by Davis Ashura
Despite the desperate nature of their situation, Rukh couldn't help but smile at her observation. *You think everything tastes like gazelle.*
Just then, any humor Rukh felt was washed away when his nanna shouted in pain. He'd taken a deep wound to his chest. Blood flooded down Nanna's shirt. It looked to be a mortal injury.
Rukh roared forward, trying to fight his way to his nanna's side, but there were too many Chims. They battled him, bottled him up with numbers too great to overcome.
Moments later, Rector fell beneath a mass of Chims. Rukh watched helplessly, too far away to be of assistance. The Chims surrounding Rector savaged him. Their swords rose and fell, rose and fell. And when they stepped aside, Rector was dead.
Rukh breathed a prayer for the fallen warrior. Strange how easily he'd fallen into the pattern of prayer. In the past few years, it had become so much a part of his life that he sometimes even believed that Devesh actually heard what he had to say.
In his mind, came a thought. The Lord listens, but His answers are not easily understood.
*What are you talking about?* Aia asked.
Rukh shook his head, uncertain where the idea had come from, or why he would have spoken such a notion to his Kesarin. He needed to focus on the battle at hand.
“Destroy them all,” a voice from above commanded to all the Chimeras throughout Ashoka. It was Suwraith. “Let none of them live.”
Her voice created a pause in the fighting as all stared upward.
There, the Queen hovered at a distance, triumphant and unstoppable.
Lienna, a voice within Rukh growled. Devesh save me, but I cannot forgive what She has become or what She has done.
Suwraith's mad howl of victory carried across the smoke-stained heavens. From Her madly gyrating storm cloud came a sheaf of lightning. More fires roared to life throughout Ashoka. It was early afternoon, but the sun stood hidden behind the darkness of smoke and the wings of ravens. The world felt like twilight. Thousands were dying. It was as if this was the final day for all of Arisa, as if these were the last hours before death took the entire world.
Despair clawed at Rukh's heart. Never had he felt so powerless, so impotent. There was nothing he could do to stop the carnage. Devesh see us safe in the life to come, Rukh prayed.
There is a way to see them safe, a voice said from within the depths of Rukh's mind. It was a deep, powerful voice, one used to obedience.
Rukh frowned. That voice . . . he recognized it. He'd heard it before. He knew it.
But how? And was it even real? Maybe his new Talents or whatever was the source of them was driving him mad? He barked laughter.
“You aren't going mad,” the voice said. “When My Daughter tried to murder Me with Her Knife, part of My Jivatma was thrust into Her being. The rest I preserved within The Book of First Movement. With you, the first who was worthy enough to read My last testament, I was finally able to restore My Jivatma, My essence, My soul so that it would reside entirely within you.”
Rukh gaped. This conversation couldn't be happening. Were the last moments of his life to be filled with madness?
“I thought we already established that you aren't mad,” the voice said in reproof. “It is My Daughter who is insane.”
Rukh hesitated. “Who are You?” he asked, the words an inadequate expression of his confusion.
“You know Me,” the voice answered. “You witnessed the last moments of My life. Think.”
Rukh's mystification cleared, but the answer that came to him rocked him back on his feet. The voice belonged to the First Father. Rukh thought the First Father was lurking about in his mind? He barked laughter once more. It was an idea too bizarre, too ludicrous, too irrational to be anything but insane. It simply couldn't be true.
“And yet it is true” the voice confirmed. “I am Linder Val Maharj. When you read The Book and relived My last moments, I was slowly able to leave Lienna's essence and become part of yours. In that time, I've watched and waited, wanting to make sure You truly were worthy of my knowledge.”
“You're why I suddenly have all these new Talents,” Rukh said more than asked.
“Yes,” Linder said. “Those Talents are part of My legacy, part of the burdens you need to take up. I wish it were otherwise, but life often isn't as we wish.” His voice throbbed regret. “Therefore, I leave you with another of My gifts.”
A flash of instruction came to Rukh. It was knowledge that made him want to weep. “There isn't any other way?” he asked. Aia might understand what he had to do, but Jessira would never forgive him.
