A Warrior's Path (The Castes and the OutCastes) (39 page)

“What do you want from me?”
Rukh demanded.  “Look around you.  We’re all alone in the Hunters Flats.  As far as I know, we may be the only two Humans still alive out here.  We’re likely surrounded by a Plague of Chimeras, and the Shylows might be hunting us, too.  I will protect you because that is what a Kumma does: we fight and we protect those who can’t protect themselves, even to our dying breath.”  He said it all with hot anger in his voice.

Jessira sat back and appeared chast
ened.  She looked away, sipped on some water, and ate a few dates as they sat in an uncomfortable silence.

“Thank you,” she finally replied.

“For what?” Rukh scowled, still angry with her.

“Saving me.  Not every Pureblood would have.”

“You’re welcome,” Rukh said gruffly.  The apology had sounded forced, but perhaps it was a start.

“What kind of welcome will I find in Ashoka?” she asked, breaking the quiet.

“Not a good one,” Rukh said, unwilling to insult her intelligence with a lie.  “I’ll do my best to make it as…pleasant as possible.  You’ll be Healed.  I’ll make sure of it.  And I’ll protect you, like I promised I would.”

“Why do you care so much?”
Jessira asked.  She appeared puzzled or confused by his attitude.

“It seemed like the compassionate thing to do.  The OutCaste
s don’t have a monopoly on it, you know?”

*****

J
essira muffled a cry as the Kumma helped clean her wounds, reaching the ones she couldn’t get to on her back.  The damn cuts from the damn cats had finally stopped bleeding, but they were still angry and red, showing no signs of healing three days on from the Shylows’ attack.

“Sorry about that,” Rukh said when she flinched.

On the first day after she’d come to, she’d taken one look at Rukh’s breathing and known he’d done something to his ribs again.  This time it had only been bruising and pulled muscles, but it had still taken much of her strength to Heal him.  She hadn’t wanted to, but it made sense, much as she wished it was otherwise.  Mauled as she was, she couldn’t do much to protect herself.  She would have to rely on
his
protection, the protection of a Pureblood.  It was laughable when she thought about it.  The entire situation was either karma or Devesh’s idea of a joke.

Later in the day, after she had Healed Rukh, they had come across a nest of Ur-Fels, about ten of them
along with a Balant, all of them likely heading toward the gathering Li-Choke had spoken of.  When the Chims charged, she had reckoned she and the Kumma would be dead in seconds.  A warrior of Stronghold could handle three or four Ur-Fels at one time, but not ten of them.

She had
forgetten how swift was the Kumma’s sword.

Rukh had lit into the Ur-Fels like a single-minded engine of destruction.  The Kumma had slaughtered all of them in a brief battle, with his Fireballs wiping out most of the Chims in mere seconds.  The rest had fallen to his sword,
including the Balant accompanying the Ur-Fels.  The large, baboon-like Chim had hooted in alarm and anger as the other Chims died around it, but it too was swiftly silenced.  Rukh had charged the beast, decapitating it before it could finish trumpeting its anger.  After the battle, Rukh had merely cleaned his sword.  He had said nothing more.  His face had been a stiff, unfeeling mask.

From that moment on,
Jessira had warily watched Rukh even more closely than before.  She knew men like him; men with hearts of stone whose only purpose in life was to fight; men who were only ever alive while in the white-hot heat of battle.  They almost always died young, unable to cope with living amongst civilized folk.  Such men lived on the knife’s edge of losing control and it wasn’t safe to be around them.  They were like unpredictable dogs, laying about without a moment’s notice or hesitation as they bit or clawed anyone within reach. Jessira could see the Kumma following such a path.  If she was right, peace for Rukh would prove to be as elusive as a feather floating on the wind, teasingly far above his outstretched hands.

