The Castes and the OutCastes: The Complete Trilogy

by Davis Ashura

  Bree shouted wordlessly as tears of joy fell from her eyes.

  Farn must have figured out who they were at the same. “It's Rukh and Jessira,” he cried out. “They're the ones fighting the Sorrow Bringer.”

  “How can you tell?” someone asked.

  Farn explained his reasonings. “It has to be him.”

  “They'll kill the Queen!” Laya shouted in voice full of joy.

  It was a feeling Bree shared. She laughed as Rukh and Jessira hounded the Queen across the sky. To witness the Sorrow Bringer, the demon synonymous with death and suffering, battered about and beaten, was a glorious sight. The thudding of thunder continued to play out with every strike of sword against staff. Lightning lit the clouds in a wild riot.

  There came a moment when the Queen missed a parry, and Rukh slipped behind Her. His sword slammed through Her chest. The Sorrow Bringer screamed in pain. She shrieked even as She lifted Herself off of Rukh's blade. Jessira swung, and one of Suwraith's arms nearly came off.

  Bree found herself cheering, shouting encouragement. This was it. This was the moment dreamt of by countless generations of Humanity. This was the death of Suwraith. And Bree was blessed enough to be able to watch it happen.

  A moment later, her excitement turned to horror. The Sorrow Bringer fired off a series of Fireballs. They blazed hot as the sun. Lightning shredded from each of them as they burned toward the ships.

  The Fireballs piled downward, roaring like wide-open furnaces. The air shimmered in the wake of their passage as lightning bled from them, crackling like a thousand whips.

  Jessira watched them descend, hating her impotence. There was nothing she could do to stop them. Despite the great power she now possessed, she couldn't destroy them before they reached the ships floating down below.

  Rukh fired a Bow, eradicating one Fireball. He quickly destroyed another.

  His action sparked an idea. “Go. We can't let the Queen escape,” Jessira urged. “I can take care of the Fireballs.”

  Rukh left without seeing what she would do. He trusted her word.

  Jessira's ocean-wide Jivatma pulsed in time to her need. She stretched her will into a thick, golden bar. The tip glowed like quicksilver. From it streaked lightning, nine different crackling bolts. Each one connected with a Fireball, destroying it on impact.

  However, two Fireballs managed to reach their destination. Thankfully, both merely smacked into the sea with an explosive spout of steam and roiling water. The waves raised from the concussive blasts managed to almost capsize a couple of ships. Several people were thrown into the water, and Jessira paused long enough to rescue them.

  But as soon as she was sure they were safe, she raced off in the direction Rukh had taken. Jessira had to rejoin the fight against the Sorrow Bringer as quickly as possible. On his own, Rukh couldn't handle the Queen. Suwraith was simply too powerful. Only together could Jessira and Rukh hope to stand a chance of defeating the Sorrow Bringer. Then the Queen would finally be called to account for all the evil She had done.

  It took Jessira far longer than she would have liked to finally catch up with Rukh and Suwraith. They had passed over the Sickle Sea and into Continent Catalyst, traveling so far east that it was now twilight in this part of the world. There, deep in a desert—the Prayer—Jessira found them. They warred. Jessira had followed her sense of Rukh's presence to locate them, but she could have just as easily traced the patches of glowing glass that had been created by the violence of their conflict. Jessira had briefly puzzled at those strange, iridescent decorations on the desert floor until she saw a Fireball slam into the the ground. There, at the point of impact, sand burst upward and what was left behind was turned to glass.

  The battle broke off when Jessira arrived. Suwraith snapped off a few strokes with Her staff before snarling wordlessly and racing away south. There was no evidence of the injury the Queen had received during their brief battle over the Sickle Sea. Nevertheless, Her expression had been one of fear.

  Once again, Rukh and Jessira gave chase. Hills rose, becoming green with stunted grass and shrubs. Trees appeared. The hills grew taller before giving away to foothills and a winding river.

  Finally, over a broad body of muddy water—from her study of maps, Jessira realized it had to be Lake Corruption—the Queen turned and faced them. She stood tall, proud and defiant with Her staff held in hand. She beckoned them forth. “Now you will meet your doom. This is the place where I was birthed into this fallen world, and here is the place where you shall die.”

