by Davis Ashura
“Fine by me,” Rukh said, looking annoyed rather than angry. “I don’t see why you’re acting so offended. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong? You all but mentally undressed me.” She flushed when she realized how stupid that sounded.
She was grateful he didn’t call her on it.
“I only looked once,” he replied, “and that was on accident. I would bet the men of Stronghold would stare much more than I did – unless of course, they’re blind.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she shouted, incensed. How dare he insult her kind!
“All I did was appreciate an attractive woman. As far as I’m concerned, you’re the one who should apologize to me for yelling. Like I said, I did warn you. It’s not my fault you didn’t listen.”
She paused in mid-tirade, replaying his words in her mind. Did he really think her attractive? She studied his face. He looked at her with puzzlement. He didn’t seem to realize what he had just said. It was as if he had only spoken out loud what was obvious in his mind. She still wanted to be angry with him, but she couldn’t hold onto the feeling, not after his words. Her disgust with him dissolved. Five weeks ago, he only saw her as a ghrina, but now, he actually saw her as a person, even as a woman. She would have never believed such growth possible for a Pureblood.
Rukh Shektan surprised her again and again. Whatever the faults of his culture, he was a good and generous man. Even if he was horrible sometimes.
And tomorrow, she would have to enter a whole city of people who thought as Rukh once had. She shuddered.
“I won’t lie. Most people will hate you,” Rukh said, speaking softly and somehow guessing – as he so often did – what she was thinking. “But you won’t be alone. I’ll be with you. And anyone who insults you will be picking their teeth up off the bricks.”
“You against a whole city?”
Rukh smiled. “Bad odds?”
She laughed. “Even for you.”
He shrugged. “I’ll take them on one at a time then. I can handle it.”
The worst thing was that Rukh actually sounded confident, as if he thought he could take on anyone in Ashoka.
Ah yes. The arrogance of young men the world over, the ones who were inexperienced enough to still believe themselves invincible. Eventually life intervened, and they either learned wisdom or they died.
Rukh was good – the best Jessira had ever seen – but he couldn’t be that good, not when he was barely older than she was, and younger in some very important ways. After all, this was his first trip into the Wildness, and these past few weeks had likely marked his first true battles. Back in Ashoka, there were bound to be many warriors who were far cannier and deadlier than Rukh, which was in its own way an even more troubling thought.
She said as much.
Rukh grinned. “You’re probably right,” he said. “But a man can pretend, right?”
“As long as you don’t do anything reckless,” she said, cautioning him one last time. He obviously wasn’t taking her warning very seriously, but she wanted to be able to say she’d done her best to get through to him.
“I won’t,” he said, making it sound like a promise he didn’t plan on keeping.
She mentally sighed. Oh well. She’d tried. It looked like he’d have to learn his lesson the hard way. She only hoped it was an instruction he survived without receiving too many bruises in the process.
“But if it happens…” he shrugged, “…you’d be worth it.”
Despite her frustration with his carefree attitude, his words made her oddly happy.
Two swords were leveled at their throats while another scout had an arrow drawn and aimed.
Rukh kept his hands clear of his weapons. Taking on Chims at odds of ten-to-one was one thing, but taking on two Kummas and a Rahail with a bow at the ready? It was a death wish. Even taking on two Kummas alone would have been suicidal.
“You’re a long way from home warrior,” the lead scout said, his sword not wavering. “How is it we find you wandering alone in the Wildness?” He turned to Jessira. “And who is this Muran woman with you?”
Rukh had expected both their discovery by Ashoka’s scouts and the questions directed at Jessira. The rough trail upon which they stood was the very same one he had taken on leaving Ashoka almost four months earlier. The High Army routinely patrolled it and all other routes leading to the city, as well as all the borderlands within a day’s travel. Rukh would have been horrified if he and Jessira hadn’t been challenged before approaching the city’s Outer Wall.
The scouts – Rukh vaguely recognized them as being from Houses distant to his own – waited for an answer, each wearing expressions of polite interest. Their relaxed curiosity would change in a heartbeat if they guessed an OutCaste, a ghrina, stood in their presence. They might even go so far as to kill Jessira on sight if they knew what she was.
