by Davis Ashura
Isha didn’t reply, which was answer enough.
Serena chewed her lip. If Selene passed her Tempering, she would become a shill. From there, with hard work and luck, a bishan and eventually a mahavan. She would become a truly tempered warrior of Sinskrill, all weaknesses hammered away like a blacksmith forging iron into steel. Was that what Serena wanted for her sister? What their mother would have wanted?
“I have work to attend, but as your once-mentor, I offer a piece of advice,” Isha said. “Come down from the Eyrie.”
Serena blinked, confused. “I’m hardly ever here.”
“I speak metaphorically. You’ve roosted in this high chamber ever since you’ve come back to Sinskrill. It’s time you lived amongst our people again. You need to. Alliances and factions . . . the game never ends, and if you wish to protect yourself and what you find important, you should remember that.”
“Politics.” Serena scowled. She hated it, but hating it didn’t make it any less real or deadly. “What do you suggest?”
“Make yourself approachable. You’re popular right now. You brought in two raha’asras. Now is the time to forge your destiny. There are several candidates, low-ranking mahavans, newly risen from drone families or from families who have fallen. Strong and smart. They could help you. Seek them out.”
“And protect my flank.”
“Yes.”
A thought came to her. “And by strengthening myself, I strengthen you?”
Isha smiled. “Of course.”
“I’ve been wondering,” said Jake as he dug his rake into the soiled hay and deposited the mass into the nearby wheelbarrow. “You think we should have taken that left turn at Albuquerque?”
“Every day and twice on Sundays,” William replied with a grin.
Jake took a moment to straighten up and arch into a long stretch.
William commiserated.
Cleaning the Servitor’s stables was backbreaking labor, given the seemingly endless stalls full of grime, piss, and befouled bedding.
At least it was dry. Better than being outside and getting rained on.
William grimaced when a cold breeze swirled into the stall in which they worked.
Maybe the stables were dry, but they still contained the same damp chill as the rest of Sinskrill. Even the dimness—only a few dull lamps provided illumination—reminded him of the island’s oppressive cloud cover.
“What do you think that other place was like?” Jake asked, getting back to work.
“What other place?”
“The warm place.”
Arylyn.
William paused to consider as he leaned on his rake. His gaze grew distant as he remembered the one vision Jason had shown him of his lovely home, of beauty made real. Words were ineffectual to describe it.
“That pretty, huh?” Jake asked, apparently noticing William’s dreamy-eyed stare.
“Yeah.”
“When did you go there?”
“Never,” William replied. “Jason showed it to me once, like a portrait in my mind.”
“No talking,” growled Tristan Winegate, one of the mahavan Earth Masters. On Sinskrill, the man was called a Tender, but anywhere else he would have been called a farmer.
William and Jake broke off their conversation, and rolled their eyes after the Tender wandered off.
In the three weeks since William’s and Jake’s capture, they had learned precious little about lorethasra or lorasra, but they had learned much about the structure of the island’s society.
At the bottom were the drones, the vast majority of Sinskrill’s inhabitants, and at the top was the Servitor. Below him were six Primes, one each for the villages of Bliss and Paradiso and four to lead the individual castes of mahavans, one to represent every Element that made up lorasra. Next followed the other mahavans, the most powerful ranks being either the Seres—Fire Masters—or the Walkers—Air Masters. After them, the Riders—the Water Masters and then the Tenders. At the bottom stood the Spirit Masters, who lacked a Prime to lead them or a name to indicate command of their Element.
Another oddity about the island: upon birth, every infant, including those conceived by drones, faced testing, and if deemed to have the potential to become a asrasin, the child would sometimes be adopted by a mahavan couple. Similarly, if a mahavan couple produced a baby found to be unfit, that infant was immediately stripped of its lorethasra and sent to live with a drone family.
Serena had become a minor celebrity in Sinskrill since she was a natural-born child of the Servitor. Only rarely did such individuals go on to become mahavans.
“How many more stalls are there?” Jake asked, breaking into his thoughts.
“Five.”
“Then we’re done?”
“We’re done.”
“We might make it back in time to take a bath, then,” Jake said in a hopeful tone.
William took a whiff of his ripeness and shrugged. His rough-hewn hemp clothing—itchier than wool—stunk. He stunk, but clean or dirty, what difference did it make? He and Jake would still be slaves. While he’d learned to cope with his life on Sinskrill, it didn’t mean he didn’t dream of freedom.
“I know. I feel the same way,” Jake whispered. “I saw the look on your face,” he said by way of explanation. “Freedom.”
“Freedom,” William mouthed back.
Walkers couldn’t hear what wasn’t spoken, and over time, he and Jake had become adept at lip-reading.
“How do you work so hard and never get tired?” Jake huffed during a rest period a few hours later as he leaned on his rake.
“Don’t know,” William said, breathing heavy but with plenty of juice left. “Probably something to do with the necrosed. His blood changed me.”
A shadow darkened their stall door, and their conversation halted as they turned to see who it was. William’s jaw clenched.
Serena.
Gone was the girl he’d known at St. Francis. In her place stood a mahavan, her hair tied back in a ponytail, and wearing a long, dour, gray dress. She held silent as she seemed to study him.
