Homecoming - Christie Golden [73]
I am waiting for you. A few days ago I had a vision that was so powerfully vivid that I know that on some level, it was real. I was on the Barge of the Dead, and you came to lift my dishonor. In this vision, you took the first step toward making peace with the two parts of you that have always been at war. I believe that you were there, with me, in some way. Whether or not this is so, I hope to learn directly from your own lips.
I am taking the Challenge, but I will be at the place I have indicated on this map.
You found me in a dream once before. You will find me again. We have much to speak of. I will see you again, dearest ’Lanna.
Find me.
“I will, Mother,” said Torres aloud. She went over the map one final time, then held the piece of paper to the lamp flame. An orange tongue of fire licked the paper, blackening it. Torres dropped it into a small [217] bowl and watched it burn, curling in on itself until it was nothing but ashes.
She was so lost in thought watching the twisting paper that the loud knock on the door made her jump. Torres rose and composed herself as Logt entered. The older woman looked her up and down, eyeing the ritual garb B’Elanna had sewn herself. Part of the required preparation, sewing it had taken hours, and was spotted with magenta blood here and there, but she had completed the task and was rather proud of the end result.
“I suppose you’ll do,” Logt said.
“I’m not appearing on a stage,” Torres snapped.
“No. You’re appearing before Kahless, and that is much more important. You were granted special dispensation to even undertake the Challenge, B’Elanna Torres, half human as you are. It can be revoked at any time if you prove yourself unworthy. And that would be dishonor indeed. Come.”
Torres followed Logt as she led her down a stone stairway barely big enough for a single person to pass. Instead of the temperature dropping, as would have been normal for a descent into the ground, Torres noticed that it was growing hotter.
The lava caves. Of course, this would be where the final rite would be. These were Klingons, after all. One wouldn’t just say, “Okay, I’m off to the Challenge of Spirit. See you when I get back.” She smiled a little to herself; she was starting to think like Tom.
The heat grew more intense. Torres began to sweat profusely and it grew difficult to breathe. She tried hard not to pant but heard Logt’s chuckle.
[218] “I knew you were too soft for this,” the warrior said. “Miral was made of sterner stuff.”
“You’re going to eat those words when I return with—” B’Elanna had almost said “when I return with my mother.” She amended quickly, “With honor.”
Logt paused, turned, and gave B’Elanna a thoroughly appraising look. “Something is not right about this,” she said. “I feel ...”
“What?” B’Elanna challenged, worried that somehow Logt would guess her deception, but Logt did not answer. She scrutinized B’Elanna for a moment longer, then shrugged, something that wasn’t easy to do with all that leather armor.
“It is of no matter,” Logt said. “If you return, all honor debts are paid. If you don’t, then you’ve gotten what you deserve for your arrogance.”
They continued the descent in silence. B’Elanna wondered if the hot air” was scorching her lungs. She started to grow faint, and willed herself to stay conscious with all the ferocity that she knew was in her. She had been kept ignorant of the intricacies of the ritual; all she knew was that it would represent a severing of who she had been prior to this moment. When B’Elanna Torres returned from her Challenge of Spirit, she would no longer be the same woman who departed for it.
If she returned.
Angrily she told herself to stop it. She could not even entertain the thought of failure. Her mother was out there somewhere, dead or alive, and B’Elanna was going to find her.
[219] The stairway widened to a small room as it ended. Logt stepped away from B’Elanna and suddenly brandished a knife. Before Torres could react, Logt was upon her, but B’Elanna felt no pain.