by Davis Ashura
“How is he doing? Truly?” Dar’El asked, a look of intensity and longing on his face.
Farn considered how to answer. What should he say? Should he explain about Stronghold and how it wasn’t an easy place for a Pureblood? Or tell them how Rukh had decided to leave the OutCaste city, determined to recover some mythical book from Hammer? His cousin had chosen a risky path, and it might very well lead to his doom. Farn didn’t want to tell Rukh’s family all of that. It would be too painful for them to hear.
But then again, how could he lie? Didn’t Dar’El, Satha, and the rest of Rukh’s family deserve the truth?
“Tell us what happened to our son,” Satha said into the intervening silence, a look of pained loss on her face. “Is he — ”.
“No,” Farn interrupted, aghast. “He’s alive. He’s fine. It’s just … ” He paused again, thinking again how he should explain Rukh’s situation. He decided to just tell them the truth. When he was done, the room was silent.
“Is Stronghold really so terrible?” Jaresh asked, appearing forlorn.
Farn shrugged. “It’s not an easy question to answer,” he said. “You have to remember: Stronghold was created by the fifty-five survivors of Hammer’s Fall. They fled into the Wildness, deep into the Privations where they should have perished. Instead, they somehow eluded death and founded a home for themselves, one that eventually grew to a city of over forty thousand. There is a greatness to what the OutCastes have achieved. It should be honored, even though the means — the mingling of the Castes — might be considered sinful.”
“You admire them,” Dar’El said sounding surprised.
“I do, but they admire themselves even more,” Farn said with a grimace. “The OutCastes are very prideful of what they’ve accomplished and dismissive of everyone else’s achievements. They consider themselves a more civilized, ethical people, while the rest of us — Purebloods is the insult they have for us — are culturally degenerate and possibly inferior by birth as well. They aren’t shy about saying so, and it’s this hypocrisy that makes them so insufferable even as I admire their accomplishments.” He shook his head in bemused disgust. “It’s strange how their attitude toward us is an exact mirror image of our own toward them.”
“Pride in one’s raiment begets an impoverished soul,” Dar’El said, quoting a line from The Word and Deed.
“They don’t find that book to be of much use,” Farn said. “The Word and the Deed I mean. For them, it’s essentially meaningless. Their moral compass is derived from an older text.”
“The Book of All Souls,” Bree said.
Farn turned to her in confusion. “How did you know?”
“Jessira,” she said. “She lived with us for a number of months. We talked.”
“And you’re certain she’s going to marry this Disbar Merdant? Even though she doesn’t love him?” Satha asked.
“As far as I can tell, yes,” Farn said. “She’s a woman of her word.”
“Good,” Dar’El said, appearing pleased. “Then there will be one less tie binding Rukh to Stronghold.”
“Why is it good?” Jaresh asked with a scowl. “You know what Rukh gave up for Jessira. What he feels for her. How will he ever be happy if he continually sees the woman he loves married to someone else?”
Bree rolled her eyes. “Sometimes I wonder about you,” she said. “Remember what Nanna intends.”
Jaresh gaped at her wearing a look of mortification. “Never mind what I just said,” he muttered. “I’m an idiot.”
Farn perked up. There were undercurrents to the conversation he didn’t fully fathom, but the implications seemed obvious. Dar’El had a plan to bring Rukh home. “Do you have the votes in the Chamber?” Farn asked, hazarding a guess.
Dar’El turned to him. “How did you know?”
“Law and precedent was always a hobby for him,” Jaresh explained, still sounding disgusted with himself.
“I told Rukh what I thought you might try,” Farn said. “He wasn’t hopeful.”
Dar’El smiled. “He should have been. Hopeful, I mean. The Chamber is in flux right now, but the trends are moving in our direction.”
“I wish I could reach across time and space and shake some sense into that boy of ours,” Satha said. “He is such a — ” She paused, her head tilted. A commotion arose from the outside the study, growing steadily louder and closer. Satha smiled. “I think your family is here.”
Dar’El stood. “The Council will convene at mid-morning. We’ll debrief you then,” he said. “In the meantime, enjoy your family.”
