by Davis Ashura
“No,” Rukh repeated.
Jessira stared at him in consideration. “What do you want me to rub?” she asked.
Rukh glanced her way and grinned. “Well, if you’re asking….” He stood and unbuckled his belt.
“Not that!” Jessira said, sounding appalled as she shifted away from him.
Rukh chuckled. “Get your head out of the sewer. I need you to rub my back. The belt’s been chaffing.”
“Oh.” Jessira reddened.
Rukh smiled. “Are you embarrassed? Weren’t you the one who told me how prudish Kummas are?”
“Taking offense because it seemed like you were about to expose your manhood to me—and the entire world, for that matter—is not a sign of prudishness,” Jessira explained with a sniff.
“So does that mean you’re going to rub my back?” Rukh asked.
Jessira had a glint in her eyes. “Rub my feet first?”
Rukh had played this game before. If he agreed to her request, as soon as he was done with her feet, she’d swipe ineffectually at his back for a few seconds before declaring herself tired. “My back first,” he said.
“How about at the same time?” Jessira said.
Rukh rolled his eyes. “You want me to rub your feet while at the same time, you rub my back?” He shook his head. “You realize that’s anatomically impossible?”
“It’s possible,” Jessira said, sounding confident.
“How?”
“Like this.” Jessira positioned herself behind Rukh. He stiffened with shock when she wrapped her long legs around his waist, laying her feet on his thighs. “See.”
Rukh didn’t dare move, intensely aware of Jessira’s presence: her soft breath against his neck, her hands on his back, and most especially the feel of her firm legs around his waist.
“Is this making you uncomfortable?” Jessira asked in a voice sweet enough to sugar a pie.
Rukh swallowed. “No,” he lied, proud his voice didn’t crack.
Rukh rubbed her feet, imagining them to be as smelly as the swamp. It wasn’t true, but he couldn’t allow himself to notice anything else. He practiced his breathing, taking slow, steady breaths. In and out. Anything to distract from the softness of Jessira’s skin; the hint of lilac from the soap she must have used; her cinnamon scent; the feel of her firm thighs around his waist; and her strong hands on his shoulders. Now was not the time for any of…that, if that was even what Jessira wanted.
Jessira inhaled softly, sounding enchanted. To his disappoint-ment, she unstrapped her legs and leaned forward until her face was next to his. She gestured for quiet and pointed at something in the marshy distance. “Look,” she whispered.
Rukh followed the line of her finger. A couple of long-necked birds waded in the nearby pond.
“Cranes,” Jessira said. “Some of them summer in Stronghold. They’re considered harbingers of good luck.”
“What kind of good luck?” Rukh asked.
“A strong marriage,” Jessira explained. “Cranes mate for life. It’s considered auspicious for a couple to wed during the time of the crane mating dance. It’s why we schedule our weddings to take place at the same time as when they return to Teardrop Lake.”
Rukh smiled at the idea. “How romantic,” he said. “I wouldn’t have expected it from your people.”
“Pragmatic,” Jessira corrected. “When we speak of a strong marriage, romantic love isn’t considered an important part of it.”
“Perhaps you should,” Rukh said.
Jessira shifted until she could look him in the eyes. Rukh brushed her cheek, a strand of her hair. Jessira leaned forward, kissing him softly and all-too briefly on the lips. “Perhaps we will,” she said before moving to the other side of the fire.
Rukh and Jessira held as still as statues as they looked to the south. They stood upon the famed black cliffs north of Hammer with waves crashing against the rocks hundreds of feet below.
From their vantage point, the wreck of the once-proud city was readily evident. River Mastery, sluggish and wide, passed into the city, feeding the surrounding farms, all of which were now choked with weeds and vines and the makings of a forest. From there, the water had been mastered by a string of dams and locks into slowly flowing canals ebbing through the heart of the city. For this reason, Hammer was also known as the Floating Rose. Even now, ruined and overgrown as they were, Rukh could appreciate the history and romance of the waterways and their storied gondolas. Rukh’s heart stirred as he imagined what it must have been like long ago when Hammer thrived.
