by Davis Ashura
“It’s true,” Bree replied. “You’re intelligent and capable, and we all appreciate you.”
Mira’s smile slipped .”Not everyone appreciates me.”
Bree pursed her lips. “Your amma?” she asked in hesitation.
Mira nodded. “She knows exactly just how capable and intelligent I am.”
Bree’s eyes narrowed. What did that mean? Mira was everything a daughter should be: dutiful, humble, courteous, and…
The answer came to her in a flash of insight. Jaresh.
How sad. Mira and Jaresh had suffered so much because of something that shouldn’t be considered a sin anymore. But it also wasn’t a topic that Bree could openly discuss with Mira. Her friend would hate it. “She’s wrong, you know,” Bree said. “You’re a woman of decency and honor. My parents — we all think so.”
Mira stiffened. Her face reddened with shame. “Does everyone know about me and…?”
“Know what?” Bree asked. “There’s nothing to know.”
“Rector would disagree.”
Bree snorted in derision. “Are you really going to tell me that Rector Bryce’s good opinion of you matters in even the least bit?”
Mira smiled wanly. “Point taken.”
Bree leaned back in her chair. “Besides, if you haven’t noticed, the ruling ‘El of House Shektan has an unusual family. I have a Sentya brother, and my Annayya — my older brother — had the poor taste to go off and cavort with a beautiful ghrina.” Bree grinned. “Whatever small issue you may have pales in comparison.”
Mira grimaced. “She found out because I was indiscreet in my admiration. Ever since then, it’s been difficult to please her.”
“Then stop trying,” Bree said. “Maybe you should just please yourself. Maybe it’s time to stop worrying so much about everyone else’s concerns and simply go about forgiving yourself for whatever it is that you think you’ve done wrong.”
“Like you should with your supposed role in Rukh’s problems?”
Bree tilted her head in acknowledgment. “Once again, you demonstrate your inestimable wisdom,” she said before cocking her head in thought. “Was it because you were switched with the branch of a Wisdom tree when you were a child?”
Mira laughed.
Chapter 9: A Kind of Welcome
The road home is longest when our anticipation exceeds the distance left to travel.
-Sooths and Small Sayings by Tramed Billow AF 1387
Later in the afternoon, the icy rain finally let off. The sun peaked out as the heavy clouds broke apart and dispersed, but the weather remained cold. The Shadowcats picked up the pace, and Rukh heeled his mount, urging the packhorse to keep up with them. When they reached the banks of the River Fled, they followed its course north, and from there, they came upon the legendary Croft. Or at least that’s how Rukh thought of it given the reverent tone Jessira used whenever she talked about the place. They cut across a small corner of it, but from what Rukh could see, what the Croft lacked in beauty — especially compared to the glorious, verdant farms surrounding Ashoka — it made up for in size. It was huge. Most of it was sculpted into small, square fields that were dead and brown in the winter, separated from one another by narrow macadam lanes. Lonely mesquite and juniper trees stood silent sentinels in small clusters throughout the land, but closer to the river, taller trees — ash and maple — reached skeletal branches to the sky.
Something had to keep the place hidden from the Queen, and Jessira had once explained that the founders of Stronghold had learned to form something they called a Blind: a semi-permanent Blend. It was continually renewed by the farmers who worked the land.
North of the Croft was a wide road that followed the contours of Lake Tear’s beaches and shores. The waters were hidden by a thick copse of aspen, but when the view opened up, Rukh brought his horse to a halt. He stared out in appreciation. The lake was a blue so rich it was almost cobalt. Sunlight twinkled against the gentle waves, and the clouds and sky were reflected in the water’s mirror-like sheen. All around were green-swathed hills and towering mountains with their gray shoulders covered in snow and ice. Fisherman stood in small, bobbing boats, casting their nets out into the water.
Rukh got his horse moving again and noticed Jessira up ahead, leading her mare and walking alongside her cousin, talking excitedly and laughing. The lines of worry on her face — so long prevalent — were gone, replaced by joy. It was good to see.
