A Warrior's Penance

by Davis Ashura

“What do you plan on doing?”

  Boil flicked him a sidelong glance. “Whatever is needed to see our kind alive and prosperous.”

  “I'll speak to the others,” Torq said. “Our tridents will be yours if it becomes necessary.”

  “If Mother doesn't simply kill us outright,” Boil muttered after the smaller Bael had left.

  “Mother commands us to attend Her. All of us!” the SarpanKum bellowed in that moment. “There is a nearby meadow which should suffice.”

  “What has happened?” Boil demanded in a tone a VorsanKi should never take with the SarpanKum.

  Li-Shard looked his way. “You will learn the answer to your question at the same time that we all do,” he said, his tail flicking either annoyance or unease. Given the drooping of his tufted ears, Boil guessed unease.

  “Enough delay!” Li-Brind shouted. “We will not keep Mother waiting. Now move it!”

  Boil didn't miss the look of relief Shard threw to his SarpanKi. Those two did know something. Boil looked discreetly in Li-Torq's direction. His crèche-mate nodded back, and the two Baels angled toward one another. Filtering in behind them and to the sides were Boil's supporters, the ones who felt as he did: that the Baels had done enough, given enough, and shouldn't be expected to sacrifice the very existence of their race for Humanity's benefit. They numbered in the several hundreds, and while they were vastly outnumbered by Shard's supporters, they had passion on their side. And passion could carry the day if disaster stalked the Baels.

  Boil glanced again at Torq, and they slid in behind Shard and his followers. It was the perfect position from which to watch what might occur and be in a position to do something about it.

  They had just entered the broad meadow the SarpanKum had mentioned when Mother's angry roar could be heard. She was still miles away, rushing closer with each passing second, but even from such a vast distance, Her thoughts were clear.

  “Betrayal!” Mother shouted out. “All the breeders for every Caste of Chimeras have been slaughtered by treachery! And it is the Baels who have done this foul deed!”

  The breeders were dead? All of them? No wonder Mother's wrath was so vast and deep. Boil stiffened. And She blamed the Baels for what had happened. His mouth grew dry with terror. Devesh save them. What would Mother do? Her vengeance might strike the Baels even harder than when She had destroyed that pious dullard, Li-Dirge. She might seek to utterly annihilate them.

  Boil saw Shard and Brind share a triumphant smile. His fear fled, replaced by a righteous indignation. Those two! They'd known, possibly even helped plan this disaster. An overwhelming sense of outrage came upon Li-Boil, and with an inarticulate cry of hatred, he lifted his trident and uncoiled his chained whip.

  All around him, his supporters did the same.

  “Your race will rot for this treachery! And it will start here, with the author of this treason. Li-Shard!” Mother screamed, but Boil was no longer listening.

  The need to kill those who had brought the Baels to ruin surged through him. His race was about to be destroyed completely and forever, and Li-Shard and Li-Brind dared smile in pleasure? As though they had accomplished something magnificent? Well they would enjoy their triumph for only a few more seconds. Before Mother killed all the Baels, Boil was intent on seeing those two race-traitors dead.

  “The Baels will be ended for all time,” Mother vowed. “Even now, Bovars throughout the world are being slaughtered so no new Baels will ever again be born!”

  Upon hearing Mother's promise, Boil's outrage overcame thought, and he shouted. “Kill the traitors!” He and his supporters attacked.

  Li-Shard was on bended knee when he heard the commotion begin. He had lifted his head to search out the trouble when the screams began.

  It was the cries of Baels dying at the hands of their brothers.

  Brind was already on his feet and moving. The SarpanKi called out orders, but his voice suddenly ended in a gurgle. The tines of a trident had punched through his chest. He slumped over and stared with unseeing eyes at the sky.

  Shard shook off his shock and stood. Baels were being slaughtered all about him. They were his closest supporters, the ones who most fervently believed in the ideals of Hume. And those attacking were those who believed otherwise.

  Shard's gut clenched with outrage. How could his brothers have debased themselves so?

  He uncoiled his whip and set it alight. His trident was ready and steady in his tight grip.

