Destroyer of Worlds Read online

  There weren’t sticks and vines sufficient in the world to build a doll big enough to absorb all his transgressions, nor a fire hot enough to burn them away. He would have to build an army of sin takers, and give them names like casteless who unwittingly claimed honors beyond his station and murderer of honorable men. Yet Ashok would never give up those burdens. He’d own them until death, because forgiveness was a myth. However, the two of them had many conversations while wintering here, so he knew Thera meant no offense. Blunt and abrasive speech was simply her nature.

  “I have no use for foolish superstition. Where is yours, Thera?”

  “I’m a criminal. What would I know about guilt? It’s you Law-abiding types who are constantly plagued with it, not me.”

  “Guilt is the natural result of violating the Law. It is a warning that we have strayed from our place.”

  “You keep telling yourself that, Ashok. Most of the Law is just smug proclamations from men who think they’re better than everyone else. You often still sound as much the religious fanatic as Keta, only your god is made of paper.”

  “And yours is made of glowing noise.”

  She snorted. “Fair.” Though one of the old forgotten gods had chosen her to be his prophet, Thera wasn’t particularly devout. In fact, she didn’t care for her god at all. It was an odd combination. “Regardless, these folks seem to take some comfort and strength from the spectacle.”

  The tribe of swamp dwellers had pledged themselves to Thera and joined her rebellion. “They will need to be strong. Yet they’ve managed to survive in this inhospitable place, trapped between wizards and demons for a very long time. However illegal their customs, I cannot deny their effectiveness.”

  “Maybe I should’ve made a doll…” A deep melancholy grew in Thera’s voice, and he suspected she’d have named hers led many fools to their demise. “But I don’t think I could’ve stitched together one with these hands.”

  Ashok glanced over. She had her arms crossed and her hands tucked inside her coat. Most people would have taken her stance to mean that she was simply chilled and trying to keep her extremities warm. A reasonable assumption, given that even at the edge of spring this place was still wretchedly damp, and they were too far away to receive any warmth from the bonfire, but Ashok knew that stance had become a habit for Thera so she could hide her damaged hands from view.

  He struggled with the concept of kindness, but never with honesty. “Severe burns take a long time to heal, and then rarely heal completely. You’ve recovered far better than I expected when I first saw your injuries. Wielding the Forgotten’s magic charred your palms so badly you are fortunate your fingers still work at all.”

  “Yeah, lucky me.”

  They went back to watching the ceremony in silence. The villagers had painted their faces, but unlike the bright and colorful festivals in the rest of Lok, the only pigments available here were black, white, and the grays in between. Their clothing was dark furs and tattered weavings, better to blend in with the hanging moss of their decaying swamp. They played simple instruments, drums and flutes, as the tribe’s headman, Toramana, called each of his people forward to burn what troubled them. Ashok noticed that while most of his troops were watching from the sides as he was, a few of the Sons of the Black Sword had joined in with the villagers and made their own sin dolls.

  The Somsak especially seemed to have an affinity to the Wild Men. One group was from the mountains and the other the swamp, but both were barbaric in their nature. In this place, the Somsak had found a kinship. Perhaps long ago their houses had been distant cousins? On the other hand, the Sons of the Black Sword who hailed from the great houses of Thao, Kharsawan, and Akershan seemed to be uncomfortable with the whole thing. They came from lands where an open show of faith in illegal gods would bring a swift death sentence from the Inquisitors or Ashok’s old Order. So they were used to practicing their beliefs in secret, not with giant pillars of fire. Their prayers were whispers, not beaten on drums.

  “You know, I think Toramana is telling the truth and this ceremony really did come from the Forgotten back in the old days,” Thera muttered.

  Ashok looked toward her again, but her face was lost in the shadows beneath her hood. “Why do you say that?”

  “It’s his style. I was a vessel for his failures, and then he threw me in a fire to burn up…” She pulled her hands from her coat, slowly unclenched her fists, and stared at her scarred palms. “I’m merely the doll.”

  He had no response for that.

