"Sons and daughters..."

  "Brothers, sisters!"

  "Trust your brothers, trust your sisters!"

  "Here is glory, glory. Oh, bloody and hardfought glory!"

  Gathered around a fire pit on a moon-world named Plafast, the troupe brandished instruments, danced and waved streamers and revelled with song and wine. Once a cutting reminder of Jara's tragedy, the warriors' battle-hymn had transformed.

  Jara had tried to remember the song, written it down and stashed the verses in a cubby in her quarters as a token of the last moments of Jonothen, of the brave souls that saved her from a fate she still counted herself lucky for not coming to pass. Dan-Dan had found the verse, whether-by snooping or tidying– she didn't say, but she had encouraged Jara to not try to bury such a powerful memory in some dark drawer.

  At first Jara wasn't sure if the song, though attached to a memory of her father, could ever be anything but steeped with dread.

  So she shared. At first just with Dan-Dan, Amelie, and Ahmad, but with their encouragement Jara shared it with the rest of the troupe, still hesitant not to discuss the meaning behind it in too much detail.

  At first the battle-hymn remained just that, a solemn hymn, relayed by Jara in the manner she had heard it; through tears, through anxiety and a sheen of terror.

  Over the months, though the words remained firm, the tune began to evolve.

  Out of anxiety came mirth.

  Out of terror came revelry.

  And, out of the shadow came something less horrible.

  Together, they had found the notes.

  They had crafted the melody together.

  And, now out of the beating of Olek's and Tomo's drums, out of Flokk's throat singing bellows, out of Amelie and Ahmad's guitars, out of Ruby's synth keyboard, and the melting pot of voices from Candle, Menya, Dan-Dan, and of Jara herself, it took on a new meaning of family – of healing.

  "Sons and daughters...

  Brothers, sisters!

  Trust your brothers, trust your sisters!

  You’ve won glory,

  You’ve won glory!"

  "Give rest to those, Brave..." Jara sung as the melody slowed, "that gave us hard-won peace..."

  A silence fell as the instruments stopped and the troupe paused, each member staring toward the flickering fire of the pit. Embers danced, flickered in and out of existence, and Jara could almost see the movements of a firedancer fleeting in the flame.

  In the intervening months since her first ever performance back on Kaivarld, The Spider du Mzam had moved on and Jara had performed many other shows from the most modest of venues with the smallest crowds to the most extravagant across the eastern and central worlds of the Stj?rnrike. Now, far out on a western wing of the empire, Jara grew ever more confident with her footing, her movements, and her mastery of the flame. She could see the well-travelled arcs of her staff as she remained at rest, feel the wind of the wood – the heat of the flame – as it passed by her body in her mind.

  Comfortable in her place among the troupe, she could see a familiar level of comfort grow within both Amelie and Ahmad as they adjusted to their new support roles within the group, Amelie more than Ahmad.

  Weeks prior, Ahmad had shared with Jara how guilty he still feels about the whole ordeal, keeping Amelie from the thing in life she loved the most. Jara, and the rest of the troupe knew how wrong that was in that Amelie was the stronger of the two. And if she'd wanted to be back up on that stage, a tiny injury, nor her brother's absence would stop her. Regardless, Ahmad's trauma was ever-present, and Jara found some kinship in that.

  "Beautiful, as always," said Dan-Dan, breaking the solemnity.

  Jara just nodded, still tracing embers with her eyes.

  "You always get silent afterwards," said Candle.

  "Yeah, when are you gonna tell us the full story about that song?" Menya asked before saying, "sorry."

  "Don't be sorry," Jara said, looking up from the fire. "I don't know why I've held off telling you all."

  "Don't listen to them, Jara," said Flokk, "your story is your own. Don't let them prod you."

  "No, that's okay. I want to share it," Jara affirmed.

  Dan-Dan grabbed Jara's hand, giving her a start.

  "Sit first," she said. With a smile, she led Jara to a seat away from the fire.

  As the rest of the troupe took their seats around her, Jara could see each and every one of them was eager and ready to truly listen. Any hesitation she had that may have remained, suddenly faded away.

