The Castes and the OutCastes: The Complete Trilogy

by Davis Ashura

  The imagery was a welter of confusing memories, and many of them fled from his mind as soon as he saw them, but Rukh didn't care. Insight had come to him. He knew what was needed. With a desperate lunge, Rukh combined Shield, Blend, and Bow. He was encased in an Oasis.

  The Queen lifted skyward as She overtook him. She became a rising mountain before descending like rumbling avalanche.

  Rukh barely held onto consciousness as the Sorrow Bringer pounded into him. His Oasis flickered, firmed, and grew stronger as a presence came upon him, ancient, puissant, but so very tired.

  Jessira noted that all along the Outer Wall's length, rope ladders and large baskets had been lowered. Warriors from the Advent Trial clambered up on their own or were carried to safety, but there were many more who hadn't yet arrived. Rukh was amongst those who still ran for the security of the Outer Wall.

  She could sense him out there, along with a number of other Blends still beyond Ashoka's bounds. When they drew close enough, Jessira was able to Link with them, and a hundred or so warriors suddenly snapped into view. They sprinted for the Outer Wall. Though their features weren't discernible, Jessira imagined the desperation carved into their faces. They were so close. Only a few hundred more yards to go.

  Jessira implored them on, urging them to greater speed even as Suwraith surged forward. The Sorrow Bringer aimed unerringly for the closest cluster of warriors.

  “Devesh save them,” Jessira breathed.

  Moments later, the Queen reached the platoon. Arrows were fired into Her and through Her. She paid them no attention. She arched skyward before slamming down. The thunder from Her lightning was nothing compared to the noise when She hammered the ground. A cloud of dirt and grass erupted upward and outward. Even before the debris had settled, ten or so warriors could be seen lying in shattered poses of death.

  “Mercy,” Sign whispered in a hushed tone.

  Another platoon was targeted.

  “What's happening out there?” one of the Shektan matrons demanded. “And what's that awful cloud?”

  “Suwraith is attacking the remaining platoons on the plain,” Jessira answered, keeping her tone as flat and inflectionless as possible. If she allowed the fear surging inside her even the slightest outlet, it would take her. It would do no one any good if she were to panic.

  The matron gasped. “Can you see what's happening?”

  Jessira nodded.

  Another cloud of dust rose heavenward.

  “Another platoon has been destroyed,” Sign said, her voice also inflectionless.

  The entire Outer Wall was silent.

  Bree arrived at their side. “Amma has been evacuated,” she said. “I wanted to be with her, but she insisted I stay here and find out what's happening to Rukh.”

  “He's still out there,” Jessira said to her.

  Another group of warriors died.

  “How much farther do the other warriors have?” the matron asked.

  “Not far,” Jessira replied as Suwraith made Her way to the next set of Trims. She gasped when, from that platoon, a single warrior broke away.

  He ran away from the other warriors and away from Ashoka. He ran in the one direction that would lead to his certain destruction. He ran toward the Queen. He threw Fireballs that lit into the Sorrow Bringer. He threw more Fireballs, and just as the warrior must have intended, the Queen altered Her path. She turned and gave chase, racing after the warrior who had challenged Her might.

  A hollowness, a pain beyond sorrow, a fear beyond panic, a soul-aching loss took hold of Jessira. She knew the warrior who was sprinting away.

  “Are all the warriors safe then?” the elderly matron asked, sounding surprised “Is that why the Queen has turned aside?”

  “No,” Sign replied. “She's chasing a single warrior. He's leading Her away from the others. Giving them a chance to win through.”

  Astonished mutterings arose as Sign's words were passed down the line. Every inch of the Outer Wall was taken up by those watching the drama unfolding down below.

  “What courage,” someone murmured in awe. “What bravery,” added another. Similar sentiments could be heard from many more.

  “Whoever it is, he must be a Kumma,” the elderly matron standing next to Jessira declared. “He is doing as he was born and bred to do.” She gave a proud, satisfied nod. An instant later, her satisfaction fell away as understanding took hold. “A Blended Kumma? Oh no.” She shot Jessira a look of pity.

