by Davis Ashura
Lienna ignored Her Parents. She recalled why She had set the remnants of the Eastern Plague to search out the Privation Mountains: to find Craven. The city was hidden. That much She knew to be true. And afterward, Ashoka would die. All of Humanity would. But first She would destroy cursed Craven. Perhaps the two Humans seen by her loyal ordinate, Chak-Soon, were returning there, to their foul home, and She might be able to follow.
“Attend My words,” She commanded the trembling Tigon. “Search out these mountains. Leave no stone unturned or cave unsearched. Find the hidden city of Craven. It is home to those two Humans who dared destroy My nest and My claw.”
The Tigon looked up in surprise before quickly bowing his head once more. “It will be honor obey commands,” he said. “But have no Chimeras to do will.”
“What happened to your fellows here?”
The Tigon shifted about, seeming nervous. His anxiety raised Lienna’s ire. Her children should never fear Her. Was She not a loving Mother?
“Lion and leopard go mad. They attack. Had kill them.”
Lienna considered Her child’s response and found it acceptable. “Then return to the Plague. You will have all you need when you arrive. I will see to it.”
“By Your command, Mother,” the Tigon said in a voice throbbing with love.
Her will spoken, Lienna took to the skies, climbing upward in a cyclone of wind.
When She ascended the highest heights, where the air was cold and winds perpetually howled, Mistress Arisa spoke once more. “It is as it should be,” She whispered. “They bend their heads to You, My emissary, but their brows are buried against My bosom, their true Mother.”
Lienna had no words to add to Mistress’ statement, and thankfully, Arisa remained quiet thereafter. The silence allowed Lienna time to consider Her options. For days, She hunkered in Her corner of the heavens, brooding over what to do next.
The Eastern Plague was disintegrating. The Tigons weren’t able commanders, not like Her Baels.
“The Baels have always been faithful,” Mother said, breaking the silence of Lienna’s mind.
“You must be cautious with them,” Father advised.
“Be silent!” Lienna snapped. “I need time to think.”
A derisive laugh came to Her. Arisa. “Simpleton. You? Think? A stone has a far keener mind than the one with which You were graced. Where is Your Knife?”
Lienna was shocked to immobility. She couldn’t remember. The Withering Knife. Where was it?
“Those entrusted with great power should themselves be trustworthy,” Father advised.
Lienna almost laughed with relief. Father’s words had allowed her to remember. The SuDin of Ashoka held the Knife. And he was loyal.
“Like the Baels?” Arisa snapped, Her voice a whiplash. “Idiot. You waste My time, utterly and eternally. Better for the world had Your stupidity been aborted while You lingered in Your Mother’s womb.”
Lienna whimpered in pain and heartache. Why did Mistress always speak so harshly to Her? Lienna poured Her grief down into the hearts of Her waiting Chimeras. The pain eased as sanity slowly came back to Her in fitful starts. She didn’t allow it to consume Her, though. She remembered what would happen if She did. The Chimeras would kill one another if Her full madness was given over to them. She had to be cautious.
The voices of Mother, Father, and Mistress Arisa faded, but much confusion remained. It would have to do. She couldn’t risk shedding more of Her madness into the Chimeras. For now, they were quiescent and unmoving.
Days passed as Lienna pondered what next to do. Distantly, She noted Her Chimeras huddled next to one another, catatonic and unmoving. Carrion eaters: vultures, jackals, and even some wolves, had come forth to feast on their flesh. Lienna knew She had to resolve Her path quickly or risk severe injuries to Her children.
With a mental nod, She made Her decision.
She would allow the SuDin to keep the Knife. She smiled. It wouldn’t be enough for what he intended. It never had been. The SuDin, like all the others before him, had dreams of becoming like Lienna. He was a fool. They all were. To become as he desired, the SuDin would have to do something of which he was incapable: sacrifice.
Meanwhile, as he chased his empty hopes, the Knife and the murders would cut the heart out of Ashoka. The Withering Knife was a poison, and the more it was used, the more it would be primed and ready to leech a city’s Oasis and cause it to fail.
