by Davis Ashura
Once more, silence reigned in the small copse. Li-Choke stared at Chak-Soon as though he had never before seen the Tigon. Grief and amazement warred in equal measures upon the Bael's face.
Aia also found herself impressed by Chak-Soon's words. He knew the entirety of what he was, of what his kind were, and it shamed him. Nevertheless, he sounded determined to somehow overcome those flaws in his forging. There was also something to the manner in which he spoke that touched Aia's fierce Kesarin soul. Rukh would have said that there was poetry trapped in the heart of the Tigon, hidden away behind his disgusting features.
Shon nodded. *You know yourself,* he said. *So you also know why we will aways mistrust you. Your hearts were carved with runnels of savagery that we don't possess and can't understand.*
*And that is why we will cling even more firmly to the ideals of fraternity, of service rather than mastery, of peace over battle. We*—he gestured to the small party of Tigons with him, twenty or so—*have taken up the mantle of brotherhood, and it is a terrible burden and blessing that we will never set aside.*
Aia quirked a smile at Shon and Thrum. *Not all beings are meant to be brothers,* she said. *Some are sisters, and we're generally the more intelligent of the two.*
Shon whoofed in amusement while Thrum flicked his tail in annoyance. Li-Choke grinned.
*Are you satisfied now?* Shon asked Thrum, giving him a meaningful glance.
Aia's ears perked. It was a strange turn to the conversation, and she wasn't sure what Shon was referring to. Thrum, however, had settled on his haunches and no longer seemed so aggressive, so ready to unsheathe claws and go for the throat. Aia frowned in consternation.
Thrum shrugged, a twitching of his coat. *They needed testing,* he said to Shon.
Realization dawned in Aia's mind. It had all been a pose, a playacting on both their parts, especially that of Thrum. He had never been angry or out of control. It had all been a ploy meant to force the Tigons to reveal their true nature. Shon, apparently, had been aware of it the entire time.
Aia settled on her own haunches, surprised by her brothers' cleverness, especially Thrum's. It seemed she had badly misjudged him. Perhaps Thrum did possess the attributes needed to lead the Hungrove Glaring.
*By testing them, we now have a better sense of the situation,* Thrum continued before turning to Aia. *And you would still be foolish to let them accompany us. You heard what they are. They admitted it with their own voices.*
*And you still need to learn to listen without prejudice,* Aia said. *Yes, we know who the Tigons are. We have always known this. And now we know they possess the self-awareness to recognize this truth as well.* She tilted her head to the side. *More importantly, are we to refute the evidence from our own eyes and memory? Or do you not remember that it was many of these same Tigons who attacked and destroyed a small glaring of Nosnakes in order to save three Human females? They weren't barbarous in that battle. At no time did any of them stop to feast upon the Nosnakes.* Aia turned to Li-Choke. *The Tigons can come with us, but first you must tell us everything. What is the true reason behind this sudden desire to go to Ashoka?*
Li-Choke hesitated. His grip tightened on his trident, and he seemed on the verge of refusing Aia's request. All at once, his head stooped low. His hold on his trident loosened, and he stared at the ground, apparently unable to meet her gaze. *We are fleeing,* Choke said, his words a whisper.
Shon startled. *Fleeing? Why? Have you displeased your SarpanKum in some way?*
*We flee on orders of our SarpanKum,* Choke said with a sigh. *I cannot speak of all that will occur, but you know the Queen, the Demon Wind will come for Ashoka?* He glanced at the three Kesarins, waiting for their affirmations before continuing. *We seek to slow down Her plans.*
*How?* Aia asked.
*I cannot tell you,* Choke replied. *I am bound by oaths to my SarpanKum, but understand this: our lives will shortly be forfeit should Mother discover us while we are still in the Wildness.*
Thrum's tail swished in either agitation or sudden insight. *You plan on doing something unwise,* he guessed. *Something dangerous, something that that will earn the Demon Wind's fury. As a result, you seek shelter in Ashoka.*
Li-Choke nodded in answer.
