by Davis Ashura
Aia nodded. *Hal'El Wrestiva.*
Rukh rocked back on his feet. Hal'El was alive? And living amongst the Tigons under the Queen's protection. He scowled. What depravity could have caused a man so honored and exalted to stoop so low?
*There's more,* Shon said in soft tone.
*What else could there be?* Rukh asked.
Rather than explaining it, a vision from Aia came to Rukh's mind. It was one where Suwraith's presence had hovered over the western breeding caverns for much of the past winter. In another few months, She would have three Plagues on Continent Ember. Her creatures wouldn't fully mature for another five years, but even now, they could fight.
*Does Choke know what She means to do with all those warriors?* Jessira asked.
*There's more,* Shon said instead of answering her question.
Another vision came from Aia. In this one, the Sorrow Bringer had frozen the far northern waters of the Sickle Sea and transported many seasoned warriors—at least half a Plague—from Continent Catalyst to Continent Ember.
Rukh pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed shut his eyes. A headache began throbbing at his temples. *How long do we have?*
Aia sent him a soft sense of sympathy. *A few months,* she answered. *Choke says that he and the other Baels have been told to prepare for war. The Demon Wind means to come for Ashoka this summer.*
Jessira managed a smile. *It seems like She's made that threat the past few summers.*
*I think this summer She actually means it,* Aia replied.
Shur Rainfall was a Muran of bland features and bland abilities, but an interesting history. He was originally from Arjun, but relatively late in life, he'd set aside his farmer's plow and replaced it with the sword. It was a holy calling was how he'd explained the sudden change in his fortune to his horrified parents. A younger Shur had been certain that destiny had something momentous in store for him, something majestic, and the only means to discover this wondrous fate was the Trials.
His amma and nanna had tearfully watched as Shur had confidently strode off in service to his city and his Caste.
It would be the last time he ever saw his parents, and his destiny had turned out to be a disaster.
The single Trial in which he had participated had been a horror. The Chimeras had attacked them day and night. They had been merciless, cunning, and cruel. Half the warriors in that single, awful Trial had died before the caravan had finally reached Ashoka's safety.
Fifteen years later Shur could still hear the screams, smell the blood, and see the carnage of men eviscerated. After such a terrifying Trial, he had wisely chosen to stay in Ashoka. He never returned to his birthplace, rightly judging such an endeavor to be foolhardy. Ashoka became his home, and as all farmers know, the seasons change, life continues, and so too, must a man. As a result, Shur had worked hard to find acceptance into a clan of integrity, diligence, and piety and forge a new life.
He did well for himself, and with every passing year, Shur had grown ever more grateful for the bounty of his life. He'd survived a Trial that so many others had not. He'd prospered in the task to which those of his Caste were best suited: farming. He'd even married, and though his wife had died in childbirth before the physician could reach her, Shur felt no bitterness at her passing.
Devesh had already blessed him in so many other ways. Shur had been arrogant, but the Most High had spared him. Shur had been boastful, but the Lord had granted him safe harbor. Shur had been foolish, but Devesh had guided Shur's footsteps to this special city. Ashoka was a lovely winter rose of enlightenment and justice, and Shur had long ago vowed to protect this wondrous gem of a city with every ounce of his strength and Jivatma.
It was why he had joined the High Army, rising to the rank of captain. It was why tonight's meeting was so important. It was the first gathering of the Virtuous, but it would not be their last. These were the men and women who knew the Magisterium had sided with corruption when they had decided to allow the ghrinas sanctuary. These were the pious who knew that truth could not be set aside for the sake of mere convenience. These were the faithful servants who would fight to see Ashoka returned to Devesh's holy grace.
The Virtuous were gathered in a hidden-away cellar that was dank, dark, and musty, but the humbleness of their surroundings didn't matter to Shur. He knew that Devesh's glory shined on them all. He knew there would come a time when the city would see the evil the Magisterium had allowed and hail the Virtuous for their foresight and piety.
But first, there had to be blood. The blood of the ghrinas. They could not be suffered to live.
