by Davis Ashura
“Who are you, wretched Human!” the Queen screamed at him. “Answer Me, or know My unending wrath!”
Rukh turned back to Suwraith, the enormity of his situation finally breaking through the fog of his fatigue and pain. His mouth was bone dry. He cleared his throat, managing to work some moisture back into it. “No one of consequence,” he croaked. He wore a weak, uncertain grin. Why had he chosen to yank the Queen's braids like that? It was foolish.
But then again, what difference would it make? What could the Sorrow Bringer actually do to him? Kill him? Sure She could, but so what? Dead was dead.
Suwraith seemed to inhale sharply. “You dare mock Me?”
“Mock You? No,” Rukh replied. He reconsidered his words. “Or maybe yes, but I'm too tired and thirsty to care about manners.” Rukh was suddenly quite weary of the Queen's presence. Why couldn't She simply leave him in peace? He just wanted to go home. “Now, if you don't mind, I'm going home for a drink and a nap,” he added.
The Queen hissed in outrage. “How dare you speak to Me in such an insolent fashion, ignorant worm,” Suwraith growled even as She paused for a moment, seemingly collecting Her thoughts. “You're right,” She said a moment later, as if She were speaking to someone else. “A worm is too good for the likes of him. You are nothing more than the entrails of an insect, you miserable cretin, and Insect shall be your name. The world entire shall know of your fate. All will learn of how I ended you, Insect, and men will speak of your passing with hushed breaths of horror for a thousand years!”
Rukh had long ago stopped listening to the Sorrow Bringer. His fogged thoughts remained, but they had clarified enough for him to make some realizations. He was alive, and though he was far from safe, an opportunity had presented itself. Rukh took deep, controlled breaths. He inhaled through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. His heart settled. His breathing steadied. He needed as much of his remaining strength as possible.
Currently, two paths were open to him. In one, he could continue fighting the Sorrow Bringer. He could match his will to Hers, his fading Jivatma against Her seemingly limitless power and hope for the best. The other path . . . not every battle could be won, and the wise warrior knew when to retreat.
The Queen reared back like a striking cobra. “Die, Insect!” She cried out.
Rukh didn't bother waiting for Her blow. Instead, he ran. He ran as fast as he could. He headed straight for Ashoka. For some reason, the Queen did not immediately give pursuit. Instead, after he took off running, She remained strangely silent and motionless. Many moments later, She announced Her fury with a scream to tear the bark off a tree.
Rukh silently thanked Her as She gave pause to howl out imprecations and promises of dire retribution. Her threats didn't matter, though. Nothing did but this final race of the day. Hope kindled. He was already halfway to the Outer Wall. Keep screaming at me, he urged. Every second the Queen wasted raging at him brought him that much closer to safety. Just a little longer . . .
It was not to be.
The Queen finally got Her wits about Her. She chased after him, screaming like a demented banshee.
Rukh could sense Her pitiless presence rearing closer and closer. She was almost on top of him. His Oasis wouldn't last long against Her power this time. His Jivatma was thin as old cotton. He felt Her descent and darted aside. The Queen hammered the earth, barely missing him.
She came at him again, this time from at the same level as his height. There would be no evading Her this time. Rukh wanted to cry out in frustration. The Outer Wall was so close.
He looked for something, anything, that might slow the Queen. Fireballs and Blends wouldn't help. With the desperation of a dying man offered a sodden log to hold him aloft, Rukh grasped at the only Talent left to try.
Rukh held onto his Oasis, but drew even more Jivatma, almost the last dregs. He formed a Bow. He cupped it in his hands. He had no idea what to do with it, or what it might do. With a shrug, he struck the string that linked the limbs of the Bow. When he did so, a liquid light like quicksilver flew across the intervening space between him and the Queen.
It struck Suwraith, and the most astonishing thing occurred.
Lightning shattered against the Queen. It pierced Her, lanced Her, and the Sorrow Bringer screamed. It wasn't a scream of pain, however. Instead, it was cry of fear and fury.
“You can't be alive!” Suwraith cried out as if She was being tortured. “You're dead!” She reared back from Rukh, and the lightning ebbed. “Who are you, Human?” the Queen demanded. “Tell me true this time.”
