Voici la première partie du texte en anglais, qui constitue avec le prologue quelque chose de légèrement différent que sa version française, et qui ouvre la voix à... la partie II
Part I - Txiin
One week ago, a few days after the redemption of Vua Rapuung . . .
She had cried. She could still remember it. She could remember having been abandoned by her dearest friends just days before the invasion: deprived, excluded, abused, humiliated and repeatedly raped by Ingo Dar, a Warrior whom she had refused the lustful advances. But none of this could sooth the pain of being separated from Yanong, her only daughter, now cursed herself.
She could remember the long moments of solitude that had accompanied her body detached from her thoughts, almost as well as the two Warriors who took her under her arms pit, her feet scraping the ground, her chin wagging on her plexus. She had been cast away bluntly, with no personal effects, panting and staggering, still reeling from the humiliation.
Overnight, the landmarks of her life had been blurred, yesterday surrounded by her friends of the Elite, her Domain, her lover, now separated from their comfortable presence, thrown in the middle of threatening strangers, fleeting glances and oppressive whispers. Alone with the child she would carry for a few more weeks.
So she gritted her teeth, hid her deepest, darkest thoughts. A life could change overnight, but her education was too ingrained so that she couldn’t renounce it so quickly. The only intolerable pain that she had been inflicted with was to bear these Shamed Ones females who bustled around her intimacy. The physical pain was no match for a member of the Elite but having to consider as her fellows these disgusting women, these despicable slugs was one revulsion she couldn’t have imagined before. Well, at least, she thought so.
At this chosen moment, Kosai and Warrior-Priests whirlwindly penetrated into the maternity-grashal despite the Shamed Ones’ shy protests. One of them gained a split lip, through the back of the hand, dry, precise. Still numbed by the ordeal of giving birth, the brain clouded by pain which even the Elites struggled to recover, she felt the sharp blade of a coufee pressing her throat and telling her not to move.
Naked, she was vulnerable to these men who were more than strangers, an humiliation she shouldn’t have to endure, had her body not betrayed her. Her body was weak and nude at the sight of these Warriors and Kosai, filled with shame, stained, while they snatched her child from his hands. She did not even protest.
She remained prostrate with grief, loneliness and abandonment, despite the comfort and unconditional caring the Shamed Ones who owed her nothing provided her with. She spent a few days to dwell birth of Yanong as a hazy memory and pain, reassuring herself that the life her child would live, raised in a crèche among the Elite was better that anything she would either get now. Little by little, she recovered.
Then Kosai returned. The priests had observed the child who was rejected by the gods too. He uttered these words as an arbitrary verdict, dry and unquestionable.
Her daughter Yanong was back, but the certainty about her future had flown, along with Kosai, who, without saying a word, had not seemed to hear the pleas of his former lover, had turned back and gone away…
*
* *
To the great charms of the Lovers,
Answer the lament of the Twins
There is no Yuuzhan Vong lover
No hearts under the robeskins.
Yun-Txiin & Yun-Qa’ah CantiqueShe had arrived two days ago, coming from one of the many worldships vessels filled with civilians who were still wandering about in the Tingel Arm, drifting in the cold vacuum stretching between the stars of the Unknown Regions and the Outer Rim. These stars inaccessible to her, the promise of thousands of worlds within reach of Warriors, Priests and Intendants whose victories on the front line reinforced each passing day their authority and sowed confusion, frustration and anger among the lower castes.
For six klekkets, Supreme Overlord Shimrra and his followers gave the workers and the Shamed Ones the only information about the war they thought was useful to these trivial beings, rejected by the Gods. Six klekkets that they let them rot in their sick and decrepit worldships, now unable to accomplish numerous vital functions in a crowded environment. Six klekkets they were tending to their masters every whim; spending a few months on Belkadan, Dubrillion or Garqi, sweating and crawling in villip swamp-cultures, where she had seen two of her misfortunate companions be shredded by young amphistaff polyps that had to be fed at all costs.
After all, what was the life of a Yuuzhan Vong compared to the war effort demanded by the Supreme Overlord and his court? Who cared about them?
And who still cared about her?
This morning, the sun warmed her skin, and she was shivering under a damp breeze more common here, far away in the southern hemisphere, than in regions close to the ancient Jeedai Temple. In the Yavin 4 full of life jungles, Yanong still asleep against her chest, what could possibly happen to her?