  Once the last of the hideous dolls had been consumed, Toramana raised his voice and addressed the village. Of great stature, and physically powerful, he was used to giving commands. The headman spoke from the chest loud enough so that even their guests standing at the periphery could hear him clearly.

  “Into this fire we have fed all the evil things which have collected in our hearts. This is a new beginning. Let the smoke rise to the gods above, to their mansion on Upagraha, as our spirits shall rise when our bodies return to the mud, so that they can see we are good. On this holy Dahan we are especially blessed for the gods have gone to war!”

  The Wild Men gave their victory shout. It was like the barking of the wild dog packs which prowled their swamp.

  Toramana waited until the sound died down. When there was only the crackling of flames, the headman began again, “The Mother of Dawn told us the servants of the old gods would come to us and kill the great evil within the graveyard of demons. They drove the wizards from our land and destroyed the assassins’ house. Tonight the People of the Woods are one with the Sons of the Black Sword. Tomorrow we will travel to the secret kingdom spoken of by the Prophet Thera, a paradise, where water is pure and food plentiful, where there are no castes, where the people rule themselves, and are not slaves to the Capitol!”

  Ashok stiffened at the cheering that brought about. Though he’d become an enemy to the Law, his conditioning still made him ache to see such division. These people were descended from the refugees of a house the Capitol had scrubbed from existence. For that, they still held an animosity that burned hotter than their bonfire. They’d been joined over the years by captives who’d escaped from the House of Assassins. Those captives had come from all across Lok, but they’d been stolen from their homes as children, so they retained no real memory of the Law. To this tribe, the Law was distant and abstract, but every bit as despised as the wizards who had tormented them.

  Thera must have mistaken what Ashok’s reaction was about, because she whispered, “Paradise is an exaggeration, but the rebellion’s hideout in Akershan is much nicer than this demon-infested mud pit.”

  But the blighted status of their home was exactly why these people’s hatred of the Law still burned hot. Over the last few months he’d explored the flooded forest and seen the partially sunken ruins for himself. House Charsadda had once been a marvel. The Wild Men knew that their ancestors had lived in splendor, but because they had been condemned for the transgressions of men who’d been dead for a century, the Law still forced them to hide in squalor.

  “Blessed are the People of the Woods, for we are the ones who gave shelter to the Forgotten’s prophet! We are the ones who dug the Forgotten’s warrior from the rubble that would have been his tomb. We are the ones who fed the Forgotten’s servants while they were ill. And now we are blessed to join them in this great war! This holy war!”

  Ashok whispered to Thera, “Once we march these people to your hideout, you, Keta, and the voice in your head should forget all this talk of war.”

  “I’d be happy for them to just farm in peace for the rest of their lives, but that’s up to the Capitol now isn’t it?”

  Sadly, Ashok knew she was right.

  “Powerful is the god who made the trees and the rocks! Powerful is the god who gave us the rivers and the cows. Tomorrow is a new year, and a new beginning for our people!” Even though they were standing in the shadows, Toramana somehow knew where they were, and he looked right at
Thera. The headman made a great display of going to his knees and slapping both his hands against his chest. “Oh, Prophet of the Forgotten, accept these humble servants. We’ve prepared ourselves since the Mother of Dawn gave us the prophecy. With arrow and spear we will serve you. Our lives belong to the Forgotten.”

  Thera sighed. They’d already negotiated this all out in advance when Toramana had started pestering her about his tribe joining the Sons of the Black Sword a month ago. There had been logistics to work out. You can’t just pack up an entire village, cross the mighty Nansakar, and then walk across the Akershan plains on a whim. All the real decisions had already been made. This part was a show for Toramana’s people.

  “I accept these brave servants,” Thera declared, acting far more formal than was her regular rough manner. “I humbly thank you for taking us in this winter. We’ve eaten your food, shared your fire, and you’ve given us a place to heal from our wounds. This kindness will always be remembered. Together we will bring freedom to all the people of Lok.”

  Ashok found her diplomatic reply ironic. Now which of us sounds like Keta?

