by C. A. Bryers
Joht dropped to a knee, hands about his neck, with death threatening to tear itself loose from his furious stare.
“What is this?” boomed a man’s voice over the shouts of Joht’s supporters.
The Majdi and ijau encircling the fight dispersed, and Salla watched Lochmore carve a path through the parting bodies. The Adjutu’s face was hard and bitter with disapproval.
“Fighting? Really, Joht?” His voice was iron-hard as he grabbed the blond Majdi by the shirt. Then, he had Salla by the sleeve, tugging both men close. “And you. Here for one day and you shut down a day of training. On the second, you get into this mess. What is it you’re looking for? For me to chew you up and spit you out of the Order? Just say one word I don’t like.”
Blood trickled into Salla’s right eye, the sting forcing it shut.
Lochmore turned away from them. “Iris.”
Wiping the blood from his eye, Salla searched the crowd to find Iriscent.
The ijau girl was laughing as she joked with a nearby Shozoan Majdi. The Shozoan stood only a matter of inches higher than did she, his body lean and catlike. As he chuckled in return, the skin of his roundish face seemed to draw even tighter against his pronounced cheekbones and sharp jawline. The way he wore his hair made it appear wet, slicked back from his face to curl outward from the back of his neck.
“Iriscent!” Lochmore barked.
She flinched, and her eyes met his. “Okay, okay. Sorry, Ota. Got some official assistant business, or something like that.”
The Adjutu tipped his head toward Salla. “This one isn’t setting foot in Cereporis Hall until I meet his rho. Whoever it is, they’ve already taken a hit for him as far as I’m concerned.” His head turned back to Joht. “Your rho too, Joht. Both of them here, first thing in the morning. If Tallas Corso’s not important enough for his rho to show tomorrow, he’s not important enough to be my problem. He’s out. Understood?”
The levity left Iriscent’s eyes as they connected with Salla’s. He saw a look of concern staring back at him now.
Lochmore released both men, stalking toward the double doors of Cereporis Hall. “Joht, back to the barracks. Corso, I don’t want to see you until tomorrow morning. The rest of you, get inside.”
16
Morning came, and the moment had arrived: stay and walk the path of his enemies in order to survive, or be cast out to die. The choice was not his to make. It would be determined by whether or not someone would appear to stake a piece of their standing in the Order and become his rho. No small thing to ask, so he was told, and despite Delflore’s efforts, no one had yet stepped forward to take the risk and responsibility.
Salla stood in the hallway outside Lochmore’s quarters, the passage the Adjutu had called Adjutu’s Path. He paced back and forth, nerves alight with trepidation. There was no telling what might happen. If Delflore and Iriscent hadn’t managed to scrounge up someone to be his rho, this was the end of the line. And who would agree to be his rho, for that matter? He was nobody, a man not of the Order whose existence here was largely shrouded in secret, a man condemned to death in not so many words by the Majdi Chamber.
From around the bend in the hallway, Joht sauntered into view. Hands in his pockets, face grim, scuffed and bruised, he glared at Salla but did not say a word. The tall man let his upper body thump against the stone wall, the scowl he wore seeming to etch itself deeper into his face the more time he spent in Salla’s toxic presence.
Salla kept his expression neutral but did not shrink from the stare. “So this is what we’re gonna do, is it? Just look at each other? Sounds easy. Let me know when you want to change it up with some growls or snorts or something. I’ll be right behind you.”
Joht’s eyes turned disdainful, and he looked away. “You look tense, little man. I know my rho’s on his way. You sure about yours?”
The door to the office opened, and Lochmore appeared. “Morning, gentlemen. I trust you can behave yourselves today?”
Salla gave a nod, while Joht simply stared up at the ceiling, arms folded across his chest.
Footfalls sounded from the opposite end of the hall, coupled with the jangling of chains. The man who approached was larger even than Joht, his barrel chest clad in a sleeveless red shirt with a pair of long, decorative silver chains about his neck. He was powerfully built despite his age, each muscle bulging underneath his dark skin, thick and well-defined. The lights overhead shone off his bald head and glinted off the numerous earrings in both ears.
