Chapter 41
Javed knelt between the trees upon a carpet of leaves, patiently awaiting his execution. It was a beautiful fall day. The air was crisp. The sun was bright. It was not the stark desert where he’d been born, and then reborn, but this was a fine place to die. Though he was unsure if that was what the gods intended for him or not. He would soon find out.
Ashok and Toramana approached, so Javed rose to greet them.
“General.” Javed bowed in greeting. “Chief.”
“I have stepped down and do not command the Sons of the Black Sword anymore. The leaders have counseled. Toramana is no longer chief of the swamp folk. From here on he will be the Thakoor of Free House Thera and will rule the Cove and the lands around it.”
So Toramana had gone from being headman of a lost village in the swamp to running a rebel kingdom that in all likelihood would someday grow to become a great house. “That is a significant change. Is the Law aware of this?”
“They will be soon enough.” Ashok sat on a nearby log. “I will not draw out this affair. Your crimes are known. Your sentence passed. Make no appeals to me. Your life is in the hands of your Thakoor whom you have wronged.”
“Very well.” Javed turned to face Toramana.
In battle the swamp folk painted their faces in white and black ash to mimic skulls to better intimidate their enemies. Toramana wore no ash now, but the razor-sharp axe in his hand and the hatred in his eyes were enough. Death was all but certain, but Javed had one final request.
“I would ask for one thing.”
“Why should I care?”
Javed had thought he was resigned to his fate, but that offended him, and he responded with anger. “Because I took up an ancestor blade and then willingly put it down. Because I converted thousands in a land notorious for how much it hates the faithful. Because I flooded the world with the words of the prophet and destroyed centuries of the Inquisition’s work in only a few seasons. Because I have kept my word, returning to the Sons despite knowing I’d be punished for my crimes. After my fate was sealed, I could have run away at any time. I didn’t. I could have slipped away after the battle, and you would’ve thought I’d died somewhere along the way and never been the wiser, but I stayed and tended the wounded instead.”
“Even murderers can be brave.”
“There was no bravery in what this murderer has done, Thakoor Toramana. It was fear that kept me on this path. Fear of a punishment far beyond what any man, even you, can bestow upon me. It was fear of displeasing the gods that caused me to throw myself to the demons rather than risk the Voice. It was that same fear that compelled me to carry Ashok out of the depths and bring him back to the light to slay my old master, Omand.”
Toramana glanced at Ashok, who nodded, affirming that to be the truth.
“Then that has earned you my ear for now. Speak your request.”
“Let me live long enough to tell the story of what really happened here.”
The Thakoor mocked him with laughter. “Pathetic! Everyone will tell this story around every campfire for the rest of their lives, for what we did here will become legend.”
“Lok is far bigger than some village in the swamp. You know of the scriptures I wrote?”
“Of course. You think because you’re a civilized man the men of the forest must be fools. We had no books in the Bhadjangal, but those who escaped the assassins knew their letters. I learned them because I was curious even when all I had to write them with was a stick in the dirt. I have learned more since and even managed to read these books of yours myself. In them I found some of the same stories Mother Dawn shared with my people long before we dug Ashok from the rubble.”
“Then you recognize the power those words have to spread the teachings everywhere, to every great house and everything in-between, so that everyone can learn the truth and remember what has been forgotten. And unlike your campfire stories, the words of the book won’t change with each teller.”
“I tire of this, murderous priest. What do you really want?”
“Let me finish the books! Let me write about what really happened here. Let me tell the story of Thera’s courage. Let me write of Ashok and Toramana and the Sons of the Black Sword and all that they have done! Let me write about how good king Devedas let the casteless become whole men! If I do not tell the truth, it will become corrupted. It will inevitably be replaced with lies!”
“No.” Toramana shook his head. “You’ve had enough time.”
“My time is not for me!” Javed shouted. “Can’t you understand? Yesterday I went to where our prophet was cremated so I could pray, and do you know what I found there? The faithful, picking through the ashes to find fragments of her bones and teeth to keep as magic charms to pray to!”
Ashok scowled at that.
