A Warrior's Path (The Castes and the OutCastes) (53 page)

“What is an Investigator?
” Jessira asked Rukh.

“The Rahail
s are the ones who maintain the Oasis.  Their society is dictated by their work.  The Investigators are the ones who inspect the work of other Rahails, making sure it’s up to the expected standards.  I’m told they can be pretty cruel and petty about it, too.  No one likes them much,” Rukh whispered.

“Then there’s
going to be a long list of potential suspects,” she reasoned.

“
There were no witnesses, obviously,” Rector finished.

“Where was he found?” Jaresh asked.

Rector pointed to a body, shrouded in what looked like someone’s cloak.

“We need
to take a closer look,” Dar’El said.

At a nod from Rector, the Watch let them through the barricades, even Jessira, although a few made the sign against evil as she passed.

Rukh bent low and uncovered the body, eliciting more cries of anguish from the woman Rector had pointed out as the wife.  “Perhaps someone can see to her,” Rukh suggested.

Dar’El glanced at Rector, who signed to one of his men to remove the wailing woman from the scene.

Jaresh and Dar’El bent to examine the corpse, while Rukh walked the alley, studying the ground, looking at the blood splatter and a few footprints.  Jessira walked with him, wondering what he was looking for.  She noticed something herself and bent closer.  Bloody fingerprints left as streaks along the wall.  She’d seen plenty of death, killing Chimeras when necessary over the course of her career as a scout, but the image of the bloody finger stains and what they represented…it was an unsettling image.

They returned to the others.

“Anything?” Dar’El asked.

“Lots of things,” Rukh replied.  “There were two killers, a man and a woman.”

“I noticed that as well,” Rector said.

“The man attacked first, and as Investigator Apter fled, he was hamstrung.  It was
a clean and quick strike, made within two strides.  Our killer is skilled, and the limp you mentioned is hardly in evidence.  It was the woman who killed the Investigator, though.”

Dar’El frowned.  “It doesn’t make sense,” he said.  “Why go through the trouble?  Why two of them?”  He shook his head in frustration.  “Anything else?”

“At the mouth of the alley, the killers stood still, as if they were waiting, and the Investigator went to them.  In fact, he seemed to stop and stand no more than three feet from them.”

“They knew him,” Jessira guessed with sudden insight.  “And he knew them.  That’s why he walked toward them.  He wasn’t afraid.”

“If that’s true, then the killers wanted the Investigator to know who they were,” Mira said.  “It’s like they must have hated him or something.”

“Are you saying it was personal?” Rector asked.

Mira shrugged.  “I don’t know.  We’re supposing quite a lot based on some footprints in the dirt.”

“But look at all the cuts on the corpse.  He was tortured first.” 
Rector nodded.  “I think Mira is right.  They all knew one another.”

Jessira saw the smile Jaresh shared with Mira.  No one else seemed to notice.

“Why wouldn’t anyone have heard him scream?” Jaresh asked.

“Because he had a canvas bag over his head,” Dar’El said.  “Look at that red band around his neck.  It looks like a ligature mark.”

“There is another thing,” Rukh said.  “The killer’s movements – the man – the placement of his feet, and the angle of his strikes.  There are only three Houses who train their warriors in such a way, and all are allied with one another: Houses Wrestiva, Bittermoon, and Sunflown.”

“And all are on very unfriendly terms with our House,” Jaresh said.  “If we voice our suspicions, and we’re wrong, it could cause a House war.”

“It would be a disaster on so many fronts,” Dar’El warned.  “Civil discord amongst the Houses is the last thing we need if Suwraith plans on moving against Ashoka next spring.”  He sighed.  “For now, we keep this quiet.”

Almost from the first, Hume taught us to appreciate the written word
, and we are grateful for his instruction.  But of art, there is so much more we wish we could have learned.  We killed those who could have instructed us, and perhaps that is our greatest regret.

-
From the journal of SarpanKum Li-Charn, AF 1754

A
shoka in the middle of summer was already hot, but it was not yet oppressive, especially with a cooling, stiff breeze blowing off the ocean to keep the city comfortable.  These would be some of the final few weeks of temperate weather before summer’s sultering heat hovered over the city like a miasma.  Or so it had been explained to Jessira.  As such, now was a good time to take an early evening stroll, which is what she was doing.

She
walked in silence next to Rukh and Bree, but her mind wasn’t focused upon the weather or the cool wind raising goosebumps on her skin.  Instead, her thoughts were centered on the majesty she had just witnessed.  Jessira had just been to her first play:
A Many Colored Shadow
.  She hadn’t wanted to go, but Rukh had been the one to ask her, saying he still felt guilty about how he had ignored her.  When he learned Stronghold didn’t have theater – her people didn’t have time for such frivolity – he had insisted she come with him and Bree, telling her it was something she had to see at least once before leaving Ashoka.  Given Rukh’s impending departure in a few days for the Chimera breeding caverns, she had reluctantly agreed, certain she would find the experience dull and boring.

She had been more wrong tha
n she could have ever imagined.

