Savage Divinity

Following his guide, Dastan struggled to accept this new reality. The warm afternoon sun kissed his cheeks as he marched across the paved stone path in rhythmic cadence, the summer breeze carrying the scent of burnt herbs and incense. Vibrant, verdant foliage accented the pristine, white-brick walls, with nary a stray leaf to cover the orderly lines of curved roof tiles while various statuettes of crouched or seated animals dotted the ridge line and corners, glazed ceramic guardians there to break up the monotony and supposedly protect the inhabitants from spiritual intruders. Though he noted it all in passing, it seemed so surreal, as if life were but a dream, his actions not his own, his body a shell prodded along by the Energy of the Heavens, forced to carry out his orders.

Every millimetre of this manor appeared in flawless condition, no doubt due to the labours of an army of servants, all barely paid enough to keep their families fed. All the fat nobles of Sanshu deserved to die in a fiery conflagration, their greed and corruption a blight upon this once great Empire.

Dismissing his bloodthirsty musings as a flight of fancy, Dastan ambled along until he reached the door of his new bedroom. The master suite on the third level of a guest house, the side of the room held an opulent lacquer wood bed, its curtains opened to reveal patterned silk sheets and plump, pliable cushions. Gilded drawers, ornate chests, carved armchairs, and polished display cases lined the walls, with precious vases, beautiful paintings, exquisite wall scrolls and even an elaborately carved piss pot holder, all there for the guest’s viewing pleasure. Amazed by the sheer extravagance and honour, Dastan stumbled into the room, marvelling at one item after another.

Catching his reflection in a mirror, he found a stranger staring back. Though never overly vain, Dastan took pride in his appearance, always striving to look clean and neat as a disciplined warrior should. With his hair plastered in blood, swollen black eyes, tattered clothes, and hunched back, he looked the part of his new life. So strange, as a warrior, no matter his accomplishments, it would have been years before he earned the right to sleep in such luxurious conditions, yet here is where he’d spend his first night as a slave.

Yes, the honest, hard-working, Dastan Zhandos, Warrant Officer of the Empire, the warrior who slew the Highlander Headsman, was now nothing more than a slave. A prized possession doing whatever his Master demanded of him, whether it be fight the Defiled, wash dirty socks, or be put on display. This was the culmination of the path he’d chosen, an end to his dreams of reformation and equality for all. Not only his dreams, but the dreams of his retinue and their families as they all joined him in disgrace. His family as well, his grandparents, parents, uncles and aunts, siblings and cousins, nieces and nephews, all plucked from their comfortable lives and forced into slavery because he sought to challenge the Empire.

And to think, this was the best of a bad situation.

Beneath the mirror sat a basin of water, the clear liquid soon turning clouded as he cleansed dirt and blood from his body. Feeling refreshed, he opened the balcony door and found a dazzling view overlooking courtyard, the beauty and serenity of the manor piercing through the bleak desolation of his soul, giving birth to a tiny glimmer of hope amidst the grief and sorrow. That same glimmer was immediately quashed as he spotted Falling Rain curled up on the grass with his pets and three, lovely young women.

How enviable.

Knowing he might have had the same, Dastan’s heart ached at the loss, but that life was forever denied to him now. No longer did he stand in contention with Falling Rain, the youngest third-class Warrant Officer in 10,000 years turned the youngest second-class Warrant Officer in history. The rumours of his appetites spread far and wide, and though all rumours spout from a grain of truth, Dastan previously thought this one nothing more than false slander. No matter, all great men had their vices, and Rain seemed a decent enough sort. A quiet, contemplative young warrior whose amber eyes missed little, he was a compassionate, courageous warrior who empathized with the common man. Serving him wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

Peering down at the stones below, Dastan briefly wondered if the three-story drop would be enough to kill him.

Just barely, if he aimed to land on his head.

The moment he considered tumbling over the railing, Heavenly Energy descended upon him, choking the air from his lungs like a steel vice closed around his chest. Doubling over, he struggled for breath while banishing the thought of suicide, groaning in a mixture of pain and relief as the pressure faded. Such were the restrictions placed upon him, preventing him from even taking his own life. No, as a slave, his life was a precious commodity, one to be valued and possibly traded on a whim. The same thing would happen if he thought about killing his Master, disobeying an order, or any multitude other things, his life no longer his own.

Lamenting his fate, he dragged himself back into the room to carry out his orders: settle in, eat, and recuperate. Its splendour and opulence no longer touched him, for a gilded cage, no matter how beautiful, was still a cage. Hanging his shield and crossbow on the bed frame within arm’s length, he set to cleaning his axe with a rag. The familiar routine brought a small semblance of peace to his new, soul-crushing existence, setting his mind at ease. Finished with the task, he took a seat at the small tea table, absently noting how the expensive, white-jade table stood in jarring contrast to the rest of the room’s brown, red, and gold colour scheme.

