The Grey Ones

JUNIPER

Death had been on her mind since that night—the Night of the Demons, as some of the converters so cleverly called it.

For a while after the ambush, Juniper had been angry, mortified, and disappointed—she never thought the Vasaath would do something so dishonourable and terrible. Without being able to control it, she shied away from him; it was natural, as if her body acted without being told to. She didn’t know why she feared him—she knew he had fought many battles, and lived to tell the tale—but she did know that her opinion of him would never be the same.

Perhaps she had just been naive and blind; perhaps she had let her feelings get the better of her and turned him into the heroic man he was in her dreams, like the knight in the fairytales; or, perhaps she simply didn’t want to recognise the fact that he was a warrior and had killed many men in his life.

It wasn’t, however, so much the killing in itself that bothered her as it was the way it had been done. To a man like him, it would be impossible to understand the horrors and nightmares the children of the Free Cities and Illyria had to endure; not only were there terrible stories about the Vasaath’s people, but there were all sorts of terrible tales of the beasts and shadows of the Netherworld.

Worse than that were the stories of the deities the Builder had banished into the dark realm, those who always sought to claw their way out—Evil, Darkness, Madness… to be touched by one was to be touched by them all, and cursed. The Vasaath would never understand what it was like to believe, to truly believe, such horrors. His spectacle made use of their inherent fear in a most nefarious way, and he did not seem remorseful at all.

She did understand, of course, that it was a necessary move for them to make in order to survive the ordeal. It had been a matter of life and death. For that, she could not blame him. When he told her, quite harshly, that had he not done what he did, many more would have died, she had very little to say against it.

He was right, naturally, and that was perhaps the worst insight of them all—there would always be casualties in war. She had lived on the juvenile hopes of a peaceful resolution, but that had been a foolish dream. The war would end when one side triumphed over the other. There was no other solution. She had realised then, while lying in his arms and listening to his sleeping breaths after that conversation, that it wasn’t the general who had changed—it was she.

Over the next few days, she struggled with that realisation. War had only been something she had read about in books and heard of in tales, and now, war had come to her; of course, she was changed. How could she stay the same?

Fewer and fewer people from the city came to seek refuge with the Kas and it was evident that the Night of the Demons had already inspired dark tales—only, this time, they didn’t have to fabricate the gruesome details. When the general said that he had become the Demon, it was not in jest. The people of the city truly believed it, and Juniper could not blame them. Had she not known him as intimately as she did, she would believe it, as well.

Sometimes, while studying his face as he concentrated on reading or writing, she found herself believing it all the same—perhaps, she thought, he was the Demon. Perhaps he was Darkness, the malevolent deity himself, or perhaps he was Death. But she always stopped herself, thinking that the Builder would not let her love such a creature, if any of them were truly real.

As she realised that she was the one who had changed, she noticed how very little the Vasaath had. He was still the same stoic, stern, and decisive person he’d always been, even though she now knew he wasn’t in Noxborough to save people. She had thought, from the very beginning, that he had come to teach the people of the mainland the way of the Kasenon. True enough, she was aware that he wanted to do so by conquering the city, but she had never before thought that he would have no consideration for human lives.

Perhaps he did, to some degree—he had taken in many of the poorer people, after all—but it was evident he did not truly respect them. She had heard, many times, that once the people had submitted to the Kasenon, they would be treated equally, but that meant, in turn, that those not yet a part of the Kasenon were not worthy of equality. They were not worthy of the Vasaath’s respect.

She wondered then, many times, why he could find it in himself to respect her. Sometimes, when that thought came to mind, she heard her father’s voice again. Men wanted one thing only with women, but she wanted it to be different with the general.

What she had experienced with him was far beyond fancy and physical pleasure—it was an understanding, soul to soul. When she was with him, she felt safe, even when she doubted him; whenever he lost his temper, she was never truly afraid. She knew, deep inside, that he would never hurt her; she knew that he would always want her happiness, even though the two of them might not have the same views on what happiness entailed. All this, she knew—and yet, so much was changed.

The Vasaath and his men were planning for the final attack and she knew very well that he did not intend to keep her family alive. She thought that if she pleaded to him to at least spare her brother, he would perhaps do it out of love for her.

One night, as they sat together by his reading nook, having tea with the burning brazier in the background, she carefully said, “When you take the city, I suspect you won’t let my father live.”

He pondered for a moment before he said, “No.”

