The Gift of the Second Prime

So here is the last of the three central characters. Hope you like it. Again, this one is different from the others. What do you think? Is the training too cliched? It draws heavily on eastern mythologies, but I have tried to evolve them to where they would be, I think, in a few thousand years time. Does it work?

The themes for the rest of this story are also revealed in this chapter. Are they too grandiose, or worse, too expected? I do not want this story to be a rehash of anything else, so if you think I am straying too close to anything else, let me know as well.

As always, I look forward to all your comments.

Mandijerri

The Gift of the Second Prime Chapter Three: The Gift of the lost warrior

Raetin stood in front of the pillar. It was one of six that had been raised from out of the floor for this session. His companions stood like him, head bowed and silent, before their chosen pillar. They had done this many times now. They were the survivors. From a group of forty seven boys eighteen years ago, there were now only six.

In a month's time there would be three.

Victors of the Silver March.

Three new Warriors.

Lawmakers.

Fighters.

Arbiters.

Gifted.

He focussed back on the pillar.

It was tall, at least half a metre taller than him. Wide at the bottom, tapering to a wooden platform that was maybe half a metre square. The pillar was constructed of brick tiles. They were layered in different colours. Black, red, yellow, white, grey and then black, red, yellow, white, grey. Five times the patterns repeated.

"Chay!" A voice called out.

It rang around the hall and pulled Raetin and his companions into the position known as Bambo, named after the tall single-stemmed plants that grew around Midpoint and the other provinces on farside. Balanced on the left leg, right foot pressed flat to the calf of the left leg, toes pointing straight down and knee pointing directly away from the body. Right arm raised straight up, fingers of the hand pointing directly above with the left arm placed vertically across the body, index finger and thumb pointing straight out in the direction of the arm, but all other fingers clenched tightly shut.

Head up, looking straight up at the goal, the small platform at the top of the pole.

When he had first learned this archetype, the Batodons, the whole class had been forced to stand in the starting position for hours on end. The whole frame was designed to direct the energies of the spring in the next frame. The spring would be vertical and the body was positioned to best maximise that movement. Today, though, the archetype was the start of the meditation and in moments the next command came.

"Chay-to!"

At the same time the left foot was placed on the floor and arms were moved down to the sides, fingers now, on both hands, pointing straight down. In a fluid movement the body was lifted onto toes and then Raetin and the others crouched down low, still on their toes but now like a spring pushed into the ground. Knees pointed straight out at right angles to the body and the head once more looked straight up at the distant platform. This position was called Pous after the small animal of the same name that waited in streams, crouched low, then springing up to eat insects that flew past it.

"Sa!"

Like the Pous, the spring was uncoiled, legs shot up, arms pointed straight up and as one they sprang into the air, landing all, at the same moment, on their platforms. Now they stood in the closing position of the archetype. Left leg standing in the centre of the platform, foot flat. The rest of the body was laid out flat, hands and arms stretched out beyond the head and right leg and foot stretching out behind.

The position know as the Flaish, the arrow.

"Chay-ahn!"

And then in a fluid motion, straight into a seated position. Legs crossed, each foot resting on the opposite thigh. Hands open and facing upwards resting on the thighs. Head looking straight ahead, eyes closed. Breathing steady. Heart slow and certain.

Thump - - Thump - - Thump.

This position, the first they had learned all those years ago, was Evelsomai, the wakeful sleep.

This morning's test was called the Amelor-Sons. They would adopt the Evelsomai position on their pillars and meditate on their senses. Meditate on the strength of the senses that were normally deadened by the glory that was sight. With their eyes closed they would allow their other senses to guide them. Audition, tactition, equilibrioception and thermoception would all be tested by the Amelor-Sons.

There were other senses, but they would not be tested here today.

The room was deathly silent, even their breathing was subdued. He had sat this test every morning since his eleventh birthday. Over the years it had become more sophisticated and more deadly. Two companions had died in this test just last year. The Silver March might only be a month away, but he could still follow them. That was why this test was even more important.

He was not going to die.

"Chay!"

He heard it then, a swoosh in the air, to the right, ten degrees behind. He timed it perfectly and right hand whipped away from his lap and grabbed the dart in mid flight. He placed it on the platform next to him, hand returning to its rest position while his left hand reached straight up and pulled another dart from the air above and to the left of his head.

These darts were tipped with tox. Not enough to kill, but enough to slow down response times if it was taken into the body. It was not absorbed through the skin but needed to break the skin to get into the blood. Hence the use of darts.

Another, this time from behind. He snapped his body forward and it passed over his back. He felt its wake run through his hair. Then body up and a double-hand slap to catch a dart aimed straight at his chest.

"Chay-to!"

The platform began to rock slowly and randomly. The movements were fluid, but the pitch and yaw was random. The movements were shallow, just enough to upset the balance. This part of the Amelor-Son combined his hearing with his sense of equilibrioception, his ability to maintain his balance.

The darts were still flying, but now he needed to concentrate on remaining upright as well as locating the distance of the darts and either catching them in mid-flight or moving to take his body out of their path.

All with his eyes still closed.

Right, catch; left, catch. Right, lean forward as the platform rolled forward and right. Right, catch; right, catch. Back, lean forward, roll left, right catch.

"Chay-ahn"

The platform continued to roll, but the darts ceased. Now jets of fire, from the platform beneath him, from the ceiling, from guns in the wall. All would shoot silently at him and he would detect and avoid the blasts, or burn. Simple choice really. Use his thermoception and live, fail to sense the heat of the flames and die.

Left, straight up. He leant right, left leg swivelling forward then straight back, leg and body as a flame shot straight up in front of him.

Right, turn; right, lean. Back, lean forwards; right, roll left.

There was another test here as well. The question for the morning.

Sometimes it was a philosophical question they would ponder while they sat through the Amelor-Sons, other times it was a maths test, or a script they would decipher. Today, today the Tronc-Warrior, their Master during these sessions, had set them a primal problem. While they were avoiding the darts and the heat, they had to find the least number of primes whose product was the number of years since the first colony ship left the system of The One World.

As always they were allowed to ask one question of the Tronc-Warrior and, after a very brief discussion with the rest of them, Selaban had asked what reference would be used as years. The Tronc Master had allowed that they would use the years of The One World as the reference.

So now he had already constructed the factor tree in his head that would allow him to arrive at the prime product for the number 2,364; the number of One World years since the first colony ship left the system of the One World.

"Chay-shon!"

Now darts and heat were unleashed, and all as the platform continued its ungainly and unpredictable rolling.

Duck back, lean left, grab dart right fifteen degrees and avoid heat left.

It was an even number so it was clear his starting point was the first prime, two. 2,364 divided by two gave him 1,182. This second number was not a prime so he divided it by the first Prime again, this time he ended up with 591. An odd number, but also not Prime.

Lean forward, then roll left to avoid flame. Catch dart left straight out, sit back, dart right, ten degrees forward. Lean forward then roll left.

The nearest prime to 591 was the 108th Prime, 593. So he was not through with this factor tree yet. Two would not go cleanly into 591, but three did. Three divided by 591 was 197. Duck forward. Stay down! Roll left, right, catch ten degrees back. Sit up, lean back catch right twenty degrees.

197 tasted prime, and it was. The 45th prime. He had his answer now. The prime product of 2,364 was (22*3)*197.

Lean left, roll forward, dart right straight out. Sit up, duck forward and double-slap down, roll right.

"Chay!"

He returned to the Evelsomai and the platform stopped rolling.

The Tronc-Master stepped into the room and bowed at them. They had all survived the morning's test. The pillars pulled down into the floor and they were left seated on the floor of the hall in front of their Master. He came to each of them in turn and passed them a tab.

Each would enter the answer to the question into it. If it was right he would tap them on the head and they would stand, bow and leave the room. If it was wrong he would shout:

"Lart!"

The Ombray-Warrior would lower his head and utter the acceptance:

"Sa!"

For them the test would start again.

The Tronc-Warrior stepped in front of Raetin and handed him the tab. Raetin entered his answer and was rewarded with a tap on the head. He smiled to himself as he stood and bowed to his Master, backing out of the hall.

Four of them had passed the test. Two would remain. None of them would eat the morning meal until the others completed the test successfully. It was a bright morning and without speaking, as this was not allowed until they were altogether again, they sat in a loose circle. Each adopting the Evelsomai, each willing their strength to their two companions still in the hall.

It was turning out to be a long day!

"Attend!" The voice said and Raetin pulled himself back to the room and the lesson they were learning.

The day had been long, and now it was hot. He needed not to be here, but here he was.

Here they all were.

The Tronc-Warrior had worked their bodies hard this morning. They had missed breakfast and straight after the Amelor-Sons, when Micarn and Talet had completed the test, they had been put through their paces with sword and then pole. A brief stay for lunch then, and a shower before this, the afternoon session with the Espree-Warrior.

If the Tronc-Warrior's aim was to train their bodies, then the Espree-Warrior wanted to tame their minds. Boredom appeared to be his key in completing this goal.

"Raetin!" The Espree-Warrior called. "Again! The seven controls when taming your mind are?"

"Preparation." Raetin responded.

They had been working on this for a year now and this part he did know.

"And then?" The Warrior asked him.

"Formal practice, control of adversity, understanding of the five forces, belief in the measure of things, commitment at all times and the application of the law to yourself first before it is applied to another."

"Excellent!" The Warrior laughed. "My time has not been wasted after all! So now we turn to the seventh control. Applying the law to yourself first before you apply it to another."

He turned and an image of the Master Warrior Fedash appeared on the screen behind him.

"The Master Warrior has codified his thoughts on this very subject in La Vetch du Warrior, the Law of the Warrior. And within this he describes the Law of the Seven Controls. Selaban!"

"Yes, Pahtron?" Selaban asked, returning his mind to the room.

He had been watching some of the younger Jern-Warriors practising with sticks in the arena next to their class. In truth Raetin had found himself becoming more and more absorbed in this session as well, rather than the session he was meant to be absorbed in.

"List the Laws of the Seven Controls" The Espree-Warrior barked and Raetin was pleased he did not have to recite this.

His head was so slow at the moment he couldn't even pull up the text in his mind's eye, a trick he used when he had to remember complicated theory like this.

"Um..." Selaban began.

"Come on boy!" The Master laughed. "Remember this and we will all break, take some water and watch the Jern for a while, yes?"

"Yes!" Selaban said, a little too enthusiastically, and they all laughed.

"So..." the Master prompted.

"Be of one mind!" Selaban smiled. "Um... oh yes! Isolate that which is wrong before you return the balance with that which is right!"

"Excellent." The Master smiled. "I will give you a rest now, Selaban. Chaita, the next two?"

"Pahtron I... Reaffirm your vows at sunrise and sunset?" He ventured.

"Yes, come on now, you memorised this over four months ago!" The Espree-Warrior reminded them. "What is next, Chaita?"

"Fate is balance." Chaita repeated. "Good or bad, understand how it is balanced first."

"Good. Talet? Can you add to this?"

"Um... Do not deviate from the path you have taken. Once decided, live the decision to the end of the frame."

"Yes, and the next?"

Talet looked off into the corner of the room, searching for inspiration before he finally answered.

"Recognise your weaknesses, overcome them and then make them your strengths."

"Good." The Pahtron laughed. "But no rest yet, I am afraid. Bantha. The next two laws?"

"Yes Pahtron." Bantha sighed, turning his head back to the front of the room.

