The Tinsha Monastery was high in the peaks of the Llangon Mountains, and even in the modern era the sand was still tinged green from the centuries of civil war that had ravaged the planet. The followers of Hakhir had traveled there to build a new sanctuary after hearing the words of Surak and withdrawing from the bloody conflict.
Before the Time of Awakening, their ancestors were the Kolinahru, a faction from Gol known for their psionic abilities. Their powers should shatter bones, melt brains, and crush organs with a mere thought. It is said that when they heard the words of Surak, and withdrew from the fighting, the warlords were deprived of their greatest weapons and peace was at last inevitable.
For hundreds of years, the Hakihr turned their powers inward. They rejected the simple aesthetic of their spiritual cousins in the cities and painted their skin with shi’ar flower[1], grew their hair long, and wore beads and braces etched with the words of their prophets. The study of blood types, fingerprints, and eye color evolved into a center for the study of Biometrics, and included an infirmary, an orphanage, and eventually shuttlecraft platforms.
The rocks grew worn and old with use, and the sheltered threshold became known as a place to leave unwanted children, so nobody was surprised when a little girl appeared on the stone steps one chilly morning. The rains were late that year, and it was a rare morning fresh with water. Hence the name that invoked the title of an ancient sea god.
The Mother Superior had adopted T’Nedara into the temple, like she had so many others, and like the others she was a foundling with an unknown ancestry. She proved to be a more than competent student, and it made her stand out in her early years. The Mother Superior had other charges, but she grew close to this one, and became her mother as well as her mentor.
The Temple kept the old ways, but she could feel they were starting to question its purpose. The Old Gods were a novelty on Vulcan now, diminished into quiet and harmless effigies by the legacy of Surak. The temple was evolving from its roots into a center of study in Biometrics. Perhaps their future was in science, as opposed to the spiritual, but the loss of the old rituals saddened her.
The Mother Superior had hope for T’Nedara as someone who could carry the temple’s future. Thanks to her residence as a monk, her status as an orphan without a family name or lineage, and her eventual graduation to a Priest, she was spared the tradition of Koon’ul.[2]
Ironically, this led to another problem.
The Captain of the Guard, a male named Serik and the son of one of the Temple’s benefactors, decided he wanted a second wife and asked for T’Nedara. She wasn’t promised to anyone, and his mother’s donations had secured him his title as Captain, why should it not secure him another mate?
The Mother Superior didn’t like the idea, but she did not feel like she was in a position to argue nor speak for her ward. She would be a secondary consort as opposed to a principal wife, thus she could stay in the temple and retain her current position, but due to the marriage bond she would never be able to ascend to the position of Mother Superior.
What reason did she have to refuse that was not based on personal sentiment or reckless ambition?
T’Nedara’s usually calm and statuesque demeanor showed a visible tremble when Serik made his claim. Her favorite student understood these nuances and initially agreed as protocol demanded, as it was a logical union that would allow her to keep their wealthiest patron happy.
She didn’t exactly refuse, but was careful not to return in kind.
“Your proposal is logical and would honor the temple.” She declared. “But the ancient laws compel me to warn you, there may be a challenger.”
The Mother Superior suspected as much. She had seen T’Nedara and one of the new guards, standing close together in the shelter of the stone arches. They spoke to each other in hushed tones and even held hands[3] when they thought nobody was looking.
“Then the proposal is accepted,” the Mother Superior declared, facing Serik and his mother, “but T’Nedara has the right to call the Kal If Fe.”
She turned to her favored acolyte, and spoke as much as a mother as a spiritual leader. “The choice is yours. If he will stand, then let your Champion reveal himself.”
T’Nedara returned to her only hours later. Her cheeks were a warm, dark green, and she had news from the infirmary.
Pon Faar, they said, after examining one of the guards, a male named Selek.
He was at a point in life where he would have been familiar with techniques to control the Vulcan mating urge, but this time it had been triggered by an external force and had arrived earlier than expected.
Every seven years, the Vulcan male is compelled to return to where he was born and breed if possible. Although ancient Vulcans were slaves to their impulses, modern times have a variety of viable treatments should travel or mating not be an option, including meditative techniques and medication.
It happens to both sexes, but for Vulcan males, it can be a death sentence if not properly treated.
