02

Harp here. Thanks very much for the support, everyone. Ashi's Grove is a sweeping sci-fi epic that begins slow and warms up fast. It is definitely at least as dark as Achen Enforcer and possibly more so, and as involved, and you get the idea. It is plot heavy and sometimes grim. Anytime it felt ponderous, I combined chapter postings. It's not going to be everyone's cup of welith, but I think some will like it. See my profile for any news. Email me anytime. Comment if you get the chance. I read all of them. I hope you like it.

Thanks for reading,

Harp

All characters are OVER the age of 18 (soooo sorry about that last time, ack. Complete blat-brain maneuver exacerbated by cut/paste.)

Chapter One

It was Havelen's wedding day.

The traditional ashi's robe she pulled over her head was indigo, a single soft garment worn with nothing under it. Havelen's red hair was vivid against the color, her silhouette clear in the light from the window. A light chain wrapped around her slim waist for a belt. The lander would take her to the ceremony on Herun, her home planet, after which Havelen would begin her life in the palace as the wife of the heir, Vincet Leopol-át. Eventually, she would be queen.

Leata, brown haired and graceful, came with Havelen's slippers. "You look pale, Ashi." Leata's eyes glittered. "Excuse me. The heir has called me to his side for the journey."

That affair had gone on for years. Havelen could always rely on Vincet's petty malice. He paid attention to details. When her personal attendant left, Havelen picked up

The Alethean Book of Tales

and the pouch to carry it in, using the strap to secure it under her dress. Her slippers were soundless on the stairs.

At the bottom, four men folded in, two ahead and two behind, cloaks and boots. They wore the formed black masks of Alethean guards. Havelen had been dreading this day since she first learned she was the ashi, and now it was on her. They boarded the skimmer, the guards at four points around her. The craft was open to the air.

Putting her hand on the rail, she was protected from the wind, the ground blurring under them. She was going to her home-planet, Herun.

On Herun, her mother had hidden her for seven years before they found her. She'd been born in the slums outside the city of Quaria. She hadn't been Havelen then. Then, her name had been Galie. Her family's tiny apartment had been one apartment in one tall building among many. It had been nothing special. She had been nothing special.

But everyone knew the Leopol-át were looking for a girl-child with red hair. When they'd come, Galie's mother had walked past the guards and the warden to squat in front of Galie, taking her hands. Her mother hadn't smiled. She almost never did. Galie hadn't understood she was saying goodbye.

"Face your fear," her mother had said. "Don't show what you feel to ones that hate you. Fight when you can. You're no be responsible for the evil others do."

That was how Galie was brought to the palace of the Leopol-át in Quaria. The first person to speak to her was a woman, elegant and tall, in a robe and long gray hair arranged in a spiral braid.

"I'm Benna, Ashi," the tall woman said. "Come this way."

Galie followed. Their journey had ended in a steaming bath set in rooms a color she'd never imagined. Indigo, she learned later, the ashi's color, the same color as the woman's robes.

Benna reminded Galie of her mother, and it was reassuring that Benna didn't smile. Wrapped in a clean towel, Galie sat facing a mirror. Staring back at her was a thin, dainty and too-pale girl, angular, with short red hair standing up in every direction, freckles, and a wary expression.

She reached and picked up the picture on the table in front of her. Galie had never seen a static image before, something she could touch. A beautiful woman with red hair in long waves and a delicate face stared back at her, large green eyes like hers, high cheekbones and a full mouth. "Who she be?" It was the first thing Galie had said.

"She's you," Benna answered.

Still believing in the madness of adults, Galie put the picture down without comment. When Benna was done, Galie was in a white dress and black slipper shoes, being led into a huge room with pillars shaped like water drops, heavy at the bottom, black stone that seemed dipped in copper. The floor went on, shiny, reflecting Galie's legs and the great swollen lights high above.

At a long table, two men sat, one old and gray and one younger. They looked alike. Both wore dark green jackets with gold pins and stiff collars. Benna walked her to the table and pulled out a chair. When Galie sat, Benna stood behind her, Galie turning to look at her.

"Face forward," Benna said in a quiet voice.

Someone came and put plates of food in front of them. Galie had never smelled anything like that, and there was so much of it.

"Do you know who I am, Havelen?" the older man at the table said.

Galie looked up and then around and then she shook her head.

Benna spoke behind her. "This is King Erepi Leopol-át, Ashi."

