The Ties That Bind

Doubled over with exertion, a shifting blue light prompted Autel ‘Vadamai to raise his gaze toward its source, lifting his hands off his quadriceps and clipping his ria’kun back onto his left hip. The Oracle was floating toward him and the other survivors, and the albino’s ebbing adrenaline gradually gave way to the scent of blood, both Sangheili and Jiralhanae. But it was not the carnage that drew his displeasure, nor was it the two humans approaching from behind the Monitor. No, that dubious honour belonged to the grey-armoured figure striding between them, someone Autel had, until recently, never intended to speak to again, much less aid in battle.
“I am glad to see so many of you still standing,” said Thel ‘Vadamee to the Sangheili. “Especially you, Autel.”
Autel gave a scathing scoff in reply, though he would have retorted more verbosely if he wasn’t still regaining his breath. While he had managed to avoid the worst of Tartarus’ blows, the Fist of Rukt’s concussive backsplash was not so easy to walk off, especially since his impaired eyesight made his hearing that much more sensitive. It didn’t help that the Prophet of Truth had provided him and his team with stealth armour; the Prophet had claimed the harnesses couldn’t be fitted with stronger shielding ― now it seemed more likely he just wanted to make it easier for the Jiralhanae to off them when the time came.
The Arbiter’s eyes lingered on Autel for a moment before he continued, “We mustn't dawdle. The Oracle has informed me that the path to the Ark lies dormant within Earth. We must secure a warship and head there at once.”
“Would we not be greeted by the humans’ defences if we arrived in one of our ships?” asked a Sangheili who was standing upright despite his conspicuously cracked chestplate.
“I’ll hail the Home Fleet once we exit Slipspace,” the female human responded. “If we stay out of the effective firing range, I can get us safe passage to the surface.”
“What of the parasite?” questioned an Ultra. “Surely we cannot leave our brothers to deal with them alone.”
“I will entrust Commander ‘Vadumee to evacuate our kin from the ring,” Thel assured. “Not just them, but the humans as well. Our priority, however, is to stop the Prophet of Truth at any cost.”
The other Sangheili exchanged glances, a few of them casting sidelong glances in the humans’ direction. The Zealot standing beside Autel sounded particularly cautious as he spoke, although his tone remained respectful. “This alliance is not a temporary arrangement then, Arbiter? Now that the Brute Chieftain is dead, must we really rely on the humans to hunt down the treacherous Prophet?”
Thel exhaled through his nose. “More than I can possibly articulate. We have lost our way, brothers, and I dare not ponder the severity while we have more pressing matters at hand. It is a matter for another time, once we put an end to Truth’s plans and determine what comes next for our people. For now, I ask that you put your faith in your Arbiter to guide you through this schism, for time is short and we must be on our way. Come.”
“Do mind your step,” the Oracle chimed in, directing the Sangheili toward the central gravity lift. “This Control Room is much more precarious than the one under my supervision.”
As the warriors stepped into the lift one by one and propelled themselves back toward the exit, Thel stopped and turned when he noticed Autel hadn’t moved from where he stood. The grizzled human male glanced back as well, his expression forming what the albino recognized as an impatient scowl. “Move your ass, soldier. The Covenant may have kicked you out, but you still answer to the chain of command.”
Thel waved him toward the lift. “I will speak with him alone. Go join the others, Sergeant.”
To Autel’s surprise, the truculent human obliged without argument, and stepped into the lift with the female. A sonic whoosh was heard as they were whisked upward as well, leaving the two Sangheili alone on the gore-splattered platform.
The Arbiter watched Autel for a moment, waiting for him to speak. When he did not, the older Sangheili did so instead. “I’ve only recently learned of your servitude to the Prophet of Truth. A selfless trade, your freedom in exchange for Rahnelo’s prosperity.”
“Do not pretend you care about Rahnelo,” snapped Autel, finally speaking for the first time since the battle ended. “Not when you enforced High Charity’s policies, pushed the supremacist notion that Rahnelo’s warriors were more expendable than Sanghelios’. It wasn’t the San’Shyuum who believed that ― no, they were happy to let the Sangheili Councillors orchestrate their own downfall. And you deserve no better than what happened to them... Arbiter.”
“I don’t deny it,” murmured Thel, lowering his head slightly. “I thought death would have claimed me a thousand times over before I’d be standing here now ― but here I stand nonetheless, and I refuse to lay down and die until I have ensured the survival of our people. And I still need your help.”
Autel’s fists clenched with a lifetime of suppressed rage. His voice was barely above a whisper. “You renounced my title of kaidon, which I rightfully won by the blade. You cast me from my keep and drafted my people to die for your cause, a cause you realized was folly only after the Prophets betrayed you. You spilled my blood for speaking a truth you refused to hear, and yet it is now your honour that is forfeit. So tell me this, Arbiter ― father ― what reason do I have to accept your invitation?”
The older Sangheili’s expression was calm and blameless. “Because you know what I ask is not for my own sake. And no matter how much you hate me, you will never turn your back on our people, not even after all that’s happened. Not even if they are too stubborn and foolish to see you as you are, as I once was.”
A tightness formed in Autel’s throat, and he fought to steady his trembling mandibles. “I have priorities as well. I must return to them when this crisis ends.”
“I understand,” replied Thel unflinchingly. “What is her name?”
“Vena. Her name is Vena, and she is still out there somewhere. I will not leave her to fend for herself, for I am nothing like you.”
“I am glad to hear you say so. I will not keep you by my side should we both survive this. You have my word.”
“Then you have my blade, so long as the Prophet of Truth draws breath.” The albino stiffly raised a fist against his upper heart. “By your command, Arbiter.”
Category:The Weekly
Category:Short stories