by Astrid Amara
“Thank you for your time,” Keshan said brusquely. He left the scroll with Darvad and made his way to the gate.
“Don’t be angry with me,” Darvad asked. He followed Keshan to the gate and touched his shoulder. “I cannot bear it. Too many people hate me already. I need you. I need you on my side.”
Keshan smiled weakly. “I am not angry. I am frustrated, yes. But not angry.”
Darvad smiled back. “Good. Then you know how I feel.” He embraced Keshan briefly. “Thank you for coming. I will make sure you do not wait so long the next time.”
Keshan turned and left the palace. As he suspected, the moment he got into his chariot, a rider on horseback mounted and trailed him. Druv’s spies were obvious. Keshan wondered if it wasn’t deliberate, a way to keep Keshan in line.
The thought fuelled his anger. Because of them, he hadn’t heard a word from Jandu in months. Druv’s spies had caught Chezek the last time he had returned from the mountains. And while they did not hurt Chezek, and although Chezek managed to keep Jandu’s letters safe out of their hands, the risk was just too great.
But the months of silence gnawed at him constantly. For all he knew, Jandu was dead. Frustration coiled within him, made him reckless.
“I’ll just visit him myself.” As soon as he mumbled the words, Keshan realized that he would break all the rules and actually do it. He no longer cared about the repercussions. His brother could be angry. Darvad could suspect him. It didn’t matter now. He needed to alleviate the worry in his mind, or else he could not concentrate on anything else. He needed a break from the palace, and from politics. And no one was as good at making Keshan forget his troubles than Jandu.
As his chariot wound through the dusty streets of Prasta, a giddy excitement built in him. Once he had made his decision, he thought himself a fool for waiting so long. He could not be gone indefinitely, but at least he could have something to refresh him, rejuvenate him, after months of stagnant frustration.
That evening, he met with his loyal servant Chezek in private. Chezek had been Keshan’s charioteer since he was a teenager, and he trusted the gruff man with his life. Only Chezek held the secret of Keshan’s relationship with Jandu, and he never questioned it. Chezek’s loyalty was unwavering, and so it was with him alone that Keshan plotted.
The following day, Chezek left the palace on the premise that he had an urgent message to deliver for Keshan. He returned, anxious, and urged Keshan that his good friend in Pagdesh was ill, begging Keshan to tend to him.
Keshan made the excuse to Iyestar, who eyed Chezek and Keshan both with an air of suspicion.
“I had no idea that you were so close to Gerevan Handari,” Iyestar said, looking at the parchment Chezek had delivered.
“We have maintained a steady correspondence since he visited us in Tiwari,” Keshan said calmly. “I owe him my attendance if he requests it.”
Iyestar ground his teeth. He handed the letter back to Keshan. “Fine, go then. But no longer than a week. I need you here.”
Keshan bowed to his older brother, and hid his smile of triumph until he was safely out of Iyestar’s quarters. Immediately, he packed his belongings and sent Chezek to the market to purchase additional items, gifts for Handari’s extensive family.
All of his preparations were watched carefully. It irked Keshan that even in his own townhouse in Prasta, Druv’s spies monitored him. Servants Keshan once thought of as honest suddenly appeared in his chambers, looked through his documents. Keshan fought the urge to fire them, realizing they would only be replaced with other spies.
Men followed his chariot out of the city, and when they reached the open roads to the east, crossing the thin branch of the Yaru River that separated Prasta from the State of Karuna, new men arrived, tradesmen with an eerie sense of pacing who managed to change their route in accordance with Keshan’s own.
They were followed through Karuna. By the time they reached the border, a group of men traveling as religious ascetics on pilgrimage were suspiciously close behind them.
Again Keshan wished he could just go through the Yashva kingdom, but human spies, no matter how tenacious, could not match the tracking ability of Firdaus’ Yashva cousins. They had a better chance of success in the human world.
Keshan and Chezek detoured off the main route to Pagdesh, instead heading northeast along the narrow, winding roads of the State of Marshav. As soon as they were convinced that they had temporarily lost their trackers, Keshan sold the chariot and purchased two horses instead. He and Chezek loaded them down with the goods for the Parans and left before sunrise. The rest of their journey seemed free of spies, but they still took extra precautions once they reached the mountainous state of Pagdesh.
