Chapter 11
True to Guru Dondrub’s word, the monastery proved to be a quiet place for Ashok to heal. The monks’ simple diet was a feast compared to the near nothing he had been subsisting on, and they seemed happy to share it. Ashok ate an astonishing amount of their food. A week of rest and exercise gave the Heart of the Mountain time to repair his battered body, but it was an impatient time, restless with thoughts of home, and interrupted constantly by the Guru’s questions and inane tests.
Sometimes Dondrub asked about the cultures of Lok, or some aspect of the Law. Other times he tried to find out Ashok’s philosophy on various topics, as if trying to ascertain if he would make a proper leader or not. When his answers didn’t fit the Guru’s preconceived notions of right and wrong, a lecture would inevitably begin. Except Ashok had no time for such foolishness. He was not some Capitol judge, sitting in the shade while slaves fanned him, leisurely pontificating about things he barely understood without repercussion. Ashok had work to do, and that required him to get off this damnable frozen island.
The monastery was a small building of mortared stone, and almost entirely lacking in comforts or ornamentation. It was high on a rocky hillside, and it reminded Ashok of the Hall of Protectors and his time as an acolyte there—not in size, but rather in its stark utilitarian nature.
The monks slept in tiny alcoves on mats made of woven reeds. He had been assigned one of those and given some of their simple robes to wear after he had scrubbed the filth from his body in a freezing mountain stream. Since his hair and beard had been so matted and infested with lice, he had cut it all off. Even though he was taller and broader than the others, emaciated, robed, and shaved bald, Ashok could have passed for one of the monks. Except as far as he could tell, these men had devoted their lives to peaceful contemplation, which was where the semblance ended, as Ashok had walked a very different path.
The monks didn’t talk much. He was told some of them even took vows of silence that lasted days, months, or whole seasons at a time. This was a marked improvement to the only other priest Ashok had previously been exposed to, as Keta rarely shut his mouth. However, when these monks did speak, they were difficult to understand. Their language was similar to his, but the people of Fortress had a dialect that was hard to understand, and they often used unfamiliar words. It required listening carefully to avoid confusion. The guru was the only one of them who seemed to speak in a manner close to what the Law mandated as the standard tongue across the great houses.
On the second day at the monastery, Ashok had found a stick of the proper length and weight to begin practicing his sword forms in the yard. Healing required exercise. Having been chained near unmoving for so long, fatigue was immediate, but Ashok continued working, clumsy at first, but skills so ingrained returned quickly. The monks seemed to pass their time tending their gardens, chanting to their strange idols, or reading old tomes, but Ashok’s warlike practice always drew spectators.
The strange bald men sat upon stones and watched as Ashok ran through drills that had been taught to him by sword master Ratul. To him, the familiar actions were comforting. To the quiet monks, they must have seemed frightening.
Over the years the Heart of the Mountain had rapidly repaired many terrible wounds that had been inflicted upon his body. Except those had been localized—a broken bone, a laceration from a sword, or a puncture from a spear. It turned out that starvation caused a more generalized injury of the entire person, and thus took more time to recover. Unless there was something to the Guru’s claim that he’d slept through most of a year, and he was now recovering from that mysterious hibernation, but Ashok still found that idea absurd.
Despite all that, soon he would be capable of returning to his duty, and that knowledge helped Ashok work through the pain.
“I’m told the outsider once again raises his imaginary sword against imaginary foes,” Guru Dondrub said as he approached. “It is like watching a dancer dance, only without the music or beauty.”
He knew the Guru was wrong about that. There was a certain beauty to be found in combat, but very few men were capable of truly appreciating it. Ashok finished the drill with a decapitating strike. “It is necessary to practice until effective movement happens without thought.”
“Ah, but one would assume acting without thinking would lead to bad consequences.”
“You think before you act, not during. There is not time to pause for reflection in combat. You may be considered wise, but you do not know much about war.”
“That is true. I have been fortunate in that respect.”
“I have not…” Ashok wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “What do you want now?”
The old man leaned upon his staff. “I hoped to continue our conversation from yesterday. Where were we?”
“You were hoping I would say something to convince you I’m this ancient hero you seek. I remain not him.”
