by J. S. Bangs
“If I come with you,” Apurta said, “you let them go.”
Langur shook his head. “The woman’s coming with us one way or another. The injured one can stay here. If he lives—well, I don’t really expect that, so I won’t speculate.”
“We both go,” Vapathi broke in, rising to her feet. The men looked at her in surprise, as if she were a goat that had suddenly decided to speak. “Apurta and I will both accompany you willingly. But give me a day to tend to my brother’s wounds.”
Apurta looked at her in surprise. No, Kirshta wanted to say.
“I don’t think he’s going to make it,” Langur said lazily. “But we were going to take our time going up the mountain anyway, so sure. Make it easy on ourselves.”
“Vapathi—” Apurta began, but Vapathi stilled him with a raised finger. She crooked her finger to demand he come here. Apurta knelt in the grass next to Kirshta, and Vapathi spoke in a low whisper to both of them.
“You beer-addled men,” she said. “We have no choice here. Apurta, you and I will go with them, and we will live. Kirshta, I will heal you as best I can. And because I know you are strong, and because I have seen you survive worse situations than this, I expect you to survive and go down the river to Pukasra. Don’t try to follow us.” She raised a finger and pointed it seriously at Kirshta. “The slavers will come back to Pukasra. We’ll meet up there.”
I entered the Ushpanditya and opened it for the Emperor, Kirshta wanted to say. He pleaded with Vapathi with his eyes and shook his head wildly. Do you think I can’t help us escape from this?
“I know you want to come,” Vapathi said, “but don’t. I’ll be in more danger if you try to help than if you just stay alive.”
She rose to her feet and addressed the slavers. “We’ll go. Just let me tend to my brother.”
“Your woman speaks for you now?” Langur said, and the slavers all laughed.
“She’s right,” Apurta said quietly. “We’ll go.”
“Then heat up the brands,” Langur said, and he leaned forward and brushed Apurta’s cheek with a cackle. Two men clapped their hands on Apurta’s shoulders, and two more grabbed Vapathi by the arms. She shook free of them.
“I said I’d come freely,” she hissed. “But we’ll take care of my brother. Carry him.”
The men grumbled, but a glance from Langur set them moving. They seized Kirshta’s arms and legs to drag him. For a few moments pain blanked every other thought from his mind.
Then he was dropped into a bed of wet grass. Feet rustled around him, and he opened his eyes to see Vapathi’s face turning golden in the morning son.
“Stay still,” she said. “Don’t move.”
She disappeared. A moment later, she had cool, wet rags, which she daubed against Kirshta’s wounds. He drew in his breath and bit his tongue, but it was a kind pain, the cold pain of healing and union. The claw-scarred flesh was cleaned.
He moved his tongue and attempted to speak.
“Quiet,” Vapathi hissed. “Don’t you dare try to speak now.”
He raised a finger and gestured no.
“I will be fine,” she said. “As will Apurta. You will—”
He tried to raise a hand again, but she slapped it down.
“Listen to me,” she said in an urgent hiss. “You have broken yourself more than once trying to save me. But we protect each other. And right now I’m protecting you as best I can.”
He wanted to raise his hand again, but he hadn’t the strength for it.
“Now this is what will happen,” Vapathi said. “I will give you water and tend to your wounds all day today. In the morning I’ll do my best to hide water and food near you, and when we leave you will pray that no buzzard or tiger or wild dog decides to come and find you. When your water runs out you will somehow drag yourself to the river and drink from there. And if you stay here eating and resting for few days, you will heal enough to survive. I expect you to.”
She looked him sternly in the eye, pulling open his half-closed lid. “And then you’ll go to Pukasra and heal fully there. We’ll return when we’ve finished. And then, only then, will we reunite. Do you understand?”
He tried to shake his head, but his neck would not turn without tearing at his crushed windpipe. He groaned.
“Listen to me, Kirshta,” Vapathi said. “For once, listen.”
