to live and die in starlight

“I wouldn't want to get you in trouble.”

“Oh, I do well enough at that on my own,” Eiyamer laughed. “Hard to believe my parents were hoping I'd enter the priesthood.”

Kedrunn looked at her wonderingly. “You too? My parents always thought I'd make a better priest than a Warrior, being so strange and quiet. It wasn't until their Alyt noticed my training scores that they realised otherwise. I was never quite what they expected.”

His parents were the first in his family to be called to service in space, she discovered. Shipboard positions were coveted, and there were not enough for all Warriors to make the cut. He'd gone with them, himself and his older sister, and spent half his elevens in space before their commanding officer suggested he be sent to Tinarel to complete his training. “A great honour,” he said, “though I didn't fully comprehend until I got there and realised most of my classmates were the children of high ranking Alyts and war leaders.”

They went on like this, spilling bits and pieces of their lives and drawing closer in the telling. Eiyamer had this sensation of having known him for a long time, longer than the hours ringing by under the suns’ glare. At some point he removed his gloves again, tucking them in his belt, and she had the pleasure of seeing those long, slender fingers sketching thoughts in the air. Noon came and went, and afternoon drew on, without either noticing as they traded stories back and forth. 

“I wasn't allowed to participate in rites for nearly a year after that,” Eiyamer laughed, finishing the tale of how, as a foolish young adolescent, she had gotten bored during an important ritual and begun playing a wild Worker Caste reel at a crucial moment in the process. “I put it all out of alignment you see.”

“You remind me of a dear friend of mine back in Tinarel,” Kedrunn sighed happily, propping his chin in his hand, elbow on knee with an expression of deep fondness. “Verann. Though I don't know if you'd get along, sadly. He's not fond of the Religious Caste generally. Some bad experiences when he was younger. Can’t stand anything to do with prayers and rituals. We were asked to take part in the na’fak’cha recently and he stormed out half way through swearing he'd never let any priest hold a secret over him. Caused a bit of a scandal.”

“I don't blame him,” Eiyamer said. “No one should have to go through a na’fak’cha under duress. I don't care much for prayers myself, which I suppose confirms I was never suited to the priesthood. Prayer through song I can understand, but I'll never have time for sitting silently unless I'm listening to some good music.”

“I’d gathered that much." Kedrunn smiled teasingly. “The Star Seer priests in Tinarel say that action is as good as prayer, where it is intended towards good. Better, because many people stop at prayer and go no further.”

“I was born to the wrong Fane,” Eiyamer remarked drily. “Sanaya is a contemplative order, and our priests never move much beyond these walls. If we meet the world it is usually only because it comes to us.”

“Uninvited in my case.”

He found Branmer propped up on the settee, a few pillows tucked behind the small of his back, holding hands with Serrum. Both had their eyes closed, breathing in unison while her fellow apprentice, Isgri, hovering dolefully above them. Neither was ready to be out from under their masters’ supervision yet, but one lay dead and the other near death, and duty did not wait. Isgri saluted Neroon stiffly, backing away as he came closer.

“Yes, you are right, Shai Alyt,” Serrum said softly, opening her eyes with Branmer. She had big, fearful eyes, over large in her angular face, and giving too much away. More sensitive than Isgri, she had felt her master die, and had been shaken ever since. “Before it was killed it must have left something behind. I don't have the training to deal with it, you might even be better going to a Religious telepath, or a Worker, when we return to Minbari.”

“And in the meantime is there nothing you can do?” Branmer folded her hand gently in his, giving a reassuring squeeze. He looked almost as small and fragile as Serrum, more gaunt now than slender, dark circles haunting his eyes. 

“Medication perhaps, to help you sleep?” Serrum stammered over the words. 

“It is the nightmares that are the problem, not that. No, I fall asleep easily enough, and then wish I had not,” Branmer said, stifling a yawn. “If you could simply stop me from dreaming.”

“I am sorry, Shai Alyt, but neither of us have the skill. If our masters…” she trailed off, looking down at where their hands were still intertwined, with a watery, worried look. “Meditation might calm your mind before you sleep.”

“My dear, you are teaching a priest to pray,” Branmer laughed at her dismayed stuttering, waving away her apologies. “It doesn't work, believe me.”

“There is…” Serrum hesitated and glanced at Isgri, who shrugged delicately. “We have had some interrogation training, there are techniques to sooth subjects…” 

“Pleasure is the better pathway to submission than pain,” Branmer finished for her, tilting his head with good humoured amusement. “I know the method. You think it will work?”

“It is not pleasure exactly, and it is not a permanent solution,” Serrum said, “but yes, I think it will.”