Kings of Ash

by Richard Nell

  The giant turned to him abruptly and frowned. “I do not deceive in this place. I knew your mother, Kale. I tried to save her, and failed. The poison had gone too deep. I am sorry.”

  The trance of the music and the garden broke. Kale met his host’s strange eyes. “My mother died of illness. And what do you mean you tried to save her?”

  The giant looked confused first, then annoyed. “I assure you she died of poison. Your father’s second wife mixed it in her tea. Hali died in the evening, beneath a half but bright moon, and it broke your father’s heart.”

  Kale stared, unsure what to make of it. He saw no purpose in arguing with a dream, however, so he followed on towards the path of flowers, which had now turned yellow and green like water-lilies on land, giving him the distinct feeling of entering water.

  At the end he found a dark, still river, then snorted in surprise when he recognized an almost perfect replica of the Kubi near Sri Kon’s palace. It had the same bridge, even the weir—or ‘drowning steps’, a dam-like structure he had once shown to Amit of Naran as he walked him to the palace. He shook his head as he inspected it.

  “Why should this be here. It bored me in life, one would think dreams could be more exciting.”

  Ruka stepped beside him. “It was practice,” he said quietly, then walked across the bridge to another wide, trim field of grass.

  Kale followed because he didn’t know what else to do. Once crossed, all around him, emerging from the fog he saw wooden racks of weapons, and armor. There were swords, spears, and axes—some as long as a man—and pieces of heavy, iron plating as he had once seen in Naran, all shaped in a hundred different ways. They lay arranged in perfect rows, or adorning stands and draped across the wooden constructs of men.

  Kale twisted his head because he thought he saw something move in the fog, but it disappeared.

  “We’re close,” said the giant, who had followed his gaze. Something in his tone changed and gave Kale pause.

  “To what?” he asked.

  “You will see.”

  Kale felt an anxiousness now—a desire to turn and run, and not to see whatever this strange man or creature had to show him. He knew this was a dream, but he knew dreams could still be dangerous—no man was truly safe from himself. He followed anyway.

  They walked along the river, on a path of the same round, flat stones laid so precisely in the garden. The bank of the murky water had been built up with wide, stone structures like the sides of a pipe; as Kale looked down, he saw several holes in the sides, with more pipes or perhaps caverns disappearing beyond. Ruka saw his interest.

  “Nothing is more important than clean, running water.” The giant frowned as he looked at it. “But it would be better to be covered. In the world of sun, heat evaporates the water, and much is lost.”

  Kale nodded, utterly confused. Again as he looked at the detail of this place, and the strangeness of it and of his host, he felt a sense of wrongness—as if it had all come from a mind not his own. He tried to remember what he’d been doing before he slept and couldn’t. But he began to realize that he had not been at the palace, and hadn’t been in some time. He remembered being banished, traveling to Nanzu, the Naranian capital, and learning of Ru and meeting Asna and Osco and Li-yen…

  And, oh God, what had become of Li-Yen? He saw her smile, her soft, gentle hands, and heard her voice. Had the emperor learned of their relationship? What would he have done, if he had?

  More movement caught his eyes in the fog. At first he thought them formless shadows, but soon he saw arms, shoulders and the backs of heads. They were men.

  The fog seemed to lift slightly as they pushed on, and he saw some with shovels digging into the earth; others pushed carts or wheelbarrows, moving dirt or carrying stones. All the stones were white, smooth slabs, and soon Kale saw rows of these planted in the earth in careful lines like Ruka’s garden. They were marked with symbols.

  “It is a graveyard,” Ruka explained.

  As he did the fog seemed to recede further, until Kale stood before a whole field of graves and wooden stakes, as wide as a palace courtyard.

  More men and women stood amongst them. Some turned to look, as did the others who moved about their toil in the earth. They began to stop, or come forward in twos and threes.

  Kale looked at them, and no matter how he blinked or shook his head, he began to see broken faces. Some of their limbs were angled strangely. Others he now realized had open wounds, or broken bodies and all had pale, frozen faces. He saw some had pupils rolled back, and blood staining their eyes.

