Chapter 5
Thera listened to the first part of Keta’s sermon from the back of the room in a borrowed hood and scarf, in the hopes that she wouldn’t be spotted. If the faithful had known their prophet was among them, she would become a distraction. She needed them paying attention to Keta, because he was the one who was good at this sort of thing.
The warrior caste scattered among the crowd must have understood what Keta was trying to accomplish—they’d certainly heard plenty of commanders give motivational speeches before—and they began loudly shouting encouragement at every pause. Then the swamp folk caught on and added in their strange barking they used as a battle cry. Their enthusiasm gave the rest some hope.
Once she saw that Keta had successfully gotten the crowd swept up in rebellious fever, Thera snuck out.
Murugan Thao remained by her side the entire time. Her young bodyguard was also in disguise, because the people had learned to recognize him, and knew if he was near, so was Thera. Even though they were surrounded by faithful, he continually eyed the rest of the room with suspicion. Though he was a capable swordsman, Murugan kept a dagger palmed and hidden in his left hand because it would be faster to intercept an assassin that way, and easier to maneuver in a crowd.
Even though she was the most well-known person in the Cove, Thera was very good at not being noticed when she didn’t want to be. It was one of the more valuable skills she’d picked up as a criminal. In order to keep up with her, Murugan had been forced to adopt her skulking ways. It had pained him to shave off the notable long mustache Thao warriors loved so much, but he took his duties very seriously. The warrior had never had the questionable benefit of living as a thief like she had, but he was a fast learner. The two of them made good time back to the garrison without being harassed by anyone wanting to touch the Voice. You’d think after Murugan had reflexively slashed a few hands that had suddenly grabbed for her, the rest would have caught on, but some of the faithful were slow learners.
She would have stabbed them herself if she’d been as fast as she used to be. Thera didn’t like that she needed a bodyguard, and had taken great pride in her independence, but her once graceful hands had never fully recovered from the injuries she’d received in the graveyard of demons. Sure, she could still use a knife, but with only a fraction of the skill she’d had before. So in the off chance someone was in need of stabbing, Murugan would have to serve as her blade.
It was a long walk back from Keta’s chapel. The Creator’s Cove was a vast complex, carved all along the interior of a giant crater hidden in the mountains of Akershan. It had once been known as the Hall of the Marutas, which were supposedly some manner of vengeful storm creatures from before the Age of Kings who had hurled lightning bolts and roared like lions. Or so the old stories said. Now it served as the rebellion’s foundation, a settlement away from the eyes of the Law. The faithful thought of the Cove as if the gods had built a perfectly good city, and then left it empty, clearly waiting for their chosen people to inhabit it.
Considering how blessed the place was with resources, fertile soil, and plentiful water, the faithful might have even been right. Not that Thera would admit that, because she hated giving the Forgotten credit for things he didn’t deserve. Keta liked to tell his stories in a manner that made the gods sound caring. Based on her personal experience, Thera doubted that very much. Some of the gods might have been kind once, but the thing that spoke through her was anything but. The Voice was so pragmatic it was cruel. Its commands were callous yet vague. Its prophecies confusing riddles, lurking with pitfalls. Thera had come to believe the Voice had some ultimate purpose for them, but what that really was remained a mystery.
The forces of the Law still didn’t know the Cove existed, or if they did, they hadn’t laid siege to it yet. There was only one hidden entrance, and it was easily blocked by flooding. The mountains were too steep to climb over, and as long as their reservoir was left open to feed the lake in the valley below, no army could march inside. However there was nothing stopping powerful wizards from flying over the mountains and landing here. She had seen Lost House assassins transform into giant birds, and even been carried through the air in the talons of one. They had tried to teach her the pattern to create such a marvelous effect, but frankly, unless the Voice was personally guiding her, Thera wasn’t worth fish when it came to working magic.
For once the main road that corkscrewed up the crater walls was mostly empty. Everyone who could was attending Keta’s sermon. The place had become so crowded and noisy recently from new arrivals that the quiet seemed a little unnerving. It made her wonder what this place had been like, abandoned for so long, until Ratul had sought it out. The two of them walked toward the top terrace, near the entrance to the sluiceway and the tunnel that led to the outside world.