It had been years since Keshan had traveled this far north, and while he wished he had time to take in the sights, to see the towns and people he had only heard about, he had no time to spare. They crossed through herds of brightly painted cattle and flocks of sheep that scattered at their horse’s canter. They didn’t sleep in towns, resting past nightfall in secluded fields far from the sight of the road.
Once they reached the village at the base of Mount Adri, Keshan donned Chezek’s heavy black turban, the trait of the Marshavi people, and put on his heavy long black tunic and baggy trousers. Delicate silver embroidery decorated the cuffs and front buttons. Chezek put on Keshan’s own clothing, his bright yellow silks and bangles, even wearing Keshan’s diadem.
Anyone looking closely at either man would know the deception immediately. Chezek was too old and grizzled to ever be mistaken for his master. But from a distance, they wore their parts well.
Keshan had never seen his servant in anything other than black, so seeing him now in gold embroidery and a tight yellow vest made him smile.
“Don’t laugh,” Chezek grumbled, straightening his diadem. “You’ll need your energy for the mountain.”
The two day trek up the mountain to Jandu’s rendezvous point proved to be physically draining, but mentally soothing. The rhythm of steps leading endlessly upwards, and the steady beat of his horse’s hooves, became a form of meditation, each footfall taking him further from the trials of his life, closer to Jandu.
As a young boy, Keshan spent months like he was now, in the middle of nowhere, alone with nature. He had loved it. He had learned how to detect weather changes from the slightest breeze, predict oncoming storms from the shapes of clouds, he had deciphered dozens of bird calls, discovered hundreds of plants, befriended wild animals, and spent lazy afternoons with cows.
All of that seemed a lifetime ago. He couldn’t remember the last time he had taken a stroll even in his own garden in Tiwari. Even his daily swims in the ocean with Iyestar had become infused with unspoken tension.
Keshan rolled his shoulders back and closed his eyes as he walked, his horse’s lead rope loose in his hand. Thick humid air engulfed his body like a warm bath and he let the calls of nature overwrite the quarrels and debates of court in his head, embracing the noisy silence of the forest.
When the sun went down beneath the mountains and darkness made it impossible to continue, he found a spot along the pilgrim’s trail that looked amenable for a camp fire, and settled down for the night. He fed his horse and lit a small fire, noticing signs of previous campers. He wondered if Jandu had slept there. The thought filled Keshan with wanting. He was almost there.
In the morning, he left at first light and walked quickly. He hoped that Jandu would visit the glade that he had described in his first letter. Neither Chezek nor Keshan knew the exact location of the Parans’ house, although Keshan figured it had to be nearby.
Keshan finally stumbled into the clearing in the forest that Jandu and Chezek had described a little past noon. He saw the statue first—stone blackened with age and worn smooth, the shapely curves of a woman’s body barely detectible. But there were no letters beside it. Keshan grew alarmed.
He heard a rustle in the trees, and froze in fear. What if he had been follow
ed? It seemed unlikely; there were parts of the pilgrim’s trail where he could see down the mountainside for nearly a mile, and no one had been behind him.
But caution flooded him. He tied his horse in the thicket and hunkered down against a large tree. He closed Chezek’s long-sleeved coat tighter around him and pulled the end of the black turban down, wrapping his face and obscuring all but his eyes. Crouched beside the tree, Keshan’s had an unobstructed view of the clearing, but he was well-hidden behind a flowering bush. The rustle of someone approaching grew louder. His heart beat faster as he crunched his body tighter.
Jandu appeared in the glade, scowling.
It had been a year and a half since Keshan had seen him, and the changes startled him. Jandu seemed taller. His arms had developed lean and clearly defined muscles. But he was shockingly thin. The high cheekbones in his face were very prominent, his eyes seemed slightly sunken with hunger, and his stomach was as flat as a board. His thick black hair had grown longer and, unrestrained without a diadem or crown, seemed wild and unruly. His bangs fell into his eyes. Jandu pushed the hair back from his face angrily.
