8

The air thrummed, and Troi felt dizzy from the excitement of the crowd. Hundreds of people were pressed into Isszon Temple, their voices low, but there was a constant murmur in the back of her head. The Enterprise officers had managed to slip into seats to the right of the stage. Her mother had offered her a place in the Fifth House’s balcony, but she wanted to sit with the guests.

“Will there be more dancing?” Worf asked, his voice jolting her out of her reverie.

“What?” Troi laughed. “Oh, Lieutenant, there’s an entire pageant involved.”

Worf nodded an acknowledgment as the lights dimmed throughout the temple, bringing everyone’s voices to a soft hush. A single circle of light appeared on the stage, illuminating the softly billowing curtains.

“Five thousand years ago,” a melodic female voice rang out through the temple, “in late antiquity, a lyre player, a taitath dancer, a poet, a sculptor, and a ship’s captain met at a crossroads—”

Troi sank into her chair. When her mother told her about the pageant preceding the unveiling, she’d failed to mention that they were starting with the story of the founding of the five Houses. This was going to last all night.

She tried not to think about the captain, having to sit through all this onstage. At least the High Guests were tucked away behind the curtains.

“They made a pact,” the voice continued as the circle of light widened to show five actors, each representing one of the five Houses. The story continued in a slow, graceful pantomime. Mother had told it to her when she was a girl and it came back to her in pieces. The journey through the haunted forest, the great battle at Mount Alain, the masquerade ball where the five founders met again many years later.

She could feel Worf shifting beside her. “I do not understand what this has to do with the three treasures,” he whispered.

“Just wait,” Troi said.

Eventually, the Houses were founded, which was marked by a burst of music, a flood of stage lights, and the reveal of the guests, all lined up beside their corresponding founder. The audience politely applauded.

“And from the first of these Houses,” the narrator said, her voice swelling through the temple, “a hero was born: Xiomara, daughter of the First House, She Who Lost the Way, Keeper of the Three Treasures!”

This brought a louder round of applause.

“Finally,” Worf mumbled.

Troi smothered a laugh. “I wouldn’t be so sure.” She glanced at him sideways and found him looking back at her, affection radiating off him.

The stage light changed, turning softer and murkier, and an actress dressed in a green gown and towering headdress, the traditional depiction of Xiomara, stepped out. “All the thoughts have gone silent!” she cried. “The First House is in grave danger!”

The pageant continued, moving through the story. Xiomara, her lost telepathic ability, the impending threat of the invaders from the stars, the Daor, the group making their way to the mountains where the First House was founded. The actress playing Xiomara flung herself about the stage in delight, weaving around the guests as they stood stiffly in their costumes, blending into the backdrop of the stage. Eventually, she fetched glittering reproductions of the three treasures, each House leader stepping forward and hoisting it above their head as they recited lines from the Xiomaran epic.

“Too much dancing,” Worf said.

“It’s not like you have to be up there.”

He studied the captain.

“Xiomara defeated the Daor invaders with three everyday objects,” the narrator said as the actress dodged holographic Daor and swung the oversized Enshrined Disk at their bulbous heads. Eventually, the Daor flickered away, leaving a victorious Xiomara surrounded by the replicas of the three treasures.

The actress took a deep bow as the crowd erupted into cheers and tossed flowers filled the air. Blossoms showered down around her onstage, drifting like snow. Many of the older Betazoids in the crowd stood and sang out the final lines of the Xiomaran epic, the melody flooding through the temple.

“We still have not seen anything,” Worf grumbled. “No Klingon would take so long to get to the point.”

“Betazoids are all about the journey,” Troi told him, even though she agreed. She caught the raw’bah flower she had tossed up lightly—she’d rather take it back to the Enterprise than fling it at the stage.

The actress playing Xiomara stepped forward, and a circle of light surrounded her, blacking out the rest of the stage. The audience quieted and she began to speak, her voice clear and bright.

