by Davis Ashura
There. Almost finished. He sat back and panted. It felt like he’d run twenty miles with a full rucksack. Fighting Kinsu Makren had been easy compared to this. He waited for his heart and breathing to slow, taking time to regain some strength before tackling the cuts on her chest.
He was heartened to see Jessira’s color looking better. He took it as a good sign, and once he was rested, he knew it was time for her remaining wounds. She would probably kill him for seeing her nearly naked, but hopefully, being alive would alleviate some of her anger.
He took a deep breath before placing his hands over the wounds. He tried not to notice the softness of her breast. Again, all too slowly, the cuts knitted closed until they were nothing more than fine pink lines. Soon, Rukh was panting again, and his vision blurred. He’d never been so tired in his life.
But it was worth it.
Jessira would live.
He knew it.
Her eyes flickered open, and her gaze focused on his worried face.
“You look like I feel,” she said with a tremulous smile.
Rukh chuckled with relief. They both did, and when they finished, it was Jessira who broke the silence. “Rukh…you can let go of my breast now,” she said.
Rukh quickly withdrew his hand, utterly mortified, but for some reason, her words struck a nerve. He found them hilarious.
He rolled over onto his back and laughed as he gazed into the night sky, unable to stop.
Those with love in their hearts must sing it out for all the world to see and share. To do otherwise is to deny the greatest gift I have given.
~The Book of All Souls
Bree followed as Rector led her through the narrow streets of West Vineyard Steep. This was a mixed neighborhood, just north of the Moon Quarter and not a very desirable place to live. Most people here came from a variety of Castes, such as Sentya, Duriah, Rahail, and Muran. There were even a few Shiyens. No Cherids or Kummas, though. No one from those two Castes – the wealthiest in Ashoka – would deign to live in such a poor place. It would have been an intolerable embarrassment to live in such apparent poverty. Not that the place really was impoverished. At least not anymore.
West Vineyard Steep had come a long way since the time about seventy years prior when many of the houses here had fallen into such disrepair that they had become nesting places for animals. As a result, almost half the homes in the area had been razed, including a large number toward the center of the neighborhood. Most of those torn down had never been rebuilt, and instead their lots had been turned into communal gardens and parks. Of the houses left in place, the vast majority were small, narrow, single-story brick houses, well maintained, and with lovely flower gardens in front. This had become a quiet neighborhood of families with a few small shops and restaurants. And while it didn’t have the beauty of Jubilee, the extravagance of Fragrance Wall, or the vibrancy of Trell Rue, it looked comfortable and the people walking the streets here appeared content.
“The Trim Chef was one of my favorite restaurants before I left for the Trials,” Rector said. “The food there is classic Sentya cuisine with plain potatoes, carrots, and fish. It’s not overly spiced like so many of those trendy fusion restaurants everyone seems to like so much these days. It’s traditional, a reminder of the old ways of doing things.”
He gently guided her by the elbow down a side street, not much more than an alley in Jubilee Hills.
“Jaresh would probably like it then,” Bree observed, although she herself preferred the fusion cuisine, which Rector apparently didn’t. She gently eased her arm free of Rector’s grasp. She didn’t want or need his assistance.
“I would hope so,” Rector said. “For me every time I pass it by, I remember how the owner and chef have been the same for twenty-five years, and it fills me with a little bit of hope.”
“What do you mean?”
“Our world keeps changing,” Rector answered. “There’s so much intermingling going on now. Instead of each Caste having its own way of being, it’s like the city has this formless culture where everyone is just like everybody else. Most of the other cities I’ve visited aren’t like that. The Castes there are distinct and separate. People know their place. It’s simpler, and if you ask me, it’s better.”