The sun approached the western horizon, casting the bay in reflective gilding. Despite the golden light, the city was cast in a pall of sorrow, a phantom fog of beauty despoiled. The tall towers and their famous onion domes; the city’s walls, once as powerful and grand as Ashoka’s—all of it lay in ruins now, although broken remnants could still be seen beneath a thick blanket of tangled, green vines.
Jessira was first to break the spell. “It makes me want to cry.”
Rukh nodded before turning away. “Let’s go,” he suggested.
They set up camp in silence, both of them lost in their thoughts. Jessira had a small fire going while Rukh took care of their packhorse. They settled in for supper. In the morning, they planned on entering the city. Rukh recalled a few days prior when he and Jessira had kissed. It hadn’t happened again, not even a hint that it might. And this melancholy place, with its softly moaning wind, wasn’t necessarily a place to pick up where they had left off.
“What is it?” Jessira asked.
“I was thinking about when we saw the cranes in the marsh.” He reached over and squeezed her hand.
“Now really isn’t the time,” Jessira said, tugging her hand free.
Rukh smiled. “How do you know what I want?”
Jessira smiled back at him. “You’re a man. You want what every man wants.”
“You certainly have a high opinion of yourself,” Rukh said in a teasing tone.
“No. Just common sense.”
“And now isn’t the time?” Rukh asked. “But there might be a time?”
Jessira gave him a slow appraising look from beneath hooded eyes. “Maybe.”
It wasn’t much of an answer one way or another, and Rukh studied her, the play of light and shadow from the campfire on her face. Her green eyes seemed to glow, her honey-brown hair burnished. He reached for her hand again. This time she let him hold it. He trailed his hand upward, along her arm, past her shoulder, to the curve of Jessira’s neck until it rested gently against her face.
“Who are we?” he asked.
Jessira stared him in the eyes. “Who do you want us to be?” she asked.
Rukh didn’t answer with words. Instead, he leaned forward, kissing her softly; afraid she might pull away. The kiss deepened. She cupped his face, pulling him closer, her mouth parting slightly. Rukh ran his fingers through her hair, inhaling her cinnamon scent, wanting to drown in her.
Jessira smiled, her teeth flashing in the dark. “You haven’t answered me. What do you want?”
He kissed her again. “I want what all men want, remember?” he said with a grin.
She laughed, low and throaty. “Well, that much I already knew.”
Rukh laughed with her. “I love you, Jessira. Wherever you are is my home.”
“Even Stronghold?” she asked, appearing to hold her breath as she awaited his response.
Once the answer would have been a certain ‘no’, but time, love, and forgiveness had given him a fresh perspective. “Even Stronghold. As long as you’re with me, I’ll stay there as long as you’ll have me.”
Jessira grinned, her eyes welling. This time, she was the one to reach for him. She kissed him, clasping her hands around his neck and holding him tight. She was the first to break away. “I’m going to hold you to your promise,” she told him, her voice breathless.
“You’ll never need to,” Rukh replied.
He reached for her again, holding he
r, caressing her, kissing her. Jessira cupped his face, and his arms tightened around her. He reveled in the soft feel of her. He wanted this moment to last—
The hissing, grating cry of a Braid on the hunt rose in the air, not more than a quarter-mile away.
“Fragging unholy hells!” Jessira cursed.
I once gave thought to the idea that the Tigons might be reasoning creatures much as we are. I was quickly disabused of such foolish notions. Tigons are slaves to their appetites for destruction.
~From the journal of Li-Choke, AF 2062
Li-Choke arrived at his objective, a narrow canyon in the foothills south of the Privation Mountains. He paused to get his bearings. Steep, ice-slick walls—a hundred feet tall—ran east-to-west, ringing the ravine. Mother had directed him here. Sunshine reflected off the small pond near the base of the northernmost cliff. The scent of pine needles hung in the air.
From this point on, he had to be cautious. Without ongoing, consistent discipline, Chimeras often became uncontrollable in their aggression, fighting one another; Braids, Balants, Ur-Fels, and Tigons all striving for supremacy. Riots were even known to break out. They required a firm, steady hand to keep them in line. The Chimeras that Choke was meant to command hadn’t felt a Bael’s judgment and influence in months. Who knew how they might react to his orders at this point? They might have forgotten their fear of Baels and attack him.