  Jessira's response was a Fireball that burned the short distance to the Sorrow Bringer and slammed against Her Shield. The Queen was hurled back by the force of the impact.

  Rukh swept down. He came in below Suwraith. Jessira came in from high. They met in the middle. The Queen twirled Her staff. She blocked Rukh. Jessira's thrust missed. The Queen had bent around it. The Sorrow Bringer pivoted, and Her staff was ready for Rukh's next blow.

  Another series of strikes were exchanged before Suwraith swept upward. She taunted them, keeping just ahead of their racing forms. Suddenly, the Queen halted and swung about to face them. Jessira cursed as she went too far. She overswept Suwraith. Rukh, though, had managed to stop in time. He and the Queen traded blows. Neither succeeded in touching the other.

  Jessira shot straight up and raced straight down. She aimed another thrust at the Sorrow Bringer. It was the same move she had used only moments before. This time, she pulled her blow. Suwraith's staff met air and passed unencumbered. It left Her briefly out of position. Jessira took the opening. A glancing strike struck the Queen high on one of Her arms.

  It wasn't a telling injury, but Suwraith growled in response. She lashed out with a lightning-fast kick and a Bow.

  Jessira avoided the first but took the second straight on Her Shield. It melted. Some of the heat and energy of the Bow went straight into her, and Jessira cried out in pain. It was like taking a stab to her heart. Her body felt afire. It wasn't as bad as the Withering Knife, but only barely. Her Jivatma boiled.

  Jessira pulled back from the battle. She needed to Heal, but Suwraith kept after Her. Meanwhile, Rukh had been thrown aside by a clip of the staff to his temple.

  Jessira defended desperately. She tried to keep the Sorrow Bringer in front of her. She blocked a diagonal slash aimed at her head. She backed away from the follow-up swings targeting her knees. A heavy jab pounded into her abdomen, and Jessira gasped. On top of all her other pain, it felt like she'd taken a liver shot. Her body, though it was ephemeral and made of light, locked up. She moved as slow as a slug.

  Another blow descended toward Jessira's head. It seemed to fall glacially, but her arms were too heavy to intercept it. They wouldn't respond. Her entire body wouldn't respond. With a tired comprehension, Jessira realized that she couldn't block the blow. However, the Queen's position revealed an unforeseen opening. Just before the Sorrow Bringer's overhand strike connected, Jessira lifted her sword and stabbed the Sorrow Bringer in the abdomen. It was a deep wound, but not a fatal one.

  The Queen screamed pain and outrage.

  Good. Maybe the injury would allow Rukh to overcome the Sorrow Bringer and end Her for all time.

  The Queen's overhand strike connected, and pain erupted in Jessira's mind. She fell to the lake down below and felt herself come apart.

  Rukh watched in horror as Jessira was struck down by a blow to her head. She instantly went limp and plummeted toward the lake. Rukh swooped down, intent on saving her, but he couldn't reach her in time. She plunged into the muddy water of Lake Corruption, and the sparkling green motes of her essence came unglued. The womanly shape Jessira had taken on spread out over the water's surface like a slowly dissipating mist that eventually sank and disappeared.

  Rukh could barely sense his wife presence's. Jessira's essence had once been a firm brightness centered within his mind, but now, all that was left was a touch that was softer than a snowflake's kiss and a dim light more faint than a firefly in fo
g. Rukh wasn't even sure if any of what he was still feeling of his wife was actually real. Maybe the trace sensations were merely a remembrance of her fiery core, like an afterimage from staring at the sun.

  It was just as possible that Jessira was gone, and Rukh cried out at the realization. He had been too slow to defend her, too filled with fury at the Queen to fight with clarity. It had been his mistake that had led to Jessira's demise.

  He turned to face the Sorrow Bringer.

  She seemed to look down at him with the eyes of a vulture. Her ugly mouth stretched into a slow lupine grin. Suwraith's face was the image of cruelty. She gestured for him to come to Her, still wearing that awful smile.

