Chapter 41
It was a long journey, the road north to the Capitol. The desert gave a man too much time to think about all the things he had done.
The witch hunter rode upon a black Zarger steed, roaming far ahead of the convoy of Inquisitors and obligated warriors. They would guard their magical prisoner all the way back to the Inquisitor’s Dome—or Tower of Silence, as his brothers had told Javed was the new name of their Order’s home.
Thera Vane had been bound, gagged, and placed into a wagon, kept under watch at all times. Javed left the guarding of her to the other Inquisitors, as it enabled him to avoid her accusing glares. Her hate shouldn’t have mattered to him, yet it did.
The high desert was behind them. Before them were the endless white sands of the low desert. The convoy was led by two senior witch hunters, himself and Nikunja. The bodyguard, Murugan Thao, had proven quite the hero, managing to kill Senior Witch Hunter Madhavadas, and he had injured Witch Hunter Lekhani so badly that they had been forced to leave her in Akara to recover. Even if her wounds didn’t turn septic and kill her, she’d certainly have to retire from the Order. That had been a very fine showing for a warrior the other Sons had once dismissed as a coward.
Thinking of the Sons of the Black Sword put Javed into a dark mood. Normally after completing such a difficult assignment he was left with a feeling of deep accomplishment. There was great satisfaction in doing something most would consider impossible. This time there was only that nagging feeling that lesser men called shame.
Javed had demanded that a hundred warriors of Makao escort them all the way back to the Capitol. The other Inquisitors were doubtful such an escort would be needed, as the Sons of the Black Sword had been forced to flee south, scattering into the canyon lands, trying to evade pursuit, and they would be lucky to survive. There was no way the Sons would be a further danger. They had no way of knowing which way their prophet had been taken, and even if they had, they’d never be able to avoid the armies of two great houses and catch up.
Only Javed knew the Sons far too well, and he had insisted the warriors accompany them. The Sons were not to be underestimated. Some of those men had subjected themselves to traveling by river, to fight demons and wizards in order to get their prophet back once before, and at that time they hadn’t even met her yet. Thera Vane was a woman who inspired loyalty, whether she was really the old gods’ mouthpiece or not.
Javed shook his head and dismissed that thought. There was no such thing as gods. It was a trick. She was a liar, just like him. She inspired loyalty in fools and fanatics, nothing more, just like all other false prophets who had come before her. Thera was a criminal, and capturing her was one more stepping-stone on Javed’s path toward greater status. The Grand Inquisitor rewarded loyalty, and would repay him for this accomplishment. The last time he had been in the Capitol he had bedded an arbiter from a Zarger vassal house, Artya, who was a fierce and calculating beauty, and one of Omand’s conspirators in his plot to overthrow the judges. After this assignment Javed would have the status to take her as a wife if he felt like it. She was exceedingly rich.
Kings need men. Important men. Wealthy men. Great would be his reward. He’d have title and an estate. There would be no more pretending to be a humble rice merchant, living in tents in the desert, or lowering himself to consort with madmen and the foulest criminals. He’d murdered enough. He’d deceived enough. The emptiness he felt even after fulfilling this difficult an assignment proved that the thrill was gone. It was time to take the Grand Inquisitor’s favor and move on to a better life.
Yet when Javed closed his eyes he kept seeing two naïve children from a swamp, who had died simply because his mission had required their silence.
The desert was so vast it lulled men into melancholy thoughts. Javed realized his scouting had taken him too far ahead of the convoy. The wagons were distant shapes twinkling in the mirage. There was nothing around him but sand and cacti. The day had grown hot, and he paused to wipe the sweat from his brow.
There was a woman standing ahead of him on the road.
The desert here was flat. He should have seen her from a mile away. There was no place to hide, and she was dressed in voluminous black Zarger robes, a stark contrast against the pale sand. It was as if she had suddenly formed from nothing.
A wizard, then, stepping from the space between worlds. Javed pulled up the silk Inquisitor’s mask that Nikunja had supplied him with. Since he was wearing the badge of his office, it would not do to let some outsider see his face. Then he dismounted his tired horse, and with a demon tooth in one hand and his other hand upon the hilt of his sword, he walked toward the stranger as she continued walking toward him. They both stopped, twenty feet apart.