“Good. Then we’re all caught up.” Dondrub looked toward the assembled audience of monks, and shouted, “Don’t you all have work to do? I was just going through your collection of Vedas and noted your library is very dusty. Perhaps you should be spending more time studying and less time gawking.”
As the chastised underlings scurried off, Ashok said, “I am thankful for your aid, and the hospitality they have shown me, but I must return to Lok soon.”
“Is this more acting without thought? You’re not yet strong enough to fight your way through an army of smugglers to discover your way home.”
“Such a battle would not be necessary if you simply told me how your people get there.”
Dondrub spread his hands apologetically. “I’ve already told you this is a secret I do not possess. That secret belongs to the guilds, and I’m not of any guild.”
Ashok had learned that guilds were somewhat different from houses, as they were not divided by territory, but by skills. “Which ones know?”
“The Traders, the Collectors, perhaps the Weapons Guild. The first two are few in number now. The last is great, but I doubt more than a handful of their number have been shown the path.”
“How do I find them?”
“I would tell you where to go, but our names for places have no meaning to you.” As Ashok scowled at that, the Guru quickly added, “However, in the morning, I can take you into the nearest town. You have some allies among the guilds there. The collectors who found you on the beach believe you to be the Avatar of Ramrowan. I’m sure they will be glad to help you.”
Ashok gave him a respectful nod. “Thank you.”
“But first—”
“There it is.”
“What?” Dondrub feigned innocence. “Will you not humor an old man on his lifelong quest to serve his gods?”
“Fine.” Ashok put the stick back where he’d found it, since he wouldn’t be needing it any longer. “Give me more of your riddles.”
“They are not riddles, merely an attempt at better understanding. Tell me, Ashok Vadal, what do you know of magic?”
“My knowledge is limited.”
“You were the bearer of one of the great and rare ancestor blades, relics forged by the hand of Ramrowan himself. So that is a lie.”
Ashok was many things, but he was no liar. He would blame this insult on a difference of tongues. “Angruvadal chose me. I did my best to carry it with honor, but I failed. I am no wizard.”
“But you know the different types of magic?”
“Legal and illegal,” Ashok replied automatically.
“That is not what I meant. I mean the sources, not whether your Capitol controls them or not.”
“Black steel or demon.”
“And?”
Ashok hesitated, for what did this strange old man know of the third way? “Historically, there have been only two.”
“If this prophet you serve has truly been called, then you know there is another. I speak of magic that comes not from the sea or the sword”—he pointed one arthritic finger upward—“but from the sky. It was said that when a new age was to begin a holy bolt would come down from the heavens, as a sign the gods had chosen a new mouthpiece for their will. The Voice would have access to all the knowledge of the gods, and power limited only by their willingness to use it. It is quite the gift.”
Thera had performed feats the likes of which Ashok had never seen from any wizard, but it was no gift. It was a constant source of sorrow and danger, and it had made her a target of very evil men. Ashok had protected Thera’s life, but it was a life cursed with trouble because of the Voice. Only he would speak of none of that before this stranger.
On the other hand, in his land all things pertaining to the gods had been erased by the Inquisition, while these foreigners seemed to retain much of that knowledge. Maybe he could learn something here that could help Thera? She had been eager to let Sikasso take the Voice from her, but even the House of Assassins’ skilled wizards had never figured out how.
“Tell me what else you know of this Voice, Guru.”
“Only what Ramrowan told his children before he left this world. It is easier to show you.” He began tottering away on his staff. “Come. It’s not far.”
He followed. There was a seldom-used path that led down the hill, across a rocky shelf that looked out over the misty valley below, and then down into a narrow ravine filled with sharp rocks. Ashok was thankful for the sandals he had been given, because the soles of his feet still ached from the journey across this land of razors.
“This is the reason they built this monastery here. There are ruins in the valley, with carvings that date from just after the time of Ramrowan. The monks do their best to maintain them. You go ahead, it will take me a moment to make my way down.”
Ashok took one look at the old man, using a staff to balance himself on the treacherously steep path, and shook his head. “I will assist you.” Taking him by the arm, Ashok helped him down the slope. The rock around them soon took on a different character, from broken and sharp, to smooth, as if it had been worked by some unknown tool. It reminded him of the hidden chamber that held the Heart of the Mountain or the complex of buildings within the Creator’s Cove. They were descending into what had clearly been a room once, except the roof had been torn away in some long-forgotten cataclysm.
