by Davis Ashura
“Let’s not get carried away,” Jaresh said with a smile.
After Mira took her medicine, they got back to work.
For the past several days, Jaresh had been reading through a logbook dating back to before the fall of Rock. It had been written by Garth Vole, a Rahail caravan master and a known associate of the Sil Lor Kum. He had been executed in Ashoka in 1703 AF, three hundred fifty-nine years ago when his membership in the cult had been discovered. The book was fragile, and Jaresh handled it as carefully as possible. Most of what Vole described was prosaic stuff: information about the number of wagons, guards, materials transported…boring details really. But every once in awhile, Jaresh came across a series of numbers and symbols, randomly scattered throughout the log, only one or two of them at a time. He would find them in the middle of an account of guard shifts or descriptions of the land in which they traveled or the goods they carried. Their presence made no sense, but Jaresh’s interest had been piqued, so he had transcribed them onto a fresh piece of parchment. Right away, he noticed there wasn’t an obvious pattern, but there did appear to be what looked like a hidden cipher when the numbers and symbols were written down in sequence.
What was Mr. Vole trying to say without anyone else knowing? It was a puzzle, and Jaresh loved puzzles. As he worked the numbers, he realized if this was a cipher, it was most likely to be a substitution encryption with multiple characters in the code equivalent to a real world letter. Jaresh had already tried a simple pattern of matching the most commonly occurring numbers and symbols to common letters, but Mr. Vole had been clever enough not to make his code so simple. As a result, Jaresh hadn’t made any progress, but he wasn’t daunted. Not by a long stretch. He’d crack Vole’s code yet. In fact, just this morning a thought had occurred to him: what if the numbers were one or more steps removed from the letter they were meant to represent?
He had already tried one step, then two, and now was on three…
He smiled in triumph. He’d broken the code. Each number was three steps above the letter they were meant to represent with multiple numbers indicating the same letter. As for the symbols, they had been a clever ruse. They represented nothing and had only been included to make the code more complex. Clever but not clever enough.
Jaresh quickly transcribed Vole’s hidden message with a dawning sense of realization and excitement.
“Mira, take a look at this,” he said, eagerly.
“What is it?” she asked.
“It’s from a logbook that belonged to a Rahail caravan master out of Ashoka by the name of Garth Vole. He also happened to be a member of the Sil Lor Kum.” Jaresh explained Vole’s history and subsequent execution as well as the clever code hidden within the text of the logbook. “I only deciphered it just now.”
“Ingenious,” Mira said admiringly.
“I don’t know what other reasons he might have had for writing down what he did, but you need to hear this:
In my dreams, the Queen commands, and Her wishes are not to be forgotten with the rising of the sun. Deep and grim punishments await any who fail Her.
The Knife was given into my hand by the very SarpanKum of Her Red Hand of Justice. The Bael, a fell creature by the name of Li-Slake, was as dark as a nightmare with a voice like rustling, aged leaves.
He said to me, “Take the Knife to your brother, the SuDin of accursed Rock, so the city may be purified within our Holy Mother’s cleansing fire.”
I was brave, and I asked the purpose of the Knife.
The Bael smiled and suggested I kill someone and find out.
Long was I troubled by his words, but there came to pass a battle, and one of our guards, a Kumma by the name of Hewter Steer was injured. We had no means to Heal him, so I offered to end his suffering.
When I slipped the Knife into his flesh, Steer arched as though in great pain. His mouth gaped silently, and the water seemed to evaporate from his body. Suddenly, I was connected to him. For a time, I knew all he knew; all his memories and all his Talents were mine. As was his Jivatma.
I was filled to blazing with the power of it, and where once was Hewter Steer, now only a dried out husk of corpse remained. I quickly added the Kumma’s body to the purifying fire the warriors had built before any could see what had become of their brother.