She smiled at the thought of Ashoka’s slow crippling, but Her smile grew grim as She recalled Craven. How to find it?
The Eastern Plague could search for it, but not with its current command. The Tigons didn’t know how to lead. They simply ordered those beneath them, handing out impossible instructions. Inevitably, those so tasked would fail and were often summarily executed for their supposed incompetence. It couldn’t go on, especially since the losses couldn’t be replaced, not with the destruction of the eastern breeding caverns.
As a result, the western breeding caverns had been ordered to increase their births and replenish the ongoing deaths, and Her western Baels had responded admirably. Of course, their failure would have meant their destruction, a fact Lienna suspected they knew all-too well. She would never again wholly trust the Baels, at least while lucid and probably even while gripped with madness, but She knew they would obey Her. Or they would be annihilated.
Regardless, three Plagues in total would Lienna have on Continent Ember by next fall.
Perhaps it was time to send the Baels from the Western Plague to take over the Eastern one? She mused. After a moment, She nodded to Herself. Yes. That would do.
She took back Her madness, freeing the Chimeras from their catatonia. They roared to life, slaying the vultures, jackals, wolves, and foxes feasting on their living flesh.
As the insanity took Her, Lienna remembered enough to sweep into the Privation Mountains to where the Tigons had seen two Humans. If She couldn’t find them, then a blizzard would. And after that, She would send Her loyal commanders from the West to the East.
I once believed that in order to have a joyful life, one need only follow the paths of righteous living. Such naive bromides have no place in this harsh, unforgiving world.
~ A Wandering Notion by Shone Brick, AF 1784
“What were you trying to do?” Jessira asked.
Rukh looked her way for a moment before turning away. He wore an expression of guilt but remained quiet.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” His answer was curt, meant to cut off any further conversation on the topic.
But Jessira wasn’t ready to let it go. Rukh’s depression was dangerous, both to him and her. They needed to discuss this.
After the brief battle, they’d mounted up and pushed on, continuing well into the night. Jessira had let Rukh take the lead. She got the sense that he didn’t want to stop. It seemed like he needed to distance himself—literally and figuratively—from the site of the battle. Eventually, with the horses’ heads drooping low in exhaustion, he’d called a halt.
They made camp in a shallow cave formed by an overhanging ledge of green-veined sandstone. A small fire burned as a bright beacon of warmth in the cold and cheerless winter’s night. Otherwise, their shelter provided little protection from the bitter wind blowing across the high plains. The night sky was filled with twinkling stars while a thin crescent moon hung low, offering a chill, ivory light.
“I know what you’re feeling,” Jessira said.
Rukh glanced at her, curiosity flickering in his eyes, although he remained silent.
Jessira took a deep, steadying breath. She was about to relate something from her past; something deeply personal and painful; something she’d never told anyone else, not even Lure or any of her closest friends and family. The only reason she was willing to tell Rukh was because of today’s events. He needed to hear this. Until the battle, he probably had never realized the depths of his despair. But maybe after hearing Jessira’s story
, he would have the courage to confide in her—or someone, anyway. And maybe after hearing Jessira’s story, he would understand that his life could still be fulfilling.
“You don’t have to tell me,” he said. “Whatever it is, I know it’s probably something you’d rather forget.”
Jessira would have gladly accepted his offer, but she felt like she had to speak her story; if not for Rukh, then maybe for herself. It was time to get her secret out in the open. No more shame for something in which she was blameless.
“In my last year of training for the Home Army, we spent most of our time out in the Wildness. We were hardly ever home to see family and friends, and afterward, when we graduated from our time as nuggets—what we call warriors in training—we matriculated into the ranks of the High Army.” She shifted uncomfortably. This next part wasn’t easy to say. The shame of what had happened had faded with time but had never entirely disappeared.
“In the celebrations that followed, we drank too much. I drank too much.” She picked at a scab on one of her wrists. “I don’t remember what happened next,” she said, her voice growing soft, “but I woke up in our lieutenant’s bed. The man who had been charged with most of our training.”
