The Archer's Heart

by Astrid Amara

  “I can’t,” Tarek said, regret breaking his heart even as he said the words.

  Anant’s eyes filled with tears. He leaned over and kissed Tarek once, tenderly, on the lips.

  “I love you.” Anant sighed. “But I’m leaving.”

  Anant left the tent.

  Tarek stood there, staring at the closed tent flaps a moment longer. He grabbed the nearest object, a quiver of arrows, and he threw them at the tent post. He ripped through his room, tearing through objects, breaking everything in his hands. His anger boiled through him and out of him, but nothing stopped it, nothing slowed his heart, he was so full it burst out of him, great waves of rage. He slashed at his tent with his sword, he smashed his wine jug to pieces, and then standing there, in the midst of his destruction, Tarek realized he had descended into the person he hated the most, the hypocrite, the blind follower, useless, unloved, and worthless.

  He burst from the shreds of his tent in blind wrath. He ran towards the gates of the camp, hoping to catch Anant before he left. But at the late hour, the only men still standing were the guards, who watched Tarek’s madness in fear.

  Anant was gone. Tarek had lost everything.

  Chapter 54

  ANOTHER TRIYA WARRIOR HAD JOINED JANDU’S CAMP IN THE night. Keshan made an effort to greet each one. Partly it was because he knew what these men sacrificed by joining them. Partly it was an affinity for men like him, who had grown up in similar circumstances.

  But mostly it was because he and Jandu needed their battle training. Since they had begun amassing troops in the forest and dispelling shartas, they worried that either Yudar or Darvad would send a unit into the forest to kill their deserters. Keshan knew the Yashvas were loyal to Jandu, but he doubted they would extend much effort to a scraggly collection of other human beings.

  The newest Triya arrival was a young, handsome man with dark eyes and heavy shadows from not shaving the night before. He seemed familiar, but Keshan couldn’t place him. His armor gleamed in the morning light as he stood stiff at attention. A dozen or so soldiers followed him, all of them wore the insignia of the 8th unit of the Dragewan army. These were Tarek’s men. The thought of Tarek, combined with the insignia brought it back. This commander had accompanied Tarek to Afadi, and he’d been present at Keshan’s trial.

  “Lord Keshan!” the warrior greeted him. He reached down and touched Keshan’s feet, an action which so shocked Keshan that he had to take a step back.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Keshan said. “I’m Jegora now, as you well know.”

  “Yes, my lord,” the commander said, his eyes glinting.

  Keshan smiled back. He liked the man already. “You and your men are welcome. What is your name?”

  “Anant, my lord,” the soldier said, returning to stiff attention. “I was commander of the 8th unit of Dragewan’s army, and these are soldiers loyal to me. We have come to fight alongside you.”

  “You realize that those loyal to us will almost certainly lose their caste,” Keshan said. “If you would prefer to return to your homes, Prince Jandu and I will not stop you.”

  Anant’s eyes blazed fiercely. “I have come to fight with you, my lord.”

  “Please call me Keshan.” Keshan looked out to the nearly one hundred men that sprawled through the makeshift camp. “Most of the soldiers here are Suya and Chaya, with little or no battle training. We need men like you to lead the others if we have to fight.”

  Anant nodded. “I will help in any way I can, my lord. Only…”

  “Yes?”

  Anant drew close so that only Keshan would hear his voice.

  “My lord, I humbly beg your forgiveness, but I cannot fight Lord Tarek Amia. I will do anything else, but I will not harm him.”

  Keshan raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

  Anant swallowed. He kept his eyes focused just to the right of Keshan’s head. “We were close.”

  “Close?”

  Anant’s voice dropped to a whisper. “We were lovers. I asked him to join me here, but he would not break his oath to King Darvad.”

  Keshan’s surprise made him momentarily speechless.

  “Tarek knew you were deserting and he let you go?” Keshan had never imagined Tarek was like him. No wonder Tarek couldn’t stand by and listen to Darvad insulting Jandu. Sudden sadness filled Keshan. He and Tarek could have been so much closer as friends if they had known they had this in common.

  “I won’t ask you to do anything against your conscience,” Keshan finally said. “But if the Uru forces attack us, you may have to reconsider your decision.”

