Chapter 43
One Year Later
“Have you written it all down?”
“The book is complete,” Javed told Thakoor Toramana.
“Have these books been sent out into the world?”
“It has been arranged.”
The two of them stood within the stone room that had served as Thera’s command post at the Cove. Still drawn upon the wall with chalk was the map of Lok, as created from memory by the Sons. Javed had drawn much of it himself, because he had been well traveled compared to the rest. They had thought it was because he was a merchant. He had been a child of the caravans, but in truth it was the Inquisition that had sent him wherever there had been secret heretics in need of rooting out. Now he was a leader of a heretics, and had just returned from Makao, having overseen the printing and distribution of the scriptures. Thakoor Venketesh—who remained converted to the Forgotten—had begged Javed to stay and be their priest, but knowing that was not his place, Javed had returned to the Cove instead.
Most of the faithful still did not know about Javed’s treachery yet, so they had welcomed him back as a hero. He had walked up the drained tunnel, past the rough statue of Keta that had been placed in the spot where he had been slain by bearer Bharatas, and every step of the way the people had cheered for their priest. They had chanted his name. They had begged him to bless their children and their crops. He was loved.
“Has the sacred Book of Names been passed on?”
“Yes. A new Keeper of Names has been chosen. The priesthood is secure.”
“That’s good.”
Toramana had proven himself to be a fine leader. The faithful had thrived under his watch. Their holdings had expanded into the wilderness and new settlements were being built. Tens of thousands of casteless and converts had joined them, and a hundred of the Fortress folk had decided to stay rather than return to their gray and dreary island. Their merchants traded with Akershan, Devakula, and Thao. They had even built a small church in Neeramphorn, where the Law reluctantly allowed one of their priests to preach.
And no matter how much the faithful were still despised by many, none of those dared move against them as long as Ongud and Eklavya lived. Those bearers dwelled once more in their ancestral lands, as required by their obligation, but their estates had become havens for the faithful. And it was known that anyone who trespassed against the Cove, also trespassed against two bearers.
Yet Javed knew that was not enough.
Toramana seemed remarkably calm for a man denied justice for so very long. “Is there anything else you must do before I finally have my revenge?”
Javed had struggled with this decision for months. Toramana’s desire for retribution was a righteous one. He knew he deserved to die for his crimes. Tormented by guilt, Javed yearned for the release of death. But the faithful were not yet truly secure. They remained surrounded by enemies, who were soaked in ancestral hate. Maharani Rada had continued Maharaja Devedas’ policies toward them, so the Law granted them leniency for now, but how long would that last? The faithful were a tiny minority in Lok. Javed knew their only hope for long-term survival was to convert so many to the faith that the Law could never threaten them again. Or better, convert the entire continent, and then the gods’ holy commandments would be the only Law.
Javed knew his audacious plan would surely end in war, but this blood would be shed in self-defense, for all who were not converted were enemies. If the faithful did not control the world, then that world would eventually, inevitably turn against them. Two ancestor blades had bought them respect for now. Javed would use that time to convince the undecided and sway them to his cause, and once he had a big enough army, Javed would convert the rest of the world by the sword. They would have to obey the Forgotten or taste his wrath.
The gods had not commanded him to do this. He had no Voice to guide him. But he could see no other way out. The faithful were his responsibility now, and they had to be protected at all costs. Javed the Witch Hunter had contaminated the believers’ water and murdered their children to fulfill his obligation to the Law. Javed the priest would kill millions for his gods if he had to.
“I said, is there anything else, priest?”
Javed returned to the present. “No, my Thakoor. That’s all. I am sorry the time has come.” Then he jabbed the poisoned needle into Toramana’s neck.
The Thakoor of Free House Thera stumbled back with a look of surprise on his face. He tried to shout but no sound came out, for the muscles of his throat were already constricting. He reached for his axe, but his hands were suddenly too numb to grasp it.
“Rest, Thakoor. This is a powerful toxin. Death will be swift and painless. Go to your reward knowing your people will be saved by me. The deaths of Parth and Rawal will not have been for nothing. The faithful will sing of them as heroes for generations, as they will you. I will make sure of it.”
Toramana’s face had gone as white as the ashen masks of the swamp folk. He crashed against the wall, clumsy hand pressed against the tiny puncture wound. Such a murder was an old witch hunter trick. No one would notice such a small, innocuous injury. It would look like his heart had given out, a not uncommon death for such a large man who worked so hard and lived under so much stress. It would be a tragic death, but Javed would help the people cope with their loss.
“I will not ask for forgiveness. I know I’m condemned. But when you get to the other side you will understand, I do this not for me, but for the future of the faithf—”
The point of a sword erupted out Javed’s chest.
He stared at the red steel in disbelief as blood gushed down his robes.
The blade was wrenched out from between his shoulder blades, and Javed dropped helpless to his knees.
The wizard Laxmi stepped out from the darkness of the space between worlds right behind him. “Are you alright, Toramana?”
The Thakoor held up one hand to show her he was wearing a silver ring, and embedded in it was a fragment of black steel. Then he gasped, unexpectedly able to breathe again. Slowly, the color returned to his skin.
“I will be, Laxmi. Inquisition poisons are nothing compared to Defender might.”
“That was a stupid gamble. I warned you not to trust this bastard. I knew far too many just like him at the House of Assassins.”
“I was foolish enough to hope he might die with dignity.” Toramana drew his axe from his belt and approached the mortally wounded priest. He grabbed a handful of Javed’s hair and pulled his head back, better to expose the neck.
In the desert, Javed had met a god. In the Cove, he would meet his death.
“This…is not…what…I wanted.”
“Tell it to the gods in person. This is for my son and everyone one else ever hurt by your lies.”
Toramana began hacking.