“Do you think Keta’s words will work?” Murugan asked.
“Maybe.” With everyone else she was forced to put on an optimistic face to keep them from losing faith. A bodyguard often saw their charge in their most human moments, so Murugan was one of the few she could be completely honest with. “It’s vital the people believe we have a chance. If they lose hope, or worse, panic, we’re doomed.”
“There’s no way we can save all the casteless.”
“I know, but we can save some.”
“We’ll save none if we get killed in the process.” Then Murugan sighed. “That’s not how a warrior should talk. Forgive me, I must sound like a coward.”
She knew Murugan was sensitive toward accusations of cowardice, even by the harsh standards of his caste, because he had been the only one who had broken and ran when the Sons had been confronted by the demon in the Bahdjangal. He had quickly returned to the fight, but his temporary failure had haunted him ever since. Some of the other warriors had even suggested to her that she deserved a bodyguard with a better reputation, but Thera disagreed. As her father had said, those who were most haunted by their old mistakes were the least likely to make new ones.
“There’s nothing cowardly about being realistic, Murugan. Battles aren’t won by good intentions. Though they do help—that is Keta’s responsibility. Ours is to find a way to make the Capitol flinch.”
Guards had been posted around this section of terrace since it had become the garrison for the Sons of the Black Sword. The Sons had expanded from the humble band that had rescued her from the House of Assassins into the rebellion’s army, steadily growing in numbers since the days that Jagdish had first turned them into a coherent unit, and then even more as all the secretly faithful warriors in the adjoining houses had sought them out after their triumph at the battle of Garo.
Where Ashok had gone missing…
That stray thought twisted Thera’s stomach with dread uncertainty, but she didn’t have time to dwell on Ashok when there was work to do. She would do that later, alone, during the rare moments when nobody actively needed something from her.
As they approached the guards, Thera pulled down her scarf to reveal her face. Even though everyone here was free, supposedly equal and without caste, the warriors reflexively saluted her like she was the Thakoor of their former house. Old habits die hard.
She returned the salute as a proper, high-status woman of the warrior caste would. It had been a long time since she had held any real legal status, so it felt silly. Except her father, Andaman Vane, had been a great leader who had taught her that small gestures of respect from a superior made a great deal of difference to the men.
Though the Cove itself would be difficult to invade, that had not stopped the Sons from greatly fortifying this particular terrace. Risalder Eklavya was from Kharsawan, where the warrior caste took great pride in building fortifications. He had put together work crews. Trees had been cut and dragged down the mountain, and a palisade had been erected around a few of the ancient stone buildings. The tops of the logs had been carved down to points. Considering how little time Eklavya had been allowed on the project, it was rather impressive.
The other leaders were already assembled in the war room and debating their strategy. It was five desperate men trying to figure out how to stop the combined forces of the entire Law-abiding world using only their tiny army.
Just because it was impossible didn’t mean they wouldn’t try.
A map of Lok had been painted on one wall. The great houses that had representation among the Sons were very detailed, noting cities, fortifications, terrain and passes, rivers and crossings. The houses to the north and far west were not nearly so detailed, because if those places had warriors who were secretly religious fanatics too, the Forgotten had not seen fit to send any of them to join her yet.
Despite that, no house lands were entirely blank. Thera was from Makao, but her time as a smuggler had taken her north into Vokkan and Vadal, but mostly along the waterways preferred by smugglers because they were treated with disdain by the Law. Keta was from Uttara, the westernmost peninsula, but his knowledge was limited to casteless quarters. Remarkably, the majority of the map’s roads and towns had been filled in by Javed because he was born of the caravan people, who never stopped moving. As a rice merchant he had visited every major city in Lok. The man’s memory and knowledge of various house cultures and politics was remarkable. If Keta hadn’t already drafted him as a priest, Thera would have found some other office for Javed among the Sons. He had proven himself invaluable.
