Cosmosis

(Starspeak)

“Tacking,” Mavriste called out.

“Heard,” I reported, keeping my head low as the boom swung around as we turned across the wind. Zig-zagging our way down the coast all night, Mavriste hadn’t slept and showed no signs of slowing down.

He sat leisurely at the sailboat’s helm near the stern, lazily manipulating a lever that dictated our rudder. His position in the boat left him primarily looking forward—south, while mine was next to the mast facing north, looking where we’d come from.

“You are crazy,” I repeated for the umpteenth time.

“Then I’m sure we leave the same footprints,” Mavriste said amicably.

“That a Vorak idiom?” I asked.

“Yoshe andi se ke mol,” he quoted. “It translates surprisingly well. Not all the ones from my childhood would. Never try to explain what a cho biga is to any Starspeaker that isn’t from this hemisphere.”

“Of course,” I played along. “Why would you even invite that headache upon yourself?”

Like Mavriste, I hadn’t slept. That was only made slightly easier by the fact that he was doing the work to steer our sailboat, but it was still draining me.

If I was honest, I didn’t want to sleep around the rak. I didn’t really think he was untrustworthy. The opposite, in fact. But even friendly, he scared me on an instinctual level.

He knew it too. I’d flinched just once when he reached in my general direction to handle a rope. Very politely, he wasn’t saying anything, but I’d seen the look of recognition go through his eyes.

Fear was an unflattering explanation for staying up with the otter. Cunning machinations and silver-tongued manipulation were only barely more flattering reasons.

Did I have a plan here?

I was following my instincts, staying awake like this. The details were impossible to put into words, but I was going to get Mavriste into spilling some information I knew he wouldn’t want to.

I was in no rush though. We had hours more of sailing and good scenery to appreciate in the meantime.

The water was eerily calm considering how close we were to the hurricane. Mavriste said it was because the storm was simultaneously moving away from us, but it still pricked at my gray matter.

Balancing the strangeness of the whole scenario were the sights in literally every other direction. The waves folded easily into our sailboat’s wake in a hypnotic way that was soothing to watch, even hours at a time. North of us was a storm a thousand miles wide, but west and south was picturesque open ocean with pink and orange streaks of morning sky peeking between the gaps in the clouds.

Thankfully, we were heading south, away from the hurricane itself.

“You seem pensive,” Mavriste noted.

“Just the weather,” I shrugged. “It’s weird it’s so nice, considering—” I tilted my head north. “—y’know.”

“Radio reports say it’s going to wind up the most devastating storm in fifty years,” Mavriste said somberly. “Pudiligsto got it bad, but other areas are going to get it worse in a week or so.”

“Tox—someone visiting my crew explained that the storm retreating is something of a worst case scenario,” I recalled. “I’m not sure I get it though.”

“Would you rather get punched once or twice?” Mavriste said simply.

“Well if that second punch comes one week from now, and I can arrange a whole mess of preparations…”

“Sunk cost,” Mavriste chided. “The hurricane already sucker punched the city. It happened. Having time to prepare for round two doesn’t change the fact that the total damage will always be higher…Not to mention the city’s emergency infrastructure is sorely lacking and that won’t change in a year, much less a week.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” I said.

“You were there, but you have to take my word?”

“I’m not a meteorologist, and you said it yourself; the storm was so bad it was going to be disastrous no matter what. How am I going to know the difference between the storm being especially bad and the preparations being especially lacking?”

Mavriste weighed the response before nodding in concession.

“Does your [beef] with the city get any more specific than ‘corruption’?” I asked. “Because I can’t really say for sure, but it doesn’t seem any less corrupt than the average lunar colony out in the void,” I said.

“It can,” he nodded. “But it’s partially a religious thing.”

“What’s the other part then?”

“There isn’t one,” he shrugged. “I just don’t like a lot of what they get up to on religious grounds, but also I don’t think I’d like those same activities even if I weren’t religious.”

“You know we talked with the mayor’s office and not one person tried to elicit a bribe from us?” I asked.