Sadja
The shrine to Kushma lurked beneath a shadowed arch at the end the River Palace, where the light of the torches did not reach. Sadja lit an lamp of myrrh-infused oil and set it to burn before the image of the frightful Power. In the dim light of the lamp, the features of Kushma showed as black shapes against the white background: Kushma sitting in the Moon posture, blood dripping from his hands and feet, fangs protruding from his mouth, a look of mad intensity in his eyes. The bones of men and animals were scattered around him.
“Come Kushma, come destroyer,” Sadja whispered.
The oil lamp hissed.
“Kushma who sits in darkness, Kushma who tears the breasts of men and demons, Kushma who slays the serpent, lend me your power.”
He heard the muttering of voices outside on the porch. His guest had arrived. Sadja breathed heavily and bowed his head.
“Come destroyer. Let me be the sickle in your hand, you who cuts the stalks in the time of harvest and clears the field for replanting. Return the bones of men to the earth to feed the grass and be reborn. Come Kushma.”
He heard Bhargasa and the other talking quietly. Only a moment to complete the prayer.
“Make me your vessel, bringer of ruin, giver of rebirth, drinker of blood, renewer of life. Come Kushma, come destroyer.”
He left the oil lamp burning before Kushma and returned to the porch. The guest was important. Better not keep him waiting.
* * *
Torchlight guttered around the porch of the River Palace, creating a grim yellow light around Sadja and his interlocutor. The man’s head was shaven, and he had a narrow, feminine face and full lips touched with rouge. He held his hands primly together, and when he bowed and blinked his eyes, the kohl along his lids made his face look momentarily like a death’s head, black emptiness where the eyes should be.
“You understand,” the eunuch said, “that Basadi-dar cannot possibly come herself. The Ushpanditya is not the sort of place from which one easily slips out for a midnight tryst.”
“If I expected the princess herself to come,” Sadja said, “then I would not gladly have received you in her place. But I’m pleased to have gotten any answer at all. Please, sit down.” He gestured to a cushion under the torchlight.
The eunuch looked down, then shook his head nervously. “I prefer to stand, Sadja-dar.”
Sadja sat on the cushion and steepled his fingers under his chin. “As you please. So Basadi-dar sent you. Interesting that it’s you, one of the imperial eunuchs, and not one of her maids. I was under the impression the Emperor had appointed you to watch over the princess, not to enable her escapades.”
“The Emperor’s service is treacherous and complicated,” the eunuch said earnestly, gesturing toward the Ushpanditya with a vague wave. “We must weigh our choices carefully.”
“And your choice is to aid Basadi-dar rather than rein her in?”
“My mistress suggests your entrance into the Ushpanditya will be fortuitous.”
“There are many ways I could enter the Ushpanditya. Perhaps you can suggest to me what circumstances the princess desires.”
“Her desire is our desire,” the eunuch said. He bowed his head. “Praudhu-daridarya, whose name we say with fear and trembling, has truly become an object of fear. He is paranoid and dangerous. Better a live tiger stalk the halls of the Ushpanditya than the Emperor. A tiger would be sated when it ate its prey.”
“The Emperor is not sated.”
“Fear is never sated. He fears everything and everyone, and he seeks to destroy what he fears. Every soldier in the Dhigvaditya who served under Ruyam, Dumaya, or Chadram
is considered suspect—and that is all of them, except for Vadya and a few others who have insinuated themselves as his only trustworthy advisors. Blood runs out under the gates. And the other inhabitants of the Ushpanditya, the ministers, courtiers, and servants, all of them cower under his glare.”
“Has he appointed a Hand yet?”
The eunuch hesitated, then shook his head. “Why you do ask?”
“The Emperor’s Hand is a man to fear, a man whom the Emperor trusts. If Praudhu has one.”
“He doesn’t.”
Sadja smiled wickedly. “Better that he doesn’t. Perhaps Lushatha-kha dreams of that appointment.”
“I think Lushatha-kha is too old and too occupied with his holdings in Kaugali to want the effort of being the Emperor’s Hand.”
“Or so he says.” But Sadja’s judgement was similar: Lushatha had no ambition to be the Emperor’s Hand, or any other position in the Emperor’s cabinet, even though many people would regard his marriage as the first step toward that power and privilege. “Tell me about the wedding. What preparations has the Emperor made?”
