by Davis Ashura
Sign smiled in low-lidded pleasure and patted Jaresh's cheek. He was too irritated to notice a woman not of his Caste touching him in public. “Make sure to dust the top of the dresser,” she advised.
Rukh held the door open for the others as they entered the restaurant. Jessira was the last in line, and she took his hand, drawing him away from the entrance and leading them outside.
“You don't have to hold the door for me every time,” she said. “I'm not helpless.”
“I know, but it just feels right,” Rukh said with a smile. “I like taking care of you.”
“Then thank you,” Jessira said with an answering smile. “And if you ever need me to hold the door open, I'll gladly do so.”
Rukh gave her hand a brief squeeze. “We better head in before Jaresh starts making fun of us. You know what he says about our being too affectionate?”
“Who cares what he says?” Jessira replied. She reached up and drew him into a kiss that was just short of lingering. “I meant what I said,” she added after she'd pulled back. “I'm grateful for all you've done for me and for my people.”
She cupped his face, and Rukh stared into her eyes, his breath catching. He might have kissed her again just then, but they'd already drawn a few catcalls from a number of people walking by who had noticed their affectionate display.
Rukh glanced up at one particularly loud whistle and met the sly grins of a group of young Duriah men. Their smiles turned to looks of confusion when they saw Jessira. She was an OutCaste, and though her people had been granted sanctuary in Ashoka, it wasn't the same as acceptance. Too many still thought of Jessira's kind as ghrinas.
Expressions of disgust flitted across the faces of some of the Duriahs, but the more intelligent amongst them must have quickly recognized or realized who Jessira was. It wasn't a difficult deduction to come to. After all, there weren't many OutCastes in Ashoka to begin with, and there was only one who would be held in the arms of a Kumma.
For those men who had ascertained Rukh and Jessira's identities, their grins slid away. They whispered their findings into the ears of those around them, and all the Duriahs swiftly enough wore sickly smiles or expressions of mild alarm. As a group, they gave brief nods to Rukh and Jessira and scurried away.
Jessira chuckled after they had left. “I think they're afraid of you,” she noted.
Rukh's head fell low in disappointment. Jessira was likely right. The Duriahs had been afraid of him, or if not frightened, then at least intimidated. It was an all-too-common occurrence he'd come to expect ever since his return to Ashoka.
It seemed too much had happened to him in the past few years. First had come his unexpected victory in the Tournament of Hume. Then had come the occurrences of the the failed Trial to Nestle and all he had learned about the Baels, Hume's last years, and the discovery of the OutCastes. Next had followed the expedition to the caverns of the Chimeras. The accounts of what he'd accomplished in those grisly caves varied, but all the stories cast far too much glory on Rukh's role. As far as he saw matters, he'd merely carried out his mission. He'd done as he'd been ordered and as he'd been expected. Nothing more, but Nanna had twisted the truth and managed to raise Rukh's actions to something approaching the mythic. And finally, Rukh's return from a murdered Stronghold. Not only had he come back with the remnants of the OutCastes, he'd also recovered The Book of First Movement from lost Hammer.
As a result, strangers no longer knew how to treat him. Whereas in the past, he could walk the streets of Ashoka with no one noticing, he was often recognized now, and when he was, many seemed to view him as some kind of icon, a living legend. Worse, he had a sense that all these people who fixed him with wide-eyed looks of awe hoped that he would reveal something miraculous, something wondrous at any moment. Their expectations were a heavy burden and the reason why Rukh spent most of his days teaching at the House of Fire and Mirrors. There, the Martial Masters, the men who had trained him and remembered him as a boy rather than a hero, treated him as they would any other warrior. Of course the students—even the older ones who knew Rukh from his earlier time at the House—were another matter. They were as bad, or worse, than everyone else in the city.
Rukh hated it. He was just a man, and no man deserved to be worshipped or held in such immeasurable esteem. A life of anonymity was a life of of freedom, and he missed it. His situation left him wondering about those who did desire fame. He couldn't understand why they would be so foolish. Or perhaps it was merely their vanity that drove such a needy desire.
