6: Broken Fortress by Ginn Hale

whisper of the water breaking as Jath’ibaye eased himself into the tub.  
    Kahlil went to the table and dragged one of the chairs over and sat with his back to the bathroom door to give Jath’ibaye his privacy.
    Kahlil gazed again at the huge glass case in front of him. A thick vine twined its woody stem between the planes of glass, using them to support its canopy of green and gold leaves. Tiny red mushrooms and velvety green moss covered the soil.
    “So, why all the plants?” Kahlil called back to Jath’ibaye.
    “What do you mean?” Jath’ibaye countered. Kahlil could hear him unscrewing a soap tin.
    “You’ve got this huge collection. What’s it for?” Kahlil asked.
    “Does it have to be for something?”  
    “They don’t have to be for anything, but knowing you, they are.”
    Jath’ibaye gave a soft, low laugh. Kahlil smiled to himself.
    “So?” Kahlil prompted.
    “Just a minute. I have to rinse my hair.”  
    Kahlil waited, rocking his chair back against the wall, while Jath’ibaye dunked his head under the water.
      “I’m trying to rebuild the natural diversity of these lands,” Jath’ibaye said at last. “Every time the Payshmura opened the Great Gates it placed an incredible strain on the land. The soil weakened; the air lost much of its nitrogen and oxygen content. The plants and animals that I’ve been gathering were all once native to this area. I’m trying to reintroduce them.”  
    “I didn’t know that the Great Gates damaged the lands,” Kahlil remarked.
    “When they’re opened, living force drains from Basawar to Nayeshi. The Eastern sorceresses knew about it, but they couldn’t convince the Payshmura to destroy the gates.”
    “Really?”  
    “I don’t think the Payshmura widely publicized their dissent. But even when I first arrived I felt something was wrong with the land. It felt weak, almost sick. I had no idea why, of course.” The water sloshed as Jath’ibaye rose from the tub. “Ji told me about the rest.”
    Kahlil glanced back, catching a glimpse of Jath’ibaye’s naked body. He was as strong and lean as Kahlil remembered. Tiny rivulets of water traced the curves of his muscles. The fine blond hairs on his chest, arms, and legs glistened with droplets of water. He reached for a towel.  
    Kahlil whipped his eyes back around to the front.  
    “So where did you find them, the plants, I mean? If there weren’t any left here?” Kahlil asked, though he was only half prepared to listen to Jath’ibaye’s reply. The image of Jath’ibaye’s body still played through his mind.
    “Some are common, just growing farther south. Others, like the moonvines, were propagated from one sickly plant that managed to survive at the edge of its natural range.” Jath’ibaye’s voice was slightly muffled as he toweled his hair. “I think a few species might have survived on some of the islands, east of the great rift, but so much has become extinct.”  
    Jath’ibaye came to the door. He’d wrapped the towel around his hips. His skin was still pink from the heat of the bath.
    “Sometimes when I’m looking through the old bestiaries and botanical books this sense of loss overwhelms me…”  
    “You do what you can with what remains.” Kahlil wasn’t sure if he was talking about his own life or Basawar’s mass extinctions. “It’s a beautiful plant. I’m glad you could save it.”
    “So am I.” Jath’ibaye crouched down beside Kahlil’s chair. He pointed to the tiny red mushrooms dotting the soil in the glass case in front of them. “Before we discovered that mushroom we couldn’t get any of the moonvine’s seeds to germinate. But once we brought the two together they started sprouting right and left. And not just moonvine, frond trees as well.”
    “Because of the mycorrhizae?”  
    Jath’ibaye smiled, beautifully. “Yes. I’m amazed you remembered.”
    “I’m a little amazed myself,” Kahlil admitted. The scent of soap lingered on