by Davis Ashura
Later in the day, after she had Healed Rukh, they had come across a nest of Ur-Fels, about ten of them along with a Balant, all of them likely heading toward the gathering Li-Choke had spoken of. When the Chims charged, she had reckoned she and the Kumma would be dead in seconds. A warrior of Stronghold could handle three or four Ur-Fels at one time, but not ten of them.
She had forgotten how swift was the Kumma’s sword.
Rukh had lit into the Ur-Fels like a single-minded engine of destruction. The Kumma had slaughtered all of them in a brief battle, with his Fireballs wiping out most of the Chims in mere seconds. The rest had fallen to his sword, including the Balant accompanying the Ur-Fels. The large, baboon-like Chim had hooted in alarm and anger as the other Chims died around it, but it too was swiftly silenced. Rukh had charged the beast, decapitating it before it could finish trumpeting its anger. After the battle, Rukh had merely cleaned his sword. He had said nothing more. His face had been a stiff, unfeeling mask.
From that moment on, Jessira had warily watched Rukh even more closely than before. She knew men like him; men with hearts of stone whose only purpose in life was to fight; men who were only ever alive while in the white-hot heat of battle. They almost always died young, unable to cope with living amongst civilized folk. Such men lived on the knife’s edge of losing control and it wasn’t safe to be around them. They were like unpredictable dogs, laying about without a moment’s notice or hesitation as they bit or clawed anyone within reach. Jessira could see the Kumma following such a path. If she was right, peace for Rukh would prove to be as elusive as a feather floating on the wind, teasingly far above his outstretched hands.
During all this, while her thoughts had been distracted, Rukh had quickly ransacked the Chims supplies – supplies the two of them sorely needed. He had found water, blankets, and more than enough food for both of them. It had turned out to be some kind of jerky, and while it tasted awful, at least it was edible. There had also been some rancid alcoholic beverage. It worked fine as an antiseptic, stinging like a fiery coal when poured over her wounds. She was willing to put up with far worse if it meant getting through this alive. She needed to return to Stronghold and warn her people of the change in the Sorrow Bringer’s sanity, just as Rukh sought to warn Ashoka.
“It’s the best I can do,” Rukh said, re-stoppering the rancid alcohol. “Put your shirt back on. We have to get going.”
Jessira kept her back to him and winced as she lifted her torn camisole from where it hung around her waist. She had hated letting the Kumma know she wore such a feminine garment underneath all her warrior’s gear. Next came her thick, linen shirt. She slipped her arms through its sleeves, no longer cringing at the touch of the crusted blood dirtying her clothes. Instead, the pain all along her left side had her attention, whenever she moved her arm or tried to button up her jacket.
Had Lure been here, he would have Healed her long ago.
She stared unseeing at the grass, lost in her memories.
If Lure were here, she’d have boxed his ears for breaking her heart. She’d always been closer to him than Cedar or her eldest brother, Kart, who was so much older he might as well have been an uncle. As for Cedar, he had always been mature beyond his years. He never seemed to have the time to spend with his younger siblings. Even her cousins, Court and Sign, who had grown up in their home, hadn’t been as close to her as Lure. The two of them had invented games only they understood and hiked the caverns of Stronghold, pretending to discover new cave systems or battle strange monsters awoken from their slumber deep under the mountains. And as they grew older, their adventures had taken them through the hills and valleys bordering their city, usually just the two of them. She had spent more time with Lure than any other person in her life.
And now he was gone, and she would never see him again. She would never have another chance to tease him or hear him laugh. How would she tell her parents, especially her mother? Lure had been their favorite as much as he had been Jessira’s.
“Are you alright?” Rukh asked, breaking her out of her reverie.
“I’m fine,” she said, wiping away the tears which had fallen unnoticed down her cheeks. “Let’s go.”
Of course, the Kumma never cried. She’d never seen him show even the slightest evidence of remorse or grief over the deaths of his friends, Brand and Keemo. No doubt his stony warrior’s heart kept him from feeling such frail Human emotions as sorrow and loss.
