by Davis Ashura
And ultimately, whatever destiny Jessira suffered, he would also endure.
Unsurprisingly, Jaresh and Bree had also taken on the matter of the OutCastes' final fate with nearly the same zealous determination as Rukh himself. The three of them had separated the work. Jaresh was to comb through historical references for when the Constitution might not have been strictly followed while Rukh and Bree focused on finding a means to undercut the primacy of The Word and the Deed as the basis for the city's law. So far, their cumulative searches had returned empty as Jaresh quickly discovered that every law and decision in Ashoka's long history had always had a basis in the Constitution. There had been no exceptions. Meanwhile Rukh and Bree's quest had proven equally frustrating. There had been nothing to suggest that there had ever been a prior text, such as The Book of All Souls, that might have served as the moral basis of the Constitution.
Rukh knew Jaresh was starting to lose hope by their combined lack of success, but their failure had yet to deter Bree. She forged on, still full of grit and resolve as she worked from before sunrise until well after sunset. In this, Bree reminded Rukh of Sophy Terrell, the Hound. Mira's amma had been equally dogged when it came to research that might affect the House's fortune and future.
And for Bree, there might also be another inspiration for her hard work: guilt.
Earlier that evening, Jaresh had explained that for a long time, Bree had blamed herself for Rukh's exile. It had taken her months to forgive herself, but now, with the need to find a means by which Jessira and the rest of the Strongholders could stay in Ashoka, the guilt must have come back full bore.
His sister wore a frown as she bent over an old text, and Rukh placed a hand on one of hers, forcing her to look at him. “I don't blame you,” he said. “I never did. I never will.”
Bree, always so perceptive, instantly knew what he meant. “Have you told your wife what I did?”
“She knows, and she doesn't care,” Rukh answered. “It doesn't matter to her, and it shouldn't matter to you.”
Bree smiled. “Good. I wasn't sure how she'd react, and your wife can be . . . formidable. Not scary, but definitely formidable.”
Rukh chuckled. “I know what you mean.” He'd never been afraid of Jessira, but he always walked warily around her whenever he made her angry. “And I was serious about what I said: I don't blame you for what happened to me.”
His first inkling that he might have misread the situation was when Bree laughed at him.
“I heard you, and you don't have to worry about me,” Bree said after she was no longer laughing. “I know what happened to you wasn't my fault.” She looked him in the eyes. “It was your own.” She arched an incredulous eyebrow at him. “Really. Taking Jessira on a late-night stroll through Dryad Park? What were you thinking?”
Rukh felt his face flush with embarrassment. “So you aren't doing this out of guilt?” he asked. Even as he asked the question, he knew the answer.
And he certainly didn't need Bree's head thrown back with laughter to tell him the truth of his stupidity.
“Of course not,” she said. “I'm not helping you out of guilt. I'm doing so because . . .” She raised a finger as she ticked off each item. “You're my brother.” One finger. “I love you.” Two fingers. A third finger went up an instant later. “And if I left this to just you and Jaresh, the OutCastes, including your wife, would be banished from Ashoka.” Bree smiled sweetly. “You need my help.”
Rukh sat back, abashed and with his mouth agape.
“Are you trying to catch flies?” Bree observed.
Rukh shut his mouth with an audible snap. What an idiot he'd been. How could he have believed that Bree might still feel guilt over something that had never been her fault?
They fell into silence, but something that Bree had said struck a chord with Rukh, and he replayed her words in his mind. “Why do you keep calling Jessira 'my wife' instead of by her name?” he asked.
“I just like calling her your wife.” Bree grinned. “It makes her more a part of the family.”
“Why don't you call her your vadina, then? It would do the same thing.”
“For the same reason, I don't call you Annayya, my older brother. I'm too stubborn.” A moment later, a considering look stole across her face. “Given how we both agree that your wife can be formidable—”
“But not scary,” Rukh said.
