The Righteous, by Mitch Maxine

She sensed the line of sweat as it etched its path along the naked flesh of her arm, tracing its line through the hairs that stood upright upon her skin as though they themselves did not understand her movements, and sought to gather a better perspective.

Her right arm was raised high above her head, the blade in her hand held immobile, the edge turned to the opponent that she visualized before her. Her left hand was lower to her side, hand open and palm down, closer to her supposed enemy, allowing her to strike or grab, should the opportunity present itself. Her legs were wide in stance, her knees bent slightly, giving her both stability and ease of movement. She was the picture of a combatant engaged, frozen in time for the longest of moments. She was the embodiment of battle; the truth of a warrior’s prowess.

Her name was As’rana, and she was Kalsan.

Each bead of perspiration that found its way to the surface of her skin; each ache in her muscle for the effort she was expending; each breath she took and each beat of her heart; none of these were beyond her notice nor her understanding. She was as in harmony with each of these as she was with the room within which she stood; the ship she had signed aboard; the universe in which she existed. Her training had gifted her with such understanding, and she closed her eyes for the briefest of moments, and reveled in the knowledge and accord with which she perceived her life and her time.

How long she held her pose, she could not say. A day; a week; a solar year, one was as likely as the next. Pools of sweat gathered at her feet, as though to whisper the dedication with which she trained to any with perception enough to hear.

Perception or no, however, it was a wasted effort, for As’rana trained as she lived, and as she studied, and as she learned.

Alone.

Such was the way of the Kalsan, and it was a lifestyle she embraced without remorse, nor contrition. Solitude spoke to her soul as loudly as any voice in her lifetime, and it was a voice to which she responded; to which she was dedicated; to which she would never stray. She had learned to guard jealously her time alone, and since her graduation from the Kalsan academy a scant three months before, she had learned all the more quickly the reason and the want for her solitude. Too many times had she seen, even amongst her fellow Kalsan, the greed and avarice so at ease among her own. She had grown to her nineteenth year, the daughter of a mogul; witness to the cruelty and cynicism of the baronage; unwilling participant in the unyielding and relentless hardship of life in a mogul cadre. Like the other children in whose company she had grown, she had suffered the realities of the life to which she had been born, but apart from them all, she had reacted by holding more closely the ideals of peace and a shared vision of unity among men.

A shame then, that there was no one with which to share that vision.

She understood the Kalsan perception of balance; that their lives and their tithe were dedicated to the maintenance of that balance among all things, throughout all space and for all of time. She believed in that balance, and had sworn to uphold it, and in doing so, she realized that her want for peace and for harmony and for unity would be countered with acts of war, and chaos and disharmony. She knew that these would work to see her vision quelled; her dream abandoned, though she was nothing if not strong of will. She would hold to her vision; that much she could promise, if only to herself. She had been schooled in the many contradictions and the inherent paradox in the concept of balance.

Was there not balance as long as war and peace, chaos and harmony, life and death all existed in equal measure?

And if so, should she not focus her resolve to see that balance maintained?

Or should she choose a side in that conflict, knowing that her role as champion of one or the other serves that balance as well?

In truth, As’rana, as did many of the Kalsan, struggled with such questions. As she practiced her form, her body aching and her mind straining to maintain control in the depths of her exhaustion, she was no more at peace with the answers she struggled to find. All that she could do, she had come to understand, was stay true to that which she felt in her heart to be right, and hope that her role in the balance of the universe was justified.

For all of her life, since she had conscious memory, she had aspired to escape the life to which she had been born. It was a sentence of unending anguish, where every waking moment, and each one spent dreaming took her to a place where her understanding was reality; where the truth of the best of humanity was imparted to anyone who would listen, and embrace it as their own. As she had grown from an idealistic child to an idealistic young woman she had wanted these things, no matter who might tell her that they were beyond reality; beyond her ability to affect. In time, their words of harsh realities and dreams unrealized had begun to take their toll on her spirit, and she had all but given up and resigned herself to a life spent in bitter frustration.

