by John Shors
“Leave her be!” Voisanne screamed. “Leave her—”
The older Cham shouted, and the younger warrior grimaced, then pushed Chaya backward, on top of Voisanne. The men laughed as Chaya began to sob, calling out to a father who wasn’t there.
Voisanne had lived through the death of her loved ones. She had endured. But as she held her weeping sister she knew that she lacked the strength to survive a second capture and imprisonment. Death would be a far better alternative, for both of them. To die together, to be reborn together, held much more promise than a life of suffering, a life without Asal.
The killing end of a broken spear glittered in the water. Voisanne stared at it, and Chaya must have seen and interpreted that stare, for she nodded.
Still trembling, Voisanne lifted her bound hands back above her sister’s shoulders and face. She reached underwater for the spear. When her hands touched the thick shaft, she dragged the weapon closer, shaking her head while she moved, denying what the moment meant, the action needed to do what must be done. She glanced at her sister and saw the beauty within her. Suddenly she couldn’t imagine slashing the steel across Chaya’s throat.
“No,” Voisanne whispered. But instead of dropping the weapon, she began to rub the spear point against her bonds. She did so underwater, wincing as she accidentally cut the side of her right wrist. A trail of blood uncurled within the clear water. Still she worked, sawing back and forth, desperate for freedom.
The rope parted. Though her hands were no longer bound, she kept them together, turning toward Chaya, pretending to console her while she dragged the arm-length broken spear underwater.
As the Chams continued to deal with the injured shoulder of their companion, Voisanne cut at Chaya’s bonds. She didn’t know what she would do if and when Chaya was freed, but it felt good to be doing something. Hope surged within her.
But then she moved too quickly, and the steel sliced into Chaya’s thumb. Her sister cried out.
One of the Chams stood up on the far bank. His brow furrowed. He stepped toward them, into the clear water.
Asal knelt closer to the ground, trying to determine where the footprints had gone. He had been following them along the hardened trail, but they seemed to have abruptly disappeared. Usually he could discover a twice-torn leaf or a snapped twig that indicated the direction that had been taken, but no such markers existed. He cursed, hitting the ground with the palm of his uninjured hand. Without question he was close to Voisanne and Chaya, but so, he believed, were their pursuers.
Now that he was forced to move with patience, his aches and weariness were more pronounced. His three battered fingers throbbed. His body was sore and unresponsive. Only his eye seemed to have improved, the swelling no longer much of a problem. Yet because of his weariness, focusing on the trail was difficult, and he wondered if he was missing an obvious sign.
His horse neighed softly, as if letting him know that it was also exhausted. Asal stood up, patted its neck, and then looked back in the direction he had come, thinking that he should backtrack.
The scream startled him.
He gazed about the jungle. Again the cry came, and he recognized Voisanne’s voice. Without thought, he leapt onto his mount, and while turning it to the right, unsheathed his sword. When his horse balked at moving into some thick underbrush, he brought the hilt of his weapon down hard on its flank, prompting it to charge ahead. Branches tore at his shoulders and thighs, but he demanded more speed.
The slope of a hill fell away from the trail, and they plunged downward. A stream shimmered below. At first Asal saw only water and boulders, but then he noticed struggling figures a few hundred paces upstream. Distracted as he was, a limb almost knocked him from his mount. He recovered, kicked his horse with all his strength and held on to its mane as they dropped like a tumbling stone.
It would have been wiser for Asal to attack with surprise, but he saw that Voisanne was fighting with a man in the water and shouted her name. The Chams nearest to him turned in his direction. They stepped back, reaching for their spears even as he sent his horse careening into them. Two enemy warriors went down beneath its hooves, but then his mount stumbled and Asal was thrown over its head. He landed in the water, somehow managing to hold on to his sword, instinctively knowing that if he dropped it he would die.
