The Castes and the OutCastes: The Complete Trilogy

by Davis Ashura

  “If there aren’t any further interruptions, we will begin. Call to order. This is an emergency meeting of the Magisterium in the twelfth day of the seventh month of year 2062 since the Fall of the First World. The meeting has been called in order to answer public interest and allay the fears of those we represent regarding the sudden return of Rukh Shektan from the Trial to Nestle and the accompanying rumors thereof.”

  Gren Vos snorted, and Rukh thought he heard her say something about a ‘windbag’.

  “Now then,” Magistrate Nacket said. “What is going on Dar’El Shektan?” he asked, glaring at Gren Vos and daring her to laugh. Rukh had to bite his own lip to keep from chuckling at Poque Belt’s eyeroll. “All sorts of rumors swirl through Ashoka ever since your son returned to us.”

  “With the Magistrate’s permission, perhaps I can speak on my own behalf,” Rukh said, stepping forward and taking the lectern from his nanna.

  Nacket agreed with a brief nod.

  Rukh took a moment to clear his throat before recounting the events he had experienced over the past four months. He started with the sudden destruction of the caravan in the hills directly north of the Hunters Flats. When he described his suspicions regarding the caravan master, Jared Randall, and his possible affiliation with the Sil Lor Kum, the room exploded into shouted questions. It took Fol Nacket several minutes to restore order.

  “Explain yourself,” the Cherid Magistrate said, steel in his voice. The foppish, self-important persona he usually demonstrated was completely absent.

  Rukh described the last moments of the caravan and Randall’s strange behavior.

  Krain Linshok snorted. “And because a Rahail grew fearful, you would besmirch his name and legacy with such a vile allegation?”

  “The Chims knew where we were,” Rukh said. “We were surrounded before our scouts could warn us. Someone betrayed us. And the final words Randall spoke…it makes sense.”

  Magistrate Drent grunted, disbelief evident on his face. “I think you’re jumping at shadows. I would have thought you had better sense.”

  Rukh ignored the insult. It wasn’t worth his time to argue the point. There were still more important details to relate.

  “You said four of you survived,” Magistrate Drent continue. “Where are the other three?”

  Rukh felt his throat momentarily tighten. He still hadn’t mourned for Keemo and Brand, and after this meeting, he promised himself he would find the time. “Two of them are dead,” he answered. “I don’t know about the third.”

  It took hours to relay everything he had witnessed after the caravan’s destruction. Every few sentences, one of the Magistrates would interrupt, demanding clarification. They all wore expressions of stunned amazement when they heard his account of Suwraith Herself raging in the sky. All were troubled by the conversation he had held with the Baels and their claims of brotherhood to Humanity. The meeting dragged on, and the Magistrates began arguing loudly amongst themselves, discussing Rukh’s actions and the events he had witnessed. There was still more to tell though, and Rukh had to shout to be heard.

  “With all due respect, my account is not yet complete!” Rukh yelled.

  The Magistrates all stared at him with varying aspects of annoyance, but at least they had ceased their loud arguments. They settled into a restless quiet with muttered words still buzzing about now and then as they gazed at him with impatience. They had a lot of decisions to make.

  “Go on,” Magistrate Nacket said.

  “She…” he pointed to Jessira “…represents maybe more of a challenge to who we are than anything else I’ve told you,” Rukh said. He gestured, and Jessira unwrapped her shawl. Her appearance was like lightning in the room, stunning everyone into echoing silence. The Magistrates instantly knew what she was and what Rukh had meant when they saw her features. They listened, most with mingled expressions of fear and loathing, as they learned of the existence of an entire city of ghrinas, hidden and removed from the rest of Humanity.

  Only Gren Vos appeared unphased by Jessira’s presence. The old Magistrate studied her with keen interest. “She looks like a young woman, pretty if she weren’t so emaciated and worn-out,” the Shiyen Magistrate said into the silence.

  “It is repugnant,” Magistrate Drent said with feeling.

  Rukh stiffened, his mouth forming a thin line of anger. He was tired of the dehumanizing attacks aimed at Jessira. They were what was repugnant. He could only imagine what Jessira thought of them.