  "It started with my birthday present..." began Jara as she walked them through the day that lasted two years. From rock-hopping with Jonothen, to the initial moments of the attack, to the originators of the battle-hymn – though Jara suspected the warriors had rehearsed it before their final bout – to Jonothen's final words, to the cryopod, and finally to the moments of her reawakening.

  Recounting each moment in painful detail, watching the faces of her closest friends and only family outside of Jarl Kagawa echo her own emotions, Jara felt an intense and unforgiving wave of relief wash over her. Tears began to stream from her cheeks as she finished with the ceremony held for Valrakee's fallen at the Teikun's palace.

  Dan-Dan and Flokk both held one of her hands, squeezing tightly as she began to sob.

  When she finished she finally said with a smile: "and that's where I met all of you."

  "You're such a different soul than the girl we met back then," said Tomo, "much stronger I mean."

  "Gods has it been that long already?" said Candle.

  "Nearly four years, yup," said Jara.

  "And what about the Jarl? Sure was nice to see him show up back on Okinwa!" said Ruby through her suit's aged intercom, crackling and popping. These days her suit, though antique by the time she'd joined the troupe, was looking ever more ancient. Ruby was, of course, referring to Bael's surprise appearance at one of Jara's performances several weeks ago.

  "A Jarl – Black Dog himself no less – hooping and hollering from the front row for our little old troupe," Menya chimed in, "I can get more of that!"

  Jara nodded and smiled at the thought of Bael smiling back at her, calling her name as she twirled her staff on stage. Thankful for the space and freedom he had offered her in order to heal, for the security and joy he had showed, only furthered the depth of his acceptance of her, and the growing love she felt for him.

  "Oh yeah, I'll be damned if I ever let the Jarl take you back from us!" barked Candle.

  "Say that to Black Dog's face, I dare you," Tomo said, taking a swig of vaske and pouring some at the foot of the fire.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  "Why is it everyone seems to know so much more about Bael than me?" Jara asked no one in particular. She'd done a bit of sleuthing on Bael, but the official imperial records only said so much, instead leaning more toward a tidier record of history. "And why does everyone call him Black Dog? I mean, don’t they respect him enough to use his title—Jarl?"

  "Respect is the reason, Jara," said Olek, "Many in the fleet, and in the wider empire surely, call him Black Dog out of respect, not mockery. It's a name he earned, rightfully so."

  "I'd like to hear the story behind that," said Jara.

  "It is a grand tale, though it may not be my story to tell," Olek admitted. Instead he swiveled to look at Tomo, whose head now hung lower over the fire and it was suddenly clear to Jara just what Olek meant.

  "Tomo, you were there?" asked Jara.

  Tomo nodded and turned to her. Finishing his bottle, he set it down by his boot.

  "I suppose if someone's to say something about it, it should be me."

  "If it's too hard–" Jara started before Tomo raised his palm.

  "It was oh... ten years back now, give or take. I served as an enlisted drengr aboard the Vosfoli. Our ships' hersir," Tomo began, "a real idiot of a man, led us and a fleet of six others into the Lazuli system on a pretty standard recon flight.

  We were to rift in, scan the heavens and jump out before the enemy knew we'd even been."

  "The enemy?" Jara broke in, "I wasn't aware we were at war with anyone."

  "We weren't, that's the thing," Tomo explained, "or at least we shouldn't have been. Lazuli is a fringe system of the fels you see, but we'd been getting reports from our allies, both from the fels themselves and from the quisabar that a rogue faction of lopaul gren had been hiding out on the edge of the system."

  "Lopaul...?" Jara puzzled.

  "Lopaul gren," Tomo continued. "Creepy mantis-looking things, a client species from some backwater world within the Quisibar Domain."

  Jara looked around to find Candle and Menya playfully mimicking having wide eyes and folded arms as they strutted around the fire.

  "Bael wound't have anything to do with these lopaul gren, would he?" asked Jara, turning back to Tomo.