But then again, why had he saved her and brought her along? She only slowed him down. She couldn’t defend herself or even help much with the watch at night. She was too weak, and Rukh ended up having to take the longest shifts. He would have been better off alone, but so far he hadn’t made any mention of leaving her behind.
Why was that?
He should have. She might have.
The first day after the Shylows attack, he had said it was because of compassion, but did he actually have such an emotion? The one time she had asked about his friends, he had snubbed her with a snarled warning to mind her own business. And when he helped with the wounds on her back, his hands were cold and brusque, as if the feel of her skin disgusted him. Rukh Shektan was a puzzle. His attitude proclaimed how much he despised her, but his behavior did not. His behavior went against everything she had been taught about Purebloods. She couldn’t tell which part of him was true.
While she was grateful for his help, Jessira looked forward to her arm and shoulder healing enough for her to split off from the Kumma and find her own way home.
Just then, Rukh held up a hand, and she stopped. His hearing was better than hers. All of his senses were. It was childish to resent his superior attributes, but it just seemed wrong that one man was so gifted.
Rukh stooped low into a crouch and hid himself in the tall, prairie grass in which they traveled, gesturing for her to do the same. “There’s a trap of Braids up ahead,” he whispered into her ear. “They might have our scent. Don’t move.” He stared off into the distance, an intense expression of concentration on his face. An instant later, he hissed softly in agitation. “They’re coming. Blend yourself. Stay low.”
As he slowly eased himself out of his crouch, his sword sliding noiselessly into his hands, Jessira wondered again at his ultimate motivations. At his heart, what kind of a man was he? Taking on a trap wasn’t likely to be much of a challenge for him after what she’d seen him do with the Ur-Fels, but still, it spoke of a deeper commitment to her than she realized or wanted to admit.
Jessira Blended, and despite Rukh’s admonitions, she stood, preparing to help if possible. She had lost all her weapons when the Shylows had attacked, and now all she had was the looted sword of an Ur-Fel. It was short and poorly weighted for her, but it was better than nothing. Even if Rukh didn’t need her help.
Although…she frowned. In his fight with the Ur-Fels, he’d simply burned them where they stood with Fireballs. This time, his sword was unsheathed, but his hands remained unlit. There was no glow to them. Jessira chewed her lower lip in worry. What if he no longer had the Jivatma to conduct Fireballs? He might only have the skill of his sword. Long odds at five against one.
The Chims must have seen his movement. They howled out their strange, hissing cries.
Jessira had trouble seeing what happened next. The Kumma moved too fast for her to follow. She saw him take on the foremost two Braids. He kicked one in the gut, causing the beast to fall over and gasp for breath. A block and slice disemboweled the other one. A reverse thrust slammed through the open mouth of the gut-kicked Braid. Rukh blurred forward, and she briefly lost track of his movements. Another Braid died. She saw Rukh bend backward at the waist beneath a blow aimed at his head. He snapped upright and struck like a cobra. His sword arrowed into the creature’s heart. He slipped another strike like a twirling dancer. At the end of the spin, his blade came down in a deadly arc against the final Braid’s neck.
The battle was over. It had taken less than five seconds, and despite Jessira’s
initial worry, it had turned out to be anticlimactic.
And once more, to her great disgust, she hadn’t been able to offer any help whatsoever. Jessira was used to taking care of herself. She was tired of relying on the skills of another to protect and care for her. She wanted – she needed – to be able to fight her own fights. Just then, even though Rukh had once more saved her life, Jessira found herself hating him, or at least the situation in which she found herself. She hated being helpless, especially before a Pureblood.
She viewed him as he stood amongst the carnage of his killing, not injured in the slightest, barely even breathing heavily. He flicked droplets of blood off his blade, displaying no emotion whatsoever. Once more, his face was a blank slate: no anger, no joy, no fear, no pain, and no pity. At that moment Jessira feared him as she had never feared anyone. In battle, this man was as cold and merciless as a knifing winter gale.
A chill filled her heart. Devesh, what kind of man have You forged?
