by Davis Ashura
Thunder heralded Mother's arrival and lightning lashed the sky and ground. A harsh wind howled. It was as unyielding as a moving mountain.
The Baels were forced to fall upon their knees, their heads tucked beneath shielding hands and arms. Almost by rote, Boil began the Prayer of Gratitude. The others fell in with him.
Mother rushed downward. Boil prayed for acceptance in the next life. He waited for the hammer blow, but it never came.
Instead, there came a moment of prolonged relative silence and stillness. Boil dared glance up. Mother had halted. Tendrils of lightning with muted thunder still trailed around Her. “The traitor, Li-Shard, where is he?”
Boil tucked his head back to the ground, impressing it in the blood of his dead brothers. “The traitor is dead,” he declared. “By Your words and his expressions, we took justice upon him.”
“So you conveniently killed him,” Mother jeered. “And now you hope I will not kill you?”
“Li-Shard and his SarpanKi were the traitors, but we have remained loyal,” Boil answered. “Whatever the SarpanKum did, we had no part in it. We killed him, and all who followed him, as soon as we realized they had betrayed You.”
“Liar,” Mother whispered.
Boil held in his disappointment. It had been too much to expect that Mother might forgive them, and he prepared for his end.
“You have nothing to say in your defense?” Mother asked. “I called you a liar, and you don't deny it?”
Boil hesitated, trying to force his mind to think. “Words are easy,” he finally answered. “It is deeds that offer proof.”
“Indeed,” Mother agreed. “And what deeds do you have to prove your loyalty?”
“The death of Li-Shard and all who thought as he did.”
“And if I require the death of every Bael upon the gates of Ashoka? Will you still remain loyal? And understand this: you will soon be the last of your kind on Arisa. The others will be ended, just as I promised, unless I am given a reason to change My mind.”
Boil's guts clenched. The Baels were to be wiped out and for what? A Humanity that despised them? He wanted to weep, but instead, he managed to press words past his lips. “Our lives are Yours to spend as You see fit,” Boil said. “I only ask . . .” he vacillated at completing the request. What if Mother denied him?
“What do you dare ask?” Mother hissed. “Quiet, Mother. The dead should remain silent,” She muttered.
Boil froze, unsure to whom She was speaking. Everyone knew Mother was mad. It was a law as certain as the tides. There was an expectant thrill to the air, and Boil realized Mother was still waiting on him. “I only ask that the Bovars are allowed to live. Allow us, the Baels who remained loyal, to instruct the newborn of our kind so there can never be another opportunity for betrayal.”
There was an eternity of silence. “We will see,” Mother finally said. “For now, gather My children and make for Ashoka. I will have more instructions for you then.”
When danger beckons, the distance between thought and action is too short to be measured.
~The Warrior and the Servant (author unknown)
“Another Withering Knife murder,” Jessira muttered with a sigh. “I thought Hal'El Wrestiva was gone from our lives for good.”
Rukh had hoped for the same thing. “Apparently he's returned,” he replied.
“I know that,” Jessira replied. “What I meant is why is he back?”
Rukh shrugged. “Probably something to do with the coming attack. According to Choke, the Chimeras should only be a week or so away from the city. And everyone saw the Sorrow Bringer flying overhead a few days ago.”
Jessira sighed. “I'm so tired of all this. The constant fear and dying. We've had nothing but trouble for the past two years,” she said. “A little time without worry would be nice.”
“It seems such a gentle fate is not to be our destiny,” Rukh replied.
“So it seems,” Jessira agreed. “And this next test will likely be our most difficult. We'll be going against the Sorrow Bringer Herself,” Jessira said. “And no matter what others might claim, we both know you aren't the First Father reborn.”
Rukh winced at her words and glanced around at their surroundings. “How about we keep our voices down,” he suggested. “I don't want anyone overhearing us and figuring out who we are.”
Jessira rolled her eyes. “There's no one around,” she said, pointing out the quiet street on which they walked. “Besides with your false beard and my wig, even your own nanna won't recognize us.”
