Keta frowned. They had been sealed off for months, but every time they drained the lake it risked discovery. “Ashok is certain the Protectors are still searching the region.”
“I defer to your wisdom, Keeper. It is dangerous, but we need a great many things that we simply lack the resources to make here ourselves. Tools, tack. The Sons have weapons in need of repair. Of the new arrivals we’ve got a smith, but no anvil, and we have a brewer with no—”
“Wait…We have a brewer? Of beer?”
“Yes, as well as other spirits that are popular in Akershan, but—”
“I didn’t know we had a brewer!” Keta was truly happy for the first time in days. Of course they had alcohol in the Cove, because if there was a plant that could be fermented, the casteless knew how to make a drink out of it. However, traveling across Lok pretending to be a man of status had spoiled Keta to such luxuries as drink that didn’t taste of dirty feet. “Take from the banknotes Thera liberated from the wizards and use whatever’s necessary to get that man any equipment he needs.”
“As you wish,” Javed said. “I’ve already made a list. It’ll take at least two of the wagons and five or six men, but there’s always merchant caravans moving across the Dharvan Bench this time of year, so they should be able to find what we need without showing their faces in any of the nearby cities.”
“Good idea.” He didn’t know what he would do without Javed. Keta himself was very skilled at organizing and record keeping—his meticulous running of a storehouse was the reason he’d been one of the rare casteless allowed to learn how to read, write, and do math—but with most of his attention being consumed seeing to the spiritual needs of their people, it was good to have someone else competent to manage the day to day things.
In fact, now that there were so many people in need of ministering Keta could barely keep up, he had been thinking that the time had come to expand their fledgling order. Their priesthood didn’t really have an organization—if a real hierarchy existed the Voice had not seen fit to reveal it yet—but Keta intended to offer Javed some sort of priestly title to make his status official. Surely the gods knew the man was worthy of it.
“I will prepare an expedition then. Don’t worry. I’ll choose someone clever to be in charge, with at least one or two of them worker caste so they can purchase things without being suspicious.”
“Excellent. If there’s nothing else pressing, I need to prepare tonight’s sermon.” Coming up with an entire religion worth of doctrine was rather a lot of work. Ratul had only told Keta a few of the old stories in the time they’d had together, and what the faithful had handed down in secret through the ages was often conflicting or downright odd. With hundreds of new faithful, he’d spent a great many hours updating the names and family lines in the genealogy, but there was nothing in Ratul’s old demon-hide-bound book that answered Keta’s deepest questions.
“Will it be about life after death again?” Javed asked.
“That’s the topic which gives them the most hope. The ancients obviously believed it, but the Voice has said very little about the specifics. Our bodies are just meat, but while the Law says the spark dies with it, I say the spark lives on. Where does the life go? Some of the faithful think we go to a paradise to dwell with the gods in luxury, others think that life goes into a baby, and you live another life, over and over, until you get it all right.”
“Absurd.” Javed snorted.
“Javed!” It was a rare display of disrespect from his assistant. “Followers of the Forgotten can’t insult other faithful’s beliefs! This leads to division!”
“Forgive me, Keeper. As I told you, many in the caravans believed in the old ways, but my mother never spoke of such things as being born over and over. That makes no sense. Babies are very dumb. For this to be true, babies would be clever. I mean no disrespect to our brothers and sisters who believe such tripe, but I find the idea silly.”
Keta would never be so quick to dismiss any of the faithful’s traditions. A few years ago he hadn’t even heard of Ramrowan, and yet he had inherited his priesthood’s highest office. “We won’t know for sure until the Voice tells us. In the meantime, regardless of which theory is right, telling the people that they’ve been lied to about the great nothing after death, when there is actually a great something, is an incredible motivator.”
“Of course, Keeper.”
Keta stopped by the statues when he saw that one of his people had placed a new token next to the old ones. It was a little metal hook to symbolize when the gods had brought Ashok back to life. “A powerful idea indeed.”
