by Ginn Hale
“She wasn’t worried about that when I was living with you,” John commented.
“No, but you’re…you know…” Tanash blushed. “Harmless.”
“Harmless?” Ravishan demanded.
Tanash’s face flushed from pink to dark red.
“It’s all right, Ravishan,” John said. “There’s nothing wrong with people feeling safe with me. That’s all Tanash meant.”
Ravishan frowned but didn’t say anything. He still hadn’t applied any of the yellowpetal to his injuries. John realized that he wouldn’t while Tanash stood here, watching.
John glanced to Tanash. “Ravishan and I should probably finish cleaning up and get dressed. We’ll see you at dinner, all right?”
“Oh, of course.” Tanash went to the door. “I’ll see you later.”
John nodded and Tanash left. John locked the door again.
“You’re not harmless,” Ravishan said.
“She meant that I wasn’t likely to force myself on any of the women.” John lifted the lid off the jar of yellowpetal. He rubbed a little of the salve over the cut on Ravishan’s cheek. The skin felt hot, but it wasn’t swollen or red. Injuries from the Gray Space could be slow to heal but they rarely became infected. John guessed it was a result of the Gray Space’s intense sterility. Nothing survived there for long, not even microbes.
“Does everyone here know about us?” Ravishan asked.
“Nearly. Word travels fast. Lyyn and his friends knew before they even met me. That’s why they wanted to ambush me.” John continued treating the lacerations that marred Ravishan’s skin.
“I should have killed all three of them,” Ravishan said.
John just shook his head.
“Why not?” Ravishan asked.
“We didn’t need to.” John set the jar of yellowpetal salve aside. He bandaged a deep cut just above Ravishan’s knee.
“It isn’t wise to let an enemy live,” Ravishan said.
“No. I suppose it’s not.” John found it strange to consider murder so practically. He should have been repulsed. He looked up at Ravishan’s handsome face. There was a hard pragmatism to Ravishan, but it didn’t disgust John. Ravishan made John ponder the value of lenience.
“It’s not smart to make more enemies than we have to,” John said. “Those men all have families here in the Warren. I think that showing a little mercy might work in our favor.”
“I know you’re right, but the thought of someone hurting you again…” Ravishan touched John’s cheek gently. “I couldn’t just let that happen.”
“I know,” John said. He remembered the wet heat of Dayyid’s blood gushing over his hands. John stood and kissed Ravishan lightly. Ravishan wrapped his arms around John and for a moment they held each other in silence. John pulled back a little.
“We’d better get dressed for dinner.” John handed Ravishan a pair of his pants and a shirt. He took the second pair of pants for himself. “You’re the guest of honor, you know.”
“Yes, unless they decide to skin me and eat me.” Ravishan pulled on the dark gray pants. John’s clothes were loose on him and a little too long. He rolled the cuffs of the pants up. John quickly buttoned his own pants and grabbed a pair of socks.
“They’re not going to skin you.” John handed Ravishan a belt. “They’re really pretty normal people. You must have noticed that while you were watching from the Gray Space.”
“A little, but I wasn’t here all that often. The wards kept me away.”
“Where were you?” John asked. He tugged the dark wool socks onto his feet.
“South of Amura’lisam. I spent the better part of the last three days trying to find a way through the wards at Umbhra’ibaye.”
“And?” John looked up questioningly. For just an instant he allowed himself to think of Laurie and hope. Ravishan shook his head.
“If the entire thing were burned to the ground I might be able to get in.” Ravishan pulled a dark red sweater over his head. The rich color made his skin appear ashen. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. Umbhra’ibaye will fall,” John said. “Ji has seen it. When it comes down, we’ll get Laurie and your sister out.”
“Has the demoness really seen Umbhra’ibaye fall?”
“Sabir’s forces in the south will bring it down. I don’t know when or how but apparently they will do it,” John assured him. “Ji says she’s seen you there as well.”
“Do you think the issusha’im have seen the same things?” Ravishan asked.
