Bahadur slunk out into the hall, darting from doorway to doorway and hoping for some sort of clue to where his things were. They would have to take advantage of Mistress Varti’s offer of help even more now. Their captor was after them because they were connected to Shahin; he was wealthy and possibly powerful in the city; and he was ambitious. But what is his ambition?
He rounded a corner and found himself face to face with a pair of guards. Bahadur recovered first and bashed one across the jaw with his cudgel even as he punched the other in the nose. The first man went down, but while the other tried to bring his sword around Bahadur’s momentum brought the cudgel to bear with a solid thunk at the base of the guard’s skull. The man slumped, and Bahadur briefly considered taking one of their swords. Better not; be too easy to kill someone that way. Let’s not give them a pretense to jail me again. He hurried on, darting through corridors and hiding in doorways, looking for his way out.
Behind one of those doorways, not far from a set of stairs leading up, he found his few possessions tossed carelessly in a corner. Bahadur felt much more comfortable with his blade strapped to his side, even though he knew he’d be sticking with the cudgel.
The top of the stairs were guarded by a spear-wielding pair, one on either side of the door, who leaned against the wall and spoke in hushed tones to pass the time. No one had sounded the alarm yet, but Bahadur didn’t expect that to last.
The one on the left Bahadur clubbed over the head. He collapsed to the ground, but the man’s partner was quick on his feet. The spear point grazed Bahadur’s shoulder as he spun around to face the second opponent.
He was good; Bahadur attempted a feint three times, and three times the man was unfazed. Bahadur shifted his grip on the cudgel, contemplating an off-hand swing of the kopis to break his opponent’s spear. The guard shifted his weight; he seemed to favor his right leg, as though he had an old injury there. Bahadur drew the sword slowly, watching his opponent for any twitch that might signal an early move.
The kopis was half out of its sheathe when the attack came. The man lunged forward on his bad leg. Bahadur dodged to the side even as he pulled the sword free and brought it down hard on the spear shaft. With a crack of wood, the spear broke. Bahadur brought the club to bear on the back of the man’s head before the guard could recover his footing. He sheathed his sword as his opponent collapsed face-down on the ground. When he turned, the man he had clubbed first was gone.
The alarm bells began to ring.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The eleventh day since Chandi arrived in Sararaq with Ravi dawned clear and cool, but shortly after breakfast Pari admitted a visitor she had never seen before. He was tall, with reddish brown hair falling loose to his shoulders, and he didn’t look much like the other men who called on Ravi for business. He was unkempt, with a thin layer of stubble on his chin, and wore a loose, billowy tunic tucked in at the waist of his fitted trousers. Chandi thought him rakish and handsome, but rude. He greeted Pari with a scowl and was shown immediately back to Ravi’s study. When Pari returned she was also scowling.
“One of Ravi’s business associates,” Pari answered the unasked question. “He doesn’t come very often, but he always leaves Ravi in a foul mood. Best step quietly today.”
There were no maps outside of Ravi’s study, so when she went to the library over the study later that morning she was looking for the book she started two days ago. It claimed to be a religious text, but what she had read so far sounded like campfire tales told to frighten younglings. But if those nightmare monsters existed, maybe the children’s stories were true, too. Ah, there it is. The Ashitadirata. She pulled the fat leather-bound book down from its shelf and tucked it under an arm. Ravi was shouting about something down below: she winced. She’d never heard Ravi shout, not even the time he caught her eavesdropping on a business meeting, but that was definitely him.
“…Insane! I can’t…” filtered up. There was a pause, and then she heard “Waiting… desert? …that unreliable?”
She took the book with her out of the library and on to the second-floor walkway around the courtyard. There was a cushioned bench on the eastern wall with a nice view she liked to use. Curling her legs under her, she opened the book and began to work out the words in the next story.