  “The prophet has spoken! We shall journey to paradise where the Keeper of Names shall add all of us to the great book!”

  The tribe barked and howled and pounded away on their drums. This wasn’t just another new year, tomorrow was a new adventure. A great journey into the unknown. Ashok suspected that once the full might of the Capitol was turned against their little rebellion, these people would wish that they’d stayed hidden in their swamp.

  All of this carrying on, and it wasn’t even really the New Year yet. In the rest of Lok, that was still a week away. Only the Wild Men didn’t follow the standardized calendar mandated by the Capitol. They declared it spring based upon when certain types of local flowers bloomed. Way out here it was almost like the Law had never existed at all.

  They watched the party for a time. The Sons who hadn’t participated in the ceremony had no qualms about drinking the village’s alcohol or dancing with their women. Hopefully no jealous swamp man would start a knife fight with a Son for fancying the wrong one. So far that had not been an issue, because life was so dangerous for their hunters there were more females than males in the village.

  “We’ve got a long journey ahead of us tomorrow.” Thera sounded weary, but becoming responsible for the safety of a large number of people had that effect. Or at least it did on any leader with a conscience. “I’m going to sleep.”

  She began walking away, but then she paused and looked back toward him as if she wanted to say something else. Thera was just a shadow in front of the fire, but somehow Ashok could tell what was going through her head. A terrible burden had been placed upon her, she was afraid, and worse, alone.

  Tonight, she didn’t want to be alone.

  “Good night, Thera.”

  She gave him a polite nod. “Good night, Ashok.” Then she walked away.

  He watched her go.

  The village children ran up to Thera and surrounded her, laughing and giggling, broad smiles on their white-painted faces. At first they’d feared her, because their parents had warned them that the very voice of the gods was their guest, but she’d treated the little ones with a gentle kindness the entire time they’d been here—an attitude totally different than the abrasive one she used on adults—so now the children loved her. To them, Thera was a marvel of the outside world.

  Ashok noticed that with them, she didn’t try to hide her hands, and she patted each on the head as she passed by.

  Despite being a criminal, Thera was as brave as anyone from the warrior caste, and cunning as an Inquisitor. Over the last few months he’d watched her as she’d healed. That recovery had been a grueling ordeal. Every day for weeks as the village women rewrapped her bandages they’d come away covered in blood and blackened skin, but she’d faced it with stoicism worthy of a Protector. By a miracle in this damp place they had avoided infection, and her palms and fingertips had eventually healed to angry red scar tissue.

  Once Thera could grasp something without too much pain, she’d immediately gone back to practicing throwing knives. She’d mastered the skill growing up among the proud warriors of Vane, who were widely considered to have the keenest eyes and best throwing arms in all of Lok, and been furious when her partially deadened fingers had proven clumsy and near useless for that task. Yet every sunrise since, she’d been out there futilely hurling knives at the same stump.

  He found such stubborn determination intriguing. If life had been different, and he’d not secretly been born casteless, and she’d not been chosen by an illegal god to be its voice, Ashok would have been honored to have his arranged marriage be to someone like Thera.

  “What in the oceans is wrong with you?”

  “What?” Ashok turned to see Jagdish approaching.

  “You see the way she looks at you.” The risaldar had obviously been drinking his way through the celebration. Normally their officer would not set a bad example in front of the men, but the drink the Wild Men made from fermented potatoes was incredibly potent, so it didn’t take much to leave one a little too talkative. “I didn’t know Protectors took a vow of chastity.”

  “First, the Protector Order does not have such a rule. Protectors may not wed until after their obligation has been fulfilled, but the services of pleasure women are allowed. And second, I’m not a Protector anymore.”

  “So as I said, what the hell is wrong with you? Aside from some mystical gods living inside her head, that’s a fine and lonely woman.”

