Chapter 4
The wild men of the swamp marked the end of the year with a vast bonfire.
As spring had drawn near, every member of the tribe had constructed for themselves a little doll out of hide, sticks, and vines. Each doll was given a name, like returned from the hunt without a kill, or fell asleep on watch, or failed to tend the crop. Then on the night they called Dahan the entire village took turns tossing their dolls into the great fire. Together, they watched their guilt and failings blacken and twist into ash.
The many other lands that Ashok Vadal had visited had all celebrated the arrival of spring with festivals of color, singing and dancing, feasting and drinking, but this outcast tribe kept their own odd tradition, which they claimed was based on a ceremony that predated the Age of Law.
Religious rites were forbidden. Such a brazen display of Law breaking would have angered him a year ago, but since this isolated people had scraped out an existence in the unforgiving swamps of Bahdjangal, where demons prowled the fog, only a few miles from the shores of hell, the bonfire seemed appropriate.
It made a certain sense that a grim people would hold a grim celebration.
“Where’s your doll, Ashok?” Thera asked, as the two of them watched the spectacle from a polite distance away. “If anyone has some sins to get rid of, surely it’s you.”
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 head man 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.”
“Death will come sooner rather than later once Harta finds out that you’ve been serving as his most hated enemy’s second-in-command.”
Jagdish gave him a lopsided grin. “I can handle Harta Vadal, the fop, I know him from my time in the Personal Guard. He can spin some pretty words, but our house’s new Thakoor isn’t near as tough as his mother was. Besides, I’ll come bearing gifts.”
“Sacks of demon bone may be valuable, but they’re not nearly enough to make up for the loss of their house’s ancestor blade.” They’d had this discussion many times, and Ashok knew that he could not shake Jagdish from the path he considered most honorable, but he still had to try. “The Sons of the Black Sword will be lessened by your absence.”
“I’ve trained them hard. They sure won’t miss all the drills I put them through, that’s for sure…” It was no exaggeration. Even while the men had been weak with the swamp fever, their risaldar had made them train. Even dizzy and sluggish contact drills were better than none at all. When they’d been too weak to stand, Jagdish had made them lay upon the grass while he’d lectured them on battle strategies. “Take care of my boys, Ashok, and I know they’ll do you proud.”
Ashok was the far better combatant, but he knew that he’d never be half the commander Jagdish was. Some men were simply born to lead other warriors into battle. One of Ashok’s greatest shames was that his fall had brought dishonor upon someone who was such an exemplar of everything the warrior caste should strive to be.
“I will do my best.”
“Unlike most, a promise from you really means something, I know. They may be fanatics believing in idealistic foolishness, but they’re good men. I’ve been proud to lead them. Even if I get my old rank back and am given fifty of Vadal’s finest warriors, I don’t know if they’ll be able to compare to the Sons.”
“If they survive, it will be because of what you taught them.”
Jagdish grew solemn. The crafty warrior hadn’t been quite as liquored up as he’d first acted. “I’ve thought upon the offer to stay on as your second, many times…But I’ve come a long way to redeem my name, and still have a long way to go before I get home. I know it might all be for nothing, but more than anything else I just want to see my wife again. I hope it doesn’t make me seem weak to admit I miss Pakpa. I was lucky to be given her as a bride. She was pregnant when I left. Imagine that. By the time I get home I’ll have a child…Surely, a son! A warrior needs a good woman to come home to…Speaking of which, with you and Thera both outside the Law, it isn’t like you’d even need an arbiter to arrange a marriage.”
“Such tenacity. You’re not going to let that go until I demand a duel, are you?”
“Ha! No, I’ve not had nearly enough to drink to work up that much courage. I’m just saying, Ashok, to the oceans with the Grand Inquisitor and whatever his mysterious orders were. You’re on your own now. This is your life, make the best of it…Now I’ve got to go make arrangements for tomorrow. These villagers have shown us their hospitality, so I’m going to make sure the Sons pay them back by keeping them safe all the way to the fanatics’ hidden kingdom.” Jagdish gave Ashok a deep bow. “Good luck in the south, my friend.”
