A Warrior's Penance

by Davis Ashura

  “If he did, they likely weren't granted entrance into Ashoka,” Boil replied. “Just as the Baels begging for sanctuary in Hanuman were likely cut down, I imagine any of our brothers sent to Ashoka were killed out of hand. The Humans don't believe in fraternity as we do.”

  Grist hoped the SarpanKum was wrong.

  Jessira frowned when she saw the SarpanKum speak to a Bael who had horns festooned with a number of white feathers. It meant he was a Sarpan, the leader of a Dread. Jessira set aside her spyglass and chewed the inside of her cheek. “Do you recognize the Sarpan?” she asked Choke. She pointed him out.

  Choke gazed through his spyglass and grunted. “He is likely Li-Grist. Shard told me he had been sent to accompany the Chimeras that Mother sent west from Continent Catalyst.”

  “Are you sure it's him and not some other Bael who took over like you claim this Li-Boil did?” Marshal Tanhue asked.

  “It's him,” Choke answered. “His right horn is pitted and the last foot of it is broken off. According to Shard, Grist earned the scar in battle with a coral buffalo.” Choke frowned just then.

  “What is it?” Rukh asked.

  “The postures between Grist and Boil”—Choke gestured to the Baels—”I don't believe they like one another. It's evident in the stiffness of their postures and the angle of their horns.”

  The marshal rubbed his chin in thought. “If this Sarpan doesn't like Boil, that could be a good thing for us,” he noted before turning to Choke. “What do you know about this Grist?”

  “He is said to be devout in his piety and a clever commander,” Choke replied. “Beyond that . . .” The Bael shrugged.

  “If he's devout, then why isn't he dead like the rest of the Baels are supposed to be?” the marshal asked, studying the far-off Bael through his spyglass.

  “I couldn't say,” Choke said with a huff of frustration.

  Rukh turned to Choke. “What was the threat Suwraith used against you when She forced you to go to Hammer?”

  “She promised to kill all the Baels and all the Bovars if I disobeyed Her.”

  Jessira's eyes rounded in speculation. “Then if that is Li-Grist the Pious . . .”

  “I said he is devout in his piety,” Choke complained. “I didn't mean that was his title.”

  “Of course,” Jessira accepted with an amused smile. “At any rate, maybe Grist and his Baels from Continent Catalyst were faced with the exact same threat that you were.”

  “Then maybe we should show them the Bovars?” Rukh continued, picking up on her thoughts. “Who knows how they'll react if they know their race isn't doomed.”

  The Marshal smiled in satisfaction. “I like that idea,” he said, before calling out orders to a nearby aide.

  “The Bovars are penned in a nearby field,” Choke said. “It should not take long to bring a few of them up here.”

  *Good. After they're brought up here, can we go swimming in their watering hole while you waste away the afternoon?* Aia asked.

  *Only if you promise to behave,* Jessira said.

  Shon sighed. *We will,* he replied as he padded over and pressing his forehead against Jessira's chest. *Why don't you ever trust us?*

  Jessira chuckled and rubbed her Kesarin's chin.

  Aia, on the other hand, rose regally from her lazy, laid-back position with a back-arching stretch. She took a few steps toward Rukh and sat down in front of him with her tail wrapped neatly before her front paws. She blinked.

  Rukh rubbed her chin.

  *Better,* Aia murmured, sounding content.

  Marshall Tanhue had watched all this with a look of bewilderment before he finally shook his head in disbelief and turned to Li-Choke. “We'll bring up a dozen Bovars, and then we'll send up a signal flare, one that will have every Bael staring up at us.”

  Li-Grist walked back to his camp with head bent in disquiet. The Chimeras of the Eastern Plague rushed about raising these weapons of war that Mother had tasked them to build. The use of the structures would take time to master, but it wasn't the challenge ahead that had the Sarpan feeling uneasy.

  Instead, it was the off-putting affect of the new SarpanKum, Li-Boil. He had a strangeness to him, an oddness to his demeanor. He smiled too widely when pleased and frowned too deeply when unhappy. Worse, had Grist not known better, he would have guessed that Boil had been happy at the prospect that no Baels had been offered sanctuary in Ashoka.

