by Davis Ashura
But tonight Hart’s Stand was muted. Perhaps the evening’s chill drizzle had driven most folk inside. If so, then Ular was grateful. The whispering rain was a double blessing, providing both a restful quiet and a blissful relief after summer’s mugginess.
Ular took another careful sip of his tea and considered what to do next. He’d made a bold decision in writing the note to Dar’El. He would have preferred otherwise, but what choice did he have? The Queen had turned her gaze to Ashoka, and the SuDin wouldn’t lift a finger to thwart Her. The man had to be stopped before he brought ruin to the city. Knowledge about the Withering Knife had to be made known, even if it risked exposing Ular’s membership in the Sil Lor Kum.
Ular grimaced at the gamble he had taken. He’d lived such a watchful, wary life, and to see it all unravel now, in the winter of his years was a bitter draught to swallow. It was all because of the SuDin. The arrogance of the man! He couldn’t be trusted. None of the MalDin could, or any member of the Sil Lor Kum for that matter. They were all scum, from the highest to the lowest, but the worst of them was the SuDin. He was a coiled viper, a venomous hypocrite.
Ular grimaced once again. And all this time, he had yet to learn the SuDin’s true name. He was a Kumma of high standing, possibly even an ‘El, but otherwise, Ular knew nothing about him.
And now the man was growing younger. Though he tried to hide his transformation, Ular had known the SuDin long enough to see the changes. His hair was darker, the gray color somehow receding. There was also the matter of the SuDin’s gait. The man still limped, but Ular could tell it was a sham. The SuDin’s injuries had somehow been Healed. And all of it had begun with the murders. Ular was certain of it. The changes had begun then.
The Withering Knife. No one but the SuDin truly knew where it had come from or what it did, but whatever its secrets, he was keeping it from the rest of the MalDin.
Ular had his suspicions as to why. The SuDin didn’t trust the rest of the Council, which was a wise decision in any circumstance. The other MalDins would have demanded use of the Knife if they realized it could make them younger. But what if there was more to it? Legends spoke of how the Knife stole a man’s Jivatma. If so … Ular shuddered at the possibility. He imagined a Kumma wielding more than his own Jivatma. He would be unstoppable. No man should be so powerful.
And none of this accounted for Suwraith. The SuDin claimed that the Queen had promised to see the Council safe and wealthy in far off cities, but what were Her promises really worth? There was nothing in the history of the Sil Lor Kum to prove that Councils from other cities — ones the Sorrow Bringer had destroyed — had found safety and shelter before their homes were apocalypsed. The accounts stating She did were farcical, and Ular didn’t believe them.
It was more likely the Queen had simply destroyed those other Councils — just as She would Ashoka’s.
Thus, as Ular reckoned matters, the only way to save himself was to also keep Ashoka safe. He had to stop the SuDin, stop him before he fully corrupted the city’s Oasis.
And who better to stop a ruthless Kumma than another equally ruthless Kumma?
*****
Rector Bryce sat alone outside a small bistro in Trell Rue. He was to meet Mira Terrell here, and while he could have waited within, he chose to wait without. He reckoned it was a wise decision given the café’s claustrophobic interior.
The building housing the restaurant was made of stacked-stone, a material efficient at trapping the murmurings of the restaurant’s many patrons and the heat from the roaring fireplace. It made the bistro feel like an oven, especially with the air marinating in the aromas of spiced noodles, dahl, chicken, and parathas.
The food — traditional Duriah fare — was the only reason Rector had agreed to meet here. In this age of fusion cuisine, especially in fashionable and forward-facing Trell Rue, finding something that hearkened back to an older period was becoming rarer by the month. And yet, despite all the modern talk of melding and melting of culture and cuisine, this restaurant with its old-fashioned food, had become popular.
It gave Rector a small spark of hope for the future. Too many people nowadays discarded the learned wisdom of history as if it were a worn out rag, good for nothing but the refuse bin. Perhaps they were finally coming to their senses, realizing that the future was best served if the past was also respected.
