by Davis Ashura
“Why are you still here?” Rukh asked, wanting to change the subject.
His cousin grimaced. “Ever since that fragging Shylow attack, my head hasn’t been right,” he said. “I’ve been struggling with dizzy spells, every day, sometimes hourly. They’ve only recently gotten better. I couldn’t leave because I couldn’t walk straight.”
“But now you can,” Rukh said.
Farn smiled faintly. “Now I can, but I’m so out of shape. I’ve got to train hard if I want to be able to make it home. I figure it’ll take me a month or two before I’m ready to go.”
“It’ll still be winter then,” Rukh reminded him.
“The river flowing under Stronghold empties into the Gaunt … ”
“And the Gaunt leads to Ashoka,” Rukh finished. “What about the river being frozen? You won’t be able to take a boat.”
“The OutCastes have ways of traveling over frozen water. If they can do it, so can I.”
Rukh hoped his cousin was right. He’d hate for him to die when waiting just a few more months could see him home with far less risk. “I’ll help you get back in shape as best I can,” Rukh promised. “Just make sure you know what you’re doing out on the water.”
Farn didn’t respond at first. “You sure you can’t come with me?” he eventually asked in a diffident tone.
“I’m Unworthy, remember?”
“Unless the Chamber of Lords decides otherwise.”
“What do you mean?” Rukh asked. This was the first he had heard this.
“The Chamber can reverse any of their judgments. It’s one of their prerogatives. I’m sure it’s something your nanna is working on.”
Law and history had always fascinated Farn. If he said the Chamber could overturn Rukh’s judgment, then it was probably true. Nevertheless, Rukh held little hope that the Chamber would set aside their earlier decision. What reason would they have to do so?
A thought struck him just then. “When you get home, tell no one about your ability to Blend,” he advised. “It’ll only cause you problems. And if anyone challenges you on it, lie.”
Farn nodded. “I wish you’d taken your own advice.”
Chapter 12: Finding a Way
I’ve travelled far and wide, visiting many cities, seeing their beauty, but none of them compared to Hammer. And whenever I returned home, I would be reminded of the blessings in my life: to live amongst such elegance and grace.
-The Sorrows of Hume, AF 1789
“It’s not getting any better, is it?” Court asked.
Rukh didn’t bother responding. The sharp bark of pain as he struggled to get his arm into the sleeve of his shirt should have been answer enough. Its dull, dead weight had him terrified.
He tried to force the arm into the shirtsleeve, but a fierce twinge in his shoulder, a harbinger of a more fiery pain, immediately had him backing off. Damn it!
“Let me help,” Court said. He gently lifted Rukh’s arm and eased it into the shirtsleeve.
Rukh nodded his ‘thanks’, but the fear he felt for his situation remained. He’d been in Stronghold for three weeks, and his arm showed no signs of improving. He’d done active stretching and passive stretching; he’d applied heat and ice; he’d let it rest and even tried to exercise it — anything he could think of that might help, but so far nothing was working. The arm remained a painful, lifeless anchor hanging at his side.
He went to pack away his unspooled bedroll, and the unkempt blanket draped over it. Farn’s bedding was already neatly folded and tucked away in a corner. His cousin had arisen well before first light, training for the long road home.
“I’ll take care of your roll,” Court said.
Rukh flushed with humiliated helplessness as Jessira’s cousin cleared away his mess. “I wish someone could tell me what’s wrong with my arm,” Rukh said, turning aside to hide his reddened face.
“None of the Healers Peddananna sent you to could help?” Court asked.
“No. They all said the same thing: there’s nothing wrong with the arm,” Rukh replied. “They’re wrong, but they just don’t know what it is.” He shook his head. “I just wish I hadn’t wasted so much of Master Grey’s money to learn such a worthless answer.”
On his own, Rukh wouldn’t have been able to afford the services of even one of Stronghold’s Healers, much less every one of them, but Jessira’s nanna — Master Grey — had been generous. He’d paid all of Rukh’s costs without a second thought. “Consider it my way of repaying the kindness your parents showed Jessira when they took her in,” he had said at the time.
