by J. S. Bangs
“Lord and Lady,” Bhargasa said softly. He made the sign to ward off evil.
“Now let the Lady of the waters swim, if she wants to,” one of the Devoured shouted, his voice rising above the hubbub. “And what is that?”
He man pointed across the docks, and Mandhi saw it the same moment that they did. Four men crept out of the shadows, crossing the wharf, unable to hide behind the shattered jars on the pier. Even in the moonlight, Mandhi could tell who they were.
Sudran. Glanod. Sadja. Kest.
The Devoured began to run for them.
“Go,” Mandhi said. Then she shouted. “Go!”
She doubted that the men on the docks heard her, but they ran.
At first they started for the dock where the dinghy was, but after a few paces Glanod shouted something and waved them aside. The Devoured were already swarming past that dock, and they would never make it safely. They charged instead onto the northernmost dock, running at a sprint toward the safety of the water.
“Go get them!” Mandhi shouted, and the men in the dinghy pushed away from the posts and into the open, moon-lit water. Their oars battered the low waves.
The Devoured crossed the wharf faster than the dinghy could cross the water. The four fleeing men reached the end of their dock. The Devoured reached the entrance. The dinghy had not reached them.
A moment’s hesitation, and they leaped into the sea.
Two of the heads immediately appeared above the waves, swimming with strong, sure strokes. Kest and Glanod, Mandhi recognized them at once. Kest dove, and a moment later he appeared dragging Sadja to the surface after him. Sadja paddled at the water with feeble, ineffective strokes, but with Kest’s arm under his shoulder they both stayed afloat. A moment later Glanod appeared holding Sudran up as well.
The Devoured on the dock hesitated when they reached the end. Their victims were only three yards away, but the Devoured didn’t want to enter the water. Mandhi didn’t know if the Devoured could drown. Evidently neither did they.
Kest swam for the dinghy. His head disappeared beneath the water for a moment, then he reemerged, spitting seawater. A moment later his hand found the edge of the dinghy. With one hand he shoved the sputtering Sadja into the boat, then he turned back and helped Glanod push Sudran in. Finally the two Kaleksha climbed into the boat as well, collapsing atop the Emperor and the saghada in a soggy mess of flesh and fabric.
“Raise the sail,” Bhargasa shouted. The Kaleksha sailors aboard began scurrying about the tackle and fabric to catch the stiff land breeze. The dinghy bumped against the side of the dhow, and a moment later all four of the water-logged rescuees tumbled over the rail and onto the deck. The two rowers joined them a heartbeat later.
Mandhi rushed to Kest’s side. He was soaking wet, his red hair splayed across the deck like strands of rope. But he took Mandhi’s hand and smiled.
Sadja sat up. He looked over at Kest. “I suppose that’s the second time today you’ve saved my life.”
“I suppose,” Kest said. He lay on the deck, his chest heaving.
Sadja stood, perfectly composed, as if oblivious to the fact that he was dripping seawater onto the deck and had just been saved from the sea by a Kaleksha sailor. He turned to Bhargasa.
“I see you organized the evacuation,” he said.
“Yes, my Emperor,” Bhargasa said with a bow. He did not hide the ebullient smile on his face.
“Well done,” Sadja said. “Where are we going?”
“Adashu. We rendezvous with the others tomorrow.”
Mandhi stroked Kest’s shoulder. He sat up and slung an arm around Mandhi’s waist, wetting her sari. She didn’t care.
“Very well, Adashu,” Sadja said. He looked at the burning of Davrakhanda with a grim, serious smile. “And from Adashu, we go to the mouths of the Amsadhu. The kings of the south will meet with me in Jaitha.”
“And what will we do in Jaitha, my Emperor?” Bhargasa asked.
“We fight,” Sadja said. “This is the last time that I run from the Mouth of the Devourer.”
DALADHAM
The guesthouse sat just outside the Uluriya district, in the shade of a temple of Chaludra. Chaludra’s sun emblem on the pinnacle of the temple cast a shadow over the Uluriya homes on the other side, a bit of geographic spite from the Chaludriya dhorsha to the Uluriya.
