by Davis Ashura
Rukh mentally shrugged. At least having the traffic move out of the way for him meant that he would get home all that much sooner. His rotation on the Inner Wall had just ended and he had a day off before having to report back for duty. Just a few more turns to make, and he'd be home, able to see his family and spend a few hours with Jessira before she had to report back to her own posting.
*Why can't I work on the Wall with you?* Aia asked.
*Because I'm not working on the Wall right now,* Rukh explained.
Aia batted him on the shoulder, causing him to stumble. *I know that,* she said, apparently unamused by his joke. *I mean in general.*
Rukh glanced her way with wry amusement, and Aia grumbled in annoyance. Rukh laughed and reached up to rub her behind the ear. Aia pushed into his hand and purred. Rukh smiled. Nothing soothed or distracted Aia quite as easily as a good rub. *By the way, where are Shon and Thrum?* he asked.
Aia moved away and gave her whole body a shake. It was her way of resettling her fur about her. *During Jessira and Jaresh's day off, they decided to go to Dryad Park and go swimming,* she said. *They're likely lazing away the day.*
Rukh grinned. *Are you jealous?*
Aia's shoulders slumped. *Yes,* she said, sounding dejected.
*You'll get to play during my time off,* Rukh reminded her.
*It won't be the same,* Aia said. *There won't be anyone to play with.*
*I'll play with you.*
Aia's ears perked up. *You will?* she asked, sounding hopeful. *Can we play 'drown the gazelle'?*
Rukh laughed. *You're making that up,* he said. *There's no such game.*
*Yes there is!* Aia said. *It's so much fun. You'll love it.* She eyed Rukh, looking hungry. *But you have to be the gazelle.*
*No chance,* Rukh said.
*Why? You'd be so good at it,* Aia protested. She blinked. *My chin itches, by the way.*
*No,* Rukh said in exasperation. *I—*
Whatever else he might have said fled from his mind. Something was wrong; something was horribly wrong. A smell came to him. Blood and peril. His nostrils flared. Jessira.
“She needs you,” a baritone voice whispered in his mind.
Rukh didn't think to wonder who had spoken to him. Something more important occupied his thoughts. Jessira was at the House Seat. And she was in danger.
Aia must have picked up on his agitation or his thoughts. *I can run faster than you,* she said.
*Then go,* Rukh commanded. *Protect her.*
*Come with me.*
*I can't keep up with you,* Rukh snapped. He wanted Aia to get moving. Every moment she waited on him, the greater the danger Jessira faced.
*I'll carry you,* Aia explained.
Shock broke through Rukh's worry. Never in all the time he had known Aia had he ever expected such an offer. Nevertheless, he quickly did as Aia instructed. He clambered onto the Kesarin's back. His heart thudded. Jessira's peril was growing. He settled himself behind Aia's shoulders, clenching her sides with his knees.
*Hold on,* Aia warned. She broke out into a dead sprint.
The world blurred. It became a confusion of sights and sounds. Shouts of alarm from others on the road came to Rukh, but he paid them no heed. He was too busy struggling to hold on to Aia. While her gait was surprisingly smooth, the speed with which she ran threatened to unseat Rukh with every stride. He settled on lying low across Aia's back and gripping her fine fur as tight as he could. He ended up closing his eyes as well.
Hal'El smiled. His long-sought vengeance was about to be completed. Dar'El would finally pay for everything he'd done, everything he'd stolen from Hal'El. All the months of hardships would finally have their answering retribution.
“The world would have been a finer place had you never been born,” Sophy cursed. “Your mother would have prayed for a miscarriage had she known the degenerate evil she was fated to spawn.”
“Filth! You think we obstruct your will now,” Felt Barnel shouted. “You will never know a moment of silence! Your dreams will be nightmares. We'll strip the very memory of your disgusting lover, Varesea Apter, from your mind.”
“You will pay with pain for what you did to me, pig,” the piggish Pera Obbe began.
And as was her nature, the irredeemably stupid Pera shouted the most unimaginative threats and imprecations possible while Sophy's were enough to curdle the soul.
Hal'El had grown used to them, though, and he stopped listening.
