by Davis Ashura
“My Queen,” Hal'El prodded, ending Lienna's internal conversation and returning Her attention to the matter at hand.
“I will annihilate those warriors on the plains before Ashoka,” Lienna said. Her voice grew stronger with every word She spoke. “They will tremble at My coming and fall on their faces in fear. In the end, they will be grateful when I take their terror from them.”
“And what of the Tigons?” Hal'El asked. He remained on bended knee with a bent head and a penitent voice.
“They will act as My heralds. They will loudly announce My presence,” Lienna answered. “They, too, will serve to raise terror in the hearts of the Humans and fill them with fear of their coming destiny.”
“They are to sacrifice themselves,” Hal'El said, sounding thoughtful. “When they attack, warning arrows will be fired. The warriors down on the plain will slowly retreat back to the city since they won't know the nature or number of enemies they face. As they press for Ashoka, if You were to then appear, my Queen, a half an hour or so after the Tigons, they'll flee. It'll be a rout as they seek shelter in Ashoka. I should be able to follow on their panicked heels and enter the city as well. I'll be unknown and unseen.”
Lienna paused. With all the excitement of the difficult conversation with Mother and Mistress Arisa, She'd forgotten that Hal'El was supposed to get into Ashoka. It was the entire reason he was here. How could She have misremembered such an important detail? No matter. The Human's plan would work. Best of all, many of the very worst kind of Humans—their warriors—would die at Her metaphorical hands today.
Just a few more minutes and they'd be there. The Outer Wall reared higher and closer. The rope ladders and baskets were clearly visible. Many of them were in use as warriors from earlier-arriving platoons were even now being hauled to the top of the Outer Wall and to safety. Rukh dared to think that he and the other latecomers might make it as well.
No sooner had Hope dared poke Her lovely head past the morose skies above than Rukh caught movement out of the corner of his eyes. A bruise-purple cloud rushed toward them from the south. It smashed Hope straight in the face. Coruscating lightning lit the cloud from within. Thunder pealed a lurid counterpoint.
Everyone glanced back trying to identify what they were seeing, but Rukh already knew what it was. The cloud moved faster than any cloud had a right to move.
“Run!” Rukh screamed. “It's Suwraith! Move it!”
His words were passed down in frantic signals. The platoons set off at a dead sprint. The Outer Wall crept closer but not quickly enough. Warriors panted, their faces red with effort as they pushed past pain.
“Don't stop,” Rukh urged. “We're almost there.”
He glanced to the side.
Suwraith had overtaken a platoon of warriors. Rukh silently urged the men there to greater speed even as She hovered above them. She matched their speeds. Some of the warriors must have kept their bows because arrows sped upward. They sliced through the Queen, but caused no damage. Bolts of lightning sizzled to the ground, and with the rush of a waterfall, the Sorrow Bringer crashed down. When She lifted up again, the mangled bodies of ten or so young men lay unmoving.
Rukh gritted his teeth in fury as Suwraith moved on to another platoon. Their commander must have been a Kumma, and he must have remained with his men. Fireballs erupted toward the Sorrow Bringer. But just like the arrows, they had no effect on the Queen. Within seconds, another ten men lay dead.
Another platoon met a similar fate, and the Blacks were next in line for Suwraith's wrath.
“We aren't going to make it!” Toilpeat cried out.
Rukh knew the Muran was right, but there was no other option except to run. “Keep going,” Rukh said. “I'll . . .” The words dried in his throat. He swallowed heavily, hating what he knew he had to do. These men wouldn't die while he did nothing. “Don't wait on me, warrior. Keep running,” he commanded. He slapped Toilpeat on the shoulder.
Jessira forgive me.
Rukh broke away from the rest of the Blacks. He took an angle away from them and away from Ashoka. He took an angle toward sacrifice. Toward the Sorrow Bringer. Better that he die than all these others share his fate. His hands glowed. He hurled Fireballs at the Queen, hoping to grab Her attention. She seemed to ignore him at first, but then She paused. Slowly, heavily, Suwraith turned his way.
