jenqoj Manor, Ancestral Estate of the House of Torlek: Qova Domain, Qo'noS

Fifth Day of the Third Month of the Year of Kahless, 1016

May, 2394

Outside the arched windows, the first rays of dawn peeked over the horizon. They shimmered across the broad Qam-chee River and danced over the verdant trees. Their red light illuminated the silhouette of a statue of Kahless raising his bat'leth high into the air. At the Unforgettable's feet, an altar supported four candles burning in pools of molten red wax. Lanassa, Daughter of Tigranian sat cross-legged on a bare stone floor mindlessly running a strand of polished prayer beads through her right hand. She was dressed in a simple black tunic and trousers. The Bajoran earring bearing her family crest sparkled from underneath her thick, dark hair. On the ground at her front lay a weathered targ skin book. The tome was opened to a page covered with ancient Klingon script:

"Fear is a warrior's greatest opponent. It is the demon which stands in our way on the path to honor. It is the deceiver, the blasphemer, that which whispers to the darkest depths of our souls and leads us towards ruin and despair. You must conquer your fear as surely as you best any other opponent on the field of battle. Destroy it without mercy or doubt. Light the fire within your heart so that it illuminates your path to salvation. Harden your body and your spirit to ascend and take your place as a guardian of your people. Then, rush into the gauntlet of pain announcing proudly:

'Today, I am a warrior! I must show you my heart! I travel the River of Blood!'

Only then will the battle be yours. Only then will you crave the blood of your enemies. Only then, will the bile of the vanquished flow over your hands. These are the holy words of the Unforgettable…"

Since she could first read Klingon, Lanassa had studied the holy passage over and over again trying to absorb its wisdom. All her efforts were to prepare for this very sunrise. Yet, she still felt like a failure. She was still terrified…

The wooden door creaked open. She barely stirred as her father walked over and took a seat beside her. Silence passed between them for a few moments as both watched the brilliant sunrise. Then, he finally spoke.

"Did you sleep at all last night?" Tigranian asked softly.

Lanassa shook her head from side to side without meeting his gaze.

"It's not too late to change your mind," he continued, "only you can choose to do this, Lanassa. Your mother and I will still love you no matter what you decide."

"If I quit now," she replied firmly, "I would never be able to look at myself in the mirror again."

Tigranian slowly reached up and put his arm around his teenage daughter's shoulders.

"Pray for his help," he said lifting her gaze towards the statue of Kahless. "He will travel with you as you walk through hell. He will stand with you as you emerge victorious on the other side."

"What if I don't emerge victorious?" she asked nervously.

"There is no shame in honorable defeat," Tigranian replied. "There is only shame in letting our fear conquer us."

Lanassa stayed silent, ignoring the magnitude of what failure could mean for her future.

"I guess I won't be your little girl anymore when this is all over," she asked more meekly than she intended.

He smiled.

"You will always be my little girl," Tigranian replied kissing the top of her wild hair. It was matted from several days of solitude, mediation, and prayer. She smiled back at him.

"I love you, Daddy," she whispered.

"I love you too," he said softly. "Your godmothers will come for you soon," he added while climbing back to his feet. "Qapla', Lanassa, Daughter of Tigranian. Heghlu'meH QaQ jajvam." Then, he left the room.

Lanassa took a final deep breath. Then, she rose and approached the altar. After a deep bow, she picked up a fresh stick of incense, lit the end in one of the candles, and then offered it to the statue of Kahless. Finally, she placed her hands in front of her chest, clapped twice, and bowed again.

"Today, is indeed a good day to die…" she whispered.

****

Tigranian changed into his formal armor before walking into the family chapel at the back of the manor house. The entire room had been made over for the ceremony. Two raised platforms stood in the middle of the hall. A burning brazier glowed brightly at the entrance to the gauntlet. Four house bannermen personally selected by Lord Torlek stood at the ready near the far wall. These men would assist with the sacred rite this morning. The rest of the participants and guests were all dressed in the best clothes and milled near the main doors.

