by Astrid Amara
Unlike many of the warriors, who appeared weary from three days of battle, Baram still charged in top form. He abandoned his chariot and now galloped the battlefield on horseback. At first, his tactics confused Keshan. If he was trying to steer Mazar towards the forest, he was failing. But as noon came, Keshan saw logic in Baram’s frantic movements. He turned the Paran forces perpendicular to their initial line, separating the Uru army into halves.
The noise from the field and plumes of dust wafted towards the forest, and for minutes at a time, Keshan could barely make out the shapes of men and beasts in the melee. And then, at last, as Baram galloped by the forest edge, shouting insults, Keshan caught sight of Mazar riding in pursuit.
In the afternoon sunlight, Mazar’s silver armor refracted the sunlight and made him shine like a star. His silver chariot negotiated the obstacles of the field with agility and speed. Mazar’s arm constantly pulled back and released an assault of arrows in a steady, even rhythm.
“Be ready,” Keshan told Jandu. He stood on the branch, using the central trunk to keep his balance.
Jandu nodded. He turned his arrow anxiously in his hand.
Keshan looked down, just in time to see his brother Iyestar gallop past the forest edge. Homesickness filled Keshan. But then Mazar’s white banners drew close.
Baram and his troops circled back to push Mazar’s chariot into the trees. As if sensing a trap, Mazar’s charioteer whipped the horses faster. They galloped ahead, leaving the rest of the Uru forces in the dust.
Keshan signaled to Hafed, the Yashva he was about to transform into a weapon. Still in the Yashva kingdom, Hafed closed his eyes, bringing his hands together in meditation.
The very moment that Mazar’s chariot came within firing range of the tree, Keshan shouted the Hafedsharta and thrust his arms out, his palms facing outwards, his elbows locked.
Hafed’s shining form disappeared and then reappeared as a shimmering wave of air, shooting from Keshan’s palms, rolling like steam around Mazar’s chariot. The shimmer expanded and swallowed the chariot.
Mazar’s horses slammed into the invisible wall. They topped forward, shrieking, but stopped mid-fall, frozen.
The chariot axle broke and the car flew forward, suspended over the backs of the horses, hanging mid-air. Everyone around the chariot stared in shock.
The battle almost ceased completely around them. Warriors looked in horror at the hanging chariot. The charioteer dangled by the reins, until he let go with a cry and crashed to the ground. The horses whinnied and rolled their eyes in panic, but remained frozen.
All of Mazar’s weapons and his shield tumbled out of the upturned car. Mazar desperately clung to the central pole, hanging there by both arms, his legs kicking as they grappled for the sides of the car to steady him.
“Now!” Keshan hissed through clenched teeth. His arms shook as he held them out, and his face broke out in sweat. He felt as though he were holding the chariot aloft with his own arms.
For one frightening moment, Keshan feared the worst. Jandu would not go through with it. He loved Mazar too much to kill him.
But then Jandu aimed and loosed his string. The arrow whistled through the air and sank deep into Mazar’s throat. He shot three more arrows into his chest, to the lungs and heart. Blood bubbled from Mazar’s mouth.
Mazar finally let go as he died, and his body dropped to the ground. It hit the hard soil with a thump and crumpled.
Keshan let out his breath and lowered his arms. Mazar’s chariot slammed down atop the war master.
Arrows whizzed by his face and arms. The Uru had spotted them. Jandu didn’t seem to care.
“We have to get out of this tree,” Keshan said. “Now, Jandu!”
Then Keshan heard the Uru army sounding a retreat, and the archers fell back from the forest edge. Jandu followed Keshan down, dropping the last few feet to the ground. He looked sad but resolute.
“Prince Jandu!” Warash, the unofficial leader of Jandu’s troops, bowed before Jandu and Keshan. “Lord Baram has sent supplies. What would you like to do with them?”
Jandu’s expression remained stony. “Please see that every man who needs food gets it. Keshan will attend the injured as soon as he is able.” Jandu looked Keshan over. “Assuming you are strong enough.”
“I am.” Keshan smiled at Warash. “Lead the way.”