Night had long since fallen by the time they finally reached Mount Fort. East Gate — one of the two entrances into Stronghold — was almost invisible; a dark, rough-hewn slit twenty feet wide but easily missed against the dark bulk of the looming mountain. Rukh examined the mountainside, but he couldn’t see any of the squat, signal towers Jessira had once told him about. There were supposed to be twenty of them, spaced every three miles, and built so they blended in with the surrounding stone of Mount Fort.
Rukh dismounted and hobbled forward, following the Shadowcats into the mountain’s depths. A guardhouse loomed above the entrance with murder holes on all sides. From them came occasional flashes of light from red-hooded firefly lanterns. Rukh glanced up and noticed a large stone gate framed in black ironwood recessed in the ceiling. It looked like it could be dropped down in an instant and immediately seal the opening. Stronghold’s entrance appeared well fortified.
Nevertheless, Rukh wondered at the proficiency of the guards manning East Gate. While they likely knew of the Shadowcats presence, why hadn’t they challenged a large band of warriors moving into the heart of their home? Drape had sent one of his scouts up ahead to let the guards know of the Shadowcats imminent arrival, but Rukh still thought it was sloppiness bordering on incompetence to simply accept the word of one warrior and let the scouts pass without first questioning them.
From there, they travelled into a long, smooth-walled tunnel — fifteen feet tall and wide — and dimly lit with red-lensed firefly lanterns hanging from the ceiling. According to Jessira, this was Hold Passage East. About every fifty yards, a thick gate, similar to the one found at the entrance, hung from the ceiling, ready to slam down at a moment’s need. Near every one of them was a small guardhouse, and stationed within were the men and women tasked with protecting Stronghold. So where were they? No one else was about in the tunnel. The footsteps of their party echoed in the emptiness. Once again, Rukh wished at least one of the guards would come out to challenge their presence. He shook his head in disappointment.
As if on cue, a Shadowcat, who had been sent racing off deeper into the city, returned just then. With him came twenty warriors, armed, armored, and with grim faces full of ill intent. Their commander talked briefly with Drape before the two of them approached Rukh.
Rukh’s impression of the government and warriors here went up slightly. It looked like they wouldn’t give him free rein into their city without first asking him some questions.
“This is Captain Tamp Wind,” Drape said. “You’ll be accompanying him from here on.”
Rukh looked the man over. The captain appeared to be in his late twenties, was of average build, and had the reddest hair Rukh had ever seen.
“Is he a prisoner?” Jessira asked, moving to stand next to Rukh and looking ready to argue the point.
“We only have a few questions for him,” Captain Wind said. “He’s a Pureblood, and we need to know why he’s here.”
“He’s here because of me,” Jessira replied. “You have no reason to hold him.”
“Remember your place, scout,” Wind snapped. He closed the distance until he was nose-to-nose with her. “You’ve been out in the field for months, and perhaps you forgot military discipline, but you better remember it right quick.”
“It’s all right,” Rukh said to Jessira. The last thing he wanted was for her to get in trouble on his account. “They’re only doing their duty. Go on and see your family.” He eyed the still-annoyed looking captain. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“We’ll debrief you
in the morning,” Captain Wind said to Jessira. “Your family has already been notified of your arrival. They’re waiting for you. Go with the Shadowcats.” The captain’s jaw firmed as Jessira looked like she still wanted to argue the point. “This isn’t a request, scout. You’re dismissed. Move out.”
“What about my horse?” Jessira asked.
“I’ll see to it,” the captain said.
“Yes, sir,” Jessira said, her face a mask of hidden emotion as she came to attention and saluted. She gathered her belongings and glanced back at Rukh, giving him an inscrutable look before walking away.
“You’ll come with us,” the captain said. “And you need to hand over your weapons.”
Rukh had been expecting the request, but it still filled him with trepidation. His weapons were his last link to Ashoka.
“We’ll make sure you get it all back,” Wind added upon seeing Rukh’s reluctance.
Rukh nodded, and handed over his sword and knives to a waiting warrior. He kept the two throwing blades in his boots, though. No one had checked for them, and unless asked for, he saw no reason to give up the knives.
