The Grey Ones

THE VASAATH

He had waited for her all morning, but she had not come to him. Why was she keeping him waiting? She came to him every morning, so what was keeping her from him now?

She went to bed early the night before, wasn’t intoxicated, and had done nothing exhausting during the day—so naturally, she couldnʼt possibly be sleeping still. He knew not why it vexed him so, why he was so anxious to see her, but he wanted her near and when she did not come, his temper was slowly slipping.

Impatiently, he went to fetch her, only to find her common room empty. Was she still sleeping, after all? But then, he felt the sweet scent of lavender and honeysuckle, and heard the faint but captivating humming of a woman. She was having a bath.

His heart leapt at the realisation that behind those curtains and behind that wooden screen, her naked form was soaked in water. He felt his breath quicken, his thoughts darken. His patience was running thin, self-control edging on the brink. He took a step closer. Would she resist him if he came to her? Would she deny him his innermost wishes? He took another step, urgent now. Would she deny him, the Vasaath, such a need if he slipped his hand into the water? But then, he heard her sigh contently.

He stopped dead in his tracks, aghast by his own thoughts. How could he even think such unworthy thoughts as to invade her privacy in such a manner? How could he even imagine exercising his power in such a dishonourable way? Distraught, he left the tent again and marched towards the battlements.

He had to calm himself, and gather his thoughts. His heart hammered in a way he wasn’t used to; he felt anger rise within, anger that was aimed at nothing—and thus useless. He clenched his fists and released, again and again. His jaw was set tight and his eyes rested on the horizon. One day not too late, red sails would be on that horizon and things would make sense again.

He had calmed down by the time the ruckus began outside their gates. He heard the shouting and the screaming and he strode across the courtyard to find out what was happening. He demanded the guards to tell him, but they all seemed confused.

“They are storming us, sir!” said a kasaath.

The Vasaath wasted no time. He barked at him men to arm themselves and be at the ready, and his men responded like a well-trained body. They stood at the gates, their swords, pikes, and shields at hand, but the Vasaath then heard the distinct crying of women and children as voices pleaded to spare their lives. He ordered his soldiers to stand down, and then he listened.

“Let us in!”

“They will kill us!”

“Please, save us!”

And that was when the wind changed. He felt the stinging reek of fire and smoke, and at the rooftops in the town, he could see flames lick the buildings as black smoke rose to the skies. It wasn’t that far from the harbour, but it was a long stretch from the comfort of Fairgarden—it was the paupers’ houses that burned.

The Vasaath sighed deeply, grudgingly. “Open the gates.”

His men did not question him and opened the gates to let the mass of humans well into their midst. It was mostly women and children, their faces blackened by soot and dirt. Some were even scorched and burned. Some were badly injured and bleeding. He couldn’t possibly count them all, but he knew it was closer to twenty—perhaps thirty—humans falling in through the gates.

“What has happened here?” he demanded to the group. “Why are you at our doorstep?”

An elderly man approached on trembling legs. “Please, sir,” he said, tears streaming down his weathered face. “Give us refuge! The City Guard burnt our houses in the search for the Duke’s daughter, and now they are coming for us!”

The Vasaath glared at the man. “And what am I to do about it?”

“Please, my lord,” sobbed the man. “The guards will have us killed! We are declared as enemies of the Duke for harbouring his daughter, but we are innocent! We haven’t seen her! Please, my lord, we—”

“Bas!” He was in no mood for such troubles this day. Darkly, he demanded, “Have you come to submit?”

“Submit? M-my lord, we only seek refuge!” said the man and fell to his knees. “Please, just give us refuge!”

The Vasaath looked down his nose at the kneeling man. How pathetic, he thought. There was no wish to learn the philosophy, no wish to change their lives and their perspectives—only to seek protection. His tone was final as he said, “No.”

The man looked up at the general and the Vasaath could see defeat in his eyes, Death. The women wept at the general’s answer and several of them collapsed. Surely, he could feel for these people, but he was under no obligation to grant them protection. Neither would he benefit from it. He was benevolent and generous, but he could not save every soul in Noxborough, and especially not those who did not wish to convert.

With a sigh, he motioned his guards to see the people out, but just as the soldiers grabbed hold of the humans, several of them cried out, over and over again, “My lady! Save us! They said we were hiding you! They burned our homes! Please, my lady!”

