Chapter 16
Thera had promised the casteless a priest, but she’d also promised the beloved leader of some of her most loyal followers justice. It was difficult balancing politics and prophecy. Never mind her own desires, which were to see a lying scum witch hunter hanged by his neck until he was quick-kicking.
Not knowing what else to do with him, they’d kept Javed locked away from the rest of the Sons. Toramana, being a man of honor, had respected her wishes to spare Javed’s life until after the prophecy was satisfied. Then he was doomed. She reasoned that if the gods needed her to keep this particular priest alive until the demons were defeated, she might as well put him to work turning the casteless into something useful in the meantime. It seemed a shame to waste the talents of the man who had so successfully whipped the Cove into shape, even if he had been a two-faced lying murderer that entire time. Or at least that was what Thera told herself to feel better about a decision that made her feel unclean.
She had sent for Toramana to meet with her near where Javed had been confined. The chief had kept his word, and never told the other Sons or his swamp folk about Javed’s true nature. The reason he’d cut the priest’s hand off had remained a secret, but one that the entire camp was guessing at and gossiping over. It must have galled Toramana to keep it that way, because many of the Sons loved Javed—the fake version at least—and they assumed their feud was over some petty thing. Maybe the proud chief had lost his temper over some perceived offense? None of them suspected Javed was guilty of betrayal, poisoning, and the murder of children.
Thera hadn’t asked for Ashok to accompany her, but he’d come anyway. Most likely because he was concerned the chief might react violently to the terrible thing his prophet was about to command. Thera didn’t expect Toramana to raise his hand against her, but considering how distasteful the thing she was about to ask for was, she couldn’t blame Ashok for expecting the worst.
The sun had set by the time Toramana arrived at the miller’s shack that served as Javed’s prison. “Prophet Thera, General Ashok. I have come as you have asked.” He looked toward the humble structure that held his son’s killer. “Is it time? I’ve been sharpening my knife.”
“Not yet, I’m afraid.”
Toramana was a proud hunter, but more importantly, he had been a ruler. It had been a small village, but it had been isolated from the world and surrounded by danger. He was no fool to the give and take that leadership required, but even then he couldn’t hide his disappointment. “If you didn’t ask me here to kill him, then there’s only one other possibility.”
“We have need of Javed’s skills.”
“What skills? Assassination? Tell me who you need dead and I will put an arrow in them myself.”
“We need him for preaching and organizing the city’s casteless into something that might actually be useful by the time the demons get here, rather than just a dumb mob that’s going to eat itself.”
Toramana sneered. “It’s not enough to let him linger, but now you’d let this animal roam free? Even after all he has done?”
“Only for a time. That hasn’t changed. The Voice said we’d need a priest to prevail against the demons, as did the Mother of Dawn, and even the old writings of the Fortress folk. You trusted Mother Dawn enough to have your whole village abandon their swamp and follow the Sons. Surely you still believe her.”
“Do not question my faith. Of course.”
“Then after that’s over, he’s still all yours.”
“Will he be? Or will he make himself too valuable for you to do without? That’s what he did the last time. It’s one thing to keep him in a cage long enough to satisfy the word of the gods, but you’d let that venomous snake out? He poisoned their bodies before. Now you would give him their minds!”
Thera understood exactly how Toramana felt, but on this thing, she was certain. “The same prophecies say the bloodline of Ramrowan are the only people who can truly stop the demons. That might be in a year, or it might be tomorrow. Like it or not, Javed’s the Keeper of Names. He’s got Keta’s book of which casteless supposedly come from Ramrowan. Right now, the casteless of this city would be nothing but a feast for demons. We need someone who can prepare them and teach them, as Javed did in the Cove.”
“If the city folk are so weak, then let them die.” Toramana had never even seen a real town until after his people had joined the Sons. By the standards of those who’d survived the Bhadjangal trapped between wizards and the sea, the city casteless were pathetic. They surely wouldn’t last a day where he was from.
“You know I can’t do that. In all the time you’ve followed me have I ever abandoned anyone who put their faith in us?”
“Then use someone else!”
