by Davis Ashura
It made the missing henna paste and poppy seeds from a year ago all the more unusual. In the long run, it wasn’t much of a loss, but it still had Rector curious. The henna had been logged in as arriving with the Trial from Kush over a year ago and the poppy seeds from Forge. Neither had been logged out. Then, several months ago, the line items indicating their presence had been zeroed out. It must have happened during one of the quarterly audits. While House Wrestiva could easily absorb the lost revenue, nevertheless, it was something that should not have occurred. Henna was too expensive to have simply gone missing like that, and poppy, with its many medicinal uses, was equally costly.
The losses were the only problems Rector had, thus far, discovered in House Wrestiva’s accounts.
Of course, Mira would want to know about them, even though she would be just as likely to toss it off as being unimportant. Rector’s nostrils flared in irritation as he imagined the lofty manner by which she would order him to skulk about for more important information. She could do so because she knew of Rector’s family history and the Sil Lor Kum. It was her trump card, but the fact that she would threaten to destroy his family if he didn’t do as she commanded revealed the truth about her spiteful, arrogant nature.
Karma had a way of dealing with people like her—or at least so Rector hoped.
He checked the clock and cursed under his breath. He would have to hustle if he wanted to make it in time for his meeting with Mira. She hated to be kept waiting. Rector darted out of the warehouse and raced through the Moon Quarter. Luckily, traffic wasn’t too heavy, and he was able to make the journey to Trell Rue with plenty of time to spare.
With the final stretch of road ahead of him, Rector caught sight of Mira waiting outside the Duriah café where the two of them had decided to meet for their biweekly debriefings. Mira nodded greeting, and they shared blatantly false smiles.
Before taking a seat, Rector leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “You look as lovely as your soul.” He knew the gesture and words would irritate her.
Mira’s eyes briefly narrowed, but otherwise, she gave no signal to indicate her annoyance. “And you are as handsome as your personality,” she murmured as he sat down.
“Charming,” Rector said. He called over a waiter and placed an order for a beer and parathas filled with dahl and lamb. “Did you want anything?” he asked Mira before the waiter left.
“I’ve already ordered,” she replied. Once the waiter left, Mira leaned forward. “Don’t ever kiss me again,” she hissed.
Rector smiled, not bothering to hide his pleasure at angering her. In all their other meetings, she openly mocked him and his fallen station. It was time to prick her smug sense of superiority and have her feel some sting during their interactions as well.
“Take this seriously, Rector Bryce—”
“Or what?” Rector interrupted. “Will Dar’El take me to task for being insufficiently obsequious?” He snorted in derision.
“We shouldn’t argue,” Mira warned. “People are watching.”
“Then you should learn to curb your tongue,” Rector said. “I arrived and gave you a kiss on the cheek. For doing so, you glare at me?”
Mira stared into her lap, taking a moment to compose herself before she looked up again, this time wearing a bright smile. She reached for Rector’s hands, holding them in both of her own. “I’m sorry, beloved,” she said. “I love you so much. Let’s not quarrel.”
Rector couldn’t detect a hint of sarcasm in her voice, but her nails dug painfully into his palms, letting him know of her anger. Rector removed his hands from hers. “It’s quite all right.” He refused to shake out his hands and display weakness before her.
“Now,” Mira said, still wearing the bright, stupid smile. “What do you have to tell me?”
“Other than the fact that I don’t like you?” Rector said. “Not much.”
“Your feelings toward me are not what I meant,” Mira said, still grinning. “What of House Wrestiva?”
Rector laughed at her patently false smile. “You know how idiotic you look doing that?” He waved in the general direction of her face. “Do you think anyone is fooled by your grin?”
Mira startled, and the smile slipped.
Rector chuckled again, happy to be the one delivering the verbal barbs rather than receive them. Usually, with Mira, it was the other way around. “We have a professional relationship, and I wish we didn’t even have that,” he said, “but neither of us can lie well enough to trick anyone into thinking we’re madly in love.”
