On Fire's Wings - Christie Golden [37]
“It is true what Maluuk says. During this time, you and I are equals.” He rose, took her hand, and squeezed it reassuringly. Kevla’s hand remained limp with shock in Jashemi’s strong but gentle grip as he led her to a stool.
“Now,” said Maluuk, clearing his throat, “we will begin with the treatment of minor injuries.”
As the classes went on, Kevla learned to enjoy them. Maluuk was a good teacher and encouraged both students to ask questions. Her quick mind followed everything that Maluuk taught them, and Jashemi proved to be an intelligent young man. She accepted the situation, but what did strike her as odd was the fact that Maluuk would leave them to themselves for the second half of each “lesson,” which lasted three hours in the afternoons. They were told to talk about what they had learned that day, and at first, in formal tones, that was all they discussed.
Then one afternoon, Jashemi said, “Can you play Shamizan?”
“What is Shamizan?” Jashemi’s eyes lit up. For the first time since she had known him, Kevla thought that he looked like a boy her own age, not a small adult.
“Oh, it’s so much fun! Let me go get my set—” He rose and ran out of the hut, returning only a few moments later, flushed and out of breath. Kevla suspected he had run the entire way. Hardly proper behavior for a future khashim, but it was good to see Jashemi so happy.
“It’s easy to learn.” He placed a carved wooden board with black and white interlocking circles painted on it on one of the small tables. The overlapping sections of the circles were gray. He motioned that Kevla should draw up a stool. She hesitated. It was one thing to sit beside the young master during class, or even when they were discussing the lesson. But he had dropped the formality and was treating her as if they were of the same caste. Uneasy, she obeyed.
From a small pouch tucked under his arm, Jashemi withdrew a handful of clear, shiny stones, cupping them in his brown palm.
Forgetting herself, Kevla exclaimed, “They are beautiful!” and added quickly, “my lord. What kind of stone are they?”
“They are only glass,” Jashemi said. “There are five families of colors: reds, blues, greens, yellows, and purples. So up to five people can play. Within each family, there are three shades. You place them like so, on the areas of black, white and gray.”
They might be only glass, but Kevla thought the “stones” exquisite. They caught and held the light, and the colors were so intense. She was drawn to the reds and picked one up. It was the color of flame, and for a brief moment she thought it might feel hot in her hand. But it was cool and smooth. She rubbed it on her cheek, blushing when she caught Jashemi looking at her.
The rules were easy: dark hues were placed on the black areas of the board, light hues on the white, and medium tones on the gray. There was a roll of marked ivory sticks to determine play, and the object was to eliminate the opponent’s pieces.
Easy to learn, hard to stop, Kevla thought. At one point, she looked up from the board and saw Jashemi regarding her with an intent gaze. His face dissolved into delight as she ducked her head and smiled.
“You like the game, then?”
“Oh, yes, very much.”
“I am so glad. I hoped you would.”
Shamizan quickly became a regular feature of their “study sessions.” So, too, did another unexpected development. Jashemi began to teach Kevla how to write and read. He was a patient teacher, and Kevla a quick student, so the task was a pleasant one for both. Still, Kevla felt awkward when he would touch her hand as she held a pen, correcting the placement of her fingers, or casually put a hand on her shoulder as he leaned in to observe her work. He seemed to find it very easy to forget that he was khashimu and she was Bai-sha.
Despite her unease, Kevla looked forward to these sessions, and missed them on the days when they did not occur. Sahlik had told her to stay quiet about the healer’s teaching. It was not truly a secret, Sahlik