The Castes and the OutCastes: The Complete Trilogy

by Davis Ashura

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I was scared, I guess. I’m scared of this coming expedition. I’m scared of who I’ve become and how I’ve changed. I’m scared of banishment if anyone learns what I can do, and I’m scared what people will think if they see me with you.”

  Jessira studied his face, seeing the confusion and unhappiness in his eyes. At that moment she felt very little sympathy for him. “You were right the first time. You are a coward.”

  He flinched as if she’d slapped him. He looked angry for a moment before he took a deep breath and seemed to set it aside. “Is there anything I can do or say to help you forgive me?” he asked.

  She smirked. “Walk down this street with me hand-in-hand.” She laughed in derision when she saw his comically aghast expression. “I wouldn’t be so cruel,” she said.

  “Is there anything else?”

  She considered. “I don’t care how you behave in public, but in your home, act like I’m there. Talk to me and don’t pretend I don’t exist.”

  “I can do that,” Rukh said with a nod, looking abashed and relieved at the same time.

  “I’ll hold you to it.”

  They began walking again, and after a moment of quiet, he looked at her. “How brave are you?”

  “Braver than you.”

  “Brave enough to take off your scarf and walk uncovered in public?”

  “Are you brave enough to walk next to a ghrina?”

  “I can be,” he said. He gently lifted the scarf from her face.

  She smiled, feeling a warm breeze play on her hair. “You realize most Purebloods want to stone me, and they probably won’t be too good with their aim. You’ll likely get your share of rocks, too.”

  Rukh shrugged. “Let them try. I can take them. I’m the Hume Champion, you know.” He grinned.

  She rolled her eyes. “How could I forget?”

  As they continued back to Jubilee Hills, she found she was wrong: no one tried to stone her. People still ran across the street when they noticed her, but many also glanced back in fascination, especially the men, some of whom might have even worn appreciative looks before catching her glance and hastily looking away.

  Men.

  “No one else treats you like a real person?” Rukh asked as they walked along a relatively quiet side street on the way to House Shektan. “Not even my sister or Mira?”

  Jessira chuckled low. “Mira is civil, and Bree is polite, but neither is exactly friendly and neither will talk to me any longer than is absolutely necessary. In comparison, your nanna and those two old men of his, Garnet and Durmer, are warm and friendly, but they have no time for me either. They’re too busy trying to save Ashoka.”

  “I promise I’ll make this up to you,” Rukh said.

  “Don’t make promises you can’t and don’t want to keep,” Jessira warned. If he wanted to spend time with her, fine, but she didn’t want his company if it was only because he felt sorry for her. She didn’t need his sympathy, or the sympathy of any Pureblood.

  “I want to.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Rukh had no response, and soon, the seat of House Shektan came into view. Once inside, Rukh led her to his father’s study. He always checked in with Dar’El as soon as he arrived home. While Rukh and his nanna spoke, Jessira perused the books lined along the shelves. At least Rector Bryce was rarely at the House seat anymore. His outburst on the morning after her arrival had been noted and judged unacceptable by Dar’El. As a result, Rector was no longer trusted as much. Or so Rukh said.

  Minutes after their arrival, Jaresh burst in. “There’s been a third murder,” he exclaimed.

  The Withering Knife.

  “Send for Mira,” Dar’El ordered. “Have her meet us there.” Further orders were given, and Dar’El and Rukh were soon outside, quickly making their way down the drive.

  Jessira accompanied them, face bare to the world. She had nothing better to do. At Rukh’s questioning glance, she lifted an eyebrow in challenge, daring him to send her back. He shrugged.

  “If you don’t mind, I don’t mind,” Dar’El murmured, looking straight ahead. “But can she not cover her face?”

  “She can but chooses not to,” Jessira said, answering for herself.

  Dar’El gave the two of them an inscrutable stare.

  Rukh smiled in response. “You always told me never to pick a fight you can’t win,” he said. “Especially with a woman.”

  Dar’El flashed an answering smile. “At least you remembered my most important lesson.”

