The Castes and the OutCastes: The Complete Trilogy

by Davis Ashura

  “What in the unholy hells,” Keemo whispered. “Where did she come from?”

  “And what is she?” Brand whispered. “She looks like…”

  “Let me go,” the girl whispered furiously after working Rukh’s hand off her mouth. “I’ve done nothing to you.”

  A shock, like lightning, raced through Rukh, and his blood ran cold. On a night of surprises, this one was just about as startling as all the others. He knew what she was. Words from childhood lessons came to him as he struggled to hold back his sudden disgust and anger. She was a ghrina, a child of two Castes. She was an unholy abomination, warned against by the First Mother and First Father in The Word and the Deed.

  But her presence here should have been impossible. A ghrina and its parents were immediately evicted from a city as soon as they were discovered, even those as young as a newborn. It was a death sentence. No one could survive the Wildness. Between the Queen, her Chimeras, and the brutality of the wilderness itself, anyone caught out alone beyond the safety of an Oasis would quickly die. Or so everyone had always assumed.

  Obviously, their assumptions had been wrong. Some ghrinas must have managed to survive and live on in the Wildness. The proof of this disturbing truth sat before him: an adult ghrina, living, breathing, and healthy.

  Rukh didn’t know what to do. Should he simply kill her out of hand? It was what might have been done back in Ashoka. Death was supposed to be a ghrina’s proper punishment, but it seemed so barbaric. He growled low in frustration. This was the last thing he needed to worry about right now.

  He shook his head in frustration.

  And to think several months ago, he thought he had the world figured out: there were the Castes and the cities and there was Suwraith and her hordes. Life was simple, and he liked it that way. Now…he sighed as he came to a decision. He couldn’t kill the girl, not yet anyway, and he wasn’t sure if doing so would even be moral, no matter what The Word and the Deed commanded. If nothing else, he had to learn more about her and where she came from.

  “I’m afraid we can’t let you go miss,” Rukh said. He gestured to the motionless Bael general who was praying or something. “He’d kill you, eat you up, and pick his teeth with your bones. And if you’re lucky, in that order.”

  The girl snorted in derision. “My name isn’t miss, and the Chim out there would have to catch me first. I don’t think he can.”

  “I caught you,” Rukh reminded her.

  She stared at him, taken aback by either fear or surprise. A moment later, she struggled anew against his grip. “Let me go. You have no right to hold me,” she said.

  Rukh shook his head at the girl’s misplaced confidence. Women weren’t weak. That went without saying. His mother was about as indomitable an individual as he could think to name. But women were also to be sheltered and protected. They were the hope of Humanity, the only ones able to bear the next generation. To put them unnecessarily at risk in the Wildness was folly beyond measure.

  The ghrinas – Rukh doubted she was the only one of her kind – didn’t seem to care as much about their women. Rukh wondered what it might mean for what they were as a people to put their women in danger like this. Who were they, and where did they live? None of it mattered – not now anyway – but he was curious. Or maybe he was reading this all wrong. Maybe this girl was a criminal and running from her own kind. But then why was she dressed as a warrior, and why had she been spying on the Baels? She looked and acted like a scout, not a criminal. He glanced at her again, taking in more details. Well, she wasn’t a girl. In fact, she looked to be about his age, and she was most definitely a woman. A strange looking ghrina woman but somehow compelling. She might even be considered beautiful if not for her oddly mismatched features.

  He grimaced in abhorrence at the idea, but something in his face or posture must have given away his thoughts. She noticed, and her eyes were suddenly hot and full of anger. “That’s right. I’m a ghrina, an abomination. Take a good look.”

  Rukh didn’t bother answering. He was still angry with himself. He had thought the ghrina was beautiful? Disgusting.

  “We should…” Farn began, a look of hatred on his face as he stared at the woman.

  “No,” Rukh ordered.

  Farn wanted to kill the woman. He had no qualms about the matter. Rukh could see the urgent desire in his eyes. His cousin had always been more of a reactionary, and with all the sudden changes pushed onto him; he could see Farn reaching his breaking point. But right now he needed his cousin to hold on a little longer. They could always kill the ghrina later, although Rukh hoped it wouldn’t have to come to that.