“I am on official Inquisition business. Identify yourself, wizard.”
Her face was veiled. Not even her eyes could be seen in the shadows beneath her hood. Her voice was neither old nor young. “You know who I am.”
“I assure you, I do not.”
“Except you bear my name.”
Javed cocked his head to the side. “I do not cross the desert to listen to riddles.”
“You are Witch Hunter Javed?”
He scowled behind his mask. “I am.”
“Then you bear my name.” She put one gloved hand over her heart. “For I am the witch.”
That was impossible. That was a legend as old as the Inquisition. “The sun has driven you mad, Law breaker.”
“I am far older than your Law. It does not apply to me.”
“Don’t toy with me, wizard. Who are you really?”
“I am Unassailable. I am the Mother of Dawn, She of Many Forms. Created in the image of one of the old gods from the world before, I watched from the sky as the first men set foot on this world. It was my duty to be their advocate. I was already ancient when the demons fell. I gave counsel to Ramrowan, and the generations that followed, until their pride became too great for them to listen, and this land was consumed by sin. Forsaken, I could do nothing as the rivers ran red as the royal line was cast down. Your Order exists because of me, out of fear of me, your entire life has been a vain attempt to stop me.”
Javed took a step back as he drew his sword, but then he steadied himself. “The great witch was defeated by the Inquisition long ago.”
“They tried. Only they did not succeed.”
Surely this was no ancient creature of legend or Inquisitors’ secret history lesson come to life. “Trouble me with no more lies, woman. This is your final chance to identify yourself. You act like an illegal wizard and you talk like a religious fanatic. The penalty for either of those is death.”
“Don’t hide behind the Law, Javed. We both know the Law means nothing to you. It is an excuse, made by a man hungry for destruction, because he was hollow and knew no other way to fill it. Did you provide such a stern warning to all those you murdered in Shabdakosh, Karoon, Lahkshan, or Ambara?”
His missions had been of the utmost secrecy, known only to a handful in the entire Inquisition. “How do you know of those?”
“Most of the people you killed were not even believers. For their persecution you at least had the excuse of duty.” She positively spit the word. “For the rest, they were simply in your way. Tell me, Witch Hunter, did you warn Parth and Rawal of this penalty before you took their lives, and left their bodies stuffed in a hole?”
Javed lunged forward, thrusting his sword at her heart.
The blade was torn from his hand and hurled into the distance.
The robed woman was gone, and in her place stood a thing beyond comprehension. It was a goddess, ten feet tall and made of glowing silver. Her many-armed form swept Javed from his feet as the desert was consumed by blinding light.
Her words hit like thunder.
“I should end you for your evil. I should make you pay for what you have done to my children. You should suffer for your deceit. You should feel the pain of every drop of innocent blood you have ever shed and be crushed to dust beneath the weight of what you have done.”
Javed cowered on his knees before the beautiful and terrible thing, not just because she could kill him on a whim, but because he knew that she was right.
Within the Cove, he had seen a different way, building rather than tearing down, helping rather than hurting, creating instead of destroying, and he had still betrayed them for it.
“You saw the Forgotten and denied it. It is one thing to lie before men, but it is impossible to lie before a god.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Repair the damage you have done.” The giant was gone, and Javed was lying in the road at the feet of the woman in black. Instead of six arms, she had but two, and she squatted down next to him. “A new age is here, Javed. For good or ill, every role must be filled. Three and three, they must be in balance. The mask and king are set upon their path. The demons are coming. It is my responsibility to provide a general, a voice, and a priest. I am in need of a priest. You will have to do.”
He could barely see, barely hear, barely understand. “I can’t. I am stained. What of Keta? He is a righteous man.”
“Alas, the noble Keeper of Names has been killed.”
That wrecked him even more. In Javed’s corrupted way, Keta had probably been the nearest thing he had to a friend. Had that death been his doing as well? It likely was, somehow.
“Ratul, Keta, and now it must be you; there will not be time to prepare another. You must take up the book and finish his work. You must become the Keeper of Names.”
With tears in his eyes, Javed told the Mother of Dawn, “I swear I will make this right.”
“You had better…You can begin by saving our Voice.”
Then she was gone.