by T J Muir
Diya stood just out of eyesight and watched Ash with his youngest daughter. The way he touched on Tilly’s imagination and curiosity was impressive. He engaged with her completely on her terms, but it was also as if he were talking to any other child. She made a mental note of that, and then headed to the kitchen. She said a silent prayer to the gods that Korina had put aside some breakfast for her.
It was a good day, she decided and the gods were smiling down on her. Korina had made her an omelet with extra bacon and sweetrolls. She dove into the plateful of food, knowing she had scolded Pasha for precisely this lack of table manners. In that moment, she felt a certain sympathy for the boy.
As she was finishing up, Tilly charged into the kitchen and made a beeline for the pantry, with her father a few steps behind her. A moment later, Tilly emerged holding up a bunch of carrots, looking triumphant.
“So, the carrots are safe!” Ash declared with mock-severity. “Tuck them back in a safe corner, where the marauding carrot bandits won’t find them,” he said, nodding towards the pantry.
Once Tilly was out of sight, Ash turned to Diya. “Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning,” she felt herself blushing. She wasn’t sure how to act with Ashok, and she didn’t know if her responsibilities would be different. “I think I overslept a bit.”
“A bit,” Ash said, his tone dry as he glanced out the window.
“Sorry,” Diya said. “It’s very unusual for me to sleep so late.” That was a lie.
Ash laughed and shook his head. “I was teasing you. It’s fine. You’ve been working for how long now? six months? And have barely had a day off.”
How did he know that? Korina must have given Ash a complete update and accounting. “I don’t mind, really.”
“Well, you’ve kept the twins from destroying the house, and you’ve done wonders with Tilly. I wouldn’t say ‘that’s nothing.’
Diya looked down to see Tilly peeking out from behind her father’s leg. Now Diya understood why the bedroom was in chaos. Tilly must have gone on a mission to pull out her favorite clothes, special to wear because her father was home.
“Good morning, Tills,” Diya said. “I see you found all of your best clothes this morning.”
Tilly stuck her finger into her mouth and looked up at her father, who ruffled her hair and squeezed her shoulder close. Then he looked up at Diya. “If you have a moment, I’d like to speak with you privately. In the study.”
That was the kind of thing she heard at home when she was in trouble. Her mind began to race, wondering what he may have heard. Had Zaylin complained? What if Jaresh had broken his promise already? Or Letta?
Ashok glanced down at Tilly. “Why don’t you go upstairs and find your stuffed bunny, and then go pick out one of your stories to read, okay?” He bent down and kissed the top of her head, and then gave her a tiny nudge to put her into motion. “We can read it together, before lunch.”
Once Tilly had left, he extended his hand, inviting Diya to proceed down the hall to the study.
Diya waited outside the study door and let Ashok enter the room first and followed him in. The room was mostly mahogany, walnut and cherry- dark rich woods with elegant grains. The chairs were dark red leather, comfortable but not ornate. She pictured men sitting around the small table, smoking pipes and discussing farmsteads and crops. She noticed a pile of diagrams and building plans scattered on the table.
Next to the papers she noticed her sketch book. She froze, staring down at it. Why was it in the office? With a shock, she remembered taking it with her to the kitchen the night before-- but not bringing it to her room again. Had she left anything in it? Had she left Jay’s letter inside, or her parents’? How had she been so careless? She also felt indignant, imagining Ashok leafing through her private sketches. Then she felt horrified, remembering that she had several pictures of Jay, naked.
Ash pulled back one of the leather-backed chairs and sat down. “You’re very talented,” he said.
Diya forced herself to stop staring at the drawing pad and look up at Ashok. Her mouth felt dry and she didn’t know what to do with her hands.
“Sit, please,” he said, waving to the chair across from him. He leaned forward and pulled the sketch pad towards him, flipping it open. “These are very good,” he said, studying the image. It was a picture of the harbor in Tatak Rhe. “Very well executed. Impressive. The scale is good--the use of light and shading, texture. You must have had excellent teachers.”
Diya nodded, embarrassed and trying not to panic. She forced herself to take a breath and then sat down. She pretended to focus on the drawing but her mind was racing. Why was she so worried? What was she afraid of? Ashok was just a man, not anyone in particular. He looked a lot like Marrick, who never made her feel uncomfortable. She knew back home, the roles would be reversed. She would be doing the questioning. She quelled her emotions by focusing on the artwork. “Thank you. Yes, I particularly like that one.”
“Tatak Rhe, isn’t it?”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Yes, it is.” It was no use denying the obvious.
Ash simply nodded, then flipped through a few pages until he came to another one. “This is an exquisite drawing of the yfa chirrik,” he said, without looking up. “The lines of the opening and the striations. Subtle but they dominate the image. You must have spent a while studying the shell.”
“For part of my art studies, I had the opportunity to spend quite a while examining it, drawing it under many different light and weather conditions.”
“Have you seen other ones, as well?” he asked. “I thought I saw another image, but the shell was in the background.”
She hesitated. “Just a few,” she said. A few dozen, was closer to the truth. She had had access to almost every so’har’s yfa chirrik at one point or another. She kept that information to herself, though.
