Date: July 17, 2000 (Aether: October 15, 3906)
Place: Throne Room - Atesh-Gah - Haven
Cast: Khalid (V), Roxana
Scene: Roxana bint Fajult Al'Gul of Clan Al'Gul has learned of her father's treachery to the Amir-al, and now she betrays her own Clan in order to remain loyal to her God.

The rays of a dying sun paint the skyscape orange. The color wanes, failing before an onslaught of starlight. The scene, visible through a window above, pales in comparison to the sight that dominates the room.

In the center of the audience chamber, a massive sphere of flame sits. Flames broil across its surface haphazardly, as if alive. Heat bakes the air nearby, causing it to shimmer like the illusion of a mirage. The brilliant light cast by the burning orb touches even the furthest, darkest corners of the room... where the ebon Agni-Haidar stand, sentinel warriors of the God-King.

Roxana, shaking more than slightly, her face pale beneath the bronze of skin and silken veil, enters the throne room in search of her Atar. In one trembling hand, she clutches a message scroll, and as she stretches her full length on the floor in complete obeisance that hand reaches forwards, placing the scroll before her for an Agni-Haidar to bring to Khalid Atar, God and King.

In the sphere's center, a pair of bright yellow flames burst into being. They do not die as the others, only to be reborn elsewhere, but remain steady amidst a sea of shifting fire. The terrible eyes of the God-King, a window into the power of Ashur Masad himself, watch the supplicant for moments that stretch into eternity.

Somewhere in this ocean of time, a voice reaches for Roxana, cleaving the air like a thunderbolt, "Read what is written on the scroll, Priestess of Ushas."

Without bothering to retrieve the fateful document, Roxana raises herself as little as possible to permit her voice to carry. It is plain that she has read the letter so many times that she knows the contents by heart.

"To my Dutiful daughter,
      In this time of War, the Warlord of our Clan has asked me to write and tell you that he has need of you. Do not rush to return home, my daughter, but instead remain in Haven, in the halls of Atesh-Gah, in your current position. Much information must pass you by -- now, your duty is to let it pass through you to myself and thus your kinsman, the Warlord.
      I know that you are a responsible and dutiful daughter, and the bonds of love and honor that lie between us will make this task an easy one. Now, at last, here is your chance to remove the blemish upon all of us that you have caused by your very birth. Do not fail me, my daughter, as you failed me when I lay claim to the Warlord's throne. I will send a messenger with a Clan token to you every week; they are trustworthy, and bound to the Clan by more than mere blood, as are you. Remember, my daughter, that your mother is still here with me. I trust you will serve admirably -- after all, your Ushasti ways make you perfect for the task.
      Your Loving father,
      Fajult."

Roxana falls silent, lowering herself back to her former position.

Silence reigns in the wake of the Priestess' confession. The glowing eyes seem to narrow at the woman before it. "Why do you bring this before me? You doom your Clan."

Roxana, shaking even more, cries out, "My Clan is already doomed by its defiance of Your Holy Will, O Divine One." It has been a hard time for her, and her fear of reprisals from her family is great -- but she knows what course is the right one to take, and she never, for even a moment, had to think about who to whom she owed her loyalty. A God, the son of her Goddess, is the ruler of the Varati by divine decree, for good or ill. Roxana is nothing if not steadfast to her vows, no matter the consequences.

The burning sphere begins to dissolve, its perfect shape imploding slowly. Tongues of flame flicker more wildly, skating in every direction as if gravity had no hold over them. The ruined orb takes on a new shape -- wings of fire are forged, and then the body of a man.

The living phoenix stands before Roxana, flesh of flame and blood of liquid fire. The same terrible gaze watches the Ushasti... and then the God steps forward. In that step, he seems to cross the barrier into the mortal world, for the fire sloughs off as if a shroud of ash, abandoned to the breeze.