Proof positive that money couldn’t buy good taste.

A thump on his door roused Dastan from his thoughts. Opening it, he found food waiting on the floor, a bowl of stew, three buns, a plate of steamed vegetables, and a gourd of water. Praying it was free of spit or other taint, his rumbling belly overwhelmed all caution as he devoured a bun on his way back to the table. Though it might have been because the last time he ate was almost forty hours ago, the meal was more delicious than anything he’d eaten in recent memory. The buns hid a savoury, meaty centre, the vegetables crisp and juicy, and the fragrant, hearty stew deliciously spiced. Even the water seemed colder and crisper than anything he’d ever tasted, emptying the gourd in a single swig. Belly full and mind exhausted, he changed clothes and crawled into bed, sinking into the soft, silken sheets with a contented sigh. Being a war criminal of the Empire, he had to admit, this treatment was far better than he deserved. Closing his eyes, he told himself everything would be all right.

Tell the lie often enough and it might come true.

Peaceful rest was denied to him as he drifted through dreams of bloodshed and carnage. In them, he brought the Coalition to victory against the nefarious Union and Alliance. Carving through the guards, Dastan cut down the fat Magistrate, putting an end to the architect of Sanshu’s downfall. With axe in hand, he led his retinue against the misguided fools, standing alongside heroes like Guard Captain Jianghong, XiaoGong... and Yo Ling?

No, it wasn’t right. Yo Ling, the Spectre of Butcher Bay, bandit and murderer, was no hero of the Empire.

Neither was Dastan Zhandos.

Waking with a start, the revelation nearly crushed him as despair and regret filled his being, mourning his foolhardy decisions. He’d known something was wrong but he’d refused to stop and think, following orders like a good little soldier. Major XiaoGong was his idol, a disciplined warrior he aspired to emulate, a noble of the ruling class who didn’t mistreat those beneath him. Under XiaoGong's tutelage, Dastan rose to excellence, eschewing traditional teachings for more radical practices, like drawing strength from righteous fury and giving himself to Enlightenment. To serve under XiaoGong had been Dastan’s dream, standing beside his hero to overturn the present state of affairs and eventually overthrow the Emperor.

And then XiaoGong betrayed them all, succumbing to torture before turning Demon.

The memory haunted Dastan as he laid in bed, remembering his hero standing on stage with arms chained behind his back. Fung’s humble servant approached the pillar, his bag of tools clinking in time with his steps. Without any further ado, the gruesome work began and Dastan closed his eyes, unable to stomach the horrible sight, but the screams... It felt like hours of XiaoGong resisting as best he could, but his strangled cries of anguish soon turned to howls of vengeance as Dastan’s hero devolved into something less than human. Ranting of death and destruction, he spewed hateful poison while the torturer plied his trade, every word hammering nails deep into Dastan’s heart.

Then, the crowd gasped and Dastan opened his eyes just in time to catch a glimpse of his idol’s feral grin. XiaoGong’s flesh rippled beneath what remained of his skin, warping into something... Unholy. A wave of pure malevolence burst from the tortured Defiled, an evil Aura of foul hatred, anathema to all that was good.

And thus, a Demon was born.

Only to die at the hands of the unremarkable servant of Shen Huo’s young magistrate.

A knock on the door startled Dastan, bolting from the bed to grab his axe. Realizing the absurdity, he put the weapon aside and tried to control his trembling body, swallowing hard before asking, “Who is it?”

“Rain.”

It took a few breaths for reality to settle in. Knowing it was bad form to keep his new master waiting, Dastan ran to open the door. Carrying two trays, Falling Rain smiled nervously and said, “I brought dinner. It’s about time we talked, but it can wait until after we eat.”

While Falling Rain carried the trays in, Dastan looked out the window to see the setting sun. Moving to the tea table, he belatedly realized he should have taken the trays from his new Master, but Rain didn’t seem to notice or care. Sitting across from him, Rain gestured for him to eat. A bowl of braised meat noodles, savoury and aromatic, with a few side dishes and a small pot of alcohol, again, it was a better meal than Dastan expected.

Or deserved.

“Why?” The question slipped out, unable to hold back his curiosity. “Why treat me so well? The nice room, the good food, the polite conversation, you might as well play the lute for a cow. I am your slave. There’s no need to go to such lengths.”

Raising an eyebrow, Rain said, “Nothing wrong with playing the lute for a cow. All cows love music, just like all humans need to eat. Besides, it's nothing special. I eat what my soldiers eat, so don't be shy. Or are you upset about being treated well?”