The eunuch looked puzzled for a second. “I haven’t been deeply involved with that. The house-master of the Ushpanditya sees after such things.”
“Surely you take care of Basadi-dar’s preparation. Or you see what is being done.”
“For Basadi-dar herself. Her wedding clothes are prepared—tailors visited her yesterday, and bolts of silk and cotton beyond number were brought in for her to choose fabrics and designs. And throughout the palace I see other things. The halls are cleaned, marble is scrubbed, ceilings scarred by smoke are painted. What you would expect for an imperial wedding.”
“And the security for the wedding? Surely a man as paranoid as the Emperor has taken forethought for the safety of himself and his guests during the great event.”
“Perhaps? I don’t know. The Emperor’s Spear would concern himself with that.”
Sadja made a sign over his shoulder, and a shadow moved in the torchlight. Bhargasa stepped into view. The eunuch gasped and stepped back.
“I didn’t know someone else was listening.”
“This is Bhargasa, the captain of my personal guard,” Sadja said. “He hears everything. You’ll know him well by the time this is over.”
The eunuch’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment he studied Bhargasa’s silent, bearded form. He nodded. “I thought he had left. Why is he here?”
“I am not satisfied with the preparations which the Emperor’s Spear has made for the wedding. I think the Emperor should be more concerned than he is.”
The eunuch looked troubled. “You would further encourage his paranoia?”
“I think he should be concerned about assassinations during the wedding. Very concerned.”
The eunuch bowed his head but said nothing.
“I would like to send Bhargasa into the Dhigvaditya to coordinate with the Emperor’s Spear. He should speak directly with as many soldiers as possible, to ensure nothing unexpected happens during the wedding.”
The eunuch nodded. “But I don’t know that I can help with that. The Bronze Gate doesn’t open to me.”
“You can put the idea into Basadi-dar’s ear and have her mention it to her father. I’ll also broach the topic with the Emperor myself. I’ve proven my concern for his well-being, and I offer the services of Bhargasa, a man who has served me since he was a child. I’m sure he’ll accept the offer.”
“His fear is endless,” the eunuch said. “Perhaps he’ll fear too much to allow your man into the Dhigvaditya.”
Bhargasa spoke up. “I have never served Ruyam, or Dumaya, or Chadram. I have no connection at all to the Emperor’s enemies.”
“And when Bhargasa goes in, he’ll identify men who are brave, brave enough to be willing to save themselves from the Emperor’s paranoia.”
The eunuch grimaced and pulled away. “Again, I cannot tell you what lies beyond the Horned Gate. My domain is the Ushpanditya.”
“It will be my job to find and recognize such men,” Bhargasa said, rubbing his hand through his beard. “I just need to gain entrance to the Dhigvaditya under legitimate auspices.”
“I’ll have the princess use what leverage she has,” the eunuch said. Then, with some hesitation and a quiet tremble in his voice. “How many men will you involve?”
“Enough,” Bhargasa said. “That’s not your concern. Your only job is to bring Sadja-dar’s word to Basadi-dar.”
“I will know nothing,” the eunuch said blandly.
“And you keep the attention of the Emperor and his Spear elsewhere,” Sadja added, tapping the top of his knee insistently. “Vadya will know of Bhargasa’s work in the Dhigvaditya, of course. Let him know, know all of it, but suggest that Vadya should concern himself with further investigating the Ushpanditya. Let the whole of the palace be consumed with fear and treachery—”
“As it already is.” He looked toward Bhargasa with concern. “And your precautions in the Dhigvaditya will not endanger us?”
“I am a judge of soldiers,” Bhargasa said confidently. “If I can speak as I will beyond the Bronze Gate, then I’ll find the men we need.”
The eunuch seemed slightly discomfited, but he bowed. “I accept your word.”
“And tell Basadi-dar,” Sadja said, “that I will have a wedding present for her. She should be prepared to receive it.”
A thin, wicked smile appeared on the eunuch’s face. “She will be delighted to hear it. And all of the household with her.”