Keshan followed Warash through the camp, turning only to see Jandu look up at the fading afternoon light. He stared at the sky in silence, sighed, and then stepped into their tent.
◆◆◆
As darkness closed over the woods, the ethereal light of the demon guards formed a ring of illumination in which the humans gathered, talking amiably over their fires. The mood was pleasant, as Baram’s load of supplies included wine, and the men shared stories and got to know each other under the flashing vigil of the Yashvas.
Keshan used all the magic he knew to help the injured, but there were several men who would die regardless, and one who had already passed away. When Keshan asked for volunteers to help build the man a pyre, he was shocked when one of the most recent soldiers to join them, a Tiwari Triya, volunteered. Keshan did not know the man personally, but the man respected Keshan enough that he decided to join him in the forest rather than fight any longer for the Uru.
Now Jandu approached from the river, wearing his mourning attire. His white dejaru and white shirt seemed to glow in the Yashva light. He had removed all his jewelry, and his cropped hair was wet from his evening ablutions.
As he walked, a dozen different men offered him refreshment or their help. Jandu asked for a torch, and as soon as one of the men brought him one, he bowed politely and said he would return.
Keshan caught him at the edge of the clearing and matched his stride. “Where are you going?”
Jandu frowned. “My master’s funeral pyre. I want to pay my respects.” Jandu spoke as though the answer was obvious and Keshan should have known. “Is there some problem with that?”
“No.” Keshan hurried to catch up to Jandu’s long steps. “I just don’t want you to be hurt.”
“It’s against the rules of the war to injure someone attending a funeral pyre.”
“I meant with words, not with weapons.”
“Insults mean nothing to me now,” Jandu said.
“Can I come with you?”
“If you want to.” Jandu kept walking toward the distant firelight.
Keshan noticed that Jandu’s torchlight seemed dim and saw the bluish glow of the Yashva, taking flight and gathering around him like massive, whirling fireflies.
The relatives of soldiers, physicians, and Jegora scavengers filled the dark battlefield, wielding hundreds of torches as they loaded corpses onto carts.
Keshan had seen the carnage from above. But here, on the battlefield itself, the smell overpowered his senses. Flies buzzed incessantly, and carrion birds gathered on exposed flesh in great clusters. As he and Jandu walked by, the birds took flight carrying chunks of their prizes.
The worst smell came from the Chaya and Suya funeral pyres up ahead. Hundreds of bodies were burned each night. Wailing widows and friends gathered around the great mountain of fire and filled the night with their cries. Looking south, Keshan saw a similar scene on the Paran side as they burned their own dead.
Mazar’s pyre was outside the gates of the Uru camp, presumably since Darvad knew the Parans would want to attend. The gates behind the pyre were doubly fortified with soldiers, as if Darvad feared any Parans meandering over under the excuse of paying respects to Mazar and slipping inside.
A large crowd had gathered around Mazar’s pyre. The Uru commanders stood on the outside, hands pressed together to pay respects to their leader. Inside an area cordoned off with holy icons, Mazar’s immediate friends gathered, dressed in white, bowed low to Mazar’s corpse, which lay on a bed of straw and branches. The wood glinted in the torchlight, wet with oil. Onshu, the officiating priest, stood beside the pyre with his torch read
y. He led a series of prayers.
On one side of the pyre, Darvad stood, weeping loudly as he leaned on Tarek Amia for support. On the other side stood Jandu’s brothers, shrouded in white, heads bowed respectfully. Indarel and Rishak had also come to pay their respects.
Keshan stopped just outside the first holy icon, and remained in the shadows. Jandu touched his hand briefly, and then marched into the center of the gathering.
The moment Jandu stepped into the group, the prayers ceased, and all eyes turned to him.
He looked magnificent, Keshan thought. The Yashvas who guarded him turned into pricks of light, which danced around him, protecting him in tight arcs of illumination. Many of the men brought their hands together in hasty prayer. Jandu looked like an ancient prophet, and they treated him like one as he approached Mazar’s broken body. Onshu stepped back, watching the Yashvas with awe.
Yudar looked at Jandu with disgust. The fact that he did so made Keshan want to kill him, then and there.
“What are you doing here?” Yudar growled at Jandu.
