by Davis Ashura
Dar’El slipped on his wool coat, settling it about his shoulders and tucked his hands into his coat pockets. It was then that he discovered a small folded piece of paper in one of them with his name upon it.
Dar’El glanced around, but no one else was about.
He recognized the handwriting. It was another note from the one who claimed to be a MalDin. Which also meant that Satha was right: the writer of the note was a member of the Society. There had been no servants tonight. Dar’El felt the weight of all he had to do, and his shoulders slumped. He’d known most of the people here for years, and in many cases, decades. It made him sick to realize one of his fellow Rajans could be a part of the Sil Lor Kum. One of his dear friends would have to die for their crimes.
Dar’El tried to set aside his anguish as he unfolded the paper. The note contained two words. It was a name: Drin Port.
Jaresh and Bree made their way as quickly as they could to Hold Cavern. There had been another murder, this one occurring many months after the last one. Bree’s face was a mask, but Jaresh could tell she was just as upset and angry as he was. With so much time passing since the murder of Slathtril Apter, they had grown lax, the urgency of finding the killer fading. This was the price for their idleness: another man dead.
Jaresh’s teeth gritted. Idiot. Spending so much time mooning over Mira, worrying about something that could never be when he should have been doing his job. He vowed it would never happen again. They would catch these fiends before anyone else died.
Soon enough, they arrived at the scene of the crime. It was a quiet road of tall, slate-roofed houses painted sedate colors ranging from brown to russet, but all of them adorned with elaborate trim. Dogwoods lined the sidewalk at regular intervals. It was dusk, and along with the lampposts, firefly lanterns of red, gold, and violet were woven into the bare branches of the trees, providing a multihued light. It would have made a lovely scene except for the section of the road blocked off by wooden barricades, and the small crowd gathered behind them.
The Watch had already arrived and taken charge of the situation. Jaresh grimaced when he saw Rector Bryce.
“Stop scowling,” Bree whispered. “We want Rector to allow us through.”
Jaresh took her advice and did his best to school his features to stillness. It must have worked because Rector glanced their way and said something to one of his men, who came their way and allowed them inside the cordoned-off area. As they were passed through, Rector acknowledged them with a brief nod before turning aside to speak to someone else.
Mira met them at the top of a wide flight of stairs that led to the front door. She briefly looked Jaresh’s way before turning to Bree.
It had been months since the two of them had decided to go their separate ways, but Jaresh’s stomach still tightened with longing when he saw Mira. At least it wasn’t the painful clenching it had once been. Progress.
“His name was Van Jinnu,” Mira said. “That’s all I’ve learned so far. Dar’El may know more.”
She drew them inside and within the foyer was a tarp-covered body lying atop a bloodstained rug. Nanna stood nearby, speaking with one of the members of the Watch. He broke off and gestured them aside. “Van Jinnu. A Rahail,” Nanna began without preamble. “A warrior. Two Trials to his name. Wealthy and widowed three years now.”
“Anything else?” Jaresh asked, forcing himself not to look too long at Mira.
Dar’El nodded his head. “But not here,” he said. “Come.” He led them deeper into the house, to the kitchen. From the ceiling hung a small rack of pots and pans. Several plates and utensils littered the sink, and a round table with two glasses of water upon it took up one corner.
“I need to talk to Rector,” Mira said, excusing herself.
“You said Van Jinnu was a widower,” Jaresh said. He pointed to the glasses. “Did he have servants?”
“From all accounts, he lived alone,” Nanna answered.
“Then why are there two glasses of water on the table?” Jaresh asked.
“Could the killer have been brazen enough to have had a drink with Van?” Bree asked.
It actually sounded like it might have been the case. “What a cold son of a bitch,” Jaresh said with a scowl.
“We should talk more,” Nanna said. “Outside.” He motioned toward several members of the Watch, who were drifting their way.
They followed Nanna to the front floor landing, and when they stepped outside, Jaresh saw Mira and Rector holding hands. The Watch lieutenant whispered something to her, and she smiled. He spoke again, and Mira nodded before turning away.