Rector was a traditionalist, and his words weren’t unexpected. He had a kinship with Ashoka as it might have existed several gener-ations ago. On the other hand, Bree wasn’t sure what she felt. Not anymore. Not since Nanna had told her about the founder of House Shektan. She still hadn’t come to terms with it. And now, with everything going on – the murders, the Withering Knife, and the Sil Lor Kum – she could see how maintaining one’s traditions could be comforting. “I see what you mean,” she said, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with Rector. “Nanna says Ashoka is much more complex than it was when he was a child. It’s both easier and harder for those of different Castes to interrelate, especially with us, Kummas.”
Rector nodded. “It’s because the stature of our Caste has declined, while those of some of the others has risen without merit. I always thought of our Caste as being first among equals, but I don’t think many other people do. I know it sounds arrogant, but it also happens to be true whether anybody else wants to accept it or not. Other Castes just don’t know their place, and they take us for granted. In Forge and Arjun and Samsoul we are still properly honored for our work. It’s how it should be,” Rector said.
To a certain extent, Bree understood what Rector was saying even if he wasn’t saying it well. People didn’t respect the sacrifices made by Kummas. They took them for granted, thinking her Caste’s wealth was payment enough for all they suffered and endured. But it wasn’t even close. Coins couldn’t bring back the dead or Heal the men broken on their Trials. Who wouldn’t trade wealth for the safety and health of their children?
Of course, her parents didn’t feel the sting of ingratitude quite as strongly as Bree did. In reality, they wouldn’t even see it as ingratitude. They thought other Castes should rise up and voice their opinions when it came to how the city was run. It shouldn’t all be left to the Cherids and the Kummas. Amma and Nanna would have disagreed with Rector, quite strongly, in fact. But if Bree voiced agreement with Rector Bryce, it would feel too much like a betrayal of her family, so instead, she kept quiet.
They arrived at the restaurant, and Rector held open the door. It was dim inside, and since the night was still young – the sun having set just a few minutes earlier – only a few other couples were present. Candles burned within hurricane vases on each of the dozen or so square tables, but otherwise there was no additional lighting. The firefly lanterns hanging on the walls were unlit. The smell of grilled fish as well as the heavy aroma of boiled potatoes and roasted garlic permeated the restaurant. The owner, a chunky Sentya, had them quickly seated.
Bree was surprised when Rector held out the chair for her. It was an old-fashioned habit few bothered with anymore since nowadays women were expected to do for themselves. Then again, Rector was nothing if not old-fashioned.
In the six weeks they had spent perusing the various libraries in Ashoka, Bree had learned two facts about Rector Bryce. First, he was blunt and plainspoken about his opinions, never hedging or hiding what he felt. Bree wondered if he was even capable of deceit or subtlety. In some ways, his attitude was refreshing.
There had been a time when all Kummas – men and women, both – would have been like Rector: candid, confident, and upfront. Over the years, though, the insufferable Cherids and their snide habit of carefully cutting remarks had somehow seeped into Kumma culture, replacing honesty with a preening repartee. The women were especially affected. Too often conversations at many parties and gatherings devolved into a cruel banter where words were seemingly chosen for maximum insult, and yet couched in such a way as to allow the speaker to disavow a slight had ever been intended. It was cultural pollution, and the Kummas were not the better for it.
The other thing she had learned about Rector was tha
t he was quite conservative. He longed for the simplicity of prior times and earlier mores, at least where it came to the interactions amongst the Castes. In the case of the cultural homogeneity which had overtaken Ashoka, she could see his point.
Of course, Nanna might describe Ashoka as having a mélange of cultures, but on this one issue, Bree disagreed with him.
She was Kumma. She knew who she was, and it was enough. She disliked when non-Kummas aped her kind, such as the Rahails who had gone so far as to form their own Houses. And she especially didn’t like it when the habits of another Caste somehow infected the culture of Caste Kumma. She wanted nothing to do with that. Let Murans be Murans. Let Duriahs be Duriahs. Let Cherids be Cherids. And let Kummas be Kummas. Each to their own.