During all this, while her thoughts had been distracted, Rukh had quickly ransacked the Chims supplies – supplies the two of them sorely needed.  He had found water, blankets,
and more than enough food for both of them.  It had turned out to be some kind of jerky, and while it tasted awful, at least it was edible.  There had also been some rancid alcoholic beverage.  It worked fine as an antiseptic, stinging like a fiery coal when poured over her wounds.  She was willing to put up with far worse if it meant getting through this alive.  She needed to return to Stronghold and warn her people of the change in the Sorrow Bringer’s sanity, just as Rukh sought to warn Ashoka.

“It’s the best I can do,” Rukh said, re-stoppering the rancid alcohol.  “Put your shirt back on.  We have to get going.”

Jessira kept her back to him and winced as she lifted her torn camisole from where it hung around her waist.  She had hated letting the Kumma know she wore such a feminine garment underneath all her warrior’s gear.  Next came her thick, linen shirt.  She slipped her arms through its sleeves, no longer cringing at the touch of the crusted blood dirtying her clothes.  Instead, the pain all along her left side had her attention, whenever she moved her arm or tried to button up her jacket.

Had Lure been here, he would have Healed her long ago.

She stared unseeing at the grass, lost in her memories.

If Lure was here, she’d
have boxed his ears for breaking her heart.  She’d always been closer to him than Cedar or her eldest brother, Kart, who was so much older he might as well have been an uncle.  As for Cedar, he had always been mature beyond his years.  He never seemed to have the time to spend with his younger siblings.  Even her cousins, Court and Sign, who had grown up in their home, hadn’t been as close to her as Lure.  The two of them had invented games only they understood and hiked the caverns of Stronghold, pretending to discover new cave systems or battle strange monsters awoken from their slumber deep under the mountains.  And as they grew older, their adventures had taken them through the hills and valleys bordering their city, usually just the two of them.  She had spent more time with Lure than any other person in her life.

And now he was gone, and she would never see him again.  She
would never have another chance to tease him or hear him laugh.  How would she tell her parents, especially her mother?  Lure had been their favorite as much as he had been Jessira’s.

“Are you alright?” Rukh asked, breaking her out of
her reverie.

“I’m fine,” she said, wiping away the tears which had fallen unnoticed down her cheeks.  “Let’s go.”

Of course, the Kumma never cried.  She’d never seen him show even the slightest evidence of remorse or grief over the deaths of his friends, Brand and Keemo.  No doubt his stony warrior’s heart kept him from feeling such frail Human emotions as sorrow and loss.

But then again, why had he saved her and brought her along?  She only slowed him down
.  She couldn’t defend herself or even help much with the watch at night.  She was too weak, and Rukh ended up having to take the longest shifts.  He would have been better off alone, but so far he hadn’t made any mention of leaving her behind.

Why was that?

He should have. 
She
might have.

The first day after the Shylows attack, he had said it was because
of compassion, but did he actually have such an emotion?  The one time she had asked about his friends, he had snubbed her with a snarled warning to mind her own business.  And when he helped with the wounds on her back, his hands were cold and brusque, as if the feel of her skin disgusted him.  Rukh Shektan was a puzzle.  His attitude proclaimed how much he despised her, but his behavior did not.  His behavior went against everything she had been taught about Purebloods.  She couldn’t tell which part of him was true.

While she was grateful for his help,
Jessira looked forward to her arm and shoulder healing enough for her to split off from the Kumma and find her own way home.

Just then, Rukh held up a hand, and she stopped.  His hearing was better tha
n hers.  All of his senses were.  It was childish to resent his superior attributes, but it just seemed wrong that one man was so gifted.

Rukh
stooped low into a crouch and hid himself in the tall, prairie grass in which they traveled, gesturing for her to do the same. “There’s a trap of Braids up ahead,” he whispered into her ear.  “They might have our scent.  Don’t move.”  He stared off into the distance, an intense expression of concentration on his face.  An instant later, he hissed softly in agitation.  “They’re coming.  Blend yourself.  Stay low.”

