A Warrior's Penance

by Davis Ashura

  Bree shook off her confusion and returned to Rector's most recent declaration. “So all of us are taught,” she replied, “but after finding this discrepancy, I studied the history of The Word and the Deed itself. As I said before, it is reputed to have been written prior to the Fall, but what I, and probably most everyone else, didn't realize is that the version we study and use is actually an edited form of the original. This edition was put into its current form in approximately 350 AF.”

  “This is old information,” Rector declared. “But the spirit of the original was kept intact. The editing you cite was simply record-keeping to correct some translational errors.”

  “It was more than translational errors,” Bree snapped. “It was a wholesale changing of the intent of The Word and the Deed.”

  “You have proof of this?” Poque Belt asked.

  Bree nodded. “I do. In the Cellar, there are shelves of books documenting when this happened and the reasons for it. Apparently, our older version, the one in the City Library's atrium, isn't the same as those found in other cities. There needed to be a single version, and the one we know and use today was the result of a decades-long debate. In fact, one of the most controversial changes was to edit out a single line from The Word and the Deed: the first line of the first verse of the first chapter.” She read from a sheet of paper. “Above all else, honor The Book of All Souls, the source of all truth and morality, including this, the accumulated insight of the First Father and First Mother.” Bree set down the paper. “Based on this one missing line, it is obvious that the moral basis of our laws should be The Book of All Souls, not The Word and the Deed.”

  More shocked intakes met her statement.

  Fol Nacket rapped again for quiet. “Do you have anything to refute this claim?” he asked Rector, who shook his head in negation. Magistrate Nacket turned to Bree. “For the sake of discussion, we'll accept your claims. But what does The Book of All Souls say about ghrinas?”

  “Very little,” Bree answered. “Remember, The Book of All Souls is generally pacifist in nature. It emphasizes the importance of service to others, the holiness of understanding, forgiveness, and the universal love of Devesh.”

  “If that's the case, then the judgments against ghrinas, as prescribed in The Word and the Deed should remain in effect,” Rector loudly proclaimed.

  “No it should not,” Bree proclaimed just as loudly. “Because again, you would be basing your judgment upon the version of The Word and the Deed that was edited and compiled from AF 350. However, if you go back to the original book that we have, it says only that ghrinas are unclean, and that they should be kept separate from the rest of society. But The Book of All Souls says the following.” She reached again for her papers. She shuffled through them until she found what she was looking for. “This is an important passage. 'Devesh sees no Castes, for a man's worth is not measured by the lowness or highness of his birth, but by how well he holds to this simple truth: all those he meets in life are his brothers.' Devesh sees no Castes,” Bree repeated. “Later, The Book of All Souls speaks of refuge, and how we are compelled to offer it to our brothers. This is similar to what is described in The Word and the Deed. We are compelled to take in the OutCastes because they are our brothers.”

  A few cheers met her words.

  “We need to examine your findings,” Poque Belt said, “but if they are accurate, then I know how I will vote.”

  Similar murmurs from the other Magistrates met the Sentya's words.

  “I think we have heard enough,” Fol Nacket said. “Please leave that packet of information,” he ordered Bree. “We need to further investigate this matter.” He rapped his gavel. “This meeting is adjourned.”

  As Bree turned aside, she caught Rector staring in her direction. Very deliberately, he gave her a brief smile and a wink. For all the world, he looked pleased with himself. “Well done,” he whispered as he brushed past her.

  Bree frowned. What was that about? Rector had spent the evening trying to sabotage her work, but just now, he'd seemed pleased with himself—and her. She stared at his retreating back in consternation, suddenly caught up in doubt and reconsidering her previous notion: had Rector brought up his questions as he had in order to bolster Bree's testimony and weaken his own? If so, it had been a master work of planning and subtlety.

  Once more, as soon as the thought occurred to her, Bree tried to dismiss it. Rector Bryce had never been so canny and cagey and . . . her eyes widened and a grin came to her face.

  But Nanna was exactly that canny and cagey. Could he have coached Rector and told him what to say? It made sense, and the more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that it had happened in exactly that fashion. Bree chuckled, pleased to have seen through Nanna's clever ploy.