  Anant let out his breath. “Thank you for your understanding.”

  Keshan looked up at the predawn sky. Gold colored the few clouds. Any moment, the sounds of conches would fill the air and the fourth day of the war would begin.

  Anant’s gaze followed Keshan’s, and he frowned as he looked at the battlefield, his grief plain.

  Keshan steadied him, a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “About Tarek, I mean.”

  Anant nodded, swallowing. “Thank you, my lord.”

  “You should go to Warash, and he will help assign you and your men supplies and duties in the camp. He’s the Chaya over there in the gray uniform.” Keshan raised an eyebrow. “Unless you object to taking orders from a Chaya?”

  Anant’s initial look of surprise was quickly smothered by a look of weird excitement. “Your army truly is making a new future.”

  Anant bowed low, and then signaled his men to follow him.

  Keshan smiled after them. As he made his way to his banyan tree perch, he wondered what Jandu would make of Anant, and the news of Tarek’s nature. And then he realized that it no longer mattered. Tarek had made his choice.

  Chapter 55

  MORNING LIGHT DID NOT DIFFUSE TAREK’S ANGER. AND THE news that Anant had taken twelve soldiers of the Dragewan army with him into the forest only exacerbated his rage. He never knew he could hold so much fury inside of him. He trembled with violence. He stared at the morning formation of the Paran army, wanting to slaughter them all.

  Darvad smiled at Tarek that morning, and mumbled an apology for his harsh words. He then asked Tarek to take Mazar’s place as general of the Uru forces. Tarek barely looked at him. He could not let Darvad too close to him, when he was so full of rancor.

  “Take position behind the Bandari,” Tarek said curtly. “I’ll lead the charge.” Without another word, Tarek jumped into his chariot and took his place at the front of the line. The stench overwhelmed all other senses. Body parts were identifiable in the mud only by the swarms of flies and the carrion birds.

  The battle opened with the shrill of conches, and Tarek’s charioteer Satish charged recklessly towards the Parans. Mazar’s death inspired the Parans, and they pushed into the Uru line ferociously, chariots storming through and dispatching Uru foot soldiers in great numbers. Tarek drove them back. He shot arrow after arrow, striking his targets with cold precision.

  A sharta rocked his chariot, earth exploding and burning all around him. Tarek wiped a spray of dirt from his eyes. He screamed at the Dragewan soldiers to follow the charge against the Paran line. The Parans held fast, and Tarek advanced slowly, hacking through the tight Paran formation, crushing men and spearing horses with his arrows.

  Tarek bellowed for Satish to push through a gap in the Paran defense, leading one of two main thrusts into the line. Ishad, Firdaus’ son, led the other charge.

  Up ahead, Tarek heard the Paran troops cheering Baram as his chariot rushed forward to meet Tarek’s. Tarek glared at Baram’s golden armor. Tarek wanted to kill Baram, for helping capture Mazar, for being Jandu’s brother. Baram became the focus of Tarek’s hatred. He felt almost cheated when a spear felled one of Baram’s horses. Baram leapt from his chariot as it flipped over. He raised his mace and continued to fight on the ground. He swung his mace, his stance wide, his face ferocious.

  The Suya and Chaya foot soldiers who could not
fight back against the bulk and rage of Baram’s attack broke before him. He plunged deep into the Uru line. It was clear that Baram had no idea of how isolated he had become from the rest of the Paran force. Dust and smoke from a sharta cast a haze over everything.

  Without hesitating, Tarek closed his eyes and whispered the Korazsharta that Darvad had taught him long ago, words to conjure the magical Yashva spear that never missed its target. Darvad had given it to Tarek to kill Jandu, but Tarek needed to expel his rage now, and Baram was here.

  The spear appeared in his hand, the shimmering bluish metal hot to the touch. It shone like a bolt of lightening in his hand.

  Tossing the spear felt like nothing, like air, but the spear sang as it flew, a high-pitched wail that sounded like a newborn. It flew with tremendous speed, and struck Baram in the gut, tearing through his armor.

  Baram howled in rage as he stumbled backwards. But he did not fall. He dropped his mace and used both hands to pull the long spear from his body. The moment he dropped it, the spear disappeared.