Ashok spoke for the first time. “There is no one else, Chief. We bought the casteless their freedom before we understood what that entailed. If we do not organize them quickly, they’ll be scattered before the demons even get here. Javed has proven he is good at organizing casteless.”
“He’s good at murder too!”
Ashok nodded. “As was I.”
Thera could only hope that Toramana heard the earnestness in her plea. “The gods gave us who we’ve got. Each of us flawed or awful as we might be, this is all we have. I hate Javed too, but for now we need him.”
Agitated, Toramana began to pace back and forth. “You insult me!”
“No, Chief, if I intended offense I would’ve just given the command, as is my right, and afterward told you to accept it or else. Instead, I respect you and your people enough to talk to you first. He will still die for what he’s done, but only after we’ve wrung all the usefulness out of him we can get.”
“That is insufficient!”
“Of course it is!” Thera shouted back. It was killing her to watch a good man suffer so, made worse because it was her fault, and she knew it. “Javed could do good deeds for a hundred years and it still wouldn’t be enough restitution to make up for the life of your boy. A hundred years! I only need him for this one!”
Toramana took a deep breath, trying to control his rage and grief. “The snake claims he has changed, that his evils were purified by the light of Mother Dawn like a sin doll thrown into the Dahan fire. Do you believe his lies?”
Thera was unsure how to answer that. She’d been around so many criminals and dishonorable sorts that it wasn’t easy to earn her trust, but she had seen the fervor in Javed’s eyes, both when he’d testified before the Thakoor of Makao, and again when he’d willingly given up his hand. He’d come back to her surely believing she’d have him executed and did it anyway. If the tales were to be believed, he had even picked up a black-steel sword, and then put it down in the name of the gods. No witch hunter was a good enough actor to fool an ancestor blade.
Ashok answered for her. “The question is not if we believe him, but does Javed believe himself? I will find out. Do you trust me, Chief Toramana?”
He answered without hesitation. “With my life, Ashok. Through fire and death I would fight for you.”
“Then you know I do not give oaths lightly. The act of saying a thing will be done means it will be done. I know your son begs for vengeance and your heart will never rest until that demand is answered, so I will give you this vow here and now: When our work is done, Javed will die for his crimes by your hand. If that is not possible, then he will die by mine.”
“And if the demons get you both, I swear I’ll see to it,” Thera added.
Toramana was still seething, but he nodded slowly, for Ashok made no promises lightly. “That will do…Only grant me one more thing.”
“A priest is going to need at least one hand,” Thera warned.
“No. I’ve taken enough of his flesh for now. I want to take away his peace before I take away his life. Make sure he knows of this vow. Make sure he knows that every day that remains of his miserable life was only granted to him by the intervention of the gods and the faithful patience of Toramana. And after he dies, I will shout until the whole world hears his crimes, so that his name will be worth saltwater forever. Javed will only be remembered enough to be hated.”
“I will see to it,” Ashok said.
“I have waited this long. I can wait longer.” Toramana stomped off.
“That went well,” Thera muttered.
Ashok watched the chief walk away. “He is a better man than I.”
They went to the shack. Thera had dismissed the guards—who worked for Gutch, as she didn’t need the Sons wondering why their priest was being held captive—but they had already left her the key to the stout lock on the door. She opened it.
A haggard Javed was sitting on the floor, writing with a glass pen by lantern light. There were fresh bandages wrapped around the stump of his wrist. Filthy, unkempt, still in bloodstained clothing, he looked as miserable as the casteless she needed him to lead.
“Hello, Javed.”
“Prophet.” He stood up and bowed, then took note of Ashok, and then gave him the same gesture of respect. “General.”
Javed looked to be in such a sorry state she couldn’t help but ask, “Are you well?”
“I have so many comforts here. There’s a pile of straw to sleep on and a bucket to shit in,” he said sarcastically. “What more could a traitor ask for?”
“It’s more than you deserve.”
“I do not disagree.”
She took note of all the papers. “You’re writing more scriptures?”