  Rukh snarled. He wanted to charge that fragging, evil monster. He wanted to tear Her apart. He wanted to stab out Her eyes, chop Her limb from limb, hurt Her as horribly as it was possible to hurt another being before finally killing Her. He wanted Her to suffer, to feel the agony and anguish he was feeling.

  You are not a man made to hate. The words came from his memory. They belonged to Jessira, and grief, a more painful blade than the Withering Knife, stabbed Rukh's heart, replacing some of the anger. Somehow, through it all, a semblance of reason returned.

  Rukh had to defeat the Sorrow Bringer. It was his duty, his calling, his purpose. The Queen's death was the long-sought, unfulfilled dream of generations of Humanity. His anger cooled further. Hatred would not win the day, but rational thought and planning might.

  Rukh studied his foe. She still floated up above, taunting him with Her cruel smirk. After defeating Jessira, why hadn't Suwraith immediately attacked him? The answer came to Rukh. The Queen was injured. He could see it now that he was looking. It was a deep wound to Her abdomen. Jessira's mark. Suwraith hadn't attacked because She needed time to Heal.

  It was time She would not have.

  Rukh ascended silently. He sought that glacial stillness that he had first seen manifested by Kinsu Makren when the two of them had fought in the Tournament of Hume in what seemed like another life. Rukh forced the burning hate to flow through him, past him; let it drain it out through his feet.

  The Queen cried out challenge and swooped toward him like a falcon.

  Rukh twisted away from Her attack. The Sorrow Bringer came again, and Rukh waited on Her. The Queen's staff arced in a blur toward his head. His abdomen. His knees. Rukh parried every blow.

  All emotions were set aside except for one, a single focus: the absolute need for victory. It compelled his every movement and thought. Again, the Queen came in a flood of furious motion. Lightning arced toward him. It coruscated as he slapped it away with his sword. He dodged a Fireball, and it detonated in an explosion of steam and mud as it hit the boggy ground.

  The Sorrow Bringer came in behind the Fireball. Rukh tried to disengage, but She was too swift. She wasn't as slowed by Her injury as he had hoped. A series of rapid swings and thrusts had Rukh off balance. He took a blow to his Shield, and it keened like a horse screaming in pain. Another blow landed against his Shield. This one punched through, and Rukh's left shoulder ached as though it had been broken. He pulled away, seeking distance to resettle himself.

  Once more, Suwraith advanced. Her staff whirled. It buzzed through the air like a nest of angry hornets. It came fast and hard. Rukh was hard-pressed to block Her every blow, but he managed. His shoulder slowly improved. With each passing second, it grew stronger. Rukh circled away, defending, looking for an opening. Again and again, he merely held guard, blocking Her every blow.

  Another Fireball burned toward him. She'd launched it too close for him to evade, and he turned to the side. It thudded into his Shield. The echo of the impact thundered out, bending branches in all directions. The water below rocked with heavy waves.

  It was an impressive explosion, but more importantly, the impact caused Rukh's Shield to go out. Once again, he desperately sought distance. The Sorrow Bringer kept after him. He blocked and evaded until he could finally reestablish his Shield. On came the Queen.

  With Her next pass, Rukh recognized Her stance. He knew what She would do next. A thrust to his head was a feint. Following after came a sweep with Her staff as She attempted to trip him. He rose above Her weapon and snapped out a kick. It thudded against Her face, and She stumbled back.

  A grimace replaced Her smile.

  Rukh had finally landed a blow against Her, but he didn't let even the slightest sense of success come to him. He held to his calmness.

  A darting slash was aimed at Suwraith's head, and She slapped away his sword. Rukh stepped in close and angled a short chop at Her shoulder. She blocked with a smooth motion of Her staff. He ducked Her return swing but continued to pressure Her. He needed to stay inside the circle of Her staff. The Sorrow Bringer tried to rise out of reach, but Rukh kept up with Her. She darted right and left, but he was always there.

  Her wound did slow Her, and She was unable to escape. Rukh feinted. It was a dangerous plan. With one hand on the hilt of his sword, he thrust up at Her abdomen. She stepped aside, and Her staff twirled. It would slam into his temple. From this distance, there would be no chance for his Shield to hold. It would be the same fearsome blow that had ended Jessira.

