Path of the Eclipse

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “Let me see my servant depart and hear the vows of those who escort him that he will be taken safely to the border of this abattoir.” His tone had thickened with revulsion.

  Tamasrajasi bowed her head respectfully. “That will be done, Lord Shiva.”

  “I am not Lord Shiva,” Saint-Germain said vehemently.

  “You stand in his place, and you will be honored as he is,” Tamasrajasi replied with the assumption of humility. “You will be taken to a place of state and wreathed in flowers and praised. You will be given sacrifice, too, so that you are the more holy.”

  The hideous absurdity of her proposal nearly drove Saint-Germain to laughter, but he stifled it in his throat, as he supposed it presaged madness. But what else was there, if not madness. Padmiri, he thought, Padmiri, flee this place. Go far away, as far as you can. And he hoped fervently that she would never learn how he died. He did not know if this hope was born of shame or love, and he wasted no time in questioning it. “Tamasrajasi,” he said as reasonably as he was able, “I am not Lord Shiva. I am not, in any way I understand it, one of his creatures. Yes, I am a vampire, but I am not what you think me. I don’t know what you seek to gain from my death, but I warn you, it will not happen.”

  Her smile was seraphic. “Those who worship Kali seek nothing. Nothing. We wish to be free of the Wheel forever, to be burned out of this life and all lives to come. You know that Kali promises us destruction, creature of Shiva, and an end to all things.”

  Saint-Germain had no answer for her. He watched her, seeing her youth and her voluptuous body, seeing the bloom of life in her, and could not imagine what it was that made her long for oblivion. Those who were wretched might desire to trade their youth for an end to their torments, but Tamasrajasi was powerful, in excellent health, wealthy and all but adored by most of her people. Her father had cherished her and made her his heir. And she yearned for the ultimate dissolution.

  “Come,” she called out happily, holding her hand out to him as she walked away from him. “You must be robed. When you have been made ready, you will see your servant ride away with men vowed to deliver him unharmed to my border.”

  “Great Mistress!” Guristar burst out. “What of me? I have brought this sacrifice to you. You have said that I may take you. Tonight.” He had meant it for a demand but it came out a question.

  “Yes, Guristar, my Commander, tonight you shall have me. I have said it.” There was that illusory quality of play about her, as if she were still a child. Saint-Germain started after her, asking himself if it might be that riancy which made him unable to think of her as a woman grown, though her body was richly mature.

  As Tamasrajasi reached the door to the chamber, two robed men stepped out of the deepest shadows and stood on either side of Saint-Germain. “These are the men,” she announced without turning to look at them, “who will guide your servant. They will do everything I ask of them, and they will not fail.” She went down the corridor with lithe steps, and listened to the steps behind her. The two men had a soft tread as their sandals scuffed the stone floor. Saint-Germain’s boots made a sharp report. Tamasrajasi decided that it was an excellent omen.

  The room she led them to was on the far side of the sanctuary. It was ornate, filled with murals in bright gold and reds, and redolent with that peculiarly unappetizing incense. The floor was made of vari-colored alabaster, and at the far end there was a pearl-encrusted throne within the arch of hammered brass almost wholly covered with gold leaf.

  “See?” Tamasrajasi said merrily. “Here you will be elevated and revered. You will be dressed as a god, your face will be painted so that it will shine.”

  “I want to see my servant first,” Saint-Germain said. While he walked to this chamber, he had resigned himself to what lay ahead of him. “I wish to see him now.”

  Tamasrajasi frowned, pouting, then cocked her head to the side. “Why not? I will allow him to aid you in preparation. He is your servant, and he should be pleased to help invest you for worship.” She spoke to the men beside Saint-Germain. “Go and bring the other foreigner here. Do it at once. It is my will that he be here.”

  Neither man spoke, but both turned and left the room. Saint-Germain heard their steps retreating. “How long will this take?”

