by Davis Ashura
Those warriors were irreplaceable. They had been the ones most dedicated to the cause of the Virtuous. They had the truest faith, the greatest heart and finest courage. They had been the only ones willing to deal out death to the naaja bastards of House Shektan.
Now, they were all but exterminated.
Shur wanted to rage at those around him, hurl them off the Outer Wall.
These others were also members of the Virtuous, but their faith was faint. They were as meek as sheep. They were cowards, unwilling to lift swords in defense of Humanity's purity. They lacked the valor needed to deal out death to those who most-assuredly deserved it. Instead, these weak-willed weaklings had only managed a tepid type of assistance. They had stood to either side of the attack and formed a Human barricade around it. By doing so, they had hindered the sight and movement of those who might have helped the Shektan women. Ironically, the sheep amongst the Virtuous had been tasked with guarding the shepherds, the warriors of the faith.
A moment later, Shur grunted reluctant acknowledgement of the work done by those standing around him. In the end, their presence had turned out to be invaluable. If not for them, it was likely that even the handful of warriors who had escaped the disaster of the First Cleansing would have also been captured. Shur would have been amongst that number.
Instead, he'd managed to flee to safety. He could fight on. He wasn't defeated, not now, not ever. The cause of the righteous would prevail. Shur would rally the forces of the Virtuous and restore morality to Ashoka. By Devesh's will, he would keep alive the spirit of the faithful. The Virtuous would learn from the mistakes of today's setback so that next time, those opposed to Humanity's purity would be destroyed.
Cries of horror drew Shur's attention back to the site of the recent battle. His lips curled with scorn at those who were even now weeping over the injured Shektans. Lemmings. They ran pell mell toward the cliff, ignorant and unaware. Let them cry out. Their pitiful mewlings didn't matter. Shur turned his gaze away from them as he considered what next to do. His eyes drifted down toward the plain beyond Ashoka's walls.
Before the beginning of the Cleansing, he had seen the red arrows fired. It was the signal that enemies approached, but wherever Shur looked, he saw nothing to cause such alarm. There were no enemies down there. No Chimeras. Nevertheless, with the red arrows sent up, the Advent Trial was ended. The platoons had been called back to Ashoka. Some had likely already reentered the city.
One of the Virtuous clutched Shur's shirt and gestured frantically at something approaching the city from the south. Shur shook himself free and looked to whatever had the man so excited. It was a large, purple cloud. So what? It was unimportant. Shur frowned in annoyance.
“It's Suwraith,” someone shouted in fear.
Shur snorted in scorn. What idiocy. He opened his mouth to mock the nonsensical assertion, but he noticed the purple cloud was picking up speed. It was racing faster than any cloud Shur had ever seen. Lightning lit it from within, leaving an afterglow that suggested glowing red eyes.
Shur's open mouth went dry.
It was Suwraith. He watched as She arrived in a storm of horrifying glory. Thunder rumbled on the plains down below. He sensed Blends down there as warriors sprinted at full speed. Shur Linked with them, and a number of platoons sprang into life.
Devesh save them! Shur prayed, even more fervently than he had prior to the Cleansing. The ghrinas stood in opposition to the notion of a pure Humanity, but here was the creature who was the great enemy of all Humanity. Here was the author of all evil.
Shur cried out. The Sorrow Bringer had smashed earthward over one of the platoons, and when She lifted off the ground, She made accurate the truth of Her name. A mangled platoon was left in Her wake. The few who hadn't been flattened by Her might had been roasted by Her lightning. Smoke rose from the corpses.
The Queen drifted toward another unit.
Shur joined those lining the Outer Wall in imploring the warriors down below. He shouted as loudly as any, screaming encouragement to the young Trims of the Advent Trial. He urged them on to greater speed. He knew those on the plain couldn't hear him, but it didn't matter. This was all he could do for them, and it was what he did.
The next platoon Suwraith targeted didn't survive any better than the first. The Sorrow Bringer hit them like a falling hill. More men murdered.
Shur shook his head in disbelieving horror. What a day of infamy this was becoming.
