Temple of a Thousand Faces

by John Shors

  Near the contingent of Siamese, Voisanne, Chaya, and Asal stood waist deep in a bend of the slow-moving river. Asal’s guard watched from the shoreline. Though his wrists were still bound, Asal had otherwise been treated well during the march and didn’t seem to mind how his skin was chafing against the ropes. Voisanne had tended to his injured fingers on several occasions after asking an older woman how to treat them.

  Voisanne felt conflicted as she washed herself. She was thrilled to have escaped Angkor with the two people she cared about most in the world, yet was saddened by the death of Thida and worried about the future. If the Khmers lost the coming battle, anything could happen to them. Voisanne had been tempted to stay behind with Asal and Chaya, back at the Khmer encampment, but King Jayavar had asked Asal to march with them, thinking that his knowledge of Cham tactics might prove useful.

  For most of her life, Voisanne had looked to her father for advice, but now that he was gone, she needed to move forward on her own. Of course, she sought out Asal’s opinions, but she didn’t want to besiege him with questions and needs, so she often turned inward, relying on her own past experiences. Foremost on her mind was Chaya. Was it right to bring her little sister along with the army, or should she have stayed behind? It was well known that poison was available if the Chams were victorious, but Voisanne couldn’t imagine encouraging her little sister to end her own life. If the Chams won, she thought, she’d cut Asal’s bonds, and the three of them would try to escape into the jungle. Yet they would be hunted and likely captured, and the notion of what Chaya might endure made Voisanne beseech the Gods for mercy. She prayed so much that day that prayer had become almost involuntary, as natural as breathing.

  Chaya laughed at something Asal said, and Voisanne shifted her gaze to him. She remembered how they had first made love near the stream, how he’d moved with boundless urgency and desire. It was as if he had wanted her for a hundred lifetimes and yet had been chained down, unable to touch her, to show her how he felt. When finally given the freedom to act, he’d been overwhelmed. He had consumed her, and for a time she’d been carried to such a place that the world below faded away into nothingness.

  As Voisanne watched him laugh with Chaya, her desire to touch him again grew. She wanted to be alone with him, for her passion to become his. Yet now it was she who felt chained down, because privacy was impossible, and soon they might all be dead. Her breathing quickened as she wondered how she could ensure their safety. When the fighting started, she would have to free him and find him a weapon. If King Jayavar punished her, so be it, because she had seen Asal fight and knew that they would be infinitely better protected if he was armed.

  I must find a knife, she thought. A small knife with which to cut him free.

  Chaya led Asal to shore, then picked up a smooth stone and tried to skip it. Her stone plunged into the water and Asal laughed, causing Chaya to curse and Voisanne to smile. Chaya tried again but fared no better.

  “Let me show you,” he said, leaning down to pick up a stone. Since his hands were still bound in front of him, his throw was awkward, but his stone still skipped three times across the flat water.

  Chaya frowned. “But that’s just how I did it.”

  “You have to flick your wrist.”

  “I know how to do it. My stones aren’t as good as yours. Why don’t you find me a good stone instead of telling me about flicking wrists?”

  “Am I to be your servant?”

  “Yes, so move quickly, you lumbering elephant,” she teased, “or I shall give you a whipping you’ll never forget.”

  Voisanne smiled again, surprised at how quickly Asal and Chaya seemed to have forged a bond. He was acting like an elder brother to her, and clearly she wanted such an influence, because as he searched for a stone, she chided him about moving too slowly. He increased the speed of his search, handing her stones that she tossed away with exaggerated disdain.

  Smiling, Voisanne watched their antics, then found a flat, round stone as long as her thumb. She whistled, saw Asal and Chaya turn to her, and then lowered her body and flicked her wrist as Asal had done. Her stone skipped six or seven times before settling into the water.

  “That’s not fair!” Chaya said, laughing. “You cheated.”

  “I did no such thing.”

