by Davis Ashura
He, the Cherid, and the Sentya all left the room.
“One week?” the Duriah muttered. “Our lives have lost all purpose.”
Shur couldn't help but believe the man was right.
“They're still out there,” Rukh muttered.
Jessira glanced up from the couch where she'd been concentrating on The Book of First Movement. Normally, Rukh was loath to allow anyone else to handle it, but ever since the Advent Trial, he had taken to setting it aside. He claimed that he wanted nothing more to do with anything that carried religious overtones.
She could understand why.
Ever since his battle with Suwraith, there was a constant stream of people near their flat. At all hours of the day, they could be seen standing outside, huddling on the street. No matter the weather or the time, they were there. Usually, they remained quiet as they placed mementos of loved ones who had died or garlands of flowers or sweets or fresh fruit on the flat's front stoop. It was almost like they were making offerings to Devesh and the area before the flat was an altar, which was bad enough, but the worst was when one of those outside prayed to Rukh.
It was sacrilege, but it was also a sacrilege that Jessira could comprehend. Rukh had battled the Sorrow Bringer, and in the end, it had been the Queen who had screamed.
Everyone had heard that cry, and it was no wonder that the entire city seemed aflame with religious fervor. Even the normally irreligious Kummas and Cherids had been caught up in the fever of faith.
Jessira set aside The Book of First Movement and walked to Rukh's side. She pushed aside the curtain and looked out the window. The crowd was small today. Perhaps people were finally finding the ardor of piety too hard to hold onto. Or maybe it was just the rain. She shook her head at those foolhardy enough to stand outside in the drizzle.
Most of the people out there were Murans, which should have been odd. As a Caste, they were the most religious, and as a Caste, they had also been the ones most opposed to the presence of the OutCastes. But Rukh's actions had changed many of their hearts. In fact, Jessira had even heard a few of them pray to Devesh in her name. Even though she was an OutCaste, simply by being married to Rukh, she had achieved the status of the sacred.
It was a situation that left her flabbergasted and embarrassed. Jessira knew her worth. She was just a wife, a warrior, and a woman. Nothing more. Those people shouldn't be committing sacrilege in her name.
Jessira shook her head. Even while she'd been watching, the gathering had grown. The rain was slackening, and to the west, the skies were clear. The crowd would soon be just as large as on any other day, filled with chanting, praying, or those keeping silent vigil.
“We should move to the House Seat,” Jessira suggested. “At least you'll be able to step outside without being mobbed.”
“I don't want to bring this . . .” Rukh waved vaguely in the direction on the crowd. “. . . to my parents' doorstep.”
“It's already there. You saw them when we visited earlier today,” Jessira reminded him. “Besides, they wouldn't consider it trouble. I'm sure they'd understand.”
“Or maybe the crowds will eventually go away,” Rukh said. “They can't stay here forever.”
Jessira didn't need their link to know he didn't believe his words.
“Why don't you want to move in with your parents?” she asked. “What's the real reason?”
Rukh remained quiet for so long that Jessira wasn't sure he'd heard her question.
“I've seen Cook Heltin out in the crowd outside,” he finally answered. “She's like family, like an aunt really. I saw Garnet's family out there, too.”
“And it bothers you that they'll treat you differently, act differently around you?”
Rukh nodded.
Jessira crossed over to where he'd taken a seat at the dining table. She sat in his lap and leaned into him. From this position, she was taller, and she held his head against her shoulder, stroking his temple. “She likely will treat you differently because you are different,” Jessira said. Rukh stiffened and she took his face in hands, forcing him to look at her. “I know you want to go back to simply being a Kumma warrior, but it's too late. It's been too late for several years now, and it also isn't the truth, and you know it. You aren't just a Kumma warrior. You're someone who battled the Queen and hurt Her, or at least stopped Her. It does make you different. And that doesn't even touch on everything else you've accomplished.”
Rukh sighed. “My mind knows that, but my heart doesn't want to accept it.”
