The Archer's Heart

by Astrid Amara

  Tarek didn’t have enough energy to argue. He stepped into Anant’s chariot. As they made their way north, around the army to the Uru camp, Penemar’s men chanted Tarek’s name.

  It echoed across the flank like a religious cry. Dragewan soldiers pounded their shields and shouted his name, and conch shells blew out victory to alert the rest of the Uru army that the breech had been secured.

  Tarek basked in the glory. His pride felt like it would burst through his armor. He smiled and shook his fist in victory towards the men of Dragewan and blew his conch as well, a triumphant note that he knew Darvad could hear even deep in the center of the battlefield.

  ◆◆◆

  That evening, Tarek limped from the medical camp to his own tent to change out of his blood-stained and torn clothing. His leg was numb, stitches and a liniment bandage mingling to create a stiff, tingling sensation where the arrowhead had been removed.

  As Tarek made his way in the fading sunset, he watched dozens of women and medics file out of camp to stack the Uru dead for funeral pyres. The sounds of wailing already echoed through the blustery evening breeze.

  Out in the forest, an eerie glow illuminated the trees and cast unnatural shadows on the ground. The same light had been seen the night before. Tarek overheard soldiers whispering that the lights were from the prophets, watching over the Urus. Others feared that the forest was inhabited by Yashvas, and they would all die for disturbing them. Spies scouting the area had found nothing other than what seemed like a ring of illumination, surrounded by foreboding darkness.

  Back in his tent, Tarek changed into a loose dark dejaru and threw a yellow harafa over his shoulders. His tent flap suddenly opened and Anant walked in, beaming a smile.

  Anant clearly had not been back long. His face was still blackened with dirt and dried blood, and his hair was pressed damply to his scalp, dark with sweat.

  Tarek didn’t care. He hooked his hand around the back of Anant’s neck, kissing him with fierce joy. Anant’s body responded immediately, grinding into Tarek’s groin.

  “You were magnificent today,” Tarek said.

  A smile lit Anant’s face. “And you, my lord. The entire Uru army is talking about your skills. You have made Dragewan legendary.”

  “We would have been heroes if we had just been left to capture Yudar.” Tarek shook his head. “He was in my sights! I could have had him!”

  “Yes, but at what cost?” Anant smiled ruefully. “It was masterful. But we paid a heavy price for that maneuver.”

  Tarek frowned. “How many died?”

  “Almost all of our Dragewan lower caste infantry were killed by the Karuna Triya.”

  Tarek’s mood darkened. The only way he could bear his rage towards Darvad for not challenging the rules of battle was by not thinking about it. Now the anger bubbled to the surface, choking him with regret.

  “I should have forced him,” Tarek said to himself. “I should have been adamant.”

  “He doesn’t care,” Anant said, placing his hand on Tarek’s arm.

  “Yes, he does! Darvad wants the laws changed.”

  Anant narrowed his eyes. “I find that hard to believe. Otherwise he would have done it.”

  “He had many things to think about, he didn’t have time,” Tarek said. “If it is anyone’s fault, it is mine. I should have pressed him.”

  Anant shook his head. “You’ll take the blame for him for anything, won’t you?”

  A rush of outrage made Tarek’s hands curl into fists. He breathed slowly to still his temper. “I’d do anything for him.”

  Anant looked pained, but he nodded. “Don’t shoulder more burden than is yours, my lord.”

  A soldier entered the tent and announced the arrival of the king. Anant quickly stood at attention, his expression blank as Darvad entered the tent.

  Tarek turned to face Darvad, who greeted him with a grand smile. When he saw Anant, Darvad’s smile faded.

  Anant bowed low. “Your Royal Highness.”

  Tarek sighed. “You can go, commander.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Anant walked stiffly past Darvad, but at the entrance, he turned and gave Tarek a small smile before he left.

  “Who is he?” Darvad asked. Uninvited, he plopped onto Tarek’s bed. He looked weary, despite the fact that he hadn’t fought that day, protected within his shield of Bandari soldiers.

  “One of my commanders,” Tarek said. He poured a glass of wine for Darvad and one for himself. “He just reported that our Suya and Chaya soldiers suffered heavy losses today. He wanted to know if the rules can be challenged.”