No matter all he had done for her, just then, had she been healthy, Jessira would have run in the opposite direction. Instead, she forced herself to walk to where he cleaned his sword. “Are you hurt?” Jessira asked.
“I’m fine,” he said, his voice diamond hard and sharp. The tone reminded her of a scything sickle.
“Good. If you die, I wouldn’t last an hour out here.” She winced as soon as the words left her lips.
Rukh smiled sardonically. “Yes, and I’m glad to know exactly what my worth is to you,” he said. His cutting phrase caused her to flinch. “I’ll look through their packs, and then we have to go. There may be more on the way.”
“I don’t think the wounds are getting any worse,” Rukh said. He squatted behind her and dabbed alcohol on the cuts on her back.
“But they also aren’t getting any better,” Jessira said with a hiss when she felt the sting of the alcohol. “If only you Kummas could Heal as well as you can fight.”
Rukh smiled. “We all have our roles to play. Devesh wouldn’t want us to be too proud.”
“Devesh has nothing to do with it. You Purebloods have simply closed your minds to what is possible. If you’d just let me, I could teach you what to do. Who knows? Maybe you’d even be good at it.”
Rukh shook his head. “I’ve learned enough,” he said. “No need to disgrace myself any further.”
His words stung, and she flinched. If he thought he was disgraced, all because he had stayed alive through the mastery of Blending, what then did he think of her? Sometimes, she forgot who they were, he a Pureblood and she an OutCaste, but then he would say something casually cruel and it would all come back to her. He would remind her of his true feelings: first and foremost, he thought of Jessira as a ghrina, an abomination.
“I’m sorry,” Rukh said. “That didn’t come out right. I didn’t mean to imply anything about you. You’re who you are,” Rukh said.
Jessira almost turned to face him, surprised he had guessed what she was thinking. The immodesty of having her jacket, shirt, and camisole draped around her waist kept her frozen in place. “And who am I to you?”
“We have a saying in Ashoka: in a Trial, all men are brothers,” Rukh answered enigmatically.
His meaning was obtuse, and Jessira didn’t know how to reply. First he insulted her, then he apologized – sounding sincere in the process, and now – was he paying her a compliment? Did he imply she was a sister to him? Jessira couldn’t tell.
Without thinking, Jessira turned her head, meaning to ask him. Instead, her entire torso moved. It wasn’t much, just enough to expose a portion of her breast before she quickly moved to cover herself.
Rukh flushed.
Jessira wanted to smack her head for not seeing it sooner. Here they were, all alone in the Wildness: a man and a woman.
The flush on his face gave him away.
Jessira smirked.
Now the truth came out. In a Trial, all men are brothers. What a load of Balant shit. He didn’t think of her as a sister. Injured, bloody and filthy as she was, ghrina or not, she was merely a woman he’d like to bed. She shook her head in disgust. What a hypocrite.
He stepped away from her, a look of anger on his face. “You think I’m only helping you so I can get you undressed, don’t you?”
“A man has his desires,” she said, “and I saw your face.”
He ground his teeth, looking like he was trying to rein in his impatience. “I’m keeping you alive because I need your help,” he said. “The Castes have to change if we want to have any hope of riding out the coming storm. The Baels say Suwraith can rid Herself of Her madness. Maybe they’re right and maybe they’re wrong, but if they are telling the truth, She’ll come for Ashoka, and this time She’ll know what to do. We’ll be sheep before the wolf.”
Jessira snorted. Right. His words were pretty and noble. They might even be genuine, but she didn’t believe him, at least not entirely. Rukh wanted what all men ultimately wanted.
“And how exactly am I supposed to help you with this miraculous redemption of your Pureblooded hearts?” she asked.
“By just being you. You’ve got this way about you, of never backing down, of never apologizing for who and what you are. We need this challenge. We can’t keep going on like we have. We have to change. I think we’ve needed this since the Night of Sorrows.”
“As soon as I step foot into Ashoka, your people will lynch me and forget I ever existed.”
“I don’t think so,” Rukh said. “Some might even understand and agree with me.”