Galie wasn't either of those people. They'd made a mistake. Maybe she could go home. "I'm be Galie."

The other man huffed a laugh, turning his face into his hand, Galie's eyes going to him.

"You are not," the king said. "You are Havelen, the ashi, returned to us."

She wasn't Havelen or an ashi, whatever that was, and the king went on to blather that her parents weren't her parents and she was to live at the palace and be educated. Galie had enough sense not to contradict a Leopol-át. She was hungry. She wondered when they would begin to eat. She wondered if she could begin to eat. Her hand crept toward the plate.

"No," Benna said quietly behind her, Galie's hand retreating.

It wouldn't be until later, her stomach hurting, that Benna would tell Galie what she was. At the time, Galie thought they were all crazy, a room full of skidders.

"This is the future Queen of Alethea?" the other man at the table had said. "Listen to her. She's a Commons brat. What happened to her hair?"

And that was how she met Vincet Leopol-át, the heir and her future husband. She hated him.

* * *

In the skimmer, a jerk backward made Havelen yelp, losing her hold on the rail, and then her balance, as she was yanked, her hood falling back, the thin indigo robe splitting in front. Someone dragged her to the side of the skimmer. It was the guard who had been behind her and to her left.

One of the other guards moved toward them. "What are you doing?"

The guard who had grabbed her lifted Havelen straight up into the air and she screamed as he heaved her over the side before following, going with her. She screamed again as they both dropped and she landed on her hip and rolled, sand everywhere and her robe wrapping around her. When she stopped, she pushed herself up on her hands and saw the guard who had attacked her farther along, also on the sand, also just finished rolling.

Sitting up, panting, Havelen watched him get to his feet, shedding his cloak. He staggered and they both looked as the skimmer exploded into a ball of fire, the sound huge, and the craft dove into the dunes, smoke trailing. Hitting the sand nose-first, the skimmer flipped onto its side and it occurred to Havelen that she was being abducted.

Their eyes met, the guard's shadowed behind the black mask. They moved at the same time.

Scrambling up, she ran through sand like a bad dream, and he was on her, a big man. She yelled as the guard caught her, grabbing her arm and simply bringing her with him in a new direction, all her attention on keeping her balance to avoid being dragged. He was going somewhere.

They crested a dune and he scrambled down sideways, jerking her up when she lost her footing.

He pulled a hatch open and threw her down into darkness, following. Closing the hatch plunged them into darkness. More sand shifted and settled above, and then it was silent.

Havelen couldn't see, heaving her breath and coughing with dust. Panting, she spoke in Aleth.

"Who are you? What do you want?" When he didn't answer, she moved, having a rough idea where the hatch was. He couldn't see any better than she could. Trying to go quietly, her eyes open to darkness, she found the wall and followed it, almost to the hatch. Her hand found a firm surface, exploring it.

Her breath sucked in. It was his chest. She snatched her hand away. The rogue Alethean guard had gone through a great deal of trouble to take the ashi. Havelen couldn't imagine anyone stupid enough to take her, unless taking her wasn't the point. Maybe he was going to kill her and leave her in this hole. She would never be found.

That was when her captor reached out, pulling her to himself, her back to his front, and clapped his hand over her mouth, his other arm around her waist. Her heart was pounding, waiting to see what he was going to do. She heard the faint whine of skimmers. They would be looking for her, and then Vincet would send a hunter warden. The guard's hand left her mouth.

"Who--?"

There was a gag as she exploded into fighting, but it didn't matter, her kidnapper bringing her arms behind her and tying her wrists with rope. She tried to kick him when he turned her to get to her feet, catching him once, hearing him grunt, but he held her and tied her ankles. Havelen lay on her side, staring into darkness.

* * *

"It is 'I am Havelen,'" the tutor said.

Galie was illiterate, but the bigger problem was the way she spoke, a child from the slums. "I'm be Havelen." She knew that wasn't what the tutor had said, but it didn't sound like enough words for what she intended to mean, and her name was Galie anyway.

"No," the tutor said. "You can say, 'I'm Havelen,' or you can say 'I am Havelen.'"

Galie thought she could say what she liked, and that it didn't matter, and that the tutor, a tall Alethean who smelled like stak smoke, could toss off, at least until she saw Vincet for supper.

"Tell me what you did today, little wife," Vincet had said, a smile trembling on his lips.

