by Sarah Zettel
Be calm, Sitara warned herself. You set this thing in motion. You cannot refuse to accept its consequences now. In anther moment she managed to say, “It is just as well.”
He went on doggedly, as if he lacked the power to stop his flow of words. “If she is able to reach the palace with her news, if she is able to find someone there to listen to a woman alone, the Hastinapurans will come and come swiftly, and we will not have the Huni growing idle and greedy while we shelter them.”
Sitara sat with him in silence, forcing herself to think, to consider the different possibilities. If Radana lost herself in the streets of Hastinapura, nothing changed. It was of no moment. If she did reach the Pearl Throne, and she was believed …
Her husband took in several deep, ragged breaths, attempting to stay calm. “They will kill Natharie.”
This was what had weighed behind Kiet’s eyes. This was what made him old.
“I know,” she said quietly.
Anger and disbelief swept across Kiet’s features. She could read his thoughts plainly. You did this. You did this knowingly. “You would kill your daughter so easily?”
“And how will she live among the Hastinapurans?” she demanded. “How long before they force her to swear devotion to their Mothers just to stay alive? Or force her into some degrading service or marriage? This way she goes free into the next life and may begin again.” They slaughtered my brother. They destroyed my old home on their way to the Huni. I will not let Natharie be held by them. I will not let my hands be bound by them!
Kiet sat there for a moment, his eyes blank, his brow furrowed. Then, he drew his hand away. “Prince Samudra swore she would be respected.”
“Prince Samudra!” Sitara spat the name. “Prince Samudra is his brother’s tax collector! If he had true power the priest never would have behaved as he did! And you cannot tell me, Great King, that word of what happened in Lohit has not reached here yet.”
When Kiet turned away, she saw that it had. When word came to the convent, she had stayed there for the three days of mourning, going without sleep and without food, weeping for her family, and for her daughter whose only protector was a fallen tiger.
“I might have stopped this thing but for that,” she whispered, not knowing for certain whether she spoke the truth. “But without him, there is no safety for her, and I will not leave her to their priest. Not her, not you, not our other children or our land.” She drew herself up. Tears ran freely down her face, but her voice remained true and strong. “If you believe otherwise, husband, kill me now. Send my head to Hastinapura and say you have punished your unnatural queen’s treachery.”
Slowly, Kiet knelt once more before her. “How can I do this when you were only doing what I could not bring myself to do? Understanding what I could barely begin to contemplate?”
She wanted to believe this, but even as the thought rang through her mind, she felt another presence in the room and she turned her head to see Anidita’s image, watching all she did from his place in the east. “Is there forgiveness for this?”
“I do not know,” said Kiet harshly. “But there will be revenge.”
And she took his hand again and held it for a very long time.
So, the Huni came down the sacred river to Sindhu in ones and twos. They came on the barges by night, watching the rivermen watch the moonlit waters. They came by day in fisherman’s dress, or with the traders, their horses hobbled and drugged so they would not panic, and at the same time would look too dispirited for any to be interested in buying when the boats put into shore.
When they reached the city, in ones and twos they came to the palace. The king took their horses and put them in his stables. He took their weapons and put them in one of several warehouses that he set his own men to guard. The Huni just grinned and let him do as he pleased.
At night, the king and queen, both grim, both cold, looked out over the place that had been their garden, but which was fast becoming a foreign garrison. Side by side, they thought on the disaster of Lohit and vengeance for their child, for all their children, in order to keep themselves brave. The empire might try to take faith and sovereignty, as it had taken their daughter, but this time they would not go willingly. This time they would fight.
For now, there was nothing to do but wait until their chieftain decided how to begin the war.
Chapter Thirteen
In the Land of Death and Spirit, the small man waited beside the rolling ocean. Above him, the sunless sky was clear and filled with light, save for a single grey point on the far horizon. While he watched, the spot swelled and darkened, becoming a great cloud rushing forward as if to engulf the shore. Soon it became clear this was not one cloud, but many shapes.
