Ashborn Primordial

Chapter Ashborn 377: Depths of Revelation (One) (Maiya)

“Well,” Maiya said, slouching in her chair. “That doesn’t sound too bad.”

Yamal glanced at Bheem, who wore the same worried expression as his colleague.

“I’m afraid it is bad, Maiya. Exceedingly bad. This level of dissent among the ranks is unprecedented in the Children's long and storied history. I’m afraid we could be staring at the unraveling of the entire organization, should this go unaddressed.”

“Yes, well, I imagine this level of reform is unprecedented as well,” Maiya said, playing with a pen as she stared at the half-dozen papers that lay neatly arranged in front of her.

It had been some time since they’d convened like this, the three of them. Partly because Maiya’s obligations to Sonam—namely arranging the meeting between Riyan, Prince Sanobar—had taken all of her time, and then some. It felt like old times, again. Simpler times.

As Yamal’s repeated messages communicated, Maiya would be returning to a deluge of tasks to oversee, when all she wanted to do was abscond from the infernal organization and hand the mantle of the Blessed Chosen to Yamal or Bheem. His brother had been the previous Chosen, hadn’t he? Why couldn’t he take the reins?

Alas, the ways of the mysterious patrons of the Children of Ash would not allow it. Maiya wasn’t quite sure how, but Fate would find a way to land her back in her seat as Blessed Chosen. Or so the prior Blessed Chosen seemed to think. With all the weirdness Maiya had experienced since then, she was inclined to agree.

How many kings would have killed for such a power, I wonder? The ability to remain king, no matter how poor a job they did, so long as they stayed in the good graces of those who apparently controlled Fate and its musical machinations. Maiya still couldn’t quite believe it, even if she’d seen the evidence to the contrary.

“Maiya? Are you listening?”

“Of course,” Maiya replied. “Unrest is normal. Expected, even. This is good. It weeds out the true fanatics in the organization, versus those who had simply been pretending to fit in.”

“Well, yes… But what will you do about it?”

Maiya gave Yamal a quizzical look. “Excise them, of course. On my authority.”

Yamal furrowed his brows. “That could prove… dangerous.”

“Then take my Chosen Guard. Or my Handmaidens, if they’re not your cup of tea,” Maiya said, waving away his concern. “Disguise them as a Child of Ash. We both know they’ll blend in as well as any.”

Yamal looked at Bheem, who nodded in return. They’d grown closer over the past months, operating increasingly as a cohesive team, with Yamal providing the plans, and Bheem helping iron out the details. And, of course, acting as muscle when needed. Few cut as impressive a figure as the giant.

“Tell me about the recruitment initiatives,” Maiya said. “At least we seem to be having more success there,” she added, too softly for anyone to hear.

“We are,” Yamal replied, giving her a pointed look. “And, you know? We might just be having an easier time of things if you were actually around. There’s no law that says the Blessed Chosen must be an aloof, detached figure…”

Maiya shrugged. “What can I say? Got plots to hatch. Countries to overthrow. Keeps me busy.”

“The way you casually refer to changing the world order… I swear, you’ll be the death of me,” Yamal said, prompting a nod from Bheem.

“Look, I’m doing the best I can,” Maiya said. “I’m here now, aren’t I? So let’s use this time to plan, shall we?”

---

The conversation continued for another hour, and despite the plethora of decisions she was forced to make, Maiya came away satisfied. The recruitment drives were going well. With the newfound mandate to seek out only those who hadn’t lost their mind, the organization’s character was shifting. Slowly, perhaps—such changes did not occur overnight—but the demographic of its members changed steadily, from radicalized insanity to something a bit more… rational.

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At Maiya’s request, the Sisters of Gray were in the process of expanding rapidly, and were well on their way to shedding their minority status amongst the members.

“The only question now is what you want the organization to become,” Yamal said. “Getting rid of the crazies and recruiting more sensible folk is all well and good, but to what end? The Children have never truly had purpose in the past. Just an assemblage of fanatics practicing blood rituals. A general nuisance, with some handouts here and there.”

Maiya shuddered at the thought of the blood rituals. While she couldn’t outright ban them just yet, she’d severely limited both their frequency and scope, and expected the trend to continue, given the relative sanity of their new recruits. She hoped the practice would fall out of favor and die out on its own.

As for a vision…

“I’ve been thinking a lot about this, actually,” Maiya said, causing Yamal’s eyes to bulge, and Bheem’s to narrow. “Oh, come on. It’s not like I don’t think about the Children at all, you know!”

