by Davis Ashura
To make matters even more chaotic, last night the Queen had visited Hal'El's dreams. He had explained what had happened, told Her why he couldn't kill anyone else. After his recitation of what—even to him—sounded like incomparable incompetence, rather than react in fury, the Queen had surprised Hal'El. She had been understanding. She had quietly ordered him to find a way to leave Ashoka, promising him safety amongst the Chimeras.
With no better plan in the offing, Hal'El had agreed to do as the Queen had commanded. If She kept true to Her word, at least Hal'El might find some future means to avenge himself on Dar'El Shektan. He might even find a way to thwart Suwraith's plans for Ashoka. He still hoped to save the city from the Sorrow Bringer's wrath. Surely if he managed such a monumental feat, his fellow Ashokans would forgive him for his multitude of sins. After all, they'd forgiven Rukh Shektan, and he was every bit as degenerate as Hal'El.
It was this hope for redemption that now drove him. It was the reason why he currently found himself studying the movements of the warriors manning Sunset Gate, the southernmost entrance through the Outer Wall. It was the final obstacle he had to overcome in order to exit Ashoka. There were five guards, all of them Kummas, and the day was late, just past dusk. It was a situation that might work to his advantage.
“I'm talking to you, Fool,” Sophy said in a louder tone.
“Quiet,” Hal'El hissed to her.
Sophy didn't relent. “The warriors will capture you, and then what will happen to you, you great, stupid coward? You'll be hung, drawn, and quartered, and your remains will be strewn upon the Isle of the Crows. You'll be forever damned, Fool!”
“Be silent, or you will be silenced!” Hal'El thundered into the reaches of his mind.
“You can't kill her,” a soft voice rasped. Aqua Oilhue. “You can't kill any of us. We're already dead.” She laughed in black humor.
“And we'll make sure you join us,” another voice vowed in an ugly tone. Felt Barnel.
“Don't forget the Knife,” Van Jinnu advised in a mocking tone. “It'll be the death of you.”
Hal'El grimaced even as he stroked the sheath in which the black blade was housed. Even if the Queen hadn't ordered him to bring it with him, there was no chance he would leave it behind in Ashoka. He had lost too much on account of the Withering Knife to be parted from it now.
“You haven't lost everything,” Aqua said. “You have much pain yet to endure.”
“We'll ensure it, Fool,” Sophy promised. “Future generations will wonder at how an overwhelming idiot like you became the ruling 'El of a great House. What a craven jackass you are.”
“Shut up,” Hal'El hissed.
“How do you intend to get past those guards?” Sophy persisted.
“I have a plan,” Hal'El muttered, knowing it was a mistake to engage her.
“A plan he says?” Sophy scoffed. “You couldn't plan a trip to the toilet. You'd likely flush yourself down the drain, you imbecile. Are you sure you aren't the get of a donkey, you long-eared jackass.”
Hal'El gritted his teeth. Enough! He imagined his hands on Sophy's throat, choking off her words, choking the life from her. Shockingly, it worked. Sophy gasped once and fell quiet. The other three settled into fitful, uncertain murmurings.
Blessed peace!
While Hal'El suspected Sophy would soon return, at least for now, she and the others were no longer so noisome. He could proceed with the final steps of his plans without their incessant meddling.
Hal'El had managed to get this far by pretending to be a burly Sentya drover, and his disguise should hopefully get him through Sunset Gate. He'd have to be quick about it, though.
He left the shadows of the corn field and returned to the wagon he'd left on a nearby dirt path. He clambered aboard. A strawman sat atop the seat with a set of reins dangling from its hands. Hal'El Blended, and while everyone was now alert for someone hidden in such a fashion, he reckoned it would take the Kummas manning Sunset Gate a precious few seconds to find him. Their task would be made even more difficult by the wagon with its strawman drover charging their position. It should be enough distraction for Hal'El to slip past the guards and manage his escape.
