by Davis Ashura
“Someone in this city has to,” Rukh replied with a slight smile of his own. “It’s just my bad luck everyone chose me.”
Jessira laughed softly, and the tension was gone as suddenly as it appeared.
“Let’s head home,” Rukh suggested.
“Let me just tell you why I said what I said about Mira and Jaresh. Just hear me out, and then you can decide for yourself if I’m seeing smoke where there’s no fire.”
Rukh grimaced. He really didn’t want to go over this right now, but he also knew Jessira would only keep pestering him if he didn’t listen to her. “Go ahead,” he growled.
“Mira and Jaresh spend a lot of time together,” Jessira began. “We’ve all seen it, and as much as you Purebloods like to gossip, I’m sure others have noticed, too. It wouldn’t be so bad, except for this: whenever one of them is around, the other is almost always close by. They don’t always sit next to one another, but it’s always near enough. And whenever they enter a room, they seek each other out before looking for anyone else. They share private smiles, and they always laugh at one another’s jokes, even when they aren’t funny. They…”
“Enough,” Rukh said, interrupting her litany of observations. His eyes were closed, and he rubbed his temples. There was the beginning of a headache somewhere behind his eyes. He wanted to deny what she was saying, but her words had a horrible logic to them. “I think you’ve made your point,” he said.
“I’m sorry I had to tell you this,” Jessira said softly.
“I’m sorry, too,” Rukh replied. Oh, Jaresh, what have you done? “I’ll talk to my brother tomorrow.”
“Thought I’d find you here,” Rukh said, sliding into a chair across from Jaresh.
He had found his brother in one of their favorite pubs, The Long Pull, sitting alone in a corner, a history book propped open on the table in front of him.
After Gris Holianth, the stocky owner, took Rukh’s order – an order of samosas with a mint lassi – he looked his brother in the eye. “I need to talk to you.”
Jaresh took a sip of his beer. “About what.”
“About Mira,” Rukh said.
“What about her?” Jaresh asked, a testy edge to his voice.
Rukh had been dreading this conversation ever since last night when Jessira had told him her suspicions. Jaresh’s obvious irritation only confirmed how carefully he would have to tread here. He took a deep, steadying breath. “People are starting to talk. The two of you spend too much time alone together. I don’t think you should be seen with her anymore; not if it’s just the two of you by yourselves.”
As he feared, Jaresh bristled and looked outraged. “Why? Because people think I would dishonor myself or our House or her?” he whispered furiously. “I would never do that.”
“I know you wouldn’t. Others don’t. And their opinions matter,” Rukh said. “Now calm down. We’re just talking here.”
It was the wrong thing to say. If anything, his brother looked even angrier. “Don’t tell me to calm down,” Jaresh said. “Not when you come in here making those kind of vile accusations.”
“I’m not accusing you of anything,” Rukh said, trying to hold onto his own temper. “I’m only telling you what I’ve heard.”
“Well it’s bullshit.”
“Bullshit or not, it’s been noticed.”
Jaresh snorted. “What’s been noticed? There’s nothing to notice. Nanna and Sophy asked us to search the Cellar for references to the Withering Knife. We did as we were told. That’s it.”
“And since then? Do you still see her?” Rukh asked, feeling like a hypocrite. After all, there was Jessira, and the same charges of inappropriate time spent with a woman not of his own Caste could also be made against him. And the two of them had been all alone in the Wildness for weeks on end.
“Of course I see her. Mira is a member of the House.”
Rukh didn’t answer, feeling sad and sickened. There had been an unvoiced note in Jaresh’s voice when he had spoken Mira’s name, only the smallest wisp of emotion, but it had been there. It was the sound of longing. Jessira was right. Just then, Rukh couldn’t look at his brother. He turned away in disgust as he stared unseeing through the large streetfront windows at the passing crowd.
“What is it?” Jaresh asked. “Your face…” He sat back in amazement. “You don’t believe this bilge water, do you?”