This was part of conversation. Silence wasn't an option. "I learned the way for to find the center of a circle with the math," Havelen replied, straightforward and a complete thought.

His shoulders shook, Vincet looking away, his elbow on the table and his hand hanging in front of his mouth. "Did you arrive at it eventually?" This sent him into laughter again.

Havelen wanted to throw something at him. She kept her tongue still to prevent the words trembling on the edge of it from bursting out of her, silent through the rest of supper, which she was to have with him every tenday. She didn't want to marry him. He was as old as her father.

"He's mocking the way that you speak," Benna had said when they got back to her rooms.

"I can tell that much up," Galie said. Her nose was flaring, still mad.

"He can see that what he says bothers you," Benna said.

"He be right on that. He can toss himself from four."

"I used to speak the way you do."

She eyed Benna. "You're be joking."

"No, I'm not. You'll have to learn."

"Why should I? My meaning's good."

"It's not about making sense. It's about whether or not they'll mock you."

She decided that Benna and her mother were right, and that it was better not to show what she felt to those who hated her.

It was strange to be seven and called a wife, but Vincet was never inappropriate toward her when she was a child. He was a Leopol-át man, and the heir, and he had plenty to occupy him.

"Come and sit, inka," Vincet said, gesturing, a woman rising from the bench by the entryway and coming to him. The woman had dark hair and a reddened mouth. Her dress plunged to show her inka mark, the heir's initials burned in the valley between her breasts. When she knelt by his chair, he fed her fruit, bit-by-bit, from his plate, his fingers in her mouth, which was disgusting.

But it wasn't until she was twelve that Vincet Leopol-át became her enemy. By then, she was Havelen. Nobody ever called her Galie anymore. They were at supper, Benna behind her. Vincet was drinking, his cheeks flushed. Havelen was waiting to be released from his presence.

"Inka," Vincet said, signaling, giving Havelen a glance. "And you, translator."

Havelen had never seen this inka before. She had dark hair and almost-black eyes, a warm and deep skin tone, and she was beautiful, her unhealed inka mark an angry red on her chest. With a shock, Havelen realized she was a Rangisin. The Rangisins were a primitive people, all that remained of a great civilization that had once lived on Iskel, Herun's sister planet.

The Rangisins had lost the war with the Aletheans, Havelen's people, and now they lived in colorful mud villages or in small tribes in the desert. Vincet must have arranged for the Rangisin woman to be brought to Herun. Her head was high and her stare didn't waver, her eyes speaking.

"Tell her to kneel on the floor by my chair for the meal," Vincet said to the translator.

The translator turned and spoke. The Rangisin woman said something back, the translator shaking his head, speaking low and quickly, glancing at Vincet.

"What did she say?" Vincet demanded.

"It's not easily translatable, Heir Leopol-át," the translator said. "She's from Taol Tribe. Their women are spirited."

"I don't care what filthy desert hole she crawled from. Tell me what she said, translator."

The translator's voice was neutral. "'Pound sand into every orifice,' Heir Leopol-át."

Vincet had no humor. He hadn't ever abused an inka in front of Havelen, something his father, the king, wouldn't have liked, but Vincet rose and reached for this woman now.

Havelen was sure that no Leopol-át had ever, in their history, been so surprised. The Rangisin woman was graceful as she caught Vincet's wrist and twisted so he had to turn his back to her.

The heir went down on one knee as she lifted his arm behind him. Vincet crouched and yelled, the guards coming, trying to force her to let go while she did her best to break his arm.

As he staggered up, holding his shoulder, Vincet turned to look at Havelen before he looked at anyone else, and Havelen knew. She'd witnessed that. It was unforgivable.

Vincet's finger jabbed in Havelen's direction. "That stare. That calm you have, Ashi. I am going to break you of that bad habit. You will attend the inka's punishment and execution."

"I'm very sorry, Heir Leopol-át," Benna said, her voice calm. "The king has said the ashi cannot come to the heir's residence. She's too young."

"And you are the one she learned it from," Vincet said softly, his finger and eyes shifting to Benna, "I won't forget it."

"Yes, Heir Leopol-át," Benna said, bowing.

"I'm done, Benna," Havelen said, hiding the shaking in her hands. "Good evening, Vincet."

"Sleep well, Ashi," Vincet said.

But Havelen didn't sleep well. She was sure that few people in the residential portion of the palace slept well. Vincet made sure they all heard her.

