A Warrior's Path (The Castes and the OutCastes)

by Ashura, Davis

  “I’m fine,” she said. “I’d like to go back now.”

  “Is it your shoulder?” he asked. “We can take a rickshaw if you want. You don’t have to walk.”

  “I don’t need a rickshaw,” she said. “I can walk. The women of Stronghold don’t require coddling.”

  Rukh remained quiet, and they made their way back toward the House Shektan Seat. They travelled along Bellary Road. Here the boulevard was wide and straight with bookstores, cafes, and restaurants along its length. In the near distance was the gloriously domed Magisterium and the inaptly named Plaza of Toll and Toil – on the occasions Jessira had been to the Plaza, entry had always been free and she had never seen anyone toiling. On they walked, nearing the border of Fragrance Wall, and large houses and manors with lush gardens began to appear. Summer blooms of jasmine and honeysuckle wreathed gatehouses in their green growth while their lovely aroma drifted on the breeze.

  It would have been a nice, relaxing excursion, but throughout their walk, people had avoided both of them, and Jessira knew why. By now, her story was well known, and all knew the woman who walked Ashoka with her face covered was the ghrina, the OutCaste. She heard the muttered curses of the Purebloods as they crossed the street, shunning her. Her nostrils flared in anger. Jackholes.

  Devesh help her, but she couldn’t wait to leave this place. Ashoka confused her senses and her mind. The city left her loving and longing for its beauty and yet unable to fathom its people. How could a culture produce such grace and loveliness and be so hard-hearted to those whose only sin was to be born different. The Shiyen physician, the same old woman who had first stitched her up, was one of the few who could bear Jessira’s presence without making an obvious show of her discomfort or disgust. It left her despondent.

  Worse, the same physician also said it would take Jessira another two weeks to heal before she would be ready to go home. It was a frustratingly long wait, but at least Rukh’s nanna had promised to provision her so she could make the journey home without too much hardship. He had even offered her a horse, which was a kind gesture, even if it had been made because he felt duty-bound to do so.

  She glanced at Rukh and shook her head in disappointment. How could he be so great a coward in his own home? Or had he always secretly despised her, like the rest of his brethren?

  An ugly voice inside spoke to her. You know the truth. Admit it now. The Purebloods will never accept you.

  She knew the voice was right.

  “I’m sorry,” Rukh said, breaking the silence.

  She was so lost in thought, she almost didn’t hear him. “You’re sorry,” she repeated. “About what exactly?”

  “For how I’ve behaved around you,” he said, stopping to turn to face her. “For how I’ve treated you. I’ve…I’ve been a coward, and for that I am sorry. I can’t even begin to imagine how hard this must all be for you, and then to have your only friend pretend like you don’t exist. You deserve so much better, and I gave you so much less.”

  Some of Jessira’s cold anger thawed. “Am I a friend?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “A good friend.”

  “Then why have you treated me like this?” she cried, all the hurt, loneliness, and anger of the past three days coming out. “You’re the only person who I can trust here, the only one who I thought might treat me like a real person.”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I was scared, I guess. I’m scared of this coming expedition. I’m scared of who I’ve become and how I’ve changed. I’m scared of banishment if anyone learns what I can do, and I’m scared what people will think if they see me with you.”

  Jessira studied his face, seeing the confusion and unhappiness in his eyes. At that moment she felt very little sympathy for him. “You were right the first time. You are a coward.”

  He flinched as if she’d slapped him. He looked angry for a moment before he took a deep breath and seemed to set it aside. “Is there anything I can do or say to help you forgive me?” he asked.

  She smirked. “Walk down this street with me hand-in-hand.” She laughed in derision when she saw his comically aghast expression. “I wouldn’t be so cruel,” she said.

  “Is there anything else?”

  She considered. “I don’t care how you behave in public, but in your home, act like I’m there. Talk to me and don’t pretend I don’t exist.”

  “I can do that,” Rukh said with a nod, looking abashed and relieved at the same time.

