A Warrior's Penance

by Davis Ashura

  There finally came a time when the lightning lifted, and the Queen drifted up. A fog of black smoke followed Her. It drifted up and parted, revealing a ground baked to glowing glass and fiery embers. Rukh should have been reduced to ashes as well, but somehow, impossibly, he was still alive. He huddled within that circle of fire and death, but after a moment, he shuddered upright and struggled to his feet.

  A joyful cry, carrying all of Jessira's love and hope, broke from her throat. He was alive! Tears streamed down her face.

  Many more people joined Jessira in shouting their gladness. All along the Outer Wall rose cries of stunned disbelief, awe, and unexpected hope. Jessira shared their emotions. She had no idea what providence had allowed Rukh to survive the Sorrow Bringer's fury, but she begged it to deliver her husband home.

  An interminable time passed as Rukh seemed to be talking to the Queen. Jessira had no idea what they were saying, but the Queen's purple hue had long since grown black. She was furious. Suddenly, Rukh broke from Her. He was sprinting for the Outer Wall. The Queen remained motionless. Lightning lit the ground, but She held still.

  Jessira gripped the crenellations even tighter than before, praying with all her fervency and need, demanding that the Sorrow Bringer remain still for a few more seconds. Seconds were all Rukh needed.

  Or at least they would have been if Rukh had been running as fast as he normally could. Right now, he barely moved faster than a stumbling jog. His strength was spent, his Well nearly empty. Jessira wished there were a way she could grace him some of her Jivatma. Instead, all she could do was watch as Rukh raced for his life. She urged him on. Don't stop. Don't look back. Keep going. You're almost there.

  Suwraith finally broke from Her stasis and gave chase.

  Jessira swallowed a lump of dismay. She assayed the distance between Rukh and the Sorrow Bringer and realized her husband wasn't going to make it. The Queen would close with him, and he no longer had the strength to fight Her off a second time.

  Jessira raged inside. He was so close.

  She gasped when a silvery light burst forth from Rukh's hands. When it struck the Sorrow Bringer, a scream echoed across the plain. It was a sound unlike anything Jessira had ever heard. So much hatred and insanity was contained in that cry.

  Another silvery bolt shot out. Another demented howl. Rukh was almost to the Outer Wall.

  Jessira momentarily lost sight of him. Everyone was leaned over the edge of the parapet, craning to see what would happen. A third bolt shot out.

  A roar of triumph rose from the throats of those on the Outer Wall closest to Rukh. It was all the signal Jessira needed. A thrill of relief, joy, and gratefulness ran down her spine. Rukh had made it! She watched Suwraith hurl Herself ineffectually against Ashoka's Oasis. She was repulsed. Again, the Queen tried to breach the Oasis and again was thrust aside. Suwraith screamed Her frustrated rage before swiftly departing.

  “First Mother. He defeated Suwraith,” Sign said. Her cousin's voice was filled with reverential awe.

  Again, it was a sentiment shared by everyone. Strangers hugged one another, uncaring of Caste or custom. Tears streamed down their face as they laughed the life-affirming laughter of those who had witnessed true magic. In the two millennia since the Night of Sorrows, never had there been an account of a Human battling the Sorrow Bringer and living to tell the tale. History had been made this day.

  Jessira felt much the same as all those around her, but that sense of reverent wonderment was subsumed by her need to reach Rukh's side. She pushed through the crowd, aided by Sign and Bree who kept to either side of her. The three women linked arms and made their way through the throng.

  Snippets of conversation came to Jessira as she struggled to reach where she had last seen her husband as he had approached the Outer Wall.

  “He is Hume reborn,” one voice proclaimed. “Was he not the one who destroyed the Chimera caverns?”

  “He is greater than Hume!” another voice answered. “He destroyed the Chimera caverns and defeated the Sorrow Bringer. Not even Hume was so mighty!”

  “And what about how he came home with the love of a Shylow, a Kesarin? Or his survival in the Wildness when the Chamber of Lords judged him Unworthy? The shortsighted fools!” someone else declared, his voice throbbing with tones of holy wonder. “He has mastered the Talents of all the Castes, and now he defeats Suwraith. See the Queen retreat from him!”

