243: Surprise! (Patreon)

“Still,” Sani—the middle-aged mother who’d welcomed Vir into her home—said with a chuckle. “Must say I’m surprised. Warrior Callings aren’t usually so helpful with chores. Or at least, don’t let others see you doing chores.”

The woman had assumed Vir was of the Warrior Calling, and had put Vir to work right away to earn his keep. Despite not wanting any part of this, Vir obliged. He not only wanted to see what demons in the demon realm were like, but after meeting her four children, he felt compelled to help out in any way he could. They certainly could use it.

Vir began by sweeping the small floor of their yurt, and was now accompanying Sani, carrying her dirty laundry to the well. Laundry he was certain hadn’t been washed in months.

Partially to distract himself from the stench, Vir pondered her words.

Cirayus had mentioned the demons’ Calling System, once. Long ago.

‘Listen, lad. The demons have a system you don’t find anywhere in the Human Realm. Least, it’s not as codified there. I speak of the Calling System. Demonic society is based on roles. Laborers, Warriors, Rulers… and Outcasts. You belong to one, and one alone. Laborers cannot fight. Warriors can’t become merchants. Outcasts can’t do much of anything other than beg. Been this way for as long as anyone can remember.’

It was so long ago that Vir struggled to remember the system’s many nuances. Cirayus had stressed the Callings were not equal, though the system was initially intended for them to be. Outcasts occupied the lowest rung, with the Rulers sitting at the top.

When Cirayus had described it, Vir expected it to be an unspoken thing, where people knew of each others’ Calling the same way they did their social class.

It wasn’t. Hanging from Sani’s neck was a burgundy painted wooden piece, etched with a symbol of a farmer with a pickaxe tilling a field.

Sani was a Laborer Calling, and of the farming and agriculture Sub-Calling. Each Calling had numerous sub-callings, though shifting between those was far easier. If Sani wished to become a merchant, she might be able to, if she had the means.

Judging from the general poverty of the village, it was abundantly clear to Vir that these callings were in no way equal.

“You alright, son?” the woman said with a look of concern. “Feeling unwell, by any chance?”

“Sorry, just lost in thought. A lot’s happened lately,” Vir replied.

Sani was a petite red demon like most he’d come across, but was as thin as a twig. It’d been a long time since Vir had seen anyone as emaciated as her. If anyone was unwell, it’d be her. Vir wasn’t even sure he could get sick anymore, with how strengthened his body now was.

They arrived at the well a short way away. It was a wide well, about ten paces across, and open to the air to catch any rainwater. Based on how low the water was, however, Vir guessed the area received preciously little precipitation.

He operated the hand winch, lowering the bucket all the way, before hoisting it back up.

“You do this yourself?” Vir asked. He barely noticed the effort, but for a regular demon, it’d be quite the workout. Let alone for someone as weak as Sani.

She flexed her nonexistent bicep. “Don’t underestimate what this woman can do, young man!”

Ah, right. Demonic constitution. Even as weakened as she was, she was likely stronger than the average human.

“So, what brings you around to these parts?” she asked. “How’re your kind these days? Haven’t heard much since your assault. Challish, that. Challish, but daring.” Her eyes gleamed.

Vir had a whole Ashload of questions to ask Sani, many of which pertained to the rebellion. How many of them were there? Who was organizing them? How did they hide from the Chitran? What was the sentiment toward them?

Posing as a member of the rebellion had worked well for Vir, but it also prevented him from asking most of those questions, lest Sani grow suspicious. The last thing Vir needed was to draw attention, even if he was in disguise.

At least I’ve learned my lessons there. The weapon at Vir’s hip—a talwar borrowed from Cirayus—would no longer give him away. Only Shan might, though the wolf did a mighty fine job of disappearing whenever he pleased, as had done the moment they’d fled the Chitrans.

Still, maintaining his disguise didn’t mean he couldn’t ask anything.

“I take it you’re Gargan, then?” Vir asked quietly as he worked the winch.

