by Davis Ashura
“No we weren't,” Sign agreed.
Jessira turned to Bree. “No matter what the Murans say, I want to thank you for convincing them to meet with us. You've done so much for our people.”
“Yes. Thank you,” Sign said. “I don't know what we would have done without your help.”
Bree reddened, touched by the words of both women. “You're welcome,” she said.
Jessira chuckled. “I think we've embarrassed you enough.”
Bree smiled. “Oh no. Keep going. I have two older brothers who seem to think that teasing me is the height of entertainment. It's good to be appreciated for once.”
“Well we definitely appreciate you,” Jessira said. She surprised Bree by drawing her into a warm embrace before breaking out into glad laughter and throwing her arms wide. “What a wonderful, fine day it is!”
Bree took in Jessira's display with bemusement.
“Spring fever,” Sign explained. “She's always like this when the weather warms up.”
Bree nodded in understanding. “Rukh's the same way.”
Sign rolled her eyes. “The two of them are bad enough as it is with all their kissing and secret smiles,” she said. “Toss in spring fever . . .” She shook her head. “Devesh save us. They'll probably strip naked and bay at the moon.”
Jessira laughed when she heard Sign's description of her and Rukh. “Bay at the moon?” she asked.
Sign grinned back at her and howled an example of what she meant.
“You're one to talk,” Jessira said with an arch of her eyebrows. “I grew up with you, remember? I know how you made a tradition of swimming naked in Teardrop Lake on the morning of the summer solstice.”
Sign wore an air of long-suffering patience. “Yes, but I didn't bay at the moon. And I didn't stare lovingly into the eyes of my lover and make everyone around me uncomfortable.”
“Husband,” Jessira corrected even as she considered Sign's words. She glanced at Bree, who appeared to be trying her best to hide a smile.”Rukh and I aren't really like that, are we?” she asked.
Bree held a wide-eyed look of innocence on her face. “Not at all,” she answered with a slow shake of her head. “You and Rukh are paragons of quiet reflection when it comes to demonstrating your affection.” Her overly slow and deliberate tone left no doubt that she meant the exact opposite of what she was saying.
Jessira frowned. “Do we really make others uncomfortable when we're together?” she asked, repeating her question. “I thought Jaresh was just teasing.” She looked them in the eyes. “And I want the truth this time.”
Bree hesitated. “It's not so much that we're uncomfortable, but . . . sometimes it feels like everyone else might as well not be there when the two of you are with one another.”
“I had no idea,” Jessira said. She and Rukh had survived many troubles together, but it didn't excuse the behavior Sign and Bree were describing. It gave Jessira an uncomfortable remembrance of newlyweds she knew, couples who acted like their love was so special that the very sunlight was merely a reflection of their perfect union. It was horribly treacly, and Jessira had always mocked those who behaved in such an absurd fashion.
To find out that she and Rukh were exhibiting those same foolish traits . . . Jessira dropped her head in embarrassment, hoping to hide her blush of humiliation.
“It's not as bad as that,” Bree consoled as she laid a hand on Jessira's arm.
“Thank the First Mother for small favors,” Jessira muttered.
“The two of you are just unusually close,” Bree added.
“You mean more than two people in love?” Jessira asked, forcing droll amusement into her voice, although in her heart she was still mortified.
Bree gave Jessira a squeeze of sympathy. “You and Rukh don't have any reason to be embarrassed. We really were just teasing.” She smiled. “A little anyway.”
“Or a lot,” Sign added with a grin meant to take the sting out of her words. “At least you're not like some of those couples who act like everyone should stand back and admire their love.”
Sign's words did little to sooth Jessira's embarrassment. She'd been thinking the exact same thing only moments earlier. Nevertheless, she managed a half-hearted smile.
“I really was joking,” Sign said, the teasing grin fading from her face. Now it was she who appeared abashed. “Don't read too much into what I said. You know how I like to tease. Please don't be upset.”
Jessira's smile grew less faint.
“Better,” Sign said.