His dark blue cotton dejaru was stained and ragged. His old blue sash had faded nearly to white. The harafa he wore on his upper body was woven from rough cotton, and was also badly stained. Jandu draped it partially over his head like a beggar would.
Jandu’s expression seemed fiercer to Keshan as well. His blue eyes burned with an intensity that startled Keshan. He looked angry at the world, which didn’t surprise Keshan. The world had shat upon him, and now he was fumbling through a dense and unfriendly forest, looking desperately for news of his lover.
This thought constricted Keshan’s throat with emotion. He knew he had missed Jandu, but now seeing him, scowling at bushes and furiously swiping at mosquitoes, he realized how much his own life had suffered without this temperamental man by his side.
Keshan shifted, and a branch cracked under his sandal.
Jandu narrowed his eyes in Keshan’s direction. He stalked towards Keshan with startling speed.
“What do you want?” Jandu roared, suddenly grabbing Keshan by the throat and pulling him from his crouched position. He slammed Keshan against the tree trunk, holding him up by his neck.
As soon as they made eye contact, Jandu’s eyes widened. He immediately let go of Keshan’s throat.
“Keshan!”
“Hello. I—”
Jandu grabbed Keshan by the collar and jerked him forward, kissing him with almost painful force.
Keshan gave up trying to speak. He wrapped his arms around Jandu. Jandu pressed him back against the trunk of the tree and pinned Keshan there, grinding his hips into Keshan as he thrust his tongue deeply into Keshan’s mouth.
A year and a half of desire rushed through Keshan’s system, making him respond to every touch from Jandu’s hands. They felt different, calloused. But they touched Keshan’s flesh with a familiarity that sped Keshan’s heart.
Keshan tried to pull his mouth away from Jandu to speak, but Jandu’s lips wouldn’t let him go. Jandu bit Keshan’s lip gently, forcing the contact. Jandu kissed him as if his life depended upon it.
Finally, breathless, Jandu pulled his lips away and stared down at Keshan.
“You fucker!” he said. There were tears in his eyes. “Why didn’t you write me?”
“It was too risky,” Keshan said. “Druv’s spies caught Chezek.”
Jandu’s eyed widened. “Is he all right?”
“Yes, and they didn’t find the letters. But we couldn’t risk coming back.”
Jandu studied Keshan’s expression. “Then why are you here now?”
Keshan swallowed. “I needed to see you.”
Jandu kissed him again. Keshan let his knees relax and he slid down the trunk of the tree, Jandu crouching down with him, never breaking contact with his lips. Keshan lay back upon the forest floor and Jandu crouched above him. He could feel Jandu’s erection pushing against his thigh.
“I thought you were dead. Or tortured.” Jandu’s words were whispered between frantic kisses. “You have no idea how I’ve worried…”
“Well don’t worry any longer. The only torture I’ve endured is of sexual deprivation.”
For the first time, Jandu’s mouth broke into a hesitant smile. He rolled off of Keshan and lay on his side beside him. Jandu reached out and pushed Keshan’s turban off his head. He ran his hand through Keshan’s hair, closing his eyes. “God, I missed doing this.” He left his fingers entangled in Keshan’s locks. “Turbans don’t suit you.”
“Well, neither does that harafa over your head,” Keshan said, laughing. “You look like a Bandari street beggar.”
Jandu pulled his hand back as if burned.
Keshan felt a fool.
“God, Jandu, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“—That’s all right. I am a fucking beggar. It’s appropriate that I look the part.”
“I didn’t mean that. I was trying to…” Trying to what? Keshan suddenly realized that the way he used to speak with Jandu would no longer work. Jandu didn’t have the same sense of humor he used to. Nothing about his current situation was particularly funny, after all. “I’m sorry.”
Jandu ground his teeth. He looked as though he were about to speak, and then suddenly changed his mind.
“Talk later.” Jandu pulled Keshan on top of him and kissed his mouth, a tremor of anxiety still coursing through his body. Even in the midst of all the political turmoil of Prasta, Keshan had never felt Jandu so on edge. The Jandu he knew was mellow, self-assured. This man was jumpy as a jack rabbit and his pride easily injured.