His plan decided, Hal'El set the bullocks to trotting. The fine gelding he'd stolen for the long ride to the camp of the Chimeras was tied off to the side of the wagon, and the horse easily kept pace as Hal'El shortly came upon the Gate. He flicked the reins, and the bullocks were soon at a rumbling gallop. Shouts from the guards ordered him to slow, but Hal'El kept the wagon at a breakneck pace. He raced past the warriors.
More shouts came to him, this time of a Blend, and arrows were fired at the wagon.
Hal'El had his Shield ready. The arrows bounced off of it. More came. A few pinged close to the gelding, and Hal'El extended his Shield. Fireballs were thrown, but none of them made an impact either.
Except for one. Hal'El let it through just as he mounted the gelding and raced off. The wagon took the brunt of the Fireball, and burst into flames. The bullocks screamed in fear and pain. It was the final distraction Hal'El needed as he raced off into the night.
'Ware wild, wolf winds and
Hurled lightning from ashen skies.
A bitter rain falls.
~Attribution unknown
“Is the food not to your liking?” Rector asked, breaking into Jaresh's thoughts. “You were frowning,” he further said.
“No. The food is fine. I like it,” Jaresh replied. The food was actually quite good. It was traditional Duriah fare, served at a bistro in Trell Rue where he and Rector were having lunch. Jaresh wasn't sure what was more surprising, finding something traditional in fashionable, trendy Trell Rue or the fact that it was Rector Bryce who had asked him for a lunchtime meeting. In the past, they hadn't gotten along very well. After a moment's consideration, he decided it was the latter.
“I'm glad to hear it,” Rector replied with a half smile. He hesitated then, a question appearing to linger on the tip of his tongue. “What do you think Dar'El will do about the OutCastes?”
Jaresh took a bite of his meal while he formulated his answer.
The Trial to Stronghold, along with the one hundred or so OutCastes who had survived the destruction of their city, had only arrived in Ashoka several days ago, and the Magisterium had yet to decide their ultimate fate. While some people had called for their immediate eviction, the overwhelming majority of Ashokans thought the city should offer the OutCastes sanctuary.
The Strongholders, the descendants of fabled Hammer, were a destitute and shattered people, and only the hardest hearts could remain pitiless in the face of such suffering. These were men, women, and children who had lost the entirety of their homes and hope. They were bereft of everything that gave life meaning, and their haunted, broken eyes reflected the traumas that they had endured.
Nevertheless, though public sentiment favored letting the OutCastes stay, ultimately, it was a decision that would need to be made by the Magisterium. From what Jaresh understood, the Magistrates were struggling to reconcile their compassion with what duty required. They couldn't simply overlook the laws of the city, which were clearly expressed in both The Word and the Deed and Ashoka's Constitution.
Allowing the OutCastes sanctuary without finding a basis to do so in the city's statutes would certainly lead to a moral outcome, but the cost might rupture the rule of law. A convenient decision could become a terrible precedent, and a future Magisterium might be tempted to render another such convenient decision, one that might not be so obviously moral. Chaos could ensue, where the plain language of the law could be subverted to mean whatever was needed at the time. It would be a nightmare.
The Magistrates had to render a decision that would stand up to scrutiny, both current and future, and to that end, it was rumored that the Magisterium had contracted with every law firm in the city to find just such a loophole that would allow the OutCastes refuge.
“I'm not sure,” Jaresh finally answered to Rector's questi
on. “But I imagine he'll fight to let them stay. After all, Jessira is one of them, and she and Rukh are married.”
Rector merely nodded in thought.
His silence once again was surprising, but perhaps it shouldn't have been. Toward the end, Mira had advocated on Rector's behalf. She had insisted that his philosophy had slowly evolved, that he'd grown more compassionate, grown so far as to question the truths he'd once held as unassailable.
Mira.