“They are devout but without understanding. They believe but don’t know in what. They’d turn her into nothing more than the nameless idols the Inquisition used to smash. Without knowledge the people will be lost. They’ll become corrupt. You know the stories of what happened to the children of Ramrowan the first time. They fell into ignorance and pride and destroyed themselves. We will do the exact same thing, only without the guidance of truth will fall even faster! Let me record that truth before you kill me. That is all I ask.”
“You ask too much.”
“I ask for seasons. In return I would provide your house decades, centuries, of knowing what really happened here. Of what was sacrificed and the cost of all that was lost to create this graveyard of demons. I do not ask this for myself, but rather for the good of all the faithful. They must know the truth, or it will be denied.” Javed held up his remaining hand. “In your wisdom you left me one hand to write with. Allow me to use it.”
Toramana’s anger was apparent, but it was a calculating one. A good leader put the needs of his people over his own desires. Whether he lived a bit longer or died now, Javed suspected Toramana would make a worthy Thakoor.
“Having this scripture sounds like a fine thing, but why should I not pick someone else to write this truth?”
“Who else is there? One of the priests I set apart in Kanok? The one I sent to the Cove? They weren’t here. Their words will be hollow. I have already demonstrated what my words can accomplish. I’ll do the same as before, and then use the printer of Makao to send the truth everywhere, so all the faithful will be lifted up, and many more will convert, so many that the Law will never dare take religion away again. I would give you allies in every great house. But denied the truth, false prophets will surely rise, and within a generation they will be the ones taking the credit for what was accomplished here instead. Thera will be forgotten. The Sons will be forgotten.”
“Never!”
“We forgot our own gods before, Toramana! What is our glory compared to them? Men who weren’t even here will claim honors they did not earn. I beg you, let there be a true account for the faithful to hold onto.”
Toramana looked to Ashok for wisdom. “What do you think?”
“I think it is entirely your decision to make, Thakoor.”
Javed had made his case. There was nothing else to say. His plea was an earnest one, but even he didn’t know if it was the right thing to do or not. His final instruction from Mother Dawn had been to do his duty for the bloodline of Ramrowan. This seemed the best way to accomplish that. Like Toramana, he could only try to do what he thought was best for those he was commanded to serve.
The Thakoor was silent for a very long time. It was cruel that his first act of judgment would be to weigh the value of his child’s memory against the good of the faithful.
“I would not have those boys die for nothing…I have other children, and they will have children, and they will have children. Thera wanted us to make a future for them. Not just now, but forever. Is my anger worth more than their faith? Eklavya and Ongud will keep us safe for as long as they live, but after that, we must be strong on our own. Would Parth and Rawal curse me for being a coward or praise me for my foresight? That’s the question you ask me to live with.”
“I am sorry for what I have done,” Javed said truthfully.
“I believe you. It does not make me hate you less.” The new Thakoor stared at the great city of man that had stood for over a thousand years, surely asking himself how he could keep his people alive over the next few. “I must care for the living and those not yet born before I can satisfy myself and the dead…I’ll allow you to finish your book and send it to the world. Then you will die. I have spoken.”
Javed nodded at this wisdom, for they both wanted what was best for their people.
“Now I must go and apologize to the ghosts of children.” Toramana began walking down the hill.
Ashok and Javed watched him go.
Toramana was a good leader and honorable man, but he was unwise to the ways of the courts. He was a simple hunter, who would be competing against the likes of Bhadramunda Vadal or Venketesh Makao, who had been trained since birth by philosophers and scholars how best to strive for the betterment of their house. For the faithful to survive as a cohesive people would take cunning. Every other house would either despise the faithful or try to manipulate them for their own advantage. The world had changed, but the fundamental nature of power had not. Toramana would need Javed’s help for this ambitious new house to survive.
“I spoke the truth, Ashok.”
“I know you did, but it was not my place to decide your fate.”
“What would you have done with me?”
Ashok stood up. “I would have killed you.”
“Do you still doubt my conviction, then?”
“Not at all…I would kill you because that conviction is what makes you so dangerous. Do not lead these people astray. Farewell, Keeper.”
“Goodbye, Ashok.”