Taarna

Taarna: Taarna had seen the sword only once, many years ago, and then only from afar. It was shortly after she had completed her training and had been initiated into the ranks as a full warrior, before the dark times which had signaled the dissolution of her race. The chieftain at that time had determined to use the weapon to lead them into battle against a sizable force of northern marauders threatening the borders of a client municipality. Taarna had been on foot in that conflict, assigned to the left wing of the Taarakian forces arrayed for battle. As a gesture intended to boost morale and kindle their fighting spirit, the chieftain had swooped low past their lines on her bird with the sword drawn. Taarna could still recall the tingling down her spine and the sense of awe that she felt upon seeing the weapon raised high by the powerful arm, its sharp point glinting in the sun, as her leader winged past to the responding shouts and yells of the troops. END_OF_DIALOG

Taarna: Decision made, her training took over. She returned rapidly to her bedchamber and stripped. She withdrew a brown, floor-length cloak from the back of her wardrobe. Religious doctrine required a warrior entering the Taarakian Sanctuary to do so with great humility, and the plain, ceremonial robe was meant to be an outward sign of a contrite inner spirit. It had been years, however, since she had last worn it; and slipping it on, she felt like an impostor. She had become a stranger to it. It seemed to belong to an earlier Taarna, a woman from her past she no longer knew, someone who had not yet forsaken God. But with a sense of hypocritical unease, she put it on nevertheless. END_OF_DIALOG

Taarna: Approaching the monumental structure, Taarna and her bird appeared tiny and insignificant, slipping through the skull's massive orbits and fenestra. As they passed into the station, she prepared to descend vertically, clasping the reins tightly and hugging Alata with her legs. Deep into the bowels of the enormous structure they flew, spiraling through an extensive, complex network of pipes, ductwork, and tiered platforms. They frequently dove in an exhilarating rush directly down huge vertical shafts lit from the bright sun above. The air howled in the narrower passages, beating against them like a powerful fan. She was excited and elated by these surroundings. Her emotions were intensified by the tireless rhythm of her bird's muscles under her, and the abrupt changes in pitch and direction it made to complete their journey. END_OF_DIALOG

Taarna: As night passed into day the sky lightened and the stars began to fade. Taarna arose when the first rays of light crept over the horizon and filled the room through the window. The rising sun slowly illuminated the altar on the opposite wall in an ever-lowering line. She stood in the middle of the chamber and stretched. An ivory-colored gown, delicately embroidered at the neck and hem, hung to mid-calf. A breeze slipped through the windows, stealing away the vestigial warmth of her slumber. She was a tall, powerfully built woman with a trim frame shaped by a lifetime of intense training. She was in top physical condition, but was not excessively muscular. Her hair, which extended to the middle of her back, was brilliantly white, turning to gray around her face. Her profile was remarkable for its beautiful symmetry, straight nose, high, angular cheekbones, a well-defined chin, and dark green eyes. END_OF_DIALOG

Taarna: Expressionless, she glanced out the window at the arid landscape in the valley far below. The sun glinted off a network of rotting pipes which snaked across the parched, coarse surface, their pathways occasionally conjoined by small, decrepit pumping stations. At the time of her birth, the system of stations and pipes through which vital water flowed had been well-maintained. Now they were corroded and weather-beaten, bent and broken in places, and water was much more scarce. She saw a bleak, desolate land that was slowly declining into ruin. She shrugged mentally as she looked out at the barren wasteland. A numb, weary feeling crept over her. Another day was upon her--a day to be spent alone, like the day before, and before that, in a seemingly endless trail spiraling backwards into her past. She felt intensely isolated, fundamentally separated by who she was, and uncertain about who she would be. Moving to the washstand, she poured a small amount of water into the bowl from a ruby-colored vessel resting beneath. END_OF_DIALOG