“On that day,” the actress said, “Xiomara turned down the marriage proposal of Anton Rus’xi of the Fourth House. As a gift of lament, she gave him the urn she used to capture the Daor captain.”

A rather nervous-looking Benzite in the Early Restoration robes of Create stepped into the light and accepted the prop urn. The light was bright and Troi was close enough to see the trembling tendrils above his breathing apparatus.

“Xiomara accepted the marriage proposal of Rohana Ahmo of the Third House, on the condition that she would leave her home and accompany Xiomara on all of her adventures across Betazed. As a dowry, she gave to Rohana’s parents the disk she used to behead a Daor warrior in ritual battle, preventing further slaughter on both sides.”

A human woman in the same Early Restoration robes stepped forward. She had the air of a holodeck star and she shot a bright smile out to the crowd as she accepted the prop disk.

“As for the spoon Xiomara used to dismantle the Daor’s communications, those she left with her nephew, Harshod of the First House, who took on the mantle of House leader in her absence.”

The actress handed off an oversized prop spoon to a Vulcan in a floor-length green tunic.

“For the next five thousand years,” the actress said, her voice soaring, “these three treasures were kept in the Houses. Never brought together as they were in the Battle of Cataria.”

The actress paused and Troi sensed the anticipation of every single audience member. She felt the prickle of the hairs on her arm, a strange and unfamiliar surge of Betazoid pride.

“Until tonight,” the actress said, to a hushed and reverent room.

She stepped back as the light widened and the layers of fluttering curtains dropped away, one by one. Troi leaned forward on her seat, her heart thudding. She could just make out the outline of the display case behind a shimmery gold curtain.

“For the first time in five hundred years,” the actress said, grabbing hold of that final curtain, “the Keepers of these artifacts have brought them out of their ancestral homes to Isszon Temple.” Her smile widened, she sent out her thoughts, and there was that strange reverberating effect of mind and tongue.

“Tonight, we bring together the Hallowed Urn of Rus’xi.”

Murmurs of excitement rose up from the crowd.

“The Enshrined Disk of the Third House.”

Someone up on the balcony let out a gasp of delight.

“The Sacred Silver of Xiomara!”

The actress yanked down the curtain. For a moment all Troi could see was flowing, rippling gold. The fabric drifted down to the stage, revealing the display case, glowing faintly behind its force field.

Empty.

At first, Troi couldn’t register what she was seeing.

She felt the first swell of confusion. Of panic. Of anger.

The actress felt it too. Her smile became manic, plastered on. She seemed terrified to turn to the display case and confirm what the audience was telling her.

Baffled Betazoid voices rose up in Troi’s head, followed a heartbeat later by physical voices, shrieks and wails of despair. People surged toward the stage and the actress raced off into the wings, leaving the High Guests still standing in their formations, confused.

“Please remain calm.” A different voice boomed out through the temple. “Stay in your seats. We are locking down Isszon Temple. Repeat, we are locking down Isszon Temple.”

A Betazoid woman in traditional dress barreled onstage, flinging herself toward the display case. “Where is it!” she shrieked. “You promised it would be secure!”

Worf was up on his feet, his hand at his hip—but of course he didn’t have his phaser. Only Betazed Security were allowed to have weapons in the temple. “I have to get to the captain.”

“Wait!” Troi cried as he pushed his way toward the aisle. She tried to follow him but was blocked in by the crowd.

“Remain in your seats,” the voice boomed out again. “Isszon Temple is now locked down. No one is allowed in or out.”

Betazed Security officers came spilling into the temple, corralling the audience back to their seats. Troi looked onstage, where the guests were being cleared off and the display case was now ringed with high-ranking security officers in white-and-gray uniforms.

She took a deep, shuddery breath and braced herself against her chair. The voices swirling around inside her head were almost too much, but she squeezed her eyes shut and reached out with every ounce of strength she could muster.

Mother? she called out. Mother, what the hell is going on?!