As the days passed, Steer’s memories and Talents slowly faded from my mind, but his Jivatma remained with me. And I remained stronger and faster than I could ever recall being. Thus, it was late one night when a treasonous thought came to me: why give over the power of the Knife to another when it could raise me to heights undreamt?
A day short of Rock, once again the Queen visited me in my dreams. Somehow, She knew of my plan. She described what would befall me should I betray Her. She even gave me a long taste of the torment She would visit upon me should I prove faithless.
I awoke in sodden sweat; the pain of Her torture sending waves of fire through my very bones while the sound of Her maniacal laughter rang in my ears like the cries of some monstrously large hyena. On the morning the caravan entered Rock, I made homage to the Council of Rule. Seven were there, one for each Caste, and they wished to know the meaning of my presence, but only to the SuDin would I speak. I wordlessly passed the Knife unto him, never to see it again.
Mira was silent, her mouth agape. “We did it,” she breathed after a moment. “We did it!” she shouted, excited. “We found it!”
Overcome by emotion, she actually hugged Jaresh before immediately releasing him.
“Sorry,” she quickly apologized, reddening with embarrassment.
“It’s fine,” Jaresh said, equally self-conscious and trying to hide how much he liked the feel of her arms around him.
Affection was fine between men and women of different Castes, so long as it was limited to friendship. Anything more, especially physical displays of affection, was an unacceptable breach of etiquette. Given all the time he and Mira had spent together in the past two-and-a-half months, it was the last thing they needed someone to witness. The gossip would be nasty and reputation ruining.
“I must have gotten carried away,” Mira added. “It’s just that after nearly three months of searching, we finally have confirmation. Dar’El was right all along.”
“He usually is,” Jaresh said.
“We need to meet with your nanna and let him know about this. Everyone needs to hear it.”
Jaresh laughed. “Just think how relieved my sister will be when she realizes she won’t have to get her hands dirty anymore poring through mildewy books.”
“Especially since she’s been stuck with Rector Bryce all these weeks.”
“Rector isn’t so bad,” Jaresh said.
Mira shrugged. “He’s honorable and decent enough,” she allowed. “He’s just so fragging stodgy.”
“Mira!” Jaresh said, shocked by her vulgarity.
“Oh, don’t ‘Mira’ me. Women curse, too. And it’s true what I said about Rector.”
“Maybe so, but don’t let him hear you say it.”
Mira gave him a withering look. “And here I was planning on going straight up to him and telling him what a jackhole I think he is.”
Jaresh burst out in laughter. “You’re incorrigible.”
“Takes one to know one.”
Returning home from a Trial is the sweetness of salvation. Nothing else compares.
~From the journal of Durmer Volk, AF 2019
Jessira shivered.
The wind blew cool in the high hills west of Ashoka where they had set up camp for the night. Far away and down to the south, the Hunters Flats still sweltered in the summer sun, but here in the higher elevations the air was as crisp as an early autumn evening.
Their campsite was less than a day’s march from Ashoka in a beautiful mountain meadow next to a crystal-clear stream stocked with trout. The water gurgled over and around large boulders jutting from the brook’s bed as well as stones made round and smooth by time’s endless passage. The sun had not y
et set, and the sky was painted in dark reds and oranges with a few sunbeams punching through the low hanging clouds. A colony of blue and yellow butterflies flitted in the last of the light and amongst the velvety antlers of a surprised deer. He bounded away. The world felt as fresh and vibrant as the perfume of a nearby honeysuckle bush.
Jessira closed her eyes and inhaled the peace, treasuring the simple fact of being alive and able to witness such a lovely evening. Being clean for the first time in weeks also helped her appreciate her great, good fortune. As soon as they had made camp, she had taken the unforeseen yet greatly prized opportunity to bathe in the frigid water, washing away weeks of sweat, grit, and caked-on dirt. It was like shedding a second skin and left her feeling tingly clean.
Her pants and jacket were still sodden, so rather than put them back on, she had left them to dry on several large boulders that still held the warmth of the noonday sun. Protected only by a camisole and her torn shirt wrapped around her waist, her recently scrubbed skin was nipped by the mountain air.
