by Davis Ashura
“Then why did you ask the question?” Jessira asked.
Sign's head fell low. “I don't know,” she whispered. “I'm just so angry all the time. I don't know how you aren't.”
Jessira squeezed Sign's hand. “I am, but I have Rukh. Of all of us, he was the one who was least affected by what happened to Stronghold. He helps keep me sane.”
“I haven't been very nice to him,” Sign said softly.
“He understands.”
“He—everyone here really—are so different from what I expected,” Sign continued. “I still can't believe they took us in, especially when their laws forbid them from doing so.”
“Laws change, and what was historically thought to be true, doesn't always have to be so,” Jessira replied. She remembered her first time in Ashoka when attitudes had gradually transformed as people got used to her presence. Some—thankfully a very small number—had forever hated her on sight, but most folk had simply left her alone, while a blessed few had been kind enough to take the time to say 'hello' when they saw her out and about. In the end, most Ashokans had ended up seeing Jessira as just another woman. They hadn't regarded her as the infectious carrier of sin that The Word and the Deed implied.
“You really think people can really change that quickly?” Sign asked, distrust lacing her question.
Jessira sighed. “No. It won't happen immediately,” she replied. “It'll take a long time before we're truly accepted, but the Purebloods are trying. Most of them want to let us stay, but they are conflicted. They have to decide between their teachings—the ones that tell them to deny us sanctuary—and their hearts, which tell them to take in those who are suffering. I have faith that they'll make the right choice.”
Sign scratched at the tabletop. “You're more trusting than I,” she muttered.
Jessira pursed her lips in sympathy. Her cousin simply couldn't see the opportunity their people had before them or accept the generosity the Purebloods had shown them. Then again, it was easier for Jessira. She was used to Ashoka. She wasn't a stranger here, and she also had the support of Rukh's family. “Look around you,” Jessira finally said. “Tell me exactly where we are.”
Sign glanced around. “The Seat of House Shektan,” she said, sounding bewildered and somewhat intimidated.
Good.
“We are in the Pureblood city of Ashoka. Over one hundred ghrinas. You don't find that worthy of trust?” Jessira asked.
Sign's eyes widened with sudden realization, and her face reddened. “Point taken,” she muttered. “It's just that I can't see these Ashokans . . .”
“Can't see them doing what?” Jessira asked. “Taking us in? They did that. Finding a way to let us stay? They're working on it. We might even have a chance to earn our way by farming some fallow fields.” Jessira leaned forward, and she took Sign's hands in her own. “We can rebuild our lives here,” she urged. “Some Shiyens and Duriahs have even spoken of adopting our orphans. How can you continue to doubt a people willing to do something so generous?”
“Because it goes against everything we've been taught about the Purebloods,” Sign said with an anguished cry.
“Then what we were taught about the Purebloods is wrong. Just like what they were taught about us is wrong. It's time you realized that,” Jessira said, her patience finally breaking. “It's also time you showed the strength I know you possess. You've wallowed in self-pity long enough. Our people can't afford any more tantrums on your part.”
After she finished speaking, Sign wouldn't look at her. Her cousin stared shame-faced at the table as tears tracked from the corners of her eyes.
Jessira's heart broke for Sign. She was trying. They all were. She again took her cousin's hands. “I know it's not easy for you, or any of us, but if you hope for compassion and sympathy, it helps to be compassionate and sympathetic in return,” Jessira advised.
Sign reddened once more and gave a short, choppy nod of agreement before staring off in the distance.
The sounds of the city—rolling wagons, shouted cries, and the echoing undertone of the heaving ocean—filled the silence as a fitful lull fell over their conversation.
Sign picked at the tabletop. “You're being too kind to say it, but you think I'm being a selfish bitch, don't you?”
Jessira gave her cousin's hand another squeeze. “With what we've been through, I think we all have to be understanding, but Sign . . .” She stared her cousin in the eyes. “Our people need us. Some of them forget to eat or drink if they aren't reminded. They don't always remember to care for their children. They need us to be . . .” Jessira searched for the word.
