by Ginn Hale
Arren patted John’s shoulder. It was a common enough gesture, but John found it somehow deeply affecting. A flush of pride spread through him.
“Yes, sir.”
After dinner, sitting next to each other on the bed in their tiny room, he and Ravishan compared the Payshmura technique of blade fighting with the Fai’daum style. Ravishan thought the Fai’daum style was too loose and left too many openings for counterattack. John didn’t know enough about either to compare them and he said so.
“You know more than you admit,” Ravishan whispered to him. His lips brushed against John’s ear.
The conversation faded to quiet as they undressed each other. John expected that the ravenous edge to their lovemaking would soften. But an undercurrent of desperation seemed to charge both their bodies. John found himself kissing Ravishan hard, hoping that the feeling would linger and somehow last even after they had both gone to fight in the south.
The next day Ravishan joined battle practice. None of the men wanted to fight him. Word had already spread through the Warren that he had killed Lyyn with just a touch of his hand.
“I’ll practice with Ravishan,” John volunteered. He could see both curiosity and relief on the faces of the other men.
Fighting Ravishan challenged John. Ravishan moved fast and struck hard. He fought offensively, taking control of the ground and throwing himself into attack after furious attack.
John reeled as Ravishan punched past his guard and landed a hard blow at the base of his throat. John pulled back and Ravishan pounced forward. He blocked John’s feint to the left and pushed him farther back towards the corner of the room.
John knew what Ravishan was doing. He’d fought enough ushiri’im to recognize their strategies. Ravishan wanted John’s movements to be restricted by the confines of the walls while he would be free to move through the Gray Space.
Ravishan threw another fast punch. John caught his arm and jerked him forward. Ravishan stumbled and John saw surprise register on his face. Then Ravishan dropped into the Gray Space.
John pivoted around, watching the air for that faint distortion that the ushiri’im created when they moved at the very edge of the Gray Space. He felt a cold shudder from behind. Immediately, John spun back to see Ravishan burst from the Gray Space. With the speed of a reflex, Ravishan’s hand came up into a Silence Knife. The sharp edge of the Gray Space scraped across the stone wall, throwing off sparks as it plunged towards John. Instantly, Ravishan caught himself and snapped the Silence Knife shut.
John lunged into Ravishan’s momentary pause, knocking him off balance. Ravishan tripped and John thrust him down onto the padded mat and pinned him under his weight.
“Got ya.” John managed to get the words out between heavy breaths. Sweat poured down his chest and back.
“Now what are you going to do with me?” Ravishan grinned up at him. His cheeks were flushed. His dark hair spilled out around his face in damp locks. John suddenly wanted to kiss him.
Then John noticed how quiet the practice hall had become. He glanced up at the surrounding men. All of them stood staring at John and Ravishan. Even Arren.
John rose off Ravishan and offered him a hand up. Ravishan stood quickly.
“Good fight,” John said. His voice seemed far too loud in the quiet of the hall.
Ravishan nodded. His warm flush of exertion darkened to a deep red embarrassment. John noticed a few of the men touching the wall where Ravishan’s Silence Knife had left blackened cracks. Most just stared as if they were too shocked to do anything else.
Arren lightly clapped his hands. The men looked to him at once as if released from a spell. Arren signaled them back to practice. He rearranged fighting partners, and for a moment, he seemed to consider splitting up Ravishan and John. John saw the nervous way the other men looked at them. The green-eyed man from the stables still smiled at John.
You two stay together, Arren signed.
John nodded. Practice continued for two more hours. By the end, exhaustion saturated John’s body. His arms and legs ached. His body reeked of sweat. Despite the physical discomfort, he felt good. He had pushed himself up against limits of his strength and then found that he could keep going.
As he and Ravishan walked through the wide tunnel, passing groups of men and women, John tried to shake the tension out of his muscles.
“I can’t believe you’re dancing around,” Ravishan murmured to him.
