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Chapter 44



The sword was still embedded in the stone.

Ashok had come to this terrace to think, and to be tempted.

The Creator’s Cove was safe for now. With the rebels’ great store of magic, the slaves turned wizards had held the tunnel. Afterward, Ashok had delivered the dead bearer’s body back to his army. Once he declared who he was, and that he had defeated Bharatas, the Akershani warriors had fallen back. They had probably reasoned that if they continued to attack, Ashok would destroy their sacred sword. He would never make such a dishonorable threat, but why would the warriors assume otherwise? By now they must have heard that he had shattered an ancestor blade before. He was the Black Heart, Ashok Sword Breaker, the most feared and hated criminal in the world.

It was an odd feeling, to be despised by so many.

The fires had been put out. Their dead gathered, the injured tended. Over the ensuing days many of the wounded had succumbed to their wounds and gone on to the great nothing beyond. Despite their losses, the faithful were happy to have survived. Yet they were still afraid, and Ashok knew not what to do about that. Their hiding place was found. Their priest was dead. Their Voice had gone to some unknown destination. Ashok had saved their lives, but he didn’t understand how to lift their spirits.

The first snow clouds were in the air. Wherever Thera and the Sons had gone, it was unlikely they would be able to make it back before these mountains were cut off from the rest of the world for a season. Ashok had to decide what to do, and quickly. Would he leave these people defenseless to be slaughtered in the spring, or leave and try to find the woman he was obligated to protect?

It was difficult being a free man. When he followed the Law, all the difficult decisions had been made for him. Freedom required conscience. That was a dangerous thing.

Far down the terraces, deep in the crater, Ashok sat in front of a boulder with a sword in it, pondering, and not finding any good answers.

Someone was walking down the lane, which curled like a screw down the interior of the Cove. Even though they were barefoot, Ashok heard the footsteps while they were still very far away. A motherly casteless woman approached, nervous and hesitant. “General Ashok, sir? I’ve a message for you.”

He didn’t recognize her, but that was not unusual as there had been a great multitude that had joined the faithful while he had been in Fortress. From her necklace hung a carved wooden hook, a symbol of Ashok’s returning to life upon Sikasso’s meat hook. He didn’t care for the constant reminder of that agony, but it meant something to the faithful, and many of them had taken to wearing that symbol.

“A message from who?”

“Keta, the Keeper of Names.”

Ashok had cremated Keta’s body upon a funeral pyre so recently that his clothing still smelled of smoke. Only the casteless was not speaking of ghosts, as she held out a piece of paper, folded, with a wax seal.

“We found it in his things. Your name is on it. I think he wrote it when he figured we were ’bout to die.”

Ashok took the letter, broke the seal, and read.


Ashok,

If you are reading this I am gone. This ink may be wasted, for many believe you have already preceded me to the other side, but I have faith you still live and will find your way back to us. When last we spoke I begged you not to duel Devedas, but you always do what you must. I know that is why the gods picked you.

I have hidden the Book of Names in a place you will suspect to look. Javed must take it now and carry on that vital work.

With me gone, Thera will need you more than ever before. Protect her and the gods will protect us all. Nothing else matters. Accept the blessings they offer you, and they will provide a way for you to fulfill your obligation. When you are done we will meet again in the paradise the gods have prepared for their faithful servants.

Your friend always,

Keta


The casteless woman was walking away, but Ashok asked, “Why do you try to deceive me?”

She flinched, seemingly afraid. “What? What do you mean, General Ashok? Have I given offense?”

Too tired to be angry, Ashok held up the letter. “Keta did not write this.”

“I don’t know. I just found it with your name on it and—”

“It is a rare casteless who could even read my name. You are literate?”

She put her hands together, bowing and begging, as a real casteless would instinctively do. “Some of us get taught to read. Keta could. Some learn in secret, like me.”

“This letter is not Keta’s words. It reads like the man’s sermons, but not the man himself. His handwriting would be known to any who have seen the genealogy, and easily forged.”

“Apologies. I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Accept the blessings they offer me? Timely counsel, as I visit this place every day, deciding if I should try to take up a second ancestor blade.” Ashok gestured toward where Akerselem waited. “Wondering if it will find me worthy, or be insulted, and leave me maimed or dead. Am I still a bearer? Did the black steel itself send Bharatas to test me?”

“That’s all beyond me. I’m a simple—”

Ashok cut her off. “Why do you wish for me to draw the sword, Mother Dawn?”

Her demeanor changed immediately as the act was dropped. This was no mere groveling casteless, but rather someone with secret knowledge beyond them all, and the pride to match. “I am caught. How did you know?”

“The mysterious woman who arranges the way, who sets many on converging paths. You come and go as you please, and distance is no matter. To some you appear a warrior, others a worker, young, old, it matters not. Always somehow knowing the unknowable and guiding the faithful to where they need to be. When we met the first time, you wore the face of a crone, and offered advice I needed to hear.”

She returned and sat on the grass across from him, seeming to enjoy the opportunity to talk freely. “That’s not the first time we met, merely the first time I introduced myself. I have been there your entire life, in one form or another, for you are the most important of them all, the pinnacle of generations.”

“You are not the Forgotten.”

