A Warrior's Knowledge

by Davis Ashura

  “Why did Court take him in?” Jessira asked.

  Sign snorted in amusement. “Because Court’s a simpleton.”

  Jessira laughed. “Court’s not a simpleton. He’s just got an open heart.”

  “And an empty head.”

  “Sign,” Jessira said in admonition. “He’s your brother. Be nice.”

  “I’m just teasing,” Sign said. “I know he’s being generous and all, but I just don’t know why he thinks so highly of the Kumma.”

  Again, Jessira was surprised by the Farn Arnicep that her cousin, Court, apparently knew. Maybe his time in Stronghold had changed him, improved who he was. “Like I said before: not all Purebloods are the same. Most are good and decent people.”

  Sign looked at her askance. “Like your Kumma?” she asked. “Because he sure didn’t seem ‘good and decent’ when I met him.”

  Jessira’s scowled. What had gotten into Rukh? In the best of her times, her people didn’t like Purebloods, and they certainly wouldn’t take well to Kumma arrogance. “I don’t know, but something’s bothering him. I’ve never seen him act so rude.” She chewed her lower lip, worried for Rukh. It took her awhile to notice the look of speculation on Sign’s face. “What is it?” she asked.

  “You care about him,” Sign said. “You only bite your lip like that when something is really bothering you.”

  “Of course I care. He’s a friend. He saved my life and lost his own because of me.”

  “I thought he was exiled from Ashoka because of his non-Kumma Talents.”

  Jessira winced. Sign could act like a flighty idiot, but she was no fool. Very little got past her. “He kept me company in Ashoka,” she said. “It was that appearance of impropriety that turned out to be the final log on his funeral pyre.” It wasn’t the entire truth, but close enough.

  “And nothing happened between the two of you?” Sign asked. “After all, he is easy on the eyes.”

  “Sign!” Jessira said, scandalized. Yes, there had been the one kiss, and yes, in a different world, maybe she would have wanted to do more than kiss Rukh Shektan, but those were childish fantasies, empty dreams. This was the real world, and in the real world, her future would be ruined if even a hint of unseemliness were raised about her and Rukh. “Nothing happened,” Jessira insisted. “You saw how he was today. I had to put up his moodiness for months on end.”

  Sign seemed to study her through hooded eyes. “You said he was usually kind and considerate.”

  “He is, or he was,” Jessira replied, getting flustered.

  “If we weren’t cousin-sisters, I wouldn’t have noticed … … but we are, and I did. The two of you are more than friends.”

  “Nothing happened.”

  Sign nodded. “And I believe you. You’ve always held on to your honor like a drowning woman clinging to a lifeline,” she said. “But you like this Kumma.”

  “It’s not like — ”

  “Your secret’s safe with me,” Sign said, laying a consoling arm across Jessira’s shoulders. She laughed softly. “I just wish your taste in men were better. A Kumma? Really?”

  Sign scrunched up her face in such an obviously exaggerated expression of disgust, that Jessira had to laugh with her.

  “So, what does he think of you?” her cousin asked a moment later.

  Usually, Jessira kept her feelings and thoughts to herself, but for some reason, she was in a confessional mood. “He called me priya the other night,” she said, unsure why she was telling such a secret to Sign.

  “Mercy,” Sign answered in a hushed tone.

  “Nothing’s changed,” Jessira insisted. “I’ll marry Disbar Merdant and bear his children. Time will pass, and I’ll forget this infatuation.”

  Signed eyed with her concern.

  “I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Jessira said. “Tell me what I’ve missed since I’ve been gone.”

  Sign nodded, and they spoke of safer topics: family, friends, babies, and losses. The conversation had them distracted, and before Jessira knew it, they had arrived at her parents’ home.

  “We’re here,” Sign said. “Peddananna and Peddamma … ” Jessira’s Nanna and Amma … “will be so happy to see you.” Jessira found herself pulled into another embrace. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to have you home,” Sign whispered in her ear.