  “You two have been working on this. That’s what you did all those days back in Angkor before you found me. You studied skipping! And now you conspire to make me feel like a fool.”

  “But that needs no conspiracy,” Voisanne replied, happy to see her sister laugh. “It’s easy enough to do alone.”

  Chaya tried to suppress a giggle, failed, and then rushed straight at Voisanne, grabbing her hands. The sisters struggled for a moment before Voisanne slipped on a rock and tumbled into the river with a splash. Chaya clapped triumphantly. Asal told her how Voisanne had pushed him into the moat when they were on the boat together, and how he was pleased to be avenged.

  Voisanne sat in the water and watched them laugh, aware that her little sister and a Cham warrior now made up her entire family. “I love you both,” she said, still watching them. “For a long time, I felt as if the Gods had abandoned me, that they didn’t care about me. But I was wrong. They do care. So pray to them, both of you. Pray that this fight goes our way.”

  Early that evening, after the Khmer army had marched farther to the southwest, Jayavar and Ajadevi sat atop a ridge that provided mostly unobstructed views in all directions. The army was camped along the ridge with sentries posted at every fifty paces. Because of their proximity to Angkor, Jayavar had forbidden any fires. This order created taxing conditions within the camp, for no one could cook and, worse, there was no smoke to keep the mosquitoes away.

  As Ajadevi chewed a piece of dried fish, she rubbed oil from a neem tree on Jayavar’s skin. The oil repelled the flying pests, though its effects didn’t last long. On top of the ridge, curses and claps rang out as people tried to deal with the insects.

  Ajadevi and Jayavar possessed a silk mosquito net but had opted not to use it since so many of their countrymen suffered. Even her renowned patience was tested by the constant buzzing and biting. Trying to relax, to focus on what lay to the south, she breathed deeply.

  “What do you see?” Jayavar asked, then bit into a strip of dried fish.

  She shrugged. “A million little devils. They’re all I can sense.”

  “They know good blood when they find it. And surely yours must be as sweet as any.”

  “My blood is old. Old and tainted.”

  “Nonsense.”

  She swatted at a persistent mosquito and shifted on the boulder they shared. Frustrated that she couldn’t interpret the signs around her, she shook her head, wishing that fires could be lit.

  “In a few days it shall all be over,” Jayavar said, stacking three stones. “For worse or better, it shall end.”

  She thought about the permanence and impermanence of life, wondering how they could coexist. “What do you see, Jayavar? You always ask me, but on this night I see nothing.”

  “I believe victory is possible…but I fear betrayal.”

  “Who would betray us?”

  “Many. And if even just one does, we are lost. Because the only way we shall win is through surprise. Indravarman has too many men. If we fail to surprise him, we’ll be annihilated.”

  “Don’t let our people see your fear.”

  “I won’t.”

  “You must speak to them before battle. Tell them what we fight for.”

  “What do we fight for?”

  “The right to live as we want.”

  He nodded, adding a fourth stone to his pile. “War should be fought for nothing less.”

  The sun had dropped below the horizon, and waves of amber spread slowly across the sky.

  “It looks like an artist spilled orange paint on a blue background,” she said.

  He agreed but then turned from the sky to her. “In two days, when we strike, I shall have to le
ad the charge. And the Chams will seek to destroy me.”

  Nodding, she made no reply.

  “If victory is theirs,” he asked, “will you take the poison?”

  “Yes.”

  He reached for her hand, his fingers rubbing against her skin. “If we should die, how shall we find each other amid so much space, so much blackness?”

  She kissed the back of his hand. She wasn’t certain how to answer and thought about how she would look for him if the poison claimed her. “Remember,” she said, “that night so long since past, when you sent up a lantern into the sky?”

  “I do.”

  “You took silk and wrapped it around a rectangular box that you’d made from the thinnest of bamboo strips. The silk was yellow, the box as long as my arm. Positioned near its bottom was a candle.”

  “A three-wicked candle.”