“Not for the likes of us,” Linder answered softly, sympathetically. “It is what it means to serve.”
Rukh blinked back tears as he drew out the Withering Knife.
Something was wrong. Something horrible was about to happen.
It had nothing to do with the freely bleeding cuts that Jessira had taken to both her arms. Nor did it have anything to do with the ache in her ribs from when a Tigon had tried to squeeze the life out of her. Or the pain in her thigh from the glancing blow she'd taken from a Balant's club. None of that was what had Jessira feeling such a sense of foreboding. It wasn't even the sight of Rector Bryce dying or seeing her cousin, Sign, nearly falling over from her wounds. It wasn't any of those things, not her mortal danger or the battle for survival in which she and Shon were engaged.
Her sudden terror stemmed from something happening to Rukh. Something momentous and awful.
Jessira looked to where she knew Rukh would be. She didn't have to search him out. Her sense of him always told her where he was. There he stood, frozen in place while Aia protected him.
Jessira called to Shon, and together they fought to reach his side.
A Tigon tried to bar her passage. Jessira blocked a strike aimed at her midsection. She kicked the Tigon in the jaw. His head snapped back, and he bit through his own tongue. Shon eviscerated him. Four Braids hissed as they stepped up. They tried to evade Shon, but her Kesarin refused to be denied. He was too fast for the snake-like Chims. They were quickly savaged.
Three Ur-Fels barked opposition.
Jessira faced off against them. She sidestepped a diagonal slash. Her return blow took the Chim in the chest, nearly hewing the beast in half. Another tried to get inside her guard and bite her. Jessira let the Chim come. She ran him through the mouth and kicked him off her sword. The final one took a wild overhand swing at her. She cut through both his forearms and left him to bleed out.
She was almost to Rukh. His head was tilted to the side as though he were listening to something only he could hear. A look of grief and remorse flitted across his face before his face hardened with resolve. He drew a knife.
Jessira was too far away to make out any markings on the weapon, but she knew what it was, what it had to be. It was the Withering Knife. The sight of the bared black blade chilled her heart.
A single Balant stood between Jessira and Rukh. She drew Jivatma and strengthened her muscles. She ducked beneath the Balant's savage blow and rolled to her feet. She bounded up the dull-witted creature's club and leaped higher. Her jump carried her to eye level with the Chim, who hooted fear. He tried to slap her away, but it was too late for him. Jessira thrust her sword through one of the Balant's widened eyes and into the creature's brain. The elephant-sized Chim fell over with a moan and a thud.
The way to Rukh was clear.
Jessira reached him just as he lifted the Withering Knife to his chest.
“Don't do it!” she cried out, knowing what he intended.
Rukh looked her way. “I have to,” he said. Once more, regret flitted across his face. “I love you.”
He plunged the dagger into his heart.
SarpanKum Li-Grist stood beyond the gates of Ashoka's Inner Wall and watched the city burn. He looked into the midday sky where smoke filled the air. It was a black cloud that mingled with the black ravens that had come to feed on the dead.
An unkindness of ravens. That's what they were ca
lled. An apropos name.
The crackle and rumble of buildings burning and breaking overcame the cawing of the black birds and even the savage screams of the Fan Lor Kum as they clawed their way into the city.
Mother continued to swoop and soar, lancing the ground with lightning and bands of pounding golden light. She urged Grist to lead the Baels into Ashoka and take part in the massacre, but he refused Her command.
He held back the majority of his Baels, and they stood beside him, outside the Inner Wall. However, some of the Eastern brothers had heeded Mother's call and had entered the city with the other Chimeras. And what they would do within, possibly aid in the murder of Ashoka, was a stain on their souls that would never wash clean. It was a sin they would have to carry with them all the days of their lives.
Grist felt pity for them, even as their actions angered him to no end. Why had they gone into the city? Did bloodlust truly course so readily through the veins of the Eastern brothers?
“When Mother does away with Ashoka, what will become of us?” asked Li-Quill, a young Jut from the Eastern Plague.
It was Li-Dox, an even younger Jut who answered. “She will do away with us.”