Rukh turned back to face him. “You curse most often whenever you’re trying to hide something,” he said, staring his brother in the eyes and smiling sadly. “It’s why you’re so lousy at poker.”
Jaresh faltered. “That’s not it at all,” he said. “And I’m not falling for one of your word games right now. I’m cursing because I’m angry. I think I have a right to be after what you’ve just said.”
Rukh waved aside his explanation. “Fine. I don’t care. Curse all you want. It doesn’t change what you have to do.”
“I know my duty,” Jaresh growled. “But if these rumors spread…I know what it’s like to be ostracized. Mira doesn’t. It’s not right.”
There was that hint of longing again. Rukh felt sorrow for the two of them and anger as well. How could Jaresh have been so damn stupid? How could Mira?
“She’s a good person,” Jaresh continued. “She deserves a happy life.”
Rukh merely nodded, suddenly furious at Mira and Jaresh, but also with the entire situation. His idiot little brother. If only he had been born Kumma, none of this would matter.
“I’ll do what honor demands,” Jaresh said, “but none of this is true. You do believe me, don’t you?” he implored, leaning forward.
“It doesn’t matter what I think,” Rukh said with a sigh, his anger draining away just as quickly as it had appeared and leaving him empty inside. “It only matters what other people think. And they are starting to think some very ugly thoughts. Like you said, Mira can’t comprehend what it’s like to be ostracized. You do. Do you want her to learn what you know all too well?”
Jaresh leaned back in his chair. “Suwraith’s spit,” he said softly. “No.”
“Then do what’s right.”
They fell into silence until Rukh’s food and drink arrived. Jaresh took a samosa and ate it as he stared out the streetfront windows, looking lost in thought. He turned to Rukh. “Just out of curiosity, who told you all this?”
Rukh shook his head. “Who cares? Let it be.”
Jaresh grimaced and stared into his drink. “Whoever it was, they ought to mind their own business.”
“That sounds dangerously close to an admission.”
“I told you: I’m not playing your word games.”
“You’ll do what’s needed?” Rukh asked.
Jaresh nodded. “I said I would. I’ll make sure we’re never alone anymore. I’ll stop spending any time alone with her…” There again was the note of longing. “Our lives will go back to how they were before the murders.” Jaresh took a long pull from his drink, still staring off into the distance, his face studiously blank.
Rukh wanted to comfort his brother, squeeze his shoulder. Anything. But he knew nothing he could say or do would help. It would only make it worse.
Jaresh waited for her within their favorite alcove in the Cellar. It had been almost a month since the two of them had confirmed the existence of the Withering Knife, and the place was just the way they had left it. The lighting was still dim and the bookshelves remained dusty and full of old manuscripts, scrolls, and books. It was quiet as a tomb, and the familiar smell of mold and musty papers filled the air. Not that he’d expected any changes. Why would he? Few people came down here anymore.
The high-pitched tapping of footsteps heralded her arrival. And here she was, standing at his side.
“I wasn’t sure why you wanted to meet here again,” Mira said with a smile. “Are we supposed to search for another legendary relic?”
Jaresh stilled the pleasure he felt at seeing her roguish grin or smelling the fresh, floral scent of her hon
eysuckle perfume. After his talk with Rukh, he understood now why Mira’s presence filled him with such happiness. How could he have allowed such a sin to find a home in his heart? It wasn’t something he had wanted to accept or believe, but he had never been good at lying, especially to himself. Jaresh knew what he felt for Mira. It was an unhealthy infatuation, and he had to end it. Now. He prayed it would be as easy to accomplish as his current resolve.
“It’s not another quest,” he said, answering her question and forcing a smile on his face. It was brittle, and Mira noticed.
“What is it then?” she asked, taking a seat next to him, not across the table as most people would have. Mira no longer smiled and her face was serious.
“It’s about us,” Jaresh began, disgusted he even had to have this conversation.
“What about us?” Mira asked, seeming to carefully sound out her words.
Jaresh hesitated, not sure what to tell her. He’d gone over what he wanted to say a hundred times, but the words had never come out sounding right. Now, with the moment on him, his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth, tangled up in uncertainty. “I think we spend too much time together. People have noticed.” He winced at the abrupt tone to his words.