Farn nodded just as the door to the study was thrown open and his family embraced him with glad shouts of welcome.
*****
Dar’El listened closely as Farn once again explained his impressions of Stronghold and her people.
“Rukh said I shouldn’t let anyone know I can Blend,” Farn began. “Is that still the case?”
“Yes,” Sophy answered. “Only the people in this room know what you can do.”
“And Rector Bryce?” Dar’El added.
“He won’t speak up,” Mira vowed.
“You’re sure of this?” Sophy asked. “He wasn’t loyal to this House in the past.”
“I’m certain he’ll keep quiet,” Mira replied.
“You had better be.”
“I can only tell you what I think is the likeliest scenario,” Mira said, sounding annoyed. “I don’t think I’m misinterpreting him, but if you still have doubts, then you should interview him yourself.”
Dar’El sat back, hiding his shock. For past month, Mira had started standing up for herself, especially in front of her amma. It was good to see. Thus far, Sophy didn’t seem to know how to respond, but she’d have to learn. If she persisted in disrespecting Mira, it would eventually lead to a poisoning of their relationship.
“I wish Rukh had taken his own advice,” Farn said.
“So do we all,” Satha replied.
“Where does the Chamber stand?” Dar’El asked, changing the subject and looking to Durmer for an answer. Habit made him look for Garnet as well, but his old friend wasn’t present. He had resigned from the House Council several weeks ago. Garnet had said it was so he could spend more time with his grandchildren, but Dar’El suspected he’d stepped down for some other reason. More likely, Garnet had been forced to confront the awful truth of what was happening to him, how his mind was slowly slipping away. Dar’El couldn’t begin to imagine how terrifying such a realization must have been. The situation left Dar’El saddened and depressed.
“We have commitments from a majority of the Houses to vote in our favor,” Durmer said, “but we need more. We need sixty percent to overturn Rukh’s original verdict.”
Jaresh rapped his knuckles on the table. “What if we let the Chamber know that Jessira is engaged to someone else? What if the other ‘Els learn that she and Rukh were never a couple?”
Satha nodded. “It’s a good idea. Their relationship was a large part of the original reasoning behind Rukh’s banishment.”
“Should we let the Chamber know about House Wrestiva’s likely involvement in the production of snowblood?” Bree asked.
Dar’El shook his head. “Much as I would enjoy doing so, we can’t. There simply isn’t enough proof. What we have is circumstantial. Plus, if we did, our enemies would know where our investigation stands. We can’t do that since we still don’t know who they are.” He steepled his fingers. “No. When we go after them, we will go after all of them. We’ll burn them out, root and branch.” Dar’El looked to Farn. “None of this information is to leave this room.”
Farn nodded. “As long as whatever we do brings Rukh home,” he said. “No one has said it, but I feel like I abandoned him.”
“No one has said it because it isn’t true,” Sophy said.
“And if the vote in the Chamber goes our way, you will have a grave decision to make,” Satha said. “Only you know Stronghold’s location. Will you help lead a Trial
to open trade with the OutCastes and bring Rukh home?”
Farn didn’t even need to think about the question. “Absolutely.”
*****
The permanent signs of spring’s thaw were evident as winter’s grip — never firm to begin with — started to relax. There might be a few remaining weeks of cool weather, but in general, Ashoka’s warm days were coming and would soon prevail. Nature knew. Pale, green shoots thrust up through the ground and ready to blossom as the buds on studded tree limbs made ready to unfurl their nascent leaves. And rising through the air were the trilling songs of returned blue jays and robins. Even the sun seemed brighter. As a result, House Shektan’s Seat hummed with activity as landscapers and gardeners prepared the grounds.
Bree looked at the activity from the sunroom. The windows were open, and sunshine flooded inside as a warm, steady breeze stirred the tied off curtains and her hair. She breathed in the rich scent of turned earth, loving the heady aroma of loam. It smelled like the promise of new life to be born. Bree smiled. She had always loved the scent of turned earth. It must have been her mother’s doing. Amma must have passed on her love of growing things to her daughter.
