by Davis Ashura
The quiet stretched on.
Was Rukh here to gloat? Hal'El would certainly have done so had their roles been reversed. He would have been glad of it, too, but it saddened him to think that Rukh might be just as prone to such a failing as he. Hal'El had hoped the younger man might be made of better moral fiber.
Rukh continued to stare down at him with an unfathomable expression on his face. Finally, he reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a small vial. “Tomorrow will be very painful for you, but it need not be.” He tossed the vial to Hal'El. “Take enough of this, and it'll stop your breathing.”
Hal'El stared at the vial with a burgeoning sense of hope before finally looking up. “Why are you doing this?” he asked, wanting to understand why he was being given this easier way out.
“It isn't because I've forgiven you,” Rukh said. “I want to, but I doubt it will happen before you leave this world. I'm bringing this to you because I could have killed you the other day and given you a clean death.” Rukh's lips pursed. “But justice demanded that you face those who you so terribly wronged. With your Tribunal before the Magisterium, they finally had the opportunity. And you finally were forced to acknowledge their anguish and feel their anger and hatred. Now you have, and now, I can give you the clean death I wish I could have when we fought.”
“Thank you,” Hal'El said, clutching the vial to his chest. Tears of gratitude filled his eyes. “Devesh bless you, Rukh Shektan.”
The younger man gave a brief bob of his head and turned to leave, but Hal'El called out to him. “What did you do with the Knife?” he asked.
Rukh stiffened. “I have it,” he replied. “No one knows what to do with it, so I kept it.”
“You should throw it into the deepest water you can find or have a Duriah melt it down to liquid,” Hal'El advised. “It's what I should have done.”
Rukh nodded agreement. “Yes, you should have,” he replied, and Hal'El thought that would be the end of their conversation, but the younger warrior hesitated. “Devesh bless you, Hal'El Wrestiva. I will pray for you if a new life is to be your destiny.”
After Rukh's departure, Hal'El settled himself on the ground and a warm peace stole over him. He quickly swallowed the contents of the vial, and his last thoughts were of a distant song.
In the midst of tragedy, those with hearts open to Devesh will find solace and wisdom.
~The Word and the Deed
Satha sat alone in Dar'El's study, waiting on the arrival of the rest of the House Council. While she did so, she stared out at the grounds where two days ago, Hal'El Wrestiva had almost murdered her and most of her family. The lawn and shrubbery were a mess with scorch marks all over the place from where Rukh and the traitor had hurled Fireballs at one another. It was miracle they hadn't burned down the House Seat itself.
It was almost as much a miracle that it had been Rukh who had won that battle. Satha shook her head in remembrance. She'd been tight with tension and terror the entire time. No matter what he'd eventually become, Hal'El Wrestiva had once been a legend. He had been the measure by which most every Ashokan warrior for the past twenty years had been compared.
But in the end, it had all worked out. Hal'El was dead, killed by his own hand—someone had snuck him a vial of poison—and his remains were now a feast for the crows.
And Rukh was safe and unharmed, as was Satha's family.
The door to the study opened and Dar'El entered. He moved stiffly, his arms held unmoving at his sides. Both shoulders obviously still pained him. He'd taken an arrow to one and a sword thrust to the other, and both remained heavily bandaged, but her husband was alive. It was blessing enough as far as Satha was concerned.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, still hating the raspy, weak quality to her voice.
“Every day is a little better than the last,” Dar'El answered. “How are you?”
“Every day is the same as the one before,” Satha replied, trying to keep the bitterness from her voice. Though her children didn't see it—she wouldn't allow them to—her paralysis, her difficulty even drawing a breath, was something that still angered her, consumed her with grief. She hated her weakness, she hated how little she could do for herself, and she mourned her loss of independence.
Dar'El came and stood behind her as he rubbed her shoulders. “I know,” he said, understanding her sadness as he kissed the top of her head. “And I'm sorry.”
Satha put a hand over his and squeezed, appreciating his support.
The door opened again and in came the others: Janos Terrell, Durmer Volk, and Teerma Shole. As was his wont, Durmer was serious and dour, while Teerma smiled at something the hawk-faced Janos had said. Satha eyed them in consideration. The two newest members of the House Council were known to spend much time together. If it meant something more than friendship had developed between them, Satha reckoned it a good thing. Everyone could use a little brightness in this grim summer.
“Let's get started,” Dar'El said, turning Satha around so she faced into the room.
“With the ongoing siege, I'm a little confused as to why we're meeting,” Teerma said. “Commercial industry and economy have essentially ground to a halt since everything is needed for the war effort. What new business do we have to discuss?”
“The Magisterium has finally come to a decision regarding Rukh's Talents,” Dar'El said. “They've decided that what he can do has to be passed on to as many Ashokans as possible and as soon as possible. They want it done in no more than a few days.”
Satha had heard all this before, but she forced herself to listen closely anyway.
“The Magisterium thinks our situation hopeless,” Durmer guessed.
Dar'El nodded. “Defeat was always the most likely scenario,” he said. “In all of history, no city has ever outlasted a siege by Suwraith.”
