Star Trek: Four Years War-Ascension

STAR TREK: FOUR YEARS WAR
ASCENSION


Villa of House Lurgan
Kredak (Klingon Empire)

Lorath, son of Lurgan, stood before his family and his ancestors. His chest was bare and cold, despite the heat. Fog covered the floor up to his knees. Kor’tova candles burned brightly throughout the chamber, fighting the darkness and symbolizing the fire in his heart. He growled, knowing that he burned much brighter.

Before him, on each side, stood his uncles and cousins on raised platforms. The men were dressed in leathers and furs. Each clutched a painstik, long prods that would usher him into adulthood.

Lorath was surprised that the men had gathered so quickly. He would be leaving to join Field Commander Korrd’s crew in the morning…if he survived his Rite of Ascension.

He knew the reason why stood imperiously at the end of the gauntlet. Lady Gow’ri, his mother, was a formidable personage. In many ways she was the heart of House Lurgan, and its fist. The thickset woman looked ready for war in her saber bear cloak. She had killed the beast herself.

Lorath was certain that his mother was the only reason none of his uncles had contested his decision to cede much of their territory to the High Council. Now the families’ fortunes had been reduced to the Khemet Sector. His uncles had lost their fortunes, some of their prominence, years of painstaking work evaporated by the words of a loDHom who had yet to become a warrior.

But Lorath had felt he had no choice. He had to give the Chancellor something and all QuchHa’ gained a valuable honor in the process, the installation of Rynar to the High Council, the first QuchHa’ to sit in the halls of power.

Even that decision had come back to bite him like a tak. Lorath’s gesture had insulted Rynar and the House of Kor. Rynar thought his deeds alone should have merited him a position on the Council, not a deal made by a boy who had won no battles.

Of course that hadn’t stopped him from accepting the position, nor from engaging in hostilities against House Lurgan.

Lorath shook his head at his mistake. Perhaps he should’ve chosen Kahnrah, an honorable QuchHa’ who had been respected by his father. But Kahnrah’s exploits hadn’t thrilled Lorath like those of Rynar or his son Kor, and a child had made a childish decision.

The thought angered him. But he would keep his anger close to him, hone it, and use it like a kut’luch to fell all his enemies, especially those who dishonored his House, and it was now his House, though Lorath didn’t think he would ever remove his father’s name.

He didn’t know what awaited him beyond the pain of the Rite of Ascension, but he doubted that his glories could ever rival those of his father. But he had to try.

Lorath felt the eyes of his family on him. More importantly his mother’s gaze weighed on him. It was time to begin.

The stripling stood as tall as he could, his chest out, first looking toward the heavens and Sto’Vo’Kor. He knew his father and Lureth would be there, snarling down at him, challenging him to meet their greatness.

He next turned to his uncles and cousins, glaring at them all as he shouted, “Today I am a warrior! I must show you my heart. I travel the River of Blood!”

Without reservation he took a step forward. His Uncle Lorghn and his cousin Ofeq jabbed their painstiks into his sides. He seized up; gripped by an agony he had never felt before in his life. Fire coursed through his veins, touching every part of him. A shameful cry ripped from his lips. His legs shook, but he held on. The Rite of Ascension was supposed to tear the truth from those who endured it. Lorath had promised that he would silently bore the pain. Already he had failed.

He stumbled forward, to avoid being struck again, only to run into Uncles G’tal and Rortak. Rortak especially dug his painstik in deep, drawing blood. Lorath wailed, “I will not let you defeat me!” He snarled, snapping at Rortak, I am the master of House Lurgan!”

Rortak laughed before Lorath trudged on. He nearly succumbed to the next two painstiks, falling to one knee. His head fell to his chest; his eyes squeezed shut in agony. Even breathing was torture. It was if his heart would burst. “All my enemies will fall before my blade!” He declared. “I will not fail my father!”

He rallied, half-falling, half-pushing himself forward. Cousin Jorv and Uncle Lorkas dug into him. He soon began to smell his own cooking flesh. Lorath wanted so badly to fall, to allow the agony tearing through him to consume him completely. But he knew that path led only to Gre’thor and his family’s annihilation.

He stood against the barrage and threw his head back, “I will prove myself worthy! I will honor the memories of Father and Lureth!”

Lorkas and Jorv withdrew their painstiks and Lorath made it to his mother’s boots before he fell, waves of darkness sweeping over him.
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Villa of House Lurgan

Scores of revelers from across Kredak and beyond had been invited to the lopno’. Warriors wrestled, butt heads, sang old war and hunting songs, laughed and thundered. Even his mother had gotten into the celebratory mood, besting all with her ghIntaq throwing skills.