Certainly, some influence was good. After all, look at Jaresh. Without a doubt, he had added greatly to their House, but then again, he was an exception, wasn’t he? He might have been born Sentya, but his heart was Kumma. Moving beyond her brother’s presence, Bree just didn’t think it would make sense for House Shektan, or any House for that matter, to further open its ranks to those who were not Kummas. Jaresh was unique.
She shied away from further thoughts on the matter. They led to uncomfortable places where – if her logic was taken to its natural conclusion – she would be expected to disavow Jaresh. And she had no ready answer for the fact that while she loved being a Kumma, she was also fascinated by medicine. Hadn’t she privately wished she could Heal, and wasn’t it a Talent given only to the Shiyens?
“We’ve finished exploring the smaller libraries in the city,” she said, changing the conversation. “Nanna will expect us to help Jaresh now.” She pretended to shudder. “And given my brother’s work ethic, he’ll never let us have a nice relaxing meal after a hard day of fruitless searching. He’ll push us from dawn-til-dusk.”
Rector grimaced.
Bree laughed. “I was joking. It won’t be so bad,” she said, trying to ease his mind.
“I’m not worried about working hard,” Rector said.
“Then what is it?”
“It’s nothing,” Rector said, trying to sound flippant.
“It must be something or you wouldn’t have made that face.”
Rector didn’t answer at first. “It’s Jaresh and Mira,” he finally began. “Don’t you find all the time they spend together…unseemly?”
Bree frowned in irritation. Agreeing with Rector about the melding of cultures was one thing but this was something else. It came dangerously close to making some very ugly claims about her brother, and Suwraith would claim her before she would let someone suggest something so vulgar. “I think you should be very careful what you say next,” Bree replied in a soft whisper of warning. “Jaresh is my brother and our nanna’s son, which is a byword for honor as far as I’m concerned. And Mira is my close friend, and I can’t imagine her being any less honorable.”
“I’m sorry,” Rector said, sounding instantly contrite. “I didn’t mean to speak badly of either of them. I just think its wrong for a Sentya man to spend so much time with a Kumma woman. Others would think so as well.”
“Which is why the House Council has made sure everyone knows the two of them are working on a project under Nanna’s specific orders,” Bree snapped back. “Which also happens to be true. Again, Jaresh and Mira have my full trust, and I don’t appreciate your implications.”
“You’re right,” Rector said, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “I withdraw the question.”
Bree wasn’t mollified. This was the other side of the coin when dealing with someone who was always blunt in their honesty: in some circumstances, they could sound cruel and thoughtless. Earlier, Bree had found Rector’s unvarnished truth-telling to be admirable, but in this instance she didn’t like it.
“I’m only worried about the needless ruin of their reputations,” Rector continued. “I know they are honorable and would do nothing to bring shame to the House.”
“If concern for Jaresh and Mira’s reputation was why you said what you did, then fine,” Bree said. “I happen to feel the same way, but the way you went about it; the question you asked…it was disgusting.”
Rector grimaced. “As you say. I shouldn’t have spoken. It was not my place.”
Bree was still angry and wasn’t ready to let the matter drop. “You need to understand, I might agree with you on how some aspects of our city have changed for the worse, or even the standing of our Caste, but when it comes to my family, I won’t sit by and let such repulsive insinuations pass without challenge.”
“As I said, you’re right. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I apologize. Perhaps we can move on to a different topic?” Rector suggested, looking annoyed.
“Then don’t bring this particular one up again,” Bree said. She didn’t want to further antagonize Rector, but she also wanted him to understand just how she felt about the matter.
“Believe me, I won’t,” Rector said, appearing abashed.
Bree figured she’d made her point. She worked to set aside her irritation. “What else would you like to talk about then?” she asked.
“Anything else, as long as it isn’t about Jaresh and definitely not about Mira. ”
“Oh? You still think she doesn’t like you, is that it?”
“I’m certain she doesn’t like me,” Rector replied.
