Page 31 of Red Demon (Oria #1)

Battle Plans

I reassured myself of two things. One: Solonstrong could walk to the North Barrack by the afternoon, if he kept a good pace.

I wouldn’t have to tell Mira I had a hand in killing her father.

Two: whether retribution came our way via a horde of ghosts or a unit of Z’har soldiers led by Solonstrong, my instinct was to run, and take my taam with me.

But Galen was methodical as usual, gathering the entire militia in his shop for a calm discussion.

I could see his decision already in the tightness of his jaw.

The events of that morning caught me off guard.

I would not be unprepared for this battle too.

“I could have helped the girl if the governor did not interfere,” Atalia told Ola and Vann, the two youngest in the militia. She swept aside Ola’s unbrushed hair from her shoulder and stroked her cheek in reassurance.

Just then, Galen’s massive hand slammed onto the counter, stealing the breath from my anxious lungs and silencing the nervous chatter echoing throughout the shop. “Alright, let’s get our heads clear and quick. Where is Elder Varen?”

Varen, a geriatric healer who worked out of the temple, was the only Elder who I’d never seen at a militia practice.

“Varen is at the temple exchanging messages with the barrack,” Meragc said. “I’ll connect with him afterward.”

“Good, na .” Galen’s gaze lingered on each of our worried faces. Ruan, her fiery auburn braids across her breast, gripped the hilt of her dagger a little tighter. Plato, usually the most stoic among us, wore a concerned crease between his brows.

Galen cleared his throat. “Let’s recap facts. A ghost who claimed to bring a warning from the Pathfinder approached our gate. Our former governor forced that child’s body across our khels, killing both their minds: child and Attiq-ka ghost. We punished those responsible.”

“The ghost could have fled,” Meragc said.

“To what host? Spirits cannot survive long without a mind,” Atalia said.

I blinked. “How do you know all this?” I’d been with the Asri almost seven years, and that day I felt as lost as the day I arrived.

Galen raised his hands in silence. “I figure there are two ways to look at this. Either that ghost is a messenger for a deceased Pathfinder or not. Let’s say she is, even if it’s suspicious that she wouldn’t name the specific Pathfinder whom she served.

Maybe she lost that memory, and means well.

” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.

“In that case, how can we trust if the ghost is correct about the threat? Or the escape path? All she gave us was a vague warning that ruren-sa will overwhelm our khels and that, of all places, we should head to the Bend.”

Ruan scoffed. “The khel is fine. We just watched it do exactly what it was built for.”

A chorus of agreement rose from several others.

“Maybe there’s Chaeten tech we don’t know about. Some of them still want us dead,” Vann said, knowing better than to meet my gaze with that shit.

“And which Chaeten faction is teaming up with Asri ghosts, Vann?” I challenged. A murmur rippled through the room, most taking my side.

Galen held up his hand for silence. “We don’t know the specifics; but I think we have enough evidence to conclude that was a fragmented soul, if she has any left of one at all.”

“Do you think the ghost is ruren-sa ?” Ruan asked.

Our little crowd of a dozen murmured again. Galen’s dark eyes flickered. “ Ae , what I’m leaning toward.”

Acid in my throat. In the ghost war, those spirits killed two out of three people alive on the planet, mostly Asri, but Chaeten too.

“But thanks to Solonstrong, we can’t be sure.

” Galen wrinkled his face in agitated thought.

“If the ghost left willingly to spare the girl and leave her mind intact, I would assume good intentions and judgment, even from a broken soul. But a ruren-sa would not have been able to disentangle its broken mind from a host. Such a demon might try to lure us all past the protection of the khels for easy picking. Maybe the Bend resettlement kicked up a few angry spirits, now out here for some trouble.”

“How could a ruren-sa coordinate a trap alone, though? Broken minds would need living help for a strategy like that,” I said. For the sake of not picking a fight with Vann, I was careful not to mention that Asri rebels were my prime suspects.

