A Warrior's Path (The Castes and the OutCastes) (54 page)

“Blowhard,” Bree murmured
.

“
Did you say something?” Rukh asked.

“I was just wondering when it was that
you grew so wise, oh great Mahatma,” Bree said in a falsely bright tone.  She even batted her eyes and wore a rapt look of awe on her face as she gazed adoringly at her brother.

“I always have been,” Rukh sniffed.  “
You just didn’t and don’t have the intellect to understand my stupendous wisdom.”

Bree laughed.  “Brother mine, I think you have things backwards between the two of us.”

Jessira smiled as the tension broke.

They ate the rest of their meal without returning again to the topic of death
or bigotry.  Instead, they talked about
The Many Colored Shadow
and other plays Rukh and Bree loved.  They even touched on music, literature, and history.  Jessira already knew Stronghold had a very long road to travel before it could come close to approaching Ashoka’s grandness in artistic accomplishments.  Tonight had simply made her more aware of just how great that distance truly was.

Then came desert
and all thoughts of bigotry, plays, and roads to travel left Jessira’s mind.  She drank a sweet, creamy, thick, luscious, and oh-so-heavenly concoction called hot cocoa. Jessira had never tasted anything so fine.  When she finished, she was tempted to wipe her cup clean.  She had to settle for licking her lips like a cat, finding every last delectable drop of cocoa.

“Well…I think we got our money’s worth out of dinner tonight,” Rukh said
as he eyed her in bemused humor.

“I’ll say,” Bree agreed.  “It’s mesmerizing watching someone enjoy their food as much as you do,” she said to Jessira.

“A woman has her needs,” Jessira replied haughtily.  “I just never realized good food was one of mine.”

“Speaking of needs and desires, I’m supposed to have a rep
ort ready for Nanna by tomorrow,” Bree said.

“Anything I can help with?” Rukh asked.

“Only if you can predict the price of hops and barley from Fearless compared to what we might get from Hanumun,” Bree responded.

“Can’t help you there,” Rukh said.

“I didn’t think so,” Bree said as she stood up from the table. “I should get going if I want to have it done in time.”

“Do you want us to walk you home?” Rukh asked.

“No.  I’ll be fine.  You two stay.  You should show her Dryad Park sometime before she leaves.  Jessira’s never been to the Adamantine Cliffs.”

A flash of worry seemed to pass across Bree’s face, so quickly that Jessira
believed she must have imagined it.  As she left the restaurant and headed home, Bree gave them a jaunty wave.

*****

S
oon after Bree’s departure, Rukh and Jessira made to leave Masala Pull as well.  They stopped to thank the owner, a slim, dignified Rahail, for their wonderful meals.

Jessira was especially complementary about the hot cocoa.  “That was without doubt the finest
meal I’ve ever been fortunate enough to have,” she said, her voice filled with enthusiasm.

Rukh wasn’t sure if the owner actually heard any of her words.  The man was too busy staring at Jessira in obvious fascination.
  It was an expression Rukh was growing used to seeing whenever Jessira came with him into the city.  The eight days since Jessira had entered Ashoka weren’t long enough to change the teachings and habits of a lifetime, and while most people still despised ghrinas and probably Jessira as well, there was also a sizeable minority who seemed entranced by the OutCaste woman.  Looks of revulsion weren’t as common as Rukh would have expected.  And it certainly didn’t hurt that Jessira had a confident, charismatic presence about her.  She walked with the graceful movements of a trained warrior, so different from any other woman in Ashoka.  Jessira was also beautiful in her own way, something Rukh had noticed on their first meeting.  She wasn’t as striking as Bree, but it didn’t matter.  There was an indefinable, compelling air to Jessira.  People noticed, and Rukh wondered if Jessira even recognized half the admiring looks thrown her way when she walked down the street.  He didn’t think she did.  She seemed oblivious to it all.