“Probably,” John said.
“They must be trembling up in the Black Tower.”
John nodded, though he suspected that the holy men in the Black Tower weren’t likely to simply accept their fate; these were the same men who were willing to release the Rifter against their own people to ensure their continued rule.
Still the idea seemed to hearten Ravishan. A wicked delight flashed in the smile he turned upon John. Though, his suggestion was simple enough.
“Let’s go get something to eat,” Ravishan said. “I suddenly feel like I want to meet more of these Fai’daum.”
John escorted Ravishan to the huge dining hall. People poured in around them. Some paused to glance curiously at Ravishan but looked away quickly when he met their stares. The warmth in the room intensified as hundreds of people filled the benches surrounding the long tables. Children chased each other around the rows of benches while their mothers waved commands and threats at them.
John led Ravishan to the table where he normally sat with Ji’s other students. Tanash waved them over next to her. Kansa frowned at them but said nothing.
Ravishan stared at the vast gathered population. The great hall in Rathal’pesha was neither as large as this dining hall nor as full.
“There’s an entire city down here,” Ravishan whispered. “The Payshmura cannot win this war.”
“Certainly not with you on our side,” Tanash whispered back.
Ravishan looked startled at Tanash’s intrusion into the conversation, but he smiled briefly at her.
Women from the kitchen wheeled in serving carts. They passed steaming bowls of goat stew and baskets of taye bread down the tables. After that came pitchers of goat milk and watered wine as well as drinking bowls.
As soon as Ravishan saw that other people were eating, he wolfed down his stew and bread. Tanash tasted her stew and then dunked a large piece of taye bread into it. She pushed it back and forth with her spoon.
“I can’t wait for summer,” Tanash commented. “This northern winter fare is so monotonous.”
John shrugged. At least the stringy goat meat and bitter greens were flavorful. Though, he still couldn’t keep from longing for some Tabasco.
“Here, have a little wine. It’s quite good.” Tanash poured wine into Ravishan’s cup and then filled John’s and her own. Ravishan tasted it.
“It’s not very strong,” Ravishan said.
“No, but it tastes nice,” Tanash replied.
Ravishan agreed, and after he finished his first, he poured himself a second cup.
“So what will I be expected to do for my initiation?” Ravishan asked.
“Ji will introduce you and then you’ll join her up on those raised steps.” John pointed to the low dais at the far end of the dining hall. “Then Giryyn will tattoo you and you’ll swear allegiance to the Fai’daum.”
“The same red tattoo you have over your heart?” Ravishan asked. “That red snake?”
John nodded.
“That’s not so bad.” Ravishan drank a little more wine. He seemed more relaxed now. John supposed the yellowpetal salve and wine were taking the edge off his pain.
“The women who join are tattooed a little lower on their ribs.” Tanash lowered her voice further. “You know, so that they won’t have to bare their breasts in front of everyone.”
Ravishan frowned at Tanash and for a moment she looked worried.
“Hand me some bread, will you?” Ravishan asked.
“Oh. Yes, of course.” Tanash quickly passed the remains of a loaf of bread to Ravishan. He tore off a large piece and ate it.
John finished his stew. Afterwards, he gazed at his empty bowl. Second courses wouldn’t be served until after Ji had arrived and made the evening announcements. He took a piece of bread from Ravishan and ate that.
A few minutes later Ji and Giryyn arrived. They walked to the dais. Ji yawned, showing her white teeth. Instantly, the soft hiss of whispers and the clatter of dishes stopped.
“We have two matters to announce tonight.” Ji barely raised her voice but it carried easily through the silence of the dining hall.
“A recent desertion within the ushiri’im has set back the Payshmura’s plan to send out the Kahlil. Right now their leaders are in confusion, and for the moment, their oracles have lost their grasp of the future.
“Sabir feels that this is the time to make our push for the south. If we move fast, the Payshmura won’t know what hit them. By the time they attempt to mobilize their ushman’im and ushiri’im we will have broken the Great Gate of Umbhra’ibaye and freed the issusha’im from their enslavement.”