  “For God’s sake. Let’s not start on that again.” Darvad collapsed backwards on the bed and rubbed his eyes. “I came here for a respite, not a lecture.”

  “But Darvad,” Tarek pressed, “if we ask for the rules to change, we are at an advantage. We have more men than the Parans.”

  “—Stop it. Just stop it!” Darvad shouted, standing up suddenly. He looked furious. “You have become as annoying as Keshan!”

  Tarek took a step back. “I apologize.”

  Darvad grimaced. “Once my throne is secure, I will do whatever the hell it is you want me to do. That’s my promise. Do you accept it?”

  “I accept.”

  “Perfect.” Darvad smiled then, a tired smile, and Tarek wondered why it no longer mattered if he himself was happy, it only mattered that Darvad was. He sat down beside Darvad, and listened to his jokes, and ignored the churning ache of his own conscience.

  It was something Tarek was getting very good at.

  Chapter 52

  In the daylight, Jandu’s Yashva guardians faded, but they did not disappear.

  They remained vigilant, barely perceptible as transparent shifts of light. If he concentrated, he could make out vague faces on some. Others were mere hints, existing as pockets of warped landscape.

  Keshan told Jandu that their ability to appear in the human world depended on their own strengths. Some could materialize in the human world at will. Others were limited to the human world by their shartic forms alone, watching humanity pass by, summoned only by the dangerous words which would transform them into reckless energy.

  On the first day of the war, Keshan left Jandu and spoke with their Yashva allies from their own kingdom. He returned with a look of triumph.

  “We have almost all of the weapons here,” Keshan told Jandu.

  Jandu peered at their ghostly faces in interest. “Really? I always wondered what the guy who turned into the Manarisharta looked like.”

  Keshan laughed. “Manari is female. And, like Zandi, she looks better in her shartic form.”

  Jandu brimmed with curiosity about his new allies, but the battle quickly drew his attention.

  Directly above their campsite, Keshan had found a thick horizontal branch on a massive banyan tree that provided a sweeping view of the battlefield while keeping them hidden from sight. They had both watched the battle unfold on day one, as Dragewan nearly took Yudar’s position. Jandu sagged in relief when Tarek was forced to retreat to defend Darvad.

  On the morning of the second day, Jandu awoke to find Keshan already perched in the tree, surveying the early formations of the armies as he played absentmindedly with one of Jandu’s arrows. Keshan was a dexterous tree climber, moving like a monkey between the branches as it suited him. But Jandu had no natural skill. He climbed slowly, cursing under his breath as he scratched his arms on branches and struggled to keep his balance.

  Jandu swung his legs over the branch to sit beside Keshan, but clung to the tree trunk for support.

  “Did you eat the cheese I left you?” Keshan asked. He focused on the battlefield.

  “No.”

  Keshan frowned, but Jandu just smiled. “I have no appetite. If I eat anything, I’m going to be sick and fall out of this hazardous perch.”

  Keshan grinned. “Balance is part of being a good warrior. Didn’t Mazar teach you that?”

  Jandu shoved Keshan playfully,
but Keshan was far too comfortable sitting in tree branches to be disturbed by a little movement. He made as if to shake Jandu from the tree, but then both Jandu and he turned towards the battlefield as the first conch of the morning bellowed out.

  The sight of the armies filled Jandu with longing. He wanted to be out there so badly it hurt like a physical wound.

  “There’s Mazar’s chariot.” Jandu pointed to the silver car at the center of the Uru line.

  Keshan watched Jandu with a frown.

  “What?” Jandu asked.

  “The only way to win this war is to defeat your weapons master,” Keshan said. “Jandu, he is your enemy now.”

  “I know.” Jandu watched the white banners of Mazar’s chariot flutter in the wind.

  “You know it in your mind. But your love for him lingers in your heart.”

  “Of course it does.” Jandu sighed. “The man has been like a father to me. I will always have compassion for him, even if he is now my enemy.”

  “You must kill your compassion,” Keshan said.

  Their conversation was cut off by the sudden roar of a thousand conches, blasting through the air to call the start of the day’s battle.