“Truly the Forgotten is merciful,” Javed agreed. “Have you tried asking about the specifics?”
“Ah…” Keta shrugged. In truth, he had been avoiding Thera lately. “The gods speak when they want to be heard. You can’t rush them.”
“Do you mean the Voice, or the prophet who contains it?”
Keta didn’t rightly know, but he doubted he’d have much luck pushing either. Receiving the ancient healing knowledge had left her weak and exhausted for days, but Thera appeared rested now. After so much turmoil, she even seemed content. Keta didn’t want to ruin that for her. Let her be happy…as she shared her bed with another.
That thought made Keta scowl at the hook. “The prophet will do what she wants, as she always does.”
“Of course.” Javed tilted his head toward the chapel’s entrance. “We have a visitor.”
The tall, lean shadow darkening their doorway was unmistakably that of Ashok Vadal, a rare sight in the church, for Ashok was probably the least faithful person in the Cove. It was odd. Keta was devout in all his doings but too timid to act because he was worried the gods wouldn’t approve, while Ashok paid the gods no heed at all, and they granted him power over death itself.
“Ah, Ashok. What brings you to the church this fine morning?”
“We must speak of your defenses.” Ashok walked in, saw the line of statues, and scowled. Though he was unquestionably dedicated to Thera, it was obvious that the sight of so many illegal artifacts still caused a reflexive revulsion in the former Protector.
“What about our defenses?”
“They are inadequate.” Ashok resisted the urge to stomp on the trinkets and turned back to Keta. “It is only a matter of time until the Law finds this place.”
“The gods have kept us hidden from their eyes so far.”
“A vast country, a sparse population, and luck have done that more than your gods. The lake covers your entrance, but we have no roof to hide beneath. There are wizards who can turn into hawks to ride high on the mountain winds.”
“I thought Inquisitors shape-shifting into birds, snakes, and cats was a story mothers told their children to make them afraid of the Capitol,” Javed said.
Ashok shook his head. “The power is real. I’m surprised one of them hasn’t flown over this crater yet. There is no way to conceal all of our activity forever, so we must decide what to do when they find us.”
“Everyone here is willing to fight, plus we have your fearsome Sons of the Black Sword now,” Keta said.
“The Sons are good,” Ashok allowed.
“One might even say miraculously good,” Keta suggested.
“Jagdish taught them well, and they fight with remarkable skill and dedication, but they are few in number. When the Capitol discovers this place they will send an overwhelming force to crush us. I have some ideas to improve our defenses, but I believe they will still be insufficient to resist an actual siege.”
“The gods led us here for a reason.”
“Ratul led you here because it was convenient.”
Ashok’s lack of respect for his old master annoyed Keta. “Have you asked the Voice? You’re with her every night after all.” Keta didn’t know why he added that last part in a snide tone. It just slipped out. He immediately regretted it.
Javed must have caught the jealously in Keta’s voice, and gave the Keeper a curious look, but Ashok
didn’t seem to notice at all.
“I have not asked Thera. I do not put as much stock into the enigmatic riddles the Voice dispenses as you do. I have come because you once proclaimed there was a prophecy that when the time came the gods would provide us with weapons that could defeat even the forces of the Law. I believe that time will be upon us soon. Was that an idle boast, or do you actually have a plan?”
He knew Ashok intended no offense, but that didn’t change the sting. It was as if he was saying Keta had done nothing here, and this marvelous society outside the Law had just sprung into existence all by itself.
“The gods don’t make idle boasts, Ashok. You should know that by now. They’ve already begun providing weapons to ensure our freedom, and I’m sure there will be more to come. Let’s go right now. I’ll show you.”
He had never spoken of this secret to anyone else, but it was time. Keta walked out of the church. Curious, Ashok followed. As did Javed. Good. Let them all see that he had not spent his time idle. He had been hard at work long before any of them had ever become involved in the gods’ great work.
“Javed, would you kindly get a few men with shovels? And Ashok, you will want your war leaders to see this.”
