by Davis Ashura
The SuDin sneered. “And I’m sure his father was the one to spread such rumors. The people will be led astray by any man with a sad and heroic seeming tale.”
“You don’t think the Shektan is heroic?”
“Of course he was heroic, but it doesn’t change the facts of the situation. The man is Kumma who can Blend and Heal. Even worse, he brought an adult ghrina to our city, a woman with whom he may have had an illegitimate relationship…”
Varesea laughed. “Listen to yourself. Illegitimate. What are we then? We are ghrina just as much as him.”
The SuDin scowled in irritation. “The point being, he still falls under society’s rules. The Shektan was properly judged. We, on the other hand, have chosen a different path, and our relationship is the least of the reasons for which we would be condemned.” Varesea said nothing, but he could feel her study him as he read the daily newssheet. “What?” he asked.
“You fear him.”
The SuDin smiled. Varesea could see the heart of the matter as no one else did. It was why he loved her. “I feared his blade. I saw the Tournament. A few more years and a little more seasoning, and he could have bested me even when I was young.”
“Even as you are now?”
“My power is far greater than it ever was, but, yes, even now, the Shektan would make a deadly opponent.”
“Then it is good he can no longer threaten us.”
“Indeed. And if the people cry out for Rukh Shektan’s return, let them,” he sneered. “Their petty wants and desires no longer concern us.”
“Petty? How grand is your vision then?”
The SuDin smiled again, this time more broadly. “With the destruction of the caverns, the Queen’s plans for Ashoka will have been set back by years, if not decades,” he said.
“And we have the Withering Knife,” Varesea said, smiling in return. “We will have all the time we need to kill and kill again, until we are potent enough to challenge even Her.”
“You see my plan then. For two millennia the world has lacked a First Father and First Mother. I plan on rectifying that mistake,” said Hal’El Wrestiva, SuDin of the Sil Lor Kum.
Early in the morning, a day out from Ashoka, Rukh was ordered to see the Marshall. He was feeling happy and grateful because the scouts had just now brought back a score of Shiyen physicians along with enough wagons to transport the most severely injured warriors back to the city. The Shiyens had done quick triage on all the injured, clucking in amazement at some of the injuries the warriors had sustained and survived. When they learned it had been Rukh who had Healed the men, they gave him troubled glances and sidelong looks of uncertainty. Their reactions were actually pretty mild given how the warriors of the expedition had responded early on to his Talents.
After the physicians left, Rukh wanted to slump over into an exhausted sleep, but he had to remain at parade rest. He was still in the presence of the Marshall.
Tanhue poured two drinks, passing one to Rukh. It smelled like whiskey. “There’s something else I need to discuss with you, warrior,” the Marshall said, sitting down, suddenly looking weary and bitter. “You must have powerful enemies, son. They’ve been busy while we’ve been out in the Wildness.” He took a swig of his drink and sighed, looking saddened.
Rukh stared into his glass of whiskey. Based on the Marshall’s words and attitude, it sounded like he would need the stiff drink. Their commander wasn’t the sort who was easily rattled. Rukh downed the whiskey, holding back a gasp at its fiery burn. He braced himself, prepared to hear what the Marshall had to say.
“Suwraith’s spit. There’s no easy way to say this. Based on your new Talents and your association with a ghrina, the Chamber of Lords has deemed you Unworthy. You’ve been stripped of all rank and are hereby exiled from Ashoka and her Oasis, never to return on pain of death. None of her warriors can shelter you,” the Marshall said. “I’m so sorry about this,” he added a moment later.
Rukh’s legs buckled, and he almost fell to the ground. He stared unseeing past the Marshall. Only yesterday evening, after speaking with Lieutenant Danslo, hope – thin and uncertain – had blossomed in his heart. For a few, brief hours, he had thought his life might not become the miserable wreck he had assumed it was doomed to be. He had allowed himself to believe he could reclaim his dignity.
The Marshall stared him in the eye. “For what it’s worth, I wholeheartedly disagree with the Chamber,” he said. “I find you Worthy, Rukh Shektan. Without you, many good men would have died. I saw you work. I saw you give everything you had even after we gave you nothing but a heaping pile of shit. It shames me how you were treated, and I hope someday you can find it in your heart to forgive us.”