Rukh might have exulted, but he still had to survive long enough to give his men time to reach the Outer Wall. He had to keep the Queen chasing after him. He had to stay alive long enough for them to find shelter. He would die, but if the cost of his life meant these others could live, it was a sacrifice he was willing to make.
He conducted Jivatma and raced away as swiftly as he could. He formed a Shield, held hard to his useless Blend, and even formed a Bow. Why the latter, he didn't know, but it was said that necessity was the Amma of invention. Maybe inspiration would strike him during this forlorn moment of need.
Rukh sensed the Queen rearing overhead, and he twisted aside. A bolt of lightning sizzled directly behind him. Thunder pealed, and the aftershock hurled him forward. Another bolt missed him. Another aftershock hurled him forward. Rukh stumbled but kept to his feet. His ears rang. He felt blood trickle down the side of his face. His ears were bleeding.
Rukh glanced at the Blacks. He only had to hold out a little longer. They were almost to the Wall.
Once again, the Queen overtook him, and Rukh dodged away. The Sorrow Bringer kept after him, floating low over the ground. From Her came the sound of grinding bones, of nails scraping stone, the howl of frustrated anger.
Rukh smiled to himself. Good. The Queen wasn't happy that She hadn't yet killed him.
His pleasure was short-lived. He sensed the Queen pause, as if She were trying to figure out how to smash him down when he refused to stand still. She moved more slowly now, as if to ensure he wouldn't be able to dodge away from Her a third time. She floated lower and rushed toward him from ground level.
There was no way to evade Her. Not this time. Rukh prepared to meet his Creator. Always lacking in faith, in this the final moment of his life, he offered his first heartfelt prayer. Devesh, if you're there, I commit myself to your care.
Serenity, so elusive before, came upon him then. Rukh understood he was going to die, that there was no way to avoid it. He accepted his fate, didn't fight it. He simply waited for the end to come.
In that unfathomably long instant, images came to Rukh. Images from his life. Random thoughts and ideas. Notions from childhood. Meeting Jaresh for the first time. Talking to his nanna and amma on the eve of the Tournament of Hume. Touching the WellStone and witnessing the world come to life. Playing with Bree before Jaresh became a part of their family. Seeing his daughter's first smile and watching her first steps. The moment when knowledge of Blending was thrust upon him. Kissing Jessira on their wedding night. Learning the truth about the Baels. Li-Dirge's last words. Touching his wife's pregnant belly. Understanding how to fuse a Shield, Blend, and Bow.
The imagery was a welter of confusing memories, and many of them fled from his mind as soon as he saw them, but Rukh didn't care. Insight had come to him. He knew what was needed. With a desperate lunge, Rukh combined Shield, Blend, and Bow. He was encased in an Oasis.
The Queen lifted skyward as She overtook him. She became a rising mountain before descending like rumbling avalanche.
Rukh barely held onto consciousness as the Sorrow Bringer pounded into him. His Oasis flickered, firmed, and grew stronger as a presence came upon him, ancient, puissant, but so very tired.
Jessira noted that all along the Outer Wall's length, rope ladders and large baskets had been lowered. Warriors from the Advent Trial clambered up on their own or were carried to safety, but there were many more who hadn't yet arrived. Rukh was amongst those who still ran for the security of the Outer Wall.
She could sense him out there, along with a number of other Blends still beyond Ashoka's bounds. When they drew close enough, Jessira was a
ble to Link with them, and a hundred or so warriors suddenly snapped into view. They sprinted for the Outer Wall. Though their features weren't discernible, Jessira imagined the desperation carved into their faces. They were so close. Only a few hundred more yards to go.
Jessira implored them on, urging them to greater speed even as Suwraith surged forward. The Sorrow Bringer aimed unerringly for the closest cluster of warriors.
“Devesh save them,” Jessira breathed.
Moments later, the Queen reached the platoon. Arrows were fired into Her and through Her. She paid them no attention. She arched skyward before slamming down. The thunder from Her lightning was nothing compared to the noise when She hammered the ground. A cloud of dirt and grass erupted upward and outward. Even before the debris had settled, ten or so warriors could be seen lying in shattered poses of death.
“Mercy,” Sign whispered in a hushed tone.