"And?" The Master prompted.

"Tame your mind using the mantras and the challenges."

"Good, so you were listening. And the next?"

"Enjoy your training and use this to focus your mind."

"Excellent!" The Espree-Warrior laughed. "So Micarn, there is only you now. You have had more time than any of those here to remember this so from you the next four laws, yes?"

"Yes, Pahtron." Micarn said, forcing himself not to look at the practise session outside. "Meditate on everything and use your meditation to separate the problem into its elements." "Good, the next?"

"Treat each meditation as a unique event. Refer it to other events through meditation, but use these as guides only. Do not make a decision based on what already is."

"Excellent, I had not expected any of you to remember that one!" The Master laughed. "And two more, Micarn?"

"Use your emotions to support your decisions not to colour them." Micarn recited. "And train completely and wholeheartedly."

"Perfect!" The Master laughed. "You give me hope, boys." He smiled. "The remaining laws are: Watch first, then analyse; remain focussed and do not expect applause!" He laughed. "My, but it is hot in here!" He added. "We will break then." He said. "Take some water, relax for an hour. Watch the Jern-Warriors. But remember, we will return to this after. Although I might move us to a room that is not so open to the sun!" He muttered.

They all smiled as they stood and filed out of the room. Ties were already coming across to them with trays of cool and cold water. Raetin took one, then sloped off with Selaban, as he always did. The two of them collapsed in the shade of the cloister on the other side of the small arena. They could watch the Jern-Warriors practise from here and be in the shade.

"When we become Master Warriors." Selaban said, draining his water and indicating to a tie that he needed a refill, "We will order that all lessons by the Espree-Warrior be taught in winter!" He laughed. "At least the cold will focus our minds."

"True!" Raetin laughed. "Although we could not both be Master Warrior at the same time."

"You are right. So whoever gets there first, jen?"

"Jen." Raetin agreed. "Generations of Warriors will worship us if we can achieve such a thing."

"I certainly would!" Selaban laughed.

They were silent then, lounging on the steps that ran all the way around the edge of the open arena. The College of the Warriors was constructed around fifteen such arenas. From the air they were laid out in rows. A single row of three, then two rows of four arenas and finally another row of three. Around these arenas the college itself spread and sprawled. They had lived and moved in these arenas and the rooms of the college since their fourth prime. The next Silver March would see the other warriors reach their seventh prime, they would be seventeen standard years old. Raetin and Selaban, though, they would reach their ninth prime, twenty-three years old. They had been studying at the college for sixteen years! When he thought about it like that, it seemed to stretch back into the past forever.

This Silver March, though, this would be the last. One way or another he would not be returning to the college. His first Silver March had been on the eve of his seventh prime, seventeen years old. It was rare for a seventh prime to win that March, and he had not been gifted at that event.

No matter, it was all about learning, and his opponent had been in his ninth prime, as Raetin was now. His next Silver March had taken place two years later when he was nineteen. Again he had not been gifted, and once more his opponent had been twenty-three. Now he himself was in his ninth prime. He would compete in the current Silver March with one of his six companions.

At the end of that fight, he would be either Warrior or sent to the Tower of Gifting. It was the law. If a warrior failed at three Silver Marches, he would be presented to the Tower of Gifting by the Master Warrior. It was a just law, Raetin knew that and had long accepted that this could be the outcome fate had designed for him.

In truth, he had reached a balance in his mind about the next Silver March. He had two paths in front of him. Along one he could be a great Warrior, maybe even a Master Warrior. Along the other he could be a Gift. Along that route lay much danger, but also much excitement. On that path he could change the world, maybe even change the galaxy itself. Both paths called to him and no matter how much he meditated on this, he could not see clearly into either path. Could not discover the route he was fated to take. It would come, this clarity, he would just have to wait until Galaxia revealed the truth to him. And, when the weather was like this, he was quite happy to wait.

"Rae!" Selaban complained.

"What?"

"You are lost again." Selaban told him. "You've got that stupid look in your eyes! Stop thinking, my friend! We have an hour. Watch the Jern practising. Pick out the winners."

"So that is the real game." Raetin smiled. "You have some wagers planned?"

"Come on!" Selaban laughed, punching his friend on the shoulder. "I always have some wagers planned! The Silver March is in a month. Nine of these Jern-Warriors will move forward to take part in the competition. I have some creds wagered on who they will be."

"All nine?" Raetin asked, finishing his water and concentrating on the field of fighters in front of him.

"No, the first four. What do you reckon? You know how good you are at spotting success!"

"So who do you wager at the moment?" Raetin sighed, pretending to be bored by all of this.

In truth he enjoyed these sessions. He was good at spotting talent, had even had Selaban wager some of his own creds in the past. He had won more times, statistically, than he had lost. Micarn and Chaita wandered over to them with a new tray of water. They settled onto the step beneath them.

"He's going to do it?" Chaita asked Selaban.

"Are you all in on this?" Raetin laughed as he helped himself to another glass of ice-cold sweetened water.

"Only we three." Micarn assured him.

"And the Espree-Warrior." Chaita added. "He wants the names as well."

"My reputation obviously precedes me." Raetin smiled.

"Come on, Rae!" Selaban laughed. "Everyone in this Jax square is watching you. Even the Jern! Your reputation is real, my friend."

"Jen." Raetin smiled.

He looked out over the practicing warriors. They were working the pattern known as Aikair. Four Warriors, each playing in a triangle of space that collectively made up a square. Each warrior had to protect the three corners of their triangles from the other three warriors. The aim of Aikair was to stomp the point of your stick, the betoe, into one of your opponents corners. A referee kept score awarding points for which corner was stomped.

Stomping one of the four central corners would earn one point. The two back corners earned two points each. Each set within the game lasted for fifteen minutes. At the end of each set the contestants rotated one triangle to the right. The game ended after an hour, when each player had played each of the four triangles.

The players before them were on their last set and the scores were displayed on small floating boards above each game grid.

"Chedda." Raetin said. "Look at his stats. In the last set he doubled his score and evenly against all the other players. He has a plan and is firmly in control of it now."

"Good." Selaban smiled. "I could pick him. Micarn could pick him, and he's blind!" He laughed.

"Thanks!" Micarn said.

"But true?" Selaban asked.

"Definitely true." Micarn said. "The only reason none of us will wager anything on Chedda is that the odds are so low. We expect him to progress. Give us something unexpected, Raetin."

"Unexpected." Chaita agreed.

"Jen. You see Mandim?"

"Which one is he?"

"Third grid from the left at the back."

"Jen. And which player is he?" Selaban asked standing to look across at the set being played there.

"Back left." Raetin told him.

"He's not winning." Selaban noted.

"Not yet." Raetin said. "I have watched him for a while. Chedda is a flash player, he has a plan and you can see it unfold from the start. Mandim also has a plan, but he plays it close to his chest. He is second in his group, but watch how he moves."

"Wow!" Micarn said, also standing up. "He's a sharp one! I would not have noted that."

"And already added two more points to his tally." Chaita said. "He will win this game?"

"He will win." Raetin smiled. "But Salah, the player on the right from him. He is also good. He is winning at the moment, but I would wager he will lose by only one point."

"Now?" Selaban asked, taking a pad from the bag he carried at his side.

"10 creds." Raetin said.

"Against?" Selaban asked.

"Me." Chaita said. "Salah is still five points ahead and there are only three minutes left of this set. He could add... just like that, actually." Chaita laughed. "Two more points. Wager!" He laughed.

"Don't look at me!" Micarn laughed. "I learned a long time ago not to wager against either of these two. Pax!" He smiled.

"For me too, pax." Selaban agreed.

They all watched the game now. Mandim suddenly span around in a wide arc blocking a parry from Salah and the player diagonally opposite him. In one move he stomped his betoe into the central point of Salah's triangle and, a moment later, in the back corner of the player opposite him who was attempting to gain a central point from Salah himself.

"Three points!" Selaban laughed. "Only four left now, worried Chaita?"

"Raetin is not always correct." Chaita replied. "He was wrong only yesterday..."

In the grid Mandim swung back and stomped all three central points before somersaulting back into the centre of his own triangle, blocking attacks from all three players as he went."

"Why have I never seen him in action before?" Micarn asked. "The boy is fluid!"

"Jax!" Selaban cried as Mandim parried a joint attack from Selah and the player opposite him.

The third player stole two points from Salah as well. And as Salah turned to attack this player, Mandim struck at his rear. He stomped two more points, using his betoe to vault across his own triangle into the heart of Selah's, before stomping the two points just as the siren sounded.

"Daka!" Micarn said. "One point win! Well done Raetin."

"Don't thank me." Raetin smiled as he sat back down on the step. "Mandim did all the work. All I did was recognise his pattern."

"More than I did." Chaita said as he held his palm out.

Selaban swiped his own Slice across Chaita's, picking up the creds.

"To your account?" He asked Raetin.

"Only eleven." He said. "Give the rest to Mandim."

"Too generous." Selaban smiled as he took his own cut from the top of the wager. "So, he added as the Jern-Warriors stopped for some water and a rest from the sun. "Chedda, Mandim and Selah. Who else?"

"I thought we weren't accepting Chedda." Micarn noted.

"You are right." Selaban said. "Too obvious. Rae, over to you. We need two more names."

"Shankla." Raetin said almost at once.

"Definitely." Micarn agreed. "I have been watching him myself. A good player."

"And?" Selaban asked.

"You want a complete wild card?"

"They pay the highest returns." Chaita noted.

"Dhjarma."

"Really?" Selaban asked noting the name into his pad.

"Really." Raetin said. "The betoe is not his weapon du jour. Give him an Epay though and you will see a master in the forming."

"I've never really watched the Epay tournaments." Chaita said. "He's good?"

"He's not the best." Selaban told him. "But he has a style that is unique. His movements are so clipped, so timed!"

"Exactly." Raetin said. "You can see that he thinks through every action before he does it. His parries are so precise, so exact! He wastes nothing!"

"Reminds me of you!" Micarn laughed.

"Maybe that's why I rate him." Raetin smiled.

"Jax!" Selaban sighed., "The Espree-Warrior is starting back to the class."

"Oh well." Chaita laughed. "Two more hours! How bad can it be?"

"Exactly!" Selaban cried. "How bad?"

It had been bad!

Raetin stretched his neck from side to side as he made his way back through the college to the Duartor, the great building that housed all the accommodation for the warriors-stujair, the warriors in training. As much as he liked the Espree-Warrior, the man could talk, and he could talk despite the weather! Despite the obvious boredom of his students. He teachings were important, but they were also dull.

Screams ahead reminded him that he was approaching his wing of the Duartor. As seniors, Ombray-Warriors, they were each given the ward of a year group in the Duartor. He and Selaban were in charge of the fourth Primers, the seven to eleven year olds.

"Hold!" He called as he came into the common room.

The children stopped what they were doing, many of them freezing on the spot.

"What should we do?" Raetin observed. "When your Ombray enters the room?"

"Welcome Pahtron." they all intoned, lining up in two neat rows in front of him. There were forty-one of them.

Forty-one! How many of these would be lost along the way? In his first primal group there had been forty-seven. By the end of that first four-year block ten of his friends had fallen out of the training. That was a hard lesson.

"What was the Tronc-Master teaching today?"

"The Tra-eel archetype, Pahtron." Sanja told him.

