by Astrid Amara
Jandu lifted the bow to examine it. It was a heavy compound bow with a deep curve, and made of wood, sinew and bone, lacquered in a beautiful black diamond pattern. Pleasure rushed through Jandu’s arms just holding it. Since the age of ten, there hadn’t been a single day that Jandu hadn’t shot an arrow. Now it had been months. Jandu twanged the string automatically.
He looked around, but no one was in sight. He promptly loosened the bowstring and adjusted its length. As he heard footsteps coming around the corner of the balcony, he quickly restrung the bow and put it on the steps.
Abiyar emerged, a large chunk of bread in his hands.
Jandu sat on the steps and pulled out his flute. “You’re late.”
“I was hungry.” Abiyar stuffed the rest of the bread in his mouth and then reached down to pick up his bow.
Abiyar twanged the bow. Both of them reacted to the change in tone. Jandu smiled.
Abiyar studied his bow, then Jandu. “Did you do something to it?”
“I adjusted your brace height, that’s all,” Jandu said. “Your string was too short.”
With newfound trust, Abiyar sat next to Jandu on the brick ledge, careful not to sit on Jandu’s long red zahari. He held his bow out before him proudly.
“It looks different,” Abiyar said.
“The lower brace height will push the arrow longer and faster. And the tauter string will result in less slap and a smoother release.”
Abiyar studied Jandu’s face. “Where did you learn this?”
Jandu watched Abiyar from the corner of his eye. “I was once a charioteer for Prince Jandu Paran in Prasta.”
Abiyar’s eyes grew wide. “You? A woman?”
“Why not? I’ve always been good with horses and weaponry, woman or not.”
Abiyar’s expression turned dreamy. “I hear Jandu is the best archer in all of Marhavad.”
Jandu grinned. “He is.”
“What’s he like?”
“He’s incredible.”
“Is it true that he can hit a target from 300 yards?” Abiyar asked.
Jandu nodded. “Once I saw him hit a target 350 yards away.”
“Wow.” Abiyar shook his head. “I’d love to meet him.”
“Maybe you will some day.”
Abiyar looked at Jandu with sudden intensity. “Did Jandu teach you any other tricks? Archery tricks, I mean? I’m not so good at hitting small targets.”
Jandu took a deep breath to calm his heart down. “I may be able to remember a few things.”
Abiyar handed Jandu his bow. “Show me something.”
The urge to show off was overwhelming, but Jandu resisted.
“Why don’t you shoot at the target instead,” Jandu put the bow back in Abiyar’s hand, “and I’ll tell you what I see.”
Abiyar enthusiastically scooted off the ledge of the courtyard and took aim. He hadn’t pulled the string back before Jandu was on him, standing behind him to gently correct his posture.
“Look, you’re shooting in a wind, so open your stance,” Jandu said. He moved Abiyar’s body an inch to the left. “Keep your feet placed shoulder-width apart and your toes slightly outward, otherwise you’ll lose your balance when you shoot.”
Abiyar pulled his arms back, to show him his stance. Jandu frowned, realizing that Abiyar had way too much bow for a boy his age. It might have been appropriate for a grown man, or one of his stronger older brothers, but for Abiyar, it was too powerful. His arm shook as he pulled back the string.
“Do you have another bow?” he asked.
“Only this one. My father gave it to me.”
Jandu understood that he would only insult Abiyar if he suggested a lighter one. “Well, your accuracy is ruined partially because your arm is lifting on release. Pull the string straight back until it touches your lips.”
Abiyar clumsily pulled an arrow from the quiver on the ground and, with much fiddling, notched it into place. He shakily pulled back the string as Jandu had showed him, and fired the arrow just right of the target’s center.
Jandu beamed a bright smile. “You see?”
“Wow! That’s amazing!” Abiyar jumped up in joy.
“And if you always draw the string back the same way, you should have no problem repeating that shot.”
Abiyar fumbled for another arrow, but this one he shot too low.
Jandu shook his head. “You’re not paying attention to your body. Your chest is collapsing when you shoot, so you’re losing all your back tension and not getting a fully developed draw.”
