A Warrior's Penance

by Davis Ashura

  Li-Grist studied the gathered Baels. Those from Continent Catalyst congregated behind him while those from the Eastern Plague stood at Li-Boil's back. Grist shook his head in disgust. It was disgraceful to see the brothers separated in such a fashion. A life truly given over to fraternity could not accept such division. Their ancestors would have been ashamed.

  “We also come together when something of grave import that might affect all of us is learned,” Grist replied in what he hoped was an even tone. He didn't want any of the nervousness he felt to show through. This was as momentous a meeting as the Baels had ever experienced. And much depended on the reaction and actions of the Eastern Baels. They remained an unknown commodity. Would they behave as Li-Choke hoped they would? Grist wasn't sure, but of his brothers from Continent Catalyst, he was confident. They would do what was just. They would hold to morality even at the cost of their own lives.

  “And what have you learned that is so important?” Boil asked, not bothering to hide his scorn.

  Grist glanced around before answering. He wanted to freeze this moment in his memory. It was not a beautiful setting, but something beautiful could be created tonight. Eastward, the fracture in Ashoka's Wall yawned like a smashed-out tooth and was easily visible in the ivory moonlight. Many fires dotted the plain for miles both north and south, and a warm wind blew, pregnant with the smell of smoke, cooked meat, and the refuse of thousands of Chimeras. As for the Baels, they stood at a distance from the rest of the Plague, gathering at night when Mother was less likely to see. But even with the moonlight lighting the plain to brightness, She likely wouldn't notice. Ashoka held the entirety of Her attention.

  Grist wondered if history would remember what was done here, or would this gathering be forgotten by uncaring future generations of both Baels and Humans?

  “I met with Li-Choke and his Human friends, Rukh and Jessira Shektan,” Grist began. “Late at night, with Mother none the wiser, deep in the heart of the breach in the Outer Wall. All three of them confirm that the Bovars are safe in Ashoka.” He glanced around, heartened to see the hopeful expression in the eyes of his Eastern brothers. “There is more,” Grist continued. “Three crèches of Baels have been born from those Bovars.”

  A murmuring of joyous relief arose from the assembled Baels. Grist noted that the same sense of happiness did not seem to affect Li-Boil or his SarpanKi, Li-Torq. Instead, upon hearing Grist's words, the SarpanKum had grimaced and shifted about on his feet. His tail lashed, and his posture was tense and uneasy. Grist was both saddened and angered by Boil's reaction.

  “How do we know Li-Choke speaks the truth?” the SarpanKum asked. “Perhaps the Humans were coercing him.”

  “It's not possible,” Grist answered. “I was there. Everything we were told about Li-Choke and his friendship with Humans is true. I saw them together. Choke wasn't being coerced.”

  “They even jested at Choke's expense,” Li-Drill, Grist's SarKi, said. “It was the type of humor only shared amongst friends.”

  Still, Li-Boil shook his head. “I am sorry, but you ask us to risk everything based on something only the three of you witnessed. I cannot allow it.”

  Li-Grist didn't answer. He simply stared at Li-Boil. Anger replaced any lingering regret at what he had to do. Grist saw clearly now. He saw the cowardice at the core of the SarpanKum. How could Boil have fallen so low? It was unfathomable that there might exist a Bael who had never accepted the holy tenets of fraternity, but here before him stood just such an example. It made Grist wonder what had really happened to Li-Shard and Li-Brind. He'd always had his doubts. Boil's explanations regarding the fall of the former SarpanKum had always sounded too self-serving, but Grist had accepted them anyway. No longer.

  Grist's anger stoked higher. A rumble, a deep-seated resonance of suppressed fury, rose from his chest. The rest of the gathering remained silent, watching, waiting to see what would happen next. “You are unfit to command us,” Grist snarled. “Take up your trident. Your betrayal of all we hold holy ends tonight.”

  Boil stiffened, pretending outrage, but Grist could see the fear in the smaller Bael's eyes. “You seek to provoke a civil war when Mother's attention might turn to us at any moment?” he accused in disbelief. “Traitor,” he spat. “You'll see the death of every one of us.”