“I’m not dancing. I’m stretching the cramps out of my shoulders.” John rolled his head slowly, feeling the tight pull of muscles. Ravishan gave a brief shake of his head.
John watched other men from the practice hall wander through the crowds. Their sweat-covered bodies and red pants were easy to pick out. He guessed all of them were headed for the baths. Luckily, he and Ravishan had access to the private bath in Ji’s Witches District.
“I can barely move,” Ravishan said quietly. “You fight too well.”
“You weren’t exactly pulling your punches, you know.”
“No?” Ravishan smiled. “I thought I went easy on you. I closed the Silence Knife.”
“That wasn’t going easy so much as refraining from killing me,” John stated.
Ravishan rolled his eyes.
“You’ve broken more than one of my Silence Knives in Rathal’pesha. You would have been fine.”
“If you thought so, then why did you hold back?” John asked. They reached their district and walked down the corridor to the baths. John could feel the rolling humidity in the air. The smell of feminine perfume drifted over him.
“I just didn’t want to fight you like that.” Ravishan thought for a moment. “I’ve killed a lot of men with Silence Knives now. I don’t like the thought of drawing one on you…not even in practice.”
John remembered the butchered bodies of men and boys scattered across the Holy Road. Ravishan had cut them down in mere moments.
“I might be doing you a disservice, though,” Ravishan said. “If we’re going to fight the Payshmura, then you will be facing ushiri’im other than me.”
John knew Ravishan was right. But he also knew that he could break any ushiri’s Silence Knife. He’d spent the last year in Rathal’pesha doing just that.
“We’ll have plenty more opportunities to practice, I’m sure. I appreciate you going easy on me today,” John said.
“Plan on returning the favor tonight?” Ravishan asked. His hand brushed against John’s hip.
“No,” John replied with a smirk. “I don’t think you’d let me.”
They reached the bath, which turned out to be occupied. When John knocked, Tanash called out that she would be out in a minute. John went to the tiny room he and Ravishan now shared to gather clean clothes and towels. Ravishan waited so that none of the other students could claim the bath before them.
John returned just as Tanash stepped out. Sweet-scented steam poured out around her. She grinned at John but flushed slightly when she noticed that Ravishan stood there as well. She firmly gripped the towel wrapped around her body.
Frowning, Ravishan asked, “What’s that smell?”
John recognized the frozen expression on Tanash’s face from a multitude of awkward encounters with his sister. Doubtless she would have preferred her ablutions to be noticed much more appreciatively. Ravishan sniffed the fragrant steam with a puzzled expression. John realized suddenly that Ravishan simply knew nothing about women.
“It’s us,” John said. “You’ve gotten so used to the stink of sweaty men that you can’t recognize what a clean person should smell like.”
Tanash smiled at John’s response.
“Candy?” Ravishan asked.
John pushed him through the bathroom door.
“We’ll see you at dinner,” he told Tanash.
“I’ll save you seats next to me,” Tanash replied.
John stepped into the humid, perfumed air of the bath. He closed the door and locked it. Ravishan stripped off his clothes and toss
ed them aside. His lean body gleamed with sweat. He caught John’s hand and pulled him next to him. John all but forgot the ache of his tired muscles as the heat of Ravishan’s skin radiated through the thin material of John’s pants. Ravishan untied the drawstring and the last stitch of clothing between them fell to the floor.
“We might as well get a little more dirty before we clean up,” Ravishan whispered.
•
They were late to dinner.
True to her word, Tanash had saved them places. She looked at John curiously when he came in. He sat down beside her.
“It took you long enough to take a bath,” Tanash whispered. She passed a tray of goat meat and boiled roots to them.
“I hadn’t realized how filthy I was,” John whispered. Next to him, Ravishan suppressed a laugh.
“Did we miss anything?” John asked.
Tanash nodded vigorously.
“You’re not going to believe it.” Tanash caught John’s arm in an excited grip. “Ji just received word from Sabir. Another ushiri deserted the Payshmura and joined the Fai’daum.”
