by Davis Ashura
She allowed the warm love of the words to wash over Her.
By Her grace are we born
By Her love are we made
By Her will are we shorn
By Her fire are we unmade
And are reborn once more
As it always did, the Prayer comforted Her and, in turn, brought comfort to those who spoke it. It was as it should be.
“Are My Children in position?” Lienna asked Her SarpanKum.
Li-Boil rested on his knees in prayerful respect, and he lifted his eyes to look up at Her. His gaze was worshipful and without fear. “Yes, Mother,” he answered. “But with the Humans behind their walls, I am not sure how we can overcome them. We will run out of Chimeras before they run out of food.”
Lienna nodded to Herself. Her new SarpanKum was not only loyal; he was also astute. “As to the second, do not worry. I will create more breeders to renew your ranks. As to the first, we will overcome the Humans if you listen closely and attend My instructions.”
Before speaking further, Lienna deliberated on how much to tell Her SarpanKum. What would he do if he knew there were Baels and Tigons in Ashoka? What would he do if he realized that his traitorous brethren had a plan to repopulate their traitorous ranks? Or if he learned that Lienna's plans required that Her pet Human stab the stone with the Withering Knife? If Hal'El didn't do so, the Oasis might never be defeated. Continual worry with stones and rocks might work, but it would take months longer.
The silence stretched on as Lienna considered what next to do.
In the end, She realized She couldn't trust Her SarpanKum. Not yet. Maybe never. Trust lost was not easily won back.
“At last, You show a spark of wisdom,” Mistress Arisa sarcastically congratulated Her.
Li-Boil listened closely as Mother explained what She wanted. They were to build machines to throw rocks at Ashoka's Wall? Boil glanced at Ashoka's massive fortifications and doubted Mother's plan would work. What could a rock do against Ashoka's stony strength?
Mother paused in Her explanation, and Boil snapped his attention back to her. Lightning coruscated across the sky, and thunder rumbled. Boil swallowed.
“Attend My words,” Mother snapped. “Your one role is to carry out My wishes. That is what it means to be the SarpanKum. Am I understood?”
“Yes, Mother,” Li-Boil said, bowing low. He remembered to keep the fright from his features. All accounts were clear on this one matter: Mother hated seeing fear in the faces of Her children when they spoke to Her. She also hated being contradicted and expected nothing less than strict obedience. All of these things, Boil knew, but knowing wasn't the same as doing.
Not for the first time did he find himself resenting Li-Shard and the other SarpanKums for putting him in this position. Why couldn't they have done as Baels had since Hammer's Fall: subtly block Mother's will, ruin Her plans through incompetence, and protect Humanity through misdirection? It had worked well for centuries, and such schemes had seen Humanity safe, the Baels alive, and the ideals of fraternity given honorable practice.
Boil scowled to himself.
The works of their forefathers hadn't been enough for Li-Shard, though. The young SarpanKum had desired something more, something to mark his name for all time. The young fool had desired glory, seeking to follow in the footsteps of another fool, Li-Dirge.
And Boil had to be the one to pick up the pieces and keep the Baels alive. He was the one who had saved the Baels from utter ruin.
He smiled as a thought came to him.
Dirge, Shard, and Choke had sought greatness and renown, but if their names were even remembered by future generations of Baels, it certainly wouldn't be with affection. Those three had nearly led their kind to extinction. Instead—ironically—it would be Li-Boil whose name would live on in history. It would be his name that would ring with glory as generations of future Baels would undoubtedly hail him for his wisdom.
As far as Boil was concerned, his acclaim to come was well-deserved.
Mother was still speaking, and Boil quickly returned his attention to what She was saying.
They were to build these things that Mother called 'siege engines'. Boil recognized what they were. Before Hammer, the Baels had created these structures—towers high enough to reach the top of a city's wall, mobile wooden sheds with a large ramming spear, and rock throwers called catapults—to demolish a city's defenses. Knowledge of their construction was no longer taught, and in fact, few—if any—Baels still knew anything of siege engines or their use. However, reports, even entire books of how the Baels had fought when they had been loyal had been archived in the breeding caverns. Mother must have recovered those records. Or perhaps She actually remembered those ancient battles. Maybe Her mind was now clear enough to do so. It certainly hadn't been the case a few seasons ago.