Though the breath had been hammered from his lungs by the force of the fall, he stood up. Three Chams remained uninjured, and they all had found their spears and shields. They encircled him like predators surrounding a wounded but dangerous prey. The spears were longer than Asal’s sword, and as the Chams began to thrust their weapons at him, he could only beat their attacks aside. Yet Asal had seen blood flowing from a wound on Voisanne’s hand, and the sight had filled him with rage, empowering him and his blade.
“Leave and you live,” he said in his native tongue. “Stay and you die.”
His countrymen pressed closer, stabbing and retreating, moving around him so that he was forced to defend himself from all directions. One of the men slipped on a rock, and Asal leapt toward him, his sword humming in the air, cutting through the warrior’s spear and slicing deeply into his side. The man fell, screaming. The two other Chams rushed forward as Asal pulled his blade free. One spear tip missed his neck by a handsbreadth. The other grazed the side of his hip. Asal shouted in fury, knocking down the spear shaft with his left forearm and slashing sideways with his sword. Again his blade struck home and a Cham cried out, blood spurting from a wound in his thigh.
The warrior who had barely missed skewering him in the neck had pulled back his spear and thrust it forward again. Asal twisted so that the weapon slid past him, as did the man. But suddenly Asal’s right foot became lodged between several rocks. He tried to jerk it free, yet it was held fast. The warrior regained his balance and slammed the butt of his spear into Asal’s belly. As Asal doubled over, the Cham dropped his spear and in one fluid motion pulled a hunting knife from a leather sheath and swept it toward Asal’s face. Asal leaned away from the strike and the blade missed him, but his foot was still trapped and he fell backward. Sensing victory, the Cham stepped forward, his weapon held high.
When the warrior abruptly shuddered, Asal kicked at him, unsure what had happened. The man fell, clutching at his back. He toppled into the water, a broken spear shaft protruding between his shoulder blades. Voisanne stood behind him, her feet spread wide. The wound she’d given him was painful but not fatal, and Asal kicked his foot free and hacked down with his sword, killing the warrior. The remaining Chams, all wounded, pleaded for mercy, but he cut them down without hesitation, only dropping his blade when the stream had reddened with their blood.
Voisanne stood shaking in the center of the water. Chaya was holding her sister’s elbow and sobbing. After running to them, Asal gathered them both in his arms. He held them tight, promising that they were safe, that no one would ever hurt them again. When he saw that their wounds were superficial, a profound relief flooded through him. His legs trembled. His breaths came in quick gasps. He kissed the tops of their heads, thanking the Gods for granting him speed and strength. And he thanked Thida.
Asal held them until the water finally ran clear once again. “We should go,” he whispered, then kissed Voisanne’s hand. “Come, my lady. Let us go.”
“But your fingers. What happened to your fingers? And your face?”
A bird squawked from far above, and he glanced up. “Indravarman…captured me.”
“And you escaped?”
“I was freed. Thida freed me.”
“Where is she?”
Asal told Voisanne the full story, recalling their final words and the fire he had built around her body. “She died…with a smile,” he said. “She wanted to be reunited with her loved ones, and I think she saw them coming for her.”
Weeping, Voisanne bent her head down and leaned against him. “Do you believe that she is with them?”
“Yes. Because I was there. I saw how she smiled.”
“It’s all right,” Voisanne replied, reaching out to her.
“But those men…They wanted to hurt us. They were going to hurt us and I don’t—”
“They can no longer hurt you,” Asal said. “So you needn’t worry about them.”
She shook her head. “We have to leave here. Right now. I can’t stay here. Not in this place.”
Asal picked up his sword. “We shall leave in a moment. But first, if it’s agreeable to you, I’d like a word with your sister.” Chaya’s eyes squeezed shut and she seemed to gather herself. She nodded. Asal thanked her and led Voisanne to the muddied shore.
“What?” Voisanne whispered, wiping tears from her eyes.
