by Davis Ashura
“Hear me out,” Silma said, likely reading Dar’El’s pessimism. “You need a tally of sixty percent of the Chamber in order to rescind Rukh’s banishment. Right now, you’re at fifty-six.” She held up an admonishing finger. “But what you don’t know is how many of those who say they will go against you might change their minds if you were to make a direct appeal to them. Instead of using threats and bribes, appeal to their better natures. Many of them lost warriors in the caverns, and many have warriors who survived the expedition entirely due to your son’s valiant efforts. In my view, that is your most powerful argument. Use it.”
Dar’El closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He exhaled fully and sought to master his pessimism and loss. He needed to think clearly. “How do you propose I proceed?” he asked, still doubtful and unwilling to allow even a thread of optimism into his heart.
“You need to weave the thread of Rukh’s accomplishments into a narrative. You need to explain how he came to possess his ill-gotten Talents. And you need to explain more fully his relationship with the ghrina woman. It was this impropriety more than anything else which led to the pronouncement against him.”
“It was my fault,” Dar’El whispered with a mouth full of guilt. He stared at his crumpled papers, unable to meet anyone’s eyes. Outside of his immediate family, he had never told anyone the role he had played in Rukh’s banishment. He did so now.
“This changes much,” Silma mused after he finished. “I only wish you had discussed this plan with us before executing it.”
Gren Vos looked mad enough to chew a plank of ironwood to splinters. “How could you? We might have been able to prevent the initial judgment had we known all the facts. What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking how to save my son,” Dar’El said, reining in his rising temper.
“And your actions resulted in him being found Unworthy,” Gren snapped back.
“And don’t you think I know it?” Dar’El replied, fists clenched. He wanted to hit something, hurt something, especially himself.
Silma held up a hand, calling for silence. “Enough,” she said. “The deed is done, and hindsight is always a clear summer day. It is the fog of the present which concerns us. But let us return to the past just this once. In my opinion, given the circumstances at the time and the sentiments against your House, Gren is wrong. Rukh’s fate was sealed the moment Ashoka learned of his other Talents. And what you did with the ghrina, convincing her to take him to Stronghold, likely saved your son’s life. It kept him alive long enough for us to have tomorrow’s vote and hopefully bring him home.”
Dar’El let out a breath, one he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Silma’s pronouncement relieved much of the guilt he’d carried all these long months, ever since Rukh’s exile. He’d told no one how much he blamed himself for his son’s fate, not even Satha. “You were saying there’s a chance for Rukh tomorrow,” Dar’El said, steering the conversation back to what was most important. “What else do you suggest?”
“Tell the Chamber what you did to Rukh and why. Hold nothing back,” Silma said. “The ‘Els are all fathers first. They’ll understand a nanna’s fear. Even those who have an acrimonious relationship with your House will be sure to feel pity. Next, speak of Rukh’s accomplishments. They are not inconsiderable. Everyone knows of them, but recite them one-by-one, so that all can truly understand what Rukh actually did, all of it. And finally, you must not be so controlled in how you talk. You need emotion. You need passion. You need to touch the hearts of your fellow ruling ‘Els.”
Dar’El nodded. It wouldn’t be easy, but it could be done. He wouldn’t fail his son again. “You really think it can work?” he asked.
Silma nodded confidently, no uncertainty marring her face. “Absolutely. But much of it depends on your words. And they must be your words. Only you can speak them and make others feel and think as you do.”
Afterward, the meeting wound down. Everyone departed, and they offered Dar’El their best wishes. As usual, he was one of the last to leave. He shrugged on his jacket and tucked his hands into the pockets. There was a piece of paper inside one of them. He knew from whom it had likely come even before he pulled it out and read the letter.
Suwraith intends to come against Ashoka this year.
Dar’El glowered. He didn’t have time for these games right now.
But when he did have time, he’d find out who this MalDin was and wring his fragging neck. One way or another, he’d have the truth.
Chapter 25: A Final Obstacle
Were the battles in the Chamber fought with swords, they would leave the floor dripping with blood.
