Rebellion

by Rachel White

  He indicated other spots on the left side of the board, where his own pieces were less firmly entrenched. "These areas were vulnerable, but you didn't want to move into them because of your lack of territory. If you start out the game playing very offensively, you can't switch to playing very defensively partway through. You're sabotaging yourself."

  Lieutenant Taarq nodded again, deep in thought. "You're right," he said softly. "I did end up doubting myself."

  "You don't need to be so offensive. It's only one play style."

  "It's yours," said Lieutenant Taarq, giving him a half-smile, "and I admire it immensely. I was trying to play the way you did, but I'm not a very offensive person by nature." He sighed, though he didn't seem upset. "Next time I'll stick to my strengths."

  I admire it immensely. Strange fluttering picked up in Rallis's stomach. That had been happening more and more during their meetings, and he didn't want to think about what it meant. "It's not so bad, to try different styles," he said, ignoring the reaction. "I did too, when I was first starting out. The important thing is to commit to the style, at least for the game."

  "If I had managed to build into rhagen karus, what would be the next thing to do?"

  Rallis inspected the board. "If it were me," he finally said, "once you built rhagen karus, I would move downward into lev. Betre lev or tas lev."

  "You wouldn't move to the weak areas here?"

  "Not until I had taken as much of the open space as I could. Those areas are middle-game space. If you're playing offensively, you want to seize as much territory in the early turns as you can. It would take you at least six or seven turns to take one of those areas from me, and you wouldn't get that much territory doing so. Establish your own holdings first."

  "Ah, you sound like an ancient warlord." Lieutenant Taarq leaned back in his chair, grinning. "Perhaps I don't have the ruthlessness for khas."

  "You can develop the ruthlessness," Rallis assured him. "I did."

  "Who taught you to play?"

  "My father." Rallis focused on the board again, recalling the long hours spent pouring over the game with Orun. "He played it with his father and wanted an opponent, so he taught it to me."

  "I see."

  "What about you? Where did you learn it?"

  "My roommate in Academy taught it to me as a pastime," Lieutenant Taarq said. "We were training to be officers together and needed something to distract ourselves from all of the chores and tests."

  "Do you still play him?" Rallis asked.

  A pause. "He died in the war," said Lieutenant Taarq quietly, beginning to collect the pieces. The lamplight turned the white silk of his gloves a pale yellow. "Before I was assigned to Adesa."

  "I'm sorry."

  "It's nothing."

  "My father died too," Rallis offered. "Not in the war—years ago. I haven't played khas much since."

  "And you're still far better than me!" Lieutenant Taarq exclaimed, setting the unnae carefully in their box. "That's disheartening."

  Rallis laughed. "But I've been playing since ten. I have years of experience on you. You'll catch up quickly."

  "I hope so." Lieutenant Taarq shut the lid of the unnae box and looked up. His eyelashes were long and tar-dark, veiling his eyes. For a moment, his gaze lingered on Rallis's face, and he seemed to be about to say something, but whatever it was, he thought better of it before he spoke.

  "My roommate had lived in Adesa for a time," he said instead. "That was where he learned khas. It's more common here than in Jev. That was part of the reason I requested to be assigned here."

  "Had you been here before?"

  "Never." Lieutenant Taarq shook his head. "I arrived here knowing almost nothing about it, and I still feel like I know almost nothing. Ah, Exalted, I made so many mistakes at first. I kept trying to talk to the men." His eyes met Rallis's, sparking with good humor, and Rallis couldn't help smiling back. "One House Head was so offended she left the meeting."

  I kept trying to talk to the men. Jev, Rallis knew, favored men as its leaders and rulers. Though they had an Empress, she was mostly a figurehead, and the people were actually ruled by the Suulsen, a Jevite moot made up of elected representatives—not only family heads or eldest sons, but any man who chose to run and received the votes. In contrast, Adesi society was strictly hierarchical, favoring women.