At least the fire was warm.
She glanced toward the sound of water splashing.
Rukh was also cleaning up, hidden by the same boulders on which her clothes lay.
Although…her eyes narrowed in musing thought. Despite his long unkempt hair and scraggly beard from weeks on the road, Rukh Shektan was still easy on the eyes.
Too bad the rocks were in the way.
She stifled her laughter when she imagined how Rukh would react if he ever learned of her speculative interest in what he looked like without clothes. He’d probably blush red as a virgin maiden.
Jessira smiled.
Despite being a Pureblood prude, Rukh was a good man.
The manner in which he had saved her life still caused her consternation, though. Jessira could easily accept how he had Healed her using Jivatma – she always knew he could if he just tried – but it was the other thing which gave her pause. A kind, warm Shylow, who spoke mind-to-mind and could pass on knowledge from one person to another? Had it really happened the way Rukh said? It sounded like a children’s story: Here then is the fable of the good Shylow, the only one of her kind who will teach her cruel father and brothers of kindness. It sounded too fantastical to believe, and yet, Rukh insisted it had happened.
The fact she was still alive was proof of it. She shook her head in disbelief. Wait until Stronghold learned of this. On the night she had collapsed, almost a week ago now, her last coherent thought had been the disappointed certainty that she would not live to see the next sunrise. And yet, she had, and in the morning, she had listened with wide-eyed incredulity as Rukh explained what had happened while she lay unconscious.
She was broken from her reveries by the sound of sizzling trout on a skillet, and she quickly returned her attention back to the fire. After setting up camp, Rukh had caught some fish. He had even cleaned them before handing them over to Jessira. Her job was to cook them, which she didn’t mind since Rukh was a terrible cook. In his hands, the fish would have ended up as cinders and ashes.
Speaking of…she flipped the trout. One side was now gently blackened. Wouldn’t do to burn them.
Unconsciously, she flexed her left shoulder. While it was still stiff and sore as well as being weak, it felt infinitely better than it had the night she had collapsed. She glanced at the wounds left by the Shylow. They were pink and scabbed over without any obvious signs of infection, but Jessira knew she wasn’t out of the woods yet. Somewhere in her shoulder there was still a small nidus of contagion. It was one Rukh could hold in check, but one he couldn’t completely eradicate. Neither of them had the knowledge on how to do so, but even if Jessira had been home in Stronghold, she likely would have still ended up losing the arm. She worried about the possibility. Rukh didn’t think it would come to that. He was certain one of Ashoka’s famed Shiyen physicians could cure her and save the arm as well. Jessira hoped he was right, but she also did her best to hold down her prayerful longing. She didn’t want to be too disappointed if Rukh was wrong.
Beyond her own personal concerns, Jessira also worried what Rukh’s actions would mean for him. She’d hate for his people to turn him out on her account or because he could Heal. Hadn’t he said he might be declared Tainted for learning to Blend? What would the other Purebloods say when they found out he could also Heal? If they did tell him to leave, would he agree to come with her to Stronghold? She would definitely take him if he wanted. She owed him too much not to, and she knew he couldn’t be turned away by the OutCastes. Long ago, the founders of Stronghold had decided that any stranger who came to the city would be offered sanctuary. Even though no one had ever actually come to her home in all the time since its founding, she was certain her people would accept Rukh with open arms.
He would be fine.
However, she might not be.
How would she ever explain her relationship with Rukh to Disbar Merdant, the man her parents had chosen as her husband? Their marriage was to take place in the spring, and he would not be happy to learn she had spent so much unchaperoned time in the company of a man who wasn’t family. Would he believe nothing sinful had occurred between Jessira and Rukh? She hoped he would, but men could be so irrational about the supposed purity of their brides. Disbar had gruffly accepted her long assignments beyond Stronghold as a scout, but in those cases, he had known she would always be with her brothers and family. Rukh was neither, and Disbar would not be happy.