“Don’t say any more,” Rukh said, capturing Jessira’s fidgeting hands in both of his. “Please. You did nothing wrong.”
Even if she had wanted to, the words wouldn’t stop coming. “I don’t remember anything from that night,” Jessira said. “I only know I didn’t have any clothes on. And I hurt.” She glanced out into the night and shivered, suppressing a pain she’d long grown accustomed to but one which still stung even now. “I couldn’t report what had happened. In Stronghold, a woman’s honor is tied to her behavior. If I’d wanted to be with the lieutenant or any other man, I could have. It would have been my choice, and it’s acceptable. But getting so drunk that I couldn’t even remember the night’s events.…” She hugged her knees. “That is most definitely not acceptable. The shame would have fallen on the lieutenant as well, but it would have fallen more heavily on me. I would have lost everything: my honor, my position in the army, my future. No one would ever marry such a scandalous woman.” She shuddered. “So I pretended it didn’t happen. I’ve never told anyone, and it’s been hard to remain quiet, but somehow.…” She looked Rukh in the eyes. “I survived, and I’m happy. I’m glad of my life.”
A single tear leaked from the corner of her eye. Jessira hugged her knees more tightly, realizing just then how wrong she’d been: speaking of her shame hadn’t helped at all. It had simply brought to the forefront of her mind events she wished had never happened. Remembering them only made her furious. Jackhole lieutenant! She should have cut off his manhood. A mouth full of broken teeth wasn’t nearly punishment enough for the fragger. And Rukh better not feel pity for her.
She shot a glance at him.
He seemed to consider her words with pursed lips before finally speaking. “I don’t pity you,” he said.
She hadn’t said the words, but hearing Rukh speak what was in her thoughts seemed to cause something inside her to break. The dammed up tears flooded out, but she smiled through them. It had been days since Rukh had guessed her thoughts. She was glad to hear him do so again.
“You’re strong enough not to need it and proud enough to resent receiving it,” Rukh said. “I’m just sorry you felt you had to tell me something so painful because of my own problems.” He hesitantly reached for her, wiping away her tears. “I’m sorry,” he said, his words seeming to encompass today’s events and everything she had just told him.
“I’m betting that right about now, you wish you’d cut that lieutenant’s testicles clean off,” Rukh said.
She laughed. “The thought has crossed my mind a time or two.” The smile faded. “Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
She shrugged. “For listening. And not judging or giving me advice on what I should have done.”
He smiled. “And if I had done either, I’m thinking it’s my testicles you’d have wanted to lop off.”
They settled into a comfortable silence, sitting close to their meager fire as the frigid wind blew about them.
“I didn’t know I was hurting so bad,” Rukh began, breaking the silence. “I thought the pain was fading. I thought I’d forced it out of me. I never realized I’d just pushed it down deep and out of sight.”
“Are you sure you want to tell me?” Jessira asked.
He smiled wanly. “After today, I think I need to.”
Rukh and Jessira rode west through a box canyon. It was hedged to the north and south by long escarpments formed of stacked layers of pale yellow-gray limestone, ruddy shale, and gray granite. Through the center of the valley flowed a boulder-strewn creek, the rocks slick with a coating of snow and ice. The stream itself was frozen over, except for a thin rivulet trickling its way west. The banks on either side of the sluggish water were similarly iced over. Steam from their mounts misted in the air, and an ill wind blew through the canyon, funneled into a freezing draft. It was cold enough to slice through Rukh and Jessira’s thick gloves, as well as the heavy coats beneath their cloaks. Scarves were wrapped around their faces, exposing only their eyes.
“That’s Babylin’s Hope,” Jessira said, a note of pride in her voice as she pointed to a strange looking rock formation high up on the northern escarpment. “Babylin took its appearance as a sign. It points straight to Stronghold.”
Rukh bit his lower lip, holding back a chuckle. Maybe it was just his crass imagination, but Babylin’s Hope had a very phallic appearance to it, going so far as to even curve slightly. “It certainly is, ah, impressive,” he choked out.
