by Davis Ashura
Soon, they reached the Hall of Founding where the Home Senate awaited their arrival. Once there, Rukh and Jessira explained all they had seen and encountered. It took hours to relate because the senators kept interrupting every few minutes, wanting clarification on some interaction or observation. They were especially focused—and rightfully so—on the appearance of Suwraith after Rukh’s reading of The Book of First Movement.
Eventually, the questions trailed off; and they were allowed to depart. Rukh was a bit taken aback that no one had asked him to turn over the Book. But here came the Governor-General, making his way toward them. Now that Mon Peace had them alone, no doubt he would make that very request.
“Stop it,” Jessira whispered from behind a smile. “You’re scowling again.”
Rukh quickly made his expression as bland and unintimidating as possible.
“Now you look constipated.”
“I hope you’re not getting sick,” Mon Peace said. “Just then your expression—are you sure you’re feeling well?”
“Yes, sir. I’m fine,” Rukh said, not daring to look at Jessira who wore a look of placid innocence, although he noticed her lips twitching from repressed mirth.
“No one has probably told you, but I took it upon myself to find you lodgings during your absence,” Mon Peace began. “But don’t worry. The money to pay for the lease didn’t come from your winnings in the Trials. I paid for it out of my own funds. Consider it a bribe,” he said with a wink and a wide grin.
Rukh laughed. Mon Peace was a politician, but he was also just so damn likable. Rukh found himself warming to the man. “And what would you want in return?” he asked.
The Governor-General chuckled. “I’ll let you know when I’m more certain you’ll do what I ask.”
Rukh smiled. “Thank you for your generosity.”
The Governor-General waved aside his acknowledgment. “Think nothing of it. I was happy to help. And since you didn’t ask, I’ll tell you. Your flat is in Crofthold Lucent, Plot Hie, number eight hundred twenty-three. I’m sure you and your bride to be will be most happy there.” The Governor-General glanced between Rukh and Jessira, an expectant gleam in his eyes.
After a moment of startled silence, “How did you know?” Jessira blurted out.
The Governor-General chuckled. “I’m old, but I’m not that old,” he said. “If you haven’t already chosen someone to officiate the ceremony, I’d be honored to do so.”
Rukh knew the offer was probably just another part of the man’s ongoing effort to win him over, but it was still generous. “We’d be grateful,” he said.
The Governor-General nodded. “Just make sure my invitation doesn’t somehow get lost.” Just as he was about to turn away, he snapped his fingers. “The other Senators will also expect invitations.”
Rukh’s heart sank. “Our wedding is going to be a social event, isn’t it?” he asked after the Governor-General left.
“I’m afraid so.” Jessira nodded. “My parents are going to be thrilled.” She sounded horrified rather than happy.
The redemption of the fallen man is neither easy nor quick. It is fraught with hardship and loss, and those who seek to aid someone traveling this twisted path might do best to journey ahead and light the way.
~The Word and the Deed
Mira wore a frown of concentration as she studied the documents laid out before her. The papers were important—they had to be—of this, she was certain. A niggling tickle in the back of her mind told her so, but despite spending the better part of three hours trying to tease it out, she had yet to find the elusive answer she sought. The documents were the original death certificates and written testimonies of everyone involved in the Withering Knife murders, and gaining access to them hadn’t been easy. In fact, it had required all of Dar’El’s considerable pull and a few favors owed. But if Mira couldn’t figure out what she was missing, it would all be for naught. And she was missing something; something obvious yet important.
Mira glowered, cursing under her breath as the answer refused to come, and her initial hopefulness turned to a growing sense of irritation. What was it? Every time she thought she had it, it slipped free, like the half-heard note of a song begging to be identified. Her scowl deepened as she shoved her way to her feet and pushed the papers away. She glared at the documents, trying to force her treacherous memory to serve up what she was overlooking. Mira stared a moment longer before she turned away with a muttered oath and paced the narrow confines of the walled cubicle in the City Watch Archives.