  “He is touched by Devesh! He is holiness made flesh!”

  Jessira startled at the stupid statement. Rukh touched by Devesh? What an asinine idea.

  “Do you think it's possible?” Sign asked.

  “Is what possible?” Jessira replied.

  “That Rukh is touched by Devesh?”

  Jessira did a double take, thinking at first that Sign was joking. Her cousin's solemn expression indicated that she wasn't. Jessira scowled. Not Sign, too. Her cousin should know better.

  “You saw what he did,” Sign persisted. “He fought Suwraith and survived. Who else but someone touched by Devesh could do something like that?”

  Jessira groaned in dismay.

  If someone as levelheaded as Sign wondered whether Rukh was touched by the Lord, what of those with more fervent imaginations? They would likely proclaim Rukh was the First Father reborn. It would be a nightmare for him. He already hated how people viewed him. He hated the hero worship, the easy recognition, the notion that others thought he was someone more special than they. Now it would be a thousand-fold worse. He'd never leave their flat.

  “If he is touched by Devesh, I wonder why he didn't he use his power at Stronghold?”

  Jessira flashed Sign an angry look. “He did what he could at Stronghold. You saw him save Laya. Whatever happened today is something new. He's never had such an ability before.”

  “If that's the case, then he can't just be some random Kumma,” Sign persisted. “He was chosen for a reason.”

  “He's who he is,” Jessira replied, already tired of the conversation. She just wanted to reach her husband.

  “The hand of destiny—”

  “Enough!” Jessira barked. “Rukh has no prophecy about him and no destiny before him. He chooses his own path!”

  After leading the Tigons onto the plain stretching out from Ashoka's Outer Wall, Hal'El had split them off into groups of ten. During the march north from the Hunters Flats, the Tigons had learned the price of disobedience. As a result, when Hal'El had told them to remain motionless, he knew they would.

  An hour of patient work later, they were ready.

  While the Tigons crept to their positions, green signal arrows had flared near the forest west of the plain. Answering red flames had risen from the Outer Wall.

  Hal'El had no idea why there were platoons in the forest. Nor did he know what they had seen to cause them to pass on the warning of approaching danger. Hal'El had shrugged and grinned. Whatever the reason, he had been grateful for the incompetent commander. The man had likely panicked for some reason. Maybe he'd seen his shadow. At any rate, the green arrows from the forest would cause even more disorder, especially after his Chimeras made their presence known.

  Hal'El had cast a signal, and his Tigons had done as Tigons do: they'd mindlessly attacked the Trims. The young warriors had responded with admirable aplomb. They'd turned to face the Tigons, and even with blunted weapons, had annihilated them. None of the Chimeras had survived their attack, but it didn't matter. The Tigons had done their duty.

  More green signal flares had been fired from the platoons who had battled the Tigons. Again, answering red flames had burst skyward from the Outer Wall. The Advent Trial was over, and the platoons had raced back to Ashoka.

  It had all been to Hal'El's benefit as he had skulked his way closer to Ashoka. In the ensuing chaos, he had managed to dodge past the line of Trims. He had been halfway across the plain when a tingle in his spine had told him to look south. Suwraith had come. Her arrival, a half hour after the attack by the Tigons, had stirred abj
ect panic. The platoons had raced across the plain with the Kummas in the lead and drawing away.

  Hal'El had sprinted with them. He would be just another Kumma. The guards at the gates would be too panicked to look closely at the faces of those entering the city.

  All had been going according to the plan he and the Queen had devised, but still, Hal'El had felt some measure of grief and even guilt for the dying Trims that Suwraith had destroyed.

  Nevertheless, if such sacrifice was the price to be paid for a later, greater victory, then so be it.

  Then had come that single Kumma who had dared confront the Queen. He'd thrown his challenge into the teeth of Her storm and come out triumphant. Or at least not dead, which in anyone's estimation was a victory.