“When did you become the one who offers others encouragement?” Jessira asked, her embarrassment fading as amusement took its place.
“It took some time and the patience of a loving cousin,” Sign said, offering a surprisingly sweet sentiment. A moment later, her cousin turned away and threw her arms wide. “Just look at those fields,” Sign exclaimed, sounding joyful as she changed the subject and gestured all around them. “Compared to them, the Croft was a barren wasteland. Look at how green the crops are. I doubt this color even existed back home.”
Jessira found herself laughing at Sign's excitement. It was good to see her cousin so enlivened and happy. In the weeks since Sign had gone out with them to see Down the Street, more and more often, the carefree woman, the one who had once lived her life with joyous abandon, seemed to be resurfacing. Sign was finally emerging from her angry shell, engaging with the world once again. And while there were crow's feet at the corner of her eyes that hadn't been there last summer, at least the haunted quality Jessira had grown used to seeing on her cousin's face was no longer present so frequently. That sense of heartache might never fully resolve, but at least for now, Sign's smiles were genuine.
“I just can't get over how beautiful this place is,” Sign continued.
Jessira smiled wryly. “I hate to say 'I told you so,'“ she said, “but I told you so. I'm pretty sure I described Ashoka's beauty on more than one occasion, and you doubted me every time.”
Sign shrugged. “I'll admit it. I should have believed you. Ashoka is just as beautiful as you said it was, more beautiful than I ever imagined,” she said. “But remember, at the time, you were also going on and on about how Kummas were these otherworldly warriors, but the only ones I knew were Rukh and Farn. One of them couldn't hold a sword, and the other one couldn't walk a straight line without falling over. Given that, I think I can be forgiven for holding some reservations.” She sniffed. “Besides, with your taste in men, who can tell what that might mean for your judgment of an entire city.”
“And what exactly do you think is wrong with my brother?” Bree asked in a stark tone devoid of any humor.
Sign glanced at her, her smile slithering away. “Er. Nothing. I was just . . .”
“Yes. What is wrong with Rukh?” Jessira asked.
Sign looked between the two women, a look of concern on her face.
Bree couldn't hold onto her irritated expression, and she broke into laughter. “You should see your face.”
Jessira chuckled with her. “It's so red. Like a—”
“Don't say it,” Sign warned.
Jessira disregarded the warning. “—baboon's butt,” she finished.
Bree burst out into further laughter while Sign growled a curse. “I hate that joke,” she muttered. A look of irritation stole across her face at Bree's ongoing humor. “I've been teased, and so has Jessira,” Sign said to Bree. “Just wait until you're the object of our mockery.”
“Oh no!” Jessira exclaimed, wanting no part of Sign's plan, whatever it might be. “Leave me out of it. She's my sister-in-law. There's no chance I'm helping you make fun of Bree.”
“Jessira!” Sign protested.
“We'll have to deal with any planned mockery of me later,” Bree said as she pointed to a small lane branching off their gravel road. “We're here.”
Sign pulled her attention back to the road and saw the turnoff Bree indicated. The lane was lined with azaleas blooming in a riot of colors, and th
e drive took a gradual bend, continuing on toward a large, red barn with cedar shingles. Far out in the distance, workers were busy tilling the land and working the fields.
Sign paused to take in the scene. In Stronghold, where farming was such a challenge given the hard, stony soil of the Privation Mountains high country, the Croft had been regarded with an almost religious reverence. Life began at the fields. Without them, there was no food and without nourishment, there was no life. The farmer was the center of a city.
Bree didn't allow Sign to linger over the lovely, poignant scene as she quickly led them along a brick footpath that branched off the small drive. It curled to the left and deposited them in front of an expansive two-story building, one of Ashoka's famed farmhouses.
A large wraparound porch seemed to beckon weary travelers and farmers to set aside their burdens and rest in one of the green rocking chairs and sip a cool drink on a warm summer evening. Clapboard siding painted a bright sunshine yellow and a roof shingled with cedar shakes continued the sense of welcome as did a set of chimes gently jingling in the breeze.
