by Davis Ashura
Rukh shook his head in negation. “I asked Aia how she knew what the Magisterium wanted, and she just laughed and said something about her silly Human not being able hide anything from her,” he replied. “No one else told them.”
Jessira leaned back into the couch and frowned. “I don't like the idea of Shon snooping around in my mind without my permission,” she said.
“I think it's too late for that,” Rukh said with a chuckle. “The first time I met Aia, she said you smelled like my mate. Even then, she apparently knew my heart better than I did.”
“Which means she must have chosen you a long time before she actually approached our camp.”
“I suppose so.”
They settled into a silence. “I'm surprised at you,” Jessira said a moment later. “If Aia was right, then after only knowing me for a few weeks, you'd already fallen in love with a ghrina. What would your people say if they knew?”
“Weren't you the one who wanted to kiss me when I first took you to Dryad Park even though you were engaged to someone else?”
Jessira shrugged. “It's not even close to the same,” she said. “I just wanted to kiss you, not mate with you.”
“That's not exactly what Aia said,” Rukh corrected.
Jessira arched her eyebrows. “But my interpretation is funnier.”
“I don't know if your interpretation is funnier, but given that you're an OutCaste, you're definitely funnier looking.”
Jessira hit him in the head with a pillow.
Somehow, they ended up wrestling with Jessira lying on top of him. She had a hold of both his ears. “Say you're sorry,” she growled.
Rukh stared into her eyes, getting lost in their green depths. He inhaled her cinnamon scent and leaned closer . . . A tug on his ears returned his attention to the here and now. “I'm sorry,” he said. She let go of his ears. “That you're funny looking.”
That earned him another pillow smack, but he blocked the second blow and trapped her hands.
“I mean it. I really am sorry this time for what I said,” he said with a shameless grin.
Jessira shook her head in disbelief and climbed off of him. “Priya,” she said, making the word sound like a curse. “Why did I have to fall in love with such an incorrigible man?”
“I said I'm sorry,” Rukh added.
“Well thank you for that,” Jessira said, her voice filled with sarcasm.
“And I am sorry that you look—”
“Rukh,” she warned.
“—like you'll need to change your clothes if you still plan on going out with my sister, Sign, and Laya.”
Jessira groaned. “I forgot.”
She made to stand but Rukh pulled her back down on top of him. “You know I think you're beautiful,” he said. “Even if you went dressed in those torn up camouflage clothes from when we first met, you'd still be the most beautiful woman I've ever known.”
Jessira's annoyance with him seemed to abate, and she smiled. It was like sunshine clearing a cloud. “Why do you spend so much time irritating me and then say something so lovely afterward?”
“It's not intentional,” Rukh explained, although it mostly was. “And there's no one else in this world I want to tease and kiss at the same time.”
Jessira rolled her eyes. “Incorrigible,” she repeated in a mutter before kissing him and sitting up. “Are you sure you don't mind that I'm having dinner with Sign, Bree, and Laya and leaving you alone tonight?” she asked.
Rukh sat up as well. “I don't mind,” he answered. “Besides, Jaresh and Farn are coming over, remember?”
“I forgot that,” Jessira answered. Her brows furrowed in thought a moment later. “When I first met your cousin, I never thought I'd end up liking him so much,” she said. “It's hard to believe how grateful I am to him now, especially with how he's helped with Laya's baby.”
“He certainly is devoted to little Court,” Rukh said in a careful tone. He didn't add his suspicion that Farn was equally devoted to Laya herself since that was all just a guess on his part. It made sense, though, at least to Rukh. The way Farn talked about Laya, went on about her was in the manner of a man in love with a woman.
“Why is he so devoted?” Jessira asked, interrupting his thoughts. “I never would have expected it of him.”
“He says that before Cedar died, he asked him to look after Laya,” Rukh explained, keeping the majority of his suspicions to himself. “Farn promised he would, and so he has.”
Jessira startled. She'd obviously never heard that before. “Why did Cedar ask Farn? Why not ask one of us? His family?”