  First-born women were leaders, the Heads of the houses, highest in status, valued and respected. After them came their sisters, who acted as thinkers, scholars, philosophers, diplomats, artists. Then came the eldest sons, who as Hands to their sisters kept the households running and maintained order in society. Finally, the younger sons, like Naravi, were khas pieces moved at will to benefit their House: arranged in marriages with other sons or younger daughters or the occasional Head, traded to other families for wealth or land or influence, placed into positions of prestige, their beauty and talents reflecting back on the Houses that birthed them.

  To talk to a man—even the Hand—instead of the Head was a hideous slight. "That would be a mistake," Rallis told him.

  "I think I'm getting better, though. I haven't offended anyone in weeks—"

  He stopped short as the door opened. A young Adesi-ren serving woman with the badge of House Vrre came halfway into the room, noticed them, and froze, dropping after a moment into a deep bow. In one hand, she held a bucket of soapy water, which banged against her legs as she moved. Her other hand was clenched around a rough cloth.

  "Apologies, sirs," she said, soapy water dripping onto her skirts. "I thought—I didn't realize you were here. Forgive me."

  "It's all right." Lieutenant Taarq rose and bowed. He bowed to an Adesi-ren. For all that he thought he was getting better, there were things he still needed to learn to get about in Adesi society. "We stayed late. We were just finishing here and will be out of your way in a moment."

  "Thank you, sir."

  "Of course," said Lieutenant Taarq pleasantly. "I—what happened to your hand?"

  The Adesi-ren woman, who had been eyeing Rallis with a wary anxiety, went still and then held up her left hand as though she didn't recognize it. Three of her fingers were heavily bandaged. After a moment, she said, "It's only a burn, sir. It's nothing."

  Lieutenant Taarq frowned. "You shouldn't be cleaning like that. May I?"

  When she hesitantly nodded, he approached her and unwrapped the bandages. Even from his seat, Rallis could see how badly the woman was burned: her skin was shiny and taut, blistering in places, and she could hardly bend her fingers. Lieutenant Taarq clicked his tongue.

  "You should let this rest and heal. Take the evening off. You don't need to clean."

  Instead of looking grateful, the woman looked horrified. Her eyes went to Rallis again, half-afraid, half-pleading for help. Though Lieutenant Taarq was a foreigner and didn't understand, Rallis did.

  He said, "Lieutenant Taarq, she can't take the evening off," and watched the relief cross her face.

  Lieutenant Taarq swung to face him, visibly appalled. "She's injured," he said. "The garrison office isn't so dirty that it needs to be clean this instant. She—"

  "No, she can't. Listen to me. She's been given an assignment. If she doesn't complete it, it doesn't get done, and she ends up in trouble. Or someone else has to do it, and she ends up in trouble. Is that right?" he asked, and she nodded once, skittishly.

  "But—"

  "You don't have the authority to dismiss all of her obligations," Rallis reminded him. "Your office, yes, but not everything else. She needs to clean."

  Lieutenant Taarq frowned, but Rallis could see the understanding was reaching him. "Is this true?" he asked the woman.

  "Y-yes, sir."

  "Very well." He released her and reached for something at his waist. "At least let me tend to your fingers."

  "Yes, sir."

  She held out her hand. Rallis watched Lieutenant Taarq carefully take it in his own, turning it back and forth. After a moment, he pressed what looked like a metal
bar against her fingers, making her gasp and start.

  "Does it hurt?" he asked.

  "No, sir. It's just strange."

  "It's Exalted technology." As he spoke, he drew the bar up and down her fingers, and Rallis watched the wound lessen. Not vanish entirely—her skin was still shiny and taut when Lieutenant Taarq finished—but by the time he stepped back, she could bend her fingers again—and did, experimentally.

  Lieutenant Taarq looked pleased. "It should relieve the pain too."

  "Yes, sir. Thank you."

  "At least take the time you would use to clean my office to rest. I promise you, it doesn't need it. I won't say anything."

  She looked uncertainly at Rallis again, seeking someone who could direct her. Half-blooded he may have been, but Rallis was an Adesi, not an Adesi-ren, and that gave his opinion weight. When he nodded, she said, "Yes, sir. Thank you," her voice hardly more than a whisper.

