by Davis Ashura
Jessira looked at Rukh, noting the tiredness in his eyes and posture. “He wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me,” she said softly.
Disbar frowned, and Jessira could sense his mistrust, but whether of her or Rukh, she couldn’t tell. “What do you mean?” he finally asked.
“Rumor says he was banished from his home for being befouled in some way,” Laya said.
“Whatever that might mean to a Pureblood,” Disbar scoffed.
Jessira turned away from Rukh and in a flat, inflectionless tone, one that didn’t hint at the guilt she still felt for Rukh’s circumstances, she described her time in Ashoka, explaining the events leading to Rukh’s banishment. “His people might have forgiven his new Talents, but his friendship with me was something they couldn’t overlook. Because of me, he was all but named a ghrina himself.” She glanced around the table. “I think we should honor his sacrifice and not disparage his name or his ancestry. Not after what he lost on my account.”
Amma seemed to study Rukh in enigmatic speculation before shifting her eyes back to Jessira. “Call him over,” she said.
Rukh must have sensed their regard. He stood, and when he did so, Jessira noticed his arm. It still hung limp and unmoving by his side. She had heard a Healer had seen him last night. So why wasn’t he able to use it? Why did he wince whenever it was jostled? Was it so badly injured that it couldn’t be Healed?
Jessira prayed not.
“My family would like to thank you,” Jessira said, careful to keep her inflection even and untroubled.
He flicked a glance at those seated around the table before saying something to Farn who merely nodded in return. Rukh limped toward them. His leg was still giving him trouble.
“This clumsy fellow is the slayer of Tigons?” Sign whispered to Disbar in a snide snicker. She met Jessira’s challenging look with one of her own. “You say he’s an amazing warrior. He needs to prove it.”
“There’s no need to be cruel, Sign,” Jessira said. “You know he broke his leg and hurt his arm. He’s simply not Healed yet. Test him when he has his health.” She stared at her cousin in challenge. “Only make sure all of the Shadowcats are with you. You’ll need that many to take him on.”
Sign opened her mouth to respond, but just then, Rukh arrived.
“We wished to thank you in person for the safe return of our daughter,” Nanna said. “All of us are grateful beyond words.”
“Yes. She is precious to all of us,” Disbar said, taking hold of one of Jessira’s hands.
“Thank you for supper, ma’am,” Rukh said to Jessira’s amma with a polite nod. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a hot meal.”
“During your travels, you must have had some warm food,” Kart said.
“I did,” Rukh agreed. “But what we had wasn’t exactly fine dining. Not like this, anyway.”
Jessira smiled at Rukh’s words. She still remembered Cook Heltin’s miracles of cuisine. Compared to what Rukh had grown up with, her own family’s supper, heavy on substance but light on spices, must have seemed bland and tasteless. Rukh was just too polite to say so.
“Fine dining?” Nanna asked. “I’m glad you think so.” He glanced in Jessira’s direction. “My daughter spoke of how every meal in Ashoka was a work of art.”
“Our food is different,” Rukh replied. “But it is the warm and generous spirit that transforms any meal into an expression of love. And the cold and cruel heart who makes even the most sumptuous of feasts taste like ashes.”
“Where did you read that?” Jessira asked. The words couldn’t have been his own. Rukh was usually plainspoken, never eloquent like he’d just been.
“Sooths and Small Sayings, by Tramed Billow.”
“You’re a scholar?” Kart asked in disbelief.
“Hardly. I just like to read sometimes.”
“But only scholars bother with Sooths and Small Sayings. It’s too dense and philosophical,” Kart persisted.
“I’m no scholar. I just like to read, and that particular phrase from Sooths just happened to stay with me.” Rukh said with a smile.
Jessira shook her head and hid a smile. She thought she knew him so well, but he still managed to surprise her.
“Court tells me you’ll be working the kitchens as soon as your leg is Healed,” Disbar said, changing the subject.
“So I’ve been told,” Rukh said. “I still hold out hope I might be accepted into the Home Army.”
