Silver Flame, Blue Blood
PART ONE, CHAPTER THREE
THE LEGACY OF THE CORPORATE LABOUR LAWS
BY KO KOL KAGRIN
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MANY YOUNG DRACOSSI AND ESTERI WILL NOT REMEMBER THE LABOUR REVOLTS, NOR INDEED THE CORPORATE LABOUR LAWS THAT CAME BEFORE THEM, BUT THEIR LEGACY SCARS THEARIS STILL, AND NOWHERE MORE THAN AUNOLEN.
ACROSS THE CITY OF THE SAPPHIRE SUN, ESTERI GATHER TO PROTEST AT LEAST THRICE A CYCLE. THEIR CONTENTIONS RUN THE GAMUT FROM EXPLOITATION IN THE WORKPLACE TO HARASSMENT IN THE HOME. THE MOST RECENT OF THESE PROTESTS, NEAR THE CITY’S NORTHERN GATE, INCLUDED PROMINENT ESTERI AND DRACOSSI ALIKE. AMONG THE LATTER WAS THE DESCENDANT OF THE FAMED ARTIST JUNEL MOLIN FO, JUNEL MIRA.
ALSO PRESENT AT THE PROTEST WERE ESTERI MILONIS SAN AND OKA SYE, TWO ACTIVISTS WHO HAVE GAINED INFAMY DUE TO THEIR CONSTANT CLASHES WITH THE RSE. OKA SYE SPOKE TO N4D4 AT THE PROTEST: ‘I WAS INFORMED I AM UNABLE TO LEAVE THE CITY BECAUSE I HAVE “COMPLAINED AGGRESSIVELY”. APPARENTLY SIMPLY VOICING ONE’S OPINION AS AN ESTERI IS ENOUGH FOR THEM TO TAKE AWAY OUR FREEDOMS’.
SAID FIRST MINISTER AOR QUEN OF THE PROTESTS: ‘THIS IS A SUBGROUP OF VIOLENT RADICALS IN A CITY THAT WELCOMES LAW-ABIDING ESTERI. AFTER ROTATIONS OF UNPAID WORK, I UNDERSTAND BETTER THAN ANYONE WHY THESE PEOPLE FEEL THE WAY THEY DO. BUT THE FACT IS THAT THEY DON’T LIVE IN THAT WORLD ANYMORE. THIS PITY PLAY HELPS NO ONE, ESPECIALLY NOT THEMSELVES, AND IS AN ILLNESS THAT THE RSE IS WORKING TO ADDRESS’.
ALL THIS OCCURS SIX CYCLES FOLLOWING THE TRIAL OF ORELI MOLGA, SISTER OF SENATOR ORELI RASHELIND. THE ACTIVIST WAS RELEASED ON PENALTY OF RE-EDUCATION, TO BE ADMINISTERED AT MESER THEA’S DISCRETION. SHE IS THE FIRST PROMINENT DRACOSSA TO HAVE APPEARED AT PROTESTS ALONGSIDE ESTERI AND PREDICTED AN INCREASE IN CIVIL DISOBEDIENCE AT HER TRIAL.
HOLO BREAKDOWN [EXCERPT]:
CAMERA PANS UP ON ORELI MOLGA AS SHE DELIVERS A FIERY SPEECH FROM THE RED RING IN THE AUNOLEN ASSEMBLY HOUSE.
‘IF YOU KEEP PUSHING [THE ESTERI], THEY WILL KEEP COMING BACK, AND EVENTUALLY THEY WILL BE STRONGER THAN YOU CAN MANAGE. YOU CANNOT CONTROL THEM LIKE YOU CAN THE NET. THEY ARE REAL, FEELING PEOPLE, AND THEY SUFFER. THEY HAVE SUFFERED TOO LONG BECAUSE OF YOUR IDLE IGNORANCE.’
CAMERA ZOOMS IN ON ORELI MOLGA’S FACE. SHE APPEARS DISTRAUGT [SIC] AND EXHAUSTED AFTER MANY HOURS IN THE RED RING.
‘IF I HAVE ATTENDED THESE PROTESTS, IT HASN’T BEEN, AS YOU KEEP IMPLYING, TO SPITE MY PEOPLE, AND I OBVIOUSLY DON’T WISH TO THROW MY SISTER TO THE WOLGS. I GO BECAUSE NO ONE’S LISTENING. WHAT DO YOU DO IF SOMEONE IS HURTING YOU, AND THEY WON’T STOP? YOU MAKE THEM LISTEN, AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN, UNTIL THEY [REDACTED] GET THE MESSAGE.’
