Fire of Ages (The Powers of Amur Book 6)

by J. S. Bangs

  “It was a desperate flight for six days, marching from dawn till dusk in the terror of the Devoured. I thought you would know.”

  Bhudman coughed. He bent down and arranged his white saghada’s gown atop a deep blue cushion. “And the battle?”

  “Bhudman, most holy saghada, it is midnight, and we reached the gates of Virnas just ahead of the hordes of the Devoured. Did you bring me here to exchange pleasantries, as if I went to Jaitha on a peaceful pilgrimage?”

  “The battle,” Bhudman repeated.

  “A rout. Sadja-daridarya is dead. Gauhala-dar is dead. The armies of the khadir are routed.”

  “And what about the sacrifice to Kushma?”

  Daladham burned Bhudman with a furious glare, then sighed and set himself down on a cushion. He dropped his exhausted head into his hands. “What do you want?”

  “I want to know what happened when you attempted to offer sacrifice to Kushma.”

  Daladham murmured. “Kushma did not accept the sacrifice.”

  “Specifically?”

  Daladham shuddered. The horror and shame coursed through him. He covered his eyes, and his voice began to creak. “The woman… Srithi. The amashi took Srithi. Or perhaps Kushma himself spoke through her. He said that I was not chosen, that I could not offer the sacrifice. The blood of the ram burned me with its touch. Is that what you wanted to know? Did you keep me up in order to hear the story of our failure?”

  “I believe I know why,” Bhudman said softly. His expression was suddenly grave. “And I’m sorry I didn’t know it beforehand.”

  “Why? You think you could have done better?”

  Bhudman leaned forward abruptly and opened the ebony book case. A bamboo rod had been place between two of the pages, allowing Bhudman to open the book directly to the place where he had been working. He chose one of the slates lying next to him, perused his scribbles, and said to Daladham, “You remember what we were working on?”

  “The reconstruction of the texts of Kushma at the end of the book,” Daladham said wearily. “Yes, I remember.”

  “This name,” Bhudman said, tapping one of the first words on the page. “Kisyama. Kushma, as the name is pronounced today. One of the only words we were sure of before you left.”

  “Please get on—”

  “And this word Varuru which occurs with it. We did not know what that means.”

  “I thought we had agreed it was a form of the root var,” Daladham said with some annoyance.

  “The same root which appears in the i-grade in Virnas, yes,” Bhudman said. “But we were wrong.”

  Daladham sighed. “Then what is it?”

  “The clue,” Bhudman said cheerily, “was this word here, vasyapana.”

  “I don’t know it.”

  “But the phrase lagarthiha vasyapana, in the temple dialect—”

  “Lagarthiha means ‘of all creatures,’” Daladham broke in, “but the rest is meaningless.”

  “The formula is almost unchanged today. We use it in our own rites: ligarthi ushpan.”

  “‘Unsurpassed by any creature,’” Daladham translated. “Vasyapana becomes ushpan?”

  “Yes! The syllable va becomes the negative prefix u with the loss of the unaccented a, and the other changes are those which we can observe on any number of other words.”

  Daladham felt his interest growing despite his exhaustion. He leaned forward and picked up the slate which Bhudman offered him. “I see your point. If Varuru is va-ruru rather than var-uru, then it is not derived from var. But this gets us no further. There is no such stem as rur.”

  “So I thought, too,” Bhudman said. “But of course we have lur, indicating the right hand.”

  “And what motivates the change from r to l?”

  “The proximity of a second r,” Bhudman said. “I can provide other examples—”

  Daladham waved him aside. “Forget examples. I’ll take your word for it. If the name is va-luru, so to speak—goodness, that works very well. ‘Un-right.’ Left-handed. Kushma Valuru, the Left-Handed, the counterpart to Am Lurchati, the Right-Handed.”

  “Yes. It seems their opposition was known, or foretold, even when Amur was young,” Bhudman said gravely. “But you’ve forgotten part of it.”

  “Part of what?”

  “The name of Kushma is not valuru. The unaccented syllable is reduced as we discussed above, leaving…”

  Daladham fell silent. His heart beat slowly. He understood now why Bhudman had led him through the deductions. If Bhudman had simply told him, he would never have believed it.