  But…” Farn protested.

  “I said no.” Rukh cut him off, his voice as hard as the spidergrass of his sword. “Not now. We don’t have time for it anyway.” He pointed to the Bael, still praying. What in the unholy hells could a Chim pray for anyway? “First, we deal with the Bael. Then her.”

  Farn simmered down into an unhappy silence.

  “Burn the Chim from a distance,” Brand urged.

  “I want to talk to him first,” Rukh said.

  “What!” Keemo said, in a strangled voice. “Rukh, no…”

  “I have to understand…”

  The woman took advantage of his inattention and nearly freed herself. Suwraith’s spit! The stupid ghrina would give all of them away. Rukh’s Blend was adequate at best, but not good enough to disguise the noises she was making.

  “I’ve got it,” Brand said. “I’m Linked with her, remember?”

  Rukh exhaled in relief. He’d forgotten. Rukh nodded ‘thanks’, grateful for Brand’s help. The woman still struggled, though, and that had to stop. Rukh put her in a body lock, his legs cinched tight around her waist with one foot tucked behind a knee. His right arm snaked under her chin, and he had her in a chokehold as well. “Don’t,” he warned. “I’ll put you to sleep if I have to.”

  She slowly and resentfully subsided.

  “If you’ve been here as long as I suspect you have, you probably heard everything the Baels said. I need to understand what they meant, and I think you want to know too.” Rukh carefully relaxed his grip. “Now, I’m going to release you to my friend over there.” He gestured to Keemo. “Don’t try to run, and I’ll tell you everything the Bael tells me. And then you can tell it to your ghrina commander over there by that little hummock of grass.”

  The last had been a guess, but judging by the woman’s open-eyed expression of shock, it had been a good one. “How did you…who are you?” she asked in a furious whisper. “You’re Kummas, but you can Blend.”

  “We’re men you don’t want to mess with. Now, shut up.” Thankfully, the woman stayed quiet and still, even if she looked like she wanted to run him through with her sword.

  Brand gave Rukh a look of uncertainty. “How did you know she wasn’t alone? I can barely sense anything,” he said. “After Suwraith, the ground around here…it’s like someone shouting in my ear. I can’t feel Blends like I normally can. I could barely tell the girl was there until she was right on top of us.”

  “It was a guess. If she had backup, I figured they would have to be nearby. They’re probably all ghrina like her, and the only other place around here a person could hide is behind that little hillock.” He glanced at the woman. “So what do you say to my offer?”

  She considered his proposal, frowning angry murder the entire time before reluctantly nodding. “Fine. But two things first. Stop calling me ghrina. We’re OutCastes. And second, let go of me. I won’t be wrapped up like fried fish in paper. I’ll wait here quietly without someone’s thick hands all over me. And I won’t run or signal my unit. On my honor.”

  Rukh briefly wondered what she meant by fried fish in a paper. It sounded unappetizing. He shrugged. A mystery for another time. At least she sounded sincere about not running away. “Agreed,” he said, accepting her terms.

  With that, he released her and watched as she scooted away from him and the other Ashokans, but
at least she remained behind the rocks.

  Rukh looked at Farn, who eyed the ghrina distastefully. “Remember, nothing happens to her,” he reminded his cousin.

  Farn eventually nodded before moving his angry gaze away from the woman, turning it toward the Bael instead. “Are you sure about this, Rukh? You really want to talk to him?”

  “If I can. If he doesn’t attack, then I won’t have to kill him…”

  The woman snorted in derision. “Think much of yourself?”

  “You have something to say?” Rukh asked, annoyed by her mocking tone.

  “You four are pretty young. I’m guessing this is your first time out in the Wildness, right? Virgins is how you Purebloods put it, I think.” She smirked as they shifted uncomfortably. “You’ll find Baels, or even Tigons for that matter, aren’t as easy to kill as you seem to think.”

  “We could kill him from here if we wanted,” Farn growled.

  She rolled her eyes. “Right. The vaunted Kumma Fireballs,” she said, clearly disbelieving them. “But if you close with him, you lose the advantage of distance, and in close quarters, he’ll have you. You’ll be easy meat.”