It was like nothing Sign had ever seen. “It's perfect,” she whispered.
“Yes it is,” Jessira agreed, her voice also hushed in reverence.
“Come on,” Bree said, leading them up the porch steps.
At the top, Sign stumbled to a halt. From inside the home came the most lovely voice she had ever heard. It was raised in song, a paean to moonlight and love. “What is that?” Sign asked in a hushed whisper.
“Trellis Weathervine,” Bree answered. “She's a student at the Larina.”
Sign glanced at her in bewilderment. “What is the Larina?” she asked.
“A school devoted to the art of singing,” Bree told her.
Sign shot her a look of incredulity. “You're saying there is a school in Ashoka where all they do is sing?” she asked in disbelief. “Who pays for it?”
“First, they don't just sing. They learn to sing. There's a large difference. And second, the school is funded by donations from those who can afford it,” Bree said. “People with wealth are expected to support the arts, to voluntarily serve the city in whatever capacity they can. And anyone who hoards their money and does nothing except collect more of it are held in contempt.” Bree gave a satisfied nod. “Luckily, not too many do something so selfish.”
Sign understood what Bree was telling her. It made sense, but it also didn't make sense. For instance, why should those who accrued wealth be held in contempt if they didn't give it away to the shiftless? Let those without earn their own.
Also, while Trellis Weathervine's voice was certainly beguiling, ultimately what was the point? She could only sing if someone paid her. To Sign's way of thinking, it was a ridiculous notion. The young woman could be doing something far more useful and important with her life, something more productive. Singing didn't build a house or repair the stonework or plow the fields or do the thousand other labors that a city needed in order to prosper. For Ashokans to pay for someone to layabout and do nothing but sing seemed a colossal waste of resources.
“The woman's voice is certainly lovely, but it seems . . . unnecessary. Is there nothing else she can do with her time?” Sign asked, struggling to phrase the question as politely as she could.
“You didn't feel that way on the night we saw the play,” Jessira reminded her. “Admit it. It touched you. It made you want to smile and cry at the same time, made you glad to have seen it.”
Sign opened her mouth to argue but almost immediately closed it with a click when she realized that Jessira was right. The play had touched her. It had been wondrous, heart-wrenching, and tragically beautiful at the same time.
With an almost palpable shake, her thoughts twisted into a new way of thinking and questions stirred in her mind. Could it be that the labor of the actors and those who had worked on the production hadn't been in vain? That their creation had been a worthy use of their time and effort? That for Ashoka to afford for its people to do nothing more than perform plays, music, or song was actually how the city prospered?
Sign realized that her practical nature would just have to get used to people doing work that had never occurred to anyone back in Stronghold. Singing or storytelling as a profession amongst the OutCastes? Sign mentally scoffed.
Although . . .
Sign furrowed her brows in consideration.
When had any OutCaste actually tried to do such a thing as sing or act as a profession? And just as importantly, what if they had? Maybe such a venture would have been more successful than Sign initially imagined. Maybe there would have been more people in Stronghold than she realized who would have enjoyed seeing such performances—people willing to pay to see the kind of theater performed in Ashoka, or give money to those who could sing like Trellis Weathervine, or offer up coin to hear the wonderful Sentya musicians at the Ahura Temple. After all, look at how much Jessira loved theater and music, or even Sign, herself, for that matter.
“I suppose it's just hard to understand how different our culture is from theirs,” Sign reflected after a moment.
“Like I told you before: Ashokans are devoted to beauty in all its forms,” Jessira added.
“And like I told both of you, you need to get used to being Ashokans,” Bree said with a smile. “There will come a time when the OutCastes will be expected to incorporate beauty into their creations.”
“You keep emphasizing that point,” Sign said. “That the OutCastes are now Ashokans. Why is that so important to you?”
“Because it's true, and the only way you'll stop feeling like intruders and make this city your home is if you believe it is your home, that you're just as much a part of it as any Pureblood.”
“A lot of your people don't believe that,” Sign said to Bree. “A lot of them will never believe that.”
