Raised to Kill

“Allara,” her aunt began. “You must listen—”

“No, you listen!” Allara insisted. “Please, Father…Aunt—who will know the difference if I don’t complete my mission?”

“Everyone, now that your husband has contacted us through the major channels!” her father shouted. “Do you not know, stupid girl, that all forms of outside contact are monitored by the authorities?”

“N-no,” Allara stammered in a small voice. “I did not know that, Father.”

“Stupid girl! Idiot!” her father raged. “You must complete your mission—you must!”

Suddenly, something seemed to snap inside Allara. Maybe it was being shouted at again after spending three whole weeks with no one yelling at her or heaping abuse on her head or reminding her of her duty. Or maybe it was just that a part of her was ready to break free—had been ready for a long time—and at last it did.

“No,” she said coldly. “This Blood Feud is old—three and thirty generations old. Why should I kill the man I love and lose my own life too, just to satisfy it? I do not care what you say, Father—my life and Brand’s life are worth more to me than a feud that was probably just a misunderstanding in the first place.”

“And is your life worth more than our family honor?” her aunt demanded. “More than your father’s status as the Head of the Seven Great Houses? Think what will happen to us, Allara—we shall be cast down and forced to live in a hovel while all our peers in the other Great Houses snub us!”

“At least you will be alive,” Allara pointed out. “Whereas, if I complete the mission you raised me for, I will be dead. I do not think it is right for me to trade my life away just so you two can enjoy a higher status.” She lifted her chin. “Brand has taught me that my life is worth something—I am valuable to him—he loves me. Not for what I can do for him or his status but just because I am me.”

Her father shook his head in disgust.

“To think it has come to this.” He looked at her aunt. “I can do no more. You trained her—do what you must.”

“Our status will be lowered if the oath must be invoked,” her aunt said to him.

“That cannot be helped. The little fool fancies herself in love,” her father growled. He pointed at her aunt. “Do what must be done. The mission must be completed.”

Then he left the viewscreen, an angry scowl still on his face.

Allara’s aunt watched him go and then turned back to her.

“Listen to me, Allara,” she said. “You will complete your mission. Do you not remember that you took the Unbreakable Oath when you were twelve cycles old?”

“I was so young then—only a child!” Allara protested. “It is not fair to hold me to a promise I made when I didn’t even know what I was promising. I will not kill the man I love and lose my own life just so you and Father can keep your status!”

“You will do as you are told,” her aunt said coldly. “Do you really think you can get out of fulfilling your mission? Why do you think the Unbreakable Oath is called ‘Unbreakable?’”

“You cannot make me do anything,” Allara snapped. “You are far away and I am free now—my Song is my own! I will go back to the Mother Ship and live a happy life with Brand and bear him many children and play all the instruments I want to and let my Song mingle with my husband’s forever!”

“You will certainly go back to the Kindred’s Mother Ship,” her aunt said. “But when you get there, you will thrust your skora deep in the evil one’s heart at the first opportunity you get!”

“Never!” Allara started to get up. “I will not hear this anymore. And I never want to see you or Father again! I—”

Her aunt leaned forward so that her pinched and angry face filled the viewscreen.

“Allara,” she said, “TRAB!”

At the sound of that word, Allara was suddenly no longer in a shuttle bound for the Mother Ship. Instead, she found herself in the Song House of the Seven Great Houses, surrounded on all sides by the Song Leaders in their hooded black robes. Their voices rose and fell, echoing and re-echoing from the grey stone walls and high arching ceiling.

“By the Oath Unbreakable we bind thee

For its power, stern and strong, will find thee

Your mission is to kill

Your task you must fulfill

Never shall your Song be free.

By the Oath Unbreakable we bind thee

For its power, stern and strong, will find thee

Your skora, it must stab

When this word you hear—TRAB!

Never shall your Song be free.”

In that moment, Allara was twelve again—shivered and frightened—stripped naked before the Song Leaders as she tried desperately to cover herself.

Clouds of sacred herb smoke drifted down from the lamps hanging from the vaulted ceiling and the droplets of blood the Song Leaders flicked on her bare skin with their long fingers were horribly cold and slimy.