AS ESTERI CONTINUE TO BE ARRESTED THIS CYCLE, MORE INDEED THAN ANY PREVIOUS, ONE WONDERS IF THE SCARS OF THE CORPORATE LABOUR LAWS WILL EVER TRULY HEAL. WHAT SHOULD COME OF THIS INCREASING INSTABILITY? WHAT WORLD SHALL WE LEAVE FOR THE THEARISIANS OF TOMORROW? WHEN THAT TIME COMES, IT MAY NOT BE UP TO US, AFTER ALL.
FOR MORE ON THIS STORY AS IT UNFOLDS, REVISIT THIS PAGE REGULARLY.
IMAGES ASSOCIATED WITH THIS STORY --------
THE OKA SYE INTERVIEW-------------------------
THE AOR QUEN INTERVIEW----------------------
THE ORELI TRIAL [FULL HOLO]--------------------
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Symphonic bursts of colour mottled her vision, and Rashelind winced, lowering the brightness of her infospecs. Digidust… What a bother. But then, perhaps it wasn’t the glasses. She’d had more headaches, and more involuntary tears, than usual of late. Perhaps she was simply getting older.
She certainly felt it. She was… Gods, what was it?
Constrained.
The gentle click of her flat’s front door had her laying the glasses gently upon the couch cushion beside her.
‘Molga?’ Rashelind called.
She rose, expectant, a vision of ketreselk and curls amidst the cold marble and clean, creamy furniture that made up her ground floor living chamber. It had been nearly a half-cycle since she’d seen her sister last. It was a small and humourless irony that Molga should return on this night, when one rotation ago she’d spent it in the Abyss.
‘I’ve been sick as an overtaxed jena thinking about you. Are you—?’
Rashelind froze. There stood Molga in the flickering half-light of the candles on the low entry table, covered head to toe in blue blood.
‘You can’t be serious.’
Molga pursed her lips and started toward the grand L-shaped staircase to the second level of the flat.
‘No,’ snapped Rashelind. She hiked her satiny trousers and vaulted the couch, attempting to block her, but Molga side-stepped her sister with ease. Rashelind hurried after her up the stairs, barefoot. ‘Where have you been?’
‘Nowhere.’
She stayed on Molga’s heels as they reached the second level. Molga powered past the magnetized marble slab of their kitchen island toward her bedchamber, second arch on the left, running blue-spattered fingers through matted hair. The wall of glass beyond the sunken living area at the far end of the room sent starlight tumbling into the cold space.
Rashelind scoffed. ‘Do you know how much I have given you? How much I’ve sacrificed? I had to beg for you to even stay in my home with me. And now you—.’
At the threshold to her bedchamber, Molga whirled around, grabbing Rashelind’s arms with bloodstained hands, and held her still. Rashelind gaped, keenly aware of the cool blue seeping through her cream blouse.
‘Just stay out,’ said Molga.
Molga disappeared into her room. Rashelind turned, silently pacing the marble floor, one hand glued to her head. She didn’t bother with the blouse—it would have to be tossed, but that was a distant, meaningless thought compared to the enormity of what she had just witnessed.
Four long, arduous seasons trying to convince every one of her colleagues to renege on Aor’s re-education plot. And she still hadn’t stopped.
‘Every time you do this, you put my life in danger, and your own.’
Molga appeared in the archway, still covered in blood, but wiping herself off with a wet rag. ‘Thank you for bothering to mention me in there somewhere.’
‘How dare you. I mean it, how dare you.’ Rashelind pulsed white hot, but she noticed the flicker of remorse in Molga’s gaze. She crumpled, bracing herself against the floating slab, and shrugged her shoulders pointedly. ‘Is it your blood?’
A pause. ‘No.’
Rashelind tensed, straightening, and the two sisters stared each other down. Molga blinked first.
‘I was… with some friends. In the Basal Ward. We met to discuss the border wall protest with… others.’ Rashelind wetted her lips, letting Molga finish. ‘A Theamiran showed up and things got difficult. She attacked one of our group. An esteru. We retaliated.’
‘Is anyone dead?’ Rashelind whispered.
‘I don’t know.’
‘For gods’ sake—.’
‘I don’t. Zari told me to get out of there before things got out of hand.’
‘Zari.’ She’d heard that name before.
‘She’s no one.’
Rashelind shook her head, incredulous. ‘Well, at least she knew what she was doing getting you out of there.’
Gods, she was shaking so much she could barely put thoughts together, let alone words.
‘I’m sorry it hurts you,’ Molga conceded.
‘But not sorry enough to stop.’
‘If you ever believed in something as strongly as I do, you’d understand.’