Quill's face fell. “Will our kind vanish from the world then?”
“If Ashoka took in Li-Choke, then I would bet the other cities also took in our brothers from Continent Catalyst,” Dox said.
“But Choke had the friendship of two Humans,” Quill persisted. “The brothers of Catalyst had no one of Rukh Shektan's stature to speak on their behalf.”
“Perhaps not,” Grist said, “but Devesh speaks to us in the quiet moments when we seek to do what is right. I am sure there were Humans in those other cities who heard the Lord's calling. I feel certain that our brothers were granted asylum there.”
Quill still appeared uncertain, even unhappy. He gestured to the city with his trident. “How long do you think it will take Mother to finish destroying the city?”
“No more than a day,” Grist said.
“Then if we stay here, we have but one day left on this world.” Quill huffed in a mixture of remorse and melancholy. “We should strive for more.”
Grist was growing tired of the Eastern Bael's attitude. It reminded him too much of Li-Boil's selfishness. “Do you wish you had gone with your brothers into Ashoka?” Grist asked Quill. “Perhaps you think that Mother will let you live so long as you obey Her commands?”
The Eastern Bael startled upon hearing the question. “No,” he replied. “But should we not flee while we have a chance to do so? We may not get very far, but if Mother chases after us, then perhaps those Humans She told us about who left on their boats might yet reach their destination.”
Grist wanted to smack himself for not coming up with such an obvious plan himself. Of course they should flee. Those Humans who had recently left Ashoka's imminent destruction were likely still several days travel from their destination. They needed any distraction that would delay Mother's pursuit of them. And chasing after Her traitorous Baels, especially if they sped off in as many directions as possible, might just give those Humans the time they needed to reach safety.
Grist also wanted to smack himself for seeing selfishness in Li-Quill when the Jut was simply thinking aloud on how best to help those who needed it. It was heartening to learn that there were those of the Eastern Baels whose faith in fraternity had not been entirely dimmed by those like Boil or Torq.
“It's a fine suggestion,” Grist said to Quill. “One we'll act on immediately.” He squeezed the young Jut on the shoulder. “And I am sorry for speaking such ugliness to you.”
Quill ducked his head and nodded his acceptance. “I just wish there was a place we could go to be free of Mother's influence,” he said.
“As do I,” Grist replied. “Such a place will only be found when She finally meets Her demise.” It was then that something rising into the heavens caught Grist's attention. “Devesh be praised,” he whispered in awe.
Jessira gasped with horror. What had Rukh done? Why would he have stabbed himself with the Withering Knife? What could have possessed him to do something so terrible? Questions raced through her shocked mind as she raced to Rukh. She prayed that he was somehow still alive, but in her heart, she knew it wouldn't be true. Her beloved Rukh was dead.
She reached his side, and her grief became a flood when she saw his blood-soaked shirt and the gaping wound in his chest. Her heart broke when she noted his eyes closed in death and his strong, proud body grown as desiccated as a desert. His skin had been pulled taut, and the bones of his face stood prominent.
Jessira fell to her knees. Her sword slipped from her grasp. Rukh was gone. He was dead. Jessira clutched his body to her chest and sobbed with heart-wrenching grief. She no longer heeded the battle raging around her. She disregarded the Chimeras howling all about. None of it mattered. Not without Rukh. Anger made her scream to the heavens. Why had he killed himself? She was furious with him for doing so.
*He isn't gone,* Aia said to her.
Jessira looked sharply at the Kesarin. It couldn't be true. Rukh's corpse was in her arms.
*The Nobeasts understand. It's why they've withdrawn. They're afraid.* Aia said.
Jessira glanced around. It was as Aia had described. The Chimeras had withdrawn from Rukh. Their weapons were held low, and they shuffled about, muttering in uncertainty and fear.
Jessira didn't know what to think, what to believe. Rukh was dead. She held his lifeless body. There was no hope for him given the wound inflicted by the Withering Knife.
*Your eyes lie,* Aia said. *Don't use them.*
Jessira stared at the Kesarin, wanting to believe her.
