by Astrid Amara
“I am sorry to hear that.” Lord Kadal motioned to a servant off to the side. “See that Lord Tarek and his men have the finest housing and our hospitality for their stay.” Kadal turned back to face Tarek. “May I inquire as to the nature of your visit? Your presence is an honor, but we were not informed of your journey.”
“I had no time to send word ahead,” Tarek said carefully. “I have come on behalf of our King, who has asked that I collect your oath of fealty.”
Kadal did not react. Tarek assumed he must have known the reason for his appearance.
“Of course, my lord,” Kadal said, smiling. “I did send a messenger to Prasta apologizing for my absence at the ceremony. Unfortunately, my health is a fickle thing, and I found myself too ill to leave for any extended journey during the oath-taking. However, I am more than happy to offer my fealty to you now.”
Relief coursed through Tarek. He had not wanted a fight. But Kadal still had not read all of the terms of the oath. As Tarek handed Kadal the scroll with the oath, he watched Kadal closely. Kadal had been a staunch supporter of Yudar, and would not like the clause preventing any help to the Parans. But Kadal was a skilled diplomat. He showed no reaction to the document, merely nodding when he reached the end.
“I will abide the contract and welcome the new King as my leader,” Kadal said.
“You read the clause stating that you will need to make changes to the way the Suya are treated? We will be initiating new laws regarding their status as land owners and their rights in the courts.” Tarek could not help but ask the question. It might not have been pressing to Darvad, but it was to him.
“Naturally,” Kadal said with a smooth smile. “I read the document entirely. I will abide your new laws as Royal Judge as I abided the laws of your predecessor.”
For a moment, a giddy sense of excitement coursed through Tarek. Perhaps Keshan’s changes would not be as difficult to press through as Darvad had feared. Perhaps Tarek could actually make changes that would improve the situation of a great number of people.
Kadal was a traditionalist, Yudar’s ally, and a religious conservative. And if he was willing to make the changes in concurrence with the law, then anything was possible.
Tarek rose from his seat and offered Kadal the sign of peace.
“Then it is my great honor to stay with you this night, and return to Prasta in the morning to share the good news with the King.”
“Tell King Darvad he has my blessing, and my loyalty,” Kadal said, standing as well. The two bowed to each other. “Now, let me show you to your quarters.”
“Thank you.”
And as they walked the cold stone hallway, Lord Kadal—Shentari traditionalist, a man who would have barred Tarek from entering his chambers only a short month ago—reached out and touched Tarek’s shoulder.
“I look forward to your changes with anticipation,” Kadal said. He gave Tarek’s shoulder a squeeze.
It felt like absolution.
Chapter 21
FOLLOWING RISHAK’S VISIT, JANDU TOOK SOME OF THE GOLD Keshan gave them and set off for the village. He returned with a cow, lentils, rice, and seeds to start their own garden.
He also returned with a small roll of parchment and ink.
The parchment cost dearly, but Jandu justified the secret expense as his only way to remain sane in the forest. The night he returned, he started a letter to Keshan. Baram and Suraya had retired for the night, and Yudar slept fitfully on his grass mat on the floor. The thin light of the butter lamp cast shadows everywhere. The rough parchment jarred his pen nib, and the ink blotched in parts and ran in others. But Jandu wrote anyway, desperate to confess his hidden feelings to somebody.
Jandu heard a stifled moan from his brother Baram in the other hut. He smirked. Even the deprivation of living impoverished in the forest hadn’t cured Baram and Suraya of their sexual appetites.
Jandu wrote down the explicit things he wished Keshan could to do to him. A warm heaviness filled Jandu as he described the places he wanted to kiss on Keshan’s body. He furtively glanced at Yudar’s sleeping form, realizing that if he got caught with this letter, he was doomed.
Jandu signed the letter, flush with desire. In the spirit of his former letter, he also signed this one with a little stick figure drawing, showing Baram and Suraya screwing in one hut, Yudar sleeping next to him, and Jandu sitting on the floor by a candle writing. Again, the picture was so absurd he couldn’t help but smile. He knew Keshan would love it.
