by Davis Ashura
“I thought it was hilarious,” Sign answered as she turned to look at Jaresh. “I just didn't think it was funny enough to laugh out loud and lose our bet.”
Jaresh smiled sourly. “I still don't think it was a proper wager since I never agreed to it,” he said. “But here's to your victory.” He lifted his glass in salute to her triumph.
“What was your favorite part of the play?” Jessira asked Sign.
Her cousin got another faraway expression in her eyes. “All of it,” she finally replied. “It was like a dream. I never expected something so silly—people pretending to be someone else—to be so mesmerizing and uplifting, or so sad.”
Rukh laughed. “For a moment there, you looked just like Jessira did after she saw her first play.”
Jaresh chuckled. “Or her second.”
“Or her third and fourth,” Bree chimed in. “While you were gone on the expedition to the Chimera caverns, we took her out to a couple more plays, and each time, she'd come out like . . .” She gave a crooked grin. “Well I can't exactly describe her expression—at least not in polite company.”
“Say what you want,” Jessira replied with a sniff. “You can't cheapen my memory. The plays were bliss.”
“That's one word for it,” Jaresh muttered.
“Quiet,” Jessira ordered.
Jaresh studiously sipped his ale, but his eyes crinkled.
Jessira took a moment to stare him down before turning away. “Anyway, the plays helped me maintain my sanity. My time in Ashoka wasn't always pleasant.”
“I thought you loved your time here,” Bree said in confusion.
“I did, but I also had plenty of reasons to be unhappy,” Jessira answered. “I just wish your parents had trusted me with the truth.”
Bree startled. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“She knows,” Rukh said to his sister, not bothering to answer the unspoken questions on the faces of the others.
“Knows what?” Farn asked.
“Rukh's parents wanted to make sure I wouldn't leave Ashoka without him, that I'd wait until he returned from the Chimera caverns and take him with me to Stronghold.” Jessira explained. “They implied some statements that weren't entirely true.”
Rukh gave her hand a squeeze. If their roles had been reversed, he might not have been as forgiving.
Jessira turned to him. “I can't blame them for loving their son,” she said. “And they're my parents now, too.”
Rukh smiled in gratitude.
“Now they're going to kiss,” Jaresh said in disgust.
“What a tragic demise for a once-mighty warrior to be reduced to such a sad, sappy state,” Farn agreed solemnly.
“I think it's sweet,” Sign said. “My people see little enough happiness as it is.”
“Don't backslide,” Rukh warned her.
“I'm not backsliding,” Sign said with a scowl. “And mind your own business.”
“Scowl all you want,” Rukh told her, “but I remember the bouncing young woman who was so excited when she tried chocolate for the first time. You were like a child. It's hard to be frightened of someone once you've seen them like that.”
“Wait? She had the same reaction as Jessira?” Jaresh asked. “All goofy like she'd just tasted heaven?”
“Was it an expression you can't describe in polite company?” Bree asked.
“Or maybe their reactions have something to do with them being OutCastes,” Farn suggested.
“I don't know about that,” Rukh said. “But as for Sign, when she ate the chocolate cake, it must have been bliss.”
“Oh shut up,” Sign snapped.
She sounded annoyed, but Rukh noticed her lips twitching with suppressed mirth. “I don't have a bet with you,” he said. “You can laugh.”
Sign chuckled. “At least now I know why Jessira keeps you around.”
“Why's that?” Bree asked. “It's a question we've all wondered about.”
“Rukh makes Jessira laugh,” Sign explained.
“You mean because he's a fool?” Jaresh asked, his brows furrowed in feigned puzzlement.