  “I seek no war,” Grist replied. “I don't even wish your death, but I cannot allow you to mislead us any longer. Choke already assures us that three crèches were born to the Ashokan Bovars. I believe him, just as I have faith that Kush and Hanuman took in our brethren and more crèches might have been born in those cities as well. Our kind will not die here on the fields of Ashoka. Nor do we need live as slaves to Mother's whims.”

  “We are not so sanguine,” Boil said, anger now filling his eyes as Torq moved to stand in support of him. “My actions have seen us safe. My actions have assured the very existence of our kind.” He gestured to the Baels standing behind Grist. “You and a few others may laud Li-Dirge for his piety, but what did that fool's faith truly earn for him and his command?” Boil snorted derision. “Extermination,” he said, answering his own question. “And I tell you this: though you may despise me—for what I've accomplished—generations of our brothers will honor me and my brand of fealty.” His eyes shone with fervor and pride.

  Grist's heart sank. “Is it glory then that impels you?” he asked, appalled by Boil's moral failings.

  The SarpanKum grimaced. “You seek to twist my actions into something crass,” he answered. “But we saw what Shard and Brind's actions almost led to. I saved us by ending their lives.” He stood straight and proud. “And for that alone, yes, I should be held in the highest esteem.”

  “So Shard and Brind didn't simply step aside for you,” Grist noted. “I thought as much. Did you face him, or did you stab him in the back like a coward?”

  Torq hissed outrage. “You dare!”

  “I dare that and more!” Grist cried out. He didn't want to spill the blood of a brother, even one as craven as Boil, but he would do whatever was needed to see fraternity restored to the Eastern Baels. “Stand down, and I will allow you to leave here with no one to harm you,” he promised, giving Boil and his SarpanKi one last chance to live.

  “We have not yet fought, and you seek our surrender.” Torq sneered. “You and your SarKi will die tonight.”

  Grist turned to the Eastern Baels, who shuffled about in uncertainty. “You have a reputation of being shallow in your faith, of cowardice,” he called out to them. “It is well-known all across Continent Catalyst. Which is why it struck all of us a miracle when one as devout as Shard came to command your Plague. We reckoned Devesh had touched your hearts and shown you the error of your ways. Were we wrong? Is the raiment of a faithless traitor all you will ever wear?”

  Here and there the Eastern Baels began stepping back. They symbolically stamped their tridents, tines down, into the ground. More and more followed until all of them had done so.

  Grist nodded approval. They would stay out of the coming fight. Grist sensed when Drill and all his Vorsans move to stand at his back. He smiled. “The two of you are alone. Friendless and without allies,” he said. “I am not.”

  Torq's face had gone slack, while Boil stared about with an assessing gaze.

  “What will it be?” Grist asked.

  “I will not serve another selfless fool,” Boil said. He readied his trident and uncoiled his whip. Torq followed suit.

  “So be it,” Grist said, as he readied his own weapons. Drill did the same.

  “It you survive them, you face us next,” said Li-Jull, one of the Vorsans, in dire promise.

  “And you will also be put down,” Boil vowed.

  Grist snapped out his whip and ignited it. Flames dripped. “Come then,” he snarled.

  Torq took up the challenge. The SarpanKi stepped in front of Boil and twirled his trident.

  Grist hid a smile. Perfect.

  Torq stabbed out with his trident, and Grist sidestepped
it. His return blow also met empty air as Torq twisted out of the way.

  But Drill was there. His whip tangled about Torq's neck. Fur burned. A hard jerk by Drill, and Torq was slammed to the ground. The SarpanKi cried out in pain.

  Boil rushed forward, slashing at Drill's whip. Even as the SarpanKum's trident slashed downward, Grist was moving. A savage thrust impaled Boil, who slumped to the ground in disbelief.

  Grist pulled back his trident. It made a sickening, sticky sound as it withdrew from Boil's gut.

  “You'll lead us to oblivion,” the SarpanKum rasped. His hands were clasped around his gaping wounds.

  “The oblivion of this world leads to Devesh,” Grist said. His anger was gone and now only sadness remained. “I wish you had faith in that lesson, brother.”

  Boil stared up at him. “I hear a song,” he said before falling over.

  Drill had already finished off Li-Torq.

  The Baels on all sides, both the Eastern and those of Continent Catalyst, slammed their tridents, tines down into the ground once more and knelt. They offered obeisance to Li-Grist, the new SarpanKum of the Eastern Plague of Continent Ember.