Jessira tsked in sympathy. Having to deal with a city that insisted on labelling him an iconic figure worthy of worship had to be a heavy burden. Nevertheless, it was one Rukh had to carry, and by extension, she as well. “We can't hide from the truth or wish it away,” she said. “Doing so won't change the situation we're in.”
“We?”
Jessira turned his head once more so that he was looking at her. “Priya, in case it's escaped your attention, we're married. So, yes, our situation.”
Rukh smiled at her mild rebuke “And what would moving into the House Seat accomplish?” he asked.
“We'll have time and space to figure out what to do next.”
Rukh chuckled. “That's your answer. Time and space to figure out what to do next?”
Jessira grinned. “It's trite. I know, but do you have a better idea?”
“How is she? Jaresh asked, having just returned from a meeting with Rector Bryce.
“She's resting,” Nanna said. “I expected Bryce. Where is he? I wanted a full report on these so-called Virtuous.” His voice held an atypical impatience. “I want to know who they are.”
“He got called away,” Jaresh answered. “He said he'd come by to give you a report when he was free.”
Nanna scowled before turning away. He stared out the window of his study with a look of frustrated anger on his face. “When we find them, we'll send them straight to the unholy hells.”
Jaresh understood and shared his nanna's fury. He, too, wanted to find the animals who had attacked the Shektan women. The Virtuous was what they called themselves. It was a patently absurd descriptor, and shortly after the Advent Trial, they had published a manifesto detailing why they had done as they had. But no amount of sophistry or explanation could obviate their heinous crimes. As soon as they were captured, they needed to be fed to the crows. It was how Jaresh reckoned matters. The rest of the family and House felt the same way.
Even now, Rector Bryce, Bree, and many others were out scouring the city for any hint of who the Virtuous might be. Jaresh's sister had been especially outraged over what had occurred, and rightfully so. She'd actually seen the entire attack unfold. She'd seen aunts and lifelong friends cut down. She'd been a few feet away when Amma had nearly been killed. Bree wanted vengeance, and Jaresh hoped she would have it. The truth was that if the Shektans found the Virtuous first, the fragging creatures would be lucky if they weren't torn apart on the spot.
It would justice enough as far as Jaresh was concerned.
Their Amma had a severed spine. She was paralyzed from the chest down, and it was even hard for her to breathe. The physicians reckoned she would always be at risk for pneumonia and that she would never again walk.
“Rukh and Jessira stopped by earlier,” Nanna said. “They had to hide in a covered wagon in order to get out, though.”
Jaresh understood what Nanna meant. Rukh drew a crowd wherever he went. There would be shouts of need, of prayers, of exhortations for things that Rukh could never do. It was all so idiotic, especially the idea that Rukh was the First Father reborn or even more ludicrously, touched by Devesh. If Rukh held the holy power of the Lord, then why hadn't he simply killed the Queen and been done with it when he'd battled Her?
It was madness, and it was a madness that had driven Rukh away from the House Seat. He and Jessira had wanted to stay here, but they couldn't. The crowds were too loud, and right now, Amma needed quiet.
Of course, what Rukh had done
and how he'd done it was still a mystery. He was a Kumma, but he held the Talents of Shiyens and Sentyas, and could also Blend like a Muran or Rahail. But Jaresh held all those Talents, too, and so did Jessira and a number of OutCastes. So what made Rukh different? And what had been that silver light he'd shot from his hands? A new Talent certainly, but how had it come to him?
Rukh didn't know. He claimed to barely remember any of the events of his battle, unable to recall anything of what he'd done. All he could recollect was a burning need to hold on, to fight unto the last, to never surrender. He'd done so and then collapsed in an unmoving heap.
“Am I interrupting?” Sign Deep peeked her head into the study.
Nanna gestured for her to come on in. Since Rukh and Jessira couldn't often come to the House Seat, Sign had taken it upon herself to keep them apprised of Amma's condition.
“Any changes?” she asked.
Nanna turned away and stared out the windows at the drizzly summer day.
“She's stable,” Jaresh replied, hating how such shallow words failed to convey the depth and pain of Amma's situation.
“Rukh and Jessira will try to visit again tomorrow,” Sign said.