  Ashok couldn’t deny that the thought had crossed his mind with increasing regularity over the long winter. As Thera had recovered, she’d become impatient with hiding. Despite the Wild Men’s protestations that it wasn’t safe, she’d demanded to get out of the village. Not being able to draw back a bowstring, she couldn’t hunt, but she could forage like everyone else. Of course Ashok had insisted that he would be her bodyguard during such ventures. Since they were worried about attracting demons, foragers seldom spoke to each other, so they had spent many silent hours together.

  It was odd, but spending all that time together, digging up roots, he’d been content.

  Ashok was not used to such things.

  “I am obligated to serve her. To form such a bond would be inappropriate.”

  Jagdish laughed at him. “You’re the most wanted criminal in the world! That’s pretty bloody inappropriate already! And despite you being such an ass toward her—”

  “How much have you drank?”

  “Not near enough! Let me try again. Despite you being so damned awkward and cold toward her, you still crossed half the continent to rescue her from wizards, and even a pragmatic girl appreciates such a gesture. Especially one who grew up a warrior.”

  “That is not—”

  “I’m not done!” Jagdish was one of the only people in Lok who could cut Ashok Vadal off and get away with it. Such were the indignities of friendship. “Then the whole time we’ve been hiding in this awful place”—he gestured theatrically around the small village—“you’ve been damned near the only person she’s confided in.”

  That was because Ashok had demonstrated beyond any doubt that his vow to serve her was sincere. Most everyone else here either worshipped or feared her, whereas Ashok had only ever worshipped the Law and feared nothing. He had simply treated her with the respect that she had earned by her deeds.

  “I suspect that she enjoys my company because we are both anomalies in a Law-abiding world. Yet Thera is my master. I’m sworn to serve her.”

  “And you’re plenty bitter about that,” Jagdish snapped. “Oh, don’t deny it. You know I’m right. You won’t say a word about whatever your mysterious vow’s about, but I was the one who delivered those high-status men and the Grand Inquisitor himself to your prison cell, before you all of a sudden went from eagerly awaiting your execution, to running off to join a rebellion. Just because I’m warrior caste doesn’t mean I’m stupid—”


  “Of course not.” The last thing he needed was for Jagdish to take offense. “I will not argue for or against your conclusions.” Though Jagdish was right. It had been Grand Inquisitor Omand who had given Ashok his final obligation—and punishment—to serve the worst of criminals for the rest of his days.

  “Of course. Because the way I figure it, next thing I know you’ve pledged your life to someone none of us had ever heard of, and the only way you’d do that is if the Capitol had ordered you to. Going outside the Law’s the worst punishment someone like you could ever face, so of course you’re bitter. Even though you know the real Thera now, and she’s not so bad, you’re still angry at the criminal they made you swear to protect.”

  Ashok frowned. Jagdish was far too perceptive. “An interesting theory.”

  “Well, that’s because I’ve had nothing to do for a while but be sick and wait for the roads north to thaw. It gives a man time to theorize.” Jagdish had been eager to return home after completing his mission of vengeance against the House of Assassins, but like many of the Sons, he’d come down with a fever that had left him ill for several weeks. The swamp was an unforgiving place, but luckily none of them had died.

  “I hold no animosity toward Thera.”

  “You say that, and since you’re so painfully honest, you probably even believe yourself, but don’t you dare blame her for your punishment. She’s not the Inquisition or the judges. They wanted to hurt and shame you. If it hadn’t been this rebel, it would’ve been someone else. You could have ended up sworn to some mad bandit king or merciless tyrant. You should be thankful you got sworn to the likes of her.”

  Ashok started to respond, but caught himself. He could never reveal the truth of his orders.

  “Come on. After all we’ve been through together, you can admit I’m right.”

  “I cannot.” So Ashok tried to change the subject. “Do you still plan on leaving us tomorrow?”

  “I do.” Jagdish paused, probably realizing that he’d lost his initial argument before it had really begun. “Gutch and I will head north to Guntur, take the trade road to Warun, and then home to Vadal. Once I tell them of my deeds, I’ll either get a hero’s welcome, or they’ll hang me. Either way, it’s what I must do. I was born in Vadal, and I intend to die there.”