“You think laboring is beneath you?” Laya asked. She appeared insulted by Rukh’s words. “To serve and maintain home and hearth is not a meaningless use of a person’s time and energy.”
“Kummas serve,” Rukh answered in a calm, even tone. “It is the guiding principle of my Caste. We serve by defending those whose lives are placed in our hands. It’s a holy trust. It’s who we are. Without it, our lives have no meaning.”
Upon hearing his statement, Amma stood and came around the table. She gave Rukh a warm embrace. “I hope you find the meaning you seek,” she said. “As for me, I’m simply grateful to have my daughter back.” She gave Rukh’s hands a final thankful squeeze.
He nodded acknowledgement before turning to Farn. “I think it’s time for us to go and let these fine people celebrate without strangers interrupting them.”
“Yes, sir,” Farn said, coming to his feet.
“You’re not a stranger,” Jessira protested, rising as well. “The dinner was in your honor. My family wanted to get to know you better.”
Rukh glanced her way and smiled. “I appreciate that, but it’s still time for me and Farn to go.” He hesitated. “We’ve got a lot to sort out.”
Just before Rukh stepped outside, Jessira called out to him. “Rukh,” she said, bringing him to a halt. “Thank you for keeping me safe,” she said, infusing her words with shades of meaning only he would understand.
“It was my honor,” he said. With that, he pulled the door shut. It felt like the metaphorical closing of a very different future she might have had.
“You see what I mean?” Farn asked. “You and I are Purebloods, which in the eyes of many OutCastes makes us ghrina.” He barked in laughter. “Ironic, is it not?”
Rukh nodded though his mind wasn’t focused on Farn’s words. He was thinking about Jessira. He’d never seen her looking so lovely, so feminine. Her hair was usually pulled back in a severe ponytail, but tonight it hung free, framing her face and softening her beauty. And the green dress she had worn—it had been the same shade as her eyes, clinging to her like a sinuous wave.
When he had first seen Jessira tonight, he had wanted to do nothing more than drink in the sight of her. But he couldn’t. They were acquaintances who had travelled a long road together. Nothing more.
“It’s the woman, isn’t it?” Farn asked.
“What woman?” Rukh asked, finally focusing on his cousin’s words.
“Jessira. The OutCaste woman. The one you love.”
Rukh startled. “Is it that obvious?”
“Only to those who know you.”
“And my feelings for someone not of my Caste—they don’t disgust you?” Rukh asked, taken aback by Farn’s mild response. This was not the same cousin who had left with him on the Trial for Nestle so many months ago.
Farn shrugged. “It would have at one time, but I’ve been in a city of OutCastes for months now. I find my prior unchallenged understanding of morality no longer serves.”
Rukh was surprised by his cousin’s growth during his time in Stronghold. “Please don’t tell anyone else how I feel about Jessira,” he said to Farn. “It would cause problems for her and her family.”
“I’ll keep it to myself,” Farn promised. They walked in silence for a few minutes before Farn spoke again. “They are an odd people, these OutCastes,” he said. “Prior to marriage or even engagement, they are so free in what they can do, even the women; but once wedding vows are exchanged, their lives become rigid. Within their families, the men lead, and their women f
ollow.”
“And are all of them so arrogant?” Rukh asked.
“No. Not all. Court, Cedar, Laya, and most of the laborers are decent people. Many of the others, though….” he shuddered. “I won’t miss them once I get home.”
Home. Rukh stared ahead, remembering Ashoka and his family. There would never be a homecoming for him. Whatever Farn had been experiencing for the past five or six months was something Rukh would have to endure for the rest of his life.
“I’m sorry. You didn’t need to hear that,” Farn said. He must have realized what Rukh was thinking.
“Why are you still here?” Rukh asked, wanting to change the subject.
His cousin grimaced. “Ever since that fragging Shylow attack, my head hasn’t been right,” he said. “I’ve been struggling with dizzy spells, every day, sometimes hourly. They’ve only recently gotten better. I couldn’t leave because I couldn’t walk straight.”