"How is she?" Laria asked walking up to Tigranian. Their youngest son, Rellas, followed right next to her. She was dressed in a silk kamakha while Rellas wore a red and black boy's tunic. He was only twelve and still had not committed to becoming a Klingon warrior. As such, he hadn't earned the right to wear armor yet.

"She is preparing herself," Tigranian replied while trying to hide his own nerves.

"Prophets, be with her," Laria muttered shaking her head. She had witnessed this ceremony before when her husband's godson made his walk last year, but that wasn't her child. If anything, knowing exactly what was to come made it worse.

"It'll be ok," Tigranian replied giving Laria a soft kiss on the cheek.

"Dad," Rellas said nervously, "is it going to be as bad as it was for Max?"

"It has to be, Buddy," Tigranian said kneeling down next to him. He placed a supportive hand next to the boy's Bajoran earring. "But your sister's pagh is as strong as yours. She's gonna be just fine." Rellas didn't respond, but Tigranian could see the fear in the boy's eyes. Rellas loved his sister and his half-brother's first steps into the River of Blood had given him nightmares for weeks. Laria had suggested they leave him behind with family friends, but Tigranian was adamant. Lanassa had the right to go through this with all her closest family and friends present. She wouldn't make it otherwise. Finally, Rellas declared to both his parents that he had to come. If, for nothing else, than to say goodbye to Lanassa if the worst occurred.

"I have to go make sure the other warriors are set," Tigranian said standing back up.

"Go," Laria said still trying to steady herself. "I just want this to be over."

"It will be soon," Tigranian reassured her again before heading towards the platforms. Two Klingon officers spoke with another warrior wearing cadet armor. Max had just completed his first year of study at the Klingon Elite Command Academy. He was with Torlek's two sons, Ro'vagh and Gra'tak, who were already commissioned and serving in the fleet.

"Uncle," the three men said in unison as Tigranian approached.

"It gives Lanassa great honor that her cousins were willing to assist in her walk," Tigranian said with a bow to his nephews. Ro'vagh, already a lieutenant commander in the KDF, would take over control of the family when his father, Lord Torlek, finally met an enemy strong enough to kill him. Gra'tak, a lieutenant and three years younger than his brother, would assist Tigranian administering the house's ships and warriors in Ro'vagh's service.

"The honor is ours in assisting our cousin better serve Kahless as a warrior, Uncle," Ro'vagh said bearing his fangs. Tigranian couldn't help but smile. Ro'vagh was the perfect image of a much younger Torlek when he commanded the IKS Sk'oh.

"Besides," Gra'tak added. "She would do the same for us if the roles were reversed. Lanassa has grown into an honorable young woman with your and Aunt Laria's guidance." Gra'tak had his mother's bright red hair and penchant for biting humor. "Luckily, this little grint hound hasn't rubbed off on her that much," he laughed as he punched Max in the arm.

"I taught her everything she knows," Max boasted with a lighthearted puff of his chest.

"Save some that warrior's pride for your exams at the Academy, Cousin," Ro'vagh said. "You did this house great honor with your admission. Now, you must finish the job by surviving to graduation."

"jIyaj," Max replied obediently. The two sons of Torlek grinned and grabbed their little cousin's shoulders. It didn't matter to them that Max was human. He was their blood. He was family.

"May I speak to Max alone for a few moments?" Tigranian asked.

"Of course, Uncle," Ro'vagh and Gra'tak said excusing themselves. When they were out of earshot, Tigranian turned to his godson.

"Are you sure you can do this?" he asked seriously. He briefly turned to make sure Laria couldn't hear him either. "Lanassa may not survive this. Could you live with yourself if the worst happens?"

"Uncle," Max said turning equally serious, "Lanassa stood in this same room to support me when I ascended. I must help her take her own steps. If she does die, I would rather it be at my hands than a stranger's."

