The Castes and the OutCastes: The Complete Trilogy

by Davis Ashura

  Hal'El's jaw clenched at the knowledge. It was said that Karma had a rich sense of humor, but that Justice was more dour. And there could be no Justice in a world where Pera Obbe lived while Varesea Apter was dead. It was almost as revolting as the notion that an imbecile like Pera should escape punishment when others far more clever had become food for the crows.

  “But not nearly so revolting as the fact that a cretin like you still breathes when those far worthier do not,” Sophy spoke into his mind.

  Hal'El shook his head, wishing he could rid himself of the infernal woman. The others began murmuring also, and he tried to ignore their vile mutterings. He had to focus on the here and now, for in the here and now, there was work to be done. In the here and now, there was murder to commit.

  Hal'El returned his attention to the streets when he realized he was approaching his destination, a large home sitting on a corner lot. It wasn't the most sizable house in the neighborhood, but there was an elegance about it, one that spoke of subdued, subtle wealth and good taste. It was so unlike its owner.

  The house was two stories tall with a large wraparound porch, and a single firefly lamp lit the walkway leading up to it. The dark granite making up the bulk of the home shimmered in the rain as did the slate roof tiles. From memory, Hal'El knew that gardens filled the grounds to the rear. He took a moment longer to study the house. This late, all the windows were darkened. There were no lights on.

  Perfect.

  Hal'El's footsteps fell soft as a fawn's and carried him swiftly across the street. He glanced about. There was no one about, and no one was watching. He clambered a low compound wall and stepped into the gloom of the gardens in the back. A few seconds of dull scrapings, hushed and barely heard, and he was inside.

  The wolf amongst the potato-faced sheep.

  Shur Rainfall was glad the room in which the Heavenly Council of the Virtuous met was in a cellar. It was cool down here, which helped prevent nervous sweat from beading on his brow. Had the temperature been even slightly warmer, Shur was certain he would have been covered in a waterfall of sweaty rivulets.

  He took a deep breath. Tonight's meeting of the Virtuous wouldn't be easy. It was their first since the disastrous attack on House Shektan almost a week ago now. That they hadn't been able to meet sooner had much to do with the Watch tearing the city apart trying to find them.

  So many of their members had been killed in the conflict or captured. And for what? A handful of dead Shektan women? The cost to the Virtuous had been too high. Even worse, the entire reason for the attack was now under question. And who would take the blame for these various disasters but he, the leader of the Virtuous. If he wasn't lynched by the six remaining members of the Heavenly Council, it would be a miracle.

  Shur took another steadying breath. “Let us bow our heads and prayer for guidance that we may see Devesh's will more truly.”

  “His will was easily seen a week ago,” said the Rahail. “We need no prayer to give us guidance, not when He sent us as clear a vision as possible last week. We should never have attacked the Shektans.”

  “Rukh Shektan fought the Queen and lived,” said the Cherid. “He bled Her and drove Her away. He is touched by Devesh.” Her voice was filled with fervent passion.

  “And what of Jessira Shektan?” the Sentya asked. “If Rukh has chosen her to be his wife, and Devesh still showers him with grace and glory, what do we make of her?”

  “Nothing has changed,” Shur said with utter certainty. “The OutCastes remain ghrina. Their presence pollutes us all.”

  “Everything has changed. Devesh's touch lingers upon Rukh Shektan's brow,” the Rahail avowed. “And if the Lord accepts someone so polluted, someone who has had congress with a ghrina, then what does that mean for us?”

  “One battle, and you're willing to disregard millennia of teaching?” Shur asked in disgust.

  “You're so sure of yourself that you're willing to disregard something not seen in millennia?” the Cherid sneered. “No one, not even the First Father or the First Mother, the greatest of Devesh's servants, were ever able to oppose the Queen. She slayed Them, and whether They were Her Parents or not, it doesn't matter. We saw a miracle, one that alters everything.”