The earlier pangs of longing Jaresh had felt upon seeing Mira rose again in a crest of confusion and jealousy. What was going on? She had always claimed to dislike Rector Bryce, but here they were holding hands.
“I thought Mira didn’t like Rector,” Bree said, echoing Jaresh’s thoughts.
“She doesn’t,” Nanna said, which made Jaresh feel better but did nothing to answer the confusing scene of her and Rector holding hands. “All will be made clear later.”
Mira came to them. “Rector didn’t find anything else,” she said.
Jaresh tried to catch her attention, wanting to ask what was going on between her and Rector, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze.
“In two days,” Nanna said. “I want to know everything about Van Jinnu and what happened here.” Anger crackled in his voice. “These murders will not continue.”
The Chimeras are not a mindless horde of unthinking killers. In their own fashion, they possess reason. So are they our brothers? This question has haunted us since the time of Li-Charn and Hume.
~From the journal of SarpanKum Li-Dane, AF 1938
Chak-Soon stood on the heights and watched the battle play out down below amongst the broken stones of the plain. A quarter-mile away, the Chimeras he had sent to scout the Humans were being systematically butchered. He felt no pain at the loss of the nest, but the loss of his claw hurt. He wanted to leap forth and destroy the Kumma monster who was killing the Tigons he had fought so hard to lead—but he couldn’t. He had been ordered to observe. Nothing more. And so he watched as the Human warrior moved like the wind, flickering in and out of view. Soon grunted as the final Tigon died. He’d seen enough. It was only a matter of moments before the last of the Chimeras was killed.
Alongside him stood the two remaining members of his claw, his minions, bound to serve him unless they found a means to overthrow his rule. Until that day, though, Chak-Soon was their ordinate, in complete command of their lives. It was the way of his kind: whoever was strongest ruled. And while Soon wasn’t as physically imposing as the two Tigons standing beside him, he was far more cunning and ruthless. There were some who likened his plans to those of their once-masters, the Baels. It would be hard to take Soon by surprise. In addition, he was known to be a brutal warrior, willing to accept as much damage as was needed so long as he could latch his great teeth upon the throat of his enemy. Soon was young, but older ordinates were already starting to take note of his savagery. They watched him carefully, certain his ambition was not satisfied with a single claw.
And as for that claw, it was all but dead, but Soon could always win control of another. Of that he was certain. What was life without domination of those who were weaker? Soon knew he would one day rise high in the ranks of the Chimeras…with Mother’s blessing.
“Kumma killed brothers,” said one of the Tigon, his voice guttural as his tongue tripped around his oversized great teeth. “We kill back?”
Soon glanced at his fellow Tigons. The one who had spoken was huge and had a lion’s mane of fur. He wore a simple breechcloth, a sheathed sword hanging from his waist, and a leather case containing his bow and sheaf of arrows strapped to his back. The other Tigon had a leopard’s spots and was dressed similarly to the first. He was smaller than the lion but still larger than Soon. All were naked to the cold wind, although Soon knew none of them felt the air’s bite. Tigons were strong; not weak
like the evil Humans.
As for Soon, in addition to the breechcloth, sword and bow, he wore a braided leather necklace banded with feathers: the mark of leadership. It had been difficult to get used to it. No Tigon in generations had been so adorned. For centuries, the Baels had been the only Chimeras graced with the feathers of command. But the Baels were now all dead. They were enemies to Mother. Mother had declared it so.
Still, it had been easier when the Baels had led. Life hadn’t been so complicated then. Soon found that following orders he could understand was easier than issuing them. This one realization sometimes made him hesitate at striving for greater leadership within the Tigon ranks. But those ordinates, who were the commanders of all Chimeras, were the ones who also communed with Mother. What greater glory in life could there be than to speak with Her? She was everything.
“The Humans live,” Soon said, answering the larger Tigon’s earlier question.
