The Chariot at Dusk

by Swati Teerdhala

  Esha ducked under the sword and slid to the ground. She lashed one end of blue-sapphire ropes around the bare skin of his ankle.

  He growled and almost sent Esha flying. But she whipped the rest of the ropes around him, wherever she could make contact with bare skin. She held on to the ropes and tugged.

  Vardaan fell to his knees in front of her, eyes flashing between yellow and brown. He was trying to shift.

  “Viper,” he spat.

  Esha tightened the ropes, whirling around him to knot and tie the blue-sapphire ropes. As a finale, she dug out a collar especially made for Vardaan and adorned him with it. She thought he looked spectacular, the blue diamond at his throat particularly beautiful. And the only thing that could hold back the man in front of her.

  Vardaan had stopped trying to shift. Or no longer could.

  “You found me,” he said slowly, with difficulty. Blue tendrils crept up his temples like hungry vines. “Now, what are you going to do with me?”

  Esha smiled.

  Chapter 15

  It was harder to find the translator’s house than Kunal anticipated once they arrived in Amali. They ended up knocking on a number of doors to cross or confused faces, enough that even Arpiya was getting twitchy by the end of it.

  “Did Esha give us the wrong information?” Kunal murmured to himself.

  Not quietly enough, though.

  “Esha would never,” Arpiya snapped at him, snatching the scroll away. “More likely that you can’t read,” she said.

  Kunal sighed. Just as he had gotten back on Bhandu’s good side he had found himself on Arpiya’s bad side. He hadn’t determined yet which one was worse, but at least being on Bhandu’s bad side had been quieter.

  He didn’t put up a fight as Arpiya took control. It gave him a moment to take in the city of Amali—the diamond of the North. He thought it more like a dim topaz.

  The sun had come down to perch upon the city’s shoulders, bathing everything in an orange glow. It didn’t help that any hints of green in the land had almost entirely disappeared. Women and men crowded near the wells, jockeying for the best place in line.

  The one thing in their favor was that the Lady of the Parvalokh region was firmly on their side. She had never bowed to Vardaan, keeping this area as separate as possible. The bigger question would be if being so far north and so far removed from the capital had forced the region to make another alliance.

  But this part of the country had fought in the War in the North, had been the first line of soldiers to prevent the Yavar’s excursion into the rest of Jansa twenty years ago. It was unlikely they would ally with the Yavar, but Kunal wasn’t sure he could trust those old instincts of honor anymore. What he could trust was the pain of the past.

  The main roads they wound through were changed from his last visit over two years ago. The smuggler caravans were less hidden, the desperation more obvious. Esha had mentioned that she and Harun had sent supplies through to Amali and it showed, to some degree. The city was doing better compared to the other towns they had traveled through, which wasn’t saying much. When had having a continuous source of water become a measure of success and not a given?

  Kunal took in the city like he had taken in all the other sights on their journey up here—with a heavy heart.

  “Oi, cat eyes, what are you daydreaming about?” Bhandu said.

  “Peace,” Kunal said. “An end to this.”

  He couldn’t help the note of sadness that slithered into his voice. This is what he had hoped to stop. This suffering. But here they were, on another wild monkey chase to try and fix a problem they hadn’t started.

  A meek voice whispered in his mind, one that was getting stronger, wondering if, maybe, there was no solution to this problem. What then? If their land was dying and they alongside it, what could they do?

  Everything. A fiercer part of him spoke.

  Arpiya rose her hand to halt their small company. Kunal’s horse reared back, and he rubbed his neck to calm him down. He would have to be more careful about guarding his feelings around the animals. He was learning that they could sense them, take them on. An interesting revelation and one that Kunal wanted to explore—when there was time.

  They dismounted and tied their horses to a post. A few houses down they stopped in front of a house with a wooden door. A huge crack scarred the outside.

  Arpiya knocked softly.

  The door swung open, a moon-faced woman behind it.

  “I’m looking for a tailor,” Arpiya said hesitantly, and then with more confidence. “I caught my hem while on horseback.”

