by Davis Ashura
“You’re leaving in a few weeks,” Rukh said. “I’m here for the duration of my life maybe. I thought it might be nice to share a proper Kumma meal with the people who have taken us in and helped us out so much. Show them Ashokan hospitality.”
“Even though Jessira’s parents insulted you?”
Rukh sighed. “We’re already gone over this. If I want to fit in here, I’ve got to be willing to overlook some things I normally wouldn’t. Besides, Jessira’s parents were only doing what good parents are supposed to do: look out for their daughter’s future.”
Farn shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand you. You know, sometimes people really are just jackholes. Not every stranger is a friend you’ve yet to meet.”
“What?” Rukh asked, looking confused.
Farn shook his head. “Never mind. Just promise me you’ll never change.”
He would miss his cousin when it came time to leave Stronghold. When they had been children, Rukh had overlooked Farn’s glum outlook and drew him into what would become a deep friendship. The brotherhood he had shared with Rukh, Jaresh, and Keemo had been the most important relationships in Farn’s life.
Rukh, Farn, Keemo, and Jaresh. Their lives had been an endless summer of wonder, always something new to explore and learn and laugh over. They had grown up together, trained together, done everything together. And they all had their roles to play. Farn was the dour voice of reason; Keemo was the optimist; Jaresh the thinker; and Rukh had been the one to help them see the best in one another, binding them until they were as close as brothers.
Together they had been able to accomplish anything.
But no more.
Keemo. How could he be gone? Even now, there were moments when Farn would think to find him, wanting to share an insight or a humorous event. Keemo always laughed with him. His friend, who Farn loved more than the breath in his lungs.
“What’s wrong?” Rukh asked.
“I was just remembering Keemo and Jaresh.”
“I miss them, too.”
A knock at the door interrupted whatever else he might have said.
*****
Rukh leaned back in his chair and listened as the others chatted.
Dinner had gone well. Since Stronghold’s fare was universally bland — the only seasoning they used seemed to be salt and garlic — the OutCastes had been hesitant to try the spicy food Rukh and Farn had prepared. It only took a few bites for their reluctance to fade into expressions of surprised delight. Then they had been more than happy to try anything offered. Mistress Grey had especially seemed to enjoy the food. She had worn a look of rapture during the entire meal. In this, she was just like her daughter, Jessira.
“And you eat this well every day in Ashoka?” Master Grey asked.
“Better,” Rukh answered. “I’m a terrible cook, but Farn can do a passable job. He was the one in charge of tonight’s dinner.”
At his words, the OutCastes shared disbelieving glances, most likely wondering if Rukh was joking.
“Jessira always claimed that Ashokan cuisine was a work of art,” Cedar said. “I thought she was exaggerating, but I guess I should have. And if you consider this food to be only ‘passable’, I’d love to know what you consider good.”
“Why haven’t you ever made dinner like this before?” Court asked, sounding plaintive. “It’s the least you could have done, especially with me letting you stay here and everything.”
“Time and spices,” Farn replied, ticking off the two items. “Work keeps us busy, and Rukh hardly brought any spices with him.”
“After eating this, I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry,” Preema said with a soft laugh. “This might have been the best meal I’ve ever had.”
“Jessira saw and experienced so much,” Laya said with a sigh. “I wish I could experience half of what she did. It makes me jealous.”
“So when I invited you to dinner your first night here, and you complimented my cooking, was this what you were comparing it to?” Mistress Grey asked, a stern expression on her face. “It seems you weren’t entirely honest about what you thought of the meal.”
“I was telling the truth,” Rukh said. “It is the warm and generous spirit that transforms any meal into an expression of love. And the cold, cruel heart that makes even the most sumptuous of feasts taste like ashes. It is what I said then, and I meant it. The food isn’t important. It’s the spirit in which it’s offered.”
Afterward, the talk moved on to other topics, and everyone spoke together, laughing and enjoying themselves. Even Farn involved himself in the conversation, sharing stories of Ashoka or observations of life in Stronghold. Rukh laughed along with the others, happy as he hadn’t been since the days before leaving Ashoka for the caverns of the Chimeras. This was the most relaxed he could recall being in months.
All of the worries about his place in Stronghold — the slights and slurs he had endured — none of it mattered tonight. Tonight, he could simply enjoy the company of others.
“ … So then at the Wrath, they held up these signs and when the fanfare for our school began, they flipped them over, and it spelled out, We’re Dumbasses,” Farn said.
“They didn’t,” Laya said, holding a hand to her mouth as she stifled a giggle.
The others at the table: Cedar, Court, Preema, Master Grey, and his wife, Mistress Grey didn’t harbor such reserve as they laughed whole-heartedly.
“What was their reaction after they found out what you did?” Preema asked, still smiling.
“They were furious. Their dean wanted us suspended, but we got off easy,” Rukh replied. “Our dean was never really mad at us. He yelled at us a lot, but I think he was actually proud of what we did.”
Farn shook his head in disbelief. “How did Keemo ever come up with something so clever?”
Rukh’s smile slipped. He still thought of Keemo every day, and every day, he still wished his friend were with them.
