The Castes and the OutCastes: The Complete Trilogy

by Davis Ashura

  He knew it wouldn't be easy, not after what Rector had done to Rukh, and it was likely that Dar'El had yet to forgive him, but still, he had to try.

  Eventually, the call came for Rector to enter Dar'El's office, and he rose to his feet. He closed his eyes and took a cleansing breath, seeking to control his nervousness. One more breath, and he was ready. A servant ushered him into the office where he found Dar'El sitting alone behind his desk. The door to the room closed, and Rector had to keep himself from glancing back at it.

  Dar'El didn't bother looking up from his work. He waved vaguely at a chair on the opposite side of his desk. “Have a seat,” he ordered.

  Rector took the indicated chair and waited. The room was silent except for the scratching of Dar'El's pen. Rector held still, not allowing himself to shift nervously.

  Minutes passed before Dar'El set aside his work with a satisfied grunt. “What did you wish to discuss?” he asked as he finally looked up.

  “I wish to rejoin House Shektan,” Rector replied in what he hoped was a clear, even tone as he met the older man's gaze.

  Dar'El gave a grim shake of his head. “That seems an unlikely proposition given your actions the last time you were a member here.”

  “I was wrong to have acted as I did,” Rector replied. “And I offer my sincerest apology for what I did to Rukh and to your family.”

  “Your sudden remorse is certainly convenient given House Wrestiva's fall,” Dar'El said, viewing him with narrow, suspicious eyes. “But since Mira spoke in your defense, I'll hear you out. What's changed your mind about this House with which you were once so greatly displeased?”

  Rector smiled briefly as he thought of Mira. She was who had changed his mind. With her dogged determination and sarcastic questioning, she'd changed many things. “I had notions of what was right and moral, but events since then . . .” Rector shrugged. “I've learned some hard lessons. Rukh's friendship with Jessira, much less his Talents, should not have resulted in his being found Unworthy.”

  “And Hal'El's relationship with Varesea Apter?” Dar'El asked, staring at him with a measuring, cunning gaze.

  Rector shrugged again, discomfited. “That man should be executed for many crimes far greater than whatever kind of relationship he and Varesea might have shared.”

  “But they were lovers. Does that not count as a sin?”

  “So it is said in The Word and the Deed,” Rector began uncertainly. “But I'm no longer sure we can afford to unquestioningly follow that book, not when there is a more ancient creed, one that is more generous.” He hesitated. “I think generosity is going to be sorely needed in the future.”

  “The Book of All Souls?”

  “Yes.”

  Dar'El templed his fingers beneath his chin.”I'm impressed,” he said sarcastically. “A politician could not have provided a smoother, more convincing answer.”

  Rector gritted his teeth, forcing himself to remain quiet in the face of the older man's insult. A politician was another name for liar. Rector tried to hold his face as unexpressive as a plank of wood.

  “But trust, once lost, is hard to recapture,” Dar'El continued. “How can I ever trust you after you betrayed me so terribly?”

  Rector stared at a point over Dar'El's shoulder, trying to come up with an answer to the older man's impossible question. “I hope that my recent actions in exposing Hal'El might serve better than any words I can offer.”

  Dar'El studied him for a stretch of silence before suddenly sighing. “You did what you could, and in doing so, you kept my daughter alive. I only wish you could have preserved Mira as well,” he said as a fleeting look of sorrow passed across his face.

  “So do I,” Rector whispered.

  “As I said, toward the end, Mira spoke in your defense,” Dar'El continued. “I trusted her judgment when she said your . . . conversion wasn't merely one of convenience, but I must confess”—he leaned back in his chair—”I find it hard to reconcile the man I see before me who so humbly asks for forgiveness with the man I once knew, the one who was so certain that it was only his moral compass that pointed unerringly to the truth.”

  “That man was an arrogant fool.”

  “On this we are agreed,” Dar'El agreed. He leaned forward suddenly, the look of a raptor on his face. “I'm told you found a small book amongst the possessions of the Sentya MalDin, Moke Urn. What information did it contain?”

