by Astrid Amara
Jandu disliked the environment, but the moment the show started, he forgot his anxiety and simply enjoyed the performance. He had never seen anything like it. All throughout the piece, crude jokes were scattered, random positions spawning a series of lewd gestures, causing the audience around him to roar in delight and Jandu to blush horrifically. He never knew the lower castes reveled in obscenity.
Jandu stole glances to his side, watching Keshan’s reactions. Keshan appeared captivated by the performance. He laughed and clapped and smiled constantly, his face lighting up every time a new number started. Jandu enjoyed his cousin’s reactions as much as the show itself. Keshan shouted cheers and raunchy suggestions with the rest of the audience. Jandu was out of place here—but it was clear that Keshan felt comfortable.
The performance neared its finale. And then suddenly a loud scream and the sound of numerous horses thundered from outside the temple walls. For another minute, the acrobats continued their show. Then an explosion shook the ground, and no one could ignore what was happening outside.
The audience stood and streamed for the entry. Jandu jumped up as well, his hand on his sword, cursing the fact that he left his bow and quiver behind.
Keshan stood beside him, eyeing the frightened crowd.
“We can’t let them go outside,” Keshan said suddenly. He dashed for the entryway.
“Please! Everyone! Stay calm!” Keshan shouted, trying to bring order to the chaos. Jandu was momentarily terrified that Keshan would be trampled.
But the audience stopped at the door. Keshan guarded it with his body. “If you go outside, you will be harmed.”
Something caught afire, right outside the temple, and now smoke drifted in the dusk and clouded even nearby people from Jandu’s sight. He pressed his way through the crowd to stand beside Keshan.
“What is happening?” Jandu shouted in Keshan’s ear, hoping to be heard above the panicked shouts.
“Robbers,” Keshan said. “It happens in the poorer temples. Bandits block temple doors at events like this one, forcing payment from the people inside.”
“What?” Jandu scanned the crowd. “These people don’t have enough money to make it worthwhile!”
“The robbers pick on the poor temples because no one is going to defend them.”
Lit torches were thrown over the temple walls, and the panic increased, people pushing each other out of the way to avoid the flames.
“Why isn’t anyone sounding the alarm for the city guards?” Jandu cried.
Keshan glared at Jandu like he was insane. “This is a Suya temple.” A loud thump shuddered against the door, causing the wood to bulge inwards. Keshan flew forward towards the fearful crowd.
“They’re breaking the door!” someone cried.
“This is ridiculous,” Jandu said. His bewilderment had cleared, and now he was just angry. “All I wanted to do was go and see a show, and now these bastards ruin it. Fuck this. Let’s go get them.”
Keshan narrowed his eyes. “There may be as many as twenty men out there, Jandu.”
“I don’t care,” Jandu said. “I’m a fucking prince and I don’t pay robbers. These bastards picked the wrong temple today.”
Jandu wished he wore armor, and almost laughed at the thought. That would show him for making fun of Triya who dressed in helmets and breastplates just to attend festivities. He spotted an iron breastplate, which was part of the decorative armor of the Prophet Bandruban. He pushed his way through the crowd and untied the leather bands from the statue, grabbing the breastplate and the dull, decorative sword from the statue’s hand. He returned to the door, which now pulsed and groaned with each ram from the outside. Smoke poured over the wall, choking the crowd trapped in the temple.
“Put this on,” Jandu demanded, throwing Keshan the breastplate.
Keshan shook his head. “You wear it!”
“I’ll be fine. Hurry.”
Keshan glared at Jandu again, but quickly strapped on the breastplate. It was too large for him, and the metal was cheap, but it would be better than nothing. Jandu looked at the dull, ornamental sword. He gave Keshan his own sword instead, keeping the prophet’s sword for himself.
Keshan in armor was a strange sight—such a slim body in such bulky attire. Jandu found his mind drawn to it. More fiery torches rained down over the temple wall. People scattered and screamed.
Jandu drew his sword. “You ready, Keshan?”
Keshan nodded. He turned to the crowd. “Stay back! Back away from the door! Everyone stay inside!” He placed his hands on the bolt.