“Fair enough,” Mira said. “But my question still stands: did you learn anything about House Wrestiva?”
Rector nodded. “As a matter of fact, I did,” he said, explaining about the missing henna and poppy seeds. “And I’m sure this grand mystery will be the means by which your wonderful ‘El will somehow bring down House Wrestiva.”
Mira flicked a glance his way but otherwise didn’t respond to his sarcasm. She appeared pensive. “First, Dar’El isn’t interested in destroying House Wrestiva; only your ruling ‘El. Second, juniper and sourwain.”
Rector frowned. “What?”
“Two rare spices, and if combined with henna and poppy seeds, you get something highly illicit: snowblood.”
Rector rolled his eyes. “I should have known you Shektans wouldn’t have an ounce of restraint or decency when it comes to trying to bring down Hal’El Wrestiva.”
“Yes, because Hal’El Wrestiva is such a paragon of morality,” Mira said sarcastically. “Remember his son, Suge, the snowblood addict, and what Hal’El tried to do to Jaresh?”
“It doesn’t diminish Hal’El’s accomplishments in the Trials,” Rector replied. “Hal’El is a hero.”
“A hero who made sure that a far greater hero was found Unworthy.”
Rector flinched. Almost four months after the fact, he had grown ever more guilty about his role in Rukh’s banishment. He knew now that he should have never spoken up. It wasn’t simply that it wasn’t his place to have done so, but even more because much of the moral certitude he had held from that happy, innocent time had long since dissipated. The process had begun when Dar’El Shektan had revealed the secret of Rector’s heritage. “If faced with the same situation now, I would have never revealed Rukh’s secrets,” he said after a moment of quiet reflection.
For a wonder, Mira looked genuinely baffled. “Even after all the rumors about him and Jessira?”
Rector smiled half-heartedly. “Given my ancestors, who have done far worse, why should I bother with another’s folly?”
Mira tilted her head in consideration. “You surprise me,” she finally replied. “I never imagined hearing you say something like that.”
Rector shrugged. “I never imagined I would have to,” he said.
“And so you no longer judge others? Even Jaresh, who you are certain harbors immoral feelings toward me?”
“As long as it doesn’t affect me, he can live as he wishes,” Rector clarified.
“Really?”
Rector didn’t answer at first, taking time to form his thoughts. “A few months ago, I mapped out the descendants of my great-grandfather,” he said. “There are over fifty of us, some still learning to walk. I find myself wondering why all of them should be stained because of his actions? It seems arbitrary and unjust.”
Again, Mira appeared surprised. “Some would claim your moral conversion to be merely self-serving,” she challenged.
“And they might be right,” Rector said, “but it also doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”
The Society of Rajan consisted of twenty-one men and women, three members from each Caste: a master, journeyman, and an apprentice. As expected the apprentices were the youngest, ranging in age from the middle thirties to early forties, while all the masters were older than sixty. Right now, the members sat about the heptagonal table centered in the third floor ballroom that made up the Society’s Hall.
Night had long since fallen, and heavy
curtains were drawn across the tall, narrow windows while the firefly lamps within their wall sconces and chandeliers were turned up, casting the room in bright light. The Society’s Hall was located on the top floor of a small three-story building located several blocks north of the Magisterium. The lower levels were given over to various businesses and flats, and most people would have never guessed that such a mythical organization would meet in such a prosaic place.
Of course, what most people knew about the Rajans was mostly hearsay and innuendo. Over the centuries, those rumors had inflated the Society’s reputation past the point of reason. Some believed it had been the First Father who had founded the Rajans; others claimed the Society was the descendant of some long ago Council of the First World. A few fools were certain the Society hoarded knowledge of Jivatma unknown to anyone else or were even composed of some hidden eighth Caste.
All of it was absurd, and in fact, the truth was far less impressive. The Society had been founded in Hammer and initially tasked with unlocking the secrets of The Book of First Movement. Though they had utterly failed their original purpose, somehow the Society had still spread, branching out into every other city on Arisa. Over time, its charter had also changed. In general, the Rajans sought to be a positive force by inculcating a higher state of equality and acceptance amongst society in general.