“They ought to just move in,” Nanna muttered.
“Rukh says he doesn't want to bring his troubles to the House Seat,” Sign replied.
“Those troubles are here whether he is or not,” Nanna answered as he turned around to face them. “We are his parents. Anyone who is related to him is felt to be . . . touched by whatever holiness these fools think he possesses. They've been collecting near the gates every day, a few here and there, but always enough to make a ruckus if anyone goes outside.”
“You don't believe he's special?” Sign asked, sounding surprised.
“Of course he's special,” Nanna said. “But not in the way these others seem to believe. He isn't the First Father reborn and he isn't the way and means through which Devesh's will is known. He is a man, a Kumma whose experiences have changed him.”
“But he fought Suwraith,” Sign argued. “He survived when She smothered him like a clutching fog of poison. He challenged Her might and smote Her with a silver fire. None of that strikes you as holy?”
Jaresh grimaced in frustration. The words she had used couldn't be her own. Sign was a plainspoken person. Such flowery language had to be the words of someone else. And for her to repeat them might mean that she actually believed them. “I thought you were more levelheaded than that,” Jaresh said, not bothering to mask his disappointment.
Sign shrugged. “I don't know what to believe,” she replied, “but it's what those other people are saying, the ones gathered by the House Seat's gate. They saw what happened. So did I. So did half of Ashoka, for that matter. And when I saw what I did, I thought I'd witnessed the rebirth of the First Father. I know it sounds ludicrous, but not to them. They don't know Rukh like you do, or even I do.”
Jaresh sighed. “I grew up with him. I've seen him at his worst. I've heard him whinge when things didn't go his way in training. He's my brother. It's hard to think of him in any other light.”
Sign smiled, looking fond. “And I remember when he came hobbling into Stronghold, when he could barely walk or move his sword arm. He was no hero then. He was just a man barely holding on.” She shrugged again. “But like I said—others don't know him like that. They only saw the glory, and they'll only see the glory until Rukh more fully explains what happened to him.”
“If they keep pushing him, they'll see his grumpy side,” Nanna said with a faint smile. “Maybe then, they won't consider him Devesh-touched.”
Jaresh laughed. “Ever since the Advent Trial, he's been as grouchy as a thorn-pawed cat.”
“He has reason to be. We all do,” Nanna said. “And we have so many decisions to make.”
Jaresh nodded. There wasn't just Amma and her injuries to take care of, or whatever it was that Rukh had done, but also the Baels and Tigons who had come to Ashoka begging for asylum.
“We live in interesting times,” Sign said.
“A generation cursed,” Nanna agreed.
“Or blessed,” Jaresh countered.
“Can I see Satha?” Sign asked, changing the subject. “I promised to give Rukh and Jessira a full report.”
“They were already here earlier today,” Nanna replied. “And Satha just settled down to sleep. She won't awaken for hours.”
Sign smiled brightly. “In that case, who wants to play chess?”
“I'll play,” Jaresh offered.
“You can play on my board,” Nanna said. “I'll do some paperwork while Jaresh works you into a lather and makes you do something stupid.”
Sign squawked in outrage as Nanna chuckled.
Several hours later, Rector Bryce was shown into the study. He looked haggard and haunted.
“What is it?” Nanna asked without preamble.
“There's been another Withering Knife murder. Hal'El Wrestiva is back in Ashoka.”
Sadly, the future of those bred for battle is often one walked along a path of loneliness.
~Sooths and Small Sayings by Tramed Billow, AF 1387
Li-Chig, the SarpanKum of the Western Plague of Continent Ember, wondered what this most momentous of days would bring to him and his kind. Would it merely bring death or would it bring extinction?
A crow cried out and Chig frowned. The carrion eater was an ill omen, always present when death beckoned. The SarpanKum briefly wondered if the crow could smell blood on the wind. True, that blood was not yet spilled, but it was sure to come. Perhaps the crow had prescience about the coming carnage.
Chig exhaled heavily, and his breath misted in the unusually chill summer weather. A blustery breeze blew, promising an early winter, but the SarpanKum didn't feel the cold wind or the damp drizzle. His mind was occupied by other thoughts.