-From the journal of Hal’El Shektan, AF 2059
Satha chewed her lip as Dar’El gathered the papers on his desk and slipped them into his leather satchel. He’d come home from the last night’s gathering of the Society and explained what his fellow Rajans had managed in preparation for today’s meeting of the Chamber of Lords. The news hadn’t been good. Even added to what House Shektan had accomplished on its own, they simply didn’t have the votes to bring Rukh home. Satha had almost despaired. They had been so close. If they could have only convinced a handful more Houses to change their votes, then Rukh’s judgment would be have overturned.
But it wasn’t to be, at least not according to their own polling.
Satha hadn’t known whether to cry with fury or weep with sorrow over the news. She might have been able to accept Rukh’s death in the Trials — it was a horrid truth every Kumma mother had to face — but this … it was so pointless. Her son was lost to her because of inter-House politics. And she couldn’t help feel that she was the cause of it, her ambition. While her personal aspirations had earned House Shektan great wealth and prestige, it had come at the cost of powerful enemies, and those enemies had stolen the life of her oldest son. It was a bitter pill to swallow.
Only after learning Silma Thoran’s assessment of how the Chamber might still be swayed to House Shektan’s favor had hope rekindled within Satha’s breast. There was still a chance. Silma was a fine reader of inter-House politics, possibly even more so than Garnet. If she said the tally could still go House Shektan’s way, than Satha had to believe her. What other choice did she have?
Which meant that only Dar’El’s persuasiveness could bring Rukh home. Today’s meeting of the Chamber would be decided on the eloquence of her husband’s tongue. It wasn’t a proposition that filled Satha with a great deal of confidence. Dar’El was brilliant, able to see past the fog of confusion, while others fumbled about in blindness. His was cool, quiet leadership; competent, and steady. Unfortunately, those same admirable attributes weren’t what was needed today. To sway the Chamber, Dar’El would have to allow his passion free rein. Even though the ruling ‘Els were generally older, in their hearts they were still warriors, and their inners fires remained lit. To sway them to House Shektan’s purpose, an inspirational call to battle would be needed. Satha wasn’t sure it was something Dar’El could manage.
When Dar’El straightened and looked her way, Satha was tempted to question him, ask if he was prepared, but she held her tongue. It would be the least helpful thing she could do. Dar’El needed her unquestioned support. She didn’t allow the slightest hint of worry or doubt to mar her features. She made sure to radiate support. Dar’El didn’t need second-guessing right now. Today would be difficult enough as it was.
Satha walked across the study, her long, gown wisping across the rug. She straightened the collar of Dar’El’s shirt. “You’ll do well,” she said, looking up into his dark eyes. She’d almost said ‘fine’, but fine wouldn’t do. Not today. He needed to hear her confidence as much as his own.
“I’ll bring our son home,” Dar’El promised. His voice was firm and his eyes clear. There was no hint of doubt in his voice or face.
Satha searched his features. Dar’El was never one to offer false promises. “I believe you,” she said, feeling some her quailing doubts recede like the tide.
Dar’El took her hands in both of his. “Have Cook Heltin prepare a feast. When this is over, we will celebrate.” He kissed her fingertips, his face growing somber. “And for all the pain I’ve caused you, with what I’ve done to Rukh — I will make amends. I won’t fail you.”
Satha’s eyes softened. He felt the same guilt she did. Somehow it made bearing her own a little easier. They had worked so hard, side-by-side, in building House Shektan, but none of their previous work had ever brought them as close together as they were now. The series of challenges they’d had to face this past year, beginning with Jaresh’s killing of Suge Wrestiva, had rekindled their love. It was ironic. “You did what we both thought was best,” Satha said. “I agreed with you, remember? So did Silma. If you don’t trust my opinion, then trust that of your Kumma Master in the Society.”
Dar’El smiled. “It helps to hear you say that, priya.” He still held her hands, and his head dipped until his forehead was resting against her fingers.
Satha kissed the top of his head. “I love you. Now go and bring back our son.”