  Jessira hugged her back. “So am I,” she whispered back.

  Sign dashed aside a few fresh tears, and Jessira had to as well even though she knew many more would come the moment she stepped inside.

  She took a deep breath and grinned widely as she knocked on the door and entered. Glad shouts greeted her appearance, and she was enveloped in her family’s love.

  *****

  The next night, Amma and Nanna held a homecoming party in Jessira’s honor. There were so many people who wished to attend that they had to hold the party in Crofthold Lucent’s dining hall. They even had to hire several laborers to help with all the cooking and cleaning.

  The celebration lasted late into the night. Her parents, brothers, cousins Court and Sign, and every auntie, uncle, nephew and niece who were even remotely connected to her were present. Jessira greeted everyone with a happy smile, embraced in the love of family and friends.

  Of course, everyone insisted on hearing her story from beginning to end, fascinated by her time in Ashoka. Many were taken aback when she spoke so lovingly of the city’s beauty and grace.

  “The place is like a jewel, sculpted over the centuries until it glows from within,” Jessira said. “For Ashokans, everything they touch is an art, even food. They have places called ‘restaurants’, and in the best ones, they master cooking until everything they make tastes like magic.” This had earned her so many doubtful stares that Jessira had to laugh. “If you ever walk through Layfind Market and smell its thousand spices, you’ll know what I mean.”

  “Why would they care so much about the flavors of their food?” Sign asked, perplexed.

  Jessira shrugged. “Because they can. They insist on making their city and culture as beautiful as possible. I saw a play once,” she said. “Rukh and Bree — his sister — insisted I go with them.” She grinned. “What a waste of time to sit around watching people pretend to be someone they aren’t. At least that’s what I thought.” Jessira sighed. “It was one of the finest nights of my life. Then there was Dryad Park … it was like nature made perfect.” Her voice faltered then. Dryad Park was also the reason Rukh was here instead of safely home in Ashoka. “You’d have to experience Ashoka to understand what I mean. I hope I can go back and visit one day.”

  “They would let you?” her oldest brother, Kart, asked, shocked.

  “They wouldn’t welcome me with open arms, but Rukh’s parents say they will fight to allow me to come back if I ever want to.”

  Her words left her friends and family further baffled. The picture she painted of Rukh and his family, and their openhearted nature went against everything all of them had ever been taught about Purebloods. Jessira understood their confusion. A year ago, she would have felt the same way. From childhood, OutCastes were taught that Purebloods would mercilessly kill those they labeled ghrina. To hear how a Kumma warrior had saved her, protected her, Healed her, even spent time with her so she wouldn’t be lonely — it cut against everything they thought was truth about Purebloods.

  Jessira could tell many people were skeptical, and it was perfectly understandable. But perhaps her words and experience could help her people overcome their prejudices, and maybe it could help smooth out Rukh’s transition in Stronghold.

  “Well, it seems there is some amount of civility within the heart of Pureblood culture,” her nanna said. “We’ll have to have your friend, Rukh, over for dinner and thank him properly.”

  “Yes. I look forward to getting to know this young man you admire so much,” Amma added.

  All in all, the evening was wonderful, especially the next morning when she woke up in her own bed, safe in the home of her paren
ts.

  Chapter 10: A New Life

  Inevitable odds can break even the strongest of warriors. We would be wiser to sway like the reed before a storm, bending before the hard winds. And if we hold fast to honor, then when the storm ends — as all storms must — we will once again stand up straight and true.

  -The Warrior and the Servant (author unknown)

  Rukh came awake the moment he heard the lock click open. Light poured through the crack between the door and the jamb. It must be Stronghold’s version of daytime with those massive firefly lanterns he’d seen last night lighted up to full glow. Rukh stood up, wanting to face whatever was to come while on his feet.

