by Astrid Amara
“Mandria bedru mandria darja ashubana epizanash adaraya adarami…” Jandu spoke the sharta backwards, speeding up towards the end, reversing the damage. He finished speaking at the same time as Mazar, and when Mazar uttered the final “Chedu!” to fire the weapon, nothing happened.
Jandu released his arrow, and shot the center of Mazar’s shield.
“Well done!” cried Mazar, approaching his student once more. Jandu unstrung his bow proudly. He spat blood on the ground. Uttering shartas always made his mouth bleed. He noticed that Mazar did not share this problem.
“How come I bleed when I use shartas and you don’t?” Jandu asked.
“Using magical weapons takes its toll uniquely on different bodies,” Mazar said. He sounded out of breath, and plopped to the dusty earth below Jandu. He stretched out, looking drawn. “For me, it merely exhausts. I feel like I have just run up a mountainside. Just count yourself lucky that you don’t piss blood like Baram.”
Jandu sat beside his master and stared out across the empty practice field. It had once been a large citrus grove but now, the soil torn and scarred by shartas, only weeds thrived.
Jandu leaned back on his elbows, content to sit in silence with his master for a moment. The two of them rarely found time to train together anymore. “Yudar is losing his supporters in the east,” Mazar said suddenly. “The lords of Bandari and Penemar are turning toward Darvad.”
Jandu kicked at a clump of dirt but said nothing.
“At last night’s dice game, I heard Darvad promise the lord of Bandari substantial tax benefits if he became king,” Mazar said.
“What did my brother say?” Jandu asked.
“Yudar wasn’t there.”
Jandu raised his eyebrows. “My brother missed a dice game?”
Mazar laughed. “I know. I think it must have been the first time he has missed an opportunity to play dice in ten years. That Suraya has surely worked a spell upon him.”
Jandu snorted and laid back down. He thought it impossible to distract Yudar from gambling. This marriage was really turning out to be good for him.
“It’s a shame he missed that particular game, however,” Mazar continued. “A lot of discussion took place between the lords in attendance.”
“I’ll tell him.” Why was it so hard for everyone to recognize the fact that he did not want to discuss politics all day? “But I’d rather not talk about it right now.”
At this, Mazar sat upright and glared at him. “Don’t be so childish, Jandu. You cannot pretend as though it does not matter. This is the most important decision since the formation of Marhavad!”
Jandu cast his eyes downward. “Yes, Master.”
“What makes it even more difficult is that both Yudar and Darvad know the Pezarisharta!”
“I know the Pezarisharta too,” Jandu commented, but Mazar continued regardless.
“Anyone who has the power of the Pezarisharta can destroy the world. The entire world, Jandu. This is no idle power. Whoever I choose as king must be the kind of man who will take that responsibility seriously.”
“I know, I know.” Jandu had been drilled, day in and day out, for nearly a year in order to learn the ultimate weapon. Just reciting it took ages, and each word had to be uttered perfectly, in precise order to complete the sharta.
The Pezarisharta set fire to every living creature. It burned earth, sky and water alike.
“I can’t speak for Darvad,” Jandu said, “but I know Yudar does not even think about the Pezarisharta anymore. He once told me he purposefully tried to forget it. He doesn’t believe any man should have such power.”
“He is right.”
“And yet you taught it to all of us.”
“It is your birth right, as princes.” Mazar stared blankly out at the dusty field.
Jandu studied his teacher. Although Mazar moved swiftly and dangerously for a man his age, the years as Regent of Marhavad had changed him, added lines to his dry face, creased his brow. Jandu’s father had thrust so much responsibility on the man, trusting Mazar with both the education of his sons, and maintaining his kingdom.
“Are you thirsty?” Jandu suddenly asked. “Would you like me to fetch you something to drink?”
Mazar turned to gaze at Jandu fondly. “Jandu, if I need something to drink, I’ll ask one of the servants. You do not have to fetch for me.”
“I know.” Jandu blushed. “But you are my teacher. It is my duty to respect you.”