“Yes,” Bree agreed. “Given that, it might be best if she never learned what Nanna and Amma tricked her into doing.”
“It might be,” Rukh agreed. “But somehow I imagine she'll figure it out on her own. Nanna and Amma should just tell her themselves.”
“She is your wife,” Bree said. “I suppose you know her best.”
“I'm not going to tell her now,” Rukh said with a roll of his eyes. “She's already got too many troubles on her plate.”
“Like finding safety for her people if we can't find a way around the Constitution.”
“My people, too,” Rukh said.
“You'd really leave with them if it came to it?”
“Like you said: she is my wife.”
“You know The Word and the Deed doesn't actually consider you wed,” Bree noted.
“So what. Everyone else thinks we are,” Rukh replied. “Besides, it depends on the volume to which you're referring. I saw one version of The Word and the Deed in Stronghold, and it specifically discussed 'marriage between a man and a woman of different Castes'. A later edition had that section edited to 'an impure relationship between a man and a woman'.” He paused as he startled in sudden insight.
Bree's eyes were lit with enthusiasm as well. “What if earlier editions of The Word and the Deed make exceptions for people like the OutCastes?” she suggested. “It would solve everything.”
Rukh nodded, trying to tamp down his bubbling excitement. “This could work,” he said. “But I don't think we should focus on just this one avenue of research.”
“No. Jaresh should continue with what he's doing.”
“And I'll continue with what we've been working on here, while you look through the older editions of The Word and the Deed and see if there's anything in them that we can use.”
Bree gave him an appraising gaze. “You surprise me. I always knew Jaresh was intelligent, but what about you? When did you get so smart?” she asked.
Rukh nodded in solemnity. “I always have been. You simply lacked the wisdom to notice until now.”
Bree snorted in derision.
The life of a Magistrate—to serve the citizens— would be a wondrous life indeed if not for those same citizens. Why can't they simply leave us in peace?
~From the journal of Magistrate Olive Rue, AF 1833
Rector Bryce sat quietly at his seat and listened as various members of Ashoka vented their thoughts regarding the OutCastes and whether they should be allowed to remain in the city. This was an open meeting of the Magisterium, and as a result, most everyone with an opinion had shown up.
Rector had quickly grown bored with the proceedings. No one was exhuming anything more than emotional pleas based on what they thought was 'right' or 'wrong' with only the most cursory of references to the law. Passion was fine, but the decision before the Magisterium was one that required logic and reason—not merely the lowest common denominator of what was most popular. If the prevailing sentiment was all that was needed, the Magistrates would have long since granted the OutCastes sanctuary.
A year ago, it wouldn't have been the case, but Rukh Shektan's actions in the Chimera breeding caverns had changed many minds about ghrinas and naajas. And when the sad state of the OutCastes themselves was taken into account, who wouldn't have been moved to pity? As such, it wasn't surprising how opinions had shifted in such a short period of time.
It also helped that one of the most forceful advocates for the OutCastes was someone well-known to the city. In fact, by now, everyone knew of her. Jessira Shektan had made an unforgettable impression on Ashoka during her init
ial stay in the city and was doing so now as well.
Rector's stray thoughts were interrupted when a new attestant, a middle-aged Duriah matron, was allowed to speak. He perked up a bit to listen to her.
“I say this without meaning any insult to anyone, but as ghrinas, the OutCastes are beings of sin based upon their very nature. It isn't something that can be corrected,” she began. “As such, we must consider the needs of our children. How can they learn what true morality is if the immoral is flaunted before them?” The matron pleaded with utmost earnestness. “They can't. Their young minds can't see the complexity that we can. Therefore, I say the OutCastes can't stay here in Ashoka, but before anyone thinks I'm being cruel, we must also think of their children. They are innocent and shouldn't be turned out into the cold night.” She nodded with grave self-importance. “We can build them a village just beyond Ashoka's walls and Oasis. They'll live there. We'll live here. Separate but equal.”