Depending on who was asked, it was a notion that was either breathtakingly brazen or hopelessly naïve.
Dar’El, the Kumma Journeyman, had asked for this gathering, and as he spoke, his fellow Rajans eyed him with polite expressions of curiosity. For a half-hour now, he had explained the importance of bringing Rukh home, and why such an endeavor was worthy of the Society’s resources. While he had been laying out his plan, he had noticed a few of his fellows covering a yawn. They weren’t bored—at least Dar’El hoped not. More likely, they were simply tired, which was understandable given the lateness of the hour.
“You’ve spoken eloquently in defense of your son,” said Thrivel Nonel, the Master Sentya. Like everyone else in the Society, he was a person of influence in his Caste, and he took his time in formulating his thoughts. “But I have yet to hear why we should believe he has The Book of First Movement.”
“I wrote to Rukh about The Book,” Dar’El said. “I know him well enough to believe he will eventually go after it.”
“Meaning we can never truly know if he ever obtains it or even makes the attempt,” said Anian Elim, the heavyset Duriah Journeyman.
“Correct,” Dar’El answered, knowing this was the weakest part of his argument. “But as I said before, I think he will. In this, I must simply ask for your trust.”
“And of all the warriors in Ashoka, Rukh would have the greatest hope of success in reclaiming The Book,” said Silma Thoran, the Kumma Master. “Whether he makes the attempt from Stronghold or after returning to Ashoka.” For her statement of support and so many other reasons, Dar’El could have kissed the elderly Master Kumma. Her eyes were clouded with cataracts, but her mind remained just as bright and focused as the day twenty years ago when she had approached Dar’El about joining the Society.
“And if he chooses never to go to Hammer?” asked Minet Jorian, the Apprentice Cherid. “After all, it is a journey fraught with danger.”
“In that case, at least Rukh would be returned to us, a notion I find appealing,” Dar’El said with a smile. “I know it sounds like a nanna’s pride speaking, but my son is special. Remember all he accomplished in his first Trial, and how critical he was for the survival of dozens of our warriors after the battle in the caverns. Imagine if everyone could do as he can. There would be so much we could accomplish.”
“It is also heresy,” said Gren Vos, who—in addition to her position as a Magistrate—was also the Shiyen Master. She thrust out her chin in challenge. “How will you answer those who quote The Word and the Deed, which is quite clear on the matter?”
Dar’El nodded acknowledgment to the old Shiyen. Gren was an ally in this. She was merely giving him an opportunity to address some of the worries that others around the table were likely considering. Rajans were chosen, not simply because of their influential status in their Castes, but more importantly for their ability to think critically and with an open mind. Right now, most of his fellows were worried about how Rukh’s presence might affect the city, especially amongst Ashoka’s reactionary elements.
“There will be many who will despise Rukh for what he can do. But, consider the name the city has given him: the Hero of the Slave River. The people of Ashoka have already made their decision with regards to my son: they have embraced him.”
“But not all,” said Grain Jola, the obdurate Master Rahail. Of all the Rajans, he was the prickliest, and the one least likely to agree with the others. There were times when meetings were prolonged for no other reason than Grain just had to voice his opinion, no matter how inconsequential the matter being discussed. Sometimes Dar’El wondered if the old patriarch did so more out of obstinacy than conviction.
“Not all,” Dar’El agreed, allowing no hint of irritation to enter his voice. “But if our decisions are based on how we fear the more reactionary elements of our city might react, Ashoka would never change. She will never become what we all want.”
“Yes, but thus far, we’ve simply pushed for Castes other than Kumma and Cherid to obtain leadership roles in the city. We strive for equality of opportunity, and we’ve done well to further it,” Grain countered. “Your son represents a much greater test to Ashoka’s culture. His Talents are a direct affront to everything we hold to be true about the Castes. His mere existence, as well as these OutCastes with which he will always be associated, would threaten the holy truth of The Word and the Deed.”