Though William wanted to throttle her, see the life leave her eyes, he straightened and assumed a bland but respectful attitude. To have done otherwise would have invited punishment. “How can I help you, madam?” he asked.
Serena stared at him, and William imagined her lack of concern at his grime-covered features, the tufts of facial hair trying ineffectually to form a beard, and his lank frame. He’d lost a lot of weight since coming to Sinskrill.
So had Jake.
“I require nothing,” Serena replied.
Then get the hell out of here, he wanted to shout at her. Instead, he maintained a civil, servile tone and asked, “May we return to work?”
“Is this what you wish to do? Hoe crap all day?”
“We were commanded to—” Jake began.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Serena said. “What have you learned of lorethasra and lorasra?” she asked William.
“I don’t understand the question,” William responded in the lifeless affect of a drone.
“What is the basis of asra, our magic?”
“Lorethasra,” William said. “The inner aspect is made of five Elements, Earth, Air, Water, Fire, and Spirit. I’m told the Buddhists may have lifted that last notion from ancient asrasins but got ‘void’ and ‘Spirit’ mixed up. Spirit is said to be the most important of the Elements, and control of all the others flows from it.”
“And lorasra?”
“It contains all the Elements but Spirit,” William continued. “It flows along ley lines, and an asrasin braids his Elements to the corresponding ones in lorasra.”
“And the practical application?” she asked. “Tell me.”
William mentally scowled. Oh, he had plenty to tell her, but every bit of it would lead to trouble, either for him, Jake, or both.
A second later an idea came to him, and he suppressed a smile. The drones had a way of irritating mahavans
while largely avoiding punishment. They pretended to have a cretin’s stupidity, and since dull-wittedness was expected of them anyway, it often worked. Best of all, in this circumstance William really had a cretin’s ignorance. It would drive Serena crazy. “I don’t know,” he said.
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I don’t know,” William repeated. He pushed it. “Does that mean something else on Sinskrill?”
“Fiona has taught you nothing of worth?”
“I don’t know, madam,” William said. He looked to Jake. “Did she teach us anything of worth?”
Jake shook his head.
“I guess she didn’t teach us, then,” William added in his best slow-witted voice.
“I see.” Serena’s jaw clenched, and William silently rejoiced. Anything that upset her was fine by him. “She never taught you of braids, then?”
“What are those?” William asked. He pushed it again by giving Serena a dullard’s slow blink. “For your hair?”
Serena grimaced. “You were never this dense back home,” she hissed.
“We’re a long way from home, madam,” William reminded her, and felt further gratified when she reddened. Her mouth opened as if she wanted to say something else. Instead, she spun on her heel and stomped out of the barn.
William shook his head. What was she upset about now? He decided he didn’t care. Besides, who could tell what Serena truly felt? She was a consummate liar.
Jake edged closer. “What was that about?” he asked in a whisper.
“Who cares? Let’s finish up and get those baths.”
Later that evening, William and Jake retired to their small cottage after taking a bath. In Village White Sun, their shack was considered extravagant for only two people. Still, while it might be considered large by some, it lacked much when it came to livability. With Sinskrill’s constant drizzle, icy water leaked through the thatch and porous mortar. Some rain blew in sideways and splattered William’s and Jake’s cots no matter where they placed them. As a result, the fireplace did little more than keep winter’s icy claws at bay.
William didn’t know if he was becoming inured to the misery of their prison, or if by day’s end, he was simply too tired to care.
“Buck up,” Jake said.
William gave him a questioning glance.
“We’ve got it bad, but we’re alive. We’ll get out of this.”
“Yeah,” William said, too dubious and downcast to believe Jake’s words.
“We have to keep fighting,” Jake said. “Otherwise, what’s the point? We might as well slit our wrists now and be done with it. We never gave up during the football season, remember? We could have given up and cashed it in, but we didn’t. We fought. You fought. You held. I’m telling you to hold now.”
“This isn’t football,” William reminded him.
“I know,” Jake said in exasperation. “It’s a helluva lot worse. I get it. But at the end of the day it’s also the same in all the ways that matter. Back home we had to fight for each other. Same here. We watch each other’s backs and hold on.”
William exhaled heavily, a modicum of hope taking root. “Thanks.”
“You’ve done the same for me,” Jake said. “Especially those first weeks. I might have jumped off a cliff if you hadn’t been around.”
“Next time you feel that way, let me know, and I’ll give you a friendly push,” William said with a smile. “At least then I won’t have to listen to your snoring any more.”
“Ha, ha,” Jake said in a sardonic tone.
William’s smile broadened.
“That’s the spirit,” Jake said. “We fight for one another, and nothing in this hellhole will break us.”
“I know,” William said, “but I wasn’t smiling about that. I was thinking about home. You remember how much we hated each other? It was stupid, but at the same time it was simpler.”
“You want to go back to hating me?”
William grinned, his mood further lifting. “Who said I ever stopped?”
Their conversation stalled as they silently considered their shared past.
“What do you think they’re doing back there right now?” William asked, breaking the quiet.
“Who?”
“Sonya, Steve, everyone.”