Tigranian reached out and placed a hand on Max's arm,

"You have never ceased to make me proud, My Godson," he said handing Max a painstick: the ceremonial staff that would soon test Lanassa to her limits.

Suddenly, the wooden doors at the back of the room parted. Everyone turned to gaze on the old warrior proudly standing there in his polished armor. The shining black orb of a Dahar Master hung from a chain of golden blades around his neck. His thick, silver mane cascaded down over his shoulders and back. The room instantly fell silent and bowed deeply toward the patriarch of their house.

"Prepare yourselves," Lord Torlek said as he stepped inside the chapel. "The candidate is on her way." He shut the doors behind him and then silently took his place next to the burning brazier.

Tigranian signaled to the other warriors to take their positions on the platforms. The eight men stood in two rows of four facing each other across the gauntlet. The four bannermen were first, followed by Ro'vagh and Gra'tak, and then finally Max and Tigranian. Each had a painstick at the ready across their chests. Laria took Rellas to stand with her off to the side.

Finally, three loud knocks echoed across the chapel.

"ENTER!" Lord Torlek's voice boomed.

The wooden doors parted again to reveal Lanassa, Daughter of Tigranian. She had pulled her long hair back in a Klingon braid. She marched forward towards Lord Torlek as Lady Elessa and Amira Lanassa, her godmothers, followed in lock-step a few paces behind. Young Lanassa stopped directly in front of Lord Torlek and the burning brazier. She bowed deeply at the waist and then saluted the leader of her house with a fist over her heart. Torlek saluted back before asking:

"Who presents this candidate for the Rite of Ascension?"

"WE, HER GODMOTHERS," Lady Elessa and Big Lanassa said proudly in unison.

"Do you both swear that she will perform her duties as a warrior with the highest moral character?" Torlek asked.

"We swear…"

"Do you both swear that she possesses the strength to remain loyal to this House from now until the moment of her death?"

"We swear…"

"And do you both swear that her honor is above reproach, and that she will serve the Klingon Empire with highest degree of discipline and courage?"

"We swear…"

Torlek nodded.

"Then, Lanassa, Daughter of Tigranian, step forward," he said. As the younger Lanassa took another step towards Lord Torlek and the brazier, her grandmother and Lady Elessa stepped off to the side to join Laria and Rellas.

"Lanassa," Torlek continued as he reached forward and grabbed the left sleeve of her tunic. "Now, as all generations have done before you, you will walk through hell to prove your worth." He ripped the fabric of her sleeve away like it was made of tissue paper. "But you will not be alone." Torlek grabbed a metal handle sticking out from the brazier and lifted out a hot brand. The symbol of the House of Torlek, two downward facing talons, burned bright orange in the dim light of the chapel. The young warrior's eyes grew wide when she saw it. "Kahless, the Unforgettable and the strength of this family go with you. Qapla'." Torlek thrust the brand forward into Lanassa's bare bicep. She gritted her teeth as the searing hot metal roasted her. The sound of sizzling skin and the smell of burning flesh filled the room. Young Rellas grabbed his mother tightly as he watched his older sister's face fill with pain. Laria squeezed him back supportively as her eyes drifted down to her own brand. She had worn it with pride for almost twenty years.

Torlek pulled the iron away. Young Lanassa looked down to see the two bloody talons permanently scarred into her arm. The patriarch gave the young woman a few seconds to admire his handiwork. Then, his voice boomed again.

"Take your position," Torlek ordered. Lanassa tried to ignore the burning pain in her arm as she walked to the other side of the chamber. She came to a stop between the two phalanxes of warriors. The men towered over her. All of them were ready to send her on the first steps of a journey that would consume the rest of her life.

The Daughter of Tigranian made eye contact with each of the warriors gripping their painsticks before she finally found the face of her father. He gazed at her with pride as he betrayed the smallest hint of a smile. Lord Torlek marched to the end of the gauntlet opposite Lanassa. His eyes burned into her hers with the same fiery intensity of the brand he just bestowed. Lanassa took one final deep breath before throwing her shoulders back.