“Yes, sir,” Rukh said, not really listening, but dimly appreciating the Marshall’s words. What would he do now? Where would he go? Once a man was exiled, no other city would take him in. A death sentence had been handed out, and Rukh never even had a chance to speak up on his own behalf.
“There is someone here for you,” said the Marshall. “You can talk to her here, but afterward, I’m afraid you’ll have to gather your belongings and leave.”
“Her?”
The Marshall stood. “I’ll give the two of you some privacy,” he said, coming around the worktable and leaving the tent.
Rukh wondered who Marshall Tanhue was talking about. Had Amma come out here to see him off? Or was it Bree? Whoever it was, she shouldn’t have left the safety of the city. Not for someone Unworthy like him. He stared at the back of the tent, not seeing or noticing anything, stunned by the finality of it.
“You look terrible,” a voice said. He turned. Jessira. Rukh’s heart unclenched a little at the sight of her. At least he’d have a place to go. She gave him a tight-lipped smile of sympathy.
“I feel terrible,” he said. He briefly wondered why she wasn’t already back in Stronghold. She should have been, but here she was standing in front of him.
She must have understood his confusion. “You were exiled a few days after the expedition left. Your nanna asked me to wait for your return. I agreed.”
“And will you take me to Stronghold?”
She nodded. “That was the plan. I have supplies and mounts for both of us,” she said. “Your nanna was generous with his provisions. Are you ready?”
Rukh nodded, still unable to believe the terrible turn his life had taken. He would never again see Nanna or Amma. Or Jaresh or Bree or any of his other family and friends. He was dead to them. Even Ashoka herself was forever off-limits. He’d never get to walk her beautiful hills and wide streets or witness her soul-inspiring culture and arts. He numbly gathered his belongings and followed Jessira to the outskirts of the camp where she had four horses waiting for them: two saddled and others with bulging packs. Nanna had been generous. Rukh tied off his gear and mounted up. He looked back toward the camp where the warriors of the expedition had gathered. They stared in his direction, and with a start, he realized they were there to see him off. He found Danslo, who nodded silent acknowledgement.
The lieutenant, so long his enemy, raised a fist to the sky and shouted, “Rukh Sai!”
His words were repeated by the rest of the warriors. “Rukh Sai! Rukh Sai!” they shouted.
“What are they saying?” Jessira asked.
“They are offering me the title bestowed upon the winner of the Tournament of Hume,” Rukh said, his eyes wet with tears.
“I thought you won the Tournament months ago,” Jessira said.
“I did,” Rukh said. “I told them my Talents on the way to the caverns. They didn’t take it well.”
“Oh.” Jessira didn’t need him to spell it all out. She understood what he meant.
“What they’re doing now…it’s their way of apologizing,” Rukh said. He stifled a sob. Warriors didn’t cry in public. “After what the Chamber decided, this is the most they can do. Some of the ruling ‘Els won’t like it. They might even make trouble for these men.”
“It’
s not your concern anymore, Rukh,” Jessira said, softly. “They made their choices. They’ll have to live with them.” She paused. “And we have to live with ours. It’s time to go.”
Rukh waved to his brothers one last time before turning his horse so he could face her. “Why didn’t Nanna come out with you?”
“He couldn’t. The House Council decided it wouldn’t be safe, and he wouldn’t let your amma, brother, or sister leave the Oasis either. I’m all you’ve got. I hope you’re not too disappointed.” She reached into a satchel. “Your family sent you letters. Here.” She handed them over.
Rukh took them numbly as he gently stroked the paper. His mother’s handwriting was elegant and perfect as was Bree’s. Jaresh’s was so like Nanna’s: an inelegant, squared off scribbling. He put the letters away. He’d read them later. “Will we make it to Stronghold before the snows?” he asked.
“We might get caught in a few storms, but the snows usually melt in a day or two this time of year. We should be fine if we hustle.”
“Then we better get moving.”
“You need to know something,” Jessira said, speaking into the silence that had settled over them within minutes of leaving the camp. It was still early in the morning, and they had a long ways to go.