Bree took another deep breath, grateful as well that her injury no longer pained her. Unconsciously, she rubbed at the scar on her abdomen. It had been six weeks since the attack in the alley, and though the wound no longer caused her discomfort, the memories that fateful day still lingered. She could have died. The thought filled her less with fear than fury. She was especially angry with her foolish shortsightedness. She should have never been caught in such a compromising situation. Only Jaresh’s sword and skill had saved her, and she vowed to never again be caught so helpless.
Like all Kumma women, Bree had been taught to fight and educated in the use of her Talents, but she had never given the martial skills the proper attention and devotion they deserved. In her mind, the training had been a bothersome distraction. Why did she need to learn to grapple with someone or learn to use a sword? When would either skill ever prove useful? She had always figured they never would be, and no one had been able to convince her otherwise. Amma had certainly tried, warning Bree about her lax attitude, and how it was her duty to sharpen her fighting Talents as well as her mind, but Bree hadn’t listened. She’d been stupid in her ignorant arrogance, and it had nearly cost her everything.
Never again.
Yesterday, Durmer had agreed to start her training over again. This time she would learn what she had once dismissively labeled as being ‘a man’s warrant’.
“He didn’t,” Jaresh said, interrupting her thoughts and sounding aghast.
Bree turned around. Her brother and Farn sat at the table. As usual, they were sharing a meal — did young men ever stop eating — and getting caught up with one another. It was how they had spent most of the two weeks since Farn’s return.
And of course, the object of their conversation was likely to be Rukh. Jaresh was eager to learn every event in their brother’s life since his departure from Ashoka. Of course, Bree, like the rest of the family, felt the same way. She was just as desperate to know even the smallest detail about Rukh’s life, but even more, she prayed for her brother’s safety and happiness. It made her feel like a sinful woman praying for absolution, which, in a way, was the truth. She certainly needed Rukh’s forgiveness.
“He didn’t what?” Bree asked, joining their conversation.
“Rukh once called Jessira priya,” Farn explained.
Bree gasped. “To her face?”
Farn nodded.
Bree threw her head back and laughed. “Well, at least he won’t let her go without a fight,” she said. “And what did she say to him?”
“She called him priya first,” Farn said, explaining the events leading up to Jessira’s declaration. “I think she only said it because she thought he was dying. The pneumothorax and all.”
“Does priya mean the same thing in Stronghold?” Bree asked.
Farn shrugged. “I’m not sure, but from what I could gather, it might be even more intimate than just ‘beloved’. More like ‘eternal beloved’ or ‘only beloved’.”
“Why wouldn’t ‘beloved’ be enough?” Jaresh asked, sounding genuinely confused. “There’s no such thing as ‘only beloved’. It’s like saying a person can only ever love one person in their entire life.”
Bree shook her head at her brother’s lack of imagination and romance. “It’s probably not supposed to be taken literally,” she explained. “It’s figurative; like a hope that the person you love will be someone for whom your life was crafted. In the dramas it’s called a ‘soulmate’.”
Farn and Jaresh both rolled their eyes at her, which only exasperated Bree further. Just as she was about to let loose with a cutting remark, she noticed their twin grins of triumph at her annoyance. She swallowed her words.
They laughed anyway.
Jackholes.
Bree prayed for patience as they only brayed louder. “Anyway,” she said, speaking in a loud, long suffering voice, “it’s easy to understand why Rukh would call Jessira ‘priya’. She’s wonderful.” Bree tilted her head in thought. “A bit scary, but she makes up for it by being beautiful.”
Both men looked uncomfortable at her last statement.
“I wouldn’t know about that,” Jaresh said stiffly.
“She’s attractive enough, but a bit too muscular for my taste,” Farn added.
Now it was Bree who rolled her eyes. “You’re only hedging your bets because she’s an OutCaste, and you don’t want to admit you find one of them attractive.” She wagged a finger at them, knowing it would annoy them, but they deserved it after laughing at her. “But both of you know the same as I: Jessira is beautiful. Rukh was only following his heart.”
