by Davis Ashura
“I’m fortunate that I can afford so much space on a poor scout’s salary,” Court said. “If this was in one of the older Croftholds, I’d be lucky to have a single room.”
“There are rich and poor areas of Stronghold?” Rukh asked. Jessira had made her home seem like a classless paradise, but he’d always doubted it. In all of history and in all societies, there were always some who managed to gather wealth and others who didn’t. The reasons for why this happened varied from place-to-place and time-to-time, but it was an immutable truth.
Court wore an uncomfortable expression. “There are more desirable areas,” he finally answered. “For instance, the older Croftholds are closer to the surface of the mountain. Some even have exterior views. It’s all carefully screened off from anyone down below, but who wouldn’t want to see the sun and the stars whenever they want?”
“And what about the poor?” Rukh persisted.
“No one here is really poor,” Court said quickly, sounding defensive. “Everyone has a place to live and enough food to eat.”
It was clear there were poor people in Stronghold, but the OutCastes obviously didn’t want to admit any such flaws in their society. It might force them to question whether Stronghold really was so much more egalitarian and enlightened than the Pureblood cities. Whatever the reason, Rukh could tell the topic made Court uncomfortable. He decided to change the subject. “Where’s Farn?” he asked.
“Working in the kitchens.”
“The kitchens?”
“Each plot has a main cafeteria where we gather for meals. It’s easier to have one large chimney to funnel out all the smoke and refuse instead of a separate one in each flat,” Court explained. “The hearth over there is mostly just for show. I can place some hot rocks in there and maybe bake some bread but not much more.”
Rukh was still confused. “What’s Farn doing in the kitchens?”
“Cooking, cleaning, whatever the cooks tell him to do,” Court said, sounding as if he thought the answer should be self-evident.
“Really?” Rukh asked, dumbfounded. Farn was a warrior. It’s all he ever cared about, even more so than Rukh. And given his conservative nature and distaste for work he considered beneath him, Rukh couldn’t believe Farn would willingly do a servant’s labor.
“It was either that or starve,” Court said. “Maybe in Ashoka you can afford to carry deadweight, but here in Stronghold, we can’t. Everyone who’s healthy either contributes or they’re tossed out on their backsides.”
“Where they then die.”
Court shrugged. “Their life. Their choice.” His earlier happy mien on their walk to his flat was now replaced by stern conviction.
The manner by which the OutCastes handled those who were too lazy to do for themselves was actually pretty close to how Ashoka dealt with such people.
“So what do I do now?” Rukh asked.
“If you want to get cleaned up, there’s a washroom just down the hall from my flat,” Court said. “Jessira’s folks have invited you and Farn to dinner tonight.”
Rukh hadn’t seen Jessira since they’d entered Stronghold, and he almost smiled at the thought of having dinner with her. “Guess I should wear my best,” he said.
Open your heart and your home and try not to be an ass in front of strangers.
~Stronghold aphorism (author unknown)
Jessira’s emotions were a roiling mixture of elation and worry. She was joyful at being home, but she was also concerned for Rukh. She hadn’t seen him since he’d been hustled off to East Lock where she heard he’d been interrogated for hours. The worst part was the day-long delay before the Senate and Governor-General finally granted Rukh’s petition for sanctuary.
During the time Jessira and Rukh had travelled to Stronghold, the idea that he might be denied refuge had never crossed her mind. To her way of thinking, Rukh’s acceptance into Stronghold had been a foregone conclusion. It was supposed to be a foundational principle of Stronghold. The OutCastes didn’t hold a person’s birth against them. All were equal, so long as they were willing to work. It was what she’d always been taught, a point of pride, and something that made her people’s culture more civilized than that of the Purebloods.
Apparently not.
Witness Rukh’s treatment so far at the hands of the Home Army and leadership. Or the ugly looks thrown Rukh’s way by the Shadowcats—simultaneously contemptuous and dismissive. It was an arrogance and disdain sadly similar to Jessira’s own behavior when she had first met Rukh. She had hoped such a flaw would be hers alone, but it seemed more reflective of OutCaste society in general.