  A Bael came at him, his face snarled in blood lust. Li-Torq.

  Shard snapped his whip over the other Bael's ear in distraction. He was about to thrust forward with his trident, but pain erupted in his side. He keened.

  Torq's crèche-mate, Li-Boil, had stabbed him. Another stab. This time in the chest. It was Li-Torq.

  “I am sorry, brother,” Li-Boil said.

  Shard could barely hear for the pain. He took another thrust to the chest, and Li-Shard relinquished his grip on his weapons. A singing light filled the last moments of his life.

  Boil and his supporters had easily slaughtered Li-Shard's adherents. The SarpanKum and most of those who followed him had been on their knees in prayer. They had been slow to rise and easy to kill, and in the end, their numbers had counted for little since they had been unprepared for the ferocity with which Boil and his supporters attacked them.

  Boil panted heavily afterward and felt satisfaction in what he and the others had accomplished, but no joy. It had been a deed that needed doing. Nothing more. Boil had taken no pleasure in killing Li-Shard and his followers. No matter how deluded the SarpanKum had been or how wicked his actions, the Bael had been Boil's brother. His death was to be mourned, not celebrated.

  As his panting breath slowed and his heart ceased racing, Boil began to comprehend the enormity of had just occurred. He realized the meadow was unnaturally quiet. It stank of blood and entrails. There was no movement, and all the Baels standing about were mute and in shock. The vast majority had not taken part in the attack on Li-Shard. They had been neutrals, neither supporting nor defending the fallen SarpanKum. They stared at Boil in confusion, and their eyes seemed to beg for direction.

  Boil stared back at them in uncertainty. What now? Mother would be here at any moment, and he briefly wondered if by killing Li-Shard, Mother's hideous rage might be turned aside. Might She forgive the Baels? It seemed unlikely, but what other hope did he and the others have?

  Thunder heralded Mother's arrival and lightning lashed the sky and ground. A harsh wind howled. It was as unyielding as a moving mountain.

  The Baels were forced to fall upon their knees, their heads tucked beneath shielding hands and arms. Almost by rote, Boil began the Prayer of Gratitude. The others fell in with him.

  Mother rushed downward. Boil prayed for acceptance in the next life. He waited for the hammer blow, but it never came.

  Instead, there came a moment of prolonged relative silence and stillness. Boil dared glance up. Mother had halted. Tendrils of lightning with muted thunder still trailed around Her. “The traitor, Li-Shard, where is he?”

  Boil tucked his head back to the ground, impressing it in the blood of his dead brothers. “The traitor is dead,” he declared. “By Your words and his expressions, we took justice upon him.”

  “So you conveniently killed him,” Mother jeered. “And now you hope I will not kill you?”

  “Li-Shard and his SarpanKi were the traitors, but we have remained loyal,” Boil answered. “Whatever the SarpanKum did, we had no part in it. We killed him, and all who followed him, as soon as we realized they had betrayed You.”

  “Liar,” Mother whispered.

  Boil held in his disappointment. It had been too much to expect that Mother might forgive them, and he prepared for his end.

  “You have nothing to say in your defense?” Mother asked. “I called you a liar, and you don't deny it?”

  Boil hesitated, trying to force his mind to think. “Words are easy,” he finally answered. “It is deed
s that offer proof.”

  “Indeed,” Mother agreed. “And what deeds do you have to prove your loyalty?”

  “The death of Li-Shard and all who thought as he did.”

  “And if I require the death of every Bael upon the gates of Ashoka? Will you still remain loyal? And understand this: you will soon be the last of your kind on Arisa. The others will be ended, just as I promised, unless I am given a reason to change My mind.”

  Boil's guts clenched. The Baels were to be wiped out and for what? A Humanity that despised them? He wanted to weep, but instead, he managed to press words past his lips. “Our lives are Yours to spend as You see fit,” Boil said. “I only ask . . .” he vacillated at completing the request. What if Mother denied him?

  “What do you dare ask?” Mother hissed. “Quiet, Mother. The dead should remain silent,” She muttered.