Another platoon, this one close by, was next in line. And just like the other two, Suwraith crushed it. The bodies She left behind lay twisted into grotesque parodies of men.
The Queen moved on toward another platoon. Shur was in the midst of screaming for the warriors to run faster when a movement amongst them caused him to trail off. He frowned in consternation. Many others in the crowd did so as well, and it grew quiet on the Outer Wall.
One of the warriors had broken away from the main body of the platoon. Shur didn't know what the man was attempting. Was he a coward, seeking a means by which to save his own life at the cost of his brother warriors? If so, then the man was utterly contemptible. He didn't deserve to live. Banishment was too good for someone so craven. If the Magisterium was wise, it would take this coward and send him straight to the Isle of the Crows if he somehow survived Suwraith's attack.
A moment later, Shur's brow creased further, and his confusion deepened. Fireballs exploded from the man's hands. He was a Kumma then, which meant he shouldn't be a coward. Then why had he abandoned his platoon? And why was he hurling Fireballs?
Shur gasped as understanding came to him. The man was trying to draw Suwraith after him so his brother warriors could escape. Others along the Outer Wall came to the same conclusion. They called out to one another in disbelieving tones. Shur shared their sentiments. What courage! This man was the embodiment of all that it meant to be a Kumma.
Shur yelled out in exultation—he wasn't the only one either—when Suwraith took the man's bait and gave chase.
The rest of the platoons never slowed. They sprinted flat out for the Outer Wall. If the Kumma could survive Her wrath for just a few more seconds, all those Trims down there would live.
The Queen followed on the Kumma's heels. Somehow, he sensed Her oncoming blows. He dodged Her lightning once. Twice. Three times he evaded Her strikes. And still he ran!
“They're going to make it!” someone shouted. His call was excitedly taken up by others.
Shur looked to where they pointed. The other platoons were almost to the Outer Wall. Just a few more yards and . . .
A gasp from the crowd had him return his attention to the deadly chase between Suwraith and the Kumma. The Queen had smashed to the ground, but somehow the Kumma had evaded Her blow. Now, though, She floated after him at head level. She would take him this time.
Shur sensed it as did many others. He glanced back to the platoons and was heartened to see that the Trims had made it. Shur saluted the brave Kumma whose actions had seen those young warriors safely home, and he offered a heartfelt prayer for the Kumma's soul in the life to come. His sacrifice would never be forgotten.
Just then, the Queen overwhelmed the Kumma. She covered him like a purple fog. Lightning pierced the ground with hundreds, if not thousands of strikes. Thunder rolled in an endless bass roll.
Shur's head dropped in regret. It was over. He would have liked to have met that Kumma. His was the type of courage they should all aspire to achieve.
The lightning eventually slowed and stuttered to a halt. The Sorrow Bringer rose and Shur forced himself to look, fully expecting to see the Kumma burnt to a cinder.
What met his vision, though, was entirely unexpected, and he gasped in shock. He wasn't the only one.
The Kumma still lived!
Shur watched with mouth agape as the man stumbled to his feet and toward Ashoka. For some reason, the Sorrow Bringer didn't immediately give chase. Shur found hope rising in his chest. Again, he joined all the others lining the Wall
in crying out at the top of his lungs, yelling for the Kumma to reach the Wall.
Finally, the Queen gave chase. The Kumma dodged Her first blow. Her next, he wouldn't. Suwraith floated forward at head level once again.
Bitter disappointment rose up within Shur. The Kumma was so close, but he wouldn't make it.
What happened next was a mystery to Shur. The Kumma turned around to face the Sorrow Bringer even as he kept running. And when he did so, a silvery beam of light shot from the Kumma's hands. What it was, Shur didn't know, but when it struck the Queen, She screamed.
Shur was struck dumb by what he was seeing. The Kumma had harmed Suwraith. It was impossible, and yet it had happened!
Again shot forth the silvery beam, and again Suwraith screamed. Once more, and it was over.
The Kumma had reached the wall.
Shur cheered himself hoarse. Tears ran down his cheeks, and he unabashedly hugged a Duriah woman, not caring about sin just then.
Jessira dug her fingers into the crenellations of the Outer Wall as she cried out her anguish.