Her words failed to convince her friends, who looked about as suspicious as one could be.

“The handouts… You said it yourself, Yamal. The Children have been feeding and clothing the poor from time immemorial. If I’m not mistaken, I believe you joined due to those very handouts, yes?”

“I did,” Yamal said, lowering his eyes. “Not a high point in my life, I admit.”

“No, it’s fine. Just… What if we doubled down on that? Make the Children an organization that helps the unprivileged and underserved? Protecting them from the atrocities of corrupt governments. Feeding them, clothing them, giving them shelter and the means to bounce back. Maybe education, even. And if all else fails, at least a place to belong…”

Neither of her friends responded for a long while. Maiya’s words weren’t just lip service—all three had been in that position. All three had fought to survive at one point in their life, and all of them had suffered at the hands of their government. None more than Maiya.

“It’s… a noble goal,” Yamal said softly. “A lofty goal, and one that will not be readily achieved… But noble.”

Bheem, who’d stayed out of the conversation until none, scribbled something on a sheet, which he tossed onto the table for all to see.

“And worth fighting for.”

Maiya nodded. “Then let’s make it happen. I don’t care if it takes years. Let’s erase the Children’s reputation as a bunch of loons. Let the world heap praise upon the organization that dedicates itself selflessly to the world. To all those who’ve been left by life’s wayside… So that the suffering in this world might be eased, even if only a little. So that no one goes through what I did… What we did.

Yamal held up his goblet. “It might only be water, but I’ll drink to that.”

---

Having a vision was all well and good, but ultimately amounted to nothing without proper planning and execution. Maiya spend another three hours ironing out the details of how they would proceed with her plan, covering everything from recruiting teachers, carpenters, and other tradesmen to build a network of educators. People who could teach the underprivileged and get them back on their feet.

They drafted plans for vast underground safe houses with beds, stores of food, and communal facilities. They hammered out how the organization would sustain itself and raise funding, and a myriad of other topics, none of them glamorous or heroic. Yet it was these boring, mundane topics that formed the foundation of any successful venture. Logistics, as Maiya was swiftly learning, were the lifeblood of companies, armies, and even countries.

“Well,” Yamal yawning as he sat back in his chair, “I don’t know about you two, but I’ve had my fill of planning for a lifetime. What do you say we head to Sonam and visit a mead hall or two?”

“Sounds lovely,” Maiya said with a sad smile.

“But?” Yamal asked, seeing her expression.

“But time waits for no one,” Maiya said. “My body and soul no longer belong to just me… They belong to this organization. They belong to Ira… And, in a sense, to this realm. I’m afraid leisure will have to wait until my next life.”

“Maiya…” Yamal began. “Don’t be like this. You can’t—”

“I know,” Maiya said with a soft smile, gently cutting him off. “I’m aware. Already, my mind frays at the edges. The weight of this responsibility…” She laughed. “Would you believe I was just a village girl without a care in the world not three years ago?”

‘You’ve come far…’ It wasn’t Yamal who said this, but Bheem, who wrote it out on a piece of paper.

“And lost so much,” Maiya said bitterly. “I can’t help but feel like as my station and my wealth grow, I lose something. Something precious. I feel like…”

Like I’m losing control of my own life, Maiya thought, though she didn’t dare voice that thought. Every rung up the ladder of power, every additional responsibility, felt like another shackle weighing her down. Unnoticeable at first, but now? Now, she felt as though just one more would be the one that caused her to slip, crashing all the way back down in a bloody mess.

Which was why she could no longer ignore the voice buried deep within her. The voice crying out for her to wrest back control of her life.

“Bheem,” she said. “I’m afraid I’ll have to impose upon you.”

The giant frowned and scribbled down a single word. “Anything.”

Maiya read the word and pursed her lips. “I doubt you’ll feel that way after hearing what I ask…”

She’d agonized over this decision for longer than she’d have liked, losing sleep in the process. Yamal was right. Things couldn’t proceed as they were. Either she accepted that, or, in this brief calm before the storm that was about to consume the realm—before the assassination of Rayid Hiranya and the realization of Ira’s dream—Maiya had a chance.

To uncover the truth for herself. To learn the answers she’d so long sought.

“I want you to take me to Ksaia,” she said, leveling her gaze at the giant. “To the sewers in which you and your brother were forced to flee. I want you to guide me to its depths…. I want to meet Janak.”