The Castes and the OutCastes: The Complete Trilogy

by Davis Ashura

  Rukh hissed in pain.

  “Do you want me to stop” Court asked, pausing in his manipulation of Rukh’s right arm.

  Rukh shook his head. “No. It’s helping. Keep going.” He hissed again as Court lifted the arm until it was above Rukh’s head. A few days ago, such a movement would have been impossible.

  It seemed Setter Reesh had been correct. It hadn’t been Rukh’s arm that had been damaged. It had been his shoulder. Setter claimed that Rukh had strained a bundle of nerves running down from the neck, through the axilla, and into the arm. He had Healed the inflammation, but Rukh would have to do regular exercises if he wanted to get back the full use of his arm. And just two weeks later, while Rukh was still limited to passive range of motion movements, he could already feel both strength and flexibility returning. Soon, he’d be able to do these exercises himself.

  “What do you have planned tonight?” Rukh asked.

  “Preema invited me to dinner with her family.”

  Rukh grinned, nodding understanding.

  For the past several months, Court had been spending more and more time with Preema Folls, Laya’s cousin. Preema’s family had started out as laborers, but several years ago her nanna had completed his twenty-five years in the Army. He was now a farmer, which meant he was a man of means. But Court’s interest in Preema wasn’t because of her newfound wealth. Nor was it solely because she was pretty. It was because of the kind of person Preema was. Rukh had never met a happier, more optimistic person. She always wore a glad smile on her face and had a clever quip at the ready.

  Even Farn wasn’t immune to her humor. His cousin, usually so touchy about being mocked, would grin whenever it was Preema doing the teasing. Sometimes, he would even laugh. A year ago, it would have been unthinkable to see Farn so relaxed. Despite his troubles with the OutCastes, his time in Stronghold had changed him for the better.

  In fact, witnessing his cousin’s laughter had been a revelation for Rukh. If Farn could find moments of joy here in Stronghold, then why not Rukh? Stronghold wasn’t perfect—what city was?—but maybe with time, some of the arrogance and contempt Rukh faced would fade. And with his arm strengthening, maybe he could still join the Army.

  For the first time in weeks, Rukh felt a faint stirring of hope.

  “Done,” Court said.

  Rukh gave his shoulder a slow, final roll before pulling on his shirt. “Off to go clean the latrines,” he said, injecting false joviality into his voice.

  For the most part, he liked the men and women with whom he worked, but he certainly didn’t enjoy the labor. Cooking and serving in the dining hall wasn’t so bad, but the cleaning up afterward, or worse, emptying chamber pots and wiping down the latrines—it was filthy, smelly, and disgusting.

  “It’s a dirty job, but of all the Purebloods I know, you’re the one best suited to doing it,” Court said with an easy grin.

  Sateesh Grey stood silently in the shadows of a corner and watched unobserved as Rukh Shektan swept Crofthold Lucent’s dining hall. He’d actually been observing the Pureblood for weeks now, and in all that time, he had never seen or heard the Kumma act in an arrogant fashion or complain that the work was beneath him. He worked hard and did as he was told. Sateesh found himself impressed by the man’s diligence, as well as his charm and humility. It seemed he was everything Jessira claimed: warm, considerate, and hard working. Which made what he had to do now even more onerous. Sateesh sighed. Why couldn’t Rukh Shektan have been what everyone expected of a Pureblood: arrogant and hateful?

  “How is your arm?” Sateesh asked, stepping out of the corner and approaching Rukh.

  The Pureblood paused in his work and looked up. As always, his initial assessing gaze reminded Sateesh of a snow tiger’s, and he had to force himself not to flinch. “It’s getting stronger,” Rukh replied a moment later. “I’m hoping to start training again in a few weeks.”

  “You still hope to join the Army?” Sateesh asked.

  Rukh quirked a wry grin. “I can’t see myself not serving as a warrior. It was what I was bred to do.”

  “And it wouldn’t hurt that you would no longer have to clean out the latrines and chamber pots,” Sateesh said with an answering smile. He was surprised by the fondness he felt for the young Kumma.

  “No. It certainly won’t,” Rukh said in agreement.

  “Will we see you tonight for dinner?” Sateesh asked, betraying none of the concerns he felt toward the Pureblood.

