Tower of silence, p.30
Tower of Silence, page 30
“Spare me, foreigner.” Ram Sahib cringed, unable to move his body from the pain. “Whatever you desire, it is yours. Treasure, women. Name it.”
The jeweled horn had cracked, so Ashok turned it over and poured the Fortress powder onto Ram Sahib’s face. He cried out in surprise as it got in his eyes, and then gagged as it fell into his mouth. Ashok kept the horn turned until it was empty, and then tossed it aside. As Ram Sahib coughed out a cloud of black, Ashok squatted next to him, reached into his cloak, and took out the fire starter that Moyo had given him to make sure he could always light a lantern in the down below.
“You should not have shot my friend.”
The Ram’s eyes went wide and white upon his powder-darkened face as he watched Ashok drag the steel rod across the flint. Sparks rained down. The Fortress powder ignited with a hiss and flash. The foul, angry stuff burned fast.
Ashok listened to the screaming for a while but, still unsatisfied, he kicked the burning Ram over the side.
The screaming stopped abruptly.
It was quiet. The City of Guilds watched, waiting for him to say something.
“Is the collector alive?”
The crowd there parted, enough that Ashok could see a few men were tending to Moyo, probably brothers from his same guild by the look of their clothing. Their distraught look told him the answer. Ashok closed his eyes and sighed, unexpectedly shaken by that. It seemed without the Law to tell him what to do, whenever he tried to make things better, good men died. He had agreed to Moyo’s plan because it was his country, his people, but Ashok should have known better. For him, there was proving to be no such thing as peaceful solutions.
“Which of these houses belongs to the Collectors Guild?” Many hands pointed in the same direction. It was one of the smallest buildings, but there was the sign of the shears, pick, and lantern. Every balcony around the square was full now, but that one especially groaned beneath the weight of all the bodies that had turned out to see the commotion.
“Your man spoke truth. The path below is open. Send your expeditions and you will see.” Then Ashok thought of what Moyo had told him. “When you do, let this whole island know that Moyo was the one who found me, and showed me the way. Remember his name.”
Now that they had begun to realize the magnitude of what had just transpired, the crowd changed. Ashok could only assume that those who were fleeing had been loyalists to Ram Sahib, or had somehow benefitted from his cruel rule, and were trying to escape the inevitable purge. Others seemed overcome by a religious furor. There was a great deal of crying and shouting at the sky.
“Avatara, what will you do?”
“I am going home.”
Chapter 29
Ashok was tired of this gray land. Tired of its strange people. His message had been delivered. It was time to go. The same sack that had carried the Dvarapala’s head was now filled with supplies. The people had been happy to give away their goods when asked, either because they actually thought he was their hero reborn, or because they knew he wasn’t and were happy to help him leave.
As he walked out of town, a mob followed. He had told them to go away, but all fanatics were fools, no matter what nation they came from. Moyo had taught him enough guild sign that Ashok believed he could get himself back to Lok, but he couldn’t do it leading this ragtag bunch. Thera needed warriors and weapons, not more bodies that were basically casteless by some other name.
“If you want to come to Lok, join your army first. You are useless to me like this.”
He didn’t understand the strange government of this place, but they would believe him and send help, or they would not. Either way, he could afford no more delays. Watchers stood at every window, pointing and gossiping. Making his way down the muddy streets, the curious crowd behind him continued to grow, as did his annoyance.
“Are you deaf? Convince your leaders to help fight.” There were men, women, and children, priests in different color robes, and various strange uniforms and outfits that he had never seen before. They kept trying to touch him, as if expecting some kind of blessing. Many of them shed tears of joy.
“Leave me be.”
If they were still with him very far out of town, he would be forced to throw rocks at them until they fled, like stray dogs following a caravan full of food.
Moyo had believed they would make him king, but he was discovering that Moyo’s optimistic outlook extended to more than just spelunking. The collector may have been a genius at surviving in the down below, but he was naïve in the ways of politics. The reaction Ashok had been given was one of confusion more than adoration. It appeared some of these sects were ready to welcome him. The orange robes had even tried to present him with Ram Sahib’s burned and dented crown. The blue robes seemed nervous but accepting. The green were outright hostile, while the yellow robes of Ram Sahib’s faithful had seemingly run for the hills. Religion was all very confusing to him.
The guilds seemed as varied in reaction as the sects. Only the collectors had seemed genuine in their enthusiasm, as Moyo had convinced a great many of them about Ashok’s coming back to life after finding him on the beach. They had promised him that Moyo’s body would be given a place of honor in the collectors’ ossuary. They seemed very excited about the prospect of launching a new treasure hunting expedition into the city that had been off limits and were eager to begin. The other guildsmen he’d spoken to seemed confused and divided, angrily arguing over the legalities or sense in adopting a foreigner as their leader, and as their debates grew heated, Ashok was able to understand less and less of their dialect, so he had walked off without fanfare.
No matter. He was done here. Let Fortress fight one another or the Law, it was out of his hands now.
