Throne of Ruins (The Powers of Amur Book 5)

by J. S. Bangs

  Nakhur rose from where he sat and came around to stand behind Daladham, looking down and rereading the lines silently. He pulled at the hairs on his beard.

  “We know what the spirit has said,” Sadja said softly. “What we don’t know is whether it is a prediction, an instruction, or a warning. But it cannot be a coincidence that all of us are here.”

  He put his hand on his chest. “Years ago I became a devotee of Kushma, the destroyer and the renewer. I set out to destroy the Kupshira lineage which sat on the Seven-Stepped Throne to renew it with myself. And I am afflicted by the spirit which warns us of disasters to come.”

  He pointed to Amabhu and Caupana. “In Majasravi I found the last surviving thikratta of Ternas, with a member of the Amya dhorsha who was among the first to see the Mouth of the Devourer.”

  He pointed to Aryaji. “And now I meet a young Uluriya girl who has the same affliction. She brings with her a saghada and the sister of the Heir of Manjur. The Powers have brought us together. We must discern what they would have us do.”

  “I am not here to carry out the will of the faithless Powers,” Mandhi said. She had her arms folded beneath her breasts, and she looked at Sadja with distrust. “But I will do the will of Ulaur. Nakhur?”

  Daladham glanced up at the saghada standing over his shoulder. He stared down at the slate and seemed lost in thought, as if he hadn’t listened to anything that Sadja and Mandhi had said. Upon hearing his name he looked up, blinked a few times, then bent forward and put a finger on the slate.

  He touched one of the words from the unreadable book. “What is this?” he asked.

  “Nakhur,” Mandhi repeated, but Nakhur waved his hand for her to be quiet.

  “It’s from a book,” Daladham said anxiously. They had not mentioned the secret book yet.

  “And where did you get it?”

  Daladham hesitated. Caupana spoke up and spared him from deciding whether he should. “It came from Ternas,” the tall thikratta said.

  “Ternas!” Nakhur said in alarm. “Do you know what it says?”

  “No,” admitted Daladham reluctantly. “The script is unknown to us.”

  “And where is this book? May I see it?”

  Daladham put his hand over the word. “The book is not mine to give. The thikratta brought it out of Ternas, but none of them can read it either.”

  Nakhur laughed quietly. “I can read it. This is the secret saghada script.”

  There was a moment of silence. Amabhu swore. Daladham looked up at Nakhur, his tongue dry in his mouth.

  Sadja coughed atop his pallet. “Do you mean to say that there wasn’t a single person in Majasravi who could read the saghada script? We brought in every scholar we knew.”

  “We didn’t call for the Uluriya,” Daladham said sheepishly. “I didn’t even know there was such a thing as a saghada script until now.”

  “We don’t proclaim it openly,” Nakhur said stiffly. “Only the Laws of Ghuptashya are written in that script, and only the saghada are allowed to copy the Laws. That’s why I want to know how a copy of the Laws wound up in Ternas.”

  “Our book is not a copy of the Laws of Ghuptashya,” Amabhu said.

  Sadja pointed at Amabhu. “Go bring the book. We should have consulted the Uluriya at once, but we’ll remedy the oversight now.” Sadja leaned forward and offered his hand to Aryaji. “My sister, are you well enough to stand?”

  “Yes, my brother the Emperor,” Aryaji said with a sheepish smile. She took Sadja’s hand and stood.

  “We’ll go to the garden,” Sadja said. “I’ve had enough of this infirmary. Caupana, go tell Amabhu where to find us.” He strode out holding Aryaji’s hand, and everyone else scurried after them.

  Nakhur fell into step beside Daladham, with the Uluriya woman on his other side. He peered down at the slate as he walked.

  “You were trying to decipher it?” Nakhur asked, pointing at the scraps of Daladham’s notes around the edges of the slate.

  “Yes,” Daladham said. “I hadn’t gotten very far.”

  They passed through one of the arched doorways of the palace and came out onto the stairs that descended to the garden. The white spring sun warmed Daladham’s head and made the chalk scrapings on the slate gleam. Daladham breathed deeply of the cool breeze rustling through the parched flowers of the garden. Nakhur seemed deep in thought.