He gently rolled the letter and placed it in a sandalwood box he had made that morning. He had originally planned on delivering the letter in the daylight, but he was too excited to sleep, and had grown used to walking to his secret statue in the darkness. He slipped out of the silent hut and plunged into the jungle darkness.
Jandu kept Zandi strung and his hand free to reach his quiver in case a wild animal approached. The other day he had been startled by a panther, which had looked at him oddly and then simply walked away. The panther had been far too beautiful to shoot, although Yudar chastised him later, saying the panther’s skin could have been a luxuriant addition to their measly home.
It took twice as long for Jandu to find his statue than it did in the light, but once his eyes adjusted to the clearing, he spotted the smooth stone sculpture with ease. He put the letter box in an alcove at the statue’s feet. It would take a person over a month to travel from Tiwari to this location. Jandu calculated that, in the best case scenario, it would be at least two months for Keshan to get back to him. After all, Rishak still had to travel all that way back.
But Jandu was willing to wait. After all, he had three years to fill—what were a few months?
◆◆◆
Life fell into a mundane routine of chores.
Yudar tended their cow, fished, and maintained their small garden plot. Baram cooked and crafted items for their house from what they could find in the forest. Suraya swept and cleaned their clothes, she sewed patches and washed cooking pots and tried her best to fight back the constant threat of being consumed by the jungle.
And Jandu spent most of his time hunting and foraging. He gathered firewood. He sharpened their weapons. He set traps throughout the woods and checked them daily. He worked with Baram to make constant improvements to their roof, which leaked over the monsoon and now, during the dry winter, kept blowing away in sudden gusts of wind. He slunk down to the village to watch the Jegora tan hides, and after learning their secrets, became adept at the process. Suraya’s hut filled with furs. Baram accused him of trying to woo her before his year, but only jokingly, since he slept on the furs as well.
And he waited for news from Keshan.
Each day, he checked the clearing, only to find his box still there. He wrote more letters, one every few days, so that the box nearly burst with them, gathered at the base of the stone sculpture like an offering, each letter detailing the daily monotonies of his difficult new life, each letter sweetened with sex talk, each one accompanied by a clever line drawing at the signature, a small sketch of Jandu and his troubles in the forest.
Every time Jandu saw his own letters, his heart broke a little more. It had been over two months since Rishak’s visit—Keshan had to have received his original request by now.
And then finally, one morning, Jandu stood, frozen, as he stared at the cream-colored scroll that lay on the forest floor, replacing Jandu’s box of letters.
Jandu laughed out loud and fell upon the scroll like a starving cat on cream. The scroll wrapped around two beautiful silver dowels, and the cloth itself smelled perfumed. Incense and ocean water and Keshan’s own unique coconut butter smell seemed to waft off the scroll, and it brought tears to Jandu’s eyes. This letter had been touched by Keshan’s own hands, making Jandu flush with longing. He ran his fingers over the text over and over again, rereading each word to see if he could extract more meaning. The letter began with Keshan admonishing Jandu for being so careless.
My sweet Jandu,
/> You are an idiot! What is wrong with you? I can’t believe you were foolish enough to send me a map to your location. That may be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done, not to mention beginning this dangerous correspondence. This is very risky. I hope you understand what is at stake.
Having said that, I now solemnly swear to write you as many letters as I can. I will have my loyal servant Chezek make the journey north to your location as often as I can spare him. Write me constantly. Write me dozens of letters. I want Chezek to return with chests full of your words. I want to feel you through your letters.
I feel terrible for the burden you are going through although I still think it’s funny that none of you remembered to bring a bucket to the forest). It sounds as though you are suffering, and it makes me sick in my heart to think of you in such need.
Your drawing was fantastic. I love your artwork—you should do more illustrations, Jandu, you have true talent.