  “They are the dead,” said the giant, his expression cold. “This is a land for the dead.”

  Kale felt sweat on his brow. He stepped from Ruka looking for another path, some kind of escape, some direction away from these abominations.

  “In truth, I would be pleased with a companion who could speak,” Ruka said, following him back into the fog. “But you mustn’t linger here, Kale. Out of love for your father; for the mother I could not save, I must help you. You must leave this place, prince. You must return to the world of the living.”

  The voice followed him further into the fog, but he ran on, though he knew not where.

  “Wake up,” he whispered, feeling a tightening in his chest that clouded thought and sense and brought a tremble to his lips. Wake up, wake up, wake up and end this nightmare, wake up!

  He ran with nowhere to go. He ran away from the river, into more darkness that led to torches and a huge, wide cavern of stone. Everywhere he found more walking corpses. Some were holding picks and hammers and crawling like ants about the rock. Other rolled huge chunks along felled trees with rope. These turned to watch him, and he fled this too.

  He ran until in the distance he saw a sight as horrifying to him as the dead—an almost perfect replica of the palace of Sri Kon. It loomed large in his view with more corpses moving about its walls, painting and building, pruning and gardening. It was like some grotesque parody of his childhood, servants bound to their endless tasks forever in hell.

  Ruka’s golden eyes found him again in the gloom. Kale fled until the fog again overtook him, and soon all he could see beyond the grass and the stars were two golden slits gleaming in the meager light. He screamed.

  He was lost and felt helpless, raising his hands as if to stop some fatal blow that never came. He squeezed his eyes shut and burned his thoughts.

  This is a dream, he told himself again, a nightmare, yes, but only a nightmare. And anyway he was nothing as everything was nothing, and why should death make him afraid?

  He began to remember a purpose, though, a purpose more important than his life. Control your thoughts, you are nothing, we are all nothing, and there is only suffering and love.

  He slowly began to remember Nong Ming Tong—flying into the sky at the coast, plunging into a dark pool that took everything he had and was and snuffed it out without a moment’s pause. He had left a great task unfinished. Threads of power had firmed like iron bars in his hands, mocking all attempt to pull them. But he felt no pleasure in remembering—because of his failure, many would die.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he told himself, sinking to the grass. “It’s all meaningless.”

  The giant growled, as if in contempt. “Ask a starving man if food is meaningless.”

  Kale blinked as the giant approached. He considered the words, thinking yes hunger was suffering and therefore existed, and better by far not to experience it. But this still felt empty, and hollow, inadequate to justify the world as it was.

  The giant sneered as if he’d read his thoughts. “Your life is not just yours,” he hissed. “You owe the dead more than most, prince of paradise. You speak the words they’ve given you, you live in the peace carved from mystery and chaos with their blood and toil. You have accepted their gifts, and so you bear the burden of their deeds. Lay down and die if you wish, but your debt remains for your descendants.”

  Kale looked at the terrible gaze of the gian
t, knowing in some way what he said was true. “I may fail,” he whispered. “I’ve taken on too much. Those who need me and those I’ve made promises to will pay for it.”

  ‘Ruka’s’ face contorted again. “Success is not your obligation, boy. Success is often luck and to think otherwise is arrogance. Your burden is only to try. Face your path with courage, and let come what may.”

  Kale shook his head. “You don’t understand the difficulty.”

  Ruka’s brow raised, and he laughed. “All think the same, and all are right. One day you will die and there is no escape. For now the task of life remains. Go around it, little Alaku. Go beside it, over it, look again from every angle until the strain snaps your spirit, until you’ve reforged a hundred times. Most of you is deadwood, boy, burn it. Rise again and see what remains beneath the ash. Try until the blood drips from your veins and your mind is broken in madness. Then will you die in honor. Perhaps your children will do better.”

  Kale shivered at the words, so harsh, so oppressive. He stared at the giant, feeling naked before an unbending will. He felt judged, but not all wrongly.