Even as he considered such a notion, Rector suspected it probably wasn’t the case. More likely, this traditional Duriah bistro in the heart of modern, ever-changing Trell Rue was simply a representation of the latest fashionable trend, one where the past briefly became new and stylish once again.
It was pathetic, and the knowledge left Rector wishing that he had been born in a different time, a more refined era when Castes did not seek to emulate one another; when cultures were distinct and separate; and everyone knew their place. He hated this modern life where everyone sought to be like everyone else. Where was the great sin in wanting to be distinctive?
With those thoughts in mind, he settled in to watch the fall of a dreary rain, the water leaving a halo of rainbows around the firefly lamps outside the restaurant. The colorful sight had Rector feeling morose and lonely, a sentiment made worse by the glad sounds of laughter echoing from within the bistro.
Rector tightened his coat and suppressed a shiver. The heavy canopy braced against the side of the restaurant and arching overhead protected against the weather but did nothing to keep off the chill.
Where was Mira anyway? They were supposed to have met a half-hour ago to go over the past week’s ‘activities’. She was his contact in House Shektan; the one to whom he passed on any information he learned about House Wrestiva’s activities. He didn’t like Mira Terrell, and she didn’t like him, but nevertheless, in some ways, his life was in her hands.
He grimaced at the notion, hating the path his life had taken. Spying. It was dishonorable, but there were no other choices that made sense to him. If he didn’t do what Dar’El demanded, he and his family would be ruined. The horrible truth about Rector’s family — their patrimony from a member of the Sil Lor Kum — would be revealed to everyone. And he had no doubt Dar’El would make good on his threat. After all, Rector was responsible for Rukh Shektan’s banishment. Dar’El would need little excuse to execute vengeance on the man who had ruined his son’s future.
With the clarity of hindsight, Rector knew he should have kept silent about Rukh’s newfound Talents. He should have simply watched and waited. Life would have eventually worked itself out. Ironically, during the trek to the Chimera birthing caverns, Rukh had actually told his commanders and brother warriors about his new Talents. By all accounts, they had been thoroughly disgusted, and Rukh had essentially been abandoned in the Wildness. Of course, their opinions had changed as a result of Rukh’s undeniable heroism in the caverns and on the long journey back to Ashoka. In fact, the warriors from the expedition to the caverns now heralded Rukh as the Hero of the Slave River, an opinion widely held by the rest of the city.
Rector wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Rukh Shektan was Tainted, but then again how could anyone have accomplished what the man had? Many scores of warriors would have died if not for him.
So perhaps an exception could have been found for him — certainly many people wanted one — but at least then the reason for Rukh’s expulsion from Ashoka would not have come about because of anything Rector had done. And Dar’El would have had no reason to demand his actions as a spy. Rector would have kept his honor.
His thoughts cut off when he saw Mira approaching. She pranced along the sidewalk, walking proud and carefree as only the truly arrogant could manage.
Rector swore under his breath. Why of all people had Dar’El chosen this woman to be his contact with House Shektan? Mira despised Rector, and the feeling was mutual. Here was a woman who had unabashedly cavorted with Jaresh Shektan, a Sentya and a man not of her Caste. Though the two of them pretended to merely be friends, Rector suspected something deepe
r had grown between the two of them.
And Mira dared judge Rector?
“I would have figured Jaresh would have accompanied you,” Rector said as she took a seat. He knew his words were spiteful, but he didn’t care.
Mira wore a confused look. “Why would he be with me?”
“After all the time you spent in the Cellar, the two of you seemed to have grown close.”
“We worked well together,” Mira said. “Our House is lucky to have a man of his abilities, but Jaresh has his own tasks to undertake, as do I. Our paths no longer cross.”
Rector studied her. Mira hadn’t taken the bait, but nonetheless, he didn’t entirely believe her. Her words were couched in flat notes, unemotional statements. It was as if she was afraid to speak with any feeling about Jaresh, as if to do so might expose the truth.
Or perhaps it was all his imagination.
He took a swallow of his wine.