“You are very good at fulfilling your duty, Jandu. It is one of the traits I most admire in you.”
“I thought you most admired my modesty.”
Mazar shook his head and Jandu laughed.
“Come on, let us practice once more,” Mazar said, standing. “This time, I want you to initiate a sharta. Remember to concentrate. Do not lose your focus, or I will out-speak you.”
Jandu stood as well. “Which should I use?” He did not like practicing such weapons on his master. Most were fatal.
“You choose,” Mazar said. “Just remember, the more powerful the sharta, the more it will take from your body. Choose wisely.” And without another word, Mazar sprinted out of sight, dashing into the nearby citrus grove.
Jandu quickly restrung his bow and chased after his master. He caught a glimpse of Mazar’s silver armor ahead, and charged towards him.
As soon as Jandu was within range, he began uttering the Alazsharta, the words cutting his tongue as he spoke them. He could feel, rather than hear, Mazar’s counter-curse forming. As Jandu ran and spoke, he pulled an arrow from his quiver.
“Chedu!” Jandu spat with the last word onto his arrow. The arrow brightened in his hand, and then returned to its former state. It buzzed in his hand, vibrating with power. He aimed and loosed the arrow at Mazar’s shield.
The arrow struck Mazar’s shield, but the sharta did not follow through. Alazsharta supposedly put the victim to sleep. And yet Mazar stood tall and proud, panting heavily but definitely conscious.
“How did you do that?” Jandu asked. He spit more blood from his mouth.
Mazar gasped in a deep breath and then answered. “I don’t know.” He frowned. “I did not finish the counter-curse in time.”
“I did.”
Jandu swung around to face the intruder. He relaxed immediately upon seeing Keshan.
“Hello.” Keshan walked up to both of them, smiling. Despite having just uttered a counter-curse, Keshan looked calm, not even a bead of sweat upon his brow.
“Greetings, Adaru,” Mazar said, bringing his hands together in the sign of peace.
“And to you, Regent.” Keshan bent low and took the dust from Mazar’s feet. When he stood, he looked sheepish. “I apologize for intruding upon your training, but whenever I feel a sharta forming I habitually dissipate it. Sorry.”
Jandu hid his surprise behind a smile. “I didn’t realize you were so fast.”
Keshan shrugged.
“It is a healthy habit to cultivate,” Mazar said. “And I am impressed. You were far out of range to be able to work so efficiently.”
“I can feel them more than most.” Keshan turned to Jandu. “I was looking for you, actually. I have the evening free, and wanted to see if you cared to join me for the temple acrobatic performance this evening.”
Pride flooded Jandu, and he almost stumbled over his words in his enthusiasm. “I would love to.” He turned nervously to his master. “Assuming it is all right with you, Master?”
Mazar nodded. “I’m too old to exercise much longer anyway. You boys go ahead.” He patted Jandu’s shoulder. “Besides, I have duties of my own to attend to. But I always appreciate a respite, Jandu. Ask me to practice whenever you feel the need.”
“Thank you, Master.” Jandu bowed low. He then turned to Keshan and the two of them made their way back towards the gates of the palace.
The excitement of spending time with Keshan still had not faded. Jandu frequently sought him out, but it seemed that Keshan appealed to far m
ore men than just himself. The second Keshan walked into any room, dozens of people gathered around him, vying for his attention. Keshan always appeared excited to see Jandu, but was also easily led away by other lords, leaving Jandu feeling uncomfortably jealous.
To make matters worse, the flirtatious, intimate way that Keshan spoke with Jandu seemed to be the way Keshan spoke with everyone. Just when Jandu thought he was growing closer to his cousin, he would watch Keshan slide up to charm a young woman, or another Triya warrior, his smile sly and infectious.
Jandu had to come to terms with the fact that he was no one special in Keshan’s world. If anything, he was an outsider who did not share his views or have a part in his mission. Often Jandu had to wait for Keshan’s attention and some days it seemed like Keshan had no time for him at all. The thought disturbed Jandu deeply.