“Why?” the smaller one asked.
“He kill us, foolish kitten,” he said, using one of the Bael’s favorite insults of his kind. “Fireball us to roast meat.”
“Not afraid to die,” the leopard-spotted Tigon muttered.
“Mother needs us live,” Soon replied. “She need know about Humans in Privations.”
“Small one female?” the big Tigon asked.
Soon had wondered the same thing. The Human was smaller, but Humans never sent their females beyond the borders of their foul cities. He shook his head. “No. Must be little one.”
“Child?” the big Tigon asked, sounding uncertain.
“Small man,” Soon replied in an overly patient tone. He turned his back to them, trusting that neither of them were a threat to his command. They were too stupid to challenge him. Any Tigon in his claw, who might have tested his authority, had died moments ago by the Kumma’s hand. “We go,” Soon said.
As the sun set along vast stretches of Continent Ember, the Prayer of Gratitude rose into the air as droning tendrils of sound. Like burning incense, it floated on the wind, carrying the voices of thousands of Chimeras from hundreds of locations. The words came to Lienna, soothing Her aggravated thoughts just as they reminded Her creations of where their ultimate loyalty stood. Her Chimeras would never betray Her. Of this, she was certain, just as She was certain they would never speak harshly to Her. Unlike Mother and Father—and of course, Mistress Arisa.
Lienna listened to the Prayer, calmed as She always was by the words of love:
By Her grace are we born
By Her love are we made
By Her desire are we shorn
By Her passion are we unmade
And are reborn once more
From the Privation Mountains, came a more urgent call. A Tigon ordinate begged for Her attention. In times past, She would have ignored such a supplication, trusting Her Baels to handle whatever was needed. No longer. All the Baels of the Eastern Plague were dead. She wondered what could have slain them.
“The Baels were your greatest creation,” Mother murmured in Her ears.
“They will betray you,” Father warned.
Lienna disregarded their voices. If She ignored them, then Mistress Arisa might also pass Her by. So She’d found in times past. She prayed it would be so, although She wondered to whom She prayed. Was She not a God in Her own right?
“You are a mewling coward,” a sibilant voice whispered in soft cruelty. “Do not dream Yourself divine. Your power stems from Me: Your true God. Never forget it.”
Lienna’s thoughts froze in fear. Mistress Arisa.
A harsh laughter clawed at Lienna’s mind. “And the Tigons do Your bidding? You are certain of it?” the terrifying voice questioned. “Idiot girl. They are just as the Baels. They will betray You, just as all who can reason will. It is why no such creature should walk My lands or swim My waters.”
“I will learn of what they need,” Lienna mumbled, daring to take action without first asking permission. Her boldness was surprising. Months ago, She would have never ventured to do such a thing. She would have never considered dreaming of doing such a thing. Thus far, however, Mistress hadn’t punished Her audaciousness.
This time She did.
Mistress Arisa’s fury was evident in the flashing lightnings and menacing thunder arising out of the clear, blue sky. Then came the cruel words, cutting into Lienna’s mind, lashings tearing Her sanity.
Lienna screamed, begging for peace and silence. Instinctually, She poured Her fear and pain down into Her Chimeras just as She’d done more and more often in the past few months. And as before on those other occasions, sanity came to Her. Arisa, Mother, and Father…they were all figments of Her imagination. Delusions from Her insanity. Memory also returned.
The Baels were dead and by Her hand. It was the price of their treason.
But all of it was fleeting. Even as She regained Her sanity and memories, She felt Her Chimeras tear into one another; killing and rending each other like crazed animals. She had to recall Her pain and anger—Her insanity—before the Chimeras destroyed themselves. With fretful regret, She took back Her madness, hating the dulling of Her mind; the lost recollections; and the irrational nature of Her thoughts. As the last of Her lunacy returned, She mentally shuddered, forgetting what it was to be sane or even that She was insane.
Once more, She was Mother Lienna, feared by all on Arisa, and in turn, fearing Her Mistress…who was thankfully absent.