Rukh glanced about one last time just to make sure they were alone. “Since we met, it seems like all we ever do is fight, flee, or pray for deliverance.”
“I think I mentioned that already,” Jessira said wryly.
“But you forgot to mention how those moments of terror are leavened by our arguing,” Rukh said with a smile.
“Oh yes. Mustn't forget that,” Jessira replied with a wry grin of her own.
“At least we don't argue nearly as often as we used to,” Rukh added, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.
“Sometimes arguing with you is fun. Isn't that what you once said?” Jessira's eyes twinkled.
Rukh quirked a grin. “You just like what happens when we make up.”
“You mean when you admit that you were wrong and beg for my forgiveness?” Jessira asked wearing a bland expression of innocence. “I do like that.”
Rukh snorted. “Hold that thought,” he said. “We're here. Nanna and the others should already be inside.”
They paused outside a large, two-story house on a corner lot. Rukh thought it had a quiet grandness to it with its wraparound porch to welcome visitors and its heavy, gray stacked-stone to give it heft. A simple lawn edged with summer flowers beaded under the misty rain while out back there appeared to be even more extensive gardens.
A crowd had already gathered before the house, and the barricades erected by the City Watch held them back. People milled about, sharing rumors and innuendo of what might have happened inside the house, and Rukh and Jessira had to elbow their way forward to reach the front of the crowd. Once they had identified themselves to the guards manning the barricades, they were swiftly ushered past the barriers.
Rukh heard their names whispered in hushed, reverent tones, and he mentally sighed. “I'm fine,” he said to Jessira's look of concern.
“They only looked,” Jessira said as they climbed the stairs to the front porch. “They . . .”
“I know. I can understand why they think about me the way they do.” He shrugged. “It's just hard to get used to it, though.”
“If it helps, no one in the family worships you like that. I certainly don't,” Jessira said with a wink.
Their conversation was cut short by Nanna, who was waiting at the top of the porch steps. “Go on inside,” he said in a no-nonsense tone when they reached him. “Give me a full report when you've had a chance to study the room where the body was found and looked around the house. I need to get home to your amma.”
Rukh nodded. “I'm sure she's fine.”
“I'm sure she is as well, but . . .” Nanna gave a wan smile. “I just don't like leaving her alone.”
With that, he bid them goodbye and hurried on his way.
The front door opened, and in the doorway stood Rector Bryce. “What took you so long?” he demanded. “Jaresh and Bree have already been through here.”
“We were at our flat when word reached us,” Jessira replied.
“Well, come on in. We were just about to move the body. Her name was Pera Obbe. She owns the house and lives here by herself.”
As they stepped into the foyer, Rukh immediately noticed the heavy crystal chandelier hanging up above. It was brightly lit with a number of small, delicate firefly lamps, and Rukh briefly wondered as to Pera Obbe's occupation. Such a luxurious item would have made a fine addition to a Cherid manse.
Rector led them deeper into the house, and the sense of affluence continued. They a
scended a wide, floating staircase with carved handrails and balusters that were polished to a high sheen and looked to have been made of an exotic, expensive wood. Maybe teak.
“Whoever lived here was wealthy,” Jessira noted. Did you see the furniture downstairs in the sitting room?” She whistled in appreciation.
Rukh nodded. “And look at the paintings on the walls. Those are expensive pieces of artwork.”
“You should see her jewelry,” Rector said to them. “She had enough gems and gold to make a Kumma woman feel naked.”
Rector led them down a long hallway. At the end was a closed door. “She's in there.”
“What Caste was she?” Jessira asked.
“Duriah,” Rector replied.
Alarm bells pealed in Rukh's mind. “Do we have any idea as to what she did to accrue such wealth?”
“No. There are some notebooks and financial documents indicating that she was a partner in a number of business ventures, both in the city and in various Trials,” Rector answered. “Jaresh already looked through them, but he says they're fairly standard. Apparently, she was just very good at choosing her investments.”