  The woman craned her neck to look out at all of them. Bhandu knocked into Laksh, his mace clanging against Laksh’s armor. Kunal jumped back in time to avoid another collision.

  “It’s going to be tight,” she said.

  Kunal picked up one of the many scrolls in the scholar’s house and squinted at it, trying to figure out what ancient script it was in.

  Arpiya and the scholar were discussing the stanza in the corner of the small house. Bhandu and Laksh were perched like two uncomfortable birds of prey on stools near the front of the house. Scrolls poured onto every surface that seemed available, from the shelves to the main table to the small chairs in the back. Kunal could get lost in them for hours.

  Translation and ancient scripts had always been his favorite lessons. The stories that accompanied them had fascinated him back then and still did—stories of another world, hidden in scrolls and waiting to be found.

  “Kunal.” He didn’t move the first time, absorbed in what he thought might be a record of tax collection from before the Blighted Age.

  “Kunal.” This time Arpiya appeared in front of his face and snatched the scroll in his hands. She rolled her eyes. “Of course Esha would go for a dreamer.”

  “What—?”

  “We need you here.” Arpiya didn’t sound happy at having to admit it.

  The scholar had spread out the scroll and traced a copy of it. She was separating the words, trying to match letters to ancient scripts. So far, she had done an excellent job.

  Kunal read over her shoulder.

  “The songs that are hidden,

  The prayers that are spoken,

  The light that is bidden,

  Will come to all.”

  The scholar’s lips were pursed in thought.

  “What in the Moon Lord’s name does all that mean?” Bhandu asked.

  “I’m a translator,” the scholar said. “That’s my trade, so I could be wrong on this, but I feel like I’ve heard something like this before. The flow reminds me of an ancient poem. If only I could remember—”

  “Ask Kunal,” Laksh said, a bored half smile curving up his cheeks. “He used to read those musty old poems during campaigns. I thought he used them to put himself to sleep until I realized he enjoyed the things. Memorized a few too, I believe.”

  Kunal flushed. “Just for that competition.”

  Arpiya’s eyebrows rose. “Competition?”

  “Kunal painted watercolors that went along with the old poem about the Chariot at Dusk,” Laksh said, his voice light and slightly teasing. “It was the talk of the Fort.”

  “Isn’t that the story of the Lord of Darkness’s tragic romance with the Goddess of Light?” Bhandu said.

  Arpiya shrugged, the ends of her hair swishing around her face. “There are two endings. In Mathur, it’s not so tragic. We’re less interested in a dutiful, honorable death or whatever nonsense stories that you Jansans drink as your mother’s milk.”

  “My version wasn’t so . . . tragic.” Kunal frowned. “Or I don’t think. It’s hard to remember.”

  “Either way, the general boxed his ears when he found out Kunal had entered the competition, said painting and art weren’t becoming for a soldier,” Laksh said. The mocking tone in his voice faded. “Another reason I hated that man.”

  “I didn’t know you cared,” Kunal said.

  Laksh gave him a look.
r />   “Cat eyes, do you have anything in that brain of yours that might help here?” Bhandu asked.

  Kunal mulled it over. “It sounds familiar, like you said.” He nodded at the scholar. “Similar cadence and words as the . . . ‘Temple of the Hidden Song.’ That’s it.” Kunal almost jumped in delight. He had always loved that poem.

  “Huh?” Bhandu said.

  “It’s an old poem about a hidden temple of the ancients, though now that I know more about magic and blood songs, I think it was probably an abandoned temple of the royals. Hidden, obviously.”

  “Okay, secret temple of the royals . . . That tells us what?” Laksh said.

  “It will have to be in a jungle. Think of where the temple King Mahir showed me was,” Kunal said. “It was sun stone and jungle. Can you all think of any other place that will have what’s needed for both?”

  Bhandu squinted at him. Laksh and Arpiya exchanged a glance and shrugged.

  “The Tej rain forest?” the scholar guessed.

  “Great guess, but I don’t actually think so.” Kunal shifted uncomfortably. “I . . . visited a few moons ago and the surrounding area is probably too wet.”