Jessira took him by the hand and gave it a gentle squeeze as she offered him a tight-lipped expression of understanding. “I know,” she said in sympathy. “And I know how much it bothers you.”
He'd long ceased wondering how the two of them so often seemed to know one another's unspoken thoughts.
She gave his hand another squeeze. “Let's go inside.”
Rukh nodded and held the door open for her to enter.
“You know, there are some in Ashoka who say that opening a door for a woman is a sign that the man thinks a woman helpless,” Jessira said returning to their earlier topic of conversation as she stepped past him.
Rukh rolled his eyes. “And what do these people have to say about a man holding the door open for another man? Like I did earlier for Farn and Jaresh, or when Jaresh did for me when we left the theater?”
Jessira grinned. “Oh, I'm sure they have plenty to say,” she replied. “But thankfully, I'm not so shortsighted.” She chuckled, low and throaty. “Besides, I like your sense of courtesy.”
Rukh smiled wryly. Somehow, his wife always knew what to say to distract him or make him feel better.
They paused inside the entrance to the restaurant and let their eyes adjust to the dim interior. A scattering of tables filled the space. Upon each one rested a single votive candle floating in a wide-mouthed goblet full of water. Shaded firefly lamps served as wall sconces and provided the rest of the lighting. In the back, an open kitchen allowed the patrons to see the cooks at work. The sizzle of grilling meat searing on hot skillets carried throughout the restaurant, along with the sounds and aromas of mustard seeds popping in hot oil, garam masala roasting in a clay oven, and cumin seeds frying in a pan.
Jessira inhaled. “Mmm. Smells good,” she said.
Rukh glanced around, looking for the others. Before he could ask for directions, an attendant had already noticed them and directed them to a corner booth where the rest of their group had been seated.
Jaresh exhaled extravagantly at their late arrival. “Let me guess,” his brother said in a disgusted tone. “You just had to stop and speak of your undying love for one another.”
Rukh smiled condescendingly. “One day, maybe you'll understand what it is to be in love.” The moment the words left his lips, he wanted to kick himself. His brother had known what it was like to be in love. Mira Terrell. “I'm sorry,” Rukh said. “I shouldn't have said that.”
Jaresh waved aside his apology. “I'm not made of glass,” he said. “I'll be fine.” The tightening around his eyes exposed the cost of his flippant response.
Farn must have also noticed Jaresh's discomfort. “How about a round of drinks?” he said, changing the subject and trying to lighten the mood. “Rukh's paying.”
His suggestion was met with glad cries of agreement, and the matter was dropped.
“Not so smooth,” Bree whispered to Rukh as he took a seat next to her.
He was squeezed in by his sister to his left and Sign to his right. “Not my best moment,” Rukh agreed.
He looked around the table. Farn and Jaresh were engaged in a conversation, while Sign sipped her water, a faraway look in her eyes. She was likely thinking about the death of her city, and while he understood her pain, her obsession with relieving the past was unhealthy. Rukh hoped she would find a means to regain her once bright, sunny outlook. Back in Stronghold, she'd been a ball of fire, fearless and with nothing to slow her down.
His consider
ation of her unhappy state was interrupted when something Jaresh said elected a smile from Sign. She set down her glass of water and shifted her attention to the other two men while Rukh sat back in his seat and rubbed his chin. Maybe Sign was doing better than he supposed. If so, he was glad.
“It looks like she's enjoying herself,” Bree whispered to him, apparently noticing his quizzical expression.
“I hope so,” Rukh whispered back.
Their conversation was cut off when Jaresh laughed loudly at something Farn had just told him. Surprisingly, Sign chuckled as well.
Rukh wondered what Farn could have said that could be so funny. It wasn't in his cousin's dour nature to be humorous or so relaxed and happy. The past few years had sparked a vast change in Farn, and as far as Rukh was concerned, it was for the better. It was good to hear his cousin laugh.