  “The dressing? A fair time. There is a ritual to it.” She was teasing him again, for she knew he was not asking her about the matter of dressing. “After you are dressed, there are invocations to be said and a number of chants to sing. You will be anointed and wreathed in flowers. Then the real ceremony will begin. Most of those who will come here to worship will not enter the temple until the darknest part of the night; in honor of Kali. Then they will see what I will do with Guristar”—here she giggled with the unfeigned mirth of a child—“and then they will give themselves for worship and sacrifice, and when that is done, then you will be brought to the altar. It will depend on how quick you are to spend your seed in me as to how long that will be. I hope that you will not be too quick.”

  “It may not happen at all,” Saint-Germain warned her. “What then?”

  “By dawn,” Tamasrajasi went on as if she had not heard him, but there was an irritated line between her brows, “it will have ended and those who have been here will depart. Pyres will be made for the dead, and the men who keep the altars here will throw the ashes into the cold waters of the Kudri.”

  “And you?” He was more puzzled by her than before. “What will you do, Tamasrajasi?”

  “I will return to my palace and prepare for war,” she said serenely. “My army will rise and we will take back the lands that the Sultan at Delhi has stolen from us.”

  “But your army…” He had seen the palace guard and knew from his conversations with Padmiri that Dantinusha had reduced the number of his soldiers to a minimal level as a token of good faith to Shams-ud-din Iletmish.

  “I have six thousand war elephants. And they will be ridden by archers and spearmen. There are nine thousand horsemen in my cavalry, and they will trample the invaders beneath them. Ten thousand warriors will follow on foot, and everywhere they go, they will destroy all that they find in their path.” She was radiant. “I will ride on the foremost elephant. I will be in armor of black stone and my spears will be of darkest iron.”

  Over the centuries, Saint-Germain had seen many sorts of madness, and he had learned both fear of and compassion for those so afflicted. Yet her visionary rapture filled him with bitterness and pity.

  “Great Mistress,” said one of the men in the door as he abashed himself. “The foreigner.” And he thrust Rogerio into the room.

  Saint-Germain went down on one knee to aid his servant, and whispered to him in Frankish, “Do nothing to interfere.”

  Rogerio looked up, mildly dazed. “They came to the house in the afternoon,” he said in Greek.

  “Speak Frankish!” Saint-Germain rose and held out his arm to Rogerio.

  Tamasrajasi was scowling. “I do not know what you are saying to him,” she complained.

  “If you had troubled to ask the slaves at Padmiri’s house, you would have learned that my servant has a poor command of your language. He needs to know that he is in no danger from your men, who will escort him to the border.” He added in Frankish, in almost identical inflections, “Do not let them know you understand more than one word in ten. You are in gravest danger.”

  Rogerio scrambled to his feet and gave Tamasrajasi a bemused smile. “I will do as you wish, my master,” he said in Frankish.

  “I will tell him that the men who brought him to this room will be his guides and that he is to trust them,” Saint-Germain said to Tamasrajasi, then went on to Rogerio, “You are to get away from them as soon as you may.”

  “And you?” Rogerio’s blue eyes were apprehensive. “When will you leave here?”

  “When I can,” Saint-Germain said gently.

  “No.” Rogerio’s voice rose slightly. “Give me your sword and we will fight them until death.”

&nbs
p; Saint-Germain held up one hand. “Rogerio, old friend, do as I tell you.” He turned toward Tamasrajasi and explained, “My servant does not know where he is to go, and it frightens him. He will obey me now.” This time he did not meet Rogerio’s eyes. He pulled the scabbard-and-katana from his belt and held it out to Rogerio. “For all the forgotten gods, Rogerio, do as I tell you.”

  “Yes, my master,” Rogerio said, bowing slightly, taking the proffered Japanese sword. “Is there anything else, my master?”