  “The Word and the Deed has been our guide for all the years of our lives, and those of our forefathers,” Shur began, trying to hold rein on his frustration. “And you're willing to cast it aside because of one supposed battle?” He sneered. “You're like a child seeing a pretty bauble and not recognizing the true worth of a humble hammer, a tool that can raise monuments.”

  “And where has your guidance led us?” the Cherid demanded. “We lost how many of the Virtuous in that disastrous attack?”

  “Their martyrdom will see them safe in Devesh's loving embrace,” Shur spoke piously.

  “Unless the attack wasn't sanctioned by Devesh,” the Rahail said.

  “It was sanctioned!” Shur disagreed. “We did holy work.” He shook his head in disbelief. The splintering of the others' faith was worse than he thought. “When I saw Rukh Shektan defy the Queen, I, too, took it as a sign of Devesh's blessings upon him. But later I realized the truth: it was all a ruse. Think about it. What makes more sense? That Rukh Shektan, a man who is all but a naaja, is touched by Devesh's grace? Or that this same man is secretly of the Sil Lor Kum? That everything we saw was meant to convince us that he was in mortal danger from the Queen? But all along, he knew She wouldn't kill him.”

  “To what purpose?” the Rahail asked.

  “To allow entrance into our city those who are even worse than ghrinas: Chimeras.”

  A silence met his words.

  “You think this might be possible?” the Duriah asked.

  Shur nodded, couching his words carefully. The Virtuous couldn't be forced to the truth. They had to arrive at it on their own. “A day after Rukh 'battled' Suwraith, Baels and Tigons suddenly arrive at our doorstep and are granted a place to stay while the Magisterium dithers over their fate. And who was it that spoke so forcefully on their behalf?” He glanced around. “It was none other than Jessira Shektan, a ghrina who must have poisoned Rukh's mind to the foul teachings of her kind. Why, I bet all the ghrinas are secretly of the Sil Lor Kum.”

  “You're wrong. For reasons known only to Him, Devesh considers Jessira Shektan to be a worthy companion for His Chosen One,” the Rahail disagreed. “After the battle, it was she who went down with the basket to haul Rukh to the top of the Outer Wall. She would allow no one else to go in her place. She loves him, and he loves her. I saw it. It was obvious. And such love cannot spring from the minds of evil.”

  “It is said that Hal'El Wrestiva loved his Rahail consort, Varesea Apter,” Shur reminded them. “To love is to be Human, and even those who are evil can love.”

  “And what of the beams of light?” the Rahail demanded.

  “A trick. Something that has no power but is brilliant to look upon. It is no different than the light of a firefly. Likely Rukh Shektan learned it, either from the Queen, or as part of his naaja-born gifts.”

  “You truly believe everything we saw was a feint?” the Shiyen mused.

  Shur nodded. “I think there is more going on here than any of us realize. Something deeper and more dangerous.” From their thoughtful expressions, he was relieved that they appeared to be returning to his way of thinking. “Our mission is unchanged.”

  “If so, then how do we execute it? Many of our warriors are dead or imprisoned,” the Duriah said. “And the reason for our grievous losses is on your head. It was your plan that led us to such a calamity.”

  “I take full responsibility for what occurred,” Shur said with a twist of his lips. “But in the middle of a storm, it is foolish to change the captain of the ship.”

  “Unless the captain is incompetent and threatens to see his crew drowned,” the Duriah countered.

  Shur gritted his teeth. “You want leadership of the Virtuous?” he asked.

  There was a pregnant pa
use. “No,” the Duriah said, “but your own leadership needs to be curtailed. We are the Heavenly Council, and we had little to no input on the plan to attack the Shektans.”

  “The plan was good,” Shur averred, knowing his statement was stupid the moment the words left his lips.

  “If that was a good plan, then I'd hate to see a poor one,” the Shiyen said with a frown.

  “Who could have known that so many of the Shektan women would be armed, or that they would take up the swords of our fallen?” Shur asked.

  “A canny commander would have known,” the Duriah said. “Next time we attack the OutCastes, or the Shektans, or even Rukh Shektan, we need to be better prepared.”