  Jessira heard all this as though from a great distance. Her attention was solely dedicated to what was happening to her husband.

  Sizzling bolts of lightning chased after Rukh, but somehow, he dodged them. He dodged them again.

  The Queen gave a noise of frustration, a sound heard all the way to the Wall. More bolts came but they, too, missed.

  Jessira urged Rukh on to greater speed, praying Devesh would give him a chance to survive.

  The Queen moved even slower now, barely floating over the ground. She moved languidly, as if She was enjoying the chase. The Sorrow Bringer followed on Rukh's heels, closing the gap by incremental margins. He raced as swiftly as he could, but Suwraith was swifter. She bridged the distance, slowly, steadily, inexorably. In the last twenty feet, She rushed forward, a cloud-shaped tidal wave. She folded over Rukh, hiding him from view. From within Her bruised-colored form, lightning flashed in a seemingly endless discharge.

  It was over.

  Jessira keened, unable to hold in the agony.

  The Oasis held. Somehow, miraculously, it held. Though fragile as gossamer—the puff of a butterfly might have blown it apart—Rukh sustained it with his aching need.

  Despite lightning bleeding all around him. Despite the flood of arcing light and rasping hornets. Despite ground melted to glass, it held. Rukh's stubborn core remained resolute and unyielding. He told himself that he would keep ahold of the Oasis for as long as Time's arch stood. He told himself that dissolution wasn't an option. He told himself that he would see this greatest test of his life through to the end.

  However, while Rukh's mind was willing, his body was reaching its breaking point. His heart pounded faster than that of a rabbit chased by a wolf. It couldn't go on. And Jivatma, too, was finite. Rukh's Well was draining. Despite his desire, even if his body was able, he knew he wouldn't be able to maintain the Oasis for another five minutes, much less all the length of Time.

  In that moment, the Queen must have sensed his weakening resolve. She poured forth Her cascading lightning ever more furiously. It was an endless sheet of ragged, white lace mixed with a high-pitched, tortured animal scream. The smell of hair and flesh alight was sickening, and Rukh realized it was his own body burning.

  The ground seemed to tremble, and Rukh's vision faded in and out. He panted. Sweat dripped in a waterfall down his back. His heart felt ready to rupture. Muscles became heavy with fatigue. Rukh's will began to crack. The inevitable was about to occur. The Oasis was about to fail.

  He had nothing left to give. With his strength fading, Rukh's thoughts turned to Jessira, his family, his love for them. It was those memories that saved him. Remembering them rekindled his will, and Rukh firmed the Oasis just as spears of stone plunged upward. Like stabbing knives, they thrust at him. His will hardened as the granite bones of the earth pressed against the edge of his Oasis. He refused to allow them purchase. They shattered with a sharp crack, and the rubble slid off in the grating scream.

  Rukh gasped with the gratefulness of a drowning man reaching air and realized that the strength of the Oasis was a matter of his will. If he was strong enough, he might prolong the battle a few minutes longer. In the end, it might not matter—it likely wouldn't—but for now, every breath was a boon and every heartbeat a gift.

  Rukh bit down and gritted his teeth. He would do this. He would hang on for as long as he could. He would last to the very point where his Jivatma gave way. His will would not be the weak link in the forging of his miraculous Oasis.

  Time passe
d. How long, Rukh didn't know. Life was an agony of blazing, white light from the lightning. It pulsed past his eyelids. Even with both arms shielding them, the light bled through. Thunder pealed, felt and no longer heard. It became a deep-seated rumble of pain. His senses were overwhelmed, and Rukh huddled inside himself. He curled about like a beaten dog waiting for the torment to end. More time passed, and Rukh dared dream that the lightning fell more slowly now. It was almost imperceptible at first, but eventually it became impossible to miss. Seconds later, with a stutter, the lightning failed.