Two months ago, it wouldn’t have occurred to him to disbelieve her — a Kumma and a Sentya together in an illicit affair? It should have been too repugnant to ever fathom. Unfortunately, hard truths and many lies had tested his trusting nature.
“What have you learned?” Mira asked, changing the subject.
“Nothing yet,” Rector replied sourly, still wondering about her relationship with Jaresh.
“Nothing?”
Rector shrugged. “I come from a House that is bitter enemies to House Wrestiva. How likely are they to trust me anything of import?”
Mira frowned. “What is your position with the Wrestivas? Surely you have one.”
“I have financial oversight of one of House Wrestiva’s lowest warehouses. I command a small group of fanatical Sentya accountants. They wage brave, unceasing war on deficits and income allocation,” he said in sarcasm. “Thankfully, they must know their work since I don’t understand a single thing when they start speaking their accounting gibberish. They have some strange language of accruals, depreciation, prepayment, and long-term liabilities.”
Mira laughed. “How awful it must be for you. Trapped amongst a group of lowly Sentyas.”
Rector smirked. “I’m sure you’re more comfortable amongst Sentyas than I.”
Mira reddened even as she held up a cautioning finger. “We are supposed to be young lovers getting to know each other. As far as the rest of the Caste Kumma is concerned, my Nanna seeks a lifeline into an ancient House in case House Shektan is brought down by the scandal of Rukh’s Talents. You, the honorable Rector Bryce, are meant to be that lifeline. As such, smirking and scowling at me won’t do. You need to pretend to feel something foreign to your way of thinking. You must demonstrate understanding and compassion.”
Rector swallowed his angry retort. Suwraith’s spit. He hated when she was right. He forced a smile on his face, trying to relax his features into a semblance of good humor. “Perhaps I should take lessons. I am not as accustomed to hiding my feelings as you and Jaresh,” he said.
Mira didn’t respond to his words, not with the slightest change in her expression or any movement. In its own way, it was answer enough.
Rector’s disgust grew deeper. Was there anyone of House Shektan who held even the merest of honor?
“You truly are a fool,” Mira said after a moment’s silence. She sounded sad rather than angry. “Jaresh is a man whose friendship I treasure, but because of bigots like you, even an innocent relationship like that has to be kept hidden and denied. But if you think there is more to us than that, so be it. I care little for your opinion or your perverse fantasies.”
Rector gaped. Perverted fantasies?
Now, it was Mira who smirked. “I saw how you stared at Jessira Grey, the OutCaste woman. You despised her, but you also found her attractive. Now you project your own disgusting imaginations on the relationships of others.”
Rector didn’t know what to think or what to say. Jessira Grey — thankfully gone from Ashoka three weeks now — had been an attractive woman, but in no way, shape, or form had Rector ever desired her. For Mira to say otherwise suggested she might be trying to deflect the truth of how she felt for Jaresh.
Or, more simply and plausibly, there was nothing to her and Jaresh and she truly thought Rector a filthy hypocrite.
“Just tell me what you want,” Rector growled.
“I want information on House Wrestiva’s finances, and though you think your position as a low-level overseer is beneath your station, it is exactly what will help us.”
“It isn’t work befitting a Kumma,” Rector complained, hating the petulant tone in his voice. “I had to give up my post in the High Army in order to do this bureaucrat’s work.”
Mira chuckled. “Poor Rector. So many troubles you’ve had to endure.” Her laughter faded. “You do not have my pity.”
“And I never asked for it,” Rector replied. “Nor would I want it, but believe me, when Dar’El is done with me, I will remember this conversation.”
Mira chuckled again. Rector was really growing tired of her smug laughter. “Dar’El will never be done with you,” she said in a stern tone of prophecy. “For what you did to him, you’ll be lucky if he doesn’t demand your compliance all the days of your life.”
Rector gritted his teeth, fearing she was right. Dar’El could very well do exactly that. After all, look what he was already putting Rector through. What honor could Dar’El have if he was willing to do that?