The officers stopped talking as their prophet entered. These were her most trusted men, so at least she’d gotten them to dispense with the scraping and bowing. Oh, they had done that at first—as bad as the poorest of the casteless—only such deference had quickly become tiresome. It was one thing for them to worship the oddity that lived in her head, but it was another to put up with all their fawning adoration when there was a war to conduct.
To the masses, it was best to keep it simple. She was the Voice of the Forgotten. However, to these men, who she required wisdom from, it was vital that they understood that Thera Vane and the Voice were two distinct entities, for even the proudest warrior would hesitate to correct a god. Thera was fallible and vulnerable to pride and foolishness as much as anyone else. She needed counselors, not sycophants.
“I heard the water running, so the tunnel is being flooded again. I take that to mean the last of our spies have returned?”
“Yes, Prophet.” Ongud, of the Khedekar vassal house of Akershan, struck Thera as something of an idealist—and taking a wife from among the faithful had made him even more committed—but he had the best mind for strategy of them. “We were just going over their report.”
“And?”
“It matches what the other spies said. It’s the same in Neeramphorn as MaDharvo and Dev, the extermination order has been given everywhere,” Ongud said. “I pray the gods damn the Capitol for this, and its evil sinks beneath the sands.”
“I’ll put in a request, but I’m not expecting the gods to do our work for us. How has the Judge’s madness been received?”
“Not well,” Shekar answered. “No warriors are fool enough to openly defy the Capitol, but the orders are being followed slowly and half-heartedly.”
Shekar may have looked like a savage, for Somsak raiders decorated their bodies with tattoos commemorating their greatest victories, and Shekar had many. The one for the battle of Garo—a purple field aflame—was still healing. He wore a demon from Bhadjangal, and even his face told the tale of burning villages, but she knew that despite appearances Shekar was extremely cunning. Dumb raiders died young.
“Explain.”
“The Capitol’s command arrived a while ago. The warriors of Kharsawan, Thao, and Dev have barely moved since. Akershan is only active because they started killing their non-people last year.” Shekar paused as he remembered Thera had forbidden them calling the casteless that. “Sorry, Prophet.”
Thera took no offense. The Somsak looked down on everyone, as was their violent nature. Casteless would be no different. “You think the warrior caste is delaying on purpose?”
“It doesn’t take that long to mobilize if you’re just riding down defenseless fish-eaters. I think us routing the Akershani at Garo put the fear in the rest of them. Why rush to kill casteless? There’s no honor to be gained, but plenty to be lost. Especially when we Sons might be there waiting for them.”
“We’ve mostly laid low since Garo, but all the nearby houses know we don’t take kindly to those who harm innocent casteless.” Eklavya was an oddity, a man of secret illegal faith who somehow still remained a perfect example of the Kharsawan warrior caste’s meticulous, orderly nature. “A defeat as great as Garo isn’t soon forgotten.”
That memory made Shekar smile and tap his tattoo of a burning field. “The warriors will stall until their phonthos tire of being screamed at by their first caste. But when they move, they’ll move big.”
“The larger the forces, the more supply trains necessary to keep them fed,” Ongud mused. Though he led the Sons’ cavalry now, his obligation in the army of Great House Akershan had been as a logistics clerk, a vital position that held no chance for glory. “The Sons of the Black Sword can’t be everywhere at once, but fear of us can. That can be exploited.”
“Most of the casteless can’t stand and fight, but they can strike the Law where it is vulnerable and then disappear.” Toramana was the oldest of her advisors and had been the chief of the swamp people. Hiding in the forsaken lands between the deadly House of Assassins and a sea full of demons, he knew a thing or two about hit-and-run tactics against superior forces.
“Most casteless can’t fight, and when they do it’s more riot than battle,” Eklavya pointed out.
“We can teach them how to fight,” Toramana insisted.
“I agree, Chief. I’ve managed to whip some of them into decent spearmen myself. Only it takes proper knowledgeable warriors to train passable fighters.”
Thera shook her head. “We can’t afford to split our army into pieces, but we can send out troublemakers. I was just listening to Keta putting a fire in their bellies. You’ll have no shortage of volunteers.”
“The Keeper of Names gives a fine sermon,” Eklavya said.