“Your ship is parked in the spaceport,” Mavriste noted. “Every spaceport keeps itself clean of local slime because they answer to Planetary Transportation and the Orbital Security Council. That spaceport is functionally a piece of foreign soil right in the middle of the city.”

“You’re saying we just didn’t see the corruption?”

“Oh you definitely saw it,” Mavriste said. “It’s just a question of whether or not you recognized it.”

“Enlighten me,” I prompted, tapping into the nomenclature of my own Vorak-given epithet.

“Reducing it all to the most crucial details? The city is built on exploitation; it’s the gambling mostly,” Mavriste smirked. “The outlying city is rather normal, I think. But the coastal parts? The shiny buildings, the casinos? It’s all designed to prey on vulnerable people. If there was more shame about that, I think I wouldn’t mind as much—I understand corruption exists everywhere—but in that city, it’s celebrated.”

“It’s not like people are being coerced,” I frowned. “Shouldn’t Vorak be allowed to make their own decisions? Even bad ones?”

“Yes they should,” Mavriste nodded. “And in my opinion, that means not being psychologically conditioned to waste their wages on catching falling stars. We’re not talking about small time casinos that passively attract interested parties. We’re talking about massive complexes that build reputations and weave drama. They tell everyone a story, a gilded lie that luck might be on their side…if only you come patron their ‘humble’ establishment.”

I started to open my mouth about how that seemed far-fetched, but then I remembered what I knew about Earth casinos. No windows so you lost track of time. Had I read something about them pumping in oxygen so you didn’t get as tired?

Even the flashy décor probably did a lot of work in the minds of children.

“I never thought of stuff like that as ‘conditioning’,” I admitted. “You’re a decently eloquent speaker.”

I’d thought Mavriste might have had a one-dimensional idea of the city, but now it seemed like I was the one oversimplifying perspectives.

“It’s the battlefield speeches,” he said. “Inspiring troops means snarling better and louder than the opponents.”

If you believed that most places consisted mostly of ‘normal’ people, then of course you might form an opinion based on how the rest of that place affected those normal people.

“Religions back on Earth tend to have a dim view of gambling too,” I shared.

“Good for them,” Mavriste nodded approvingly.

“They also have a long history of violence,” I said. “Don’t be too proud.”

“Religion and spirituality inevitably involve passions of all patterns,” he said. “I would be far more shocked if Earth’s religions didn’t share all the same systemic problems as ours.”

“Why don’t you ask if I’m religious?” I asked. “I figure there’s zero-percent chance you aren’t interested in Earth religions.”

“Mac and I already picked up a copy of the Bible from Ingrid,” he said. “My sister loves it.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” I accused. “Why haven’t you asked?”

“Like I said, religion is inseparable from people’s passions—tacking,” he interrupted himself to warn me about the turning boat and the mast boom swinging around.

“Heard,” I said stiffly. Even as I ducked down avoiding the boom, I kept my gaze on him. This was a tricky stage. I wanted to ask more questions. Probe some of his thinking.

He continued after the sails were resettled like nothing had interrupted him.

“In my experience, religion is always a topic that’s always risky to broach unilaterally,” he said. “Have you noticed how I might dance around it? I’ll mention it in passing, maybe even anecdotally, but I make it an informal policy not to commit to that topic lightly…which makes it all the stranger. Why do you ask why I don’t ask?”

“Maybe I have ulterior motives,” I said, very arch.

He snorted, consulting a physical instrument that might have been a compass, as well as a series of psionic tools. At least one of them was a map. I could see that much.

“What do you think about art and beauty?” I asked abruptly. “Like the sunrise now. Some people look at that and see something God did. What about you?”

“I’m happy to answer, but I’m also curious where this line of questioning originates. Doesn’t seem like you.”

“You don’t know me well enough to say that,” I pointed out. “But the answer is I didn’t sleep through the night and my brain is wandering and I don’t know anything about your religion whereas apparently you’ve read the Bible more than I have.”

“Recently, I imagine I have,” he chuckled. “But you’re curious? It sure seems like you’re intentionally broaching the topic not unilaterally.”

“I wouldn’t say I want a sermon, but…let’s say academically curious,” I shrugged.