  Rukh opened his eyes, hoping they hadn't been burned out. The world was ghostly white. He blinked, over and over again, seeking to clear his sight. He still saw nothing but white. Rukh shut his eyes tight and rubbed them. He blinked some more. This time when he opened his eyes, blurred shapes and colors met his vision. They became recognizable as distinct objects and forms. Rukh blinked again, and the world finally sharpened. Every now and then, though, it blurred, appearing as if seen through a film of water.

  Rukh levered himself upright with a groan. His thoughts were a mix of pain and relief that the torment was over. Memory slipped away. He wasn't sure where he was or how he had got here.

  Rukh glanced about. Around him was a perfect circle of black glass. Smoke drifted across a broad plain, torn and littered with bodies that flopped like grotesque puppets. Memory started to return. The bodies belonged to the young warriors the Queen had slain. They danced across the ground, caught in the clutches of Suwraith's hurricane wind. More memory came back.

  He had been overwhelmed by the Sorrow Bringer, caught in an unending wave of light and sound, pain and madness. Only the thin, invisible shell of his Oasis had kept him safe. The Queen had tried to crack it open, but She had failed. No. That wasn't quite right. Suwraith hadn't failed. She'd simply stopped. Where was She then, and why was She no longer attacking?

  Rukh spotted Her roiling twenty or thirty feet above him. She must have drifted upward, spitting him out like the pit of a peach. Her bruise color had turned black, and the snarl of a frustrated wolf pack echoed across the plain.

  Rukh watched as She rose even higher.

  “Who are you?” a voice like tearing flesh demanded in a booming shout.

  In another time, Rukh might have been amazed. Suwraith had actually spoken to him. In all the long years since the Night of Sorrows, two millennia ago, how many times had there been an occurrence like this? Rukh reached for his strength and managed to clamber to his feet. He would not meet such a momentous occasion like a turtle on his back or a coward on his knees. As he swayed about, almost losing his balance more than once, he looked to his home. The Blacks and all the other platoons had made it safely to the city. Even now, they climbed the Outer Wall.

  Rukh smiled in joyous disbelief. He'd done it. He'd held out long enough for the others to win through and survive. His eyes narrowed as he realized he himself was only yards away from safety. He began to wonder if he might reach the refuge of the Outer Wall as well.

  “Who are you, wretched Human!” the Queen screamed at him. “Answer Me, or know My unending wrath!”

  Rukh turned back to Suwraith, the enormity of his situation finally breaking through the fog of his fatigue and pain. His mouth was bone dry. He cleared his throat, managing to work some moisture back into it. “No one of consequence,” he croaked. He wore a weak, uncertain grin. Why had he chosen to yank the Queen's braids like that? It was foolish.

  But then again, what difference would it make? What could the Sorrow Bringer actually do to him? Kill him? Sure She could, but so what? Dead was dead.

  Suwraith seemed to inhale sharply. “You dare mock Me?”

  “Mock You? No,” Rukh replied. He reconsidered his words. “Or maybe yes, but I'm too tired and thirsty to care about manners.” Rukh was suddenly quite weary of the Queen's presence. Why couldn't She simply leave him in peace? He just wanted to go home. “Now, if you don't mind, I'm going home for a drink and a nap,” he added.

  The Queen hissed in outrage. “How dare you speak to Me in such an insolent fashion, ignorant worm,” Suwraith growled even as She paused for a moment, seemingly collecting Her thoughts. “You're right,” She said a moment later, as if She were speaking to someone else. “A worm is too good for the likes of him. You are nothing more than the entrails of an insect, you miserable cretin, and Insect shall be your name. The world entire shall know of your fate. All will learn of how I ended you, Insect, and men will speak of your passing with hushed breaths of horror for a thousand years!”

  Rukh had long ago stopped listening to the Sorrow Bringer. His fogged thoughts remained, but they had clarified enough for him to make some realizations. He was alive, and though he was far from safe, an opportunity had presented itself. Rukh took deep, controlled breaths. He inhaled through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. His heart settled. His breathing steadied. He needed as much of his remaining strength as possible.

  Currently, two paths were open to him. In one, he could continue fighting the Sorrow Bringer. He could match his will to Hers, his fading Jivatma against Her seemingly limitless power and hope for the best. The other path . . . not every battle could be won, and the wise warrior knew when to retreat.