Sanja was the nominated spokesman for the Tronc exercises.

"Show me!" Raetin laughed, settling into a chair as all the students lined up in front of him in the opening position of the archetype, the Array.

They stood, one foot in front of the other with all the body weight transferred to this foot. Arms outstretched, hands held flat, one in front of the other. There were six positions within this archetype.

"Chay-to!" Raetin called.

As one the class flowed through the gombillay that transformed the Array into the Relai.

When he remembered them now, it was this archetype that reminded him of his own parents. They had brought him to the Palace of Sunsets as a child of seven. Not poor, not rich, they had just wanted their middle child to have a life that was different. The Compagn-Warriors of the time had recognised in him something special and he had been accepted into the Palace of Sunsets as an Oevrear-Warrior. An initiate into the life that he now lived.

"Good." He smiled at the group. "Chay-ahn!"

As one the class slipped through the gombillay from Relai to Paydonka. All the weight was taken on one leg, with the other leg wrapped around the supporting leg. One arm was wrapped around the body while the other pointed straight up into the sky. All the fingers following the line of the body, all pointing straight up.

The Palace had paid his parents 450 creds for him. He was sold to the Palace, but not as a Tie. No, he was sold as an Oevrear. There was a potential within him. A potential that even now he could see within some of the children in front of him. They were still young. They had not even been through their first prime in the palace, but for some of them this was coming.

At age eleven they would face their first test. The Silver March in a month's time would be the culmination of this testing. Of the seventeen eleven year olds in the room, at least four would not progress to the next stage. They would not mark their fifth prime in the Palace of Sunsets.

"Chay-shon!" Raetin called.

He smiled as Selaban walked into the room. He came over to stand next to Raetin, casting a critical eye over the group. He approached some of them and helped them into the next position, the gaounce. This involved squatting on the floor with legs at perfect right angles to the body. Arms framed the head and hands were clasped above the head, fingers pointing straight up once more.

At eleven, the Oevrear-Warriors who failed the training were sold as ties. The palace owned them and sold them into the wider market. It was a harsh lesson and one that loomed large over each of the Oevrear as they moved to the next stage of their training, Apprenti-Warriors.

"Chay-hemma!" Selaban called from the back of the room and as one the group went through the gombillay, translating the gaounce into the Cloetuzh.

Again he moved through the group correcting them as required. Two of Raetin's best friends had been sold as Ties at the end of his first prime in the Palace of Sunsets. That had been a difficult time for him, and one that had, for a while, divorced him from the lives of his companions. He did not want to make friends over the next two years, because friends would be lost to you.

"Chay-elm!" Raetin called, amassing the group into the final position of the Tra-eel archetype, the Sohns.

Now all of the group was crouched down on the ground, resting the weight of the body on the right hand which was flat on the floor behind the main body. The body itself was arched and the left leg and hand were both pointing forward in a single line. Fingers pointing down the leg to toes that were in turn pointing straight ahead.

He and Selaban walked through the group, correcting posture and helping the boys into the final position.

Just two years after becoming Apprenti-Warriors came the first great Ayprov. The test that would see the transition from Apprenti-Warrior to Jern-Warrior. Warriors like those they had watched playing the Aikair this afternoon. The Ayprov was not as fierce as the Silver March, but it was an introduction to the this greatest test of strength.

In his year, eleven of his companions had failed the first Ayprov. Eleven of his friends were gone. Not sold as ties this time, but processed. Their lives taken and their bodies served up as part of the first feast. Losing friends as Ties had been one thing. Watching companions lose their lives and then knowingly consume their flesh at the end of that day. That was another lesson.

One that still haunted him now.

Should there be another way?

No.

At the end of the day, the harsh brutality of the Palace of Sunsets reflected the emotionless brutality that was expected of all Gifted Warriors. Emotion was not a sin, but it did need to be controlled. If the training of a Warrior did not assist in learning that control then it was not the right training. He was strong and steadfast now, able to compete in the Silver March, able to speak the law, as a result of his training.

"Well done!" Raetin laughed, and the group collapsed onto the floor.

"How much energy do you have?" Selaban asked.

"Two times two!" Someone shouted.

"That much?" Selaban smiled. "What do you think, Rae? Is there time?"

"There's time." Raetin smiled.

The group erupted into cheers and they were ushered back through the college, back to one of the arenas at the heart of this building of learning.

"What shall we play?" Selaban asked as Raetin opened the box that contained the tools for several games.

"Shakka!" A group of boys shouted.

"Anything else?" Raetin asked as he pulled the three coloured balls out of the box, each one about the size of a head.

"Shakka!" Came the resounding reply.

"Then Shakka we shall play!" Selaban laughed, grabbing one of the balls off Raetin and hurling it into the crowd.

It struck a child and he laughed, then came over and tagged Selaban, taking another of the balls from Raetin. Raetin himself vanished into the other children. His one ball was blue to the two red balls that Selaban and his companion had. The aim of this game was to hit an opponent with a ball. Once struck they would join your team. The winner was the team that had all players on their side. There were other rules, but these were usually part of loud discussion as they became important in the game.

At the start of the game, where it was skewed to Raetin and his team, they had only one ball to the red team's two. When both teams were the same size, the captains of the teams, Raetin and Selaban in this case, would shout "Shakka!". From that point on one of the red balls was removed.

This was a boisterous game, and if nothing else, it would tire the boys and let them sleep more heavily tonight. And that was always a blessing! The deeper they slept, the less likely Raetin was to wake up with three or four of them curled up in his bed asleep with him.

He needed sex tonight, and unsettled fourth primers would not assist in that plan!

"Master." The tie said as he came over to Raetin. "A hard game?"

"The hardest." Raetin smiled, stroking the tie's chin.

"Your bath is ready."

"Good." Raetin smiled as he followed the tie through his suite into the bathroom.

His name was Anka and he had been Raetin's Tronc for two years now. Troncs were Toreau-Ties and were first assigned to warriors when they became Jern-Warriors at the age of thirteen. It was the norm to change the Troncs each year and this is what Raetin had done, right up until he had selected Anka. This tie was good, and knew exactly what Raetin needed, and when he needed it.

A bath now was perfect and around the bath, a massage.

The bathroom was hot, and Raetin stood in the centre of the room, next to the large bath as Anka began removing his dress. First the Five gold bands on his right upper arm. These signified he was an Ombray-Warrior. Next the two silver bands on his left upper arm denoting his two attempts at the Silver March. Finally the two leather cuffs on each lower arm and wrist.

With these gone, Anka poured some prepared oil onto Raetin's skin and then gently massaged it into the muscles until it began to foam. When this happened, he used a curved metal scraper, the fossey, to remove the oil and other detritus from his arms. When both arms were scraped clean, he took the rings from Raetin's fingers and placed them gently on a table at the side of the bath.

Raetin relaxed into this ritual. He loved the sensuality of the whole experience, and Anka was good at this, very good. When he had first been assigned a Tronc, back when he had been thirteen, he hadn't known what to do with the boy. He had been called Rana and was only two years older than Raetin himself.

Sex had been a big discussion among him and his friends for a few years by then but, apart from masturbation and some look and see with his friends, they had done nothing else. Had had no opportunity to do anything else.

And then the Troncs had turned up. Two weeks after they had become Jern-Warriors, they returned to their rooms to find them waiting for them. Standing naked in the centre of their dorm rooms.

That had been exciting, and embarrassing at the same time. What was he meant to do with this tie?

Some of Raetin's friends had taken their Troncs that first night, 'taming' them, they had said. Raetin had waited a week before he had pulled Rana into his bed and then pulled the tie onto his body, onto his sex. It had been a quick and explosive experience, but one that he had enjoyed enough to repeat a few hours later and had repeated at least twice a day for the rest of that year.

After Rana a string of Troncs. All Toreau-ties and all progressively older as he himself had aged. Anka was twenty-nine to his twenty-five, a year away from being sold as a beef-tie, and that was something that concerned Raetin.

Over the last two years he had grown, not to love Anka, he was a tie after all, but he definitely appreciated his skills, understood that these skills were too useful to be lost if Anka became a beef-tie. Two years, at least, after being sold for his beef, he would be processed for his meat.

Raetin understood the system, respected it even, but some ties had skills that were more important than the value of their meat. Having researched what he could do, he knew that the only way he could save Anka was to make him a tenure, and that meant Raetin himself winning his next Silver March. Only as a Compagn-Warrior could he set Anka free.

Another reason not to fail in a month's time. He had decided not to tell Anka, it would only raise his hopes and, if Raetin didn't win, he would face some large disappointment. Better to keep quiet and let it all come as a nice surprise.

In the meantime, Anka served him as a personal valet and also more, and that was the point. Ultimately a Warrior would become Gifted. Gifts began life as male humans and, although their physiology was different to human males when they became Gifts, the specifics remained the same.

Warriors were not forbidden from sleeping with women but, as the sex was totally different, it was not encouraged. From the age of thirteen Raetin had not seen a woman for six years, until the end of his Superion-Warrior stage and his first Silver March.

By then he had owned seven Toreau-ties, all serving him as Troncs, and it was to these he turned for sex, not women. When he saw his first woman after that first Silver March, he had not looked at her with any sexual interest at all. Some did. Selaban, joked that he had slept with several women in the past year. That the sex was fantastic but not as strong as that with the Troncs. Fun, exciting, but in a completely different way.

Raetin had been curious himself, but had never been presented with the opportunity to sleep with a woman and, since he could have as much sex as he wanted with his Tronc, he didn't really see the point. Especially when his Tronc was as good as Anka. This was just about his release after all. It was not love, that would be reserved for his Gift.

He leant forward as Anka used the fossey on his back. Scraping off the oil and dead skin that lay there. Scraping his skin clean and opening pores ready for the bath that would follow. He began to massage oil into Raetin's chest and his hands slipped down to his quill and balls. He was already standing to attention and the ministrations of Anka and his hands, as he massaged his way up and down the shaft of his quill, then down and around his tight balls only served to arouse him even more.

With a smile, Raetin span Anka around and slipped his hand into the bowl of oil the Tronc was carrying. This he used to massage the man's backside, sliding his hands first into his crack, then his fingers into the man's hole. Anka pressed back on his fingers and, when he was ready, Raetin put his hands around the man's chest and pulled him onto his quill.

He took him then, with long and gentle thrusts. It had been a long day, and this first release would relax him ready for the rest of Anka's massage. He grunted as the orgasm came over him suddenly. Pulling the Tronc tightly into him, he filled him with his juices, before he sighed and let the man go.

"Thank you." He whispered.

"My Master." Anka sighed.

Raetin always thanked his Troncs for their bodies. Selaban and most of the others found this amusing. For them it was part of what the Toreau-ties did. It was why they were there in the first place. There was no need to thank them for it.

If anything, Selaban argued, they should be thanking their Warriors for taking them at all! He had a point, but Raetin had found it helped to be polite. All of his Troncs wanted to stay with him, whereas Selaban's looked happy to be leaving him at the end of each year.

One of them hadn't even made it that long.

Just last year Selaban had returned early from an evening gambling with his friends and found his Tronc of the time pleasuring himself on his Master's bed. Selaban had not been happy. Yes, they all understood that the Troncs would pleasure themselves, but not when the Master was coming home and definitely not in his bed!

Selaban had been furious. He had grabbed the Tronc, who was screaming his apologies, and dragged him to the kitchens and into the processing room. Without a word he had tied the Tronc to a processing wheel, only silencing him when the mouth guard of the wheel toxed the Tronc's throat into silence.