“A ghita for the tea, my master,” said the house-master as he placed a pot and two cups before Daladham. Daladham dropped the clay coin on the table and murmured at the man.
He was worried that his guest wouldn’t come. He was already late.
But a moment later he spotted the white saghada gown approaching through the crowded street, and Bhudman dropped onto the cushion on the floor across from Daladham.
“Tea?” Daladham asked. “I don’t think you can drink it, but I have to offer.”
Bhudman smiled. “I must decline, but I appreciate your thought.”
“I would have chosen a place within the Uluriya district,” Daladham said, “but I don’t know that they would serve me.” He pointed quickly to his bhildu and his beard.
Bhudman shrugged. “I think they would. You don’t defile their tea by drinking it, so long as you pay.”
Daladham chuckled. “But I also want to talk about something less… convenient. Something not to be discussed at Veshta’s house or within earshot of the Uluriya.”
Bhudman rested his hands over his knees in the Palm posture. His dark, gray-striped beard rested against his stomach, and his lips turned into a smile. “I wondered.”
Daladham took a sip of tea. “You know what this is about.”
Bhudman dipped his head noncommittally. “Go on.”
“We’ve read almost the entire thikratta book, save the last section. So far, it has nothing about She Who Devours aside from the blotted-out name on the first page.”
Bhudman pursed his lips and pressed his fingertips together. “Have you looked at the last pages of the book?”
“I have…” he began.
“Did you read any of them?” Bhudman asked.
“You know I can’t read the book. Nakhur has not been willing to elucidate your script to me.”
“Does it comfort you to know that I can’t read much of it, either?”
Daladham stopped with his tea cup raised halfway to his lips. “What?”
A look of chagrin and embarrassment crossed Bhudman’s face. “I had hoped, if you had looked at it, that perhaps it was intelligible to you. The last pages are in the same script, but the words are different. Bent. I understand a snippet here and there, but the bulk of it escapes me.”
“Oh, dear,” Daladham said. “I had no idea.”
“I shall have to undertake your education myself,” Bhudman said. “I want your help with it, and for that you must know our script. I believe that the last pages are understandable, but it will take more minds than just my own to decipher them.”
“Agreed,” Daladham said, his mood suddenly lifted. He hadn’t expected an invitation of this type, and the immediate cause for their meeting was nearly forgotten as his mind began to anticipate the work. But a moment later he remembered that he had come for a different, more difficult purpose. “I said a moment ago that so far we have not found anything about She Who Devours.”
Bhudman nodded.
“But what the book does have,” Daladham went on, “is something that might upset the dhorsha and the Uluriya both.”
“I noticed,” Bhudman said. “Much as I noticed that Nakhur was not invited to this meeting.”
“Nakhur,” Daladham said bitterly, “has spent most of our time arguing for the falsity of the book. He thinks it’s a forgery or a work of deliberate blasphemy.”
Bhudman murmured.
“You do not think that.”
Bhudman murmured again.
“And neither does Amabhu,” Daladham finished. “I think that you appreciate, as I do, that this book is old, older than the Law of Ghuptashya, older than most of the books of the dh
orsha.”
“I do not concede that, because the Law of Ghuptashya is not all of one age,” Bhudman said, folding his hands and leaning back. “By Ghuptashya’s own pen, we know that the songs and ritual forms which he prescribed were not invented by him, but passed down based on custom which was already ancient when he recorded it.”
“Yes, yes,” Daladham said, waving his hand rapidly. “That’s not what I meant.”
Bhudman smiled again. “Have you spoken to Yavada-kha about this?”
Daladham hesitated. He took a sip of tea, then set the cup down. Too bitter. He added a pinch of cane sugar to it. “I don’t understand what Yavada-kha has to do with this.”
“Is Yavada-kha currently here in Virnas, or has he returned to his holding in Ahunas?”
“He’s at the house,” Daladham said irritably.
“And he’s interested in the book.”
“He’s asked me about it.” Daladham sipped the tea again. Much better.
Bhudman nodded. “I predicted Yavada-kha’s interest. Have you told him anything that we’ve found?”