“Damn right I am. They can make me wear the Chitran badge,” she said, gripping her Calling badge, “but they can’t change the color of my soul. And I tell you, I bleed gold. Always have. Always will.”

Vir was confused for a moment before he remembered the colors of the Gargan flag—a golden bull on a dark brown background with a red border.

He nodded, as if in sympathy, betraying no hint of his misgivings. Riyan might’ve been a harsh, twisted man, but Vir honestly didn’t know how he’d have survived without the acting skills the man had imparted.

“How many sympathizers in this area?” he asked.

Sani’s eyes opened wide. “You lot planning something?”

“Just gathering intelligence, is all.”

“Well, not many of us here. About eighty. Of them I’d say a quarter have bought into the Chitrans’ Ash’va dung. Traitors, the lot of them. Another thirty won’t get involved in any conflict. Cowards. Say, about ten or so able-bodied warriors you could count on. Make that twenty if you don’t need ‘em to fight. Count me in, too, by the way.”

The woman had fire in her spirit that surprised Vir. He’d thought that after all these years, any fight the Gargans had would be long gone.

I need to get in touch with this rebellion.

He’d been agonizing over how to get Sani to tell him how to do just that when she handed him the answer.

“So what news from Samar Patag?” she asked.

Vir cocked a brow. “Meaning?”

“That’s where you lot are based, iddn’t it? You can’t tell me you haven’t heard anything.”

Vir shrugged, feigning resignation. “I’ve been out on assignment lately, going to various villages. I’m afraid any news would be months out of date.”

“Well, oh well.” Sani sighed. All of a sudden, she looked years older.

I screwed up, Vir realized, panicking. Sani had been hoping for a morsel of hope. Anything she could latch onto. Such commodities had to have been precious in a place like this.

“I can’t say for certain,” Vir started, “but there may be good things in our future. Do not lose hope. Gather those who believe. Keep your heads low.”

Sani’s expression brightened, and a devilish smile crept across her face. “Now, that’s what we want to hear.”

A knot formed within Vir’s chest. It was a lie, and a blatant one, at that. He hadn’t even met this rebellion. He didn’t know how strong they were, or whether they’d even get along. For all he knew, they hated the Akh Nara’s guts.

Sometimes, the truth is less important than what people need to hear, said a nostalgic voice in his head. It was, surprisingly, Tia’s voice.

Vir set the bucket of water down nearby, and Sani began immersing the clothes. It was the murkiest water Vir had ever seen—and that was before she’d put her clothing in. He genuinely wondered whether the clothes would be cleaner after.

As he worked the well, Vir took a look at the other villagers. Parents chatted with each other as their kids played. Others went about their daily chores. It was a peaceful, overall. If only it weren’t for the rags they wore and their lack of shoes, Vir might’ve called it idyllic.

Oddly enough, most of the women, and even some of the men, wore some form of jewelry. The women sported an assortment of bronze earrings, nose rings, belly rings, or toe rings, while the men opted mostly for basic ear studs. Though simple, they were very obviously far more precious than anything else they wore.

Why would they sacrifice footwear in favor of some piercings?

There was so much about demonic culture that Vir didn’t know about. He was behind the curve, and if he had any notion of ever leading these people, he needed to catch up. Fast.

“That’ll do it,” Sani said, finishing up. “The kids should have food ready by now. A hard day’s of work calls for a hearty meal, don’t you think?”

Vir nearly cringed. It was plainly obvious how little Sani ate. She’d obviously been favoring feeding her children over herself. How many days would she starve with the food she prepared for him?

He followed her back into the home, thinking of how he’d decline her generosity.

“Darsh!” Sani called out to one of her children.

Darsh was a demon boy of around eight or nine, with a crooked nose—the kind one gets from having their face punched in one too many times.

Bullying? Or something else?

Vir didn’t have a chance to ask.

“Go and fetch some bread from the baker,” Sani said, holding up a single copper coin.

Darsh glanced at Vir, and his eyes lit up.

He grabbed the coin and was about to dash out the window, when Vir swiped the money from him.

“Hey! What’s the big idea?”