As a result, Rukh had decided the safest way to gain entry into Ashoka would be to hide the truth of Jessira’s origins. Her emerald green eyes for which nothing could be done were clearly of Caste Muran, and so her other features would have to match them. They had dirtied her skin – this only hours after she had just washed off week’s worth of road grime and sweat – dulling its natural red-gold Cherid hue until it resembled the golden-brown color of the Muran. Nothing could be done about her fine Cherid features or her honey-brown hair – a color seen only amongst the Rahail – so instead; they had wrapped a rough shawl around her head, draping it over her face. Their explanation was she had disfiguring scars so hideous that no man had offered to marry her, and the emotional pain from such rejection had led her to quit the city’s safety for the dangers of the Wildness. It wasn’t an unknown means of suicide among the city’s destitute or desperate, although few spoke about it. Rukh’s plan was to then describe how he had found her a few miles from Ashoka, sick and alone. Jessira, of course, would say nothing. Her accent would mark her as being from somewhere other than Ashoka.
“I was with the caravan to Nestle,” Rukh answered. “I came across this woman while making my way home.” He explained finding Jessira alone in the hills west of Ashoka.
“No point in life if I can’t find a husband,” Jessira said in a passable Muran drawl, sounding dull and broken.
“Why are you dressed in camouflage clothing,” the lead scout asked, flicking a glance at her torn clothing.
“I figured it was the best way to survive the Wildness,” Jesssira drawled.
The lead scout flicked her a final cursory examination before turning back to Rukh. “What happened to the caravan?” he asked.
“Nothing good, warrior,” Rukh replied.
The scout’s eyes narrowed. “Was it…”
Rukh shook his head. “I can’t tell you; not until the Magisterium hears of it.”
“That bad.”
“Worse.” Rukh hesitated. “Can you send one of your men ahead to the gate commander and tell him to expect our arrival. I don’t want to be unnecessarily delayed.”
“I’ll see to it,” the lead scout said. He nodded to the other Kumma, who took off at a dead sprint.
Just as he and Jessira were about to depart, the Rahail spoke. “Rukh Shektan,” the man said with a grin. “It is you beneath all that hair, isn’t it?”
Rukh nodded, working to hide his wariness as the lead scout studied him through suddenly narrowed eyes. He sensed Jessira tense up next to him.
“I lost a lot of money on you,” the Rahail said, amiably. “Never thought I’d see a Virgin win the Tournament, especially against Kinsu Makren. He was the best I ever faced.”
Rukh grinned. “If I was a gambling man, I wouldn’t have bet on me either.”
The lead scout smiled. “Travel safely, Champion,” he said, stepping aside for Rukh and Jessira.
Rukh nodded as he and Jessira went on their way, continuing along the rough trail to Ashoka.
Once out of earshot, Jessira lowered her scarf and turned to him. “What Tourn
ament?”
“The Tournament of Hume,” Rukh said, distractedly. “Why?” He glanced at her, only then noticing her expression of open amazement.
Jessira frowned in puzzlement. “Is it some kind of competition?”
“It’s a contest,” Rukh said. “Every three years, those Ashokan warriors who wish to test themselves face one another in single combat to determine who has the swiftest blade.”
“And you won?” Jessira asked sounding as though she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “We have something similar in Stronghold. We call it the Trials of Hume.”
Rukh smiled, bemused as he wondered why the OutCastes would also develop such a similar martial competition. “Strange that our two cultures would both honor a Kumma like we have,” he said.
“Not as strange as someone winning it on his first entry and without ever having faced battle in the Wildness,” she said, appearing both incredulous and exasperated.
Rukh nodded, not sure what had her upset. For him, it felt like ancient history, unimportant given everything he’d been through since.
“So there really isn’t anyone in Ashoka to challenge you?” Jessira mused, looking annoyed with him.
“Well I wouldn’t go that far. All I said was that I could handle myself,” Rukh replied, not sure why she was mad at him.