Ashok returned the respectful gesture. “Good luck in the north, brother.” He’d not even intended to use that honorific. It had just slipped out, as if it was the old days, and he’d been speaking to a fellow Protector.
Jagdish seemed moved by that. “Don’t worry, I’ll put in a good word for you with Harta.”
Ashok rarely laughed, but he couldn’t help it when the sheer absurdity of that idea struck him.
Jagdish left to have a few last discussions with the men. Their risaldar would be sorely missed by the Sons. They had killed a demon together and lived to tell about it. That was a bond that transcended house or caste.
Ashok leaned against a tree and watched the village for a long time, until the bonfire was dying down, the musicians done, the dancers spent, the fog came creeping back in. Most of the villagers were going to sleep or leaving to make last minute preparations. In the morning these people would abandon the only home they’d ever known and join their new cause. The Sons of the Black Sword had turned into something somewhat resembling a small army, only it was made up of warriors, workers, casteless, freed slaves, and an outsider tribe, all led by a fake Protector and a reluctant prophet.
It was a very strange thing they’d built.
Though it was their last night here, and ostensibly a night of celebration, the Wild Men still set guards in each of their tree-stand towers. They lived in a perpetual state of alert. Demon incursions were rare, but always a possibility this close to the sea. Several of the deadly creatures had been killed at the House of Assassins—including the biggest one anyone had ever heard of—yet over the ensuing months they’d found fresh signs of other demons while out hunting.
By these people’s standards, the secret place Keta had built really might be a paradise.
In the silence, Ashok mulled over Jagdish’s words. The warrior had guessed right about the Grand Inquisitor’s orders. Making a man whose very existence was based upon the Law live out as his days as a criminal was the worst punishment he could imagine. Yet, what if instead of this particular criminal, he had been charged to be in the service of a mad raider like Nadan Somsak? Or a merciless assassin like Sikasso? Mighty Angruvadal had been destroyed, but it had been destroyed stopping an abomination, not aiding one. What foul deeds could a leader like those have accomplished with the greatest swordsman in the world at their command?
The prophet he’d sworn to serve had been revealed to be a woman who—despite being a criminal—retained a certain sense of honor. His obligated master didn’t want to destroy the world, she just wanted to be left alone. Thera was no power-hungry conqueror, just someone who had been forced into a role not of her choosing…Just like he had been.
It could have been so much worse.
Perhaps he owed Thera an apology.
The rest of the newcomers had been crammed into various buildings for the winter, but the villagers had given Thera her own hut. Being religious fanatics, they had been so excited at having a real prophet in their midst that the headman had given up his own home, which was by far the biggest in the village, though still humble by the standards of even the poorest in the rest of Lok. Ashok walked to it.
The young warrior, Murugan Thao, was guarding the entrance. He had been assigned to be Thera’s personal bodyguard during the battle for the House of Assassins and had been solemnly fulfilling that assignment ever since. “Greetings, General.”
Ashok hated that archaic title, but since it had been handed down by their supposed god, all the men insisted on using it. “I need to speak with Thera.”
“My apologies, but that’s not possible.” Like most of the Sons of the Black Sword, Murugan was obviously intimidated by Ashok. Even in a band that was attempting to do away with castes and status, when you could fight a small army on your own, you still received greater deference. “I mean no offense, but she told me that she’s retired for the evening and not to be disturbed.”
Thera called through the deer hide curtain that served as a door. “It’s fine, Murugan. Let Ashok in before he gets grumpy and tosses you into the trees.”
“I would not have done that,” Ashok assured him. “I will watch over her tonight. You are relieved of duty. Be elsewhere.”
Murugan obediently stepped out of the way as Ashok climbed up the small ladder. Every hut in the village was elevated because of the occasional flooding…He couldn’t imagine living on top of water. Riding on a barge was one thing, but having malicious water creep beneath your home while you slept was a terrible feeling. This truly was a dismal place.
It was rather dark inside, but Ashok called upon the Heart of the Mountain so his eyes could gather more light. The rough wooden walls were decorated with the biggest antlers from Toramana’s many hunts. Thera was sitting up on the pile of soft furs atop straw that served as the headman’s bed. Apparently he had interrupted her in the process of undressing, as the ties of her shirt were undone. She didn’t even bother to close it, though she surely knew by now he could see in the dark when he felt like it.