There was a contingent of gunners waiting at the gate. Their weapons remained shouldered when they saw Ashok and his mob, so at least it seemed they didn’t want to fight him. It was hard to tell with these people. They wore the symbol of the rod, and one of them stood apart, with unique, compact Fortress weapons hung through scabbards tied to his belt. That one clearly carried himself as the leader, and Ashok recognized him as the one who had stood upon the balcony and given the signal for the tower guards to stand down.
Like everyone in Fortress, the gunner leader was short compared to Ashok, and wore lenses of glass over his eyes. Ashok had seen some of the first caste in the Capitol wear such things to improve their vision. It seemed a poor trick compared to what the Heart of the Mountain could do.
He greeted Ashok with a respectful nod. “I am Sachin Chatterjee, master of the Weapons Guild. May I speak with you, Avatara?”
“As long as you do it while we walk. I am done with this place.”
“As you wish.” Sachin fell in beside him, and it was clearly a struggle for him to match Ashok’s long strides. “This is a momentous day.”
“For some more than others.”
As they passed beneath the gate, Ashok noticed that the monks had been cut down. Members of the Weapons Guild were respectfully wrapping the bodies in blankets and placing them upon a cart.
“They will be returned to their monastery for burial,” Sachin said.
“That is your doing?”
“Yes. It seemed appropriate.”
Ashok appreciated that. Today wasn’t the first time that disrespecting the dead had provoked his emotions and the resulting ire had caused him trouble. He didn’t understand why such behavior galled him so. They’d gone to the great nothing beyond. What did it matter?
Yet…it did.
“Thank you, Weapons Master.”
They continued walking down the road with the mob still tagging along. Even the cripples on their crutches were trying to keep up. “Begone!” Ashok shouted again.
“Do these followers trouble you? I could have my men drive them off.”
“You’d shoot them over my annoyance?”
“No. Lead and powder is expensive, and these men are already skilled, so there is no value to them practicing at such close range. I’d have them fix bayonets and poke at a few until the rest got the message.”
“That is unnecessary for now. What do you want?”
“To meet the man who cast down the tyrant Sahib.”
“He went from hero reincarnate to a tyrant in the span of a few hours.”
“Xhonura doesn’t breed a sentimental people. Sahib was too aggressive, too interested in consolidating his own power. He still retained the support of many important guilds, but his popularity had been on the wane. His replacement was imminent no matter what.”
“So your new king is whoever is brave enough to murder the old?”
Sachin walked with his hands clasped behind his back. “Hardly. The Ram does not rule without the support of the guilds. We can’t afford to throw the whole island into upheaval each time someone makes a claim. There is a process. Of those who claim to have the spirit of Ramrowan, only those supported by a sufficient number of the guilds are heard. For the others who make such claims, there is a separate process.”
“I have seen your process. It involves starvation and being bitten by rats. I did not care for it.”
“It is said if they are holy, they will survive.”
“How often does that happen?”
“You are the first ever. Which is why I am walking with you, instead of having my men shoot you hundreds of times.”
“I thought lead was too expensive.”
“For you, we would spare no expense…Yet you did survive that trial, which intrigued me, and when I saw the head of the Dvarapala, that was enough for me to signal my men to let you pass so that I could see what would happen.”
“You saved their lives.”
Sachin looked Ashok over, calm and analytical. “I believe that to be true. The rest of our discussion will require privacy.” He came to an abrupt stop, then turned and ordered his gunners. “Chase these people away.”
His men drew forth the odd knives that attached to the ends of their guns.
“Do not harm them,” Ashok warned.
Sachin cocked his head to the side, curious. “Nothing I heard about you suggests you possess a gentle nature.”
“If there is killing to be done in my name, I will do it myself.”
“Of course…Escort these back to the gates. Anyone who spills blood will be severely punished.” Then Sachin waited while his men sheathed their strange blades, then began herding the faithful away. “Now we may speak freely.”
Ashok kept walking. “You are the master of weapons for this whole island?”
Sachin rushed after him. “Yes.”
“The rebellion I fight for requires weapons and men who know how to use them.”
“You are familiar with our guns?”
“They are distasteful, dishonorable things, but their effectiveness is undeniable, and in sufficient numbers make even casteless equal to experienced warriors in battle. We have sixty gunners.”
“I have six thousand.”
Ashok was surprised by that number, but Sachin didn’t strike him as a liar. Even without the ocean between them, the Law never would have been able to break this place. “Such a force would be sufficient to match the entire army of any one of the great houses. What would it take to bring them to my country?”
“It would require the majority of the guilds to come to an agreement. This will take time and much discussion, the nature of which will all depend upon what the collectors’ expedition finds below. You must understand, Xhonura is a poor land. Our iron is fine but limited in quantity. We lack copper, brass, and lead. Our guns do not remain simple because we are too simple to innovate, but rather too poor to replace the materials. We barely grow trees sufficient to carve stocks. Our soil is as poor as our mines. Food is scarce in the best of times. We are a few bad winters from affording no army at all.”
“Then it is a difficult proposal.”
“Yet the gods will it, or so Guru Dondrub tried to convince me before he was arrested for blasphemy. He was rather convinced of your destiny.”
“I am not.”
“Then why do you do this?”
“For a woman.”
“Ah…” Sachin said, as if that made all the sense in the world. “As fine a reason as any.”