She shook her head in obvious disgust. “Men.”
Ironically, it was twilight by the time they arrived at the Twilight Gate guardhouse. Twilight was one of the three major gates of the Outer Wall, and at all times it was heavily garrisoned by the High Army – the first line of defense into the city.
As they approached the gate’s gaping maw, Rukh saw a line of warriors waiting for them.
“You Purebloods sure build them big,” Jessira noted as they approached the Outer Wall.
Rukh could tell she was impressed and trying not to show it. He smiled. “It’s about sixty feet tall and thirty deep,” he said.
“And how many miles long?”
“Fifty.”
“You have enough warriors to defend such a length?” she asked.
“No. The Outer Wall is only meant to slow down the Chims. The Inner Wall is Ashoka’s true bulwark.”
“But all your fields are between the Inner and Outer Walls,” Jessira remarked. “If there is a siege, how do you plan on feeding the populace?”
“There’s enough food and water stored within the city proper to feed Ashoka for six months. Add in the fishing fleet and the arable land inside the Inner Wall and the city should be able to last a year or more.”
“If what we heard on the Flats is true, and the Queen comes for Ashoka, you might find those claims put to the test by next spring,” Jessira said. Just then, she stumbled, and Rukh moved to steady her. It had been a long day, and her shoulder was bothering her again.
“We’re almost there,” Rukh encouraged.
Jessira nodded. “I can make it.”
The warriors manning Twilight’s entrance were led by Marshall Vol Lumer, a man Rukh knew from the House of Fire and Mirrors as a Martial Master. Before his time as an instructor, the Marshall had been a famous and decorated veteran of six Trials, captaining the final two. Now, he was a senior commander in Ashoka’s High Army.
Rukh came to a halt and saluted.
“At ease, warrior,” Marshall Lumer ordered. He studied him, taking in his ragged appearance before his eyes briefly lighted on Jessira, dismissing her out of hand. He turned back to Rukh. “Rukh Shektan,” he said. “I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.”
“Devesh has plans none of us can fathom,” Rukh replied.
“And is it Devesh who impels your travels?” the Marshall asked. “You never struck me as a particularly religious man.”
“The Wildness teaches us humility,” Rukh said, repeating one of the Marshall’s favorite aphorisms.
Marshall Lumer’s lips quirked into a brief smile. “Rumor has it something happened to the Nestle caravan,” he said. “Two other survivors made it back a few weeks ago, but they were nearly dead when we found them. The Shiyens aren’t sure if they’ll ever wake up.” He paused and studied Rukh’s studiously bland expression. “So what’s the real story about what happened out there?”
Rukh shook his head. “I don’t want to say. The Magisterium needs to hear of it first.”
“Was it Chims?” the Marshall persisted.
Rukh hesitated. “I don’t want to spread false rumors. It’s best if I say nothing for now.”
The Marshall studied him through narrowed eyes before nodding approval. “So be it,” he said. “I’ll make sure you have a horse and send word to the Inner Gate so you aren’t delayed further. One of my men will see to the Muran. She looks in need of a physician.”
Jessira shifted uncomfortably next to him.
“I appreciate the offer, but I promised her I would personally see her home. She made me swear on my honor before agreeing to come back to the city.”
“Who is she to you?”
“Someone I found on my way home. She was alone in the Wildness.”
“I see,” Marshall Lumer said, understanding the implications of Rukh’s statement.
“I was waiting to die,” Jessira added in her slow drawl. “When the Kumma showed up, he told me to come back with him to Ashoka. I figured him being there and all, maybe Devesh wasn’t done with me yet in this world.”
“Then I leave her to your hands,” the Marshall said. “Good luck.” He signaled to one of his men, nodded to Rukh, and swiftly marched away.
Their horse turned out to be a placid old gray gelding of far better temperament than the stallion Rukh had ridden on the Trial. The animal took their weight without complaint and ambled along with a slow, steady pace best described as a plodding walk.