The play had been a
revelation.  Everything about it had touched her.  The story, the music, the acting…all of it had been wondrous.  From the moment the curtain had whispered open and for the following two hours, her heart had no longer been her own, and she had been happy to allow it. The play had figuratively transported her to a different place and time.  She still had no idea how it had happened, nor did she want to know.  It was part of the magic of theater, Rukh had explained.  Afterward, she found herself replaying scene after scene, wanting to recapture and savor the emotions she had felt.  There had been so many.  It had been like a thick, hearty stew with many hidden flavors.

The play had begun simply enough
: a social gathering where two young Kummas, Vare Kilan of House Listh and Ciliana Prien, daughter to the ruling ‘El of her House, had shared a delightful afternoon with one another and soon after fell in love.  But it was a love not meant to last for with the coming of his Trials, Vare was forced to leave his home and after his departure Ciliana was force to wed Kolth Renns, an older, ambitious member of her own House.  Years passed in disappointment and grief for Ciliana’s marriage proved to be cold and loveless.  Nevertheless, she bore her husband three sons, her pride and joy.  Fate, however, was to deal her further cruel blows, taking her two oldest in the Trials.  Only her youngest child, Reva, survived his time in the Wildness.

Meanwhile
Vare Kilan eventually made his way home, and when he did, it was to find the woman he had loved as a youth now married and with a family of her own.  It was the way of the world, but it still pained Vare.  He set aside his feelings and moved on with his own life, and in time, he wed as well.  His wife, Shawl Kilan, was a woman he grew to love, although not with the passion he had shared with Ciliana. Vare and his wife had a daughter, a beautiful, happy girl named Calle, but it would be their only child.  Several years after the birth of their child, Shawl died of an unexpected illness.  Grief-stricken, it fell to Vare to raise the young girl on his own as he adamantly refused to ever marry again.

There came a time when Kolth Renns, Ciliana’s husband, who bore an
deep and abiding hatred for his wife’s youthful lover, hatched a scheme, one meant to deceive Vare Kilan and leave him utterly ruined.  The plan worked.  Vare was rendered penniless with his only choice being to accept indentured servitude under Kolth Renns, and Renns would only absolve the debt if Vare – at an age when a Kumma should have lived out his days in peace – re-entered the Wildness for a final Trial.

Ironically, even as this was happening,
Kolth Renns’ son, Reva, met Calle Kilan during an afternoon social and the two young people fell in love.  It was a love that did not sit well with Ciliana’s husband, but he was powerless to do anything about it.  Vare stayed in his city long enough to see his daughter married, and then he left home for the final time.  With him went Ciliana.  Over the decades that had passed, the two of them had never stopped loving one another, and so they left their city together, walking hand-in-hand in the early morning sunshine.  They were never to be seen again.

Jessira
had cried at the end of the play, and she wasn’t ashamed to have done so.  Bree had as well, and even Rukh had shed a few tears.  For Jessira,
A Many Colored Shadow
had been like a summertime plunge into a shimmering pool of clear water.  She was changed forever.  It was truth made manifest on a stage, and she came to see the characters, not as Purebloods or OutCastes, but merely as people whose lives were marked by tragedy and pain, but ultimately, with love.

After the p
lay, the three of them went to Masala Pull, one of Bree’s favorite restaurants in the Semaphore Walk.  It was a newer café and although it had only opened a few years ago, Bree already thought it served the finest fusion of Muran and Rahail cuisine to be found in Ashoka.

As they walked to the restaurant, Jessira realized she
no longer received as many hostile stares as she once had only a few days earlier when she had first shed her scarf.  The people of Ashoka must have become somewhat used to her presence.  More often now, it seemed the glances thrown her way were curious rather than unfriendly.  Of course, the looks given to Bree were more generally ones of approval and appreciation.  Jessira smiled when several Kummas almost ran into a lamppost as they stared back at Rukh’s sister.

Masala Pull
proved to be warm and inviting with walls painted in a terra cotta wash.  The ceiling was high and airy while a multitude of chandeliers with their firefly lamps provided plenty of light.  The tabletops were made of brightly colored mosaic tiles arranged into various scenes of Ashokan life.  The restaurant was already full with young, well-dressed couples and a few families, but luckily the three of them were able to be seated quickly.  Delicious aromas filled the air, making Jessira’s mouth water, and the food proved to be every bit as wonderful as it smelled.

The dinner
tonight was cubed chunks of chicken in a spicy, buttery sauce served over a bed of rice and accompanied by a sweet, white wine.  Jessira lost herself in the rich, flavorful meal.  In Stronghold, food was just a fuel with taste was a secondary consideration.  It was nothing like this, or even what Cook Heltin provided at the Shektan House Seat on a daily basis.  Delicious.  Another aspect of Ashokan culture that Jessira admired: they had turned the simple act of cooking into an art.

She was s
o focused on her sumptuous meal that she failed to notice Rukh and Bree’s open fascination as they watched her eat. Bree laughed and Jessira looked up from her food with a guilty start.  “What?” she asked.

“I’ve just never seen anyone so in love with their food,” Bree said.

“You made some…ah…interesting noises there,” Rukh added.  “A few matronly women were looking at you kind of funny.”