“But why now?” Janos asked. “Why so suddenly?
“It should be obvious,” Dar'El explained. “After Rukh almost died battling Hal'El, the Magisterium finally decided that sharing his Talents amongst others is of the utmost importance.” His jaw clenched. “They've put it off too long as it is.”
“That isn't the only reason,” Satha rasped. “The Oasis will fail. The Rahails are certain of it. It is likely to last for only another week or so.”
Knowing nods met her statement. It was information the other councilors must have already come to realize.
“And what will become of all those who are given these new Talents?” Teerma asked.
“They will form the nucleus of a new Caste,” Dar'El explained. “The first new one since the destruction of the First World.”
“And why would we still have Castes to begin with if this new one is going to have the Talents of a Muran, Rahail, Duriah, and a Kumma?” Janos asked.
“Because this new Caste will be sent to Defiance, and from there, members will spread out to every city throughout the world. But until the other cities accept the need to do away with Castes, this is the best first step. The other cities haven't been exposed to the OutCastes, and they haven't experienced what we have. Until they do, they aren't likely to accept ghrinas in their midst.” He smiled. “But a new Caste, they will.”
“What will this new Caste be called?” Teerma asked.
“Caste Maharaj,” Dar'El answered. “In honor of the First Father and First Mother's surname. A purposeful misspelling.”
All this was the final realization of the Society of Rajan, but Satha wished it could have occurred in better circumstances, one that didn't involve the looming destruction of her home and the death of her children.
Janos narrowed his eyes. “You've thought about this a long time, haven't you?” he asked.
Dar'El nodded. “I have. The Castes are a relic of the past. They hold us back.” He glanced at the others. “By now, given what Rukh and the other OutCastes can do, you know this as well. So does the Magisterium, and I would venture to say most of Ashoka.”
“You're right,” Teerma s
aid, “but it still raises the question: what do you need from us? Why are we here?”
“Because it's been decided that every child and most of the young men and women in all the Castes will be given these new Talents, and afterward, they will be sent away from Ashoka. We need to help come up with a plan of evacuation for them, or at least for the children of our House and our Caste.”
“Ashoka is to be emptied?” Durmer looked like he'd taken a kick to the gut.
“But only the children and some of the young men and women,” Teerma said, trying to sound soothing..
“Which is the same as saying we will send away that which makes our city alive,” Durmer replied.
Jessira read aloud the poem she'd come across, the one that reminded her of Ashoka's present and perhaps its future.
Summer's last light has frayed and faded.
So harvest the wheat with breaths bated,
Whilst the last seritonal heat remains.
Before gilded leaves are semaphore chains.
Before bitter winds, a synecdoche
Of winter's clutching snow and solid sea.
Jessira looked to Rukh, waiting on his response.
They sat on a stone bench in a small garden upon the grounds of the House Seat. A low-lying variegated hedge edged the border, making the space a haven. Birds trilled and butterflies and bumblebees flitted about as the honey scent of flowers filled the air.
Rukh's head had been bent over as he played the mandolin, and he didn't respond at first to what Jessira said. Maybe he hadn't heard.
Jessira recited the poem once again.
Rukh glanced up. “I have no idea what you just said.”
Jessira eyebrows rose in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“I don't know what that poem meant,” Rukh replied. “Some of those words . . .” He held a teasing smile. “They're pretty large for an uneducated OutCaste.”
“It's why this 'uneducated OutCaste' uses a dictionary.”
“I think you just like using big words.”
Jessira snorted. “You're one to talk.” She pushed a stray lock of hair off his forehead. Usually he kept his hair short, but with the siege, he hadn't bothered to have it cut. There were more strands of gray in there as well. They were more easily visible now, a scattering along his temples. She ran her fingers through them, and he leaned into her hand.
“Laya and Sign are going to be a part of the evacuation,” he said. “Most every OutCaste and young person will be going, even Farn and Bree.”
“I won't go with them,” Jessira said.
“You can if you wish,” Rukh reminded her. “You were selected.”
“Only if you come with me."
“I wasn't chosen for the evacuation,” Rukh said. “Those warriors without children who are to leave Ashoka were decided upon by lots. I wasn't one of them.”
“The Magisterium would allow it if you asked.”
“You know I can't. Someone else would have to stay behind if I did.” He stared into her eyes. “But any woman of childbearing years can go . . .”
“Don't,” she warned him. “Not again. I'll stay with you, or you can come with me.” This was an argument they'd already had more than once, and one she was mightily tired of having. Ever since the decision to create the Maharajs and abandon Ashoka had been made, Rukh had tried to convince her to leave the city without him.
Jessira had steadfastly refused him every time, and every time she kept hoping that maybe he would finally accept her decision.
Perhaps this time he actually had since his head was now bent low over the mandolin again as he plucked an aimless tune.
“I sometimes have strange dreams,” Rukh said. “There's always a woman and a girl, but I can't see them. But when I wake up, they're gone. I know they're dead.” He looked up from his mandolin. “The dreams leave me feeling like how I would if I were to lose you.”