  Hal'El had watched the man's actions in stunned amazement. After Suwraith had retreated, he realized he hadn't yet reentered Ashoka. With a start he had raced for Sunset Gate. Thankfully, the Kumma's actions had everyone celebrating, and no one was truly warding the entrance to the city. Hal'El passed through with no one giving him a second glance.

  Once inside, he'd kept running, wearing a look of dire importance on his face to dissuade any who might think to question him. He had evaded detection and managed to reach a small safe house in a Muran village. It was really just an unused cellar, but it had clothes, provisions, and money. There, he'd changed out of his camouflage and into garb more appropriate for the city.

  In the Wildness, he'd allowed his beard free rein. It had grown in thick as a wool rug and gray as dirty snow. As a result, Hal'El Wrestiva, the finest warrior of his generation, one of the finest to ever walk the verdant streets of Ashoka, strode his home as anonymous as a pauper.

  In times past, such a lack of recognition would have set his teeth on edge, but this time, his thoughts were taken up by another matter.

  Who was the Kumma who had withstood the Sorrow Bringer? And what was the silvery essence he had used to best Her?

  Hal'El had to have that knowledge. He needed it. He stroked the Withering Knife, sheathed and hidden next to his heart.

  When all seems lost and fear a constant companion, simplistic though it may seem, prayer is often the only solution.

  ~Our Lives Alone by Asias Athandra, AF 331

  Li-Choke glanced about his prison and felt a profound sense of gratitude. Being here was certainly better than the alternative, which would have been either dead or left for dead outside of Ashoka's gates. Choke and his brothers had been lucky. He'd always known that their reception in Rukh's home might not end well, especially after Mother's recent killing of so many of Ashoka's young warriors. Choke was just thankful that, upon their arrival, he and his brothers hadn't simply been executed on the spot.

  And for the longest time, it seemed like summary execution would be exactly what would occur to the Chimeras. The Baels and Tigons had approached Sunset Gate during the brightest part of the day and had sat down in poses of passivity and meekness. But long before they had settled into place, shouts of challenge had come to them. The cries had been full of hatred, anger, and fear. Several Kummas had even had hands filled with Fireballs, appearing to be only a harsh word or movement away from unleashing their fury.

  It had taken many hours to sort out the situation: a long, patient discussion with the captain of the gate guards, then another one with a grizzly general. Finally, a warrior had been dispatched to bring out someone who knew Choke and could verify his words. There came a lengthy wait as the sun progressed across the sky and sank toward the horizon.

  Finally, Jessira Shektan had appeared. Choke smiled in remembrance of her warmth and welcome, her unfettered joy upon seeing him. It was she who had vouchsafed Choke's trustworthiness, and by extension, the rest of the Baels and Tigons accompanying him. And it was she who had pleaded for the Chimeras to be allowed entrance into Ashoka. While her words had been eloquent, Choke had still expected her request to be turned down without a second thought. The Ashokans had lost too much, their hatred stoked to a furnace heat by what the Queen had so recently done to them. They would never trust a Chimera—or so Choke reckoned.

  Events, though, had worked to surprise him. The general had eyed Jessira with something akin to nervousness and possibly even awe. He had acquiesced to her request, and thus, for the first time in history, a Chimera had been offered open entrance into a Human city.

  As Jessira led the Baels and Tigons through the menacing maw of Sunset Gate, she had explained to Choke all that had happened to her and Rukh in the ensuing months since he had last seen her.

  To say that he had been stunned would have been a tremendous understatement. Choke had always known that Rukh Shektan was special, but finding out that he had challenged the Queen, fought Her, and might have even caused Her pain or defeated Her, had been a revelation for the ages. His brothers, all of them—Tigons and Baels alike—had been similarly left speechless.

  Afterward, Jessira had left, leaving Choke and his brothers penned in a barn near a Muran farm. Days later, they were moved to a structure that looked and felt like a prison. And here they had been ever since, awaiting their final fates. The Magisterium had yet to come to a decision on what do with the Chimeras, and while they dithered, Choke and his brothers had been left in this hastily constructed gaol. However, as a gaol went, it wasn't too uncomfortable.