There was work to be done. The Shektan women still faced him with swords raised, and privately, Hal'El applauded their bravery. Courage shown in their eyes, but it wouldn't take much effort to disarm them.
“Lay aside your swords,” Hal'El urged. “I will make your deaths swift and merciful. Injured or not, you must know by now that you pose no real challenge to me.”
An earth-shattering roar distracted him. A giant cat, a furious Kesarin, leapt over the retaining wall that surrounded the Shektan grounds. It was a calico. Rukh's cat. It raced forward.
Hal'El cursed, furious at his fate. He had been seconds away from delivering justice for Varesea. He measured the distance the cat had to cover, trying to reckon if he had enough time to kill the Shektan women before the Kesarin was on him. He wouldn't. He wouldn't even have time to try to escape before the cat was on him.
Wait. There was something, no someone on the Kesarin's back. It was Rukh Shektan. It had to be. This was his famous Aia, after all.
Hal'El set the edge of his blade against Dar'El's throat even as bitterness filled his heart. He'd been so close.
The Kesarin roared and bounded forward, almost too quickly to follow. She flanked Hal'El, but he knew the cat wouldn't attack him. Not now. Not with Hal'El's sword pressed against Dar'El's throat.
“You can save your nanna,” Hal'El called, “but only if you face me as a man. One warrior against another. No interference. Do I have your word as a Kumma? As a child of Ashoka?”
The figure on the Kesarin's back slid smoothly to the ground. It was Rukh Shektan. “You have my word,” the younger man said. “But whether you defeat me or not, your evil ends here. Aia will see to it.”
The Kesarin growled low and threatening.
Hal'El paid no heed to the great cat. She would kill him if he killed Rukh, but at least this way Hal'El would have a worthy death. He would either kill the finest warrior in Ashoka other than himself or in turn be killed by that warrior. It wasn't ideal, but it would have to do.
Hal'El Shielded and conducted from his Well as Rukh wasted no further time on talk. The younger warrior simply unsheathed his sword and attacked.
Hal'El somersaulted over a white-hot Fireball and landed in a ready position. He barely parried a vertical slash. His riposte met air. Another slash, barely parried. Hal'El leapt backward, covering twenty feet. He needed distance even as he drew more Jivatma.
Right now, Rukh was too fast, but Hal'El wasn't worried. He could keep up with the Shektan. Because of the Jivatma he'd stolen from the victims of the Withering Knife, he had more than enough strength to outlast the younger man. The world sharpened further. His Shield hardened. Nothing could penetrate it.
Another Fireball screamed toward him, and Hal'El took it on his Shield. Even before the sparks had faded, he answered in kind, and this time it was Rukh who had to dodge. Hal'El followed up with even more Fireballs. Rukh leapt over a few of them and slid aside from others. Fires sprung up throughout the Shektan estate.
Rukh suddenly leapt through the air like a launched spear, straight toward Hal'El. He was moving too fast for further Fireballs. Hal'El gauged the distance, and sprang upward. They met yards above the ground, exchanging blistering strokes. Hal'El could feel them all the way up to his shoulders. His palms stung, but he had no time to rest. Here came Rukh once more. Again they clashed in midair, their bodies parallel to the ground.
With that exchange, Hal'El's confidence was shaken. He'd taken several blows on his Shield. They hadn't gotten through, but they had still bee
n heavy enough to batter him about.
Unholy hells, Rukh was strong. And he was moving faster now than he had at the beginning of their fight.
Hal'El drew more Jivatma. He had to if he wanted any hope of keeping up with the younger man. Uncertainty made a presence in his mind. He'd never fought a man with Rukh's skill or power. And how was the younger man moving so fast? It should have been impossible given the amount of Jivatma Hal'El was conducting.
The only explanation he could fathom was that Rukh was burning through his Jivatma at a prodigious rate, enough to possibly burn out his Well. It was a risky strategy, but it also meant the younger man would soon dramatically slow down. Rukh wouldn't be able to continue this punishing pace for much longer.
Hal'El smiled to himself. And if he pushed the action, Rukh would burn out that much faster.
A Fireball came at him, and Hal'El bent backward at the waist beneath it. Ironically, he'd seen Rukh use that same beautiful move during the Tournament of Hume. More Fireballs came, and Hal'El somersaulted over them while closing the distance.