Rukh pushed open the door. Inside was a large room with heavy furniture that somehow managed to be both ornate and understated at the same time. On the four-post bed was a shrouded figure. The murdered Pera Obbe.
Jessira stepped forward and exposed the dead woman's face. She gasped. “Why would Hal'El have cut off her face?”
“He did that after stabbing her in the heart, “Rector said, sounding clinical. At Jessira's look of annoyance, he held up his hands. “I'm just telling you what the examining physician said. She said there would have been a lot more blood if he'd cut off her face first and then killed her.”
“He cut off her face because he hated her,” Rukh said. The words sounded right, felt right.
“How do you know?” Rector asked.
Rukh held up a finger. “We have a Duriah woman who is wealthy from remarkably good investing.” He held up a second finger. “She is murdered by Hal'El Wrestiva.” A third finger went up. “In his journal, Ular Sathin remarked about how much the SuDin despised the Duriah MalDin, how he was offended by her ugliness. Potato-faced was what he called her.” Rukh glanced at Rector. “How do the neighbors describe Pera Obbe's appearance?”
“She was ugly,” Rector replied before hesitating for a moment. “One of them said her face looked like the get of a potato and a rutabaga.”
Rukh looked his way in confusion.
“Her nose looked like a rutabaga,” Rector explained.
“You think Pera Obbe was the last MalDin?” Jessira asked.
“I think if Jaresh takes another look at those financial journals, he'll find more than he imagined,” Rukh replied.
Rector stroked his chin in thought. “Hal'El killed Pera because he hated her.”
“And he wants us to know he's back,” Jessira said.
“You look fine,” Rukh said.
Jaresh turned away from the mirror where he'd been studying his appearance and looked his brother's way with a raised, questioning eyebrow.
“I know you're taking Sign out tonight,” Rukh answered.
“We're just having dinner. I'm not really taking her out in the way you mean. We're just friends,” Jaresh replied in a rush. He immediately knew that his words had tumbled out too quickly and made him sound defensive.
Rukh looked on with a knowing grin.
Jaresh rolled his eyes at his brother's amusement. He tried to change the subject and gestured to his pants. “You don't think these pants are too . . . bold, do you?”
“You look good in them,” Rukh said. “I'm sure Sign will approve.”
Jaresh gave his brother a sardonic expression. “I keep telling you she's just a friend. Nothing more,” he repeated. “And with everything going on right now, romance is the last thing on either of our minds.”
“With everything going on right now, maybe romance should be on your minds,” Rukh countered. “We just had to look over the scene of the latest Withering Knife murder. The Queen and Her Chims should be here any day, so I say you should find happiness whenever you can because you might not have another chance in the days to come.”
“Point taken,” Jaresh said. “And in the vein of someone who should take his own advice, what do you plan on doing to find happiness?”
Rukh rose to his feet. “I promised to take Jessira out to a play.”
Jaresh tilted his head in puzzlement. “How will the two of you leave the House Seat unrecognized.”
Rukh gave a crooked grin. “My false beard and her wig,” he answered. “And we'll be leaving with a group of servants. None of my faithful followers will recognize us.”
Jaresh laughed, happy to see Rukh smiling again. After the Advent Trial, he'd been so downcast and edgy. It was good to see him coming to terms with his situation and accepting it. “Then good luck with your plan,” he said.
“Scheme,” Rukh corrected, striking a portentous posture.
“Scheme?”
“It sounds sneakier that way.”
“Scheme, then,” Jaresh agreed.
“You look nice,” Jaresh said when Sign opened the door to her flat. “Is the dress new?”
Sign lifted her arms from her side, giving a better view of the sleeveless dress she was wearing. “It's your sister's. She's letting me borrow it.”
“Well you look good in it.”
Sign grinned. “Thank you. And you look nice as well. I like those pants.”
Jaresh smiled, glad he had taken his brother's advice.
“Let me put on some sandals, and I'll be ready to go.”