“What?” Ravishan leaned in closer.
Another ushiri. John knew at once who it had to be.
“Fikiri,” John said softly. At just the mention of Fikiri’s name Ravishan’s eyes narrowed in annoyance.
“You already knew?” Tanash asked.
“I just guessed,” John replied. Anxiety gnawed at him. Fikiri had tried to have Ravishan killed. And he had good reason to want John dead now as well. He searched through the crowded tables for Ji but couldn’t find her.
“Have you seen Ji in here?” John asked.
“She and Giryyn are talking with Sabir’s messenger.” Tanash studied John. “So you know this Fikiri?”
John nodded. He piled several slices of meat onto his plate, but his hunger had gone dull. He tried to imagine what he would say to Fikiri if he were here in the room. What would he do? A sick mixture of guilt and anger moved through John.
“We were all at Rathal’pesha together,” Ravishan said.
“What’s he like?” Tanash asked.
“He’s like an infestation of fleas,” Ravishan said. Then he shook his head. “No, fleas you can get rid of with a comb and some soap.”
“You didn’t get along with him?” Tanash seemed genuinely surprised.
“Not from the first day we met.” Ravishan helped himself to several slices of goat meat and stewed roots.
“Why not?” Tanash asked. She passed a plate of dark red rolls to John. A sweet buttery scent rose off them. John took the plate but didn’t choose one. He just handed them on to Ravishan.
John wondered if Ji would return soon. If Fikiri had come to the Fai’daum looking for revenge, would she know? Would she have seen it in a vision?
Ravishan took two sweet rolls. He placed one on John’s plate and continued his undervoiced conversation with Tanash.
“We just didn’t like each other. We were competing for the same position. That put us at odds, but there was something about him that I couldn’t stand. I don’t think it would have mattered how we met or what either of us did. I would have hated him no matter what.” Ravishan chewed a piece of tough goat meat. He looked oddly thoughtful. Then he said, “He’s weak.”
Ravishan’s tone sounded so condemning and final; it reminded John of Dayyid.
“People can’t always be strong,” Tanash countered.
“Maybe weak is the wrong word, but I can’t think of another.” Ravishan briefly glanced to John, as if hoping he would elaborate.
John shrugged. His concentration was not entirely on the conversation. He continued scanning the room for Ji.
“Fikiri is weak in the worst way,” Ravishan said. “Physically, he has strength. He has power. He was an ushiri. Despite all that, he’d always act like someone’s victim. He never took responsibility for his actions. There was always someone forcing him to do everything.”
John glanced to Ravishan. He hadn’t thought that Ravishan had observed Fikiri so closely or had that much insight into Fikiri’s inner workings. But then John realized he shouldn’t have been surprised. Ravishan constantly assessed his rivals and his enemies and Fikiri qualified as both.
“Maybe someone actually was forcing him,” Tanash offered.
“Certainly,” Ravishan replied and John noted the edge of cynicism in his tone but didn’t know if Tanash had. Ravishan ate a little more of his meal but then continued his conversation with Tanash. “If you want to be forced, you can always find someone to do it.”
“Some people aren’t looking to be forced to do things. They’re oppressed,” Tanash replied, her voice rising almost above a whisper. She looked incensed.
“I didn’t say people aren’t ever forced to do things against their will.” Ravishan leaned forward a little. “I’m just trying to explain about Fikiri.”
John turned his attention to his own plate, staring down at the heap of stringy goat meat. He chose the roll instead, breaking it apart and watching as wisps of steam escaped.
It was nearly impossible for him to consider Fikiri without feeling terribly conflicted.
John could easily recall Fikiri as the thin boy whom he had forced to march up the Thousand Steps. He’d only been a child then and he had suffered because of John’s need to access Rathal’pesha.
But he wasn’t a child anymore, and even before everything had fallen apart in Amura’taye, Fikiri had been spying for Dayyid and using his knowledge to threaten both John and Ravishan.