Jaresh did his best to hide a shudder of grief. He hoped Rector didn't notice. Jaresh had only learned of Mira's death a few days ago. He'd never known that the stabbing knife of bereavement could cut so deep. Mira was dead, but sometimes Jaresh still found it hard to believe that she was truly gone. Sometimes he was certain it would all turn out to be a terrible delusion, that she would walk through the front doors of the Shektan House Seat, wearing a wry grin at his surprise.
And many times, he wondered what might have occurred if he'd stayed behind in Ashoka rather than gone with the Trial to Stronghold. Might Mira still be alive then? Could he have helped protect her? But then, if he hadn't gone to Stronghold, would it have been Rukh who would have died? Had Jaresh's presence at the OutCaste city tipped the scales and somehow preserved his brother's life?
The questions were an endless circle, looping back on themselves and offering no solution or soothing. And they did nothing to distract him from the unalterable truth of Mira's passing, a terrible fact that was like a riptide threatening to pull him under and drown him.
Jaresh shuddered again and took hold of his anger and anguish, mastering them as best he could before turning to study Rector. According to Bree, the man had fought desperately against Hal'El, but in the end, his skills had been overmatched. Afterward, as Mira lay dying on the floor of some dingy flat in Stone Cavern, Rector had chosen that moment to curse Karma that he didn't have Rukh's ability to Heal.
Pity the fool hadn't discovered such wisdom earlier on. Perhaps all the tragedies which had happened to Rukh and Mira might not have come to pass if he had. She might still be alive, and in her place, Hal'El might be the one who was dead.
Nevertheless, Nanna insisted that such wisdom had befallen Rector. Of course, the man had likely experienced his new-found knowledge as a chamber pot emptying over his head like a curse. He probably hated his new way of thinking, despised the uncertainty of an uncertain morality.
But it was his to cherish.
Jaresh smiled bitterly, a grimace which left his face a moment later as his brother's words came to him. Rukh had offered his advice when he had learned who Jaresh was having lunch with: “If Rector truly has changed so much, grown so much that there is no going back to his old ways, then do we not owe him the benefit of the doubt?”
Perhaps so, but it didn't mean that Rector had earned Jaresh's trust. For instance, the older man certainly hadn't been told about Jaresh's new Kumma Talents. Per Nanna's recommendation, that was a secret known only to Jaresh's immediate family.
“Your nanna's voice carries much weight,” Rector said, interrupting Jaresh's thoughts once again.
“It would have carried more if he hadn't revealed the truth about Kuldige,” Jaresh replied.
Rector grimaced. “I'm still not sure why he chose to expose such a dangerous secret like that.”
“I'm sure he had his reasons.”
“Maybe so, but the timing was unfortunate and somewhat suspicious.”
“Why was it suspicious?”
“The day before, I'd asked to rejoin the House—”
“Why did you want to rejoin House Shektan?” Jaresh challenged. “I thought you considered us only a few steps removed from ghrinas.”
“Life and Mira convinced me of the error of my ways,” Rector replied with a wistful smile. “I spoke to Dar'El, explaining my reasons for wanting to rejoin House Shektan, and I thought he took me at my word. But on the very morning he accepted my vow of obedience, he also informed the entire city about all the Kummas throughout history that he and all the other 'Els knew had been Sil Lor Kum. Included in the list was Kuldige Prayvar. I can't help—”
“Did my nanna know you knew about Kuldige?” Jaresh interrupted once again. A stray suspicion had come to him.
Rector nodded. “I came across the information when we were taking the Sil Lor Kum apart. It was in a ledger belonging to the Sentya MalDin, Moke Urn.”
Jaresh chuckled as his nanna's plan became obvious. His chuckles turned to laughter as Rector's initial confusion turned to annoyance.
“What is so funny?” Rector asked frostily.
Jaresh needed a moment to get his laughter under control, but he still grinned. “Your reappointment into House Shektan and the release of those Sil Lor Kum names was related,” he explained. “Nanna didn't want you to have even the smallest weapon by which you could hurt the House.”
Rector still appeared confused. “Then why bother letting me rejoin?”