  Boil froze, unsure to whom She was speaking. Everyone knew Mother was mad. It was a law as certain as the tides. There was an expectant thrill to the air, and Boil realized Mother was still waiting on him. “I only ask that the Bovars are allowed to live. Allow us, the Baels who remained loyal, to instruct the newborn of our kind so there can never be another opportunity for betrayal.”

  There was an eternity of silence. “We will see,” Mother finally said. “For now, gather My children and make for Ashoka. I will have more instructions for you then.”

  When danger beckons, the distance between thought and action is too short to be measured.

  ~The Warrior and the Servant, (author unknown)

  “Another Withering Knife murder,” Jessira muttered with a sigh. “I thought Hal'El Wrestiva was gone from our lives for good.”

  Rukh had hoped for the same thing. “Apparently he's returned,” he replied.

  “I know that,” Jessira replied. “What I meant is why is he back?”

  Rukh shrugged. “Probably something to do with the coming attack. According to Choke, the Chimeras should only be a week or so away from the city. And everyone saw the Sorrow Bringer flying overhead a few days ago.”

  Jessira sighed. “I'm so tired of all this. The constant fear and dying. We've had nothing but trouble for the past two years,” she said. “A little time without worry would be nice.”

  “It seems such a gentle fate is not to be our destiny,” Rukh replied.

  “So it seems,” Jessira agreed. “And this next test will likely be our most difficult. We'll be going against the Sorrow Bringer Herself,” Jessira said. “And no matter what others might claim, we both know you aren't the First Father reborn.”

  Rukh winced at her words and glanced around at their surroundings. “How about we keep our voices down,” he suggested. “I don't want anyone overhearing us and figuring out who we are.”

  Jessira rolled her eyes. “There's no one around,” she said, pointing out the quiet street on which they walked. “Besides with your false beard and my wig, even your own nanna won't recognize us.”

  Rukh glanced about one last time just to make sure they were alone. “Since we met, it seems like all we ever do is fight, flee, or pray for deliverance.”

  “I think I mentioned that already,” Jessira said wryly.

  “But you forgot to mention how those moments of terror are leavened by our arguing,” Rukh said with a smile.

  “Oh yes. Mustn't forget that,” Jessira replied with a wry grin of her own.

  “At least we don't argue nearly as often as we used to,” Rukh added, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

  “Sometimes arguing with you is fun. Isn't that what you once said?” Jessira's eyes twinkled.

  Rukh quirked a grin. “You just like what happens when we make up.”

  “You mean when you admit that you were wrong and beg for my forgiveness?” Jessira asked wearing a bland expression of innocence. “I do like that.”

  Rukh snorted. “Hold that thought,” he said. “We're here. Nanna and the others should already be inside.”

  They paused outside a large, two-story house on a corner lot. Rukh thought it had a quiet grandness to it with its wraparound porch to welcome visitors and its heavy, gray stacked-stone to give it heft. A simple lawn edged with summer flowers beaded under the misty rain while out back there appeared to be even more extensive gardens.

  A crowd had already gathered before the house, and the barricades erected by the City Watch held them back. People milled about, sharing rumors and innuendo of what might have happened inside the house, and Rukh and Jessira had to elbow their way forward to reach the front of the crowd. Once they had identified themselves to the guards manning the barricades, they were swiftly ushered past the barriers.

  Rukh heard their names whispered in hushed, reverent tones, and he mentally sighed. “I'm fine,” he said to Jessira's look of concern.

  “They only looked,” Jessira said as they climbed the stairs to the front porch. “They . . .”

  “I know. I can understand why they think about me the way they do.” He shrugged. “It's just hard to get used to it, though.”

  “If it helps, no one in the family worships you like that. I certainly don't,” Jessira said with a wink.

  Their conversation was cut short by Nanna, who was waiting at the top of the porch steps. “Go on inside,” he said in a no-nonsense tone when they reached him. “Give me a full report when you've had a chance to study the room where the body was found and looked around the house. I need to get home to your amma.”

  Rukh nodded. “I'm sure she's fine.”