  “I’ll hold you to it.”

  They began walking again, and after a moment of quiet, he looked at her. “How brave are you?”

  “Braver than you.”

  “Brave enough to take off your scarf and walk uncovered in public?”

  “Are you brave enough to walk next to a ghrina?”

  “I can be,” he said. He gently lifted the scarf from her face.

  She smiled, feeling a warm breeze play on her hair. “You realize most Purebloods want to stone me, and they probably won’t be too good with their aim. You’ll likely get your share of rocks, too.”

  Rukh shrugged. “Let them try. I can take them. I’m the Hume Champion, you know.” He grinned.

  She rolled her eyes. “How could I forget?”

  As they continued back to Jubilee Hills, she found she was wrong: no one tried to stone her. People still ran across the street when they noticed her, but many also glanced back in fascination, especially the men, some of whom might have even worn appreciative looks before catching her glance and hastily looking away.

  Men.

  “No one else treats you like a real person?” Rukh asked as they walked along a relatively quiet side street on the way to House Shektan. “Not even my sister or Mira?”

  Jessira chuckled low. “Mira is civil, and Bree is polite, but neither is exactly friendly and neither will talk to me any longer than is absolutely necessary. In comparison, your nanna and those two old men of his, Garnet and Durmer, are warm and friendly, but they have no time for me either. They’re too busy trying to save Ashoka.”

  “I promise I’ll make this up to you,” Rukh said.

  “Don’t make promises you can’t and don’t want to keep,” Jessira warned. If he wanted to spend time with her, fine, but she didn’t want his company if it was only because he felt sorry for her. She didn’t need his sympathy, or the sympathy of any Pureblood.

  “I want to.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Rukh had no response, and soon, the seat of House Shektan came into view. Once inside, Rukh led her to his father’s study. He always checked in with Dar’El as soon as he arrived home. While Rukh and his nanna spoke, Jessira perused the books lined along the shelves. At least Rector Bryce was rarely at the House seat anymore. His outburst on the morning after her arrival had been noted and judged unacceptable by Dar’El. As a result, Rector was no longer trusted as much. Or so Rukh said.

  Minutes after their arrival, Jaresh burst in. “There’s been a third murder,” he exclaimed.

  The Withering Knife.

  “Send for Mira and Rector,” Dar’El ordered. “Have them meet us there.” Further orders were given, and Dar’El and Rukh were soon outside, quickly making their way down the drive.

  Jessira accompanied them, face bare to the world. She had nothing better to do. At Rukh’s questioning glance, she lifted an eyebrow in challenge, daring him to send her back. He shrugged.

  “If you don’t mind, I don’t mind,” Dar’El murmured, looking straight ahead. “But can she not cover her face?”

  “She can but chooses not to,” Jessira said, answering for herself.

  Dar’El gave the two of them an inscrutable stare.

  Rukh smiled in response. “You always told me never to pick a fight you can’t win,” he said. “Especially with a woman.”

  Dar’El flashed an answering smile. “At least you remembered my most important lesson.”

  Shortly before their arrival at East Vineyard Steep, home mostly to Sentyas and
some Rahails, and the site of the third murder, Jaresh and Mira caught up with them.

  East Vineyard Steep was an older part of Ashoka. The buildings there hadn’t been refurbished in many years. They were a bit run down, in fact. The Sentyas were quite competent with both their own and other people’s money, but they were also a tight-fisted, stingy Caste. Where others saw a somewhat drab and dreary area, the Sentyas saw a place that was practical and functioned well enough to suit their purposes. They saw no reason to spend currency to pretty up the buildings even if a few them looked to be on the edge of falling down.

  The City Watch had already cordoned off the area in question. Once again, the murder had taken place in an alley, this one bordered by several buildings that were obviously better maintained than most of the ones around them.

  Rector Bryce had already arrived, and Jessira frowned. Wonderful.