Now, let me tell you want I want you to draw a picture of. I want an image of you, your great body and fantastic cock, pinning me to the earth, pushing deep into me, your breath on the back of my neck as you fuck me senseless. I want you to make me feel it with your drawing, and as you draw, think of my fingers upon you, trailing up the insides of your thighs, stroking the irresistible softness of your scrotum, my fingers dancing upwards, pulling your shaft into my mouth—can you feel this ?– and I pull you to the back of my throat, the warmth and wetness of my lips upon you, milking you to a sweet, strangled release that echoes through that infernal forest.
I’ll send Chezek back for a second round next month. Meanwhile, Iyestar is drunk as usual and I can hear him down the hall starting an argument with my mother.
Iyestar visited Darvad in Prasta a week ago. He says Mazar does poorly in your absence. Apparently, the great Mazar talks of nothing but you, Jandu, your bravery, your archery, and your nobility. Know that you and your brothers are missed dearly by those you left behind in Prasta.
Write me soon. My flute feels dead in my hands without you to inspire it.
With eternal love, your Keshan.
At the end of the letter, Keshan had been inspired by Jandu’s line drawing to draw a small cartoon of his own. It was of Keshan, kneeling, hands together, promising not to help the Parans. Then, right next to it, it showed an extremely graphic image of the same Keshan stick figure sucking on Jandu’s penis.
Jandu laughed out loud. He touched the letter over and over, moved beyond words. Jandu looked over his shoulder, terrified of detection. But he realized that no one in his family knew of the glade, and so he felt safe.
But keeping the letter was another issue.
The logical thing would be to burn it. But Jandu couldn’t imagine doing such a thing. This letter gave him hope. It brought Keshan to him. Without it, he might as well just commit suicide, as he would never be happy again.
But he couldn’t take it home. Even though Jandu kept a small chest of personal belongings in the hut, it was still available to anyone in his family. If Yudar found this letter, complete with a drawing of Keshan sucking Jandu’s cock, it would be beyond horrible. Yudar would probably just kill him. The memory of the execution Jandu had seen in Prasta shuddered through Jandu.
There were moments, like this, when reason fled Jandu. A desire to run away from his family suddenly overwhelmed him. After all, it was Yudar’s fault he was here. And if his brother knew anything about what dark secrets lurked in Jandu’s heart, all of Jandu’s fidelity would mean nothing. Yudar would banish him, at the least, and kill him at the worst.
I could leave them.
The thought flowered and then died in Jandu’s heart. Escaping his family to go live with Keshan was a fantastic idea, but would never be more than a fantasy. Regardless of how Yudar would feel about Jandu’s secret, Jandu still owed his older brother loyalty. It was the responsibility of family, and his duty as the youngest prince. And he would serve his brother first, and then see to his own needs afterwards.
Besides, even if Jandu left his family, he would still have to serve the rest of his exile before returning to Tiwari or risk making Keshan an outcaste. Better to be in exile with people he loved than completely alone.
With great emotion, Jandu slowly rolled up Keshan’s letter. No, he wouldn’t burn it. He wouldn’t do that, even for Yudar. But he would hide it. He stashed the letter in a tree until he constructed two more sandalwood boxes—one to bury his beloved letters from Keshan in, and the other to hold the new set of letters Jandu couldn’t wait to write.
These letters became more than just a correspondence with his friend. They were Jandu’s life line, his connection with someone in the real world, away from the poverty of the forest, away from exile. The letters gave Jandu strength. And in this strength, Jandu’s optimism returned.
◆◆◆
Over the next six months, Jandu received three letters from Keshan. Each word from his lover raised his spirits far above the damp and dreary places the forest dragged him into. Their food supply waned again, but Jandu didn’t care. He traveled farther from home each day in order to find hunting grounds, but it didn’t matter. His heart was full with Keshan’s love. In his mind he repeated each sweet word over and over until his eyes shone with his inner happiness, and his joy radiated outwards, lighting his family as well, giving to them the strength and courage they needed to survive their terrible first year of privation.
One morning, he decided to write an entire letter to Keshan comprised entirely of drawings. He packed a satchel of his ink and some prepared birch bark, having run out of writing cloth several letters ago. On his way to his secret glade, he kissed his brother Baram’s forehead, as Baram separated a pot of milk into curds and whey.