  Later in the week, she was even more pleased when the Magisterium rendered its verdict.

  The OutCastes had been granted refuge.

  Time, that unknowable element, ebbs our lives in still waters when the hours are hard and races us into rushing rapids when the world is rich and sweet. We would wish it otherwise.

  ~Sooths and Small Sayings by Tramed Billow, AF 1387

  Six months later

  “Why don't you put it down for now?” Jessira suggested.

  Rukh glanced up from what he had been reading, The Book of First Movement. His face was scrunched up in a mixture of concentration and frustration, but it was mostly the latter. Ever since their return to Ashoka, he had sought to unlock the secrets of The Book, and while he could still read the first line—something no one other than Jessira and a few others could manage—the rest of the pages remained stubbornly blank and unyielding. In fact, other than the one time in the Wildness when The Book had cast him back into the mind of the First Father, the slim volume remained closed and indecipherable. Rukh couldn't understand his failure, and Jessira had watched in concern as he gradually grew more and more frustrated by his lack of success.

  “I wish I knew what I was doing wrong,” he muttered. “I still remember everything that happened to Linder in those final hours of His life.”

  “First Father,” Jessira corrected. She didn't like it when Rukh referred to the First Father by his first name. It sounded too familiar and somehow disrespectful.

  “First Father, then,” Rukh said. “Anyway, I remember everything that happened to him. How He discovered the death of the First Mother, His betrayal by His Daughter, and His death at Her hands. I even know what He meant by a Bow and how to make one.”

  Jessira rose from the couch and crossed the short distance to where Rukh sat at the square, mahogany table at which they had their meals. “You're not doing anything wrong,” she said. “Put it away.” She took The Book from his hands and laid it face down on the table. “Besides, we're supposed to meet the others for dinner in an hour.” Jessira's nose wrinkled when Rukh's odor wafted her way. “And you need a shower.” Rukh had spent most of the morning and afternoon training and teaching at the House of Fire and Mirrors. Right now, he smelled like an unpleasant mix of oil, sweat, and dirt.

  Rukh looked in her direction and a strange gleam lit his eyes. A bowl full of mangoes rested on the table before him, and he popped a slice into his mouth. He grinned around the mouthful of fruit.

  Jessira knew what was coming next and she deftly sidestepped his grasping hands before he could pull her into his lap. It was an old trick. Rukh would get smelly and sweaty from teaching at the House of Fire and Mirrors, and when Jessira commented on it, he would try to pull her close and get his stink all over her.

  “Not this time,” she admonished, using one finger to push him back into his chair as he attempted to rise and follow.

  Rukh shrugged, a look of indifference on his face. He slid the bowl of mangoes toward her. “Want some?” he asked.

  Jessira loved fruit of any kind, and just as she was about to reach for the bowl, the strange twinkle returned to Rukh's eyes. “Oh no, you don't.” She sidestepped away again, this time turnin
g her back on him, trusting him not to give chase. He wouldn't, not after she'd caught him at his trick twice. For some reason, it was his self-imposed limit. “Did you leave a mess in the kitchen?” she called over her shoulder.

  “Sure did,” he replied, sounding unrepentant.

  She shook her head in exasperation at his lighthearted tone. How did he move so easily and seamlessly from overwhelming frustration with deciphering The Book to a mood as chipper as the spring morning outside? Part of his charm, she supposed.

  Jessira glowered when she saw the kitchen. He had left a mess.

  “I'll take care of it after I shower,” Rukh called over his shoulder as he entered their bedroom.

  Jessira knew he would, but there also was no point in waiting for him. She'd take care of the dirty dishes and the mango pit on the cutting board while he cleaned up.

  As she stood at the sink, scrubbing the plates and glasses, she glanced through the pass-through window, into the main room of the flat. As Kummas reckoned matters, their flat was modest, and she and Rukh were poor, but Jessira didn't care. Their home was a cheerful space, warm and comfortable. It was more than enough for the two of them, and far more spacious than any home she had ever expected to call home. It was certainly larger than the flat in which she had grown up. Her Amma would have loved it.