The meat of the roasted LIngta’ Gow’ri’s spear had felled filled Lorath’s nostrils. It hurt to eat, to stand, to breathe, but Lorath did it all and much more. He sat in his father’s chair, for the first time, the newest warrior of House Lurgan. No, more than that, it’s master. His mother had made sure to have all of his favorites prepared.

One hand was dug into a bowl of writhing gagh while his other hand held a flagon of bloodwine. Uncle Rortak had brought it vintage from Galorda Prime. Lorath had been skeptical about imbibing. The graybeard had been particularly upset with Lorath’s ascension to the head of the House.

Rortak clapped Lorath on the shoulder, as if encouraging him to drink, “Today you are a warrior!” He roared, to Lorath and the entire assemblage. He held up his own cup and downed it before pointing to the flagon. “Drink to your success!”

Cries of “Qapla’!” rang throughout the room.

Lorath made a point to sniff it. Instead of angering Rortak it made him laugh. Cousin Jorv joined in. As did several others.

Lorath shrugged and downed the liquid, feeling its fire and sweet bitterness. He imagined he tasted the blood of his enemies as the liquid coursed down his throat.

One adversary in particular. Lorath’s eyes starred at Councilor Duras who had entered the room with his latest heir, a boy likely dredged up from one of brothels Grell had talked about in the High Council chamber.

Lorath’s hand left the gagh and instinctively went toward his d’k’tahg. An arresting hand stopped his arm. Lorath threw down his flagon and reached for his disruptor with the other hand.

“No,” Uncle Lorkas was at his ear. “Even enemies are welcome at the lopno’,” he hissed. Lorath groused. Yes, the festivities opened the domicile to the spirits of ancestors and well as enemies. He knew that of course, he just didn’t want to abide by it.

And in the spirit of the gathering-or perhaps something more?-Rortak embraced Duras and punched the Qa’Hom in the shoulder. The thin boy looked uncomfortable, but also astounded by the amount of food on the table.

He wanted to go towards it, but Duras held him back. Instead he directed the boy over to Lorath. Lorath stood up to greet them, his anger protesting as much as his muscles.

Duras locked arms with him. A smile was plastered on his face, but his eyes were hard. “Lorath, son of Lurgan, it is truly a great day for you and your House. May you win many battles and bring great honor to your House.”

Lorath ignored the welcome. Instead he glared at the loDHom beside the councilor. “And this is?”

Duras pushed him forward. The man wasn’t able to hide his regretful expression. “This is Dekel, my son and the heir to the House of Duras!” The boy stumbled and then looked back quickly at his father, his shoulders hunching as if he expected to be struck. Duras growled at the stripling. And the boy turned back to face Lorath.

Lorath wasn’t impressed. “May you die well,” he said, grinning with relish. The young boy swallowed loudly, prompting a disgusted snort from Duras. He pushed the boy on.

Standing behind them was another enemy. An unfortunate one. Though Lorath didn’t recognize the young warrior, the crest on his baldric was unmistakable. The QuchHa’ dipped his head in respect, “I am D’Kar, son of Rynar,” he said, “My father wishes you much success.” The man wore his hair in a shortened style that was becoming more fashionable among the QuchHa’, much unlike the flowing locks of the HemQuch. Or Lorath’s own long hair. Lurgan had fought to diminish the differences between the races while men like D’Kar sought to make the QuchHa’ stand apart, at least in image.

Lorath grabbed the man’s forearm in greeting. “I hear your brother Kor recently repelled an assault on the Donatu sector.” His smiled broadened.

“Yes,” D’Kar grinned, “The disaster at Aldebaran III has emboldened the Federation.”

Lorath’s cheeks warmed and he growled low in his throat. Unbidden he reached for his d’k’tahg.

D’Kar noticing, did the same.

“Mevyap!” Lady Gow’ri’s voice cut through the festivities. “No blood will be shed this day. You both will shed enough blood for the Empire in due time, but not this day.”

D’Kar, his hand poised over the hilt of his blade, eventually relented. He nodded, Lorath returned the nod, and the man moved past. Lorath watched him go, not at ease until the man had disappeared into a throng of fellow QuchHa’.

Lady Gow’ri stomped toward him, grabbing him roughly by the bicep. She leaned down low so that only he could hear, “You are the master of this House now, act like it!” She warned.

“But he insulted Father,” Lorath hated the mewling tone, but it couldn’t be helped.

“Much worse was said about your father while he was still among us, but Lurgan knew what battles to fight and which ones to avoid or save for another day.”

“Avoid?” Lorath was aghast. “Are you saying Father was a coward?”

