5: The Holy Road by Ginn Hale

did.” Ravishan tore a huge chunk from his stuffed roll and wolfed it down.
    “What did they expect us to do, just wander the streets for a week?”
    Ravishan shrugged, his mouth too full to speak.
    John continued, “And if they were so worried about contami nation, then why didn’t they send word before you arrived? Why not have someone meet you at the train station?”
    Ravishan finished off the last off his roll and flopped back against the leather seat. “It’s probably politics. Hann’yu said that many of the gaun’im are unconvinced of the need to return the Rifter to Basawar.”
    John nodded. He had overheard a number of similar conversations between Hann’yu, Dayyid, and Nuritam. Apparently, many of the southern gaun’im strongly opposed the training of a Kahlil. Who could blame them? The return of the Rifter could mean the utter destruction of their holdings. After all, the Fai’daum weren’t agents of a foreign land. Their strongholds were bound to be on one or more of the gaun’im lands.
    “Sending you away for a week isn’t going to solve anything.”
    “It might give them a little time to silence the objectors or at least distract them from interfering with the ceremonies,” Ravishan said. “I don’t know. I’m just glad you got us somewhere to stay. I’m exhausted.”
    John ate his own rolls. The delicate, faint flavors of the refined flour and soft meat were lost on him, but at least it stopped the ache of his stomach. After he’d eaten, he found his mood had mellowed somewhat.
    He glanced to Ravishan. The diffuse light of street lamps poured through the silk curtains of the carriage, softening the hard planes his face. Ravishan’s head was bowed down, almost to his chest. His long legs drooped against John’s. He seemed like he might drift off to sleep. As the carriage jostled over the brick streets, their legs swayed and brushed each other. John felt the heat of Ravishan’s body, even through the wool of their cassocks. Ravishan looked up, smiling slyly at the contact. And then, flushing, he glanced away. Reflexively, John shifted away from Ravishan. They were playing with fire here and they both knew it.
    They rode on in silence over the brick road for several minutes.
    “Do you feel someone is…watching?” Ravishan asked in a whisper.
    John hadn’t sensed the slightest distortion in the air around them, but he’d grown deeply cautious. Some ushiri—usually Fikiri—always seemed to be skulking through the Gray Space. Of course, that had been in Rathal’pesha, not Nurjima.
    And suddenly it dawned upon John that here the only ushiri capable of moving so far and so adeptly through the Gray Space was Ravishan.
    “No, I don’t think anyone is actually.” John felt almost stunned by the thought—not quite able to trust it.
    “We’re alone?” Ravishan sounded uncertain even asking.
    “Who would be watching?” John asked.
    “Fikiri, perhaps.” Distaste sounded in Ravishan’s voice and showed in his expression.
    “But why would he bother anymore? We agreed to his demands.” And with Dayyid gone, who would Fikiri spy for? John didn’t say as much; both he and Ravishan refrained from discussing Dayyid as much as possible.
    Lamplight flickered through the intimate confines of the carriage, momentarily illuminating the longing in Ravishan’s handsome smile.
    John only leaned a little closer to Ravishan, and yet after restraining himself for so long, even so slight an overture felt dangerous.
    Ravishan met John’s gaze and flushed as John continued to look into his eyes. Streetlamps flared and faded as they drove past. The rhythm of the tahldi’s hooves against the cobbled street pounded through the carriage like a racing heartbeat.
    Ravishan tilted his head just slightly and John wondered if he should kiss him or wait. The way Ravishan was gazing at him, he didn’t think he could wait all that long.
    Then suddenly the carriage jerked to a halt.
    Ravishan rocked forward,