What emerges is the familiar face of the God-King, dark and severe. It presides over a powerful frame, bereft of any clothing save the lingering smoke and steam that hangs thick in the air. Another step, and Khalid is beside her. The immortal being reaches down to grasp the Priestess' hand and draw her to her feet.

Roxana is shaking violently, hands white beneath their natural pigment, eyes downcast to the floor, but she does her best to rise gracefully -- or rather, does her best to follow the guidance of that hand as it pressures her to rise. Her jaw, beneath the veil, is locked in terror, and sheer fear oozes from every pore -- this is the man with the ultimate power over life and death, and she has just given him news that is not good by any means.

Khalid's touch is uncomfortably warm, the heat saturating both clothing and flesh. Gone is the gaze of fire, quenched by the crystalline blue of eyes in parody of mortal ones. When he speaks, his breath carries with it the searing touch of a furnace still blazing, "What male in your Clan is loyal to me?"

Roxana says, "I know not, O Eternal Flame," the formulas almost unconsciously rolling off a well-schooled tongue. "This missive is all I have had from them. The Warlord, and with him my father, cannot be loyal to you, or I would not have received it. I cannot even speak for my chaperones -- those warriors who remain here with me at my father's command."

Those chaperones being distinctly absent for this interview, oddly enough. "I do not know how far the cancer has spread, Son of the Dawn."

"Then your Clan shall be no more, and your name will be a badge of shame when it should not be. How should this loyalty be rewarded?" The hand, once clamped upon Roxana like a vice, now falls. The God of Fire and War begins to stalk around her like a predatory animal, his breath baking her flesh with each word spoken.

Roxana remains upright, shaking like a leaf but standing firm in her belief that the Son has inherited a share of mercy from the Mother. No answer is there, but one sentence, laced with fear for another besides herself, is forthcoming. "My mother, O Atar, as you heard they hold my mother's life over me."

The searing words of the God-King tickle her ear harshly, even as the Amir-al himself remains out of sight, lingering behind. "Is your Mother loyal to me?"

Roxana cannot answer that question directly, but is fairly certain. "She was dishonored at my birth, sent to the Ushasti in shame. My father only returned her to his side when he was forced to acknowledge me, and he did not treat her well when I was at home. She is more intelligent than he, and will be well aware that she is to be used as a hostage for my behavior. All this was done with the knowledge and approval of the Warlord.

"If she is still loyal to the Clan after such treatment, she is a fool -- and I do not think my mother so foolish as that. She holds the faith of Ushas dear to her heart, and is not likely to fail in her duty to the Son of the Goddess, Divine One."

"And what..." begins the God, prowling about the woman like a Lion whose limbs and body have been fashioned into those of a man. He crosses in front of her now, eyes of blue searching the features of her face, "...will you do when you have no Clan? Live as Shudra? Or marry into a kshatri family before your own is destroyed?"

Roxana says, "What husband will take me now, when none would have me before? I can but throw myself upon your mercy, and live the life you decree, Majesty." Steadier, somehow, faith winning out over fear, Roxana ventures a suggestion, "Majesty, what if I were to send missives as my father requests? With the contents you decree? My fate matters little to me, but the fate of your People is of great concern. If I can aid you in any way, permit me to do so, I beg of you. Be it even such as," a pronounced shudder, "sweeping the floor, or washing plates."

When the God speaks again, it is from the shadow of her vision. Words batter her like waves crashing against the stone of shore. "You will have kshatri name, but it will not be Al'Gul..." The coarse flesh of fingers, who have born witness to the passing of ages, now brushes past her neck to her jaw... and grips it.

The hand turns her head to the right, where Khalid now stands. "...it shall be Khalida."

Roxana's eyes widen as they stare up into her God's for that brief moment, her veil flutters with a gasp of astonishment and relief -- and then those particolored eyes roll up to reveal only the whites as Roxana, suddenly freed of most of the stress of the situation, promptly faints.