“No,” Gow’ri got in his face, her nostrils flaring. “He was the head of a House in an Empire in which QuchHa’ are looked down on. He had to tread carefully, but he always trod boldly and in the best interest of this House. Rynar and his sons might not like it, but they owe you and it is time you acted like it. You put a QuchHa’ on the High Council, something even your father or great men like K’Vagh or Antaak could not do.”

“But,” Lorath protested. Gow’ri’s fingers dug deeper into his arm, rending cloth and flesh.

“They insult you because of wounded pride, to save face among others, but if Rynar’s honor was so important to him he could’ve rejected the Chancellor’s offer. No, it is in their interests for you to succeeded, because your success validates Rynar’s elevation,” the mistress surmised. “What good would it do them for the man responsible for their prominence turn out to be a coward or poor warrior.”

“I am neither,” Lorath snapped.

“Yes,” Gow’ri smiled, her fingers digging deeper. “You are not.” She released him. “There is someone here to see you, in your father’s den. Go to him now.”

“Who?” Lorath asked.

Gow’ri’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you questioning me? Do as I say!” That sparked the young man to action. He left immediately for Lurgan’s den.

He had often sought refuge in the den when his father was away, at war or business, surrounded and comforted by Lurgan’s selection of books. His father had been a well-read man, including works from non-Klingon authors. One book that had caused Lorath great consternation was his father’s copy of Surak’s Analects.

The Vulcan philosophy of emotional repression was anathema to him. Emotion was just as great, perhaps even more so than logic.

Once this war had concluded and the trefoil flew over Vulcan perhaps he would have time to discuss his thoughts with an actual Vulcan scholar.

Approaching the large urukan doors the sounds of the lopno’ receded. It was quieter and darker in this side of the house. If there were any assassins among the revelers, this section of the domicile would provide ample shadows for them to hide. The thought made Lorath smile a little. He had twice wanted to pull his blade at the party. If assassins struck it would give him a legitimate chance to do so.

His bravado faded once he reached the den however. Curiosity warred with caution as Lorath flung the wooden doors open. Standing at a shelf of books, stood a large, balding HemQuch, his white hair contrasting against his dark-skin. The man read another line from the book before placing it carefully back on the shelf.

He turned and Lorath gasped. He quickly stood at attention. The medals on his cloak told his rank. A Thought Admiral! What was a thought admiral doing here? And why would they want to see him?

“Your father always had good taste in reading material,” He smiled. “I wonder if the son mirrors the father.”

Lorath didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing. The thought admiral chuckled before waving at him. “At ease. I am no longer in the Imperial Fleet, but I do like wearing this cloak. It keeps me warm.”

Lorath still remained silent. “Has a cob’lat got your tongue? Speak!” The man bellowed.

“I am Lorath, son of…” He began.

The thought admiral snorted. “I know who your father is boy. I taught him.”

“Well, I guess the question is…sir…is who are you?”

“Now we are getting somewhere,” the man mellowed. “I am Karm, son of Jomek. Your mother invited me here.” Thought Admiral Karm? The Thought Admiral that had taught his father at Ogat Academy. The same Thought Admiral that had defeated the Kinshaya invasion of the Yov’bot system!

Lorath now remembered the man’s portrait among the many revered instructors from the Academy. Lurgan had spoken of Karm often, and it was an unquestionable honor that the HemQuch had made the journey to Kredak to speak with Lorath, a boy who had yet to win any battles.

“What for sir?” He was proud he didn’t gulp before asking and that his voice stayed firm.

“To do for you as I did for your father,” he replied. “To help him learn the value of wisdom. I didn’t not have to worry about his strength, and I suspect that you have that covered as well.”

Lorath nodded slowly. “Good,” Karm clapped his hands. “Lady Gow’ri has given me the honor of being named House Lurgan’s gin’tak and I see no time to waste. You head to war tomorrow, and I leave that up to you to return, but while you are gone, there will be a war your mother will wage, against House Duras, House Kor, some among your own blood, and others among the ambitious and the avaricious. I pledge my life and more importantly my honor to seeing your House emerge victorious.”

Lorath dipped his head in respect. “Thank you sir.” Karm’s expression hardened. He didn’t take the gratitude. Instead he spit it back.

He walked up to Lorath and jabbed his finger into the center of the boy’s chest. “If you don’t survive all of this is for naught. Win your battles, bring glory to your House, and House Lurgan may survive the coming days.”

Lorath took the sharp jab of pain, adding it to all the others he had endured, and of the ones that were surely to come. He met Karm’s exacting gaze as he remembered the crucible of his Rite of Ascension.

“I will not fail.”

THE END

 

DK, you have certainly become a master of writing the Klingon perspective! Nice work in portraying the rite of passage for Lorath as he assumes the role of head of his house. Plenty of Klingon intrigue and tradition interlaced with excellent imagery and dialogue. First-rate stuff! Qapla!