Because whenever the two of them were together, Jandu was filled with a hungry need for more. He had never been so confused and fascinated by anyone. They sat around and made jokes, or talked about nothing, and yet it seemed like the most important discourse in the history of the world. Jandu loved everything about being with his cousin. Keshan had a wonderful, if slightly raunchy, sense of humor, and never hesitated to argue with Jandu, which lesser lords refused to do out of respect for Jandu’s lineage. Jandu could be himself around Keshan, and it was rare to find such friends in the palace, especially now.
“I thought most of the performers left last week,” Jandu said, walking casually beside Keshan.
“A few acts still linger in town. Mostly because they haven’t earned enough money to get back to where they came from.”
Jandu scratched his arm, and as he did so, he caught a whiff of his armpit and scowled. “God, I need a bath. I better clean up before I show my face in public.”
“I like the way you smell,” Keshan said with a wink.
Jandu swallowed his words, choking on what should have been a clever reply. He flustered so easily around Keshan.
“But I can wait while you wash and change,” Keshan said. “Besides, I’ve never seen your rooms. I’m curious.”
“They aren’t impressive,” Jandu said.
Keshan reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind Jandu’s ear. The touch startled Jandu, but Keshan just smiled. “You look pretty disheveled.”
“I did just come crawling out of a dirt pit, thanks to Mazar’s sharta.” Jandu hoped his blush wasn’t obvious. Keshan always surprised him this way, touching him in a confident, familiar manner that left Jandu weak in the knees.
“I felt that one too.”
“How could you?”
“I’m half-Yashva.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Jandu nodded to the guards as they passed through the gates of the outer palace wall.
Keshan gave Jandu a surprised glance. “Do you even know what a sharta is?”
“Of course I do,” Jandu said. “It’s a magical weapon.”
“But what it is? What it is really?” Keshan shook his head. “Triya. All they care about is the destruction. They don’t care that every time they fire their shartas, they are pulling Yashvas into this world and transforming them.”
Jandu frowned. “Transforming a Yashva?”
“A sharta is a spell which opens a door between the Yashva and human worlds, and then summons one particular Yashva into the human world. Every Yashva has a unique shartic nature, which is how they manifest themselves on earth. So when you use a sharta, you are pulling some Yashva from their life in their own world and transforming them into tools.”
“This way.” Jandu cut the corner between the armory and the guard tower, taking a short cut to his own rooms. “How come we are never taught this?”
“No one here cares about the Yashvas, even though they formed the world. We are only thought of as spirits, nothing more.”
“What happens after the sharta is expelled?” Jandu asked.
“The summoned Yashva reappears in the Yashva kingdom, exhausted and pissed off.” Keshan smiled. “I saw it while I stayed with them during my exile.”
Jandu wanted to ask Keshan more questions about his time in the Yashva kingdom, but Keshan’s expression had closed. Jandu let it go.
Jandu’s rooms were at the far end of one of the larger and newer buildings, overlooking a rose garden and pool that he shared with Baram. Keshan immediately wandered about, taking in the sparse decorations as Jandu excused himself and went to the bath. When he returned, refreshed and in a change of clothing, Keshan had an odd smirk on his face.
“I can’t determine anything about you by your rooms,” he said.
Jandu shrugged. “I don’t spend much time here. If it were me, I’d just have targets on the wall.”
“But who are you, Jandu Paran? Really?” Keshan smiled slyly.
Jandu laughed. “Just me. Handsome. Talented. Brilliant. You know the rest.”
Keshan was staring at him strangely. “Do I? What else is there to know about you?”
Jandu could feel his face turning red. “There’s nothing else to tell. I’m just me. I guess I should also say I’m the youngest Paran brother, fourth in line for the throne, Suraya’s third husband, on and on. But that doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t?”
“Not to me. All I want to do is shoot things, and have a good time.” Jandu glanced over at Keshan, who regarded Jandu with almost a hungry expression.
“Well, then.” Keshan cleared his throat. “Let’s go show you a good time, shall we?”
They made their way to the eastern bridge, where one of the palace guards offered to prepare a chariot for them.