“But now you can,” Rukh said.
Farn smiled faintly. “Now I can, but I’m so out of shape. I’ve got to train hard if I want to be able to make it home. I figure it’ll take me a month or two before I’m ready to go.”
“It’ll still be winter then,” Rukh reminded him.
“The river flowing under Stronghold empties into the Gaunt.…”
“And the Gaunt leads to Ashoka,” Rukh finished. “What about the river being frozen? You won’t be able to take a boat.”
“The OutCastes have ways of traveling over frozen water. If they can do it, so can I.”
Rukh hoped his cousin was right. He’d hate for him to die when waiting just a few more months could see him home with far less risk. “I’ll help you get back in shape as best I can,” Rukh promised. “Just make sure you know what you’re doing out on the water.”
Farn didn’t respond at first. “You sure you can’t come with me?” he eventually asked in a diffident tone.
“I’m Unworthy, remember?”
“Unless the Chamber of Lords decides otherwise.”
“What do you mean?” Rukh asked. This was the first he had heard this.
“The Chamber can reverse any of their judgments. It’s one of their prerogatives. I’m sure it’s something your nanna is working on.”
Law and history had always fascinated Farn. If he said the Chamber could overturn Rukh’s judgment, then it was probably true. Nevertheless, Rukh held little hope that the Chamber would set aside their earlier decision. What reason would they have to do so?
A thought struck him just then. “When you get home, tell no one about your ability to Blend,” he advised. “It’ll only cause you problems. And if anyone challenges you on it, lie.”
Farn nodded. “I wish you’d taken your own advice.”
I’ve travelled far and wide, visiting many cities, seeing their beauty, but none of them compared to Hammer. And whenever I returned home, I would be reminded of the blessings in my life: to live amongst such elegance and grace.
~The Sorrows of Hume, AF 1789
“It’s not getting any better, is it?” Court asked.
Rukh didn’t bother responding. The sharp bark of pain as he struggled to get his arm into the sleeve of his shirt should have been answer enough. Its dull, dead weight had him terrified.
He tried to force the arm into the shirtsleeve, but a fierce twinge in his shoulder, a harbinger of a more fiery pain, immediately had him backing off. Damn it!
“Let me help,” Court said. He gently lifted Rukh’s arm and eased it into the shirtsleeve.
Rukh nodded his ‘thanks’, but the fear he felt for his situation remained. He’d been in Stronghold for three weeks, and his arm showed no signs of improving. He’d done active stretching and passive stretching; he’d applied heat and ice; he’d let it rest and even tried to exercise it—anything he could think of that might help, but so far nothing was working. The arm remained a painful, lifeless anchor hanging at his side.
He went to pack away his unspooled bedroll, and the unkempt blanket draped over it. Farn’s bedding was already neatly folded and tucked away in a corner. His cousin had arisen well before first light, training for the long road home.
“I’ll take care of your roll,” Court said.
Rukh flushed with humiliated helplessness as Jessira’s cousin cleared away his mess. “I wish someone could tell me what’s wrong with my arm,” Rukh said, turning aside to hide his reddened face.
“None of the Healers Peddananna sent you to could help?” Court asked.
“No. They all said the same thing: there’s nothing wrong with the arm,” Rukh replied. “They’re wrong, but they just don’t know what it is.” He shook his head. “I just wish I hadn’t wasted so much of Master Grey’s money to learn such a worthless answer.”
On his own, Rukh wouldn’t have been able to afford the services of even one of Stronghold’s Healers, much less every one of them, but Jessira’s nanna—Master Grey—had been generous. He’d paid all of Rukh’s costs without a second thought. “Consider it my way of repaying the kindness your parents showed Jessira when they took her in,” he had said at the time.
Rukh appreciated Master Grey’s help, but he also wasn’t comfortable relying on Jessira’s nanna for any more assistance. The man had already done too much for him. Asking for anything more would feel too much like begging. It was past time for Rukh to find his own way.