Bree was glad to see the annoyance leave his face. “She thinks I’m too old-fashioned.”
Bree burst out in laughter, which she quickly smothered when other patrons turned and looked over at them. Rector’s words were so close to what she had just been thinking.
“What is so amusing?” Rector asked, not cracking a smile.
“Because you don’t see it,” Bree said, surprised by his blindness. “You are old-fashioned. Sometimes you act like you’re older than Nanna.”
“Well, if it’s old-fashioned to believe we should use the past as a guide to direct our present and build our future, then count me as old-fashioned. Too many people discount the teachings of our elders. If you ask me, it is the height of arrogance.”
“Nanna would say blindly clinging to the past is no way to win the future,” Bree responded.
“And he would be right,” Rector said. “I don’t believe in a future no different than the past, but I see our culture as existing in a balance. We’re not always sure when we’re tipping too far on the side of change versus stultification. For instance, I don’t like having non-Kummas rise into positions of power in our House. And I’m not speaking of Jaresh here. Your brother proved his worth when he fought that pig, Suge Wrestiva.”
“And yet, by allowing those not of our Caste the chance to act as arbiters of our commerce, Shektans have prospered,” Bree replied. “In other Houses, Kummas hold those posts, and too often don’t do a very good job of it. We weren’t trained to be clerks or moneylenders.”
“True. We were born to be warriors,” he said, a pensive look on his face. They fell into a thoughtful silence. “It seems that change catches me off guard more than I would like,” he added, breaking the silence. “Your nanna is wise and canny, but he is far more modern than a simple man like me. It seems his daughter is cut from the same cloth.” He grinned.
“What? Wise and canny? Or modern?” Bree asked with a glint in her eyes.
“Both.”
“Now it is you who are wise and canny.”
Rector laughed. “Never.”
“You forgot your allergy medicine again didn’t you?” Jaresh asked as Mira sneezed. Again. Once more, the mildew and dust of the Cellar must have gotten to her.
As usual, the two of them were in their typical reading alcove in the stacks down below the main floors for the Library of Ashoka. It was a place they had learned to loathe. It was dim, dismal, and claustrophobic encased as it was by stacks of manuscripts and books. It felt like a cave.
Mira didn’t answer at first, but he noticed her flash of annoyance, which was answer enough.
“Yes,” she eventually admitted, her voice muffled as she wiped her nose with a handkerchief. “And I don’t want to hear another word about it.”
“Wouldn’t think of it,” Jaresh said, hiding a grin.
“I see you smiling,” Mira accused.
Jaresh coughed into his hand, trying to suppress a chuckle. “What do you mean?”
“Very funny,” Mira said. “Why does it amuse you so much when I sneeze?”
“It’s not the sneezing,” Jaresh said. “I just think it’s funny how you always forget to take your medicine. I’d have figured it would be a priority by now given how miserable you are without it.”
“Oh, shut up.” Mira said with a disgruntled glare.
Jaresh was wise enough to do as Mira asked, especially since she looked as unhappy as a cat with a sore paw. He could tell she was doing her best to studiously ignore him, and he felt bad for mocking her. She really did look pretty pathetic as she sniffled and rubbed at the tip of her nose. “I’m sorry I laughed at you,” he said.
“You mean you don’t find it oh so amusing to taunt me,” she asked, caustically.
“Well, making fun of you is fun,” Jaresh said, “but I am sorry about your allergies.” He pulled a small apothecary bottle from a pocket in his pants. “Consider this a peace offering.”
He passed her the bottle, and she took it, eyeing him suspiciously. “What is this?”
“Your allergy medicine,” Jaresh replied. “You’ve forgotten to take it so many times that I had another vial made up. I figured some day you were going to need it.”
Mira’s eyes widened in surprise and appreciation. “Thank you,” she said. “And here I was about to curse you as an uncaring brute. This was sweet of you.”