After they left Masala Pull, Rukh decided to take Bree’s advice and
lead Jessira to Dryad Park, an area fully as large as Semaphore Walk. It was surprising she had never seen it before.  If Martyr’s Plaza was Ashoka’s heart, then Dryad Park was its soul. Centuries ago, the city’s fathers had ordered its construction in a relatively empty part of Ashoka.  It had been fashioned in a small valley and was surrounded on all sides by low-lying hills, except to the east where the two hundred foot sheer drop of the Adamantine Cliffs plunged straight into the Sickle Sea.

It was another short walk from the Semaphore to Dryad, and Rukh looked forward to seeing Jessira’s expression when she saw the park.  He guided her across
Scythe Cut before leading her down a quiet residential drive of tall, stately townhouses, many with windows already lit, though it was only twilight.  A median of grass and leafy elms split the road into two narrow lanes, and the broad branches of the trees arched over both sides of the street, providing both shade and a sense of security.

This was one of Rukh’s favorite neighborhoods.  So quiet and peaceful, especially since the drive ended
at Dryad Park.

Rukh led
Jessira into the green jewel which was Ashoka’s soul.  Rolling hills of grass and fields of wildflowers merged seamlessly with blue lakes and ponds.  In the sunlight, the water sparkled like rainbows, but now, with the coming of night, it was a dull black and shimmered with the ivory light of the moon.  A number of elderly men of every Caste played chess as they sat at a group of tables placed beneath a cluster of oaks.  Firefly globes with muted hues of rose, gold, lavender, or violet hung above them, suspended from the broad branches of the thick trees.  Beyond the collection of oaks, a scattering of black lampposts was the only source of light throughout the park.  Further past the old men playing chess, a few people were still about this late in the day.  Mostly they were young couples taking a final stroll along the winding gravel paths and lanes of Dryad before heading home, but no one else.

Rukh and
Jessira walked deeper into the park, into places where it was empty.  Their footsteps echoed as they passed over sturdy, wooden bridges arching over the numerous streams and rivulets that connected the various ponds.  Rukh led her to the center of the park.  They stopped at the crest of a small bridge spanning a gurgling stream.  Its stone pillars were covered in lichen.  Frogs croaked the coming of the night, and a cool wind carried a hint of sea and rain.

This was one of the most romantic spots in Ashoka, and Rukh worried what others would think if they saw him and Jessira alone out here, but he also
figured most people wouldn’t care.  He wanted Jessira to see all the beauty Ashoka had to offer.

Jessira leaned against the wooden railing. 
“It’s like a dream,” she whispered.

Rukh smiled.  It had been the exact reaction he had been hoping for.  “It took decades to make it look like this,” he said, just as softly as he moved to stand at her side.
  He was aware of his arm sometimes brushing hers.  She didn’t move away, so Rukh held still as well.  After their weeks together in the Wildness, he’d grown used to being near her.  It was comforting somehow.

Jessira glanced at him.  “And after all this time, you don’t take it for granted?”

Rukh thought about her question and realized he had, in fact, taken it for granted, but not anymore.  “Maybe once before I left, but not now.  It’s too precious,” he answered.

“My city
…I love it, but it’s so utilitarian.  There aren’t any soft edges.  It’s built for safety only.”  Her voice was filled with palpable longing and envy.

Rukh pitied her.  “Maybe you aren’t seeing your home for what it
truly is,” he suggested.  “Your people refused to lay down and die when others decided their lives weren’t worth bullshit on a boot heel.  They were exiled and shouldn’t have survived, but they did.  And they built a home for themselves and made it strong enough for their children to grow up in safety.  That kind of will, that kind of courage has a beauty all its own, don’t you think?”

Jessira
gave him a faint smile.  “A nice sentiment,” she said.  “A few weeks ago, I would have thought you were being patronizing.”

“A few weeks ago, I would have been.”

Jessira laughed, and Rukh was glad to hear it.  She had a nice laugh.

“You do like to get in the last word, don’t you?” she asked.

“It’s because mine are usually the only ones I find intelligent,” Rukh said, deadpan.