  “There is more, isn’t there?” Fol Nacket asked, before Rukh or Jessira could respond to Magistrate Drent.

  Rukh nodded. He described the attack of the Shylows, the death of Keemo and Brand, the separation from Farn, and the long march back to Ashoka, including the meeting with Aia.

  “Rukh Shektan, you have undone us,” Drent said. The Duriah had his head bowed, and he appeared to be trembling. “Our way of life is changed forever.”

  “He has saved us,” Magistrate Martel said, her liquid voice soaring. “Change is part of life. We Murans know this better than any. We see it every day in our farms and our fields.”

  “This…tale,” Linshok said. “Can you prove it?”

  “Am I not proof enough?” Jessira asked, stepping forward and speaking for the first time.

  Vos smiled thinly. “She has you there.”

  “He brought us warning of what we face,” Magistrate Belt said. “Suwraith is sane.”

  “Worse, we face three Plagues. Devesh save us,” Jone Drent said. “We are lost.” He looked to Krain Linshok for confirmation.

  The Kumma Magistrate looked unhappy and worried. “The battle will be bloody and hard,” he said grimly.

  “First, Li-Choke isn’t sure how sane the Queen truly is. And second, the battle next spring doesn’t need to happen. Not if we strike first,” Rukh said into the morbid silence left by Linshoks’s words. “I know the location of their birthing caverns.” That got their attention. “The SarpanKum told me where it is and even described the make up of the defending force of Chimeras.” He related everything Li-Dirge had told him that night before Suwraith had exterminated the Baels. “Based on what he said, I think a combined force of fifteen hundred-to-two thousand Kummas along with five hundred Murans and Rahails should be able to get there undetected and get the job done. We can kill every last one of their breeders and set the Queen back for decades. She won’t have the three Plagues she wants.”

  “You believe this Li-Dirge enough to risk our warriors in such a way?” Linshok asked.

  Rukh considered how best to answer the Kumma Magistrate. It wouldn’t do to appear over-eager or trusting. “I don’t like the Baels,” he began. “I hate what they’ve done to us, but I’ve thought a lot about what Li-Dirge told me. Many of us have studied the military histories before Hammer’s fall and how the Fan Lor Kum has fought ever since. We’ve all noticed their incompetence, but we never knew why it happened. Now, I think we do. Prior to Hammer, Humanity had seemed headed straight for extinction, but afterward…it’s the only explanation that makes sense. I believe Li-Dirge when he said the Baels worked to protect us as best they could. And I believe Li-Choke, the Bael we saved. The Levner confirmed the words of his SarpanKum.”

  “You have given us much to think about, Rukh Shektan,” Magistrate Nacket said. “It is time you three departed so the Magisterium may discuss how best Ashoka can deal with these…crises.”

  Rukh didn’t miss the plural. By crises, Nacket wasn’t only talking about the three Plagues possibly heading to Ashoka next spring. He was also talking about the Baels, but what he was especially referring to was the existence of the ghrinas, the OutCastes surviving and thriving in the vast Wildness.

  Rukh and Nanna bowed as they prepared to exit. Jessira did not, and Rukh couldn’t blame her. She hadn’t missed the looks of loathing thrown her way or the words spoken by Magistrate Drent.

  “And cover yourself,” Magistrate Linshok said in a waspish tone to Jessira as she was about to tu
rn and leave. “Your appearance will cause a riot.”

  Rukh heard her mutter in stifled irritation, but she did as she was ordered. He wanted to offer her support, but he didn’t think doing so in public would go over very well.

  They walked back in silence to the Seat of House Shektan and waited on the decision of the Magisterium.

  It came quickly enough. Later in the afternoon, word arrived in the form of a specially printed bulletin, freely distributed at every major boulevard. It described the recent findings of the Magisterium. Everything Rukh had told them was included; the possibility of the Sil Lor Kum, the claims made by the Baels, Suwraith’s presence, the Plagues, the OutCastes, the Shylows…all of it was explained in full detail.