When they’d first met, he’d found her decent looking enough—for a criminal—but it hadn’t been until they’d been silently digging up tubers from the mud together, that he’d glanced over and it had struck him that Thera was truly beautiful. It was odd, how perspectives changed.
“What is it now? Did we forget something about tomorrow?”
“No. Our preparations have been thorough. I’m here because I believe I may have inadvertently given offense.”
“You’re like a never-ending river of offense.” She undid the cord that was holding back her long hair and shook it free. “What makes this particular one special?”
“I have come to apologize.” Then Ashok realized he wasn’t really sure how to proceed. He could never tell her of Omand’s final command, but he needed to get this off his chest. “I wish to say, that of the many different criminals I could have pledged myself to, you are probably the least offensive of them.”
“Really?” Thera was perplexed. “Was that supposed to be a compliment?”
He thought about it for a moment. “In a manner, yes.”
“That’s good, I suppose.” She sat there, waiting, with the curve of one breast peeking out from around the fabric of her shirt.
It had been a very long time since he had been with a woman. Trying to recall, it had been before prison in Vadal, before traveling to and from the Capitol, before his assignment to Gujara even…His mind had been trained to remember everyone he’d ever killed, but he couldn’t recall the last time he’d shared a bed with another. That was something a Protector simply did when the mood was upon him.
“Anything else, Ashok?”
There was an awkward silence. His assumption had been that she had wanted company for the night, but perhaps he had interpreted that incorrectly. He was a man of accomplishment by any measure, able to read an opponent and predict their moves long before they made them, who had traveled many times from one end of the continent to the other, and had even died and come back to life, but the basic whims of the female remained a mystery to him.
“That was all. I will leave you now.”
“Hang on…” Thera seemed incredulous. “You barged in here to tell me that? That’s it? That wasn’t even proper flattery to try and get beneath a girl’s skirts. What is wrong with you?”
“A great many things, I suppose.”
“Maybe I was just caught up in the moment, a new year, a new beginning, and all that. Maybe I was a fool to think there could be something more…Are you afraid of girls, Ashok?”
“You know that my ability to feel fear was taken from me by magic.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I am familiar with such matters. Wherever Protectors go, the local authorities are quick to provide all manner of gifts to show their loyalty, but you are not some mere pleasure woman, whose feelings don’t matter. You are far more than that.”
Thera cocked her head to the side. When she did the cloth slipped from one shoulder, leaving the skin bare. He suspected she might have done that on purpose. “What am I to you then?”
It was a good question.
“You’re the one I’ve sworn to obey. If you ordered me to wade out into the ocean, I’d do so without hesitation. Yet I also know of your suffering. You were driven from your house, lost your family, your people, your very caste, and that you have been crushed beneath the weight of great responsibility ever since. You’ve been through much but know there is more to come. I would not complicate this burden any more than it already is. You are the one who regardless of where your path leads, I will be there by your side. That is who you are to me.”
“Oh.”
He was not an eloquent man, but he needed her to understand this. Ashok went to the edge of the furs and knelt close to her. “I can protect your life. I’m very good at that. That is my duty. Only I don’t know how to protect you from your own sadness. That is not my obligation, but I would like to try.”
Thera seemed at a loss for words.
“Did I give offense?” he asked.
“No…I just didn’t expect that. For a man who almost always says the wrong things, sometimes you say something surprisingly…decent. You honestly care about me?”
“I do.”
Apparently, their last night in Bahdjangal wasn’t going how either of them had expected.
Thera placed her damaged hand against his neck, and then realizing what she’d done, immediately snatched it away, embarrassed. But Ashok caught her hand, and gently pressed it back against him. Her fingertips were hard with scar tissue, but he didn’t care. He had plenty of his own scars, inside and out. She’d earned those injuries destroying a demon god. That made her even more beautiful to him.
Ashok discovered that a kiss was an entirely different experience when it wasn’t merely a transaction. Together they sank down onto the furs.
It was good to not to be alone.