Once, long ago, when the gods still involved themselves in the world and before the Qaehl became a great desert, the Princess Rista set out from her father’s palace to find a suitable husband. Rista was a woman of surpassing beauty and intelligence, and she would accept no less from her husband. Her father gathered an entourage for her and gave his blessings for the journey. He knew their people would accept her as heir, but things would go easier if she wed. And so, surrounded by maidservants and men at arms on horses, riding in an open palanquin on the back of an elephant, Rista set off to find her match. She wished for speed on her quest, as her father grew old and would soon pass on the king’s mantle.
They traveled the roads through their own land, past farms and foundries, until they came to the jungle. The kingdom maintained the road this far, but within only a narrow cart path connected the kingdoms. This suited everyone well enough.
Two nights after they had entered the jungle one of the men at arms spotted a tiger larger than any seen before. The creature’s coat was luminous and otherworldly. The men at arms agreed among themselves to double the watch over their camp that night, for whether it was a spirit or a beast it could be dangerous. As she slept that night, Rista believed she felt eyes on her. She dreamed strange dreams of men and beasts in which it was impossible to tell them apart.
It was a familiar story, which helped. Even so, a few pages in she looked up from the page to let her brain to catch up with the words. Gita danced in her mind’s eye, a memory of their last quiet oasis night. She blinked.
Ravi’s visitor appeared in the courtyard from the opposite wall and stalked towards the front exit. Her shoulders tensed, thinking of Ravi’s foul moods, and she turned back to the book.
* * *
Pari steamed dumplings for dinner that night and made a thick, spicy-sweet sauce to dip them in. They reminded Chandi of the food stalls lining the main streets of Q’uungerab and the fantastic smells that always made her mouth water when she was in a city.
Dinner was even quieter than usual that night. Ravi only nibbled at the dumplings. His eyes had the same cast to them as that first night, when she had shown up for dinner in his daughter’s favorite belemen. It was hers now, it and a few others. Pari was chattering on as usual – she had told Chandi on the second night that she ate with Ravi to keep the silence away. Chandi kept her eye on Ravi tonight, observing more than listening. The more time Chandi spent here the more convinced she was that these were nice people, and yet she was uncomfortable. It felt like the caravaner’s itch, only the wanderlust had never set in this quickly before.
“Now I know it’s none of my business, sir, but I don’t understand why you’re still in contact with that man.”
“You’re right; it is none of your business.” His voice had that hard edge to it again. “If you must know, Damodar is aggressively competent.”
“He’s aggressive, anyway.”
“Since when do you care about my business deals?” The edge sharpened.
“If it was only your business it affected, I wouldn’t! You’ve got the poor girl dancing on shards tonight.”
Ravi drew himself up, but deflated when he glanced over at Chandi. “I’ve been terrible company tonight. If you’ll excuse me, I have a few matters to attend to. Chandi, if you will come by my study later there are some things we should discuss.” He stood up as he spoke.
“Do you want me to just come with you?”
“No, go ahead and finish eating. There’s no hurry.” He offered her a wan smile she thought was meant to be comforting.
Pari’s lips were tight; she disapproved of something. Once Ravi was safely out the door Chandi turned to the housekeeper. Not once had she seen hi
m like this.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s probably nothing, honey, just a bad day.” Pari gave her shoulders a little shake and smiled at Chandi. “The dumplings are no good cold. Eat, eat!”
An hour later, after they finished eating and Chandi helped wash up, she stood outside the door to Ravi’s study, her right hand poised to knock. A familiar tremble bubbled up from her buried knot of anxiety. The fact that the knot still existed was its own source of concern. She took a deep breath and settled her shoulders back, pressing her shoulder blades toward her spine and letting her arms hang in their sockets – a dancer’s pose. Now I’m ready. She raised her arm again and knocked.
“Enter.” His voice was soft again when he answered.
Chandi pushed on the latch to see Ravi sitting on a deep, cushioned couch, his legs folded, perusing a scroll.
“You… wanted to talk to me about something?”