Rukh appreciated Master Grey’s help, but he also wasn’t comfortable relying on Jessira’s nanna for any more assistance. The man had already done too much for him. Asking for anything more would feel too much like begging. It was past time for Rukh to find his own way.
Just then, a stabbing pain in his shoulder reminded him just how difficult such a proposition might be. Training with a sword was out of the question, and even Rukh’s work as a laborer was a challenge. It would have been impossible if not for the help of so many. Court was kindness itself, helping Rukh get dressed, while Farn and the other laborers helped him whenever they saw him struggling to perform tasks that required two arms rather than one.
Rukh was grateful to all of them, especially his fellow workers. The lowest members of Stronghold’s society were insular and hard, but they looked after their own. At first, it hadn’t been easy to get to know them. In fact, during the first meeting with the other laborers, mistrust and dislike had lifted off them like a heat haze. They had probably assumed Rukh would be an arrogant Pureblood, complaining that the work was beneath his station — at one time, Farn certainly had — but Rukh wasn’t like that.
He couldn’t afford to be as proud, especially when his right arm was as useless as a mute singer. If Rukh had to get his fingernails dirty, so be it. The labor needed doing, and Rukh made sure to give his all to whatever task he’d been assigned. His nanna would have expected nothing less. As a result, the suspicion and animosity from most of the other laborers eventually changed to acceptance and even friendliness.
Of course, there were still some who resented — even hated — Rukh’s mere presence in Stronghold. For them, Rukh would always be an abomination. There had even been an attack by a group of thugs during Rukh’s first week in Stronghold. Even one-armed, they hadn’t posed much of a challenge. A few broken noses had sent the rest running, but Rukh had remained troubled by the attack.
Too many Strongholders had an attitude of smug superiority toward Purebloods, including those from the city’s higher social strata. They were far more clever, though, expressing their displeasure in subtle ways, such as muttered comments meant to be overheard about unmannered Purebloods or pretending not to see him when he attempted to buy food at the market. From Rukh’s perspective, all of it was meant to get across a simple fact: he was the unwanted outsider in their pristine, perfect city.
Their behavior put the lie to Jessira’s claim that her people didn’t judge others based on their birth. They clearly did, and Rukh couldn’t help but wonder if his own people had treated Jessira as poorly as many of her kind treated him. If they had, it was a wonder she had stayed in Ashoka as long as she had. Rukh wouldn’t have. In fact, other than Farn, Cedar, Court, and Laya, if he was forced to leave Stronghold, there would be precious few people he would miss.
What of Jessira? a soft voice whispered in his thoughts. Would you not miss her?
Rukh mentally shrugged. He was a Kumma, and he would always live by the strictures of his Caste. Since their arrival in Stronghold, he’d made sure they barely saw one another. A few chance meetings in the hallways was it, nothing more. It was for the best.
“What will you do?” Court asked, interrupting Rukh’s thoughts.
“I don’t know. There’s a man I work with, a laborer named Setter Reesh. He thinks he might be able to help. He says the problem isn’t in the arm but in the shoulder. The Healers I
’ve spoken to are certain he’s wrong.” He looked to Court. “What do you think?”
“Sometimes Healers think they know everything, or act like they do, even when they don’t,” Court replied. “You have to remember: there were but six Shiyens amongst the Fifty-five and only one of them a physician. You wouldn’t know it by talking to our Healers, but I imagine a lot of the knowledge that Hammer possessed has been lost to them. Besides, I know Setter. A lot of the laborers who can’t afford a Healer’s price go to him. He knows what he’s doing.”
Rukh considered Court’s advice, unsure why he placed such importance on the man’s opinion. It was odd. He’d only known Court for three weeks, and already, he trusted him implicitly.
Maybe it was because Court was so open and honest, rare traits. For instance, while he was rightly proud of his people’s accomplishments, he wasn’t blind to their faults. He saw the problems with Stronghold’s society, and they bothered him. Of course, Court was wise enough to keep his opinion limited to those he knew and trusted. Many would not have reacted well to his words.
“If you’re worried he might do more harm than good, don’t be. I’ve heard of a few cases where Setter was able to help when the Healers couldn’t,” Court added, mistaking Rukh’s silence for uncertainty.
