The Castes and the OutCastes: The Complete Trilogy

by Davis Ashura

  She set the book aside and yawned. It had been a long day. Once more she and Jaresh were huddled over their pile of books and various manuscripts deep in the dankness of the Cellar. The light from the chandelier with its dim firefly lamps did little to remove the melancholy nature of the place. But with all the time she and Jaresh had spent down here, she hardly even noticed the gloom any more. It had been three weeks since the last murder, which meant it had been three more weeks with nothing to show for their effort. The search for this mythical Withering Knife was growing increasingly frustrating.

  “You would think something so important would merit at least some kind of mention,” Mira complained. “But in all the books, manuscripts, and scrolls pertaining to the Sil Lor Kum, I’ve yet to come across even the vaguest of references to the Knife.”

  “You would think, but then you would be wrong,” Jaresh said with a chuckle. “Supposing, of course, anyone else knew about it.”

  Mira grimaced. “They knew about it. They just kept it to themselves, so our search would be even more difficult than it otherwise would be.”

  “Yes, I’m sure it was their intention all along: join the Sil Lor Kum. Check. Learn all about the Withering Knife. Check. Hide all the information, so centuries later, Mira and Jaresh will search fruitlessly for it. Check and double check.”

  Mira punched him lightly in the shoulder, evoking a patently false squawk of pain.

  “Heh!” Jaresh protested.

  “You deserved it,” Mira said.

  “You’re lucky I’m a gentleman, or I might hit you back,” Jaresh said.

  “And if you did, I’d hit you back even harder,” Mira replied. “And you’d just break if I did.”

  “Well then. I suppose I’ll just have to mock you from a distance from now on.”

  Mira laughed. “I’d still find a way to return the favor,” she said.

  “You know, for such a supposedly gentle flower of Kumma womanhood, you sure have a dogged determination to cause me pain.”

  “After all the time we’ve been stuck down here in the Cellar, how is it you haven’t realized the truth about me: I am the utter, diametric opposite of a gentle Kumma woman.”

  “So, you’re a violent, non-Kumma man?” Jaresh asked, glancing Mira over. “You hide it well.”

  She hit him again. This time, much harder, and eliciting another more sincere squawk.

  “I can keep this up all day,” Mira advised.

  “Why don’t we get back to work? I don’t think my shoulder can take anymore of our conversating.”

  “Conversating? Interesting made up description of what you think we were doing?” Mira said. “Sounded to me like you were making fun of me.”

  “Maybe a little bit, but it sure sounded funnier in my mind than when I spoke it out loud and you punched me.” He yawned and stretched mightily. “How many more texts are there before we have to expand our search?” he asked.

  Mira looked at their master list of topics, subtopics, comparing it to their catalog of books and manuscripts to review. The list had been her idea, but Jaresh had been the one to put it together. His methodical, systematic Sentya mind allowed him to bring order to the chaos of what she had originally proposed. And thank Devesh they hadn’t followed her directions. If they had, they would be weeks behind where they were right now.

  “Only a few hundred more,” Mira said.

  “About two weeks of work then,” Jaresh said. “Which would bring us in on time for what we promised Nanna.”

  While no one else had died since the second murder, Mira and Jaresh both felt the press of the passing days. It was only a matter of time before the killer struck again, and if they exhausted their current list, they would have to greatly expand their search. It was something neither of them was looking forward to.

  Mira sighed. She still had trouble reconciling herself to the truth of what they hunted: the Sil Lor Kum. How could anyone be so wicked as to join Suwraith’s cult? Evil fools. If all the members of the Sil Lor Kum spontaneously caught fire and burned for eternity – or just a very long time – Mira would have considered it their just rewards. She hated the presence of such depravity in her city, or any city for that matter. Hunting the Sil Lor Kum had been a task she would willingly do over and over again, but she still didn’t like having to do it.

  In fact, the only good thing to come about over the past few months was getting to know Jaresh. She now understood why Dar’El trusted him so much. He was smart, hard-working, and did his job without complaint, but he wasn’t stiff and joyless like Rector Bryce. She pitied Bree having to spend so much time with such a bore. Jaresh was clever and amusing in his own Sentya way. Mira smiled. In fact, without his wry sense of humor, their time in the Cellar would have been far less pleasant. Sure, his mocking tone could grate on her nerves, but all in all, she enjoyed spending time with him. He made her laugh.