It had been late and Selaban had hit the button that caused the wheel to begin its journey through the machine that would process the Tronc into joints and other meats for the Palace. The Tronc had been struggling, according to Selaban, right up until the tox was injected into his neck. Ties were always toxed into unconsciousness before they were processed. It stopped the fear of the whole experience being transmitted into their meat.

An hour later and Selaban was waiting at the other end of the processing line. When the last piece of the Tronc was prepared (upper torso with organs removed and neck and upper arms still attached), Selaban had smiled and accepted his Tronc's apology.

Needless-to-say the next morning the Master Warrior had been furious. Toreau-ties were expensive and one as old and skilled as the one Selaban had processed were particularly expensive. Processing the Tronc had wiped out all that value. The Tronc was a Toreau-tie, they could be eaten according to the law, but their meat was not anywhere as good, or as highly-prized as that of a Beef-tie.

Selaban had been pulled out of training the next morning and was missing for a full two days. Rumour had it that he was almost processed himself and all because he could not control his anger. Only the Gift of the Master Warrior had saved Selaban. He was a Warrior, the Gift had reasoned, a good Warrior, and he would learn from this.

Impetuousness did not serve the law.

Selaban had learned that lesson. He was still quick to anger, but his anger would be curtailed suddenly, lest he find himself once more in front of the Master Warrior, and this time with nobody to save him. It had been three months before Selaban was allowed another Tronc and this was the time, according to Selaban, that he had discovered women.

A fetish he still followed when the fantasy took him.

Back in the bathroom, Anka turned and pushed Raetin into a chair. Taking the fossey and scraping it down his chest, rinsing it on each pass in a bowl of warm water at his side. This was a weekly ritual, and Raetin looked forward to it as much as he did the Shakka sessions with the younger Warriors.

Anka rested the fossey in the bowl of water and began oiling up Raetin's left leg, resting it on his own knee as he did so. Raetin just reached out and tussled the man's hair. He enjoyed these sessions and he loved the way Anka put him at ease.

Eased the day out of his body.

There had been many times of late when he had imagined that Anka was his Gift. A Gift performing these same rituals on him. That usually roused him into sex again and Anka would find himself on the end of his Master's quill once more before even the session in the bath had started.

But interspersed with this fantasy now was a new fantasy.

In these he was the Gift performing the rituals of bathing on his own Warrior. He was not Anka, Anka was a Tronc. A Gift, though, a Gift belonged to a Warrior with every cell of its being. But then, a Warrior belonged to a Gift in the same way. Gifts loved their Warriors and provided them with nectar. Warriors made love to their Gifts, gave them the raw materials that could be turned into nectar by the Gifts. The relationship was almost symbiotic.

Almost parasitic.

The Warriors fed off their Gifts. But the Gift of nectar changed them, created within the Warrior an addiction for their Gifts. They had to love their Gifts, had to feed from them. In the end they depended on them for their lives and Raetin liked that sort of control as well.

He was an Ombray-Warrior, he controlled and owned every atom of this Tronc in front of him. As a Gift he would have the same control, the same power, over a Warrior.

The most powerful human ever created loved and nurtured by the most advanced human ever created.

This fantasy was as likely to bring him to arousal as any other and, as Anka stepped into the bath and helped Raetin step into the warm water, it was this fantasy that caused Raetin to take him, there while they were standing in the water. Anka laughed as his Master took him once more.

"Three times!" He smiled. "Either a very physical day or the Espree-Warrior has taxed your brain to the edge of consciousness!"

"A mixture of both." Raetin smiled as he bit Anka's shoulder and ran his hands down the Tronc's chest.

He liked his ties to be chiselled, to be as fit as him, or as close to this paradigm as was possible for someone not trained as a Warrior. He wanted his Troncs to look like Warriors. Selaban didn't understand this.

Since the incident with the processing machine, his Troncs had become more and more androgynous, and this was a trait he had also noticed in his other friend's Troncs. For them the ties were becoming more and more like Gifts. Not male and not female. For Raetin, though, his Troncs had become more and more masculine.

More and more like Warriors.

He fell to his knees after he came, quill pulling out of Anka and the man turned, feeding Raetin his own quill. This was something new that had only happened recently. He had found himself wanting to pleasure Anka as much as Anka pleasured him. And now, as he took his tie's quill down his throat, he relished the feelings this aroused in him.

He owned this man in front of him, but he wanted to be controlled by him, at least for a short while, as much as he controlled the tie.

He had never told his friends about this part of his sex with the Tronc. This was something they would never understand. For them the Troncs were all about their own pleasures. The pleasure of the Tronc never even figured in that, and why should it? They were owned, they would be meat in less than five years.

Anka came explosively. He always did. This was one of his fantasies as well, and it always took him over. He would take some time to recover from this and Raetin laughed as he eased the tie down into the bath.

"Thank you Master." Anka smiled. "That was very good."

"You worked hard for that one." Raetin smiled, settling at the other end of the bath. "Three times!"

"Three times." Anka agreed.

They rested then, as was their custom. Each lost to the fantasies that had taken them to fulfilment a short while ago.

Micarn always told them that this was the time when he would have his Tronc sitting on him. Riding his quill. And while he was enjoying his Master, he would soap and clean the warrior until Micarn could take no more and exploded again inside his tie.

Chaita had it that the bath was only about sex. Showers were for cleaning. When his Tronc drew a bath it would be to pleasure his Master in every way possible. He would suck him, let him bezzie him like the world would end tomorrow! This was the one place, apart from the bed, where Chaita could release his energies without any questions. And he did. Raetin had pondered that. He was older than these Warriors, this would only be their second Silver March, but for him the third. They were nineteen, he was twenty-three. They were his adoptive and recent friends since of his original year group only he and Selaban remained. The rest were either Warriors or processed. These new friends were so definitely male, so clearly Warriors or Warriors in the making, that it left him astounded.

He could beat any of them in a battle, and did so on a regular basis; but he also let them win now and again. Allowed them to take him down because he was not like them. He was male, but he was also something else. Not female like in the balance of the fifth prime, but something apposite rather than opposite to male.

He had a duality in his soul that was as determined as the triumvirate within theirs.

He was Warrior and Gift.

They were Man, Warrior and Law.

And again the two paths laid out before him.

He could be Warrior. He could be Master Warrior.

Take the Clan of Warriors and make of them the most powerful Clan on the planet. Oust even the Prince of Princes from her golden throne.

But he could also be Gift. And he could lead the Gifts.

Lead them off this small planet and out into the wider Galaxy. The Gifts could control the entire human galaxy, and in less than a century. He knew that, and he also knew that he could be at the vanguard of that movement.

But was this what he wanted?

Did he want the power of the Warrior? The complete and absolute authority of the Warrior?

Or did he want the mastery of the Gift? The complete and absolute dominance of the Gift?

This was his dilemma. This is what kept him awake at nights. This is what made him either want to dominate or acquiesce at the next Silver March.

"You are still lost in thought?" Anka asked him.

"Still lost." Raetin smiled. "You make this too easy for me to slip away."

"It is my only purpose, Master."

"I know." Raetin replied. "And now I need you again."

He sat up and pulled Anka up and over him, letting the water settle him over his fully erect quill. Anka smiled as his body settled down over his Master, and Raetin settled back into the bath. Helping Anka as he rose and fell on him, around him.

This was not love.

This was sex.

This was not devotion.

This was pleasure for the sake of pleasure alone.

And this was all he needed for the rest of the night.

Raetin stood still and silent in the centre of the arena.

The noise of the audience merged into the background noise of Troubian, seeping into the arena through the open roof. Transports, people, even the buildings of the city made noises that could be heard this far into the Palace of Sunsets.

His heart was beating slowly and his breathing had synchronised with his heart. His body was in balance, and so was his mind.

His two team-mates, Bantha and Micarn, had already been taken out of the game. It was a shame, but he had decided at the start that they would just be a diversionary tactic. They had, however, managed to take one of the other team, Chaita, with them.

He was alone now, as he had planned at the start of this tournament, he alone, against the remaining two fighters of the opposing team.

Selaban and Talet.

He could hear them now as they circled around the course, both on separate paths, both determined to be the one who took him out. He was a prize. Nobody had ever taken him out in a tournament like this. He had never lost. No-one else had ever won...

Selaban was easy to hear.

The man was a mountain! But in games such as this his weight and size were more of a hindrance than a benefit. What he had gained in muscularity, he had lost in dexterity, and this was always his downfall in contests such as this. It was, he assumed, the reason why he and Talet had decided to take different routes around the arena. Selaban could take Raetin out in a straight man-on-man fight, but in this arena, a replica of the Silver March, albeit smaller, he could be a liability.

Talet was harder to pick out from the background noise. This was an exhibition game and every Jern and Superion Warrior in the college was watching them from the seats along one side of the arena. Warriors, many Warriors now that the Silver March was only two weeks away, sat down the other side of the arena. Several Gifts were also present in the audience, they sat together at one end of the Warriors.

That had caused a stir when they had all come to this contest. They had never had to fight in front of Gifts before and, even though all these Gifts were already gifted to a Warrior, it made the whole event more exciting. Raetin was stood now, not more than four metres away from the gathering of Gifts.

He could smell their scent on the air, feel their voices tickling in his ear. Hear their thoughts pushing against the edge of his brain.

He had his back to them, but he knew that both Talet and Selaban would have to attack him while facing the Gifts. Their awe of these creatures would give him a small edge. Not much, but enough to offer him an advantage.

Talet had taken a longer route around the arena than Selaban, and it would be Selaban that reached him first. He dismissed Talet for a moment then, knowing that Talet would not attack him while Selaban was fighting him. Raetin let the gombillay overcome him and he transformed himself into the starting position of the archetype known as Tompait.

The first position of this short archetype was Pous. There were only two positions in it. Pous and Faibelons. For the moment he adopted the staring position, Pous. He crouched low on the ground, ready to spring. Unlike in other archetypes that used this classic pre-jumping position, though, here the Pous could take the Warrior in any direction, not just up. And that was Raetin's plan today.

A tall wall separated him from the approaching Selaban. His friend had slowed now and Raetin knew he was taking up his own position on the other side of the wall. As he waited in his own position, Raetin imagined himself as Selaban, what would he do in his friend's place?

Selaban would know that Raetin was waiting for him, so he would have to adopt a position that would allow him to use his strength to its greatest advantage. Raetin knew that if he was Selaban he would adopt a position like Sauta. This position moved the Warrior into a stance that would allow him to take a low level leap.

The force of the leap would turn the Warrior into a speeding projectile. At the end of the leap, a roll would allow the Warrior to reverse and repeat the Sauta within seconds but back in the opposite direction.

Raetin knew how to counter the Sauta, and it involved taking the Pous into a vertical climb, straight up. Normally the Pous was only used like this to launch the Warrior onto a higher platform. Raetin would end his Pous with an aerial roll that would, he hoped, bring him vertically down, head first, straight onto Selaban as he launched his second Sauta back at him.

Selaban would also know that Raetin was lithe and prone to use aerial positions. His plan would be to get Raetin to launch, then get back to Raetin's landing position as quickly as possible. If he timed his return Sauta well, he would arrive just as Raetin landed.

He would be able to claim him and win the game.