  Shortly before their arrival at East Vineyard Steep, home mostly to Sentyas and some Rahails, and the site of the third murder, Mira caught up with them.

  East Vineyard Steep was an older part of Ashoka. The buildings there hadn’t been refurbished in many years. They were a bit run down, in fact. The Sentyas were quite competent with both their own and other people’s money, but they were also a tight-fisted, stingy Caste. Where others saw a somewhat drab and dreary area, the Sentyas saw a place that was practical and functioned well enough to suit their purposes. They saw no reason to spend currency to pretty up the buildings even if a few of them looked to be on the edge of falling down.

  The City Watch had already cordoned off the area in question. Once again, the murder had taken place in an alley, this one bordered by several buildings that were obviously better maintained than most of the ones around them.

  Rector Bryce had already arrived, and Jessira frowned. Wonderful.

  He saw them and walked over, a look of disgust flashing across his face when he caught sight of her. He faced Dar’El, positioning himself so he wouldn’t have to look directly at her. He began talking without preamble. “The victim was a Rahail Investigator by the name of Slathtril Apter. His wife found him this morning when she couldn’t find him in the house. She’s the woman screaming over there.”

  “What is an Investigator?” Jessira asked Rukh.

  “The Rahails are the ones who maintain the Oasis. Their society is dictated by their work. The Investigators are the ones who inspect the work of other Rahails, making sure it’s up to the expected standards. I’m told they can be pretty cruel and petty about it, too. No one likes them much,” Rukh whispered.

  “Then there’s going to be a long list of potential suspects,” she reasoned.

  “There were no witnesses, obviously,” Rector finished.

  “Where was he found?” Jaresh asked.

  Rector pointed to a body, shrouded in what looked like someone’s cloak.

  “We need to take a closer look,” Dar’El said.

  At a nod from Rector, the Watch let them through the barricades, even Jessira, although a few made the sign against evil as she passed.

  Rukh bent low and uncovered the body, eliciting more cries of anguish from the woman Rector had pointed out as the wife. “Perhaps someone can see to her,” Rukh suggested.

  Dar’El glanced at Rector, who signed to one of his men to remove the wailing woman from the scene.

  Jaresh and Dar’El bent to examine the corpse, while Rukh walked the alley, studying the ground, looking at the blood splatter and a few footprints. Jessira walked with him, wondering what he was looking for. She noticed something herself and bent closer. Bloody fingerprints left as streaks along the wall. She’d seen plenty of death, killing Chimeras when necessary over the course of her career as a scout, but the image of the bloody finger stains and what they represented…it was an unsettling image.

  They returned to the others.

  “Anything?” Dar’El asked.

  “Lots of things,” Rukh replied. “There were two killers, a man and a woman.”

  “I noticed that as well,” Rector said.

  “The man attacked first, and as Investigator Apter fled, he was hamstrung. It was a clean and quick strike, made within two strides. Our killer is skilled, and the limp you mentioned is hardly in evidence. It was the woman who killed the Investigator, though.”

  Dar’El frowned. �
�It doesn’t make sense,” he said. “Why go through the trouble? Why two of them?” He shook his head in frustration. “Anything else?”

  “At the mouth of the alley, the killers stood still, as if they were waiting, and the Investigator went to them. In fact, he seemed to stop and stand no more than three feet from them.”

  “They knew him,” Jessira guessed with sudden insight. “And he knew them. That’s why he walked toward them. He wasn’t afraid.”

  “If that’s true, then the killers wanted the Investigator to know who they were,” Mira said. “It’s like they must have hated him or something.”

  “Are you saying it was personal?” Rector asked.

  Mira shrugged. “I don’t know. We’re supposing quite a lot based on some footprints in the dirt.”

  “But look at all the cuts on the corpse. He was tortured first.” Rector nodded. “I think Mira is right. They all knew one another.”

  Jessira saw the smile Jaresh shared with Mira. No one else seemed to notice.

  “Why wouldn’t anyone have heard him scream?” Jaresh asked.