When strength leaves her limbs, the Priestess does not find the ground waiting to break her fall, but rather the arms of the God-King himself. Holding her easily, as if the woman were nothing more than a doll for children to play with, Khalid plucks one of his own feathers, and uses its tip to tickle the nose of the Ushasti.

Roxana sneezes her way into wakefulness, and finds herself truly embarrassed to be supported by the God-King. She tries to get back to her own feet, apologies flowing forth with sincerity and more than a touch of her former nerves as she babbles about how sorry she is to have reacted like that, and that it is an honor he does her, and so on, and so on.

Khalid allows the Ushasti to escape his support and retake her own weight. No hint of dismay or amusement colors the severe features of the God-King when he answers her, "You sacrifice your Clan, disloyal they may be, so as to remain faithful to myself and my mother. The name I give you is well-deserved."

Roxana's paleness fades, inverting into a blush as modest eyes rise a little from the floor. "You honor me, Divine One, and I can never repay what you have given me. What may I do, to aid your cause? Command me."

Blue eyes watch her from beneath brows brooding and stern. "In the matter of your Clan, do nothing but promise your father to do as he instructs. I will provide information for you to pass to him. When Clan Al'Gul is destroyed, you may call yourself Khalida openly."

Roxana kneels, her forehead touching the floor. "As you command, O Hawk of Heaven. I am proud to serve you."

Ebon wings stretch wide, blocking out what little candlelight lingers like a curtain of night drawn upon a false day. Feathers quiver as he strains momentarily, then furls the broad wings once again. Blue eyes never leave Roxana's prostrate figure, "In what is a Kanya of the Ushasti skilled?"

Roxana answers, "Herbalism and midwifery, Majesty, the arts of the scribe, and a little of music and embroidery. I also know some little of warfare, through watching our warriors at work. And, of course, the less obvious arts of dissembling, the gaining and passing of information, and some few of the ceremonies and prayers of Ushas." Best to reveal everything it is permitted to reveal.

A pause follows this explanation, one ended when the Amir-al nods wordlessly, then adds, "Pass on the teachings of my mother to the Maharani. She is still not yet comfortable with my people."

Roxana waits patiently through the pause -- it does not do to rush the Ruler of the World, especially when he is in a good mood. Answer follows his command, "It will be as you wish, O Atar."

Khalid drinks the sight of the womanly flesh before him a last time, then says only, "Go now... my daughter."

Roxana regains her feet, saying, "As you will it, my Father."

She walks backwards to the door, eyes downcast, the image of proper manners. She shakes no longer, confident that Khalid Atar will arrange for timely retribution and the rescue of Roxana's innocent mother.

FIN

Beloved father,
      It is with honor that I will do this my duty that you have caused to be laid upon me. I trust my mother is well, and hope to hear from her soon. I am glad that I have a chance to repair the blemish upon the honor of both yourself and the Clan that I have caused by my birth; I will not fail in my duty. I must ask that you ignore any rumors that come from Haven about me; the Amir-al's agents are everywhere, and will spread lies in his name. I am, after all, your dutiful daughter, and I feel that if you do not trust my word as good then I, your only surviving offspring, am dishonored. I would ask that you show this letter to the Maithuna under whose care I was raised; she will be proud of me, I feel, and may cast new light upon my words.
      Do you have any knowledge of whom within our Clan is still loyal to Khalid Atar, my father, or rather do you know of those whose loyalty is not wholly with the cause our Warlord has chosen? I ask in the interests of mine own safety in these troubled times. Not only may the enemies I will gain through this action seek to slay me, but those who listen to the lies of agents may seek my life in anger. It would help me immeasurably to know, and perhaps grant that I may stay here longer, a viper within the breast as I am.
      Also, by the same token, might I know the means by which you have bound the messengers to you? For if such bonds can be broken, they may turn against the Clan and reveal all. If I had some knowledge, I may be able to prevent this from happening.
      With thanks that you have sought my humble self for this important task, I remain,
      Your dutiful daughter
     Roxana bint Fajult Al'Gul  

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