“If I use a sharta, are you going to be angry?” Jandu asked suddenly.
“There is a time and place for magical weapons. And this is both of them.”
Jandu closed his eyes and brought his hands together. He visualized the Barunazsharta in his mind, focusing all his thoughts on the poetry of the weapon.
And then he spoke. Quickly, quietly, he whispered the words he needed. He groped on the ground for a stone, which he spat the sharta onto, and then tossed the stone over the wall, into the midst of the robbers.
“Close your eyes,” he told Keshan. He shut his own.
The world exploded into light.
Shouts of surprise filled the air as the blinding light blazed overhead. Jandu immediately opened the door and pushed himself into the cluster of robbers.
“Lock the door! Lock the door!” he cried to Keshan behind him.
The bandits were still blinded, rubbing at their eyes, groping for their weapons and stumbling towards Jandu.
Keshan rushed up beside Jandu, sword drawn.
Jandu’s skin raised in goose bumps, and he heard the soft, silent uttering of a sharta. Keshan spat out the curse so quickly that Jandu had missed which one it was.
The men in front of them exploded backwards, propelled by a force of air. And then Keshan and Jandu charged.
Hand to hand combat was never Jandu’s strongest skill. But he was energized this night, fuelled by the panic of the audience, by the outrage of having his evening ruined. He thrust the temple sword into the skull of one of his attackers. As the man fell, Jandu tore the sword from the man’s lifeless grip. Another robber drove in with a short knife. Jandu parried his thrust with the temple sword and then stabbed his new blade deep into the man’s chest. As the robber fell dead, Jandu saw fear kindle in the faces of his would be attackers. He threw himself upon them, slashing with both blades and driving them back. Bandits cried out and fell, bleeding. Their horses reared and fled. Oily smoke filled the air. Behind him, Jandu heard Keshan kill another man and then there were no more attackers left.
Jandu stood beside Keshan, watching the last remaining assailants flee for their lives. Almost twenty men lay in the street. Half of those had been destroyed by Keshan’s sharta—their faces contorted by the force of the weapon’s wind. Some lay bloody, staring upwards with blank, final stares, and a few groaned feebly, clutching at the dirt, unable to move but not yet gone.
The door to the temple opened tentatively, the wood creaking on its injured hinges. Slowly, the temple goers shuffled out, staring at the carnage in the street. Others came to witness, neighbors pouring from their homes, clutching children. When they saw one of the bandits still living they fell on him like animals, kicking him, spitting and cursing until he was dead. Even though Triya codes forbade this kind of dishonorable fight, these Suya needed their vengeance and Jandu let them take it. Who knew how many times these same robbers had attacked their temple? Jandu turned away.
A young woman with scorched hair bent down to touch Jandu’s feet.
“Thank you,” she mumbled. She looked up at him with a nervous smile. Jandu felt slightly better.
Jandu heard Keshan laugh, and turned to see him surrounded by Suya citizens, smiling as they closed around him, congratulating him with dramatic bows. Keshan slapped the men on their shoulders without regard to their lower caste.
And then the people moved to Jandu, bowing to him, touching his
feet, offering him sticks of incense, desperate in their gratitude. Almost immediately, temple attendants dragged the bodies from the road, starting a huge pyre to burn the corpses.
Jandu cleaned his sword blade on a cloth and noticed his hands trembled with unspent aggression. Keshan was far more amiable with the survivors than he. He even hugged some of them. He listened with a sad face as they explained how these same men had terrorized them for more than a year.
Jandu excused himself, stepping down an alley and leaning against a cart. A goat tethered to the cart stared up at him placidly, chewing hay as though nothing had happened.
What the hell was he doing here?
Keshan found him before too long, approaching with a wide smile.
“You are fantastic in a fight,” Keshan said. He stood very close to Jandu.
Jandu could smell Keshan’s skin, coconut and sweat and wood smoke. Jandu suddenly longed to reach out and touch him, to transfer the smell to his own hands. Jandu turned away, embarrassed. Keshan quietly stepped behind Jandu and encircled Jandu’s waist, his hands clasped around Jandu’s stomach. Jandu’s embarrassment turned to relief. He leaned back into his cousin, enjoying how Keshan’s presence made his shoulder muscles relax.