  Rector scowled. He had hoped he wouldn't have to bring this up. The information in that slim volume would be disastrous if it ever came to light. “It was a history of the Sil Lor Kum, especially the SuDins. There was one name that was of particular relevance: Kuldige Prayvar.”

  “The founder of House Shektan,” Dar'El said, appearing unsurprised. Instead, he looked like he had been expecting the answer.

  Rector realized Dar'El must have already known about Kuldige, and he mentally grimaced. Was there anything of which the man was unaware?

  “Knowing this, the sin at the heart of House Shektan, are you sure you still wish to rejoin us?” Dar'El asked.

  Rector nodded. “The sins of the fathers should not pass on to their progeny.” He coerced conviction into his voice.

  “And if I still deny your request,” Dar'El said. “What will you do then?”

  Rector kept his face impassive. “I won't release the knowledge about Kuldige if that has you concerned,” he replied. “I'll just have to find a different House to take me in.”

  “And if the knowledge about Kuldige became available to everyone?”

  Rector tried to remain impassive in appearance even as he hid a shudder. It would be a disaster if the truth about Kuldige became public knowledge. “Then House Shektan will have a problem.”

  Dar'El stared at Rector with a discomfiting gaze. “You'll have my decision in the morning,” he finally said.

  “I look forward to it,” Rector said, schooling his features to a serenity he didn't feel as he rose to his feet.

  The next morning, Rector was summoned back to the House Seat. There, in the presence of an enigmatic Dar'El and a glowering Durmer Volk, he was oathed back into House Shektan.

  Rector left the House Seat with a sense of stunned elation. His life was his once more. No longer did he have to pretend allegiance to the Wrestivas. All the lies binding him to that fallen House could be shed. He was once more of his birth House, able to offer it his steadfast and unrestricted support.

  He walked with a bounce in his step and an easy grin on his face. His smile fell when he purchased the morning's broadsheet. It had just been published. On the front page was an exposé, a list of all the known Kumma members of the Sil Lor Kum dating back over the past several hundred years. Prominently displayed was the name of Kuldige Prayvar.

  Rector swallowed an oath as he crumpled the paper.

  Hal'El Wrestiva hid within the shrouded recesses of a corn field. He wore a dark cloak that blended with the surrounding shadows, and his hood was thrown forward, hiding his features. Nevertheless, even if he had chosen to walk the streets of Ashoka with his face uncovered, he doubted many would have recognized him through his layers of grime and weeks-old stubble. Given his grubby, pathetic appearance, no one would have taken him for the ruling 'El of House Wrestiva.

  He scowled.

  The former ruling 'El of House Wrestiva. He had been deposed several weeks ago when his membership in the Sil Lor Kum had been exposed, including his role as the Withering Knife murderer. All it had taken was a single disastrous night for his entire life to come undone. It had all started when he'd captured Mira Terrell and ended with Rector Bryce and Bree Shektan breaking down the door to his flat in Stone Cavern. They hadn't managed to save the Terrell girl, but they had done something far worse: they had murdered Varesea.

  Hal'El worked to suppress his pain. It had been weeks since Varesea's death, and he still had trouble accepting that she was gone. He missed her.

  Since that awful night, Hal'El had been forced to hide in his safe ho
use, one that only he knew about. Years ago he had prepared it, all in case his membership in the Sil Lor Kum ever reached unfriendly ears. Not even Varesea had known of it. The safe house had been stocked with enough food and water to have lasted Hal'El for months. Of course, what to do after the supplies ran out was a concern he had never been able to properly answer.

  Thus, with little thought of the future, Hal'El had simply hidden himself away in the safe house, not knowing what to do next. After all, he was thrice cursed with a death sentence. He was a murderer, a member of the Sil Lor Kum, and a ghrina.

  All Ashoka knew it.

  Despite his isolation, though, news of the outside world had still reached Hal'El. A daily broadsheet, easily stolen from a nearby stand, told him what was occurring in the rest of the city. Unsurprisingly, House Wrestiva was nearly ruined, while House Shektan was widely lauded for their role in unveiling such a heinous evil living in the center of Caste Kumma.

  Hal'El cursed at the memory.