*Trust me,* Aia urged. *Trust your heart.*
Jessira slowly closed her eyes and searched for the connection she shared with Rukh.
She gasped.
He was alive. Faint, tentative, and barely present, but there it was, his essence. Jessira didn't care to question the mystery of how it was that he still lived. She was simply grateful that he did. Her next thought was on how to to Heal him.
Before she could work out a solution, Rukh's body twitched, and Jessira's eyes snapped open. He twitched again, and Jessira settled his body back on the ground. She didn't know what was happening. Once more, he twitched and then . . . Jessira blinked, trying to sort out what she was seeing, trying to accept that whatever was happening was really occurring. Rukh's body had floated upward of its own volition. There was nothing above or beneath it. His body rested on a cushion of air, ten or more feet above the ground.
Jessira rose to her feet and dashed away tears. Confusion wracked her mind. She couldn't even form the questions to understand what she was witnessing.
Rukh's body rotated in midair until he was vertical with his feet pointed toward the ground. His eyes snapped open, and they burned with a white-hot fire. His mouth slowly gaped as though he were crying in pain.
Jessira watched all this with her own mouth ajar. She looked sharply when she noticed movement to the side. It was the Chimeras. They had ceased fighting, all of them. Now they were pulling back, many yards away from Rukh. They pulled back once again, even farther.
Jessira turned back to Rukh. His white-hot eyes had cooled. They had became a pure blue, the purest color of the sky in the midst of a perfect summer day. Even the whites were consumed by the blue. A puffy, cotton-white cloud moved across his eyes, from right-to-left. His body twitched once more. Again it twitched, and then it began spinning. The spinning accelerated.
Jessira took a frightened step back as his body disintegrated. It was the only word that could imperfectly describe what she was seeing. Small flecks of his body, starting at his extremities, seemed to burn up in a blue flame, but when they did so, those glowing motes rose up to the sky. They didn't fall to the ground. More sparks rose. They flew higher, more of them, cometing into the heavens and disappearing. He was gone. Whatever he had become was now hidden by the smoke greasing the sky.
With
all the injuries he'd suffered as a warrior, Rukh thought himself inured to pain by now. He had experienced broken bones, bruised organs, and torn muscles. However, nothing in his life could have prepared him for the torment of the Withering Knife. It was an agony unlike anything he could have ever conceived.
Nothing was spared. His body was wreathed in fire and anguish. Every nerve ending screamed. His mind burned in a fit of torture that never ended. The pain was a white-hot, filleting blade. It sliced thin strips off his flesh. It burned the tissue beneath. The agony didn't end there. It gripped his mind in a slowly congealing vice. It squeezed until nothing was left but harrowing misery.
He was torn into two, and those pieces torn into two. The tearing went on and on. He felt every rip, every shred. He became nothing more than a pile of fleshy bits. His Jivatma was stripped away. The perfect pool that might have been his soul was gone. Its absence was a wretched hollowing in his mind, an empty space where grace, love, and innocence had once existed. It was gone now. It was the worst suffering of all.
Through it all, Rukh clung to what was foremost in his mind. Jessira. His last vision had been of her terrified visage. His sight had been torn asunder shortly thereafter, and his eyes had boiled away to pus. Blackness ruled. Sound was lost. The world became a quiet place, viable only for the dead. All sensation was gone.
Rukh thought of others. His nanna. Amma. Jaresh. Bree. Aia. His family. His friends. His Caste. His people. Li-Choke. Chak-Soon. All who suffered and merely wanted to live as they wished. For them, he had to endure this pain. For them he had to be the willing sacrifice and serve.
Nothingness existed for an immeasurable amount of time.
But eventually, at the end of all hope, the ache of emptiness slowly filled. His Jivatma flickered to life. It slowly replenished, growing deeper, richer, purer . . . transforming. No longer was it a shimmering pond. Now it was a gleaming, depthless ocean. It ebbed with its own tide and waves lapped the shores of his body. The fragments of his flesh fell away, slowly subsumed into those mighty waterless depths until there was nothing left of him but Jivatma.