“If you’re that short on sleep, are you really going to appreciate the finer points of holy doctrine I have to share?” Mavriste smirked.

“Maybe I just want some background noise to fall asleep to,” I deadpanned back.

“Okay, that stung,” he nodded ruefully. “I’ll oblige and give you the short version. My sister and I’s faith believes that before the universe existed, everything was meaningless chaotic nothing. Entropy, more or less. Then a possibly-not-all-powerful-but probably-still-all-powerful deity created themselves and instantly discovered a conundrum: what should be, can. But it’s also possible for what should be to simply, not. So, how do you reconcile what should be with what can be and is?”

“Possibly-not-all-powerful?” I mused. “Is that a technical term?”

“You joke, but in the original language, it is, actually. Pedunis Caonana. It means that ‘God’ whatever that may be, cannot be known. It doesn’t matter if they’re truly all-powerful or not, the more immediately relevant point for us mere mortals is that such a being could never be proven or comprehended,” he explained. “Whatever you think about a God, you can never prove it to someone else without the God themselves getting involved.”

“That makes sense,” I nodded. “And I’m even still awake. How about that?”

“Well you focused on the lamest part,” Mavriste said. “Who really cares about the cosmology? The cool parts are the moral, ethical, and spiritual ramifications. I didn’t get to those.”

“Uh oh,” I said. “I actually do like topics like that. This might actually keep me awake.”

“Too late, you got me started,” Mavriste smiled. “Our religion posits that this probably omnipotent deity immediately stumbled across something called the ‘Dilemma of Edicts’. Simply put, it’s this: if a God tells you to ‘act this way’, is that act good because the God decides what good is? Or because the act is good, so the God instructs you to act that way?”

“I’ve heard this one before,” I frowned. “Earth’s got it too. I can’t remember who it was an old [Greek] thing. Socrates, I think.”

“Well it’s a dilemma; you can't resolve it,” Mavriste said. “It’s a question of whether or not some objective standard of ‘good’ exists, or whether we’re all just cleaving to preconceptions of good shaped by surviving culture and tradition. It’s a paradox.”

“Ah, but I know the right answer to a paradox,” I said. “Ignore it. Do your best to do good. Be yourself. And if you ever run across some psycho who thinks that their version of good is worth killing you over, then just be better at your violence than they are at theirs.”

“Win. Or else your morals will die with you,” Mavriste nodded. “That’s a common refrain in Vorak philosophy. But you’re still missing the coolest part! The paradox can’t be resolved… right now. Before, in the chaotic nothing, there is nothing that should be. The idea of ‘should’ doesn’t exist at all , only what is. The creation of the universe is indivisible from the all-powerful declaration that ‘should’ should exist. Our faith holds that all of existence spans God’s first and second breaths. That creation and all the lives that it holds are indivisible from the process that is deciding every moment what that objective ‘good’ is and isn’t.”

I blinked.

This was rather different from the tangent I’d meant to send him down.

“That…would be a lot to parse,” I said. “Except I’ve heard that before too. Creation is…‘the story of good rebelling against disregard, declaring that a distinction between right and wrong deserves to exist in the face of cruel and vast cosmic indifference’. That’s a Farnata religion… Abi Thou.”

“Abi Thou. The Cry,” Mavriste nodded. “My faith doesn’t have a cool name like that one, but yes, it does share many commonalities between that one, and several other old Kiraeni faiths. Mac and I have actually been interviewed several times by psychologists and anthropologists studying underpinning theory because of the religions’ similar streaks.”

“Well I like the idea,” I admitted. “It appeals to both the idealist in me that wants ‘good’ to matter, and the cynic in me who knows firsthand that crap can always get worse.”

“You might be the first to find that contrast appealing,” Mavirste mused. “Most of our religious contemporaries consider us to be fence-sitters, not committing to one side or the other about what ‘objective good’ means. That isn’t even bringing up dogmatic disputes about whether or not some minutiae is a sin or not.”

“Hey, I was getting accused of heresy with psionics long before the name ‘Lightbringer’ caught on,” I said. “Maybe we really do leave the same footprints.”