“Agree with what? Allowing ghrinas to live?” She laughed. “You’re dreaming. People don’t change that quickly. And besides, none of this matters. You haven’t answered my question,” she said. “I saw the look on your face. Don’t pretend you’re saving me because of some notion of noble self-sacrifice.”
“Stop being so self-centered,” he snapped. “What you saw wasn’t lust…it was embarrassment. I’m not as coarse as you think I am. I would never take advantage of a woman in your situation. It’s disgusting. And as for my ‘noble self-sacrifice’, that is exactly what it means to be a Kumma. It is who we are.” He stood suddenly, and she could see the anger in his posture as he marched away from her. “Times burning. Let’s go,” he shouted over his shoulder.
Hours later, with only an unhappy silence to mark the miles of their passage, Jessira knew she had to be the one to make amends.
“I’m sorry,” she said, hating how often she seemed to have to apologize to this Kumma.
“For what?” Rukh asked, his voice curt.
She sighed. He wasn’t going to make this easy on her.
“For thinking the worst of you.”
“You know, I’ve saved your life over and over again. I’ve kept you alive, cared for you, and in all this time, I’ve never complained about it. The only thing I ask in return is a little gratitude and respect.” He was still obviously angry.
“You’re right,” she said, suddenly feeling the weight of her guilt. He had done all those things for her, and she had given him nothing but suspicion and sharp words. “I haven’t treated you very well. I’m sorry.”
He grunted in response, not sounding mollified in the least.
She paused, trying to find the right words. “It’s not easy for me to trust someone like you.”
“A Kumma, you mean,” Rukh said. He stopped, turning to face her. “You may not believe this, but I understand how you feel. It can’t get much worse than having to rely on a Pureblood for your safety.”
His insight surprised her. Once more, Rukh had taken the time to think things through from her perspective. He even sympathized with what she was feeling. She might have misjudged him all along. And if she had, could she also be wrong about others like him? Other Purebloods? She didn’t think so, but the certainty she had once felt was no longer there.
“I still think your people will toss me out as soon as they see my face. I bet you think the same thing,” she said. “So why do you bother?
All I’m doing is slowing you down and keeping you from warning your city.”
Rukh shrugged. “I’m Kumma. I told you: it’s what we do,” he said flashing her a grin of self-deprecation.
Jessira smiled back, her first true smile since that awful night in the Flats. “Then you are a credit to your Caste,” she said, her voice only slightly mocking.
“Now you’re just making fun of me,” he said, frowning so severely that Jessira burst out in laughter.
Jessira stumbled, and Rukh reached for her, keeping her from falling.
“Let’s take a break,” he suggested.
Wordlessly, Jessira lowered herself to the ground, too tired to talk.
Rukh dropped next to her, feeling the weariness of three weeks of marching on low rations and minimal sleep. Every night after they made camp, Rukh took the longest stretch of the watch. Jessira needed the rest. Her injuries weren’t healing, and the pinkness along the edges of some of her wounds were starting to turn red. Rukh was worried infection was setting in. It was already starting to affect her balance, and she leaned heavily on Rukh as they made their slow way through the Hunters Flats.
And Jessira was not a small woman. She was as tall as Rukh’s sister or any Kumma woman for that matter, but built with the lean, well-muscled frame of a warrior. It wasn’t easy holding her up at the end of a long day of marching. At times, Rukh almost wished Li-Choke had stayed with them to help with the burden of carrying her.
The one blessing was that they hadn’t run into any more Chims, but Rukh still worried. He could take Braids and Ur-Fels, but in his current state, any force of Tigons – certainly a claw with its five to seven cats – would probably overwhelm him. And coming upon a Shylow along the northern outskirts of the Flats would be a disaster. His Jivatma was thin and had been from the beginning of their long march. Along with the gauntness to his face and the weight he had lost, it was yet another reflection of his weariness, and it wouldn’t get better any time soon. He couldn’t afford to take a break in order to rest and recover. Not now. Jessira had grown too weak to Blend for herself anymore. As a result, it now fell to Rukh to take on that additional task as well.