It was an asinine idea, and Rector rolled his eyes in unconcealed scorn.
She blathered on, and Rector turned his attention to the Magistrates themselves. They appeared as bored as he. Fol Nacket, the Cherid Magistrate, nodded politely at the attestant but his glazed-over eyes spoke the truth about his inattentiveness. The Muran Magistrate, Dos Martel, sat back in her chair and yawned, while Poque Belt and Gren Vos, of Caste Sentya and Caste Shiyen, respectively held demeanors of barely concealed annoyance. Magistrate Krain Linshok of Caste Kumma spoke an aside to Jone Drent, the Duriah Magistrate, and the two of them chuckled over whatever had been spoken. Brit Hule, the uncompromising Rahail, glared sternly at the speaker, causing the poor woman to stumble to an uncertain halt.
When she did, Magistrate Nacket appeared to sigh in relief before calling for the next attestant.
Rector sat up straighter when Bree Shektan stood up and stepped forward. This was why he was here.
A few weeks ago, he had seen Bree researching at the City Library. She had been studying The Word and the Deed and had asked for the oldest edition that was available for study. The librarian had brought her a version printed several centuries past, condescendingly insisting it should do for her needs. It hadn't, and Bree had not been pleased. In classic Bree Shektan fashion, she had simply raised an eyebrow and spoke in a clipped manner. “When I ask for the oldest volume, I expect the oldest volume. Do we have an understanding?” The librarian had taken one look at her face before scurrying away to fetch the volume she had initially requested.
Rector still couldn't believe how easily Bree could bend people to her will. It was a skill she must have learned from her frightening amma.
At any rate, her actions had piqued Rector's curiosity. It was well-known that Bree and her brothers were trying to find a means by which the Magistrates could allow the OutCastes to remain in Ashoka. It was what all three of them had been working on ever since Rukh's return to the city.
Rector had watched quietly from afar as Bree had transcribed what seemed to be entire passages from the old volume of The Word and Deed. And while she had done so, her countenance had grown steadily more excited. She had finished her work with a satisfied smile and left the Library.
Afterward, Rector had ventured over to her desk. She had returned the borrowed edition of The Word and the Deed, but she'd left behind a small stack of blank sheets of papers. Imprinted upon them were whatever notations Bree had busily written down. It had been simplicity itself to use a pencil to highlight the indentations on the blank pages and discover what had her so excited.
A pleased smile had washed across Rector's face when he realized what Bree had been studying. His smile washed away just as quickly as it had arrived when he read her final words: You aren't as clever as you believe, Rector Bryce. Forget this if you wish any future in Ashoka.
All along, she'd known he'd been watching her. All along, she'd known that he'd been wondering what she had been up to, but rather than hide her work, she had let him see exactly what she had discovered.
Or had she? Maybe what Rector had rubbed out was merely a ruse. After all, why would Bree have let him see what she'd written?
She wouldn't have.
At that point, Rector could have proceeded down two obvious paths. He could have searched out a way to contest Bree's findings—a difficult proposition even if he could have trusted what she had allowed him to see. Or he could have chosen to do nothing, remained silent and done just as Bree had warned. The latter would have been the simpler path to follow, and the one she likely had expected of him.
Rector had looked long at that scrap of paper with its naked warning before a small grouping of mismatched letters and numbers in the upper right-hand corner had caught his attention. There had been a C followed by an illegible number or a 4, a V with an illegible number next to it, and finally an L3 or 8. The writing had been faint, likely an imprint of an imprint, and probably something Bree hadn't meant for him to see. As for what it meant, it was probably a verse and a line from The Word and the Deed, but what chapter?
Rector had paused as he considered his finding. The Word and the Deed was broken down into forty-three chapters, each with a number of verses and lines. But which ones had Bree been studying? With a sigh, Rector had realized that the only way to know would be by reading every chapter number that ended with a four, such as four, fourteen, twenty-four, and thirty-four and all lines three through eight of every verse.