“No. But I knew him once.”

“What are you really, then?”

“I am whatever I need to be for whoever I am trying to guide at the time. I prefer to steer with a gentle hand. Some do not listen. For them I must be stern. However, I am limited in how much I can meddle. The more I tamper with the pattern, the more things can go astray, which is why our conversation must be brief. My kind cannot lead, we merely predict, and suggest. I am the last.”

“That does not answer my question.”

“You’re not ready for that answer. None of you are…yet. Perhaps you never will be. Not even I can see that far. I will answer your other question, though. Why do I want you to take up this sword? Because it is your destiny, Fall.”

“Angruvadal was my destiny.”

She chuckled, as if Ashok had said something childlike. “Oh, Fall, all black steel is Angruvadal.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. “That cannot be.”

“Or an aspect at least. They wear different names, but every piece in the world, whether it be the Heart of the Mountain, any of the ancestor blades, or even the shard that pierced your heart and altered your body, comes from the same source, and that source is in very great danger.” She got up and dusted off her skirts. “Now I must be going.”

Ashok was still trying to comprehend her words. “Wait.”

“That wouldn’t be wise. I have interfered with you too much as it is. This must be the final time we ever speak.”

He had many questions, but Ashok understood what it meant to live by a code. “Farewell, then.”

Mother Dawn began walking away, but paused, and looked back over her shoulder. “One last thing, Fall. These people will be fine. You are a weapon, not a shepherd. Thera is on her way to Kanok and she will need you there.”

Then she was simply gone.

Ashok couldn’t even attribute the exchange to a hallucination because she’d left an imprint in the grass and a forgery in his hands. He crumpled the lie and threw it away. Keta probably would have found the whole thing a faith-building experience somehow or found the situation amusing and then turned it into an object lesson to use in his preaching.

He stood and went to the black sword.

Should he take the word of some trickster creature? For if Akerselem found him as unworthy as he felt right then, he’d end up cutting his own throat. And what did he really know of the ways of black steel? The shard in his chest hadn’t just changed him, so that he could not drown, freeze, or starve—it had taken over his body and spoken to the Dvarapala with a voice that wasn’t his own.

Except she had said Thera needed him, and though he would doubt and question every other word from her mouth, that much he believed. And with the entire might of the Law stacked against them, they would require every advantage he could take. In Jharlang, Angruvadal had fulfilled one of the Voice’s prophecies, destroying itself to save the rest of them. It had done as expected of it, regardless of the cost. Ashok could do no less.

He reached out, but then hesitated. The last time he had done this, he had been but a child—a tiny casteless blood scrubber—and in the days before he had inadvertently touched Angruvadal, he had seen it dismember all who tried to pick it up.

“I am Ashok Vadal. Your last bearer fought with honor for his house. I am not like him. I am a rebel without house or caste. I am no longer a Law-abiding man. I offer no apologies for this. Criminals call me general, or even Ramrowan reborn, but I do not seek those titles. I am just a man who creates my own law, and all I can vow is that I will use you to dispense it as righteously as I can. If you take offense at this attempt, do as you will.”

Ashok drew the sword from the stone.


Dressed in mismatched armor from several houses left behind by the Sons, and atop the same magnificent white stallion he had seized in Dhakhantar, Ashok Vadal rode out of the darkened tunnel and onto the dry lake bed.

A thousand Akershani warriors readied their weapons.

His horse reared back, front legs kicking, as Ashok lifted the curved black steel blade high, so all could see it devouring the sun.

“Behold the new bearer of Akerselem!” he roared and an entire army recoiled in shock and fear. “This place is under my protection. Withdraw from it or die! Then go and tell your Thakoor that if he wants his family’s sword back after I am dead, he will leave this empty land alone. Let these mountains be a safe haven for the casteless. It will be open to all who wish to join them, and you will not harm any who attempt to come here, or I will take this sword to a place none of you dare follow and it will be lost to you forever. I am Ashok Vadal, and I have spoken!”

Ashok kneed his mount and the stallion was eager to run, straight toward the army of Akershan.

They got out of his way.

With sword held aloft so there could be no doubt, Ashok made his way between the spears as the warriors made a path for him.

The challengers would come, an endless stream as before. Arrogance and jealousy made that inevitable. And though Ashok had forsaken their Law, he would still accept their duels. The sword deserved nothing less.

Except there would be no challengers today, for these warriors were still struggling to understand their sudden defeat. They would do as they were told or else.

Once past the warriors, Ashok said, “Go, Horse.” For that was what he called every steed he had ever cared for enough to name.

Horse snorted, disappointed to not fight an entire army, as was his spiteful nature, but then he ran like the wind from the valley, leaping effortlessly over the recently dug trenches. The faithful had told Ashok that the Sons had brought Horse back from Garo, but he had been too surly and violent to let anyone else ride him. Ashok respected that.

It wasn’t until they were far past the stunned army and galloping across the plains that Ashok lowered the sword. The black steel felt surprisingly natural in the hand, and when he looked upon it he was surprised to see that it was no longer curved like an Akershani saber but had somehow taken on the more familiar form of a Vadal longsword.

“Hello, old friend.”

With ancient black steel in hand and heart, Ashok rode after the woman he loved.


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