Today, though, today, Raetin was not in the mood to let anyone win. He wanted to take out all of his opponents. Wanted to show what a Warrior working alone, rather than in concert with his colleagues, could achieve.

Who was he trying to impress?

He wasn't sure, but his position in front of the Gifts was important. He knew that. There was a big meal planned tomorrow for those that were about to enter the Silver March. All the Warriors and their Gifts that had come to the Palace of Sunsets, would be there. Raetin wanted to impress them all.

Selaban launched.

He was good.

His Sauta allowed him to skim the top of the wall and, as it passed beneath him, Selaban's powerful arms pushed off the top of the wall, adding even more momentum to his attack. Raetin waited until the last minute and he heard gasps from many of the Jern and Superion-Warriors, they feared he had left it too late to launch, but Raetin knew this position.

Knew his own potential.

He sprang into his aerial Pous at the very last moment, the last possible right moment. The air from Selaban's pass beneath him stroked his legs and Raetin smiled as he sailed into the air.

At the apogee of the spring, he rolled into a ball and flipped, head down, and he fell, straight back at the spot where he had been waiting in the Pous a moment before. Many of the students were on their feet now, straining to see how this move would played out. But Raetin knew the outcome already.

From the corner of his eye, he could see what Selaban was doing. While Raetin was still turning at the top of his jump, Selaban used a small half-wall, not far from the Gifts, to turn his forward rush into a backwards one. He kicked off the wall as a swimmer would kick off the side of a pool and his kinetic energy rushed back along his previous path with him. He ended up at Raetin's starting position a full second before Raetin landed, and that was his mistake.

That was the error Raetin had planned for him to make.

The turn that Raetin had performed at the top of his spring had slowed his descent by a second. Not much, but enough to allow Selaban to arrive at his destination a second before Raetin, instead of after him as Selaban would have planned. The audience erupted as Raetin struck Selaban on his back with his betoe. He used Selaban's shoulders to somersault his own body back into the upright, landing in the position known as Faibelons.

He was crouched on one knee, the other leg planted firmly. His betoe poised ready to strike forward. His body had decided on this position before he was even sure his reverse-Pous would be a success. It was a success, though, and Selaban was laughing as he turned and bowed to Raetin, accepting his defeat.

Raetin stood and bowed in return and the audience of students was already on their feet and cheering. The Warriors, though, were still tense, and Raetin knew what this meant. Talet was near! In a moment he took up the crouch of Pous and leapt over Selaban's head, landing on his other side in the faibelons position, facing back away from the Gifts and into the face of Talet.

He had only just made it. Selaban had planned to use his gracious acceptance of defeat at Raetin's hands as a way of allowing Talet to sneak up on Raetin unannounced and thus let his team win the game. An admiral stance and one that Raetin respected. In effect Selaban had sacrificed himself for the good of the team. Raetin had realised at the last minute that this was a ploy.

Selaban was a team player, had always been. Raetin was not and had not expected such subterfuge from his friend. It was only by taking his cues from the audience that he had realised the true thinking behind Selaban's loss. He had always planned to lose. Talet was always the one who would deliver the final blow, taking Raetin out of the game. A good strategy and one that Raetin had almost fallen for. Now Raetin was prepared though.

Talet's lunge, which was swift, came moments after Raetin had launched out of the Pous . Talet struck Selaban then, not Raetin and, while he recovered, Raetin launched himself back into the air and over the wall that Selaban had used a moment before to shield his own attack on Raetin.

Raetin knew he could dance around this arena now and lead Talet along behind him. He also knew that this is what most of the audience, Warrior and student, expected him to do. It would be what Talet was expecting him to do.

Raetin was not going to give them that.

After recovering from running into Selaban, Talet took up his next position, the Cloetuzh. This was known as one of the brace positions. Weight was on the back leg, the whole upper body war arched back, ready to use the betoe, currently horizontal to the rest of the body, wherever required. This position allowed you to gauge your enemy. Work out what their next move was and then plan your own in return.

When he realised Raetin had leapt the wall, Talet's stance changed. He moved swiftly into the Sauta. He launched almost at once, planning to skim the wall and then land on the other side adjusting his next move based on where or what Raetin had done. What he did not expect was for Raetin to launch into his own Sauta. As Talet sailed over the wall, so Raetin did the same in the opposite direction.

They came at each other from opposite sides of the wall. Talet using the move only to carry him quickly over the wall, but Raetin used it as a way to attack his opponent. His betoe striking Talet as they passed at the top of the wall.

Talet was expecting to use this move to roll into the moving position called Exaykutay. A run that took the energy from the previous position and transferred all of this power into legs. He then planned to chase Raetin down. By leaping back across the wall in the Sauta, Raetin was moving against form.

Playing a wild card.

Talet was so shocked at this move that he ended the fall badly. Landing heavily on his shoulder and skidding through the dirt of the arena. Raetin himself, rolled across the floor, then stood to attention, in the position known as Metrah. He was fully upright, hands resting on the betoe, which was now vertical to his body, resting on the floor. This position was also known as the Victor.

Students were cheering him and the Warriors also rose to their feet in appreciation of the artistry with which he had bested his opponents. The Gifts, Raetin noted, were still in their seats and deep in conversation among themselves. They were clapping him, but their eyes told him they were thinking to each other deeply.

"And the points go to the Ombray-Warrior, Raetin and his team." The Tronc-Master said as he came over to Raetin and patted him on his back.

His team mates came in as well and shook his hand. They were celebrating the team victory, but Raetin knew he had abandoned them. Their sacrifices had allowed him to shine, allowed his skill to be evident at the expense of their own. And he had intended for that to happen.

He had won this match alone. He knew that. The Tronc-Master knew that. The Warriors knew this now, and so did their Gifts.

What did that mean?

He wasn't sure.

He laughed as his team-mates dragged him out of the arena. There was a celebration to be had now. The losing team had to serve them lunch.

And he and his team, at least, were looking forward to that.

The meal tonight would be formal, and Raetin knew he would have to look his best. He had had Anka working on what he would wear for this meal for a week now. And now, now he was ready.

He stood in the centre of his dressing room, naked. His body still tense from the games this afternoon. Muscles still keyed to the frames and gombillay he had employed during the game.

"You must relax!" Anka complained as he nestled the belt around Raetin's hips. "I cannot get you ready if you are so tense!"

"But Anka!" Raetin laughed, swinging his tie around in a circle. "You should have seen it! I beat them all in the end!"

"I did see it." Anka reminded him, "And I would expect nothing else from you, my Master." He said as Raetin settled him down. "You are the senior Ombray here."

"I sense a 'but' there." Raetin laughed.

"But was your win thought out?" Anka asked, bowing his head to his Master.

"What do you mean?" Raetin asked as he stood still for a moment.

Anka re-positioned the belt. It was made from chain mail, a mixture of iron, steel, silver and gold. This was the base piece for everything he would wear tonight. Everything would hang from or attach to this low-slung belt.

"Everyone knows you can win, Master." Anka said as he went over to the dresser and began preparing the neck pieces. "Your win had to be through skill attuned with intelligence though. Not just skill and brute force."

Raetin was silent for a moment. He appreciated Anka's observations. Had for a year now, ever since he realised that the man was a gambler, adept at predicting the outcomes of Warrior matches. He could see a winner as easily as Raetin could and the two of them had often put their heads together to spot a high-paying winner where everyone else saw failure.

Raetin's cred rating was testament to their success. Anka, despite being a tie, was also very cred-worthy as a result of their conversations.

"You saw the whole game then?" Raetin asked him.

"I saw it all, Master." Anka replied.

He came and put a silver necklace around Raetin's neck. It was wide and sat low on his neck. To this he began to fasten golden plates. they sat across his chest and back and were shaped to nestle the top of his arms. The front piece, put on last, was platinum. the platinum against the gold signified that he was the senior in his class.

"And?" Raetin asked, turning to look at the necklace in the mirror.

He had worn the platinum for the last year now.

"You were very intelligent." Anka replied. "Each move was clearly thought through and your ability to foresee what your opponents were planning was very evident indeed."

"And yet?" Raetin asked.

Anka turned back to him and attached a string of gold plates, each one no more than a few centimetres long, to the necklace. The end of the string was attached to the underside of the belt. The string lay down his chest, the gold glistening against the red of his skin.

"And yet you sacrificed your team for your own goals."

"It was that obvious?"

"No." Anka told him as he came and laid a string of silver plates next to the gold string. "But I knew your plan and I think some of the warriors saw it to."

"Do you think they agreed with my decisions?"

"Difficult to tell." Anka replied, returning with another gold string and attaching it in the same way as the others. "Winning was the goal. Sacrifice is an important part of winning, but I think Selaban's sacrifice at the end, when he forfeit his game so Talet could take you on. I think that trumped anything you had done with your team."

The two gold strings signified his two attempts at the Silver March. The single silver thread showed that he would be a contestant at the next March.

"I was hoping no-one had noticed that!" Raetin laughed as Anka wrapped five golden chains around his right bicep then two silver ones around his left.

This dress was the more formal version of the clothing he wore every day. Less leather, more metal. Less ordinary, more expensive.

"I noticed because it is a tactic we had discussed." Anka told him. "Some of the warriors noticed because it is a tactic that has been employed on the battlefield. They did not approve."

He attached a golden shoulder piece to Raetin's back. It covered his shoulders and came down to a point in the small of his back. From a distance it looked as if he had golden wings wrapped up against his back, and the carvings on the golden plate echoed this.

"I know." Raetin sighed. "But the aim was to show that this is a competition I can win."

"Why?" Anka asked as he attached golden cuffs to Raetin's lower arms, tying them with leather straps.

A similar strapped was attached to the base of the golden wings and then tied to a loop on the underside of the chain mail belt Raetin was wearing.

"Why do you need to make this point?" Anka added.

"Because I am still not sure if I want to succeed at the Silver March."

"But we have discussed this." Anka said as he returned to the dresser and began assembling the pieces of the skirt that he would attach to the bottom of the belt.

"I know. I can win this Silver March. There is not one of the Warriors who stands against me that I cannot beat."

"Yet you are still considering losing?"

"I would be Gifted." Raetin pointed out.

"If they accepted you."

"You think they would not?"

"I do not know how they think." Anka smiled. "But I hear that they have rejected Warriors in the past. I would not be happy if you had to face the same fate!"

He began attaching small panels of leather to the belt, starting at the left side, then moving to the right side. The leather he was using was soft, almost a material. It was the finest Beef-tie hide, human, not made from the skin of a lesser animal.

There were nine pieces in all to this skirt, eight made from leather and one from gold. With the eight leather pieces in place, Anka turned back to the table, leaving Raetin's quill and balls hanging free at the front of the skirt, not yet covered.

"Yet if it was to be my fate to be rejected by the Tower, you could not change it." Raetin said, head bowed as he faced up to that possibility.

"I would mourn your passing." Anka replied.

"But I would not be able to save you from your fate." Raetin said. "If I die, you would be sold as beef not long after."

"Maybe." Anka smiled. "The Gifts were expecting something of you today, I could see that in the way they all watched you. You did not live up to all of their expectations, I fear."

"But I can hear their thoughts!" Raetin protested. "I can almost taste them, Anka, that has to mean something."

"Perhaps. Have you spoken to one?" He asked.