When the Mother Superior saw Selek, he was kneeling in a state of deep meditation. His fingers were laced in front of his face, and his breath coming in shallow, raspy whispers.
She spoke some quiet words over him. His hands fell to his knees, and she placed her fingers on the pressure points on his temples and jaw. Despite her strict Vulcan facade, she couldn’t hide how impressed she was by the pain coursing through him. He must have been highly disciplined to keep his silence.
“Selek, you feel the pain of Pon Faar,” She said, with calm authority, “this is the Vulcan heart. This is the Vulcan soul. Prepare yourself.”
She removed her hand. Selek’s head fell. He descended into the Plak-tau, and would not speak again until the moment T’Nedara stepped forward and named him as her Champion.
The Mother Superior made both Serik and T’Urel aware of the situation and warned them accordingly.
“She will call the Kal If Fe,” The Mother Superior spoke to the Matron. “Your son already has a wife. He stands between the rage of Pon Faar and its chosen mate. I beg you, withdraw your claim on T’Nedara.”
Serik was arrogant, and he and his mother refused, assuming that Selek’s fighting skills were just for show.
When the challenge began, Selek was kneeling in the shadows by the jade stone, the tips of his fingers trembling. His hands were extended in front of his face, the fingers laced together as he chanted a mantra against the pain.
In this case, Serik was considered the fiancé and Selek his challenger. T’Nedara stepped forward at the appointed moment to call forth her champion, and Selek did not move until she stood before the gong and said his name.
There was a sparring ring in the temple used for training and teaching, and the Mother Superior quickly saw to it that it was prepared for a formal ceremony. It was the logical course of action, but she had her own personal reasons. If her dearest ward was to have her fate determined by the rite Kal If Fe, not a single banner or blade could be out of place.
A variety of weapons lined the sparring circle. Both chose the lirpa. If a fighter managed to dodge the fan-shaped blade at one end, they were in danger of being crushed by the bulbous sphere on the other.
Serik was not completely inept, but his fighting skills had not been tested. He had learned more about ceremony than actual fighting. He made some deadly hits, but was no match against Selek.
The challenger had a definite advantage. The influence of Pon Faar was a buffer against pain and injury, but it was more than biology that drove him.
T’Nedara stood as close to the fighting ring as protocol dared, and by the time it was over, her robes were spotted with the blood of both challengers. It was not until Serik lay dead that Selek finally collapsed. His wounds were not mortal, but serious enough to render him senseless.
In all her long years, the Mother Superior had never seen such a savage and decisive Kal If Fe. It gave her some hope that the old ways could survive, but it was a bittersweet joy. Her dearest ward was now a bride, and the future of the temple was uncertain.
Selek rose slowly from sleep like an air bubble rising through a layer of thickened blood. He sat up carefully. His whole body was sore. It felt like a herd of myrmidex[4] had galloped over him.
A coolness touched his shoulder. He was not wearing a sleeping robe[5], and the cold of the stone was sharp against his bare skin. T’Nedara was sitting on the edge of the infirmary bed, and she was pressing a pitcher of water against his arm. He nodded gratefully and took a deep drink. It was a relief to be himself again.
“Some of your cuts have opened,” She said. “Let’s go and fix them.”
It was very early morning and the Infirmary was quiet. Incense burned in the corners and the lights were dimmed. T’Nedara worked with her virtual needle, hot and sharp, and the light of a few small floating lanterns hovered over Selek’s back and shoulders.
“You’ll feel some pain again,” She touched the cut on his shoulder blade gently. “And you’ll be more sensitive for a few days. The pendulum has swung back.”
The madness of Pon Faar was similar to a rush of adrenaline in a human that would make them numb to pain or fear. Selek’s wounds weren’t too serious, but T’Nedara made a mental note that the condition could take its toll on the body and slow the healing process.
She drew herself upward, and the floating lights rose with her.
“Better,” she said and then exhaled deeply herself. She was also fatigued.
“We both require more sleep,” he murmured, and she nodded.
They quietly collected some clean sleeping robes and returned to their modest bower. Without a word, they removed the infirmary sheets that were smeared with Selek’s blood, and then fell back into the bed together.
It was a gentle, deep sleep that lasted well into the next morning, and would have been longer had they not been roused.
T’Urel barely even looked at her son’s remains. The Mother Superior’s words echoed in her ears as she contained her rage.