  “Ulaur,” he whispered.

  Bhudman let the words hang in the air for a long time. When he spoke, he spoke in a reverent whisper. “Kushma Ulaur. The Left-Handed, the light unborn, the bringer of destruction, the renewer of life. The word unspoken, the fire of ages.”

  “That’s why I couldn’t offer the sacrifice,” Daladham said. “We have been looking for the Kushmaya dhorsha for months, hoping to offer sacrifice to the destroyer. And they were with us all along. They are…”

  “The Uluriya.”

  Navran

  A guard’s voice broke into Navran’s sleep.

  “My lord and king,” he said. “Someone is at the gate.”

  Navran was awake in a heartbeat. It took him a moment to remember he was no longer on the road, not in immediate danger from the Devoured. Safe in Virnas, in the palace. He reached out and felt for Utalni beside him. She slept undisturbed.

  He blinked and rubbed his eyes. “The gate? The city gate?”

  “We came to ask you if we should open it.”

  “Of course you shouldn’t. Probably a trap. You woke me for this?”

  “So we thought, my lord and king. But their leader… he claims to be Bidhra-dar of Patakshar. He demanded to see you.”

  That made some sense. He rubbed his face in his hands, then stood. The guard at the door bowed. Where was Dastha?

  Oh yes. Dastha had perished in Jaitha.

  “I’m coming,” Navran said. “Any signs of the Devoured with them?”

  “None,” the guard said.

  “I’ll go directly.” He glanced down at his bedclothes, then decided not to dress. Late summer was plenty warm, and he was done keeping up royal appearances. He slipped on a pair of sandals and said, “Lead the way.”

  They slipped out of the palace and into the night, lit by a waning crescent moon. When they reached the west gate, Navran saw a cluster of three soldiers waiting by the gatehouse. They bowed when he approached.

  “Where is the man calling himself Bidhra-dar?” Navran demanded.

  “Outside. He said if you would let him in…”

  “I’ll climb atop the wall,” Navran said. “We’ll see who this is.”

  He entered the gatehouse and ascended the stairs to the overlook above the east road. There were about three dozen men gathered around the gate, sitting on the ground with weary heads in their hands. A few of them leaned against spears or held swords limply.

  “Bidhra-dar?” Navran called out.

  A man had been leaning against the wooden and bronze gate. At hearing the name he stepped back, looked up, and said in wonder, “Navran-dar. You came to see me.”

  “Is that actually you?”

  “You’ve seen me. Is this not my voice? Do I look like a ghost?”

  It sounded like Bidhra. Could be Devoured. But did he honestly expect that Bidhra would have gone over to the Mouth of the Devourer?

  “Let me see the men with you,” Navran said.

  Bidhra ordered the men with him to stand, prompting groans and muttering from them. If they still felt pain and misery, they didn’t seem to be Devoured. They wore the clothes of Bidhra’s guard, not conscripts, nor the starving peasants who had given themselves up to be Devoured. And Bidhra—no, he wouldn’t be so paranoid. He would recieve them as friends.

  He shouted to the men at the gate. “Open the gate! They are allies.”

  He descended the stairs and r
eached the bottom to find Bidhra and his cohort slumping through the gates with weary, exhausted steps, their faces gaunt with sleeplessness and lack of food. The shafts of their spears dragged behind them on the ground.

  Bidhra greeted Navran with a shallow bow. “Glad to see you survived, Navran-dar,” he said. His voice was gravelly and hoarse.

  “Glad to see you as well, Bidhra-dar. How did you escape?”

  “I was on the west wing of the battle. When things went bad, I fled with as many as I could save. Been wandering through villages getting back to Virnas.”

  “Devoured?”

  “Some. We stayed off major roads. Took a long time to get here.”

  “Ah. We had them chasing us and got here three days ago. But once we reached the city, they retreated.” He paused. “I expect they’ll be back.”

  Bidhra’s mouth pressed into a look of grim despair. Navran clasped his shoulder.

