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Chapter 1, Part 3
Take for instance the entry I found on the sixth page:
MALE, ANATHKEDI, half-brother to head of household well-liked gives permission to be touched, takes it away without warning . . house Head thinks he is skittish of touch, needs touch-friend, learn to trust--??This incident was remarkable in that it first required something not all Ai-Naidar are capable of: the ability to think as other castes do. I understand the duties of those above the Wall of Birth, but I do not truly empathize with them. Even a month's worth of study would not have acquainted me well enough with a noble's mind to permit me to make the leap of understanding Shame has made here: that the noble was not, in fact, shy of being intimate with others, but had fallen prey to an emotion poisonous in the nobility and regality, one so destructive to their purpose in society that it rarely has opportunity to flourish: contempt.
Have studied, done interviews. Not trust issue, is, in fact, contempt for those he permitted. Did not think enough of them to withhold touch, did not think well enough of them to withdraw it properly.
Dressed him in no-one's clothes . . took him to other household, had him shadow those in caste-ranks he thought so little of. Needed a week... no longer treats those caste-ranks badly. head of household pleased. Checked a season later... still behaving well. head of household offered a sasrithi.
I would never, ever, have dared imagine a noble capable of contempt.
And it was a fitting Correction, at that.
So then: thrice unusual, Shame, once for being able to be another Ai-Naidari simply by watching him, twice for bringing a noble to a difficult Correction of action and thrice for having conceived one so well-suited to the error.
The fourth and final, of course, was that it worked so well that the Head of household gave him a sasrithi, a token allowing him to ask a future favor. Such tokens are not lightly given from a noble Head of household.
I continued reading as the day waned, rising only to bring a lamp to my window-seat. Though terse, each entry evoked a self-contained world in all its nuance: a twisted spirit or ungentle mind, the circumstances that had brought it to that sickness, and through each, like a thread of incense, the presence of the osulkedi, Shame's servant, who led each supplicant back to righteousness and cleansed their spirits. It was a record of redemption found in the pain of expiation and the darkness of confession, and I found it haunting, unnerving and irresistible.
I fell asleep there, leaning back against the pillows and twisted with knees raised so as not to drop the book from my lap; when I woke, my hand was resting on the edge, protective. I had neither packed nor washed in preparation for my journey, and though I hastened to both tasks I am ashamed to say I kept the carriage-master waiting.
"Haste is not needful," the carriage-master said, his speech politely Abased: he was irimkedi, a servant to the emperor and several castes my junior. It was for him to accept such delays with aplomb, just as it was for me to not make such errors of ill courtesy. I sighed and moved so his assistants could load my trunk, then stepped up into the carriage with one of Shame's logs held against my chest. While I had the sense of his work from the first, I could not deny my compulsion. I wanted to know more. The carriage rocked beneath the boots of the driver as he climbed aboard and then we were underway. Settling into the pillowed bench, I opened the next volume and resumed reading.
The first mention of blood made me put the book down. I stared out the window; we had passed out of the capital and were now among the soft green fields outside it. The sunlight falling through the carriage window onto my wrist felt very real, very bright... the breeze, fresh with the newness of spring, did not seem to co-exist with the words in the entry I'd just read.
Knew talk would be pointless. Needed to make blood payment for guilt. Not a violent grief, so brought needles and made it slow.What guilt could be so desperate to require blood payment? And what kind of man could dole it out so methodically? Every other entry had evoked in me a rich sense of color and light, as if the bare words were just waiting for calligraphy. But this... had been flat to me. Words, naked words, their meanings unadorned in my mind.
I have never needed more than the mildest of Corrections. I could not imagine a world of such violent passions. How could I possibly be of service to a man capable of addressing such things?
And yet, Thirukedi had sent me. Of all His osulked, He had chosen me.
I had to believe I could help... but I did not pick up the log again. I spent the remainder of the journey with my gaze fixed on the new green of the fields, and my distraction was so complete I did not even wonder how I would mix the color on a palette.
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