  The news set the city afire as people from all walks of life argued over what it meant for Ashoka. For the Kumma Houses, though, the most important detail was the last one: a strike against the Chimera breeding grounds was being planned. Volunteers were needed, and every able-bodied Kumma warrior answered the call, almost twenty thousand in all.

  The only discordant notes as far as Rukh was concerned were twofold. First, the Magisterium was only willing to approve fifteen hundred Kummas and five hundred Murans and Rahails rather than the higher number he thought might be needed. And second, according to the bulletin, the man chosen to lead the expedition was Marshal Ruenip Tanhue of House Redwine, close ally and friend to Hal’El Wrestiva, father to Suge Wrestiva.

  The Council of Rule, the highest body of the Sil Lor Kum gathered once again, as was their custom, in a non-descript room in the back of a non-descript place of business. Their meetings were never held in the same place twice in a row. One could never be too careful. This time they convened in the back of a tailor’s shop, owned by an unskilled fool who had chosen to serve the Sil Lor Kum rather than face indentured servitude given his inability to sew a straight line.

  The room was unremarkable, which was just how the Sil Lor Kum liked things. It contained a single, rectangular worktable. It was sturdy, and only an hour ago had been piled high with bolts of fabric and work orders, which the tailor farmed out to others. Above the table hung a series of firefly lanterns, and had they all been lit, the room would have been bright. However, this was a meeting of the Council of Rule, and their work required darkness. As a result, the lanterns were kept dim.

  The SuDin studied the other members of the Council. They were all still here, in Ashoka, although all had their exits planned from the city. After all, none had forgotten Suwraith’s promise as given to the SuDin in his dreams. She was coming. The Shektan whelp had simply confirmed it, and now the whole city knew.

  Varesea tilted her head in slight acknowledgment when she caught his eye. He couldn’t get enough of the woman. He caught himself dreaming of a night when he could cradle her in his arms as they fell asleep next to one another.

  A foolish and impossible fantasy.

  “Why have you called this meeting?” Pera Obbe, the pain-in-the-backside representing Caste Duriah demanded in her nasally whine. “Ashoka knows of the Sil Lor Kum. We should be cautious.”

  “Calm yourself,” the SuDin said, speaking as condescendingly as possible, certain it would infuriate the arrogant Duriah. He hid a smile when he saw her stiffen in anger. “They merely know we exist. They do not know who we are.”

  “But now they will search for us,” Obbe complained.

  “They’ve known of our existence for the past two months,” the SuDin replied. “Several Houses have inquired into the two sacrifices we’ve made, trying to ascertain how such deaths could have happened. The Shiyens are investigating as well.”

  Pera Obbe appeared appalled.

  “And you saw fit to keep this to yourself?” Varesea demanded in her best hectoring tone.

  The SuDin repressed a smile. The tenor of her accusation was strictly for the benefit of the other Councilors.

  “There was nothing to tell,” the SuDin replied. “I only know inquiries have been made by members of certain Houses regarding the two murders. Nothing more. It seemed unnecessary to reveal such vague information.”

  “And they have learned what exactly?” Yuthero Gaste, the physician of Caste Shiyen asked.

  His question earned an exasperated exhalation. “I am not privy to what they know. They don’t see fit to keep me abreast of their secret discussions,” the SuDin replied. “But had we been found out, we would already be food for the crows.”

  “And what does the Queen have to say?” Mesa Reed, the Cherid asked in her languid manner. “Surely She has questioned our own loyalty given the betrayal by the Baels.” Her drooping bodice allowed everyone a full view of her bosom.

  Moke Urn, the Sentya, licked his lips and leaned forward, the desperate lust obvious on his face.

  The SuDin watched Urn’s reaction in amusement as he considered how best to answer Reed’s question. “First, we do not know if the Baels have betrayed our Mistress. We only have the word of a Shektan brat…”

  “And an OutCaste,” Ular Sathin, the quiet, elderly Muran murmured.

  The SuDin nodded acknowledgment. “And an OutCaste abomination,” he added. “But in my estimation it is not enough to decide what truly happened to the Shektan or what he saw in the Wildness.” He laughed. “Some of his tales, such as the one of the mind-speaking Shylow…it is utter folly. It is madness I tell you.”