  It was intolerable that the man responsible for Varesea's death should be so extravagantly praised. Dar'El Shektan had forever been a thorn in Hal'El's side, foiling his plans at every step, and setting his House in opposition to Hal'El's. After all, it had been Dar'El's instructions that had set Mira, Rector, and Bree to ferreting out Hal'El's secrets. He'd even found a means to keep his cursed 'son', Jaresh, from facing proper punishment for murdering Suge.

  Hal'El cursed once more.

  Dar'El Shektan should have shared the same fate that Hal'El had managed to apply to Mira Terrell.

  Indeed, immediately after Varesea's death, it had been Hal'El's intention to seek out the death of his hated enemy. He had gone to the Seat of House Shektan with a simple scheme to see his bitter nemesis ended. Nothing would have stopped him, and his plan would have worked, except for the interference of one singularly stupid woman.

  As Hal'El had approached the Shektan Seat, barring further passage to the front gates had been the Hound, Sophy Terrell, Mira's amma. Even though Hal'El had been Blended, she had sensed his presence and confronted him. There had been a pregnant pause when Hal'El had revealed himself.

  Then Sophy had run away, howling like a madwoman for help.

  Hal'El had meant to kill her quickly, but she had been surprisingly agile, sprinting and screaming while she threw Fireballs at Hal'El to slow him down. She had even formed an unexpectedly strong Shield. In the end, though the chase was short-lived and Sophy's life shortly stilled—the Knife had quieted her cries—by the time Hal'El had managed the task, a dozen Kummas had converged on their location. Hal'El had been forced to beat a hasty retreat to his safe house.

  There, he'd hidden away, trying to come up with a plan out of his predicament. The first few days after had passed in hours of morose, unaccustomed self-pity with Hal'El had curled up in a ball of misery. Everything he had loved and worked so hard to protect had been stolen away from him, and during those moments, he had reckoned that his life couldn't sink any lower.

  He had been wrong.

  The true horror of his situation quickly became manifest soon thereafter.

  “Fool,” a voice whispered in the vaults of his mind.

  Hal'El flinched. He'd come to know and dread that voice all too well. Whereas Felt Barnel, Aqua Oilhue, and Van Jinnu had all remained relatively quiescent following their deaths, only muttering and murmuring now and then, Sophy Terrell had burst into his mind like a thunderclap, raging like an inferno at what he had done to her. She rarely remained quiet for longer than a few hours at a time before beginning again with her screamed vilifications and dire threats of retribution. Worse, the others—Felt, Aqua, and Van—had begun following Sophy's example. During such moments, Hal'El felt like his mind was going to tear apart from the cacophony of bloodcurdling oaths and howled promises.

  To make matters even more chaotic, last night the Queen had visited Hal'El's dreams. He had explained what had happened, told Her why he couldn't kill anyone else. After his recitation of what—even to him—sounded like incomparable incompetence, rather than react in fury, the Queen had surprised Hal'El. She had been understanding. She had quietly ordered him to find a way to leave Ashoka, promising him safety amongst the Chimeras.

  With no better plan in the offing, Hal'El had agreed to do as the Queen had commanded. If She kept true to Her word, at least Hal'El might find some future means to avenge himself on Dar'El Shektan. He might even find a way to thwart Suwraith's plans for Ashoka. He still hoped to save the city from the Sorrow Bringer's wrath. Surely if he managed such a monumental feat, his fellow Ashokans would forgive him for his multitude of sins. After all, they'd forgiven Rukh Shektan, and he was every bit as degenerate as Hal'El.

  It was this hope for redemption that now drove him. It was the reason why he currently found himself studying the movements of the warriors manning Sunset Gate, the southernmost entrance through the Outer Wall. It was the final obstacle he had to overcome in order to exit Ashoka. There were five guards, all of them Kummas, and the day was late, just past dusk. It was a situation that might work to his advantage.

  “I'm talking to you, Fool,” Sophy said in a louder tone.

  “Quiet,” Hal'El hissed to her.

