The Penbearer

Posted on Thu Jul 28th, 2016 @ 6:17pm by Master Steward Othor Jaxz Ghost of the Second Star
Edited on on Fri Jul 29th, 2016 @ 1:00am

1,507 words; about a 8 minute read

Mission: Tenuous Grasp on Destiny
Location: Flashback, NXS-Second Star Infirmary
Timeline: May 8th 0145 2393

-START-

-Now-

{Second Star, Galley}

Othor heard the screams after feeling her pain. Her agony had come in waves, now to match the peal with a pitch it threatened to overwhelm. His position in the galley afforded him freedom from many duties, his only concerns were ships systems and inventory. At present he was trying to piece together shattered isolinear circuit boards, trying to restore the digital archives he had worked hard on. Next thing he knew he was off, the robes fluttering gracefully as he was swift and silent.

He knew this pain...

-Then-

{Betazed}
Minds scream. Years of recording lives and battles had taught him that death was the last trauma a mortal will experience before passing. Holy men, descendants of the tragic twelfth house he had met once told him it is the trauma of moving from one world to the next. Just like our first sight of light during a traumatic birth was terrifying and harsh in its brazen force of life, the last sight was just as shocking, and every bit as mysterious. They would know, they had stood against the Dominion and been wiped out in the process.

Regardless if it was the afterlife or oblivion that awaited them that fall Jaxz could hear their minds scream and he loathed the indignity. One was supposed to harden their senses and use these lessons to provide an emotional callous. He could never imagine feeling such things and trying to be unaffected. Most Betazoids learned to clamp their senses and restrained themselves for their whole lifetime.

As a boy in the house of Oaar the men went on their hunts. Like any hunters it was best to hit in the vital spots to prevent any undue suffering. He and his lord’s two sons, Isdal, who was like a brother and Jerid who would betray them, set out with the lord and his men one morning light of Betazed. Many of the children did not see, or were unaware of the abundance of life around them. They couldn't see with their eyes and became bored rather than look with something else.

They walked the wooded trails beyond the gates of the manor until they came upon paths thick with undergrowth and tracks. The master of the hunt leaned down and considered the things he saw. He sensed the whole forest around them, it was delicate, and primal. Jaxz could still remember the somber look on his face before gesturing deeper into the wood. Tracks from the walking had all but washed away in the morning dew drops, but he followed a different trail.

They continued on until they found what they had been searching for, a primer Hind. It was Isdal’s first hunt his lord father insisted he mark the shot, “Remember to strike with accuracy. We’d all appreciate a quick kill.” Previous hunts had all had that sharp punctuated moment where the animal had been killed. Hunting was purely a religious sport, a part of the study of mind and body, this was as always a lesson on death.

Isdal was a boy of fourteen and did not have the skill of his later years. He missed his mark and the boys would never forget the fear and pain the poor animal felt. A simple slug thrower, powered by compressed gas and coil fired silent spikes. They were designed to pierce and kill with little collateral trauma, if the shot landed where it needed to. He missed, and they would never forget the screams of those last moments.

The master of the hunt made quickly to finish what Isdal started but his father still insisted, “Isdal, you caused this you finished it.” So instead the master hunter placed his hand upon the felled beast and somehow calmed it. With order restored Isdal could finally finish the gentle beast, a single pull of the trigger firing another spike into the brain stem. That was quick, the way it was meant to be but he and Isdal would never forget that lesson. Death was painful, traumatic, and it came for us all.

Jaxz always regretted overlooking Jerid’s smile as he watched the creature writhe in agony. While even the seasoned men flinched Jerid smiled on. That foreboding look would have consequences for them all later.

As the years past and wars came to Betazed he would learn that all being no matter how sentient or intelligent reverted to some basic fear of what may or may not lay beyond this life. Some handled this fear with dignity and shined before they stepped into the dark. There was only one man that faced death with no fear. He was the somber huntsman. Reverent, Wisened, Inscrutable… experienced in life just as in death.

It was in the latter days of the Dominion War after the House of Oaar had been disillusioned and Jerid sat the high chair upon a foundation of graves and dust. A handful of the staff and employ had made it out alive before the lands were scourged. Many others sacrificed their lives to make that happen. The somber huntsman was counted amongst them.

He was there amongst the husks of the ancient trees that he climbed as a boy. The somber huntsman was covered in plasma burns and was suffering from a wound to his ribs which wouldn't stop bleeding. The action had ended and there was a calm for a moment. Jaxz took the moment to run to him, to try and calm his old mentor in the final moments.

“Come to hear my tale Pen Bearer?” He spoke in gasps, the pain evident without sensing it, though it came off of him in waves. Curiously, there was no fear behind the pain, just acceptance, and a melancholy pining for times past.

“I have no Lord to hear tales of,” whispered Jaxz as the world was cloaked in the predawn glow. “I suppose it’s time I learn new stories.”

“Yes and many things more,” bellowed the huntsman between bouts of pain. “Do you remember Isdal shot his first stag?”

Jaxz stood silent. He remembered the pain, the lesson, and it was here before him again.

“Come here boy. Hear my life see what you may learn.”

Huntsman were never known for their psionic abilities but Jaxz came to learn one could do with even the smallest aptitude and creativity. As a penbearer it was his duty to keep the scrolls and accounts alive, there was much to do, but little to say. He was also treated to the life and experiences of an individual completely unlike the lords and ladies of Betazed’s courts. His was most unlike anyone else in that the huntsman knew peace with death. He and his forefathers knew that all things had their place and would eventually die and knew they had to face it with serenity and dignity.

He had never understood how a religious order could ordain the murder of animals to prove a point, but with clarity it all came to him. We were all the stag, we were all the hunter. We all take our turn laying in pain awaiting the end. We all had a story.

-Now-

{Second Star- Infirmary}

Othor appeared behind them in the infirmary, the small hectagon crammed with young Vicente and the older Lui Kania on the only two beds in the room. Othor entered the room unnoticed like an ebon phantom on a warm night’s breeze. He watched the old Bajoran matriarch in awe and contemplative silence. Though her flesh was scorched her spirit still burned like the orbs of the prophets like the celestial temple. There written within her was not only the life of one woman but a masterwork of a culture and people.

Fragile as a whisper, beauty sang from his lips sultry silent.

“Lui, I need you to listen carefully.”

All she could muster was a sigh. The Doctor had taken her heed and tended solely to Vicente. His hand held hers, it was tight with pain

With a thought he lifted her pain away, “I want you to tell me a story. I want you to leave me your legacy.”

She had seen him work, knew the penbearer carried the stories of so many. Impossible, he couldn't want hers.

“There’s not enough time for all I’ve seen.”

“There is,” O smiled, his bright teeth juxtaposed against his dark visage. Her body had grown numb, but his hand pressed on her chest insistently.

“It has already happened. Just tell me.”

“How,” she whispered. She felt fear, but his strength was a guiding hand in these final moments.

“Just let it take over you.” and with that O knew; Bajor, her homeland and where she grew up. He knew her father and mother and siblings. He knew her mentors and friends and lovers. He saw the fall and the resistance. All that she was and knew he knew. All in moment that passed like stream.

-END-

 

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