“We don't have a daughter,” Jessira noted.
“Not yet, but maybe some day. If we're lucky. Or at least you will.”
Jessira mentally sighed as Rukh bent over the mandolin once again. He plucked a slow, melancholy melody. She recognized the song. It was about a man who lost the only woman he ever loved. “That sorrow you're feeling, the fear for me,” she began, “how can you believe that I would feel anything less for you? When I thought you had perished during the Advent Trial . . .” She shuddered. “I don't know whether I would have cared if I lived or died.”
“I know, priya” Rukh said. His hair had flopped over his eyes, and he didn't look up from the mandolin. “I just want you to live.”
Jessira gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “I feel the same way about you.”
Rukh's mournful song was the only sound between them then.
“We're to have a farewell gathering for the family tonight,” Jessira said when he finished the song. “Cook Heltin said she's using all the available stores she can get her hands on in order to make it a farewell to remember.”
“I had hoped it would be our farewell as well,” Rukh said. He wore a teasing half smile on his face. “Are you sure you won't go with the ships and leave me in peace?”
Her answer was a playful punch to the shoulder.
“See,” Rukh protested. “This is why I want you to go. You're so violent, always pushing and punching. I swear my shoulders are black and blue from all your bruises.”
Jessira shut him up by kissing him on the lips. She crossed her arms behind his neck and held him close. The kiss lingered, and his arms went around her as he held her close.
Jaresh stood upon the ramparts of the Inner Wall and stared out at the ocean of Chimeras camped at the base. They'd finally moved their siege engines closer to the city several days ago and immediately began flinging their stones at the Oasis. However, while their aim remained true, their judgment of velocity was terrible. Most of their stones plowed at high speed into the Oasis, and promptly rebounded off of it.
Jaresh couldn't recall a single one of their rocks penetrating through to worry the warriors on the Inner Wall. Nevertheless, the Chimeras kept up their barrage from sunrise-to-sunset, regular as a clock. Except for today. For some some reason, Suwraith's hordes had quit their bombardment early. Even the Sorrow Bringer was unaccountably quiet.
It didn't make much sense, but it probably didn't mean much either. It certainly didn't mean the siege would soon be lifted. More likely, the Queen was taking a respite for some reason and had ordered Her Chims to do the same. Any moment, though, they would probably get back to volleying their rocks at Ashoka's Inner Wall.
According to Nanna, it wouldn't matter when they resumed their attack. Ashoka couldn't hold out. The city was doomed with only days left before the Oasis was broken.
It was why every child and young person of every Caste had been gifted with Rukh's Talents. There were now thousands who could form a Bow and an Oasis. Jaresh was one of them.
But taking on such a massive project had required a week of non-stop work by the three Kesarins and had left the cats worn out. They were still recovering, and Jaresh wondered what would become of them. They would remain in Ashoka, but after the city's fall and the death of their Humans, what would happen then?
It struck Jaresh just then, all the changes in his life. He was so different from the young warrior who had left for Stronghold a year ago. He was older in a way unmeasured by time and years. He'd seen so much, experienced so much, and now came all these new Talents and knowledge. He couldn't help but wonder what Mira would have thought of the man he'd become, of what the city and her people had become.
He reckoned she would have been proud of them.
Jaresh bent his head in wistful remembrance and drew Jivatma. He formed a small Oasis around himself. Only another year, another few months even, and the Sorrow Bringer and all Her hordes could never have destroyed Ashoka.
“You'll be late if you don't get going soon,” Sign said to him.
Jaresh turned to her in surprise. He hadn't n
oticed her arrival until she had spoken. “You aren't coming?”
Sign hesitated. “This is supposed to be a private farewell for your family.”
“It won't be that private,” he told her. “Jessira will be there, and so will Laya, Farn, and little Court. They're your family, too.”
“I don't want to intrude,” Sign said, still appearing unsure.
“You won't,” Jaresh assured her. “I want you there.” He took her hands in his. “My parents want you there.”
“Well, since you asked so politely, how can I say 'no'?” Sign asked with a faint smile.
“Plus, it helps that you find me utterly charming and irresistible,” Jaresh added with a wiggle of his eyebrows.
“Of course. How could I forget about that?” Sign teased.
Jaresh smiled. “Admit it. You do like me.”
“I admit nothing,” Sign said. She put the lie to her words a moment later when she kissed him. “I do like you,” she added, this time serious. “But why do your parents want me at tonight's party?”
“They want to get to know you as best they can before you leave.”
“They know about us?” Sign asked, looking surprised. “I didn't think you'd tell them.”
“Of course I would,” Jaresh said, perplexed by her demeanor. “Why wouldn't I?”
“I know your parents are open-minded when it comes to the OutCastes, but are you sure they'll want another son of theirs in a relationship with one of my kind?”
Jaresh rolled his eyes. Sometimes Sign's preoccupation about her status as an OutCaste in a city of Purebloods made her overlook the blindingly obvious.