An area south of Mount Crone that directly abutted the Inner Wall of Ashoka was where the OutCastes were now housed. There, a set of fallen-down buildings that no one else wanted had been purchased for a pittance by the Magisterium and with several Kumma Houses and a few other large mercantile concerns to finance the refurbishment. The structures had originally been built during a great pragmatic awakening several centuries prior. It was a time of supposed simplicity, where function ruled form and the lack of adornment in all aspects of life—clothes, furniture, and architecture—had become nothing short of a moral imperative. As a result, buildings from that period had been designed as plain cubes and rectangular structures with flat roofs and narrow windows. It was an efficient but ugly type of design, especially in comparison to the glorious architecture of the rest of the city.
By the time the OutCastes had washed up on Ashoka's shores, most such structures from that late, unlamented period had long since been torn down. The few remaining buildings of that era were now almost always dilapidated and in need of urgent repair, and the ones selected to house the OutCastes had been no different.
Despite her frequent distrust, Sign had been relieved that the Purebloods had allowed their people refuge, but when she'd seen where they were to be housed, she'd initially been taken aback. How would they make these wretched wrecks their homes? It had taken Jessira's explanation to set her mind at ease. Her cousin, who had been instrumental in choosing the buildings, had reasoned that their people needed something to occupy their time and minds, a buffer to give them a chance to forget—however briefly—the terrible tribulations they had all suffered.
Sign had ended up agreeing with Jessira's decision, and every passing day had made her ever more grateful for her cousin's astute vision.
The work needed to bring the buildings back to life had done everything Jessira had said it would. Months of labor had been required and her people had been forced to work hard and fast. Winter had been closing in. But more importantly, the OutCastes had needed to lift one another up. There would always come a time when one of them would reach their limit, ready to give up and set aside the burden of living, when they became ensnared in a wasting weariness and were ready to drift away. In the face of such daunting needs, the OutCastes had to choose between two options: they could have clung to selfishness, or they could have reached out with loving hearts and carry those who couldn't stand.
Sign was proud that in each instance, her people had risen up and chosen the latter path, the better one. Without fail, those who had the strength to spare had generously offered it up to those in need. The OutCastes had created ever-deeper bonds of community and caring, and the ties of fellowship and love that Sign had seen forged—had been a part of—left her humbled and in awe. She had never been more proud to be a daughter of Stronghold.
She was also grateful to the Purebloods who had pitched in to help reclaim the old buildings. Rukh, Jaresh, Bree, and Farn had done what they could, but they weren't skilled at the work that had needed doing. Instead, they had been the loving hearts who had searched out those with the willing hands to help. They had found a number of Duriah master craftsmen to aid Sign's people in their work, and together, the OutCastes and Purebloods had repaired all the damage done by settling foundations and wearing wind, water, and time.
The result was a small cluster of structures that, while not beautiful, were sturdy and weather-tight. More importantly, they were a place of safety, a place where the OutCastes could rebuild their lives.
“I know you think I'm imposing by walking you home,” Jaresh said.
Sign startled. They'd walked in silence for so long that she'd forgotten he was there.
After dinner, the others had headed to their respective homes in wealthy Jubilee Hills, and Sign had expected Jaresh to go with them. Instead, he had insisted on walking her to her flat. He had explained that w
hile violence was unlikely to come her way—especially since the immolation of the Sil Lor Kum—given the lateness of the hour, common courtesy dictated that he should accompany her and see her safely home. Farn and Rukh could have done so, but it made more sense for Jaresh to take care of the matter.
“You're not imposing,” Sign said, responding to his statement.
“Are you sure?”
“I'm sure,” Sign said, flicking him a glance. “But I don't want to take up too much of your time. You don't have to walk me all the way to my front door. You can return to your own home if you wish.”
“Jessira would not be happy if I did that,” Jaresh replied.
Sign's brows lifted in surprised amusement. “Don't tell me you really are afraid of her.”
“You're not?” Jaresh challenged.
Sign was about to respond with a shake of her head and tell him 'of course not', but instead, she paused and truly considered Jaresh's question. She realized a moment later that while she wasn't afraid of Jessira, she did fear disappointing her.
Jaresh nodded. “You see what I mean.”
