Resigning himself, he allowed the woman to pull him along.
Maiya… What have I gotten myself into?
3SURPRISE!
“Still,” Sani—the middle-aged mother who’d welcomed Vir into her home—said with a chuckle. “Must say I’m surprised. Warrior Callings aren’t usually so helpful with chores. Or at least, don’t let others see you doing chores.”
The woman had assumed Vir was of the Warrior Calling and put Vir to work right away to earn his keep. Despite not wanting any part of this, Vir obliged. While he wanted to see what demons in the Demon Realm were like, after meeting her four children, he felt compelled to help out in any way he could. They certainly looked like they needed a hand.
Vir began by sweeping the small floor of their yurt and was now accompanying Sani, carrying her dirty laundry to the well. Laundry he was certain hadn’t been washed in months.
Partially to distract himself from the stench, Vir pondered her words.
Cirayus had mentioned the demons’ Calling System, once. Long ago.
‘Listen, lad. The demons have a system you won’t find anywhere in the Human Realm. At least, it’s not as codified there. I speak of the Calling System. Demonic society is based on roles. Laborers, Warriors, Rulers… and Outcasts. You belong to one, and one alone. Laborers cannot fight. Warriors can’t become merchants. Outcasts can’t do much of anything other than beg. Been this way for as long as anyone can remember.’
It was so long ago that Vir struggled to remember the system’s many nuances. Cirayus had stressed the Callings were not equal, though the system was initially intended for them to be. Outcasts occupied the lowest rung, with the Rulers sitting at the top.
When Cirayus described it, Vir expected it to be an unspoken thing, where people knew of each others’ Calling the same way they did their social class.
It wasn’t. Hanging from Sani’s neck was a burgundy painted wooden piece, etched with a symbol of a farmer with a pickaxe tilling a field.
Sani was a Laborer Calling. Specifically of the farming and agriculture Sub-Calling. Each Calling had numerous Sub-Callings, though shifting between those was far easier. If Sani wished to become a merchant, she might be able to, if she had the means.
Judging from the general poverty of the village, it was abundantly clear to Vir that these Callings were in no way equal.
“You alright, son?” the woman said with a look of concern. “Feeling unwell, by any chance?”
“Sorry, just lost in thought. A lot’s happened lately,” Vir replied.
Sani was a red demon like most he’d come across but was as thin as a twig. It’d been a long time since Vir had seen anyone as emaciated as her. If anyone was unwell, it’d be her. Vir wasn’t even sure he could get sick anymore, with how strengthened his body now was.
They arrived at the well a short way away. It was a wide well, about ten paces across, and open to the air to catch any rainwater. Based on how low the water was, Vir guessed the area received preciously little precipitation.
He operated the hand winch, lowering the bucket all the way, before hoisting it back up.
“You do this yourself?” Vir asked. He barely noticed the effort, but for a regular demon, it’d be quite the workout. Let alone for someone as weak as Sani.
She flexed her nonexistent bicep. “Don’t underestimate what this woman can do, young man!”
Ah, right. Demonic constitution. Even as weakened as she was, she was likely stronger than the average human.
“So, what brings you around to these parts?” she asked. “How’re your kind these days? Haven’t heard much since your assault. Challish, that. Challish, but daring.” Her eyes gleamed.
Vir had a whole Ashload of questions to ask Sani, many of which pertained to the rebellion. How many of them were there? Who was organizing them? How did they hide from the Chitran? What was the sentiment toward them?
Posing as a member of the rebellion had worked well for Vir, but it also prevented him from asking most of those questions, lest Sani grow suspicious. The last thing Vir needed was to draw attention, even if he was in disguise.
At least I’ve learned my lessons there. The weapon at Vir’s hip—a talwar borrowed from Cirayus—would no longer give him away. Only Shan might, though the wolf did a mighty fine job of disappearing whenever he pleased, as he’d done the moment they fled the Chitrans.
Still, maintaining his disguise didn’t mean he couldn’t ask anything.
“I take it you’re Gargan, then?” Vir asked quietly as he worked the winch.
“Damn right, I am. They can make me wear the Chitran badge,” she said, gripping her Calling badge, “but they can’t change the color of my soul. And I tell you, I bleed gold. Always have. Always will.”
Vir was confused until he remembered the colors of the Gargan flag—a golden bull on a dark brown background with a red border.
He nodded, as if in sympathy, betraying no hint of his misgivings. Riyan might’ve been a harsh, twisted man, but Vir honestly didn’t know how he’d have survived without the acting skills the man imparted.
“How many sympathizers in this area?” he asked.
Sani’s eyes opened wide. “You lot planning something?”
“Just gathering intelligence, is all.”
“Well, not many of us here. About eighty. Of them, I’d say a quarter have bought into the Chitrans’ Ash’va dung. Traitors, the lot of them. Another thirty won’t get involved in any conflict. Cowards. Say, about ten or so able-bodied warriors you could count on. Make that twenty if you don’t need ’em to fight. Count me in, too, by the way.”
The woman had a fire in her spirit that surprised Vir. He’d thought that after all these years, any fight the Gargans had would be long gone.
I need to get in touch with this rebellion.
He’d been agonizing over how to get Sani to tell him how to do just that when she handed him the answer.
“So what news from Samar Patag?” she asked.
Vir cocked a brow. “Meaning?”
“That’s where you lot are based, iddn’t it? You can’t tell me you haven’t heard anything.”
Vir shrugged, feigning resignation. “I’ve been out on assignment lately, going to various villages. I’m afraid any news would be months out of date.”
“Well, oh well.” Sani sighed. All of a sudden, she looked years older.
I screwed up, Vir realized, panicking. Sani had been hoping for a morsel of hope. Anything she could latch onto. Such commodities had to have been precious in a place like this.
“I can’t say for certain,” Vir started, “but there may be good things in our future. Do not lose hope. Gather those who believe. Keep your heads low.”
Sani’s expression brightened, and a devilish smile crept across her face. “Now that’s what we want to hear.”
A knot formed within Vir’s chest. It was a lie, and a blatant one, at that. He hadn’t even met this rebellion. He didn’t know how strong they were, or whether they’d even get along. For all he knew, they hated the Akh Nara’s guts.
Sometimes, the truth is less important than what people need to hear, said a nostalgic voice in his head. It was, surprisingly, Tia’s voice.
Vir set the bucket of water down nearby, and Sani began immersing the clothes. It was the murkiest water Vir had ever seen—and that was before she’d put her clothing in. He genuinely wondered whether the clothes would be cleaner after.
As he worked the well, Vir took a look at the other villagers. Parents chatted with each other as their kids played. Others went about their daily chores. It was overall a peaceful environment. If not for the rags they wore and their lack of shoes, Vir might’ve called it idyllic.