He came back and attached the gold front-piece to the dress. It was known as the Claidevour. Keystone in the common tongue. This piece had been hammered into the shape of a large leaf, and it hung down lower than the leather pieces, protecting his sex but also shaping itself around him and intensifying the shape of what really lay beneath the metal.

"No." Raetin admitted. "Apart from bumping into one in the palace somewhere, I have not spoken to one."

"Then do so tonight." Anka said as he fell to his knees and began attaching the tight thigh straps made from interlaced silver and gold threads.

One of these was placed at the top of each thigh, then attached to the belt by thin leather straps that ran up under the pieces of the dress.

"You are assuming they will want to speak to me."

"Hah!" Anka laughed as he helped Raetin into the first sandal.

The straps of this would be tied intricately up his shin, ending just beneath his knee.

"Did you not see them huddled together at the end of your fight this afternoon?" He added. "They will talk to you."

"All I saw was them thinking to each other." Raetin noted. "I assumed they weren't impressed with my tactics."

"No, I think your tactics impressed them all, Warriors and Gifts." Anka said as he tied the second sandal. "I think the Gifts were trying to interpret your message to them."

"My message?" Raetin asked as he held out his hands in front of him.

Anka began slipping rings onto his fingers.

"What were you trying to show them today?" Anka asked. "Everyone knows you are a good fighter. Everyone knows you were going to win. You sacrificed your team-mates quickly today. What did that mean?"

"That they were holding me back?" Raetin smiled as he admired himself in the mirror.

"Or that you wanted to show the control evident in your own strength. That you are stronger than any one man. That you can operate within and without the team."

"I was not thinking that!" Raetin laughed as Anka positioned the circlet of platinum on his hair, resting the metal band on the top of his ears.

"Maybe not consciously." Anka smiled as he stepped back and admired his Master. "But the thoughts were there. From where I was standing, it was clear you were playing just to the Gifts."

"Really?"

"Absolutely." Anka said as he took a cloth and polished the Claidevour at the front of Raetin's dress.

The ties fingers rubbed across Raetin's quill and it rose almost immediately.

"You want me to deal with that?" Anka smiled as he finished polishing the gold piece.

"I think you are going to have to!" Raetin laughed as Anka fell to his knees and took him in his mouth. "I have no idea what the Gifts would think if I turned up at the dinner with my quill at en-Pointe for them!"

Anka's response was lost as Raetin leant forward and pushed his quill eagerly down the tie's throat.

The room was full of Warriors and their Gifts. Raetin had been a warrior-stujair, a warrior in training, all of his life and he had never seen this many Warriors in one place at one time. At the last Silver March there had been maybe two hundred Warriors in attendance.

There were almost 500 in this room alone!

Every Warrior within a hundred kilometre radius must have come to the Palace of Sunsets. No wonder the ties were looking strained, he mused. They were scurrying around and between all of the Warriors with trays of drinks, and canapes.

At this stage of the evening the drink was Kefin. A fermented, slightly alcoholic, milk drink that was flavoured with honey or caramel. The starters were mostly head-meat as was the tradition here. Small pastries filled with a mixture of minced brain and herbs or succulent slices of tongue served on sour crackers with a spicy sauce.

It was all Raetin could do to drink, let alone eat as well.

He and the others of his year, the Essai du March, were gathered at one end of the room. They had been greeted by the Master Warrior himself, as they had come into the room. He had brought them to a small stage at one end of the room and they had remained on this ever since. Talking among themselves, or just staring nervously at the rest of the room. They were in the Shombruh du Garree-ay, the Great hall of the Warriors that stood at one end of the Palace of Sunsets, beyond the Tower of Gifting. The Shombruh was spread over three floors. The kitchens and kitchen vaults were in the basement then, at ground level was the floor they were on now, the Akel. The Akel was the gathering space. It ran the length of the building and two huge staircases stood at either end, each leading up into the Shombruh itself above them.

The Shombruh was a massive space, easily three stories high and open all the way to the roof. It was used to host events such as this and was in continuous use for the month before and after each Silver March. For the rest of the year it served as an exhibition space for the different groups of warrior-stujair as they competed in their annual competitions. Raetin had been here on many occasions in the past, not the least his attendance of the last two Silver Marches, but this time, this time it was different. There was a tenseness to the room, an edge among the Warriors. As if they were expecting trouble. What sort of trouble they were expecting, and also what they were expecting here at the centre of their seat of power, Raetin did not know.

The Gifts were behind it. He could tell that almost at once.

There were as many Gifts here as Warriors, obviously, and they moved freely through the room. Tall, elegant, aloof in their stature. They would gather in small groups of three or five and speak together for a while, their lyrical voices adding a subtle melody to the music being played by a small orchestra at the other end of the room.

Always threes and fives, Raetin noted. The Gifts were the most primal of creatures, and they did nothing without reason. Three was the second prime, and this was the prime for the human extant: body, sentient and soul. Five was the third prime, and the third prime was used to represent the races of Galaxia: Human, Mnemorian, Grandiash, Sheventa and Irinisha.

What did that mean, what were they trying to say to each other and to their Warriors? They would remain in these groupings for a short time, and then they would disperse. Some of them would gather with other Gifts, others would return to their Warrior.

There would be no conversation between Warrior and Gift but something more than a spark of recognition would pass between their eyes as they faced each other. A gentle touch as the Warrior stroked his Gift and a flick of the tail from the gift, wrapping gently around its Warriors neck for a moment, a delicate embrace before the Gift moved off back into the room.

In fact, as he watched the spectacle before him now, he realised that the Warriors were hardly moving at all. It was mainly the Gifts who were circulating. They were the carriers of these secret messages and plans. But what were they planning? Everyone was involved, that was clear. Even the Gift of the Troubled Waters, the Gift of the Master Warrior, even it was wending its way through the groups of Warriors, interspersing with other Gifts. Meeting, talking, laughing...

There were patterns here. He recognised them now. The Gifts were not moving through the room randomly, they were all following one of three routes about the space. He watched one Gift now as it passed about the room in a vast figure of eight with, Raetin presumed, its Warrior at the centre. The figure of eight took the Gift past the stage containing Raetin and his colleagues. The Gift smiled and bowed its head to him as it passed. The first time one of them had even acknowledged the young men on the stage.

But it had not acknowledged them all, just Raetin.

The second pattern appeared to be a spiral. Again, the Warrior was at the centre and the Gift would slowly meander away from him in wider and wider loops. The last loop would bring it past the stage and Raetin smiled as he watched one of the Gifts following this pattern approach them. It had its eyes fixed firmly on his, large, unblinking eyes. It smiled too, briefly, then bowed its head as it passed on by back towards its Warrior.

What did this mean? Raetin looked over his colleagues on the stage, they were themselves deep in conversation or, like him, clutching a glass of Kefin and looking out over the audience. None of them seemed to notice what he was seeing in this room, and none of them seemed to feel the tension in the room like he did.

The third pattern had been harder to spot because at times it looked like it was part of the spiral pattern. But he identified it now and watched as the Gift of the Troubled Waters prescribed this pattern across the room. Its Warrior, the Master Warrior, was at the far end of the room now, talking with a small group of senior Warriors. His Gift was following an elliptical route with the Master Warrior at one end and the stage at the other. The Master Warrior was the fulcrum for this orbit, and it would be to him the Gift returned.

Raetin watched it casually as it approached the stage. It smiled at him and raised its own glass of Kefin as it passed by. Raetin looked around but none of the others on the stage with him seemed to have noticed this. And then all the patterns collapsed at once. As if a signal had been given. The Gifts all returned to their Warriors. A moment later a gong sounded.

The deep resonant noise silenced all the talking in the hall, silenced the orchestra. Ties ran through the crowd collecting glasses and the Warriors led their Gifts to one of the two staircases at either end of the room.

The meal had begun.

"Ready?" Selaban whispered as they stood and watched the Warriors filing out of the Akel up to the Shombruh itself.

They would follow once the Master Warrior called for them after everyone else was seated.

"As I'll ever be." Raetin smiled nervously.

"Hey!" Selaban laughed. "What's wrong?"

"Just nerves." Raetin laughed. "This is my last Silver March. What if I fail?"

"What, you?" Chaita laughed coming over to him and Selaban. "After your performance yesterday there is no doubt in anyone's mind that you will win your Silver March. The only question is which of us poor saps will be chosen to lose against you!"

"Maybe." Raetin smiled, handing his glass to a tie and then straightening his dress. "But on the day itself, that's an entirely different thing."

"Tell me about it." Selaban sighed. "And look how many Warriors will be attending! How nervous are we going to be?"

"Jax nervous!" Chaita laughed. "But tonight is not the March. Tonight is a celebration of our attempt at the March. We are the guests here. Remember that!"

"And we can get as drunk as we want?" Selaban asked.

"I would think you will have to hold back slightly!" Raetin laughed. "It wouldn't do to embarrass yourself in front of all these Warriors!"

"No." Selaban agreed. "You're probably right."

The last of the Warriors left the Akel and the long room was strangely quiet now. At the other end the orchestra was gone as well, no doubt moved to one of the galleries that looked down onto the Shombruh.

"How much longer do you think?" Raetin asked as he began clasping and unclasping his arms across his chest.

"Calm down, Rae!" Selaban laughed, pulling him into a hug. "What are you expecting to happen here tonight?"

"I don't know." Raetin smiled. "But something is up, didn't you pick it up in the air?"

"You are the only person I know that can do that daka!" Selaban laughed. "I saw nothing. Everyone was a little tense, but it has been a long day and this meal will be even longer, that's all!"

"You're right." Raetin agreed, shaking his head and play-punching his friend on the arm. "I've been here twice before, that's all."

"But the next time you are here you will be Gifted." Chaita pointed out. "It will be you watching us still up on the stage as you mingle with your new Warrior friends and your new Gift, you see!"

"I'll even come over and talk to you if you want." Raetin laughed.

"But only if protocol demands it." Selaban reminded them. "And you know how strict the Master Warrior is with matters of protocol!"

"Here we go." Chaita whispered as a tie came over to them, took the last of their glasses and led them to the nearest staircase.

They waited on the landing just beneath the final flight of stairs that would take them up into the Shombruh. Above them they could hear the voice of the Master Warrior booming across the great hall.

"So now." He said. "Please be upstanding for this year's contenders in the Great Silver March. I give you the Essai du Marsh Darzhon!"

There were loud cheers and much banging of tables and feet as Raetin led his fellow contenders up the final flight of stairs and over to the table nearest to them. They had all been allocated seats at the high-table and each of them sat between a Warrior and his Gift. Raetin, as the senior of the group, was placed between the Master Warrior and the Gift of the Troubled Waters.

They stood behind their seats as they had been instructed and waited for the clamour to die down.

"Maetzue et Kudoe" The Master Warrior said using the formal language of Motdieu, the language that was the preserve of the Warrior Clan. "Gentlemen and Gifts." He added in the common language Motlomme. "Please be reverent for the Marjais du Clon."

The three orchestras, placed in galleries around the walls of the Shombruh, struck up as one and played the Marjais du Clon, the Majesty of the Clan, the anthem of the Warrior Clan since the time of the Warrior General Ghen. It was a short piece, loud and quiet, it stirred the soul and comforted the man. When it was over, there was a cheer and everyone sat down.

The orchestras began playing more gentle music and the main focus of the evening began. Eating, drinking and talking.

"You look nervous." The Master Warrior said as he turned to face Raetin.