Taarna: She turned habitually toward the altar after washing her face. Many times in the past she had knelt in silent prayer, but not today. She had recently become neglectful of her prayer life. A growing anger and bitterness had gradually eroded the frank self-examination of conscience and humble request for intercessions which had routinely marked her mornings. The hardening of her heart had begun as whispered thoughts of distraction. They had increased from day to day, driving out focused attention, until she had been engaged only in an affectation of prayer. Finally, one day she had simply not bothered to try. She turned away from the altar, deliberately ignoring the twinge of guilt. This, too, had become easier with the passage of days. END_OF_DIALOG

Taarna: Already she sensed the increasing heat of the day as the sun continued to rise into the pale, lavender sky. She dressed, slipping a lightweight blouse over her head, and pulling on a pair of tan-colored pants with a seat and inner thighs made of leather. From the wardrobe she retrieved a blue garment resembling a bolero jacket and put it on. She slipped soft leather boots over her feet and laced them to mid-calf. She quickly pulled onto her forearms a pair of boiled leather wrist gauntlets, scuffed and worn from years of use. She brushed her hair carefully, then left the room. END_OF_DIALOG

Taarna: After breakfast, Taarna traversed a modest, barren courtyard which separated the house from a stable. To her left rose the steep face of the mountain upon which the home had been constructed. To her right was a high stone wall, divided by a gate in which stood two sturdy metal doors, bolted from the inside. On the other side of the wall, the mountain fell steeply away, and a narrow path wound down its face to the valley below. Upon seeing Alata, she smiled. Her bird thrust his head out of the top half of the large stable door to greet her. Including his crest, he was taller than her by about a foot. His large green eyes watched her intently. He shook his head and bucked against the lower door, head and beak bobbing excitedly, eager for release. She stroked the creature's head, then unlatched the gate and led him by the halter out of the stall. Alata stretched his tan-colored wings gratefully, revealing an impressive wingspan of forty to fifty feet. The wind blew the small puffs of dust stirred by his formidable talons across the ground. She tied him to a post standing in the middle of the courtyard, and he bent his head low and drank from an adjacent trough, dark tongue darting rapidly out from his half-open beak to lap up the water. END_OF_DIALOG

Taarna: Her grandfather had passed away in the same season. When she had inquired of her mother where he had gone, her mother had come to her, taken her hand, and pointed up to the cloud-filled sky. "He is up there, with God now," she had responded solemnly. Taarna did not say anything—congenital paralysis of the vocal cords had left her mute from birth—but she had shielded her eyes and scanned the heavens, searching fruitlessly for some sign. Finding none, she had decided to look for her grandfather when she became confident riding her bird alone. She had urged it to climb higher and higher into the sky, above the cloud layers, higher than she had ever gone before. She flew so high that it became cold despite the heat at the ground, and she could no longer see the details of any objects below; high enough that there was nothing above her but the sun. END_OF_DIALOG

Taarna: The bird tried gamely to follow her lead, but eventually, no matter how hard it tried, it could no longer gain any height, and she feared that it was becoming exhausted. So she had reluctantly permitted it to descend. In her childish way she had been disappointed to find neither God nor her grandfather. Taarna went into the stable to replenish the bird's food and replace its bedding. A passageway ran across the front length of the stable, which had been divided into thirds: two stalls at either end, and another room for equipment and supplies in the middle. The far stall was empty and swept clean, its door to the courtyard locked. Two saddles rested in racks in the middle room. One was covered with a dusty tarp. END_OF_DIALOG

Taarna: Taarna turned toward the rose-colored circle and bowed her head. The time for her reconciliation had come. Time to obtain a blessed release—to relinquish the tight constriction in her heart, to extinguish the smoldering embers of anger that she had been stoking for years. She closed her eyes and the prayer came shooting up from deep within her, with no distractions. Lord, I am sorry. Sorry that I blamed you for Kanei’s and Cynane’s death; sorry that I condemned you for the loss of my kinsmen. I know that you are love, and that from you no evil can come. I was a fool to think otherwise, wrong to have abandoned my faith in you. I disown what I have said to you in my heart. I know that your ways are not my ways; that there must be some meaning to all of this that I cannot perceive. I was wrong to have cut myself off from you. How I missed you. I need you now more than ever. You are all that I have. You are all that I ever had, and in my blindness and pain I did not remember that. I do not know what will happen to me, but please, give me your grace; grant me your strength." A great emotional burden left her. Silently she wept. Taarna opened her eyes to a voice, deep and sonorous, which filled the chamber. She trembled at the sound of it. "To defend... this is the Pact. But when life loses its value, and is taken for naught, then the Pact is... to avenge." END_OF_DIALOG