“And they aren't the ones you need to convince,” Bree said. “With time, they'll simply pass on and their old ways with them. The fact that the Magisterium worked so hard to make sure that the OutCastes could stay in Ashoka should tell you something about where popular sentiment lies. You can make Ashoka your home if you push hard enough to demand that you belong here. Hold your heads high. Don't ask for a place at the table. Act like one is already set for you. Most of us would be happy to scoot over and give you a seat.”
Jessira chuckled. “I appreciate the sentiment, but what a bunch of mixed metaphors.”
“Shut it.”
Sign, though, was touched by Bree's words. They had an element of fiery truth to them, the kind that could remake a world. Why couldn't her people make a home here? Was that not what many Ashokans had already volunteered? Now, it was up to Sign's people to take that generous offer and make for themselves a life worthy of the Purebloods' altruism. She blinked her eyes at the thought, working to keep the tears from spilling, hoping the other women wouldn't notice.
However, eagle-eyed Jessira did. “What is it?” she asked.
“Dust in my eye,” Sign answered.
Bree took Sign's hand and forced her to face her. “In Caste Kumma, as cousins raised in the same house, you and Jessira would be sisters. And once Rukh married Jessira, she became my sister.”
Sign looked at her quizzically. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because as Jessira's sister, you're close family to me as well. In my Caste, you're almost a sister.”
Sign smiled, touched once again by Bree's words. “You're saying I have another family if I want one?” she asked.
Bree grinned. “We aren't really all that bad once you get to know us,” she said.
“Even Jaresh?” Sign asked.
“Especially Jaresh,” Jessira said. “He's the most levelheaded one of the entire bunch.”
“And there's also Farn and his family and a whole lot of cousins you haven't met,” Bree added. “We love Jessira, and we want to love you if you'll give us a chance to get to know you.” Bree gave Sign one final squeeze of empathy before swiftly straighten
ing up. An expression of no-nonsense seriousness replaced her look of sympathy “Now, get yourself together,” she ordered. “We're about to meet Mistress Shull, and she doesn't like crybabies.”
Jessira tried to firm up her features and hoped Sign would be able to do the same. She glanced at her cousin, who was quickly swiping at her eyes and cheeks until they were both dry. Sign gave Jessira a quick nod that she was ready just as the door opened.
The woman who greeted them was a Muran. Like everyone in that Caste, she had emerald-green eyes like Jessira's and golden-brown skin like Sign. Her once dark hair was now gray and pleated into a braid that hung to the middle of her back. Jessira would have guessed the woman was in her sixties, but she still stood upright and proud, wearing a conservative, dark dress that reached all the way to the floor. She was tall enough to nearly look them in the eyes, and her seamed face was reflective of a life spent outdoors. She studied the three of them with curiosity, her gaze lingering longest on Jessira and Sign. Awareness of what they were stole across her face, and her features grew less welcoming, even wary. “Bree Shektan,” the woman said by way of welcome.
“Mistress Shull,” Bree replied. “Let me introduce my vadina, Jessira Shektan”—Jessira tilted her head in acknowledgement—”and her cousin-sister, Sign Grey.”
Mistress Shull took in their appearance, and if possible, drew herself up even straighter. Her eyes were flinty, and Jessira felt a sinking sensation in her stomach. “How can I help you?” Mistress Shull asked, making no move to allow them entrance into her home.
“We have a business proposition,” Bree said, wearing an open, confident smile. “May we come in?”
“No,” Mistress Shull said. “It wouldn't be appropriate.”
Sign bristled, and Jessira, so often the hothead, found herself in the odd position of calming someone else down. She took her cousin's hand and gave her a slight warning shake of her head.
“Why wouldn't it be appropriate?” Sign asked, her voice level and even.
Mistress Shull turned to her. “You know why,” she answered. “The Magisterium might have allowed your kind sanctuary, and you”—she stabbed a finger at Bree—”may have convinced them to do so and even brought The Word and the Deed into question, but we still cling to the old ways.” She lifted her head proudly.