Once again, it was swords. They fought smooth and swift with no more leaping about. Hal'El breathed easily, still strong and fast. Rukh kept up with him, and no strain was visible on the other man's face. Only concentration.
More strikes thudded against Hal'El's Shield, but some of his struck home as well. More blows were traded, and more blows landed. Both their Shields flickered. Almost as if by silent accord, they stepped away from one another. They stabilized their Shields before once more resuming their battle.
Rukh pressed forward, and Hal'El was forced to give ground. He tried to disengage, but everywhere he went the other man followed.
How was Rukh still drawing so much Jivatma? His Well should be nearly dry by now.
Hal'El realized the answer didn't matter. Not really. He bit down and bore forward. He had never tasted defeat in any battle, and today wouldn't be the first. He'd win, one way or another.
Unholy hells, but Hal'El Wrestiva was strong. Not only that, but he was fast enough to impress a Kesarin and skilled enough to put Kinsu Makren to shame.
Rukh was surprised he was able to match such a man. It should not have been possible. And yet, his Well showed no warning that it was waning. It was deeper, richer, and more full than Rukh could ever recall it being.
It was a mystery he would have to examine at another time.
Here came Hal'El again with teeth gritted.
The older Kumma feinted right, but Rukh didn't bite. He held his position. He blocked a horizontal slash, a low angled blow. Rukh took the offensive, but Hal'El was ready. They swept side-to-side, spinning, exchanging positions even as they exchanged heavy strikes. Hal'El grew stronger, faster. Several blows got through and rocked Rukh's Shield. He had to draw further from his Well, trusting that it would hold.
Hal'El must have sensed the momentary weakness. He stepped forward, but Rukh didn't retreat. He held his ground. As Durmer would have described it, he stayed in the pocket. Elbows, knees, fists, and hilts became part of the combat. Rukh checked a kick. A quick vertical slash, delivered too quickly for Hal'El to avoid, punched past the older Kumma's Shield. Blood flowed. It was a shallow cut to Hal'El's chest. But still, it was also the first true blow landed in the engagement.
Hal'El grimaced and stepped back, apparently not wanting to fight in such close quarters. Rukh could understand why. At a distance, with swords alone, the two men were evenly matched, but closer in, Rukh felt like he had the advantage. He pressed forward, determined to deny Hal'El a chance to breathe. He'd stifle the traitor. And then he would end him.
Hal'El sought to separate. He leapt backward, but Rukh followed. He kept pace with the older Kumma, always staying in range. Rukh stepped closer, limiting Hal'El's ability to disengage. Again, it was close in fighting, but this time, it was Hal'El who managed to get in a strike. It opened a shallow cut along Rukh's abdomen. The blow was followed with a knee to the ribs.
Rukh's breath whooshed out, and now it was he who had to disengage. He leapt backward, but Hal'El kept on him. Rukh leapt again. His chest was too tight. He needed time to get his lungs working again. Another leap gave him a bare moment of respite before Hal'El was upon him again. Rukh did his best to block the older man's sword, but mostly he just dodged or took the blows on his Shield. It flickered, and Rukh leapt away once more.
This time, the time and distance gained was enough. His lungs were working again, and his Shield was under control. Still, while both men panted heavily, Rukh knew the fight couldn't go on much longer. His Well was finally emptying. His Jivatma was thinning. His stamina, speed, and strength would soon fade.
He took a deep breath and closed the distance with Hal'El. The older Kumma didn't retreat. He, too, was willing to stay in the pocket this time.
Once more, it was fists, knees, and elbows in addition to the sword. Rukh feinted and snuck a foot behind the older Kumma's ankle. A diagonal slash meant to distract allowed a thudding elbow to land on Hal'El's forehead. The traitor stumbled back, and when he did so, he tripped on Rukh's foot and almost fell.
Rukh launched himself into an unprotected Hal'El. His knee thundered into the other man's ribs and abdomen. A liver shot.
Hal'El fell over, curled up around his stomach, gasping in pain.
Rukh leveled his sword and panted heavily. No sense of triumph filled him. Only satisfaction. It was over.
“Kill me,” Hal'El begged.