At first he didn’t speak but simply smiled at her. Though his fingers still ached and his hip bled from where the spear point had grazed him, he was filled with joy. “When Indravarman had me,” he said, his voice softer than the gurgle of the stream, “all I thought of was you. In the end, when the pain was the worst, I saw you, I heard you, and I felt you.”
“I’m so sorry. I wanted to go back for you. I almost—”
“Shh,” he said, touching his good forefinger against her lips. “There’s no need for that, my lady. No need at all. I asked you to go ahead. You did what we all knew must be done. And a part of you was with me. A part of you lingered.”
“I won’t leave you again. Not in this life or the next.”
His smile returned. “I never thought I’d love a woman…as I love you.”
“Why not?”
“Because I didn’t think life could be so beautiful.”
She kissed him, and would have kissed him again, but he collected himself enough to break slightly away from her, to whisper that Indravarman must have sent men after him and that they should flee. She asked about Thida again, nodding at his words, praying while he spoke. When she continued to pray, he turned from her, walked back into the water, and carried Chaya to the horse. He lifted her upon it, then helped Voisanne climb up behind her.
Using a short lead rope, Asal guided the horse to the north, following the stream. A snake glided across its glistening waters. He looked upward, glimpsed the sky, and thought of Thida, hoping that whatever world she now inhabited was as beautiful as this one. Bowing, he thanked her again.
Behind him the siblings began to talk, and he smiled when he heard vigor flow back into Chaya’s voice. Knowing that they might be pursued, he was tempted to ask them to whisper but, for the moment, he remained silent.
Near the southern end of the Khmer encampment, Jayavar led Ajadevi along the river’s edge, greeting his people when they bowed or knelt as he passed, raising their spirits with words of encouragement. Now that battle was imminent, and because there was a strong chance of a Cham spy or assassin hidden within their midst, two trusted bodyguards walked about five paces behind the king and queen. These men carried swords and unusually large shields. The bodyguards were present at Ajadevi’s insistence. Jayavar felt that they made him look vulnerable to his people and that it would be difficult for them to draw inspiration from someone who appeared fearful. But Ajadevi had managed to convince him that the threat of assassination was too great to ignore. Without Jayavar, the Khmer cause would be lost.
The floor of the valley slanted to the south and the river rushed forward, cascading over boulders. Mist glistened in the air, giving sustenance to moss that grew along the shoreline, most notably on tree trunks and fallen branches. A space had been cleared near the water where crates of provisions had been stacked. Older Khmer men inspected wares, took notes, and tried to salvage a damaged cart. Farther away from the river, several war elephants were tied to trees.
The trail, which Hindu priests had created generations before, began to narrow. Jayavar pressed ahead. He stepped around chest-high ferns, his left hand leading Ajadevi forward, his right on his sword hilt. A smooth boulder bisected the trail and he paused, motioning for his bodyguards to remain still. They nodded, spread apart, and studied their surroundings.
Jayavar guided Ajadevi to the other side of the boulder. They took a few more paces, then moved toward the river, stepping from the trail onto a patch of sand that dropped into the water. Minnows darted about mossy rocks. A blue-winged butterfly fluttered above its reflection. In the distance, the beat of the swordsmith’s hammer rang out against an unseen anvil. Jayavar thought of Bona, and decided to seek him out later in the day, to resume teaching him how to use a bow and arrow. Through his smiles and eagerness, the boy brought a welcome sense of peace into Jayavar, a feeling that the world still held promise.
“There’s something I wish to tell you,” Jayavar said, turning toward Ajadevi.
She looked up at him, a ray of sunlight dropping from her forehead to her chin. “Then share your preoccupation, Jayavar. I’ve sensed it easily enough.”
He smiled. “I would like to thank you.”
“For what?”
“I saw you yesterday with Nuon. You were bathing together, and her entire world was you. I don’t know what you were telling her, but whatever it was, she was consumed by your words.”
