A Warrior's Path (The Castes and the OutCastes) by Davis Ashura Page B

black ink made from the sap of the cerumen tree, which grew best in Arjun.  Next came the kiln, and when the blade came out of the oven seven days later, it had a matte black finish and in Mira’s imagination, oozed menace.
    The resultant sathana sword, according to the Duriahs, had properties similar to those of the finest steel: hard and flexible, yet able to accept an edge sharp enough to slice a feather in mid-air.  Of course, how a spidergrass blade would really compare to a steel weapon was a question never likely to be answered.  After all, very little of that famed metal still existed, and the few remaining pieces were all priceless family heirlooms, not to be broken and wasted on foolish stress tests.
    Mira pulled the mare to halt in sudden realization.  She’d never actually seen steel.  She shook her head in bemusement.
    She gently heeled the mare back into motion, glancing about at the surrounding fields and their low-lying crops.  Every so often she crossed a wooden bridge spanning a stone-lined and arrow-straight stream.  The brooks were irrigation canals sourced from the Gaunt River.  They spread like veins or arteries throughout the wide area between Ashoka’s Walls and brought needed water to the farms.  The Gaunt River coursed into Ashoka’s Oasis as a powerful flood, carving a deep canyon through the heart of Mount Creolite north of the city proper before emptying into the Sickle Sea.  But with the need for water from both the surrounding fields and the city itself, the river was but a rivulet by the time it reached its delta.
    Mira crossed another bridge, entering a familiar village.  The buildings were of tan stucco and wood with roofs of yellow tile or thatch.  Most were two or three stories tall, both wide and deep with short alleys paved in brick passing between a few of the structures.  The road Mira travelled grew finer and wider, paved in crushed stone and mortar and Cohesed by a Duriah.  It became the main thoroughfare for the small but lively village.
    This was a place peopled entirely by Murans, who were tall, well-built with golden-brown skin and dark hair.  Their clothing was generally severe, dark and full length.  In addition, the men wore wide-brimmed hats and if married, grew full, thick beards.  They would have appeared grim or imposing if not for their generous smiles and their bright, lively emerald green eyes, a hallmark of their Caste.
    Most Murans lived in ten such villages, each between two and five thousand, scattered throughout the land between the Inner and Outer Walls.  Where they chose to live wasn’t surprising since their Talent was the ability to bring life to most any kind of ground.  As such, most Murans were farmers, with the men and women sharing equally in the work.  Those who didn’t live a life in the fields went on Trial, joined the High Army, or became private gardeners.  But the glory of Caste Muran was borne by those who could sing.  The finest singers were always Muran, and a Clan was highly honored if one of their own was chosen for the Larina, Ashoka’s School of Song.
    Mira nodded greeting but didn’t slow or stop, and she soon left the village behind her.  Once more, the road became gravel, her horse’s hooves crunching loudly.  She passed a field where a small herd of cows munched contentedly .  Further in the distance, she saw men and women walking the fields, examining the crops for pests or blight.
    The road rose into a series of low, rolling hills, which let her know she was nearing her destination: a sathana spidergrass plantation, co-owned by House Suzay and Clan Weathervine of Caste Muran.  Several Suzays had recently graduated from the Fort and Sword, the martial school favored by their House and all of them required an Insufi blade – the sword given during the Upanayana ceremony.  It was the religious rite which represented the transformation of a boy into a man and consecrated a young Kumma to his duties.  It