Toramana nodded in agreement, but Shekar snorted and laughed. “Flowery words may inspire a fish-eater to fight, but it takes years to turn him into a raider!”
They may have been united by their faith in illegal gods, but that didn’t mean they believed in them the same way. To Toramana the Forgotten was a wild god of the hunt, to Eklavya it was a god of wisdom and creation, while Ongud’s god surely loved war and glory and riding a horse across the plains. Shekar would probably be delighted if the Forgotten demanded human sacrifice, but she’d never dared ask. Thera didn’t really care what the gods were looking for in their worshippers, as she only cared about results, so she stopped them before the cultural bickering could begin anew.
“You don’t have years. You have weeks. Shekar and Toramana have the most experience with irregular warfare, so they’ll see to the training of the volunteers. I’ve got no delusions they’ll be able to beat warriors in a real battle, but our saboteurs can still buy the casteless time. The longer this extermination takes, the costlier it becomes, the more likely the Capitol will relent.”
Thera’s last risalder hadn’t spoken yet. Gupta had come from the worker caste, so he tended to remain quiet around those who had been raised warriors. That was normally a safe habit for a low status worker to keep. Warriors were prideful, quick to wrath, and the Law was very lenient when it came to them dueling over offense. Workers who were sufficiently wealthy were safe, but the rest minded their tongues. Gupta’s obligation had been running a work crew in a small mining town. He’d barely had the notes to feed his family, let alone entertain the idea of hiring a proxy duelist. Even now, in a land without castes, after his paltan had slaughtered Protectors with the sixty deadly Fortress rods under his command, it was clear he was still hesitant to disagree with the warrior born.
“Something you want to say, Gupta?”
He took a deep breath, exhaled, and tried to not give offense. “You think too much about the wrong caste. The warriors aren’t that important.”
Ongud snorted. “What?”
“You’re all forgetting the workers. I mean, it’s good you’re thinking about how to slow the warriors, and it’s the will of the first caste we must break, but Lok is really run by the worker caste.”
All of the warriors scoffed at that. Except Toramana, but he was an outsider who had spent his entire life in a swamp that had never been beneath the boot of the Law, so Thera suspected the chief didn’t really understand the concept of castes at all. Among his people you either hunted well and ate good or were lazy or stupid and went hungry.
“Don’t mock me.” Gupta became flustered. “I’m warning you we’re doing this wrong.”
Murugan had placed himself near the door to alert her if anyone else approached. “The Keeper of Names and his assistant are coming.”
“You dig in the ground like a mole. What do you know of making war?” Shekar demanded.
“None in my paltan are warrior born, but that didn’t stop us from stacking Akershani warrior corpses at Garo. Maybe your caste isn’t as good as you think.”
Those were fighting words, and Ongud and Shekar bristled. Eklavya was warrior born, but Kharsawan was slow to anger.
“Hold on.” Thera held up one scarred hand as Keta and Javed entered. Javed seemed confused why the warriors were sneering at Gupta, and Keta was oblivious to that and still wearing a triumphant grin because of the successful sermon. Before the Keeper could tell them about how marvelously he had done, Thera said, “Let Gupta explain.”
To his credit the stocky little miner straightened up and looked her in the eye. Thera imagined his version of the Forgotten appreciated fortitude.
“The first caste rules their houses, but only as long as their workers are agreeable. If we workers aren’t happy, nothing gets done. Workers aren’t that loyal to houses. Those of us from borderlands don’t even know which house claimed us last until it comes time to pay our taxes. The higher-status men take us for granted. They assume whatever they want simply happens because they will it to be that way. We’re angry when they don’t listen to us, but we’re used to it. We all know things really happen because they pay us to make it happen. But some things cost too much, even for the first caste to pay.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“Workers depend on the casteless far more than we’d ever admit. All the horrible unclean responsibilities the Law has left to them are going to become worker obligations. You can’t kill millions of laborers and expect the work to still get done. The judges can force men to work at the point of a sword, but it can’t force us to work well. Everyone from my old caste knows this is foolish. There’s no love of the casteless among my people, but none of us will want this.”