Abiyar adjusted his position.
“No!” Jandu shook his head. “Look, give it to me…” Jandu took the bow and quickly drew back the string.
“Janali!”
Jandu loosed the string, and the arrow shot directly through the previous arrow Abiyar had shot.
Jandu turned to see Suraya scowling at him. “Yes?” he said sheepishly.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Jandu handed the bow to Abiyar, who stared at the arrow Jandu had just shot, awestruck.
“Nothing.” Jandu gave Suraya a big, lying smile.
“What?”
“Just helping Abiyar.”
Suraya crossed her arms. “Come here, little sister.”
“But—”
“—Come here.”
Suraya grabbed Jandu by the ear and led him around the corner of the building. She pushed him against the wall angrily.
Suraya narrowed her eyes. “You’re a woman now, Jandu. Act like one!”
“I’m trying.” Jandu sighed. “It’s hard.”
“You’re a music teacher, not an archer,” Suraya told him.
“But he had his string all fucked up—” Jandu started.
“Who cares?” Suraya snapped.
Jandu straightened. “I care. I don’t want him to be unprepared. He’s a Triya, Suraya, and the son of a lord. Some day he is going to be in a battle. If he went out like he was today, he would be killed.”
Suraya sighed loudly. “Be that as it may, I don’t think you should be teaching him anything but music. Anyone could have walked by right then, not just me. You act strangely enough in the women’s quarters as it is, we don’t need any more attention drawn your way.”
“I know.” Jandu looked away, realizing she was right. Practicing archery with Abiyar had been the most fun he’d had since arriving in Afadi. Jandu scowled, and then returned to Abiyar’s courtyard.
“Change of plans,” he said glumly. He sat on the stone steps and pulled out his flute. “Time for music.”
Abiyar’s shoulders sank in disappointment. “But you could teach me—”
“—I can’t teach you anything,” Jandu snapped. He sighed. “Your weapon’s master is the one to instruct you. What do I know? I’m just a music teacher.”
Abiyar was young and brash and often wrong, but he wasn’t a fool. He stared at Jandu a long time, and then said, “You got in trouble didn’t you?” Abiyar smiled. “So teach me another song. And don’t make it a love song, please. If you teach me another one of those I’m going to puke.”
◆◆◆
In January, as part of the New Year’s festival, Lord Indarel held an annual archery competition outside the city gates in the large open expanse between the city walls and the old cemetery.
On Rani’s insistence, Jandu dressed up for the occasion. Jandu’s roommate loaned Jandu one of her nicest zaharis, a purple cloth with an intricate pattern of peacocks along the fringes. The peacocks reminded Jandu of Keshan’s Tiwari standard, and so he loved it. He even gave in to Rani’s constant nagging and let her do his hair, tying his long black mane into an intricate braid and attaching a band of small silver jewels throughout it.
Because it was a special occasion, Jandu decided to also wear Keshan’s pendant. He had hidden the pendant long ago when he took it off Druv’s dead body, but now he wore it with secret pride, letting the light dance over the pearl and his pale skin, warming with the dark col
ors of his gown.
The youngest age allowed in the competition was sixteen, so this was the first year that Abiyar would participate. The entire city came out for the event, and a makeshift arena was set up in the middle of the field, complete with bamboo risers for the audience to stand and better view the action.
It was also the first time Jandu had been out of the palace walls since arriving in Afadi. He walked through the city and towards the competition with Suraya and Yudar and Baram, together as a family for the first time in almost half a year.
Jandu brimmed with excitement. He had shared no more than a few words with Yudar since arriving, and now the two of them clung to each other and shared stories as they walked slowly with the long, snaking crowd through the gates of the city to the open field. Musicians filled the air with songs and the smell of roasting meat wafted over the crowd as droves of vendors sold food from carts. Hundreds of people stopped and greeted each other and shopped and laughed as the celebration for the end of winter began.
“To think you didn’t even know how to braid your hair six months ago.” Suraya shook her head in amazement, then she leaned a little closer. “You look gorgeous and that’s a lovely pendant. Did Rani lend that to you as well?”
