A Warrior's Path (The Castes and the OutCastes) (8 page)

Court looked to
Cedar.  “Think we’ve seen enough?”

“I suppose so.  Not much to be gained by sitting around watching men die.  We need to report back to Stronghold,”
Cedar said, spitting into the dust.

“What do
you suppose this gathering of Chims is about?” Lure asked.

“O
ther than killing those warriors down there?”  Cedar shrugged.  “Nothing good.”

*****

T
he Triad fought.  It did not know desperation, but survival was difficult because Primary insisted on defending the friend.  Had the Triad been allowed to leave the friend, it could have survived.  The friend was not a part of the Triad, and so his actions could not be controlled or anticipated.  It made him very hard to protect.  Something had to be done.

The Triad reached through Primary and did the inconceivable.  It lunged with
Jivatma
, grabbing hold of the friend.  Well melded with Well.  Annex was complete.

The hosts were stunned.  Never had a non-Kumma been incorporated into an Annex.  To the Quad it did not matter.  Primary was the battering ram; standing at the prow while Secondary and Tertiary maintained the flanks.  Quaternary defended the rear.

Wells had grown weak. 
Jivatma
thin.  No Fireballs or Fire Showers.  Survival depended on blades and escape.

Primary blurred into motion.  He faced four Baels, cutting down two of them when their whips tangled.  He took a hammering axe from a third against his Shield and thrust up, disemboweling his opponent.  The fourth Bael had time enough to blink in slack-jawed disbelief before Primary lopped off his head.  A somersault leap backward and Primary was behind the Bael pressing Quaternary.  The beast never saw his danger.  The last three Baels were quickly dispatched.

The way across the chasm was open.  Primary’s plan.  They were unobserved.  Time to run.  The Quad drew the last dregs of
Jivatma
from all four hosts.  After an adjustment to Quaternary – another impossibility – strength and speed flowed through all.  A further adjustment and the hosts were Blended.

The Quad sprinted toward the brink of the plateau and leapt.  Quaternary slipped, barely making it across the chasm.  Secondary reached and pulled Quaternary to safety.  The mission was complete, and the
Quad was no more.

*****

A
ll four men were spent.

“Keep us Blended,” Rukh said to Brand.  “The Chims can’t know we survived.

Brand nodded and concentrated for a moment.  “It’s done.”

“We need to find a place to shelter for the night,” Rukh said.  They stood on a small ledge, but about twenty feet up
was a cave.  The cliff wasn’t sheer.  They could climb it.  “Come on,” he said to the others.

“They’re feeding!” Farn cried out, disgusted.

“Lower your voice,” Rukh commanded in a whisper, but they all turned to witness the depravity of the Chims.

The Tigons fought amongst the corpses, tearing flesh and biting off great mouthfuls.  Ur-Fels and Braids lurked nearby, lunging for their own pieces of meat.  The Chims fed on the bodies of men the four had called
‘friend’ just a short time ago.

Rukh watched silently, his face a mask of disgust and loathing.  He’d seen enough.  “Let’s go,” he ordered.  He turned his back on the Chims and sheathed his sword.

Again, he shot a glance to the north.  There again was that eerie sense of a nearby presence.

“What is it?” Brand asked.

“I’m not sure,” Rukh replied.  He concentrated on the hill directly north of them.  “It’s just…”  The feeling was gone again.  “It’s nothing.  For a moment, I thought there was someone out there.”

“Survivors?”

“Let’s hope so.”

“There’s a cave up there,” Keemo said, staring upward.

Rukh nodded.  “I saw it.  Stay quiet and alert.  I don’t know if anyone else made it, but if they did, they might be up there already.”

“Isn’t that good?” Farn asked.

“Not if they survived because of promises made to the Chims.”

“Sil Lor Kum,” Keemo hissed, hatred in his voice.

They climbed, taking care to move quietly.  Even Blended, sounds might betray them.  Rukh silently cursed the crunch of rock and gravel under his boots, certain that it sounded as loud as thunder.  They reached a small ledge directly in front of the cave.  It extended further on either side.

Rukh gestured
.  Farn and Keemo flanked one side while he and Brand flanked the other.  Rukh peered into the gloom.  Nothing.  He felt Keemo and Farn’s Shields flicker to life.  He startled when Brand lit a Shield as well.  Impossible.  That was a Kumma Talent.

He shook his head in
disturbed wonder.  Deal with it later.