“I’d rather walk, if it’s the same to you,” Jandu said.
Keshan agreed, and they crossed the bridge and entered the heart of the bustling city of Prasta.
As Jandu walked, he relaxed. He had always been a constant mover. As a child, his family had made fun of him for his persistent fidgeting. He always drummed his hands on tables and squirmed in his chairs. In fact the only time Jandu was ever still was when he took aim. The moment he held a bow in his hands, the constant need to be in movement ceased, and he could focus all of that reckless energy into one goal, hitting his target.
As they passed through the central market, Jandu took comfort in the sights and smells of the city of his birth. Jandu loved Prasta, which sprawled lazily along both banks of the Yaru River. Stone walls stretched for miles around the city, carved white towers thrusting up from them like sentinels. Inside the walls, streets wound endlessly around each other from the meat market all the way to the temple district.
Down one street, Jandu smelled jasmine blossoms, only to be assaulted at the next alley by open sewage.
Jandu’s presence as a Triya among the lower castes did not go undetected. As he and Keshan made their way through the crowds, most people stopped and bowed low. Jandu offered the sign of peace to onlookers, and often stopped walking altogether as some merchant or traveler bent to take the dust from his feet. Not for the first time, Jandu considered traveling incognito.
Keshan directed them into one of the poorer sections of town where Jandu rarely ventured. He felt out of place and uncomfortable, but Keshan’s easy confidence and constant stream of amusing stories set Jandu’s mind at ease. The streets narrowed. The mud and straw walls rose higher. Only the smells of cooking oil and the sight of washing hung on long lines across the streets proved that inhabitants dwelled within. Through the occasional open door, Jandu could peer in and see the small cobblestone courtyards where families gathered on mats, eating and fighting and cleaning and tending children as goats and chickens scuttled past.
Keshan guided him further than he’d gone before, to the very edge of Prasta. Here houses consisted of a single room, broken wooden doors, and small windows through which Jandu could glimpse dirty bedding. People drew away from them sharply, wary of such noble blood walking among them. A group of girls dressed in rags crossed the street as they saw Jandu and Kesha
n approach, fearful that their shadows would fall on them. Jandu rarely saw Jegora untouchables out and about, and his sense of discomfort grew.
“Where are you taking me?” Jandu demanded, interrupting Keshan’s long-winded narrative of the time he stole pastries from some courtier’s daughters. Jandu’s fingers twitched against the hilt of his sword, causing the Jegora to cower away from him.
Keshan pointed to a simple mud temple up ahead. “An acrobatic troupe from Tiwari is performing there. Some of my friends back home recommended the show.”
Jandu didn’t have anything nice to say about the area they were in, so he kept his thoughts to himself. He knew Keshan liked the lower classes, but this was getting a bit too unconventional for him.
“Are you sure we will be welcome?” Jandu asked nervously.
“Are you kidding? They will be honored to have us.” Keshan linked his arm casually in Jandu’s and pulled him along.
The temple was very simple on the outside, mud bricks and shutterless windows. It was a Suya temple, and Jandu had never been inside one. If it had been Jegora, Jandu would have refused to enter, no matter how enchanted he was with Keshan’s company.
Keshan didn’t give him time to ponder the unhygienic implications further. He pulled Jandu inside. Jandu was relieved to see the images of God were the same as those that graced the most ornate of Shentari temples. The prophets gazed from the corners, and the tenets from the Book of Taivo were carved along the entrance wall, the letters painted in red, veiled by the countless streams of incense smoke.
As Keshan predicted, their appearance was greeted with disbelief, and then overbearing warmth. Temple attendants gathered pillows for Jandu and Keshan to sit upon, and a servant was sent to fetch Triya-caste purified tea for them.
Close to one hundred people already sat in the small courtyard of the temple, but an airy space was created in the center for Jandu and Keshan. At the front of the temple, near the offerings, the troupe performed their show. Five men and five women tumbled over the stone floor in dramatic twists and fanciful leaps, all to the steady rhythm of a flute and a rebo which looked to be missing several strings.
