The Grey Ones

THE VASAATH

He was in a terrible mood—most of it was self-inflicted. He was under an enormous amount of stress and it didn’t make things better that he time and again lost his temper with the girl.

He should never have accused her—perhaps he did feel some guilt, after all? He did understand that she felt a strong bond with the boy, such was the tradition of family and blood ties, but he could not sympathise. The boy was arrogant, foolish, and obnoxious. He would never understand the correctness of the Kasenon, so why should he be granted more time than others? Because it would make Juniper happy?

If there ever was a reason, that would be the only one. He wanted her to be happy, but she was not. He could see it in her eyes. He never expected it to be easy to fall between two sides—he, himself, wasn’t sure what he would choose if he had to decide between Juniper and duty.

He had never thought he would ever have to make such a choice, but once she was converted and ohkasethen, he would either have to ignore his duties or refrain from ever being intimate with her again. As it was, he could see neither option as viable—so how could he demand her to choose?

He needed to sort his thoughts on this matter. Kasethen would surely help him, but his advisor was visibly absent and the Vasaath’s bad mood worsened. Everything seemed to go wrong that day—he spilt tea on his book, he accidentally hurt one of his men while sparring, he stubbed his big toe on one of the stairs, and he was late to his council meeting where his advisor was still absent. Everything was imbalanced and it troubled him.

“Where is Kasethen?” he demanded, but none of the others seemed to know. The Vasaath huffed. “Has anyone seen him today?”

The men looked at each other and then shook their heads.

The general clenched his fists. “No one?” Again, the men shook their heads, and the Vasaath sighed deeply and leaned his arms against the table. “Oh, for the love of the Mother—go and find him. Tell him he’s needed.”

Two of the rasaath bowed and left the tent and the meeting proceeded. When the two men returned, they said that they could not find the advisor, and the Vasaath was deeply troubled by this. He had to be somewhere—had they searched the privy?—but when the men said that they had searched everywhere, the general’s chest tightened.

“Tell the kaseraad to search the city,” he muttered. “He might have wondered off in some mad curiosity. The rest of you will search as well, and you won’t stop until you found him.”

The men all nodded and left to begin their search.

The Vasaath tried to calm himself, tried to tell himself that Kasethen was probably just out on a walk. Perhaps with Juniper? He hadn’t seen her all day, either, so they were probably spending time together. He was quite convinced of it as he strode across the yard and into the lady’s quarters.

Juniper was sitting quietly by her reading nook with her nose in a book but she gasped and dropped it the second the Vasaath barged in. Her face was completely drained, and it looked as though she had seen a ghost.

“Please! Whatever you’ve heard, I didn’t mean it!” she yelped, her voice close to breaking.

The Vasaath knitted his brows. He hadn’t the slightest idea of what she was speaking of, but he just shook his head—there were more pressing matters at hand. He looked around. She was all alone.

“Have you seen Kasethen today?” he asked.

“No,” she said and shook her head. “I—I was looking for him earlier, but I couldn’t find him.”

The Vasaath tightened his jaw. “No. No one seems to be able to find him.”

“What?” She rose, closed her hands over her chest, but didn’t move to him. “Is he missing?”

He sighed deeply. “I don’t know. He could be.”

As the realisation hit him, he felt fear and rage surge through him in a way he had never known, and before he could control himself, he slammed his fist into one of the tent poles. The whole structure wobbled at the heavy impact, despite its robust build. Numbing pain spread through his hand and he grunted vexedly.

“No, please, calm yourself,” Juniper cried as she quickly strode to him.

The Vasaath quickly held his hand out to halt her—he was not himself, so he couldn’t trust himself. The girl, however, didn’t seem to heed his warning, and he felt her small and warm hands trail his arm and land on his chest.

“Calm yourself, sir,” she said softly. “Kasethen would not want you to get—”

“Do not talk of Kasethen as if you know him,” he growled and glared at her, and the girl stepped back. At once, he regretted it. He sighed, barely knowing what to make of himself. “No. Forgive me. Juniper…” He reached out for her, craving her closeness, and she hesitated for a brief moment before she returned to him. He pulled her in and wrapped his arms around her and just breathed for a while.