Sign gave a wistful half smile. “My cousin has grown forceful,” she said. “She wasn't always so, but after Stronghold's death, any velvet softness around the ironwood mettle of her core seems to have burned off.”
“She isn't quite that hard, but she's also not a woman I'd want to risk angering,” Jaresh agreed. “I think even my nanna treads lightly around her.”
“Truly?”
Jaresh smiled disarmingly, a surprisingly winning grin. “No. I was just exaggerating for effect,” he answered “But the truth is I think Rukh might be one of the few people who isn't the least bit intimidated by Jessira.”
“Then he is a fool,” Sign said, still smiling to take the sting out of her words.
“Maybe love makes him foolishly brave,” Jaresh suggested.
Sign chuckled. “Perhaps so,” she agreed. They walked in silence before Sign voiced a question that had been bothering her since dinner. “Why did Rukh seem so upset when he spoke to you about loving another?” She realized the question might be impertinent the instant the words left her lips. She put a hand on Jaresh's arm. “You don't have to answer,” she said in contrition.
Jaresh gave her a tight-lipped smile. “It's fine. You're likely to hear about it sometime. There was a woman I once loved. Her name was Mira.”
“Was?”
Jaresh nodded. He then told Sign a tale of forbidden love, unrequited and unspoken. It was so typical of the Purebloods. If not for the backwardness of their society, there was no reason why Jaresh and this woman he had so deeply loved couldn't have married and lived out a life of joy. Instead, that love had been stillborn, killed before it ever had a chance to flower, and ultimately murdered by an evil that had its origin in the same foul demon that had destroyed Stronghold: Suwraith.
The Queen had much for which to answer.
“I'm sorry,” Sign said, somehow feeling closer to him because of his loss.
“You've suffered a lot more than I have,” Jaresh noted.
“Should we compare who hurts more severely?” Sign asked, her head tilted in challenge.
Jaresh ventured a smile. “I suppose not,” he said. “Grief hurts no matter how seemingly small the cause.”
Sign nodded agreement and gestured up ahead. “We're almost there,” she noted. The buildings had grown familiar. One more turn, and they would be on her street. “Home,” Sign replied. A tingle in her fingers, a dryness in her mouth, and a quickening of her heart let her feel the weight of the word, the longing for it to be true.
“Is it home?” Jaresh asked.
“It's not the home I wanted—that one was destroyed by the Sorrow Bringer—but it is a home,” Sign replied. She sighed a moment later. “I only wish Jessira could have lived here also. I miss her.”
“They had to move back to Jubilee Hills to help the House,” Jaresh said. “It was never because of any petty reason to have a bigger flat or separate themselves from the rest of the OutCastes.”
Sign had heard this before, and while she vaguely understood the reasons, it wasn't the same as accepting them. “I know. Rukh's marriage to Jessira diminished his status as a Kumma within his Caste. And by extension, it diminishes the status of your parents and House.”
Jaresh shrugged apology. “Right now, in some ways, Rukh needs to prove that he's still a Kumma at heart. It was thought that moving back to Jubilee Hills might help him do so.”
Sign smiled even as she mentally shrugged off his explanation. There were currents to Ashoka's politics that escaped her, and she reckoned they always would. It was simply too foreign to her way of thinking. “Whatever the reasons, I'm just glad they're happy in their new home,” she said before pointing to the building at which they'd arrived. “This is mine,” she said. “Good night, Jaresh.”
“Good night, Sign.”
The days of a man's life are as the leaves of an autumn tree—bright and bold but finite. And the Lord will shelter you long before the last leaf has fallen.
~The Book of All Souls
As Bree travelled along the gravel path, she lightly gripped her scabbarded sword with one hand while her thumb rested on the hilt to keep the weapon in place. It was the proper way of walking with a belted blade, and over time, such a technique had become second nature to her. The swaying of the sword against her left hip and the rise and fall of the sageo-tied-scabbard were now simply a part of who she was.