  Yudar had appointed Suraya’s brother, Rishak Paria, to be the general of his army after Jandu’s banishment. Although young, Rishak was an experienced warrior. Still, Jandu worried that Nadaru’s death the day before would affect Rishak’s judgment. No doubt Suraya was devastated by the loss of her father. But now Jandu watched his brother-in-law lead the Paran army proudly, his chariot bursting into the center of the battlefield with confident speed.

  Jandu monitored the Paran flank and was relieved to see that Rishak had refortified the line to prevent a repeat of yesterday’s breach. Far across the battlefield, Jandu noted that Mazar placed a majority of his cavalry to the right flank and was once again attempting to split the Paran forces into two.

  As the battle progressed, Mazar’s forces pushed into the Parans with a great thrust. The full strength of the Uru force charged past the forest edge to hammer into the Paran left flank. Chaya and Suya infantry fell in huge numbers. And far from the forest edge, Rishak led the Paran offensive, carving deep into the center of the Uru line.

  Amongst the Paran warriors, Jandu caught sight of Afadi’s banner on one of the chariots and expected to see Indarel. Instead, he spied the lanky figure of Abiyar, struggling to take aim as the vehicle jostled over the rutted field.

  Horror rushed through Jandu, and it must have shown, for Keshan reached over and touched the side of his face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Abiyar is out there!” Jandu couldn’t believe Indarel’s carelessness, allowing the boy his own chariot. The idea of someone so inexperienced amongst all the battle-hardened warriors sickened Jandu. “He’s too young.”

  “He’s a Triya warrior,” Keshan said. “He would be offended to hear you speak of him this way.”

  “I have no doubt that one day he will grow into a great warrior,” Jandu countered. “But not now. For God’s sake, he’s just a boy!”

  “And how old were you when you first fought for Mazar?”

  “Eighteen.”

  “Seventeen.” Keshan smiled. “I remember hearing about it. What makes you think Abiyar feels differently at his age than you did?”

  Jandu shook his head. “I’ve always been talented. But Abi needs so much work.”

  Keshan looked out at Abiyar’s chariot and nodded. “Well, inexperienced or not, he seems to be holding his own.”

  Jandu watched Abiyar’s chariot follow behind Rishak as they cut through the enemy flanks, heading towards Darvad. Only his anxiety for Abiyar’s well-being tempered Jandu’s growing excitement over the mounting successes of his army.

  As more Uru cavalry galloped along the edge of the forest, Jandu realized they were in range of his arrows. Jandu wondered if he could jump down to fetch Zandi without hurting himself.

  As he looked down, gauging the distance, Jandu caught one of the shimmering figures beneath him burst into light and then disappear.

  “What was that?” Jandu asked.

  Keshan’s eyes narrowed. “More importantly, who was that? Someone recited a sharta.”

  The sky charged and wreathed. A loud crack of thunder boomed overhead. The air surrounding Mazar caught afire and blew outwards, covering dozens of soldiers in flames. The air reeked of scorched flesh.

  To Jandu’s amazement, Mazar summoned the sharta again, pushing his advantage to divide the Paran line. The flames spread outwards, blackening the air and creating a wind that sucked towards the conflagration, pulling soldiers to their deaths. The air grayed with ash.

  Jandu started the counter-curse, but Keshan stopped him with a hand on his arm.

  “Save your strength, it’s too late. He’s firing another one!”

  Jandu concentrated on Mazar’s moving chariot, hoping to feel the sharta. Goosebumps raised on his skin. He recited the sharta backwards, the counter-curse flowing into his consciousness after years of training.

  Keshan watched his fellow Yashva, and saw another disappear. “That was Tarhi. It’s the Tarhisharta.”

  Jandu closed his eyes and focused on the words of the Tarhisharta. His mouth filled with blood. His head pulsed with pressure. He spat the final word out and watched as nothing happened on the battlefield.

  “I did it!” Jandu cried happily. He spat blood.

  “Jandu! Another one is coming!”

  Jandu gripped the tree trunk and uttered the counter-curse again. His head ached with the effort.

  He broke the sharta and immediately, the Yashva Tarhi reappeared beneath him. Tarhi looked up at Jandu and smiled. Jandu smiled in return.