  Jaresh looked up and noticed her scrutiny. “What is it?”

  “Nothing,” she replied. “I only wanted to tell you how much I’ve appreciated your company these past few months. Without you around, the Cellar would have been far more taxing and monotonous.”

  “Thank you,” he said with a smile. “It was nice getting to know you as well.”

  Mira laughed. “Well, it goes without saying,” she replied. “I am a Kumma woman after all. You should consider yourself blessed to spend so much time in my presence.”

  Jaresh bowed his head. “Of course,” he said. “All Kumma women are queens.” He paused as if in thought. “Then again, it might not be something to trumpet about given the mind of the most famous of queens.”

  “Comparing me to Suwraith now? Not very chivalrous.”

  “I’d never say or even imply such a thing…my queen.”

  Mira laughed. “You’re a good man, Jaresh. Don’t ever change.”

  “A good man,” Jaresh repeated, seeming to taste the words. “Something to which we should all aspire.”

  Bree was broken from her reverie as Rector sighed in disgust. “What is it?” she asked, wincing as her words echoed through the cavernous hall, which made up Verchow Library. She had spoken more loudly than she meant, but luckily this late at night, and in the summer no less, only one other person shared the Library with them, and her nose was plugged in a book. She hadn’t even looked up at Bree’s words.

  Verchow Library was a long, narrow arcade with rows of medical texts and histories of disease and death neatly placed upon the shelving running perpendicular to the length of the room. The center of the hall was given over to a large number of dark, mahogany tables, each with seating for four. Broad chandeliers of firefly lamps hung above and shed light down below. Murals depicting scenes from the life of Gelan Criatus, the father of modern medicine, graced many of the panels of the vaulted ceiling, which soared thirty feet or more above them.

  “Are Shiyens even Human?” Rector growled. “Devesh bless them, but they discuss disease in such an unemotional fashion. It makes me wonder if they really care about the people they take care of. Listen to this:

  The patient, one Privem Thacker, was found to have an intestinal obstruction and rupture upon arrival to the hospice. Unfortunately, despite our best efforts, the patient expired forthwith. His wife was expectedly distraught. However, she was unreasonably put out when she was quite rightly informed that had she brought Master Thacker (a Muran) for our care several hours earlier, he might have lived.

  “Utterly bloodless.” Rector threw down the book in disgust. “A man is dead, his wife grieving, and you’d think the Shiyen was talking about a dead cat.”

  The idea of Shiyens as emotionless and non-caring was a commonly held view and had essentially become a truism. However, Bree had spent a lot of time with those of the Healer Caste. From what she had observed, Shiyens cared deeply about those they cared for, but it wasn’t always easily evident. Sometimes, in order to do their work, they had to maintain a reserved restraint, a decorum others occasionally mistook as a callous i
nsensitivity. In fact, had she been born a Shiyen with the proper Talent, Bree would have gladly attended Verchow or Alminius to become a physician.

  “What are you reading?” she asked.

  “Eh?”

  “The passage you just read…what book is it from?”

  Rector glanced at the title. “Bedside Manners Volume 2: Improper Etiquette When Consoling the Grieving.” Rector rubbed his chin and reddened with embarrassment. “Maybe this wasn’t the best example of what I meant.”

  Bree smiled. “Or maybe you should pay attention to the book title you’re reading.”

  “How can I when my eyes are cramping?” Rector asked, still looking embarrassed.

  Bree laughed. “Your eyes can cramp? It’s a medical miracle.”

  “It’s true. There’s no explanation for my condition,” Rector said. “Besides…someone has to keep the Shiyens on their toes. It might as well be me,” he added with a shrug.

  “Speaking of staying on your toes…catch.” Bree tossed him another book. “I doubt you’ll find what we’re looking for in Bedside Manners,” she said. “Try this one instead.”