Juniper nodded. She had been prepared for that answer and she knew that one of them had to die for the other one to live. She bit her lip and gently moved closer to him, placing a soft hand on his forearm. Growing up with pigheaded men, she had learnt how to use her female charm to sway their minds.

“I know you are a man of duty, sir,” said she. “A man of honour. But I can’t express how happy it would make me if you at least considered sparing my brother.”

He sighed deeply and looked at her. “If he submits, he’ll be spared, like any other.”

Juniper frowned. “But if he doesn’t, not initially, would you please spare him, for me? I could convince him!”

He shifted his jaw. “No. I couldn’t do that. We don’t keep prisoners.”

She moved closer yet. He was a man, after all, and he was not made of stone. With her fingers, she gently traced the ink on his chest, and said, “I know you don’t, but it’s all so very final. My brother is young and reckless and doesn’t think for himself. Be as magnanimous as I know you can be, and give him that chance.” She pressed herself to him, and said, making sure the hurt in her voice was clear, “They are the only family I have left.”

He gently took her hand from his chest and brought it to his lips. “If I didn’t know any better,” he said, kissing her palm, “I’d say you’re trying to manipulate me.”

Embarrassed and disappointed, she tried to pull her hand away, but he held it fast.

He looked at her, his golden eyes lightened by the fire. “I do not take kindly to manipulation, my lady.” He kissed her hand again. “But I won’t say no to an invitation.”

He leaned in and pressed his lips against hers, weighing her down against the pillows, and proved that he at least wasn’t immune to her female charm. She chuckled against him, surprised—but his advances weren’t unwelcomed.

That night, she had trouble sleeping. She kept thinking about her brother, wondering if there was a way for her to convince him to submit beforehand, or at least make him leave the city before the battle.

Her sleep was riddled with nightmares where she tried to save him from one terrible fate or another but never succeeded. By morning, she was not at all rested.

At breakfast, the Vasaath commented on her dull cheeks and troubled brow, worrying as usual. He suggested a visit to Neema for some consultation, but she assured him that it was only her troubled sleep.

“If you’re tired,” he said, his brows lowly furrowed, “you should lie down, menaan.”

She shook her head. “It won’t matter. I have too much on my mind.”

“Unburden yourself,” he said. “Share with me your troubles.”

She sighed in defeat and looked at him. “I’m thinking about my brother. Worrying might be a better choice of word.” She shook her head. “I kept dreaming that I lost him, over and over again.”

His face turned hard, unamused. “You worry because you think I will kill him.”

Juniper dropped her gaze. “I worry he might die, yes. It doesn’t matter at whose hands.”

“Daan,” he muttered. “Last night, you begged me to spare him. I told you no. Now you wish to make me feel guilty by claiming your sleep is riddled with nightmares?”

Juniper snapped her head at him, suddenly very irritated. “Guilt? I am not trying to instil guilt in you! Do not insult me, sir. It doesn’t matter how my brother might die, I would mourn him my whole life nonetheless! Especially if he is killed because he won’t submit, because I know I could convince him to save himself.”

The Vasaath seemed utterly surprised by her outburst, but she paid him no mind.

Huffing, she slammed her teacup on the table. “It’s my brother, for Builder’s sake, and I love him! I don’t expect you to understand such devotion or blood relations, but he is my baby brother, and I have a responsibility to protect him!”

She quickly dried away a tear that had escaped her eye and turned her gaze away. The Vasaath was silent, but Juniper could tell by the tension that the only reason he wasn’t scolding her for being impertinent was that she was being fragile. With a scoff, she excused herself, said that she needed some time alone, and left the tent.

The sun was shining brightly but over the mountains in the southeast, she could tell a storm was brewing. She walked around the grounds for a while, thinking that she would perhaps run into Kasethen—he would surely understand and support her—but she did not. She visited the Kamani to see how they were fairing and helped with a few of their chores, and that helped to clear her mind for a while. But her thoughts returned, determined to torment her. In the end, she visited Neema, just to have a friend to speak to.

She explained her frustrations and Neema listened keenly. Indeed, she was not at all shocked by the general’s harshness and claimed that it would be the right thing to do, killing her brother.

“There is a difference between living and not dying—the Kasenon is not meant for those who simply want to survive,” she said, in an attempt to make Juniper understand why unwilling and forceful conversion would not make anything better. “Order will only come through submission.”