From the north came the sound of small rocks fallings, of someone moving furtively.
It seemed they had forgotten their fear of his kind, and Choke wished his brother Baels were with him. He missed them with an ache that hadn’t ended since the moment Mother annihilated Li-Dirge and the others. And losing the last of his brethren a month ago had sapped his passion for life. Li-Choke had shambled to his destination like an animated corpse. He lacked any real desire to continue living, but he would carry out this burden Mother had placed upon his shoulders. The lives of the western Baels depended on his actions and his success.
Choke eyed the heights above. Just because the canyon seemed empty didn’t mean Chimeras weren’t about. The furtive sounds from earlier was proof of that. Something was here. Choke moved south, wanting his back to a canyon wall. As he reached his destination, he sighted movement on the heights. A Balant. No. Two. Clumsy. Now, where were the rest of the Chimeras? Choke scanned with all his senses. From the western entrance came the faint acrid odor of concentrated urine. Tigons. Probably a claw led by this Chak-Soon.
A hiss, quickly cut off, followed by the slithering of scales on rock came from directly above him. Choke stepped away from the wall, set his trident, and uncoiled his whip. Fifteen feet above, ten Braids—two traps—hung from the rocks like giant misshapen bats. Upon each of their faces was a predator’s glare. The Braids were ready to attack.
Choke snapped his whip. The thunder-crack of the barbs bit into the stone and small pieces shattered directly in front of the lead Braid. It gave Choke the time he needed to set himself as the rest of the Braids hissed in consternation. A Bael had to display his dominance if he ever hoped to lead the Chimeras. It was an unalterable law as old as the Fan Lor Kum.
“I’ll grind you underfoot, you pathetic worms,” he growled. “Stand down and bow before he whom Mother Herself chose to lead you.” Another crack of the whip had the other Braids rustling nervously. “NOW!” They shared fearful glances before slithering down the rock face, bunching up as they faced Li-Choke. They bowed before him, knees on the ground and foreheads pressed to the dirt.
They were his.
“Follow mussst. Mother sssaysss,” the lead Braid whispered in a sibilant voice.
Li-Choke nodded. “Good.” He gestured to where the Tigons were coming into view. “Follow me. Three paces behind. If the Tigons don’t bend knee, kill them.” Choke turned his back to the Braids, trusting the snake-like Chimeras to follow. They would remain loyal so long as they trusted in his leadership.
A claw of Tigons waited at the mouth of the canyon. Leading them was one spotted like a jaguar. He had to be Chak-Soon. The ordinate appeared calm, unruffled and unimpressed based on the sneer he wore on his muzzle. Another Tigon loomed large behind Chak-Soon, a giant with a tiger’s stripes. Another stood close by as well, black like a panther. The final two Tigons filling out the claw were both lean and rangy, like cheetahs. All were arrayed in a simple breechcloth with a sheathed sword strapped to their waist and a cased bow and quiver of arrows upon their backs.
“Bow,” Li-Choke ordered.
His command earned him a further sneer from Chak-Soon. The others in his claw growled in agitation and warning.
Li-Choke never allowed fear to enter his heart. If it came to a fair battle, he and the Braids would not prevail against the Tigons. But it wouldn’t come to a fair battle. Guile, as Li-Dirge had so often explained, was a far more potent weapon than brute force. Choke coiled his whip, letting it drop to the ground as he strode forward with a smile. He was inches from Chak-Soon, looming over all the Tigons, even the giant tiger.
Without warning, Choke smashed the boss of his horns against Chak-Soon’s forehead, felling the ordinate like a tree. He swept aside the black-panther Chimera before grasping the tiger-striped Tigon by his leather harness, holding him in place. One straight punch. Two had the giant Chimera limp as well. Chak-Soon made to rise, and Li-Choke hammer-fisted him back down. The cheetah-like Tigons held back, tails tucked between their legs. Here came the panther. The foolish cat leapt. Choke caught him in mid-air. A thunderous knee to the Tigon’s mid-section exploded all the air from the panther’s lungs. The cat curled up around himself as he gasped for breath. Choke dropped him with a thud. The tiger was on his knees, trying to clear his head. Choke kicked him in the gut, lifting him off the ground. Another kick to the face, and the large cat was out. Chak-Soon made to rise once again, but Li-Choke was there. He pulled the ordinate to his feet, holding him by the neck, choking him while holding him out at arm’s length.