  “Yes. And we stood atop Angkor Wat and beheld its beauty, the night full upon us. For the first time you told me that you loved me and that you wanted to honor me by adding my star to the sky.”

  “And I did.”

  She smiled as the memory unfurled. “You lit the candle and held your lantern aloft, waiting for the air within it to warm. When it finally did, we released the lantern. It drifted sideways for a moment and we feared it was lost, but then it seemed to surge upward, glowing and strong. It sailed high and far, at one point mingling with the stars.”

  “It became a star. It’s still there, if you look closely enough.”

  Her smile returned. She leaned over to kiss him on the lips. “If you should fall in battle, hold our star within yourself as you pass from world to world. I shall do the same, and if we both keep our star, our light, within us, surely we shall be brought together again in the next life.”

  Jayavar nodded, putting his arm around her, drawing her close. “I was right, so long ago, to think of you as that star. Because you’ve brought such a brightness into my life. You’re the one person in the world who sees me as I am.”

  A mosquito landed on his forearm and she crushed it before it could trouble him. “If I hear you’re dead, I shall take the poison. I shall hold our star within me and come looking for you.”

  “Just be certain, Ajadevi. There are many untruths in war, and rumors are born as quickly as the pests around us.”

  “If we win,” she replied, “we should light another lantern. We should add one more star to the sky.”

  “Yes.”

  “Win so that you can give us a second star.”

  Sighing, he kissed her shoulder, his lips lingering on her skin. “Rest here with me, my love. Rest with me and see what the night will bring.”

  Fight on the Shore

  wo days later, shortly before dawn, Jayavar stood in the center of a circle of twenty-four officers who were illuminated by a small fire. One of the men was Phirun, to whom Jayavar had revealed himself on the dusty road outside of Angkor. True to his word, Phirun had sent groups of fighters north, and later made the trip himself, commanding a large contingent of able men and women.

  Each of the twenty-four officers would soon lead three hundred warriors into battle. Each had been assigned specific goals for the coming fight. Some were told to follow Jayavar’s lead and drive straight into the Cham camp. Others were commanded to flank the melee and capture the Cham boats before the enemy had a chance to flee.

  Jayavar had spent the previous night thinking about how the battle might unfold, mulling over every possibility. In the end, he decided to use a version of the boy’s plan to employ fire. Jayavar was afraid that massive flames might simply cause the Chams to rush to their boats. Certainly some of the enemy would be overrun and downed, but others might escape and warn their approaching countrymen. The success of Jayavar’s overall strategy was to surprise the new arrivals, and to do that he needed to ensure that no Cham escaped the morning’s attack.

  Ultimately, Jayavar opted to start a small, diversionary fire to the west. The smoke would distract the Cham sentries, and perhaps a contingent of the enemy would be sent to inspect the cause. In the meantime, Jayavar would lead his army straight at the Cham base, rushing forward to surprise many of his foes before they had time to arm themselves and form fighting groups. As the Chams had used terror against his people, he would use it against them, scattering their warriors, killing them without mercy.

  Jayavar had decided to follow the boy’s plans exactly when it came to the poisoned fish, and two days earlier he had sent scouts ahead to tell Khmer fishermen to let their catch spoil before they sold it the following day. The king had no idea how many Chams would be sickened, but he was certain that at least some would not be at their fighting peak. This fact alone might shift the outcome of the battle in his favor.

  Since Indravarman commanded far more men, Jayavar was convinced that waging three smaller attacks instead of one large one was the only way that he might drive the Chams from their land. In the first two battles—the fight on the lakeshore and the waterborne attack on the approaching Cham fleet—his force would be larger than that of the enemy, and if his strategies were superior, he might win the day.

  As he stood among his men and repeated his earlier instructions, Jayavar wondered which of them would live to see the sunset. They were all strong, brave, and loyal. They had been beaten by the Chams, sent fleeing into the jungle, and craved revenge. Jayavar feared that they might be too aggressive and counseled them to fight with their minds as well as their hearts.