Navran
Navran paced from one side of the throne room to the other, spying out the window overlooking the east garden, then turning back to the checkered marble tiles of the floor. He would wear through their gloss and reach the rough stone beneath them soon, tearing his slippers to shreds with his worry.
“Read it again,” he told the courier.
The courier cleared his throat and read off of the crisp palm-leaf page. “Navran-dar, king of Virnas, Heir of Manjur, my brother in Ulaur, greetings. I write you with heavy heart. The next Heir of Manjur, my son Jhumitu—”
“No, no,” Navran mumbled. “Skip to the end. The part about the ransom.”
The courier stuttered for a moment, then found the place. “The money which would ransom the son of the dishonorable Ashturma-kha will instead recover the child Jhumitu, your Heir, the chosen of Ulaur. If Sadja-dar were here, he would approve of it. But prepare yourself for the wrath of Ashturma-kha, and remember us in your prayers before Ulaur and the five-winged amashi.”
Navran sighed and slumped onto the cushioned throne. His fingers dug into the armrest. “What do we do now?”
Josi sat on a cushion on the floor, leaning against the low table that was set in front of the throne. Dastha stood by the door, the only guard Navran permitted with him in the throne room today. Navran looked from Josi to Dastha in frustration.
“I don’t know,” Josi said. She stretched cautiously on the cushion, giving Navran a look of affectionate sympathy. “We could… well, no.”
“Can’t pay it,” Navran said.
“Even if we tried,” Josi said. “We haven’t the resources.”
“Go back to Gaudam?” Gaudam was the rich Uluriya merchant who had taken Manjur’s ring when Navran had pawned it. He might be enough.
“I doubt whether Gaudam has the money, either,” Josi said glumly. “And we would be putting ourselves deeper into debt, just when we were starting to get our heads above water.”
“Could raise a special tax.” But he shook his head. “Not enough time.”
Josi was quiet for a while. “We could surround Thudra with soldiers and attack.”
“He’d kill Sundasha-kha.”
“But we will at least have made an effort. Perhaps Sadja-dar will understand.”
Navran closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “Let the boy die, to seem to try to help him?”
Josi rose from her cushion and approached Navran on the throne. She touched
his chest, then clasped his hands in hers. She smelled like jasmine and ink, and her milky brown eyes arrested his, drowning his anxiety for a moment. She lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles. “Things will be resolved. I trust in you.”
“I told Veshta we’d marry,” Navran whispered. “Once the problem with Thudra is done. But now?” He clenched his teeth together and looked away.
Josi’s fingers brushed against his jaw, and she planted a kiss on his unshaven cheek. “I will wait,” she whispered. “We’ll find a way.”
Navran stood. He wrapped a hand around Josi’s waist and pulled her close to him, feeling the soft curves of her breasts and belly against his stomach. He put his hand behind her neck, kissed her forehead. She raised her chin and pressed her lips against his. For a moment they stood in that position. Navran began to knead her back. Belatedly, he remembered that Dastha was still in the room. And Yavada would be here soon.
He drew his lips away from hers. She sighed and rested her face against the curve of his neck, and he brushed his chin on the top of her hair. Over the curls which escaped from her bun, he made eye contact with Dastha, who suppressed a grin. He winked once at Navran. Navran shook his head.
The curtain over the entrance to the throne room moved, and Navran quickly pushed Josi away. She smoothed the fabric of her sari and took her place on the cushion by the table with perfect composure as the herald entered.
“Navran-dar, my lord and king,” the herald said with a curt bow to Navran. “Yavada-kha, majakhadir of Ahunas, has entered the palace. He’ll be here shortly.”
Navran sat back on the throne and waited for his blood to cool. Josi sat in her place, giving him a few heavy glances. A minute passed before the curtain stirred again. Two men in Yavada’s service entered without weapons and bowed to Navran. The majakhadir himself followed in a long, foppish orange dhoti with a gold-colored fringe and a white kurta, the ends of which he worried with his hands. He bowed deeply to Navran as he entered, spreading his palms in a fluid variant of the Cane posture, then looked at Navran with an expression of delight.