John felt a sudden rush of hope. He stared at Ji as if she were offering to fulfill a magical wish. He wasn’t the only one, he realized. Not only was Ravishan staring at Ji with an expression of elation, but so were many others among the Fai’daum. John suddenly wondered how many of them had daughters, sisters, mothers or wives among the issusha’im.
“This offensive must be fast.” Ji’s low voice rolled through the chamber. “Sabir’s forces are going to require everything we can give. That means that the metal shops will be on double duty, and we’re going to be moving weapons and men through the railways in Gisa. It also means that many of you who have been training as reserve troops will be called up for duty. If you are not sent south, then the ground commanders will assign you to one of the small, elite units that will be striking everywhere between here and Amura’taye, keeping the Payshmura distracted from any happenings in the south.”
Ji’s gaze lingered on John for a moment.
“You should expect to get your assignments in the next week. You’ll leave immediately after that. If you have any unfinished business, I advise you get it done before the end of the week.”
Ji stood in silence for a little while longer as the full implication of her words moved through the gathered people. John watched hand signs flash. Some couples briefly embraced. Some kissed or suddenly caught and hugged their children.
“Now,” Ji went on, “I would like to present you with the man who has made all of this possible. Ushiri Ravishan, will you join me?”
Ravishan rose. Everyone in the hall watched him as he walked to the dais. Younger children stood up on the benches to see Ravishan as he strode past. He held his head high and kept his eyes fixed on Ji.
When Ravishan reached the dais, Ji continued speaking.
“Ushiri Ravishan is not new to the Fai’daum,” Ji said. “His mother and father were comrades of ours. His mother risked her life to free me from the tortures of Umbhra’ibaye. His father aided our escape from the south. They were brave people.” Ji paused in silent reverence. Ravishan gazed down at his hands. The flush of emotion that had colored Ravishan’s cheeks at the mention of his parents slowly faded.
“They were murdered and the Payshmura stole both Ravishan and his sister,” Ji continued. “But Ravishan has fought his way back to us and he has brought us this opportunity to bring the Payshmura to their knees. It is with immense pride that I sponsor him into our fold.” Ji bowed her head before Ravishan.
“Thank you,” Ravishan said. He stared at Ji for several moments, his expression impossible to decipher. John wondered if he remembered her at all from his childhood.
Giryyn beckoned Ravishan to his side. Ravishan didn’t flinch when Giryyn cut the Fai’daum symbol into the pale skin of his chest and rubbed dark red ink into the wound. He took the cup of wine Arren offered him and swore his allegiance in a calm voice, then drained the cup in a single drink.
Despite their usual silence, many of the gathered men and women clapped. The sound echoed through the vast chamber like thunder. The applause seemed to take Ravishan off guard. He flushed and almost looked shy for a moment.
“Thank you,” Ravishan said again, though his voice was much quieter.
Ravishan returned to John’s side. He looked deeply tired but also surprisingly happy. He grinned a little drunkenly at John and whispered, “I’m going to sleep with you tonight and no one is going to stop me.”
“No, no one is,” John replied. After years in Rathal’pesha that small freedom seemed suddenly like an immense gift.
Chapter Eighty-Six
The next day Arren expanded battle practice from one hour to three. The men and women remained separate and Ravishan was invited in to observe before he joined the practice himself. Both groups were winnowed down to the best fighters in the Warren. One hundred and sixty men clustered into the training hall with John. The heat of their bodies radiated through the chamber. The strong smell of sweat saturated the still air.
A short, muscular man scowled at John and two other men from the Smiths District glared at him. But most of the men were strangers to him. Some of them, particularly those from the Stable District, returned John’s curious glances. One young man with pale green eyes signed a quick greeting to John. John returned the gesture but couldn’t immediately remember the young man’s name.
Then it came to him—Fenn. They’d met the first day John had arrived.