“Vaguely,” Daladham said. “I’m sorry, why is this important?”
“We’ve both read the book, Daladham,” Bhudman said. “And you see that Nakhur fights it, but I do not. So say what you want to say.”
Daladham set the tea down. The clay cup scraped against the wood surface of the table. He leaned forward, letting the steam from the teapot rise past his hands, and he spoke in a whisper.
“The book lists Ulaur as one of the Powers of Amur. Not separate from them. One of them.”
“The chief of them,” Bhudman said pointedly.
Daladham hesitated. His hand went to the rim of the teacup.
“Don’t hold back now,” Bhudman said. He, too, leaned forward and brought his face close to Daladham’s. “You served the Lord Am—”
“The power of Am is broken.”
“Precisely.” Bhudman said. “Because Am was never the rightful lord of the Powers.”
Daladham bowed his head. “I’m not sure that I have understood the book properly.”
“And so you called me here,” Bhudman said. He smiled a little, and his hand touched Daladham’s. “If you hadn’t called for me, I would have looked for you soon.”
“Why? You don’t really….”
Bhudman drew slowly away from Daladham. His eyes went to the window, looking across the street at the white pillar which marked the boundary of the Uluriya district. “You know, we Uluriya refer to the Powers which the dhorsha worship as the faithless Powers. Not, I’ve noted, as demons or evil spirits. We curse the faithless Powers, and we curse those who offer their dhaur to them. But what was faithless can become faithful again.”
Daladham let out his breath slowly. “You surprise me, Bhudman. Chief of the saghada in Virnas, advisor to the Heir of Manjur. I expected you to be more reluctant to share my conclusions.”
Another long silence elapsed. Daladham sipped his tea. The chatter of the guesthouse washed over them.
“I have something for you,” Bhudman said at last. “There is a section just before the last which is written in the ordinary language, which Nakhur has not yet read for us. I do not know if Nakhur has read it himself. I copied it out in the common script for you.”
“Really?” Daladham asked. Bhudman withdrew a tiny palm-leaf scroll from a pocket hidden in his saghada’s gown and laid it on the table between them. Daladham leaned forward to take the scroll.
“Read it quietly,” Bhudman said.
He read:
In the tenth year of the reign of the king Sudran in Virnas, in the ninth month of the year, in the eighteenth day of the month, a proclamation was made by Sudran-dar to all of the dhorsha of the kingdom. And Sudran said:
“Holy is Ulaur, who maketh the amashi his servants, who slayeth the feeble and giveth birth to the young. Thou who hast given lordship of the city to Manjur and his descendants, who hast blessed us with the iron of heaven, fill me now: for we shall offer our dhaur to no other, me and my descendants forever, nor shall we burn incense to the Powers who are his servants. For Ulaur hath set us up as kings, and to Ulaur alone shall we bow our heads.”
And the Chaludriya dhorsha, and the dhorsha of Cakthi and Thikram and the other Powers who had temples in that city said to Sudran, “But we shall offer our dhaur to the Powers, for it is not fitting that we neglect the Powers who have called us and chosen us as their servants.”
And Sudran said, “So it is right for you to do, but I shall not join your rites.”
And the dhorsha of the temples, all of them save the Uluriya dhorsha, took council together and said, “The Uluriya dhorsha have conspired to corrupt the mind of the king, to make him despise our temples. Therefore let us cast them out of our rites; for if the king shall honor Ulaur alone, then let the Uluriya dhorsha serve him and be foreign to us.”
And so they did, and the Uluriya dhorsha ceased to join their brethren in the rites of the Powers, and the rest of the dhorsha no longer came to the temples of Ulaur.
And these are the names by which Sudran offered his worship to Ulaur: The trampler of the serpent, the unspeakable word, the fire of ages, the light which hath no beginning. And these were the names with which the Uluriya dhorsha offered worship to Ulaur in their sacrifices:
Daladham turned the leaf over. There was nothing more.
“Is it cut off here?”
“After a fashion,” Bhudman said. He cleared his throat. “Immediately after this part the language of the text changes. Beyond that line, I cannot understand what it says.”