Lienna imagined the Prayer of Gratitude, pretending it rose on the winds, coming to Her and soothing Her mind. Her Chimeras would always love Her, utterly and without question. She was their loving Mother.
From the Privation Mountains came the mewling supplication of a Tigon ordinate. He was young to have risen so far. He begged for Her attention, and Lienna considered allowing the Baels to deal with the Tigon, but just then, She remembered: the Baels of the Eastern Plague were no more, likely dead at the hands of the filthy Humans.
Lienna mentally sighed. She would have to go Herself and learn what the young ordinate needed.
She raced on the winds of a storm to the Tigon, who knelt with head pressed to the dirt amidst the torn ruins of two of his brethren.
Lienna briefly wondered what had happened here.
Sticky pools of blood, already freezing, littered the cold ground. One Tigon was nearly decapitated with great wounds all over his lion-like hide. The other one, spotted like a leopard, was laid open from navel-to-neck with his entrails spilling out like a bag of giant, gray maggots. The ordinate was also injured, deeply scored in many places, including his face where one ear was entirely torn off. Blood seeped from many injuries, and the Tigon struggled to breathe. Without help, he wouldn’t live another hour.
But help he would have. After all, Lienna was his Mother. How could She not save one of Her children?
She Healed the ordinate, even going so far as to restore his ear. “What is your name, child?” Lienna demanded.
The Tigon cowered before Her, his tail tucked between his legs, head pressed low. “Chak-Soon, Mother,” he whispered in a voice filled with awe and fear.
“Why did you call for Me?” She commanded.
“Two Humans,” the terrified Chak-Soon blubbered. “Two Kummas kill nest and claw.”
Lienna replayed Chak-Soon’s words in Her mind, wanting to ensure She hadn’t misheard the Tigon. She hadn’t. Lienna growled thunder, almost smiting the Tigon in Her annoyance. Why waste Her time with such a trivial piece of information? It should have been passed on to Chak-Soon’s commanders. After all, She had created the Chimeras for exactly this type of situation. They were meant to destroy Humanity whenever the parasites left their accursed cities during one of their so-called Trials. It left Lienna better able to plan the destruction of their homes. She almost shivered in anticipation of the destruction She would visit on proud Hammer.
Then She remembered where She was. This was the Privation Mountains, home to Craven, the despised and damned sister city to Ashoka.
&
nbsp; For a brief instant, clarity overcame Her, and She wondered about Craven. In all Her long life, She’d never heard of such a place. The moment ended. The Baels had told Her of the place. Craven and Ashoka: cities that supported one another as grass holds the shape of a hill and prevents the fertile earth from being swept away by the raging spring flood.
“The Baels have betrayed You,” Father whispered.
“They were Your finest creation,” Mother added.
“You were wise to kill them,” Mistress Arisa advised. “You should have done it ages ago.” She laughed derision. “But then again, You were always a stupid child, even when You wore flesh.”
Lienna fell silent, wondering if She had really been the one who had killed the Baels.
Her thoughts were interrupted as the Tigon spoke once more. His voice was guttural and almost unintelligible as he forced words past his oversized teeth. “You want us tell we see Humans here. Tell you self.”
The Tigon was right. She had given them just such an order. Chak-Soon’s words reminded Her of something else as well, something important, something She’d seen on the Hunters Flats: UnCasted Humans.
Her thoughts grew confused.
There were no such creatures. Humanity was a pestilential vermin, but even they would never stoop so low as to break the covenants established by Mother and Father in The Word and the Deed: To each Caste, a Talent and seek not that which is not yours.
“When have You ever truly understood anything of importance?” Mistress Arisa mocked.
Lienna cursed as the thought and memory left Her.
“Coarse language is for those who themselves are coarse. Such individuals lack grace,” Mother chided in a stern tone.
“Courtesy is what sets Us apart from the lower Castes,” Father added. “Why did You murder Us?” He then asked, fixated as always on His own pain.