“Food smells good,” Rukh said, interrupting her thoughts. His beard and shaggy hair dripped water, and he’d dressed in his sodden clothes rather than parade around naked. He glanced at her attire. “I hope you’re planning on wearing something more when we get to Ashoka,” he said.
Jessira glanced down at her camisole and the shirt tied around her waist. She wasn’t exactly indecent, but a lot of flesh was certainly visible. She’d look like a right proper prostitute parading around in her current outfit. She inanely wondered if Ashoka had whores since Stronghold did not. She suddenly realized her nipples were taut from the cold, mountain air. Rukh seemed to notice as well. Jessira crossed her arms over her chest, cursing silently.
“Stop staring,” she said.
“I wasn’t staring. There’s nothing to stare at.”
She felt a brief stab of disappointment at his words. There was nothing to stare at because she was so flat-chested? Or had he meant it was because she was a ghrina? Probably the latter, an attitude she’d have to get used to when they arrived in his city. “I guess in Ashoka, people would only see the abomination and not even notice the woman, right? They probably wouldn’t care if I walked around dressed the way I am right now.”
“Try it and find out,” Rukh said as he leaned against a nearby boulder, looking smug. “You’d only embarrass yourself.”
Jessira stood. She’d had enough. Sitting around half-naked before a man who wasn’t her fiancé was not acceptable decorum. She meant to walk to the boulders and reclaim her clothes no matter how wet, but Rukh’s widened eyes let her know what had happened. The fire had backlit the full length of her legs through the fabric of the shirt.
She reddened with embarrassment and darted behind the boulders. The moment she was hidden from view, she pulled her clothes down from the rocks. Her nose wrinkled. Her pants remained soaked and they still stank, but she donned them anyway. The shirt and jacket could wait, though. With her shoulder still hurting, they were hard to slip on without Rukh’s help, something she really didn’t want right now.
“What did I do?” Rukh asked, sounding affronted when she emerged a moment later.
“What do you think?” she snapped.
“All I said was you’d embarrass yourself if you pranced around Ashoka wearing a tied-off shirt around your waist and camisole.”
“I wouldn’t be embarrassed but your people would. I know how priggish you Kummas are.”
“I never thought of my Caste as being priggish,” Rukh replied, “but even if we are, I’ve had to ta
ke care of those cuts on your back and chest, remember? Can’t be a prude after seeing you all undressed like that.” He smirked.
Jessira wanted to smack the smug look off his face. He didn’t have to remind her of what he’d seen. She glowered, staring into the fire before glancing back at him, seeing his smug grin. Fine. He’d seen her wearing hardly any clothing. He didn’t have to be an ass about it. She turned her attention back to the fish, idly moving them about.
“Why don’t you let me help you with your shirt?” Rukh suggested a moment later.
Jessira glanced his way, but he wasn’t looking at her. He appeared unsettled as he stared off into the distance. “Not right now,” she said with a frown. The trout were a few moments from burning. She could figure out what had him so bothered after she saw to their supper. “Let me take care of this first.”
Jessira lifted the skillet out of the fire, and doled out the trout. It was only then that she realized why Rukh was so discomfited. Every time she leaned forward, her camisole had fallen forward. Her gaze snapped around to Rukh’s. He was beet-red and looked on the verge of standing up and walking away from her.
For a moment, she froze in embarrassment before quickly snatching the camisole back to her chest. “You jackhole! Stop looking!” she snapped as she stood up and glared at him.
He wore a look of affronted innocence. “What did I do wrong?”
“You should have looked away, pervert.”
“I did look away,” he reminded her, “and I also suggested you put on your shirt so the whole world can’t see your nipples, remember?”
Nipples? Holy Mother! He’d seen that far down? She closed her eyes and silently mouthed a prayer for patience. “Can we forget this ever happened?”