"It is my last chance at the Silver March, Pahtron." Raetin replied. "And this, all of this..." He added indicating the room with his glass of chilled ice-wine, "All serves to remind me of that!"

"I can understand that." The Master warrior replied, sipping his own wine. "It has been many years since I was in your position, but I can still remember the cold knot of fear at the centre of my stomach."

"Oh, I have that!" Raetin smiled.

"But after yesterday, my young warrior, after your performance yesterday you have nothing to worry about!"

"Hah!" Raetin laughed. "It is easy to win when you know it is purely for the sake of winning." He added, quoting from the Master Warrior's own book, La Vetch du Warrior. "When there is a Gift at stake, then the game is always played more cautiously!"

"Very good." The Master Warrior said, toasting Raetin. "Yet the Tronc-Warrior tells me that they will be using your patterns in that practice session for years to come. The way you turned the Tompait archetype, usually only instigated for defensive manoeuvres, into an archetype of attack was pure magic to watch! You have a great talent, Raetin. Know that."

"Thank you, Pahtron." Raetin blushed. "I played the archetype that seemed to be right at the time."

"Yet even I would not have chosen Tompait!" The Master Warrior laughed. "I was sat with the Espree-Warrior during your contest and we both agreed that if we had been in your shoes we would have chosen the Torbeelya archetype."

"I did consider that." Raetin mused. "But Torbeelya requires a lot of energy and I knew I would have to face Talet straight after finishing Selaban. Talet would be fresh, and he is a lithe fighter, Pahtron. Torbeelya would allow me to take out Selaban but could well leave me weak at the end, an easy target for Talet."

"I had not thought of that." The Master Warrior conceded. "And the Tompait, with the new position you invented, the reverse-Pous that you executed so beautifully; that allowed you enough energy to launch into the two Sauta?"

"It did, although if I hadn't have taken out Talet on that return Sauta over the fence, I would not have had enough energy to fend him off for another attack."

"So even you had to work in the short-term at the end?" The Master smiled.

"Every game has a set number of moves." Another voice said, joining the conversation.

It was the lyrical voice of the Master Warrior's Gift, the Gift of the Troubled Waters.

"The fool forgets to calculate the moves and adapt his game accordingly. Only the wise-man, the Human-Ascendant, knows not only how many moves need to be played, but also when the game must end."

"What is this?" The Master Warrior laughed. "Is everyone intent to use my own words against me tonight?"

"There are no other words that do this justice, Pahtron." The Gift smiled.

"Thank you." The Master Warrior whispered.

A tie came over to the table and the Master Warrior leant over to talk with him.

"It is rare that someone as young as you impresses my Pahtron as much as you did yesterday." The Gift told Raetin.

It had turned its head and was looking out over the assembled Warriors and Gifts.

"It was not intentional." Raetin replied, not sure where this conversation was leading.

Was he in trouble?

"Of course it wasn't." The Gift laughed. "You fought a game that showed your prowess to everyone present. People will study your moves for many years to come, Raetin. You could be a great Tronc-Warrior, maybe even a Master Warrior some day. Is that what you want?"

"I... I am not sure." Raetin said. They were silent for a moment as the first course was laid in front of them.

It was a small bowl of broth known as a Nettoboush. A thin, clear, vegetable broth served with poached Noodle du Goulai. A pile of small thumb-nail sized crackers, Onga, were placed at the side of the bowl. These could be eaten dry or floated in the broth and eaten when they had become soft with the soup.

Goulai, noodles made from the intestines of a beef-tie, were one of Raetin's favourite foods. All noodles were in fact, but these in particular had a soft almost cream-like texture that suited this dish perfectly. He seasoned the bowl and, as soon as the Master Warrior began eating, he launched into this dish with gusto.

"When will you be sure?" The Gift asked him after a moment.

Raetin stopped eating and looked over at the creature. It had not started its food yet and was staring at him intently.

"About what?" Raetin asked.

He knew the answer, but did not want to put it into words yet. The Gift smiled at him and took a delicate sip of the broth, then floated five Onga in the top of the broth.

"You are fully aware of the choices that swirl around you at the moment, Raetin. You can ponder them no more. You must speak them aloud. By talking about them you will clarify the entire frame."

"I have nightmares about this." Raetin admitted.

"I know." The Gift smiled.

It reached out and delicately stroked Raetin's arm. The trail of warmth it left behind was sensual, and Raetin found himself getting aroused at the touch of the Gift. He blushed then. The Gift just laughed.

"You are human, little one." It smiled. "Do not be embarrassed because you have a human response to me."

Raetin was silent for a moment as he fished some Goulai from the soup and let them slip down his throat.

"If you could advise me, what would you suggest?" Raetin asked.

"And still you avoid enunciating the decisions you must face." The Gift laughed. "What do you think I would advise you?"

"Is that a fair answer?" Raetin smiled.

"It is a just one." The Gift told him as it began fishing the Onga out of the soup and eating each one individually. It left the last two swimming in the bowl. "We are coming to a cusp in our evolution as a culture." The Gift told Raetin. "At the moment the Fifth Prime, balance, holds us in its sway. Yet fate cannot sit at the fulcrum of balance forever. The Second Realm is ready to move forward or collapse back into chaos."

"Is that why all the Warriors are so tense?" Raetin asked.

"I had not realised it was that obvious." The Gift sighed. "Yes, Raetin, that is why they are so tense. Whatever happens next, there will be war. Either war to control Tare du Maretch, or war to control the System of Planets above us."

"So how can my decision affect this?" Raetin asked.

"Because we have reached an apex with the process of gifting, Raetin. The next Silver March will see the three most important Gifts presented to their Warriors. These three Gifts will lead us all to the future."

"You think I should be one of these Gifts?"

"I know it is a calling that you feel in your heart."

"But so is my desire to be a Gifted Warrior." Raetin replied as he finished the soup.

"I can see that also." The Gift of the Troubled Waters replied. "And both paths have merit for you. As a Warrior you would be at the head of a Warrior army that brings the Game of the Clans to all the human galaxy. You could shape the future of humanity, Raetin."

"And as a Gift?"

"As a Gift you can design that future. This species is old, Raetin, old and dying. You cannot see it yet because you yourself are still young, but all five races are decaying. We must either create from ourselves something new, or waste away and let Galaxia create new races to replace us."

"And that is happening now?"

"Gifts live long lives, Raetin." The Gift smiled as Ties came and removed the bowls from them and refilled glasses of wine. "In the span of my life humanity has become ill. In the span of a new Gift it could very well die."

"A millennium then." Raetin realised. "That is not long."

"And that is your choice." The Gift said. "But first you must speak it."

"But it is so difficult!" Raetin protested. "What if I choose wrong?"

"It is not like that." The Gift replied, settling back as clean plates were placed on the table in front of them. "Both choices are right. All you need to decide is which one you will take."

"And I must do that now?"

"No!" The Gift laughed. "As eager as I am to have your answer, I would not press you for such a decision tonight! Speak the choices, Raetin."

A bowl of steaming Hadge, a grain that was used as often as rice in this province, was placed on the table in front of Raetin. Next to it, a moment later, a bowl of hot and dark Mizhoetay. This rich meat dish was cooked slowly for four hours. The final result was a deep-coloured, rich and spicy meat dish. The meat was cooked so tenderly that it did literally melt in the mouth.

A Tie began to serve the Master Warrior, who started eating at once. Next Raetin and then the Gift.

"So," Raetin sighed as he played with the food on his plate, mixing the Mizhoetay into the Hadge. "These are the decisions before me then. I could choose to be a Warrior. To be Gifted and to lead the Warriors into a battle for humanity."

He paused as he took a mouthful of food. As he looked up he realised that the eyes of every Gift in the room were on him.

"Um..." He continued. "Or, or I could choose to be a Gift and design the new forms humanity will take."

"Excellent." The Gift of the Troubled Waters smiled.

Around the room the tension seemed to ebb away.

"Gift or Warrior, Warrior or Gift." The Gift said to him. "The duality inherent in the First Prime does not make for easy choices."

"And if I choose to be a Warrior. What will happen to humanity then?"

"We will find another to be gifted." The Gift assured him. "You are the only choice we have before us at the moment, but you are not the only choice."

"And if I choose to be Gifted. What becomes of the battle then?"

"Again, there will be other Gifted Warriors, Raetin. Your current Ombray group is strong, but apart from you there are no leaders among them. With the next Ombray, though, we have some more choices."

"For Gift as well as Warrior?"

"No." The Gift told him. "You are the first Ombray in many years who can be either."

"But I thought every Warrior who failed three Silver Marches came to you as a Gift."

"Many come to us, Raetin, but few are selected. We have not created a Gift from a Warrior for almost two centuries now. If you choose this path, you will be the first in a very long time."

"And those Warriors that came to you to be Gifts. What became of them?"

"You must understand what makes a Gift, Raetin. This is not a second-choice. Not the runner-up prize! To be a Gift you have to want this more than anything else in your life. These Warriors you speak of. They came to us because it was the law. They did not want to be Gifted. Did not see the gifting as anything other than an admission of their failure."

"What happened to them?"

"They were all processed." The Gift replied, turning to stare at Raetin as he formed a response. "How does that make you feel?"

"It seems like a waste of all their training." Raetin said. "Surely they could serve the Palace in some other form?"

"No." The Gift replied. "They would be forever shaped by their failure at the Silver March. Their training would allow them to become mercenary, men of violence for hire. Some of the decision trees we create and test on this subject show that these failed warriors could become a formidable army in their own right. They could threaten the order of both Palaces."

"I understand." Raetin sighed. "It would not be wise for me to tell anyone else about this."

"No." The Gift laughed. "If the Ombray knew that, even at the end, they could still be processed for their meat, then the whole training system we have developed here would be pointless."

The Master Warrior interrupted him.

"I am sorry, Raetin. Matters of the Clan drew me away from you. Please accept my apologies. It was not too hard sitting silently next to me was it?"

"But Pahtron..." Raetin began, but the Gift looked him in his eyes and smiled, before turning back to its food. "No, Pahtron. It has given me time to make some decisions."

"Good." The Master Warrior laughed.

He turned back to his food and Raetin finished what was on his plate. He had been speaking to the Gift without talking. He realised that now. That was why all the Gifts had been concentrating on him. They had all been listening to him.

"What is it like being Gifted?" Raetin thought, not even looking across at the Gift of the Troubled Waters sat next to him.

"It is the most wonderful thing you will ever experience." The Gift replied, its thoughts coming to him like words.

On the edges of the words, he could feel the excitement in the Gift's voice, feel the pleasure that surrounded its own gifting.

As he knew it would, speaking the choices, making them real had caused the choice, the right choice, to crystallise around him. Raetin had made his decision, despite the Gift of the Troubled Waters not expecting him to do so tonight.

"Then we need to speak and act before the Silver March." Raetin replied. "There is much I have to organise."

"And you are happy with this decision?" The Gift asked him.

"It is the right one." Raetin replied.

The hall suddenly erupted into song as every Gift stood to its feet and began to sing a song whose words were lost to him, lost to them all the language was so old, so ancient. But the words filled the Shombruh, silenced the orchestras, silenced all conversation and all the Warriors turned to look at their Gifts.

They did not understand the words of this song, but the intent was clear. This was a call to arms, and they would follow their Gifts wherever they led. In this they had no choice.