Rukh nodded. “I’ll talk to him,” he said.
*****
Rukh hissed in pain.
“Do you want me to stop” Court asked, pausing in his manipulation of Rukh’s right arm.
Rukh shook his head. “No. It’s helping. Keep going.” He hissed again as Court lifted the arm until it was above Rukh’s head. A few days ago, such a movement would have been impossible.
It seemed Setter Reesh had been correct. It hadn’t been Rukh’s arm that had been damaged. It had been his shoulder. Setter claimed that Rukh had strained a bundle of nerves running down from the neck, through the axilla, and into the arm. He had Healed the inflammation, but Rukh would have to do regular exercises if he wanted to get back the full use of his arm. And just two weeks later, while Rukh was still limited to passive range of motion movements, he could already feel both strength and flexibility returning. Soon, he’d be able to do these exercises himself.
“What do you have planned tonight?” Rukh asked.
“Preema invited me to dinner with her family.”
Rukh grinned, nodding understanding.
For the past several months, Court had been spending more and more time with Preema Folls, Laya’s cousin. Preema’s family had started out as laborers, but several years ago her nanna had completed his twenty-five years in the Army. He was now a farmer, which meant he was a man of means. But Court’s interest in Preema wasn’t because of her newfound wealth. Nor was it solely because she was pretty. It was because of the kind of person Preema was. Rukh had never met a happier, more optimistic person. She always wore a glad smile on her face and had a clever quip at the ready.
Even Farn wasn’t immune to her humor. His cousin, usually so touchy about being mocked, would grin whenever it was Preema doing the teasing. Sometimes, he would even laugh. A year ago, it would have been unthinkable to see Farn so relaxed. Despite his troubles with the OutCastes, his time in Stronghold had changed him for the better.
In fact, witnessing his cousin’s laughter had been a revelation for Rukh. If Farn could find moments of joy here in Stronghold, then why not Rukh? Stronghold wasn’t perfect — what city was? — but maybe with time, some of the arrogance and contempt Rukh faced would fade. And with his arm strengthening, maybe he could still join the Army.
For the first time in weeks, Rukh felt a faint stirring of hope.
“Done,” Court said.
Rukh gave his shoulder a slow, final roll before pulling on his shirt. “Off to go clean the latrines,” he said, injecting false joviality into his voice.
For the most part, he liked the men and women with whom he worked, but he certainly didn’t enjoy the labor. Cooking and serving in the dining hall wasn’t so bad, but the cleaning up afterward, or worse, emptying chamber pots and wiping down the latrines — it was filthy, smelly, and disgusting.
“It’s a dirty job, but of all the Purebloods I know, you’re the one best suited to doing it,” Court said with an easy grin.
*****
Sateesh Grey stood silently in the shadows of a corner and watched unobserved as Rukh Shektan swept Crofthold Lucent’s dining hall. He’d actually been observing the Pureblood for weeks now, and in all that time, he had never seen or heard the Kumma act in an arrogant fashion or complain that the work was beneath him. He worked hard and did as he was told. Sateesh found himself impressed by the man’s diligence, as well as his charm and humility. It seemed he was everything Jessira claimed: warm, considerate, and hard working. Which made what he had to do now even more onerous. Sateesh sighed. Why couldn’t Rukh Shektan have been what everyone expected of a Pureblood: arrogant and hateful?
“How is your arm?” Sateesh asked, stepping out of the corner and approaching Rukh.
The Pureblood paused in his work and looked up. As always, his initial, assessing gaze reminded Sateesh of a snow tiger’s, and he had to force himself not to flinch. “It’s getting stronger,” Rukh replied a moment later. “I’m hoping to start training again in a few weeks.”
“You still hope to join the Army?” Sateesh asked.
Rukh quirked a wry grin. “I can’t see myself not serving as a warrior. It was what I was bred to do.”
“And it wouldn’t hurt that you would no longer have to clean out the latrines and chamber pots,” Sateesh said with an answering smile. He was surprised by the fondness he felt for the young Kumma.
“No. It certainly won’t,” Rukh said in agreement.
