Tinder Stricken Read Online Free PDF Page B

frowning
examples of middle caste. Under the crimson mesh of their helms,
their foreheads showed, smooth and respectable. They returned
namaste, then slashed gaze over Esha and the broken fence.
    “Are you hurt, citizen?” the lead soldier
asked.
    “No, ah— No, I'm still whole. The earthquake
...”
    “It was unexpected, but be at ease. Early
reports say that no one was killed on Yam Plateau.”
    That was so wrong that Esha wanted to spit;
she sobbed instead, one hot knife of a cry bursting out of her.
    “It was a frightening event, to be sure,”
the woman soldier said in a voice like cotton-padded steel. She
came a step closer, a solid blur through the tears Esha hurried to
wipe away. “What are you doing here alone, citizen?”
    “I— I—“ She needed to lie, and Gita's last
few moments kept overtaking her mind like an avalanche but Gita
herself had given her a story to use. “The fields. I saw a phoenix,
a-and I came to try catching it. To safeguard our fields.” With a
scrambling in her satchel, Esha produced her permission form for
the woman soldier to take and examine close.
    “You shouldn’t be near the worldedge alone,”
the lead soldier said. “Where is your overseer?”
    “I'm not alone.” Esha gulped, and wiped her
tears again; she took one last second to pray she had enough
courage for this lie. “My field sister, she's searching, too. We
just— We split ways to cover more ground and I haven't seen her
this hour. I just thought of her now — I don't know where she
is!”
    “As I said, there haven't been any deaths
reported. Your colleague is fine, wherever she is.”
    “I'm sure,” Esha choked. “P-Please forgive
my foolishness. I praise the gods you’re here.”
    Her hurts were cauterized now, numb from the
lying; she chanced a look up at the lead soldier and found him
nodding to the quiet soldier, who was now documenting this
encounter with logbook and ink stick.
    “This fence is ruined,” called the woman
soldier, from near the awful cliffside. “One post missing, four
rails broken, six posts in need of reinforcement.”
    “Tch. There won't be money for that, with
the road in such bad shape.”
    “Try to log it as Betel Plateau's
problem?”
    The leader snorted. “Good fortune to you.
No, it'll just take some time.”
    More and more tithes the Empire asked for,
higher taxes every year on the ramshackle homes they gave to
farming caste — but they couldn’t even keep their safety promises
to the people of the mountain. Couldn’t even bother to use decent
bamboo on the worldedges, when one or two good poles might have
saved a woman's life this day. Here Esha stood, puffy-eyed and
fearing for her future in front of soldiers who might even prompt
her for a bribe of rupees she couldn't afford. She turned her gaze
to her sandalled feet. She was just a low-caste. She trembled
inside, full of catching flames.
    “We’ll make a report of this broken fence,”
the leader went on. “The Empire will provide.”
    No, they wouldn’t. Esha nodded.
    “Your identification, citizen.”
    Calm now, her heart like chile pickles in a
tight-lidded jar, Esha reached into her satchel and produced Gita’s
nameplate. The leader took it in a gloved hand and scrutinized it,
between glances at Esha’s field-worn face.
    “Gita Of The Fields,” he agreed. “Unless
you'd rather not be named in the report.”
    “You may use my name. Heaven will
judge.”
    He nodded, face souring. “At ease, subject.
Keep your wits about you from now on.” The other two soldiers took
their positions behind him in standard wedge formation. They
marched away, continuing along their token route.
    It simple to speak a dirty lie and send the
Emperor’s dogs on their way. That simple to steal Gita's name and
avoid fines, or demerits, or a damp-walled jail cell or whatever
Esha's punishment for her circumstances might have been. For want
of some coin and some better-grade bamboo, Esha stood here with
forty-eight years