Then, unwillingly, John remembered the prison guard smashing a hammer down over his legs and hands. He remembered Samsango’s cold body and a rush of rage seared away John’s sympathy. Fikiri had done his best to destroy both him and Ravishan. He had crushed their hope of escape to Nayeshi. All because he had been afraid.
“He’s a coward,” John said softly.
Ravishan nodded at Tanash as if John’s word should settle the matter.
“Well, Giryyn and Sabir and Ji all seemed to think he was rather brave.” Tanash speared a hunk of dark root and bit into it.
“Maybe a month with a bounty on his head has changed him.” Ravishan’s expression and tone were far from believing. “But in Rathal’pesha all he did was spy, connive, and cry for his mother.”
Fikiri had done far worse than that. John felt suddenly relieved that he hadn’t told Ravishan that Fikiri had accused him of Dayyid’s murder.
If Ravishan found out about that, John had no doubt that he would kill Fikiri. John doubted that the Fai’daum would be pleased by that. Ravishan had already cost them one of their men. No one but Giryyn would want him around if he murdered a second member in less than a week.
“You aren’t very forgiving of human nature, are you?” Tanash asked Ravishan.
Ravishan seemed to consider her statement before answering.
“Strength and courage are as much a part of human nature as weakness and cowardice. I don’t have much of a use for people who choose to be less than they can be.”
“You sound like my father,” Tanash commented.
“Maybe your father’s a smart man,” Ravishan replied.
“He is,” Tanash said. “But he’s also the man who sponsored Fikiri into the Fai’daum.”
Ravishan didn’t have a response for that. He cut off a large hunk of goat meat and ate it. John smiled a little. When Tanash was older, he thought she might make a great debater.
“Are you going to eat any of that?” Ravishan asked.
“What?” John glanced to him.
“Your food.” Ravishan jabbed his knife at the meat on John’s plate. “You aren’t going to get any less hungry just looking at it.”
John cut his meat into pieces. He glanced to Tanash but her attention had shifted to the conversation between Kansa and a man from the Smiths District. John studied the hand signs for a few moments. It seemed to be nothing but a flirtation.
Ravishan reached past John to help himself to a thick slice o
f white cheese.
“Don’t look so worried,” Ravishan whispered. “I may not like Fikiri but I’m not so hot-blooded that I’m going to attack him at first sight. We’ll need all the help we can get in the south. And another ushiri could make all the difference in breaching Umbhra’ibaye.”
John gazed at Ravishan. It was such a reasonable thing to say. It hardly sounded like him at all.
“I can’t penetrate the defenses at Umbhra’ibaye on my own,” Ravishan admitted very quietly.
“You won’t be on your own,” John said. He dropped his hand down to Ravishan’s leg. Ravishan smiled without looking up.
“Eat,” Ravishan said. “You’re going to need the energy later tonight.”
John suppressed his troubled thoughts. Ravishan was right. Tomorrow he’d talk to Ji. Tonight he had other things to do.
•
The next morning, when they were in Ji’s practice chambers, Tanash stared so pointedly at John’s neck that he knew Ravishan had to have left a mark.
He lowered his head and tried to concentrate on the small white bone in front of him. Delicate letters of common Basawar script cut across the smooth grain. It had been a rib, John thought. But he wondered what animal it had come from. A tahldi? Or maybe a goat?
John cut the last letter into the flat surface. Tanash tossed her bone impatiently from hand to hand, having finished her carving several minutes before. Ji paced between the workbenches, watching her students and casually instructing them.
“You can carve any command you wish into a charm, but the blood you use to feed your commands will determine how powerful that charm will be.” Her eyes flicked to John briefly, before she continued, “Remember that the blood is the charm’s life. Your commands are its purpose. You must have both if the charm is to function. The easiest way to feed your charm is to use your own blood. But keep in mind that other sources are often better. At the very least, you won’t be weakened from blood loss if you bleed someone else.”
“Whose blood are we using today?” Kansa held up a small glass vial. The liquid inside looked nearly black.