Rukh wanted to. It would be so easy to do and so easy to justify. He'd seen the injuries suffered by Jessira, Bree, and Nanna at the hands of this man. He knew all the evil Hal'El had done, all those who had been murdered at his hands.
If Rukh killed Hal'El right now, no one would care. Vengeance would be a simple and acceptable matter. But vengeance wasn't what drove Rukh. It was justice. All those who had suffered because of Hal'El Wrestiva deserved a chance to face him, force him to acknowledge his wicked actions. It was simply poetic that Hal'El's justice would be far more cruel than vengeance. Drawn and quartered with his remains scattered on the Isle of the Crows was Hal'El Wrestiva's future. It was a sad ending to a once great man.
“Kill me,” Hal'El pleaded once more.
Rukh kicked him in the head, knocking him unconscious. “Your death will not be so easy,” he said, finding an unexpected welling of pity for the other man.
Though the day was late, a time when everyone should be abed, Hal'El Wrestiva found himself awake and unable to sleep. This was his last night on earth, and fear kept him up. It was a terror that pounded through his veins and left him nauseated. Tomorrow would see him drawn and quartered, a brutal death.
He tried to face such a prospect with bravery, but he simply couldn't. Hal'El was a broken man. All his glorious dreams and ambitions had been ripped away just as his life soon would be. He was left with a single hope: Hal'El wanted to die with some small amount of grace and courage. He wanted to die with someone to regret his passing.
“We all suffered what you so greatly fear,” Sophy said. “Now you will join us in pain. Still, I am . . . not sorry for you, but I do pity you.”
“Imbeciles,” cackled Pera Obbe. “I will dance when you scream, Hal'El Wrestiva. I will laugh when they first pull your arms out of their sockets, when your legs are ripped from your torso.”
“Be silent,” Aqua Oilhue said. “Only the degenerate celebrate another person's pain.”
“Go frag yourself,” was Pera's witty rejoinder.
“Do not listen to Pera. She is as wicked as you are yourself,” Felt Barnel said. “Nevertheless, I will pray for you. I will pray that you seek forgiveness and achieve humility, that if Devesh casts you back on the wheel of time, you will be reborn as someone who becomes worthy of your life's gifts.”
“Thank you,” Hal'El said, heartfelt and touched in the way only the most truly lonely and desperate can feel.
“I will pray for you as well,” Van Jinnu said. “If you are granted a next life, I pray you don't
walk the same paths that led you to this ending. I pray your soul takes lessons from the choices you made in this world. I hope that it does, and I hope that you take a moment to seek Devesh's guidance.”
As the others in his mind settled down to silence, Hal'El found himself thinking about their words. Despite what he'd done to them—he'd murdered them, which was the worst thing one person could do to another—his victims had offered him something he had never expected or deserved. They'd given him warmth and comfort. It was the greatest gift he'd ever been given.
Hal'El had never been a praying man. Like most Kummas, he had little to do with Devesh, but in this, his final night, during those hours when the world rested and those who should have hated him the most had instead offered him their forgiveness, Hal'El prayed. He wasn't sure how to do it, or what he was supposed to do. He simply spoke into the vaults of his mind, uttering whatever came to him. Much of it was nonsense and his words meaningless, but eventually the cadence of prayer reached his heart, and the truth of what he desired was made clear.
Hal'El was too selfish to feel true remorse for what he had done, but nevertheless, he prayed first for those who he had murdered. He prayed that they would not be cast back upon the wheel of time, that Devesh would gather them into His loving embrace, even Pera Obbe. Next, he prayed for Varesea, his one true love, hoping the same for her. And finally, he prayed for himself. He prayed for peace, for calm in the face of fear, to feel Devesh's loving touch even for just an instant before his life was snuffed out.
In the midst of his prayers, the door leading to the small, otherwise empty row of prison cells opened up, and in walked Rukh Shektan.
Hal'El remained seated on the floor. Any hatred he might have once felt for this man who had defeated him was gone. Any bitterness at his life's ruin was drained away. All of it replaced by a hollow ache. As a result, he had no desire to stand and face Rukh as an equal. What difference would it make if he did? Instead, Hal'El simply looked up from his seated position, waiting for the younger man to speak.