Shon glanced in apparent confusion at the several hundred Bael and score of Tigons. *But what about the other Baels and Tigons? Why were you the only ones chosen to escape?*
*Because the SarpanKum thinks we are the best of our two races, the ones most attuned to the teachings of Hume. He believes we are the ones most worthy of saving.*
Fluxed and foiled are those who marry immorality with selfishness. No matter the riches they earn in this life, their endings are always writ with penury.
~Our Lives Alone by Asias Athandra, AF 331
The sun made a brief visitation early on the morning of the Advent Trial, but shortly thereafter, a bank of heavy, cold clouds moved in. They were gray as winter and stretched from horizon to horizon, concealing the world beneath a blanket of dismal dullness and unseasonably chill weather. High up on the Outer Wall, it was even colder. There, a whipping wind raised goosebumps on the skin of those who had dressed for Ashoka's normal springtime warmth. The scent of rain was in the air, and the pennons decorating the Outer Wall in honor of the four military academies clapped loudly in the breeze.
“First Mother, that wind is cold,” Bree exclaimed.
Jessira glanced at her sister-in-law and smiled. How similar Bree's words were to what Rukh might have said. The two of them didn't see it, but in many ways, they were very much alike. After all, how many times had Rukh complained of the cold on the way to Stronghold? Then again, perhaps in this—their dislike of weather that was anything less than perfect—maybe Rukh and Bree were merely like the rest of their kind. The Purebloods weren't weak, but they were soft. Or at least they liked to complain a lot about that which was out of their control.
Jessira did feel pity for the warriors of the Advent Trial, though. They would have no cover from the cold. They'd be exposed to the elements out on the wide expanse of relatively open land beyond Ashoka's borders. Jessira turned her gaze to study the terrain. For a distance of several miles, the ground surrounding the Outer Wall had been denuded of all trees and shrubs. It was a bare plain of grass meant to prevent an invading Plague of Chimeras from approaching the Outer Wall unabated. Flocks of wild sheep kept the field thinned and trimmed, and of course, the ovines themselves had to also be periodically trimmed and thinned since no natural predators were allowed near the city limits.
“This view is horrible,” Bree said in further complaint to no one in particular. “It's unforgivable what we were offered.”
Jessira understood the other woman's frustration, even though she didn't share it.
The women of House Shektan held a portion of the Wall just north of Sunset Gate. It wasn't the finest of vantage points—most of the battles would occur miles further north, in an area closer to the midway point between Sunset and Twilight Gates—but it was all that had been offered to them.
The poor seating was a scandal, a calculated insult on the part of the ticketing brokers. Many of them were devout, and apparently, they were still furious with House Shektan for its role in obtaining sanctuary for the OutCastes. This less than ideal location was their way of expressing that anger and unhappiness.
However, the actions of the brokers had led to further bruised feelings. Many Shektans were determined to seek retribution against them for what they had done.
Jessira, however, wasn't as offended as the rest of the House. She was long-since inured to such insults. She had certainly endured far worse during her time in Ashoka. Most of the city had come to accept the OutCastes, but there were still a thorny few who continued to find their presence anathema. They were certain to still harbor ill will, and Jessira hoped that the reprobates eventually learned reason. Until that happened, such slights were simply part of what it meant to be an OutCaste in Ashoka. This was just anot
her one, and one that Jessira really didn't care much about.
Jessira shivered just then. It wasn't because of the cold, though. Nor was it the wind. It was something else, a foreboding that Jessira couldn't properly name or identify. Perhaps it had something to do with the upcoming Advent Trial.
Rukh would be out there in the midst of it, outside the protections of the Outer Wall. He had been chosen by his fellow Martial Masters of the House of Fire and Mirrors to act as a lieutenant and lead a small group of Trims in the Advent Trial. It was a high honor, and while Jessira was proud of Rukh and happy for him, she also found herself worried for his safety.
She closed her eyes and prayed to the First Mother for him. She also prayed to the First Father and Devesh.