Hanging his head in shame, Dastan replied, “My apologies Mas- boss. This lowly slave didn’t mean to offend.”

“I’m not offended, and please no ‘lowly slave’ crap. I can’t deal with another one. Just speak normally.”

Hesitating, Dastan nodded. “As you command, but I must advise, doing so in public will cause others to look down on boss. A slave is a slave, and should always know their place.”

Sighing, Rain scoffed. “Always about face. Stupid. Whatever, who cares. If it bothers you so much, then act like a subordinate, but not a slave.”

“Yes boss.”

They ate the rest of their meal in silence, and before long, Dastan sat across from his new, enigmatic ‘boss’. Unsure how to act, he squirmed in his seat as Rain drained his bowl of soup, finishing with a contented sigh. In the fading light of day, Rain’s satisfaction lasted only a moment as he studied Dastan, a melancholic expression stretching across his face. What did he have to be depressed about? He wasn’t the one who’d been made a slave.

Clearing his throat, Rain leaped into the conversation. “Well, no sense delaying the inevitable. Truth be told, I don't know what to do. I detest slavery and I don’t want to own slaves. I can’t free you, but if you have someone you trust, I could, er... give you away.”

“No!” His insistence startling Rain, Dastan calmed his nerves and tried again. “Please Mas - boss, I only agreed to swear the Oath after ensuring you would be my Master. I wanted to swear directly before you, but had I waited any longer, my parents would have been executed.”

Blinking in surprise, Rain asked, “You chose me? The administrator made it seem like you were a gift from the Magistrate.”

Dastan snorted. “He would, the slimy politician seeking advantage wherever he can.” Reigning his anger in, he took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts. Treating the Magistrate with open hostility would bring him no advantage, considering he knew nothing of how Rain felt about that snake. “If not for my family and the families of my soldiers, I’d have gladly accepted death, but my family... I couldn’t let them die a horrible death because of my mistakes. Without your protection...”

Leaving his seat, Dastan moved around the table and dropped to his knees, ready to kowtow for Rain’s mercy, but a single word held him in place. “Stop, you don’t have to kneel.” Helping him back to his seat, Rain slumped in his chair and sighed. “You’re asking for a lot.” Unable to retort, Dastan kept silent. Rain was a smart man, realizing that if he abandoned Dastan and his people, then he might as well hang them all.

It would be a mercy.

After a moment of silence, Rain sighed again. “I can’t trust your people. You may be Oath bound and capable of displaying Purity, but what if your people are tainted? If I bring you back to my village and the Shrike’s replacement decides to Purge everyone involved in this war, then I’ll be bringing calamity down upon my people.”

“It’s part of the Magistrate’s plan.”

Seeing Rain’s frown, Dastan held his tongue, but Rain quickly pieced things together. “Ah. He’s hoping whoever comes next will think twice about Purging Sanshu, since it’d mean they must also purge the Bekhai.”

It felt good to speak with a competent person. The Bekhai were no savages, no matter what anyone said. “Not only the Bekhai. I’d wager the Magistrate will gift unbound slaves to Situ Jia Zian, Tong Da Fung, Han BoShui, Jin ZhiLan, Major Yuzhen, and anyone else who might pull his ass out of the fire.” Unable to hide information which might harm his Master, Dastan reluctantly added, “Though it’s likely all those slaves will be killed before leaving the city. The risks far outweigh the benefits and everyone will want to distance themselves from Sanshu.”

Rain sighed once again, palming his face to rub his eyes. After a long pause, he looked Dastan in the eyes and asked, “Why did you rebel?”

“Because I believed the ends justifies the means. The world we live in is broken, and someone needs to fix it. I’ve never been one to sit around and let other people act in my place. The Coalition was a part of the problem, but Major XiaoGong was different.” Faltering at the mention of his former hero-turned-demon, Dastan pressed on. “Or at least, I thought he was different. I didn’t know about the collusion with Yo Ling until we were outside Sanshu’s walls. I was told the Coalition was using Yo Ling to cleanse Sanshu of its filth, and on their orders, I exposed the left flank to the Defiled army. The idea was to drive Yuzhen’s elites away and keep them from interfering, buying time to for the Coalition forces inside Sanshu to clean up both Yo Ling and the Magistrate’s forces. Then, they’d instill XiaoGong as the next Magistrate and... well, I’m not sure.”

“You make it seem so innocent, but you killed soldiers of the Empire. You almost killed my friend.”