“Have they?” Mira asked, her voice and expression grown stony. “And what are they saying? And more importantly, what do you think about us?”
Jaresh wiped the perspiration on his forehead. Speaking to her about this was harder than anything he could have imagined. What would she think of him if she knew the truth? About his feelings for her? He knew the answer without having to ask. She would be repulsed and despise him forever. He couldn’t live with her contempt. Anything else, but not that. He decided she didn’t need to know the truth. He could hide it, and that way they could at least still be friends. Or so he hoped.
“I’m sorry, but I think we need to limit how much time we spend with one another. We shouldn’t be alone together, either.” He said the words in a rush.
Mira didn’t speak. Instead, she regarded him silently, her face inscrutable.
Jaresh couldn’t look at her, and he gazed into the darkness of the Cellar.
He heard her chair scrape against the floor as she pushed away from the table. She walked the few steps to his side and paused. “I think I understand what you’re saying,” she said softly.
He glanced up and was caught as he found himself staring into her depthless eyes. Suddenly, her face was only inches away. His heart pounded. Her lips pressed against his, a soft butterfly’s caress deepening for the merest of moments.
Jaresh was lost. He knew what they were doing was wrong, but he couldn’t make himself care, not when it felt so right. But before he could pull her into his embrace, she stepped away from him.
“Goodbye, Jaresh,” she said, a note of finality in her voice.
I am merely a warrior. I fight where I am told, and defeat those I must fight. The means of my victory are for me to decide.
~The Sorrows of Hume, AF 1789
“Report,” Lieutenant Danslo ordered.
“We’ve run into a few of their patrols,” Rukh said, standing stiffly at attention although his back and ass ached. The expedition had traveled one thousand miles, averaging thirty-five miles a day over the past four weeks, and scouting every day for hours on end was taking its toll. “Mostly a few traps of Braids, usually alone, but sometimes with Tigons.”
“Still no Baels?”
“Like I said before, they’re likely all dead,” Rukh replied.
The lieutenant stroked his chin in thought. “It’s what I’ve heard from our other scouts. The other lieutenants say the same thing.” He frowned and shot Rukh a look of doubt. “What do you think they’re up to?” he asked, his voice tinged with suspicion.
His expression was one Rukh had grown used to. Early on after leaving Ashoka, Rukh had spoken to the senior commanders of the expeditionary force and let them know of his ability to Blend. He had naively thought they needed to know all the skills their warriors could bring to bear. Every day since that ill-fated meeting, he wished he’d kept his fragging mouth shut. Marshall Ruenip Tanhue, along with his captains and lieutenants had greeted Rukh’s announcement with thinly veiled disgust. It was a sentiment soon shared by the rest of the expeditionary force.
As a result, Rukh now found himself on permanent assignment with a unit of scouts, a mixed group of Kummas, Murans, and Rahails. The other warriors in his squad didn’t like him, but it didn’t stop them from making use of his unique Talents. They had offered him a grudging – if cold and resentful – respect. If there had been nothing more than the disdain of the other warriors, Rukh wouldn’t have cared all that much. How the others treated him wasn’t pleasant, but it was tolerable, and as far as he was concerned, his loneliness was a small price to pay if the expedition was successful in exterminating the Chimera breeding caverns. But then Aia had walked into their camp one night, and now Rukh was completely ostracized.
All told, there were two thousand warriors in the force, and somehow Aia had skirted past all of them and made her way untouched and unnoticed to Rukh’s side. She had stood by his bedroll and nudged him awake with a cold, wet nose. His shout of fear at seeing her large face fill his entire field of view had awoken the other warriors. When they caught sight of a Shylow in their midst, they’d reacted with expected alarm. Within seconds, more than a dozen bows and spears and swords were leveled at Aia, with Rukh shouting for the other warriors not to shoot or attack. Eventually they had listened to him as Aia had simply sat on her haunches, not making any kind of aggressive move or gesture. She had watched the Ashokans with unblinking, mild interest. Her forehead rub against Rukh’s chest, so like a housecat’s, along with her insistent nudging for him to rub her chin had calmed them. Eventually the other warriors had put away their weapons.