Another platoon was targeted.
“What's happening out there?” one of the Shektan matrons demanded. “And what's that awful cloud?”
“Suwraith is attacking the remaining platoons on the plain,” Jessira answered, keeping her tone as flat and inflectionless as possible. If she allowed the fear surging inside her even the slightest outlet, it would take her. It would do no one any good if she were to panic.
The matron gasped. “Can you see what's happening?”
Jessira nodded.
Another cloud of dust rose heavenward.
“Another platoon has been destroyed,” Sign said, her voice also inflectionless.
The entire Outer Wall was silent.
Bree arrived at their side. “Amma has been evacuated,” she said. “I wanted to be with her, but she insisted I stay here and find out what's happening to Rukh.”
“He's still out there,” Jessira said to her.
Another group of warriors died.
“How much farther do the other warriors have?” the matron asked.
“Not far,” Jessira replied as Suwraith made Her way to the next set of Trims. She gasped when, from that platoon, a single warrior broke away.
He ran away from the other warriors and away from Ashoka. He ran in the one direction that would lead to his certain destruction. He ran toward the Queen. He threw Fireballs that lit into the Sorrow Bringer. He threw more Fireballs, and just as the warrior must have intended, the Queen altered Her path. She turned and gave chase, racing after the warrior who had challenged Her might.
A hollowness, a pain beyond sorrow, a fear beyond panic, a soul-aching loss took hold of Jessira. She knew the warrior who was sprinting away.
“Are all the warriors safe then?” the elderly matron asked, sounding surprised “Is that why the Queen has turned aside?”
“No,” Sign replied. “She's chasing a single warrior. He's leading Her away from the others. Giving them a chance to win through.”
Astonished mutterings arose as Sign's words were passed down the line. Every inch of the Outer Wall was taken up by those watching the drama unfolding down below.
“What courage,” someone murmured in awe. “What bravery,” added another. Similar sentiments could be heard from many more.
“Whoever it is, he must be a Kumma,” the elderly matron standing next to Jessira declared. “He is doing as he was born and bred to do.” She gave a proud, satisfied nod. An instant later, her satisfaction fell away as understanding took hold. “A Blended Kumma? Oh no.” She shot Jessira a look of pity.
Jessira heard all this as though from a great distance. Her attention was solely dedicated to what was happening to her husband.
Sizzling bolts of lightning chased after Rukh, but somehow, he dodged them. He dodged them again.
The Queen gave a noise of frustration, a sound heard all the way to the Wall. More bolts came but they, too, missed.
Jessira urged Rukh on to greater speed, praying Devesh would give him a chance to survive.
The Queen moved even slower now, barely floating over the ground. She moved languidly, as if She was enjoying the chase. The Sorrow Bringer followed on Rukh's heels, closing the gap by incremental margins. He raced as swiftly as he could, but Suwraith was swifter. She bridged the distance, slowly, steadily, inexorably. In the last twenty feet, She rushed forward, a cloud-shaped tidal wave. She folded over Rukh, hiding him from view. From within Her bruised-colored form, lightning flashed in a seemingly endless discharge.
It was over.
Jessira keened, unable to hold in the agony.
The Oasis held. Somehow, miraculously, it held. Though fragile as gossamer—the puff of a butterfly might have blown it apart—Rukh sustained it with his aching need.
Despite lightning bleeding all around him. Despite the flood of arcing light and rasping hornets. Despite ground melted to glass, it held. Rukh's stubborn core remained resolute and unyielding. He told himself that he would keep ahold of the Oasis for as long as Time's arch stood. He told himself that dissolution wasn't an option. He told himself that he would see this greatest test of his life through to the end.
However, while Rukh's mind was willing, his body was reaching its breaking point. His heart pounded faster than that of a rabbit chased by a wolf. It couldn't go on. And Jivatma, too, was finite. Rukh's Well was draining. Despite his desire, even if his body was able, he knew he wouldn't be able to maintain the Oasis for another five minutes, much less all the length of Time.