Daladham let out a long, slow breath. “Nonetheless, it’s remarkable.”
“It is consistent. The rest of the book, as you already noted, speaks of the Uluriya as one lineage among the dhorsha. This story describes how we became estranged.”
Daladham gave Bhudman a long, hard stare. “Do you believe it?”
“I’m not sure.” Bhudman drummed his fingers on the top of the table again. “Sudran is a name which occurs in our genealogies. He was a king in Virnas.”
“If Nakhur reads this—”
“The story is meaningless if the work is a forgery, as Nakhur has insisted.”
Daladham fell silent. He looked over the tiny palm-leaf in his hand, then up to Bhudman, then back to the leaf. Bhudman’s expression was impassive and unreadable. Daladham’s mind raced with possible implications.
“What do you know about Yavada-kha?” Bhudman asked suddenly.
The change of subject startled Daladham. “Why do you ask?”
“He is a convert of convenience,” Bhudman said bluntly. “As far as I know, he hasn’t transgressed the Law in any way. But he has not relinquished all attachments to the Powers of his fathers.”
“Ah.” Daladham sipped his tea slowly. Bhudman said nothing else. A very long silence followed, as they both considered the consequences of what they had suggested. Daladham reached the bottom of his tea cup and set it onto the wooden table with a click. He leaned forward and whispered so only Bhudman could hear. “If we imagine a rapprochement between the dhorsha and the saghada, what would the terms be?”
“I can offer no terms in my own name,” Bhudman said.
“But hypothetically, what might the saghada agree to?”
Bhudman tapped the table with his fingernail. “The saghada might cease to curse the other Powers. Like the amashi, they could be numbered among the servants of Ulaur. But what would the dhorsha offer?”
Daladham ran his finger around the rim of his cup. “We might recognize Ulaur as the Lord of the Powers of Amur. Give him the same honors that Lord Am previously received. If the saghada will accept it.”
“Some won’t.” Bhudman shook his head. “But Navran-dar might. And the dhorsha?”
“The problem, dear Bhudman, is that I am a lone priest of the Amya dhorsha, of no particular importance. And even if I had some power in the Amya, my lineage has little presence in this city. The Chaludriya dhorsha a
re the one with the prestige in Virnas.” He gestured to the temple of Chaludra which cast its shadow over them.
“Then we shall have to convince them,” Bhudman said. “But first we shall have to convince Navran-dar. With the Heir and the King on our side, we might prevail. And Yavada-kha may be an ally.”
Daladham rumbled. He scratched at the porcelain rim of the cup. “You propose we turn the Heir of Manjur to our heresy.”
A small smile appeared on Bhudman’s face. “A red star burns in the sky, the Mouth of the Devourer overruns the empire, and a lost book comes to us out of the ruins of Ternas. Perhaps the time is right for heresy.”
* * *
Navran and Dastha met them in the throne room in early evening, with golden light pouring in at a shallow angle through the windows and shining on the gold in the room. Navran seemed in high spirits, taking his seat upon the throne with his guard, and greeting Bhudman and Daladham warmly.
“Close the curtain,” Bhudman said bluntly to Dastha when Navran was seated. “We should avoid eavesdroppers until the time is right.”
Navran looked at the saghada with a curious expression. He motioned for Dastha to close the curtain.
“You asked for this meeting several days ago,” Navran said. “If it’s private….”
“It will be public, my lord and king,” Bhudman said. “But not at first.”
Navran gave him a curious stare. He pointed at Daladham. “And Daladham-dhu?”
Daladham felt a lurch of nervousness. He had let Bhudman arrange for the meeting and set the date, as Bhudman had the Heir’s ear. He had hoped that Bhudman would find a time when Navran was well-disposed.
“Daladham-dhu is here as my confidant and counselor,” Bhudman said. “We composed the proposal together.”
“Say it.”
Bhudman bowed. “My Heir, we propose that the dhorsha should be brought into the service of Ulaur.”
Navran’s faced flexed for a moment in an approximation of surprise. He raised a gloved finger and ran a fingertip over one of his scars. “That is not what I expected.”
“May I explain, my lord and king, my Heir?”