  Jessira paused in her work and blinked away sudden tears. It was the subtle things that so often reminded her of the enormity of what had happened, that tore her happiness aside like a flower ripped away by a hard wind. It could be as simple as the smell of cold carried on the breeze; a child's glad laughter as she played with her nanna; or the brief glimpse of snow-capped mountains far to the west on a clear winter day. The slightest observation or sensation could set Jessira's thoughts traveling down paths she hated to tread. Even now, many months after the fact, the pain of her loss, the murder of her home and her family, of nearly everyone she loved—the memories still left her with a catch in her throat and eyes shiny with tears. At least the pain wasn't as severe as it had once been. It was a small mercy.

  “I said I would clean the dishes,” Rukh said, breaking her out of her reverie.

  She stared at him helplessly, unable to voice her pain. Wordlessly, he pulled her into his embrace. This time, Jessira didn't try to dodge him. Rukh had showered and donned fresh clothing and smelled of the lavender soap she favored, but even if he had still been as sweaty and dirty as before, she wouldn't have cared. Right now, she needed his warmth and his strength.

  It had been his love and devotion that had carried Jessira thus far. It had been his warm presence that had lifted her up, supported her, kept her whole. Even during the times of reticence when Jessira had refused to speak of her pain, when she had shut her heart to the world, he had been there. Or when the toil kept them apart except for a few brief joyless moments at the end of a long day, he had remained a true constant by her side. She might not have survived without him, or if she had, she would likely have been a far angrier, unhappy version of herself, one more like her cousin, Sign.

  Jessira held Rukh close, pressing her head against his chest and neck. She grew embarrassed when the sobs started. “Damn it.”

  Rukh stroked her head, saying nothing.

  Jaresh stepped aside for an elderly Kumma grandmother leading a gaggle of children into a nearby park in Jubilee Hills. The grandmother dipped her head in acknowledgment of his courtesy and let the children off their figurative leashes the moment they had entered the park. Their loud peals of laughter rang out, and Jaresh grinned at their joy. How easy it was to be young.

  After the children's laughter drifted away, he turned his attention back to the others. Bree was involved in a conversation with Farn, while the final member of their group, Sign Deep, lagged behind and wore a pensive or unhappy countenance. It was a feature Jaresh had come to expect upon the woman's face.

  Jaresh could understand her sentiment, at least up to a point, but he did often wonder when Sign might once again start seeing the bright side of life. After all, Jessira seemed, if not happy, then at least content. She certainly wasn't sullen and angry all the time like Sign.

  Jaresh listened in on Bree and Farn's conversation.

  “Rector is to help with it,” Bree said in a tone of disapproval. “I still don't trust him.”

  Farn shrugged. “I wasn't here when he betrayed Rukh, but hasn't he been helpful since rejoining the House?”

  “He certainly helped at the Magisterium,” Jaresh interjected.

  Bree turned to him. “Yes, he helped at the Magisterium, and I don't know why.” She frowned. “It's what has me so bothered,” she mused.

  Jaresh pretended to stumble and gazed wide-eyed at his sister. “You? Unaware of something? Heavens forfend.”

  Farn laughed, but Bree rolled her eyes. “I wouldn't think my admission of a fault would cause you to react with so much amusement,” she replied.

  “It wasn't amusement,” Jaresh said with a grin. “It was mockery.”

  “Leave her alone,” Sign said, joining their conversation. “As far as I'm concerned, distrusting Rector Bryce is a wise decision.”

  “You only say that because either Jessira poisoned you against him or you heard what he supposedly did at the Magisterium last summer,” Jaresh said. “But you weren't there. Rector was helping your cause. He and Nanna came up with a plan to make it seem like he was trying to sabotage Bree's testimony, but he was really supporting her.”

  Sign pursed her lips. “But Bree says . . .”

  “Bree just doesn't want to admit any of this because of how much she dislikes Rector,” Farn interrupted.