And then she had met one of the Kalsan.

Estra had been her name. The details of their meeting were almost lost in As’rana’s memory, for they paled in comparison to the lessons of fellowship that she had been taught. Estra told her of the Kalsan; of the power they wielded and the potential for righteousness that this power represented. The Kalsan could be the saviors of the galaxy, she had preached, would that those who wielded such power offered themselves wholly to it, instead of subverting it for their own needs.

Without warning, As’rana whirled about, her Ke sword hissing through the air as she spun around, cutting down the imaginary foe that dared to attack her from behind. The sweat flew from her flesh as though it begged for release, and while a good deal of it dripped from her hair and into her eyes, she refused to respond to the stinging sensations it demanded. Her gaze was fixed before her, her new stance as strong and lithe as her last. She held her posture without lament nor imbalance, determined that her body be as sharp and unyielding as was her mind.

As’rana recalled with perfect clarity her every moment at the Kalsan academy. She had begun her occasion there feeling for the first time as though she were coming home, and left, one year later to the day, feeling somehow betrayed. The power was hers to wield, she could not deny. Her Ke sword had hung with loyalty and honor at her side; her Ke wristbands glowed with the softest and most comforting of light, and yet her heart was full of anguish, for she had expected to find a sisterhood devoted to the purity of humanity; dedicated in mind and body to the restoration of the glory of the human race, through unification of all the baronages and the moguls into one.

What she had found instead was a crass and bloated fellowship, with as many given to the treachery of personal gain as to the ideals that she held so close to her breast. Balance, she had told herself, was to be found in many places, and she had experienced all too often those whose perspectives rested in opposition to her own, though to find those who stood against her heart within the ranks of the Kalsan themselves was an epiphany that cut her to her very soul. To find those who held the power for change in their very hands, only to see them squander that power for personal gain, or for mercenary pursuits was almost more than she could bear.

And yet, she had endured.

If she could not find the fellowship she sought in the company of the Kalsan, she would find it in the company of her own understanding. The Kalsan had given her the tools to see the universe righted; to offer a better path to even those who did not know they sought one. It was a gift that she embraced completely, and a quest she would never abandon.

As’rana lifted her body to a relaxed state, and looked at the pools of sweat she had left on the floor of her quarters on board the Phalanx. She had signed aboard the transport to ensure that the supplies and equipment destined for Earth reached the home-world safely, but as much as she had done so to see the Terra Restorative Initiative advantaged, she had done it more so to simply be away from the pain that followed her without respite. Among these with whom she traveled and protected, she had found perspectives similar at least to her own. Her shipmates were profiteers and mercenaries to be sure, but close enough in faith to make her task at least tolerable in practice and righteous in effect.

As’rana lowered her head, breathing deeply with the exhaustion that her practice exacted, She moved to lay her sword in its sheath, closing her eyes and absorbing the sound of her blade as it caressed the scabbard. It was a sound that she found both comforting and soothing, for it gave to her a calming reassurance that her time among the Kalsan would lead her to see her imaginings come real.

As’rana gripped the hilt tightly as though in pained and restless parting, when an explosion rocked the entire ship, the sound of the blast alone loud enough to send a wave of panic coursing through her unchecked. The small transport lilted to one side, the inertial dampers unable to compensate for the forced reaction. As’rana caught her balance easily, and almost without thought retrieved her weapon and strapped the blade about her waist. Once so armed, she affixed her Ke wristbands in place, the soft glow that accompanied her wearing the artifacts offering her comfort and confidence, both of which she readily accepted. Before another thought came to her, she had drawn her weapon, the sword glowing as though in joy at the happening. As’rana was then through the door of her quarters, resolve marking her steps. Whatever the cause of the explosion, and no matter the aftermath, she would see it righted.

Or avenged…