  Rukh’s demeanor grew guarded.

  Sateesh saw Jessira wear a similar expression whenever talk in their house turned to the Kumma. He now understood why. Despite what his daughter and the Pureblood claimed, he knew there was more between them than mere friendship. It was evident to anyone who truly knew Jessira. Thankfully, neither she nor Rukh had acted upon their feelings. It would have been a disaster if they had. In fact, from what Sateesh could tell, the two of them seemed intent on avoiding the other. They rarely interacted except on those few occasions when they accidentally ran into each other in the halls of Crofthold Lucent.

  It was how Sateesh preferred matters to remain between his daughter and Rukh. It was why he was here now, and why he had invited Rukh to dinner. He meant to ensure Jessira’s honor would be maintained.

  Right now, Rukh was at his lowest, his pride likely stinging at the thought of Jessira seeing him dirty, sweaty, and smelly. But what about when Rukh was a warrior once again? His self-esteem would return. Would he then think himself worthy of Jessira’s affections?

  It could never be—not because Rukh wasn’t a good, decent person—but because Jessira was already promised to Disbar Merdant. Only for the most important reasons could such an engagement be ended. After all, a person’s word was their bond, and Sateesh would never allow Jessira to destroy her future because of some infatuation for Rukh Shektan. He needed to make sure the Kumma understood that.

  “I know you have strong feelings for my daughter,” Sateesh said. “I also know she might have once felt the same way about you.”

  If anything, Rukh’s expression grew even more closed off.

  “It isn’t obvious, except to those of us who know her well,” Sateesh continued. “And I’ve seen how you hide your feelings whenever she’s mentioned. Either you hate her or you love her. I’m guessing it’s love. Otherwise, you would have never come to our city.”

  “It doesn’t matter what I feel,” Rukh said.

  “No. It doesn’t,” Sateesh agreed.

  Rukh didn’t answer. His head was bent down as he resumed sweeping the floor. “Why are you telling me this?” he finally asked, lifting his head to look Sateesh in the eyes.

  “So you are clear on what I expect of both you and my daughter,” Sateesh replied. “From what I can tell, you’ve been a true friend to her, protecting her reputation. It makes me believe you’re an honorable man, and I hope you always will be. And that you’ll never do anything untoward with regards to Jessira.”

  “Is that why you’re inviting me to dinner tonight?” Rukh asked. “Jessira won’t be there, and you and Mistress Grey can lay down the law and make sure I stay out of her life?” He snorted in derision. “You don’t have to worry.”

  Sateesh grimaced, not expecting the Pureblood’s insight. In some ways, the invitation to dinner tonight had been an insult. He just hadn’t expected Rukh to see the slight. The man continued to surprise him with his hidden depths and awareness. “I am sorry if I offended you,” Sateesh said, somewhat chastened.

  Rukh gave a sardonic smile. “Ah, yes. The apology that is anything but.”

  “Then I am sorry for offending you,” Sateesh added.

  “Why? For insulting me or thinking me incapable of honor?”

  Sateesh sighed. He’d handled this badly. “For both,” he said. “You’re not at all what any of us expected. You work hard, and you’re doing your best to fit in amongst us. You deserve better treatment than you or your cousin, Farn, have received.”

  Rukh seemed to c
onsider his words. “Apology accepted,” he said. “Was there any other reason you wanted to talk to me?”

  Sateesh hesitated, still feeling guilty for offending the man. “My wife and I would both like get to know you better. We should have done so long ago. Will you forgive us and allow it?”

  Rukh nodded. “In that case, instead of your flat, why don’t you come down to Court’s? We’ll make you a Kumma dinner.”

  “Tell me again what time they’re coming over,” Farn demanded as he helped set the table.

  When Rukh had first come to him earlier today with the idea of hosting a dinner for Jessira’s family, including her parents, Farn had thought he was joking. Prepare a meal in a few hours? It wasn’t enough time. Not if it was to be done right. So he had explained, but Rukh had been insistent. Farn still thought it was a stupid idea, but somehow they’d managed to pull it off. The food was ready, and Court’s flat had never looked so good.