Swallowing his sigh, Dastan owned the mistake. “That I did. Though I tried to hide away and kill as few as possible, I was forced into action when Major Yuzhen sent orders for me to group up. I had no choice but to strike, lest my absence was noted and the hole in their defences noticed. Before the battle, I warned Fung to flee should things go wrong, so I hoped a few quarrels would send him running, but he stood and fought to the last man. Piecing together my involvement, he called me out by name, demanding I meet him in battle, and so I did.” Almost dying in the process. Though he hated to admit it, Dastan didn’t go easy on Fung, and if not for the servant/torturer revealing his presence, they both would have died on that field in mutual destruction.

Lost in thought, Rain sat in silence for several minutes, deliberating the fate of Dastan and his people. After an eternity of waiting, Rain shook his head and Dastan’s heart stopped. “I can use you and your retinue, but I still can’t trust your people. Maybe if my... If things changed and I was certain they weren’t tainted, then I could make an argument to bring them away, but as it stands, it’s too dangerous. I have to answer to my Grand Mentor and she is not a woman to cross lightly.”

Trembling in place, Dastan forced the words past the lump in his throat. “Will you be merciful?”

“I haven’t signed their death warrants yet. Let’s leave that as a last resort. It’ll be a week or two before we’re in any shape to travel, so I still have time to deliberate.” Standing up, he shrugged and added, “Who knows, maybe we’ll get lucky and the decision will be out of my hands.” Heading to the bed, Dastan’s relief quickly turned to apprehension. Did Falling Rain mean to sleep here? With him? Looking at his choice in women, Rain's tastes varied wildly, perhaps he even liked to rut with men.

Oh sweet Mother have mercy, my chrysanthemum is in danger...

“Sit down on the bed.” Unable to resist Rain's command, Dastan closed his eyes and waited. Taking Dastan's hand in his own, Rain stood in silence for what felt like an eternity as Dastan's heart hammered away in his chest, his stomach threatening to empty his dinner all over his new master. After a long moment, Rain let go and clicked his tongue and mumbled, “Fucking worthless blob... Can't do shit. Guess I'll have to wait for confirmation...”

It took some time before Dastan gathered enough courage to open his eyes, letting out a sigh of relief as he watched Rain studying the crossbow, his amber eyes wide with intrigue. Testing the string’s pull, he asked, “Fung told me these things were powerful so how come it’s so light on the draw?”

Grateful his chrysanthemum was spared, Dastan hurried to explain the finer points of the crossbow. “This weapon is the culmination of decades of testing, with many improvements not found anywhere else. The stock contains a system of pulleys to make drawing the bowstring easier without negatively impacting its power.”

“Pulleys, why didn’t I think of that... Stupid.”

“The bowstring itself is also special, made from the leg tendons of wildcats.” Seeing Rain’s look of horror, Dastan recalled the pet felines lazing outside and hurriedly continued. “There are other, better choices, like gale rabbits or prong-horned deer, but it’s not only the tendons which make the bowstrings special. They’re reinforced with the quills of an exotic bird native to the southern province, adding power and durability. There’s more to it, but I’m no expert.”

“How much do they cost? Seems like a long way to ship quills.”

“We paid next to nothing for the quills.” Straightening with pride, he explained, “There’s a merchant from the Coalition who collects exotic birds, and their feathers often blow into the streets. My uncle discovered the quills by accident and we collected more than enough feathers to make hundreds of crossbows. You could also claim the birds if you’d like, their owner is either dead or soon to be. There were over twenty birds last I checked.” Though beautiful creatures, Dastan thought it best to not mention their jarring, raucous call, best described as a grating, mocking, eerily human laugh.

Thankfully, Rain was more interested in the crossbow, though why, Dastan couldn’t say. The Bekhai earned much fame due to their incredible skills in archery. After asking a few more questions, Rain looked up and grinned. “I’m not a huge fan of birds, but who knows. I don’t mind a few more pets and if they’re too annoying, then maybe they’ll taste delicious. Let’s go grab them and then I want to have a chat with your uncle. Oh,” he added, “You and your retinue are my new bodyguards. Gather them up please, I don’t feel safe wandering the streets of Sanshu after dark.”

Brimming with pride, Dastan saluted and ran off to carry out his orders. Perhaps there was hope yet, with Dastan’s uncle proving his worth. Besides, he’d never dreamed of receiving a position of such great honour. Anyone who insulted them would be insulting Rain’s honour, allowing them to hold their heads up high despite of their status as slaves. Though a far cry from his former status, Dastan was willing to serve as penance for his crimes.

Though Dastan Zhandos would never find fame, there was no disgrace in standing side by side with the rising dragon Falling Rain, defending him from harm and following him to greatness. If need be, Dastan was even willing to give up his chrysanthemum.

It wouldn't be the worst thing it the world... would it?

He prayed he'd never have to find out.

Chapter Meme