“He died well and will have a funeral with all the ancient rites. You should be proud.”
“I trust my last donation will be more than enough for a military funeral.”
“It will not,” the Mother Superior replied coldly, “and such formalities related to class are obsolete in Vulcan life. It’s illogical for you to assume your donation would pay for an expense unrelated to temple business.”
“It is perfectly logical to expect reparations…”
“From who?” The Mother Superior’s voice raised and hardened. “The mating rites are known to you. Money and social credit are not what makes the Vulcan blood burn. Should you ask T’Plana-Hath[6] herself, or demand it of the ancient gods?”
There was a heavy silence that hung in the dry air of the Mother Superior’s quarters.
“Who is this Selek?” T’Urel spat out the name with contempt.
The Mother Superior did not know how to answer. Selek’s father was Koss, a known intellectual, scholar, and researcher known for a prosperous architectural career, who generally stayed out of politics.
His mother, however, had caused some controversy early in her career as a subcommander on a starship, but not a Vulcan one. She had spent a few years babysitting Terrans on behalf of the Vulcan High Command, and there was some talk about her son’s true bloodline.
There was no time for an answer. T’Urel had turned and stormed from the room, her face frozen in anger as she stomped to the Infirmary.
“Neddy,” T’Krella was a novice in the temple, but T’Nedara had schooled and trained her, and the two had grown close.
T’Krella barely had the courage to creep to the side of the bed. She wasn’t only afraid of the angry lady outside but of the male lying next to her mentor and friend. T’Krella had been present at the Kal If Fe, and the memory of his terrifying face, twisted with rage and smeared with blood, was etched in her mind.
She peeked over the edge, trying to ignore the hulking mass on the dark side of the bed, and said her friend’s name again with more urgency.
T’Nedara opened her eyes and stared curiously at the little hands and eyes peering at her from behind the thin curtain.
“T’Urel is outside,” she heard a voice hiss, and then a figure darted back to the shadows.
There were voices outside. One that was rather loud and angry.
T’Nedara slipped out of bed and opened the hood of her robe. She had barely lifted it over her head before stepping outside to face her would-be-mother-in-law’s wrath.
“Honored Matron,” she spoke calmly and bowed.
“You speak well, for a mere orphan who has insulted my family and robbed me of a son,” was the angry reply.
“Matron, the protocols have been followed.” T’Nedara might have been clothed in little more than a simple sleeping robe, plain white and embroidered with black runes, but her voice had the ring of ancient authority. “Your emotional outburst has no place…”
“I will determine my place,” T’Urel turned and opened her mouth again to speak, but was abruptly halted when a tall figure appeared in her way. In her blind rage, she almost ran into him.
Selek glared at her. His eyes were on fire but no emotion showed in his face.
“My condolences on the loss of your son, Matron.” He bowed his head. “He fought well. We will honor him.”
T’Urel’s nostrils flared, and she pursed her lips together. There had been all kinds of phrases running through her head, a million sharp and biting quips, but she forgot all of them now.
“Congratulations,” she spat out the word like a curse and stomped off.
Selek wrote to his mother later that morning. He carefully reviewed the brief contents of the letter before closing it and affixing her name and title.
Dearest Ko’mekh[7];
I hope you are well. If you’ve already heard about the duel, then I apologize for not sending word first. I meant no disrespect and everything happened very quickly.
My mate is named T’Nedara, and she is a priest and monk of the temple. Her field is Biometrics and she is highly skilled.
I understand your work keeps you busy, but I would be honored by your visit. I would find comfort to introduce you to my mate.
Selek
Sub Commander T’Pol
Vulcan High Command
1 A plant similar to the henna of earth.
2 Arranged marriage in childhood. Vulcans are generally seven years old when betrothed to a future mate.
3 This is more like kissing than just “holding hands.” The fingers and hands are erogenous zones for Vulcans, so this is a gesture for lovers alone. It’s not something done with friends or acquaintances.
[4] A six-legged herd animal native to Vulcan.
[5] Vulcans have a variety of sleeping robes and gowns that often take the place of blankets, sheets, or other bed linens that humans would use.
[6] An ancient historical figure known as the Matron of Vulcan Philosophy.
[7] The Vulcan term for mother
Cristina in Oaxaca 