  “You’re leaving in a few weeks,” Rukh said. “I’m here for the duration of my life maybe. I thought it might be nice to share a proper Kumma meal with the people who have taken us in and helped us out so much. Show them Ashokan hospitality.”

  “Even though Jessira’s parents insulted you?”

  Rukh sighed. “We’ve already gone over this. If I want to fit in here, I’ve got to be willing to overlook some things I normally wouldn’t. Besides, Jessira’s parents were only doing what good parents are supposed to do: look out for their daughter’s future.”

  Farn shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand you. You know, sometimes people really are just jackholes. Not every stranger is a friend you’ve yet to meet.”

  “What?” Rukh asked, looking confused.

  Farn shook his head. “Never mind. Just promise me you’ll never change.”

  He would miss his cousin when it came time to leave Stronghold. When they had been children, Rukh had overlooked Farn’s glum outlook and drew him into what would become a deep friendship. The brotherhood he had shared with Rukh, Jaresh, and Keemo had been the most important relationships in Farn’s life.

  Rukh, Farn, Keemo, and Jaresh. Their lives had been an endless summer of wonder, always something new to explore and learn and laugh over. They had grown up together, trained together, done everything together. And they all had their roles to play. Farn was the dour voice of reason; Keemo was the optimist; Jaresh the thinker; and Rukh had been the one to help them see the best in one another, binding them until they were as close as brothers.

  Together they had been able to accomplish anything.

  But no more.

  Keemo. How could he be gone? Even now, there were moments when Farn would think to find him, wanting to share an insight or a humorous event. Keemo always laughed with him. His friend, who Farn loved more than the breath in his lungs.

  “What’s wrong?” Rukh asked.

  “I was just remembering Keemo and Jaresh.”

  “I miss them, too.”

  A knock at the door interrupted whatever else he might have said.

  Rukh leaned back in his chair and listened as the others chatted.

  Dinner had gone well. Since Stronghold’s fare was universally bland—the only seasoning they used seemed to be salt and garlic—the OutCastes had been hesitant to try the spicy food Rukh and Farn had prepared. It only took a few bites for their reluctance to fade into expressions of surprised delight. Then they had been more than happy to try anything offered. Mistress Grey had especially seemed to enjoy the food. She had worn a look of rapture during the entire meal. In this, she was just like her daughter, Jessira.

  “And you eat this well every day in Ashoka?” Master Grey asked.

  “Better,” Rukh answered. “I’m a terrible cook, but Farn can do a passable job. He was the one in charge of tonight’s dinner.”

  At his words, the OutCastes shared disbelieving glances, most likely wondering if Rukh was joking.

  “Jessira always claimed Ashokan cuisine was a work of art,” Cedar said. “I thought she was exaggerating, but I guess not. And if you consider this food to be only ‘passable’, I’d love to know what you consider good.”

  “Why haven’t you ever made dinner like this before?” Court asked, sounding plaintive. “It’s the least you could have done, especially with me letting you stay here and everything.”

  “Time and spices,” Farn replied, ticking off the two items. “Work keeps us busy, and Rukh hardly brought any spices with him.”

  “After eating this, I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry,” Preema said with a soft laugh. “This might have been the best meal I’ve ever had.”

  “Jessira saw and experienced so much,” Laya said with a sigh. “I wish I could experience half of what she did. It makes me jealous.”

  “So when I invited you to dinner your first night here, and you complimented my cooking, was this what you were comparing it to?” Mistress Grey asked, a stern expression on her face. “It seems you weren’t entirely honest about what you thought of the meal.”

  “I was telling the truth,” Rukh said. “It is the warm and generous spirit that transforms any meal into an expression of love. And the cold, cruel heart that makes even the most sumptuous of feasts taste like ashes. It is what I said then, and I meant it. The food isn’t important. It’s the spirit in which it’s offered.”

  Afterward, the talk moved on to other topics, and everyone spoke together, laughing and enjoying themselves. Even Farn involved himself in the conversation, sharing stories of Ashoka or observations of life in Stronghold. Rukh laughed along with the others, happy as he hadn’t been since the days before leaving Ashoka for the caverns of the Chimeras. This was the most relaxed he could recall being in months.