"I am ready," she said as her voice went cold as polished baakonite.

"En'chA!" Torlek commanded. Blood dripped from the open wounds on Lanassa's arm as the familiar Klingon scripture roared from her mouth.

"DaHjaj SuvwIe' jIH!tIqwIj Sa'angnIS.'IwbIQtIqDaq jIjaH!" she thundered. "Today, I am a warrior! I must show you my heart. I travel the River of Blood!"

Lanassa stepped forward. The first pair of bannermen thrust their painsticks into her torso. The pain was immediate and all-consuming. It was the worst agony she had ever felt in her fifteen years of life. It was as if her insides had been lit on fire while every bone in her body shattered at the same time. The tsunami of pain dissipated as soon as the warriors pulled back their instruments of torture. Lanassa's legs went limp and she collapsed to the floor. She stopped herself with her right arm just moments from crashing face-first into the stones. She gasped for air as she tried to fight her panic back into check.

"Get up!" her mind screamed to her body. "Get up and keep going!"

Lanassa kicked her legs into the ground and pushed herself back to her feet. With all her will, she forced both her feet forward.

"The battle is mine!" she cried out in tlhIngan Hol. "I crave only the blood of the enemy!"

The pain came roaring back. It was far worse the second time. When the next set of bannermen pulled back, she collapsed again. Lanassa had the sensation of drowning as her seared lungs desperately struggled for oxygen. Suddenly, her lips felt wet. She reached up and realized that blood was pouring from her nose and mouth. The powerful electrical shocks of the painsticks had burst all the capillaries in her head. She was literally being cooked from the inside out. The brutal realization filled the pit of her stomach with new terror. She suddenly realized that she may not survive this trial.

"Just move, just keep moving!" her mind screamed. "If you die, die pushing forward!"

She looked up and saw the eyes of Torlek glaring down at her. His face was stoic and cold. There was no encouragement, no cheering her on. This was her spiritual test. He was simply observing her performance.

Lanassa threw her right arm up, grabbed the edge of the nearest platform, and pulled with all her might. She fought back the stale bile rapidly rising in her throat and somehow found herself standing again. Her brain didn't know how it was possible, but she stepped forward until she was between Ro'vagh and Gra'tak. The two brothers apprehensively looked at each other, both questioning if they should strike. However, the two Sons of Torlek knew their duty. They had no choice. They thrust their painsticks forward, pinning Lanassa between them. She shrieked in agony until they released her. She fell to the ground again.

The elder Lanassa cried out from the gallery and tried to run forward, but a firm hand held her back. It was Laria's. Though her eyes cried out in silent sorrow for her daughter's misery, she still prevented anyone from stopping the rite.

"What are you doing!?" the elder Lanassa pleaded. "You see she can't go on!"

"We can't interfere," Lady Elessa said pulling her fellow godmother back. "Laria understands the consequences if we do."

"Consequences? What consequences?" the elderly Bajoran asked both women.

"If anyone touches Lanassa before she completes the walk," Elessa explained, "she will be considered a failure."

"Who cares if she fails at this point? The girl is so close to death, she can see the Holy Prophets in their Celestial Temple!"

"Lanassa would care," Laria said forcefully to her own mother. "I know she would never want to live with the shame. If she asks Daniel for Mauk-to'Vor, he would have no choice but to grant it."

"Daniel could never kill his own daughter!" Lanassa replied totally aghast. Rellas grabbed his mother's hand again. Laria did her best to comfort him while also standing her ground.

"Both of you remain calm," Elessa chastised. "It won't come to that. She has your blood in her veins, and she is a woman of the House of Torlek. Lanassa is strong, and she will survive this."

Lord Torlek ignored the commotion as he continued to observe the candidate. On the floor between the platforms, the younger Lanassa's head spun in circles on the edge of unconsciousness. Her body randomly convulsed with the aftershocks from six separate painstick strikes.