  “Then there will be one less of us you need to worry about,” Rukh snapped.

  He stood slowly, keeping his Blend in place as he stalked the Bael on silent feet. He slid to the general’s side, leaving Farn a clear shot with a Fireball if need be.

  As far as he knew, other than in the heat of battle, no one had ever been this close to one of the creatures. The Bael kneeled on heavy knees and sat back on his hocks. The beast’s legs ended in wide, bovine hooves. Standing, he would be eight feet tall and full of heavily muscled fury. His horns, each about three feet long and several inches thick at the base, were curved slightly. They faced forward at the tip and were wreathed with a number of feathers, the most prominent of which were the red ones, proclaiming his position as general. His bristly tail with its terminal tuft of hair occasionally switched at the flies buzzing about him. The Bael was thickly wrinkled in places, especially the joints, and his tough, black skin was covered in a dense coat of short, coarse, black fur. It twitched at times to shake off the same flies. His hands were massive, with thick nail-less fingers wrapped firmly around his trident. His only garments were a crossed-leather harness and breechcloth from which his whip was hung. His red eyes were closed, and he breathed slowly and steadily, as if meditating. A heavy scent, like musk and cut grass, lingered about him. But the beast didn’t stink – not like the manure smell of a cow.

  Rukh eased his sword from its scabbard, aiming it at the Bael’s neck. He let the Blend fall away and cleared his throat.

  The general slowly lowered his closed-eyed gaze from the sky and looked at Rukh. He blinked, but otherwise evinced no surprise. His lips pulled back into a smile, revealing teeth disturbingly Human in appearance, especially considering his bull-like face. The Bael let go of his trident, letting it fall to the side as he bowed his head. “My life is yours, brother,” he said, his voice carrying and commanding. “Do with it as you wish, but I will not fight you.”

  Rukh kept his face still, hiding the surprise he felt. He had expected the Chimera commander to roar with rage and charge, trident leveled and chained whip aflame. Not this meek surrender.

  In just about any other instance, Rukh might have been moved to pity. Had it been a person, even someone he hated, bowing down and asking for mercy, he would have granted it. But the Baels were different. They had too much blood on their hands. Again and again, history described the evil of the red-eyed bastards and their undying hatred for Humanity, a hatred returned in fullness. Even now, despite his earlier words to his cousins and Brand, the pent up desire to kill the Bael, the commander who had ordered the death of all his friends and brothers on the caravan, ate at Rukh’s soul. It overwhelmed his desire for any knowledge the beast might give him. Death would be too good for the creature.

  His grip tightened, and he prepared the killing stroke.

  “Thirty Tigons approach from the south,” the Bael said, softly. “They have seen you already. Stand and fight with me, brother.”

  Rukh didn’t bother answering. Fight alongside a Bael? He’d rather burn in the unholy hells of Suwraith’s pit.

  Just then, fast approaching from behind him came the sound of claws and hardened feet tearing at the ground along with hoarse cries and roars. Fragging hell. The Bael hadn’t been lying. The damn Tigons really were coming up fast.

  Rukh shifted position, moving to place the general between him and the onrushing Chimeras. He Blended. He felt a Link brush against his mind, and he locked in on it. The world blurred briefly, as he Linked with Brand and the others. He could see them again. They had stalked closer, remaining hidden as they took up positions behind and beside him.

  “Stay Blended,” Rukh commanded. “Unleash Fireballs as soon as they are in range.” He glanced back at the rocks. “Where’s the woman?”

  “The ghrina hides behind the boulders,” Farn said, contempt lacing his voice.

  “Well, considering you wanted to kill her on sight, it’s probably not a bad decision,” Brand muttered.

  Rukh glanced at the general, who still kneeled, trident still lying on the ground. “Will you fight alongside me?” he asked, flickering back into view as he let go his Blend.

  The general smiled. “If you allow it. It would be my undying honor, something of which I’ve dreamed since my Nanna taught me in the crèche.”