Rukh unsheathed his sword
and Shielded.  He darted into the cave, pressed close against a wall as he searched the interior for signs of life.  The others crowded in as well.

There was no one else there.  The cave was empty.

Ashoka, awash in the brightness of the sea and the sweet aromas of fields of flowers…be cautious of her thorns.

-From the Journal of Writh Far, caravan master out of Fearless AF 1638

“
W
atch your step, missy,” the Duriah drover shouted as Mira Terrell almost stepped in front of his wagon.

The drover’s words snapped Mira’s attention back to the present, and she leapt out of the wagon’s way with a start. 
She nodded thanks to the Duriah and mentally chided herself for her carelessness.

The only reason the Duriah hadn’t said anything more coarse to her was because of her
appearance.  She was a Kumma, and most people showed members of her Caste a great deal of deference.  Especially the women, whom Mira had heard described as being as prickly as a porcupine and irritable as a badger with a sore tooth.  She didn’t think it was an entirely fair assessment, but she understood where the sentiment came from: Kummas were warriors and
very
proud of the fact.  It was not wise to test them.

Which wouldn’t have helped her one bit if she’d been trampled to death by a wagon.  And it would have been her own fool fault. 
She had been lost in thought, unheeding of her surroundings.  It was a flaw Nanna – her father, Janos Terrell – jokingly attributed to Nannamma’s influence – her father’s mother. 
‘Your nannamma gets so lost in the canyons of her mind, it’s a wonder she even remembers to breathe,’
Nanna would jokingly tease.  Of course, Nanna never dared say so if Nannamma was in earshot.  Nannamma
was
as prickly as a porcupine and irritable as a badger with a sore tooth.  Even Amma, Mira’s mother – one of the strongest women Mira knew – stepped carefully around Nannamma.

Right now
jokes and thoughts of her family would have to be set aside.  She was on business, headed to a warehouse in the Moon Quarter, the wharves and industrial heart of Ashoka.  Mira was in the last week of her yearlong internship with House Suzay, and Tol’El Suzay, the ruling ‘El of his House, had tasked her with a problem.  It also happened to be one affecting House Shektan, Mira’s own House.  A Sentya had reported an infestation of some sort with the saffron stores shipped from Kush.  It was Mira’s job to figure out what to do about it.  Saffron was expensive, and if the entire shipment were ruined, it would put both Houses at a loss for the caravan from Kush.  It was a potential disaster, and Mira was proud of the trust Tol’El showed her.  If they were lucky, they might be able to salvage some profit from the situation by simply hiring a Muran to exterminate the pests in question.

With a wry grin, Mira wondered if such work could also include the workers who had allowed the contamination to happen in the first place.

After the Duriah and his wagon passed her by, Mira took stock of her surroundings.

She walked along Bellary Road, one of Ashoka’s main thoroughfares.  A very busy street, Bellary began in the
southwest, directly off the Inner Wall gate of the same name, cutting diagonally to the northeast and passing all the way down to the Moon Quarter on the opposite side of the city.  Along the way, the street transformed many times.  At its beginning, just past Bellary Gate, it thrust through Trell Rue, a fashionable neighborhood of artisan shops and new restaurants, where young, ambitious artists came to hone their craft and make their mark before relocating to more well-heeled, desirable areas.  There, Bellary was constricted and shadowed amongst tall buildings looming large, but further on, the road entered into the shade of Mount Cyan and passed by Glory Stadium before intersecting with Martyr Hall and Triumph Street at the Plaza of the Martyrs.  At that point, Bellary widened and the buildings lining it became old, well-kept row houses and apartments, tightly fitted against one another with a thin median of palm trees providing some greenery in the center of the street. Bellary also provided the northeastern border of Semaphore Walk, Ashoka’s theater district and home to elegant, stately mansions.  Further on, however, in the area where Mira walked, the road was wide but thick with traffic as Bellary pushed on toward the Moon Quarter, Ashoka’s beating industrial heart.  The thin median of palm trees had disappeared as drovers hauling wagons laden with goods and materials made their way to various parts of the city.  Square, blunt warehouses and workshops lined the road, and a light haze of dirt floated on the air, coating everything with a patina of dust. The bellow of machines as well as the ringing shouts and curses of various workers carried along the street.  The smell of smoked spices, hot oil, and burning wood drifted on the mild, spring breeze, mixing with the stink of nearby tanneries and Ashoka’s paper factory. It made for an unpleasant odor.  The Moon Quarter was most definitely not Mira’s favorite place to visit, and she pitied those who were so poor as to be forced to live within its malodorous confines.

