by J. S. Bangs
“You say,” she said at last, “that the Mouth of the Devourer was contemptuous of Am. And that he used sorcery to destroy your nephew.”
“Yes, my mother. But he was disturbed by Kushma.”
“Kushma is not a concern of ours,” Teguri said quickly, still writing. “We are the Amya dhorsha. If you want to make sacrifices to Kushma, find the Kushmaya dhorsha.”
If this was a joke, Daladham didn’t think it was a very good one. There was no such thing as the Kushmaya dhorsha. Kushma was pictured in temples and named in the sacred writings, but no lineage of the dhorsha was dedicated to him, and no one offered sacrifices in his name.
Teguri set the stylus down and looked over Daladham carefully. “The Emperor has been warned of the Mouth of the Devourer’s approach, and his spies watch the peasant rebels’ every move. And Am is mighty in Majasravi. I don’t think they will get much farther. Nonetheless, I’ll pass this information along to the Ushpanditya and speak to the other elders here. There are rites we could perform which would strengthen Am and the Emperor, his servant.”
“We have already requested an audience,” Daladham said. He fished the glazed clay token from his kurta and showed it to the elder dhorsha.
Teguri raised an eyebrow. “You told them you were from Tulakhanda?”
“Yes…”
“If you hadn’t, I don’t imagine you would have gotten that token.” Teguri pointed at Amabhu and Caupana with his stylus. “Now, what about these two?”
“They travel with me. We need—”
“These are not common travelers. What are your names?”
Amabhu bowed behind them. “I am Amabhu, my mother. And this is Caupana.”
“Where are you from?” Teguri chewed the blunt end of her stylus, looking over the two of them with her dark eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“We fled Tulakhanda with Daladham,” Amabhu said.
“You are not from Tulakhanda,” Teguri said flatly. “In the first place, you have the accent of Majasravi. Second… well, I’m not a fool and I can see there is something peculiar about your silent friend.”
“Ternas,” Daladham whispered. “They escaped from Ternas.”
The old dhorsha was quiet for a second. Her stylus quivered in her hand. A scowl slowly spread over her face. “Just the two of you escaped?”
“Yes,” Amabhu said. Daladham felt Amabhu staring in cold fury at the back of his neck.
“Don’t be afraid,” Teguri said. Her tone was chilly and hard. “The Emperor may favor you. Since Ruyam destroyed your refuge, the last few thikratta in Amur have become highly sought, and the Emperor has been looking to replace the Lotus that the fool Praudhu drove off.”
Her voice was heavy with contempt and anger as she said it.
“If the Emperor favors us,” Daladham said quickly, “then perhaps you or another scholar in the Emperor’s court could read a book for us.”
Teguri looked from Amabhu to Caupana with her brows cocked in surprise. “A book?” she said without interest. “I doubt it’s anything we do not already have in Majasravi.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Amabhu said sullenly. He turned to Caupana, who had already unlaced his satchel and withdrawn the ebony-clad book. Holding it in both hands, he passed it reverently to Teguri.
Teguri took the book and turned it over slowly in her hand. “What is it called?”
“The book of the Powers of Amur,” Amabhu said. “Or so Lama Padnir told us.”
Teguri opened the golden hasp. She held up the first of the palm-leaf pages and leaned close to examine the whorls of ink dancing across the page. The whisper of rustling pages filled the room. Daladham held his breath.
Teguri murmured. She turned another page and touched the tip of her stylus to the letters. A great sigh. She tapped the stylus against the edge of the case. “I can’t read this. I’ve seen something like it in the Bhidakharata, and it has some affinities with the southern styles. This letter here, I’ve seen it in the recension of the Unending Return of Chaludra they use in Virnas. But I can’t make it out.”
Daladham slumped a little. “Neither could we.”
“Nonetheless,” Teguri said, “bring this to the Emperor when you go. In two days, you said?”
Daladham nodded.
“I’ll come. The Emperor’s astrologer might know. And there are other scholars in Majasravi. I’ll seek them out for you. Where will you be staying?”
“That was the other thing we came to request. We have no place to stay at the moment.”
Teguri bowed her head solemnly. “My house cannot take you, but my sister’s probably can. I certainly don’t want you wandering the streets. No, come with me. If she won’t take in guests, then I’ll make room for the three of you. And you have other books?”