  Saint-Germain looked at the pearl-covered throne but in his mind he saw Rome on a rainy day. The Flavian Circus was not complete and the beggars who lived under its half-finished arches were amusing themselves by tormenting a dying man. There were other images that came swiftly: enormous triangular sails flapping in a hot wind, and below them, Saint-Germain, miserably ill, Rogerio waiting patiently beside him; two horses racing out of the ruins of Milan, men clinging to their backs, pursued by shouting mailed knights on lathered mounts; a garden in Tunis on a spring night, torches burning, and two companions lost in talk for most of the night as neither of them required sleep; the wild cliffs near Ranegonde’s castle, where, under a pall of clouds, two men stood off the attack of a famine-crazed rabble; an afternoon in Lo-Yang amid the chaos of packing, chests open and waiting for garments, vials, bedding, treasures, and the moment of departure. He imagined a sandy-haired man with the appearance of early middle age tied to a stone altar, screaming as his flesh was slowly burned away. Saint-Germain put his small, beautiful hands to eyes that had not wept in more than three thousand years. “No,” he said. “Nothing else.”

  A notice from Sudra Guristar to all the guardsmen under his command.

  To those who have the honor to serve and guard the person and possessions of the most glorious Rani Tamasrajasi, be vigilant, for there are enemies who seek to endanger the well-being of this Great Mistress and disrupt the propriety of the country. It is your duty and privilege to prevent any such happening.

  The sister of the late Rajah Kare Dantinusha, who recently died at the hands of a slave he had brought into his household, has been revealed as a dangerous and insidious spy. For many years her various eccentricities have been regarded as the diversions of a woman without husband or children to fill her hours, and for that reason much was tolerated that ought not to have been, for it has been learned that she is deep in the toils of demonic influences. It is quite possible that she is allied to the agents of the Sultan at Delhi for the purpose of bringing the entire country of Natha Suryarathas under the Muslim rule. Doubtless an attractive marriage has been offered her by the men of the Sultan. Not an instant too soon were those perfidious men struck down by the courageous, pious men who battled with them not so many days ago. So lost to all respect, devotion and honor is the woman Padmiri that she has given housing and hospitality to a creature of Shiva whose influence the Rani Tamasrajasi has but recently discovered.

  Padmiri is to be found. Our Great Mistress orders it be done. Padmiri is to be brought before her for judgment and punishment. There have been men searching for this sister of our fallen Rajah but their efforts have not been sufficient. The woman, crafty in her wiles, eluded us when the first attempt was made to apprehend her. Doubtless she was guarded by the spirits given her by the creature of Shiva she has taken as her lover. Yes, she did not hesitate to do this, in spite of all her praised learning, and her supposed love of the truth. She surrendered herself to the embraces of one who uses her foully, who perverts her, respecting neither her woman’s nature nor her age. Who among you would be so lost to his sense of propriety that he would presume to make love to a woman of fifty-two who had never borne him a child? Think of the enormity of this and let it inspire you to be persistent in your search for Padmiri so that her contamination shall not touch us all.

  It was noted that there were three horses gone from Padmiri’s stables. It is known that Padmiri herself, most properly, knows nothing of riding horses, but there are those around her who would doubtless be blind enough to follow any order she might give, for slaves are known to have only the will of their masters to rule them, and therefore think nothing of performing reprehensible acts.

  When Padmiri is found, she must be brought at once to Rani Tamasrajasi, either at the palace or at the temple on the Kudri where she performs sacrificial rites. It is appropriate that Padmiri, so lost to religion, should be made to realize the extent of her failings in the temple, and those who succeed in bringing her to the temple will be doubly rewarded. There is great merit in apprehending this woman, and greater merit in making sacrifice at the time Padmiri becomes a captive.

  It is the will of Rani Tamasrajasi that this be done.

  Sudra Guristar

  Commander of the palace guard

  for the Rani Tamasrajasi

  in the first year of her reign

  11

  Twice she was nearly thrown from the saddle, and had clung to the mare’s mane with terror-tightened hands; once the mare, startled by a sudden noise in the forest, had almost bolted. Riding was exhausting and her muscles, unused to such rigorous exercise, tugged and ached. She dared not ride on the roads, for she had seen the guardsmen at her house and feared that they searched for her as well as for the foreigners she had welcomed. The paths and tracks which she was forced to use were narrow, winding, ill-kept and steep. Several times she lost her way and had to retrace her course, and often it was more by accident than design that she stayed on the right way.