She had her cheek against his chest and he felt the soft vibrations of her voice as she said, “Kasethen means more to you than anyone. I can see that. He’s more than your advisor—he’s your family.”

The Vasaath sighed deeply and closed his eyes. Indeed, Kasethen was worth more to him than anyone. Perhaps even more than Juniper. If anything were to happen to Kasethen, he would go mad with pain and grief.

“We’ll find him,” she said and wrapped her arms around his waist. “We will find him, alive and well.”

He held her tighter, feeling how her small frame somehow expelled all his anger, all his worry, and he just let her being calm his soul.

They remained embraced for a moment lost in time, as he did not wish to let her go. He kept her pressed against him until she suggested they had some tea, and he released her. He was surprised at how much she could soothe him, and how easily she could sway his anger—either to the one side, or the other.

They sat in silence, contemplating, while drinking the tea. The Vasaath waited impatiently for his men to return with Kasethen, but the dark started to fall, and thunder began roaring in the distance, and no one came.

“It’s the autumn rains,” said Juniper. “The thunderstorms usually stay for days, clearing the heat of the summer.”

“Yes, we have them in Kasarath too,” he said.

“I’m not so fond of thunder,” said she. “It always gives me the sense that there’s something wicked in the wind.”

“I like it,” he said and looked at her. “It calms me.” Then he sighed. “But you might be right.”

She gently placed her hand atop his. “We will find him.”

The Vasaath nodded. Yes, he had to remain strong—but that evening, as the storm rolled in over the city, his men returned empty-handed. Kasethen was nowhere to be seen.

At least, the Vasaath thought, there was no body. No body meant that he could still be alive, somewhere. But he could not sleep, and neither could the woman next to him.

For her, it was the loud thunderclaps that kept her awake, and for him, it was the thoughts of where Kasethen might be.

Juniper twitched at every loud thunder burst, and the Vasaath gently caressed her arm. At last, the girl stopped shuddering, drifting off to sleep. He held her tightly, drawing from her calmness, her serenity. When dawn approached, he hadn’t slept a wink—but he wasn’t tired. No, quite the opposite. He was wide awake, ready to do whatever he could to find his dearest friend.

Moving troops into the city would be a direct assault, and that was not the plan. The spies were tasked with combing through the city while the Vasaath and some of his men scouted the areas around Noxborough.

The city gates had been shut and barred since the night of the ambush, and by the gates, just where the Westbridge army had been stationed, the corpses had been moved and burned. A large pile of ash and bones were still visible behind some trees and despite the heavy rainfall, there was still smoke escaping from underneath. It must have been burning for days, or weeks, fuelled by the fat from the dead.

The hundreds upon hundreds of tents were still erected and the closed road in and out of the city passed the eerie, abandoned camp. Crows were still feasting upon whatever remains the Noxborough guards hadn’t burned, and even the Vasaath felt a weight in his chest while gazing upon the scene; it wasn’t regret, nor was it sympathy, but a feeling of tragedy.

He had no doubt in his mind that most of those five thousand men believed themselves to be strong and resilient. They were soldiers—warriors—and the heart of a soldier was the same no matter culture or race. He knew he frightened them beyond reason that night; if not, five thousand men would not turn their backs on such an easy win. To look at the empty camp was to look at empty potential, an empty promise, and it filled him with disgust.

Kasethen would only see sadness. He was too empathic and sensitive to feel disgusted. Such was the nature of him—always so gentle, so compassionate. Had it not been for him, the Vasaath would not have been a rational man. He knew his own darkness, and Kasethen did too. He had made him a better man since they were children. If Kasethen had been hurt, the Vasaath would find the one that did it and destroy him.

Translation:

Kaseraad – spies; “the shadow of the people”

Ohkasethen – “advisor on foreign matters”

Rasaath – officer; dutiful soldier; true soldier