  “Stand up as if you had some dignity,” the giant growled. He leaned until his eyes bore into Kale’s “You were born with a great name, princeling. All your life you have rested at the feet of giants. Now stand. Earn it. Live.”

  “If this is not a dream,” Kale whispered, “how do you know me? Who are you? What are you?”

  “Just a man, Prince Alaku.” Ruka smiled, but it was not comforting. “Look to your deeds, son of Farahi, son of Hali. Courage calls, and only the brave live forever. Now stand.”

  Kale felt as if pulled to his feet, but he had risen on his own. The act itself gave him strength, and though it had only been moments he felt almost shame for staying seated so long.

  “I don’t know how to leave,” he shrugged, “I don’t know where to go.”

  At last Ruka seized Kale’s arm, leading him back onto the grass and into the fog. He looked to the heavens. “You know very well. You came from that sky. Return to it.”

  Kale shook his head. “There are shadows, some dark terrors in the void that rend flesh. I saw no light but here.”

  “You have not been listening,” the giant growled. “A man fails in only two ways. He gives up, or he dies. Are you dead?”

  “No.” Kale looked up and shivered as he thought of the heat and the near-invisible creatures that had clawed at his back. At least I don’t think so, he thought. “I am nothing,” he whispered, “but it matters why.” The giant snorted.

  “Piss on your humility. You are alive, and all around you are dead. Deserve that life, or lose it, for many here should like to take your place. Go quickly. I will help you rise again if you fall, that is my vow.”

  With that Ruka stepped away, and waited, bright eyes like a Pyu lighthouse shining in the dark.

  Kale felt no deception in the words. He felt shame again for judging the man’s appearance when all he had done was help. At last he looked to the small dots of light visible above, and breathed.

  He imagined a dark, empty beach and his fire, then burned all thought except what he must do. He didn’t know how long it took, but at last he opened his eyes, and reached out for his body, trying to sense it. All at once, he knew where to go.

  He turned to his strange host with hope, and smiled, then wondered again why he was here.

  “Are you dead too, Ruka?”

  The giant blinked, and his jaw clenched as he seemed to consider. “Perhaps a part of me. I am the shadow of a man, or he is mine. It no longer matters.”

  Kale nodded though he did not understand. “Thank you, Ruka, for helping me.” He didn’t know what else to say, nor what was happening or why he was here. He looked into the almost bestial eyes of his savior and saw no malice, hatred, or resentment. They were too hard perhaps to ever be beautiful, or even kind. But they were strong, and Kale thought maybe even held a tinge of pride.

  The giant bowed slightly in the Pyu fashion. “Goodbye, Prince Alaku. We will meet again, I hope. But not too soon.”

  Kale returned the bow then outstretched his hands, finding that even here in this foreign place, beneath the void, there was power. I am nothing, he thought, and weigh nothing, and the sky and the fog and the creatures in my path are nothing. There is only what I must do.

  Kale rose with the ashes of his thoughts, rising above the fog and the strange land of beauty and death, and flew towards the light.

  Chapter 68

  “He’s awake. Get the healer!”

  Kale opened his eyes and saw the white, alabaster tiles of King Kapule’s guest room. He smelled incense and tasted blood, and his joints and muscles ached as he sat up.

  “Calmly, islander. You’ve been unconscious two days.”

  The blurry shape of Osco kneeled by Kale’s bed. Apparently he’d helped him sit up.

  Shapes that might have been Asna and several Mesanites in full armor stood at the room’s door and windows as if waiting for danger. They seemed to search an old man in robes as he entered, inspecting even his hair before allowing him inside.

  The old man tolerated this all in silence. Once inside he smelled Kale’s breath, then looked in his mouth, his eyes and in his ears, poking or prodding in several spots before getting his attention.

  “What is your name?” he asked, in a rather horrendous version of the island tongue.

  Kale rolled his eyes, feeling progressively better with each passing moment. He kicked his legs off the bed and gently slapped away Osco’s hands. Despite his thirst, a slight headache, and general soreness, he felt fine. More than fine. He scooped a jug of water off the table beside his bed and drank half of it.