Rukh didn't answer. There was no need.
“You will answer Me,” the Queen cried out, reaching for him again.
Rukh formed another Bow and struck the string. Again, liquid light shot forth and collided with the Queen. Again came the lightning, and again came Her screams of frustrated fury.
Rukh exulted. He had no idea what he was doing to the Queen, but so long as it halted Her progress, he was overjoyed. Only a few more yards to go, and he would be safe.
Rukh steadily worked his way back to Ashoka. He no longer had the energy to run, so, instead, he walked. His Well was almost empty. He could no longer maintain an Oasis and imbue his movements with greater speed.
The Queen advanced once more, moving in slow, sinuous lines like a snake. “You are not who I feared you to be,” She hissed. “The one I fear is dead. I saw to it myself.”
Rukh had enough Jivatma for one last Bow. With its creation, his Well was tapped out. The Oasis collapsed. The Queen hurled forward. Rukh desperately plucked the string and the quicksilver bolt shot forth.
Again, the Queen was struck. She growled anger and paused momentarily. It was only an instant, but it was long enough to last a lifetime.
Rukh reached for the last of his stamina and sprinted the final fifteen feet to sanctuary. He fell forward, rolling until his face was pressed against the Outer Wall. Salvation was his.
The Queen raged at him from only a few feet away, impotent now since Ashoka's own Oasis utterly halted Her might.
Rukh no longer cared one way or the other.
He was tired, and he hurt. He slumped to his side and fell unconscious.
Shur Rainfall gritted his teeth, holding back a scream of frustration and outrage. How could Devesh have allowed such a catastrophic calamity to occur? Even now, it was impossible to accept how completely the Virtuous had been routed. They had lost nearly all their finest warriors. All but a handful had been killed or captured in the disastrous attack on the Shektan women.
Those warriors were irreplaceable. They had been the ones most dedicated to the cause of the Virtuous. They had the truest faith, the greatest heart and finest courage. They had been the only ones willing to deal out death to the naaja bastards of House Shektan.
Now, they were all but exterminated.
Shur wanted to rage at those around him, hurl them off the Outer Wall.
These others were also members of the Virtuous, but their faith was faint. They were as meek as sheep. They were cowards, unwilling to lift swords in defense of Humanity's purity. They lacked the valor needed to deal out death to those who most-assuredly deserved it. Instead, these weak-willed weaklings had only managed a tepid type of assistance. They had stood to either side of the attack and formed a Human barricade around it. By doing so, they had hindered the sight and movement of those who might have helped the Shektan women. Ironically, the sheep amongst the Virtuous had been tasked with guarding the shepherds, the warriors of the faith.
A moment later, Shur grunted reluctant acknowledgement of the work done by those standing around him. In the end, their presence had turned out to be invaluable. If not for them, it was likely that even the handful of warriors who had escaped the disaster of the First Cleansing would have also been captured. Shur would have been amongst that number.
Instead, he'd managed to flee to safety. He could fight on. He wasn't defeated, not now, not ever. The cause of the righteous would prevail.
Shur would rally the forces of the Virtuous and restore morality to Ashoka. By Devesh's will, he would keep alive the spirit of the faithful. The Virtuous would learn from the mistakes of today's setback so that next time, those opposed to Humanity's purity would be destroyed.
Cries of horror drew Shur's attention back to the site of the recent battle. His lips curled with scorn at those who were even now weeping over the injured Shektans. Lemmings. They ran pell mell toward the cliff, ignorant and unaware. Let them cry out. Their pitiful mewlings didn't matter. Shur turned his gaze away from them as he considered what next to do. His eyes drifted down toward the plain beyond Ashoka's walls.
Before the beginning of the Cleansing, he had seen the red arrows fired. It was the signal that enemies approached, but wherever Shur looked, he saw nothing to cause such alarm. There were no enemies down there. No Chimeras. Nevertheless, with the red arrows sent up, the Advent Trial was ended. The platoons had been called back to Ashoka. Some had likely already reentered the city.