  Rukh cursed. More Devesh-damned mysteries. The Baels had nannas? He thought the Baels were born of the dimwitted Bovars, Suwraith’s beasts of burden. Was the Bael saying the Bovars could talk? He exhaled in frustration. Leave it be.

  The Tigons had arrived. They stumbled to an uncertain halt, their clawed feet digging into the ground. Their ears, tented and peaked, twitched as they shuffled about nervously. Their fur – some long, some short – varied in color and patterns with everything from a gold to a tabby to a pure white and black. All were tall, taller than a Kumma, but stout through the chest and sinewy and lean through their hocked legs. Their hands, similarly clawed like their feet, clenched and unclenched, although most were empty of weapons for now. That would likely change very shortly. Their wide, blunted faces wore identical looks of hunger as their vertically slitted eyes expanded as they took in the sight of Rukh standing next to the SarpanKum.

  The general stood, taking up his trident, and Rukh quickly moved beyond the circle of his reach.

  The lead Tigon stepped forward. He was spotted in yellow and black rosettes, like a jaguar. Though he must have been braver than his brethren, he was no less confused. “Why not kill Human?” he asked. “Mother kill all them. Vermin.”

  Rukh could barely understand the creature. His mouth, full of daggered teeth, wasn’t meant for speech.

  “Mother has a special role for this one. He will be the means to our victory over Ashoka.”

  Rukh forced himself not to look at the Bael. Once more the creature was lying, this time to his own warriors. But, what was his ultimate ploy? Surely he and the other Baels hadn’t been serious with all their talk about Hume and all the rest?

  “We go Craven,” the Tigon said, sounding even more confused. “Li-Reg said.”

  “After Craven,” the Bael replied smoothly.

  The Tigon lifted his snout to the air, seemingly tasting it. His jaguar-like visage lowered as his gaze came to rest upon the general. The Tigon’s ears flattened and he snarled. “Another Human nearby?” He turned to face the rocks. “Hiding.”

  Suwraith’s spit. The Chim must have seen through the ghrina’s Blend. Well, there went that. Rukh rolled his shoulders, loosening them. Thirty Tigons against three Kummas and a Rahail. Not great odds, but possible, especially if the Bael really did help them out.

  “Ready the Quad,” he whispered to the others.

  The first Tigon again tasted the air. “Li-Dirge, what means this?”

  “It means you should remember who commands.”


  “Mother commands. She hate Humans. Not save them.”

  The Tigons were working themselves into a killing fury. Rukh could tell it, and apparently the general could as well.

  The Bael smiled as he leveled his trident. “There are greater mysteries in this world, oh foolish kitten, than your dim and empty head could ever hope to comprehend.” The smile faded and a look of grim purpose stole over him. “Remember who I am. I am the SarpanKum, chosen by Mother Herself! Who are you to gainsay Her will? Stand down!”

  The Tigons glanced at one another, their earlier anger fading away as they shuffled about in uncertainty.

  “Return to the encampment and forget all you saw here. Tell no one,” the Bael barked, his voice a whiplash command. “Go!”

  Long years of discipline and habit took hold. The Tigons turned and began to shuffle away. The general appeared to have convinced the cats to disengage, and Rukh relaxed, but his grip upon his sword remained firm.

  As the Tigons retreated to the south, a Fireball exploded into their midst, and all became chaos.

  Rukh spared a disbelieving glance at Farn, who was no longer Blended. It had been him. They’d been so close to walking out of this without a fight. Fragging idiot! Now, one or all of them might die here tonight.

  “Form the Quad!” Rukh shouted.

  The Tigons were on them before they could get off more than another few Fireballs.

  Jessira peered over the small boulder behind which she hid, watching as the Kumma leader, the one named Rukh, steadily advanced on the Bael. She hated to admit it, but the man was brave. Foolish, but brave.

  Kummas were supposed to be the foremost warriors of Arisa, and they might be, although Jessira figured their supposed skill was probably more than a little exaggerated – nobody could be that good. Regardless of their reputation, they sure weren’t bright. The best way to handle a Bael was with an arrow from a distance, preferably a very long distance. Trying to take one on with a sword was madness, a guaranteed trip to the funeral pyre.