“That does no good if your kind stands by and does nothing,” Eklavya said. “Workers are useless if they don’t rise up and fight.”
“They don’t need to. You’re thinking like a warrior, Kharsawan. Fighting is your caste’s obligation. Ours is to work.”
“You say that, my friend, but I believe it was your paltan who took the most trophies in Garo.” Toramana grinned as he reached over and smacked the far shorter man on the shoulder. “I’d say there’s some fight in your kind.”
Gupta shrugged. “The weapons of Ratul are complicated machines, but we can run machines.”
“This is a war like we’ve never seen. Let us heed our brother, then argue, so together we can offer our prophet wise counsel,” Toramana said to Shekar, Ongud, and Eklavya, and when his words seemed to sooth their warrior pride, it reminded Thera that Toramana had been a wise leader in his own right, long before his people had fallen in with her rebellion. “Noting the change of the wind doesn’t stop it from blowing.”
“I’ve read a lot of battle history, but gunners change everything,” Ongud muttered.
“Some. If I had a thousand more Fortress rods at my disposal I’d march them against the Capitol to end this once and for all,” Thera said. “But we’ve got sixty.”
“Fifty-eight,” Gupta reflexively corrected her. “Two have broken in a way that we lack the tools precise enough to repair them.”
Thera sighed. That was the disadvantage of living in a crater too secret to engage in regular trade. “So what do you suggest we do with what we have?”
“I don’t know, Prophet. All I can promise you is that there will be great discontent among the workers over this. If we can turn enough of them to our side even the first caste will have no choice but to spare the casteless and grant freedom to us faithful. Without us there’s no crops. Let the first caste know what hunger feels like, and they will give in.”
Thera looked to their merchant turned priest. Gupta knew how to keep men alive in a treacherous place, but mining was a different kind of danger from politics. “Do you think the workers could be swayed to help us, Javed?”
“It is possible, Prophet. Secret believers in the Forgotten are rare among the worker caste. My people are far more likely to worship profit than illegal gods. However, this extermination will be extremely unprofitable for some. We might be able to exploit this. Perhaps you should inquire of the Forgotten and see if he will give us his wisdom through you?”
It annoyed her when Javed asked for the Voice to come out, but she had to remind herself that he was the only one here who hadn’t seen the strange power manifest in person, had not heard the Forgotten’s words for himself. That had to be difficult for a fanatic, so she tempered her response. “The Voice speaks when it feels like it.”
“Alas, of course.” Javed was clearly disappointed, but he placed his palms together in apology. “Then stalwart Gupta and I will ponder on this question together and see if we can come up with some suggestions to present to you. If we cannot turn the workers into allies, perhaps we can at least make one less enemy.”
“Good. Anything else from the spies?” She was secretly hoping that there would be some new rumor about Ashok being seen somewhere, but she dared not say that aloud without seeming weak.
Ongud seemed uncomfortable sharing the next part. “Akerselem, the ancestor blade of my old house, has chosen a new bearer. A warrior named Bharatas, barely twenty years of age, so I’d never heard of him before, but…sadly…it appears that he’s from Chakma.”
“Oceans.” Thera had seen Angruvadal slice apart an army of Somsak with her own eyes, so she knew just how deadly an ancestor blade really was. Now the nearest one was in the hands of someone from a town she’d once captured, which had suffered greatly because of her decisions. “I assume he holds a grudge.”
“It’s said that his hate burns with a righteous fire. Apparently the fool Pankaj executed Bharatas’ entire family after we abandoned Chakma. His first public action as bearer was to swear a blood oath to destroy our rebellion and kill Ashok Vadal and every single man who ever aided him. While he wintered in MaDharvo he raised an army, and they’re searching for us now. Word is he’s a proper Akershani horse soldier, not some city boy who got rank by virtue of birth, so he’ll be a dangerous foe.”