As he slowly eased himself out of his crouch, his sword sliding noiselessly into his hands, Jessira wondered ag
ain at his ultimate motivations.  At his heart, what kind of a man was he?  Taking on a trap wasn’t likely to be much of a challenge for him after what she’d seen him do with the Ur-Fels, but still, it spoke of a deeper commitment to her than she realized or wanted to admit.

Jessira Blended, and despite Rukh’s admonitions, she stood, preparing to help if possible.  She had lost all her weapons when the Shylows had attacked, and now all she had was the looted sword of an Ur-Fel.  It was short and poorly weighted for her, but it was better than nothing
.  Even if Rukh didn’t need her help.

Although…she frowned.  In his fight with the Ur-Fels, he’d simply burned them where they stood with Fireballs.  This time, his sword was unsheathed,
but his hands remained unlit.  There was no glow to them.  Jessira chewed her lower lip in worry.  What if he no longer had the
Jivatma
to conduct Fireballs?  He might only have the skill of his sword.  Long odds at five against one.

The Chims
must have seen his movement.  They howled out their strange, hissing cries.

Jessira had trouble seeing what happened next.  The Kumma moved too fast for her to follow.  She saw him take
on the foremost two Braids.  He kicked one in the gut, causing the beast to fall over and gasp for breath.  A block and slice disemboweled the other one.  A reverse thrust slammed through the open mouth of the gut-kicked Braid.  Rukh blurred forward, and she briefly lost track of his movements.  Another Braid died.  She saw Rukh bend backward at the waist beneath a blow aimed at his head.  He snapped upright and struck like a cobra.  His sword arrowed into the creature’s heart.  He slipped another strike like a twirling dancer.  At the end of the spin, his blade came down in a deadly arc against the final Braid’s neck.

The
battle was over.  It had taken less than five seconds, and despite Jessira’s initial worry, it had turned out to be anticlimactic.

And once more, to her great disgust, she hadn’t been able to offer any help whatsoever.
  Jessira was used to taking care of herself.  She was tired of relying on the skills of another to protect and care for her.  She wanted – she needed – to be able to fight her own fights.  Just then, even though Rukh had once more saved her life, Jessira found herself hating him, or at least the situation in which she found herself.  She hated being helpless, especially before a Pureblood.

She viewed him as he stood amongst the carnage of his killing, not injured in the slightest, barely even breathing heavily.  He flicked droplets of blood off his blade, displaying no emotion whatsoever. 
Once more, his face was a blank slate: no anger, no joy, no fear, no pain, and no pity. At that moment Jessira feared him as she had never feared anyone.  In battle, this man was as cold and merciless as a knifing winter gale.

A chill filled her heart. 
Devesh, what kind of man have You forged?

No matter all he had done for her, just then, had
she been healthy, Jessira would have run in the opposite direction.  Instead, she forced herself to walk to where he cleaned his sword. “Are you hurt?” Jessira asked.

“I’m fine,” he said, his voice diamond hard and sharp.  The tone reminded her of a scything sickle.

“Good.  If you die, I wouldn’t last an hour out here.”  She winced as soon as the words left her lips.

Rukh
smiled sardonically.  “Yes, and I’m glad to know exactly what my worth is to you,” he said.  His cutting phrase caused her to flinch.  “I’ll look through their packs, and then we have to go.  There may be more on the way.”

*****

“
I
don’t think the wounds are getting any worse,” Rukh said.  He squatted behind her and dabbed alcohol on the cuts on her back.

“But they also aren’t getting any better,”
Jessira said with a hiss when she felt the sting of the alcohol.  “If only you Kummas could Heal as well as you can fight.”

Rukh smiled. 
“We all have our roles to play.  Devesh wouldn’t want us to be too proud.”

“Devesh has nothing to do with it.  You Purebloods have simply closed your minds to what is possible.  If you’d just let me, I could teach you what to do.  Who knows
?  Maybe you’d even be good at it.”