Of course, it had taken months of hard work and training for Bree to become so comfortable at having a blade by her side. Her ambition had required long hours of tutelage by the Great Duriah, Durmer Volk, with sweltering days under a hot summer sun and chilly afternoons beneath a cool winter wind. All the time spent, though, had achieved its desired outcome. Bree had managed to achieve a certain competence with the sword, and though she strived for more than mere mediocrity, at least now she no longer felt like a helpless weakling. She could defend herself against anyone who was not a Kumma and feel confident that she would survive the encounter.
Some might have wondered why she worked so tirelessly to master such an odd skill for a woman, but the truth was actually quite simple. Never again did Bree want to feel as useless as she had during that terrible conflict when she had almost died. It had been in an otherwise unremarkable alley in the Moon Quarter, and the fight had nearly cost Bree her life. It would have—probably should have—if not for Jaresh's swift sword. Bree, on the other hand, had merely watched as a panic-stricken observer. She had stood frozen with fear as her brother had fought for both their lives.
It had been a terrible lesson that she'd learned—of her fragility and inability to protect herself—and it was a mistake she vowed to never repeat or forget. Never again would she allow herself to be caught so defenseless, and Mira's murder had merely steadied and hardened that resolve. Bree would master the blade, and all the other Talents of her warrior Caste, and while she might not ever have the sublime skill of her brother, Rukh, or even Jaresh, at least she would be able to fight if needed. More importantly, no one else would ever again need die because Bree was incapable of protecting herself.
“How much farther?” Jessira asked, interrupting Bree's thoughts of swords and strength.
“Not far,” she answered. “We should be there soon.”
Bree quickened her pace, and Jessira and Sign, who were accompanying her, increased their stride to keep up. The sound of their feet crunching along the lonely gravel drive sounded vaguely martial.
The three of them marched alongside the fields between Ashoka's Inner and Outer Walls. The wheat and corn had already been planted and showed as thin, green growths while a warm wind blew an earthy aroma of loam and manure. The breeze carried across the fields and bent the crops, causing the shoots and leaves to weave and bob in sinuous waves. It reminded Bree of waves ebbing on the ocean, especially as they broke around the rocky shoals of oaks and maples that grew in the midst of the
crops. A small herd of cows lowed from a nearby meadow while songbirds trilled their melodies from their roosts amongst the branches of the trees.
“Do you really think the Murans will let us sharecrop their fallow land?” Sign asked.
“Rukh seems to think they might,” Jessira answered. From her tone, Bree could tell she wasn't entirely convinced.
“I hope he's right,” Sign replied, doubt also suffusing her voice.
Bree briefly glanced over at the other two women. She, too, had uncertainties about whether an agreement could be obtained with the Murans. Of all the Castes, the Murans were the most religious, and they had also been the ones who had been the most offended by the Magisterium's decision to grant the OutCastes sanctuary. They were especially incensed by the questions raised about validity of the The Word and the Deed.
Ultimately, Bree's uncertainties didn't matter, and she set them aside. The decision would be made, and the OutCastes would have their answer one way or another.
“We'll know soon enough,” Jessira said, her words an echo of Bree's thoughts.
The gravel road they followed began a slow ascent and on the descent, they had to step aside for a wagon loaded with hay. The Muran drover tipped his hat to them as he passed.
“Do you think we're asking the Ashokans for too much?” Sign asked after the wagon had passed.
“I think you should get used to saying that you are Ashokans,” Bree answered.
“I think I'll always think of myself as a Strongholder first,” Sign replied.
“I can understand that,” Bree replied. “But you're also an Ashokan now. And no, I don't think you're asking for too much,” she said, hoping her own doubts didn't creep into her voice.
Sign smiled wistfully. “What a wonderful thing if the Murans feel the same way.”
“But even if they don't, we have our lives and a chance to give our children a future,” Jessira said. “We weren't certain we'd be able to have either a few months ago.”