  “I accept the service of leadership,” Grist said. “Now. One of you will tell me exactly what happened to Li-Shard and Li-Brind.”

  It was a young Jut named Li-Quill who did so.

  That stillness that bears the grace of peace is either a blessing or a curse—it can be found in both prayer and in death.

  ~Our Lives Alone by Asias Athandra, AF 331

  Three days after the breaching of the Outer Wall, a closed-door, late-night meeting of the Magisterium took place. It was a somber session of fearful voices and hushed discussions. The nature of the gathering made it so, one made even more prominent by the loneliness of a large chamber that was meant to hold hundreds but was currently occupied by only sixteen people. There were the seven Magistrates, Jax'El Tristham—the Liege-Marshall of the High Army—and high-ranking representatives of each of the seven Castes. Dar'El Shektan was amongst the latter group, and unsurprisingly, Rukh had also been asked to attend the meeting.

  The two sat next to one another, listening as the leaders of the city discussed the few choices available to them.

  “Can we trust the Baels to do as they say they will?” Fol Nacket, the Cherid Magistrate asked.

  Jax'El, the Liege-Marshall shook his head. “We would be foolish to believe so.”

  “I agree,” said Krain Linshok, the Kumma Magistrate. “We can't afford to believe that they will suddenly fight with incompetent tactics.”

  “Then what options do we have?” asked Gren Vos, the elderly Shiyen Magistrate. “We've gone over the status of the Army, but it doesn't seem like the courage of our warriors will be enough to see us through this crisis.”

  Her question was met by silence.

  “Li-Grist, this Sarpan from Continent Catalyst, says that the Fan Lor Kum lost almost a quarter of their Pheds,” said Jone Drent, the Duriah Magistrate. “No matter what the Baels do next, that has to count for something.”

  “They have enough food to remain in the field for a few more months,” said Poque Belt, the Sentya Magistrate.

  “Not if they ration,” muttered Magistrate Linshok.

  “Can we expand the Oasis so it covers the Outer Wall once again?” asked Thrivel Nonel, the invited representative of Caste Sentya. Just like Dar'El and several others who had been asked to attend tonight's meeting, he was a member of the Society of Rajan.

  “No,” said Grain Jola of Caste Rahail and a fellow Rajan. He was a Patriarch, one of the highest-ranking and most knowledgeable members of Caste Rahail.”Something happened to the Oasis. Something we don't yet understand. All we know is that it inexplicably weakened all of the sudden. We don't know why or how, but it likely has something to do with the Queen. Her attack maybe.”

  “And you have no idea how it fell so quickly?” Gren prodded.

  It was Brit Hule, the Rahail Magistrate, who answered. “ As Patriarch Jola said, it just gave way. We don't know why. And when the Queen penetrated it, we were lucky to firm it up where we did. The Oasis could have contracted much further.”

  “How much further?” Fol asked.

  “To the Inner Wall,” Grain replied.

  “Why can't the Rahails replenish the Oasis?” the Cherid Magistrate asked. “With all the Synthesis my Caste is making available, you should be able to draw on the untapped Jivatma of nearly everyone not directly engaged in the battle and keep the Oasis strong.”

  “It's still not enough,” Brit replied in frustration. “We fill the Oasis with all the Jivatma that we have, but it soaks it up like a desert would water.”

  “Speak plainly,” Gren snapped. “What does all this mean?”

  “It means we can't hold,” Brit stated. “It's this weakness in the Oasis, this flaw. If we had time to figure it out, maybe we could do something about it, but . . .” he shrugged helplessly. “Right now, with any large enough pressure, it's likely that the Oasis will fail once again.”

  “And with the Oasis' current state of weakness and the Sorrow Bringer's current rate of attack,” Jax'El began, “how long do we still have before the Oasis is breached once more?”

  “A couple of weeks,” Brit said. “No more than four.”

  Dar'El had a frightening thought. “What if the Queen leveled the Outer Wall and cast it down onto the Oasis?” he asked. “What would be the result?”

  “Can She do that?” Magistrate Vos asked in dismay.

  “She can,” Rukh answered. “When She butchered Stronghold, She punched straight through a mountain.”