He whistled the tune he had learned in Tiwari and went down to the lake, where Suraya washed their clothes. Jandu snuck up behind her and tickled her under her arms. She screamed and threw a wet towel in his face.
Jandu pranced around the side of the hut, to the small clearing between the lush forest and their hut. Yudar tended their cow, speaking to her soothingly.
Jandu gave Yudar a slice of his rose apple, and smiled. Jandu had discovered that Yudar ate more if he were offered small snacks throughout the day. Yudar wouldn’t sit down to a large bowl of soup. But he would greedily partake in small servings of curds, or fresh fruit, and several cups of broth, as long as they were brought to him in little increments. Suraya didn’t have the patience to do it, but Jandu did.
“I’m off,” he announced, waving to his family as he headed down the small muddy path that led to the pilgrim’s trail. Yudar, Baram, and Suraya waved back, all of them smiling, Baram and Suraya looking at each other with the unspoken question as to why Jandu suddenly snapped into such high spirits.
Of course, none of them had idea why Jandu had sprung out of his depression. But Jandu returned to his old self, laughing all the time, telling jokes, and spontaneously singing and bragging about his magnificence. And once he stepped free of his melancholy, they all did. Jandu brought Suraya flowers every day, and she couldn’t help but smile. Jandu agreed to practice the mace with Baram, and although Jandu ended up with a bruised rib and a nasty headache, Baram felt like a conqueror again. Even Yudar’s cough finally disappeared.
Jandu wasn’t sure exactly when he had let all the leftover anger at his brother go, but like the easing of a chronic pain, one day he just noticed it was gone and he was glad. It was hard to hate his family. He needed Yudar and Baram to be his allies, and when he was angry at Yudar, the world seemed darker to him.
Jandu deftly made his way through the thicket, following the pilgrim’s trail north towards the retreat. Along the route, he passed by two groups of holy men, chanting prayers as they made their way to the religious retreat. Jandu bowed to them as they passed, keeping his head low and his eyes partially closed. He held his arms close to his body, hoping no one would notice his archery scars. He hid Zandi behind his back.
As soon as he could, he
stepped off the main trail and pushed his way deeper into the jungle. In Prasta, the heart of winter would be cold and windy. Here, in the rain canopy of the mountains, even December brought an early morning heat that hovered over the earth like a hot breath. Jandu was sweating by the time he made his way to a small stream secluded in the brush. The water’s edge teamed with birds—wood sandpipers and shelducks, yellownapes and barbets—singing uproariously as they splashed in the cool, thin trickle of mountain water that rushed over the rocks.
Jandu found a shady spot on a fallen log and took out his birch bark paper. He began a cartoon of his family, showing Yudar’s bones protruding from his sides, Baram’s eyes bugging out of his head from hunger, Suraya’s hard and calloused hands chopping wood with their sharp edges. Jandu dwindled hours away, cracking himself up with his drawings. He drew one page of himself jerking off in the woods, and he realized that he was so far removed from the Jandu who had been raised by his strict and severely religious master, Mazar. The Jandu of a few years ago couldn’t even contemplate the immorality of masturbation, let alone jokingly draw himself in the act, giggling as he added lurid flourishes. The sun beat on the back of his neck and he drew, heedless of time, but not entirely oblivious to the steady rhythm of forest life.
A gray junglefowl strutted by, waking Jandu up from his artistic trance. He swiftly pulled an arrow from his quiver and shot the bird from a few feet away.
“Sorry,” Jandu told the bird. “But you are going to be a delicious dinner.”
Jandu packed up his writing materials and made his way back home, breathing in the deep, mushroomy smell of the forest.
Baram was ecstatic about Jandu’s kill, and set about preparing a grand feast, seasoning the rice they had left with cardamom pods and cloves, making a cream sauce for the bird, adding a touch of early season mango to sweeten it. They shared their dinner outside in the clearing between the hut and the lake, where they could enjoy the view of the water splashing against the base of the sharp peaked mountains, and listen to the calls of peacocks and quails in the forest.