  All of the worries about his place in Stronghold—the slights and slurs he had endured—none of it mattered tonight. Tonight, he could simply enjoy the company of others.

  “…So then at the Wrath, they held up these signs and when the fanfare for our school began, they flipped them over, and it spelled out, We’re Dumbasses,” Farn said.

  “They didn’t,” Laya said, holding a hand to her mouth as she stifled a giggle.

  The others at the table—Cedar, Court, Preema, Master Grey, and Mistress Grey—didn’t harbor such reserve as they laughed whole-heartedly.

  “What was their reaction after they found out what you did?” Preema asked, still smiling.

  “They were furious. Their dean wanted us suspended, but we got off easy,” Rukh replied. “Our dean was never really mad at us. He yelled at us a lot, but I think he was actually proud of what we did.”

  Farn shook his head in disbelief. “How did Keemo ever come up with something so clever?”

  Rukh’s smile slipped. He still thought of Keemo every day, and every day, he still wished his friend were with them.

  “He was one of those who died on the Flats, was he not?” Laya asked.

  Rukh’s smile slipped further. “He was.”

  “If it hadn’t been for him, all of us would have died,” Cedar said solemnly.

  “Then we should raise a toast in his honor and memory,” Master Grey said. “To Keemo and all the friends and family we’ve lost.”

  During the Trials of our lives, amidst periods of toil and trouble, our footsteps strike the ground lonely. But during moments of triumph, many share the path with us.

  ~ A Wandering Notion by Shone Brick, AF 1784

  “Can we talk about it?” Disbar asked.

  “Talk about what?” Jessira replied.

  Disbar frowned in annoyance. She knew what he meant. She had to.

  Disbar had taken the day off so the two of them could have a picnic in the courtyard of Crofthold Lucent. He had hoped an afternoon together would help them get past the frigid formality that had grown between them during her long absence. Before her departure, Disbar hadn’t loved Jessira, but the seeds had been there. He could have loved her, and it would have been easy. She had never been submissive, but she had
seemed to welcome her role in their upcoming marriage. She would have set aside her duties as a scout and happily borne his children. She would have taken care of home and hearth while he provided.

  But this new Jessira…it would take time to get to know her. Since her return, she had been distracted, even irritable. She was a very different woman from the one who had departed Stronghold many months earlier. Disbar worried she would never again be the person he had once known.

  He poured himself a glass of wine—a rich red—and took a long drink. His frown faded, and a smile took its place as he took in the beauty of the Courtyard. The afternoon sun reflected through a series of mirrors, shining down amongst the leaves and branches of the oak tree, as well as the green azaleas and winter flowers growing in the center of the courtyard. The hundreds of firefly lanterns suspended from the ceiling, walls, and branches of the oak were unlit for now; but late at night, when they were turned low, they twinkled like stars in the heavens.

  Then, the place became magical.

  “I know you’re still getting used to living here,” Disbar said. He hesitated before reaching for her hand resting on the table. He cupped it as lightly as he would a butterfly and let out a soft exhalation of relief when she didn’t pull back. “I was wondering if you were willing to discuss about this distance that’s grown between us.”

  Jessira met his eyes. “I know I haven’t been easy to get along with,” she said. “I’m sorry. It’s just.…” Her words trailed off, and a look of regret stole over her. She was silent as she looked away, staring at a group of children playing tag.

  “It’s what?” Disbar prodded gently.

  “We treat Purebloods worse than I was treated in Ashoka,” she said.

  Disbar scowled. “So this is about the Kumma?” he said, trying his best to mask his sudden suspicion. The Pureblood and Jessira had spent many months alone, just the two of them. Jessira insisted nothing improper had occurred, but it was hard to believe that some feelings hadn’t arisen between them—at least it should have on Rukh’s part. Jessira wasn’t classically beautiful, but she was certainly pretty enough to incite the lust of a barbaric Pureblood. And Disbar didn’t for an instant believe the ridiculous story Rukh had apparently told Major Barrier, the one where he claimed to think of Jessira as a child. During the dinner Jessira’s parents had hosted several weeks back, the Pureblood hadn’t looked upon Jessira as a man would when seeing a child. The expression on Rukh’s face had been that of a man struggling to control his admiration for a beautiful woman.