  "He would have everything to do with them," Tomo insisted, "you see the fels aren't known for their military prowess. Instead a mutual defence pact exists between our peoples. Jarl Kagawa's Vargrtok fleet is the prime enforcer of such an oath, our Vosfoli-led pack simple scouts for such a powerful force."

  "So you jump, grab some readings, jump out," said Ruby, "I'm guessing it didn't go according to plan?"

  "Far from it. We fell out of riftspace right on top of the venerable Last Free Fleet of the lopaul gren, an armada several thousand vessels strong."

  "By the gods..." said Jara, every member of the troupe now on the edges of seats.

  "The initial battle was short. We were utterly destroyed, down to the last ship. The Vosfoli was sacked, crippled, left to drift. You see the lopaul gren have no hatred in their hearts for us, at least not back in those days. It was simply wrong time, wrong place, and the Last Free Fleet could not risk the word of their movements getting back to their true enemy, their oppressors, the quisabar."

  "I didn't know any of this..." Jara said, shaking her head, "I thought we were friends with the quisabar."

  "Don't mistake my words, young Jara," Tomo said, his words showing a glimmer of his true age, "empires, even those as righteous as ours, rarely interfere with internal struggles of others. We no more have a right to dictate the treatment of the lopaul gren within the Domain's borders than they have say over any such prisoners within our own.

  Which is why this engagement, outside of the borders of each of our respective empires, makes the battle that followed much more dire.

  You see the fels weren't about to engage the wandering lopaul gren fleet, their attention spans wouldn't allow it. They did broadcast a warning to us, a warning that unfortunately arrived minutes after the Vosfoli went dark."

  "What happened to you? How did you survive, Tomo?" Jara asked.

  "a fellow drengr pulled my body to a cryopod, a fate that I see mirrors your own struggle Jara. Though, I was only out for a few days until my damaged pod too lost power. I awoke to the lopaul gren scavenging amongst the survivors. It wasn't until far later that the truth would come out that they'd been tending to survivors, offering aid to those they'd crushed.

  Either way, that's when the host of the Vargrtok arrived.

  A fels vessel had been able to push through the blockade set up by the Last Free Fleet, sending a message back to Drassil. Within the week, Black Dog brought the overwhelming power of his own fleet to bear.

  Outnumbered by ten-to-one, the Last Free Fleet were no match for the Vargrtok's firepower.

  As a lopaul gren recovery skiff was approaching my pod to pull me out of the black, they withdrew just as the Free Fleet opened fire once again on their newly appeared foe.

  Now I'm not privy to the specifics on the why and the how, but from what the warriors that saw the battle that day say was the lopaul gren gave no quarter. It was life or death for them, to not be reported back to their oppressors, and they chose the only choice that fate gave them that day."

  "Why didn't they just flee?" asked Jara, "if they, as you say, were picking up survivors, why would they not just run from Bael's ships?"

  "And where would they run to?" Tomo posited, "all of space from here to the Quisabar Dominion is claimed. Where would they go? My thoughts are Lazuli was the end of the road for them. Maybe they were praying that the fels would just ignore their presence, or maybe they could just spend their exile in the black waiting for the quisabar to forget, or maybe they were searching for some sort of divine favour.

  It doesn't matter. When we met them that day on the field of battle, both our fates were sealed."

  Jara considered that. The brutality of the lopaul gren in some respects echoed the savagery that stole Valrakee from her and she wondered if it was the same enemy.

  "That still doesn't explain Black Dog," Jara pointed out.

  "Keen as always," Tomo said, accepting a fresh bottle of vaske from Olek.

  "Don't go pouring that thing out again; we're not made of liquor here," Olek warned, sending a needed chuckle through the group.

  "Black Dog is what the surviving lopaul gren named Jarl Kagawa that day, or at least the closest translation. Black Dog, I guess, is a terrible insult in their language."

  "So there were survivors? Did the Last Free Fleet escape?" asked Ruby, seemingly the only other member of the troupe not familiar with the story.

  "Survivors, yes. Ships... I'm afraid not," Tomo said. "After the lopaul gren opened the first volley, I'm afraid Black Dog pummelled them into dust. It was a viscous and hard-won victory. The fortunate few to survive were the unlucky ones. The quisabar demanded back their dissidents."