Mira smile
d wryly when she had to pull up sharply as a group of children ran by.  They played a game of Slay the Chimera, darting in out of the traffic and crying in delight as only children without a care in the world can.  Of course, there were some who were blessed to be happy no matter what their circumstances.

“Mira, hold up,” a familiar voice shouted above the din.

Mira paused and searched for whoever had called out to her.  She smiled in greeting when she saw Bree Shektan approaching.

The
only daughter of Dar’El Shektan, the ruling ‘El, and his wife, Satha Shektan, was a tall woman who had inherited much of her parents’ vaunted talents.  From her nanna, she had been gifted with a formidable intelligence.  She had achieved the highest scores of any graduate in the past ten years from the Fan and Reed, one of Ashoka’s all-female Kumma academies.  Of course, Devesh must not have been satisfied to grant her a keen intellect.  From her mother, He had also graced Bree with a languid beauty.  A slow smile from Bree was guaranteed to get a man’s pulse racing, be he young or old.  Mira grinned as the young woman caused men’s heads to swivel on their necks simply by crossing the street.  In the world of Arisa, there was a strict precept against inter-Caste intimacy of any kind.  It was what allowed the Castes to remain pure, each able to do their duty as Devesh had decreed.  But an even older law was that men were men.  Put a beautiful woman in front of them, and they would notice…although those not of Caste Kumma had to be careful.  It wouldn’t do for them to overly ogle one not of their own Caste.  Such men could be easily identified by the manner in which they kept their heads preternaturally still and their gazes locked forward.  But Mira knew they were aware of Bree.

While she waited on her, Mira was also reminded of Bree’s older brother, Rukh.  She didn’t know him well.  Rukh was older by
a year and almost always away at the House of Fire and Mirrors, busily training for his time in the Trials.  In fact, training seemed to be all he ever did.  Bree’s brother had been relentless in his pursuit of perfection, and it had paid off.  Rukh had become the ideal of a Kumma warrior: strong, fast, and graceful – he made the simple act of rising from a chair appear to be a dance – and his proficiency with a sword…in a few more years, he would be unbeatable.  Which made his abilities all the more unusual given his lineage.   None of his ancestors had been counted as great warriors.  They had been fine and brave, but for the most part, they had been, at best, competent, including Dar’El Shektan.  Rukh, though, even from early on, had been a prodigy.  He was a sublime talent, going so far as to capture the Tournament of Hume in his first attempt and becoming the first Virgin Champion in history.  Pity he lacked the wit to match his fierce warrior’s heart.  Though he was handsome, Mira did not find Rukh inspiring.  In fact, he seemed rather dull, a bore.  Swords, it seemed, were his only passion.  On the other hand, his odd, yet somehow intriguing younger brother Jaresh, the only Sentya, or for that matter, the only non-Kumma of any kind ever adopted into a House, was the brighter of the two men.  He was also more approachable and funny, but not in a clownish way.  In their few interactions, he had always struck Mira as being clever and witty.  Of course, it was said Jaresh was also training as a warrior.  She had even heard he might leave Ashoka for the Trials.

She grimaced.  The Devesh damned Trials.  At best, they were a necessary evil, always taking the best of Castes Kumma, Muran, and Rahail and bringing them home broken in body and often in spirit.  Like most Kumma women, Mira hated the Trials.  She didn’t necessarily like Rukh, but still she paused and said a quick prayer for his safety, even as she knew Devesh probably paid little heed to the concerns of Humanity.

“I think we should give those responsible for this disaster a boot in the ass,” Bree declared when she caught up with Mira.  Bree’s forcefully voiced opinion didn’t surprise Mira.  Despite being two years younger and only eighteen, Bree typically had strongly held views.  She got her forceful personality from her nanna as well.

And Dar’El Shektan was a
very
forceful man.  He was only the fifth ‘El of their young House, but he had already turned it into a prosperous one.  Such a rapid ascent in fortune was bound to raise the jealous enmity of some of the older Kumma Houses.  Some of them went so far as to hate House Shektan, especially after Rukh’s success in the Tournament of Hume.  Mira believed it was a price worth paying.  Through Dar’El’s skillful maneuvering and financial acumen, her own family, once all but destitute, had risen to become a respected and honored member of the rising power that was House Shektan.