“No.” Jandu blushed.
Suraya’s eyebrow lifted. “Who then?”
Jandu didn’t answer, and was relieved when Yudar pulled Suraya away to show her some tapestries that local women had woven for the celebration.
Jandu and his family planned to sit up in the risers and watch the show with the rest of Afadi’s citizens, but upon seeing Yudar, Lord Indarel himself held out his hand and ushered the Parans to stand at the sidelines with the lord’s attendants. Lord Indarel and Yudar had become very close over the last few months, and now they seemed almost inseparable.
Jandu scanned the Triyas in the arena, looking for Abiyar, but he couldn’t see him.
And then, beside him, he heard someone whisper. “Janali.”
Jandu turned slightly, and saw Abiyar. He too was decked out in his finest jewels, his golden armor polished to a fine gleam.
Neither of them looked at each other, they stared at the competition arena and the current archer. Abiyar held his bow up slightly.
“Does this look okay?” Abiyar whispered to Jandu.
Jandu looked briefly at the string and then back at the competitors. “Your string should have at least six twists in it, Abi,” he whispered back. “That will round it better.”
Abiyar twisted his string as he stood beside Jandu. Jandu looked around the field. But no one was paying attention to them. Indarel fawned over his two older sons, Ramad and Parik, admiring their weapons and giving them hugs. He completely ignored Abiyar, about to compete for the first time. It was as though Indarel assumed Abiyar would fail. A fierce, protective anger flooded Jandu. He put his arm around Abiyar, angry that no one helped him in his first competition, that Abiyar’s master was nowhere in sight, and that the boy’s father wouldn’t bother to take the time to ensure his son’s bow was correctly strung.
“Remember to relax your fingers when you shoot, so your hand can act independently of your wrist,” Jandu whispered.
“All right.” Abiyar looked nervous.
Jandu smiled down at him, and touched his ornate diadem fondly. “I’m proud of you, Abi. You’re going to be great.”
“Sure I will,” Abiyar said. But the tremor in his voice gave away his nerves.
Abiyar’s time to appear was at the end of the archery competition, since he was the son of the lord. This meant he endured watching dozens of other Triya sons hit their targets. Some fared better than others. Jandu lingered towards the front of the crowd of guests, watching each shot carefully, judging each archer on their stance, the way they drew their strings, their focus.
Lord Indarel’s party at the event grew during the course of the competition, and now dozens of honored guests lingered in the area reserved for Indarel and Shali, who sat in thrones, watching the event unfold with vague interest. Lord Indarel was constantly distracted by his guests, coming to discuss politics or business as the competition proceeded. His daughter Vaisha stood beside her mother, both of them greeting the guests formally, dressed in their finest attire.
As Jandu moved closer to the edge of the box to watch a small Triya man take aim, he felt someone touch his arm beside him. He looked up and was surprised to see it was not a member of his family.
“Fascinating, isn’t it?” The man, a Triya, spoke to Jandu with a glint in his eye.
Jandu immediately moved away from the man. “Yes.” He pretended to yawn. “But archery is so dull.” He hoped he hadn’t been watching the competition too enthusiastically.
The Triya beside him laughed. “I don’t believe you. I’ve been watching you. You look at the archers as though you wish you were with them.”
Jandu narrowed his eyes. “What an absurd idea.”
The man laughed again, his eyes hungrily raking down Jandu’s body. “You are as witty as you are adorable.” He brought his hands together and bowed low. “I am Hanu, ambassador for my brother, Lord Firdaus of Chandamar.”
The very mention of Firdaus’ name made Jandu flush with anger. He studied Hanu, and realized he looked like a younger, healthier version of Darvad’s friend. He was tall and had large shoulders, and also carried a noticeable belly. Triya warrior he might be, but Jandu immediately dismissed him as a threat.
His dark brown eyes locked on Jandu’s waist. Jandu took another step away from him. He looked around for his brothers.
“Nice to meet you,” Jandu mumbled.
“And you are?”