“Funny you should bring up Sonya,” Jake said with a knowing grin. “Everyone knew about your crush on her. Even Sonya.”
“Everyone knew?” William asked, stricken with embarrassment. “Even you?”
“Of course, even me,” Jake said. “Why do you think I gave you such a hard time? Half of it was because of Sonya. I didn’t want you sniffing after her.”
“And the other half was because you’re an asshole?”
“Well, there is that,” Jake admitted. “I can’t help it.”
William laughed.
“Anyway, then you went and got all dark and mysterious on me,” Jake continued. “Badass really, with your sword, and the fact that you knew how to use it.”
“You thought I was a badass?”
“We all did. Even Sonya. All through Christmas break, until she forgot about what happened. You know, Mr. Zeus’ spell and everything. Anyway, you and Jason were all she talked about. More you than Jason, though.”
William grinned. “Really?”
“Really. Now stop looking so smug about it.”
“Sorry,” William apologized, not the least bit remorseful.
“No, you’re not.”
William couldn’t stop grinning. “Why me more than Jason?”
“Are you kidding? Jason throws fire. A guy like him is too badass, if you know what I mean,” Jake said.
“I’m not really much of a badass now, am I?”
“I’m not much of a rich jerk now either.”
“You’re still a jerk,” William said. “Just not rich.” He laughed until Jake threw his soggy blanket and caught him flush in the face.
“Why exactly are we here?” asked Walker Brandon Thrum with a frown. His blocky features were similar to the Servitor’s although they shared no familial ties. “All I see are a bunch of drones doing their normal work.” He sat his horse at ease and appeared bored.
Serena viewed him briefly before turning away and not bothering to respond. Brandon could figure it out. Though he pretended to be an idiot—he used his height, thick build, and heavy-set features to promote the fiction—he was actually quite intelligent.
The two of them sat their horses on a rise overlooking Village Paradiso’s fallow fields of stubbled stalks. With them rode two other mahavans who Isha thought might be of use to her. Serena had brought them here to feel them out about a possible alliance. They watched a group of drones clear the land in preparation for the spring planting. The warmer weather remained months away, but the fields still had to be made ready.
“Aren’t those two down there your parents?” Rider Evelyn Mason, a Water Master sneered at Brandon as she pointed out a couple. Other than Serena, Evelyn was the youngest of the four of them.
Brandon shrugged in eloquent disregard.
His lack of response earned him a scowl. Evelyn’s auburn hair—rare on Sinskrill as most tended to have dark hair and skin—seemed to play about her plain face although no breeze blew, and her blue eyes flashed.
Serena mentally shook her head at the interplay. Evelyn was fierce and ambitious but blunt as a butter knife. Had she really thought such a careless insult would have aroused Brandon’s ire?
Serena sighed, and she found herself wishing that a better candidate amongst the Riders might have been available to meet her needs. Unfortunately, the others had already forged alliances or were too weak to be of any use. Thus the powerful, aggressive, but stupid Evelyn Mason was the best choice available to her.
“I should be at White Sun instead of wasting my time watching an anonymous group of drones,” Tender Tristan Winegate whined. The final member of their group lay between Evelyn’s youth—she was only a year older than Ser
ena—and Brandon’s mid-twenties.
“I don’t know what you’re complaining about,” Evelyn said. “If you were in White Sun, you’d be doing the same thing as you are now: watching a bunch of drones. It is what Tenders do, isn’t it?”
“We don’t watch the drones,” Tristan said defensively. “We oversee and supervise them.” In his annoyance, he lisped, a childhood speech impediment he’d largely overcome, except when angry. Tristan, with his black hair, bright hazel eyes, and even features, would have been a handsome man if not for that.
“The raha’asras. We’re here for them,” Brandon guessed, justifying Serena’s faith in him.
“Why?” Evelyn demanded, justifying Serena’s scorn for her.
“They work the fields,” Serena said, “and I understand they’ve been taught little more than a fragment of our art. They remain as ignorant as drones.”
“A month here, and they’ve learned nothing?” Tristan asked in disbelief.
“So they told me.”
“You spoke to them?” Brandon asked. “I’m surprised they didn’t attack you.” He smiled. “I’ve heard they don’t appreciate their new lives here.”
“Either they learn and earn a place for themselves,” Serena said, “or they don’t and are stripped. The decision is theirs.” She shrugged in dismissal, an action unreflective of her true feelings about William and Jake.
However, this time her plans for them might actually do them some good.
“What are your intentions for the raha’asras?” Tristan asked.
“Travail.”
“The troll?” Evelyn asked. Her eyes widened an instant later. “You want to have their instructorship transferred from Fiona and given to the troll.”
Serena nodded, hiding her surprise at Evelyn’s insight. “Fiona has gained allies who block my ultimate goal, but if she’s disgraced, her influence wanes.”
“Then what?” Brandon asked. “What is your ultimate aim?”
“Citizenship as a start, and then we will see,” Serena answered. She knew her words sounded vague, but she couldn’t tell them the rest of her plan. If they learned it, they’d hand her over to the Servitor’s justice.
The horses snorted, and one of them whinnied in fear.