If the crowd of demons that had risen from the ocean was horrible, these creatures were even more fearsome. Demons there were, armed with cruel, curving swords and spears that dripped yellow blood. With them flew the sagging, swollen shadows that were the ghosts of those who had died in illness. There were nightmares from the heavens and the deep earth. Death, the Last One, flew with this multitude beside the princes of Hell.
In their midst flew a great chariot, stained with the mud and blood of a hundred wars. Its horses had manes of fire and black hooves that struck sparks from the air as they galloped forward. A woman held their golden reins. She was tall and proud. Skulls and pearls girdled her waist, serpents made a mantle for her shoulders. She drove her terrible chariot with one hand. In the other, she held a sword stained black with the blood of the world.
The closer the multitude of destruction came, the lower it flew, until at last it skimmed the tops of the waves, rushing forward to the lone man on the shore. As his calm eyes met the golden eyes of the goddess, the man bowed deeply, giving the salute of trust to the queen who approached.
She pulled on the reins, bringing her great steeds to a halt. The serpents coiled into a nest about her throat and shoulders, hissing in their own language, one raising his head above the others and turning bloodred eyes upon the man, watching for the least sign of danger or disregard. The woman herself dismounted her chariot, tucking her sword naked into her girdle. She waded through the edge of the waves, coming to stand before the man. Behind her, the great swarm waited, alert and watching.
“So,” said the goddess, looking him up and down. “You are Anidita.”
“I am, Lady Vimala,” he replied as he straightened. “You honor me with your presence.”
One of the snakes hissed its disdain. The goddess folded her arms. Blood stained her hands and rubbed ochre streaks onto her brown skin. “I thought you might ignore me as well.”
Anidita blinked. “Please, if your sister believes I have ignored her, tender my humblest apologies. I have attended most carefully to every message she has sent me.”
Vimala’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “She would disagree. She sent me to dispatch you.”
The man spread his hands. “It is within your power, Mother of Destruction.”
“Yes, it is.” She looked down her long nose at him. On the waves, the demons and the terrors were restless, stamping in the water, rattling their spears against their shields. The goddess glanced disapprovingly at them, and all melted away onto the wind, leaving only the rush and roar of the waves behind. “But I myself find much about you intriguing, and I would talk with you before you are wiped away.”
“Then may I suggest we sit?” Anidita gestured toward the empty sands.
“Certainly.” And the Mother of Destruction sat with the Awakened One on the golden sands. A gentle wind blew across them and picked up the scents of jasmine and death.
Mother Vimala rested her elbows on her thighs. Two of the snakes slipped down her arms, coiling around her wrists, flicking their tongues in and out to taste the air and the words spoken there. “Tell me, Anidita, what is it you want?”
“Help for two caught up in your lands.”
“That is what my sister thought.” Her cheeks puffed out in a sigh and t
he snakes around her shoulders coiled closer, as if to soothe her. “She is most annoyed. They are sacrificed to her.”
“They are living beings, and they do not willingly follow her ways.”
“They are hardly innocents, these two you are taking such pains over. They do not walk your road either. The girl, in fact, is falling fast from your path.”
“Nonetheless,” he replied simply.
They sat in silence for a time. Then, one of the glittering serpents lifted its head, whispering low in Mother Vimala’s ear. She stroked her advisor, settling it back with its brethren on her shoulders. “You’ve made my sister very angry.”
“I have heard this.”
The goddess’s golden eyes glinted. “I find it all rather amusing.”
“I do not do this to amuse you, Lady Vimala.” For the first time there was stone beneath Anidita’s soft voice.
“No, but despite that you have succeeded. There are many points on which I and my sister differ, but challenging her … it is not something any of us may lightly undertake.” She tilted her head sideways, examining him from this new angle. “What would you say, Anidita, if I took up your cause?”