  The Rahail's chair scraped as he stood. “I am done here,” he said. “What you do goes against Devesh's will. Rukh Shektan is touched by the Lord, and we almost killed his wife. And now we think to attack Devesh's Chosen? You will be forever condemned for such a grave sin. I will have no part in it.” He stood to leave, as did the Cherid and the Sentya.

  A dead quiet commanded the room.

  “Let us discuss this,” Shur pleaded. He hated the whiny tone of his voice. “Surely we can come to an agreement. We are brothers in seeking righteousness.”

  “Then you must accept that what we did was wrong. You must accept that Rukh Shektan is the Chosen One of the Lord. You must accept that our true purpose should be helping him with his divine mission.”

  “Blasphemy!” the Shiyen hissed.

  The Duriah called out as well.

  The Rahail turned to them. “If you believe so, then we have nothing further to talk about.”

  “We do have one final thing,” Shur said, regretting what he next had to do. He nodded to the guards who drew their swords.

  'I would not do that,” the Cherid said, speaking swiftly. “My solicitor and others in my employ have damning information about the Virtuous.”

  Shur held up his hand, halting the guards.

  “If I die in suspicious circumstances, they will mail everything I know about all of you to every Watch captain in the city.” She paused. “And Dar'El Shektan.” She stared Shur in the eyes. “You won't last a day.”

  Shur ground his teeth. He couldn't tell if the woman was bluffing, and if she wasn't, there was nothing he could do to stop her. “You leave us little reason to keep you alive,” he said. “When you leave you will likely tell the authorities all about us anyway. Why shouldn't we have our vengeance on you first?”

  “You can do as you wish, but I'll promise to give you one week to get your affairs in order before I say anything to anyone.” She glanced around the room. “You know we're all marked men and women. The Watch has many of the Virtuous in their custody. The amma of the Chosen One was almost killed. Several members of House Shektan were killed. The Watch and the entire city won't rest until everyone who was responsible is dead.”

  Angry, fearful mutters met her words.

  “Is this true?” the Shiyen asked.

  Shur held still, hating to have to answer. “It's true,” he finally forced out. “Even with all our precautions to keep our names from those who serve below us, a week—maybe a little more—is all we have left before the Watch learns our names.”

  The Rahail glanced around the room. “In that week, I plan on making my peace with House Shektan and the Chosen One while I still can.” He looked to the guards before turning back to Shur. “Do not go against Rukh Shektan or his family. If you do, our swords will be there to meet you.”

  He, the Cherid, and the Sentya all left the room.

  “One week?” the Duriah muttered. “Our lives have lost all purpose.”

  Shur couldn't help but believe the man was right.

  “They're still out there,” Rukh muttered.

  Jessira glanced up from the couch where she'd been concentrating on The Book of First Movement. Normally, Rukh was loath to allow anyone else to handle it, but ever since the Advent Trial, he had taken to setting it aside. He claimed that he wanted nothing more to do with anything that carried religious overtones.

  She could understand why.

  Ever since his battle with Suwraith, there was a constant stream of people near their flat. At all hours of the day, they could be seen standing outside, huddling on the street. No matter the weather or the time, they were there. Usually, they remained quiet as they placed mementos of loved ones who had died or garlands of flowers or sweets or fresh fruit on the flat's front stoop. It was almost like they were making offerings to Devesh and the area before the flat was an altar, which was bad enough, but the worst was when one of those outside prayed to Rukh.

  It was sacrilege, but it was also a sacrilege that Jessira could comprehend. Rukh had battled the Sorrow Bringer, and in the end, it had been the Queen who had screamed.

  Everyone had heard that cry, and it was no wonder that the entire city seemed aflame with religious fervor. Even the normally irreligious Kummas and Cherids had been caught up in the fever of faith.

  Jessira set aside The Book of First Movement and walked to Rukh's side. She pushed aside the curtain and looked out the window. The crowd was small today. Perhaps people were finally finding the ardor of piety too hard to hold onto. Or maybe it was just the rain. She shook her head at those foolhardy enough to stand outside in the drizzle.