“Txiina.” She heard, felling a hand resting on her shoulder.
She closed her eyes. Taan.
“What do you want?” She shouted as she turned back, releasing herself from her friend’s hand.
“It’s just . . . no, nothing.” Taan paused a moment, her shifty gaze eventually settling on her hands and said, uneasy. “You did not believe me.”
“No.”
The young Shamed One bit her lip, probably weighing her next words, and returned her gaze on the impassive face of Txiina.
“Yet our brothers saw Vua Rapuung and the Jeedai fight together! The Shapers have trembled, the tsaisi of Tsavong Lah fell upon us, but Vua Domain Rapuung regained his honor,” she said.
“For all the good it does.” Txiina replied dryly. She turned around to face the rising sun again, her hard work-bruised back offered to her only friend. Txiina pressed Yanong a little harder against her, afraid to have awoken her. Reassured, she sighed. “These tales are just nonsense, Taan. And this nonsense will kill you.”
“But . . . Yun-Shuno promised us Redemption. “
Txiina only opposed her with silence.
“I’m leaving tomorrow,” said Taan suddenly. I am assigned to the Stalking Moon. Be cautious, the others are wary of you and your bound cynicism. They believe, Txiina. Your attitude frightens them. They’ll harm you if they can.”
What could possibly happen to her?
Txiina heard the footsteps of Taan returning to their habitat, a former ill ganadote that the Shamed Ones had managed to heal, with the reluctant help of a Domain Kwaad Shaper who had just been humiliated, betrayed by the failure of his transplant Shaper’s Hand. It’s always more comfortable than those damn grashals! Taan had said.
The young Taan had always been shy and lonely: she had never even mated. Thanks to her discretion and her false dedication she had avoided many troubles, but Txiina doubted this would last long from now on. The tale of Rapuung and the Jeedai had found an echo in her, it had awakened her hope and put the Yuuzhan Vong out of her taciturn shyness. The more she thought about it, the more Txiina envied her: she had seen the admiring glances of their companions when she was preaching, especially those of Shoon-mi, a young male who bore more than friendly feelings towards Taan. Feelings Taan would never see, lost in her madness of redemption, engulfed by heresy.
Txiina did not believe in much anymore. But she kept a certainty, buried deep in her Yuuzhan Vong education and unwavering at the moment: life is only pain.
For many of us it is also loneliness, she thought bitterly.
Silence again. Tears, too. Tears of resignation.
The Heretics hated her.
What do I even care? Find me and kill me.
*
* *
Only a few Yuuzhan Vong would ever linger in the old streets lined with durasteel amounting to hundreds of meters, the veinlets of permacrete stretching out of sight, barely eaten by the yorik coral and the many fungi introduced by the Shapers. Domain Lian—who inherited Dubrillion of Domain Shai after the heroic actions of one of their Warriors on Ithor—imposed curfew that allowed Warriors patrols freedom of action to deal with the tough resistance which had persisted for months.
Kosai had donned his Cloak of Nuun and moved in the shadows cast by the ruins of infidels inert buildings. The chances that regular soldiers had to detect him were infinitesimal: the Assassin Sect trained the best Warriors, quieter, faster, more lethal. More freedom of choice. Kosai Domain Quah had made his choice.
It finally came to a fork cluttered with rubble, an old shopping precinct whose signs were unlit, the windows smashed, shops and stalls infested with yanskac that had been dropped in the city to dispose of animals left to their own after the men fled. An old milenkazz bar—certainly a local music style—had its door half-opened, awaiting his entrance. He would meet Tur-zhaelor, the Unveiler. The sun would rise soon and Kosai would have to act quickly.
“Enter Kosai.” A voice commanded him calmly and with authority.
Kosai bowed and obeyed without delay, offering the unrik—a symbol of submission.
“Nikk puul’duyan doan bsi-zeqok.” Tur-zhaelor refused.
I do not recognize the old rites. A new custom, a key phrase which Zhaelorians used to identify each other. Kosai reigned the unrik in and stood up. As he had suspected, his master was hooded, hidden amongst his followers. Even his hands were covered with a thick robeskin hiding his ritual tattoos that could have allowed an Assassin, such as Kosai, to guess the Caste and the Domain of its owner.