She was so close. She was sure of it. It was right in front of her, mocking her with its obviousness.
When she had her annoyance under control, Mira turned back to the papers and sorted through them, putting them back in order. Maybe doing something other than forcing the issue would allow her conscious mind to determine what her subconscious seemed to know. The work went quickly, and Mira finished organizing the documents. Once again, she stared down at them, willing them to give up their secrets. It was right there. All she had to do was make the proper association and she’d have it. She stared so hard and….
Still nothing.
With a dejected sigh, Mira gave up. She gathered the documents, ready to slip them back into their binder. Maybe tomorrow she’d figure out what she was missing. She’d start at the very beginning, with the murder of Felt Barnel. She would read every word of every account. No matter how many times it would take, she would find the answer she was seeking.
And at least the papers were easy to read. The handwriting of everyone involved was clear and legible. It would be….
Mira froze. She barely dared to breathe. There was something to what she had just thought. She let her mind play over her words.
Clear and legible…It was the handwriting!
With trembling hands, she sat down and pulled the papers out of the binder. She briefly examined every document, studying the handwriting. She moved faster and faster, each paper passing swiftly beneath her hands. She almost missed what she was looking for, but with an almost physical shock, she saw the missing clue.
The answer was in the documents dealing with the murder of Slathtril Apter, the third Withering Knife victim. There, in her own handwriting, was the witness attestation of Varesea Apter, the man’s wife. Mistress Apter wrote with her left hand, and more importantly, Mira had seen an example of her writing before. She’d seen it in the ledgers from Rector’s warehouse.
Varesea Apter was the Rahail woman from the Blue Heron. The same one who had tried to have Bree and Jaresh murdered. Mistress Apter was of the Sil Lor Kum. Mira sat down, stunned that the long search was finally over.
To her chagrin, her first thought was to tell Jaresh about her discovery; but he was a week into the Wildness by now. In thinking about him, she was reminded of Jessira’s offer to take them to Stronghold. What would she have done had she known about the proposal? Would she have accepted? Mira wasn’t sure, which spoke to the depths—
With a grimace, Mira silenced her thoughts. It was too late for regrets and none of it mattered anyway. She had just learned something monumental, and she had to tell someone about it. The next step had to be planned carefully. But who to tell?
Mira wanted to smack herself.
The answer was obvious. It had to be Dar’El. He’d know what to do.
Her decision made, Mira gathered the papers together and dropped them off with the desk clerk of the City Watch Archives.
She stepped outside into the bright sunshine of an early spring day. The weather was chill, and Mira gathered her coat close even as she checked her sword for clearance. After the attack on Bree, all the Shektan women had taken to walking armed through the streets of Ashoka.
Mira took a short alley leading to Martyr Hall, intending to follow the large road to Jubilee Hills and the Shektan House Seat. Halfway through, a shadowed figure, one she didn’t notice until it was too late, detached itself from a wall and confronted her.
Hal’El Wres
tiva’s cold eyes froze her. “I’d like a word with you, Miss Terrell.”
For Rector Bryce, one of the most maddening aspects of working at the warehouse had been his inability to determine ownership of the building he oversaw. House Wrestiva’s archives had proven useless in the matter. According to their records, the building was owned by a series of corporations and individuals tied together in an intentionally incomprehensible knot.
Which had led Rector to the City Hall of Records. There, after some painstaking research, he had finally learned what he had been seeking. Titular ownership of the warehouse belonged to Quality Building Divisions and an unknown silent partner. From there, Rector had discovered a rental agreement between Quality Building Divisions and Ashokan Property Investments. This second company had then signed a management agreement with Stole Services, a third corporation. Three companies—one to manage, another to rent, and another as nominal owner of the warehouse.