They set out upon the single road that wound down the crater. To their right were the buildings carved by the ancients, imposing and mysterious, while toward their left was the pit. To step off here would mean a steep drop to the next terrace down, or if you got enough of a running start, perhaps all the way to the hot lake at the bottom.
Keta didn’t know much about construction, but enough to know that this place was truly remarkable. If it wasn’t for the dam and reservoir above them, and the drainage tunnels to divert the overflow, most of the crater would be filled with water. It was truly a miracle the valves still worked. He had seen the legendary architecture of Vadal City. The buildings in the Cove, even though rather plain and square in comparison to the ornate carved facades of the Vadal, were every bit as big, and probably far sturdier. The same road circled the interior all the way down, thirteen levels, and somehow maintained a nearly continuous gentle grade. The road’s surface was made of layer upon layer of gravel and tar. Both materials had probably come from the interior of the crater, since there were dig pits along the interior, and an oil seep that had turned the lowest terrace into a marshy bog.
The Cove was truly a blessed place, with seemingly endless resources. The ancient dam fed them clean water, the slopes had plenty of trees to cut, and they could even get oil for their lanterns below. Even during the bitter winter, the lake at the bottom remained steaming hot. Warm air rose up the pit and kept the place temperate. Even with the new arrivals the place wasn’t even close to crowded. The casteless still liked to sleep piled up in the same room because it was what they were used to, but they could spread out and live like the first caste, everyone in their own quarters if they felt like it. There were hundreds of rooms, and still more being discovered all the time.
The thing they’d not found yet was another way out. There was the main drainage tunnel, and that was all. Perhaps someone like Ashok could scale the rocks above, or a wizard could fly out, but for the rest, if the Cove was besieged, there would be no escape. Ratul, recognizing that weakness, had prepared a way for the faithful to defend themselves. Keta had found the instructions the previous Keeper had left behind, but had not tried to use them yet. Ratul had been very specific that they should not reveal these tools too early, because then the rebellion would squander them piecemeal, like they had in the past.
By the time he reached their destination, they had drawn a bit of a crowd. Javed had gathered a few freemen and their tools. Ashok had found one of his havildars—the polite young man from Kharsawan thankfully, instead of the tattoo-faced maniac Somsak—and several of the faithful had seen them walking, become curious, and tagged along.
There was a patch of flat dirt at the end of the top level. If they had been in a regular city, it would’ve been thought of as an empty lot. Nothing grew here but weeds. Keta counted off a careful twenty paces toward the center, prayed to the gods that Ratul’s note had been accurate, and ordered, “Dig here.”
The laborers had no idea what was going on, but they did as he directed. Ashok watched, mildly amused. “What manner of treasure did your gods leave us that it needed to be planted in the soil?”
“Perhaps it is a potato,” Javed said.
Ashok actually laughed.
“The gods didn’t plant it,” Keta said defensively. “Keeper Ratul did.”
Ashok’s laughter died. That had got his attention.
The hole got deeper and deeper until the diggers were waist deep. When one of the casteless grew weary in the sun, the warrior Eklavya jumped into the hole and took over for him. And when the other did too, Javed took his shovel. Time passed, but the two of them were strong, and eager to see what was down there.
“It looks like they are digging a grave,” Ashok suggested.
A grave for the Law maybe, Keta thought, and then wondered how he could work that symbolism into his next sermon.
Four feet down one of the shovels hit something solid. Eklavya scraped at it, then declared, “It’s wood.”
Javed thumped it with his shovel and was rewarded with a hollow thunk. “I think it’s a crate.”
“No,” Keta corrected. “It’s a trapdoor. You’ll need to clear it all off so we can open it.” He turned to one of the faithful women who had been watching. “Shalini, would you fetch us a rope?”
Ashok looked down the row of buildings that had been carved from the rock, and then noted how this one rectangular area was suspiciously empty. “Ratul buried a house.”
“Only a small one. Ratul was a very busy man. He said it had probably been a root cellar. He buried it only after he filled it with potent weapons delivered by the gods themselves. It has been sealed to protect them from the elements.”