  “It's not because I don't like Rector,” Bree huffed. “I just don't think we should trust him so easily after everything he's done to us in the past.”

  “Nanna believes otherwise,” Jaresh reminded her.

  “And everything Nanna says must be the gospel truth?” Bree asked sarcastically. “He isn't always right about everything.”

  “Maybe so, but after the Magisterium, I think Rector's earned back a large measure of trust,” Jaresh said.

  “I disagree,” Bree replied.

  Farn raised a questioning eyebrow at Jaresh, who shook his head in reply.

  Bree had badly misjudged Rector Bryce once—they all had—but while the rest of them had seen the change in the man, for his sister, it wasn't enough. Once burned, she was slow to forgive.

  “I don't see why the two of you are so intent on having Bree approve of Rector Bryce,” Sign commented. “Wasn't he the one who drew a sword on Jessira?”

  “The first time he saw Jessira, he had a foot of his blade out of its sheath, but he quickly slammed it home,” Jaresh said. “My brother corrected his poor manners, and after that, all he did was make an ass of himself and speak rudely to her.”

  “And words can't hurt?” Sign argued.

  “You're being purposefully dense,” Farn said, “Of course words can hurt, but if rude talk was the only reason to dislike someone and never offer them a chance to apologize, then what would you have me say about how I was treated by the OutCastes when I lived in Stronghold?”

  “That was different,” Sign replied.

  “Different how?” Jaresh challenged.

  “Because my home is gone. My people are gone. Those who spoke rudely . . . Oh, never mind! It doesn't matter anymore,” Sign snarled. Her eyes were shiny with unshed tears.

  Jaresh frowned in frustration and confusion, not sure what to make of Sign's words or her demeanor. What was bothering her so badly this time? He shared a glance with Farn and Bree. They looked just as uncertain as he, and Jaresh turned back to Sign. “None of that made the least bit of sense,” he said, trying to be diplomatic through his aggravation.

  Sign exhaled heavily and mouthed what seemed like a prayer. She turned to Jaresh and ventured a weary smile. “Please forget what I said. I shouldn't have spoken as I did. I'm sorry.”

  Jaresh still wasn't sure what Sign was talking about, but n
evertheless, his irritation with her faded. “Consider yourself forgiven,” he said. “Just stop being an ass, and we'll get along fine.”

  Sign's mouth gaped.

  “Now you did it,” Bree told Jaresh with a chuckle. “Wait until Amma learns you called a woman an ass.”

  A sense of dread came over Jaresh. “I don't think she needs to hear about that,” he said quickly.

  “Or when Jessira learns about Sign's mopey anger,” Farn said, coming to Jaresh's rescue.

  Now it was Sign who spoke quickly. “Jessira doesn't need to know what happened,” she said.

  “Then we're agreed. No one else needs to know what was said here tonight,” Jaresh said in relief.

  “I'm not agreed,” Bree said, favoring Jaresh and Sign with sunny smiles. “The way I see things, you both owe me something if you want me to keep quiet.”

  “I wonder what Dar'El would think about how you belittled him earlier,” Farn mused as he flashed Jaresh a wink.

  “Er . . .” Bree said. Her triumphant grin turned into a sickly smile. “Maybe it would be best if we kept this conversation to ourselves.”

  Farn chuckled. “I thought you might see it that way.”

  Sign came alongside Jaresh. “Your amma must be a daunting woman.”

  “You have no idea,” Jaresh said. “In some ways, Jessira is a lot like her.” A horrifying thought came to him. “Could you imagine what Jessira would do if she knew I upset you?” he asked, trying to keep the mood light.

  “You didn't upset me,” Sign said.

  Jaresh ignored her words. “If Jessira found out I almost made you cry . . .” He shuddered.

  “You didn't almost make me cry or anything like that, so stop saying it,” Sign warned with a glower.

  Jaresh studied her face for a moment before shrugging nonchalantly. “You know, I doubt if Rukh would even protect me from Jessira if she decided to chase me around with a bared sword, screaming like a demented banshee. In his eyes, I doubt your cousin can do any wrong.”