  Sophy didn't relent. “The warriors will capture you, and then what will happen to you, you great, stupid coward? You'll be hung, drawn, and quartered, and your remains will be strewn upon the Isle of the Crows. You'll be forever damned, Fool!”

  “Be silent, or you will be silenced!” Hal'El thundered into the reaches of his mind.

  “You can't kill her,” a soft voice rasped. Aqua Oilhue. “You can't kill any of us. We're already dead.” She laughed in black humor.

  “And we'll make sure you join us,” another voice vowed in an ugly tone. Felt Barnel.

  “Don't forget the Knife,” Van Jinnu advised in a mocking tone. “It'll be the death of you.”

  Hal'El grimaced even as he stroked the sheath in which the black blade was housed. Even if the Queen hadn't ordered him to bring it with him, there was no chance he would leave it behind in Ashoka. He had lost too much on account of the Withering Knife to be parted from it now.

  “You haven't lost everything,” Aqua said. “You have much pain yet to endure.”

  “We'll ensure it, Fool,” Sophy promised. “Future generations will wonder at how an overwhelming idiot like you became the ruling 'El of a great House. What a craven jackass you are.”

  “Shut up,” Hal'El hissed.

  “How do you intend to get past those guards?” Sophy persisted.

  “I have a plan,” Hal'El muttered, knowing it was a mistake to engage her.

  “A plan he says?” Sophy scoffed. “You couldn't plan a trip to the toilet. You'd likely flush yourself down the drain, you imbecile. Are you sure you aren't the get of a donkey, you long-eared jackass.”

  Hal'El gritted his teeth. Enough! He imagined his hands on Sophy's throat, choking off her words, choking the life from her. Shockingly, it worked. Sophy gasped once and fell quiet. The other three settled into fitful, uncertain murmurings.

  Blessed peace!

  While Hal'El suspected Sophy would soon return, at least for now, she and the others were no longer so noisome. He could proceed with the final steps of his plans without their incessant meddling.

  Hal'El had managed to get this far by pretending to be a burly Sentya drover, and his disguise should hopefully get him through Sunset Gate. He'd have to be quick about it, though.

  He left the shadows of the corn field and returned to the wagon he'd left on a nearby dirt path. He clambered aboard. A strawman sat atop the seat with a set of reins dangling from its hands. Hal'El Blended, and while everyone was now alert for someone hidden in such a fashion, he reckoned it would take the Kummas manning Sunset Gate a precious few seconds to find him. Their task would be made even more difficult by the wagon with its strawman drover charging their position. It should be enough distraction for Hal'El to slip past the guards and manage his escape.


  His plan decided, Hal'El set the bullocks to trotting. The fine gelding he'd stolen for the long ride to the camp of the Chimeras was tied off to the side of the wagon, and the horse easily kept pace as Hal'El shortly came upon the Gate. He flicked the reins, and the bullocks were soon at a rumbling gallop. Shouts from the guards ordered him to slow, but Hal'El kept the wagon at a breakneck pace. He raced past the warriors.

  More shouts came to him, this time of a Blend, and arrows were fired at the wagon.

  Hal'El had his Shield ready. The arrows bounced off of it. More came. A few pinged close to the gelding, and Hal'El extended his Shield. Fireballs were thrown, but none of them made an impact either.

  Except for one. Hal'El let it through just as he mounted the gelding and raced off. The wagon took the brunt of the Fireball, and burst into flames. The bullocks screamed in fear and pain. It was the final distraction Hal'El needed as he raced off into the night.

  'Ware wild, wolf winds and

  Hurled lightning from ashen skies.

  A bitter rain falls.

  ~Attribution unknown

  “Is the food not to your liking?” Rector asked, breaking into Jaresh's thoughts. “You were frowning,” he further said.

  “No. The food is fine. I like it,” Jaresh replied. The food was actually quite good. It was traditional Duriah fare, served at a bistro in Trell Rue where he and Rector were having lunch. Jaresh wasn't sure what was more surprising, finding something traditional in fashionable, trendy Trell Rue or the fact that it was Rector Bryce who had asked him for a lunchtime meeting. In the past, they hadn't gotten along very well. After a moment's consideration, he decided it was the latter.