  “Right.” He gasped. “I’m going back to the sea.” He wiped his face and stood, swaying slightly before the world steadied.

  “There are riots,” Osco explained, his eyebrows deeply opposed. “Your…previous attempt, terrified any who witnessed it, and still there is no rain. Kapule will wish to speak and…”

  “Asna.” Kale stepped past his friend and towards the door. “I’ll need a cloak to cover myself. We’re going down to the sea.” He looked back to the Mesanite. “Anyone who wishes to assist me is most welcome. But by all means, stay here if you prefer.”

  The general’s son stared, and now that Kale was looking directly at him he realized half his friend’s face was reddened as if burned. The observation softened his gaze a little—no doubt it was his efforts that had caused it. He glanced and saw the Mesanites too had been singed, or maybe half-frozen.

  Asna on the other hand looked fine. He searched the cabinets until he found something suitable, than draped it around Kale’s shoulders with a wink.

  “You near make other friend shit self on beach, prince. It great and historical event. Asna remember for always.”

  Osco turned his glare to the Condotian, then barked an order in his tongue at the Mesanites. They stomped and massed at the door.

  “Very well, King Alaku.” The general’s son sighed and came forward with sword half-drawn. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’ll be standing well away this time, and behind a shield. Maybe a few shields.”

  Kale nodded, thinking that most reasonable. He held back his grin.

  Getting out of the castle proved rather difficult. Kapule’s usually open and welcoming palace had apparently become a fortress of guards and locked gates. It seemed easier going out than in, at least, and the first few blockades let the group of mostly Mesanites pass easily enough. At the main exit to the courtyard, however, a captain and his host of warriors held their spears.

  “No one comes in or out without the king’s permission,” said the young man, his face hard.

  Kale drew back his hood and stepped forward, and the man’s eyes widened in recognition.

  “I’m going to the sea, captain, to try again to bring the rains. I may fail. I may die. But every moment of delay is further suffering for your people.”

  The captain s
tepped back, putting a hand to his sword. His men glanced at each other and some readied bows or lowered their weapons with pale faces and widening eyes.

  “I…I have my orders, Prince Alaku.”

  “I understand.” Kale smiled politely and closed his eyes as he held out his hands. As he did, one of the guards panicked and released an arrow, and Kale let the air seize it and hold it motionless. The men gasped as Kale gestured—entirely for show— and the gate unlatched, the heavy wooden doors opening with a creak.

  “I am here to help your king, and his people. I will speak with him, but first I must give him what I promised.” Kale walked forward without another word. As he reached the guards they stepped aside to let him and his warriors pass.

  In the courtyard, the huge grain-bins had been closed. The outer gates were shut, and what had before been an open bazaar was now silent and lifeless. All that disturbed the stillness of a grey, hot morning was the clamoring of those wishing to be allowed inside. Kale took a deep breath.

  “Your men will have to wait here, I think.”

  He knew if he tried to go through those gates with his soldiers he’d make a riot. Many would be injured and maybe killed.

  “Islander,” Osco’s brow shone with sweat. “You will need protection. Last time you dropped where you stood and Asna carried you to the palace. My men and I cracked a hundred skulls to get you out. You can’t possibly…”

  Kale’s crossed his legs as his body rose from the ground. His spirit pulled him forward with the smallest of threads, and he reached back and put another to his friends, smiling as they shouted in alarm and rose behind him.

  Asna blinked in panic but soon steadied and drifted gracefully, while Osco swore and waved his arms and half-spun as he fought for control against the uncontrollable. We are all nothing, Kale thought, compared to the heavens and the earth. You cannot fight it, my friend.

  He soared over the wall but didn’t bother rising out of sight. He took the moment to feel the cool wind wash over him, to look out again over Ketsra and enjoy the color and sounds and all the life that would exist with or without him. He saw the few citizens looking up and pointing as he flew towards the sea, and he wished those with their eyes raised could join him—that they could fly and see the threads of power and help him, and that mankind could venture into this new world together.