Across from him, Joht grinned. “Orrock, good to see you.”
The scowl the bigger man wore darkened further, an expression that seemed so ingrained in his bearded face that Salla could not conceive him wearing any other but that.
“This is not a pleasure visit,” the elder man rumbled.
“I know, you don’t make those,” Joht said under his breath.
Orrock reached out with one huge hand, tugging Joht away from the wall. “Stand up straight when I am here.” His stern, menacing countenance swung to face Lochmore. “What has he done?”
“Same thing any of your boys and girls do, Big ’Rock. Fighting.” Lochmore tipped his head toward Salla. “With this one.”
“Fighting.” He spat out the word. Now those dark eyes were upon Salla, threatening to crush him with the weight of his gaze alone. He dismissed him almost as quickly as he had studied him, and returned his stare to Joht. “I am here because you wasted your time on account of this puny, insignificant thing?”
Salla’s voice was almost inaudible. “Well, aren’t you just sweet as salt.”
“I hope I’m not too late,” a woman’s voice called out from down the hall.
Lochmore smiled warmly. “Of course not, Madame Delflore. We weren’t expecting you, though. We were waiting for this man’s rho.”
The eldest Majdi of the group, body draped now in a long lavender dress, stopped a few feet from the others. She gave Orrock a cursory nod before clasping her hands in front of her hips.
Lochmore cleared his throat. “Madame Delflore. Does Tallas have a rho?”
“He does.”
“Forgive me if I’m stepping out of line,” the Adjutu said, lowering his voice as he moved closer, “but I’ve checked this man’s file up and down. There is a lot missing there, you know what I mean? I don’t know what’s going on here or if he’s even part of the Order, but I trust you know what you’re doing and I won’t question it. But please, Del. Tell me you’re not going to step in as his rho.”
Delflore offered a warm smile. “I can assure you, Lochmore, I am not his rho. His rho is on the way. It’ll be just a moment longer, I’m afraid. There were some formalities to tidy up before coming today.”
Orrock snorted. “I have Majdi to train. What is Joht’s punishment?”
Lochmore sighed. “Joht, unsurprisingly, was the instigator in the fi—”
“No, he hit me first,” Joht shouted with a finger stabbing the air toward Salla.
The Adjutu kept his flat, unamused stare upon Orrock. “I recommend another two weeks here at the House.”
Joht rushed forward. “No, you can’t let him—”
“Be silent,” Orrock snarled.
Lochmore scratched absently at his temple. “Look, I know you can overrule that decision, which is why I’m recommending it. You know as well as I do that Joht has all the ability he needs, but his head isn’t where it should be yet.”
Orrock seemed to be weighing the decision, his dark, scowling visage shifting between Joht and Lochmore. “Two additional weeks. I accept.”
Joht spun away, fuming.
“Are you ready for me, Madame Delflore?” a timid voice asked at the edge of the light’s reach.
Salla turned, watching the dark figure reveal itself as it stepped closer. The long burgundy dress slipped into view first, and a moment later, so too did the matching scarf worn about the dark hair and smooth features of a familiar face.
“What are you doing here?” he hiss
ed, watching with disbelieving eyes as Rainne Zehava approached.
“Tallas, this is your rho,” Delflore announced, handing a file to Lochmore. “Lochmore, this is Rainne Zehava.”
Salla’s chest was on fire. Rainne had saved his life by bringing him here, true enough, but she was also the reason he’d been a prisoner of the Majdi Order since that day. He had befriended her, trusted her, and she in turn had sifted through his mind while he slept, like a woman searching her lover’s belongings for signs of infidelity.
“Rainne in the House of Falling Rain. I like it. You understand the responsibility and consequences of being this man’s rho?”
It was Lochmore who had spoken, but Salla was still staring at Rainne, the realization of what her appearance here meant beginning to dawn. It was bad enough seeing her again this one time, but now she was shackled to him until his training here was complete.
Rainne offered the faintest of nods. “I do.”
Orrock lumbered closer, inspecting the newcomer. Without asking, he snatched the file from Lochmore’s hands, eyes narrowing as he began leafing through the documents.