  Rector caught the book and squinted at the title, written as it was in a tight, crabbed print. He sighed. “My poor eyes.”

  Despite his put-upon attitude, Bree knew Rector wasn’t serious. From what she had seen, he was as hard-working as anyone she knew. Her nanna would have described him as ‘all go and no slow’. She doubted Rector even knew how to be lazy.

  Rector settled in with the book she had given him, and an hour later, he set aside the slim volume. “Done,” he said. “Hand me the big one over there.” He grunted when she passed over the heavy tome. “When we find these lickspittle motherhumpers, I’m feeding them my sword,” Rector promised. “Look at the size of this book. Do you know what it’s about? It’s about unsolved murders in Ashoka. I wouldn’t be surprised if the majority of them were due to the fragging Sil Lor Kum.”

  “Language,” Bree admonished.

  “Sorry,” Rector said, not looking apologetic. “It’s just these bastards don’t deserve any mercy. They don’t even deserve the dignity of a tribunal. We should just execute them. Crucify the whole lot of them, I say.”

  The venom in Rector’s voice took Bree aback.

  He must have noticed her expression. “I’m sorry, Bree.” This time, he did look apologetic. “I get worked up about these kinds of things,” Rector said. “The Trials show us the true face of evil. The Fan Lor Kum are responsible for the death of more warriors in the Wildness than anything else in this world, but in the end, they’re only a mob of dumb beasts with no more choice in the matter than an ox hitched to a yoke. They’re slaves to their Queen. The Sil Lor Kum, though, they’re different. They choose to serve evil.”

  “I agree. They don’t deserve any mercy. When we find them, I could easily slit all their throats and sleep well at night,” Bree said. “The reason I was surprised is because you’re a member of the Watch. Aren’t you supposed to uphold an individual’s rights under the law? Make sure they have a proper tribunal?”

  “Perhaps your father believes the way you describe?” Rector guessed.

  “I imagine so.”

  “Our ‘El is a gifted leader of men,” Rector said, sounding as if he were choosing his words most delicately.

  “Nanna is rare,” Bree agreed. “He is generous to a fault, but the Sil Lor Kum don’t deserve his mercy. They willingly placed themselves beyond our civilized strictures. Why should we grant them anything? Death is their proper reward. I think you’re right: we should crucify all of them.”

  “Indeed,” Rector said. “What do you think should be done with their families? Their children?”

  “What about them?” Bree replied. She tried to hide the sudden discomfort his question raised.

  “They should share in the disgrace,” Rector said. “They’d be forever Tainted. I say exile them as well.”

  Bree didn’t answer. Rector’s statement raised doubts she wasn’t ready to confront. The whole topic made her uneasy. Rector had no such qualms. He had already decided exile was the proper punishment for children whose only crime was birth to one who chose the Sil Lor Kum. What then would he say of their own House? What would Rector think if he knew the truth of Kul’El Shektan? He would likely demand the immediate dissolution of the House.

  Bree couldn’t say she disagreed with him, either. She was conflicted in her opinion. Some days she shared Rector’s feelings on the topic, but on other days, she thought differently. House Shektan had done a lot of good over the years. It had many just and honorable members. None of them had sought out to do evil. In fact, they had actively fought it their entire lives. Why should they be punished for something they couldn’t have ever known or guessed about their founder? It was a question she was no nearer to answering now than on the day she had first learned of Kul’El Shektan’s infamy.

  “I’m glad we’re in agreement,” Rector said, mistaking the meaning of her silence.

  “Must you leave so soon, my dear?” the SuDin of the Sil Lor Kum asked.

  Varesea turned to him with a coquettish smile. “You know I have to,” she replied. “My husband grows worried if I’m out late.”

  “Your husband is a fool. Were you mine, I would keep you close at hand so we might more easily enjoy one another.”

  She laughed. “That may be one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever heard you say,” she replied.

  “Speak for yourself,” the SuDin said. “I could take you again this very moment if you were willing.” He drew her to his lap. “I can prove it,” he whispered into her ear as he guided her hand to his hardness.