  “I cannot afford to lose any of you,” he added. “So attack with passion, not recklessness. Think of those you’ve lost, but don’t seek to join them. Instead, honor them with victory.”

  Several officers expressed their agreement. Jayavar gazed from man to man, each of whom was heavily armed. Of the twenty-four officers, six Siamese were present, including a scarred and toothless man who had planned the successful Siamese ambush against Indravarman’s column of warriors. Considering the needs of the foreigners, Jayavar kept his eyes on them. “You were drawn here by gold, and gold you shall have. But know also that we have a common enemy. If the Chams destroy my people, they’ll come for yours. So fight with us today not just for gold, but also for your future.”

  The Siamese beat their shields against their chests. As usual, their movements were synchronized, and Jayavar was glad not to be fighting such men. Again his gaze drifted from face to face. “On the trail,” he said, “I asked my wife why we should fight this war. She replied that we should fight to ‘live as we want.’ And she was right—no desire has ever been more noble. So as you prepare for battle, tell your men of this need, of what was once a certainty but now is a longing. For I, like you, covet freedom. And today I shall have it, either through victory or in death.”

  Jayavar nodded, hoping to inspire his men, his hand tightening on his sword hilt. He needed to fill them with hope and courage because they would soon be called upon to throw themselves against hardened fighters.

  “My days of hiding are over,” he added, looking at his men, his voice growing louder. “I was forced to hide, as were you, but thoughts of vengeance have simmered within me since that first night in the jungle. The Chams killed my children. They stole that which was most precious to me. And now, as they defile our temples and our homes, as they mock our history, they think us cowards. They cast their dung upon us because they believe that we’re incapable of rising up against them. But they are wrong, my friends. Because on this day we, so small in number, shall redden the ground, the water, the very air we breathe with their blood. And when my sword sings, it will do so through the voices of my children. Your swords will sing as well, and together we shall show the Chams that anyone who threatens our land does so at a terrible risk. We do not seek war. We do not welcome it. But when it comes to us, we shall battle as if the existence of our very souls is at stake!”

  Both Khmers and Siamese shouted in agreement, beating their shields and weapons together.

  “Good!” Jayavar yelled, the prospect of victor
y filling him with strength. “Today we shall fight under a new banner. A banner not for a king, but for a people. Draw resolve from it! Carry it forward! And fight to live as you would want, not as the Chams would make you.” He unsheathed his sword and thrust it into the air. “As you would want!”

  The officers cheered, hoisting their weapons.

  Jayavar stepped forward to embrace each man, calling him by name and wishing him victory. He would die for his people and they would die for him. And though he wanted to live, if he had to choose between victory and death or defeat and life, he would choose the former. More important than his fate, or even Ajadevi’s, was returning freedom to his people.

  At all costs, Jayavar had to win.

  Several hours later, after the diversionary fire had been lit to the west, Boran stood next to Vibol and listened to his commander give additional orders. Though what the officer said was important, Boran kept glancing at his son, whose chest rose and fell with increasing vigor. Sweat beaded on Vibol’s forehead. His fingers were tight around the shaft of his spear, which trembled slightly, like a sapling in a breeze. Boran had a sudden urge to take Vibol’s hand and pull him away from the approaching madness, but he knew that his son would never forgive him. So Boran prayed to the Gods to shelter his family. He beseeched them for protection.

  The commander unsheathed his sword. The Cham encampment was near, and all along the jungle, large groups of Khmers and Siamese waited to attack. Men shifted uneasily, ensured that their shields were held fast, and whispered to one another as brothers might—swearing their loyalty and protection. With a possible end so near, emotions were unchecked. Hardened warriors spoke of love and devotion. Officers looked at their men with affection and grace.

  A bird’s call sounded to Boran’s left. He recognized it to be false, and the men around him readied themselves. The call came again and his commander urged them to run. Boran turned to Vibol and kissed his forehead. “I love you.”