  He saw them and walked over, a look of disgust flashing across his face when he caught sight of her. He faced Dar’El, positioning himself so he wouldn’t have to look directly at her. He began talking without preamble. “The victim was a Rahail Investigator by the name of Slathtril Apter. His wife found him this morning when she couldn’t find him in the house. She’s the woman screaming over there.”

  “What is an Investigator?” Jessira asked Rukh.

  “The Rahails are the ones who maintain the Oasis. Their society is dictated by their work. The Investigators are the ones who inspect the work of other Rahails, making sure it’s up to the expected standards. I’m told they can be pretty cruel and petty about it, too. No one likes them much,” Rukh whispered.

  “Then there’s going to be a long list of potential suspects,” she reasoned.

  “There were no witnesses, obviously,” Rector finished.

  “Where was he found?” Jaresh asked.

  Rector pointed to a body, shrouded in what looked like someone’s cloak.

  “We need to take a closer look,” Dar’El said.

  At a nod from Rector, the Watch let them through the barricades, even Jessira, although a few made the sign against evil as she passed.

  Rukh bent low and uncovered the body, eliciting more cries of anguish from the woman Rector had pointed out as the wife. “Perhaps someone can see to her,” Rukh suggested.

  Dar’El glanced at Rector, who signed to one of his men to remove the wailing woman from the scene.

  Jaresh and Dar’El bent to examine the corpse, while Rukh walked the alley, studying the ground, looking at the blood splatter and a few footprints. Jessira walked with him, wondering what he was looking for. She noticed something herself and bent closer. Bloody fingerprints left as streaks along the wall. She’d seen plenty of death, killing Chimeras when necessary over the course of her career as a scout, but the image of the bloody finger stains and what they represented…it was an unsettling image.

  They returned to the others.

  “Anything?” Dar’El asked.

  “Lots of things,” Rukh replied. “There were two killers, a man and a woman.”

  “I noticed that as well,” Rector said.

  “The man attacked first, and as Investigator Apter fled, he was hamstrung. It was a clean and quick strike, made within two strides. Our killer is skilled, and the limp you mentioned is hardly in evidence. It was the woman who killed the Investigator, though.”

  Dar’El frowned. “It doesn’t make sense,” he said. “Why go through the trouble? Why two of them?” He shook his head in frustration. “Anything else?”

  “At the mouth of the alley, the killers stood still, as if they were waiting, and the Investigator went to them. In fact, he seemed to stop and stand no more than three feet from them.”

  “They knew him,” Jessira guessed with sudden insight. “And he knew them. That’s why he walked toward them. He wasn’t afraid.”

  “If that’s true, then the killers wanted the Investigator to know who they were,” Mira said. “It’s like they must have hated him or something.”

  “Are you saying it was personal?” Rector asked.

  Mira shrugged. “I don’t know. We’re supposing quite a lot based on some footprints in the dirt.”

  “But look at all the cuts on the corpse. He was tortured first.” Rector nodded. “I think Mira is right. They all knew one another.”

  Jessira saw the smile Jaresh shared with Mira. No one else seemed to notice.

  “Why wouldn’t anyone have heard him scream?” Jaresh asked.

  “Because he had a canvas bag over his head,” Dar’El said. “Look at that red band around his neck. It looks like a ligature mark.”

  “There is another thing,” Rukh said. “The killer’s movements – the man – the placement of his feet, and the angle of his strikes. There are only three Houses who train their warriors in such a way, and all are allied with one another: Houses Wrestiva, Bittermoon, and Sunflown.”

  “And all are on very unfriendly terms with our House,” Jaresh said. “If we voice our suspicions, and we’re wrong, it could cause a House war.”

  “It would be a disaster on so many fronts,” Dar’El warned. “Civil discord amongst the Houses is the last thing we need if Suwraith plans on moving against Ashoka next spring.” He sighed. “For now, we keep this quiet.”

  Chapter 22 – The Art of Learning

  Almost from the first, Hume taught us to appreciate the written word, and we are grateful for his instruction. But of art, there is so much more we wish we could have learned. We killed those who could have instructed us, and perhaps that is our greatest regret.