“I take it you’ve seen the ancient’s methods of construction before.”
“I have.”
“Then you know sometimes they liked to leave messages in stone.”
“Those are rare in my land.” What hadn’t been erased by time was taken away by the Historians Order—unless the signs were deemed to be religious, then the Inquisition smashed them into dust. “I have seen a few.”
“Tell me of those.”
“The most noteworthy was a map. Not just of Lok, but the entire ancient world, and all the other continents. My sword master said those were once home to many nations, with different languages, different color skin, and even different laws. No one knows what happened to those after the demons came.”
“It is said in those days man had filled the whole world! Such a map would be quite the sight to see, but this is not like that at all.”
The back wall had a huge metal plaque affixed to it, covered in raised symbols, most of which meant nothing to Ashok. There were common letters upon it, but they were mixed with unfamiliar ones, put together to form words he couldn’t decipher. “What is this?”
“It was meant to be a monument, to commemorate important events. This is just one part of the story, but there are many of these scattered across Xhonura, to chronicle important events. Together they tell a story. I imagine these were scattered across your mainland as well, but your Law probably had them melted down.”
“Read it.”
The old man squinted as he moved closer to the wall. “In the beginning, the gods took this barren world and made it fruitful for us. They made the air pure and covered the land in plants and animals for us to harvest. They placed man here, so that we might grow in number and wisdom, and for centuries we prospered. Some of the gods even walked among us, while most of them remained above, watching over the world from their castles in the sky, like Upagraha.”
“The gods live on one of the moons?” That sounded bizarre to him. If the gods lived on one of the moons, why not Canda? It was the bigger and brighter moon, waxing and waning majestically, while Upagraha looked tiny in comparison, nothing but a fast-moving light across the sky every night. “You believe all this nonsense?”
“How could you not, bearer of Ramrowan’s sword? It is time you hear his real account. Not the crippled version, pieced together by desperate blind men, after centuries of your Law trying to obscure the truth.”
Though Ashok knew he had been wronged by the Law, it was hard to entirely forsake that which had made him. The idea of listening to religious fanaticism remained a distasteful one, but he was not doing this for himself. He was doing it for Thera. “I will listen and try not to disrespect you further.”
“I would still preach the truth even if you mocked every word as I said it, because the truth is the truth. I share this in the hopes you can take it back with you, to share with your priests, in the hopes they will learn from our mistakes.”
“Continue, then.”
The Guru did, and it was obviously part reading, and part telling a familiar story. “It says while we are the children of the gods, the demons were the foul offspring of something else, a dark force that lived among the stars, jealous of our gods’ accomplishments.”
That part Ashok found plausible, because it sounded like what Thera described having faced in the graveyard of demons, and she was one of the few people in the world whose word he trusted.
“The gods had created black steel as the ultimate manifestation of their powers, a substance able to alter the world according to their whims. It was created in a forge that required heat great as the sun.” Dondrub traced his fingers over the symbols reverently. “The evil tried to copy this miracle and gave life to demons instead. The demons hated the gods, for the gods rejected them. The demons made war on the gods, and all of mankind watched as the two sides filled the heavens above us with fire and thunder for many days. It was war the likes of which had never been seen before or since. Except as this war in the heavens raged, the gods could not protect their children below…”
“The rain of demons,” Ashok said.
“Yes. Wherever the demons fell, they laid to waste. Our land of prosperity was torn asunder. Knowledge was lost. Rivers ran red with blood as our old world was destroyed. One by one the other castles were torn from the sky, including the forge of the gods, until only Upagraha remained. Many gods perished, yet ultimately the last of them prevailed. Once the evil was defeated, only then could they turn their eyes back to their creation and were horrified to find that our people were being massacred by the demons.”
This part Keta had talked about many times. “So the gods sent one warrior riding down from the sky in a vessel made of black steel, to give that magic to the survivors, so we could drive the demons into the sea.”