Galen gave a grim nod of his dark head. “A good point, and a terrifying one. In that scenario, the safest move would be to stay within our khels and work with the empire to kill off these ghosts with tech or chout. And…” He raised a finger, a spark of defiance in his eyes.

“This militia, we’re trained. We can fight the living.

If rebels come, we can defend our walls. ”

He shifted his weight, his gaze meeting mine. A shiver ran down my spine.

“I think we should trust the warning and move on,” Atalia said, her voice more calm than the one in my head. “There are better lies to get us out of town. Voids, ghosts could pick off our militia in training any morning if they were roaming these woods.”

Galen gave her a curt nod. “A small meal for a swarm, though. I don’t think any intelligent mind can be certain here.”

He scanned the faces around the room, his gaze lingering on each member of the militia. “I will respect any decision each of you make for yourself, either a broken mind who got a dire warning right or a cunning demon toying with us. In my case, either option leads me to the same choice.”

Galen let his words hang in the air for a moment. “My roots grow too deep in the soil where I was born, the soil where Oria knows my name. I will make my stand and die on my land, be it tomorrow or decades from now.”

Meragc cleared his throat. “I trust the khel, Galen. I trust my eyes. No ghost is getting past that gate. And if there are rebels out there, those are people we can fight. I will stay.” There were nods of agreement around the room. Atalia sighed beside her husband, then gestured her acceptance.

One by one, everyone voiced their agreement. The teenagers Olan and Vann, nodded in tears, orphans that no one could countermand. Horeshio, the other teen recruit, fell in line with them, gripping their shoulders.

Plato, who I knew had recently been itching to go to the Bend, gave a curt nod, adding, “I didn’t train with you all just to run away.” He looked at me just as long as Galen.

My resolve solidified, even if uncertainty raked at the corners of my mind. If they were certain, and if my taam would stay and fight, I knew where I belonged.

“I will stand with you, brothers, sisters, Taam,” I said, gesturing to my mind and heart in an Asri salute.

“I am proud to fight beside you, son.” Pride flickered in Galen’s eyes as they settled on me. “Plato, find out who else in Nunbiren will stand with us. I’ll arm them. Ruan, coordinate the watches on the walls, two on each of the four gates, closed by nightfall,” Galen said.

“What about an external watch?” I said. “Whether it’s SBO or ghosts, I’m immune. I can climb the tallest tree on the forest edge and run patrol from there.”

“I’ll rotate with you,” Plato said.

“Sure,” I said. He could climb as well as me.

Plato’s blue and gray eyes twinkled; his throat bobbed.

Galen frowned, drumming his hand on the table. “Jesse, I won’t argue with your immunity, but I will argue with Plato.” Galen turned to him. “You should stay behind my khels.”

“Fine, makes sense. I’ll take provisions and camp the night,” I said.

“I’ll run you some night-vision goggles from the temple, Jesse,” Meragc stroked his dark beard.

Relief washed over me. With those goggles and a tall enough perch, I could see any threat coming from tens of kilometers away.

“I’ll make my stand at the temple,” Meragc said. “And see what tech we can disperse to those in town who aren’t trained with weapons.”

“We should move Nestor and the other children to the temple at night, since it has extra khels—same for those too old to fight. I’ll take point on that,” Atalia said, tugging her golden hair behind her head.

The clock on the forge fabricator ticked off the hour.

“I will speak to the ancestors next,” Galen said, pouring himself a glass of water. “If the governor brought an Attiq-ka to the dust, I should let the rest of Oria know we have avenged the death.”

“Meragc, what tech do we have that’s safe to use around Attiq-ka magic? I’ll need to be in contact.”

Atalia’s hand brushed against mine, her blue blade humming as she raised it a finger’s breadth from her scabbard. “Have you gotten over your fear of Oria-threaded weapons?” she asked, her voice a low murmur.

“Not a fear, just… I don’t have a license to carry one,” I said. Half of that was a lie, and from the look on Atalia’s face, I wasn’t fooling her.