Rukh had learned much from Aia that evening.
While everyone had been on edge as the expedition advanced deeper into the Hunters Flats, they had yet to suffer an attack by the Shylows. It was unexpected since the great cats were known to be very territorial.
Aia had apparently taken care of their concerns. She had spoken to her father, the Kezin to the Hungrove, and convinced him to allow the Humans to pass without troubling them. Word had been sent to the other glarings, and they had agreed as well. She had also consented to look into one other issue worrying Rukh, promising to find him again before the expedition reached the Slave River.
After she had left, Rukh had explained the situation to Marshall Tanhue. The commander had been relieved, but he and the rest of the warriors ended up viewing Rukh with even greater uncertainty and distrust. He had learned and done too much in his one Trial. Add in his friendship with a Shylow, and it was another plank on the pyre of his reputation; further proof of his Taint. In fact, it was the phrase most commonly used in describing him now: the Tainted One. Long gone was the glory he had earned by winning the Tournament of Hume. Most warriors who weren’t of his unit ignored him or tried to pretend he didn’t exist. A few even drew the sign against evil when he passed. His own squad barely tolerated him, and when they were out in the field, the others made sure his bedroll was furthest from the fire and separate from them.
Thank Devesh he hadn’t mentioned his ability to Heal. The warriors would have run him off if he had.
“I don’t think we’ll find any Baels,” Rukh said, tired of repeating his reasoning for why the Baels were absent from their troops. “They’re all dead.”
“Let’s hope so,” Lieutenant Danslo mused. “At least Devesh has finally gotten off his backside and helped with one of our problems.”
“It’s Suwraith you should thank for eliminating the Baels,” Rukh replied. “I saw Her kill them.” Immediately, he knew he shouldn’t have spoken up.
His statement earned him a scowl of distaste. “I don’t like you, Shektan. None of us do. You’re all but a naaja as it is. If you don’t want trouble, you’d best remember to keep those thoughts to y
ourself.”
Rukh kept silent, his heart thick with anger, loneliness, and fear. It hit him just then: this would be his life from now on, shunned and hated by his fellow Kummas. When he returned to Ashoka, the knowledge of what he could do would spread, and the disgust and fear he currently faced would be a small taste of what he could expect back home. All the dreams he had once had of marriage, of family and children…all of it was gone. No one would allow their daughter to marry someone like him.
He was the Tainted One.
He grimaced. His life had turned out so differently than how he had expected. If it weren’t so damn sad, it would have been comically karmic. A few months ago, he had been the honored and feted Hume Champion. Now – he scowled once again – now he was despised and the only place he might find acceptance would be in Stronghold, home to the hated ghrinas.
It was too bad Jessira would be gone when he arrived back in Ashoka. She might have taken him with her.
He stared the lieutenant in the eye, deeply resentful of how miserly and ignorant the man and everyone like him were. What had Rukh done other than survive what few others could have? He had lived through the destruction of his caravan and gained the ability to Blend. So what? He had witnessed Suwraith meeting with the Baels, and afterwards, he had spoken to Her commanders and found out about the breeding caverns. He had learned of the OutCastes and the Shylows. What he’d discovered might keep Ashoka safe for years or decades to come.
Rukh’s anger burned slowly, but when it did, it burned white-hot. He wanted to wipe the smug look of superiority from the lieutenant’s face. Right then, he hated Danslo and everything he represented, all the close-minded and judgmental bastards who thought themselves so much purer and better than him. The anger must have shown because the lieutenant’s hand dropped to the hilt of his sword. Rukh glanced at Danslo’s clenched fist and didn’t bother hiding his sneer of derision. The lieutenant wouldn’t stand a chance if Rukh wanted to take him. But he was also Rukh’s superior officer, and – Devesh help them! – the expedition needed the jackhole.