  The Queen reared back like a striking cobra. “Die, Insect!” She cried out.

  Rukh didn't bother waiting for Her blow. Instead, he ran. He ran as fast as he could. He headed straight for Ashoka. For some reason, the Queen did not immediately give pursuit. Instead, after he took off running, She remained strangely silent and motionless. Many moments later, She announced Her fury with a scream to tear the bark off a tree.

  Rukh silently thanked Her as She gave pause to howl out imprecations and promises of dire retribution. Her threats didn't matter, though. Nothing did but this final race of the day. Hope kindled. He was already halfway to the Outer Wall. Keep screaming at me, he urged. Every second the Queen wasted raging at him brought him that much closer to safety. Just a little longer . . .

  It was not to be.

  The Queen finally got Her wits about Her. She chased after him, screaming like a demented banshee.

  Rukh could sense Her pitiless presence rearing closer and closer. She was almost on top of him. His Oasis wouldn't last long against Her power this time. His Jivatma was thin as old cotton. He felt Her descent and darted aside. The Queen hammered the earth, barely missing him.

  She came at him again, this time from at the same level as his height. There would be no evading Her this time. Rukh wanted to cry out in frustration. The Outer Wall was so close.

  He looked for something, anything, that might slow the Queen. Fireballs and Blends wouldn't help. With the desperation of a dying man offered a sodden log to hold him aloft, Rukh grasped at the only Talent left to try.

  Rukh held onto his Oasis, but drew even more Jivatma, almost the last dregs. He formed a Bow. He cupped it in his hands. He had no idea what to do with it, or what it might do. With a shrug, he struck the string that linked the limbs of the Bow. When he did so, a liquid light like quicksilver flew across the intervening space between him and the Queen.

  It struck Suwraith, and the most astonishing thing occurred.

  Lightning shattered against the Queen. It pierced Her, lanced Her, and the Sorrow Bringer screamed. It wasn't a scream of pain, however. Instead, it was cry of fear and fury.

  “You can't be alive!” Suwraith cried out as if She was being tortured. “You're dead!” She reared back from Rukh, and the lightning ebbed. “Who are you, Human?” the Queen demanded. “Tell me true this time.”

  Rukh didn't answer. There was no need.

  “You will answer Me,” the Queen cried out, reaching for him again.

  Rukh formed another Bow and struck the string. Again, liquid light shot forth and collided with the Queen. Again came the lightning, and again came Her screams of frustrated fury.

  Rukh exulted. He had no idea what he was doing to the Queen, but so long as it halted Her progress, he was over
joyed. Only a few more yards to go, and he would be safe.

  Rukh steadily worked his way back to Ashoka. He no longer had the energy to run, so, instead, he walked. His Well was almost empty. He could no longer maintain an Oasis and imbue his movements with greater speed.

  The Queen advanced once more, moving in slow, sinuous lines like a snake. “You are not who I feared you to be,” She hissed. “The one I fear is dead. I saw to it myself.”

  Rukh had enough Jivatma for one last Bow. With its creation, his Well was tapped out. The Oasis collapsed. The Queen hurled forward. Rukh desperately plucked the string and the quicksilver bolt shot forth.

  Again, the Queen was struck. She growled anger and paused momentarily. It was only an instant, but it was long enough to last a lifetime.

  Rukh reached for the last of his stamina and sprinted the final fifteen feet to sanctuary. He fell forward, rolling until his face was pressed against the Outer Wall. Salvation was his.

  The Queen raged at him from only a few feet away, impotent now since Ashoka's own Oasis utterly halted Her might.

  Rukh no longer cared one way or the other.

  He was tired, and he hurt. He slumped to his side and fell unconscious.

  Shur Rainfall gritted his teeth, holding back a scream of frustration and outrage. How could Devesh have allowed such a catastrophic calamity to occur? Even now, it was impossible to accept how completely the Virtuous had been routed. They had lost nearly all their finest warriors. All but a handful had been killed or captured in the disastrous attack on the Shektan women.