  “I would never have believed that a different book used our script,” Nakhur said softly in a tone of muted wonder. “And especially that it would be in Ternas.”

  “The Uluriya might have more to do with Ternas than you think,” Mandhi said.

  They reached the garden path at the bottom of the stairs and followed Sadja and Aryaji to a shaded grove. In a corner of the grove was a niche with a statue of Ashti and—Daladham noted carefully—an image of blood-spattered Kushma trampling down the serpent painted behind it. Sadja helped Aryaji sit down on a bench, then gestured for Daladham and the others to take their places on the other benches between the trees. Daladham stood. He wanted to stretch his legs and clear his head before the two thikratta returned.

  Sadja paced softly from one end of the grove to the other. He looked at the Uluriya woman, Mandhi. “Do you suppose that Gocam had read the secret book?”

  “Probably,” Mandhi said. “But he never mentioned its existence to me. Maybe my father knew.”

  Daladham raised an eyebrow. “Who is Gocam, my Emperor?”

  “The Elder Gocam of Ternas,” Sadja said. “I trained briefly with an eye to becoming a court eunuch and a thikratta, until my father and brother died.”

  Daladham shook his head. He had never imagined that the King of Davrakhanda and Emperor of Amur would be so entangled with thikratta and Uluriya.

  A few moments later Amabhu and Caupana came down the path, bearing the wooden case that held the palm-leaf book inside it.

  “Here it is,” Amabhu said. He set the case down on a bench and opened the top carefully. Nakhur rose and approached.

  “Be careful with it.”

  “Of course,” the saghada said. “I wouldn’t imagine otherwise.”

  He opened the first page, glanced it over, and then turned to the second. He gently pulled open the threaded leaves to a few places in the center to check.

  “Yes, it’s all in our script,” he said, “but it’s no part of the Law of Ghuptashya. Something entirely new.”

  “Can you read it?” Sadja asked.

  Nakhur turned back to the first page. He took a deep breath and began to speak in a lilting, gentle chant, “The book of the Powers of Amur, with their secret names and the—”

  Twin screams split the air.

  Sadja and Aryaji both buckled over, putting their hands on their ears, their screams echoing through the garden. As soon as Nakhur stopped reading, their streaming ceased, but Aryaji began to babble.

  “No, no. Not here. This is the not the place. We are not the ones. Do not listen! Do not hear!”

  Mandhi bent and put a hand on Aryaji’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  The girl was shaking. She clasped Mandhi’s hand and looked at her with a desperate expression.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” Aryaji said. “Just don’t… don’t read the book to us. Don’t read it here. Not here. Not now.”

  Sadja shook himself and sat up. He spoke in a trembling, heavy voice. “Virnas. Bring it to Virnas.”

  Daladham cleared his throat. “My Emperor, forgive me for asking, but do you speak for yourself, or does the spirit speak through you?”

  “Both.” Sadja shouted. He breathed heavily, his hands shaking. “The word of the spirit is that the book must go to Virnas. But I am in my own mind, for now. Take it away from me!” He lowered himself slowly to the stone bench and lowered his head into his hands. “Take it to safety.”

  “Our other sister is there,” Aryaji said suddenly. “All three of us must be joined before the end can come.”

  “Yes…” Sadja said distantly.

  Nakhu
r set the leaves down with a quiet rustle and nestled the cover back on the book. “What am I supposed to do, now?”

  “Go to Virnas,” Sadja said bluntly.

  “Do I need to go?” Nakhur asked. “I just returned from Kalignas, I would rather stay—”

  “And I want the Kaleksha to come to Virnas,” Mandhi said quickly. “If we sail out with the book we may resolve all of our problems at once—”

  Sadja raised a finger. “No. The book goes first. Immediately. I can have a boat readied to sail tomorrow.”

  Mandhi balked. “But the os Dramab won’t be ready in that time—”

  “Then sail without them,” the Emperor snapped. He took a heavy breath, paused, and continued in a regular tone. “I have work for you and your men here in Davrakhanda.”

  Mandhi balked. “I remember. You want them to make your guard more impressive.”

  “At any moment the Mouth of the Devourer may strike out from Majasravi,” Sadja said. “So the power of my guard is of great importance to all of us. The book leaves tomorrow, but the os Dramab stay until I release them.”