“Oooh, turning the phrase around on me? Very nice,” Mavriste nodded. “But your original question was about—if I understand correctly—where I find beauty in creation?”

I nodded. I was glad he’d come back to that point. This was the tangent I’d wanted to send him down.

“I find beauty in what other people find beautiful,” he said earnestly.

I started to open my mouth in protest, but he was ready to preempt my complaint.

“I know it can seem trite, but hear me out,” he said. “Take your sunrise, for example. People look at that, and they might decide it’s beautiful, or it might simply strike their fancy. But in all cases where people see beauty, people feel their own souls stirring up and loving something. I love the idea of people being moved by things they believe matter. I love people deciding that things matter to them.”

“…Okay, that’s better than what it sounded like at first,” I admitted.

“You know what comes next then, right?” he asked.

“Yeah, you want to turn it around on me.”

“So?”

“So I find sunrises beautiful,” I said quietly, “because I know too many people who didn’t get to see another one. I know too many people who died before they got the chance to decide all the things that matter to them.

“But I feel bad about that,” I said. “Not just because those people died, and it was cruel, and evil. No, I feel bad, because there’s something I find even more beautiful than all those vicarious possibilities.

“” I said. “

“So I really want to know about that superconstruct of yours,” I said. “Your sister’s too.”

“Ulterior motive indeed,” he said.

The words were almost…respectful. Like he could see where I’d tried to steer the conversation toward this destination.

We’d been sailing for hours. Long through the chilly night, keeping ourselves quiet so we wouldn’t have to lose as much heat on our breath. Tacking the boat back and forth in a zig-zag for dozens upon dozens of miles.

Mavriste didn’t show outward signs of exhaustion, but his mind was another case.

If I’d asked him straight up, he’d have given a more evasive answer. But I’d lured him out, tricked him into a conversation he was more emotionally invested in.

“…If I told you, would you reciprocate?” he asked. “And what about your friend, Jordan? She has one too.”

I stared into the rak’s eyes, trying to gauge what he was thinking. This was an ultimately selfish question, but…dammit, I was allowed to ask about psionics. I invented them. Even though they’d long since broken the leash, I couldn’t help but feel some ownership for all of them.

They belonged to everyone, no doubt. But they were mine too.

“Mine is a superconnector,” I said, sharing unprompted. “It lets me build extremely exotic connections between both brains and consciousnesses. On the physical side, the connection is supported by—or at least related to—psionic-sensitive exotic microcellular structures in the nervous system. I’m not sure if I create them subconsciously or if they’re leftover proto hardware from the Beacons’ seeding that I’m just piggybacking on. Either way, it lets me break one of psionics most fundamental rules so long as my participant is willing.”

“…You can connect directly to someone else’s mind,” Mavriste nodded. “Not just vaguely linking your nervous systems or psionics? Something more…comprehensive.”

“It lets two people live through each other’s perspective simultaneously,” I said. “We’ve shared memories with it a few times. Nai and I are pretty sure some of my martial arts aptitude comes from having connected to her mind.”

“Wow,” Mavriste blinked. “I thought you were changing the subject to get away from the religious stuff, but the way you describe it, I’d almost think you were connecting soul-to-soul directly.”

“We do,” I said simply.

I’d given it plenty of thought before, but never arrived at a conclusion before now. I wasn’t sure if believing in something like a soul wasn’t a little superstitious. I hadn’t expected today to see me deciding a belief in the soul mattered, but here I was.

“I appreciate the level of vulnerability you’re showing right now,” Mavriste said. “And I don’t want to seem ungrateful…”

“But you didn’t actually agree to reciprocate,” I nodded. “You only asked if I was willing to. Consider this my gambit: fair play. Sooner or later, you’re going to spill because I already did.”

“What about Jordan’s? Not your secret to share?”

“No, it is mine,” I said. “She created hers, but she’s agreed it’s a Flotilla asset. I ordered her to not tell anyone. I think it’s a little less impressive than mine, but it’s also undeniably more useful.”

“Wow,” Mavriste blinked. “Well just to draw myself the boundary; I won’t share my superconstruct for…at least the next day. Maybe once we finish on the cult island and return to Pudiligsto.”