The door closed behind him and two followers enveloped in their mantles prevented retreat. Kosai was not afraid, he just understood the need to protect Tur-zhaelor. Few Zhaelorians had ever the honor of seeing him.
“Shimrra is watching us. He tolerates us for now, but he will eventually come for us.” Tur-zhaelor said, as if he was reading his thoughts.
Kosai kept silent. Adding his own opinion on the issue was unthinkable, as well as being impertinent. Tur-zhaelor made an imperceptible movement of the hand and one of his servants went to him, a villip-qahsa in his hand. No bigger than a fist, the villip-qahsa was able to record a message and return it to a single recipient. If anyone maliciously tried to read the message, the creature refused. The torture would not suffice either, only a master Shaper and expert geneticist could break the will of a villip-qahsa. Kosai seemed to be the recipient thereof. Without further preamble, he stroked the villip, and saw a face rising that seemed familiar to him:
“Kosai Domain Quah, Yavin 4 is in the hands of Warriors and Shapers. Their empire is growing more every day, but the left-to-rumble account. Marauders, deserters, Heretics. They worship the Jeedai and deny Shimrra and the Gods.
Oh Kosai, I no longer believe in the Gods either, since Yun’Txiin and Yun’Qaah ceased watching over us . . .
Did they ever care, Kosai?
But I do not believe the Jeedai are better! I told them Kosai! They said that it made me the enemy! I tried to stop them, they were too many . . . Heretics . . .”
Her voice broke in a sob.
“They have our daughter, Kosai, they have your daughter.”
“Do you know her?” Tur-zhaelor asked bluntly.
Did he know her? Txiina, his gentle and violent Txiina, a name of love. A formidable opponent, even though they were still in the crèche or martial chambers of the Assassin Sect under hard training. The beating, the sweat, pain and fatigue his limbs had experienced were only soothed by Txiina’s tattooed smile. He had defeated and humiliated Ingo Dar—his fiercest rival—when he was seventeen and when she was fourteen. That day, Txiina had taken him to visit the neighborhoods of lower castes, where no members of the Elite ever ventured, except for some reckless teenagers.
Txiina was one of them.
Sheltered from unwelcome sights in the crook of an alcove he had discovered Txiina without her robeskin and marveled at how so little of her body was tattooed at that time. Over the years, her tattoos had spread to her entire body and she had gained a few asymmetric scars, making her more beautiful than ever, while her Assassin training made her even more dangerous. He loved her. Until that day . . .
Until that day her body failed her.
Beautiful and dangerous.
Then nothing.
Kosai vaguely remembered having heard her ask to keep their child after he was born—that it was necessary that their child be put in a crèche, that she did not have to be cursed by the gods. She had shouted his name, had shouted in despair, but she would not get Kosai’s attention.
She was cursed.
“A mere ghost.” Kosai finally said, rousing himself from his memories.
“And your daughter?” Tur-zhaelor insisted.
Guessing Kosai would not respond to such an opened question, Tur-zhaelor continued. “A simple memory managed to find you, Kosai. That any Shamed One may be able to contact one of our supporters is not advisable for a political faction as challenged . . . as ours. I asked one of my assistants to find out who this . . . Txiina is.”
He paused briefly.
“No trace of her among Zhaelorians. Yet, she knew where to find you.”
“She is not one of us.” Kosai confirmed. He knew exactly where this conversation was taking him and he preferred to remain silent about the implicit accusation his master had made. He had told Txiina about his . . . political commitment. Back in the intergalactic void, she had not shared his beliefs but Kosai did not think she would betray him one day. But this creature wasn’t Txiina anymore, just an abjection of the Gods.
“Good. Kosai, my poor Kosai . . .” Tur-zhaelor sighed, shaking his head. “We cannot afford such deviances.”
Another pause.
“Find her and kill her.”
Tur-zhaelor watched Kosai leave. The Assassin did not seem to be surprised at the political situation on Yavin 4, the birthplace of an infectious heresy so dangerous to the Elite that the Most High Priest Jakan had been summoned by Supreme Overlord Shimrra to terminate it quickly.