“Many of them,” Daladham said eagerly. Amabhu sighed behind him.
“Yes,” Amabhu sighed. “Including some old histories that Daladham had never seen.”
“The libraries of the Majavaru Lurchatiya would be delighted to take them in,” Teguri said. She showed her palm to Amabhu. “Not that we would take them from you, but if we could be permitted to make copies…”
“Yes. Copies,” Amabhu said.
“Very well. I’m hearing the petitions of the Amya dhorsha until this afternoon, but you may go to the last door in this row and my nephew will feed you. Tell him that Teguri sent you. And I’ll see you when I’m done.”
* * *
Teguri accompanied them to the Ushpanditya two days later. Their token got them through the outer gate immediately, and a heavily painted eunuch at the inner gate took their token and checked their names against the records in his pages. He murmured, handed them a worn wooden figure of Am as long as Daladham’s palm, and let them pass into the care of a pair of watchful imperial guards.
Daladham tried not to gawk as they passed through the Ushpanditya. A few times he had been in the house of Udagra, the majakhadir of Tulakhanda, which struck him as the pinnacle of luxury, but it was nothing compared to this. The floors and the pillars were all marble, polished to a shining gleam, arches rising above their heads carved in intricate reliefs of vines, parrots, monkeys, and men. The Red Men were everywhere, scarlet scarves tied around their necks or at their waists, their officers glittering with red kurtas and gold embroidering. The khadir and majakhadir of Majasravi loitered in side rooms and along the halls, fingers shining with ruby-set rings, giving imperious glances at Daladham and his companions as they passed. Gold-hammered images of Am and Ashti watched them from niches set into every hallway, with silver lamps burning at their feet between carefully arranged offerings of flowers and rice. A gentle, cool breeze moved through the halls, in defiance of the rainless sunlight outside.
They came to a high archway with an opaque black curtain drawn across it, where a man in a sharp green and silver kurta stopped them. He raised his hand and said, “You have your passes?”
Daladham presented the carved wooden figure of Am to the man. He raised an eyebrow at it, then said, “Very well. The previous audience should leave in a moment, then you go in.”
He gave a long, suspicious glance at Daladham’s red-fringed bhildu and the simple, undyed kurta and dhoti that Amabhu and Caupana wore. Only Teguri really looked prepared to meet the Emperor, having dressed in a solid scarlet bhildu clasped with a silver medallion around her neck. “Are you familiar with the protocol for meeting the Emperor?” the man said.
“No,” Daladham said. Teguri laughed a little.
The man sighed. “You bow at the waist before you enter the Green Hall and do not look up as you approach the Seven-Stepped Throne. When you reach the edge of the carpet which is laid out before the throne, you may fully prostrate yourselves before the Emperor. Do not rise from the ground until you hear the chime of the bell, which means the Emperor receives you. At that point, but not before, you may rise to your knees and look with fear and trembling upon the imperial face. Do you understand?”
Daladham nodded vigorously. Amabh
u, the poor boy, looked nervous and slightly ill.
They only had a few minutes to wait. A khadir with a blustering red face left through the curtain, and the man at the gate parted it. “Go in.”
They bowed at the waist and marched forward blindly, following the seams in the marble tiles straight forward. When the carpet appeared beneath his feet Daladham dropped to his knees and spread into a full prostration. A long moment passed. Someone murmured in front of him, and clothes rustled.
“The Emperor of all Amur, Sadja-daridarya, whose name we say with fear and trembling, will hear you now,” declared an advisor on the Emperor’s left. “Rise and see him.”
A bell chimed. Daladham rose to his knees. He was startled for a moment at the sight of the man on the Seven-Stepped Throne. He was young, perhaps thirty-five years old, with a short, carefully trimmed beard and close-cut, oiled hair. He sat in the Nectar position upon a seat of mahogany inlaid with gold, looking down at them with an expression of patient pleasure. Behind him hung a curtain stitched with the interwoven spears of Am and the dolphins of Ashti. A brazier burned before him atop the dais, with advisors kneeling on cushions to his right and his left. Each of the seven steps of the dais bore an imperial guard with a spear and a bronze helmet.