  “What was Shard like?” asked Li-Drill, the SarKi, the second in command of the Dread.

  Grist pulled up short. He had been so focused on his thoughts that he hadn't even noticed the approaching Baels of his Dread. With Drill were several of the Vorsans: Li-Jull, Li-Meld, and Li-Cord. They waited expectantly for Grist's response.

  “It wasn't Shard,” Grist said, going on to explain what had happened to the Baels of the Eastern Plague of Continent Ember.

  “And Li-Boil, the new SarpanKum, what do you think of him?” Li-Jull, one of the Vorsans, asked.

  Grist worked to keep the frown from his face. The Baels of the Catalyst Dread should form their own opinion of Boil. They shouldn't have it tarnished by his uneasy assessment. Anything less would be unfair to the new SarpanKum. After all, his own opinion of Boil might be tainted by the disappointment of knowing that Shard was dead.

  “He is a Bael we will all need to get to know better,” Grist answered.

  “That's not much of an answer,” said Li-Cord, another Vorsan.

  “It's the only answer I can give,” Grist replied. “You need to form your own opinion of our brother.”

  The other Baels fell into a thoughtful silence, apparently understanding Grist's unspoken concerns.

  The Sarpan mentally sighed. He hadn't intended for his brother commanders to think poorly of the new SarpanKum without first meeting him.

  “What about Li-Choke?” asked Li-Meld, the oldest of them. “Did he survive Mother's wrath?”

  Grist shook his head. “Boil believes that the Baels and Tigons—”

  Drill barked laughter. “It still defies belief that a Tigon—of all creatures—learned and accepted the beauty of fraternity,” he said. “And that both were able to claim the friendship of two Humans.”

  “It wasn't just one Tigon, either,” Cord added. “According to Shard's missives, this Chak-Soon had an entire claw of Tigons who thought as he did.”

  “It is a miracle,” Meld intoned.

  “You didn't tell us what happened to Choke,” Jull prodded.

  “Boil is of the belief that Choke and his Baels and Tigons were denied succor from the city. He believes that the Ashokans killed them,” Grist explained.

  “But he counted two Humans as friends,” Li-Drill said softly in sad disbelief.

  A disappointed silence met his words, and to a Bael, they all turned to look at Ashoka's massive fortifications. While they stared at the city, a bright red flare suddenly burned skyward from the Outer Wall, and their conversation stilled as they studied the battlements.

  “Who is that tall Human on the battlements?” Cord asked after a moment, pointing to a group of figures on the Wall.

  Grist saw who Cord indicated. The man was at least two feet taller than those around him.

  Drill handed him a spyglass. “You left it at the camp,” he said before pulling out his own.

  The Vorsans were similarly equipped, and soon, they all had their spyglasses trained toward the small group on the Outer Wall. Their intense focus earned them mystified stares from the Baels of the Eastern Plague. Many of them looked to Ashoka's Wall, seeking out that which had Drill and the others so interested.

  “That is no Human,” Grist said, excitement causing his tail to lash as he grinned broadly. “That is a Bael!” he shouted in triumph. “A Bael stands upon the ramparts of Ashoka, and he wears the feathers of a Vorsan.”

  His words acted as a catalyst, and Eastern Baels up and down the line snapped out their own spyglasses and had them aimed at the Outer Wall. The word soon carried. 'Li-Choke' was t
he name cried out by many. Their voices were lifted in hope.

  Grist turned and thumped Drill on the shoulder. “We live in an age of miracles!” he cried in joy. “Our brother stands with Humanity. Hume's glorious vision is coming to pass.”

  “There's something else,” Meld said, still focused on the group. He gasped an instant later.

  Grist whipped his gaze back to the Wall, studying the figure of Li-Choke. There was something else. Large beasts shambled along the parapet. They were Bovars.

  Drill turned to Grist. The SarKi's eyes were wet with tears. “We are saved.”

  Grist was too choked up to do anything more than nod in agreement.

  The order of the world becomes simple if external morality and Devesh are decided to be fables. In such a situation, our lives would be rendered immaterial.