“Then why give people such a ridiculous choice?” Juniper cried. “Submit or die? That’s not a choice, that’s a threat. No one in their right mind would choose death.”

Neema sighed. “The Kas aren’t invasive people,” said she. “They have stayed at Kasarath for more than a thousand years. Occasionally, they have settled somewhere to build trading relations, and if the people there are kind and tolerating, if they have order, no force is needed.”

Juniper huffed. “I’ve heard rumours that the full Kas army is nearly forty thousand strong! You don’t have such a massive army unless you plan on using it!”

Neema shook her head. “You’re not even trying to understand. Strength is what keeps the People together, whether we’re at war or not.”

“So all the talk of ‘cleansing’ is just nonsense?” Juniper spat.

“Sometimes, they can clearly see the corruption, the chaos, and that’s when they cleanse.” Neema sighed. “They cleansed my village and removed the corruption. Those who submitted did it because they recognised that the Kasenon was fair and prosperous and would bring order.”

“How do you know?” Juniper asked, her jaw tightened. “You were only a child; how do you know?”

Neema glared at her. “All the people who submitted are now my brothers and sisters. They are devoted to the Kasenon.”

“Yes,” Juniper said, “but what happens if anyone goes against it?”

“You don’t.”

“But what if someone did?”

Neema clenched her jaw. “They would be corrected.”

Juniper nodded. “They would be punished.”

“Just like you punish those who break your laws,” said Neema.

“Yes, but the difference is that we don’t force people to obey our rules unless they’re here.”

“And we don’t force people to obey our rules unless they’re of the People.”

Juniper huffed. “Yes, but that’s the point! You force people to join you! And since you don’t keep prisoners, and since you don’t think there is any other way to order than through submission, the only choice you give them is the choice between conversion and death. No one in their right mind chooses death. There will always be forceful conversion! There will always be people who choose life over death!”

Neema was silent for a while, eyeing Juniper thoroughly, before asking, “Are you telling me that you won’t choose the Kasenon because you believe in it, but because you fear death?”

Juniper was taken aback by the question. This wasn’t about her—it was about Sebastian! She shifted in her seat. “I would not wish to die, no, but neither do I wish to be forced into a role and a life I never chose for myself.”

“Aren’t you already in such a life?”

“Yes,” Juniper nodded, “and I wish to leave it. I wish to be free.”

Neema sighed deeply and closed her eyes. Her visage was tired, dull, and she slumped her shoulders. “We all wish to be free, my dear, but we don’t know what that means.”

Juniper moved her lips as to speak, but found no words.

Neema sighed again. “I know you worry about your brother, and I understand your pain. But he is the heir to Noxborough and he would have the name and the claim to rally others to his side and retaliate. In matters of war, you must trust that the Vasaath knows the risks. I don’t know what you are to him, but he would never betray his people to win a woman’s favour.”

Juniper sighed, feeling desperate yet defeated. “But my brother is innocent!”

“If he wasn’t your brother, then yes, he would be,” said Neema, “but he holds the Arlington name and he has something to defend, something to reclaim.”

“Then what about me?” Juniper asked and straightened. “I hold the Arlington name just as he does. Indeed, I’m only a woman, but I am Edredian, a Northerner, and an Arlington. People would rally behind me if I asked them to.”

Neema bore her green eyes into her. “And would you?”

“If I had to.”

The two women stared at each other, the tension rather tangible, when a kasaath suddenly entered and caused Juniper to jolt so violently, she nearly knocked her tea out.

“Forgive me,” said the kasaath and bowed. Then he looked at Neema and said something in their tongue, and Neema smiled kindly and nodded. The soldier smiled back and stepped inside.

Neema rose and said to Juniper, “I’m sorry to have to turn you away, my dear, but I have to do my duty.”

Juniper nodded a scurried to her feet. She bowed to the solider in respect and just as she was about to leave, she felt Neema grab her arm.

The woman leaned in and whispered, “Don’t let anyone ever hear you say such things, Juniper.”

She was rather surprised by the urgency in Neema’s voice, but nodded. She gave the soldier a quick glance before she left the tent, and her heartbeat was high up in her throat.

What if he had heard her? There had almost been fear in Neema’s voice, and it frightened her. She knew the punishment for treason in Noxborough—she didn’t expect it to be any less severe with the Kas.

Translation:

Daan – lies

Kasaath – warrior; “strength of the people”