“Master Orrock, this woman is no business of yours,” Delflore said.
The big man shot her a look in return and continued reading. A few moments later, he snorted as if amused. “It is when her standing in the Order is debatable as to whether or not she has the weight to act as rho.” He shoved the file back into Lochmore’s hands. “Look for yourself. This girl is uhreht’sa.”
Lochmore perused the file, shrugging. “Debatable, yes. It doesn’t exclude her viability, though.” His eyes went to Rainne’s. “Do you mind telling me why you were given contemplation?”
“She is not required to do so,” Delflore stated. “I chose her, I know why uhreht’sa had been given, and I deem her fit. That should be good enough for anyone standing here today.”
“Not good enough for me. Uhreht’sa lowers her beneath even him.” Orrock pointed a thick digit at Salla. “She might as well be training in the House herself, not acting as leverage for another. What does she have to lose should he fail? She is on her way out the door as it is.”
The look Delflore gave the big man was unyielding. “Your opinion has been noted, Orrock. You and Joht Tavross are dismissed. Isn’t that correct, Lochmore?”
Lochmore cleared his throat. “Yes, yes, I have nothing further. Thank you for coming, Orrock. Always a pleasure.”
With a grunt, Orrock turned and stalked back down the corridor with Joht a few paces behind.
The Adjutu of the House moved closer to Rainne. “He’s right, you know. If this man isn’t worth the retraining, I suggest you rescind your agreement. He fails and fails hard enough, your contemplation will be decided for you.”
Rainne’s voice was small. “I know.”
He gave a heavy sigh. “Very well. Your position as rho is acknowledged. Stay in the city. If there’s more trouble, you’ll need to appear to stand on his behalf just like today. Now, I have some work to do before we start today’s program. Delflore, I always welcome a visit from you. And you,” Lochmore said, reaching to take Rainne’s hand in his own, “it was very much a pleasure meeting you. I hope to see you again under better circumstances.”
With that, he let her hands slip away and turned to disappear back into his office.
“I think I’m ready to be dismissed too.” Salla’s voice was shuddering with anger already.
“Salla, I—”
“Unless you’re going to tell me what possible reason you had for digging through my head—for keeping from me the fact you were a Majdi of all things—I don’t want to hear it, Rainne.”
The girl bowed her head, her expression pained. “I—I have no explanation. Not one that will grant me forgiveness.”
Salla redirected his ire to Delflore. “Her? Her? You knew well enough how I felt about her.”
The elder Majdi simply smiled. “You act as if I had a choice in the matter. I’m sorry, Salla, but very few know you’re here, and even fewer are privy to what I’m trying to do to save your life. No one was going to be your rho. This girl had been asking to see you from the moment we stabilized you in the restora. Yes, I knew how you felt about her, which is why I continued to deny her requests.”
The pointed stare he directed at Rainne softened a degree. “So you let her see me, but this was the stipulation? Forget it. I don’t need it.”
“I will go,” was all Rainne said before leaving Delflore and Salla alone outside the office.
They watched her depart in silence. When Salla turned back to the Majdi woman, the flat, mildly disapproving stare he had grown so accustomed to seeing was there waiting for him.
He groaned. “Oh, stop that.”
“You’re wrong, Salla. You do need her. If not for her, there is no one to stand for you in the House of Falling Rain, which means you go back down below,” Delflore said, taking a few measured steps closer, “until the end, you realize. She helped you to live when she brought you to us, and her wish is to help you now. Don’t be a fool. I understand the hurt, but this stubbornness only lets that hurt continue to thrive. Speak with her. Let her explain herself and then judge whether you wish to keep pushing her away. But ask yourself what the benefit is to you to hold so tightly to your anger. It is an animal you choose to feed or let starve. If you continue to feed it, you will never be free of it.”
Salla let the tension slip from his muscles, his anger evaporating not because of Delflore’s advice, but rather because Rainne Zehava was well out of sight. He felt a marginal lift in his mood but still had no desire to hear what the girl had to say.