That was dire news. Since Devedas and his protectors had left Akershan, the search for the rebellion had seemed half-hearted at best. After their defeat at Garo, it was almost as if the Akershani warrior caste had been hesitant to seek out a very dangerous enemy who seemed content to be left alone. Thera had only known one other bearer, and that had been the legendary Ashok. Except she couldn’t imagine one of the most powerful weapons in the world would choose someone weak-willed to wield it. Ashok had supposedly been the most fearsome bearer of all, but if this Bharatas possessed even a fraction of Ashok’s determination…
“With a black steel blade aimed right at our heart, maybe I shouldn’t have been so optimistic in my sermon,” Keta muttered.
“Even a bearer can only be in one place at a time, and the extermination isn’t going to stop itself. This changes nothing. We proceed as planned. We will send saboteurs to every house, while the rest of you find me one valuable target for the Sons to strike. Your assignment is to think of the best way to hurt the Capitol, and make them question their path.” Thera waited to judge her officers’ reactions, but even menaced by a bearer they seemed as determined as ever. Say what you will about religious fanatics, but they certainly didn’t lack commitment. “Soon we’ll take the fight to the Law. Attend to your duties. I must speak with Keta alone.”
The men filed out of the room. Murugan waited at the door, until she signaled that she meant for him to go too. Loyal Murugan nodded and left. She knew that her bodyguard would position himself down the hall, far enough to not eavesdrop, but close enough to rush to her aid if she called. Once they had the room to themselves, Thera was able to relax a bit. As she had spent so much time on the road with Keta, they were far beyond her needing to keep up a public face in front of him.
“I listened to part of your sermon. It seemed to go well.”
“I think so. We’ve sure come a long way since it was just the two of us, hiding from Inquisitors, and you stealing our dinner while I preached in barns. Now we’ve got a multitude who have faith in us. I just hope that faith isn’t misplaced.”
The way he said that made her sad. “Usually you’re the one trying to convince me that we’re doing the right thing.”
“We are.” Keta then lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I hate lying to the faithful, though.”
“You did what you had to, just like the rest of us.”
“I know, but—”
“The Voice hasn’t spoken in a long time. We had no choice!” Thera swept one crippled hand toward the map painted on the wall. “How many thousands, no, millions of casteless are going to die before the gods get around to giving us another revelation? How many have died this season while we sat here, doing nothing?”
“I didn’t say you were wrong.” Keta stared at the painted lines, because the lives represented there weighed on him just as much as they did her.
The two of them were the only people who knew that there had been no new revelation last night. That was a fabrication, created because her people needed something. “If they wanted a prophet who would sit meek and patient while people who look to her for help are slaughtered, the Forgotten shouldn’t have picked a daughter of House Vane.”
Thera despised the thing that had been living inside her head since she’d been a child. It was all-knowing, yet cruel. Demanding, then strangely absent for long periods of time. It had led her father to his doom and destroyed her family name, yet it had performed miracles and gotten them farther than any other rebellion before. It offered inspiration and guidance, then silence and pain. In the Cove it had healed, and in the graveyard of demons it had destroyed. The Voice had united her with Ashok, and now she cursed it daily for not even having the compassion to let her know if he was alive or dead.
“I know, Thera. The people will fight harder if they believe they are following the Forgotten’s plans, rather than those cooked up by a mortal woman…even one they trust as much as you. Except it terrifies me to think, what if we’re wrong?”
“Everything we’ve built will be destroyed, and everyone we love will die.”
The Sons had become restless, hiding here during the season best suited for war. Once they’d heard about the Great Extermination, the people would have taken it as an affront to their gods. If Thera had done nothing, the people would lose faith, and everything would crumble. Sending out saboteurs to aid the casteless was a risk, but that alone would not be enough. The Sons needed to launch an offensive.
What if the gods had been keeping them isolated here for a reason?
Then they should have spoken up when they had the chance.
Life had been so much easier before she’d allowed herself to care what happened to anyone else. She had lost that shield when—infuriated by the sight of massacred women and children on the plains—she had ordered Ashok to go to war. As he had warned, there was no turning back after that.
“Then we will pray and work, Thera. I have faith we’ve not been led astray.”
“You’ve got more faith in the Forgotten than I do.”
Keta gave her a wry smile. “I wasn’t talking about the Forgotten.”