Keshan turned Jandu around to face him. He didn’t move his arms from around Jandu’s waist. Keshan reached up and stroked the side of Jandu’s face. It was such an intimate gesture that Jandu was shocked. But it felt too good to pull away.
The sun had set over an hour ago, but the street blazed in the light of the spontaneous funeral pyre. Dozens of people gathered around to discuss the attack on the temple.
What would those people think if they saw the two of them like this? Jandu shrugged Keshan’s arms off. Keshan raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
“Can we head back now?” Jandu asked. “I want to get away from here. I want to go somewhere clean.”
Keshan offered Jandu his hand and said, “Shall we take a short cut?”
Jandu frowned. “From this neighborhood, there are no short cuts.”
“You are very talented with shartas, so you should be able to do this.”
“Do what?” Jandu’s self-consciousness was slowly giving way to curiosity. He took Keshan’s hand, relaxing further. It felt natural to have his hand linked with Keshan’s.
“I’m going to show you a door. You already know the words. Now you have to craft them slightly so that they are less volatile.” Keshan closed his eyes, and stretched out his arms, palms upwards towards the sky. He began reciting words, shartic words, but they were different than the weapons Jandu knew. They lilted at the end, trilled. Jandu mimicked Keshan’s posture and repeated them, grateful that his mouth didn’t bleed.
When the sharta finished, Jandu opened his eyes. He was still standing with Keshan in the dark narrow street. But he felt different. Something about the light shifted, shadows had appeared as if the sun still shone.
“What did you do?”
“Opened the door.” Keshan grabbed his hand. “Looks the same, doesn’t it? But now…”
Something blurry passed in front of Jandu, and he tensed. He grasped the hilt of his sword.
Another shadowy image rushed by. He could distinguish the shape of a body, but it was much taller than a human’s, with shimmering blue skin, and the face was hazy, unformed.
“What was that?”
“A Yashva.” Keshan squinted in concentration. “This way.”
Keshan stepped into the air, pulling Jandu along behind.
Jandu blinked—
—and they stood in a field. An empty field, as far as he could see. In the distance, far away, Jandu made out a strange mountain range, the hills jagged and piercing in every direction, like thorns on a rose. The air was thick here, fragrant with flowers and something indefinably sweet, like rotting blackberries and rich soil. Jandu felt bathed in warmth.
“Where are we?” Jandu whispered.
Keshan laughed. “Where do you think? In the Yashva kingdom.”
Jandu gazed around him in amazement. “Really? But… how?”
“You’ve always known how, Jandu. Every time you use a sharta, you open the door between worlds. You just haven’t ever stepped through that door.” Keshan peered into the distance. “Come on.”
The field, which had seemed endless, now moved in front of Jandu as if he were flying. Perception warped here, and he felt dizzy.
“I can’t feel my feet touching the ground,” Jandu admitted.
Keshan nodded. “That’s because, technically, they aren’t touching ground. This is all illusion.”
“So how do you know where to go?”
“It’s my illusion. Every Yashva has a different interpretation of this space.” Keshan cocked his head as if thinking hard. “Think of it as your rooms back in the palace. An empty space for you to decorate how you will. You would prefer to have targets on the walls. Yudar, no doubt, has holy scrolls and paintings of the prophets. It is the same in the Yashva realm. Each Yashva has a different world, but we can interact here as well.”
As the field flew by, Jandu caught sight of more Yashvas. They were taller than him, with lanky, thin bodies, shimmering blue skin, and dark, swirling eyes. They were beautiful, but strangely immobile, their faces like expressionless masks.
“Are they upset with me being here?” Jandu asked self-consciously.
Keshan shook his head. “No, merely curious. It says a lot about you, the fact that you are even here. You have a great deal of power. Most people cannot wield shartas, let alone summon the concentration required to enter a Yashva’s home.”