“Just don’t dawdle too long,” I said. “If I leave the planet before you get the chance to settle, you’re going to feel just awful.”

“Many creatures more devious than you have tried to weaponize my conscience in the past,” Mavriste said. “Few have succeeded.”

I leaned my head back with a smile. Mavriste might have been crazy, but we got along well. At this rate he was going to wind up on my list of favorite Vorak, still behind Peudra and Umtane, but maybe ahead of Sturgin Banmei.

“Hang on, did you mention the Beacons…what did you call it? Seeding?”

“Yeah, they seeded proto-psionics in people’s minds for years trying to communicate.”

“Wait, you’re actually one of those kelp-brains who thinks the Beacons are sapient?”

“…You think they’re not?” I asked.

Actually, that made sense. The idea would be ridiculous to most people on a homeworld, never having come within a million miles of one, much less touched their consciousness.

“Of course! That’s just a…silly…rumor…”

His face fell more and more as he saw my face.

“I was the one who woke them up,” I said. “The first one, at least.”

“No way. Wait—you superconnector thing. You connected with the Beacons themselves then?”

“Unexpectedly child-like,” I said.

A grin went across his face, and I matched it. How could you not enjoy seeing someone learn something new?

“I’ve never wanted to go to space before,” he said. “But this might be the first thing that’s really tempted me. I bet there’s a story behind that.”

“Some of it still cuts pretty raw, but I can tell you most of it. You know I tangled with the Marshal of the Red Sails and three of his headliners?”

“I thought the Headliners were Coalition Adepts,” he frowned.

“I mean colloquially,” I complained. “You want the story or not?”

“Yes, yes, sorry.”

·····

Exchanging literal war stories was a shockingly fun way to stay awake. I usually took after Nai in that I didn’t usually like sharing about the times I came within inches of death. But Mavriste had just as many of his own—he’d even tangled with one of the same Vorak I had.

Some of his highlights included: foiling an assassination and forcing the would-be killer into a personal duel, surviving a poison gas Adept infiltrating their submarine, and somehow Macoru was supposed to have even better stories.

Eventually I did nod off mid-morning for a few REM cycles.

Kindly, Mavriste materialized a very breathable dark blanket over my head to keep my face out of the sun.

He woke me up with a subtle warning.

“” he warned. Yeah, that was a sentence that sent my eyes wide open instantly.

“They’re hiding it, but don’t make any sudden moves.”

“I wish you’d woken me up sooner,” I frowned. “I didn’t realize were that close to the island.”

“We’re still about…thirty miles out,” he said.

“What? How’d we get lased then? How do you even know we got—”

I felt it this time. It was not a traditional laser. That made sense. Conventional laser targeting required computers that even Void Fleets wouldn’t easily acquire.

No, this was a psionic laser, sweeping across the oceanscape and dialing in on our position as we approached.

There was no guessing where it came from; it was obvious. South of us, an island was dominated by a steep hill that appeared shorter than it was only because we weren’t close enough for the shore to have come above the horizon yet.

With every minute we drew nearer, the island seemed to grow and tower over us. Kraknor might not have had very impressive mountains, but context made the island hill feel ominously ‘mountainous’.

“You got a plan?” I asked.

“Sure do,” Mavriste said, and materialized a flare gun, firing it into the sky.

Thirty seconds later, an identical flare went up from the shore.

“Alright, we should be okay to land,” he said.

“Should be?” I said. “Notice that they’re still keeping us lased? Do you even know what kind of weapon it is they’ve locked on us?”

“Something parabolic, I believe,” he said. “The laser seems to be for ranging the target.”

“A fixed emplacement high up on the hill,” I guessed. “Then it’s probably for the boat, not us.”

“Bodes well, doesn’t it?”

If nothing else, we could abandon the boat if we detected we were being fired on. Of course that would mean stranding ourselves on the cult’s island.

Mavriste picked up his pace aboard our boat, tying certain ropes and adjusting the sails as we looped around the island’s eastern shore. A large dock was built into a concave stretch of the shore and a handful of boats of varying size were already moored.