After passing without significant challenge through Kubar Gate and the Inner Wall, they stopped at a nearby Shiyen hospice. It was located just south of the Inner Wall in Stone Cavern, a neighborhood which was home to many Duriahs. No matter how careful, the life of a craftsmen often resulted in small injuries from time-to-time. To care for the frequently injured, the hospice here had been built large and was well staffed, with many physicians available. Even this late, just before dusk, it was still brightly lit with radiant, white firefly lanterns reflecting off the smooth, pale-yellow tiled floors. There was a smell about a hospice, a mix of blood, antiseptic, and putrification, and this one was no different.
Rukh wasn’t bothered by the odor. He was more concerned with making sure to find a physician able to treat the infection still present in Jessira’ shoulder. Also, while the claw marks themselves were no longer infected, they’d heal with heavy scars without a Shiyen’s help. Jessira hadn’t complained about it, but Rukh could tell it bothered her.
Thankfully, several physicians were still present, and it only took a few minutes to get in to see one. She was an older Shiyen, all brusque business, not even caring to listen to Rukh’s story about finding Jessira out in the Wildness and essentially waiting to die. The physician led them into a small room with a narrow, wooden table and a couple of stools. Several shelves hung from the walls, most of them empty except for packets of bandages. A small sink crouched in a corner and bright, white firefly lanterns flooded the room with light.
The Shiyen asked what they needed, heard them out, briefly questioned them about the shawl wrapped around Jessira’ face, and then got to work. She wetted some bandages with water from the sink and wiped the dirt from Jessira’s shoulder. She paused as she took in the scars. “What mauled you?” she asked.
“A mountain lion,” Jessira lied.
“Well, that mountain lion must have claws as long as my fingers,” the physician said. “Never knew they got so big.”
Jessira shuddered, wearing an expression of remembered terror. It was a bit over the top, Rukh thought. “It was a monster.”
“Well, it got you good, and if you don’t want thick scars on your shoulder and back, we’ll have to put in
some stitches.” The Shiyen had no further questions as she pulled down another bandage and soaked it in a tincture of iodine. She gave Jessira’s shoulder a thorough cleaning before Healing the infection in the bone and sewing the stitches.
“There,” the physician said after finishing. “Now the scars will be thin and fine. Hardly noticeable.” She looked pleased with her work, which Rukh took as a good sign. “Even with your Cherid skin, they shouldn’t show all that much.” Suddenly, her eyes widened as she whipped her focus on Rukh. “I thought you said she was Muran. She has the eyes for it, but her skin says she’s Cherid.”
Rukh felt Jessira tense. “She has a rare condition…” he quickly explained.
The Shiyen waved him to silence. “I don’t want to hear it. You’re Rukh Shektan. I recognize you from the Tournament. People say your nanna is a sensible man. I assume you are as well. Whatever’s going on here is none of my concern. I Heal.” She glanced at Jessira. “Whoever or whatever they might be.” She gestured for them to leave with a flick of her hands. “Be on your way now.”
Rukh and Jessira quickly gathered their meager belongings, paid for the services, and left. They didn’t say a word until they were mounted and several streets away.
“She knew what I was, but she didn’t say anything,” Jessira exclaimed, sounding amazed.
Rukh couldn’t believe it either. “I wouldn’t expect it from anyone else,” he said, glancing nervously at the crowded streets. “Now quiet down before your accent gives us away.”
They remained silent for the next hour or so, passing through the busy streets of Ashoka, travelling east from Stone Cavern to the Plaza of the Martyrs before cutting southeast so as to bypass the madness of the Semaphore Walk. Soon enough, they reached the borders of Jubilee Hills.
“Just a few more miles,” Rukh said, trying to rein in his excitement as they moved ever closer to his home.
He grinned when he saw more and more familiar sights: houses belonging to family and friends; stores and restaurants he used to frequent; and even the parks in which he had played as a child. It had been almost four months since he had left home, but it seemed like so much longer. The world had changed so much since then. He had changed. The smile left his face. How would his family react to him? He was a Kumma who could Blend and Heal. Many would think Rukh hopelessly Tainted by his newly acquired Talents. Would his family be amongst those who felt that way? He honestly didn’t know.