It was a complicated mess, and it certainly hadn’t been easy to disentangle it all. In fact, the diligence and effort required might have even taxed Jaresh’s abilities. Rector smiled at the thought. Who would have guessed he would have ever been impressed with the skills of a Sentya?
Now, all that remained was discovering who owned the three corporations in question.
Rector rubbed his forehead, dreading the work ahead of him. It had taken him a week of twelve hour days to get this far, and it would likely take just as long to discover the names of the companies’ owners. Rector rolled his shoulders, an unconscious gesture used on the eve of battle. Nothing to do but to get it done. He searched the records for titles of incorporation and was surprised by how quickly he found his answer.
Hal’El Wrestiva. He was the majority partner in all three companies, and the only name to appear on all three companies’ manifests of owners. Rector had found the Sil Lor Kum, and he sat back in stunned disbelief.
How could Hal’El Wrestiva be the SuDin of the Sil Lor Kum? The man was a legend. He had survived more Trials than any man since Hume. He was the warrior against whom Rector, and so many others, had measured themselves. He was a hero who nearly everyone admired, but according to the records here, he was also the vilest traitor imaginable. He was a member of the Sil Lor Kum, their leader, and the Withering Knife murderer. Ghrina, an abomination, Tainted, none of it came close to describing the depths of Hal’El’s evil.
Rector pinched his brow and shut his eyes. His head hurt, but with a shuddering breath, he firmed his resolve. Hal’El Wrestiva had been a hero, but that was no longer the case. He had to pay his crimes. Mira could help. She could bring this information to Dar’El Shektan, who could then pass it on to the Chamber of Lords. Hal’El would be a feast for crows before tomorrow’s sunset.
Rector exited the City Hall of Records. Mira should still be at the City Watch Archives. He could catch her there.
A simple, brown package lay waiting on his desk when Dar’El returned from lunch. It wasn’t unusual for those who sought business with House Shektan to send him gifts or tokens of acknowledgment. More rarely, they were simply items he’d forgotten that he’d ordered from months earlier. So it was with an incurious state that Dar’El examined the package. He lifted it up and immediately noticed the heft. Whatever was inside was heavy, and from the shape and feel, it seemed to be a binder of some sort. Dar’El puzzled over the item. Why would anyone send him a stack of papers? He turned the package over, and when he came to the name of the sender, his brows rose in surprise.
Ular Sathin.
It shouldn’t have been possible. Ular had died two weeks ago, choosing suicide over honor. Ular Sathin, the Muran Master of the Society of Rajan and secretly a MalDin of the Sil Lor Kum. Ular, the man Dar’El had loved as a friend.
Dar’El’s grip on the package tightened. How could Ular have betrayed them as he had? How could he have lied so well and so easily to everyone in his life? Everyone who cared for him? Had Ular secretly laughed at all of them, mocking their trustfulness? All those duplicitous decades of deceit and treachery? Had there ever been anything genuine about the man? Or had every aspect of his life been a sham?
Dar’El set aside the package and waited for his anger to pass. He turned to the wide window offering a view of Mount Bright and the blooming gardens. The day was sunny but suddenly felt cool, and he offered a brief prayer for Jaresh’s safety. It was likely futile, but he hoped someone was listening.
With a sigh, he turned about. The anger and hurt were still there, and they always would be. Maybe with time, he would find a way to forgive his old friend; but that day wasn’t today.
Dar’El ripped open the package. He’d been right. It was a binder full of paper. There was also a folded letter. It was from Ular.
To those who follow,
If you are reading this, then by now, you have learned the truth about who I am and what I’ve done. Please understand: it was not my intent to cause you any pain or grief. I never sought to harm you or anyone. I simply lived in accord with my wont. I am the scorpion in the fable. I chose who I became because it seemed to be the most true to my inmost self. Morality and evil have no place in the judgment of my actions. Neither then should friendship and love or good enter into the equation when elucidating my true nature.