  Most of the people out there were Murans, which should have been odd. As a Caste, they were the most religious, and as a Caste, they had also been the ones most opposed to the presence of the OutCastes. But Rukh's actions had changed many of their hearts. In fact, Jessira had even heard a few of them pray to Devesh in her name. Even though she was an OutCaste, simply by being married to Rukh, she had achieved the status of the sacred.

  It was a situation that left her flabbergasted and embarrassed. Jessira knew her worth. She was just a wife, a warrior, and a woman. Nothing more. Those people shouldn't be committing sacrilege in her name.

  Jessira shook her head. Even while she'd been watching, the gathering had grown. The rain was slackening, and to the west, the skies were clear. The crowd would soon be just as large as on any other day, filled with chanting, praying, or those keeping silent vigil.

  “We should move to the House Seat,” Jessira suggested. “At least you'll be able to step outside without being mobbed.”

  “I don't want to bring this . . .” Rukh waved vaguely in the direction on the crowd. “. . . to my parents' doorstep.”

  “It's already there. You saw them when we visited earlier today,” Jessira reminded him. “Besides, they wouldn't consider it trouble. I'm sure they'd understand.”

  “Or maybe the crowds will eventually go away,” Rukh said. “They can't stay here forever.”

  Jessira didn't need their link to know he didn't believe his words.

  “Why don't you want to move in with your parents?” she asked. “What's the real reason?”

  Rukh remained quiet for so long that Jessira wasn't sure he'd heard her question.

  “I've seen Cook Heltin out in the crowd outside,” he finally answered. “She's like family, like an aunt really. I saw Garnet's family out there, too.”

  “And it bothers you that they'll treat you differently, act differently around you?”

  Rukh nodded.

  Jessira crossed over to where he'd taken a seat at the dining table. She sat in his lap and leaned into him. From this position, she was taller, and she held his head against her shoulder, stroking his temple. “She likely will treat you differently because you are different,” Jessira said. Rukh stiffened and she took his face in hands, forcing him to look at her. “I know you want to go back to simply being a Kumma warrior, but it's too late. It's been too late for several years now, and it also isn't the truth, and you know it. You aren't just a Kumma warrior. You're someone who battled the Queen and hurt Her, or at least stopped Her. It does make you different. And that doesn't even touch on everything else you've accomplished.”

  Rukh sighed. “My mind knows that, but my heart doesn't
want to accept it.”

  Jessira tsked in sympathy. Having to deal with a city that insisted on labelling him an iconic figure worthy of worship had to be a heavy burden. Nevertheless, it was one Rukh had to carry, and by extension, she as well. “We can't hide from the truth or wish it away,” she said. “Doing so won't change the situation we're in.”

  “We?”

  Jessira turned his head once more so that he was looking at her. “Priya, in case it's escaped your attention, we're married. So, yes, our situation.”

  Rukh smiled at her mild rebuke “And what would moving into the House Seat accomplish?” he asked.

  “We'll have time and space to figure out what to do next.”

  Rukh chuckled. “That's your answer. Time and space to figure out what to do next?”

  Jessira grinned. “It's trite. I know, but do you have a better idea?”

  “How is she? Jaresh asked, having just returned from a meeting with Rector Bryce.

  “She's resting,” Nanna said. “I expected Bryce. Where is he? I wanted a full report on these so-called Virtuous.” His voice held an atypical impatience. “I want to know who they are.”

  “He got called away,” Jaresh answered. “He said he'd come by to give you a report when he was free.”

  Nanna scowled before turning away. He stared out the window of his study with a look of frustrated anger on his face. “When we find them, we'll send them straight to the unholy hells.”

  Jaresh understood and shared his nanna's fury. He, too, wanted to find the animals who had attacked the Shektan women. The Virtuous was what they called themselves. It was a patently absurd descriptor, and shortly after the Advent Trial, they had published a manifesto detailing why they had done as they had. But no amount of sophistry or explanation could obviate their heinous crimes. As soon as they were captured, they needed to be fed to the crows. It was how Jaresh reckoned matters. The rest of the family and House felt the same way.