“Yeah, only the elders do, but fuck that,” Ruan said.

All around me, my Asri friends drew their weapons, illuminating the shop in a faint blue glow.

I froze, feeling a hum of energy, like standing beside the nuclear generator in the mine on a field trip years ago.

Any other sword felt like death I could control, not one that would rather kill me.

They all had one.

I’d heard countless lectures through the years of how holding Istaran should give me the peace of my adopted ancestors, supporting me with each swing.

Asher had told me I’d get a mental boost from all the minds that had connected to an Oria-threaded weapon blade, a clarity of purpose. Nope, just anxiety—every fucking time.

Plato laid a supportive hand on my shoulder. “I can lend you a blade.”

Galen grunted. “Thank you, Plato. But the blade Asher left behind knows him. It should respond to him best.”

I nodded, suspecting that I failed to hide the panic in my chest.“Voids, Galen, I better tell him,” Ruan blurted, and I turned to see she was watching me.

“Tell me? Tell me what?”

She took a deep breath, her blue and green eyes not leaving mine. “If you carry an Oria-threaded sword and sync it to me, I won’t just get a vague sense if you’re alive or dead like the rest of us. I’ll feel or see everything you do from your guard post—every sensation.”

Ruan stood with every muscle tense. Looking around, it seemed I and the youngest recruits were the only ones who didn’t know about her dahn.

I suppose she still harbored a little fear that a Chaeten would disapprove or turn her in, because this was definitely a gift the empire wouldn’t want her free to use as she chose.

The priests would probably make her pledge somewhere if they knew.

I smiled at her, throwing as much reassurance as I could into it. “That’s amazing, Ruan. Just look away when I need to take a piss up there, will you?”

She relaxed as I got a few chuckles from the rest of the group.

“I’ll fetch Ash’s sword,” I said. Panic ambushed me the moment I was alone, my steps creaking up the familiar stairs to the loft.

Planning battle was one thing, but looking at the cozy little kitchen and fire that was already one brother short, my heart pounded.

I buried my fear deep as a grave, the little voice that everything was falling apart.

The latch clicked on the engraved wooden box under Asher’s bunk.

The blade roused its soft glow in my hands, as I touched the engraving Ash had spent so much time and love making perfect only to leave behind.

Voids, I wished he was here. I wonder if he could have looked that ghost girl in the eyes—if he could have given me the certainty we lacked.

I carried the weapon down the stairs; a whispering pulse of energy trailed up my arm.

I paused on the last step, looking out at a scene.

We practiced this ritual many times in our familiar clearing, each time with wooden blades.

The priests would have banned the militia if we’d done it any other way.

The empire strictly forbade this magic outside of war, or elite academies, for fear the practice would corrupt in the wrong hands.

A dozen Asri clustered below me with their blue pulsing blades, whispering forehead to forehead as they touched their weapons. And as unattuned as I’d always been to Asri magic, even I couldn’t miss the hum of energy, a faint indistinct sound that made my heart beat cold.

“Son,” Galen said, gesturing for me after he and Meragc split away.

I stepped closer, crossing Ash’s blade over my heart as Galen did the same with Istaran. Then he pulled my head to his in his powerful grip, our blades still crossed between us, singing in a low hum.

“Do you remember the words?” he asked.

I nodded, not telling him it was my Chaeten dad who first whispered them to me, warning us in a bedtime story about the decimation of my people. Those stories used to keep me awake, where I’d imagined myself impaled on a blue blade like this, now held over my heart in reverence.

We whispered in unison, breath to breath. “My heart and mind are with you always, my blood and ally, to defend what is worth my death. May you feel each fear and glory, and may our communion guide our hands, as our ancestors guide us in our wisdom.”

And while I understood the power in the clap of his hand on my back, I did not understand the tears my taam kept fenced within his eyes as he pulled away.

To this day, I wish I did.