Ajadevi shifted away from the ray of light, which had fallen into her eyes. “I wanted her to understand that her role will not be to merely stand and look lovely by your side. If she has a son, she must protect him. Just as she must protect you. She doesn’t think that she’s old or wise enough for such responsibilities, but I told her that age is irrelevant. What has yet to be learned in this life has already been learned in others.”
Water bugs darted atop the nearby water, fleeing the attack of a finger-size fish. “I know that at times it must be difficult for you to counsel her,” he said. “And to see me with her. I would not be strong enough to share you with another man.”
She looked away.
“And that, Ajadevi, is what I wish to thank you for today,” he continued. “To acknowledge your selflessness, your strength. You give more to Nuon than you do to yourself, and I shall always be grateful.”
“I merely…fulfill my duty.”
He squeezed her hand. “Come, my love. Follow me. There is something I wish to show you. A gift from me to you.”
Once again they followed the narrow trail, stepping over roots, avoiding the glistening strands of broken spiderwebs. A bamboo thicket rose directly before them. The stalks, as thick as an arm and twenty feet tall, rubbed against one another, creating a series of groans and creaks. Jayavar paused at one of the stalks, holding it. He turned to Ajadevi. “You were right to bring us to this valley,” he said. “This place has been good for our people. It has been good for me. It’s brought healing to us all.”
She nodded. “We needed to heal.”
“Like you, I’ve been a Buddhist for many years. But I still cherish the Hindu Gods. This place, with its carvings of Vishnu and Shiva, fills me with peace. And before war, I need peace. I need to know what life will be like after all of the misery.”
A monkey screeched.
“Why did you bring me here?” Ajadevi asked. “You could have told me these things anywhere.”
“Because I’ve seen how many of our people pray near this water. How they touch the carvings and bow their heads. They draw great strength from this setting.”
“They do.”
“But a few of our people, like us, are Buddhist, and we also need a place to pray and draw strength.”
She smiled, reaching for his hand. “Show me.”
He led her around the bamboo thicket. It was larger than most and appeared very old. Moving with patience and care, he sensed her eagerness, which filled him with joy. Everything she did, it seemed, she did with him in mind. She was the most selfless person he knew, and it felt good to be doing something for her.
At the far end of the thicket, the river broadened and swung to the west, creating a deep pool of slow-moving water. Facing the water at t
he edge of this pool was a slightly larger-than-life-size statue of Buddha, who sat with crossed legs and rested his upturned palms on his lap. An orange sash covered the left shoulder of the Buddha and was wrapped around his midsection. Scattered about the Buddha, candles burned within golden bowls. Sticks of incense that had been stuck in the damp ground smoldered and filled the air with the scent of sandalwood.
Without a word, Ajadevi stepped forward, entranced. She studied the Buddha’s face, which was dominated by a wide and gentle smile. The statue had been carved from the same dark stone that lined the river and had been used to immortalize the Hindu creations.
Ajadevi placed her hands together and bowed. She closed her eyes, praying as the bamboo swayed behind her. Jayavar watched her with pride and contentment, believing that he had helped to create a deeply spiritual place, one that would be used by his people for centuries to come.
He added his prayers to hers, asking for victory in the coming battle. The victory he sought was not for greed or power, but for liberty. His people needed to be free to live and pray and die as they saw fit. As their king, he knew liberty was the greatest gift that he could offer, and yet as of this day, he’d failed to give it. His people had been conquered and subjugated, and this failing would define his very existence until the Chams were driven from his land.
“How did you manage this?” she asked, finally opening her eyes.
“Our first day here, I walked this river’s banks. I saw the Hindu carvings and was moved by them. I saw people praying to them. And I asked a stonesmith if a statue of Buddha could be created. Five masters were soon working on it. They labored day and night so that it could be finished in time. I asked that this place be built for those of our people who are Buddhists…and for you. Because it’s you who gave me the gift of first sight.”
“What do you mean?”