“Nanna has an innumerable list of aphorisms. One of his favorites is this: choose your enemies carefully and keep them near. One day, they may offer you the finest service.”
At first, Rector appeared both startled and offended, but a moment later, he threw his head back and laughed. “What greater honor can I have than for your nanna to consider me an enemy worth keeping near?”
“Do you think the Purebloods actually notice any of this?” Sign asked, gesturing out to the city of Ashoka. “Do they still see the beauty all around them?”
She and Jessira shared a table at one of the Shektan House Seat's numerous verandas. Before them, the famed, verdant hills of Ashoka tumbled down to the clear, blue waters of the Sickle Sea, reemerging in the deep bay as peaked, green prominences. The rest of the city was equally lovely with hillside homes painted in brilliant hues of sunshine yellow, summer-sky blue, pale lavender, and salmon-pink. There were also the ornate buildings manning every road and corner with their fanciful lintels and columns. And to the south was the most beautiful jewel in all of Ashoka: Dryad Park, the emerald heart of the city with its lustrous trees, fields, and meadows.
“They see it,” Jessira replied. “Why else would they work so hard at maintaining it?”
Sign smiled. “Maybe it's part of their insanity,” she suggested. “Make their city beautiful instead of efficient.”
Jessira smiled in response, pleased to see her cousin engaged and seemingly happy for once.
The weeks since they'd left the wracked remnants of Stronghold hadn't been easy on any of them. Salvation, much less a future filled with joy, had been an uncertain proposition. There had been the difficult trip down the River Gaunt and the ever-lingering worry of what awaited their journey's end. Would the Purebloods offer them refuge? And if they didn't, then where would the OutCastes go? Thankfully, the answer to the first question had been 'yes', so the second one had never needed considering—at least for now. The people of Ashoka had taken them in, sheltering them in a set of empty flats just south of Mount Crone. Their accommodations had been provided and paid for by the Magisterium.
While the flats were not yet their home—they might never truly be—Jessira was grateful for the refuge the OutCastes had been afforded. Just as important—at least for her—was that Rukh had elected to remain with her and the rest of her people. Early on, he'd asked if Jessira wanted to live at the Shektan Seat rather than the empty flats, but she had told him 'no'. She couldn't leave her people. They needed her. All of them needed one another. Rukh had accepted Jessira's words and without further comment, he had moved their meager belongings into one of the unused flats. Jessira was thankful for his decision. She needed him near and couldn't imagine getting through the day without his steadying presence.
“It is efficient,” Jessira replied to Sign's earlier statement, “but anything here also has to be lovely.”
Sign's smile faded. “I always thought you were exaggerating when you described Ashoka. I just couldn't believe anything could be as amazing as you made this place seem,” she
said. “But if anything, it's even more beautiful than you described. The Purebloods are lucky to have such a home.”
“It's not luck,” Jessira said. “It's in their nature to strive for beauty.”
Sign shot her a look. “But not in our nature?” her cousin asked, sounding offended. “You don't think our people strive for beauty and elegance as well?”
Jessira bit back an oath. Perhaps she could have phrased what she had said a little better, but Sign didn't have to see it as an insult. She was just looking for an excuse to take offense. It was merely a pretext on her cousin's part to have an argument, something she chose to do with an all-too-regular frequency. Following Stronghold's death, some of the OutCastes had slipped into a dull depression, but Sign had taken a different path. She had responded by lashing out, seeing an affront when none was intended or taking provocation for the slimmest of reasons.
Jessira stared Sign in the eyes, wondering what she could say to mollify the other woman. Pointing out her cousin's flawed thinking and giving her a proper tongue-lashing was tempting but unlikely to be helpful. Patience would be of more use.
“I'm not looking for an argument with you,” Jessira said, doing her best to rein in her annoyance. “Or do you really think I'm not proud of our people and our heritage?”
Sign tensed before suddenly deflating. “No.” And just like that, her voice had grown meek.