  “Come to the palace. All of your men. I have room in the barracks, and you can rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  He led the king and his men to the palace, where the palace-master was quickly awoken and room made to accommodate the extra bodies. It was an ironic blessing that the ranks of his guard had been thinned by the battle. There was no shortage of beds.

  Bidhra was quickly given his own bedchamber, and Navran returned to his room. He had no energy to stay and see after his guests. In the morning, they could commiserate and strategize. For now, sleep.

  When he reached the antechamber of the royal bedrooms he heard Utalni stir. He caught a glimpse of her rising from their bed.

  “My queen,” he said softly. “You’re up.”

  Her hair was unbrushed and fell in wild, undirected curls around her face. She yawned and looked at Navran with embarrassment. Her hand rested atop her belly, just beginning to show, as if she had stowed a small clay jar beneath her choli.

  “I’m sorry, my lord and king,” she said. “I should call the maid—”

  “No,” Navran said. He stepped forward and took her hand, letting his rest alongside hers on her belly. “You need to sleep.” She slept late in the mornings now, much later than before she had conceived. At least one of them should sleep without being wracked by worries and dreams.

  “I’ve hardly gotten to see you since I returned,” he said. “I was hoping—”

  “I understand,” Utalni said. She shuffled toward him, pulled a wisp of hair out of her face, and embraced Navran briefly. She sighed heavily. “Why were you awakened?”

  “Bidhra-dar is here. He escaped with a few others.”

  “Good, I guess. Will they help us?”

  “Too few of them to be much help.”

  “Oh.” She turned abruptly away, pushing Navran’s hand away from hers and covering her eyes. She took a heavy breath. “I’m afraid, Navran-dar.”

  “I know,” Navran said. He put a hand on her shoulder. “We do what we must.”

  “What we must,” she said, a tremolo underscoring the last of her words. “Why did it have to be us? Why now?”

  “Because… I don’t know. This is what was fated to us. This is our dhaur.”

  “Dhaur,” Utalni said ironically. “So now you’re going to lecture me about dhaur.”

  “Now that the dhorsha and the saghada have reconciled, I might as well make use of the concept.”

  Utalni sniffed. “Do not trouble me with dhorsha. Your duty is to me and our child. Do whatever you must to keep us safe.”

  Navran stepped forward and put a hand on her shoulder. “I am.”

  Utalni spun rapidly and planted a kiss on Navran’s lips. “Very well,” she whispered. “Now let’s try to sleep again.”

  * * *

  Navran allowed Bidhra to sleep all morning. He was awake with dawn, though, and he sent messengers to everyone else he wanted to see. Come at the second hour after noon, he told them. They all came.

  At the appointed hour he marched to the throne and took his seat. He counted the room’s occupants: himself, some guards, Bidhra, Yavada, Veshta, Amabhu, Caupana, Srithi, and Bhudman.

  “Dispense with formalities,” he said. “What are we going to do?”

  Bidhra stepped forward and bowed a moment to Navran. “Run, Navran-dar.”

  The room murmured with agreement and dismay. Srithi had her lips pressed tightly together, her face a stone mask, her eyes blinking away tears. Bhudman and Veshta glanced at each other under heavy brows. Only Caupana seemed actually unmoved.

  Navran shook his head. “Do we have any other options?”

  “We couldn’t defeat the Mouth of the Devourer at the Amsadhu with a hundred times the forces we have here,” Bidhra said plainly. “What else can we do?”

  “We have a fortified position here in the city,” Navran said. “We haven’t yet seen the Devoured take a defended city from its inhabitants.”

  “Majasravi—” objected Amabhu.

  “Davrakhanda,” added Yavada at the same moment.

  “Davrakhanda was a surprise,” Navran said. “And Majasravi was the Powers. Neither of them applies here.”

  Yavada raised his hands. “Navran-dar, my lord and king, are you certain the Devoured can’t infiltrate this city as well? We’ve opened the doors for refugees from the villages….”

  “We could close them,” Bidhra said. “No use taking chances.”

  Navran breathed heavily. “I had hoped to swell our numbers with them.”

  “Against the Mouth of the Devourer?” Bidhra said angrily. “More starving peasants? We’re lucky if they don’t all give themselves up for his offer of immortality.”