“It delights me that some small measure of truth has not been ruined by your blighted Law! Except you are only part right. Ramrowan was not ordered here. He begged the injured gods to let him go to us. For Ramrowan was more than just a mortal warrior. He had been bred to be a soldier of the gods. Improved in every way, with the very blood of the gods running through his veins.” Dondrub’s hand paused at one of the carvings. He tapped it twice. “He was a fusion of flesh and black steel magic, the first Protector.”
Ashok scowled, because that symbol was familiar. It was one of the repetitive designs, usually inlaid in silver, traditionally marked upon Protector armor. “I know that one.”
“I thought you might. Except in those days your kind were created to be Protectors of humanity, not Protectors of Law. That perversion came later. Using a special device that had been given to him by the gods, Ramrowan was able to make more Protectors like unto him, but they were pale imitations, as magic alone could not make them equal to his blood.”
That device had to be the Heart of the Mountain. “What do you know of this process?”
“Very little.”
“You should keep it that way.”
Dondrub didn’t seem to know how to respond to that, so he continued his tale. “These Protectors were mighty, but they were mere shadows of Ramrowan’s power, for how can any man, even one augmented by black steel, approach the power of someone who is part god? It is said he could call down fire and lightning from the sky. Nothing could kill him, neither blade nor bullet, burning heat or icy cold. Yet even he needed help to defeat the demons, so from his ship Ramrowan created the weapons that would come to be known as ancestor blades and gave one to each surviving tribe in Lok. Once they were united together, they pushed the demons into the sea.”
“The ocean is hell. Let the demons have it. Man will retain the land. Trespassers will be dealt with. Thus it has been. Thus it ever shall be.”
“You don’t get it, do you?” Dondrub asked. “I should not be surprised. You believe whatever your Law tells you, only your Law is deluded and has forgotten the old ways.”
“You are fortunate I no longer take personal offense for slights against the Law, old man.”
“The Law lies. There is no truce between man and demonkind. They will return. Not one or two at a time as they have in recent centuries, but an army of demons, to finish what they started.”
“I’ve fought more demons than anyone.” It wasn’t bragging, rather a statement of fact. “I do not doubt their capacity for hate. Five at once might as well be an army, but there is no sign of an invasion.”
“Do you have eyes that can see beneath the sea, Ashok Vadal? The gods know all that is and what may be. Mighty Ramrowan’s final words declared that the demons would return in time, and we must be ready to stop them, or all would perish.”
“When?”
“Only the gods know. Which is why we must remain vigilant. More importantly, Ramrowan warned that only someone with his sainted blood would be able to unlock the full might of the gods to repel the invaders when the time came. Without this chosen bloodline, we would be doomed. This was so vital that the sons of Ramrowan made sure that their bloodline could never be eradicated.”
Keta had preached about this next part many times, so Ashok was curious to hear the old man’s version. “What became of these sons?”
“They ruled as kings. They took many wives, to perpetuate their line, as did the generations after them, until their family was so great in number their bloodline could never die out.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Will you not speak of how these kings ruled as tyrants over the castes they had created to serve them, taking whatever they wanted—women, treasure, and land? Until the people they were supposed to save grew to hate them more than the demons they had started to forget. The castes decided this legend was a lie, an excuse for their kings to do evil, and rose up to slay their masters. Those who were spared were declared less than people and condemned to live in filth forever. The Age of Kings ended, and the Age of Law began.”
The Guru nodded slowly. “I am surprised. Your Law has long forbidden speaking about the origins of your casteless. I’m surprised you know how they came to be.”
“My rebellion’s priest loves to tell stories.”
“Then he was taught better than I expected. You encouraged me to speak, curious to see if, in my bias, I would leave out uncomfortable truths about our forebearers. This time you were testing me, and in my weakness I failed. Very clever. Then let us speak of the uncomfortable truths. The kings may have been descended from gods, but they had the appetites of men. Great was their hubris. It was surely worse than your priest knows. Imagine, being the only thing standing between your people and certain oblivion. Wouldn’t that fill you with pride?”
“I have. It did not.”
The Guru cocked his head at that. “Then you are an odd one, Ashok Vadal.”
“And I think you are probably as deluded as my priest Keta. How are casteless supposed to defeat an army of demons?”
“Are you not yourself born of that line? Have you not beaten demons?”
Ashok scoffed, because he was hardly the average casteless. “What is this power of the gods they are supposedly able to claim?”