I am sure these words bring you no comfort or long-sought answers, and the purpose of this letter is not to provide such. My words are simply to allow you knowledge that I am gone now, off to that great refuge, Death, which for me, has always represented a safe harbor from this dismal world where wretched Fear held an icy guard upon all my Hopes and Dreams. It left me a coward, and a coward’s life I led.
You may think I died a coward as well, but it is not the truth. Suicide was not the means to my end. Rather my final act was an act of desperation. I was driven to my death, and it was someone from the Hidden Hand who was the drover.
I hope you learn who it was, and I hope you cause the Sil Lor Kum no end of grief. These documents should allow you fruitful pursuit of such an endeavor.
Warmest Regards,
Ular Sathin
Dar’El re-read the letter again, but it offered no hidden meanings or further insights into who Ular Sathin had truly been. It seemed the man would forever remain an enigma. With a sad exhalation, Dar’El set the letter aside before turning to the packet.
He opened the binder and smiled in triumph. Ular had given away the entirety of the Sil Lor Kum. The first page was titled Organization of the Sil Lor Kum. Dar’El’s smile fell away an instant later. The rest of the document appeared to be written in a cipher.
He sighed. Where was Jaresh when he needed him?
Rector did a double take when he passed by an alley near the City Watch Archives. Exiting the far end had been a man and a woman, and he could have sworn it had been Mira and Hal’El Wrestiva. But when he turned to look again, they were gone.
Rector took a hesitant step into the alley, but the more he thought it through, the more certain he was that it had been Mira in the company of Hal’El Wrestiva. But why? What possible reason could she have to talk with that traitor? Surely she wasn’t in league with Hal’El. Rector had trouble believing something so outrageous. He wouldn’t believe it. There had to be another reason.
And whatever it was, he meant to learn it.
Rector raced to the opposite end of the alley. It opened onto Martyr Hall, and he searched up and down the street. Mira and Hal’El couldn’t have gone far, but for some reason, he couldn’t find any sign of them. The traffic was too thick.
“Rector!” a voice cried out. “Over here!”
He searched for whoever had called to him. It was Bree and Satha Shektan. They were mounted and bore down on him.
Rector gave a dejected sigh. He’d done his best to avoid Dar’El and his immediate family. Ever since the situation with Rukh, the few times he’d interacted with them, Rector had always been on the receiving end of an angry harangue. He didn’t need another such confrontation. Rector had wronged
Dar’El’s family—he knew it—but he’d had enough of their chastisement. Besides, on most days, he berated himself enough to satisfy anyone’s demands.
He tried to mask his disappointment as they approached, but he was obviously unsuccessful based on Satha’s frown of annoyance. “I’m sorry our presence causes you so much distress,” she said.
“Yes, try to contain your joy,” Bree said sarcastically. “Have you seen Mira?”
“That’s who I was looking for just before you caught up with me,” Rector said. “I could have sworn I saw her a second ago walking with Hal’El Wrestiva.” Rector quickly explained what he had learned about Hal’El Wrestiva, and their countenances grew grim.
“Hal’El Wrestiva?” Satha said, her eyes boring into his. “Are you sure?”
Rector nodded.
Satha sat back in her saddle. “What are the odds?” she murmured enigmatically.
“Dar’El received a binder this afternoon,” Bree explained. “It supposedly contains information about the Sil Lor Kum, but all the papers are written in code. We were on our way to bring Mira back to the House Seat to work on deciphering the documents.”
During all this, Rector had been thinking about what he’d seen with Mira and Hal’El. A sick feeling took hold in the pit of his stomach.
“What is it?” Satha asked.
“Just now, when I thought about what I saw, I realized Mira looked scared,” Rector answered.
“You think she’s in trouble,” Bree said.
“I saw her with Hal’El Wrestiva, the Withering Knife murderer. Of course she’s in trouble,” Rector snapped, the fear growing stronger. “Can either of you see them from up there?” he asked.
The Shektan women searched up and down Martyr Hall, their frowns deepening.