It was mind-bogglingly hypocritical, but no one else seemed to see it.
As a result, Rukh probably wouldn’t have it easy in Stronghold, but at least Court would be the one to host him. Her cousin had already taken in Farn and thought highly of him—which was a minor miracle as far as Jessira was concerned—so he should have no problem getting along with Rukh. Also, since Court lived in Crofthold Lucent—same as Jessira’s parents—she could check in on Rukh every now and then. Not too often, of course.
Besides, Jessira didn’t trust herself around Rukh. Priya. She had said the word to Rukh. Jessira supposed it might have come out because she had been afraid he was dying. Possible, but not true. Jessira had never been good at lying to herself, and the word certainly didn’t mean good friend, like she’d told Rukh. She suspected he knew it, too. In Stronghold, just like Ashoka, it meant beloved.
Jessira grimaced. What a mess. How could she have let such an overwrought, foolish situation come to be? It was like a bad Ashokan drama. Jessira would be lucky if none of this ended in disaster. A flutter of panic threatened to unmake her composure, and Jessira closed her eyes and took a calming breath. Nothing bad will happen she kept repeating to herself. The mantra worked, and she soon had her fear under control. Jessira opened her eyes, realizing that tonight would be the first step in the rest of her life. It was a future Rukh couldn’t share. That was the end of the matter.
A knock came to her door, and Amma poked her head in. Jessira’s amma, Crena Grey, was in her fifties, but still stood straight and tall and was but a few inches shorter than her only living daughter. Her graying hair was pulled back in what Jessira called a mature woman’s bun. The phrase was one that always brought a smile to both their faces. In fact, Jessira could count on one hand the number of times Amma had worn her hair in any other fashion. And while Amma’s red-gold skin had grown sallow with time, her green eyes remained lively and alert as she scanned Jessira’s dress and appearance. She smiled. “You look beautiful,” she said. “I’m sure Disbar will approve.”
Jessira glanced at herself in the mirror. She did look good. The green dress she wore did wonders to hide her flat chest and narrow hips. It almost made her appear curvaceous and womanly, and the high cut above her knees with the open-toed sandals laced around her ankles showed off the part of her that Jessira thought was her best feature: her legs.
“Our guests should arrive any moment,” Amma said. “Why don’t you come out and help set the table?”
Jessira nodded, smoothing out her green dress one final time. She fleetingly wondered what Rukh would think of how she looked in it. It was more feminine than anything he’d ever seen her wearing. Her face reddened as she remembered Rukh had, in fact, seen her in something more womanly. After all, he’d seen her in her camisole.
“What is it?” Her amma asked, apparently noticing her flushed face.
“Nothing,” Jessira lied. “Just wondering if Disbar will like my dress.”
Her amma gave her a knowing smile. “The man has eyes, doesn’t he?”
Jessira forced a smile in response.
As soon as they got the table set, guests started to arrive. First came Cedar and his wife, Laya. Their marriage was unusual in that it was a love match. Cedar came from a moderately wealthy family—their nanna was a skilled tradesman—and Cedar himself was a lieutenant in the Home Army, destined to earn a
farm in the Croft. By contrast, Laya’s parents were merely laborers, as was Laya herself. Typically, two people from such disparate backgrounds didn’t marry. It was a matter of societal expectations. If the man in question came from wealth, he would command too high a dowry price for a family of modest means. Conversely, if it were the woman who was wealthy, her family would consider a poor suitor unworthy of her attention.
Nevertheless, Cedar had fallen in love with Laya and had refused to marry anyone else. After getting to know her vadina, her sister-in-law, Jessira could understand why. Certainly Laya was attractive enough—with lush curves, dark skin, and startling aqua blue eyes—but her true beauty lay in her gentle, infectious smile and personality. She had a rare quality, a serenity that allowed her to always say the right thing to ease a person’s mind and bring laughter to their heart. It was a rare talent, and Jessira secretly believed her brother had actually married above his station.