“I'd really be happy if this unholy wind would die down just a bit,” Bree complained again.
“If you think this is chilly, you should have tried to take a swim in Teardrop Lake,” Jessira said with a chuckle. “Even in the middle of summer, with the air warm and the sun high up in the sky, the water was cold enough to resuscitate the dying. I loved it.” She didn't realize she wore a regretful, reflective expression until Sign pointed it out.
Jessira smiled, but her thoughts had turned to Stronghold and remained there. Remembering her fallen home still brought with it a prayerful need and a crying hurt, but more and more often, the pain had become a distant ache, a bittersweet recollection on the happy home she had once known. Jessira sometimes missed the more intense longing and sorrow she had felt immediately after, and for many months following Stronghold's death. Those stronger emotions, no matter how hurtful, more powerfully reminded her of the ones she had loved and who were forever gone now from this world.
Jessira knew the Lord cradled those she loved in His singing light, and it comforted her . . . but still. Just one more time to hug her amma, to be held by her nanna, to tease her nieces and nephews and brothers. Jessira wished she could have done all of that and let them know how much she loved them.
Jessira closed her eyes and sent aloft a prayer to Devesh. She prayed for the souls of her lost loved ones, begging that they be sheltered in the Lord's divine Grace. And she prayed for the life of her husband, Rukh, who stood outside of Ashoka's Oasis. She didn't like it. He was beyond her means to help, but Devesh could see him safe.
Rector Bryce pulled his coat close about him in the face of the cold, fitful breeze. His layered clothing kept off the chill, but he still grimaced. A ceiling of gray clouds had banished the early morning sun, and the promise of an icy rain had left the city cold and damp. The day was reminiscent of the endless drab, dreary, and depressing winter of Arjun, an experience he recalled with nothing approaching fondness.
Such weather had no place in Ashoka during the spring.
Rector tugged his coat tighter about him. At least he'd been smart enough to dress warmly. It was a wisdom that many others standing on the Outer Wall likely wished for. Bree Shektan for one. Even now, she was complaining about the unaccountably cold weather.
Rector listened with vague interest as Jessira made a comment about some lake near her home, but he didn't bother concerning himself with any reply that Sign Deep or Bree might have made in return. It was immaterial to his current obligation.
Normally, Rector would have been down by the Sunset Gate—the southwestern egress through the Outer Wall—and watching it in the company of his fellow warriors. It was both an expectation and an honor for the veterans of the Trials to do so. There, down at the Sunset or Twilight Gate, they would stand shoulder to shoulder and welcome this year's Trims as the latest members to their brotherhood. For Rector, it would have been doubly important to be down by the Sunset Gate. As an officer in the Ashokan Guard, he was also required to closely monitor the actions of the Trims and their commanders. It was his duty to search out any possible deficiencies in leadership and execution, to find the fatal flaws that might lead to the defeat of Ashoka's warriors in the field. It was a task that Rector took quite seriously—as did all his fellow officers—but it was a commitment that didn't feel like an unwanted obligation. It was a duty that Rector revered.
In truth, he had always loved the Advent Trial. From his earliest memories as a young boy he had loved it. Later on, Rector had developed a more personal stake in the matter as a student at the House of Fire and Mirrors. And now, he cherished the Advent Trial for what it meant to those young Trims who were even at this moment out beyond Ashoka's Outer Wall. Their banded brotherhood—the lifetime of camaraderie and fellowship that all warriors shared—would have its birth today.
During the Advent Trial, there were no Houses or even Castes. There was no rivalry between the House of Fire and Mirrors, the Fort and the Sword, the Sarath, or the Shir'Fen. All who participated in the Advent Trial were brothers: Kummas, Murans, and Rahails alike.
A possibility came to Rector then. It slipped away, and he had to chase it down and hold it still. He replayed his thoughts, and when he truly understood their import, Rector nearly rocked back on his heels. His ideas were so similar to what Rukh claimed to be in the hearts of the Baels, and their secret alliance with Humanity. Rector wondered if the horned leaders of the Chimeras could truly experience such an exalted emotion as fraternity. It seemed so bizarre, so unlikely.