If only Jakan’s loyalty to Shimrra was not that feigned, Tur-zhaelor would not have to worry about the fate of Txiina. He would simply have her removed. Oh yes, Txiina was well known to the Zhaelorians and Kosai fully swallowed the lie. But each rotation of Yavin 4 strengthened the power of Jakan infiltrators among the Heretics and Jakan the ‘Most High Devotee’ did not repress his personal ambition. Neither Tur-zhaelor nor any of his followers knew if the sudden interest of the Most High Priest for Txiina was a coincidence or a sign that the information she carried should finally be transported safely, or forgotten. The abduction of the Txiina’s daughter did not work in favor of a simple coincidence; otherwise, why would Jakan have not killed her, as Shimrra specified to him?
The Zhaelorians had their own lobbyists on Yavin 4, but Jakan had managed to keep one step ahead. The Quorealists denied him the information the young woman was carrying since their unsuccessful political alliance, shortly before the war.
If Tur-zhaelor’s spies were not mistaken, this information was invaluable. Nothing could stop the ambitions of Jakan: now that he was holding the child, the mother would submit to any question, answer each request. Kosai had to kill her, but certainly not for the reasons Tur-zhaelor had given him.
*
* *
Txiina? Friends fall, death is nothing.
Yun-Yuuzhan imposed the tyrant’s test over us.
Txiina, I denied everything, what if I’m wrong?
Where have you been, for so many years? Neeka Sot personal qahsaFor a millennia, hatred had opposed Domains Sot and Quah until the advent of Quoreal, a Supreme Overlord whose regency had ensured peaceful submission of high and low castes. Over the years, the conflict had been eliminated, so that unions between the two castes could almost be tolerated openly by one or the other Domain. When Shimrra came to power, the Yuuzhan Vong’s situation had continually worsened, according to Neeka. Today, who knew that the father of her two children was a member of the Domain Quah? Such a revelation would have brought only hatred and confusion, whereas Quoreal knew how to soothe tensions. A woman who chose to keep hidden the father of her children was tolerated and it even guaranteed social peace to a certain extent, as relations between castes, yet forbidden, were more common than the Yuuzhan Vong society was willing to show. However, living a hidden life was not desirable, for everyone.
Many were the Yuuzhan Vong, even among the Shamed Ones, who claimed that Quoreal was the wisest and fairest sovereign that the Gods-chosen people had had since Yo’Gand and the Ur-Yuuzhan Vong. Though Neeka Sot adhered to that opinion, such thoughts were not synonymous of wisdom under the reign of Shimrra and all political opponents had to meet in the darkest places of the worldships, hidden between an oqa membrane and oily walls of coral yorik, looking from the corner of their eyes the faithful followers hired by the Rainbow-Eyed Chosen of the Gods to spy on them. For thirty years, Quoreal’s former supporters had fallen into hiding, false appearances and false pretenses, their voices turned off a little more each day.
As any Assassin and Warrior, Neeka Sot was lean but her robeskin revealed highly elongated muscles which provided her with speed over strength. She was shaped from birth to master close fighting, stealth and camouflage arts, the ultimate Assassin. She bore green and yellow tattoos, the largest one an abstract representation of Yun-Yammka’s power whose tentacles were drawn as a trompe-l’oeil and seemed to protrude from her belly and disperse along hers legs and chest, lacing around her thighs or climbing up to her concealed breasts. Her slenderness applied, well, to her whole body, she did not have much to conceal; and she had always been flat-chested, a trait her sister would always use to tease her. Seduction was part of a Yuuzhan Vong’s life, and Neeka could rely on her large dark-blue eyesacks and the two serpentine scars she had gained in combat training on both cheeks—one of them she had prolong out so that it looked like a coiled amphistaff. Though she was not as handsome as her sister, she was still very attractive.
When Neeka Sot bowed in front of Harrar, a hard Quorealist, she had ensured that no one had followed her, a poor challenge for an Assassin.
“Welcome, Neeka Domain Sot.” Harrar said, from under his cape.
“What is your wish, master?”
“Well,” Harrar waved her to stand up. “I need your services . . .”
“Who should I kill?”
“Actually, I have no specific name. An informant is in danger on Yavin 4 and if my intuition is correct, Yun-Harla will not smile on her.”
Neeka Sot tended to forget how much the Priests could be annoying and arrogant seeking signs of the Gods in each act.