“Janali.” Jandu didn’t smile. “I tutor Lord Indarel’s son Abiyar.”
“Ah, yes,” Hanu smiled. “I heard there was a pretty young woman who managed to win Abiyar’s heart. You are the younger sister of Esalas, the lord’s dice partner, are you not?”
“Yes.” Jandu looked away. “Excuse me. I need to find my family.” He darted off to find Suraya and the others.
Jandu spotted Yudar and Baram just as the lord’s sons entered the arena to compete. When Ramad, Afadi’s heir apparent, stepped into the arena, a roar came from the crowd, and they chanted his name in pride.
Ramad was heavily adorned in gold armor and a full rainbow of colored silk, yellows and peaches and greens, his thick long hair tied back with leather, his diadem almost as large as his father’s. He turned and bowed to the crowd dramatically, and the cheers rose. Lord Indarel looked beside himself with joy. Ramad strutted to the center of the arena and flexed his muscles unnecessarily as he took aim.
“Asshole,” Jandu whispered under his breath. Of course, he had to remind himself that he did pretty much the same thing at his own archery competition back in Prasta. But he was a different Jandu back then.
Ramad shot a tight cluster of arrows at the center of the target. The crowd roared in joy. Jandu understood now that Abiyar did not have the same weapons master as his older brother did. There was no way these two boys were learning from the same teacher.
Ramad took his time. He had himself blindfolded and shot another volley of arrows. Many missed the bull’s eye, but they still hit the target itself, which was close enough to please the crowd. Although Jandu had once gloried in this kind of grandstanding himself, he now thought it tacky, and strategically pointless.
Watching his older brother, Abiyar gripped his bow tightly, sweat breaking out across his forehead. His second brother Parik whispered something to Abiyar and Abiyar flushed in embarrassment.
Jandu gritted his teeth. These boys had no right to taunt Abiyar just for being the youngest. He tried to imagine growing up in a household where Yudar and Baram persecuted him. He couldn’t imagine it. Through thick and thin, he and his brothers had always been inseparable. Since the death of their father, Yudar and Baram had protected him.
After Ramad, Parik’s demonstration had less fanfare, but it was still warmly greeted by the crowds. They cheered the
boy and flowers fell from the risers to his feet. Parik was not as good as Ramad, but he was adequate. His arrow groupings were accurate, although his stance needed work.
Abiyar, too, received cheers when it was his turn to compete, but many in the crowd watched him with more curiosity than reverence. This was the first time Abiyar would have to show his skills in front of his citizens. He strutted out to the middle of the arena, and from a distance, he seemed confident. But Jandu knew him well enough to see the tremor in his step. Jandu closed his eyes and prayed for his strength and courage.
Abiyar did not do as well as some of the other boys his age in the competition, and he paled in comparison to his brothers, although his performance was far from a failure. Lord Indarel barely noticed. Jandu still hadn’t seen any sign of Abiyar’s archery master and his anger grew when Abiyar returned to the royal grounds, and Lord Indarel did nothing to acknowledge his son.
Abiyar’s personal attendants rushed to take his bow and offer him drinks. Jandu’s view of his student was blocked by the sheer number of honored guests, but he caught a glimpse of Abiyar, and could see the disappointment on his face.
“I have to talk to Abiyar,” Jandu told his family. He followed Abiyar’s servants around the stands to a tent that had been set up for the lord’s family. Jandu hesitated at the tent flap, worried it would look suspicious if he went in uninvited. But there was no one under the risers, and he felt safe.
“Abi?” He peeped his head in.
Abiyar’s servant was stripping off the boy’s armor. Abiyar looked devastated. He glared at Jandu. “Go away.”
Jandu sighed. “Can I talk for a—”
“Go!”
Jandu swallowed, and left the tent. He bumped directly into a man’s chest.
Hanu stared down at him. Jandu could see the tremble of excitement in the ambassador’s hands.
“Janali! What a surprise.” He reached out to touch Jandu’s arm, and Jandu backed away.
“Come, don’t toy with me,” Hanu cooed. “I just want to walk with you.”