Hours later, he had a faint idea of what Bree might actually be attempting, and if he was right, then the effort was truly inspired. If she managed what he suspected she was going to try, it would overturn several millennia of settled law.
Even as he had stood back and admired the audacity of Bree's plan, he had vacillated over what to do next. Eventually, he came to the realization that a third path had just opened up to him. He had smiled then. No one, least of all Bree Shektan, would expect it of him. It was the trickier route to take, one fraught with risks of misunderstanding, but it was also the one that might allow Rector to make up for some of the wrongs he'd committed in the past few years.
But before he made any final decisions on what to do next, he had needed advice from someone far more clever than he, someone far more cunning. He had needed the input of Dar'El Shektan, the most cunning, clever man that Rector knew.
His faith hadn't been misplaced. Dar'El had seen angles and arguments that Rector had missed. He had found ways to challenge Bree's declarations but to do so in a way that made them even stronger. And Dar'El had impressed upon Rector the need for absolute discretion. No one, not even Bree, was to learn of his secret support.
Her reactions had to be genuine, and no one, especially the Magistrates, could ever become aware of what Rector had done. He took a deep, steadying breath before approaching the attestation stand.
Magistrate Nacket peered down from his raised seat. “You wish to debate Bree Shektan?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” Rector replied. He didn't need to look at Bree to sense the withering scorn on her face.
“You were warned,” she whispered.
Bree nodded to the Kumma honor guards as she passed through the open doors of the Magisterium. The guards were dressed in their typical gold-filigreed, bright-red uniforms and stood at parade rest. Their impassive visages gave no hint as to their thoughts regarding the momentous meeting about to take place.
Just past the entrance, a trickle of people made their way through the length of a long hallway, and Bree joined them. She vaguely noted the portraits on the walls. All of them were great Magistrates from Ashoka's history. Another pair of honor guards—again Kummas and dressed identically to the ones outside—flanked a pair of open mahogany doors embossed with the seal of the Magisterium: a golden eagle clasping a sword and a scythe. The doorway led to the chamber where the Magistrates held their public meetings, and the guards stood at attention, studying those who entered with the same impassive watchfulness as their brethren outside.
Bree entered the large, round chamber where
the Magistrates met and searched for her brothers. The room was filling quickly, and people jostled her about, looking for a seat. The deference normally given to a Kumma woman wasn't in evidence today, and the noisome din echoing throughout made for a welter of sight and sound. Bree craned her neck and stood on her tiptoes. A waving hand and her shouted name caught her attention. She relaxed when she saw Rukh and Jaresh gesture her over.
She squeezed in next to them. “Thank you,” she said, having to yell in order to be heard over the din. With its high ceiling and stained-glass dome portraying a scene from the life of the First Father, the room was meant to impress, and while it did so, the open and airy nature of the space also meant that sounds reverberated throughout it. Even hushed words could echo into a susurration of sound. And right now with everyone trying to have a conversation at the same time, the chamber groaned with a tide of distant thunder.
Jaresh tried to tell something to Bree, but with the surrounding noise, she couldn't hear a word he said. She shrugged her shoulders in mute apology, and he gave up with a disgusted shake of his head.
The three of them faced forward, staring straight ahead as they waited for the meeting to begin. They didn't have long to wait. A thudding gong quieted the room. The booming note announced the entrance of the Magistrates.
Fol Nacket gaveled the meeting into order. “Let us begin,” he said, sounding portentous. “We have before us a decision of utmost importance, and as it is one that affects all of Ashoka, we must ensure that all possible views are heard before the Magisterium renders its verdict.”
The Magistrates called forth a number of people who spoke at the attestation stand. They passionately voiced their opinions about what should be done with the OutCastes. Bree was heartened that so many of them supported the notion of allowing Jessira and her people to stay, but throughout the evening, no one offered a suggestion that had a basis in law. All their attestations were simply opinions saturated with emotional pleading but rarely infused with any rational reasoning.