  ~A Wandering Notion by Shone Brick, AF 1784

  Li-Dox winced when Mother roared overhead. Back and forth She passed over the columns of Chimeras, crackling lightning and thunder as She soared through the blue heavens. Meanwhile, down in the dirt and dust, the Fan Lor Kum struggled to move Mother's siege engines into position. She expected the Chimeras to run the towers and the turtles—the wheeled, box-like structures with rams—as close to Ashoka's Outer Wall as possible.

  It was a difficult task, and Dox sweated along with the rest of his Smash, his one hundred warriors, in accomplishing Her desires. Bovars and Balants had been harnessed to the front of the war engines while Tigons pushed from the rear. It fell to Dox and those like him, lowly Juts—commanders of a Smash—to guide and correct the movement of the heavy, cumbersome siege structures. If close attention wasn't paid, in the blink of an eye, the overladen constructions could easily tip over, something that had already happened to several towers this morning.

  Dox glanced up as Mother soared past once again and shook his head in annoyance. If he didn't know better, he would have guessed that Mother was giddy with excitement, as full of vim and vigor as a young Tigon. Dox briefly wondered what Mother had been like as a carefree youngster. She had to have been a young girl at some point in Her long life. After all, Her claim of being the only Child of the First Mother and the First Father was said to be true by none other than Li-Choke.

  Dox shivered with excitement at knowing he had actually seen the legendary Bael, the one who was the greatest of all of them. Choke, who had defied Mother's will and survived, who had taught Tigons of fraternity, who was the only one of their kind who could claim friendship with a Human.

  “Your Balants are pushing too hard on the right,” yelled Li-Quill, a fellow Jut, startling Dox back to awareness. “The tower's going to tilt if we don't straighten up their lines.”

  Dox took one look at his Balants and blanched. Immediately, he began shouting orders, snapping his whip a bare inch above ears to get his point across. More yells were needed to keep the Tigons in order as well. Worrying minutes later, all the Chimeras were eventually back in their proper places, and Dox turned to Quill, nodding his thanks.

  “What had you so distracted?” Quill asked once the tower was safely rumbling along again. “You had a faraway expression on your face,” he further explained.

  “I was thinking about Li-Choke,” Dox answered, wanting to hide his face from the embarrassment.

  Quill, only a season or two older, grinned in understanding. “I was there when he told us about Rukh Shektan,” he said.

  Dox blinked. Quill was from the Eastern Plague of Continent Ember, and as a result, he must have actually known Li-Choke, met him, and even spoken to him. Suddenly, all Dox wanted was to corner his fellow Jut and squeeze out every morsel of knowledge Quill knew about the great Bael.

  The other Jut chuckled, and Dox's ears wilted in embarrassment.

  “No need to be ashamed,” Quill said. “As soon as we have our tower in place, I'll tell you all about him.”

  Dox grinned, but the smile faded as he stared at the massive siege structure. It was almost the height of Ashoka's Wall. “This is an evil thing we'll be doing,” he whispered.

  Quill turned away, and now it was he who appeared ashamed. “We've already done much evil,” he said in a voice hardly above a whisper.

  Dox stared at the other Bael in confusion. He wasn't sure what evil it was to which Quill referred. After all, every Bael could be said to have deeply sinned at some point in their lives. Dox mentally shrugged. Perhaps Quill felt the sting of wickedness more acutely than most. “I truly wish Mother's plan will fail,” Dox said into the intervening silence.

  Quill didn't answer at first, and his expression grew somber. “And sometimes, I truly wish She would allow the Humans to smash us all,” he replied.

  Rukh stood upon the battlements just west of Sunset Gate's barbican. A baking, hot sun and a breezeless, cloudless sky promised no relief from the ongoing unseasonably hot weather. It was another dog day, and Rukh wished for some shade.

  The steady drone of thick ropes unwinding like whips, the crack of wooden arms snapping to position, and hurled boulders thudding to the ground was as monotonous as a metronome. The beat was so steady, Rukh could have played his mandolin in time to it if not for the ripped-flesh sound of Suwraith's whirlwind groaning above it all.

  Jaresh leaned his back to the merlon. “Their stones bounce off of our Oasis while ours are tossed aside by the Queen,” he said. “It's a stalemate.”

  Just then a cry of Chimeras roaring in pain rose from the plain beyond Ashoka's Oasis.