“Be nice,” Bree admonished as Jessira reddened in embarrassment.  “No one looked over when you made those noises.”  She chuckled as Jessira reddened even further
and glared ineffectually at the two of them.

Rukh grinned.  “Don’t be mad
at us.  We’re just teasing…a little.”

“Did I really, you
know, make those kind of sounds?” Jessira asked, mortified.

“You didn’t
,” Bree replied with a smile.  “Ignore us, or at least Rukh.  You should see him, or better yet, hear him when Cook Heltin makes sea bass tikka.”

“I’m not that bad,” Rukh protested.

“Yes.  You are,” Bree said.  She made moaning noises.

Jessira burst out laughing. 
She was surprised by how much she was enjoying Bree’s company.  Until today, the two of them hadn’t spent much time together.  Bree was generally too busy or had other plans.  But now, with the play and the early dinner afterwards, Jessira was finding Rukh’s sister to be generous and…fun.

“Our last night in the Wildness, he made those exact same sounds when he ate some trout I had cooked.”

Rukh laughed with them.  “What can I say?  I like fish.”

“You can cook?” Bree asked, sounding surprised
.

“Not like this,” Jessira said, pointing to her plate, “but yes.”

“I
might
be able to boil water, but don’t ask for anything more,” Bree said.

“So
what did you think of the play?” Rukh asked, changing the topic.

Jessira took a moment to collect her thoughts.  “I
loved it.  I never expected to, but how could I not.  It was perfect and true.”

Rukh grinned.  “Didn’t I say you
’d like it?”

Jessira nodded.  During the play, when Vare Kilan left Ciliana, she had wondered about something. 
She chewed her lower lip and glanced at Rukh, not sure how to phrase her question. “Was it…” she trailed off.

“Was it autobiographical?”
Rukh asked, once more guessing what she was trying to ask.  “No.  But I did know someone like Vare Kilan.”  He gazed off into the distance and said no more.

“Who?” Jessira
blurted out, realizing an instant too late that it might be a sensitive topic.

Rukh didn’t answer,
and a look of sorrow passed fleetingly across his face.

“It was Keemo,” Bree said, speaking
softly into the silence.  Her eyes were wet with sudden tears.

Jessira wanted to melt into a puddle and crawl away.  She felt terrible
and apologized.  “I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories.”

“I told you I’d grieve when I got back to Ashoka,” Rukh reminded her.

“Keemo, Farn, and Rukh were all born within two months of each other.  The three of them were raised together,” Bree explained.  “Keemo was from an allied House and Farn is our cousin.  Our parents have been friends from back when they were our age.”

“
You were like brothers,” Jessira guessed, speaking to Rukh.

“We were like brothers,”
he said softly.

“All of us
were,” Bree added.  “Including Jaresh.”

“I’m sorry,” Jessira said.

“For what?” Rukh asked.

“For being so selfish after the Shylows attacked us.  All I could think of was losing Lure.  I never realized how much you were hurting yourself.”

A sad half-smile stole over his face.  “You have nothing to apologize for,” he said.  “Keemo would still have been dead.  And I never thought you were being selfish.”

“I could have made it easier on you…shown you some compassion,” Jessira insisted.  “Instead, all I saw was a Pureblood who wouldn’t even shed a tear over a friend’s death.  I thought you were a monster, and I treated you like one.”

“I think you know by now that I’m all too Human,” Rukh said.  “And it certainly wasn’t easy having to tell Keemo’s parents or Alia how he died.  I cried plenty then.”

“Alia?” Jessira asked.

“The woman Keemo loved,” Bree answered.

Once more
, Jessira remembered the play.  She recalled Ciliana’s grief after learning of the deaths of her two oldest sons.  This was the knowledge Rukh had carried all the way home through their time in the Wildness.  It was the message he knew he had to deliver, and he had never complained about it.  He’d simply gone about his duty and kept her safe despite her frequent ingratitude.  She silently cursed her behavior toward him.  He had long since forgiven her, but it would take her far longer before she forgave herself.  Add in all the whining she’d done when he’d ignored her early on after their arrival in Ashoka, and she felt like an ungrateful prat.  When had she become so selfish and demanding?

“What’s wrong?” Rukh asked.

“I know you don’t think so, but I still feel like I’ve wronged you.  I judged you as a Kumma instead of a person.  You deserve better.”

“You mean OutCastes might be prejudiced against Purebloods?” Bree asked.  “How ironic.”

Jessira frowned, trying to find fault with the younger woman’s logic, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized Bree was right.  Jessira had been well-schooled in the bigotry her people felt toward Rukh’s kind, and that bigotry had apparently taken firm root.  She grimaced, finding it hard to accept a failing in herself and other OutCastes so similar to the one she hated in Purebloods.  It was yet another reason to feel guilty.

Rukh
looked her in the eyes, a sympathetic expression on his face.  “It’s not easy facing such an ugly truth about yourself.  But maybe both our peoples need to grow some.  Maybe we need to stop judging a person’s worth based on their lineage but instead on who they are and what they’ve done.”