*****
Sunshine poured through the eastern-facing windows of the Assembly, the amphitheater where the ‘Els met. It lit the room in a golden glow and rendered the numerous chandeliers hanging from the coffered, muralled ceiling superfluous. As a result, they remained dull and unlit. The wide planks of dark wood, which made up the flooring, also glowed beneath the bright sunshine. They held an inner sheen while fragrant smoke filled the Assembly, rising from the incense candles spaced throughout the room.
The Assembly was large enough to hold over a thousand people, but today it held but a little more than fifty. This was to be a private gathering for the ruling ‘Els of Caste Kumma. They were faced with a unique entreaty, one that required intense concentration and thought. As such, the ‘Els did not desire the attendance of anyone else other than their own peers. The conference today would be difficult enough without a gathered audience loudly voicing their unneeded opinions or suggestions on the matter at hand. For good reason, those gathered in the Assembly wore serious demeanors. Some even appeared worried.
Despite the singular nature of the convocation, it would still be the Arbiter, Lin’El Kumma, who would lead today’s session. The Arbiter entered the Assembly through a door next to the stage, looking vigorous despite his age. Lin’El’s white hair and beard contrasted sharply with his Kumma-brown skin and the black robes meant to highlight his status as judge. It was a strictly ceremonial position — his vote was only offered in the event of a tie — but it was the Arbiter who interpreted the various rules and points of etiquette of the Chamber.
Lin’El ascended the dais and gaveled the meeting into session. It only took a few raps of the smooth oval of black onyx against the base of white marble base for the room to fall into silence.
Dar’El stood to one side of the stage. He listened as Lin’El explained the nature of today’s meeting. It was all pro forma. Everyone knew what was at stake, but nonetheless, they listened with polite attention. Once Lin’El was finished, Dar’El took his place behind one of the two lecterns standing on either side of the Arbiter’s dais. As the Supplicant, he had to face the other ‘Els and answer any challenges or questions they might have.
Dar’El looked out at the Chamber of Lords and was suddenly struck by the enormity of what he had to do. Many of these men had little love for him or his family. Their minds were already hard against anything that might benefit House Shektan. To persuade them to give him a fair hearing would be difficult. They wouldn’t want to. Only something truly rousing and uplifting might change their minds.
Dar’El’s heart thudded, all the way into his ears. He wasn’t sure he could do it. He was a blunt, plainspoken man, not someone known for his inspirational speech. It was not his forte. Dar’El communicated his opinions with brevity and what some might say was brusqueness. It was who he was, and until now, it had been enough.
But today he had to do more. He would have to rouse passions.
Dar’El palms grew moist with perspiration, as did his forehead. For a moment, nervousness fluttered through his stomach and chest, nearly stealing his breath. With an almost visible shudder, he pulled his mind back to the task at hand. Inspiring he might not be, but he’d never quit a duty, and he didn’t aim to start now. Dar’El had to do this. He wasn’t here to salvage his own future or that of his House. He was here for Rukh. His son’s future relied on Dar’El’s ability to inspire.
He would not fail.
Dar’El cleared his throat. He spoke in a clear voice, one filled with righteous indignation. “Last summer, while serving in the expeditionary force meant to eradicate the breeding caverns of the Chimeras, my son was judged by this body as being Unworthy. He was never able to speak on his behalf or defend his name and honor. At the time, neither could I.” He paused then, as though considering what to say next, although he and Satha had already worked on this speech for weeks. “But now I can, and we meet here today so that we can overturn a terrible injustice. What we decided about my son, Rukh Shektan, those many months ago cannot stand,” he continued. “When we learned what Rukh could do, his Talents outside Caste Kumma, we acted in haste and fear. As a result, we banished a young warrior who was amongst the best of us all. Today, we can rectify that mistake. There is information the Chamber must here. I urge you to listen to my testimony with an unbiased ear and an open heart. Only in such a manner can we hope to judge wisely.” He looked to Lin’El. “Perhaps in lieu of my ongoing recitation of this new information, we can have someone review the rationale for why my son was found Unworthy. I can then answer each charge.”
Lin’El nodded agreement. “Is there anyone who wishes to serve as the Indicter?” he asked.