“Will we see you tonight for dinner?” Sateesh asked, betraying none of the concerns he felt toward the Pureblood.
Rukh’s demeanor grew guarded.
Sateesh saw Jessira wear a similar expression whenever talk in their house turned to the Kumma. He now understood why. Despite what his daughter and the Pureblood claimed, he knew there was more between them than mere friendship. It was evident to anyone who truly knew Jessira. Thankfully, neither she nor Rukh had acted upon their feelings. It would have been a disaster if they had. In fact, from what Sateesh could tell, the two of them seemed intent on avoiding the other. They rarely interacted except on those few occasions when they accidentally ran into each other in the halls of Crofthold Lucent.
It was how Sateesh preferred matters to remain between his daughter and Rukh. It was why he was here now, and why he had invited Rukh to dinner. He meant to ensure Jessira’s honor would be maintained.
Right now, Rukh was at his lowest, his pride likely stinging at the thought of Jessira seeing him dirty, sweaty, and smelly. But what about when Rukh was a warrior once again? His self-esteem would return. Would he then think himself worthy of Jessira’s affections?
It could never be — not because Rukh wasn’t a good, decent person — but because Jessira was already promised to Disbar Merdant. Only for the most important reasons could such an engagement be ended. After all, a person’s word was their bond, and Sateesh would never allow Jessira to destroy her future because of some infatuation for Rukh Shektan. He needed to make sure the Kumma understood that.
“I know you have strong feelings for my daughter,” Sateesh said. “I also know she might have once felt the same way about you.”
If anything, Rukh’s expression grew even more closed off.
“It isn’t obvious, except to those of us who know her well,” Sateesh continued. “And I’ve seen how you hide your feelings whenever she’s mentioned. Either you hate her or you love her. I’m guessing it’s love. Otherwise, you would have never come to our city.”
“It doesn’t matter what I feel,” Rukh said.
“No. It doesn’t,” Sateesh agreed.
Rukh didn’t answer. His head was bent down as he resumed sweeping the floor. “Why are you telling me this?” he finally aske
d, lifting his head to look Sateesh in the eyes.
“So you are clear on what I expect of both you and my daughter,” Sateesh replied. “From what I can tell, you’ve been a true friend to her, protecting her reputation. It makes me believe you’re an honorable man, and I hope you always will be. And that you’ll never do anything untoward with regards to Jessira.”
“Is that why you’re inviting me to dinner tonight?” Rukh asked. “Jessira won’t be there, and you and Mistress Grey can lay down the law and make sure I stay out of her life?” He snorted in derision. “You don’t have to worry.”
Sateesh grimaced, not expecting the Pureblood’s insight. In some ways, the invitation to dinner tonight had been an insult. He just hadn’t expected Rukh to see the slight. The man continued to surprise him with his hidden depths and awareness. “I am sorry if I offended you,” Sateesh said, somewhat chastened.
Rukh gave a sardonic smile. “Ah, yes. The apology that is anything but.”
“Then I am sorry for offending you,” Sateesh added.
“Why? For insulting me or thinking me incapable of honor?”
Sateesh sighed. He’d handled this badly. “For both,” he said. “You’re not at all what any of us expected. You work hard, and you’re doing your best to fit in amongst us. You deserve better treatment than you or your cousin, Farn, have received.”
Rukh seemed to consider his words. “Apology accepted,” he said. “Was there any other reason you wanted to talk to me?”
Sateesh hesitated, still feeling guilty for offending the man. “My wife and I would both like get to know you better. We should have done so long ago. Will you forgive us and allow it?”
Rukh nodded. “In that case, instead of your flat, why don’t you come down to Court’s? We’ll make you a Kumma dinner.”
*****
“Tell me again what time they’re coming over,” Farn demanded as he helped set the table.
When Rukh had first come to him earlier today with the idea of hosting a dinner for Jessira’s family, including her parents, Farn had thought he was joking. Prepare a meal in a few hours? It wasn’t enough time. Not if it was to be done right. So he had explained, but Rukh had been insistent. Farn still thought it was a stupid idea, but somehow they’d managed to pull it off. The food was ready, and Court’s flat had never looked so good.