“Strong?” Sign supplied.
“Calm,” Jessira corrected. “They need peace. They need quiet. They don't need yelling, and they don't need rage.”
Sign nodded, a brief bob of her head. “I'll try,” she said. “And thank you for being . . .” Her lips quirked. “. . . strong.”
“You're welcome,” Jessira said with an answering smile.
Sign turned to look back out over the city. “If the Magisterium allows us to stay, we become Ashokans?”
Jessira nodded. “So it would seem.”
Rukh stretched his long legs, trying to work sensation back into them. The small, cramped space of the Cellar in which he and Bree had been spending their time had not been designed for Kummas. It was tight and claustrophobic, and he didn't like it.
The discomfort was worsened by air that was thick with moisture and the smell of moldering paper. Add in the funereal quiet, the reaching shadows in the recesses, and the long, cramped, unlit halls, and the place had an oppressive, almost menacing quality to it. Rukh wasn't ashamed to admit that he couldn't have lasted down here nearly as long as Jaresh and Mira had when the two of them had been searching for information on the Withering Knife. The dark alone would have been enough to drive him away—which was why he and Bree had brought down extra firefly lamps. The lanterns lit their cubicle until it glowed like a vibrant island of warmth in the dismal dark.
Of course, Rukh knew that even if he'd had to work with only the the dim light of the single overhead firefly lamp, he would have still found a way to persevere. He had to. Jessira's life depended on it. Rukh and Bree were searching the Cellar for treatises on the philosophical underpinnings of the city's Constitution. This was the work to which he had devoted himself since his return home, and even though there were already many scholars and attorneys also looking into the matter, none of them had the same intensity that Rukh brought to bear on the subject. Finding a valid reason—one that would stand up to future scrutiny—was the only means by which the OutCastes, and Jessira, would be allowed to stay in Ashoka, and by extension, Rukh as well.
And ultimately, whatever destiny Jessira suffered, he would also endure.
Unsurprisingly, Jaresh and Bree had also taken on the matter of the OutCastes' final fate with nearly the same zealous determination as Rukh himself. The three of them had separated the work. Jaresh was to comb through historical references for when the Constitution might not have been strictly followed while Rukh and Bree focused on finding a means to undercut the primacy of The Word and the Deed as the basis for the city's law. So far, their cumulative searches had returned empty as Jaresh quickly discovered that every law and decision in Ashoka's long history had always had a basis in the Constitution. There had been no exceptions. Meanwhile Rukh and Bree's quest had proven equally frustrating. There had been nothing to suggest that there had ever been a prior text, such as The Book of All Souls, that might have served as the moral basis of the Constitution.
Rukh knew Jaresh was starting to lose hope by their combined lack of success, but their failure had yet to deter Bree. She forged on, still full of grit and resolve as she worked from before sunrise until well after sunset. In this, Bree reminded Rukh of Sophy Terrell, the Hound. Mira's amma had been equally dogged when it came to research that might affect the House's fortune and future.
And for Bree, there might also be another
inspiration for her hard work: guilt.
Earlier that evening, Jaresh had explained that for a long time, Bree had blamed herself for Rukh's exile. It had taken her months to forgive herself, but now, with the need to find a means by which Jessira and the rest of the Strongholders could stay in Ashoka, the guilt must have come back full bore.
His sister wore a frown as she bent over an old text, and Rukh placed a hand on one of hers, forcing her to look at him. “I don't blame you,” he said. “I never did. I never will.”
Bree, always so perceptive, instantly knew what he meant. “Have you told your wife what I did?”
“She knows, and she doesn't care,” Rukh answered. “It doesn't matter to her, and it shouldn't matter to you.”
Bree smiled. “Good. I wasn't sure how she'd react, and your wife can be . . . formidable. Not scary, but definitely formidable.”
Rukh chuckled. “I know what you mean.” He'd never been afraid of Jessira, but he always walked warily around her whenever he made her angry. “And I was serious about what I said: I don't blame you for what happened to me.”