Boil wondered what else Mother might recall, what else She knew, and how aware She truly was because right now, Mother sounded lucid. She sounded cunning. She sounded competent. It was terrifying to consider, and Boil hid a shudder.
“You will need to get close to the city walls,” Mother instructed. “The closer the better. Their Oasis will still block everything you launch at them, but over time, like the slow work of water and wind, you will tear down their mountainous Wall.” A crash of thunder sounded a counterpoint to Mother's sudden irritation. “The work would go much quicker if the Human would do as I command,” She muttered.
Boil shivered once at Mother's anger before he managed to master his fear. “Won't the Ashokans simply use their own catapults to destroy our siege engines?” Boil asked, hoping She didn't notice his earlier trepidation.
Mother's lightning and thunder seemed to smile, or at least that was the impression Boil got. “They can try, but remember, I will be with you,” She said. “I will sweep aside anything they use that might hurt My children.”
Rukh wiped the perspiration from his brow and did his best to ignore the rivulets of sweat dripping down his back and chest. He also disregarded the lank hair clinging to his scalp like a wet hat and the sticky shirt and pants pressing on him like a second skin. There was nothing he could do about it. The dog days of Ashoka's summer had come early. The weather had turned hot and humid and the dead air left the world feeling like a warm, wet blanket. Even here atop the Outer Wall it was the same. It was muggy and uncomfortable with no relief to be had, judging by the cloudless sky.
Rukh silently wished for the arrival of autumn's monsoon season even as he pressed a spyglass to an eye. He swore when a bead of stinging sweat dripped into it. As far as he was concerned, the monsoon season—though months away—couldn't arrive quickly enough. Not only would it provide a break from this unholy weather, but the rain would also slow whatever the Chimeras were doing out there on the plain.
Rather than share in the wisdom of all the world's creatures—the ones who were waiting out the day's heat in cool shade—the Chimeras had chosen to spend their hours working as industriously and busily as ants. They chopped, hammered, and sawed a veritable forest of trees into strange structures, and Rukh wondered what they were.
Jessira studied the situation as well and wore an identical expression of puzzlement as she set aside her spyglass. “Do you have any idea what they're doing?” she asked.
Rukh shook his head. “None,” he answered.
“Siege engines,” Li-Choke grunted.
Rukh looked his way, perplexed. “What are siege engines?”
Choke took the spyglass away from his eye. “Before Hammer, when the Fan Lor Kum attacked a city, we would bring these structures—rams, towers, and catapults—to breach a city's wall. I don't know how it was done—no one does,” the Bael said. “We had thought all accounts of how to build such structures—as well as how to attack a city with them—had been lost.”
“Apparently someone remembered,” Marshal Ruenip Tanhue said. The commander of the expeditionary force against Suwraith's breeders looked relatively unchanged from when Rukh had last seen
him. Maybe a little more gray and a few more wrinkles, but otherwise, Marshal Tanhue remained the tall, slim, strong warrior who had commanded the attack on the Chimera caverns two years ago.
*Is there any chance we'll get to go swimming soon?* Aia complained.
*It's too hot up here, and I'm bored,* Shon whined.
Rukh glanced at the two Kesarins. Both lounged in the shade of a nearby battlement with tongues lolling out and looking miserable.
*We'll be done soon,* Rukh replied, feeling pity for the cats. *We can go swimming then.*
*You said that an hour ago,* Aia grumbled.
Jessira smiled. *Hush,* she admonished.
*You hush,* Aia huffed. *I'm hot. I'm thirsty. And I'm bored.*
*We'll be done soon,* Rukh promised once again.
Marshal Tanhue looked his way. “Is there something wrong?” he asked.
Rukh shook his head. “It's just the Kesarins complaining about the heat.”
*You would complain too if you had fur,* Shon muttered.