“That knowledge has been lost. It is said that it will be revealed again when the time is right.”
“How convenient for you.” Ashok grew weary of these religious types and their vague pronouncements. “I’ve seen demons tear through entire paltans of well-trained warriors, like a fox among chickens. Yet you would feed non-people into their hungry jaws in the hopes your god will answer their cries. Enough. You said there was something about the third way of magic. Where is it?”
“Over here.”
Ashok followed the gesture to the bottom portion of the plaque, and tried to decipher the message to himself, but to no avail. “Read it to me.”
“‘In the final days before the demons come again, a messenger will be sent from Upagraha to choose a mortal conduit to be their Voice. Whoever shall receive this gift shall be blessed above all others, for the Voice will have direct access to whatever knowledge the gods see fit to grant them. Neither black steel nor demon is as mighty as the gods’ will. The Voice will perform miraculous works in their name.’”
“How does one get rid of this Voice?”
“What?” Dondrub may have been a wise man, but he clearly had never thought of anyone asking that. “It’s mightier than black steel…why would…I don’t…”
“So it doesn’t say.” Ashok was disappointed, but unsurprised. If there was an easy way to escape that burden, Thera would have found it by now. She was a determined one. “You are almost at the end. Finish it.”
Dondrub was still trying to grasp the idea of willingly giving up the power of the gods, but he just shook his head and went back to the message, disturbed enough he was simply reading now rather than spinning a familiar tale. “‘The gods will choose priests to strengthen the Voice’s people, and a mighty warrior—the spirit of Ramrowan upon him—to protect the Voice’s life, a great king to rule over all the land.’”
Ashok snorted in derision.
“What?”
“This silly passage is why you keep testing me to see if I would be a good ruler?”
“It is. Why does this amuse you? These words were carved by priests who personally served Ramrowan!” Now it was the Guru’s turn to take offense. “This is sacred. Don’t mock these words.”
“I do not mock them. I mock your comprehension of them. I might actually be the Forgotten’s warrior. I’ve seen enough that I do not doubt the reality of the Voice, nor the fact that it is my duty to protect her.”
“Her? The Voice is a woman?”
Ashok held up one hand to silence him. “However, your mistake is taking this to mean the protector and the king are the same man. I know the one who would be king. He’s the reason I ended up in the ocean. His name is Devedas. Perhaps you should check if he is Ramrowan? Though don’t be surprised when he runs you through with his sword for talking about illegal religion.”
“That can’t be…” The Guru turned back to the words that he had surely read hundreds of times before. “Impossible. There have been other wise men who have interpreted it that way, but that can’t be right…And a woman? Are you sure the Voice is female?”
Of that fact, Ashok was extremely certain. “Yes. Her life matters to me more than the rest of you combined.”
“Ah…”
“That’s all?”
“Is this not enough?”
“No.” Ashok pointed at the last section of text. “I may not know these letters, but I can count the words. Finish it.”
Dondrub looked at Ashok, then the final symbols, then Ashok again. “Well, that is of no importance.”
“I spent twenty years hunting criminals. I can tell when someone is hiding something from me. Continue.”
The Guru tried to act as if he had not been caught. “It’ll be sundown soon. I’m old and it’s a climb. Perhaps we should—”
“Read it and I will know if you lie.”
“Very well…” The Guru sighed. “It says despite the efforts of protector or priests, it is foretold the Voice must be sacrificed, as there is no other way to stop the demons forever.”
Ashok’s hands reflexively clenched into fists. Even if the threat against his charge was millennia old, it still remained a threat. “You are wrong.”
“Not this time! That previous section has some archaic wording, but the last line is a straightforward declaration. There is nothing to misinterpret.”
“Then your gods are wrong.”
“Do not blaspheme in this holy—”
“We are done. I am leaving now. Take me to your smugglers.”
“It’s a long walk!” Dondrub protested. “The paths are treacherous in the dark. It will be freezing. We’ll fall down a cliff.”
Ashok grabbed a handful of robes and hauled the Guru toward him, lifting him to his toes so that they were face-to-face. Even recovering from starvation, Ashok was mighty in comparison to the frail elder. “I do not care if you show me the way, send a guide, or draw me a map, but I am going home now.”