  “Because he had a canvas bag over his head,” Dar’El said. “Look at that red band around his neck. It looks like a ligature mark.”

  “There is another thing,” Rukh said. “The killer’s movements – the man – the placement of his feet, and the angle of his strikes. There are only three Houses who train their warriors in such a way, and all are allied with one another: Houses Wrestiva, Bittermoon, and Sunflown.”

  “And all are on very unfriendly terms with our House,” Jaresh said. “If we voice our suspicions, and we’re wrong, it could cause a House war.”

  “It would be a disaster on so many fronts,” Dar’El warned. “Civil discord amongst the Houses is the last thing we need if Suwraith plans on moving against Ashoka next spring.” He sighed. “For now, we keep this quiet.”

  Almost from the first, Hume taught us to appreciate the written word, and we are grateful for his instruction. But of art, there is so much more we wish we could have learned. We killed those who could have instructed us, and perhaps that is our greatest regret.

  ~From the journal of SarpanKum Li-Charn, AF 1754

  Ashoka in the middle of summer was already hot, but it was not yet oppressive, especially with a cooling, stiff breeze blowing off the ocean to keep the city comfortable. These would be some of the final few weeks of temperate weather before summer’s sultering heat hovered over the city like a miasma. Or so it had been explained to Jessira. As such, now would be a good time to take an early evening stroll, which is exactly what she was doing.

  She walked in silence next to Rukh and Bree, but her mind wasn’t focused upon the weather or the cool wind raising goosebumps on her skin. Instead, her thoughts were centered on the majesty she had just witnessed. Jessira had just been to her first play: A Many Colored Shadow. She hadn’t wanted to go, but Rukh had been the one to ask her, saying he still felt guilty about how he had ignored her. When he learned Stronghold didn’t have theater – her people didn’t have time for such frivolity – he had insisted she come with him and Bree, telling her it was something she had to see at least once before leaving Ashoka. Given Rukh’s impending departure in a few days for the Chimera breeding caverns, she had reluctantly agreed, certain she would find the experience dull and boring.

  She had been more wrong than she could have ever imagined.

  The play had been a revelation. Everything about it had touched her. The story, the music, the acting…all of it had been wondrous. From the moment the curtain had whispered open and for the following two hours, her heart had no longer been her own, and she had been happy to allow it. The play had figuratively transported her to a different place and time. She still had no idea how it had happened, nor did she want to know. It was part of the magic of theater, Rukh had explained. Afterward, she found herself replaying scene after scene, wanting to recapture and savor the emotions she had felt. There had been so many. It had been like a thick, hearty stew with many hidden flavors.

  The play had begun simply enough: a social gathering where two young Kummas, Vare Kilan of House Listh and Ciliana Prien, daughter to the ruling ‘El of her House, had shared a delightful afternoon with one another and soon after fell in love. But it was a love not meant to last for with the coming of his Trials, Vare was forced to leave his home and after his departure Ciliana was force to wed Kolth Renns, an older, ambitious member of her own House. Years passed in disappointment and grief for Ciliana’s marriage proved to be cold and loveless. Nevertheless, she bore her husband three sons, her pride and joy. Fate, however, was to deal her further cruel blows, taking her two oldest in the Trials. Only her youngest child, Reva, survived his time in the Wildness.

  Meanwhile Vare Kilan eventually made his way home, and when he did, it was to find the woman he had loved as a youth now married and with a family of her own. It was the way of the world, but it still pained Vare. He set aside his feelings and moved on with his own life, and in time, he wed as well. His wife, Shawl Kilan, was a woman he grew to love, although not with the passion he had shared with Ciliana. Vare and his wife had a daughter, a beautiful, happy girl named Calle, but it would be their only child. Several years after the birth of their child, Shawl died of an unexpected illness. Grief-stricken, it fell to Vare to raise the young girl on his own as he adamantly refused to ever marry again.