“Are you certain of this?” Li-Sturg, his SarpanKi, asked. “We are about to embark upon the most reckless path any Bael has ever travelled.”
Chig smiled. “You mean what we do will forever brand us as traitors?”
“You know that's the least of what we risk,” Sturg growled. “What we are about to do could lead to the death of all our brothers.”
“Not if Li-Shard's plan works.”
Sturg grunted. “Shard seeks to rise to the glory of Li-Dirge.”
Chig tested the words of his crèche brother. They didn't taste right. “Glory is not what impels me, nor, I am certain, does it impel Li-Shard,” he said.
Sturg's lips twitched. “No. You are right. We do what as we must because we are slaves to those most devious of masters: service and sacrifice.”
Chig chuckled a low, gallows-ridden laugh. “Are you ready then?”
Sturg shrugged. “We will know soon enough.”
Chig smiled briefly before turning to face his warriors, the ignorant Chimeras he would lead into unwitting treason. He took a deep breath and shouted. “The breeders are the means by which Mother's will is enforced on this world, but word comes that the Chimeras who are meant to guard the eastern breeding caverns of Continent Catalyst have been subverted. Many of you have heard of how the eastern breeding caverns of Continent Ember were eradicated. What you don't know is the truth. Those eastern caverns were overrun through treachery.”
Murmurings of shock and disbelief met his words.
Chig stamped his trident on the ground, a single blow demanding silence. “Just as there are righteous Humans who worship Mother, there are Chimeras who have allowed iniquity to grow in their hearts. They disregard Mother's teachings. They oppose Her will. They seek our destruction.” He forced a grimace before drawing himself up. “Their evil cannot be allowed. We must kill these treasonous warriors. We will end their wretched lives, kill them all.” He paused. Here was the most dangerous aspect of his plan. “And we must do the same with the breeders.”
Silence met his final words. The Chimeras of his Plague turned their eyes to him, questioning and unsure, but not untrusting.
>
“Yes. The breeders must all be killed,” Chig said with a nod of affirmation. “Without their deaths, our mission here will be a failure. Their eradication is the great task set before us. Mother commands it. After what happened to Li-Dirge and the eastern caverns, and now this, She trusts no one, not even the breeders. They are to be extinguished, for just as Mother has always promised us, She will create females of our kind so that we may procreate like all the other natural creatures of Arisa!”
A harsh cry of joy met his words, and Chig smiled. “Follow your Baels. Do as they say. Show the enemy no mercy!”
Li-Deem sweltered beneath the late afternoon sun and frowned in annoyance. Red sand dunes stretched out in unbroken, sinuous waves for miles in every direction, and a dry wind did nothing to cool off the temperature. Deem irritably wondered why Mother had placed the northern breeding caverns of Continent Catalyst in the midst of the Prayer, the hottest desert in all Arisa. No matter that the caves were buried beneath a series of rocky hills that cupped a large oasis, or that the smell of dirt, dates, and crushed grass softened the bruise-dry air, Deem still hated the heat. He always had, ever since his birth five decades ago. Summer was his bane. It was too hot. Too bright. Too uncomfortable. Deem much preferred the cool sweetness of fall and winter.
He pondered whether he might ever again see those lovely seasons. He pondered whether he might ever again see a sunrise.
It seemed unlikely, and if that turned out to be the case, then he would have no one else to blame but himself. As the SarpanKum of the Northern Plague of Continent Catalyst, ultimately it had been his decision to agree to Li-Shard's plan. It was a proposal that Deem had initially judged foolhardy but over time, found to be more and more intriguing and exciting. His discordant emotions had yet to entirely reconcile.
Following the destruction of the heretofore unknown city of Stronghold last year, Deem had felt a disquiet such as he had never before experienced in his long five decades of life. With the restitution of Her sanity, Mother had grown too powerful. The balance of power had shifted too far in Her favor. She might actually achieve Her ultimate goal of Humanity's extinction. Something had to change, and Li-Shard's plan seemed the most likely means to achieve that change.