When Frial and Yiel landed, they were escorted through many hallways that were tight and dimly lit. Frial could tell that they were snaking through the hallways of the conjoined ships that made the giant structure and they moved through airlocked rooms before they finally reached a hatch that led to what was the large main room. It was grey and hard and the conversations of others in the room echoed up to the high ceiling that Frial and Yiel climbed down through. The ladder was sparse and it did not lead all the way down; the escorts that had brought them ignored the ladder altogether and drifted down to the floor with the jet boosters of their suits, chuckling at Frial and Yiel clinging to the ladder and seemingly dangling for no good reason. Eventually they both let go and drifted down where Whadgaf was waiting for them with an Ointite woman whose bald head was beautiful and the grey pigmentation of her skin seemed to vibrate like she was humming quietly. She had on a simple dress that showed her shoulders and flowed down around her, and it was a stark contrast to the militaristic suit that Whadgaf wore. There was also a man standing with Whadgaf, but Frial couldn’t tell where he was from; maybe he was from Wiis, but he was light brown where the Rhasdwiis were red, and the hair on his head was different.
“Whadgaf,” Frial said with a smile, but she didn’t look at him.
“What do you want?” Whadgaf asked Yiel. “Who are you?”
Frial stepped back, remembering Yiel’s orders to shut his beak once he’d introduced him to Whadgaf.
“You killed my brother. It was some time ago now, in the Banned Regions, or close to them. I think he was trying to rob you and you killed everyone on his ship.”
“You did it again!” Frial said despite his desire not to anger Yiel. “I thought I was your first and only…”
Yiel struck Frial with a closed fist and Whadgaf grabbed Yiel around his neck. He felt her hand tighten all the way around, and he was shocked that her hands were big enough to manage this. But then he remembered who Whadgaf was.
“I’m sorry,” Yiel managed, “please, I didn’t mean to disrespect you, but you know how annoying he is.”
Whadgaf released him roughly.
“I saw the footage from my brother’s ship. I saw what you’re capable of. I didn’t come here to fight you. I want what you have.”
Yiel knelt before her.
“Frial says that to be like you, I must consume a part of you. It sounds crazy, but yours is an ancient power and the rituals to create them would be crude.”
“Whadgaf,” the light brown man says, “who are these guys? Do we have time for this?”
“I believe that this is Yiel Dharle,” the Ointite woman says, “of the Dharle family. If he is here in the Regions, he must be in charge of their smuggling operations.”
“This is the Dharle leader?” the light brown man said with a look of confusion on his face. “The Scholars said the Dharle leader was a scary character.”
“Giovanni,” Whadgaf said to the light brown man, “Sevi,” she said to the Ointite woman, “let me have some time alone with these two.”
“The first ships are ready to blast off,” Sevi says. “If you want to arrive at the Fhetat with the first of our forces, we have to leave now.”
Whadgaf cursed.
“I know. I’ll have to go later,” Whadgaf said. “Wait for me.”
“If you can recruit the Dharle smugglers, that would be advantageous,” Giovanni said as he left with Sevi.
Whadgaf leads Yiel and Frial through the room that had no furniture and resembled an enclosed aircraft carrier. They found a relatively empty corner and Whadgaf flexed her wings and crossed her arms.
“Frial, what is he talking about? Why does he want to consume me?”
Frial explained everything he knew about the legendary Perfect Hafjeris to Whadgaf, the perfect warrior who could face an army without suffering any injury.
“It’s how you killed my family,” Frial said. “The legends of our ancestors are so distant that they seem like fictions we tell ourselves to seem special, but there is a grain of truth in every story. It is believed that each great family had a Perfect relative and when those Perfect relatives died, the secret of their powers died with them, or so most think. There are legends, and one of your parents believed one of them, and had the means to give you the flesh of your Perfect relative. That is the only way this would be possible.”
Since she lost control on Hajferan, at the floating castle of the Auburn Order where Frial’s family lived, Whadgaf had wondered what snapped in her that allowed her to be so ruthless, so strong and alert. She hadn’t thought about it too much and she had mostly avoided that strength that manifests when she is very angry. When she killed Yiel’s brother, she knew that she was outnumbered and pirates in the Regions are known to be cruel.
Was it possible? It was possible, her mother was a strong soldier and if she’d had it her way, Whadgaf would have followed in her footsteps and not wasted so much time studying the books of the family business. But the stories of the Perfect relative dates back to ancient Hafjeris history, how would it be possible for her to consume the flesh of her relative? She asked Frial this.
“I don’t want to offend anyone, but the Ruling Class of Hafjeran regularly engage in questionable practices in the name of tradition and inheritance. I don’t know everything, but the closest living descendant to a living Perfect Relative is the true inheritor of all fortunes associated with the family name. Most families, the Dharles and Jiris included, have preserved the remains of their Perfect relative to avoid the messy reality of sorting out inheritance among family trees that have branched wildly over time. I suspect that your family, your father’s family, has the remains of a perfect relative preserved to maintain their station and avoid claims of ownership from cousins. Maybe your farher or your mother believed the legend and tried it on you.”
If this was true, and Whadgaf believed that it was, then she was more powerful that she realized. It made her hopeful for the battle she would fly into with her friends.
“Yiel,” Whadgaf said, “I can’t let you consume me. I don’t know what kind of man you are. If it does work and you become like me, then what will you do with your power?”
Yiel looked at her with understanding on his face. He had a mean look on his face; the angle of his eyes, his black feather and his beak that seemed locked into a permanent smirk; but he understood.
“I can prove myself,” he said. “I want what everyone wants, safety and security. Being powerful helps me secure that for myself and everyone I care about.”
Whadgaf nodded. “Fight alongside me and I will give you what you ask for.”
Yiel agreed.
“We’re fighting to defend the Fhetat,” Whadgaf said.
“I follow the news. Representative Nuren and that Fhet King are dueling in their missives, it’s quite entertaining. But what happens when we successfully defend the Fhetat?” Yiel asked. “Do we take over the IP and make laws for the universe?”
“The current plan is to increase representation. We’re helping the Fhetat to fix the IP, not take it over.”
Yiel shook his head.
“Do you have much experience with influential people? Did you spend much time with your parents and their friends on Hafjeran?”
“I guess,” Whadgaf said confused, “why?”
“Influential people are the way that they are for one reason, because it maintains their influence. Every action they take is in service to that, maintaining influence. Influence is power. They like to make decisions and shape history. What’s happened with the IP is a symptom of the power structure. This was bound to happen. It was unavoidable. And if you prop it up again, it will only happen again, because a taste of that influence, that consequence, is intoxicating and it changes a person’s priorities.”
Whadgaf smiled thoughtfully at Yiel.
“Is that why you’re a smuggler?” She asked. “You couldn’t stand the high life?”
“It’s all so predictable,” Yiel said. “The halls of my family library are filled with the same stories told with different players, in different times and locations.” He looked out at the large room filled with soldiers from different planets. “I’ll fight with you and I’ll even order some of my men to come along. But I’m no one’s soldier, I won’t fight wars for the rest of my life. I deserve better than that. I think we all do.”
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