Delflore sighed. “I suppose it doesn’t matter to me what you decide. I figured the idea of one less cage around you would be something you’d want to take a look at.”
Salla wanted to bite down on the words he was about to say. After some long moments spent in silence, they did at last come forth. “I’ll think about it.”
“It’s something you should really do rather than just say, Salla.” She started walking down the corridor, toward the old prison’s exit. “Take care of yourself. This is a troublesome and sometimes dangerous place, filled with Majdi who are angry like you, frustrated, confused and hurt. You’ve seen that for yourself already. Do not forget it.”
17
Joht Tavross walked alongside Orrock down the length of Adjutu’s Path in silence. Before them, the corridor opened up into the foyer, where the others were already gathered for the day’s training to begin. Joht moved to join them, but one of his rho’s enormous hands clapped over his entire left trapezius muscle and part of his shoulder. It squeezed tight in an unmistakable message: Orrock was not finished with him yet.
A handful of his friends broke from the others, curiously watching the pair walk past.
“Joht! You coming in today or what?”
The man who yelled across the room, standing with arms spread wide in expectation, was Trigg. Trigg was the obedient dog amid his camp of loyals, the first to decry any attempt to question Joht’s standing as a contender for the archsentinelship here in the House or anywhere, for that matter. Joht glared wordlessly back, attempting some meager show of strength to his gathered acolytes while at the same time being led away as if on a leash by his superior.
“He will be late,” rumbled Orrock.
The big man led him into the short corridor connecting to the commissary, turning Joht with his wrist as if he were little more than a puppet. Down the nearby stairwell they went, boots clanging in the silence every step of the way. At the bottom of the first flight of stairs, Orrock released him.
“Where did he hit you?” asked his rho.
Joht crossed his arms, twisting his expression into one of annoyance. “I’m fine.”
“I did not ask if you were hurt.” He grabbed Joht by the shirt, thrusting one monstrous forearm across his chest to push his student against the wall. “Did he hit you here?” he demanded, jamming a finger painfully into Joht’s st
ernum. “Here?” he raged, his thick hand grabbing Joht by the jaw. “What about here?” The fingers squeezing with crushing pressure against Joht’s jawbone released, lowering to wrap about his neck. “I can see every strike he landed. They resonate from your body in mockery of my training.”
Joht struggled to pry away the hand clutching him by the throat. In the eyes glowering from the hideous contortions of Orrock’s face only an inch from his, he saw an inferno of rage. His master’s grip released and the pressure of his forearm, like the weight of an overlander against his chest, fell away.
“I train two types of Majdi, Tavross. Those who have what it takes to become an archsentinel, and those who will become sariff.” His arms crossed his chest. “Which are you?”
Joht wheezed in anguish, fighting to catch his breath. “I want to be an archsentinel.”
“You do not!” Orrock bellowed.
“I will be an archsentinel!” Joht shouted back, adrenaline surging.
“Ridiculous. An archsentinel is untouchable. You,” he said, growling out the word for several long moments, “you let that insignificant nothing land three blows. No, ridiculous does not describe it. Pathetic does.”
Joht’s entire body was shaking. He had never seen Orrock this incensed. Then again, he had never failed his rho in such a manner before. It was not difficult to see the direction the other’s line of thinking was headed.
“I do not suffer the indignity of a rho for any but those who will become archsentinel. Decide now, but measure that decision carefully. The consequences of continued failure and the further tarnishing of my name will not go unpunished. I should cut my losses and my ties to you as rho here and now.”
“I will be archsentinel,” Joht repeated, “with or without you.”
Orrock’s eyes bored into him as if trying to cave in the other’s skull using scrutiny alone.
Joht’s breathing slowed, the tension setting his nerves alight dying away. “What can I do to make things right?”
His master’s frown deepened. “You have lost face—considerable face. It does not matter if it happens within these walls hidden from the rest of Empyrion Prime or out on the field of battle for all to see. What you have lost must be reclaimed at once. If you cannot convince the fools who follow you about in this place, you cannot convince anyone that you are worthy of the right to protect our Gran Senji.”
