did with every breath he took.

“I can see the pain on your face,” Truri'ton said. “I've never seen you like this. Even just after Groti'ax had died. I think you finally realize that he's gone forever.”

“What shall I do?” Xark'ion said, as much to himself as to his friend.

“Why, throw yourself into  battle again. Lead the squad. Groti'ax will always be with you in spirit. In the beginning, ask yourself 'what would Groti'ax do'. Soon you will think like him in certain situations. But Xark'ion must always be Xark'ion. Not Groti'ax.”

“I failed the mission I was on.”

“Ah. You failed? It happens.”

Xark'ion wanted to laugh at the absurdity. “No, not this way. When I avenged Groti'ax, it caused terrible damage to the mission and to ... to everything. I can't continue as captain of the squad. It would be a great disrespect to our queen.”

Truri'ton frowned. “Avenging Groti'ax, our tribesman and great friend, was a failure?”

“In the way it happened, it was. If I had had time to prepare, I would not have done it. If I'd had time to think. If I had realized who that alien really was before I was facing him. But the Kunuru suddenly ...”

He could taste the anger still, but it was only lukewarm now. The fire had gone out of it. But when the terrible alien had taunted the dead Groti'ax and held up the weapon that killed him, still dark with his blood, Xark'ion had first been as shocked as if a tree had fallen on him in an open field. Then he'd felt a fury so intense with heat that everything in the alien room had disappeared. The smell, the cold temperature, even Ava had faded into the background. Only Groti'ax and revenge had filled his mind and his senses. Groti'ax calling for revenge, the honorless alien taunting him.

Even now he couldn't remember actually having slashed his sword at the alien. He only remembered the horrified look on Ava's face right after, when he came to his senses.

Truri'ton put his hand on Xark'ion's shoulder. “I can see that many things have happened since last we spoke. Let's postpone our exercises to a later time. Your mind isn't all here, I feel.”

“It's not,” Xark'ion agreed.

“Go back to your squad,” the swordmaster said, “and be an ordinary warrior for a while. You will constantly be asked to take over the captaincy again. Only do that after, say, six months. That should be penance enough to satisfy the queen. In my opinion, that's more than is warranted. You avenged Groti'ax! Any slight you may have committed pales in comparison to that.”

A slight. Again Xark'ion wanted to laugh out loud. What he had done to Ava wasn't a slight. It was a little larger than that. He had betrayed her trust, her principles, all her hard work. And her love.

He could live with having failed the queen, no matter what the mission was. He could live with never being the captain of a squad again. But betraying Ava, after the time they'd had together, the missions, the time in the secret garden in space ... could he live with that?

His head spun and he steadied himself on a tree trunk. He had betrayed her. After she had opened her heart for him and given him her trust. Trusted him to carry his sword to meet the Kunuru, even though it would be disastrous to use it.

Her trust in him, in his strength, had been wrongly placed. He had betrayed her trust. And ruined her purpose and her mission. Her mission that meant everything to her.

“We'll see what happens,” he managed to say.

And in that moment he had an idea. Ava hadn't killed the Kunuru. He had. If he could find them again, perhaps her mission could be partly saved. Perhaps it didn't need to be a total disaster. Perhaps the damage could be limited.

He would find the Kunuru, offer himself to them and then perhaps they would agree to see Ava again.

The air seemed suddenly clearer. Now he had a purpose. They would kill him, of course. But he deserved no better.

“Sorry, what?”

“I said,” Truri'ton repeated, “that the wars have been quiet recently. Our enemies have pulled back. It is a good sign, they say.”