“He was one of those who died on the Flats, was he not?” Laya asked.
Rukh’s smile slipped further. “He was.”
“If it hadn’t been for him, all of us would have died,” Cedar said solemnly.
“Then we should raise a toast in his honor and memory,” Master Grey said. “To Keemo and all the friends and family we’ve lost.”
Chapter 13: A Twisting Future
During the Trials of our lives, amidst periods of toil and trouble, our footsteps strike the ground lonely. But during moments of triumph, many share the path with us.
-A Wandering Notion by Shone Brick, AF 1784
“Can we talk about it?” Disbar asked.
“Talk about what?” Jessira replied.
Disbar frowned in annoyance. She knew what he meant. She had to.
Disbar had taken the day off so the two of them could have a picnic in the courtyard of Crofthold Lucent. He had hoped an afternoon together would help them get past the frigid formality that had grown between them during her long absence. Before her departure, Disbar hadn’t loved Jessira, but the seeds had been there. He could have loved her, and it would have been easy. She had never been submissive, but she had seemed to welcome her role in their upcoming marriage. She would have set aside her duties as a scout and happily borne his children. She would have taken care of home and hearth while he provided.
But this new Jessira … it would take time to get to know her. Since her return, she had been distracted, even irritable. She was a very different woman from the one who had departed Stronghold many months earlier. Disbar worried she would never again be the person he had once known.
He poured himself a glass of wine — a rich red — and took a long drink. His frown faded, and a smile took its place as he took in the beauty of the Courtyard. The afternoon sun reflected through a series of mirrors, shining down amongst the leaves and branches of the oak tree, as well as the green azaleas and winter flowers growing in the center of the courtyard. The hundreds of firefly lanterns suspended from t
he ceiling, walls, and branches of the oak were unlit for now, but late at night, when they were turned low, they twinkled like stars in the heavens.
Then, the place became magical.
“I know you’re still getting used to living here,” Disbar said. He hesitated before reaching for her hand resting on the table. He cupped it as lightly as he would a butterfly and let out a soft exhalation of relief when she didn’t pull back. “I was wondering if you wanted to talk about this distance that’s grown between us.”
Jessira met his eyes. “I know I haven’t been easy to get along with,” she said. “I’m sorry. It’s just … ” Her words trailed off, and a look of regret stole over her. She was silent as she looked away, staring at a group of children playing tag.
“It’s what?” Disbar prodded gently.
“We treat Purebloods worse than I was treated in Ashoka,” she said.
Disbar scowled. “So this is about the Kumma?” he said, trying his best to mask his sudden suspicion. The Pureblood and Jessira had spent many months alone, just the two of them. Jessira insisted nothing improper had occurred, but it was hard to believe that some feelings hadn’t arisen between them — at least it should have on Rukh’s part. Jessira wasn’t classically beautiful, but she was certainly pretty enough to incite the lust of a barbaric Pureblood. And Disbar didn’t for an instant believe the ridiculous story Rukh had apparently told Major Barrier, the one where he claimed to think of Jessira as a child. During the dinner Jessira’s parents had hosted several weeks back, the Pureblood hadn’t looked upon Jessira as a man would when seeing a child. The expression on Rukh’s face had been that of a man struggling to control his admiration for a beautiful woman.
Jessira withdrew her hand. “How many times do I have to tell you? Rukh is just a friend. Nothing more,” she said.
Disbar studied her profile over the rim of his goblet as he took another sip of wine. He wasn’t sure whether to believe her. Since her return to Stronghold, he’d kept himself apprised of Jessira’s movements. On a few occasions, especially early on after her return to Stronghold, she had gone to the kitchens and areas where the laborers worked. She had sought out the Kumma, but at no time had she been alone with him. She’d seen the Pureblood in a few public places or in the company of family, but otherwise she had kept her distance from him.
“Then why the concern?” he asked. “He’s a grown man. He doesn’t need your help to find his way.”
“Because our treatment of them — Rukh and Farn — says something about who we are as a people,” Jessira said. “It makes me wonder if our culture is really any better than that of the Purebloods.”
“Of course we’re better,” Disbar replied, aghast. “Purebloods would kill our kind without a second thought.”
“And yet, I survived their city without harm,” Jessira reminded him. “Rukh’s family took me in and treated me as one of their own, even after their son was exiled on my account.”
Disbar fell silent, not having a ready response to her claims. He had trouble believing Purebloods could be as loving and generous as she claimed. It flew in the face of everything he’d been taught about them.
“We have to be better than before,” Jessira continued. “After all, the people of Ashoka never tried to murder me. I understand Rukh has already had a few run-ins with some of our young men.”
“Run-ins?” Disbar scoffed. “Just some youths with too much drink in them is what I heard.”
“They had knives.”
Disbar kept his face studiously blank. No one — especially Jessira — could know of his role in what had happened to the Kumma. And besides, none of it changed what was more important: Jessira’s ongoing interest in Rukh Shektan. She had been keeping up with the events in the Pureblood’s life. Disbar didn’t like it and made his feelings on the matter clear, including his frustration with their ongoing lack of intimacy. He was tired of waiting.