  After she crept out again, Lieutenant Taarq returned to his seat, sighing. "I think," he said, flexing his own gloved fingers, "that I don't understand something important."

  "She was Adesi-ren."

  "Ah."

  "The lower caste."

  "Yes," said Lieutenant Taarq. "The lower caste."

  The Adesi-ren were one of the things Rallis loathed most about Adesa. Anyone who hadn't been born into the main or branch families of a House was an Adesi-ren—Houseless. They were the secondary caste, Nur's shadow children, and their role in Adesa was to do what they were told. Adesi were merchants, scholars, politicians, priestesses, artists, poets, dignitaries. Adesi-ren cleaned and cooked and toiled, doing the menial work that no Adesi would deign to do. In the market, Adesi merchants sold their wares while Adesi-ren laborers cut cloth and measured spices and carried goods to waiting carts. The priestesses of Nur's temples were Adesi, while the silent attendants tasked with maintaining the temples against the constant traffic of devotees were Adesi-ren. Even the servants at Rallis's own motherhouse were all Adesi-ren; and Miana treated them better than many, paid them fair wages and gave them holidays off, but there was never, for an instant, the sense that they were the same as Miana or Naravi or Rallis's uncles and their families.

  He told himself his distaste stemmed from the unfairness of it all, but there were other things too. Rallis—mixed-blooded, his mother's choice in husband lowering her in the eyes of all her associates—was closer by far to the Adesi-ren than his cousins or relatives. If Miana and Naravi were high caste and the motherhouse servants were low caste, Rallis was half-caste, a creature of two worlds. It was luck that his aunt Miia had reluctantly accepted him into House Yy. In another life, he could easily have been the serving woman, consigned to years of tedious drudgery and powerlessness through blood alone.

  "I should go," he said into the silence, and Lieutenant Taarq obligingly saw him out. They didn't speak. Lieutenant Taarq appeared deeply lost in his own thoughts, and Rallis couldn't quite break the silence between them.

  *~*~*

  Miana was concerned when he told her about his games with Lieutenant Taarq but allowed them to continue, so long as no trouble resulted. Naravi was furious, but Rallis wasn't beholden to his opinion. Neither of them understood it at all. Privately, he knew they thought it was his father's heritage calling him back to his fatherland. The idea was uncomfortable; worse still the fact that he couldn't guarantee they were wrong. Perhaps it was destiny in his blood.

  It wasn't that he liked Jev, and Nur knew he had no desire to go there, but it was interesting to hear Lieutenant Taarq's experiences growing up in the citadels. Orun had told him stories, but Orun had been a homeless orphan, akin to the Houseless Adesi-ren scavengers living on the outskirts of Kavck. His boyhood in Jev had been one of poverty and fear and violence, and he had fled to Adesa as soon as he was able. Lieutenant Taarq, in contrast, was the younger son of a privileged merchant family and had grown up wanting for nothing.

  "It sounds terrible when you put it like that," Lieutenant Taarq exclaimed when Rallis told him as much. "I wasn't spoiled. I trained in my father's warehouse from when I was eight. I went to school. I worked in the evenings. I did chores at home before bed. I was very dutiful."

  Rallis laughed, pleased to be able to do so openly. The street they were on—one of the small side streets near the north garrison—was empty and cool, no one around to see them together and judge or cause trouble. They were out walking; Lieutenant Taarq had invited him to play khas, but when Rallis arrived he had mentioned an errand he needed to run, so they had gone to the bank instead. Around them, lengthy shadows spread over the pavement, turning their surroundings into a background from a shadow-play. The evening breeze whipped against Rallis's face, filling his lungs with fresh, clean air.

  "Fine," he said. "You weren't spoiled. Do you still work in the warehouses?"

  "Certainly not." Lieutenant Taarq shuddered theatrically. "Why do you think I joined the legion? If I never see another bolt of cloth, it will be too soon."

  "Your father was a cloth merchant?"

  "Yes, and my brother still is. He took over the business after my father's passing."