Just then, a stabbing pain in his shoulder reminded him just how difficult such a proposition might be. Training with a sword was out of the question, and even Rukh’s work as a laborer was a challenge. It would have been impossible if not for the help of so many. Court was kindness itself, helping Rukh get dressed, while Farn and the other laborers helped him whenever they saw him struggling to perform tasks that required two arms rather than one.
Rukh was grateful to all of them, especially his fellow workers. The lowest members of Stronghold’s society were insular and hard, but they looked after their own. At first, it hadn’t been easy to get to know them. In fact, during the first meeting with the other laborers, mistrust and dislike had lifted off them like a heat haze. They had probably assumed Rukh would be an arrogant Pureblood, complaining that the work was beneath his station—at one time, Farn certainly had—but Rukh wasn’t like that.
He couldn’t afford to be as proud, especially when his right arm was as useless as a mute singer. If Rukh had to get his fingernails dirty, so be it. The labor needed doing, and Rukh made sure to give his all to whatever task he’d been assigned. His nanna would have expected nothing less. As a result, the suspicion and animosity from most of the other laborers eventually changed to acceptance and even friendliness.
Of course, there were still some who resented—even hated—Rukh’s mere presence in Stronghold. For them, Rukh would always be an abomination. There had even been an attack by a group of thugs during Rukh’s first week in Stronghold. Even one-armed, they hadn’t posed much of a challenge. A few broken noses had sent the rest running, but Rukh had remained troubled by the attack.
Too many Strongholders had an attitude of smug superiority toward Purebloods, including those from the city’s higher social strata. They were far more clever, though, expressing their displeasure in subtle ways, such as muttered comments meant to be overheard about unmannered Purebloods or pretending not to see him when he attempted to buy food at the market. From Rukh’s perspective, all of it was meant to get across a simple fact: he was the unwanted outsider in their pristine, perfect city.
Their behavior put the lie to Jessira’s claim that her people didn’t judge others based on their birth. They clearly did, and Rukh couldn’t help but wonder if his own people had treated Jessira as poorly as many of her kind treated him. If they had, it was a wonder she had stayed in Ashoka as long as she had. Rukh wouldn’t have. In fact, other than Farn, Cedar, Court, and Laya, if he was forced to leave Stronghold, there would be precious few people he would miss.
What of Jessira? a soft voice whispered in his thoughts. Woul
d you not miss her?
Rukh mentally shrugged. He was a Kumma, and he would always live by the strictures of his Caste. Since their arrival in Stronghold, he’d made sure they barely saw one another. A few chance meetings in the hallways was it, nothing more. It was for the best.
“What will you do?” Court asked, interrupting Rukh’s thoughts.
“I don’t know. There’s a man I work with, a laborer named Setter Reesh. He thinks he might be able to help. He says the problem isn’t in the arm but in the shoulder. The Healers I’ve spoken to are certain he’s wrong.” He looked to Court. “What do you think?”
“Sometimes Healers think they know everything, or act like they do, even when they don’t,” Court replied. “You have to remember: there were but six Shiyens amongst the Fifty-five and only one of them a physician. You wouldn’t know it by talking to our Healers, but I imagine a lot of the knowledge that Hammer possessed has been lost to them. Besides, I know Setter. A lot of the laborers who can’t afford a Healer’s price go to him. He knows what he’s doing.”
Rukh considered Court’s advice, unsure why he placed such importance on the man’s opinion. It was odd. He’d only known Court for three weeks, and already, he trusted him implicitly.
Maybe it was because Court was so open and honest, rare traits. For instance, while he was rightly proud of his people’s accomplishments, he wasn’t blind to their faults. He saw the problems with Stronghold’s society, and they bothered him. Of course, Court was wise enough to keep his opinion limited to those he knew and trusted. Many would not have reacted well to his words.
“If you’re worried he might do more harm than good, don’t be. I’ve heard of a few cases where Setter was able to help when the Healers couldn’t,” Court added, mistaking Rukh’s silence for uncertainty.
Rukh nodded. “I’ll talk to him,” he said.