Jessira arched an eyebrow.  “You think so?” she asked.  “Remind me to introduce you to my right cross.  I think someone needs to knock the arrogance out of you.”

“No thanks,” Rukh said with a chuckle.  “I think an introduction to your fists is one I’d do best to avoid.”

“You
are
intelligent,” Jessira noted.

“Sometimes.”

“But not most times,” Jessira replied.  “Anyway, what I wanted to say before you got us sidetracked with your self-proclaimed genius…”

“Intelligence,” Rukh interrupted.  “I’m intelligent, not a genius.”  He grinned.  “Humble, too.”

“You’ve much to be humble about,” Jessira said with a roll of her eyes.  “
Anyway
, what I meant to say was this: maybe one day, instead of having only safety, my people can also live like you do: with art, literature, theater…and all the other glorious things Ashokans do so effortlessly.”

“It’s a good dream,”
Rukh said.  From Jessira’s description of Stronghold – it sounded like a grim, fear-filled fortress – he doubted such a change would happen in her lifetime, but he hoped he was wrong.

Jessira gazed at the wide expanse of Dryad Park and grew silent.  She sh
uffled her feet, looking all the world like she was suddenly uncomfortable or nervous.

Rukh had learned to read her signs.  Strangely
enough, he often knew what Jessira meant to say long before she actually said it.  It happened too frequently to be coincidence or luck, and while Rukh couldn’t explain how he had developed such an intuition, he knew enough to trust it.

And right now,
Jessira was
nervous.

Rukh’s jaw tightened, and he had to force himself to exhale and push out his sudden anxiety.  Whatever was making her
uneasy was affecting him also.  It was going to be something he wouldn’t want to know, but he had to hear her out.  “You can tell me,” Rukh said.  “Whatever it is.”

Jessira shot him a brief look of gratitude.  “Remember those words after you hear what I have to say.”  She took a deep breath, as though preparing herself for battle.  “I don’t think there’s anything going on between Mira and Jaresh, but they need to be careful.  If they go on like they have been, I think something
could
happen.”

Rukh worked to suppress the sudden rise of his hackles.  Jessira was wrong.  Dead wrong. 
He stepped away from her.  There was nothing but friendship between his brother and Mira.  To say or imply otherwise was more than scandalous; it could destroy both their lives.  Rukh waited a moment, willing his anger to pass.  He didn’t want to say anything now, not while he wasn’t in control of his emotions.  “Do you understand what you’re saying?” Rukh demanded.  “What you’re saying is a dangerous accusation.  Some people might even take your words to mean that Mira and Jaresh already
have
an unnatural relationship.”  Despite his best intentions, the words came out in an angry rush, and his nails dug into the wood of the bridge.

Jessira noticed.  She glanced at his hands, and her face grew hard.  “By
some
people, I assume you mean yourself,” she said.

“This isn’t about me,” Rukh protested, feeling his patience fraying.

“Isn’t it?  Why else would this get you so upset?  And what’s this about unnatural?”

Rukh sighed in irritation even as he tried to regain his composure.  “Why
do you get so prickly whenever I say the slightest thing which might be construed as a slur toward OutCastes?  Are you searching for the insult?”

Jessira turned away from him, and he thought she wasn’t going to answer.  “I don’t know,” she finally said.  “It’s just the way I am.”

“Well it’s aggravating.  And a bit childish.”

“I know,” Jessira snapped.

“Then stop doing it,” Rukh snapped back.

Their conversation stumbled to a halt, and Rukh was left wondering how such a pleasant evening had ended in another argument between the two of them.  They always seemed to find a reason to argue, and he couldn’t understand why.  Whatever it was, he was tired of it.
  He stewed over their spat as he stared out over the stream and the now darkened park.  He could sense Jessira simmering like a hot skillet next to him.

“I’m sorry,” she said into the angry silence.  “I keep saying things, doing things…”  She shook her head.  “After all you’ve done for me, I keep acting like a jackhole.”