  “And I’m not going to encourage them by turning away anyone that comes to the doors of Virnas—”

  “In any case,” Bidhra went on, “we’ve seen only a few. The main body of the Devoured are probably still in Jaitha. Once they come, no number of peasants armed with poles are going to drive them back.”

  The thikratta Amabhu spoke up. “We cannot win,” he said. “We might be able to survive, though.”

  Veshta wrung his hands in irritation and spoke for the first time. He looked at the others with an expression of irritation and dismay. “Why are we listening to this council of despair? This is the holy city of Manjur, the place where the blessing of Ulaur laid down the star-iron that forms your ring, Navran-dar. We can stand here.”

  “I concur,” Yavada said, “that we might at least try to hold the city.”

  “You did not see the battle,” Amabhu snapped. “You don’t know.”

  “I don’t know,” Yavada agreed. “Are you saying—”

  Bhudman spoke in a quiet, creaking voice. At first he couldn’t be heard over Yavada’s excited yammering, but a moment later the majakhadir fell quiet and listened.

  “We need time,” the saghada said. “There may be deliverance from Ulaur—” he put a strange emphasis on this last word and made a gesture which Navran didn’t understand “—but it will come at the time the Powers desire it, which may not be our time. We must prepare to wait.”

  “Defend the city,” Yavada said. “As I was saying—”

  “But only for a while,” Bidhra broke in. “I, in any case, will return to Patakshar with as many as come with me. We could defend Patakshar as easily as Virnas.”

  “We should send the women to Patakshar,” Yavada broke in. “If we wish to save the city.”

  Bidhra nodded. “That is a fine idea. Evacuate as many as we can. I will escort them to Patakshar with my forces….”

  Navran thought of Utalni. Yes, better to send her on ahead, alone, away from the city. Nothing good would come of leaving her here. “Then we who can fight will hold Virnas as long as we can.”

  “With what?” Amabhu asked. “We’ll be outnumbered one hundred to one if the Devoured come here in force. If they bring ladders, or anything, they’ll take the city in a heartbeat.”

  “Fire,” said Caupana softly. “They were afraid of fire.”

  “We hold them back with torche
s?” Bidhra mocked. “Throw brands onto their heads?”

  “They aren’t made of straw,” Navran said. He rose to his feet and paced on the dais, then descended the steps to stand with Bidhra and the others. “Mandhi said they were finally silenced when they were burned. But their flesh is no more flammable than that of an ordinary man. It took a stack of hot burning wood to consume them.”

  “Wait,” Veshta said. “I thought that distinctive of the Devoured was that they did not die. But if they die to flame, even hot flame—”

  “Perhaps they don’t die even then,” Amabhu said. He looked ill.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The ones they burned in Davrakhanda, they were reduced to blackened skeletons. But maybe they were not dead even then. Without muscle and sinew they couldn’t move, but perhaps they remained aware of themselves as a pile of bones, unable to move or see or hear, but still, in some sense, alive. Their souls were intact and tied to their bodies.”

  Everyone fell silent for a moment.

  “What a fate,” Veshta muttered.

  “They fear fire,” Navran said, breaking the spell. “That’s all that matters. We can use it to our advantage. We cannot burn them en masse, but we can play on their fear. Build pyres around the city, the whole length of the wall. Everything that will burn that we can find. And when the Devoured come, we set it alight. Make them cross a wall of flame to reach the city.”

  “That won’t work for more than a few hours,” Yavada said.

  “Which may be all we need.”

  “That’s the best idea I’ve heard yet,” Bidhra said.

  “And when we flee?” Veshta said. “Where will we go?”

  “Ahunas is but a few days to the south,” Yavada said wistfully.

  “Ahunas is not fortified,” Navran said. “It cannot be our destination. We go to Patakshar.”

  “Nonetheless,” Yavada said, “I may go ahead and prepare it as a way-station. Gather stores of food. Ensure there are beds and water for all those who pass through.”

  “A fine idea,” Bidhra said. “We can begin the evacuation of the women and children with my forces immediately. I’ll go ahead to Patakshar, preparing the defense. Meanwhile, you can construct your pyres with the help of the men in the city.”