  "Are you close with your brother?" Rallis asked, trying to picture what Lieutenant Taarq's family might have looked like. He wondered if they were all as tall as he, or if they all had such uncanny light eyes.

  "No. We were never close. He's eighteen years my senior. By the time I was old enough to walk and talk, he was a man with a family of his own. But my understanding is that the business is doing well." He shrugged.

  It was hard to imagine that sort of distance. But Jevites didn't prioritize family the way the Adesi did. They were a much more solitary people.

  Lieutenant Taarq slid him a glance. "What about you? You said your father died—do you have other family?"

  "My cousins. Miana and Naravi. They're from the main family. After my parents died, my aunt took me in." Unwillingly, making it clear that she was only doing it because it was that or let him fall to the status of an Adesi-ren, and her pride in the Yy name wouldn't allow that. If Rallis had been Rallis Kel, after his father, he would never have set foot over the threshold of the motherhouse.

  "How did your parents…?"

  "A fever. I was fifteen. I had it too."

  They had fallen ill together, his parents laughing and bemoaning the unfortunate fate that caused them both to be feverish and exhausted at the same time, so that they couldn't tend to one another. Toreka, his mother, had announced she planned to rest for a week, and Nur could take the chores. Orun said that he, made of stronger material than frail Adesi, would rest for a day and be fine. They had all curled together in bed to sleep, even Rallis, who at fifteen was normally too proud to share a bed with his parents. He had been the only one to wake up.

  "It took them quickly," he said softly. "No one really expected it. My aunt hired a physician, but by the time she arrived… they were already too far gone."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Thank you."

  They walked on in silence. "Would you…" Rallis asked after a while, "tell me more about Jev? What's it like?"

  Lieutenant Taarq looked at the sky. "It's different. Not just the culture. The air is thinner and the sunlight feels different against your skin. The trees grow differently. Down here, everything feels more… real. The smells and tastes are stronger. The colors are more vibrant." He laughed softly. "Perhaps that's just me."

  "Do you prefer Adesa?"

  "I certainly feel like I do," said Lieutenant Taarq, giving him a wry smile, "but I don't think I've been here long enough to say for certain. Ask me again in a year."

  Above them, Rallis could see one of the glittering citadels hanging in the sky. There were eight of them in total, varying in size. According to Lieutenant Taarq, ninety thousand people lived on the citadels, which also hosted most of the animals, reservoirs, farmlands, factories, and plantations necessary to support a country's population. Not all of it—Jev also possessed territory on the ground, some mountain ran
ges and flood planes to the west of Adesa—but most of the things Jev needed, it created on the citadels themselves.

  "Why did you come down here?" Rallis asked. "What started it?"

  He meant it neutrally, but Lieutenant Taarq grew visibly uncomfortable. Perhaps he assumed Rallis was protesting the war. "Adesa has things that we don't. I expect that's why it was decided we should…"

  The word invade hung in the air between them. A part of Rallis resented the tension, and another part of him was satisfied by it. Let Lieutenant Taarq face what his people had done. Let it hang over his head a little; Nur knew it hung over Rallis's head every moment of every day.

  But forcing an uncomfortable situation would only make the conversation stop, and Rallis was sincerely interested in the answer. "What do we have?" he asked. "Land, I suppose."

  Lieutenant Taarq threw him a grateful look. "That's part of it. The population of Jev is growing larger than we can sustain with the land we've cultivated on the citadels."

  "Can't you just develop new ways to grow food with the Exalted technology?" Rallis asked. It seemed a reasonable suggestion, but he had no way to tell if that was actually true, for he understood very little of the Exalted in general. A thousand years prior, back when Jev and Adesa were the single kingdom of Uranya, the Exalted had supposedly landed on Lyr and constructed the great citadels for reasons known only to themselves. Broad and flat and beautiful, miles across, the citadels had risen slowly into the sky, taking with them the thousands of people who opted to live on their surfaces instead of fleeing to the ground below. Those people had developed colonies that turned over the course of centuries into a powerful nation of sky-dwellers. Jev, from the Uranyan word jevis: to fly. The blessed ones, chosen by the Exalted to rule Lyr from above.