  She gasped in surprise. “Put that away,” she admonished. She stood, and he let her go, disappointed. He wasn’t sure why or how, but for the past few months, his lust was as it had been when he was young. When he wasn’t busy with all the worries of the modern world, foremost on his mind was the next time he could be with Varesea. And given the decline to many of the responsibilities in his other life, the one outside of the Sil Lor Kum, he thought about it often.

  He reckoned it might have something to do with the Knife. He was stronger and faster than he had been in decades. Even the limp from his injured left knee was better. At the rate he was healing, a few more killings and he would be as fine a warrior as he had been as a young man. And he had been formidable once, easily as good as any who had won the Tournament of Hume.

  “She spoke to you again last night, didn’t she?” Varesea guessed.

  “How did you know,” he asked, admiring the line of her thighs as she adjusted her robes. Time might have caused her breasts to sag, but her legs were still lean and strong.

  “Your eyes…they’re haunted whenever She touches you. Is Her presence really so difficult?”

  He laughed harshly “You should be thankful you have never had to suffer one of Her visitations. She is like a razor scraping at your mind.”

  “And yet, She is the ultimate power in this world.” A fleeting look of hunger flitted across Varesea’s face.

  The SuDin wasn’t surprised by Varesea’s look of desire. From what he had seen, everyone who joined the Sil Lor Kum yearned for power of some sort. It was rather pathetic. They risked their lives and their good names, even the lives of their own families for something so ephemeral. Too many of the Sil Lor Kum were ravenous pigs, vainly seeking to satiate their gluttonous hunger.

  Varesea was like all the others – but in one critical way, she was unlike them. She too lusted for power, but her reason was different. She didn’t crave control; she desired safety. It made all the difference in the world as far as the SuDin was concerned. Rather than inspiring contempt, her situation – and he knew her lot in life all too well – aroused his compassion. Because if Varesea had been entirely as the others, he wouldn’t have been able to countenance even a moment in her bed, much less the ten years they’d shared as lovers.

  “So most believe,” the SuDin replied to
her statement.

  “So most believe. But not you?”

  “Not me.”

  “Why is that?” Varesea mused.

  “We have battled Her for two millennia, and…” the SuDin paused, not sure he was ready to trust her with such a momentous truth.

  “And what?” she asked. “We have lost every time She has come against us.” A moment later, her eyes widened in alarm. “You can’t possibly think to defeat Her. It’s an unattainable dream.”

  “And yet, the dream you dismiss is the very reason I joined the Sil Lor Kum,” the SuDin said solemnly. “My only desire has and always will be to protect Ashoka.”

  “My SuDin you cannot defy Her. She crushes all who do. Remember: all the cities She has visited in times past. They are nothing but powder now. You’ll destroy yourself if you defy Her will.”

  The SuDin smiled at Varesea’s concern. It was touching. “I’m not ready to challenge Her yet, but with the Knife, I may have an opportunity to learn Her weakness as no one ever has.”

  “And have you learned anything thus far?”

  The SuDin smiled. “I have, and I believe it is quite valuable.” He smiled wider, a lupine grin. “Our Queen is utterly insane, just as the prior SuDins claimed. As they also said, She is easily deceived. In fact, She is quite stupid.”

  Varesea considered his words in silence.

  “Why do you bother?” she finally asked. “Your name has become a byword for humiliation amongst your Caste. In your other life, I have heard how members of your own House openly mock you at times. You hold your position by the barest of threads. Are any of them worth what you’ve given up?”

  The SuDin’s jaw clenched. He disliked any reminder of his disgrace. In his other life, he treaded thin ice. As far as he was concerned, he had been all but abandoned by both his House and his Caste. Despite this, he would protect them. Though he lived in the shadows now, working with people who were worse than a Chimera; though his soul had become incurably soiled; though all those proud Kummas of his Caste would gladly stake him out on the Isle of the Crows were he ever found out, he had no regrets. His fallen state was of his own choosing, and all he had done had been for Ashoka’s sake. He knew no other way to protect his city. But in the end his legacy would be cleansed; his sacrifices made manifest; and his name as revered and hallowed as that of mighty Hume. It had to be. He had given too much and lost even more for it to be otherwise.