  The prison was a square block with one side composed of the Outer Wall and the other three made of the trunks of ironwood trees, all of them fifteen feet or taller. A single gate allowed entrance and egress with a perimeter catwalk lined with ready and wary Ashokan warriors of various Castes. It went without saying that the Chimeras had been disarmed before being allowed access to the city.

  Choke didn't mind any of this, though. He couldn't have asked for any better treatment than what he and the others had thus far experienced.

  He smiled again.

  He was in Ashoka, and a battle hadn't been required to gain entrance. Instead, it had simply been granted. In the face of something so impossible, what need was there to complain?

  Choke took a deep breath, enjoying the heat of the early morning summer sun and the sweet song of cicadas. While the ground making up their prison was a fallow field of ruined grass, the rest of the area encapsulated between the Outer and Inner Walls was lush and verdant. Choke could smell it. The clean scent of dirt and green things growing filled his nostrils. When the Chimeras had been marched into Ashoka, he had seen corn up to his thighs with waving, white tassels. He had seen beans, wheat, barley, and potatoes. So much delectable deliciousness.

  Choke rose to his feet and began a series of practiced motions meant to stretch limbs.

  “The Tigons talk,” Chak-Soon said, joining him in his exercises.

  Li-Choke didn't cease his movements, but instead merely offered a glance at the ordinate. He knew Soon would understand his unvoiced question. The Tigon didn't require much to interpret Choke's thoughts—just a tilt of the head, a twist of the horns, or a flick of his ears. It still sometimes surprised Choke how close he and Soon had grown. A year ago, it would have seemed an impossibility.

  “They talk about Rukh,” Chak-Soon elaborated.

  “What about him?” Choke asked.

  “They wonder stories about him,” Soon replied, his tongue tripping over his oversized, overabundant teeth.

  “I don't understand,” Choke said as he stretched his arms up to the sky.

  “What it means.” Soon explained.

  “Ah,” Choke said with a nod of understanding. “The Baels wonder the same thing,” he said. “Jessira says all of Ashoka is struggling with who Rukh is.”

  Soon frowned in confusion. “He is Rukh,” he said, as if the name itself was somehow explanatory.

  “Yes, but some think he's more than just Rukh—that he's touched by Devesh or the First Father reborn. They think there is something holy about him.”

  Soon shook his head. “Not what we think,” he said. “We wonder if he defeat Mother. Kill Her forever.”

&
nbsp; Choke laughed. “What a wonderful world if She were no longer a part of it.”

  Aia groomed herself from shoulder-to-elbow, shoulder-to-elbow, over and over again, slowly and carefully, until she was satisfied. Next she worked on the other side of her body, still patient and steady. She hoped her bearing was one of nonchalance—lying on the ground grooming herself—but inside, she was almost vibrating with excitement.

  For the first time in weeks, she would get to see Rukh. He'd finally have a chance to rub her chin, and she could rub her head against his chest.

  It had been several days since her arrival to Ashoka, and Rukh had yet to visit her. It was understandable. His amma had been gravely injured in some fashion—it had been a battle between the Shektans and some unknown foe—and Rukh was torn up with worry for her. In addition, the city was in an uproar—more so than usual for this overturned ant hive. There was the arrival of the Nobeasts to take into account. Choke's kind had been Humanity's implacable enemies ever since their birthing, and now, here they were showing up, begging for sanctuary. And beforehand, the Demon Wind had annihilated scores of Ashoka's warriors. The Queen would have killed even more if not for Rukh's actions.

  Aia purred contentment at the thought of what had occurred when the Queen had faced Rukh Shektan. During his battle with the Demon Wind, Aia had heard his thoughts. She had witnessed his bravery as he had lured the the Queen away from his fellow warriors. She had felt his resolve when he had refused to yield to the Demon Wind's might. She had known his triumph when he had survived Her wrath.

  It had been a feat no one else could have accomplished. The ferocity of his heart, his courage, his sheer will . . . Rukh was a Human unlike any other, special in a way that neither Jaresh or even Jessira could ever hope to be. He would have made a mighty Kesarin.