“Maybe we should get the facts first before putting a boot up someone’s back passage,” Mira suggested with a smile.

Bree smiled back.  “Never stopped me before,” she replied.

Mira rolled her eyes.  “Which is probably why you kept getting switched when you were a child,” she said.  “Speaking without thinking is not an attractive feature.”

“You may have something there,” Bree said with a laugh.  “I’ll follow your lead and try to learn wisdom.”  She bowed mockingly.

Mira rolled her eyes again.  “I wo
uldn’t expect to learn too much if I were you.”

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself,” Bree advised.  “
I think you’re quite clever.”

“
Thank you.  But that’s not what I meant,” Mira said.  “I’m sure I could try teaching you something. Whether you can understand it…” Mira arched a questioning eyebrow before turning and walking off, smiling when she heard Bree’s squawk of outrage.

Bree quickly caught up and gave Mira a playful
shove.  “Nicely done,” she said.  The two of them shared a smile.

One of the qualities Mira liked about Bree was the younger woman’s ability to accept some harmless ribbing.

They walked on, and the weather grew warmer.  It was a fine spring day, and the sun blazed bright heat on the world below.  Fluffy, white clouds occasionally eclipsed the sun, casting the world in temporary shadow, while heavier clouds, gray and pregnant with rain could be seen passing ponderously far to the southwest of the city. The two women topped a hill and Bellary ran straight to the water’s edge, offering a view of the harbor and the bay.  Mira paused. She liked looking out at the water.  It reminded her of the larger world beyond the borders of Ashoka’s Oasis.  Many boats were out; some already near the horizon.  The fishermen must have cast off early in the morning.  Mira watched as several vessels slipped from view as they broached the terminator.

“We need to go,” Bree reminded her.

Mira nodded, and they walked in silence until they passed a pub named
The First World
.

“You think those old stories are true?” Bree asked, pointing to the faded sign over the tavern entrance.

Mira smirked, and spoke in a portentous, high-pitched tone, a dead-on impersonation of Mistress Volk, historian and headmistress of the Fan and Reed.  “It was a legendary time of peace and prosperity when the First Mother and the First Father walked among the people, protecting them and bringing life to a once desolate and dead land.  In those days, great works were raised; creations which we now believe to be the stuff of dreams.  A grand civilization of enlightenment and culture arose and understanding of
Jivatma
reached its peak.  Grace and elegance were the hallmarks of the era.”

Bree laughed.  “Yes, that.  Do you believe any of it?”

“I don’t have a firm opinion one way or the other,” Mira replied.  She shrugged.  “Besides, it doesn’t really make any difference to how we live our lives now, does it?”

“No
, it doesn’t,” Bree agreed.

Though
Mira’s words were spoken dismissively, they in no way reflected how she truly felt.  In reality, she was a romantic, and she spoke as she did to shield her romantic heart from disappointment – whether from her own fears or the mockery of others, she wasn’t sure.  It didn’t matter. Mira had always had a deep longing for the glory found in the First World: a world of peace, tranquility, and beauty, where the highest goal of one’s art was to reflect the glory of Devesh.  She had loved reading the stories of the First World. The tales from that time were a mix of legend, myth, and history spun into a wondrous fable.  Mira wistfully wished it was all true.  Her own era seemed so much emptier and gray in comparison.

And how the First World had ended, two thousand years earlier was still a mystery.  Supposedly, it had
died in a single night of blood and death, starting with the murder of the First Mother and First Father.  It had been the Night of Sorrows when a demon desolated the world.  A demon named Suwraith – the Bringer of Sorrows, the Queen of Madness.  Those who survived Her appearance spoke of how She had raged across the land, unstoppable as a flood and powerful as a hurricane, sacking all the cities She came upon.  Lightning and thunder had pounded a bruised earth with the fury of a cataclysm, leaving behind only rubble.  The few people who had endured Her coming had huddled in their cities, sheltered in the unexpected embrace of an Oasis, a powerful manifestation of
Jivatma
unseen prior to Suwraith’s arrival.  No one knew how the Oases had come to be, but some historians claimed they must have been the final, desperate act of the First Mother and First Father, a means by which to protect Their children before They perished.  It might even be true, but if so, why then had They not protected all the cities in such a fashion?  It was one of the great mysteries of time, but whatever the reason for their sudden appearance, the Oases proved impervious to Suwraith’s power, and the cities sheltered within them were able to ride out Her fury.