“Poor Farn. Laya's baby bit your finger and it hurt,” Jaresh said in a faux-childish voice. “Is it still hurting?”
“Let the baby bite your finger, and we'll see if you're still laughing,” Farn replied.
“How did Laya end up staying with you anyway?” Bree asked.
“Amma,” Farn answered. “I was just checking in on Laya, doing what I'd promised Cedar before he died. But then Amma asked about it, and somehow she got it in her head that I was the father of Laya's unborn baby.” He shrugged. “By the time she realized her mistake, she'd already offered up our home to Laya.”
“Then it was very generous of your amma to let Laya stay, especially after she found out the truth,” Jessira said.
“Yes it was,” Farn agreed. “She and little Court—”
“I thought his name was Cedar,” Bree interrupted.
“His name is Cedar Court Grey, but Laya calls him little Court,” Jessira explained.
“And the two of them will always have a home with us,” Farn continued. “Nanna and Amma think of him as another grandson.” He sighed. “I just wish the boy wouldn't wake up so often in the middle of the night. Amma and Nanna try to put him back to sleep, but most nights, it's me that ends up taking care of him.”
Rukh gave Farn a quizzical look.
“I'm the only one who has the trick of making him go to sleep at night,” Farn said in a mix of embarrassment and pride.
“What do you mean?” Bree asked.
“I rock him on my knee, just kind of bounce him up and down on his bottom, and he falls asleep. No one else can keep the right rhythm.”
“Not even Laya?” Sign asked. “Where is she during all this?”
“She's there. Little Court sleeps in her bedroom, and I only come in if she can't get him to go back down.” Farn wore a put-upon expression. “Which, unfortunately, is most nights.”
Sign nodded. “I'm glad she calls him 'little Court,'“ she said. “My brother would have appreciated it.”
“Court was a wonderful man,” Farn agreed. “I'll always be grateful to him.”
“I owed him more than I could ever hope to repay,” Rukh agreed softly. “I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for his generosity.”
“To Court,” Jessira said, raising her glass.
After the toast, several conversations broke out as those seated adjacent to one another spoke on various topics.
Rukh turned to Sign. “Did you win your wager?” he asked.
Sign seemed lost in her thoughts again, and he had to repeat his question. She gave a slight head shake before focusing on him and smiling briefly in triumph. “I did,” she said.
“You didn't find the scene with the old man looking for his glasses to be amusing?” Bree asked in surprise.
“I thought it was hilarious,” Sign answered as she turned to look at Jaresh. “I just didn't think it was funny enough to laugh out loud and lose our bet.”
Jaresh smiled sourly. “I still don't think it was a proper wager since I never agreed to it,” he said. “But here's to your victory.” He lifted his glass in salute to her triumph.
“What was your favorite part of the play?” Jessira asked Sign.
Her cousin got another faraway expression in her eyes. “All of it,” she finally replied. “It was like a dream. I never expected something so silly—people pretending to be someone else—to be so mesmerizing and uplifting, or so sad.”
Rukh laughed. “For a moment there, you looked just like Jessira did after she saw her first play.”
Jaresh chuckled. “Or her second.”
“Or her third and fourth,” Bree chimed in. “While you were gone on the expedition to the Chimera caverns, we took her out to a couple more plays, and each time, she'd come out like . . .” She gave a crooked grin. “Well I can't exactly describe her expression—at least not in polite company.”
“Say what you want,” Jessira replied with a sniff. “You can't cheapen my memory. The plays were bliss.”
“That's one word for it,” Jaresh muttered.
“Quiet,” Jessira ordered.
Jaresh studiously sipped his ale, but his eyes crinkled.
Jessira took a moment to stare him down before turning away. “Anyway, the plays helped me maintain my sanity. My time in Ashoka wasn't always pleasant.”
“I thought you loved your time here,” Bree said in confusion.
“I did, but I also had plenty of reasons to be unhappy,” Jessira answered. “I just wish your parents had trusted me with the truth.”