“Could you draw them, as well as this one?”
Diya considered for a moment, and then nodded. “I think so, yes.” Relief washed through her. “Was this what you wanted to discuss?” she asked, feeling braver now.
Ash nodded enthusiastically. “It was, yes. I’ve been working on an important project for the da’har that has involved several so’har in the region.”
“Connected to the shells?” she asked.
Ashok looked up, his eyebrows arched in surprise. She remembered belatedly that Jaresh had warned her about her mannerisms. She hung her head slightly, pretending that she had overstepped. “I’m sorry. I’d heard the twins mention it a few times, but nothing that was specific.”
Ash turned and looked out the window, as if he could stare through the hills and mountains to where the yfa chirrik was located. Then he rubbed his face and turned back to her, his expression changed. “I’ll furnish you with whatever supplies you need. These are far superior to the drawings Jaresh has managed, although his technical knowledge is probably more extensive.” As he spoke, he pulled out a handful of diagrams.
The artwork was crude and never intended to capture the majesty or mystery of the sacred relics. Jaresh had closeups of certain areas, particularly where the shells buttressed into the ground, seated in a crystal base. She also knew that base stretched deep under ground, deep into the earth, and that there were sacred chambers that the Asha-Kajar maintained in the perpetual challenge of keeping the shells in divine alignment.
“Your drawings could be helpful, especially if you can capture the coloring and vibrance of each shell you remember. The shells in the south seem different than ours, here in the west. Maybe if we can understand how they are different, especially the ones that aren’t working properly-- Have you seen any that are failing?” he asked, changing his tone.
“A few,” she admitted. “Yes. She had never given them much thought. They were just part of the landscape. Although now that she thought back, trying to capture and draw the subtleties of those shells would be interesting. Then a thought occurred to her. “Does a failing shell ever recove
r?”
Ashok shook his head, his face clouding over, eyebrows drawing together as he looked at her. “Not that I know of, no.”
Oops. That was definitely not a governess thing to ask.
“I might be able to draw something,” she said, trying to cover her gaffe.
“That would be excellent,” Ashok said. “Maybe we can begin to understand a bit about how they fail.” He looked up, watching her with his head tilted, curious about something.
Fortunately, there was a knock at the door and Jaresh’s voice sounded from the far side of the door as it opened. He joined them before he got a response.
How very so’har.
“Good morning,” Ash said. “Was the room comfortable enough for you?”
Diya noted the slight deferential tone in Ashok’s voice and felt a twinge of jealousy.
Diya noticed a bit of stubble on his face and frowned. No one in Tatak Rhe would show themselves without being presentable, which included a clean shave. Only a few of the men wore beards, it was currently very out of fashion.
“It was fine. I slept well after the long ride, and the quiet here is refreshing. Not one messenger came to my door at the crack of dawn.”
Ashok laughed. “I can send Tilly in, if you miss the disruptions.”
“Thank you, no,” he said, sitting down on the couch across from Diya. He looked down at the table and then back up at Ashok. “Discussing the shells?”
Diya listened to the two chat back and forth with a familiarity she had never seen between her own parents and the members of the so’harat.
“So, what is it, exactly, that you’re trying to do with the shells?” she asked, as soon as there was a break in the conversation.
Jaresh and Ashok turned to look at her, surprised. Jaresh arched an eyebrow but shifted in his seat to face her. “Well, if you’re familiar with the shells, then you probably have some awareness of the Asha-Kajar, and how the priests strive to keep the shells aligned so that they can work the way they were intended. That’s getting harder to maintain, especially with some particular shells. We’re trying to understand why some shells are more affected than others, and if all shells are affected the same way.”
“Does anyone know how many shells are affected?” she asked, her own curiosity triggering her mind to race. “What shells are affected, and which ones aren’t?”
“That’s what we are trying to understand,” Jaresh said.
“So, do you think there is a common cause? Or some pattern? Is that it?”
“Precisely, I was brought in to try to bring a scientific mindset toward approaching the problem.”
Diya was fascinated. She had grown up amidst a region with multiple shells failing, and numerous other ones struggling. The yfa chirrik were the birthright of the so’har and she realized she knew almost nothing about them. “I’d really like to help, in any way I can. I can certainly work on drawing as many of the shells as I can remember. I’ve visited a number of areas in the south.”
Jaresh nodded, rubbing his chin. “It would be good if we could gain any additional insights,” he said.
“Why not consult with the priests from the south?” she asked.
The two men looked at each other, looking uncomfortable. “We have spoken with some priests, but their approach and perspective is a bit more grounded in the divine. Some of them see the failing of the shells as punishment from the gods. Right now, there is enough unrest beginning to stir that we had decided it was better to keep this quiet.”
Diya knew the kind of priests and prophets he was talking about. They were false prophets mostly, preaching death and destruction.
“I’d really like to consult with the Da’har,” Ashok said. “I was hoping he had spoken with the keepers at the archives by now and could grant us access to the restricted sections.”