Ashok jumped down into the hole. “Give me that,” he said as he took Eklavya’s shovel and went to work. Their general moved with such inhuman energy that the other men simply had to get out of the way. A few minutes of Ashok’s frenzied labor was equivalent to what a regular man could do in half an hour. Once the hatch was mostly uncovered, Ashok pried up one edge with the shovel blade, leveraged it up enough to get his fingers in, and then wrenched it free. It still had hundreds of pounds of dirt on it, but Ashok didn’t seem to notice.
Keta walked to the edge and looked down. It was very dark inside, but he could make out a stone floor below.
Ashok didn’t wait for the rope. He simply stepped into the dark. It was a good eight-foot drop, but he landed softly. Keta could see their general turning in a slow circle as he took in the contents, then he moved out of sight. There was the sound of heavy wood being dragged across stone. A moment later, Ashok swore, “Saltwater.”
“What is it?” Keta called.
“Get down here, Keeper. Now.”
Shalini had come back with a rope. Eklavya secured it, and Javed tried to help Keta down. He brushed his assistant’s hand away. Keta was not by nature an athletic man, but he could scale a rope just fine.
The air was choked with fresh dust, and the motes swam through the beam of sunlight.
“It’s very dark in here,” Keta muttered as his sandals hit the floor. “We need a lantern.”
“No fire!” Ashok snapped. Then he thought better of it, raised his head toward the light and bellowed, “Eklavya, allow no lanterns, no torches, or sparks, anywhere near here.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ashok grabbed Keta by the sleeve. “Try not to move in a way that makes static.”
Keta was not sure what that meant, so he held perfectly still. The air felt very cool and dry, probably why Ratul had picked this particular hole. As his eyes adjusted, he realized that the room looked much like every other one the ancients had carved, but it was much bigger than expected. There were wooden casks stacked along one wall, and rectangular crates and square boxes
against the other. Ashok had pulled the lid off of one of the big ones.
Inside the crate were Fortress rods, the long type, side by side, packed in what appeared to be grease. He’d seen these things before, even used one himself once to try it out. It had punched him in the shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise and had made his ears ring for a day, and his target, a melon, had exploded rather spectacularly. The rebellion had acquired nearly twenty of the frightening devices over the years from the crazed alchemists of Fortress. Their strange island was just off the Ice Coast of Akershan. But those twenty weapons were spread all over the great house, and they’d probably lost half of them when Chakma was retaken. There were six in this one box alone.
Then Keta realized there were many more of that same size crate. He counted ten.
They must have been thinking of the same question, because Ashok pulled the lid off the next crate with his bare hands. It should have taken a pry bar because of the nails, but Ashok didn’t care. Inside were six more of the devastating fiery-arms. Then Ashok tried one more crate and found the same number inside.
That meant…Sixty rods! Oceans! Ratul really had been busy.
Then Keta turned toward the wall with all the casks, and realized those must be filled with the deadly, black Fortress powder, which burned with a fire so intense and rapid that it obliterated anything nearby. No wonder Ashok had shouted his warning about fire. The last time Ashok had dealt with the stuff it had blown a mansion to pieces and left him buried in the rubble for days.
Keta and Thera had been taught how to make Fortress powder years ago by a cagey old rebel who had claimed to have learned it from an actual Fortress alchemist hiding somewhere in Lok. It wasn’t that complicated, really, dehydrated stale piss, sulfur, and charcoal in the right proportions, but they’d only ever made a few jugs of the stuff. The quantity stored here was simply insane in comparison.
Ashok broke open one of the smaller boxes with his heel. Then he reached inside and pulled out a fistful of something. Keta squinted to see, so Ashok stuck his hand into the light. They were balls of gray lead. Ashok gave Keta a pained look as he let them drop from his fingers. They hit the stone, and rolled away, one by one. Disgusted, Ashok wiped the gray residue they left on his hand onto his pants.
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