Forced to keep his hand on the rudder, Mavriste directed me to pull the ‘daggerboard’ up…and up…and up. Holy crap, this thing was like eight feet long.

Instead of directing us to one of the docks, Mavriste aimed us for a small patch of sand directly adjacent.

As we ran aground, I got a good first look at the cultists.

And they were everything I’d imagined.

Every one of them wore the same simple white robe, like the whole island was a big karate dojo. But some of the robes were adorned with numbers of colored bands on the sleeves.

About two-thirds of them were visibly armed. Only one of the guns was pointed directly at us so far, but you could see it in their arms and posture that we were one sudden move away from being Swiss cheese.

“It goes without saying…yes?” Mavriste confirmed.

“Yeah, I’m not an idiot,” I said.

“Mmm, I wouldn’t even leave the boat before we’re welcomed. It’s a symbolic thing.”

One of the cultists approached our boat. Rather notably, this was one of the unarmed ones, and my psionic senses told me they weren’t Adept.

The Vorak tried to hide their deep inhale before they barked out a phrase at Mavriste who’d carefully placed himself in the boat so he remained between me and most of the cultists.

I didn’t recognize the cultist’s language, but Mavriste did. He calmly spoke a few lines before switching to a tongue I could at least pick up on.

“Tarassin? Any Starspeak?”

“Starspeak,” the cultist nodded.

“What? Really?” I asked before I could think better of it.

Mavriste shot me a look. Got it. Shutting up.

“No one spoke Starspeak the last time I was here,” he told the cultist.

“We’ve had an influx from across the globe. This was the only language we could all agree to learn,” they admitted sheepishly. “Now shut up and declare yourself!”

“No,” Mavriste said. “You’re colorless. I’m not declaring myself to anyone less than an esteemed red, and neither is my friend here.”

“Rules have changed, even initiates are—”

Mavriste warned me. He cut off the cultists with a quick jab to the collar before stooping to grab an ankle too. The poor initiate found himself flipped end over end and hurled into the shallows behind our boat.

They picked themselves up quicky enough, but were clearly mollified from the treatment.

Mavriste turned to the onlookers. “Come on! If you’re not going to shoot us, someone worthy needs to treat with us!”

“Are you Mavriste?” another white-robe asked—this one had two red bands on their sleeves.

“I am,” he nodded.

“And your…friend?”

“My friend can name himself. How long are you going to make us sit in this boat?”

The lot of them all exchanged a few glances as well as bursts of psionic communication in languages I didn’t recognize. But they all seemed to agree, and the red-sleeved cultist approached our boat next.

They too took a careful breath before belting out at us, but they didn’t bother hiding it.

“If you would seek to stand on these shores, then you must prove yourself worthy!”

“I am more than worthy enough for the both of us,” Mavriste said, nodding toward me. “I’ll face your challenge.”

“Then disembark and follow!” Red-sleeves barked.

“You heard them,” Mavirste whispered to me.

I nodded.

Red-sleeves scrutinized us both as we stepped off the boat and onto shore, like we might be disgracing the very land with our footsteps. But they turned and led us up onto the dock.

A path led from the dock up the hill, but between the two, several circles of stones had been arranged in what could only be makeshift arenas.

Red-sleeves beckoned Mavriste into the ring.

“You are challenged!” Red-sleeves bellowed.

“Not if it’s just you,” Mavriste said cockily. “You sure you don’t want some teammates?”

“No—” Red-sleeves started to say, but Mavriste blew him out of the arena before he could declare any kind of start to their match.

I didn’t even see what Adeptry he’d pulled off. Just a blast of hazy air and Red-sleeves had careened through the dirt bast the boundary.

“That one was free!” Mavriste offered. “Go again?”

Red-sleeves picked themselves up, giving their head a shake before trudging back to the arena.

“…Terms,” they offered.

“Five on one—but I’ll still use Adeptry,” Mavriste said. “Three on one if you want me to treat you as children.”

“Pups?” one of the other cultists questioned.

“Punished by hand,” Mavriste clarified with a down right shit-eating grin.

“The latter,” Red-sleeves demanded.