He looked up from the document, and a smile played at the corners of his mouth without touching his eyes. “Chandi. Yes, come in.” Every time she saw him he looked young, maybe only Uncle Esha’s age, but right now he seemed old. He reached over to place the scroll on a small table and stood up, moving towards the door.
“Did you have a good chat with Pari?”
Chandi nodded.
“Of course you did. She seems to have taken a shine to you. Will you sit?”
She shrugged and sat down on the couch Ravi had just risen from. Chandi craned her neck so she could see his face until he folded his legs to crouch on the floor.
“The gentleman I met with today can be a difficult man to deal with, but he also happens to be the best information broker around. What he told me today also concerns you.” He wet his lips.
Why doesn’t he want to tell me what’s going on?
“You’ve spent a lot of time looking through my libraries. Have you noticed anything about the collection?”
“There seem to be a lot of old religious books full of children’s stories.”
Ravi laughed, a warm, rich sound like a well-loved tabla now. “Good, good. So why do you think I have so many myths of gods and monsters?”
She considered a moment. “…I’d like to say it’s because the old scribes were priests and the new ones are bureaucrats, but…”
“But after what happened you’re not sure?” His voice was quiet again, sober and earnest.
She nodded. He cleared his throat, opened his mouth as if to speak further, and then rose to start pacing the room.
“A few years ago I discovered something that made me think those old stories might be more than just stories. So I did some digging, and bought up every old text I could, and I had Damodar do some digging. …And you’re still wondering how this relates to you.” He stopped pacing, and she nodded again.
“I believe those beasts are the plague unleashed on the world by the god Tchraja when he fought the other gods for dominance. Q’uungerab was not the first settlement they attacked, although it’s the largest one I know of; I had the great misfortune to encounter one – and only one – on an earlier trip.” His feet resumed their circuit around the room. “So I set that gentleman to looking for anything that could be tied to their reappearance, and in some of my more esoteric research I found a ritual that I think… might be able to reseal them. He got back last night, and it sounds like he found something.”
“Really?” The idea of resealing those creatures sounded almost too good to be true, but where the old magics were involved theoretically anything was possible.
“Really. But it’s a long way from here, with no roads, and the place itself will be dangerous. If it is what we think it is, there will be traps and guardians. And, I can’t perform the ritual.” He wet his lips again.
“Why not?”
“Well, for one, I can’t dance. More importantly, though, the manuscript made it plain that only a maiden could perform the ritual. I don’t want to put you in more danger, Chandi, but I think this might stop those things.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Don’t answer me right away. Take the rest of the night, think about it, then you can tell me tomorrow if you want to do this.”
“I’ll do it.”
“A-are you sure?”
“Do you really think I’m going to pass up a chance, however slim, to make sure no-one else has to go through this?” She looked him straight in the eye, and she had never been so deadly earnest. “Besides… my feet itch.”
He blinked. “Your… feet itch?”
“Caravaner’s itch. I’m restless. I’ve been off the road too long. It’s a sense we get, after just so long in one place.”
“So, you’re agreeing to take part in a dangerous plan, which may or may not work, because your feet itch?” He sounded so confused Chandi laughed.
“I’m agreeing because I think it’s important to try, even if it doesn’t work. Traveling doesn’t scare me. When do we leave?”
* * *
It took Ravi several days to prepare for their journey, days Chandi devoted to study while she still had the opportunity. The books, of course, were staying here, but Ravi agreed to bring along plenty of ink and paper she could practice with.
On their last day in Sararaq, Chandi pulled out the belemen from her first night. She needed to pack, but she still hadn’t tried dancing in one of these. On impulse, she pulled it on. My room is far too small for this, though. Someplace more suitable… the courtyard? The courtyard would do nicely, and if she was seen maybe she could bring a smile to someone’s face. Pari had done nothing but fret since they had decided to leave, and Ravi seemed even more withdrawn than usual. She had no accompaniment, but Chandi was certain that wouldn’t matter.