“You should free Guru Dondrub.”
“I have already ordered it. If Sahib were truly Ramrowan, then the gods would not have allowed you to burn his face off. You cannot blaspheme a fraud…On that note, the presence of such a compelling Ramrowan as yourself would complicate the negotiations. Your abrupt foreign ways would upset the more conservative guildsmen. It would not do to replace a tyrant with a barbarian. It is better for them to imagine a distant idealized Avatar, represented only by the compelling tales your ally the Guru tells.”
Ashok wondered about that. “Is he my ally?”
“Far more than you know.”
“And you, Weapons Master?”
“I am undecided, but I am not your enemy. I spend my days surrounded by vats of volatile compounds that explode if handled incorrectly. Such a life does not promote the making of rash decisions.” Sachin extended one hand, similar to the southern style of goodbye used in Dev. “You will know our answer in a few seasons.”
Ashok paused long enough to shake on it, and without another word, turned and continued walking back toward Lok.
Chapter 30
Without water they will fall.
Those words had sent Thera and the Sons of the Black Sword on a mission of righteous vengeance.
For weeks they had ridden along the slopes of the Akara River Valley and into the mountains of Thao, northward toward the high desert. It was rugged, desolate country, and they saw very few people, none of whom were foolish enough to question the identity of the numerous and well-armed band.
Thera often cursed the Voice. In the rare times it manifested it tended to be cryptic, confusing, often communicating in riddles that only became clear after the events the gods had predicted transpired…but this time, the god who was living in her head had given her a good idea, an actual workable course of action, where even a force as small as the Sons could strike against the Capitol and make the first caste feel the cost of their decisions.
After the Voice had come upon her, she had awakened on the roof of the barracks, surrounded by worried faces. Serving as the gods’ mouthpiece always left her dazed and weak, a state not too different from the seizures that had plagued her since the bolt from Heaven had first struck. It was Keta’s duty as Keeper of Names to record the Voice’s pronouncements, except this time nearly the entire population of the Cove had seen and heard the manifestation of the Forgotten.
As soon as Keta had repeated the words, she had known exactly what to do.
Without water they will fall.
It would be risky. Not just because of any great house forces they might encounter along the way, but it would be difficult to make the journey there and all the way back to the Cove before the first snows of winter blocked off the mountain passes. If the weather turned early and the Sons were still on the Thao side of the mountains, it would be difficult to elude the forces the Capitol was sure to send after them.
When Thera had told her officers that she had been inspired with a way to strike back against the Law, but that it would be a long, exceedingly dangerous journey, they hadn’t cared about the risk. The faithful had been gripped by such a religious fervor after seeing the Forgotten’s image that every last one of them would have marched against the Capitol itself armed with nothing more than their belief that the gods were on their side.
Compared to that, what was destroying an aqueduct?
Thera and her officers sat around a campfire made from sagebrush, so exhausted from another long day on horseback that none of them talked. They just ate their rations and stared into the distance, tired beyond caring. Even a gods-inspired fever can only last for so many days in the saddle before it is replaced by a kind of weary numbness, where you don’t think, you just ride.
They were in the high mountains now, and ahead of them lay the desert, home of the mighty Capitol, the beating heart of the first caste. The mighty Akara was nothing more than a turgid stream here, and within another week, the city that shared that river’s name would be in their sight.
The Sons had followed her, trusting, even though she hadn’t yet revealed their actual destination. She had three hundred men sneaking across the borders of multiple great houses, any of which could crush them like bugs. All they knew was that they would strike at one of the Capitol’s most precious resources. She’d not yet told them what the specific target was for a reason she couldn’t even divulge. Only a handful of her wiliest followers knew there was potentially a wizard spy among them.
There would be no room for error. And with faith being gradually replaced by fatigue, she needed to raise their morale. Thera had been raised by the greatest raider the west had ever seen, and she’d watched how he took care of his people. She knew when it was time to get a warrior’s head right.
Thera looked around the leader’s council. There was Murugan of Thao, dedicated bodyguard, close and wary as always. There was Gupta, worker of Jharlang, risalder of gunners; Shekar of the Somsak, risalder of skirmishers; Toramana of the swamp people; risalder of archers; Eklavya of Kharsawan, risalder of infantry; and Ongud of the Khedekar, risalder of cavalry. She had requested one other advisor to come on this mission, and that was Javed of the caravan people, merchant turned priest. She had ordered him to accompany the Sons because he was among the few in the Cove who had traveled extensively through the central desert. Such knowledge could prove invaluable.
Only by taking one of their priests, it had made sense for the other one to stay and lead the people of the Cove. Of course, Keta had hated that. Nor had he liked the idea of Thera putting herself in danger by personally leading this raid. She could see Keta’s logic, but how could she ask the Sons to risk so much, based on the cryptic words of the god in her head, and not be there with them? The Sons no longer had unstoppable Ashok to inspire them. Keta wasn’t fit for such a role. Frankly, neither was she, but the idea of her could serve. She’d finally told Keta that if he didn’t like it, next time he could be the one to get stabbed in the brain by the gods, so he would stay, and that was final.