Rashelind’s lips set in a sneer. What did Molga know of belief? She never accompanied Rashelind to temple, not anymore. She didn’t care about the Vashenra. Faith was all Rashelind had now, to help her take care of this sister she loved so very much, but who did not seem to care about anyone who mattered, not even herself.
‘You don’t even know what you’re fighting for. If you did, you would understand it is antithetical to our way of life. Your clandestine meetings in the filth of the Basal Ward, your bed in this flat, your ability to run free about Thearis like it’s your very own pleasure planet—all these liberties come with a price, and my darling sister, I have been paying it for the both of us.’
Molga opened her mouth to retort as the fire built behind Rashelind’s eyes—but then there was a sound from downstairs. Someone was knocking on the flat’s front door.
Rashelind and Molga stilled, holding each other’s gaze for a long moment before another knock sounded.
‘Who knocks when they can ping?’ Molga whispered.
Rashelind’s brow jumped in agreement. ‘Go, get changed.’
Another soft knock had Rashelind running for the stairs. She felt sick. These wee hours so often brought ill tidings, and still burning anxiety from the argument, her unease ran so high that her e-tattoos were glowing. She’d completely forgotten about the blood on her blouse by the time she placed her hand on the door’s control panel.
‘Good evening,’ said Esemor Xorval, his white hair tied tightly behind his head. He looked at Rashelind, then at her stained shirt, and smiled. ‘May I come in?’
#
Now? No, it couldn’t be happening now. This wasn’t right. This was too fast. One rotation later, and no time had passed at all. She forgot about her argument with Molga, forgot about everything…
Rashelind’s head spun. ‘She—she has been a good and faithful dracossa.’
She nearly shut the door on Esemor, but he caught it with his hand. ‘Senator Oreli, please. This won’t take a moment.’
Unable to think, Rashelind opened the door, allowing Esemor and one other Theamiran, her eyes flaming red, inside. Esemor moved to the clean couch while the red-flamed one stayed by the threshold, folding her hands in front of her. A guard. Had she been the one with Molga this evening?
‘You were at services tonight.’
What did that have to do with anything? ‘Yes.’
‘Your sister was not.’
Rashelind had not moved. She considered her response, too aware of something imminent—something ruinous. ‘Molga chooses to show her love to the Vashenra in other ways, like prayers at home.’
‘Ah.’ He eyed the blood on her blouse once more. ‘You have prayer candles?’
‘Yes, upstairs.’
He nodded. ‘If I asked your sister to recite a fairytale for me, would she be able to?’
Rashelind grinned sheepishly. ‘I am sure she could. But I hardly think the ability to recite a fairytale is indicative of one’s true faith.’
‘You are surely right about that,’ said Esemor, returning her smile.
In the ensuing silence, Esemor peered around the flat from his seat, his expression benign. He met her eyes once more. ‘I’d love a drink.’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Anything in particular?’
‘Something herbal will do.’
‘It will take a moment,’ she said, starting toward the stairs.
‘I’ll join you.’
She wrenched her gaze from him, sucking on a tooth. He walked behind her as she ascended the stairs, his presence a cloying thing.
Molga stood awkwardly in the living area, matted hair now combed through and fastened in a bun. She held a digipad in her hand, which she promptly set upon the endtable before Esemor rounded the corner. She’d sent a message, then. Rashelind wondered if it was a ping for an aerial bobber or a call for help.
As Rashelind moved into the kitchen and fished a tin of herbal blend out of the cupboard, Esemor bowed his head to Molga. ‘Good evening.’
‘Good evening,’ said Molga.
Esemor approached the far windows on the other side of Molga, admiring the Oasys. He passed close enough to Molga that she took a step to the side to ensure they didn’t brush against one another.
‘Beautiful view. I always wondered how RSE senators lived.’
‘This place is fairly humble,’ said Rashelind, ‘all things considered.’
‘I have a room,’ he said, ‘in a temple in Sefos. This place is not so humble.’
Rashelind inclined her head. Esemor took a seat, bidding Molga to sit with him. They waited quietly as Rashelind prepared the tea and set it out before them. The minutes passed as they sipped in silence and Rashelind covertly took her sister’s hand.
Esemor placed the plain, matte black teacup on a coaster, and looked at Rashelind. ‘I hate to make these sort of housecalls, but I am afraid you are in some trouble.’
‘Don’t dance around it, Dires Sempre,’ said Molga. ‘I’m to be sequestrated, am I not?’
Rashelind’s jaw slackened, and she shook her head, staring daggers at Molga. ‘Please forgive my sister. She speaks out of turn. We… we needn’t discuss this. Surely, it has been long enough since the trial that sequestration is no longer necessary.’