Jessira laughed. “You see it too, don’t you? The first time I saw Babylin’s Hope, I was only a nugget. Imagine my disappointment when I saw that.” She gestured to the rock. “It was only later that I learned what Babylin really called it.” She grinned, daring Rukh to guess what she might mean.
Rukh had no idea what Babylin—whoever he was—might have wanted to name the rock formation. He gave her an expectant look.
“He called it The Sword of Hope.”
Rukh laughed.
It was good to smile and laugh. After the battle with the Ur-Fels two weeks ago, something in his heart seemed to have come back to life. He could feel a tiny throb now and then, of life and curiosity taking hold. Of course, he’d felt those same sprigs at other times in their journey, but they had always withered away, dying in the vacuum of his hopelessness. This time was different. He could feel a small vine of hope pulse and grow, blooming more strongly with every passing day.
“So who’s Babylin?” he asked
Jessira blinked, nonplussed. “I keep forgetting. You know nothing of Stronghold’s past,” she said. “Babylin was one of our greatest heroes. You remember the Fifty-Five, the ones Hume saved?” Rukh nodded. “One of them was a Muran named Babylin Suresong. He scouted ahead of the others, deep into the mountains. It was the only place where the others might be safe. Babylin found—” her lips twitched into a slight smile, “—the Third Leg. He took it as a sign and followed where it pointed, and two weeks on, he found the valley that became the Croft as well as the caverns where my ancestors established Stronghold.”
“So we’re only two weeks from Stronghold.”
“Yes,” Jessira said. “This stream we’re following eventually joins the River Fled.” She pointed to the trickle of water to their left, below them now as they crested an icy rise.
“I’ll be grateful to be warm again,” Rukh said.
“Too cold for you?” Jessira asked, a challenging glint in her eyes. “Back home, we’d consider this a brisk winter day. You’re soft, Pureblood.”
Rukh opened his mouth to answer, but whatever he was about to say was cut off.
His gelding slipped, caught its balance, slipped again and slid down toward the water. The horse screamed as he lost his balance, crashing down on his side. There came a thunder-crack sound,
like snapping wood. The gelding had shattered a cannon bone.
Rukh was momentarily pinned by horse’s weight, and he felt something in his right leg and shoulder give way. It hurt like the unholy hells, but he couldn’t afford to stay in the saddle. He threw himself clear, twisting in mid-air so he would land on his feet on a snow-covered boulder. He thudded onto the rock, but his feet flew out from beneath him—the slickness of the stone and the weakness in his injured leg. He cracked the back of his head on the boulder.
The last thing Rukh heard was Jessira screaming his name as he slipped into unconsciousness, carried away by the slow-flowing finger of water.
“RUKH!” Jessira saw his horse go down, heard the sickening sound of a bone snapping. She prayed it hadn’t been Rukh’s. She leapt out of her saddle and ran to the edge of the rise, arriving just in time to see Rukh throw himself clear of his saddle as the gelding thrashed to the ground, screaming in pain, his right foreleg flopping around like a wet noodle. It was grotesque, and Jessira knew she would have to deal with the horse as soon as she could.
Rukh would have to come first. He had landed smoothly, but his legs had instantly gone out from under him. He hit the boulder heavily with the back of his head; going limp as he slid face first into the water. He wasn’t moving.
First Father, keep him safe she prayed as she ran down to the base of the rise. Her heart pounded. Jessira had rarely been so terrified, not even when Rukh had almost let go of his sword while facing the Chimeras. She raced past the gelding, still thrashing and screaming in pain, reaching Rukh in moments. She turned him over. His face was blue.
Jessira conducted Jivatma, using her small Talent at Lucency. Her thoughts became focused and clear. She had to get him breathing. Jessira dragged Rukh back to the bank. Waterlogged as he was, it wasn’t easy, but she managed it; fear giving her strength. Once she had him flat on his back, she tilted his head to the side and let water dribble out of his nose and mouth. Next, she pinched shut his nose, arched his neck and exhaled heavily into Rukh’s open mouth four times. He coughed once, twice and then more heavily. He turned his head away from her and spat up more water.