Several hands shot up, although most of them were hostile to Dar’El’s needs. Thankfully, as the Supplicant, he had discretion in who could act as the initial Indicter. He chose Tol’El Suzay, leader of a close House Shektan ally. In fact, Mira had even chosen to apprentice with him with for several years, finishing her mentorship just last spring.
“The Supplicant has chosen Tol’El Suzay as the Indicter,” Lin’El pronounced. “All in agreement with this choice, signal your assent.” Most of the ‘Els raised their hands. Lin’El made a show of counting, although it was obvious that those in favor of the motion had the majority. “All opposed?” Fewer hands went up. “By acclamation, Tol’El Suzay will serve as Indicter.”
Tol’El approached the lectern, taking his place on the side opposite to where Dar’El stood. Though in his early sixties, Tol’El yet moved with a warrior’s fluid grace. His aquiline features were hidden beneath a short beard, and his hooded eyes moved warily as he gazed about the Chamber of Lords. “Your son has Talents not of our Caste,” he said to Dar’El, speaking words the two of them had rehearsed over the past few days. “We have heard how this came to be, but it seems a convenient story, one meant to absolve Rukh Shektan of blame. How do we know he did not purposefully seek out these Talents for himself? How do we know he didn’t somehow learn these abilities on his own?”
“Think about what a question like that implies,” Dar’El said. “If my son learned these Talents by his own device, then all of us should be able to do the same. Such a possibility doesn’t bear consideration.” He leaned forward, brows furrowed, and hands pressed against the lectern. Dar’El looked at the assembled ‘Els, meeting the gaze of those who were against him, staring intently into their eyes. “If all of us can learn the Talents of another Caste, then everyone can. A Duriah could Heal; a Shiyen could Shield, and a Sentya could Cohese. Everything we think we know about our world will have been proven false. It would mean the very Castes themselves are nothing more than an artificial construct with absolutely no basis in morality or holiness. The veracity of The Book of First Movement itself would be brought into question. Who here is ready to make such a claim?”
Troubled murmurs met his charge. It seemed most had not thought through
the consequences of what it might mean if Rukh’s new Talents were self-taught.
Tol’El cleared his throat, regathering the attention of the Chamber. “The implications Dar’El suggests cannot be countenanced. I, for one, will not believe the very basis for our society is built on a monstrous lie. I will not accept that generations of our ancestors lived and died for no reason. It is heresy! I believe any who judged Rukh Unworthy for such a reason should reconsider their decision. I know not all here count Dar’El Shektan an ally, but I say politics must give precedence to morality!”
Dar’El was taken aback by Tol’El’s response. It wasn’t what they had rehearsed. Tol’El had gone off message, changing what should have been a pithy acknowledgment of Dar’El’s testimony into an impassioned defense. It was a surprise, and Dar’El didn’t like surprises. His worry lifted somewhat as he studied the Chamber, gauging their response to Tol’El’s words. Many ‘Els wore troubled expressions as they spoke to those nearby.
“Now. All that said, the more serious charge against your son was his association with a woman not of his Caste,” Tol’El said, interrupting the whispered discussions. “In fact, this is a woman not of any Caste, but a ghrina.” He looked to Dar’El. “How can you defend such a man? For having relations with a woman not of his Caste, he should have been found Unworthy, but for bedding an actual ghrina, an abomination — ” Tol’El scowled, appearing as if he wanted to spit out something disgusting. “For such a crime, he should have been marked with the Slash of Iniquity. And rumors state this thing with whom he consorted remained at the House Shektan seat for months after Rukh’s departure for the Chimera caverns. Why was that? Was it not to care for this ghrina during her pregnancy, a child of your son’s infamy?”
Dar’El gritted his teeth. Once again, Tol’El had gone off script. He was not to have so forcefully pressed the Indicter’s case. He was supposed to have just asked Dar’El to explain Rukh’s relationship with Jessira. Instead, Tol’El had gone much further, bringing up a charge so outrageous, so repulsive … How could his friend have done this to him? Suggesting a pregnancy between Rukh and Jessira? Who else would have even considered such a possibility before Tol’El had brought it up?