*****
Bree paused when she heard the mournful strains of a guitar echoing from the flower garden leading off the sunroom. She stepped outside. Jaresh sat upon a small bench with his back to her. This was a space Bree loved. It was Amma’s creation, a lovely sanctuary from the bustle of the city. Right now, the garden still held the last of summer’s blossoms with Autumn’s blooms of orange and red still to come. The ligustrum bushes that formed the tall hedge on all four sides would remain green even in winter.
Bree stepped upon the winding path of chipped bricks, her footsteps crunching quietly. Her breath misted in the morning air, but she knew the day would eventually warm. She sat down next to Jaresh. The bench was warm, bathed in a splash of sunlight. Last night’s rain had ended early in the morning, and the rest of the day would likely be bright and sunny.
Jaresh didn’t look up. He kept on strumming his slow song of lament.
“I don’t think I’ve heard you play anything happy since Rukh left for the caverns,” Bree said.
“There hasn’t been much to be happy about.”
“No, there hasn’t,” Bree agreed, thinking about all the troubles that had caught up their family. She sighed. “I wish I hadn’t done what Nanna asked.”
Jaresh paused and looked at her in confusion.
“Encouraging Rukh to take Jessira to Dryad Park,” she explained. “He might not have been banished if I hadn’t done so.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Jaresh said. “The person who’s most to blame for Rukh’s situation is Rukh.”
Jaresh’s attitude was unexpected. “You sound angry with him.”
“I am angry. I’m angry, and I’m scared,” Jaresh said. “If it wasn’t for his stupidity and his hypocrisy, he’d be home right now.”
“Hypocrisy?”
Jaresh shrugged. “Maybe that wasn’t the right word,” he muttered.
It was the right word and Bree knew why. “This is about Mira, isn’t it?” she asked.
“What about her?” Jaresh asked, his features growing tight and closed.
“I know how you feel about her, and how she feels about you,” Bree said.
“Rukh told you,” Jaresh said sounding betrayed.
“He didn’t have to,” Bree replied. “Before he left, I saw how upset you were with him. I also noticed that Mira no longer came by the House Seat as often as she once did. The two of you no longer spend any time together.”
“We never did anything dishonorable.”
“And even if you had, you would still be my brother.”
“You�
�re not disgusted with me?” Jaresh asked, hope rising in his voice.
Bree chuckled softly. “If you haven’t noticed, we have an unusual family, and our older brother, the one who was supposed to set a fine example for the rest of us to follow, brought home a ghrina and had the poor taste to like her.” This conversation about such intimate matters wasn’t one Bree had ever expected to have with Jaresh. It should have been Rukh’s job. The entire topic made her uncomfortable, but still, she also knew that if Jaresh needed someone in whom to confide, she would have to do.
“Rukh spoke to me before he left,” Jaresh replied. “It’s why I don’t spend time with Mira any more.”
“Do you still have feelings for her?” Bree asked.
Jaresh shrugged. “I’ll probably always have feelings for her,” he said, “but they aren’t the way they once were.” He stared at his hands, silent for a moment. “Do Amma and Nanna know?” he asked.
Bree shrugged. “I don’t know. But if they did, I doubt they would love you any less.”
Jaresh set aside his guitar and gave a half-hearted smile. “I wish the rest of the city could be as forgiving.”
“Wishes don’t wash dishes,” Bree quoted.
“No, they don’t,” Jaresh agreed. “Is that why you came out here? To remind me of the work I should be doing?”
Bree quirked a smile. “Truthfully? I just came out here to talk to you. I needed my brother.”
“We both need our brother,” Jaresh said. “I miss Rukh, and I wish I hadn’t been such an ass to him before he left. The last time I saw him, I was still angry and upset.” He sighed. “I wish I’d let him know how much I love him.”
Bree silently commiserated with Jaresh.
Jaresh forced a smile. “But at least I’ve kept busy,” he said. “I examined the three Houses Rukh said trained their warriors in the manner of the Withering Knife murderer. In their ranks, there are one hundred and seven suspects.”
“One hundred and seven?” Bree said thoughtfully. “It’s a start.”
Chapter 2: A Cool Night