  Baram screamed and gripped his wound, his face clenched in rage. He reached down and grabbed his mace.

  “Coward! Who attacked me?” Baram shouted.

  Blood poured from his wound, but he lifted his mace.

  Tarek notched an arrow and took aim. It was against the rules of war to shoot Baram when he was armed only with a mace, but Tarek no longer cared. Fuck the rules of war. He loosed his string and the arrow shot straight through Baram’s arm. Baram howled, dropping his mace.

  Tarek charged him. He shot Baram once more in the neck as his chariot swept past. Then Tarek leapt from the chariot and took up Baram’s fallen mace. His first blow sent Baram’s helmet flying. He swung again and Baram collapsed to the ground.

  The blood rushed in Tarek’s ears, and the battlefield receded. He beat Baram on the ground with his own mace.

  Baram moved slowly, trying to deflect the blows.

  Tarek smashed Baram’s right knee cap. Baram cried out, an animal scream, wild with hatred and panic.

  A part of Tarek told him to stop, to just kill him, end it, but his rage was still unsated, he needed Baram to suffer, and as Baram continued to weakly resist, his right fist clenched and waving, Tarek swung back the mace and smashed it down into Baram’s face.

  The Uru soldiers around Tarek cheered. Tarek pulverized Baram’s face, crushing his large features to a pulp. His head caved in with sickening softness. Blood and brains sprayed the dismembered torso. Tarek struck again, and again, until nothing resembling a head was left, until his arm cramped. He dropped the mace, breathless.

  There was no way Baram’s corpse could be properly burned now. It seemed as though hours had passed since the battle began, but the sun had barely moved in the sky. It was as if time had frozen for everyone else. Only this beating had lasted forever.

  With Baram’s death, the Paran army’s morale crumbled. Tarek watched as his troops rallied to press their advantage. They cheered Tarek and pushed the Parans into retreat.

  Conch shells blasted Tarek’s victory across the battlefield, but he remained where he was, coursing with adrenalin. He stepped from Baram’s body, sick with himself.

  “My lord!” Satish stopped the horses beside him. “You must return to the chariot quickly! We are moving forward!”

  Tarek forced his body to move. Satish clucked the horses into a canter even before Tarek was fully in the chariot. Tarek followed his units as they curved eastward, joining up with Ishad’s men to crush the remnants of the Paran line.

  Tarek gripped the central pole of his chariot. He wished someone would shoot him. He begged God to let someone kill him, now, before he fell any lower.

  But, despite his prayers, Satish successfully navigated Tarek back into the center of the Uru line. The real battle was only beginning. Tarek heard Darvad’s conch and looked over to see Darvad’s chariot rush towards him.

  With the Bandari shielding them both, Darvad leapt from his chariot and into Tarek’s, talking quickly, laughing and hugging Tarek, celebrating Tarek’s gory triumph. All cruel words were apparently forgotten in the face of Tarek’s foul deed. This is what it was to be Darvad’s friend, Tarek thought. Rewards for those who rent their souls apart. Grace for only his sins.

  The soldiers cried out Tarek’s name in triumph. But it brought no pride to Tarek anymore. All it brought was regret.

  And now, with Anant gone, there was nothing Tarek could do to rein it in, so he let it thrive. Regret was all he had left.

  Chapter 56

  JANDU SPENT THE MORNING CAPTURING A PAIR OF TERRIFIED horses who had escaped the battle and now rampaged through their camp, kicking over tents and smashing water jugs. By the time the horses were calmly in Warash’s care, the day’s conflict was well underway.

  The wild triumphant blare of Uru horns sent a shiver through him, and he made his way quickly to the banyan tree, looking up to Keshan for some sign of what happened.

  Keshan looked nearly green. He leaned over as if he were going to be sick.

  “What is it?” Jandu felt his throat tighten. “Is it Yudar? Did they capture him?”

  Keshan didn’t say anything. He made his way down from the tree morosely. When he reached the forest floor, he looked Jandu in the eye, his expression grave.

  Jandu’s heart beat faster. “Tell me!”

  “I’m so sorry, Jandu,” Keshan said. “Baram is dead.”