“The workers who bring my food took pity on me after I begged them to bring me something to write with.” Javed gestured at the pages scattered across the stone floor. “These are merely the philosophical musings of a man with time to spare and no distractions. My ruminations will never rise to the insights of Ratul or Keta, but maybe someday these words might be useful to someone.”
“Ratul and Keta were good men. You’re not. What’s this new book about?”
“The Book of Javed will tell of my life before and after finding the Forgotten’s truth. I’m including a full confession of all my crimes, the tale of my encounter with Mother Dawn, and everything I’ve done since, both in Makao, and to spread the word across the rest of Lok. It also contains my thoughts on some doctrines which neither the Voice nor the Keepers have expounded upon yet.”
“Do you think this work you do now absolves you of the evil things you did before, Witch Hunter?” Ashok asked.
“I could ask you the same, Protector. But no…Only the gods offer absolution. I’ll save you time. I know why you’re here.”
Thera scoffed. “Did another messenger from above reveal it to you?”
“There are holes in the walls of this shack. I could not help but overhear Toramana shouting. I will serve however you wish. I’ll help the casteless of this city, and when the demons are defeated—gods willing—then I will gladly bare my neck for the sword.”
“You accept this fate?”
“I embrace it. Toramana wanted to take my hope. That’s understandable, but he fails to realize there’s nothing left for him take. There’s no hope to strip from me. I’ve already consigned myself to Naraka. Only the gods can free me from suffering forever for my crimes. I know that of a surety.” Javed held up his bandaged stump. “This pain pales in comparison to that knowledge. All I can do now is make the most of what time I have left. It probably won’t be enough. Still, I must try.”
Ashok walked over to Javed until they were face-to-face, only a few inches apart. A lesser man would have quailed. Javed did not.
“You truly believe all this.”
Javed actually met Ashok’s terrifying gaze, unflinching. “I swear to it.”
Ashok scowled. “I couldn’t see it in you before, because I did not know to look, but you have always been broken inside.”
“Yes,” Javed snarled. “You also understand what it means to never question your assigned purpose. It makes for a fine witch hunter, and a terrible everything else. It took Mother Dawn’s wrath to teach me how to feel. Now I am cursed with knowledge.”
“Yet you were somehow judged worthy by an ancestor blade.”
“For a time. Not because I was good, but because I was available.”
“Sounds familiar,” Thera said.
Ashok continued to study Javed, and honestly it seemed a miracle to Thera that the traitor priest didn’t wilt beneath that judgmental stare. If there was anything more unforgiving than the gods, it had to be Ashok.
“You believe your own words. You will do. When the work is done, one of us will kill you. If you are fortunate, it will be me. I will make it quick. I suspect Toramana would not.”
Javed nodded. “I accept this obligation.”
“Then you’ll go among the casteless to teach and help them, but you’ll stay away from the Sons.” Thera pointed at the pages on the floor. “And don’t share this confession of yours yet either, because when the Sons find out that you were the one who poisoned their friends and loved ones, they won’t pause to think about how our prophecies require us to have a priest like I have. They’ll just kill you on the spot, and I don’t want to have to punish a good warrior for doing something that I’ve longed to do myself.”
“It will be done.”
Ashok opened the door for Thera, and she walked out. As Ashok went to follow, Javed called after them.
“I have accepted my obligation, Prophet, but have you come to terms with yours?”
Thera paused just outside. “What do you mean?”
“The Voice itself has declared its sacrifice will be required. Keta tried to find other meanings for this, or to avoid thinking about it at all, but that was only because he was afraid. Keta loved you. The meaning of this prophecy is clear to the rest of us. Are you prepared to willingly give your life to unlock the power that lurks in the blood of Ramrowan?”
Ashok crossed the shack in the blink of an eye and wrapped his fingers around Javed’s throat. His fury was so sudden that it took Thera a moment to realize he was about to kill their priest and cried out, “Ashok, wait!”
“Even the gods do not threaten my woman with impunity.” Ashok shook Javed hard. “Never speak of this again.”