“Foolish kitten. I am Bael, and you will obey as Mother commanded, or you will be ended.”
Chak-Soon nodded feebly.
Choke let him fall heavily to the ground. He recovered his whip and snapped the barbed ends inches from the ears of the Tigons until the cats rose to their feet and bowed before him. Without their obeisance, they could never be trusted. And only then could Li-Choke teach them his manner of leadership. Since Tigons were irrational brutes, they were only able to learn discipline after they had first experienced pain.
“Tigons learn. No need punish,” Chak-Soon said. “Balants and Braids cower.” His words were almost unintelligible as his thick tongue moved clumsily around his sharp teeth even as he stumbled across the slick, snowy path upon which they trod. His breath blew mist in the frigid wintery air. They followed a northward running rivulet through the heart of a broad valley edged by rolling foothills south of the Privation Mountains.
Li-Choke nodded. A week since their initial meeting, and he was still doling out punishment for even the most minor of infractions. It wasn’t because he was a sadist or enjoyed doing so but because discipline and order amongst the Fan Lor Kum had slipped so precipitously since Mother had given control of the Eastern Plague to the Tigons. Li-Choke had been forced to reinstitute knowledge that the Chimeras had seemingly forgotten: swift and certain punishment followed disobedience. The Tigons had apparently believed a severe, if haphazard and unpredictable, form of discipline was all that was required. It was a habit of the intellectually lazy. But then again these were the Tigons. What else were they if not stupid and lazy?
“The Chimeras are re-learning what should never have been forgotten. Had you and your claw bowed before me as Mother commanded, do you suppose I would need to beat your brethren so frequently for their insolence?”
“They learn. No need to punish,” Chak-Soon said stubbornly.
Li-Choke growled as he came to a sudden stop and faced the Tigon. “I have heard you, stupid kitten. Now be silent or be silenced.”
; “I take punishment for all Tigons if they make mistake,” Chak-Soon said, refusing the direct order. “It only right. I command them.” He shuffled in uncertainty, but faced Li-Choke with an unblinking stare, doing his best to hide his fear.
Li-Choke rocked back on his heels, taken aback by the Tigon’s words. In all the instruction he’d received from his elder Baels, never had the idea of a compassionate Tigon ever been considered. The cats were known to be little more than animated killing machines. Their hearts were empty of empathy, even for their fellow Tigons. Indeed, they often laughed at the misfortune of their brethren, going so far as to devour their fallen when mad with heat of battle. Yet here was Chak-Soon, willing to accept whatever punishment his fellow Tigons might face.
“Do you understand what you’re saying?” Choke asked.
Soon nodded. “I know. Save Tigons hurt. It right to do. Good.”
Surprise turned to shock. A Tigon understanding a moral concept of right and wrong? Impossible. He’d heard the cats mutter of Humanity’s evil and Mother’s holiness, but the words had been those of the ignorant and stupid. Soon’s statement was something else. He sounded sincere, outwardly understanding what he was saying. Choke considered how to respond. Could Soon truly grasp esoteric concepts such as sympathy and pity? It flew in the face of everything he knew of Tigons. More likely Chak-Soon was simply parroting words he’d once heard uttered by a Bael. “The Tigons and all the other Chimeras must receive their proper discipline. They learn only through pain,” Li-Choke said.
“You teach us?” Chak-Soon asked. “Learn best without hit.”
Choke scowled. The Tigon simply wouldn’t let it go. “I’ll discipline as I see fit,” he answered. “Do not say anything else!” he snapped upon seeing Soon’s mouth open in likely protest.
The Tigon settled down, looking unhappy while Li-Choke pondered their conversation.
“Hume,” Chak-Soon said.