  The words fluttered through Jandu’s consciousness, like moths in darkness.

  “It can’t be true.” Jandu felt small tears, black and aching, where the words had fluttered through him. Pain began to build inside him, small at first, blossoming outwards, filling his mind, his ears. He shook his head. “It can’t be true,” he said again, willing the words away.

  Jandu scrambled up the banyan tree. Smoke obscured the battlefield, but he could see chariots circling off the left flank, and could hear Urus cheering. The Paran line folded inwards as the Urus pressed their advantage.

  Paran soldiers wept as they gathered around a bloody mass on the battlefield. It took a long moment for Jandu to realize it was a body, and even longer to realize it was his brother.

  Jandu climbed down the tree. His throat felt as though it would close against the black ache pooling inside him. The men of the forest gathered around him, sympathy radiating off them as word quickly spread. Jandu shut everything, all of them, the blackness inside him, out. He couldn’t think or feel. That would happen later. For now, he had to act.

  “Who did this?” he asked Keshan, his voice breaking.

  Keshan hesitated. Jandu grabbed Keshan’s harafa and pulled him closer. “Who was it!”

  “Tarek,” Keshan whispered.

  White hot rage filled Jandu. He pushed past Keshan and marched into his tent. He strapped on his silver armor. He pulled on his finger guards and strung Zandi. He attached his quiver and his sword, and then grabbed his shield and helmet as he darted from the tent.

  Keshan stood mutely outside, eyes wide. Men and Yashva all watched Jandu, waiting for some signal.

  Jandu pulled on his helmet, then turned to Keshan.

  “Get armor.”

  There were half a dozen charioteers in the forest, and all of them helped Keshan harness the two horses they had just calmed to King Mendraz’s chariot. Jandu heard the men whistle at the sight of the celestial vehicle, but he couldn’t take pleasure in it. He needed to be doing something right now, or any moment, the reality that Baram was dead would fill him and he would suffocate with grief.

  Jandu felt the presence of the Yashva swarm around him like fireflies. Behind him, the men of his camp watched warily, armed and ready to follow him.

  “Stay here,” Jandu instructed. “Stay protected.”

  He tapped Keshan on the shoulder and they charged out onto the battlefield.

  If Jandu thought about Baram, he would be sick. He focused on the unnatural smoothness of Keshan’s celestial chariot, the way it gleamed in the light, and
the rhythm of the horses’ gallop. Keshan whispered soothing words to calm them and pull them together.

  As soon as they entered the melee, they were surrounded by Uru soldiers. They were like fish swimming upstream, fighting against the current of so many bodies.

  Jandu burned with frustration. “We must go faster!” he bellowed.

  And then, from behind him, he heard a call.

  “Prince Jandu!”

  A hundred men charged around the chariot, shouting his name and flinging themselves upon the infantry in his path. The men of the forest attacked Paran and Uru forces without regard.

  Jandu’s men. They were back in the melee for him, cutting a swathe through the two armies. Jandu briefly caught the eye of the new young commander, Anant, and Anant waved to him and then ran, charging into a cluster of soldiers.

  Keshan shouted out a string of words and the Yashva took form. The air shimmered around their chariot and bodies of light sprang forth and pulled the infantry apart. The sky rained body parts as invisible hands rended the Urus into corpses. Soldiers around them fled in terror.

  As the Yashva and Jandu’s men cleared a path, Keshan urged the horses ahead. They broke into long, graceful movements, as if they, too, were relieved to be free of the congestion. Keshan drove them towards Tarek’s chariot.

  Arrows fired at Jandu’s chariot fell from the air as if batted aside by invisible hands. Flashes of light burst over the field, emanating from his chariot, as Jandu’s Yashva guardians protected him from assault. Jandu returned fire on any who opposed his advance. Lord Ishad, Firdaus’ son, appeared alongside them. Jandu took aim and shot him in the eye. Firdaus’ line was extinguished from the earth. The thought did little to warm his cold heart.

  “Lord Jandu!”

  Keshan swerved the chariot to meet the Paran messenger who rode up alongside their chariot. Jandu lost his balance momentarily, and glared down at Keshan. But then he readied his bow once more, and pointed the arrow at the messenger.