He was about to follow the captain, but Wind motioned one of his warriors over. “Search him,” he said. It was a wise precaution, and Rukh’s respect for the man rose a notch.
“Boots,” Captain Wind suggested after his warrior had finished his inspection, not finding the throwing knives.
With a smile and a respectful nod in the captain’s direction, Rukh removed the blades on his own and passed them over to the waiting warrior.
With that, Rukh was led deeper into Stronghold. The tunnel continued unchanged until about a quarter-mile later when it expanded both upward and outward. Shortly thereafter, they came across a large wall barring their path. A portcullis was raised, and behind it, thick, ironwood gates rested on heavy hinges, ready to be thrown shut at an instant’s notice. Upon the wall, to either side of the portcullis, alert warriors stared down impassively, their bows resting in their hands with arrows notched. Firefly lanterns, each with tens of lamps, lit the tunnel for fifty yards in front of the gates.
Rukh studied the warriors. They wore camouflage clothing, a mix of light and dark grays, which melded seamlessly with the surrounding stone. They looked like they knew their business — which made the earlier sloppiness from the warriors at the tunnel’s entrance harder to understand.
He mentioned his observation to the captain.
“We had you under observation the entire time,” Wind replied. “Given your Caste’s supposed fighting prowess, I wasn’t going to take any chances. We let you in, made you feel comfortable, and then trapped you deep enough so you can’t fight your way back out.”
Clever. His estimation of the man rose again.
They passed beneath the portcullis and the area beyond opened up even further. The ceiling was now more than fifty feet high and from it hung an abundance of huge firefly lanterns, each with hundreds of lamps. They were turned down for the night, but Rukh learned that during the day, they lit up the space to the brightness of midday. A large fenced off area took up most of the ground beyond the gates and was broken down into a number of training squares and a cluster of squat buildings. There, another wall and gate barred further passage into the heart of the mountain.
“East Lock,” Rukh guessed. “This is the fortress and barracks of the Brigade Eastern of the Home Army of Stronghold?”
“I suppose the scout told you,” the captain said, not looking pleased. He gestured, and the horses were led away. “Come.”
“Where are we going?” Rukh asked.
“Where you’ll be safe,” the captain answered tersely. “Now be silent and follow.”
Rukh mentally shrugged. At this point, his fate was no longer in his hands. He was probably going to be kept locked away somewhere for however long it took the Strongholders to decide what to do with him.
They crossed the open space in front of the barracks, and Rukh was led to a small building, separate and alone from all the others. He was gestured inside where a single, windowless room held a narrow cot, a washbasin on a pedestal, and an overhead firefly lantern. Otherwise, the space was empty. It looked like a prison.
“You can rest here,” the captain said. “You’ll be questioned in the morning and have a chance to discuss your potential future with us at that time.” The captain didn’t wait for Rukh’s reply. He simply turned and left.
Rukh heard the catch as a lock was thrown shut after the door closed. So, he’d guessed right: he was a prisoner.
He sighed. He’d deal with it in the morning. Right now, his leg was aching, his arm felt like a dead weight, and he was dead tired. He stretched out on the cot and fell asleep in moments.
*****
Once they were past East Lock, Jessira and Sign kept on going, heading for that most blessed of places: home. Her cousin had been given permission to accompany her, and walked by Jessira’s side, helping to carry some of her bags.
“So, is your Kumma friend always such a jackhole?” Sign asked.
Jessira shrugged. “No. Usually he’s kind and considerate. I’m not sure what got into him today.”
“Well, at least you don’t have to worry about him bothering you anymore.”
“What do you mean?” Jessira asked.
“He’s a Pureblood,” Sign said, as if the word alone should explain everything she was trying to get across. “You’ll be busy getting your life back, and he’ll have to figure out his own path. He’ll likely have to join the other one, Farn Arnicep, as a laborer.”
Jessira came to a stop. “Farn is a laborer?” she asked. “Why hasn’t a place for him been found in the Home Army?” She didn’t like Farn — detested him, in fact — but it also made no sense to waste his Talents and have him work as a laborer.