  “So we’re talking deep jungle?” Arpiya said. Kunal tilted his head to tell her to go on. Arpiya’s face was soft in thought, hinting at another side to the fierce girl. Then she began to jump up and down.

  “Oh, the jungle near the Mauna Valley!” she almost exclaimed.

  Bhandu sighed, mumbling to himself in a frustrated manner about how she always got to answers first.

  “Yes,” Kunal said, smiling. “Great job.”

  Arpiya grinned back, until she realized who she was grinning at. Her face quickly changed to a scowl.

  “Looks like we’re going to the Mauna Valley,” Laksh said.

  Kunal recalled the last time he had been there, when Rakesh had attacked Esha and he had been shot by a poisoned arrow from the Blades. At least this time, no one would be after him—or so he hoped.

  “Before we go, we have something we wanted to give you,” Kunal said, coming around the table to where the woman stood.

  Arpiya nodded, pulling a small scroll from her pack. “A gift from the Viper. She hopes you remember her fondly.”

  The scholar stood up, straightening the pleats of her sari. “Of course.”

  Arpiya handed her the scroll, which the woman unrolled quickly and read. The change on her face was that of night to morning, clouds to sun rays.

  “Really?” the woman whispered.

  Arpiya nodded, trying to act solemn but her bouncing foot giving her away. “It’s real. An official welcome back to the Great Library. You can continue your life’s work, Pooja.”

  Pooja darted forward with surprising speed and wrapped both Arpiya and Kunal, the two closest to her, in a hug. They stumbled back in surprise.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you. You’ve returned my life to me.”

  Kunal glanced at Arpiya over the woman’s head and saw an opening.

  “Sorry,” he mouthed at her, before wincing. The scholar was strong.

  Arpiya didn’t meet his eyes for a few seconds. Finally, she mouthed back, “Fine.”

  They still had a long way to go to find the temple and the lamp within, but Kunal couldn’t help but feel a glimmer of hope at seeing the happiness in the scholar’s face.

  They’d return the world to rights. Bit by bit.

  The musty scent of damp wood greeted Esha and Harun as they entered the dungeons of the citadel. The very stones themselves creaked and moaned, something that Esha had never forgotten. Those sounds and these smells had been Esha’s constant companion for a torturous month.

  Esha’s fingers clenched into fists, an unconscious movement, one that said her body remembered this place all too well. If she had a choice she would have never stepped foot in this miserable hole again.

  But she was here for the man next to her.

  Harun’s face was composed, but a muscle under his jaw kept twitching. His tell. Esha reached out and interlaced her fingers with his.

  The twitching stopped.

  This wasn’t easy for either of them. To be back here with Vardaan, to be with this monster of a man. To remember.

  But it was necessary.

  Vardaan had demanded to see his nephew after his capture, when he had been dragged here and thrown into a cell. Harun had decided to grant his uncle’s request and asked her to accompany him. It made sense for her to be there as the de facto leader of the palace at the moment, but Esha knew it was more personal than that.

  Harun didn’t want to face his uncle alone.

  Esha didn’t know what she might do to Vardaan if she did see him alone.

  Going together would ensure that they got the information they needed. Harun was skilled, but he had too much history with his uncle, and it was a history Vardaan wouldn’t hesitate to exploit. Esha was still surprised that Vardaan had agreed to help them, which added to her uneasy feeling. There wasn’t a single good reason for Vardaan to help, not one without a catch. She was going to find it before it undid them all.

  They turned the corner and came to the cell at the end of the row, separated and isolated from the rest. There was Vardaan, Pretender King of Jansa.

  In the darkness, he was nothing more than a slip of a man, a curve of light. They stopped in front of the tall metal bars and waited. Vardaan took his time coming to the front of the cell, dragging his chains so slowly that the screech of metal against the stone floor filled the entire room.

  Even now, Vardaan had to make an entrance.