"Allons enfants de la Patrie, Le jour de gloire est arrive! Contre nous de la tyrannie, L'etendard sanglant est leve, Entendez-vous dans les campagnes Mugir ces feroces soldats? Ils viennent jusque dans vos bras gorger vos fils et vos compagnes!"

"Aux armes, citoyens, Formez vos bataillons, Marchons, marchons! Qu'un sang impur Abreuve nos sillons!

"Que veut cette horde d'esclaves," De traitres, de rois conjures? Pour qui ces ignobles entraves, Ces fers des longtemps prepares? Francais, pour nous, ah! quel outrage Quels transports il doit exciter! C'est nous qu'on ose mediter De rendre a l'antique esclavage!"

It was morning, and Raetin sat in a pleasant office looking out over one of the smaller arena. A young group of Oevrear-Warriors were practicing their patterns. Learning the positions of the Tompait that he himself had made so famous only two days ago. He smiled as he watched them practice. This was a simple archetype with two (now three) positions, but it was complex.

Pous en guard moving to Pous en mouvema transforming to reverse-Pous moving to Faibelons.

The gombillay that transformed each position into the next, that was the trick in this archetype. The positions were simple, but the gombillay were not. And now Raetin had added a third position, the reverse-Pous, it was even more complicated. The gombillay that transformed this new position back into the Faibelons was the most complex of all. And also the most dangerous as if it was not executed exactly right, the Oevrear would end up landing on their head!

Not a pretty sight, and a fate that had already befallen the Tronc-Master as he himself tried to emulate Raetin's feat.

"Even before you are a Gift you have created a stir." A voice said.

Raetin turned and saw that two Gifts had entered the room. He did not recognise either of them. He stood and bowed to them.

"Ombray Raetin." He said bowing low. "I am your servant."

The Gifts laughed.

"So formal!" One of them smiled. "Sit, boy. I am known as the Gift of the Sidian Deserts and this is the Gift of the Bending Reeds. The Gift of the Troubled Waters will join us shortly."

"They will be practicing this for many years, I think." The Gift of the Bending Reeds smiled as it walked over to the window and looked out at the arena. "You have certainly stirred some hearts here, Raetin!" It added coming and sitting on a sofa near to him.

"And some!" The Gift of the Sidian Deserts smiled. "I passed an arena where a group of Jern were attempting to incorporate the reverse-Pous into their own training. Your potential is amazing, Raetin. You understand this now?"

"It is clearer." Raetin said, bowing his head. "But I did not plan anything that happened in the contest. I have not planned anything in my life apart from maybe wanting to survive."

"And it is this that makes you so important." Another voice said.

They all turned as the Gift of the Troubled Waters entered the room.

"To act you must plan, Raetin. With you it is different. You do not act, you simply are. Whatever you need to be your become that thing. This is why you are so important to us."

The Gift sat in a chair opposite Raetin. He squirmed slightly, he had never been alone with this many Gifts before.

"Do you fear us?" The Gift of the Sidian Deserts suddenly asked him.

"Yes." Raetin admitted.

"And yet you still desire to be one of us?" The Gift of the Bending Reeds added.

"Yes." Raetin said.

"Why?" The Gift of the Troubled Waters asked him. "Why do you wish to be like us?"

"I see you in my dreams." Raetin whispered. "I see the control that you have, the power and... and it is beautiful to me." He added. "My friends believe power lies in the muscles of the Warrior, and, while this is true in a physical sense, true power, it seems to me lies in the mind that directs the muscle. That is why I wish to be Gifted."

"You are a very astute young man." The Gift of the Troubled Waters smiled. "Outside this Palace, most humans believe us to be slaved to our Warriors. To be nothing more than an animal upon which they feed. Yet you have seen through that ruse."

"I can understand why you would wish people to believe that." Raetin said. "You are not human like the rest of us, them. To be openly controlled by the Gifts would be like being owned by the Mnemorian."

"I am impressed." The Gift of the Sidian Deserts said. "Of the three of them, this one is clearly the most intelligent."

"And the strongest." The Gift of the Bending Reeds said.

"Yet the other two also have important qualities we require." The Gift of the Troubled Waters reminded them.

"You have already chosen the other two Gifts?" Raetin asked.

He remembered that the Gift of the Troubled Waters had told him last night that there were to be three Gifts who were the most important of all the Gifts.

"They are already being prepared in the Tower of Gifting." The Gift of the Sidian deserts told him.

"I would have liked to have met them." Raetin said.

"And you still will." The Gift of the Troubled Waters replied. "But not until the gifting process is completed in nineteen months time."

"What will happen at the Silver March?" Raetin asked.

"What do you mean?" The Gift of the Troubled Waters asked him.

"I cannot fight now." Raetin said. "Not now I have chosen my path. Anyone who fought against me would know that they won only because I allowed them to win, since I am already Gifted."

"There is one Ombray in the year beneath your group who qualifies also for this Silver March." The Gift of the Troubled Waters told him. "He was not allowed to enter this March because we already had the six we required. If you withdraw he will take your place."

"And that will cause a problem?" Raetin asked.

"There will be some formalities to attend to." The Gift of the Sidian Deserts told him. "But they will be easy to resolve."

"My friends will know what I have chosen?"

"We are telling them now." The Gift of the Troubled Waters said. "My Pahtron, the Master Warrior, and the Pahtrons of these two here, are with them as we speak."

"Will they understand, do you think?" Raetin asked.

"At this moment, no." The Gift of the Troubled Waters told him. "When they themselves become Gifted, and they all will eventually, then they will understand."

"But I will be Gifted myself then." Raetin sighed. "Can I know who will be my Warrior?"

"Not at this stage." The Gift of the Troubled Waters smiled. "There are several choices, but time has yet to play her hand. We will know for certain closer to the Silver March where you and your two colleagues will be Gifted."

"What is that like?" Raetin asked. "To be Gifted to a Warrior, I mean?"

"It cannot be put into words." The Gift of the Sidian Deserts told him. "I am the oldest Gift here and have been gifted twice in my life. With both of my Warriors it was the most profound thing that ever happened to me. You will be joined, cell to cell, with another human being. There can be nothing more profound than that."

"You are a God?" Raetin asked.

All three of the Gifts laughed then.

"No." The Gift of the Troubled Waters said. "We are not God. We get to see the face of God for a time, but we do not have that power."

They were silent for a while, lost to their own thoughts. Raetin continued to watch the Oevrear outside practicing his new archetype. Would they name it after him eventually? One thing was sure, as a Gift he would have enough time to see if that came true or not.

"I have one final request." He said, looking back at the Gift of the Troubled Waters.

"Which is?" The Gift asked him.

"My Toreau-tie, Anka. I would have him freed if that is possible."

"Hah!" The Gift laughed.

"Why is that funny?" Raetin asked.

"Because the tie has already requested that himself. Apparently he has amassed enough Creds to put himself into Tenure for two years."

"I do not want him to have to buy himself out." Raetin said. "I would give him his freedom."

"I have spoken with the Master Warrior." The Gift of the Troubled Waters said. "He has already agreed that this may happen."

"Thank you." Raetin sighed. "He has gifts of his own that would be wasted if he were sold for his beef."

"And we recognise that." The Gift of the Troubled Waters told him. "Not all ties are sold for their meat, Raetin. Our culture may be brutish to some, but it is not cold-hearted."

"What happens now?" Raetin asked.

"We take you to meet the professor." The Gift of the Troubled Waters said as they all stood. "Are you ready?"

"I am ready." Raetin replied.

Raetin was standing on the platform at the top of the Tower of Gifting. He looked down across the entire Palace of Sunsets, but it was the Silver March, laid out in a long line before him, that drew his attention. Twice he had fought there. Twice he had failed. Now he had taken a decision that would mean he would never be able to fight there again.

"It is still the right choice." The Professor told him, coming over and putting his arms around Raetin's shoulders.

"I know." Raetin smiled. "The trouble with choices though is that you are left to ponder all the paths you have closed by choosing."

"But do not forget all the paths that are now open because you have chosen." The professor said leading him away from the edge of the parapet and back to the stairs that wound back into the tower. "You must look forward, Raetin, that is the key here."

"I know. I just didn't realise how final this choice was. I went from a Warrior-stujair, with friends and a life, to a man in transition with no-one."

"It is a very final decision, gifting." The Professor agreed. "But at the end of the process, you will be gifted. That will make up for everything."

"It will?"

"Oh yes." The professor smiled as he led Raetin down the stairs. "You will not want it any other way, then."

"How do you know?" Raetin asked.

They came into a room where a meal was laid out for them.

"Eat." The professor said and Raetin sat and began eating the food. "To answer your question, Raetin." The professor said, taking a glass of water and walking over to a window that looked out onto the gardens at the base of the Tower of Gifting. "It is like that because I designed it to be so."

"You designed it?"

"Yes." The professor said. "The Gifts and Warriors are my life's work, Raetin. This planet has seen the creation of not one new species of humanity, but two."

"But they are flawed." Raetin noted.

"Of course they are." The professor laughed, turning back to Raetin and leaning against the window. "We create them from the stuff of ourselves. All the flaws in our own bodies are recreated in the Warriors and Gifts. Only Galaxia is outside of creation. Only she can create truly unique life in the universe."

"But their flaws are deeper than that." Raetin said. "They cannot reproduce."

"I know." The professor replied. "I could create this possibility within the Gifts, but have decided against it."

"Why?"

"Because I have created a new second prime." The professor replied. "The second prime is now the Human Reborn: Warrior, Gift and Human. Each corner of this triumvirate is dependent on the other for its survival. Warriors need Gifts to be strong, to serve. Gifts need humans for new stock, to reproduce the race. And humans need the protection that the Warriors and Gifts provide them."

"And humanity needs to be protected?"

"You do not understand yet, Raetin. But remember this. If I can create out of humanity the two most powerful species of man. What are the Mnemorian or Grandiash doing? And for all their god-like illusiveness, you can bet the Irinisha are also working on their own master races."

"We will destroy each other?"

"No. Ultimately, from all five races a new race will be born. When we can do that, then we will be worthy rivals to Galaxia herself."

"And this is your plan?"

"No!" The professor laughed putting the glass back on the table. "My plan is to rejuvenate humanity. The race is stagnating. The Gifts and Warriors, Tare du Maretch, they will shake this race to its core. Make it proud and strong again."

"Is this what I must do then, shake up humanity?"

"You ask many questions!" The professor laughed. "But yes, my friend, this is your purpose. The purpose of Tare du Maretch itself."

"One more question." Raetin smiled. "What will it be like?"

"It will be wonderful."

"Breathe!" The voice commanded in his mind, and it breathed.

The air was cold and it stung his throat, felt like needles of glass were entering its lungs.

"Pain!" It thought back.

"It will pass." The voice assured him, and with the next breath he was right. "You breathed air once before, the knowledge will return. Now you must cough!"

It coughed and the matrix rose from its stomach, out through its mouth.

"Not pretty, sorry." It thought.

"Do not worry." The voice said, and this time it heard with its ears. "You have to expel all of the matrix. You can open your eyes now, I have dimmed the lights in the room."

It opened its eyes.

The light was astounding, and the colours!

"It is beautiful." It said, and its voice was musical, lyrical.

Like several voices were speaking at once.

"What shall we call you?" the professor asked as he settled the creature into the chair that would take it to its suite and the remainder of its recovery.

"I am the Gift of the Lost Warrior." It said.

"A worthy name. How do you feel?"

"Wonderful!"