  Grain Jola shuddered. “If She did something like that, the Oasis would snap,” he said. “Instantly. It would recoil past the Inner Wall.”

  “Then rather than expand the Oasis, would it not be more prudent to withdraw it back to the Inner Wall on our own timetable?” Dar'El suggested.

  Brit nodded. “And the smaller the area that the Oasis has to protect, the stronger we can make it. Even with this flaw.”

  “We need another few days to bring in all the crops and sacrifice the rest of the animals,” said Dos Martel, the Muran Magistrate. “I don't want to leave anything behind that the Chims can use for food.”

  “A few days will be an eternity if the Outer Wall is smashed into the Oasis,” Dar'El reminded her.

  “I agree with Dar'El,” Gren Vos said. “We should immediately retreat to the Inner Wall even if it means we have to set fire to the fields we haven't yet harvested. As for the animals, we can run them into the city proper and sacrifice them later.” She nodded firmly. “I so motion.”

  “I second,” Poque said.

  “All in favor,” Fol Nacket asked.

  Dar'El was relieved when the vote was unanimous in favor of Gren's motion.

  Magistrate Nacket turned to Dos Martel. “Pass the word on to your people. I want everything done by tomorrow night at the latest.”

  “I still don't understand why the Oasis lets in any of those stones that are thrown at it,” Krain Linshok complained.

  “The Oasis repels anything fast-moving that comes in contact with it,” Grain explained, “but not objects that are moving slowly. Those have no trouble penetrating. It's why rain, hail, and all but the hardest winds have no problem passing through the Oasis. Somehow, the Queen or the Fan Lor Kum deduced this secret.”

  Fol frowned. “So if the Queen wanted to kill the city with a poisonous fog, like something emitted from a volcano . . .”

  “She would have no trouble doing so,” Brit Hule said with a nod. “Pray She never comes to such a realization.”

  “And is there no way to change the nature of the Oasis?” Jone Drent, the Duriah Magistrate demanded. “Make it so that even slow-moving objects are kept out? Perhaps that can provide us the time to find this flaw you mention.”

  “Or just changing its nature only in the portion facing the Queen and the Chims?” Poque Belt, the Sentya Magistrate asked. “Harden it ther
e.”

  Grain Jola shook his head. “The truth is that while we of Caste Rahail can maintain the Oasis, there is little we actually know about it,” he said. “We can pull it back like we've talked about. We can judge the strength of it, look for weaknesses, but beyond that, we're powerless,” he explained. “The Oases were created by the First Father, utilizing Talents only He possessed. In comparison, we are primitives. We simply pour our Jivatma into what He constructed, and somehow, that's enough to maintain it. What we're actually doing, though, has always been a mystery. Even two thousand years later, we remain ignorant of all but the basics.”

  Rukh shifted in his chair. “There is something,” he said diffidently. “If an Oasis was tied off to something living, it could probably be manipulated in the way Magistrate Drent wants, but ours is anchored to a boulder at the Plaza of the Martyrs.”

  Grain frowned. “How do you know about the Stone? Only the Magistrates and Patriarchs know about it.”

  Rukh shrugged, looking more uncomfortable by the moment. “I learned about it from the memories of Linder Val Maharj, the First Father,” he replied, sounding as if he wanted to crawl under his chair and hide. “I also learned that the creation of an Oasis requires a Cohesion of a Bow, a Blend, and a Shield.”

  Dar'El shot Rukh a look of disbelief. How could he know this? No one else did, including the highest ranking Rahails. And was it even true? There was no way to know, to test what might simply be something stirred from the depths of Rukh's imagination.

  However, as soon as the questions were raised in Dar'El's mind, the doubts instantly fell away. This was Rukh, after all—his son who every few months brought forth knowledge that overthrew centuries of received wisdom.

  Dar'El shook his head. Wait until Satha heard.

  “When you say Cohesion, you mean the Talent of a Duriah?” Magistrate Drent asked.

  Rukh nodded. “The Book of First Movement was the last testament of the First Father,” Rukh continued. “For whatever reason, I was able to . . . experience it once.” He went on to explain how he'd lived out the last few moments in the life of Linder Val Maharj when he'd first opened the pages of The Book of First Movement. It was a story with which Dar'El was already familiar. “I turned The Book over to the Society of Rajan a few days ago.”