Marshall Tanhue muttered something under his breath about spoiled, overgrown house cats before turning to Choke. “Do you recognize any of the Baels?” the Marshal asked him. “The one with the red feathers. He should be the SarpanKum, right?”
Choke nodded before looking through his spyglass.
“I thought you said all the Baels had been killed,” Jessira said.
Choke shrugged. “I thought so as well, but it seems I was wrong.” He hissed a moment later, and his spyglass began darting about, focusing on various Baels.
“What is it?” Tanhue demanded.
“The one with the red feathers, the SarpanKum—he isn't Li-Shard. He isn't even Li-Brind, the SarpanKi. He's Li-Boil, my VorsanKi. He was the second-in-command of my Shatter.” Choke frowned in consternation.
“But what does that mean for us?” Rukh asked, trying to make sense of what had Choke so agitated.
“The one wearing the feathers of the SarpanKi is Li-Torq, Boil's crèche-mate,” Choke explained.
“How did your VorsanKi become the SarpanKum? Did he kill Shard and take his place?” Jessira asked.
“Would this Boil really be capable of murdering his commanding officer?” Rukh asked, sounding surprised.
Choke didn't answer at first. Instead, his spyglass darted about as he appeared to search out individual Baels. Eventually, he sighed in disappointment and disbelief. He looked crushed. “Yes. He could have killed Li-Shard,” he said in answer to Rukh. “Boil barely believed in fraternity. He always sought the easy path for his life's salvation, and too many of the Baels I see down there thought much like him.”
“You're sure about this?” Rukh asked.
Choke nodded. “The brothers who were the most faithful to Hume's teachings—none of them are down there,” he said with a snarl. Anger replaced his earlier grief. “They're all likely dead because those Baels down there chose the path of evil.”
“That's a lot of supposition and guessing,” Jessira said.
“It's also likely the truth,” Choke replied.
Tanhue stared at the Bael with an enigmatic expression before turning away. He stared out at the field through his spyglass and said nothing.
Rukh knew the Marshal doubted Choke's words.
“He speaks the truth as he knows it,” Jessira said into the noiselessness.
The Marshal sighed. “Even if I accept that, it changes nothing.”
“It changes everything,” Jessira said in disagreement. “If Choke is right about the nature of this Li-Boil, then that is a far different commander we'll be facing compared to a Bael like Li-Shard.”
“What do you mean?” the Marshal asked.
“Shard would have led the Chims in a way guaranteed to maximize their losses and minimize ours. If Li-Boil is the kind of Bael Choke describes, he won't. He'll lead the Chimeras with competence.”
The Marshal cursed. “Just what we need,” he muttered.
“I don't recognize that Bael talking with Boil,” Choke said.
Li-Grist gazed upon Ashoka's impressive fortifications and felt hope. Even from a distance, he could see the many catapults and ballistas upon the battlements that were undoubtedly manned by the city's famed warriors. Grist nodded in satisfaction. Even if the two or so Plagues gathered beyond Ashoka's walls were led with competence—which would not be the case—they would not find it easy to penetrate such stout bulwarks. Grist almost grinned. As they had since Hammer's fall, the Baels would maintain morality and justice by subverting Mother's wicked will.
He glanced at the camp of the Eastern Plague. It was a riot of movement, sound, and dust. Balants, Braids, Ur-Fels, and Tigons rushed about in a state of harried hurry. The smell of cut wood overwhelmed all scents, and sawdust clogged the air. Grist's nose itched, and he sneezed.
Just what were the Chimeras constructing? What were they doing with all those strange wooden buildings?
A flash of red caught Grist's attention. It had been the flash of red feathers denoting the SarpanKum. Grist turned to face the Bael he had been expecting to meet, Li-Shard, the brilliant commander who had likely done more to further the ideals of fraternity than any Bael in history. Grist frowned as the SarpanKum came closer. He was older than Grist had expected. Li-Shard was said to be young for his rank, as young as a Levner, but this Bael looked to be as old as a veteran Vorsan. Grist shrugged and disregarded the oddity as Shard arrived.
