Serial, Kherishdar's Exception, Episode 10: Things I Can Keep

       The following morning I was spared—I think that’s the only appropriate word—the discomfort of a second not-quite-argument, for I found the first floor silent after my descent from my room. Not that I was the only one awake. The doors to the garden were open, and through them I saw Shame’s Guardians flowing through their exercises, their movements synchronized and effortless. One of the privileges of living in Qevellen, I thought: to be exposed to the disciplined beauty of the Guardian caste’s devotions, so like and yet unlike the ones I’d learned as fathrikedi. I let myself linger a few moments to observe, then passed into the kitchens to break my fast. For once the irimkedi didn’t tax me with one of her scowls, being too busy with preparations for the day’s cooking. I still ate according to the dietary customs of my former caste, which made for very light and very carefully selected meals. It offended her sensibilities, that I picked through her offerings and left most of them untouched.
      Poor woman. Between Kor, rarely present; Farren, rarely in this world; and me, rarely eating enough, she must feel herself sorely afflicted. I sympathized, but not enough to change the habits of a near-lifetime. I liked my body the way it was sculpted far too much to re-shape it with an osulkedi’s diet.
      I was trying not to examine my own ambivalence about escaping the House unnoticed when I exited the kitchen and found Ajan leaning against the wall, arms folded, his pelt still sweat-sheened from exercise and his tail flopped over his boots.
      “You’ll get the tuft dirty,” I said.
      “I’m trying to get it dirty,” Ajan said. “You do that when your lover is good with a sponge.” He grinned and stretched. “Shall we whisk you away before the ajzelin rise? Kor will keep him a while, but the morning sun will draw him down from the bedroom soon enough.”
      “I know,” I said, because Farren loved the morning sun best for painting. “Yes, let’s go.”
      When I’d first come to Qevellen, Kor had drawn me aside. I still remember the slant of the afternoon sunlight on my shoulders and the laze of Ajan’s body sprawled on a divan, and the way I’d smelled incense and flowers on the breeze that had floated in through the open window. “You’re osulkedi, and your work involves the aunera,” he’d said. “You will need to learn to ride. We’ll teach you.”
      And they had. Sometimes together, but usually apart, and Ajan more often than Kor. Between the two of them, though, they imparted the knowledge and those sessions… those had made my transition to osulkedi real to me in a way Thirukedi’s declaration of my caste change, and even my new clothes, had not. It had had nothing to do with what they’d been teaching me and everything to do with the camaraderie to which they’d admitted me. I was one of their number; of course, they must share the skills they’d acquired. The gift of in-caste knowledge, so freely given, lawfully.
      We enshrine duty, aunera, but that doesn’t mean we always love it. But at our best, its fruits spill from us, and that magnanimity of spirit is to a soul the way a fire is to cold hands in winter.
      The Exception had made fun of my boots, thinking my only attachment to them involved flight, but they’d been a gift from Ajan when he’d decided my lack of proper footwear was impeding my progress. He’d escorted me to the shoemaker to have my feet measured, talked me through the advantages and disadvantages of different styles, teased me about having them dyed orange to match my eyes. That objects might become the repository of memories I could keep was a new concept. Fathriked did not own things.
      “Are you sending anything ahead?” Ajan asked as we approached the communal stable.
      “No. I don’t really need much.” I rested a hand on the pack slung at my side. The changes of clothing in it constituted almost my entire wardrobe. “And I won’t know until I get there what learning the aunerai language will require by way of supplies.”
      “Maybe you’ll need a trunk Farren’s size by the time you’re done,” he said with a grin.
      “I hope not,” I said. “I like traveling light.” We passed under the broad stone arch and into the dim lavender shade of the stable.
      Most Ai-Naidar walk. Those of us who must travel significant distances or pull loads too heavy for our own backs borrow beasts from the stables maintained for the district. We tend not to develop the strong attachments to beasts that you do, aunera, from the stories I’ve heard. But even among us, we might have preferences. One of mine was available, a pale gray male with a white mane, and while Ajan led him out of the stall I disclosed the details of my journey to the Regal’s beast servant. It made me realize that Kor and Ajan’s suggestion that I decide the length of my stay hadn’t solely been intended to assuage Farren’s concerns.
      It must have been on my face when I exited the office, because Ajan had a look at me and laughed. “What?”
      “Your lover,” I said, accepting his cupped hands and the boost up into the saddle. “Always teaching, even when it’s not obvious.”
      “Ah, well. He’s generous that way.” Ajan took one of my heels and adjusted it in the stirrup. “Little more grip, if you’re going to run all the way there. And you’re going to run all the way there, aren’t you?”
      I laughed. “Why walk when running’s more fun?”
      “You won’t find me disagreeing,” he said, walking around the front of the beast to check my other foot. We both knew I didn’t need it, but I liked it for the memories it invoked. It was… pleasant… to indulge him. In a way it wasn’t, with Farren. Maybe because I knew Ajan wasn’t worried about me. We were going through the motions for fun, and out of affection. “There, you’re good. Oh, don’t wear the bag all the way there, here, hand that down.” Taking it, he attached it to the back of the saddle with the loops I hadn’t noticed. “There. Now you’re good.” He smiled up at me. “I’ll tell Kor and Farren you said goodbye.”
      “I’ll be home soon,” I said.
      “Come back when you’re ready. We’ll be here.” He slapped the beast on the shoulder and stepped back as it started forward. “Go well, Haraa.”
      “Thank you,” I said, wanting to call him something. Friend? Fellow osulkedi? Brother? But I was out on the street before I could decide and the moment was lost.