Unsurprisingly, it was the elderly matron who was the first to offer Jessira sympathy for her anguish. “I'm so sorry for your loss,” the elderly Kumma said.
Jessira nodded numb acceptance of the matron's words, barely hearing them just as she barely felt it when Sign pulled her into a hug. Neither did she register the sympathetic brushes and touches of strangers as word was shared about the name of the brave Kumma who had died so that so many others could live. Jessira heard nothing of their admiring words and felt nothing inside. She was hollowed out, her heart empty.
Rukh was gone. His death was a searing emptiness inside, and Jessira's tearing eyes did nothing to sooth her grief or reflect the enormity of her loss. The world blurred in and out of focus. It was like a nightmare, and Jessira prayed that she would awaken . . . except she never did.
Jessira watched as the Queen continued to spark a flood of lightning and rolling thunder, smothering Rukh like a pestilence. How had this occurred? Just a few hours ago, her husband had been alive and vibrant, his normal happy self as they shared a laugh. Now he was gone? It was surreal, and Jessira felt like she was just witnessing the events unfolding before her instead of actually experiencing them.
The shock of the moment started to wear off, and Jessira realized that she could still sense Rukh's presence. She could still feel his ironwood will. Jessira poked at the sensation, worrying at it as if it were an empty tooth socket. She struggled to believe, to accept an emptiness where a tooth should have been. But Jessira could still feel the tooth. It was still there.
Her eyes had seen the truth of Rukh's demise, but her heart and soul had yet to know it. Rukh lived.
“We should go,” Sign suggested softly.
Jessira felt her cousin take her upper arm and give it a gentle tug, urging her to turn away. “No,” Jessira said, pulling her arm free from Sign's grasp. “He's still alive. I can feel him,” she said in utter certainty.
“Are you sure?” Bree asked, sounding doubtful.
Jessira nodded.
“Jessira, I know—” Sign began.
“He's still alive!” Jessira snarled. Her declaration was heard by those close by, and quiet, disbelieving murmurs arose from them.
Jessira knew what they were likely thinking—that her claim was the desperate hope of someone too distraught to accept the truth, too pained to brave reality.
They were wrong. Their disbelief didn't matter. Jessira knew with utter certainty that Rukh still lived. The link the two of them shared told her so. She could sense her husband down below, struggling with every thread of his will to endure Suwraith's holocaust wrath.
There finally came a time when the lightning lifted, and the Queen drifted up. A fog of black smoke followed Her. It drifted up and parted, revealing a ground baked to glowing glass and fiery embers. Rukh should have been reduced to ashes as well, but somehow, impossibly, he was still alive. He huddled within that circle of fire and death, but after a moment, he shuddered upright and struggled to his feet.
A joyful cry, carrying all of Jessira's love and hope, broke from her throat. He was alive! Tears streamed down her face.
Many more people joined Jessira in shouting their gladness. All along the Outer Wall rose cries of stunned disbelief, awe, and unexpected hope. Jessira shared their emotions. She had no idea what providence had allowed Rukh to survive the Sorrow Bringer's fury, but she begged it to deliver her husband home.
An interminable time passed as Rukh seemed to be talking to the Queen. Jessira had no idea what they were saying, but the Queen's purple hue had long since grown black. She was furious. Suddenly, Rukh broke from Her. He was sprinting for the Outer Wall. The Queen remained motionless. Lightning lit the ground, but She held still.
Jessira gripped the crenellations even tighter than before, praying with all her fervency and need, demanding that the Sorrow Bringer remain still for a few more seconds. Seconds were all Rukh needed.
Or at least they would have been if Rukh had been running as fast as he normally could. Right now, he barely moved faster than a stumbling jog. His strength was spent, his Well nearly empty. Jessira wished there were a way she could grace him some of her Jivatma. Instead, all she could do was watch as Rukh raced for his life. She urged him on. Don't stop. Don't look back. Keep going. You're almost there.
Suwraith finally broke from Her stasis and gave chase.
Jessira swallowed a lump of dismay. She assayed the distance between Rukh and the Sorrow Bringer and realized her husband wasn't going to make it. The Queen would close with him, and he no longer had the strength to fight Her off a second time.