“It’s beautiful.” The field gave way to a flowing stream of rushing water, and on the other side, a collection of buildings, their exteriors pearly and turbulent in the soft, unnatural light. The fact that this was all Keshan’s world, his mind, made the entire sight even more beautiful and intimate.
“Prasta’s palace is right here,” Keshan said, stomping the ground. The gesture produced no sound. Everything was muffled, echoed and distant. “We can go back, or we can have a drink here, where I stayed during my exile.”
A giddy excitement filled Jandu. This was Keshan’s private world. No one else had seen this but him.
“Let’s stay. I want to see everything.” Jandu let go of Keshan’s hand and spun around, lifting his arms, breathing in the thick, fragrant air. His body tingled, every pore vibrating with the strange newness of the place.
“If you’re going to dance, Jandu, dance with me,” Keshan said.
“Offer me wine first,” Jandu replied coyly. “That’s how it’s done.”
“Oh, is that how it is?” Keshan’s voice was low, almost syrupy smooth. His lids had lowered slightly, and he looked suddenly wanton and husky. “Well come on then, brave warrior. Let me get you a victory cup.”
Keshan took Jandu’s hand once more and gently pulled him towards the buildings. They zoomed into focus jaggedly, and Jandu struggled with his sense of perspective. Walls loomed at exaggerated angles as if the world had been sketched in watercolor.
The strange opalescent walls of Keshan’s home glimmered and swirled in pastel colors as the eerie endless daylight played over their surfaces. The floors were laid with richly layered silk carpets in persimmon and royal blue, and dozens of silk pillows banked the walls.
A tall blue Yashva servant brought them drinks, her face blank and unreadable, her eyes blazing and seemingly shifting in her face. Jandu felt dizzy staring at the Yashva, and finally had to look away.
They drank. They shared a bottle of honey wine. Jandu couldn’t tell if it the alcohol, or the sweet air which intoxicated him.
“Can I ask you a personal question?” Keshan asked.
“I guess,” Jandu said.
Keshan sipped his wine. “Do you mind sharing Suraya?”
Jandu shrugged. “Not really.”
“Many would find that unbelievable,” Keshan said.
Jandu smiled. “I’m utterly righteous. That’
s how I can share my wife with my older brothers without issue.”
Keshan laughed.
“I wonder if they feel the same way,” Keshan mused.
Jandu finished his wine and stretched up, yawning as he did so. “We set firm rules after the wedding, and one was that we wouldn’t talk about our romantic relationship with Suraya. And if anyone accidentally walks in on another brother when he is with Suraya, he has to go on a pilgrimage as penance.”
Keshan whistled. “That seems harsh.”
Jandu nodded. “It would be harsh enough just to catch Baram or Yudar screwing anyone.”
“So you’re not jealous at all, are you?” Keshan asked. Jandu could tell now, by the flush of Keshan’s cheeks, that he was pretty drunk. Jandu himself was feeling heavy in the head.
He wanted to talk about things he knew he probably shouldn’t talk about.
“The truth is, I think I’m in love with someone else.” Jandu closed his eyes.
Keshan didn’t reply. Jandu opened his eyes again, and saw Keshan staring at him sharply. He leaned in close to Jandu.
“Who are you in love with?”
Jandu smiled slowly. “I’m not telling.”
Keshan kept a level gaze on him. Again Jandu felt that warm rush of blood whenever Keshan looked at him that way.
“Come on. You can tell me. We’re friends,” Keshan said.
“No.”
Keshan stared at him a moment longer, and then broke eye contact. He stretched upwards, his hand brushing casually against Jandu’s as he did so. Jandu felt electrified by his touch.
“Fine then, be that way,” Keshan said, shrugging. “But does Suraya know?”
Jandu dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. “Who knows what women know? Maybe she’ll find out when it’s my year to be married to her. I don’t have to deal with that for another two years.”
Keshan raised his glass. “Good for you. Put off your problems till another day.”
Jandu raised his empty glass, and clinked it against Keshan’s. “I feel like I did my Triya duty today. I’m allowed a few failures of character in regard to my wife.”
