Angling off the thoroughfare, Bheem turned onto one of many breezy streets that led to the ocean. The northern chill had rarely ever bothered him. Quite the opposite, actually. Kin’jali weather might have been idyllic, but there was something visceral about a Saian winter he sorely missed. Most would call it difficult and harsh. For him, it was home.
Tracing his steps to the familiar access hatch he’d used countless times, he dropped into the sewers.
The stink and the pitch-black darkness would scare anyone. Bheem had felt the same the first few times he’d delved its depths, pulled along by his elder brother.
But feelings—whether of happiness or terror—never won against the unavoidable might of monotony.
By the dozenth time, Bheem felt no fear.
By the hundredth, he’d grown bored of it.
Now, the long journey to the bottom-most depths of the ancient sewer system was nothing more than a chore—a task to be completed. Danger was the furthest thing from his mind.
No, what he feared was his response. After all, the Silent One had failed. He’d run away, tail between his legs. What would he say? Would he provide guidance, as he always had? Or would he banish him?
The closest thing Bheem had to a father. Who’d named him and his brother. Names they’d treasured and kept as secret as precious gems.
The pitch-blackness gave way to beautiful shimmering blue lights, illuminating a long-lost city. Or rather, an outpost, as Janak had corrected him so many times.
If there was one thing that had never once dulled in its awesome grandeur, it was this place. Bheem’s amazement at the buildings’ grandeur remained as intact as it had been on that day when he and his brother first discovered it.
This was their secret. Something no one else knew.
For Bheem had been raised by a god.
Janak appeared—as he always did—without warning or indication, his brilliant white and blue form materializing as majestically as ever. His flowing white beard and glowing azure eyes always commanded a measure of respect, and Bheem fought his instinct to kneel.
It’d taken many years, but Janak had broken him out of that habit long ago, and Bheem didn’t want to start off this reunion on the wrong foot. It was unlikely to be pleasant, as it was.
To Bheem’s surprise, it went nothing like he’d thought—though by now, he really ought to have expected it.
“Unable to bear the weight of your task, you have returned,” Janak said in a voice both deep and full of divinity. Even now, Bheem refused to believe he wasn’t real. That he was a mere copy of the great Lord Janak. To Bheem, Janak was every bit a deity. Especially when his wisdom ran so deep.
“No, child, I am not disappointed. Merely… weary. Weary that, I must be the messenger of terrible truths.”
Bheem opened his mouth, though a wheeze was all he could manage. It was all he could ever manage, ever since that day his tongue was cut.
“If you cannot save your brother, then you must be the one to kill him,” Janak’s words, though spoken softly, thundered in Bheem’s ears.
Kill…
“No matter what, you must be the one to take his place. Do you understand? She cannot succeed. If she does, the future of this realm may be lost.”
A lone tear rolled down Bheem’s cheek. Then the hesitation was gone. He closed his eyes and nodded.
Bheem understood what needed to be done. He would not let his brother die. No matter what. Not even if it went against his brother’s wishes.
48WELL OF DESPAIR
The few Malik had mentioned were a four-armed red demon Vir was unfamiliar with… And the red demon who’d tried to assassinate him during their combat exam the other day. The very same demon Vir had shut down.
“You’re sure you’re not just trying to hoist him off to me?” Vir asked, an eyebrow pointedly raised.
“You have to admit, he is quite the capable warrior. You saw that for yourself,” Malik replied, deftly avoiding Vir’s question.
Vir had chatted with Malik about their history together, and it seemed their bad blood ran deep. To where Vir suspected some cosmic force had to be responsible for their continuous unfortunate encounters.
The two had been childhood acquaintances, much in the same way Vir and Camas were. One might’ve guessed that it was Malik who was the bullied party, but that would’ve been wrong. It was, in fact, the bigger, more muscular demon who was the victim.
“We all mature as we age. I truly regret what I did to him during our childhood, you know?” Malik said, hanging his head.
“And then his wife left him to be with you,” Vir said, unamused. “Surely, you could have seen this coming?”
“It was her choice!” Malik replied. “And all the rites were properly performed. We prayed to the gods to bless our marriage. We did nothing wrong! He just… doesn’t see it that way.”
The world flashed white and thunder cracked from nearby, prompting the two to flinch. The lightning was an ever-present danger this close to the Boundary, but between Ash Beasts and lightning, Vir considered the natural danger the lesser of the two.
“I suppose,” Vir said, letting out a long breath, having wisely decided that this was a Prana Swarm lair best left untouched. “Having him along will be of great help. He seems to be reasonable around everyone who isn’t you, at least. And I won’t have to worry about you being stabbed in your sleep while I’m gone.”
“That too,” Malik said sheepishly, no doubt understanding that Vir had known the real reason all along.
After hammering out a few more details, Vir dismissed his logistical officer and headed for the opposite end of camp. There was one other he wished to bring along. One demon whose participation might very well determine their fates, and who’d deftly eluded him until now.
As he searched, Vir’s mind filled with the dilemma of the captured Chitran guards. The issue had been weighing heavily on his mind, and he was honestly at a loss.
If the prisoners killed them—something Vir was loath to do—then returning to Garrison Atnu would be all but impossible. Balagra was right on that point. A group of demons returning from the lost Chitran City with their collars broken and captors missing would only result in everyone’s summary execution. It’d be far too suspicious. And he let the guards go, they’d undoubtedly deliver Vir and Balagra’s heads on a platter the moment they returned.
For now, Vir deferred that difficult problem, as it would be something of a luxury if they all lived long enough to worry about that. Right now, he had far larger issues. Issues that forced him to delegate the troops’ training to the injured Balagra, despite Vir’s immense reluctance to do so.
The rations the prisoners had would only last two or three more days. Perhaps slightly longer if Malik successfully collected and rationed it, but either way, time was of the essence, and they had none to lose. Vir didn’t envy the demon’s job, and had thanked Badrak more than once for the luck that landed such a capable and talented ally into his lap.
Vir finally arrived at the spot he’d last sighted his final recruit, only to find no one there.
So I wasn’t imagining things. He really is avoiding me.
That was alright. Vir Blinked away, reappearing right next to his target.
“You really don’t want to have anything to do with me, do you?” Vir asked, causing the scrawny Kothi to yelp and jump away in fright. To his credit, he managed not to fall flat on his butt in panic… But only barely.
“N-nothing like that!” the Kothi stammered. As far as Chitran went, he was on the smaller side, and not only because he was malnourished. The demon boasted neither the physique nor the confidence Vir would expect from a warrior, and if he was honest, he didn’t know if this particular demon had anything to offer. Even if Vir was correct about his character.