Jessira gave her vadina a warm hug before turning to Cedar. Her brother appeared unchanged from all the other times Jessira had seen him, but on closer inspection, she could tell something was different. It was his eyes—soft and brown like Nanna’s—but now, whenever Cedar looked at Jessira, they seemed to warm as they never had when the two of them had been younger. He startled Jessira by pulling her into an embrace.
Next to arrive was her oldest brother, Kart, fourteen years older than Jessira. In fact, she almost thought of him as an uncle. He was thin and wiry with Nanna’s brown skin and eyes and had also inherited their nanna’s crafting skills, working as a master mason. In his youth, he’d also taken on the job of laborer and field hand, and all his hard work had paid off. Two years ago, he’d been able to lease his own farm. He would soon be the wealthiest of them all. His wife, poor put-upon Jeshni, wasn’t with him, though. Likely she was at home with their four young children.
“Court plans on bringing both of the Kummas,” Nanna said, surprising Jessira as he came up alongside her. Sateesh Grey, was in his late fifties, but appeared almost seventy. He was of medium height—like Cedar—but slender like Kart, with skin the color of old leather, wrinkled and spotted with age. His brown eyes were rimmed with cataracts, but they were still sharp enough to read Jessira’s emotions. He picked up on her disquiet but mistook the reason for it. “I know you don’t like Farn, but it only seemed right to allow him to come given that he’s a close friend to Rukh Shektan. We owe your Kumma friend more than we can ever hope to repay.”
Jessira glanced at her nanna. He was one of the few OutCastes who didn’t speak of the Purebloods with contempt or mocking superiority. He’d always met life and people with an open mind and an open heart. It was a lesson more Strongholders would do well to learn.
“Farn Arnicep is not one of my favorite people,” Jessira agreed.
“Well, for some reason, Court seems to think well of him.”
Just then, Disbar Merdant entered her parents’ flat. Her fiancé was tall—only a few inches shorter than Rukh, but with a heavier frame. His dark, intense eyes were framed by thick brows while a goatee circumscribed his full lips. Disbar was a passionate man, but sometimes his passion could get the better of him. Then he became like a red-eyed bull, with his curly, ruddy-brown hair almost seeming to stand erect of its own accord. But judging by his smile tonight, he appeared to be in a good mood. He’d even brought fresh flowers, which he placed in Jessira’s hands.
She was warmed by the romantic gesture. “Thank you,” she said with a smile.
“I know I saw you just this morning, but you have no idea how glad I am to be with you again. For months, I feared you dead,” he said solemnly. “And knowing you live, and being able to touch you again…it makes my heart sing with gladness. I thank the First Father and First Mother for bringing you home safely to us. And I vow you will never again need to place yourself in harm’s way. Stronghold is your home, and here you should remain.”
Jessira was taken aback by his words. His sentiments were touching but so overwrought and, frankly, presumptuous. She didn’t know whether to laugh or be offended by his audaciousness.
“Mercy. Laying it on thick aren’t you, Disbar?” Sign said, having just entered the flat and overhearing the words of Jessira’s fiancé.
Disbar’s moods changed like the tides but were far less predictable. Sometimes when someone poked fun at him, he would storm off, growling over the supposed insult. Less often, he would throw his head back and bellow with laughter. One could never tell how he would respond, and after Sign’s gentle mockery, Jessira wondered what he would say. The last thing she needed was for Disbar to make a scene.
Tonight, for whatever reason, rather than react with anger at Sign’s gentle ribbing, Disbar chuckled half-heartedly at her cousin’s words, although Jessira noticed his eyes still tightened in annoyance.
But no matter his irritation, he also needed to understand the truth: Jessira was a warrior. While Disbar often spoke of how he looked forward to her discharge from the Home Army, for now, it was who she was. “The promise of safety is one none of us can offer, especially to a Silversun,” Jessira said, looking him in the eyes and hoping he wouldn’t grow angry.
Once again, Disbar surprised her. He laughed, relaxed and generous, as the intensity fled from his eyes. “I love how easily you puncture my self-importance,” he said.