“Stop!”

He turned at the sound of her voice and the vision that was before him took his breath away—there, running over the courtyard, was the fair Lady Juniper, dressed in the colour of blood just like a true woman of the Kas. Her dark locks were bound in an intricate braid that coiled over her shoulder and loose strands were falling in her face. She looked majestic, beautiful, breathtaking.

When she reached them, she quickly helped the man to his feet. “Please, let these people be!”

“They have no business here,” said the Vasaath, but he was surprised by the anger that radiated through the steel gaze that met him.

“These people are hurt,” she spat. “They came to you for help. How dare you turn them away? Don’t be cruel!”

He stared at her, mortified. How dared he? Cruel? What did she mean by that? How dared she? This was his domain, governed by his rules. How dared she speak to him in such manner? Fury seared through him, red and hot like wildfire in high summer. His vision blackened.

His voice boomed, perhaps a bit angrier than he’d anticipated, as he growled, “Do not disrespect me, ohkas!”

She recoiled, fear flashing in her face, and he had not realised that he had grabbed her arm in a fiercely tight grip until she tried to pry herself free from him. He released her at once, surprised by his own actions, and she only glared back while still holing a protective arm around the old man’s shoulders.

“These people are Kamani, nomads.” Her voice was trembling, but determined. “They have always been harassed by the Dukes of the Free Cities, always made scapegoats.” She straightened and looked him dead in the eye. “They have come to you for protection, because of me. If you refuse them, you refuse me as well.”

The fury was still hot in him, still edging his line of sight, pulsating with his bursting heartbeats—but he felt ice in his heart. No, he could never refuse her.

He took a deep breath, squared his jaw tightly, and said, “Very well. But these people are your responsibility now, my lady. Not mine. They will be under your protection. Not mine.” He took a step towards her. “You will feed them, clothe them, house them. If they are in my way, they will submit or they will die.” Another step. “Is that understood?”

“Yes.” She was determined. It was just as infuriating as it was intriguing.

He stood for a moment, seeing her defiant gaze, before he straightened and took a step back. He didn’t give her his approval, but neither did he forbid her to do what she felt was right. He couldn’t rob her of her agency—but he did not like her defiance. With a sigh, he motioned his guards to release the humans.

The girl then broke their gaze and turned her attention to her people. “Come. You’re safe here, I promise you.”

“Oh, my lady!” several of the humans exclaimed and hunched humbly as they approached her, some to kiss her feet.

The Vasaath could see primal fear in the eyes of the children—to them, his people were demons with yellow eyes and sharp teeth, just as humans were demons to Kas children, with greedy appetite and murderous intent.

The poor and injured people were led deeper into the camp, and he followed them with his gaze until Kasethen cleared his throat next to him.

“My lord,” said he.

“Send the kaseraad,” muttered the Vasaath. “I want to know what the Duke is planning.”

“Yes, sir,” said Kasethen and bowed before giving orders around to the soldiers who all dispersed. “And what about those people?”

He huffed in frustration and lowered his voice. “Keep an eye on them. Juniper has taken on more than she can carry. Help her.”

The advisor nodded. “And what about the injured ones? Should I fetch a maasa?”

The Vasaath grunted. “Only if needed.”

Kasethen nodded, but hesitated. “My lord, with all due respect—considering your… disposition regarding the girl, don’t you think it would be better received if you offered her your help?”

The Vasaath had to consider this. Indeed, such chivalry was expected and coveted amongst humans but he didn’t find it appropriate. He had already said his judgment, quite harshly, and what authority would he be if he gave way to her rebellion?

“No,” he said. “It would not be fitting for me, as the Vasaath, to change my mind. I let her people in and that was to win her favour, yes—but I will not sink any lower, no matter how desperate my needs become.”

“Of course, my lord,” said Kasethen and bowed again. “If I could give you some words of advice, it would be to be wary not to let a situation like this breed resentment. That would indeed drive you further from your goals.”

He sighed, letting his shoulders slump, and said, “I know.”

Translation:

Bas – enough; stop; no more

Kaseraad – spies; “the shadow of the people”

Maasa – healer

Ohkas – stranger; “not of Kas”; “not of the people”