“It is good to meet the Bael whose plan set Mother's schemes back for decades,” Li-Grist offered in greeting.
Shard gave him a cursory examination before breaking into a self-deprecating smile. “I wish I were as brave and honorable as the one of whom you speak,” he said. “Sadly, Li-Shard and his SarpanKi, Li-Brind, along with many of our brethren were killed several days past. It was on the day when Shard's plan bore fruit. She knew it had been he who had seen Her breeders destroyed. She came to us in a fury, demanding the death of all our brothers.”
Grist nodded and his head drooped in sorrow. Shard's end wasn't unexpected, but it still stung to know that such a great Bael had been cut down so young.
“I am Li-Boil,” the unfamiliar Bael introduced himself. “And you must be Sarpan Li-Grist, once of the Northern Plague of Continent Catalyst, but now assigned to the Eastern Plague of Continent Ember.”
Grist tilted his head in surprise at the other Bael's knowledge of him.
“Your broken horn,” Boil explained with a smile. “All of us know the story of your battle with the coral buffalo.”
Grist shifted in embarrassment. “It is a story I would rather forget,” he said. “The stupid beast thought I meant to steal his cow.”
Boil laughed. “Regardless, welcome to the Eastern Plague of Continent Ember.” His smile faded. “Your Chimeras are arriving rather later than I expected.”
“The hills and forests slowed our progress to a crawl,” Grist replied with a grimace.
“We had the same issue,” Boil said, “but Mother cleaved a path for us so we could arrive more quickly.” The SarpanKum hesitated. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”
“Please do.”
“How did you survive Mother's wrath?” he asked, his expression intense and curious. “We only did so by killing a number of our brothers and pretending we had ferreted out traitors to Mother's cause.” Boil shuddered. “She was foolish enough to believe our ruse.”
“You killed Shard and the others?” Grist asked, confused as to what Boil's admission meant.
Boil wore an unhappy frown. “It was Shard's plan. When we sensed Mother's anger, he told us what he had done and what had to be done. Until then, only he and the SarpanKi knew of the plan to destroy the breeding caverns.”
Grist nodded in understanding. “I only knew the vaguest outline of what Li-Deem, my SarpanKum, intended. He planned on destroying the northern breeding caverns while also sending a number of Baels and Bovars to Hanuman and Kush. They were to have begged for sanctuary in the name of this new Human her
o, Rukh Shektan.”
Boil's eyes narrowed. “Was the plan to send Baels and Bovars to Hanuman and Kush successful?”
Grist shrugged. “I had already arrived on Continent Ember when that portion of the plan was to have been executed.” He returned his gaze to Boil, and his hold on his trident involuntarily tightened. “Why did you kill Shard?” he demanded.
“As I said, it was Li-Shard's plan,” Boil began. “After what he and the other SarpanKums did, he said that the only way for the Baels to survive Mother's retribution would be to kill all the high-ranking brothers. We were to then tell Her that we had discovered treason amongst the senior commanders and, as a result, had killed them for their betrayal.”
A brave, courageous plan from a bold, worthy Bael. Grist lifted his face to the heavens and offered a silent prayer for the fallen SarpanKum.
“Now, what of you?” Boil asked. “How did you survive?”
“Mother came to us, the same day that Shard's plan unfolded,” Grist said. “She said that if we didn't level Ashoka, She would eradicate the Baels for all time.”
Boil smiled just then, seeming happy. “Then you understand our predicament.”
Grist nodded, discomfited by the intense expression worn by the SarpanKum. The older Bael looked . . . hungry. Sweat suddenly broke out on Grist's forehead. It had nothing to do with the humid heat. “We have to help Mother level Ashoka,” he began carefully. “But if we do, then we would be authors of the inconceivable. Instead, we should hold tight to what we know is true and pray for Devesh's comfort.”
Boil's smile held frozen on his face, and his hungry look faded. “Exactly,” he said a moment later.
Grist tried to put the SarpanKum's somewhat odd attitude from his mind and stared toward Ashoka. “Did Shard send Baels and Bovars to the city?” he asked.