Taarna: Lightning sprang from the statue's sword to the tip of hers, causing the blade to glow with blue-white light, and a tremendous pulse of energy strummed through the weapon. Her body shuddered and her legs flexed. A corona of light appeared around the blade. The room turned white and she snapped her eyes closed, but still light pervaded her vision. Simultaneously the silence was shattered by a deafening thunderclap. The sword became an enormous tuning fork in her hands, throbbing and alive. She felt her hair lift from her shoulders and swirl violently about her head. Across the hall, Alata turned his head away in fear. The thunderclap became a continuous roar. She opened her mouth and tried to breathe, but found it impossible; the air was being sucked out of her lungs. END_OF_DIALOG

Taarna: The event crescendoed to a climax. She hardly thought it possible, but the light grew brighter and the sound increased to an almost unbearable level. Taarna felt as if she was being gripped by a giant, invisible hand, pulled stiff and taut by the sword. At a point when she feared she might simply fly apart, the energy suddenly departed in an expanding, wave-like burst. The sound reverberated through the air and then ceased, her hair fluttered back, and the room grew dark, once again illuminated solely by the shafts of natural sunlight. The floor before her was again plain stone. But the agitated ripples on the pool's surface silently attested to the power that had just been infused into the weapon now in her hands. END_OF_DIALOG

Taarna: Taarna lowered the sword unsteadily and took a deep breath to regain control of her respiration. White circles lingered in her retinas. Her ears were ringing, her hands and forearms tingled fiercely, and her legs felt weak. For a brief time she thought she might faint, but the moment passed. Taarna's heart leapt with joy. The Sword had risen! She scarcely believed it, yet it had happened: the proof was in her hands. And what had just occurred--in the entire history of the Taarakian race, such an event had never been recorded. She did not understand it, but it did not matter--she accepted it on the strength of her faith. She fell to her knees in utter obeisance. END_OF_DIALOG

Taarna: Rising columns of smoke signaled the devastation of Kraan long before the city itself was visible over the horizon. She had ridden straight from the Sanctuary toward Kraan, climbing to a height she considered proof against missiles. Her heart sank at the sight of the large, billowing black smudges, and her apprehension and dismay grew stronger as she approached the settlement. Flying over the city on the upwind side, her anxiety became alarm at the extent of the destruction. Whole buildings which she had known for years were no longer standing, reduced to smoking piles of rubble. Fires raged uncontrolled in several residential areas of the city. Fanned by the wind, they greedily consumed the small homes. What made the situation worse was the complete stillness that greeted her. She could not detect movement on the streets below. From the number of broken and bloody bodies that littered the ground, she correctly concluded that everyone in the city had been killed; she had been too late to save the life of even one person. She felt hollow and cold. END_OF_DIALOG

Taarna: As he reached over to pull down the fabric covering her breast, Taarna abruptly swung her heavy glass around and struck the leader squarely in the nose. He uttered a surprised grunt and fell backwards. The music came to a discordant halt, the musicians and patrons turning to watch. That someone had dared to pick a fight with these men made some of them very nervous. The leader sat up, touching the blood running from his shattered nose with surprise. "Hey... she's tough," he said thickly as he regained his feet. "Maybe she wants to fight!" *said the tallest one, cracking his knuckles excitedly. At this, Taarna was on her feet, arms out, hands flexed. In an instant she became sharply focused, poised to confront and destroy. The trooper who had followed her in replied in a low, dangerous voice, "Maybe she wants to take us all on." And with that, he grabbed the edge of the table and threw it aside with a crash. END_OF_DIALOG