Daladham didn’t dare speak. The rumors regarding Sadja’s ascension had reached Tulakhanda, with lurid details about blood running across the tiles of the Green Hall. Daladham did not quite believe them. He found it hard to reconcile those stories with the young, handsome man sitting atop the Seven-Stepped Throne.
The Emperor ran his finger over his lips and examined them in silence for several minutes. His gaze was curious and open, though his two advisors both wore expressions of suspicion and contempt.
At last the Emperor spoke. “I am told you bring me a book.”
Daladham bowed his head. Was he supposed to answer? A few breaths passed. “Yes, my Emperor,” he said.
“The mother of the Majavaru Lurchatiya told me about it in a letter,” Sadja said, pointing at Teguri. “It came from the burning of Ternas, did it not?”
“Yes, my Emperor,” Daladham repeated.
“Let me see it.”
Amabhu carried the book, wrapped carefully in an oil cloth and hidden inside his kurta. He withdrew it with care and presented it with open palms toward the Emperor. The imperial guard on the lowest step of the dais marched forward and took it from Amabhu’s hands, then ascended the stairs and knelt, handing it to Sadja.
Sadja picked up the volume and opened it carefully. He flicked through the first few pages, nodded, then motioned for the man on his left to rise. The man came to Sadja’s side and looked at the page that Sadja pointed to. His brows wrinkled in confusion. Whispered conversation passed between them. Finally the man accepted the book from Sadja’s hands and returned to the place where he had been kneeling, continuing to page carefully through the book while Sadja spoke.
“This is Vidarma-dhu, the chief astrologer of the Ushpanditya,” Sadja said pointing to the man with the book. “He does not recognize the script, either. However, we have not yet exhausted the scholarship of Majasravi. If you’ll permit me, I will take your volume into my library and invite every learned man of Majasravi to pore over it, in hopes that one of them might know it.”
“Yes, my Emperor,” Daladham said. “If there is any hope of getting knowledge from it which would aid your might against the Mouth of the Devourer.”
“The Mouth of the Devourer,” Sadja said mockingly. “I’m not afraid of a ridiculous child bringing down mountain sorcery. I’m more interested in these two.” He pointed to Amabhu and Caupana, kneeling silently next to Daladham. They bowed their heads.
“Look up at me,” Sadja commanded. “You two escaped from Ternas, no? You and the books you could carry.”
“Yes, my Emperor,” Amabhu said.
“And your partner? Does he speak?” Sadja studied Caupana for a moment, then a smile slowly stole across his face. Daladham glanced over and saw that Caupana smiled as well.
“No, I see that he usually doesn’t,” Sadja said. “It’s been a long time since I was fortunate enough to meet brothers of mine from Ternas. I was also in Ternas for a while.”
“What?” Amabhu said. Then, composing himself, he bowed and added, “I had never heard such a thing, my Emperor.”
“I went there as a young man, the younger child in the line of succession to the throne of Davrakhanda. I studied under Lama Padnir and met the elder Gocam. You both met him?”
“Yes,” Amabhu said. Astonishment showed all over his eyes and mouth.
“Sudden misfortune cut short my training as a thikratta and set me on the throne of Davrakhanda. But you understand that I’m no enemy of yours. The thikratta are my allies. I hope to restore you.”
Amabhu bowed. “How would you restore us, my Emperor?”
“I’ll find the thikratta who still live. There may be as many as a dozen of you still alive, though I know for certain of only four. You are two of them. There is also an advisor to Yasma-dar in Gumadha, and the old Emperor’s Lotus. The Lotus was driven off, and I don’t know what’s become of him. But he and the others may reappear once it’s known that I intend to rebuild Ternas and rekindle the fire of the thikratta’s learning there.”
A bright hope showed on Amabhu’s face. He breathed quickly and pressed his hands against his chest. “Is that truly your intent, my Emperor?”
Sadja smiled. “Yes. So stay here in Majasravi, I urge you. I understand you’re at the house of Teguri-dhu?” He gestured to the dhorsha on Daladham’s left, who as yet had said nothing.
“We are,” Amabhu said.
Sadja nodded toward Teguri. “Keep them at your house, honored mother, as my guests. Ask at the door for my treasurer and he’ll provide you whatever silver you require for their upkeep for as long as they stay in Majasravi. I’d rather have them at your house than here in the Ushpanditya, so they can meet more easily with all of the scholars of Majasravi.”