Sign snorted in derision. “He plans on returning to Ashoka as soon as he’s able.”
Jessira frowned in confusion. “But what about as an instructor for our warriors? He could teach us so much. Why waste his abilities as laborer?”
Sign shrugged. “You heard the lieutenant? Whatever happened to him in the Wildness did something to his head. He can hardly walk straight without bumping into a wall much less teach us anything he might know.”
Jessira’s mood soured. What would happen to Rukh? “And did anyone bother questioning Farn’s knowledge? There’s still much he could have taught our warriors, even if he couldn’t demonstrate it.”
“Cedar and Court took some lessons from him, and so did a few other warriors after they heard how incredible Farn was supposed to be, but his teachings made no sense,” Sign said. “He tried to tell us that our sword forms were too stiff; too formal and don’t allow for flow and balance.” She grimaced. “He was always whining on about flow and balance. Centering your core is what he called it.”
“And no one bothered to listen?” Jessira asked.
“Cedar and Court tried…”
“Why only those two?”
Sign shrugged. “They like him. The journey back in the Wildness, I guess. Anyway, maybe they learned something, but eventually their work and Farn’s didn’t allow them time for any more training.” Sign explained. “Truth to tell, I doubt he had much to teach us anyway. I don’t doubt that Kummas are fine warriors, but I’m guessing their reputations are probably more than slightly overblown.”
“They’re every bit as good as the stories say. I was there. I saw,” Jessira said, her mind already on other matters.
She was worried about Rukh’s future. All along she’d been certain that he would make a place for himself in Stronghold as a member of the Home Army. But with his arm so weak that he could barely lift it from his side and the dismissal of Farn’s knowledge by her fellow warriors, that possibility seemed less likely. Her heart sank. Farn and Rukh could talk until they ran out of breath about their fighting philosophy, but if they couldn’t demonstrate their skills, why would her people listen? Farn’s words about flow and balance and und
erstanding one’s enemy were exactly how Kummas fought. It was what made them so deadly.
“ … Farn’s quiet and doesn’t say too much, but he used to have this way about him. Pure arrogance,” Sign was saying. “Maybe it’s because he’s a Pureblood. I think the stink of his culture has probably seeped down into his pores and into his blood. He can’t wash it away.”
Jessira attention snapped back to the conversation. “What?” she asked, appalled by Sign’s bigotry.
“Not literally,” her cousin said in a placating tone. “Just figuratively. You know … ”
“Listen to yourself,” Jessira said. “Purebloods carry a bone-deep stink that they can’t erase,” she mimicked. “How is that any different from when they call us ghrinas?”
“It’s different because ghrinas are born. We can’t change who we are. A Pureblood really only becomes a Pureblood if he’s raised in one of their cities. If he were raised here, he’d be fine. He’d be civilized.”
Jessira shook her head in disbelief. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said. “Most Ashokans aren’t all that different from our own people. They want to live their lives in peace and raise their children to be happy.”
“They’re only peaceful as long as we’re not around. They kill us on sight, remember?” Sign replied, looking like she thought she had just scored some kind of decisive debating point.
Jessira rolled her eyes. “Then explain why I’m still alive,” she said. “I lived in Ashoka for months, and during my time there, I was never in any real danger. It wasn’t always pleasant, but I met a lot of good people there.”
Sign’s mouth puckered, like she’d swallowed something bitter, and she muttered something unintelligible under her breath. They walked in silence. “You and Court are insane if you think I’ll ever trust a Pureblood,” Sign finally said.
“Court?”
“For some reason, he took in Farn Arnicep. They share Court’s flat, and he says the Kumma is a good man who just wants to go home.”
Jessira’s brows rose in surprise. Farn was a good man? This wasn’t the same Kumma she knew. The man she’d met on the Hunters Flats had been everything she’d been taught to fear about Purebloods. He had been ugly in his judgment, ready to murder her simply for being who she was: a ghrina, an abomination. Just like that jackhole back in Ashoka, Rector Bryce.