One of the Virtuous clutched Shur's shirt and gestured frantically at something approaching the city from the south. Shur shook himself free and looked to whatever had the man so excited. It was a large, purple cloud. So what? It was unimportant. Shur frowned in annoyance.
“It's Suwraith,” someone shouted in fear.
Shur snorted in scorn. What idiocy. He opened his mouth to mock the nonsensical assertion, but he noticed the purple cloud was picking up speed. It was racing faster than any cloud Shur had ever seen. Lightning lit it from within, leaving an afterglow that suggested glowing red eyes.
Shur's open mouth went dry.
It was Suwraith. He watched as She arrived in a storm of horrifying glory. Thunder rumbled on the plains down below. He sensed Blends down there as warriors sprinted at full speed. Shur Linked with them, and a number of platoons sprang into life.
Devesh save them! Shur prayed, even more fervently than he had prior to the Cleansing. The ghrinas stood in opposition to the notion of a pure Humanity, but here was the creature who was the great enemy of all Humanity. Here was the author of all evil.
Shur cried out. The Sorrow Bringer had smashed earthward over one of the platoons, and when She lifted off the ground, She made accurate the truth of Her name. A mangled platoon was left in Her wake. The few who hadn't been flattened by Her might had been roasted by Her lightning. Smoke rose from the corpses.
The Queen drifted toward another unit.
Shur joined those lining the Outer Wall in imploring the warriors down below. He shouted as loudly as any, screaming encouragement to the young Trims of the Advent Trial. He urged them on to greater speed. He knew those on the plain couldn't hear him, but it didn't matter. This was all he could do for them, and it was what he did.
The next platoon Suwraith targeted didn't survive any better than the first. The Sorrow Bringer hit them like a falling hill. More men murdered.
Shur shook his head in disbelieving horror. What a day of infamy this was becoming.
Another platoon, this one close by, was next in line. And just like the other two, Suwraith crushed it. The bodies She left behind lay twisted into grotesque parodies of men.
The Queen moved on toward another platoon. Shur was in the midst of screaming for the warriors to run faster when a movement amongst them caused him to trail off. He frowned in consternation. Many others in the crowd did so as well, and it grew quiet on the Outer Wall.
One of the warriors had broken away from the main body of the platoon. Shur didn't know what the man was attempting. Was he a coward, seeking a means by which to save his own life at the cost of his brother warriors? If so, then the man was utterly contemptible. He didn't deserve to live. Banishment was too good for someone so craven. If the Magisterium was wise, it would take this coward and send him straight to the Isle of the Crows if he somehow survived Suwraith's attack.
A moment later, Shur's brow creased further, and his confusion deepened. Fireballs exploded from the man's hands. He was a Kumma then, which meant he shouldn't be a coward. Then why had he abandoned his platoon? And why was he hurling Fireballs?
Shur gasped as understanding came to him. The man was trying to draw Suwraith after him so his brother warriors could escape. Others along the Outer Wall came to the same conclusion. They called out to one another in disbelieving tones. Shur shared their sentiments. What courage! This man was the embodiment of all that it meant to be a Kumma.
Shur yelled out in exultation—he wasn't the only one either—when Suwraith took the man's bait and gave chase.
The rest of the platoons never slowed. They sprinted flat out for the Outer Wall. If the Kumma could survive Her wrath for just a few more seconds, all those Trims down there would live.
The Queen followed on the Kumma's heels. Somehow, he sensed Her oncoming blows. He dodged Her lightning once. Twice. Three times he evaded Her strikes. And still he ran!
“They're going to make it!” someone shouted. His call was excitedly taken up by others.
Shur looked to where they pointed. The other platoons were almost to the Outer Wall. Just a few more yards and . . .
A gasp from the crowd had him return his attention to the deadly chase between Suwraith and the Kumma. The Queen had smashed to the ground, but somehow the Kumma had evaded Her blow. Now, though, She floated after him at head level. She would take him this time.
Shur sensed it as did many others. He glanced back to the platoons and was heartened to see that the Trims had made it. Shur saluted the brave Kumma whose actions had seen those young warriors safely home, and he offered a heartfelt prayer for the Kumma's soul in the life to come. His sacrifice would never be forgotten.