Before John could strike up more of a conversation, Arren signaled them to attention. Men from the Smiths District dragged in wooden crates of firearms. Arren distributed the new breech-loading rifles. Eriki’yu followed him, handing out rolls of bullets wrapped in waxed paper. The bruise over his eye had turned a dark blue. He smiled shyly at John but said nothing.
Arren demonstrated loading and firing the new guns. Because of the close confines, no one loaded their live ammunition. Instead, they emulated Arren’s movements with empty rifles. The men around John handled their rifles with reverent caution. Some men jumped when they pulled the triggers and the hammers suddenly snapped down to strike empty chambers.
John was already familiar with firearms. As a boy he had gone hunting with his father and brothers. He remembered shooting deer and feeling the hard kick of the rifle’s recoil like a penance for the life he took. The first time he had killed a young stag he had felt sick with himself. It had been such a beautiful animal.
An old dread sank through John as he studied the rifle in his hands. The sharp smell of veru oil wafted up from its empty chamber. The Fai’daum rifle was smaller and heavier than the Winchester he’d owned as a boy. John doubted that this rifle could match the accuracy of his Winchester. But it would still rip through flesh and shatter bone.
John turned one of the short blunt-tipped bullets through his hands. He had killed before. He had murdered Dayyid. But that had been to defend Ravishan. It was very different when he contemplated what he would have to do with this gun. He lifted the rifle and took aim down its notched barrel. He imagined opening fire on another man.
Last night, when Ji had spoken of freeing the issusha’im, relief and hope had flooded John. But he hadn’t spared a thought for what the destruction of the Payshmura would require. Now, he realized that part of his unadulterated joy had been fueled by the idea that the Fai’daum would be the ones fighting and killing. Unconsciously, he had drawn a line between himself and them. This was their revolution, their world. They would fight and kill and die.
John supposed he could still retreat into that conceit. Ji didn’t want him to leave the Warren. She had said as much this morning. If he agreed with her, no doubt he could hide here and let these other men around him bloody their hands. He could try to convince himself that this was their war, not his.
But it was a lie and he knew it. He had suffered from the Payshmura’s tyranny as mu
ch as any member of the Fai’daum and he had as much to gain from their destruction. He was not a distant observer, recording the behavior of a strange society. He was enmeshed in this world and he had taken a side. He was a member of the Fai’daum. The red tattoo curled over his heart proclaimed as much. He had an obligation to fight.
John pulled the trigger. The hammer snapped down harmlessly. John checked the bolt, feeling how smoothly it slid. The green-eyed man, Fenn, moved closer to John and signed a question. John demonstrated what he knew about the rifles and the man smiled his thanks.
The rest of the day John practiced knife combat with Arren. The long fighting knives of the Fai’daum were new to John. But the blocking stances weren’t that different from those of hand-to-hand combat.
He learned to watch for the thin edges of the blades and to thrust into Arren’s attacks. When John treated the knife as an extension of his own body, it seemed to move with blinding speed. He blocked Arren’s thrusts and sliced through the thick padding protecting Arren’s chest.
“Good,” Arren said. He intensified the speed of his assaults. John matched him, and managed two more strikes.
At last, Arren signaled the end of practice. John stripped off the hot padding. The right arm hung in tatters. Wads of wool spilled out. It stank of his sweat.
“Your attacks are improving, Jahn,” Arren commented.
“Thank you.” John wiped the perspiration from his face. The entire practice hall smelled of sweat and wool.
“Has Ji mentioned releasing you to Lafi’shir?” Arren asked quietly.
“She only said that she doesn’t like the idea of doing it,” John replied. “Can she really keep me from going?”
“Do you want to go?” Arren asked.
“I have a sister…” John started to explain his desire to save Laurie, but then he realized that why he wanted to fight the Payshmura didn’t matter. “I want to fight.”
“Then you’ll fight, one way or another,” Arren said. “Don’t worry about it too much. Ji’s a reasonable woman. She’ll come around soon enough. You just keep fighting like you did today.”