“Cedar was dying,” Rukh said quietly, treading softly. Even though Jessira was the one who had brought up the subject, he didn't want to raise painful memories. “There was no time for him to ask anyone else.”
“Well, I'm glad it turned out to be Farn. He's a good man.”
Jessira ended up staying out later that she intended with Bree, Sign, and Laya. First, they'd gone to see a play, which was a new experience for Laya, and afterward, they had dinner and a long night of talking at a coffee house. As a result, it was late when Jessira got home, and she was surprised to find Rukh still awake.
He was stretched out on the couch and reading a book. For a wonder it wasn't The Book of First Movement.
“I thought you'd be asleep by now,” Jessira said when she entered the flat.
“Farn and Jaresh just left a little while ago,” Rukh replied. “After I straightened up, I just wasn't ready for sleep.” He held up the volume in his hands. “I thought I'd do some light reading.”
Jessira studied the book he held. It was a well-worn copy of Sooths and Small Sayings by Tramed Billow. She shook her head. Only Rukh would consider Sooths light reading.
She sat down next to him and slipped the book from his hands. “Can we talk about something?” she asked.
Rukh eyed her with curiosity. “About what?” he asked, sitting up.
“Sign wants to start training for the Ashokan Guard, maybe even the High Army. She's not the only OutCaste who wants to, either.”
“You?” Rukh asked, not sounding surprised.
Jessira nodded.
“Who else?”
“A few others. Men and women alike.”
Rukh appeared puzzled. “Why?” he asked.
Jessira sighed. “So that we can have a sense of purpose,” she replied. “A life has no meaning without purpose, and not all of us can pick up a new trade or become farmers.”
“But why do you want to train?” Rukh asked. “You already have a purpose. You're helping the OutCastes settle into Ashoka. You and Bree.”
“Maybe so,” Jessira replied, “but that part of my life is also coming to an end. I did what I had to for the other OutCastes because there was no one else who could do the task as well as I could. No one else was as familiar with Ashoka or with the politics of the city and the Castes. My people don't need me for that anymore. Most of them have managed to figure out the next step in their lives, and I need to do the same. I want to return to the one profession where I felt like I was doing exactly what I'd always been meant to do. I want to go back to being a warrior.”
“There are other paths a person can take,” Rukh said. He wore a troubled, unhappy expression. “The old stories about how everyone has a single, solitary skill they were meant to exercise just isn't true. It's a lie, and there's so much more you can do with your life other than being a warrior.”
Jessira crossed her arms across her chest and tried to hold in her irritation. Why was Rukh so opposed to what she thought was a simple request? “Maybe in the future, I can do those other things,” she said, “but right now, I want to be a warrior. Besides, you're like no one I've ever known when it comes to using a sword. Would you really give it up?”
“I am good with a sword, and I do love it,” Rukh said, “but I train so hard because duty requires it. It isn't because I want to fight and kill. Not anymore. One of my fondest dreams would be to pra
ctice the art of the sword but never have to use the application of the sword.” His jaw briefly clenched. “Even more, I would love to see a world where you could do so as well. And with all the death we've seen, I'm surprised you still want to pursue that life when other choices are open to you.”
“The Queen is coming,” Jessira said. She took his hands in hers and stared him in the eyes, wanting him to understand her meaning and her passion. “You can't shelter me from Her. You can't shelter any of us. Sign and the other OutCastes don't seek out the life of the warrior because of some great desire to kill. None of us do. They do so for the same reason that you do: because duty demands it. Protecting and defending those we love is what gives us the greatest meaning to our lives. We aren't farmers or artisans. We're warriors.” Her lips thinned. “Maybe in some happy future, we can be something else, but not now.”
“And that's why you want to pick up the sword once again?”
“I never put my blade away,” Jessira answered. “Not really. I'm a warrior. It's who I have always wanted to be. Who I still am.”
Rukh pulled her close, and she settled against his torso, her back to him. “All right,” he said in agreement, although she still heard the doubt in his voice.