  “Got you back,” Jandu said affectionately.

  Tarhi uttered something incomprehensible in the Yashva tongue and Keshan burst into laughter.

  Tarhi turned and pointed to another Yashva.

  “It’s Barunaz,” Keshan said. Keshan closed his eyes and began uttering the Barunazsharta counter-curse.

  The air felt brittle and snapped like sparks crackling from dry wood. Jandu could not stop. His guardians flickered into shartic weapons at a disheartening pace.

  All day Jandu spoke with a bloody mouth, a pounding headache, and trembling muscles as he and Keshan countered every sharta that Mazar released. Jandu had never appreciated the value of such a role. Away from the chaos and threat of the battlefield he could concentrate on just the shartas and defend the Paran troops far more successfully than if he had been among them.

  Beside him Keshan broke shartas quietly, his expression rapt with concentration. To anyone who didn’t know him, it looked as though Keshan meditated. But the beads of sweat on his forehead and the slow trickle of blood from Keshan’s nose told a different story.

  Jandu passed into a trance, breaking sharta after sharta, oblivious to the world around him. At one point, he opened his eyes, and watched several Paran soldiers run underneath their tree, fleeing the battle through the forest. Loose horses charged through their camp, and later, Uru soldiers carried an injured comrade through the forest and deposited him among the leaves. Jandu’s Yashva guard turned to eye the soldiers warily.

  Keshan seemed oblivious to everything below them. Suspended, mouth unceasingly moving, he countered shartas until his voice grew ragged. At sunset, three shartas manifested at once. Keshan wiped blood from his nose, flicked it upon the arrow in his hands, and threw it into the air with a hoarse curse.

  The world burst into light, startling the animals. Soldiers shielded their eyes. A vortex opened the sky. The wind howled, pulling the shartas away from the field as the last sliver of sun vanished. The Draya priests sounded their conches, declaring the end of the day’s battle.

  Jandu watched, stunned. He never knew a person could dismantle several shartas at once. But the toll was clear. Keshan leaned forward and almost pitched out of the tree. Jandu shot a hand out to steady him.

  “Keshan?”

>   Keshan’s face was white. “Need to rest.”

  Keshan climbed down and Jandu practically fell after him. Once on the ground he lay panting in the leaves, too tired to move. Keshan draped his arm over Jandu’s chest.

  Jandu fell asleep immediately. It was dark by the time they roused enough energy to wash in the river. They fell on their cold leftovers of cheese and rice like starving animals. Even after bathing and eating, Jandu’s body felt stretched and weak. His chest felt bruised. He barely formed grunts in response to Keshan’s questions.

  As the cry of mourners permeated the darkness, and the creak of the carts loading the dead for funeral pyres rolled by their camp, Jandu and Keshan made tea and sat close together, staring at the flames and saying nothing.

  Jandu heard the rustling of branches as someone approached. He recognized the three Uru men he had observed earlier that afternoon.

  The glow around Jandu and Keshan’s camp surged to a blazing ring, and three Yashva slipped through the barrier into the human world. These Yashva weren’t beautiful like Mendraz, or Umia. They were feral things, ugly, covered in teeth and with unnaturally extended jaw lines. They had the size and bulk of Zandi, but without any of her female charm. They pounced upon the terrified Uru soldiers and gripped them by their throats.

  “Wait!” Jandu jumped to his feet. He held out his hand to the demons.

  The Yashvas’ spinning eyes whirled rapidly in their excitement. “What shall we do with them, my lord?” one of the Yashvas asked.

  The Uru men wept and writhed in the demons’ grasp.

  Jandu unsheathed his sword. “What do you want?” he demanded of the Uru men.

  A tall, gaunt Chaya brought his shaking hands together in the sign of peace.

  “Please do not kill us, Prince Jandu! We mean you no harm! We have fled the Uru army.”

  Keshan stood as well. He spoke in Yashva. The demons released the men and then faded back into glowing lights as the humans prostrated themselves before Jandu and Keshan.

  “Forgive us!” another soldier said. His face was dark with dirt and blood. “I have a family, my lord…there is no one to care for them if I die. We heard you were here in the forest with Keshan.”