A moment later, he snorted in self-mockery when he caught sight of Jessira Shektan. Then again, how unlikely was it that a ghrina—over a hundred of them—in fact, would find acceptance in Ashoka? Perhaps there were more unlikely events in this suddenly strange and larger world.
“I know you wish you were down below with the rest of the veterans,” Satha Shektan said, coming alongside him, “but you and the others truly were chosen by lots. It wasn't because Dar'El decided to punish you further.”
Rector smiled, relieved to hear the news. In truth, he had wondered, even suspected, that the reason he was up here on the Outer Wall with the women of the House was because Dar'El intended further humiliations on him, that the ruling 'El of House Shektan had yet to truly forgive him. Rector was gratified to learn that it was otherwise.
“At least from up here we'll have a better view,” he said, forcing a light tone that he'd didn't necessarily feel.
“I'm sure you will,” Satha said. “I'll let you get back to your work.” Her message delivered, she turned away and rejoined the rest of the House Shektan women.
Rector watched her retreating back, glad to see that Satha's sharp-tongued aspersions no longer seemed to be aimed in his direction. Life was so much easier without her wickedly barbed words. Of course, Bree could be almost as cutting as her amma, and she remained cool to him. He supposed he deserved her distrust, but he was glad she was at last showing some signs of thawing. Earlier in the morning, she had made a mild quip at his expense. It hadn't been sarcastic or mean-spirited. It had been a simple joke, and then she'd turned away.
Rector shook his head, trying to return his attention to the task to which he had been assigned.
He and nine other warriors of House Shektan had been charged with looking after the women of the House. The ten of them were essentially up here to make sure that no one got too rowdy or forgot themselves in the haze of drunkenness and made inappropriate comments to the women. It was a simple assignment. Even a drunk remembered enough not to cause trouble for a sword-bearing Kumma.
Rector expected today to be no different, but a feeling came over him just then, a sense of a storm. Something filled the air. Hateful. Hidden. Violent.
He studied the crowd, the way it moved, the shifting islands of silence, the loud conversations. He narrowed his eyes, trying to determine what had him so disturbed.
There was nothing obvious. The crowd appeared unchanged. Those nearest to him still laughed and joked with one another as they placed bets on the outcome of the Advent Trial. All seemed utterly normal, and the feeling faded . . . but not entirely.
Rector was worried. His instincts had been honed from his time on the City Watch, and he had learned to trust these n
iggling suspicions.
There!
It had come again. It was a sensation that he had once known all too well, and one he had almost managed to forget. But here it was again in a setting where it had no place. It was an unappealing energy that he'd prayed to never again experience. It was the electric, nauseating stench that charged the air just prior to a battle.
Rector's brows furrowed in disquiet. This was Ashoka, and such a sensation shouldn't exist here. He shook his head, trying to shake off his suspicious thoughts or at least understand them better. He stared about, trying to discern the source of his ill feelings. He couldn't locate it, but of this he was certain: there was a strangeness to the crowd, a terrible sense of impending violence and promised death. It was invisible and unknowable, but it was there.
Rector glanced at the other Shektan warriors, seeing if they had picked up on his alarm.
They hadn't. They stood behind their charges, relaxed and unworried.
“You feel it, too?” Jessira asked, sidling up next to him.
Rector nodded, unsurprised that Rukh's wife would sense what his brother warriors apparently did not. After all, Jessira had once been a Stronghold scout. She and her kind had survived centuries without an Oasis. Jessira had spent more time in the Wildness than anyone in all of Ashoka, and she had done so with what the Murans and Rahails described as a wholly inadequate Blend. Her instincts were likely as finely tuned as Rector's, and whatever had her bothered had to be taken seriously.
“Keep close,” Rector whispered. “Pass the word on to the other women. Do it quietly. I'll fill in the warriors.”