  “Madness, eh? Do you then mock our Queen?” the piggish Pera Obbe challenged.

  The SuDin openly rolled his eyes. “Only a fool would think so,” he answered. Again, Obbe tensed with anger. The woman really needed to learn to control her temper if she ever wished to challenge the SuDin for his position. “Regardless, in answer to the Cherid’s original question, the Queen has not yet made Her will known to me.” In fact, it had been weeks since the Queen had visited his dreams, but there was no reason for the Council to know that. It would set them clucking like panicked hens. “But She was clear in Her most recent commands.”

  “Clear?” Varesea asked. “I don’t believe I have ever heard Her described like that.”

  “She was most clear. Lucid, in fact.”

  “So Rukh Shektan wasn’t mistaken. She is sane,” Moke Urn said, the visible part of his face growing pale. “That is not good news.”

  “She was nothing of the sort,” the SuDin said. “She was simply less insane.” And it was true. Weeks ago, when the Queen had visited his dreams, She had been almost coherent, but the SuDin purposefully left vague his impression of the Queen’s state of mind. It would leave the rest of the Council off balance as they tried to guess how best to plan for a somewhat less insane Suwraith,

  “What did She command?” Varesea asked.

  The SuDin glanced at her. “It is Her will that we do nothing for now. We are to await Her word.”

  “And the Knife?” Obbe asked. “Other than killing in a gruesome and spectacular fashion, have you been able to divine its purpose?”

  “Of course,” the SuDin announced. “It kills, and in doing so, it drains the victim’s entire Jivatma, and I think it somehow channels it down into the crevices of the Oasis, eating at it like an acid.” It was an utter fabrication but had the others learned the Knife channeled that stolen Jivatma directly into the murderer, they would have demanded use of the Knife themselves. It would vastly increase the risk of exposure for all of them, but the greedy fools wouldn’t have cared. Their personal ambition was their true lodestar, whereas the SuDin did what he did for Ashoka. There might come a time when it was his strength and will alone that sheltered the city when the Sorrow Bringer came for them.

  “Then is it wise for you to ever use it again?” Gaste asked. “If the Oasis crumbles before we are prepared to flee, the Queen might kill us all where we stand, especially if She is sane. She will think we secretly betray Her at every turn even as Her own Baels apparently have.”

  “She will not kill us,” the SuDin said. “At least not all of us. We know the stories of the Sil Lor Kum from other cities. Men
and women who escaped the destruction of their homes, washed ashore in a new place with their wealth intact. We will be fine. The Queen will honor Her compact with us.”

  “I hope you are right,” Mesa Reed said with a sigh.

  “There is one other thing,” the SuDin said. “The Queen did demand I choose one last victim. I was loathe to fulfill her wishes until we convened, but now since all of you know, I feel compelled to carry out Her instructions.”

  “Perhaps this time you should choose a means by which the body cannot be found,” Yuthero Gaste suggested.

  “Do you have an idea?” Varesea asked.

  Gaste nodded. “Burn it.”

  The SuDin smiled. “A splendid idea,” he replied, knowing he would do no such thing. He enjoyed the fear the murders inspired. It was foolish, but as he’d once told Varesea, he didn’t see a reason to deny himself of life’s pleasures.

  There were a few more items of business to address before the meeting was adjourned and the Council dispersed.

  Several hours later, the SuDin stroked Varesea’s bare back as she lay on her stomach. His hand drifted lower…

  With an affectionate chuckle, she trapped his hand. “You are insatiable,” she said, rolling to face him. She kissed his mouth but pulled back as his arms moved to enclose her. “But I am not as lusty as you seem to be.”

  “You can be,” he said, his heart suddenly tripping faster. Should he tell her the truth about the Knife?

  She frowned, clearly puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  He changed his mind. “It’s nothing.”

  She sat up, and the blanket slipped down. He drank in the sight of her naked breasts and bent his face toward them, but she lifted his chin, forcing him to look her in the eyes. “What is it you aren’t telling me?” she asked. She eyed him as he remained mute. “You think I haven’t noticed. Nowadays, you’re as lusty as a young bull, and you don’t limp like you used to.”