  “Hello, nephew,” he drawled. “And the Viper, what a pleasant surprise. I did ask to see my nephew alone, but I suppose you couldn’t help yourself. You know, I had the pleasure of making an acquaintance with one of your people some time earlier.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. They were quite willing to tell me almost everything they knew. Even switch to my cause, our cause.”

  Esha snorted. “Your cause is only yourself.”

  “Now that’s a bit harsh, don’t you think, nephew?”

  Harun stayed silent, but he stepped closer to the bars.

  “None of our Blades would be disloyal,” Esha said, glancing at Harun.

  “Are you sure, little Viper?” Vardaan’s smile was a silvery gleam in the shadows.

  No, she wasn’t sure, but she sure as cursed all wouldn’t admit it to him of all people. Rage rose in her throat at the thought before Esha realized. He wanted her angry. Angry people made mistakes; they were easy to manipulate. And she had almost walked right into a trap.

  Perhaps he was right, perhaps he was playing her like the old veena she had been toying with in the palace music rooms. But she wouldn’t reveal any weakness now.

  “I am as sure of my people as I am of your fate, Vardaan,” she said.

  “Ah, we’ve dispensed with the titles, have we?”

  “King, Prince, murderer, traitor. Vardu,” she said, sneaking in King Mahir’s nickname for the man, the name he had hated. “Take your pick.”

  That earned her a flash of real emotion. Anger. She hid her smile.

  “I’m helping you, am I not? Perhaps you should be kinder to me, Viper,” he said, menace lurking behind.

  But he was here, behind bars of immovable steel. Hidden under the pillar of the city, the citadel. For once, they were at an advantage.

  “Kindness is a perception, King,” she said, using the title like a curse.

  “You should muzzle your Viper, Harun.”

  “I’m sorry, uncle.” Harun stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on her elbow. “I’m sorry you feel aggrieved by the truth. I would never presume to tell her what to do.”

  He glanced at her: the ramrod posture, the way she was gripping her sword. Not anymore.

  Esha kept her posture, but something in her began to crumble at his words.

  “That’s what it is?” Vardaan looked contemplative. “I thought she and the—Intriguing. A love k
not.” There was an understanding in Vardaan’s words that Esha didn’t appreciate.

  Vardaan straightened, as much as he could with the numerous chains bound to him. The entire cell filled with the sound of clanking metal.

  “I find myself tiring.” He let out a wide yawn. “Ask your questions quickly, children.”

  “Where is the conch?” Harun asked.

  “Straight to it, are we? I’ve hidden it.” He paused for a moment, the silence weighing down the room. He was certainly dramatic. “In Mathur. In my favorite place as a child.”

  “That’s it?” Esha asked, her voice nearly a growl.

  “Should be more than enough. You have your memory, nephew. I took you there a few times, even. Your father would know too—that is if he remembers anything about our childhood.”

  It was said simply. But there was a discordant note, a minor key of sadness—or regret. Here was the human in the monster. Here was why she so often underestimated him.

  “And once we’re there?” Esha said. “What then? You send us on a wild monkey chase and have a laugh back here?”

  “No. I’m sure you’ll set a number of your Blades to monitor my every breath,” he said. Vardaan raised his shoulders into a lazy shrug, the metal creaking as he moved. “It’s not a wild monkey chase but believe me as you will. I am in your power. What could I possibly do?”

  She narrowed her eyes at the innocent tone he used, and he grinned at her. A slanted, cunning grin that took her in whole.

  Harun stiffened next to her. They would have to send scouts, keep the team on alert.

  “So we find this place and then? You’re only of use to us if you talk, uncle.” Harun let the words linger, his own threat coloring the air.

  “You’ll need a ship,” Vardaan said. “That’s my only clue. I have to make you work for it a little, don’t I? A good uncle teaches a boy how to fish, doesn’t just hand it to him. That’s what your father would always say to me.”

  Esha snorted dismissively. “We’re a bit past being a good uncle.”

  “Then I have time to make up for. You’ll need a ship to get to one of my favorite places, where the conch has been hidden. I have faith in you, Harun.” Vardaan winked at him.