by Davis Ashura
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 i
n 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 there.”
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.”
“Can you form this Bow?” Fol Nacket asked.
“It's the the silvery light I used against the Queen,” Rukh answered before hesitating. “I can also Cohese since a Bow is a type of Cohesion in and of itself.”
The Cherid Magistrate leaned forward. “And since you can also form a Blend and a Shield, can you then form an Oasis as well?” he asked, his expression intense.
“I can. I have,” Rukh replied. “When I fought the Queen during the Advent Trial. My memories of that day are shaky, but parts of it have started to come back. I created an Oasis. It was weak, and if the Sorrow Bringer hadn't been so surprised by what She was facing, She could have easily crushed me.”
“Can you make one of these more powerful Oases?” Fol asked, a hawk-eyed look of hope on his face.
“No. An Oasis like what you describe has to be anchored to something living and strong,” Rukh said. “A sapling would work best, but until the tree reaches maturity and the fullness of its strength, any Oasis tied to it would be weaker than what we already have. Had Linder the opportunity to do so, that's what he would have wanted. He would have left us with a more effective, flexible Oasis, but He just didn't have enough time. And neither do we.”
“Can you teach someone else whatever it is that you can do?” Dar'El asked. A dim idea tickled the back of his thoughts.
“No,” Rukh told him. “But Aia and her brothers can. She can transfer my knowledge to anyone.”
The notion came clear to Dar'El. “Then we need to teach as many people as possible what you know,” he said excitedly, caught up in the fever of his vision.
“Our people will believe themselves Tainted,” Krain Linshok said. He looked to Rukh and reddened in embarrassment. “Sorry, but it might be how they view matters.”
“Those who wish to die can choose to abstain from what I'm proposing,” Dar'El said. “The rest of us will accept whatever is needed. We'll fight to live, and even though what I'm suggesting is an alien way of looking at the world, ultimately it will also lead to a better one.”
“How so?” Dos Martel asked.
“Because once others are taught what Rukh knows, they can be sent to other cities,” Dar'El explained. “Now. By sea. They can create these new Oases, grow them, understand them, and protect Humanity's cities better than they ever have been so far. We might even be able to establish new cities or resurrect dead ones.”
Gren Vos wore an expression of bittersweet longing mingled with satisfaction on her seamed visage. “So even if we fall, Humanity will not.”
“I motion we consider this plan,” Krain said.
“Second,” Dos Martel said, infusing the word with feeling.
“All in favor?” Fol Nacket called out.
Again, the vote was unanimous.
“We'll take a few days to think this matter over before coming to a final decision,” Fol said.
Upon hearing Fol's words, hope, so long dimmed, stretched out a tremulous tendril through Dar'El's heart. If the Magisterium decided correctly, the history of Ashoka would not die. Those given Rukh's Talents would remember their first home. They would remember this place of grace and beauty. They would remember from whence they originated. Ashoka's legacy would carry on.
Dar'El knew that for himself, and for many others, such a prayed-for future would have to be enough. In these grim times, this faint dream—expressed as a parent's hopes for the lives of their children—would have to suffice.
“Your plan might be the salvation of all of Humanity,” Rukh noted as they left the chamber.
Dar'El nodded. “But only if the Magisterium chooses correctly.”
Rukh seemed to hesitate and a faraway expression stole across his face. “I sometimes have odd dreams about the Withering Knife. I have this sense that it might be another means to save Humanity.”
Dar'El frowned puzzlement, unsure of the reason for Rukh's troubling words. More than merely nonsensical, they were also antithetical to much of what he believed to be true. “The Withering Knife is evil,” Dar'El said carefully. “Salvation can never be born from such wickedness. It can never save us.”
Rukh's faraway expression thawed and an embarrassed smile took its place. “As I said, they're odd dreams. Perhaps we can forget that I mentioned them?”
Jessira tossed a bag of pakoras and samosas to Rukh. “Courtesy of Cook Heltin,” she said, flopping down next to him a moment later.
After a furious few weeks, the two of them finally had a few hours alone together.
They found themselves sitting near the Inner Wall in a narrow alley. On one end, it opened out into the loud heart of Trell Rue and on the other, a busy street of apartments and stores. The noises, however, never reached very far into the alley. Within its embrace was an island of cool and quiet with dappled sunlight and shadows that was near enough to their posting at Bellary Gate that they could return there in an instant if called back to duty, yet remote and private enough for the two of them to enjoy some time alone. For this reason, Jessira liked the narrow lane. She didn't even much mind the smelly mixture of garbage and spices from Trell Rue's nearby restaurants.
Being together was more than enough to overcome such minor inconveniences.
“I'm almost too tired to eat,” Rukh announced just then, resting his head against the wall of a building and closing his eyes.
Jessira shared his fatigue.
The siege had begun almost six weeks ago, and life had become as hard and uneven as a sunbaked rutted road. Following the fall of the Outer Wall there had been the mad dash to evacuate and empty the city's farmlands, and afterward, a long, brutal week of endless rotations for all the warriors upon the Inner Wall. All of them had been working on the vapors of their stamina with too little sleep to sustain them. They'd been asked to stay vigilant and man the Inner Wall in three overlapping rotations as they waited and prepared for the Chimeras to advance.
The Plague never had, though. Despite the fact that the Oasis had been pulled back to the Inner Wall, the Chims and their siege engines had never pressed forward. They had remained stationed past the Outer Wall as the Queen had raced into Ashoka's farmlands, surging like a turmoiled sea. But Her waves weren't made of water. Her waves were a scouring sandstorm. Just like at Stronghold, the Sorrow Bringer had denuded the fertile fields, ripping every green shoot from the ground as She abraded clean the earth, leaving much of it a glassy ruin.