Jandu stared down at Mazar’s face. “Paying respects to my weapons master.”
“Master Mazar would be ashamed to have you here after what you’ve done!” Yudar told him.
Jandu took a handful of marigolds from a golden bowl beside the pyre and placed them lovingly on Mazar’s chest. He whispered something to the corpse that Keshan could not hear.
“Get out of here!” Yudar hissed.
“This is a pyre for family.” Darvad’s expression twisted in a sneer. Keshan had never known Darvad to look so cruel. The fact that Keshan once thought Darvad would save them all mocked him. How could he have been so wrong?
“I have allowed my half-brothers here out of respect for Master Mazar. But the casteless do not belong.” Darvad pointed at Keshan. And then he made eye contact with Jandu. “Nor do filthy sodomites.”
Keshan almost had to smile. Yudar couldn’t lie, even when the truth was so shameful.
“Shut the fuck up!” Baram howled in rage and started forward, but Onshu quickly stepped between the families.
“Respect! Respect!” Onshu chanted, ushering Baram and Darvad into their corners.
Jandu bowed his head and prayed, the Yashvas speeding up as they circled him, their anger palpable to Keshan.
“That’s enough.” Darvad’s voice was dark and angry. “Time for all disgraced to leave this holy pyre. Even your own brothers don’t want you here. All Triya are dirtied by your presence.”
“Be quiet, Darvad.” Tarek suddenly said. “It is his right to be here.”
Keshan could not believe it. Tarek spoke in a low voice, his expression icy.
“That’s enough gloating for one day,” Tarek told Darvad.
Darvad’s forehead bulged with anger, the vein in his head rising up like an angry ‘V’. He seemed to hesitate, looking between Tarek and Jandu. Then he suddenly grabbed a mace from one of the Triya at his side and lunged forward.
At once, the Yashvas surrounding Jandu took form. An explosive wind blew the mace from Darvad’s hand and caused Jandu’s hair to fly around his head, his eyes cold and angry. Dust shot out from around him into the aghast crowd. The Yashvas’ faces transformed into those of beasts, spiraling eyes and gaping mouths. As one, the entire crowd around Mazar’s pyre stepped back, many of them crying out in fear as the Yashva surged.
Jandu turned to leave. As he did so, he made brief eye contact with Baram and winked.
At the last icon, Jandu reached out for Keshan and purposefully put his arm around him. “Let’s go.” Jandu’s voice was rough with suppressed emotion.
As they walked silently back towards the forest, the Yashvas dissipated into a less threatening presence of light once more. Many of the Triya must have made tributes to Mazar, for it was several hours by the time Keshan saw smoke rise from Mazar’s pyre.
Jandu stayed up late, checking on the men in his camp, and consulting with the Tiwari Triya man to make sure all of the deserters were armed and armored in case of any retaliation from either Uru or Paran camp. It was near midnight by the time Jandu crawled into their tent. Keshan watched him enter, his long, sleek frame revealed slowly in the moonlight as he peeled his mourning clothes from his body. Jandu crawled under the blanket with Keshan and pressed his naked body close, spooning against Keshan’s back. The feeling was as close to heaven as Keshan could ever imagine.
Chapter 54
“NEVER INSULT ME LIKE THAT AGAIN!”
Darvad’s face contorted in his fury. He spat at Tarek. “How dare you defend my enemy in front of our own forces! I am your king, you treasonous bastard!”
Tarek took a step back, sinking further into the small congregation of soldiers. Mazar’s body incinerated in the distance, filling the air with the stench of burning hair.
“I’m sorry.” Tarek bowed his head.
Darvad’s hands clenched into fists. “That cock-sucking bitch isn’t worthy of any compassion, and I will not stand by while a perverted faggot sullies my master’s funeral!”
Darvad’s words sliced through Tarek like blades. He felt the blood drain from his face.
Darvad pointed at Tarek. “What were you thinking, defending a fucking queer?”
Tarek’s throat was too dry to speak. But Darvad did not wait for a response.
“If you ever censor my commentary again, I swear I will turn you back into a Suya without a moment’s hesitation.” Darvad stormed into the enveloping darkness. Tarek stood still, too shocked to move.