Esemor interlaced his fingers. ‘No need to apologize, senator, I appreciate directness. Your sister is correct. Meser Thea is not all too fond of the thought of a dracossa so incendiary so closely connected to the RSE senate. He suggested I speak with you both about what comes next.’
‘But, as I said, Molga is blameless,’ said Rashelind, before she could think better of it. ‘She has done everything in her power to re-educate herself.’
‘Indeed? The blood would seem to suggest otherwise.’ Rashelind went cold at the too-late realization, but Esemor fired on. ‘Covert meetings with netdancers, picketing corps, public denouncements of Meser Thea… These are some of the more propitious charges laid against your sister since her trial. I’m surprised the RSE didn’t act sooner than we did. But then, I can see you’re quite protective. You clearly have real influence among your peers.’
He smiled again, covetous, and Rashelind straightened, squeezing Molga’s hand tight.
‘She is shameless, and headstrong, but my sister is allowed to raise her voice however she sees fit under our laws.’
‘Ah, and now your story changes somewhat,’ said Esemor, and Rashelind frowned. ‘It is a question of moral authority, Senator. I don’t have the ability to sequestrate you, devout as you are, but we do have the right to take your sister. Oh, not for picketing or clandestine meetings outside this city, not even for her violence, but for her faithlessness. Nowadays, speaking out against Meser Thea is as poisonous as spewing hate against the Vashenra and, coupled with her less than stellar attendance record at temple, I am afraid it has been just one step too far.’
‘You don’t have the authority to do this. You may have it in Sefos, and you may have it with the esteri, but Molga is a Vashenric dracossa. She loves her gods.’
Esemor and Molga locked eyes, and the darkness in Molga’s gaze made Rashelind cold all over. What are you doing? Defend yourself!
Esemor’s smile deepened. ‘I can see that,’ he said, rising. ‘That’s the thing about these eyes. I see more than you know.’
Rashelind stepped in-between Esemor and her sister, forcing him to look at her once more. ‘Leave my home immediately.’
Esemor pushed Rashelind aside. She stumbled, grasping the arm of her couch. ‘Oreli Molga, the fairytales speak of what happens to those who do not bend to dragons. You have forsaken your gods and therefore your people, and for that, like many before you, you will burn.’
Rashelind whirled upon Esemor, grabbing him by his shoulders and yanking him back.
‘Molga, run!’
The next thing she knew, Rashelind was flying backward toward the windows, clawing at her ears. A sound like the shattering of glass emitted from somewhere below—the other Theamiran must have had some sort of device, like a deafener. When next she looked up, Esemor was scooping Molga up by the arms, dragging her toward the stairs.
‘She will be put away from the rest of the world,’ Esemor taunted. ‘She will be ashes to their eyes.’
‘No!’ Rashelind shouted, on her feet again. She threw herself at Esemor as Molga struggled, wrenching and hitting and biting. He would not relinquish his grip. The shattering sound split the room again, and Rashelind crumpled. She tumbled down the stairs, a darkness swelling in her vision.
‘Rashelind,’ she thought she heard Molga say. ‘Please don’t stay here.’
Rashelind struggled to her feet. Molga was conscious but just barely, unable now to struggle in Esemor’s arms. Rashelind ran forward, nearly horizontal to the ground, catching herself on the main floor couch.
‘I know how hard you can be on yourself, Rashelind,’ she heaved. ‘Please. Don’t. Stay. Here.’
Rashelind scrunched up her face, chalking Molga’s confusing words up to the fury of the moment.
‘No! Give her back to me!’ She lunged a final time for Molga, but Esemor tightened his grip, yanking her back. She swiped at Esemor as he crossed the threshold, but the red-flamed Theamiran grabbed her arm, and forced her back.
She caught Esemor’s flames once more. The way he looked at Rashelind then, as if he were so irrevocably drawn to her, made her sick—but it also brought something else to the surface… Something unforeseen. A deep, relentless fear that no matter where she went, no matter how hard she fought against it, Esemor would have her, too.
‘Molga, it will be okay!’ she shouted. ‘I’ll get you back. I love—!’
The shattering sound blasted through her, and she staggered back, falling onto her couch as her front door slammed shut. Tendrils in the corners of her eyes beckoned with each breath. Unconsciousness would take her soon.
Somewhere deep within, in a fractured place she could not yet reckon with, Rashelind knew she would never see her sister again. The crack widened, and the maw showed its teeth. Deep and black and endless, the abyss beckoned, and for the first time, she listened.
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