  “And when will you release them?” Mandhi demanded.

  “When the Mouth of the Devourer is put down, or when I leave Davrakhanda,” Sadja said.

  “So you’re confining us to Davrakhanda? You said you would not make us prisoners.”

  “Not prisoners,” Sadja said. “Conscripts. We are at war with the Mouth of the Devourer, and every man in Amur is mine to conscript if I need it.”

  “And for how long?” Mandhi squeezed Aryaji’s shoulder angrily.

  “Until the Mouth of the Devourer is defeated, or I no longer need them.”

  “That could be a very long time,” Mandhi said. “Perhaps I could go with the book to Virnas. Me and Kest, if you’ll release him.”

  “No, Mandhi,” Nakhur said. “You need to stay with the os Dramab. You’re their only advocate in Davrakhanda. I’ll go to Virnas.”

  Nakhur and Mandhi regarded each other for a moment, reluctance showing on both their faces.

  “It would make sense,” Daladham offered, “for Nakhur to go. He already reads the book, and at least one of the Uluriya should accompany us. And it seems fitting that the three threads of the Powers should travel together: dhorsha, thikratta, and saghada.”

  Nakhur’s expression suggested that he wasn’t delighted to be grouped together with the thikratta and the dhorsha, but he didn’t object.

  “Now,” Sadja said, “I will make an offer to my sister, if her uncle and lady allow it. I’ll take her into the palace—as a guest, not a hostage—so that if the amashi comes to her again, she may be cared for and her words recorded.”

  “Aryaji—” Mandhi said, her voice rising in warning.

  “I’ll come,” the girl said quickly. She gave Mandhi a sharp look. “He won’t harm me.”

  “Then I’m coming too,” Mandhi said quickly. “With Kest, whom you’ll release, and Hrenge and Jhumitu.”

  Sadja smiled. “Such a rapid change of mind, Mandhi—”

  “I’m not about to leave my maid alone in your palace, Sadja-daridarya,” Mandhi said icily.

  “You have nothing to fear from me,” Sadja said, his voice as smooth as milk.

  Mandhi gave the Emperor a long, hard stare. “We’ll see,” she said softly.

  Daladham did not understand the woman’s animosity, but the thought fled his mind as he remembered that he was supposed to sail out tomorrow. “We should prepare,” he said, rising to his feat. “Tomorrow—with the saghada and the thikratta—and the book!”

  Finally, a chance to read the book.

  But the saghada groaned and rose reluctantly. “I suppose I must,” he said. “Hopefully I won’t be there long.”

  “And we’ll prepare to come to the palace,” Mandhi said, taking Aryaji’s hand. “After you’ve released my husband.”

  “Immediately,” Sadja said.

  Daladham followed the three of them out of the garden and back to the courtyard. He fell into step beside Nakhur. “I do hope we can talk on the journey to Virnas,” he said.

  The saghada gave him a cold stare. “Why?”

  “Because I know nothing about the Uluriya, and I would learn—”

  Nakhur turned quickly and gave Daladham a stare. “I’m going to Virnas so that we can understand the words of the amashi. The Uluriya do not share their secrets just to those who are curious.”

  He turned swiftly away and didn’t look back at Daladham.

  VAPATHI

  Vapathi leaned against the railway of the balcony and rested her head in her hands. The swiftly-spreading ruin of Majasravi crumbled before her, buildings abandoned, temples looted, estates burned. She closed her eyes. She’d had enough of ruin and rot.

  Freedom. She and Kirshta were free. This was everything they had worked for.

  Right?

  The sun was setting on the far side of the tower, and the shadow of the Emperor’s Tower stretched across the corpse of Majasravi toward the eastern horizon. She heard voices from the Empress’s chamber on the floor below, creeping out of the curtains over her balcony. Vapathi’s lips curled in disgust. Basadi.

  Perhaps she had invited one of the other Devoured or one of the Red Men into the Emperor’s Tower….

  No, it was Apurta. She recognized the cadence of his voice.

  Her heart hesitated. She hadn’t spoken to Apurta much since they had gone to the cellars. When they crossed paths, he avoided her eyes. She stayed away from the Dhigvaditya where she was likely to see him.