Sim Chilmore, the Cherid Master, chuckled softly. “My old friend, I share your fears,” he said to Grain. “But this is also an opportunity. One we could have never foreseen or expected.” He glanced around the table, his eyes bright. “The Book of All Souls,” he continued. “Don’t you see? The Word and the Deed teaches equality, but The Book of All Souls teaches fraternity.”
Sim’s words resonated, and Dar’El found himself nodding in agreement.
“I read your son’s report from his Trial,” said Bravun Silan, the Kumma Apprentice, and the man Dar’El had sponsored for the Society. “Is fraternity not what the Baels claim to worship as well?”
Thrivel Nonel cackled laughter. “How ironic. What we have always sought, the Baels learned first.”
“If they spoke the truth,” Grain Jola muttered.
“I call for a vote,” Dar’El said.
Grain’s head jerked up. “Wait. There are other issues to discuss. You seek our help in convincing the Chamber of Lords to rescind their verdict on Rukh, to no longer find him Unworthy. To entice us, you offer up the possibility that he might have The Book of First Movement. What if he has it but refuses to part with it? What then?”
Dar’El was about to reply but was spared from having to speak when Gren Vos answered in his stead. “How likely do you suppose that might be?” she asked. “And if Rukh refuses us, so what. Rukh Shektan, for all his Talents and exploits, is but one man, and like all men, he will eventually pass from this world. We are the Society of Rajan. Time is on our side. The Book will be ours.”
Her answer must have mollified Grain because while the old Rahail settled back in his chair with a grumble, he remained quiet.
“I still don’t like the fact that you pushed your son to quest for The Book without consulting the rest of the Society,” Diffel Larekin, the Cherid Journeyman grumbled.
“And I already explained why,” Dar’El replied evenly. “At the time, I was focused on how to keep my son safe. I didn’t think to seek approval, and by the time I realized I should have, it was too late.” He shrugged. “I used my discretion.”
“You aren’t yet a Master to make such decisions for the rest of us,” Sim Chilmore, the Cherid Master, reminded him.
“But I am the ru
ling ‘El of a powerful House, and father to the man who will retrieve The Book.”
His words earned him a sour look from Sim as well as a brief nod of understanding.
“There is one other consideration,” Gren Vos said, looking around the room and making sure she had everyone’s attention. “Kumma politics is a minefield. What if Rukh obtains The Book, takes it to the ghrina city…this Stronghold, but we are unable to overturn his banishment? The Book would be lost to us.”
Gren shrugged apology at Dar’El, but he didn’t mind her words. It was a possibility he had already considered. “First, The Book is already lost in Hammer, so if it is taken to Stronghold, we really don’t lose anything. Second, Kumma politics is exactly why I asked for this meeting. If pressure from without is brought upon the Chamber, they will feel it. Even those who voted to find Rukh Unworthy will feel it. They know they can’t afford to alienate the rest of the city.”
Sim sighed. “Life would be so much easier without politics to muddy it up. Imagine a place like that.”
Grain chuckled. “Good luck finding such a world. You might as well call it Salvation.”
“Are there any more questions?” Dar’El asked.
Gren Vos shook her head. “We’ve run around this issue long enough,” she said. “It’s time to vote.”
Unsurprisingly, the Society voted to throw its weight behind Dar’El’s plan to bring Rukh home.
Grain Jola grinned when the final tally was read. It was twenty for and one against. “I couldn’t allow it to be unanimous,” he said.
Afterward, the meeting ended, and Dar’El accepted the congratulations and promises of assistance from his fellow Rajans. They also offered advice on how to proceed and warnings not to fail.
As a result, Dar’El was one of the last to leave the Hall. It was left to him to turn down the firefly lamps and clean the room. He did so, organizing the chairs about the table as part of his final pass through. By the time he was finished, the room was dark except for a small lamp in the entryway