  Padmiri was more than halfway to her brother’s palace—she could think of it in no other way—when she came upon a band of villagers trudging along the rutted, dusty path. She pulled in the mare, inexpertly guiding the animal to the side of the road so that the small procession could pass. She saw that everyone of the group was wearing wreaths and necklaces of dark flowers, and all carried woven baskets containing live things.

  “Wait!” Padmiri called out, her hand extended to the elder at the front of the band.

  “We dare not, Reverend Lady,” the elder answered back over his shoulder. “It is near sunset already, and there is a great way to go.”

  “But where are you going?” She had only seen the strange flower wreaths twice before in her life, but recognized them with foreboding.

  “To the temple on the Kudri,” the answer came back faintly. “For sacrifice.”

  Padmiri dragged the mare back onto the trail and pushed through the throng. When she was abreast of the elder, she said, “Tell me what will happen at the temple. What is the nature of your sacrifice?”

  “The Rani has proclaimed that everyone must offer,” the elder said rather wearily. He held up the basket he carried, and small, bright eyes peered out through the slats. There was a snuffling whimper.

  “And the Rani herself?” Padmiri demanded, irritation and worry building in her.

  “She officiates,” the elder said, adding, “I do not wish to offend the Reverend Lady, but we must not linger.”

  “Of course.” Padmiri stopped the mare and let the people file past her as consternation grew in her. Tamasrajasi had ordered sacrifice and would officiate at the ritual. The villagers wore dark flowers and carried live animals to the temple on the Kudri. She remembered the rumors she had heard of Thuggi and at the time had thought nothing of them. Now her mind was crowded with suspicions, all of them increasing her anxiety. She tried to still her apprehension. Tamasrajasi was a young, beautiful and powerful woman. What would worship of the Black Goddess give to her? Tamasrajasi might bow to one of Kali’s other faces, the loving Parvati, but to Kali herself? She could not convince herself it was impossible. Disheartened, she started back along the track toward her own house. There was no reason to go to the palace now, not today. She would have to present herself to her brother’s daughter the next morning. The prospect of spending the night in the forest terrified her, yet she did not know whether it would be wise to return to her house, for if there were guardsmen there still …

  The mare shied, whi
nnying loudly, and Padmiri was rudely jerked out of her reverie. It was almost dark now and Padmiri had no idea where she was. The trees seemed gigantic, threatening. She had no way of telling what had made the mare frightened, but whatever it was had not departed, for the horse skittered, sidling on the trail, unwilling to go forward and too afraid to run. Her eyes rolled and her coat was flecked with foam. Padmiri, who was almost as frightened as the mare, patted her neck uneasily and wished she could recall the phrases her brother had used to quite his horses.

  There was a sound of something on the path, something fairly large that scraped and slithered. The mare danced on her front legs, attempting to rear, but was not able to because of the way Padmiri clutched her neck. The sound came nearer, and Padmiri thought she was able to discern a slightly lighter patch of wavering movement on the darkened path.

  A low, agonized wail came from the shape and it was only then that Padmiri realized it was a man. She dared not dismount, for she did not think she could get back on the mare again: her body was too sore and in this wild place, anything might prevent her from climbing into the saddle again.

  “Help … me…” the shape groaned mindlessly. His words, more than his accent, revealed him as a foreigner, for no Hindu would ask for or expect to receive aid.

  “Who are you?” Padmiri asked harshly.

  “A traveler … Oh, Lord of Fire…” He dragged himself nearer Padmiri’s mare. “I didn’t know … I didn’t know…”

  “What?” She was repelled and fascinated at once by this half-seen stranger. If only she were able to ride expertly so that she could guide the mare well, or could remount with confidence!

  “Help me!” He tried to reach a hand out to her, but the arm fluttered weakly and it was only then that Padmiri realized that the tendons in his knees and elbows had been cut. It was too dark for Padmiri to see him clearly but she felt his torment. “Reverend Lady! Help me!”