“A Quorealist? Is she not able to defend herself?” Inquired Neeka.
“She is no longer able to do so. She was humiliated, some time before the invasion.”
Harrar seemed suddenly very serious. Did he care about a low-class Shamed One? Was he corrupted? Neeka, however, was not taken on the habits of her congeners; humiliation rarely comes naturally for someone born in one of the high castes. She decided to provoke Harrar, knowing all too well that these words could be her last.
“Who humiliated her?” She asked.
Harrar did not seem surprised and replied calmly.
“Who is not the most relevant matter. Finding a corrupt Shaper seeking to corrupt another body is not difficult. But she was shamed because of me.
“Quoreal did not want to face this galaxy: whether he was wrong as Shimrra thinks or right as the Zhaelorians claim, we do not matter. We are stronger than some years ago, Neeka. Shimrra knows it, and knows why. Do you know why?
“A true Warrior was chosen, the only way to bribe . . . Ingo Dar, one of the Warriors guarding the qahsa-room in which Shimrra keeps some of his secrets. Few details were available yet on his rise to power, but the Warrior recovered enough to feed our political credibility. We cannot reveal the information, however, the mere fact that Shimrra knows we have it prevents him from hitting us hard.
“Yet Shimrra is not an idiot. Ingo Dar did not wait long before designating the Warrior who had exchanged her body in return for a few minutes in the archives. I do not know how the Warrior survived, but High Priest Jakan was quick to shame our Warrior so that she would lose all legitimacy. In reality, the Supreme Overlord was able to use our small victory to strengthen his political power by dividing his opponents, an exercise; I must recognize him, in which he excels.
“Our links with Zhaelorians were more than cordial at the time, and these fools had accepted the alliance that we proposed. But Jakan arranged for Tur-zhaelor, the Revealer, to be convinced that we had information on a legend about a living planet, which, of course, proved to be false. The Zhaelorians believing that we were denying them the information, cut off all contact.
“The Shamed One was recently found on Yavin 4, by Jakan’s henchmen. He is no fool. He also is quite interested in the dark history of Shimrra’s rise. Meanwhile, the Zhaelorians are afraid information on the living planet can fall into the hands of Jakan and be lost to them forever. Mad they may be, they still will send someone to kill the ex-Warrior.”
Neeka took a few seconds to weigh what she had learned.
“Are you afraid that Zhaelorian murderer getting to her too late?” She finally asked.
“No, Neeka. You see, Jakan is one of our fiercest enemies, however, all that can promote personal political ambitions weakens Shimrra. Evil for good, somehow.” Harrar explained before concluding. “Spare the Shamed One, named Txiina, I have never known her Domain name. On Yavin 4, your enemy will be the Zhaelorian. Find him and kill him. ”
*
* *
Txiina had finally agreed to meet the Heretics in their grashal, aware that Yanong was there, held captive by the these fanatics of a new kind and their surprising allegiance. She had yielded to despair of recovering the only one who she still had in her life, the flesh of her flesh, and she knew exactly the answers she would have to give in order save her child.
She left her room and the ganadote. Most of the Shamed Ones had joined the Heretics in the jungle and abandoned fishing teams whom members of the Elite were sorely in need of. Heretics were often up to steal the work production of the last diehards, striking workers and Shamed Ones who did not wish to join them.
The smell of fear that stank of the last settlers, the ganadote, sick again after the Shaper had joined the Heretics too, added a stench of rotting filth and dirty moisture. Once again, the world around Txiina collapsed, once again, she suffered helplessly.
If she was to die and if her child was to die, she hoped that Yun-Yuuzhan would accept them in the light of the Redemption. She grabbed her coufee, left the biological building and peered into the jungle.
Kosai observed Txiina leaving the glade, and slipped in her wake. He did not doubt for a second she could have felt his presence: after all, she was fully trained in this art.
Nevertheless, he waited patiently as the sounds of the jungle covered the sound of his footsteps, his breathing and that of his former love. He seized a heavy rock, he sub-weighed it a few moments and threw it with all of his strength.