The priest’s eyes were wide, but in desperation, rather than fear. The threat of death could no longer sway Javed, and he managed to croak, “If you can’t abide truth, then kill me now and get it over with.” Spittle flew from his lips. “The Voice must be sacrificed.”
“Let him go, Ashok…Please.”
Ashok grudgingly released his grip, and Javed stumbled away, gasping. “Hate the gods all you want, think them cruel, but I’ll not hide from the truth ever again. Prophecy can’t be thwarted.”
“Watch me.”
“I need him to speak honestly, without fear of you promptly killing him for it,” Thera said. “Leave us, Ashok, please.”
Ashok hesitated, for he was her husband and protector, but she was his sworn commander. It was not often those two roles clashed. “Very well.” Ashok turned and walked out of the shack.
Javed rubbed his bruised throat with his remaining hand. “I didn’t say that to wound you, Prophet, but to prepare you. I know you’ve given much, but you’ve got one last great work to do. No matter how much I help the casteless, only the willing sacrifice of the Voice can grant them the power of their birthright. The gods have been preparing them for this day since the last great war, since before the gods were struck down from their palaces in the sky. The children of Ramrowan are the gods’ final weapon against their eternal enemy, their blood refined over the centuries since. The time to reveal the nature of that great work is finally upon us. You alone hold the key.”
“Save the preaching for the fish-eaters,” Thera snapped, for she’d heard all that prophetic doom before. “Never question my commitment again. I’m a warrior daughter of Vane. I’ll do whatever needs to be done.”
“That’s good. When the moment comes to embrace your purpose, you must not be afraid.”
Oh, she was terrified, because unlike Javed, she actually had something to live for. “We’re done here.”
“Thera…Wait.”
“What more do you want?”
“There’s one last thing, and I must tell it to you and you alone. I don’t know if the time is right, and I would wait, because with this knowledge comes agony, but I don’t know how much time we have left. This secret was told to me by Keta, who was told it by Ratul, who was told by the Voice itself.”
“I’ve got copies of all the scriptures you printed.”
“Yet those are incomplete and kept that way for a reason. I beg you to hear me out.”
Damn Javed to hell…Yet he sounded sincere.
She let out a long exhalation. “Speak.”
“I can’t yet,” he whispered. “Ashok is still near these thin walls and this is not for him, only for you, because in his anger he would attempt to thwart the Forgotten’s carefully laid plans.”
She knew Ashok was far too honorable to use his strange ability to hear distant things to spy on her private conversations. “The gods are already calling for the sacrifice of the Voice. I’d be glad to get rid of the damned thing. Except everyone seems to think it’s not just the Voice, but me. My life. Yet I’m still here, willing to do whatever it takes. This can’t be worse than that.”
“Then it’s the shattering of your hopes, but it is also the only way forward.”
Well, that was just bloody wonderful…except that she was also intrigued. With all the terrible revelations of the Voice, what had Ratul and Keta kept from her all these years? Or was Javed just a liar trying to manipulate her somehow?
“When Ashok is away, seek me out among the untouchables and I will tell you all I was told. You can use that knowledge however you see fit. I pray that that you’ll continue to follow the gods’ great plan.” Javed knelt and began gathering up his papers, a task made far more difficult by only having one hand. “I will go to the casteless quarter now. Their plan for me is to serve, and the work cannot wait another minute.”
Thera left the fanatic to gather his things. She found Ashok outside, impatiently waiting for her.
“Do you think we’re doing the right thing, letting him out?”
He glared at the shack, still angry that the gods would threaten his woman. “Unfortunately, yes.”
The two of them walked in silence back toward their camp. After a while, the awkwardness grew too much, and Thera was compelled to say, “The prophecies are rarely direct, and sometimes they seem to have more than one meaning. We’ve misunderstood them before. Angruvadal was the servant who died in the ice storm, not me, or you, or Keta. We diverted the Capitol’s water, but it was Akershan draining the lake that endangered the Cove.”
Ashok was quiet for a long time, before admitting, “I don’t want you to die.”
She took his calloused hand in her scarred hand and held it gently as they walked. “I know.”
They said nothing else as there was nothing left to say.