"Am I dead yet?" she asked herself not knowing the answer. Blood and tears mixed together and turned her face into a grotesque picture of horror. Lanassa searched the platforms above trying to find the face of her father, but her clouded vision caused the dark silhouettes to blend together into a confusing mix of broken forms and blurry shadows. Suddenly, she heard a voice calling to her.

"Lanassa, Daughter of Tigranian," it spoke out clearly and calmly. "Lanassa, look at me." She fought hard to bring her eyes back into focus. Lord Torlek knelt down only a meter away from her face. He was careful not to touch any part of her body. "I have watched you grow from a precocious young child into a formidable young woman. I am proud to consider you a member of my family, but now is a time for action, not sentiment. Words and intentions may be enough for lesser races, but we are Klingons. Our deeds define us. Now, you can either lie there and be forgotten…or you can rise and be counted as an equal. The choice is yours."

Silence filled the chamber for a few, tense moments. Then, the entire room gasped as Lanassa reached up with both hands, grabbed the sides of the platforms, and hoisted her body up without any assistance. Her blood-stained visage stared right back into Torlek's as she shouted with every ounce of strength left in her broken body:

"THE BILE OF THE VANQUISHED FLOWS OVER MY HANDS!"

Tigranian and Max were the final challenge. Tigranian looked down at the mangled form of his beloved child: his little girl. Her entire life flashed in front of his eyes: her birth, her first steps, her first words, precious moments that were more valuable to him than anything else in the galaxy. He would die for her without a second thought. Now, there was a real possibility that he would be the one to kill her. For a split second, he wondered if he could strike. Max hesitated, looking to his godfather for guidance. It was then Tigranian understood that if he failed now, he would be betraying everything that Lanassa had worked for so long to achieve. He would be shattering her honor and glory for the sake of his own fear. He couldn't do that. He loved her too much to be a coward when Lanassa needed his faith in her.

"I love you, Daddy…" her voice from earlier echoed in Tigranian's ears. He nodded to Max and the men pushed their painsticks forward.

"AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Lanassa shrieked before falling face down at the feet of Lord Torlek. She lay motionless for a few moments as everyone rushed forward. Tigranian leapt down from the platform, but Torlek stopped him before he could lift his daughter into his arms.

"NO! Everyone, stay back," the lord commanded. As everyone looked back at Torlek in desperate confusion, he answered their silent pleas. "If you help her, she'll always doubt that she was strong enough to stand on her own…"

A gasp suddenly escaped Lanassa's lungs. Slowly, she forced her arms underneath her trunk and pushed upward. Then, agonizing centimeter by agonizing centimeter, she climbed to her feet. Her shredded tunic was covered in blood. The brand on her arm was still oozing puss. Lanassa's face, neck, and shoulders were all doused with fresh crimson gore.

"You look like something Fek'lhr just picked out from between his hooves," Torlek laughed as a grin crossed his wrinkled face. "Do you still live, Daughter of Tigranian?"

"I still live…" Lanassa said forcing the words out of her scorched chest.

"Then the House of Torlek welcomes its newest warrior," he said reaching out his hand. Lanassa smiled victoriously as she reached out and grabbed his leather-gauntleted wrist.

"Qapla'…" the pair said to each other. The room burst into cheers.

One at a time, the audience congratulated Lanassa on her tremendous feat. Everyone was careful not to hug her too hard for fear of causing more damage: her little brother, her godparents, cousins, and then her mother.

"Thank the Prophets you only have to do that once," Laria said fighting back tears of joy.

"There's always my ten-year anniversary, Mom," Lanassa said with a laugh. Laria groaned. Finally, Lanassa, Daughter of Tigranian, turned to face her father.

"You're all grown up," he said choking back his emotions. "I am so proud of you…Warrior," he said wrapping his arms around his daughter.

"I love you, Daddy…" she whispered into his ear, "…and I always will."