“I’ve chosen you,” Jessira said, answering his complaint. “No one will come between us. We will be together when we’re married.”
“But we will not be together now?” Disbar asked.
“Give me time.”
“Time for what?” Disbar asked, exasperated. “You leave for maneuvers soon and after that, it’s home for a week and gone for three more. When will you be ready? For mercy’s sake, we’re engaged. And in a few months, your body will be the temple through which our children will be born.”
Jessira stiffened. Her gaze locked on his, and Disbar involuntarily shrank away from the outrage in her eyes. “Is that what you think my role will be? To simply bear your children?”
“I didn’t mean to imply — ”
“You didn’t mean to imply that I should feel some fragging guilt about bearing your children?” Jessira said in derision.
Disbar’s nostrils flared. How dare she speak to him like that? “It’s because of the Kumma, isn’t it? You and I never had these problems before you left. He is the reason we argue so much. You love him.”
“He has nothing to do with our problems.”
“Then what is it,” Disbar demanded. He noticed she hadn’t denied his accusation.
Jessira’s chin raised, proud and haughty as the mountains. “During all the time I was gone, I kept my vows to you,” she said. “And it wasn’t enough. You’ve made your distrust of me apparent.”
“I trust you,” Disbar said, knowing how mealy-mouthed his words sounded. He hoped she didn’t notice.
“I know you’ve had me watched,” Jessira hissed, leaning close. “Your cousins. They follow me everywhere.”
Disbar licked his lips, suddenly nervous. “So I asked them to look in on you a time or two. How else am I supposed to react when you tell me that this Pureblood of yours was exiled because of his relationship with you? You said you are only friends, but I find it hard to believe that he would have been banished for mere friendship’s sake.” He shrugged. “Besides, I just wanted to make sure you were safe. The Kummas, who knows what they might do.”
“I was with Rukh for months on end, and I was never unsafe in his presence,” Jessira replied.
Disbar’s jaw clenched, and his anger thudded against his skull. It stole his good sense, causing him to speak words he immediately regretted. “Were you safe in his bedrolls?”
Jessira’s face grew impassive, and she took slow, deep breaths. Her flushed face revealed her fury. “We’re done,” she announced, rising to her feet.
“Please don’t go,” Disbar said. “I apologize for my rash words.” He came to his feet as well. “What I said was thoughtless and spoken in the heat of the moment. Of course I trust you.”
She shook her head. “No, you don’t,” Jessira said. “And I can’t abide a man who has so little faith in me and has so little regard for my intelligence.”
Disbar couldn’t believe what he was hearing. What was Jessira saying? He gritted his teeth. “Don’t you think you’re taking this a little too seriously?” he asked, trying to mollify her. “We’re simply having a minor disagreement. Why don’t we talk about this later; when we’ve both calmed down somewhat?”
Jessira scrubbed a hand over her face before sighing heavily. “Yes, we’ll talk again later, but it doesn’t change the fundamentals of our situation,” she said. “I need someone who respects me, trusts me, believes in me.”
Disbar grimaced. “Somewhere in those words, I sense a threat.”
Jessira shrugged. “Interpret it however you wish,” she said. “I can only tell you what’s been growing in my heart since I returned to Stronghold.”
Disbar braced his fists against the table and leaned forward. “If you end our engagement, everyone will know exactly what kind of woman you are.”
His words must have sparked Jessira’s anger once again. Her eyes flashed in warning. “Somewhere in those words I sense a threat,” she noted. “And I never said anything about ending our engagement.” Her own fists were balled.
“Interpret my words however you wish,�
�� Disbar snarled. “But I can only tell you what’s been growing in my heart since you returned to Stronghold. I won’t be made to look like a fool.”
Jessira stood straight, her posture rigid. “I’ve said all I need to,” she said. “I’m done here.” She paused, glancing back at Disbar. “And if I see any of your cousins following me, I’ll break their legs.” With that, she was gone, striding away, the fury obvious in her posture.
“What did you say to her?” a young boy asked Disbar after Jessira left. “People come here to make kissy-faces, not fight.”
“Oh, shut up.”
*****
Rukh sat on a weatherworn outcropping upon the lower slopes of Mount Fort and stared out into the dark depths of the Croft. Last week’s snow still covered the fields, leaving them looking like a strange desert of gray and white. South of the valley and standing tall were the gnarled, pitted heights of Mount Axe and Mount Salt, anchoring the borders of Tear Drop Lake. At night, the water sparkled like scattered diamonds under the light of the moon.
“You ready to head inside?” Farn asked, his breath misting in the cold.
“Not yet,” Rukh said, his voice sounding loud in the quiet winter night.
Since his Healing a month ago, Rukh had spent almost all his free time helping Farn get back into fighting trim. The drills were essential in order for his cousin to survive the journey back to Ashoka. Unfortunately, for most of that time, all Rukh had been able to do was watch and advise as Farn practiced. It had been frustrating, but finally the day came when Rukh’s injured arm was strong enough to allow him to participate fully in the practices as well. It had been exhilarating to wield a sword once again, even if he had to use his off hand — his strong arm was still too weak to tightly grip any weapon, but day-by-day, it was improving.