  But in Rukh's other hand, hidden behind his back, was a Fireball. The Queen's eyes widened in realization. Her staff would strike him, but not before his Fireball struck Her.

  Suwraith screamed in agony. Rukh's head exploded in pain. His sword flickered and disappeared. The Fireball had punched through the Queen's Shield. A gaping hole in Her abdomen passed entirely through the glowing violet motes of Her essence. Rukh knew it wasn't over. Though both he and the Queen plunged downward, he knew there was still a chance She might survive Her terrible injury.

  He could feel himself coming apart, the same as what Jessira had probably experienced. He held on to his determination. His mission was not yet complete. He forced his essence together. He reformed his sword.

  Though his vision had grown dark, he spotted the Queen. She was close. Her mouth gaped in terror and somehow She sensed his regard and his determination. Her own visage steeled, and Her staff reformed.

  Rukh managed to halt his freefall at the same time as the Sorrow Bringer. They squared off against one another, both severely injured but neither willing to back down. Rukh leveled his blade. He slashed, a cut that rose from right-to-left. The Queen blocked.

  Rukh looked the Sorrow Bringer in the eyes, staring at the being who was the author of so much cruelty. She stared back. Her eyes glowed resoluteness. They locked in place for less than a second, but it was a span of time too long. With his left hand, Rukh grabbed hold of Suwraith's staff. Her eyes widened once again. She understood Her mistake. A fleeting look of regret passed over Her face. His sword was still gripped in his right hand, and Rukh slammed it home.

  It punched into Suwraith's chest and out Her back. She screamed. The cry ascended in pitch. More distantly, Rukh noted the glad shout of another woman as she rose to the singing light.

  But for the Queen, Her scream endured. It went on and on. It was the sound of fear and fury and mortal agony. Suwraith's essence dissipated into glowing embers. Rukh watched as Her motes rose, not to the singing light, but elsewhere. She went to some far, distant place beyond Arisa, beyond his knowing, up past the sky into an inky sea filled with wrecked islands. Her embers passed from Rukh's sight just as Her echoing cry passed from his hearing.

  The Sorrow Bringer was dead.

  Rukh would have felt elation, but he hurt too badly to feel anything but regret and grief. Jessira. He couldn't rightly sense her. Rukh slumped toward the muddy water, and his mind stilled.

  The longing man on a quiet night,

  His heart's ease is driven by his need

  For the lively woman who makes bright

  Music and laughter with the bold reed.

  She plays a flute made of warmth and light,

  And in divine Rapture comes the creed

  From a song of duty and of flight

>   When the longing man and the lively woman are freed.

  ~Romance and Love by Anto Jakper, AF 1456

  A white light burned from somewhere high above him. It shined like a beacon, steady, unblinking, and unmoving. For the longest length of time, a period measured in heartbeats and the absence of memory, he simply watched the orb. He studied it, perplexed as to what it was.

  Then again, who was he? It was a more interesting question, and one he considered with as much energy as he could spare. His concentration led him nowhere, and eventually, he gave up. He reckoned hours had passed, but when he returned his attention to the bright orb glowing from an unmeasurable distance away, it hadn't moved at all. Dim memory, as difficult to perceive as the sense of sight in muddy water, came to him. The orb was the sun, and it moved.

  How did it move? And did a fire burn within it to cause it to be bright?

  He sighed and put away his vision. He was too tired to ponder such difficult questions. His mind stilled.

  A white light, the sun, burned like a beacon. Its light barely penetrated whatever it was that surrounded him. The sun stood high in the sky. It might even be noon.

  A thrill of pleasure coursed through him at his recognition and remembrance of the measurement of time. He stared up at the sun, wondering why its brilliance did nothing to illuminate the surroundings in which he found himself. Was he buried beneath the ground?

  With one question asked, many more followed. Foremost amongst them was this: who was he?

  Once again, he had no answer. He tried to force his mind to seek the answer, but instead, an odd sight came to him. Rather than learning the truth about his identity, from a distance, he viewed an ocean of light; it was like the purest of water. It barely moved and from it came the fragrance of innocence and love.