“Yes, my Emperor,” Teguri said. Her face was devoid of emotion, but Daladham chuckled to himself remembering how stiffly Teguri had offered her hospitality earlier.
“Finally,” Sadja said, “I come back to you, Daladham-dhu. You were in Tulakhanda, and you saw the Mouth of the Devourer with your own eyes. Or so I am told.”
“You are told correctly,” Daladham said. The Emperor’s gaze on him made his gut twist with anxiety.
“Tell me. I want to hear it from your own mouth.”
Daladham bowed. “As you wish, my Emperor.”
He described again the Mouth of the Devourer’s approach to the city, the looters threatening the temple, the Mouth of the Devourer’s defilement of Am and his fear of Kushma. He ended with the death of Jairatu and his flight from the city. The Emperor listened attentively, never moving from the Nectar posture, his lips pursed in direct attention. Daladham touched his forehead to the ground when he was done.
The Emperor acknowledged him with a nod. “Kushma,” he said quietly. “Interesting. The man showed no fear of Am, but he wished to curse Kushma.”
In the corner of his eye Daladham saw Teguri’s face contort at the slight against Am, but she didn’t dare interrupt the Emperor.
“We are fortunate,” the Emperor said. For the first time since they had entered, he stretched his legs and rose to standing position. He paced to the edge of the dais and stroked his beard. “I have been devoted to Kushma since the day I set my sights on the Ushpanditya.”
“My Emperor,” said Teguri quietly. The Emperor gave her a kind glance, and the chief dhorsha dared to speak up. “The Emperor of all Amur is the servant of Am.”
“The Emperor of all Amur is always dedicated to Am,” Sadja said. “But the man Sadja of Davrakhanda is dedicated to Kushma.”
Sadja stopped his pacing in the center of the dais and drew himself up, looking down the seven steps of the dais to the four people on their knees. The gentle, patient aspect of his face melted away, and
a fierce, pitiless determination showed beneath it. “Kushma destroys what is rotten and weak. Kushma slays demons and drinks the blood of his enemies. Kushma burns away what is old to prepare the ground for what is new. And so I have done. I guided the hands which destroyed Ruyam. I whispered poison in Praudhu’s ear, then turned his army against him. These very steps ran with the blood of my enemies.”
The rumors which Daladham had heard about Sadja’s ascension suddenly seemed a lot less far-fetched.
Sadja slowly began to descend the stairs. “Now the Mouth of the Devourer appears. He may learn to fear Am. But first he will learn to fear Kushma and Kushma’s chosen.”
Teguri’s face was stone-still. “Yes, my Emperor,” she whispered.
“Now tell me, elder mother of the Amya dhorsha.” Sadja stepped onto the lowest step of the dais and looked directly at Teguri. “The great altar of the Majavaru Lurchatiya is dedicated to Am, and I have offered the ram with my dhaur there. Where is the altar where I can offer my dhaur to Kushma?”
Teguri bowed her head. “There is no altar to Kushma, my Emperor. As far as I know, there are no altars to Kushma anywhere in Amur.”
A rumble sounded in Sadja’s chest. “So I’ve heard as well. It’s difficult to be devoted to a Power who has no altars. What would be required to erect one?”
“The problem, my Emperor, is that there are no Kushmaya dhorsha. The great Powers of Amur receive sacrifices only from the lineages dedicated to them. The Amya dhorsha who serve Am in the Majavaru Lurchatiya are at your disposal, but there is no lineage dedicated to Kushma.”
“So let me create one.”
Teguri’s eye grew wide. “My Emperor, the lineages of the dhorsha were created centuries ago, in the years of darkness. They cannot be made anew.”
Sadja narrowed his eyes. He slowly climbed the steps of the dais and settled himself back onto the throne. “So you tell me not even the Emperor of all Amur may recreate the Kushmaya dhorsha if I see fit? And why not? You have your hymns to Kushma, you know the rites.”
Teguri bowed her head and nodded. “We have hymns, but we do not have the blessing. The Powers chose for themselves the lineages which serve them. We cannot simply dedicated new dhorsha to Kushma if Kushma himself has not chosen them. And there are secrets….”