Rukh glanced over at her, but she kept her eyes locked forward, unwilling to meet his gaze. He shrugged, distantly wondering what had her so stiff. Was he forever riding away from Ashoka? It was still so surreal. How could this have happened? He vacillated between grief and a hollow emptiness, and he didn’t know which was worse. The grief let him know he was alive, but right now, he wasn’t sure it was worth it. The emptiness, though…it was what he imagined it would be like to die, to finally set aside all his burdens. It was seductive, the idea of giving up and letting it all end.
He grimaced. It was also a coward’s death.
“The real reason you were found Unworthy is because of me,” Jessira began hesitantly.
With a visible effort, Rukh pulled himself out from the terrible hurt of his loss and made himself listen to her words. “What are you saying?” he asked.
Jessira’s countenance and bearing were those of guilt and regret. “The extra Talents might have been forgiven…”
“How did the Chamber find out about them anyway?” Rukh interrupted her, suddenly focused in on a question which had plagued him since he’d learned of his banishment. “Who told them?”
“Rector Bryce,” Jessira answered. “He came out and admitted it. Your nanna was all set to Expel him from House Shektan – I understand it would have marked him as a traitor for all time.”
“He would have become a ronin, an unHoused warrior. Scum. No other House would have accepted his membership, not with a stain like that,” Rukh said.
“Like I said, Dar’El was all set to do just that, but for some reason, he didn’t. The two of them had a private meeting, and your nanna let Bryce resign instead. Bryce is now a member of House Wrestiva.”
Rukh grunted. “It’s where he belonged all along.”
They rode in silence as Rukh considered what Rector Bryce’s betrayal and departure from House Shektan might mean. It was no longer his responsibility, but old habits died hard.
“What I was saying earlier,” Jessira said, breaking into his thoughts. “You were found Unworthy because of Dryad Park. People claimed we had an illicit relationship.”
“Dryad Park? Our walk at night after the play?” Rukh realized what Jessira meant. His jaw clenched in anger, and he had to stifle an urge to scream at himself. Fragging arrogant idiot! He had airily dismissed his own worries about how others would view his time with Jessira. Why hadn’t he listened to that warning voice?
Jessira must have noticed his anger. She reined her horse to a halt, forcing Rukh to stop as well. “It’s my fault,” she said. “If I hadn’t been so needy, none of this would have happened.”
Rukh’s teeth ground together, and he had to force himself to unclench his jaw. He was angry with himself, but there was no need to crack his own teeth. He rubbed his temples and sighed. Suddenly, the fury emptied out of him, gone as quickly as it had come. Nothing he said or felt or did would change what had happened. What was done was done. He had acted as he thought a friend should, and for his gross lack of judgment, he’d been found Unworthy.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Rukh said in a flat, lifeless tone, willing himself to believe his words. “I made those choices. Not you. It was my own stupidity that caused this mess.” His eyes welled with sudden tears. Damn it! He hated crying.
Somehow, he found himself held within the circle of Jessira’s embrace. He clutched at her, hugging her hard. He let the tears fall.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered into his ear.
He turned his head, meaning to say something to her. Instead, his lips found hers, a brief touch. It was a soft kiss that deepened. She cupped his face, and pulled him closer. All thoughts were gone. All he knew was the feel of her in his arms, and the soft press of her lips against his.
She trailed her fingers along the line of his jaw before pulling away. “We should go,” she said, her voice sounding husky.
Rukh nodded, his emotions in turmoil: sorrow, pain, and a deep sense of loss. He followed after her as he left behind everything he loved. He followed her west.
The End
The Trials were the means by which Humanity maintained a fragile link between their far-flung city-states. It is a holy mission, and most often carried out by Caste Kumma, the warrior Caste, and all who accept such a weighty obligation understand that it might lead to their deaths.
The Trial from Ashoka to Nestle is no different, and it is also Rukh Shektan’s first. He is a Virgin to the Trials, as are his cousin, Farn Arnicep and his fellow Kumma and close friend, Keemo Chalwin, and Brand Wall of Caste Rahail. Rukh, however, is unique. He is the current Champion of the Tournament of Hume. His sword is said to be the finest in generations.