Fight when you can

, Havelen's mother had said. Havelen had assumed her mother had meant that Havelen should fight if she judged there was any chance of winning. But the Rangisin woman had fought even when she knew she would die for it. It was a new idea for Havelen.

Apparently, the king also heard the Rangisin woman, or at least word of her. King Erepi was traditional, proud of the Leopol-át. His love was political power. He inflicted pain when it served his ambitions, and never personally. Vincet was disgraced, and Havelen was sent early to the Sanctuary on Iskel, where the ashis went to prepare for their marriage to the heir. After that, she'd only seen Vincet once a cycle. But she'd never forgotten what was waiting for her.

* * *

Her abductor moved somewhere to Havelen's right. When he opened the hatch, she winced against the light, facing the wrong direction. He went past her and got a cart, rolling it up and out of the hole. Lifting her, he carried her out of the hole, her chain belt left behind, broken, and dumped her into the cart, not gently, throwing a blanket over her. It swayed and began moving.

A Rangisin, because only they lived in the deserts of Iskel. She woke from drowsing to the sense that time had passed. There were voices speaking and she was cold.

"You've got an inka in there? For true?" a man said in Lews, the Rangisin language.

Havelen had learned Lews long ago, studying in her rooms. The blanket was yanked back. She looked up, just her eyes, at a large man with a thick beard, dark eyes. A Rangisin, yes.

He licked his lips. "I asked to see her as a part of my price for helping you, but I didn't believe you'd actually captured an inka. She's a rare beauty, curvy, with hair like fire, just as the stories say. Look at those eyes. You understand what I'm saying, little flame?"

"Of course not, Mahot," a voice said. "She only knows her own language."

"The gown's thin, but I can't really make her out in this light, Kohl. Won't you strip her?"

Havelen was hearing Mahot with only part of her attention. She'd recognized the other voice at once, her heart beginning to pound.

"You can see her well enough," Kohl said, moving into her range of vision.

Havelen froze. Seven years had passed and she barely recognized him. He would be twenty-three, just as she was twenty-two. For a moment, he was familiar, known to her, and then he wore a stranger's face. He'd filled out, broad shoulders, still with that careless grace, but so much bigger. His expression was cold, bitter lines there, his eyes telling her he hated her. A deep sinking went through Havelen's belly. She'd never intended to see him again. He'd taken her.

Vincet would have the wardens kill him slowly.

Kohl turned to Mahot and held out a small bag. "Your payment."

Mahot didn't reach for it, still looking at her. "I'll let you keep the contents if you'll give me an hour with the inka, Kohl. I'll keep the gag in."

Kohl's eyes slid to hers, seeming to consider. He couldn't know that she understood Lews. For a moment, Havelen wondered if Kohl really hated her enough to do that. She couldn't tell.

"Maybe," he said.

Her skin was crawling. She didn't know this man.

"After you've used her," Mahot said. "I could come where you keep her."

Kohl held out the purse again, the smile leaving his face. "I'll think about it." When Mahot was gone, Kohl spoke to her in Aleth, her language, his familiar lilting accent. "Remember me, Ashi? Your beauty has charmed Mahot. Should I offer to translate?" He bent down and his hand rested on her upper thigh. "I thought about whipping you, but I think Mahot has the right idea."

A slow flush began in her belly and spread outward.

His large hand moved over the curve of her hip, pushing the material of the robe with it, down to the dip of her waist, his eyes on his hand. "The heir flogged me until my back ran with blood and your face never changed." His dark eyes flashed to hers. "Do you hate me yet, Alethean?" When she stared back at him, her eyes searching his face, he shook his head. "Not yet. When I see the hate I feel in your eyes, then we'll be done. When I see that, I'll be satisfied." Finding the book she'd hidden, he pulled it out and tossed it beside her, flipping her dress down and covering her again with the blanket. The cart moved.

For a time, she had a sensation of dropping. She heard doors and voices too far to make out what they said. The blanket was ripped off and he grabbed her. She lay where he'd tossed her, on a soft surface as he untied her ankles.

When he removed her gag, Havelen swallowed, her mouth dry, licking her lips. "Kohl," she rasped. "Listen to me--"

His hand covered her mouth, Kohl leaning down, his face close to hers. "Don't bother."

As his hand withdrew, she gave him her answer to that, always her answer to hate, composing her face, calm.