  In walked three warriors, and another man, this one obviously a commander. He had the pale skin of a Rahail with brown eyes and ruddy hair and looked to be in his late thirties, although his freckled nose made him appear younger. He was of medium build and would have been unremarkable except for an indefinable essence to the man. He exuded confidence and competence. He was a born leader and charismatic based on the way his warriors watched his every move. Nanna would have called him a man of motion: someone who pushes the world in the direction of his wishes.

  “My name is Dru Barrier,” the commander said. “I am Major East of the Home Army. Please sit,” he ordered rather than offered.

  Rukh had no such intention. To do so would be to accept a position of weakness in front of the major. “Welcome to my humble abode,” he said with a quirk of his lips. “And in my home, it would be considered rude for a host to sit in front of his guests."

  “We are not in your home."

  "I’m more comfortable standing."

  “Despite your injured leg?” Dru Barrier smiled thinly. “So be it.” He turned to one of his men. “Have some chairs brought in.” He turned back to Rukh, not waiting to see whether his orders would be carried out. “Your appearance is a novelty for Stronghold. Other than the original Fifty-Five and your friend, Farn Arnicep, we have never had a Pureblood enter our city. And you’re the first who comes to us begging for sanctuary.”

  “I ask for sanctuary,” Rukh said. “I beg from no man.”

  “Prideful,” Dru observed with an arch of his eyebrows. “Such is the reputation of your kind. I see it is well-earned.”

  The game of whether Rukh could be dominated continued. “No less than your own. The OutCaste girl almost refused my help when we first met simply because it came from a Pureblood. She would have died if she had kept up with her … poor choices.” Again, he chose to diminish his relationship with Jessira.

  “OutCaste girl? Is our scout a child in your eyes?”

  “In my world, her fighting abilities are those of a child.”

  His words elicited an angry shuffling amongst the other warriors. They stilled at a single, warning glance from the major. “You think yourself so much better than us?”

  “Only with a blade,” Rukh answered. “Ask the girl and hear what she was to say.”

  “We have, as well as her brother. Lieutenant Grey and his sister always struck me as being sensible sorts, but I have a hard time believing their accounts.”

  Rukh shrugged. Words wouldn’t answer the major’s doubts. Only actions.

  They were interrupted by the returning warrior who brought in two chairs with him.

  The major smiled. “There. Now we can sit like civilized individuals. I’m sure much conversation in the city of Ashoka takes place while standing.”

  Rukh let the not-so-subtle insult pass by without comment.

  “When, where, and to whom were you born?” the major asked after the two of them had settled in their chairs.

  “I was born in AF 2042 to Darjuth and Satha Sulle in Ashoka.”

  “And you are a Kumma warrior?”

  “Yes.”

  “And your training. Can you describe it?”

  Rukh paused. “Why do you need to know?”

  Dru smiled thinly. “I’m just trying to get a sense of who you are.”

  “My training began as soon as I could stand.”

  “And can you describe it?”

  Rukh went over his childhood, the early training under the tutelage of Durmer Volk all the way through his time at the House of Fire and Mirrors.

  “Your training required over eighteen years for you to master your Talents?”

  “Our training takes a lifetime to master,” Rukh corrected with a smile, quoting one of his favorite sayings.

  “Are you considered skilled for one of your kind?”

  “I’m competent.”

  “There are some who say you are more than competent. That you are an engine of destruction made flesh.”

  Rukh laughed, genuinely amused. What a ridiculous notion. “I’m only flesh and blood; not some machine.”

  “Did you win the Tournament of Hume? The equivalent to our Trials of Hume?”

  “I did.”

  “So you’re more than competent.”

  “I am competent in my own eyes.”

  “And the status of Ashoka’s force structure.”

  Rukh frowned. He didn’t know what the major might do with such knowledge, but it was privileged. There was no way Rukh would reveal such information. “I’ve been exiled from Ashoka, but she was long the city of my heart. The knowledge you request is not mine to divulge.”

  “I see,” Dru said, looking like he’d expected Rukh’s refusal. “So Ashoka was the city of your heart?”

  “I’m exiled. I need to find a new place to consider home.”