Shur glanced about at the ten other men and women who had come here in secret. Among them were members of every Caste, but the most heavily represented were Murans. It was unsurprising given the devout nature of Shur's people.
He smiled and rapped his knuckles on the bare wood of the poorly built table around which they had gathered. “Let us begin,” Shur said. “This is a momentous occasion. It is the first meeting of the Heavenly Council of the Virtuous.” The name was Shur's invention, and he was quite proud of it. His pride was dented a moment later.
“Is that what we really plan on calling ourselves?” a Rahail asked, sounding scornful.
Shur knew the names of all these men and women, but in his mind, he preferred to think of them as 'the Cherid' or 'the Shiyen'. It made it seem like those here were the actual avatars of their Castes, rather than a simple gathering of disparate individuals. It made them all seem more powerful, like they were a manifestation of the divine.
“It's a good name,” a Cherid answered, rebuilding some of Shur's lost certainty. “I think its iconic and strong.”
The Rahail settled into his chair with a grumble.
Shur gave the Cherid an appreciative nod before turning to the others. “Our first order of business is obvious,” he said. “The Magisterium has seen fit to allow the ghrinas a home in our city.” He snarled. “We will not allow it. Their wretched wickedness must be banished from Ashoka, and our city's streets washed clean.”
“Banished?” a Duriah growled. “I did not come here to merely banish the ghrinas.”
“They will be banished to Death's domain,” Shur said, glad to see that at least one other shared his vision. He was even more heartened to see the understanding nods shared amongst most of the others.
“What do you intend?” a Kumma asked.
Shur glanced the woman's way. “We must begin with a task you will find unpleasant,” he said. “The corruption began with one of your own Houses: House Shektan and her iniquitous, Tainted son, Rukh Shektan. As such, that is where the purification must begin.”
The Kumma narrowed her eyes, not in anger or distrust, but uncertainty. “What do you mean?”
“I mean House Shektan must be destroyed,” Shur replied. “Root and branch. We must kill as many of them as possible.”
Gasps and dismayed mumblings met his words.
Shur held back a frown of disappointment. Did they think that they could reshape Ashoka, renew her moral core with a few secret meetings and nothing more? Then they were fools. Renewal required sacrifice, demanded justice, and needed the unflinching zeal of the faithful.
“How?” a Muran finally asked.
“The better question is why?” the Kumma countered.
Shur turned back to her. “Because House Shektan has consorted with evil, brought evil to the heart of the city, used sophistry to convince us that perfidy is good and morality is wickedness. They've gone so far as to try and cast doubt on the veracity of The Word and the Deed.” He snorted derision. “As if their laughable charges can deny that which has guided all the days and years of our lives and those of our ancestors.” Shur shook his head. “Nevertheless, their heresy cannot be tolerated. House Shektan must die.”
The Kumma pursed her lips. “And how will you go about destroying House Shektan? They are warriors while we are merely conspirators.”
Shur nodded. “We aren't warriors, but we will
be victorious in this war because we have something House Shektan can never hope to defeat. We have a vision. We share an ideal of what Ashoka should be, a philosophy we can make real, and all of House Shektan's warriors, weapons, and swords will prove useless at trying to destroy our dream.”
The Cherid nodded in agreement. “He is right. An idea cannot be killed, and only a better vision can destroy another vision.”
The others seemed to accept the Cherid's words and leaned in closer.
“What do you propose?” the Duriah asked.
Shur settled in his chair, satisfied and overjoyed. The first meeting was going better than he had ever dared hope. It was further proof that Devesh guided his movements. Righteousness was with him. “I have a notion of how we can both gain adherents and also strike a blow against the foul Shektans. The upcoming Advent Trial shall be the site of the First Cleansing.”
Those who think to thieve from starving wolves are fools. We know them by their torn-asunder corpses.