Anidita bowed with deep respect. “I might thank you, but I fear in my weakness, I would wonder why you would do such a thing, as I am, as you say, an upstart, before you as well as your sister.”
She nodded. “It would be a fair question. Let me put it to you this way. She does not like change, my sister, even when it is clear that some part of the dance she set in motion has gone quite wrong. Sometimes it is for me to show her the way to that change.” She smiled, and behind her eyes were memories of many a gleeful and bloody change. Anidita saw this, and did not flinch from it. “The prince is mine already, although he seeks to put me off. What would you do if I took the girl as my own to match with him?”
Anidita raised his brows. “There are many who would say you are a most unsafe guardian, Lady Vimala.”
She grinned and her teeth were dark and sharp. “So I am.”
Now it was the Awakened One’s turn to sit in silence, and his silence was as strong as thunder and unyielding as the mountain. At last, he said, “Do you swear then, Lady Vimala, that Natharie Somchai will be under your protection?”
“I swear that she shall come to no harm from me or my sisters, and by none of us will she be claimed as sacrifice. What harm she brings through her own actions, that is as may be.”
Anidita nodded. “I accept this.” He stood and gave the salute of trust once more. “Thank you, Lady Vimala.” He picked up his walking stick, and with an unhurried step began to make his way back over the dunes through the waving grasses.
Vimala watched a long time, smiling, until he was lost to her long sight.
Then she too was gone.
Natharie was in the terrace garden when Ekkadi came barreling up to her, scattering a clutch of children who had been making up a new and complicated game of marbles and counters. It was evening. The rains had ended. Sunlight slanted in long beams through the latticework and the air was sultry and fragrant. Natharie had been puzzling over a new passage Master Gauda had set her to translating, more than half her mind occupied by wondering if the people here celebrated the rain’s end. At home they would be dancing in the gardens tonight, and there would be fireworks.
“Mistress!” cried Ekkadi, exultant. “You are to go to Master Gauda at once!”
Natharie opened her mouth to ask why a summons from Master Gauda should cause her maid to become so excited. Then she realized this abrupt summons might not have originated with the drama master.
Ekkadi saw the realization dawning in Natharie’s eyes and nodded in confirmation. “The emperor wants to see you.”
Natharie swallowed and got to her feet, leaving the book where it was. “We are to perform?”
“No, just you. Hurry!” Ekkadi ran ahead, forgetting her role of dutiful maid. Natharie followed, a little more slowly, trying to calm her own nerves. It was stupid to be nervous. She had sung and danced for kings. She wanted to be presented to the emperor, to come once again to Queen Bandhura’s attention. Despite her continuing conversations with Prince Samudra, she had learned nothing useful about the ways of power in Hastinapura. She was chafing in her patient role of student at the hands of the exacting Master Gauda and longing to begin her true role.
Despite these thoughts, her palms grew damp.
The drama master waited for her in the dressing chamber, a screened alcove off the main chamber. It was lined with chests and bundles of props, some precious antiques, some only battered playthings. Except for his servants, he was alone. None of the other students were there.
“What is happening, Master?” The title had become a reflex over the past weeks.
“What could be happening?” Master Gauda snapped back, but she read in him a mix of pleasure and worry. “There are dancers and poets aplenty for His Majesty’s entertainment but he’ll have nothing but Natharie of Sindhu.” He glared at his four kohl-eyed servants. “Out! Ekkadi, help your mistress dress, and quickly.”
Ekkadi was already lifting off Natharie’s outer dress. Red trousers and a shirt of glittering scales had been laid out beside the dressing table. While Ekkadi worked, Master Gauda dipped his fingers into the cosmetics boxes, painting Natharie’s cheeks with the required designs. Weeks of chiding held Natharie still under his ministrations.
“You’ll be doing your piece from The Adushtan. It’s your best.” He turned to pick up a stick of kohl.