But Keshan’s worries faded as the intensity of their embrace increased. Jandu’s eyes slanted as his mouth ravished Keshan. Keshan savored the erotic roughness to his cheeks, the unbearable softness of his pink lips. Keshan ran his hands along Jandu’s neck, feeling each bone, running his hands along his sternum. He gently circled Jandu’s nipples with his fingers, listening for Jandu’s telltale gasp that he enjoyed this. Jandu always made strange, inarticulate noises when they made love. It was one of his more endearing traits.
Keshan leaned down and flicked at Jandu’s right nipple with the tip of his tongue. Jandu let out a small, peculiar groan, and a smile broke across Keshan’s face.
Touching Jandu after all this time was an erotic mixture of familiarity and strangeness. He knew the smell of Jandu’s body, the taste of it, his color and texture, and what spots on his body made him shout out in desire. But his body had changed. His ribs were prominent, declaring themselves across his chest. He had more hair on his chest than before, but it was dark and small, huddled in shy curls. Jandu’s hips seemed narrower, due to the fact that his thighs had grown in size with all his walking.
“Keshan,” Jandu moaned.
Keshan’s own hardness urgently pressed against his tightly wrapped dejaru. He ignored it, instead sitting up to slowly, patiently, undo the sash across Jandu’s waist.
Jandu watched him from beneath lowered lashes.
Keshan untied the knot of Jandu’s dejaru slowly, drawing out the effort. He felt like he was unwrapping a present. The anticipation of seeing him naked made his own body shiver with desire.
He slowly pulled down the fabric wrapped around Jandu’s waist, revealing his thick, slightly curved cock.
Keshan didn’t touch it. He instead placed kisses around it, listening to Jandu’s small noises as he squirmed to get Keshan’s mouth closer to the tip. Keshan gently licked the salty skin of Jandu’s inner thighs, loving the scent of maleness about him. Jandu was so masculine here, where small hairs darkened the soft sweet flesh of his legs, where his scrotum hung heavily and loose, the skin soft and salty to the tongue.
Keshan took his time with Jandu, not wanting to rush this. He had only a week at most to be with him, and he didn’t know how much time alone they would be able to find.
And this was Suraya’s flesh now, Keshan realized. He wondered absent-mindedly if sh
e had ever done this to him—pulled his testicles into her mouth, her fingers playing close to his entrance, her breath hot on the sensitive base of his cock.
Keshan smiled to himself. Somehow, he knew this was his space here. This was his closeness to Jandu, their secret spot. When Keshan closed his lips onto Jandu, and Jandu hissed in pleasure, Keshan knew that this was a pleasure he alone in the world had. He let Jandu raise his hips up, let him thrust into the back of Keshan’s throat, searching for the deepest place, the moment when he knew that Keshan had swallowed him whole.
But Jandu was Jandu. He rarely took his pleasure without seeing to Keshan’s needs first. He had a boyish smile on his face, his eyes sparkling. “Come here,” he said huskily. He sat up. His hands shook as he helped Keshan out of his trousers. Keshan knelt and let his cock touch Jandu’s, loving the way that slight movement made Jandu’s entire body go rigid with pleasure.
Jandu’s naked body was so firm and masculine, so defined, but the way it trembled with anticipation was almost feminine. Until he met Jandu, Keshan hadn’t realized his sexual desire could be whipped into such a frenzy.
After all, sex was fun with anyone. But sex with Jandu was so erotic, it made everything else seem limp and empty, it made everything else just fucking. But Jandu was a living, pulsing, definition of sex to Keshan—the noble yet languid way Jandu moved, the taste of him, from the salty flesh of his testicles to the sun-burnt sweetness of his neck, the rigid firmness of his stomach muscles and his strong arms, the infinite softness of his lips and inner thighs, the strong musky scent of his flesh—it was as if he were born simply to bring Keshan to his knees with craving.
Jandu grasped Keshan’s member in his hot hands and pressed it against his own. He wrapped his hands around them both, stroking them together, his movements lubricated with Keshan’s saliva.
Pleasure rocked through Keshan’s entire body. Jandu nudged Keshan’s legs wider with his knee, spreading Keshan open, speeding his pumping. With his other hand he gently stroked Keshan’s testicles, his finger gently brushing backwards until he pressed into Keshan.