“To your posts!” Anant cried suddenly, scattering the stunned audience of soldiers. As one they fled the scene, heading to watch towers or their tents. Only Anant remained by Tarek’s side.
Tarek ignored him. He walked towards his own tent in a daze. He had never seen Darvad so angry, or ever imagined such vengeful words would be directed at him.
Once inside his tent, Tarek reached for his jug of wine. He drank straight from the jug itself, seeking numbness.
“My lord?” Anant said softly from the tent flap.
Tarek didn’t respond. He swallowed, wiped his mouth, and then took another long gulp.
“Tarek?” Anant asked again, stepping inside.
Tarek put the jug down and nodded to Anant.
“What is it?” he said, colder than he intended. His body felt icy.
“Do I have permission to speak freely, my lord?” Anant asked. His face was tight with anger.
“Do as you please. I’m not going to cast you down to the Suya for something as small as stating your opinion.” Tarek snorted mirthlessly.
Anant removed his helmet. His dark hair lay flat against his scalp. “How can you stand by him after what he just said? The man is a devil!”
Tarek clenched his eyes shut. “He didn’t mean it.”
“Tarek, don’t be blind!” Anant cried. “The man hates our kind. He would hate you if he knew what you were. It makes me sick to think of fighting for him!”
Tarek glared at him. “You would desert him? Where’s your honor?”
“Honor! Ha!” Anant spat. “How about Darvad’s honor? What about the rule not to attack anyone at a funeral pyre? He just broke the rules of war, an offense that would have any of the men under my command hanged as traitors!”
Tarek knew Anant spoke the truth. The attack was inexcusable. Peace at a memorial was one of the most sacred tenets of the Book of Taivo. For a moment, he wanted to agree with Anant.
But he couldn’t. He couldn’t. “I took an oath,” Tarek said weakly. “Do you understand? An oath! To defend the man at all costs, even at the cost of my life! I cannot abandon him, even if he hates me, even if he is a hypocrite!”
Anant grimaced. “You once told me you agreed with Lord Keshan, that the old ways should change.”
“I never said that,” Tarek snapped. “That was Keshan, not me.”
“But you want change, don’t you? How can you change this world if you remain so stuck in your own religious dogma?”
Anant narrowed his eyes. “Yes I do. You love him.”
Tarek closed his eyes.
“But you love a man who would kill you if he knew your true nature. A man who is breaking all of his promises of change, who has broken the rules. If he defiles his promises, why can’t you?”
Tarek opened his eyes, and saw Anant’s desperation. But Tarek felt nothing anymore, not for anyone. Even Anant wasn’t enough to change the man Tarek had become.
“It’s pointless,” Tarek said. “This is who I am. I owe Darvad my allegiance, and it’s too late to alter my path now.”
“It is never too late to follow your conscience,” Anant urged.
“He made me a Triya, Anant!” Tarek shouted. “A Triya! Do you realize how much power this man has given me?”
“And he just demonstrated he will take it away at a moment’s notice!” Anant shouted back. He made as if to say something else, but clenched his jaw instead. He straightened. “So you will not leave him.”
“No.”
“Despite everything he has said, everything he has done.”
“No.”
Anant breathed heavily in the silence. “Fine then. I’m leaving.” Anant put his helmet back on and turned towards the tent flap.
Panic swelled through Tarek. “Wait!” He grabbed Anant by the arm. “Where are you going?”
“To the forest,” Anant said. “To Keshan and Jandu. I won’t fight for a king who deserves no allegiance.”
“You are deserting?” Tarek gasped, unbelieving. “You would give up your honor as a Triya and shame your family for the sake of Jandu Paran?”
“Not for Jandu Paran. For myself and for the future,” Anant said. “Come with me. Please. Put aside your old loyalties, and your old hatreds. Fight for the noble cause you claim you believe in. Come, and be with me. Openly. We can stop hiding like criminals.”
Anant’s lips were so close, Tarek could kiss him easily. He smelled intoxicating, he looked gorgeous. He wanted nothing more than to make love to Anant and forget this horrible night ever happened. But Anant’s eyes pleaded, demanding a response.