  "I... I can't believe Bael just turned them over..." Jara said softly.

  "Losses were great on both sides that day, young Jara. And I do mean great. There was nothing to be done on our side to deny the quisabar their due, and we had little energy left except to lick our wounds."

  "I know they attacked us, but they clearly didn't want to. Bael could've offered them asylum..." Jara argued.

  "Jara, he lost his wife that day," Tomo said, "Lady Soarise Kagawa was hersir of the battleship Huginn, sistership to Black Dog's Muninn. The Huginn was destroyed in a pass-by with the enemy, shielding the Muninn.

  Black Dog can be forgiven for not taking on prisoners that day. Besides, prisoner here or prisoner there, there was little left in the universe for their kind no matter where they ended up."

  And suddenly Jara got it. She understood the reason Bael was so eager to take her in. He'd known what losing a loved one was like. Had he seen the pain he himself experienced in her eyes?

  "And what happened to you next?" asked Ruby. "Obviously you aren't still in a failed pod."

  "Surely not," Black Dog's ship picked me up after the dust settled. "He saved my life that day. Glory... glory. Oh... bloody and hardfought glory"

  "And the lopaul gren– are they still prisoners?" Jara asked.

  "Stands to reason, though you'd have to ask a quisabar about that," said Tomo.

  "Well," Flokk said, still seated to Jara's right, his face only barely visible now in the fading firelight, "that's enough for storytime."

  "And it was just getting good!" Candle exclaimed.

  "But we're all out of wine," said Menya, turning the neck of the bottle to the sand.

  "No, he's right," Dan-Dan agreed, "besides, Troubadour's wheels up in the morning."

  "Right, where we headed to next?" asked Olek.

  "Coincidentally, at the behest of Jarl Gand we're headed back to Drassil," she said, squeezing Jara's hand again, "Jarl Kagawa should be in attendance!"

  Jara was elated, for only a moment before something shifted. In the fading light of the fire as embers danced across the sand, Jara had a sudden well of anxiety build then explode into her mind. A vision of withering green fields, and craggy and barren peaks gave way to a long red carpet that stretched out kilometres before her. Except, it wasn't a carpet but a patch of blood-red ferns shredded and scattered about a forest floor. At the end of the line of red a man stood, his stench putrid and sorrowful, his teeth twisted and haunting. And as his eyes met hers, he opened his mouth to say something.

  "Jara? Jaaaaara?" Dan-Dan said, rocking her back to reality. "Are you still with us?"

  "Yes– yes," Jara spat out, confusion still bristling through her.

  "You okay, Jara?" Ruby asked.

  "Look at her, she's just tired," said Flokk, "Come now, time for bed."

  "In a minute," Jara insisted.

  Much of the troupe members decided to follow Flokk's word and head back into the spacebus. Flokk brought out a pale of water to douse fire but Dan-Dan stopped him.

  "Leave it," she said, still seated beside Jara, "it's calm enough to fizzle out on its own."

  After the others left, she finally said, "you're really okay, Jara?"

  Jara stared at the fire pit, at the smouldering remnants of charred wood that struggled to remain lit. She knew just how familiar the images that just flashed through her mind were. They were nearly identical to the dream she'd been having, though cheap and terrible copies. Why was she seeing it still, she thought, was it getting worse?

  "I'm fine, truly," she lied.

  "I think it'll do you good to be home again," Dan-Dan said, and Jara could sense that she wasn't buying it.

  "But I am home," she said.

  Dan-Dan squeezed her hand again and put an arm around her in the encroaching darkness.

  I am home, she thought and knew it to be true. As welcoming and warm as Bael had been, she didn't ever quite accept the idea of living a life suddenly surrounded with the luxury that came with being a ward of a Jarl. But here was different, here she could just be herself.

  Maybe the time would come where it came time to put down her fire-staff and leave the troupe behind, but not right now – right now is perfect, she thought as she rested her head on Dan-Dan's shoulder.