  Rukh tilted his head as he listened to the screams. It was a lovely sound. “I think you mean most of our stones,” he said with a smile.

  “Most of our attacks then,” Jaresh agreed. “But my point still holds. The vast majority of the Chimeras are too far away for us to reach, and their siege engines are bunched up enough that the Queen doesn't have to be everywhere at once. She can protect most of them without hardly moving. In other words: a stalemate.”

  Farn responded to Jaresh's statement, but Rukh was only listening with half an ear as he stared out at the plain beyond Ashoka's borders. It teemed with the warriors of the Fan Lor Kum. Not since Hammer's Fall had so many Chimeras been gathered together in one place at one time, tens of thousands of them. It was a daunting sight made worse by the presence of the Sorrow Bringer. She held motionless in the sky, just past the Outer Wall, hanging like a poisonous curtain as erratic lightning lit Her inner reaches. She was suspended so close that Rukh imagined he could almost reach out and touch Her keening winds.

  A snort of laughter from Jaresh returned Rukh's attention to the ongoing conversation between his brother and Farn.

  “That's what I just said,” Jaresh said. “The battle for Ashoka is going to be a long, boring siege.”

  “Be careful what you wish for,” Farn said.

  Rukh smiled. “You just might get it,” he said, finishing the quote.

  “I wasn't wishing for anything,” Jaresh protested. “I was just talking about our circumstances.” He yawned. “It's so dull; I'm almost tempted to take a nap.”

  Rukh glanced up and down the Wall. Many of Ashoka's warriors apparently shared Jaresh's sentiments. They stood about, leaning on shields and spears, with the bored expressions of those about to nod off. And truthfully, he felt the same way. There was nothing going on, and there likely wouldn't be, not for a while anyway.

  “At least we'll be rotated off the Wall tonight,” Jaresh noted hopefully.

  Rukh nodded. “Jessira and Sign should be off from Twilight Gate at the same time,” he said.

  “Laya said she'd bring little Court,” Farn said. “It'll be nice seeing the little man.”

  Not this ridiculous delusion again. Rukh snorted in tired disbelief. “Stop pretending it's just Court you want to see.”

  Farn's mouth gaped. “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “You care for Laya. Just admit it and tell her,” Rukh replied. He stared his cousin in the eyes. “She feels the same way, you know.”

  “And Sign promises to hurt
you if you don't speak up soon,” Jaresh added helpfully.

  Farn continued to gape. “Who else knows?” he asked in a strangled whisper.

  Jaresh gave an unsympathetic shrug. “I'm pretty sure everyone does by now.”

  “Did you really think we hadn't noticed?” Rukh asked at Farn's ongoing discomfiture.

  Farn closed his mouth and wore a troubled expression. “She isn't Kumma,” he told them. “How will everyone react?”

  Rukh rolled his eyes. “You're the stupidest smart person I know.” He thumped Farn on the head. “Remember who my wife is.”

  Farn still appeared uncertain, and he muttered under his breath.

  “What's the problem?” Rukh asked, getting annoyed with his cousin. “You like her. She likes you. So tell her.”

  “What if Laya doesn't feel the same way?” Farn asked, sounding worried.

  Rukh rolled his eyes once more. “I already told you she does.”

  “But—”

  “Shut up!” a grizzled warrior down the line demanded. “I can't believe you brainless twits are talking about women when we're in the middle of a siege. Maybe you should break out the needlepoint, you stupid gits.” He shook his head in disgust and spat over the side of the Wall.

  Rukh and the others fell into a chastened quiet after the warrior's outburst.

  The battle for Ashoka was several weeks old, and from all accounts, it was a deadlock, with no sign that either side would gain the upper hand.

  The Queen was not pleased by the state of affairs. Most nights, She hounded Hal'El's dreams, demanding that he thrust the Withering Knife into the heart of the Oasis. Thus far, he had steadfastly ignored Her commands. It would be the end of Ashoka if he did as the Queen ordered. She and Her Chimeras would roll through the city like a terrible tide of swords and death.

  Hal'El couldn't allow it, and he refused to be the instrument by which his home was destroyed. The Sorrow Bringer was truly insane if She believed he would allow his people to be slaughtered.