In that moment, the Queen must have sensed his weakening resolve. She poured forth Her cascading lightning ever more furiously. It was an endless sheet of ragged, white lace mixed with a high-pitched, tortured animal scream. The smell of hair and flesh alight was sickening, and Rukh realized it was his own body burning.
The ground seemed to tremble, and Rukh's vision faded in and out. He panted. Sweat dripped in a waterfall down his back. His heart felt ready to rupture. Muscles became heavy with fatigue. Rukh's will began to crack. The inevitable was about to occur. The Oasis was about to fail.
He had nothing left to give. With his strength fading, Rukh's thoughts turned to Jessira, his family, his love for them. It was those memories that saved him. Remembering them rekindled his will, and Rukh firmed the Oasis just as spears of stone plunged upward. Like stabbing knives, they thrust at him. His will hardened as the granite bones of the earth pressed against the edge of his Oasis. He refused to allow them purchase. They shattered with a sharp crack, and the rubble slid off in the grating scream.
Rukh gasped with the gratefulness of a drowning man reaching air and realized that the strength of the Oasis was a matter of his will. If he was strong enough, he might prolong the battle a few minutes longer. In the end, it might not matter—it likely wouldn't—but for now, every breath was a boon and every heartbeat a gift.
Rukh bit down and gritted his teeth. He would do this. He would hang on for as long as he could. He would last to the very point where his Jivatma gave way. His will would not be the weak link in the forging of his miraculous Oasis.
Time passed. How long, Rukh didn't know. Life was an agony of blazing, white light from the lightning. It pulsed past his eyelids. Even with both arms shielding them, the light bled through. Thunder pealed, felt and no longer heard. It became a deep-seated rumble of pain. His senses were overwhelmed, and Rukh huddled inside himself. He curled about like a beaten dog waiting for the torment to end. More time passed, and Rukh dared dream that the lightning fell more slowly now. It was almost imperceptible at first, but eventually it became impossible to miss. Seconds later, with a stutter, the lightning failed.
Rukh opened his eyes, hoping they hadn't been burned out. The world was ghostly white. He blinked, over and over again, seeking to clear his sight. He still saw nothing but white. Rukh shut his eyes tight and rubbed them. He blinked some more. This time when he opened his eyes, blurred shapes and colors met his vision. They became recognizable as distinct objects and forms. Rukh blinked again, and the world finally sharpened. Every now and then, though, it blurred, appearing as if seen throu
gh a film of water.
Rukh levered himself upright with a groan. His thoughts were a mix of pain and relief that the torment was over. Memory slipped away. He wasn't sure where he was or how he had got here.
Rukh glanced about. Around him was a perfect circle of black glass. Smoke drifted across a broad plain, torn and littered with bodies that flopped like grotesque puppets. Memory started to return. The bodies belonged to the young warriors the Queen had slain. They danced across the ground, caught in the clutches of Suwraith's hurricane wind. More memory came back.
He had been overwhelmed by the Sorrow Bringer, caught in an unending wave of light and sound, pain and madness. Only the thin, invisible shell of his Oasis had kept him safe. The Queen had tried to crack it open, but She had failed. No. That wasn't quite right. Suwraith hadn't failed. She'd simply stopped. Where was She then, and why was She no longer attacking?
Rukh spotted Her roiling twenty or thirty feet above him. She must have drifted upward, spitting him out like the pit of a peach. Her bruise color had turned black, and the snarl of a frustrated wolf pack echoed across the plain.
Rukh watched as She rose even higher.
“Who are you?” a voice like tearing flesh demanded in a booming shout.
In another time, Rukh might have been amazed. Suwraith had actually spoken to him. In all the long years since the Night of Sorrows, two millennia ago, how many times had there been an occurrence like this? Rukh reached for his strength and managed to clamber to his feet. He would not meet such a momentous occasion like a turtle on his back or a coward on his knees. As he swayed about, almost losing his balance more than once, he looked to his home. The Blacks and all the other platoons had made it safely to the city. Even now, they climbed the Outer Wall.
Rukh smiled in joyous disbelief. He'd done it. He'd held out long enough for the others to win through and survive. His eyes narrowed as he realized he himself was only yards away from safety. He began to wonder if he might reach the refuge of the Outer Wall as well.