“And what of morality?” Jaresh asked in a serious tone.
“What about it?” Bree asked. Given how Jaresh had once felt about Mira, his question was either hypocritical, or he had something else in mind.
“Morality is a large part of why Rukh was found Unworthy,” Jaresh began. “No matter what we think of his feelings toward Jessira, others will feel differently. And the judgment of these others is critical. With tomorrow’s meeting of the Chamber, they hold Rukh's future in their hands. Should they learn of his true feelings toward Jessira, their decision becomes easy. They’ll never allow us to bring our brother home.”
Bree wanted to scoff at Jaresh’s worry. Who amongst the three of them would ever expose what Rukh had said to Jessira? However, she also remembered a saying her Nanna liked to quote: The finest of intentions are ruined in a moment of thoughtlessness.
“No one else will hear about it,” Farn promised as Bree nodded agreement.
*****
Dar’El tried to think past the sudden leaden lump hollowing out his chest. What he’d just been told was a disaster. The Society had gathered at his insistence, meeting in the Hall, and the heptagonal table was full. Everyone was here — Masters, Journeymen, and Apprentices — and everyone had presented their findings. Dar’El had needed a final reckoning of what the Rajans had accomplished. Tomorrow’s meeting of the Chamber of the Lords was too important to allow for anything less than a full accounting.
And what his fellow Rajans had to tell him was terrible news indeed.
“We don’t have the votes,” Dar’El said, trying — and failing — to keep the bitterness from his voice.
Ular Sathin, Master for Caste Muran, cleared his throat. “The influence of those who aren’t Kumma is limited in the Chamber of Lords,” he explained. “You always knew this was the likely outcome.” Polite sympathy suffused his voice.
“Knowing isn’t the same as accepting the finality of never again seeing my son,” Dar’El growled. He crumpled the pile of papers before him, his fury and despair unmaking his normal control.
“Is there nothing more to be done?” Gren Vos, Master for Caste Shiyen, asked into the silence caused by Dar’El’s words. “We are the Society of Rajan
. Surely we can do more than this pathetic effort.” She glared around the room, looking for answers. She wasn’t beaten yet, and Dar’El took heart from her strength.
“The Kummas who voted against Rukh’s banishment at his original tribunal were few to begin with,” explained Anian Elim, Journeyman Duriah. “We started from a position of weakness.” He shrugged. “To have lifted the tally to what it is now is a bit of a miracle.”
“I don’t need miracles,” Gren snapped. “I need effort and achievement. We can do this.”
“No we can’t,” Ular refuted. “The vote is tomorrow. We’ve all called in every chit and favor owed to us. There’s nothing left.”
“Some of us have even resorted to not-so-subtle threats about the financial futures of certain Houses,” said Chime Plast, Apprentice for Caste Sentya. “The threats have worked on some, but not on all. The more powerful Houses have simply disregarded our urgings. They believe they are too wealthy to fall prey to whatever pressure we might bring against them. They think our threats are toothless, and that if they wait long enough, it will be we who will beg for their business.”
“They may not be wrong,” mused Thivel Nonel, Master of Caste Sentya.
“They are wrong,” Diffel Larekin, Journeyman for Caste Cherid, said in disagreement. “What happened tomorrow will not be forgotten, at least not by the Society.”
“None of which helps Rukh Shektan,” said Grain Jola, Master of Caste Rahail.
Dar’El had heard enough. He slapped the table. “The votes aren’t there,” he repeated. It was time he, along with everyone else, faced the truth. He would never again see his eldest son. His gambit hadn’t paid off. Jessira had taken Rukh to Stronghold, but it had been Dar’El who had failed his son. He had been unable to muster the votes needed to bring his boy home.
Silma Thoran, Master for Caste Kumma, was seated next to Dar’El, and she reached across the intervening space between the two of them, gripping Dar’El’s forearm. “All is not lost,” she said. “The votes aren’t in our favor, but they can be.”
Dar’El stifled the sudden bloom of hope. He couldn’t afford it. Besides, from everything he could reckon, Silma was wrong. There was no way to save Rukh.