  There came a time when Kolth Renns, Ciliana’s husband, who bore a deep and abiding hatred for his wife’s youthful lover, hatched a scheme, one meant to deceive Vare Kilan and leave him utterly ruined. The plan worked. Vare was rendered penniless with his only choice being to accept indentured servitude under Kolth Renns, and Renns would only absolve the debt if Vare – at an age when a Kumma should have lived out his days in peace – re-entered the Wildness for a final Trial.

  Ironically, even as this was happening, Kolth Renns’ son, Reva, met Calle Kilan during an afternoon social and the two young people fell in love. It was a love that did not sit well with Ciliana’s husband, but he was powerless to do anything about it. Vare stayed in his city long enough to see his daughter married, and then he left home for the final time. With him went Ciliana. Over the decades that had passed, the two of them had never stopped loving one another, and so they left their city together, walking hand-in-hand in the early morning sunshine. They were never to be seen again.

  Jessira had cried at the end of the play, and she wasn’t ashamed to have done so. Bree had as well, and even Rukh had shed a few tears. For Jessira, A Many Colored Shadow had been like a summertime plunge into a shimmering pool of clear water. She was changed forever. It was truth made manifest on a stage, and she came to see the characters, not as Purebloods or OutCastes, but merely as people whose lives were marked by tragedy and pain, but ultimately, with love.

  After the play, the three of them went to Masala Pull, one of Bree’s favorite restaurants in the Semaphore Walk. It was a newer café and although it had only opened a few years ago, Bree already thought it served the finest fusion of Muran and Rahail cuisine to be found in Ashoka.

  As they walked to the restaurant, Jessira realized she no longer received as many hostile stares as she once had only a few days earlier when she had first shed her scarf. The people of Ashoka must have become somewhat used to her presence. More often now, it seemed the glances thrown her way were curious rather than unfriendly. Of course, the looks given to Bree were more generally ones of approval and appreciation. Jessira smiled when several Kummas almost ran into a lamppost as they stared back at Rukh’s sister.

  Masala Pull proved to be warm and inviting with walls painted in a terra cotta wash. The ceiling was high and airy while a multitude of chandeliers with their firefly lamps provided plenty of light. The tabletops were made of brightly colored mosaic tiles arranged into various scenes of Ashokan life. The restaurant was already full with young, well-dressed couples and a few families, but luckily the three of them were able to be seated quickly. Delicious a
romas filled the air, making Jessira’s mouth water, and the food proved to be every bit as wonderful as it smelled.

  The dinner tonight was cubed chunks of chicken in a spicy, buttery sauce served over a bed of rice and accompanied by a sweet, white wine. Jessira lost herself in the rich, flavorful meal. In Stronghold, food was just a fuel with taste a secondary consideration. It was nothing like this, or even what Cook Heltin provided at the Shektan House Seat on a daily basis. Delicious. Another aspect of Ashokan culture that Jessira admired: they had turned the simple act of cooking into an art.

  She was so focused on her sumptuous meal that she failed to notice Rukh and Bree’s open fascination as they watched her eat. Bree laughed and Jessira looked up from her food with a guilty start. “What?” she asked.

  “I’ve just never seen anyone so in love with their food,” Bree said.

  “You made some…ah…interesting noises there,” Rukh added. “A few matronly women were looking at you kind of funny.”

  “Be nice,” Bree admonished as Jessira reddened in embarrassment. “No one looked over when you made those noises.” She chuckled as Jessira reddened even further and glared ineffectually at the two of them.

  Rukh grinned. “Don’t be mad at us. We’re just teasing…a little.”

  “Did I really, you know, make those kind of sounds?” Jessira asked, mortified.

  “You didn’t,” Bree replied with a smile. “Ignore us, or at least Rukh. You should see him, or better yet, hear him when Cook Heltin makes sea bass tikka.”

  “I’m not that bad,” Rukh protested.

  “Yes. You are,” Bree said. She made moaning noises.

  Jessira burst out laughing. She was surprised by how much she was enjoying Bree’s company. Until today, the two of them hadn’t spent much time together. Bree was generally too busy or had other plans. But now, with the play and the early dinner afterwards, Jessira was finding Rukh’s sister to be generous and…fun.