Sani raised her brow, but said nothing as Vir examined the coin.

It’s the same. It’s the same!

The coin was Imperium currency. The exact same currency the Human Realm used.

Vir let out a laugh.

“Something off?”

“No, no. Just thinking how ironic the world truly is.”

Vir handed the coin back to Darsh, realizing just how rich he could’ve been in this realm, had he not bought into Badal’s investment property idea. The money wasn’t gone—and if all went well, he’d one day return to the Human Realm even richer—but right now, he was poor.

Poor, but not broke.

Vir produced ten coppers and handed them to Darsh, closing the boy’s fingers around the money. “Get as many as this much will buy you,” he said.

Sani was about to open her mouth in protest when Vir flipped her a silver coin. It was one of the few he had left, but he suspected earning money in the Demon Realm would be far easier for him than it would be for her.

“You? Why?” Sani stuttered.

“Keep it. Use it to further the cause,” Vir said, giving her a knowing look.

Sani nodded several times. “Today, we feast like kings!”

— —

The ‘feast’ consisted of a few pieces of stale bread, diluted lentil soup, and coconut water.

Basic fare for Vir, but the looks of absolute glee on the family’s faces made it one of the tastiest meals Vir had ever eaten.

“So, have you been here your whole lives?” Vir asked, trying to imagine what growing up in a place like this must have been like. The parallels to Brij were there, but this was on another level of poverty entirely. In Brij, Vir only starved in winter. Here, it felt like emaciation and hunger were the norm.

Their looks of confusion told Vir he’d made a mistake.

“Sorry. I was training in the Ash before this mission. I’m not up to date on recent happenings.”

Sani and her children nodded, though they were still somewhat surprised. Apparently, he’d asked a very basic question.

Vir was only now discovering how difficult it was to maintain a believable cover identity when he wasn’t versed in the local customs.

“Only been here a year or so. We’re thinking of moving on soon, though no one knows where. The land’s barren, and the Chits don’t lift a finger to aid us. Maybe people didn’t like the routes King Maion had us follow, but at least we never starved. Not like this.”

They’re nomads…

The ramshackle structures now made sense to Vir. Not only were the villagers constrained by their poverty, but they never intended to stay long.

“If you’re wanting to resupply, I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place,” Sani continued. “This village ain’t equipped to outfit a warrior band. Barely enough to get by on our own.”

“Do you think your baker could spare enough for a week’s worth for two or three people?” Vir asked. He’d somewhat anticipated the answer.

“Tell ya what? Leave it to me, and I’ll rustle up enough for yer folks. On one condition.”

Vir raised a brow.

“You accompany my kiddos to Samar Patag, and we’ll be square. Village’s got an Ash’va wagon we use to get supplies. You can all pile on that.”

Vir didn’t respond immediately.

“The roads’ a dangerous place these days,” Sani continued. “I’d breathe a lot easier if someone capable like you guarded them. Assuming, of course, you’re headed that direction. Just thought you might be.”

Vir wanted to ask how far Samar Patag was, but didn’t. That would’ve been common knowledge.

Are we closer than Cirayus thought? Vir wondered.

Riding an Ash’va wagon would be about the same pace as Vir and Cirayus could maintain.

“I am, though I cannot speak for my… brothers,” Vir said, hastily using a word a Gargan rebel might use. “I’d like to consult with them before I accept.”

“Of course, of course.”

— —

Vir excused himself and left the village alone.

“Well, Maiya, they seem like nice people. It’s… tragic, though, seeing how they live. I wonder if it’s like this everywhere.”

He’d taken to speaking out loud like this ever since the events in that cavern. A part of him recognized it as an unhealthy habit, though a much larger part didn’t care. It helped calm his nerves.

“Then I guess you’ll just have to fix it, won’t you?”

“Right,” Vir said, chuckling to himself. Look at me… I’m talking to myself now.

Wait. He froze. Talking?

Vir dropped his rucksack and rushed to pull out the communication orb. It glowed with white light.

“M-Maiya?”

“Hi Vir! Long time no see!”