“Done,” Mavriste said. “You can pick your lineup. I’m not picky.”

Red-sleeves did exactly that. They tapped another Vorak with red-banded sleeves—though theirs held only one, not two, and an absolutely hulking initiate with the unadorned white robes.

The one-bander was Adept, but the initiate wasn’t, which was shocking all its own. They were so big, I figured they had to be augmented. I’d never seen a Vorak taller than six feet. They resembled a grizzly bear as much as an otter.

All three of them went for Mavriste in the ring, but I could see Mavriste’s psionics shift as his mind shifted gear to fighting. He was a steel trap, blocking every blow with exactly the right angle, ducking away from grabs, and sneaking in his counterattacks with the precision timing that only came from experience.

He was taking it easy on them too. Red-sleeves must have realized it too, because they shifted from a methodical approach to a risker one, probing Mavriste’s defenses, trying to learn from his responses.

Smart idea. If you knew you would lose, making sure to learn from it was the right call.

The other two did not show the same wherewithal.

I told Mavriste.

I said.

Mavriste shrugged while he pinned Red-sleeves with his own ally’s body.

I said.

“Human! You are challenged!” another cultist bellowed—an initiate all in white.

Mavriste said, losing focus on his bout for a moment. The hulking initiate socked him across the jaw with the opening and the three of them proceeded to pull Mavriste off his feet.

The initiate challenging me stomped closer, brandishing a single-edged sword.

“You must prove yourself worthy to stand on these shores!” they said, voice steely.

“No,” I said, pointedly taking my eyes off them and continuing to watch Mavriste’s fight.

“Declare yourself or be unworthy!”

They pointed the sword at me angrily, emphasizing their ultimatum. I eyeballed the rest of the cultists. I’d picked up through context that Mavriste was fighting for my admittance in addition to his own, but this initiate seemed to want to make us pay for a ticket twice.

No one seemed to be objecting either.

“Point that sword anywhere near me, and I’ll show all your friends what color your organs are,” I said calmly, still not looking away from Mavriste’s fight.

Mavriste warned, wrestling his way out from under his opponents. Even three-on-one, they couldn’t keep him down.

“You are not worthy!” the initiate cried and lurched threateningly closer.

This time, I turned to face them squarely.

“You aren’t deaf, are you?” I asked.

Their face scrunched up, confused only for a moment.

“Oh good. I just wanted to make sure you understood the language you were threatening me with.”

I knew they’d ignore me. Mavriste had straight up punched the first initiate to approach us and the higher-ranking cultists hadn’t even blinked. These guys were might-makes-right assholes, for sure.

As dumb as that philosophy was though, it was at least unambiguous.

The initiate let out a snarl and leapt right at me, swinging the blade for my neck.

I closed a hand around the blade, arresting their swing. I yanked the sword forward and down, pulling their shoulders and head towards my other hand curled into a fist.

My first punch loosened their grip on the sword and broke their nose. My second punch made them lose their footing, and I followed it up with a third for good measure, driving their skull into the sand.

I flipped the sword around, catching it by the handle and stabbed it into the sand right next to the Vorak’s neck. Kneeling next to them, I spoke softly, but still loud enough for everyone close to hear.

“My friend Mavriste said he was going to prove worthy enough for both of us,” I said. “If you had a problem with that, you really should have taken it up with him. He wouldn’t have made you bleed so much.”

Mavriste finished his own entanglement, judo-rolling the red-sleeved cultists clean out of the ring before getting the big one in a headlock and forcing them to stumble right out of the ring before being slammed to the ground.

The Missionary Marine plodded over to me and the offending initiate, inspecting the injury I dealt.

“Didn’t kill them,” I said simply.

“No, but you didn’t do yourself any favors either,” Mavriste said quietly. “It’s about worthiness, not just might. I would have entertained them, put on more of a show. Show some skill.”

“They tried to chop my head off,” I said, “and I don’t fight for sport.”

Mavriste grimaced, but nodded.

“Worthy?” he asked red-sleeves.

Glances went to the initiate on the ground, still clutching their bloody broken nose.

“Worthy enough,” they nodded. “So why are you here?”