Further conversation was interrupted when Court entered the by-now crowded flat. Trailing behind him, moving like Shylows were the two Kummas. Jessira had to remind herself not to stare at Rukh. Instead, she offered him a polite nod, one he returned in kind before he moved on to scan the others. Farn’s eyes moved just as restlessly, and surprisingly, he too offered her a polite nod before looking over the others. In her mind, she imagined the two of them were quickly assessing who here represented a threat, which ones were the most dangerous.
Conversation trailed off when the three warriors entered. “You travelled with him?” Nanna asked, whispering to Jessira.
She nodded.
He shuddered. “He watches us like a predator, like a stalking snow tiger.” He eyed her askance. “Are you sure he isn’t dangerous?”
Jessira smiled in wry amusement at Nanna’s words. “I never said he wasn’t dangerous,” she replied. “The two of them are deadly—more so than anyone you’re ever likely to meet.”
“He wears an insufferably prideful mien,” Disbar remarked. “The taller one, Farn, was like this Rukh of yours but working as a laborer has taught him humility.”
Her fiancé’s smug satisfaction irked Jessira. Who was Disbar to judge Rukh without first getting to know him? She was about to let Disbar know what she thought of his attitude, but embarrassed self-awareness halted her words. Who was she to judge her fellow OutCastes? Hadn’t she once felt the same as they, dismissing Purebloods with the same haughty arrogance? She was no better than anyone else.
Jessira set aside her criticism. “He saved my life,” she reminded Disbar. “It’s why Amma and Nanna invited him here tonight: in order to thank him properly.”
Disbar nodded, forcing a smile. “You’re right,” he said. “We will provide him an enlightened evening of comfort as his kind would never offer us.”
“Except his parents, family, and House. And the Shiyen physician who saved my arm. And many other people in Ashoka,” Jessira replied.
Her words earned her an irritated frown from Disbar, who didn’t bother responding to her final statement.
The Grey family flat was large—a reflection of her nanna’s success as a carpenter and stone mason—with three bedrooms and a hearth-space easily able to accommodate the gathered party of ten. But not everyone could fit around the dining table and several people had to perch on the kitchen counters. However, two of the party had to eat at the sofa. Not surprisingly, those two turned out to be Rukh and Farn.
“I still can’t believe you spoke to Baels,” Laya said.
“Or went to Ashoka,” Kart added. “And managed to escape.”
“I didn�
�t escape,” Jessira protested. “I’ve told you all this before. Rukh’s family treated me well. Their physicians Healed me and Rukh’s amma and nanna took me in. They treated me as one of their own. They didn’t have to do any of that.”
“Perhaps they’re finally growing civilized,” Disbar said, a dismissive tone to his voice.
Jessira bit back her annoyance. His words stem from ignorance not malice, she reminded herself. However, she did wonder more and more how Rukh had managed to put up with her obnoxious attitude during their time in the Flats. If she had been half as conceited as the rest of Stronghold, she was surprised he hadn’t left her behind to rot.
“Did the Kummas really fight Tigons like Cedar says?” Sign asked.
Jessira glanced at the others around the table, noticing the disbelief evident on all their faces—everyone except for Cedar. “You mean like I’ve also said,” she finally replied to Sign. “If you choose to disbelieve.…” She shrugged.
“No one can be that skilled,” Sign muttered.
“They are, and I’ve already told you what they could do,” Cedar said, sounding tired. “I saw it.” He nodded toward Rukh and Farn. “None of our own warriors could hope to stand against those two.”
Sign frowned. “I’ve yet to see any proof of what the two of you claim,” she said, a stubborn set to her jaw.
“Why would Cedar or I lie to you or exaggerate?” Jessira asked.
Laya shuddered. “Why don’t we leave of all this talk of death and killing? We should be celebrating Jessira’s safe return.”
“And thanking the man who saved her,” Cedar added.
Jessira glanced at him in gratitude. She hadn’t expected his support. He met her gaze and winked.
Nanna wore a grave expression. “You’re both right,” he said, turning to Jessira. “We should be thanking the man who returned you to us. If this Kumma of yours had the skills to keep you alive, then I’m glad for it.”