His first inkling that he might have misread the situation was when Bree laughed at him.
“I heard you, and you don't have to worry about me,” Bree said after she was no longer laughing. “I know what happened to you wasn't my fault.” She looked him in the eyes. “It was your own.” She arched an incredulous eyebrow at him. “Really. Taking Jessira on a late-night stroll through Dryad Park? What were you thinking?”
Rukh felt his face flush with embarrassment. “So you aren't doing this out of guilt?” he asked. Even as he asked the question, he knew the answer.
And he certainly didn't need Bree's head thrown back with laughter to tell him the truth of his stupidity.
“Of course not,” she said. “I'm not helping you out of guilt. I'm doing so because . . .” She raised a finger as she ticked off each item. “You're my brother.” One finger. “I love you.” Two fingers. A third finger went up an instant later. “And if I left this to just you and Jaresh, the OutCastes, including your wife, would be banished from Ashoka.” Bree smiled sweetly. “You need my help.”
Rukh sat back, abashed and with his mouth agape.
“Are you trying to catch flies?” Bree observed.
Rukh shut his mouth with an audible snap. What an idiot he'd been. How could he have believed that Bree might still feel guilt over something that had never been her fault?
They fell into silence, but something that Bree had said struck a chord with Rukh, and he replayed her words in his mind. “Why do you keep calling Jessira 'my wife' instead of by her name?” he asked.
“I just like calling her your wife.” Bree grinned. “It makes her more a part of the family.”
“Why don't you call her your vadina, then? It would do the same thing.”
“For the same reason, I don't call you Annayya, my older brother. I'm too stubborn.” A moment later, a considering look stole across her face. “Given how we both agree that your wife can be formidable—”
“But not scary,” Rukh said.
“Yes,” Bree agreed. “Given that, it might be best if she never learned what Nanna and Amma tricked her into doing.”
“It might be,” Rukh agreed. “But somehow I imagine she'll figure it out on her own. Nanna and Amma should just tell her themselves.”
“She is your wife,” Bree said. “I suppose you know her best.”
“I'm not going to tell her now,” Rukh said with a roll of his eyes. “She's already got too many troubles on her plate.”
“Like finding safety for her people if we can't find a way around the Constitution.”
“My people, too,” Rukh said.
“You'd really leave with them if it came to it?”
“Like you said: she is my wife.”
“You know The Word and the Deed doesn't actually consider you wed,” Bree noted.
“So what. Everyone else thinks we are,” Rukh replied. “Besides, it depends on the volume to which you're referring. I saw one version of The Word and the Deed in Stronghold, and it specifically discussed 'marriage between a man and a woman of different Castes'. A later edition had that section edited to 'an impure relationship between a man and a woman'.” He paused as he startled in sudden insight.
Bree's eyes were lit with enthusiasm as well. “What if earlier editions of The Word and the Deed make exceptions for people like the OutCastes?” she suggested. “It would solve everything.”
Rukh nodded, trying to tamp down his bubbling excitement. “This could work,” he said. “But I don't think we should focus on just this one avenue of research.”
“No. Jaresh should continue with what he's doing.”
“And I'll continue with what we've been working on here, while you look through the older editions of The Word and the Deed and see if there's anything in them that we can use.”
Bree gave him an appraising gaze. “You surprise me. I always knew Jaresh was intelligent, but what about you? When did you get so smart?” she asked.
Rukh nodded in solemnity. “I always have been. You simply lacked the wisdom to notice until now.”
Bree snorted in derision.
The life of a Magistrate—to serve the citizens—would be a wondrous life indeed if not for those same citizens. Why can't they simply leave us in peace?
~From the journal of Magistrate Olive Rue, AF 1833
Rector Bryce sat quietly at his seat and listened as various members of Ashoka vented their thoughts regarding the OutCastes and whether they should be allowed to remain in the city. This was an open meeting of the Magisterium, and as a result, most everyone with an opinion had shown up.