They sat quietly, and Rukh idly stroked her forearms. The flat was quiet, as was the world outside.
It was a noiselessness that Jessira ended. “I fight because it is the best way I know how to serve. I don't want to kill,” she said, picking up her explanation once again. “I want to defend the people we love, the ones who can't protect themselves against the Chimeras.”
“Service,” Rukh said. “That's what you're really talking about.”
Jessira nodded. “In Stronghold, service to the community was the ideal to which we all aspired, be it as a laborer or as a leader. It's what I believe is true. I'm not as smart as some or as pure-hearted as others, but I can fight. I can protect those who need protection. For me, I can best offer service by wielding my sword in defense of our people.”
“I understand,” Rukh said with a heavy exhalation.
Jessira was both disappointed and frustrated to sense his lingering reluctance. “And?” she persisted in as patient a tone as she could manage.
“And I'll find out what we can do for any of the OutCastes who want to learn to fight,” Rukh answered.
His reluctance seemed to have abated, and Jessira mouthed a silent prayer of gratitude that Rukh was willing to see reason. “And what about those of us who are already trained warriors?” she asked.
“You're trained warriors of Stronghold, but that isn't good enough for Ashokan standards,” Rukh answered. “All of you, both the ones who are already warriors and the ones who are new to the sword, will need to be instructed as we would young Kummas. You need to master your new Talents.”
“Thank you,” she breathed in relief.
“Don't thank me yet. You'll likely have to study alongside the youth of various Kumma Houses.” Rukh said. Jessira could sense him smiling. “The individual Martial Masters of each House are all very much like Durmer Volk.”
Jessira sniffed. There it was again. Rukh and every young Shektan warrior's fear of the so-called Great Duriah. “I don't know why all of you seem to think Durmer is so terrifying,” Jessira said, rolling over to face him. “He's nothing but a kind, old man.”
Rukh shook his head as if in pity. “Just wait until your technique has to meet his standards. Then tell me then if he's a 'kind, old man'.”
“I trained with him before,” Jessira said. “Remember? The last time I was in Ashoka.”
“That was when he was training an OutCaste. This time he's training a warrior of House Shektan. He won't go nearly as easy on you.”
Jessira made of moue of disagreement, certain he was exaggerating.
Rukh held up his hands, suing for peace. “Fine. Learn it on your own, but by the end of a week, you'll be wishing you'd paid more attention to what I warned you about.”
Jessira shrugged. It was a worry for another time. “When do you suppose we can get started?”
“I need to ask Nanna to help me arrange it,” Rukh answered. “But I imagine it'll be sometime after the Wrath and Hellfire Week.”
“About six weeks from now then,” Jessira said in satisfaction.
“And what do I get for doing all of this?” Rukh asked, a knowing glint in his eyes.
“The blessed, untroubled sleep of someone who did the right thing,” Jessira said with a grin.
Of all of Humanity's various imperfections, the worst by far is betrayal. A true heart never Heals from such a wound.
~The Sorrows of Hume, AF 1789
Li-Choke took a deep breath and breathed in the warm, humid southern wind blowing across the Hunters Flats. The air tasted wet, full of brackish odors like a marsh, while the twinkling lights of a thousand camp fires littered the nearby earth. Muted sounds of crackling wood, hearty hails, and threatening growls murmured like the surge of a far off sea. The entirety of the Eastern Plague surrounded them, but never had Li-Choke felt so alone.
“It appears that the Humans did not fully trust the Kesarins,” Li-Choke reported. “They still have their doubts about Mother's intentions toward Ashoka.”
The SarpanKum, Li-Shard, merely grunted while his cynical, yet loyal SarpanKi, Li-Brind, grimaced.
A smokey peat fire lit the troubled miens of the three Baels. They shuffled about in uncertainty, unsure how next to proceed. All of them were aware of the precipice upon which they teetered. Of how alone they were even though they stood amidst the company of their eastern brothers. Or more accurately, it was because they stood amidst the company of their eastern brothers that they were so alone.