“But I thought …” Master Gauda had planned that Natharie’s first “public” performance was to be for Queen Bandhura’s birthday celebration in two months’ time. “As it was the queen who asked you be trained to the art,” Master Gauda had said.
“I also thought we had until the first of all queens’ birthday.” Master Gauda grabbed Natharie’s chin in his meaty hand to hold her still while he drew the accent lines around her eyes. She could do this herself, but evidently he did not feel she was proficient enough in that area. “But our emperor is not noted for his patience.”
Ekkadi handed Natharie the balsa-wood spear and placed the brass helmet on her head. The maid’s eyes were shining and her hands were shaking. Natharie knew what caused Ekkadi’s excitement. To her, this could be the beginning of Natharie’s fame. Fame would bring a raft of presents from those who liked her face and the display she made. Some of those presents would of course find their way to her clever and steadfast maid. Perhaps some of the men she pleased would as well. Ekkadi had mentioned this as an offhand possibility and Natharie had to stop herself from shaking her head. In Ekkadi’s world, these things were the reward for constant service, and Natharie was in no position to judge.
A man’s voice floated down the corridor. “Come! I would see this new favorite of my brother’s!”
Natharie gripped her spear hard, her impatience flaring suddenly into anger.
I am not a mountebank or a concubine.
Master Gauda tapped her chin with one hard finger. “I know what you’re thinking, my princess,” he said sternly. “When will you remember that here you are whatever they say you are?”
What I let them think I am. But she bowed her head in acknowledgment of the drama master’s words.
Master Gauda walked around her, twitching a fold of scale-covered cloth, running his thumb along her cheek to blend her makeup more smoothly. She endured the touch and tried to calm the maddened beating of her heart. “You’ll do,” he said, and then he leaned close, whispering in her ear. “Remember what you have learned so far and remember your pride, Princess Natharie. You will conquer.”
Her eyes briefly met those of the pale eunuch and she found herself wondering how he knew what was happening inside her. His smile was small and he stepped forward, gesturing imperiously for her to follow him.
Natharie raised her spear in salute, and then she did follow. The corridor to Queen Prishi’s suite seemed to have shortened. Almost before she had chance to dr
aw breath, they were in the old queen’s private chambers. Thankfully, she remembered to kneel at once, bowing her head to the floor, waiting for her moment. Master Gauda knelt down in front and to the side of her, also making proper obeisance.
“Up!” cried the man she’d heard before. The emperor Chandra. “And out of the way, you old eunuch. Let’s see this girl!”
The shuffle of cloth told her Master Gauda had obeyed. Then he began to speak in his clear, precise voice: “And it came to be that the Golden Prince, the Sun’s own son, the great Adushta was separated from his beloved, and none of his strength of arms could return her. All the mighty birds of the air, the eagles and the vultures had joined in friendship to search the world for her, but all Adushta could do was wait, and as he waited he spoke of his love, enumerating her virtues and lamenting their separation.”
This was her cue, and Natharie lifted her head. For a single moment, she could see her audience. Queen Prishi lay on a litter heaped with pillows, with her women arrayed about her. The emperor lounged across a sea of pillows, practically in Queen Bandhura’s lap. There was Divakesh, his butcher’s arms folded in front of him. Why was he here? Yamuna the sorcerer knelt behind his emperor, watching all with bottomless black eyes. Two men, strangers to her, sat beside the imperial party. One was old with a shock of white hair and skin that hung in folds on his neck and spotted hands. The young man beside him, who was trying not to look too eager at this treat, shared the old man’s hawklike nose and wideset eyes. His son perhaps? And two more; a dandy of a man in purple silks with broad shoulders and covetous eyes. Beside him, another, older man, calm and collected in his bearing, his clothes more plain, his eyes alert, and studying her closely.
The moment was over. She must recall her part. She must speak the words of Adushta and dance his dance.
Remember your pride, Master Gauda had said. Natharie remembered well, and she began to speak.