Bree startled. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“She knows,” Rukh said to his sister, not bothering to answer the unspoken questions on the faces of the others.
“Knows what?” Farn asked.
“Rukh's parents wanted to make sure I wouldn't leave Ashoka without him, that I'd wait until he returned from the Chimera caverns and take him with me to Stronghold.” Jessira explained. “They implied some statements that weren't entirely true.”
Rukh gave her hand a squeeze. If their roles had been reversed, he might not have been as forgiving.
Jessira turned to him. “I can't blame them for loving their son,” she said. “And they're my parents now, too.”
Rukh smiled in gratitude.
“Now they're going to kiss,” Jaresh said in disgust.
“What a tragic demise for a once-mighty warrior to be reduced to such a sad, sappy state,” Farn agreed solemnly.
“I think it's sweet,” Sign said. “My people see little enough happiness as it is.”
“Don't backslide,” Rukh warned her.
“I'm not backsliding,” Sign said with a scowl. “And mind your own business.”
“Scowl all you want,” Rukh told her, “but I remember the bouncing young woman who was so excited when she tried chocolate for the first time. You were like a child. It's hard to be frightened of someone once you've seen them like that.”
“Wait? She had the same reaction as Jessira?” Jaresh asked. “All goofy like she'd just tasted heaven?”
“Was it an expression you can't describe in polite company?” Bree asked.
“Or maybe their reactions have something to do with them being OutCastes,” Farn suggested.
“I don't know about that,” Rukh said. “But as for Sign, when she ate the chocolate cake, it must have been bliss.”
“Oh shut up,” Sign snapped.
She sounded annoyed, but Rukh noticed her lips twitching with suppressed mirth. “I don't have a bet with you,” he said. “You can laugh.”
Sign chuckled. “At least now I know why Jessira keeps you around.”
“Why's that?” Bree asked. “It's a question we've all wondered about.”
“Rukh makes Jessira laugh,” Sign explained.
“You mean because he's a fool?” Jaresh asked, his brows furrowed in feigned puzzlement.
An area south of Mount Crone that directly abutted the Inner Wall of Ashoka was where the OutCastes were now housed. There, a set of fallen-down buildings that no one else wanted had been purchased for a pittance by the Magisterium and with several Kumma Houses and a few other large mercantil
e concerns to finance the refurbishment. The structures had originally been built during a great pragmatic awakening several centuries prior. It was a time of supposed simplicity, where function ruled form and the lack of adornment in all aspects of life—clothes, furniture, and architecture—had become nothing short of a moral imperative. As a result, buildings from that period had been designed as plain cubes and rectangular structures with flat roofs and narrow windows. It was an efficient but ugly type of design, especially in comparison to the glorious architecture of the rest of the city.
By the time the OutCastes had washed up on Ashoka's shores, most such structures from that late, unlamented period had long since been torn down. The few remaining buildings of that era were now almost always dilapidated and in need of urgent repair, and the ones selected to house the OutCastes had been no different.
Despite her frequent distrust, Sign had been relieved that the Purebloods had allowed their people refuge, but when she'd seen where they were to be housed, she'd initially been taken aback. How would they make these wretched wrecks their homes? It had taken Jessira's explanation to set her mind at ease. Her cousin, who had been instrumental in choosing the buildings, had reasoned that their people needed something to occupy their time and minds, a buffer to give them a chance to forget—however briefly—the terrible tribulations they had all suffered.
Sign had ended up agreeing with Jessira's decision, and every passing day had made her ever more grateful for her cousin's astute vision.
The work needed to bring the buildings back to life had done everything Jessira had said it would. Months of labor had been required and her people had been forced to work hard and fast. Winter had been closing in. But more importantly, the OutCastes had needed to lift one another up. There would always come a time when one of them would reach their limit, ready to give up and set aside the burden of living, when they became ensnared in a wasting weariness and were ready to drift away. In the face of such daunting needs, the OutCastes had to choose between two options: they could have clung to selfishness, or they could have reached out with loving hearts and carry those who couldn't stand.
