Free 5: The Holy Road by Ginn Hale

scowled. He wasn’t used to being wrong, John thought.
    “You probably only kept company with the holy kahlirash’im. Women aren’t allowed inside their temple, but you can see one of the common villages up there.” Alidas pointed to the eastern slope. “My friend, Wah’roa, grew up on that mountainside.”
    A stone wall enclosed a cluster of thatched houses. John peered up at them. The rocks of the walls and weathered wood of the buildings hardly stood out from the surrounding trees.
    Glancing from the hillside to Vundomu, John was struck again by the massive presence of the fortress. It was a mountain itself. How could anyone think of attacking such a place? The black iron walls rose like huge plates of armor. A veritable sea of armed men seemed to flow from its huge, spiked gates.
    John couldn’t imagine an army overpowering such a stronghold. What threat could the underfed peasants of the Fai’daum possibly pose against a fortification of this scale? And if the Payshmura priests commanded such a fortress as well as the powers of the ushiri’im and ushman’im, why did they believe they would still need the Rifter?
    “Who could even challenge this place?” John wondered under his breath. The metallic screech of the train’s wheels braking against the track easily drowned out his undervoiced question. They had nearly reached the gates. The deep rumble of hundreds of men chanting rose over even the noise of the train.
    “We should get our packs,” Alidas called as the train slowed.
    Ravishan and Alidas both turned back to the doors of the passenger car, though John couldn’t help but note the disparity between their movements—Ravishan striding with speed and assurance, while Alidas took his steps with careful precision. John followed the two of them into the passenger car. They had packed lightly and had already devoured most of their provisions. They would need to get more water and food at Vundomu. John swung his own pack onto his back and then hefted Ravishan’s onto his shoulder as well.
    At this, Ravishan regarded John questioningly.
    “I believe the attendant gets the baggage,” John said.
    “Mine as well?” Alidas asked coyly.
    “As soon as you’re Kahlil I’ll be glad to.”
    “I’m not Kahlil yet,” Ravishan commented.
    The train had slowed and the chanting of the gathered rashan’im thundered through the passenger car.
    “RAVISHAN’HIR YA KAHLIL! RAVISHAN’HIR YA KAHLIL! RAVISHAN’HIR YA KAHLIL!” Thousands of men’s voices pounded through the air in unison, proudly proclaiming Ravishan their Kahlil. The words rolled out again and again. “RAVISHAN’HIR YA KAHLIL! RAVISHAN’HIR YA KAHLIL! RAVISHAN’HIR YA KAHLIL!”
    “Everyone here seems pretty sure you will be,” John shouted his reply.
    Ravishan flushed, seeming both embarrassed and proud. The assembled rashan’im all knew his name, all called out to him as if he were their savior. John couldn’t imagine what he would think if so many people were so moved by his mere presence. Most likely, he’d pretend to be someone else.
    The train came to a complete stop. Outside, the thousands of rashan’im standing in organized lines fell silent.
    “You should probably go first,” Alidas told Ravishan. “I think Jahn or I would be something of a disappointment.”
    Ravishan glanced to John and, for an instant, he looked uncertain. Then, just as quickly, the expression was gone. Ravishan squared his shoulders, pushed open the doors, and stepped out onto the stairs leading down to the train platform. A deafening cheer exploded from the rashan’im.
    Alidas said something, but John couldn’t make out the words. Alidas just shoved him forward towards the doors.
    Ravishan had already descended the stairs. The rashan’im parted before him. Once again they began their chant, their voices pounding the air like thunder.
    “RAVISHAN’HIR YA KAHLIL! RAVISHAN’HIR YA KAHLIL! RAVISHAN’HIR YA KAHLIL!”
    John disembarked with less