  She listened on the balcony, but couldn’t make out anything discernible. She should stay on the balcony—it was probably nothing, and the weariness in her bones inhibited her desire to walk.

  But…

  She roused herself. Her bare feet made no sound on the rugs as she crossed the room and descended the stairs. She crouched next to the stitched purple and emerald curtain which covered the doorway of the Empress’s chamber.

  “… plenty warm,” Basadi said from inside.

  “Not worried,” Apurta said. His vowels were slurry with drunkenness, and he panted.

  “Afraid?” There was an edge of mockery in her voice.

  “Basadi,” Apurta argued.

  Basadi hissed. “Don’t say that,” she snarled, the softness of her voice momentarily warped in anger.

  For a moment everything inside was quiet. Vapathi held her breath. Indistinct movements within the room. Soft muttering that she couldn’t understand.

  “Let her worry,” Basadi said softly. “She doesn’t matter.”

  The sound of lips against skin. Apurta gasped softly, and Basadi let out a tinkling, sinister laugh. There was a louder rustle. The breathing within grew heavy and regular.

  Vapathi rose to her feet. Her blood stormed in her veins. She started to run to the stairs—no, no running, mustn’t let them know that she had heard. She put her foot on the first stair silently. Her hands shook, her fingers twitched. She couldn’t hear anything over the roar of anger in her ears.

  The curtains of the Emperor’s chamber parted. Her breath came ragged, a chaotic gale of feeling burning inside her. She wanted to sob—but she was angry—what was this? She found her bed, knelt, and buried her face in one of the cushions.

  She did not weep. Her fists pulling at the silk over the cushion in futile anguish. She pounded the marble floor.

  Until this moment she had never understood the word jealousy. It was a meaningless expression to describe the petulance of husbands and wives when their spouses sought their own pleasure. But she had never had anyone to call her own.

  Perhaps this was what the wives of the khadir felt when their husbands took her as a concubine. She remembered the cold contempt of Ruyadi in Tulakhanda, wife of the majakhadir Udagra who had most recently taken her to bed. Vapathi had regarded Ruyadi’s anger as a senseless thing, a futile rage against the way of the world. Now she felt sympathy for the woman.

  Jealousy.

  A
moment later jealousy had its first offspring: hatred. Another word whose depths she had never appreciated until now.

  She hated Basadi. She hated Basadi.

  Basadi might not die, but Vapathi would find a way to make her suffer.

  * * *

  Vapathi found Basadi at sundown in the orange garden with a gang of four other Devoured around her, two men and two women. They were casually stripping the dried leaves from the branches and heaping them around the base of the tree. One of the women held a lamp with a flame flickering inside it.

  “You like wrecking things, don’t you, Empress,” Vapathi said.

  Basadi turned toward Vapathi. She gave Vapathi a smirk of overtly faked pleasure. “Not much hope for these trees after so many months without rain, Queen of Slaves. Might as well see how well they work as torches.”

  “And after you’ve burned every tree in the garden?”

  Basadi looked across the gray and brown shapes casting gnarled shadows on the steps leading up to the Green Hall. She gave them a contemptuous wave. “There’s plenty left. A few of them even have green on them.”

  “This one might have lived, if you weren’t killing it.”

  “I know. My father would have hated this.” She smiled and tilted her head toward Vapathi. “So would my husband, for that matter. But Vapathi, dear, I don’t think you came here to talk about gardening.”

  Vapathi smiled sweetly. “I want you out of the Emperor’s Tower.”

  A leaf crumbled in her hand. She turned away from her comrades, who kept methodically destroying the tree, and she took a step across the grass toward Vapathi.

  “Who gives you the right to kick me out of the Emperor’s Tower?”

  “My brother,” Vapathi said. She rested her fists on her hips.

  “The Mouth of the Devourer wants me in his tower. I am Empress of the Devoured. You have a name; you wouldn’t understand.”

  “If you want to stay,” Vapathi said, “then you can amuse yourself with the Devoured. Not with those who still have names.”

  “Ah, so that’s what this is about. I thought you might have heard us.” She blew a kiss at Vapathi, turned quickly on her heel, and returned to the tree. She broke off a dried branch and began stripping it of leaves. “Your consort isn’t your slave, Queen.”