Disaster eventually overtakes the Trial. It is discovered by a large band of Chimeras and destroyed en masse. Few Ashokans survive, and among them are Rukh and his friends. They escape the ambush, but the means of their survival is considered anathema: they learn Talents not of their Caste. It is a situation that leaves them dismayed and horrified.
But they are also warriors of Ashoka, and they know their duty: their home must be warned of what has happened. They know that this many Chimeras gathered together at one time might indicate that Suwraith, the Sorrow Bringer, has deadly intentions toward their home city of Ashoka. Rukh elects to send several warriors back to Ashoka in order to carry word of the Nestle Trial’s fate, while he, Farn, Keemo, and Brand will track the Chimeras to their staging area.
Their plans proceed, and as they follow the Chimeras, all four men seek to master their newly acquired, but unsought Talents. Brand learns to Shield and quicken his movements like a Kumma, while Rukh and the others form Blends, a perfect means of camouflage.
It is a situation that leads to great unhappiness, and Farn wonders if they would have been better off dying amongst their brother warriors in the Trial. He worries they are naaja, Tainted, or worse, ghrinas, children of two Castes. His fears are not without foundation, but Rukh will not hear of it. They have a mission to accomplish, and if Talents not of Caste Kumma are the means by which they complete their assignment, so be it. He demands that they put aside their fears for the future and accept whatever punishment is due them, after they find where the Chimeras are staging.
His orders are reluctantly carried out, and by the time they finally track down the Chimeras, all four warriors have a better understanding of their newfound Talents.
They reach the Hunters Flats and discover the leaders of the Chimeras, the bull-like Baels, conversing privately with one another, far away from the bulk of their army. The Ashokans see an opportunity to destroy their hated enemies. Just as they are about to launch their attack, Suwraith arrives in a storm of wind and terror.
The Ashokans
hide, Blended as hard as they can. And while the Sorrow Bringer is amongst the Baels, they learn of Her plans for Ashoka: their home is to be destroyed.
Suwraith eventually leaves, and just as Rukh and the others are about to attack the Baels, they listen in astonishment as the bull-like commanders argue on how best to disobey Suwraith; to actively oppose Her and protect Humanity. It is a stunning revelation, and one not easily believed.
Rukh decides to speak with Li-Dirge, the Bael commander, who is now alone after sending his brethren back to rejoin the rest of the army while he meditates.
Before Rukh can approach the Bael, he captures a Blended woman who suddenly manifests by his side. Her appearance is staggering. Women do not ever join the Trials, so she should not be in the Wildness. But even more shocking is the women’s features. She is obviously a ghrina, a child of two Castes. No such individual has ever been known to survive to adulthood since they are universally banished from the cities upon birth. They are thought to die in the Wildness, but given this woman’s presence, it is obviously an incorrect assumption.
Some of the confusion is cleared when Rukh is finally able to speak to Li-Dirge. From the Bael, he learns of the great Kumma warrior, Hume, and the death of Hume’s home, the city of Hammer. Rukh discovers how Hume had instructed Suwraith’s commanders in the ideals of fraternity, and in the centuries following, the Baels apparently had worked as best they could to disrupt Suwraith’s plans.
And the ghrina woman, Jessira Grey, turns out to be a scout from Stronghold, a hidden city of her kind—OutCastes as they call themselves. She and her brothers, Cedar and Lure, had also been tracking the same Chimeras that had destroyed the Trial to Nestle.
During all this, Suwraith, tormented for millennia by the unceasing complaints of Her dead parents and a terrifying voice, Mistress Arisa, that only She hears, finds a way to rid Herself of Her madness. She pours her insanity into the minds of Her children, the Chimeras—all except the Baels. By doing so, Suwraith regains Her sanity, realizes the truth, and discovers Her betrayal at the hands of Her commanders. She sees them speaking to Humans and is enraged. However, before She can act, She notices Her Chimeras killing one another in violent abandon. It is because of Her madness poured into them. Reluctantly, the Sorrow Bringer takes back Her insanity, losing Her memories and regaining the unwanted voices of Her dead parents and the fearsome Mistress Arisa. Confusion overwhelms Suwraith’s mind, but She remembers enough. She still knows the truth about the Baels, and She thunders from the sky, intent on destroying them.