As expected, the Shamed One almost succeeded in avoiding it, as expected, her dodge was not enough to avoid the rock that impacted against her temple enough to make her stagger. Kosai bounded and drew his coufee and he struck the dull Txiina down on her knees. From the corner of his eye he caught a movement, but he decided to pursue his gesture, too far gone to stop it. He grabbed Txiina’s long black hair and pulled her head backward. While his coufee—-for the second time in his life—was pressed on the Yuuzhan Vong’s throat, Kosai saw the serpentine head of an amphistaff protruding from his elbow, entwined and ready to sink its fangs into his vulnerable flesh. Txiina didn’t bear any amphistaff.
His breathing stopped for a few heartbeats.
When he started breathing anew, he was still leaning on the Shamed One and he could smell her musky smell, which he had cherished for so many years, and was seized with an irresistible desire to stop his movement. Tur-zhaelor had been formal.
“I advise you not to do that,” said a firm voice.
“Neeka?” Kosai said incredulously, acknowledging the owner of the voice.
The amphistaff grip relaxed and Kosai rose, coufee in his hand, throwing Txiina to the ground, as the despicable slug she had become. He now faced Neeka, his amphistaff stiffened, ready to strike despite the links uniting them since two years ago.
“I forbid you to kill her.” She ordered.
“She is a criminal. Dangerous for Zhaelorians. Entrenched in the old rites.”
Txiina moaned in her collapsed state, as if she had sought to contradict Kosai, without finding the strength.
“She’s a Quorealist, Kosai, betrayed by her people, forced to be defiled by Ingo Dar for our cause . . . Leave her alone.”
“WHAT?” He shouted. With incredible rapidity, Kosai reached toward Txiina and rained down many blows, beating her to the bone of here skull, to her chest and kept coming at her belly whilst he bellowed hoarse, incomprehensible words: that she was the tsup she had always been and he would ensure she would never carry anymore children.
Blinded by rage, even an Assassin was no match for a regular soldier with a flawlessly cold head. Neeka herself being an Assassin, had no difficulty to pull out Kosai from the Shamed One, violently setting him on his back and pinning both of his legs with her blorash jelly. In less than a minute, her coufee already left a thin trail of blood over her companion’s carotid.
“Have you had a son with this female, klugh?” She hissed.
Only dementia showed in the veiled gaze of Kosai, and he always seemed to repeat the same words—abin to hufrat, beautiful and dangerous. He finally breathed out an almost inaudible yes.
Neeka closed her eyes for a moment. If this thing crawling in, whimpering and vomiting blood a few steps away from her was who she thought she was, well, so . . . my own sister. Sister of crèche. Biological sister. Klugh. She laughed at Kosai. For that matter, she despised him, he gave her two sons who would bear the name of her Domain. Not his.
Without a word, she slit his throat, the Warrior’s last breath of life vanishing in a gurgle that sounded like a maw lurr as he choked in his own hemoglobin.
When life leaves him, Kosai would willingly join his ancestors and Yun-Yuuzhan. But for him, the pain will continue in the afterlife, the pain of having lost a daughter, the pain of knowing that he had lied to Txiina, the pain in the eyes of Neeka when he had felt her coufee blade sliding against his throat. The heady scent of Txiina, sweet and violent Txiina . . .
While Kosai shots were raining, she had tried to scream, but her breath only allowed her to push little disembodied cries that were nothing Yuuzhan Vong. She felt her bones break, her internal injuries widen, the damage to her organs increase.
The taste of blood in her mouth had turned into a flood, and through her veiled vision she began to crawl towards her coufee, which had fallen flown a few meters away when the stone had struck her temple.
Face buried in the mucus of the jungle, she heard only snippets of conversation: Neeka, child, tsup . . . even Ingo Dar and Quorealist. She wondered if she dreamed the voice, if she dreamed her pain. She tried to call for help and she felt that someone was still there.
Seconds, minutes, a few eternities, Txiina blew: “need”, “help”. But nobody answered. Seconds, klekkets, who cares . . . While Txiina passed out, she thought she heard Yanong’s juvenile laughs, and her sister voice saying :
Txiina? Friends fall, death is nothing.
Yun-Yuuzhan imposed the tyrant’s test over us.
Txiina, I denied everything, what if I’m wrong?
Where have you been, for so many years?Txiina felt a hot tear drop on her cheek tattoos.
Then, nothing.
Se permet de rebondir.