Just then, the Queen overwhelmed the Kumma. She covered him like a purple fog. Lightning pierced the ground with hundreds, if not thousands of strikes. Thunder rolled in an endless bass roll.
Shur's head dropped in regret. It was over. He would have liked to have met that Kumma. His was the type of courage they should all aspire to achieve.
The lightning eventually slowed and stuttered to a halt. The Sorrow Bringer rose and Shur forced himself to look, fully expecting to see the Kumma burnt to a cinder.
What met his vision, though, was entirely unexpected, and he gasped in shock. He wasn't the only one.
The Kumma still lived!
Shur watched with mouth agape as the man stumbled to his feet and toward Ashoka. For some reason, the Sorrow Bringer didn't immediately give chase. Shur found hope rising in his chest. Again, he joined all the others lining the Wall in crying out at the top of his lungs, yelling for the Kumma to reach the Wall.
Finally, the Queen gave chase. The Kumma dodged Her first blow. Her next, he wouldn't. Suwraith floated forward at head level once again.
Bitter disappointment rose up within Shur. The Kumma was so close, but he wouldn't make it.
What happened next was a mystery to Shur. The Kumma turned around to face the Sorrow Bringer even as he kept running. And when he did so, a silvery beam of light shot from the Kumma's hands. What it was, Shur didn't know, but when it struck the Queen, She screamed.
Shur was struck dumb by what he was seeing. The Kumma had harmed Suwraith. It was impossible, and yet it had happened!
Again shot forth the silvery beam, and again Suwraith screamed. Once more, and it was over.
The Kumma had reached the wall.
Shur cheered himself hoarse. Tears ran down his cheeks, and he unabashedly hugged a Duriah woman, not caring about sin just then.
Jessira dug her fingers into the crenellations of the Outer Wall as she cried out her anguish.
Unsurprisingly, it was the elderly matron who was the first to offer Jessira sympathy for her anguish. “I'm so sorry for your loss,” the elderly Kumma said.
Jessira nodded numb acceptance of the matron's words, barely hearing them just as she barely felt it when Sign pulled her into a hug. Neither did she register the sympathetic brushes and touches of strangers as word was shared about th
e name of the brave Kumma who had died so that so many others could live. Jessira heard nothing of their admiring words and felt nothing inside. She was hollowed out, her heart empty.
Rukh was gone. His death was a searing emptiness inside, and Jessira's tearing eyes did nothing to sooth her grief or reflect the enormity of her loss. The world blurred in and out of focus. It was like a nightmare, and Jessira prayed that she would awaken . . . except she never did.
Jessira watched as the Queen continued to spark a flood of lightning and rolling thunder, smothering Rukh like a pestilence. How had this occurred? Just a few hours ago, her husband had been alive and vibrant, his normal happy self as they shared a laugh. Now he was gone? It was surreal, and Jessira felt like she was just witnessing the events unfolding before her instead of actually experiencing them.
The shock of the moment started to wear off, and Jessira realized that she could still sense Rukh's presence. She could still feel his ironwood will. Jessira poked at the sensation, worrying at it as if it were an empty tooth socket. She struggled to believe, to accept an emptiness where a tooth should have been. But Jessira could still feel the tooth. It was still there.
Her eyes had seen the truth of Rukh's demise, but her heart and soul had yet to know it. Rukh lived.
“We should go,” Sign suggested softly.
Jessira felt her cousin take her upper arm and give it a gentle tug, urging her to turn away. “No,” Jessira said, pulling her arm free from Sign's grasp. “He's still alive. I can feel him,” she said in utter certainty.
“Are you sure?” Bree asked, sounding doubtful.
Jessira nodded.
“Jessira, I know—” Sign began.
“He's still alive!” Jessira snarled. Her declaration was heard by those close by, and quiet, disbelieving murmurs arose from them.
Jessira knew what they were likely thinking—that her claim was the desperate hope of someone too distraught to accept the truth, too pained to brave reality.
They were wrong. Their disbelief didn't matter. Jessira knew with utter certainty that Rukh still lived. The link the two of them shared told her so. She could sense her husband down below, struggling with every thread of his will to endure Suwraith's holocaust wrath.