Li-Choke shook his head in disgust. How could the Baels have fallen so far? How had Hume's teachings come to this bitter, barren end of knotted worry and callous selfishness amongst so many of his brothers? He growled in fury.
“Calm yourself,” Shard advised. “We need a clear mind for what is to be decided next.”
Choke wore a brief, sour expression before nodding agreement. The SarpanKum was right. Choke lifted his head to the night sky above and slowly inhaled and exhaled, working to rid himself of his anger as he considered anew their situation.
He, Shard, and Brind were meeting amidst their brethren, but far enough away to avoid the risk of being overheard. Li-Shard was the SarpanKum, the titular head of the Eastern Plague of the Fan Lor Kum, but he walked a tight line. Mistrust was the true ruler of the Eastern Plague, especially now, after the murder of Stronghold.
Shard's authority hung by a slender thread. The smallest mistake would slice short his command. There was no margin for error, and if their eastern brethren discovered what the three of them were discussing tonight, war would almost certainly break out amongst the Baels. It would be a battle involving tridents, whips, and horns with no quarter to be offered or received.
It was an ugly truth, one that left an ashen taste in Choke's mouth. Once again, he shook his horned head in sad disbelief. His feathers of command rustled softly. It was unthinkable that the SarpanKum could not openly protect Humanity.
During Li-Dirge's time, the previous SarpanKum of the Eastern Plague—the one who Mother had destroyed several summers ago along with many of the loyal eastern Baels—Choke's brothers had been utterly dedicated to Hume's holy teachings, willing to die for the cause of fraternity. Now, the SarpanKum, the SarpanKi, and a Vorsan had to meet like mice in the dark, hoping to avoid the gaze of the hungry cat, all so they could do what was moral.
Pathetic didn't begin to describe their situation, the genesis of which had begun a year ago when Mother had commanded Li-Shard to take control of the Eastern Plague. In Her orders, the SarpanKum had seen an opportunity. For decades, the western brothers had slowly been losing the faith of their elders, falling further and further away from Hume's teaching. They had begun only paying lip service to the idea of fraternity. Sacrifice, duty, and morality had given way to pliant pra
gmatism and easy excuses. In fact, it was a miracle that these same apostates had elevated someone as pious as Li-Shard to leadership of the western Baels.
So when Mother had dictated Li-Shard to go east, he had gladly done so and taken with him the majority of the Baels who were weakest in their beliefs. He had wanted them separated from the rest of the brothers left in the west, the ones whose flagging faith might be easily recovered so long as no more words of selfishness and doubt were whispered in their ears. Shard had hoped that with time, proper instruction, and influence, all their fallen brethren might be brought back to the light. Or at least that those he took east with him would be so busy reconstituting the Eastern Plague that they would lack the time to sew discord amongst one another.
If not for the memory of Li-Dirge's fate, as well as the terrible risk Li-Choke had taken to save the sad, shattered survivors of Stronghold, Shard's plan might have succeeded. But fear, that faithless friend, had gripped hard on the minds of the eastern brothers. Now those same Baels gritted their teeth with worry, gnawing over every decision and every order for any taste that might indicate a risk to their kind.
“Do you have a suggestion on how we should proceed?” Li-Brind asked.
Choke scuffed his hoof against the ground and stared out into the night. He searched the nearby camp and wondered where the human traitor, Hal'El Wrestiva, was. Which campfire out of the thousands was his?
Choke glanced at the SarpanKum, who had been staring intently into the distance as well but had now turned his eyes back to them. “We continue with our original plan,” Li-Shard said decisively. “We will do as the Humans request and send them the answers to their questions.”
“Should we send messengers to the other Plagues?” Brind asked. “Let them know of Mother's plans regarding Ashoka?”
“There is no need; nor is there any time,” Shard replied. “Our plans will proceed in the manner in which we have already agreed.”
“Devesh watch over us then,” Choke said with feeling.