~Attribution unknown
Rukh's brows furrowed as he pored over the papers laid out in front of him. In a short time, he was expected to give a full accounting to the Shektan House Council of everything Aia and Shon had related regarding events in the Wildness. There was a lot to cover, and Rukh had written it all down—Hal'El Wrestiva, the increased breeding of the Chimeras, and the supposed summertime attack by the Queen. Everything was included in the papers, even a map revealing the location of western breeding caverns. Rukh just wanted to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. Even the smallest detail might turn out to be important.
“Are you ready to go?” Jessira asked him. “We're going to be late if we don't leave soon.”
Rukh glanced up from where he sat on the couch, looking at the clock on the mantle above the fireplace. “We've got time,” he said.
“Only if we run,” Jessira replied as she began pacing before the fireplace. “You know it's rude to keep people waiting?”
Rukh exhaled heavily. Jessira hated even the threat of being late. Tardiness was one of her pet peeves. “Let me just get these papers together,” he said, stuffing the documents he had been studying into a leather satchel.
“Who else will be at the meeting?” Jessira asked.
“The entire House Council,” Rukh replied. “I don't think . . .” He trailed off when he looked over at Jessira. Whatever else he was about to say melted from his mind like ice on a hot summer day.
Jessira stood by the dining table with one foot resting on a chair as she laced her sandals. She wore a sleeveless summer dress, pale yellow and made of soft silk, that normally ended a little north of her knees. Right now, though, the dress had hitched itself high up on her thighs, and Rukh found himself tracing the lean, muscular lengths of Jessira's long legs. They were a paler shade of golden-red compared to the rest of her skin but were also softer than the silk dress she wore. He noticed a small mole well up her inner thigh.
“Stop staring,” Jessira said without bothering to look his way.
Rukh grimaced. How did she always know when he was looking?
“Because you're a man, and men stare,” Jessira replied to his unspoken question.
Rukh shrugged, not bothering to argue the point since she was right.
To his disappointment, Jessira took that moment to straighten up, and her dress settled about her legs and hips, hiding what had been so beautifully displayed only seconds earlier. She walked over to the full-length mirror in the corner near the couch and studied herself from all angles as she smoothed down the dress. When everything met her approval, she turned to Rukh. “Are you ready?” she asked, hands on her hips and an arch to her eyebrows.
Her question had levels of meaning, and Rukh didn't bother answering. Instead, he stepped over to Jessira and cupped her face in both his hands. He kissed his wife briefly but tenderly on the lips. “I'm ready, priya” he said.
As they exited their flat, Jessira took his hand and pressed up against him, and as always Rukh couldn't help but breathe deep her faint cinnamon scent.
Jessira smiled when he did, and she squeezed his hand for a brief instant. “What do you suppose your nanna will do after he hears what we have to say?” she asked as they stepped onto the streets of Jubilee Hills.
Rukh paused to get his bearings before answering.
It was twilight, and the streets were thick with people making their way home or heading out to Semaphore Walk or some other part of Ashoka for an evening of good food and entertainment.
“I imagine he'll hear us out,” Rukh said. “He'll want us to verify that Aia and Shon are reliable—which they are—and then pass the information on to the Magisterium.”
“And we'll have to prepare for war,” Jessira said with a sour grimace. “First Stronghold, and now Ashoka. When will our people finally have peace?”
“Which people are you talking about?” he asked. “Ashokans or the OutCastes?”
“Both,” Jessira answered. “As far as I am concerned, we are one people.”
Rukh smiled. It was a lovely sentiment, and one he hoped more people would eventually embrace, but right now, it was a faraway fantasy. However, there was also no reason to point out the obvious. Jessira knew it just as well as he did.
“Then I think we'll only have peace when Suwraith no longer plagues the skies of Arisa,” Rukh answered.
Jessira snorted. “We might as well wish away a typhoon.”
“Which is another way of saying never,” Rukh replied.
“It's a nice dream, though, isn't it?” she asked in a wistful tone.
“Yes it is,” he agreed softly.
How fine it would be to live in a world without Suwraith, to live a life without fear, to have a life where only one's hopes and dreams spurred a person forward.