Jaresh nodded. “The So’hars have all been agreeable about local access, at least those that I have consulted with. The Asha-Kajar are hesitant but they are not opposing the so’har, either. I think they are divided among themselves. Some hope for a divine solution, while others believe that it is people’s responsibility to assume caring for the shells, whatever that might entail. ”
Ashok nodded.
“I spoke with the Da’har’s advisors. It sounds like he would like a resolution to the problem and seems to be grounded on the practical side of the argument.”
“Is he a religious man?”
Jaresh scratched as his chin. “I think he is realistic, and reasonable. He has been known for his strong reliance on the priests and the temples. He also knows the difficulties in the south and does not want that to happen here. Likely he is torn, but willing to listen.”
“I had wondered if he would oppose the so’har about the shell. Can he?” Ashok asked. “Can he do that?”
What would her family do if Pavan attempted to dictate the way House Shaifen managed their shell, especially if the council disagreed. Pavan was not a forceful da’har. He had always struck Diya as someone who stepped back and considered long term strategies, much like her own father. On the other hand, though, her family had never proposed something that related directly to the shells themselves. Diya turned her attention back to the conversation.
Jaresh leaned back, crossing his leg, grabbing his ankle with one hand and then propping himself up with an elbow on his other knee. “There is no established precedent,” he said, shrugging. “The so’harats have autonomy, historically. The yfa chirrik belong to the so’har. The yfa chirra are controlled by the da’har.”
These were things that Diya understood but she imagined that Ashok had not grown up within the circles of politics and power. He was an outsider in that environment. Watching him, she could tell that he was a scholar, and he lacked Marrick’s keen mind for the web of relationships and motivations. Marrick had the capacity to focus on concrete things, like building and repairing fliers. The brothers shared that mechanical gift but Ashok’s focus was on actual building and design. When they had been speaking, he had watched the diagrams. Not her.
Marrick would have paid attention to her and watched her reactions and expressions. It was a good thing Jaresh was acting as his assistant. If Ashok intended to try dealing with the Asha-Kajar and the da’har, he was going to need someone who knew how to get others to cooperate.
Jaresh continued speaking. The two men seemed to have forgotten she was there. “If he opposed the project to repair the shell, he might try to gain the cooperation of the Asha-Kajar.”
“When do you think we can meet with the da’har?” Ashok asked. “Has he agreed to an audience?”
“I think he is very interested to hear what we have to say and what you have learned,” Jaresh said.
Diya wondered if this da’har was interested in helping them or in stopping them. Either way, like her father, the man would want to be apprised of the situation. A failing shell. She had never heard of anyone attempting to repair a shell. Whenever there was a shell crisis in Tatak Rhe, the decisions had been about creating contingency plans.
“When?” Ash queried again.
Politics had never interested Diya and she began to get bored. Back home, she would have contrived some way out, but Ashok had made a request and she was trying to remember that she was not the ranking noble in the room. The man was her boss. She knew Maldi would never leave the room without being granted permission. So she sat and waited, hoping the twins would suddenly get into a screaming match.
Jaresh shifted in his seat, rolling his neck and shoulders. “Not until he returns from the convocation. And the first week or so afterwards he will likely be busy. Unless there is a crisis with the shell, I doubt he will make time for a meeting for at least a month.”
“Has he already left for the convocation? Maybe he could make some time beforehand?”
Diya could tell Ashok was singularly focused on his project. She knew the convocation was a major political event. All the da’har attended the convocation, held every two year
s.
Ash’s expression wilted upon hearing that he would have to wait over a month before he even had a chance to speak with the da’har.
Jaresh laughed. “Cheer up,” he said. “We’ll be able to accomplish a lot between now and then. It will serve you better to have additional information before a private audience. The man will surely have a lot of questions, both ethical and practical. Not having answers to those questions will lessen your chances for his support.”
Ashok nodded, but still looked disappointed. “I know. I tell my work crews that rushing a project is the fastest route to failure. I would just feel more confident knowing we had the da’har’s blessing and support.”
Jaresh stood up. “At least the convocation is being hosted nearby this time. It will only take him a day to get back from Oldfall.”
Diya remembered the last time the convocation had been hosted in Tatak Rhe. She had attended parties every night for six weeks. By the time all of the attending nobles had left, she had been exhausted and glad it was over.
“I think that covers things for now,” Jaresh said. “I need to speak with my mother. But if it’s not too much trouble, I haven’t had breakfast yet,” he said.
Ashok jumped to his feet, shifting into the role of host. “I’ll have Korina make you something. Do you have a preference?” As he spoke, he went over to the door and opened it. “Tilly!” he exclaimed, sounding surprised. “Have you been waiting here the whole time? What have you got? Oh, right. I promised to read you a story before lunch.”
Ashok looked back and forth between his daughter and his esteemed guest. Diya was about to offer to take Tilly, but she remembered her own times with her father. That time was precious and sacred to her and she didn’t want to deprive Tilly of that. She stood up, glancing down at her sketchbook. Should she take it? “I can go find Korina,” she said. “I’ll see that Jaresh gets breakfast.”