Rector had quickly grown bored with the proceedings. No one was exhuming anything more than emotional pleas based on what they thought was 'right' or 'wrong' with only the most cursory of references to the law. Passion was fine, but the decision before the Magisterium was one that required logic and reason—not merely the lowest common denominator of what was most popular. If the prevailing sentiment was all that was needed, the Magistrates would have long since granted the OutCastes sanctuary.
A year ago, it wouldn't have been the case, but Rukh Shektan's actions in the Chimera breeding caverns had changed many minds about ghrinas and naajas. And when the sad state of the OutCastes themselves was taken into account, who wouldn't have been moved to pity? As such, it wasn't surprising how opinions had shifted in such a short period of time.
It also helped that one of the most forceful advocates for the OutCastes was someone well-known to the city. In fact, by now, everyone knew of her. Jessira Shektan had made an unforgettable impression on Ashoka during her initial stay in the city and was doing so now as well.
Rector's stray thoughts were interrupted when a new attestant, a middle-aged Duriah matron, was allowed to speak. He perked up a bit to listen to her.
“I say this without meaning any insult to anyone, but as ghrinas, the OutCastes are beings of sin based upon their very nature. It isn't something that can be corrected,” she began. “As such, we must consider the needs of our children. How can they learn what true morality is if the immoral is flaunted before them?” The matron pleaded with utmost earnestness. “They can't. Their young minds can't see the complexity that we can. Therefore, I say the OutCastes can't stay here in Ashoka, but before anyone thinks I'm being cruel, we must also think of their children. They are innocent and shouldn't be turned out into the cold night.” She nodded with grave self-importance. “We can build them a village just beyond Ashoka's walls and Oasis. They'll live there. We'll live here. Separate but equal.”
It was an asinine idea, and Rector rolled his eyes in unconcealed scorn.
She blathered on, and Rector turned his attention to the Magistrates themselves. They appeared as bored as he. Fol Nacket, the Cherid Magistrate, nodded politely at the attestant but his glazed-over eyes spoke the truth about his inattentiveness. The Muran Magistrate, Dos Martel, sat back
in her chair and yawned, while Poque Belt and Gren Vos, of Caste Sentya and Caste Shiyen, respectively held demeanors of barely concealed annoyance. Magistrate Krain Linshok of Caste Kumma spoke an aside to Jone Drent, the Duriah Magistrate, and the two of them chuckled over whatever had been spoken. Brit Hule, the uncompromising Rahail, glared sternly at the speaker, causing the poor woman to stumble to an uncertain halt.
When she did, Magistrate Nacket appeared to sigh in relief before calling for the next attestant.
Rector sat up straighter when Bree Shektan stood up and stepped forward. This was why he was here.
A few weeks ago, he had seen Bree researching at the City Library. She had been studying The Word and the Deed and had asked for the oldest edition that was available for study. The librarian had brought her a version printed several centuries past, condescendingly insisting it should do for her needs. It hadn't, and Bree had not been pleased. In classic Bree Shektan fashion, she had simply raised an eyebrow and spoke in a clipped manner. “When I ask for the oldest volume, I expect the oldest volume. Do we have an understanding?” The librarian had taken one look at her face before scurrying away to fetch the volume she had initially requested.
Rector still couldn't believe how easily Bree could bend people to her will. It was a skill she must have learned from her frightening amma.
At any rate, her actions had piqued Rector's curiosity. It was well-known that Bree and her brothers were trying to find a means by which the Magistrates could allow the OutCastes to remain in Ashoka. It was what all three of them had been working on ever since Rukh's return to the city.
Rector had watched quietly from afar as Bree had transcribed what seemed to be entire passages from the old volume of The Word and Deed. And while she had done so, her countenance had grown steadily more excited. She had finished her work with a satisfied smile and left the Library.
Afterward, Rector had ventured over to her desk. She had returned the borrowed edition of The Word and the Deed, but she'd left behind a small stack of blank sheets of papers. Imprinted upon them were whatever notations Bree had busily written down. It had been simplicity itself to use a pencil to highlight the indentations on the blank pages and discover what had her so excited.