  -From the journal of SarpanKum Li-Charn, AF 1754

  Ashoka in the middle of summer was already hot, but it was not yet oppressive, especially with a cooling, stiff breeze blowing off the ocean to keep the city comfortable. These would be some of the final few weeks of temperate weather before summer’s sultering heat hovered over the city like a miasma. Or so it had been explained to Jessira. As such, now was a good time to take an early evening stroll, which is what she was doing.

  She walked in silence next to Rukh and Bree, but her mind wasn’t focused upon the weather or the cool wind raising goosebumps on her skin. Instead, her thoughts were centered on the majesty she had just witnessed. Jessira had just been to her first play: A Many Colored Shadow. She hadn’t wanted to go, but Rukh had been the one to ask her, saying he still felt guilty about how he had ignored her. When he learned Stronghold didn’t have theater – her people didn’t have time for such frivolity – he had insisted she come with him and Bree, telling her it was something she had to see at least once before leaving Ashoka. Given Rukh’s impending departure in a few days for the Chimera breeding caverns, she had reluctantly agreed, certain she would find the experience dull and boring.

  She had been more wrong than she could have ever imagined.

  The play had been a revelation. Everything about it had touched her. The story, the music, the acting…all of it had been wondrous. From the moment the curtain had whispered open and for the following two hours, her heart had no longer been her own, and she had been happy to allow it. The play had figuratively transported her to a different place and time. She still had no idea how it had happened, nor did she want to know. It was part of the magic of theater, Rukh had explained. Afterward, she found herself replaying scene after scene, wanting to recapture and savor the emotions she had felt. There had been so many. It had been like a thick, hearty stew with many hidden flavors.

  The play had begun simply enough: a social gathering where two young Kummas, Vare Kilan of House Listh and Ciliana Prien, daughter to the ruling ‘El of her House, had shared a delightful afternoon with one another and soon after fell in love. But it was a love not meant to last for with the coming of his Trials, Vare was forced to leave his home and after his departure Ciliana was force to wed Kolth Renns, an older, ambitious member of her own House. Years passed in disappointment and grief for Ciliana’s marriage proved to be cold and loveless. Nevertheless, she bore her husband three son
s, her pride and joy. Fate, however, was to deal her further cruel blows, taking her two oldest in the Trials. Only her youngest child, Reva, survived his time in the Wildness.

  Meanwhile Vare Kilan eventually made his way home, and when he did, it was to find the woman he had loved as a youth now married and with a family of her own. It was the way of the world, but it still pained Vare. He set aside his feelings and moved on with his own life, and in time, he wed as well. His wife, Shawl Kilan, was a woman he grew to love, although not with the passion he had shared with Ciliana. Vare and his wife had a daughter, a beautiful, happy girl named Calle, but it would be their only child. Several years after the birth of their child, Shawl died of an unexpected illness. Grief-stricken, it fell to Vare to raise the young girl on his own as he adamantly refused to ever marry again.

  There came a time when Kolth Renns, Ciliana’s husband, who bore an deep and abiding hatred for his wife’s youthful lover, hatched a scheme, one meant to deceive Vare Kilan and leave him utterly ruined. The plan worked. Vare was rendered penniless with his only choice being to accept indentured servitude under Kolth Renns, and Renns would only absolve the debt if Vare – at an age when a Kumma should have lived out his days in peace – re-entered the Wildness for a final Trial.

  Ironically, even as this was happening, Kolth Renns’ son, Reva, met Calle Kilan during an afternoon social and the two young people fell in love. It was a love that did not sit well with Ciliana’s husband, but he was powerless to do anything about it. Vare stayed in his city long enough to see his daughter married, and then he left home for the final time. With him went Ciliana. Over the decades that had passed, the two of them had never stopped loving one another, and so they left their city together, walking hand-in-hand in the early morning sunshine. They were never to be seen again.