When Sign turned aside, Jaresh caught a glimpse of a tattoo on her upper arm. It was a ferocious, black cat with webbed batwings tipped in trailing golden light. Tattoos were rare in Ashoka, and Jaresh took a moment to study Sign's. He decided that the mix of a fierce cat and the wingtips fit her.
“I like your tattoo,” he said.
Sign straightened with a smile. “Thank you. I got it when I became a scout,” she said. “Are you ready?”
Jaresh nodded and led them north, toward Mount Crone. The area where most of the OutCastes lived had come a long way. The buildings were still ugly, unadorned cubes with flat roofs and narrow windows, but the grounds surrounding them were lush with fresh plantings and flowers. In addition, new pathways of colored rocks had been laid in patterns that mimicked water curling around boulders. Several small gazebos with young ivy trailing through trellises were present as well, and the area would be lovely in a couple of years.
If they lived that long, Jaresh thought morosely.
“Where are we going?” Sign asked.
“A place Rector showed me,” Jaresh said. “It's in Trell Rue, which isn't too far away, but we can hire a rickshaw if you prefer.”
“I'd rather walk.” Sign gave him a sidelong glance. “Unless you can't keep up.”
Jaresh chuckled. “Ask me that when it's time to walk home.”
It was an hour's journey to Trell Rue and the restaurant in question. The crowds were thick at twilight and slowed them, but eventually, they reached their destination. The restaurant was housed in a building made of red brick, and the heat from the roaring fireplace within drove them outside to a table on the patio. Even there the air was heavy with the scent of spiced noodles, dahl, grilled meat, and parathas.
“What do you recommend?” Sign asked.
“It's traditional Duriah fare, so it's a little heavy,” Jaresh said. “I'd try the sambar with lamb and a lassi.”
Sign took his advice, but also had an order of bhaji and naan to go with her sambar.
Jaresh didn't say anything, but he couldn't imagine she would be able to eat all the food she had ordered.
He was wrong. While they spoke about Sign's life in Stronghold, her impressions of Ashoka, and the training she was undergoing in order to join the High Army, Sign polished off her bhajis. The sambar arrived, and
the discussion turned to the health of Jaresh's amma, the Withering Knife murder, and rumors of war. All the while, Sign steadily ate while they spoke, although Jaresh did notice that she was finally slowing down.
“You don't have to eat it all now,” he said. “I brought a small pot”— he held up a small, spidergrass container—”for any food we can't finish.”
“Thank you,” Sign said with a shake of negation. “But right now, this has become a battle between me and the food. I won't let it win.”
Jaresh chuckled in bemusement. “As you wish,” he said. “I just hope you still feel that way later tonight when your stomach is aching.”
Minutes later, Sign finished her meal with an unhappy groan. She pushed her plate away and fell back in her chair. “I think I ate too much,” she moaned.
“Really? I would have never guessed.”
“Shut up.”
Jaresh tried—and failed—not to grin at her misery. “I warned you,” he said, knowing his words would earn him another glare. “By the way, do you want that rickshaw now?”
Sign surprised him by offering him a smile. “I'll take the rickshaw, but only if it drops us off at that chocolatier we passed on the way here.”
Jaresh chuckled. “You're incorrigible.”
Sign shrugged. “I don't know what incorrigible means, but if it means I won't let food defeat me, than I suppose I am.”
Rukh wheeled Amma out to her favorite spot in the gardens. It was also his. A copse of trees cupped the space in a leafy embrace and provided a place of seclusion and shelter. A stone bench rested at the edge of a tall drop-off and from it, Rukh could see the aquamarine Sickle Sea. He could almost imagine the cries of the faraway flocks of seagulls squawking for food.
“Right here is fine,” Amma whispered in the soft rasp which was all that was left of her voice.
Rukh brought her wheeled chair to a halt and took a seat on the bench.
“I've always loved watching the birds soar,” Amma said with a fond smile. “So few worries in their bright lives.”
“I was just thinking the same thing,” Rukh said with an answering smile.