  “Our histories tell how those who are judged Unworthy are entirely comprised of deviants and traitors. Is this why Ashoka exiled you?”

  Rukh exhaled softly. He kept an impassive mien, not letting any of the anger and heartbreak he felt show on his face. “Yes,” he said in a calm, even tone. “I hold Talents not of my own Caste. That is considered deviancy in Ashoka.”

  The major grunted. “A foolish notion if I ever heard one,” he replied. “And do you think you can so easily transfer your allegiance to Stronghold?” Barrier snapped his fingers. “Just like that?”

  Rukh smiled ruefully. “It’s not entirely my choice.”

  “If not you, then who else can choose for you?”

  “You, and others like you. Those who can make decisions. Can I find a home here?”

  Dru leaned back in his chair and studied Rukh. “Perhaps.” From there, Dru moved on to Rukh’s Trial. He focused on the final hours of the caravan, going over Rukh’s suspicion of betrayal.

  “Your men were entirely wiped out by a full Shatter of Chimeras, fifteen thousand of them. What kind of damage did you do?”

  “If it was a full Shatter, then we killed four or five thousand.”

  One of the warriors openly laughed. “Three hundred killed five thousand?” he mocked. “And how did you manage this, oh great Kumma? Did Fireballs fly from your bunghole?”

  The other warriors laughed with him but quickly settled down upon seeing the annoyance on the major’s face. In fact, Dru Barrier hadn’t seemed the least bit surprised upon hearing Rukh’s statement. The man must have already heard a similar account from Cedar and Farn during their debriefing when they had arrived in Stronghold.

  “Why are you asking me these questions if you already know the answers?” Rukh asked.

  “I have been told all this. I remain unconvinced as to the veracity,” the major replied. He went on to question Rukh about the rest of the events of his first Trial, and his return to Ashoka. Next, Barrier questioned him about the expedition to the caverns of the Chimeras, focusing on the events and findings there. Rukh told him everything he could remember, but he made sure to leave out the part where he saved the remaining Baels. He’d told no one about that, not even Jessira.

  “And after losing so many warriors, over a thousand in the caverns and with the three hundred on the Trial, is your army not spread thin?”

  Rukh smiled and didn’t bother answering. The major was just fishing for information about Ashok
a’s armies.

  Then the questions shifted to the journey home.

  “Your men saluted you? Does this mean the people of Ashoka might change their thoughts toward us?”

  Rukh shifted in his chair, unsure what his brother warriors’ gesture might have meant. He didn’t want to read more into it than was actually there. “My fellow warriors were grateful for my help with saving our brethren, but whether their feelings translate to something more, I can’t say.”

  The major nodded as he took in Rukh’s answer, his face indecipherable. Next came questions about the journey from Ashoka to Stronghold. Upon hearing Rukh’s description of the battle with the Ur-Fels and Tigons, Dru smiled. “Yes … the famed Fireballs. Pity your friend, Farn, hasn’t seen fit to show us his Talents as a Kumma.” He glanced at his warriors, a smirk on his face. “I’m sure all of us have been most impressed by such a demonstration,” he said, his words earning a scornful chuckle from his men.

  “Test me and find out.”

  “We’ll see,” the major replied, flicking a glance at Rukh’s injured arm. “Perhaps when you can hold a sword.”

  “I look forward to it,” Rukh said.

  “I’m sure you would.” The major cleared his throat. “And what about your feelings for Jessira Grey?”

  Rukh had expected the question, and rather than stiffen with alarm, he merely shrugged in indifference. “She’s a friend.”

  “And she feels the same way about you?”

  “You’d have to ask her, but I think that’s probably right.”

  “Nothing more? She is a beautiful woman, after all, and you are a young man. Surely you were tempted to perhaps start a relationship with her? The two of you being alone in the Wildness for months at a time and all.”

  Rukh shook his head. “You misunderstand. Nothing could occur. I am a Pureblood of Caste Kumma. Our honor is intact.”