Jessira raged inside. He was so close.
She gasped when a silvery light burst forth from Rukh's hands. When it struck the Sorrow Bringer, a scream echoed across the plain. It was a sound unlike anything Jessira had ever heard. So much hatred and insanity was contained in that cry.
Another silvery bolt shot out. Another demented howl. Rukh was almost to the Outer Wall.
Jessira momentarily lost sight of him. Everyone was leaned over the edge of the parapet, craning to see what would happen. A third bolt shot out.
A roar of triumph rose from the throats of those on the Outer Wall closest to Rukh. It was all the signal Jessira needed. A thrill of relief, joy, and gratefulness ran down her spine. Rukh had made it! She watched Suwraith hurl Herself ineffectually against Ashoka's Oasis. She was repulsed. Again, the Queen tried to breach the Oasis and again was thrust aside. Suwraith screamed Her frustrated rage before swiftly departing.
“First Mother. He defeated Suwraith,” Sign said. Her cousin's voice was filled with reverential awe.
Again, it was a sentiment shared by everyone. Strangers hugged one another, uncaring of Caste or custom. Tears streamed down their face as they laughed the life-affirming laughter of those who had witnessed true magic. In the two millennia since the Night of Sorrows, never had there been an account of a Human battling the Sorrow Bringer and living to tell the tale. History had been made this day.
Jessira felt much the same as all those around her, but that sense of reverent wonderment was subsumed by her need to reach Rukh's side. She pushed through the crowd, aided by Sign and Bree who kept to either side of her. The three women linked arms and made their way through the throng.
Snippets of conversation came to Jessira as she struggled to reach where she had last seen her husband as he had approached the Outer Wall.
“He is Hume reborn,” one voice proclaimed. “Was he not the one who destroyed the Chimera caverns?”
“He is greater than Hume!” another voice answered. “He destroyed the Chimera caverns and defeated the Sorrow Bringer. Not even Hume was so mighty!”
“And what about how he came home with the love of a Shylow, a Kesarin? Or his survival in the Wildness when the Chamber of Lords judged him Unworthy? The shortsighted fools!” someone else declared, his voice throbbing with tones of holy wonder. �
�He has mastered the Talents of all the Castes, and now he defeats Suwraith. See the Queen retreat from him!”
“He is touched by Devesh! He is holiness made flesh!”
Jessira startled at the stupid statement. Rukh touched by Devesh? What an asinine idea.
“Do you think it's possible?” Sign asked.
“Is what possible?” Jessira replied.
“That Rukh is touched by Devesh?”
Jessira did a double take, thinking at first that Sign was joking. Her cousin's solemn expression indicated that she wasn't. Jessira scowled. Not Sign, too. Her cousin should know better.
“You saw what he did,” Sign persisted. “He fought Suwraith and survived. Who else but someone touched by Devesh could do something like that?”
Jessira groaned in dismay.
If someone as levelheaded as Sign wondered whether Rukh was touched by the Lord, what of those with more fervent imaginations? They would likely proclaim Rukh was the First Father reborn. It would be a nightmare for him. He already hated how people viewed him. He hated the hero worship, the easy recognition, the notion that others thought he was someone more special than they. Now it would be a thousand-fold worse. He'd never leave their flat.
“If he is touched by Devesh, I wonder why he didn't he use his power at Stronghold?”
Jessira flashed Sign an angry look. “He did what he could at Stronghold. You saw him save Laya. Whatever happened today is something new. He's never had such an ability before.”
“If that's the case, then he can't just be some random Kumma,” Sign persisted. “He was chosen for a reason.”
“He's who he is,” Jessira replied, already tired of the conversation. She just wanted to reach her husband.
“The hand of destiny—”
“Enough!” Jessira barked. “Rukh has no prophecy about him and no destiny before him. He chooses his own path!”
After leading the Tigons onto the plain stretching out from Ashoka's Outer Wall, Hal'El had split them off into groups of ten. During the march north from the Hunters Flats, the Tigons had learned the price of disobedience. As a result, when Hal'El had told them to remain motionless, he knew they would.