As they walked along a busy boulevard, Rukh inhaled the living night. He imagined himself sparkling from its energy. The city was lit like a firefly from the lamps blazing atop their light posts, and in that moment, Ashoka seemed more vibrant than he could ever recall. It felt exuberant and ready for the impossible as groups of people flocked about with an infectious enthusiasm. Their excitement bubbled over, filling the city's streets with wonder and hope, and in that moment, Rukh realized that while reality might be too hard for his soft desires, tonight, this beautiful place of friendship and fellowship was dream enough.
He pulled Jessira closer to him, avoiding a boisterous group of people who weren't paying attention to those around them.
As the group passed, Jessira remained close and rested her head on his shoulder. She'd braided jasmine blossoms into her honey-blonde hair, and Rukh took in the fragrance. He loved how her natural cinnamon scent interwove with the delicate, sensuous aroma of the flowers. He kissed the top of her head.
Just then, a group of men stared a little too hard at the two of them, likely seeing a Pureblood and an OutCaste. Rukh stared back just as hard. The men quickly dropped their gazes and shuffled on their way.
“They weren't looking for a fight,” Jessira murmured after they were out of earshot. “They were just curious.”
“How can you tell?”
Jessira looked up into his eyes. “Because whenever I go out, I always get plenty of stares. Most of the time, people are just being curious.”
“And sometimes they're being jackholes.”
Jessira chuckled. “That sounds like something Farn would say,” she replied.
“Just because the Magisterium said the OutCastes could remain in Ashoka doesn't mean everyone is going to welcome our people with open arms.”
“Our people?”
“I'm an honorary member, remember?” Rukh said.
Jessira smirked. “And I know how hard you fought against liking those of us from Stronghold.”
“I think you're not recalling events correctly,” Rukh replied. “It was the people of Stronghold who attacked me, not the other way around. And here in Ashoka, we have to be careful that people don't react to you in the sam
e way.
“They haven't so far, but if they did . . .” Jessira gave a tight-lipped smile. “They'd find out my sword isn't just a decoration.”
Rukh gave her a disbelieving stare. “How is that different than what I just said?”
“Your way is more cynical,” Jessira replied.
“Sometimes the cynical way is the right way,” Rukh countered.
“And sometimes it's a cynicism that is based on nothing more than fear, and not on truth,” Jessira answered. “Besides, like I said, I can take care of myself, but I also think you need to be more understanding of your—” She corrected herself. “Our people. How else can we hope to coexist?”
Rukh blinked as he considered her words and began to chuckle softly. When had Jessira become the voice of reason?
“Your influence must be rubbing off on me,” Jessira said in response to his unspoken question.
“What a Devesh-damned disaster,” grumbled Durmer Volk, a blocky, older man in his late sixties. His affected gruff attitude had always amused Jessira, especially when it caused the younger warriors of House Shektan to stumble over themselves in order to avoid insulting 'The Great Duriah'. Even Rukh wasn't immune to the older man's intimidating persona.
Jessira covered a smile when Durmer scowled. While he had always been kind to her, his generosity would likely not extend very far if he saw her amused by his anger. Then would surely come the thunder and growl for which he was famous.
Thankfully, Durmer noticed none of Jessira's silent scrutiny. Instead, he seemed lost in thought as he stroked his thick, luxurious mustache. It was a dull gray now—sometime in the winter, he'd finally stopped coloring it—and he smoothed it along the entirety of its length as it swooped past the corners of his lips before tumbling down to his jaw.
“How can we be sure that what the Kesarins heard is the actual truth?” asked Janos Terrell. “Maybe this is all simply a misinterpretation of what they were told.” As had so often become the case, Janos was the hawk-faced voice of logic and patience in the House Council. It was a surprising role for him to have assumed, given that he'd only been elevated to his present position less than six months ago. After the twin murders of his wife, Sophy, and his daughter, Mira, by Hal'El Wrestiva, Janos had thrown himself with abandon into the destruction of the Sil Lor Kum. Given Jaresh's absence with the Trial to Stronghold, more than anyone else, it had been Janos who had decrypted Ular Sathin's slim volume that had described in detail the web of businesses and deceit by which the Hidden Hand had gained their wealth.