  “I'm sure she is as well, but . . .” Nanna gave a wan smile. “I just don't like leaving her alone.”

  With that, he bid them goodbye and hurried on his way.

  The front door opened, and in the doorway stood Rector Bryce. “What took you so long?” he demanded. “Jaresh and Bree have already been through here.”

  “We were at our flat when word reached us,” Jessira replied.

  “Well, come on in. We were just about to move the body. Her name was Pera Obbe. She owns the house and lives here by herself.”

  As they stepped into the foyer, Rukh immediately noticed the heavy crystal chandelier hanging up above. It was brightly lit with a number of small, delicate firefly lamps, and Rukh briefly wondered as to Pera Obbe's occupation. Such a luxurious item would have made a fine addition to a Cherid manse.

  Rector led them deeper into the house, and the sense of affluence continued. They ascended a wide, floating staircase with carved handrails and balusters that were polished to a high sheen and looked to have been made of an exotic, expensive wood. Maybe teak.

  “Whoever lived here was wealthy,” Jessira noted. Did you see the furniture downstairs in the sitting room?” She whistled in appreciation.

  Rukh nodded. “And look at the paintings on the walls. Those are expensive pieces of artwork.”

  “You should see her jewelry,” Rector said to them. “She had enough gems and gold to make a Kumma woman feel naked.”

  Rector led them down a long hallway. At the end was a closed door. “She's in there.”

  “What Caste was she?” Jessira asked.

  “Duriah,” Rector replied.

  Alarm bells pealed in Rukh's mind. “Do we have any idea as to what she did to accrue such wealth?”

  “No. There are some notebooks and financial documents indicating that she was a partner in a number of business ventures, both in the city and in various Trials,” Rector answered. “Jaresh already looked through them, but he says they're fairly standard. Apparently, she was just very good at choosing her investments.”

  Rukh pushed open the door. Inside was a large room with heavy furniture that somehow managed to be both ornate and understated at the same time. On the four-post bed was a shrouded figure. The murdered Pera Obbe.

  Jessira stepped forward and exposed the dead woman's face. She gasped. “Why would Hal'El have cut off her face?”

  “He did that after stabbing her in the heart, “Rector said, sounding clinical. At Jessira's look of a
nnoyance, he held up his hands. “I'm just telling you what the examining physician said. She said there would have been a lot more blood if he'd cut off her face first and then killed her.”

  “He cut off her face because he hated her,” Rukh said. The words sounded right, felt right.

  “How do you know?” Rector asked.

  Rukh held up a finger. “We have a Duriah woman who is wealthy from remarkably good investing.” He held up a second finger. “She is murdered by Hal'El Wrestiva.” A third finger went up. “In his journal, Ular Sathin remarked about how much the SuDin despised the Duriah MalDin, how he was offended by her ugliness. Potato-faced was what he called her.” Rukh glanced at Rector. “How do the neighbors describe Pera Obbe's appearance?”

  “She was ugly,” Rector replied before hesitating for a moment. “One of them said her face looked like the get of a potato and a rutabaga.”

  Rukh looked his way in confusion.

  “Her nose looked like a rutabaga,” Rector explained.

  “You think Pera Obbe was the last MalDin?” Jessira asked.

  “I think if Jaresh takes another look at those financial journals, he'll find more than he imagined,” Rukh replied.

  Rector stroked his chin in thought. “Hal'El killed Pera because he hated her.”

  “And he wants us to know he's back,” Jessira said.

  “You look fine,” Rukh said.

  Jaresh turned away from the mirror where he'd been studying his appearance and looked his brother's way with a raised, questioning eyebrow.

  “I know you're taking Sign out tonight,” Rukh answered.

  “We're just having dinner. I'm not really taking her out in the way you mean. We're just friends,” Jaresh replied in a rush. He immediately knew that his words had tumbled out too quickly and made him sound defensive.

  Rukh looked on with a knowing grin.

  Jaresh rolled his eyes at his brother's amusement. He tried to change the subject and gestured to his pants. “You don't think these pants are too . . . bold, do you?”