She took long, gliding strides to the center of the courtyard, stepping toe-heel and exaggerating the rotation of her still-slim hips so her torso moved only forward. There she paused, closed her eyes, listened to the wind and the birds around her. Both knees were bent, but only her left foot was flat on the ground; the right rested on its ball, her heel suspended in air, ready to drop in time with the music in her head. She slowly lifted her arms above her head, spreading the blouse of the belemen like wings. The first two fingers of her right hand pointed up to the sky, the others relaxed gracefully. Her left arm curled up over her head to touch her upraised arm with one finger, keeping the sleeve from falling to her shoulder. There was only one song for today, the day before she set out to save the world. That’s how the stories would tell it, she was sure.
Her arms snapped down from the swan’s pose into a bent horizontal, her hands still graceful and relaxed, as she began to hum the opening bars to Jahaiya Resh To’N. She pulsed her shoulders forward and back, alternating sides with the remembered rhythm of Remu’s beat. It felt good to dance again, music or no music, although her hands itched to hold something. The wings of the belemen were almost better than fans for visual effect, though, and the skirt flowed and twirled wonderfully. In the middle of the first verse she opened her eyes to see Pari standing at the edge of the courtyard, gaping. Chandi grinned at the woman and did a series of walking hip rocks – step-ball-change, step-ball-change – through the first line of the refrain before moving into a series of heel spins. As she spun she scanned the windows for Ravi or the stableman. The beads on her belt chimed.
Then she spotted Ravi. He was standing at the front courtyard entrance, and his gaze had never seemed so rapt nor his eyes so sunken. For a split second the music left her; she remembered the moment in the carnival she had caught him watching her, and the despair in his voice on the road, but it was only a moment. She smiled and turned to face him, stepping in place with her arms held wide and relaxed.
“Come on. We all know this one. Sing along!” She sang now, more loudly, and touched each hand in turn to her ears, extending the other out. The ear flower was what Mama had always used when she wanted the audience to join in.
Pari started first. Her voice fit her perfectly, an enthusiastic but wandering alt
o. Ravi’s voice began unsteady and broken, but it knit itself together and she thought he could make a passable tenor with practice. She followed the ear flowers with a number of around the world circles, turning herself to face each wall of the courtyard. She moved into the next verse, plucking harp strings up from the ground as high as she could reach, then strummed her imaginary instrument for a moment before a cue in the song led her into a slow-motion heel spin for the final refrain. Flushed, she bowed to her audience. I’ll have to take up practicing on my own; I’ve missed that.
Ravi brushed past her, walking so quickly it was almost a jog on the way to his study.
“Curse me for a fool and call me blind, but I see it now,” Pari breathed. She shook her head, gathering her thoughts. “Come on, there’s lunch waiting.”
“See what now?” Chandi walked toward the woman she still wanted to call ‘Auntie.’
“The resemblance, honey. I’m afraid he’ll be in a dark state for a while. It was like you were the little miss herself, dancing out there. I could kick myself for not seeing it earlier.”
“So was she a dancer too, then?”
“Only in spirit. Come on, he’ll be along eventually.” The hallway was dim in comparison to the courtyard outside.
“So, what happened?”
“What happened when? To whom?” By her tone, Pari knew exactly what Chandi meant.
She answered anyway. “To ‘the little miss.’ He wouldn’t tell me.”
“He doesn’t talk to anyone about that, honey. Not since he pulled himself together. I’ll tell you after lunch; it’s the sort of thing could turn your stomach.” They stepped into the kitchen, and Pari handed her a platter with a small dish full of dip and some thin breads for dipping.
“Did he know you danced?” Pari shouldered her way into the dining room, as she always did.
“From the beginning.” Chandi gave a brief account of her first encounter with Ravi, back at the Carnival.
Advent of Ruin (The Qaehl Cycle Book 1) Page 14
