by J. S. Bangs
He sighed heavily and closed his eyes. He twitched once or twice. “I don’t know if I can sleep,” he muttered. “Nightmares.”
The fear of nightmares was the most human trait she had seen in him in weeks. “Sleep,” she whispered. “I’ll be here.”
Apurta stood halfway across the room with his fists on his hips. He watched them quietly, then looked down at the floor. He began to pace.
Vapathi sat next to her brother with her hand on his chest until his eyes closed and his breathing grew regular. She watched Apurta pace. When she was sure that Kirshta was asleep, she motioned to Apurta.
“He’s not well,” she said.
Apurta paused. He shook his head.
“We can’t let him stay like this.”
“You said that before,” Apurta said. “But I don’t know what you expect me to do about it. Last time you told me—”
“Last time we talked you were too lovesick for the Empress to care.”
He gave her a bitter look. “Are you just here to torment me?”
Vapathi snorted. “You are the one who decided to torment yourself with her.”
“I thought we were talking about your brother.”
Vapathi looked back at him lying in the bed. “Yes,” she said softly. “We were. Sorry.”
“I don’t know what you want me to do about him. He brought us here, we’re safe, and we have everything we want.”
“He suffers.”
“That’s his problem.”
“I hope you don’t mean that.”
Apurta hesitated. He turned and paced quickly across the room. He shrugged.
“Will you help me?”
“I told you, I don’t know—”
“Oh, never mind,” Vapathi spat. “If you don’t care, just get out and go back to your paramour and forget about me and your friend.”
“I care, Vapathi—”
“Just get out, Apurta.”
He gave her a burning, wounded look. He shuffled slowly to the door. “Fine,” he said as he left.
Fine. She had made things worse, somehow.
She turned back to her brother and watched him breathe. He was trapped. They were all trapped. She needed to get him out.
He was afraid of the book. A dark, desperate thought came to her.
If he was afraid of the thikratta’s book, then perhaps it would deliver them.
But that would mean killing him.
She walked to the balcony of the Emperor’s Tower and looked down. The smooth paving stones of the courtyard glittered in the sunlight six stories before her. The thought came to her, as it had many times before, that she could escape this way. A brief leap over the rail, and she would soar like a leaf in the wind for a few heartbeats. And then she would be free.
Her fingers tightened on the rail.
She glanced back at Kirshta on the bed. With a heavy, conflicted sigh she let go of the rail and returned to his side.
If they were going to die—and she couldn’t see any way out for them short of that—she would perish with him.
Kirshta twitched. His fingers curled up, and his nails began to dig into his palm. A whimper escaped his throat. Vapathi put a hand on his shoulder.
His eyes fluttered open. He drew his breath in suddenly, then he slowly let it out.
“It’s you,” he said. “I thought….”
“It’s fine,” Vapathi said. “You were only asleep for a few minutes. Rest more.”
Kirshta closed his eyes, but his body was tense. He didn’t seem close to sleeping.
“Brother,” she said softly, “I know what we should do.”
“What?” he murmured.
“Chase Sadja-daridarya and recover the book. Where would he have gone?”
“Jaitha,” Kirshta said softly. “Or Gumadha, but probably Jaitha. It’s where I would go.”
“If we go there then we can capture the book. But I want to come—me and Apurta and Basadi and everyone.”
Kirshta heaved a heavy sigh. “We could,” he said.
“I want us to be safe. Isn’t that what you’ve been saying? We need power to keep us safe.”
“You’re right.”
She squeezed his shoulder. “Okay. Rest, now.”
His tension slowly eased. He breathed softly.
She closed her eyes and suppressed a sob. Yes, they would go after Sadja. And if the Emperor had the means to kill her brother, then she would deliver Kirshta into his hand, and he would die, and they would be free.
MANDHI
The gate of Virnas passed overhead, and Mandhi burst into tears.
Kest looked at her in bafflement as she wiped her eyes, only to have them erupt all over as she passed another familiar sight. The gatehouse of Virnas, where Navran had first taken the city. The white pillar which marked the border of the Uluriya district, which she had played atop as a girl. The grand bhilami at the end of the silversmiths’ road. The shadowed alley behind the bhilami where she and Taleg had first kissed.
Sadness and delight and relief and fear and hope and confusion. Jhumitu in her arms began to cry as well, while Kest kept a hand on her elbow, following her lead through the crowded streets, watching Mandhi’s reactions with mute amusement. Aryaji followed them, taking in the sights of the ancient, sacred city in silence.
“Over there,” Mandhi said, pointing back to the east. “Down that road is the way to the saghada Ghauna, who married me and your brother.”
“Oh,” Kest said. He heaved a heavy breath and looked around. In the Uluriya district most of the people on the streets wore the same Uluriya hairstyle and clothing as them: well-trimmed beards with upper lips shaved and hair tied in tight buns. They nodded at Kest and Mandhi with a quiet Stars upon you, recognizing their dress, even though they were dusty with travel. Mandhi hadn’t yet seen anyone she recognized, but they were almost at the door to Veshta’s estate.
When they reached the heavy, wooden door, Mandhi paused. The copper bell hung over the door.
“Here’s where I lived. Where we might live, if we return here. We don’t have to, of course, if you don’t want—Navran-dar would also take us at the palace, or somewhere else if you want—and of course there’s your mother….”
She was babbling. She blushed.
Kest looked down at her with amusement. He spoke softly. “My brother lived here too, right?”
“Yes. Both of us.”
He reached up and struck the copper bell twice. “Then let’s go in. I can’t wait to see it.”
Mandhi barely knew what to do with Kest since Davrakhanda. They’d had no privacy on the boats sailing from Davrakhanda to the Amsadhu, and on the road they had traveled with Jhumitu and Aryaji. He hadn’t approached her again, and she hadn’t asked about it. Perhaps he thought of their interrupted tryst as a mistake. She didn’t, but she didn’t know how to break through his reticence.
A moment after Mandhi rang the bell a young boy’s face peered out the door. He looked at them in incomprehension for a moment, then his eyes grew wide and his jaw dropped open in terror.
“You—it’s a ghost!”
He started to shut the door. Mandhi put her hand out and caught it just before it closed.
“No, Habdana, no! It’s me, Mandhi, and this is Kest, Taleg’s brother.”
“Brother?” Habdana looked them both over for a while, then his lips spread into a grin. He flung the door open and fled into the interior of the house. “Mandhi is here!” his voice sounded in the inner chambers, reaching them only as an echo. “Mandhi is here!”
Mandhi and Kest entered the antechamber, the afternoon light illuminating the green tiles with soft yellow light. Mandhi pointed to the right.
“The men’s ablution chamber is over there. You remember the prayers for purification? Can you say them yourself?”
“I remember,” Kest said.
Mandhi and Aryaji went into their ablution chamber. As soon as they were alone Aryaji whispered, “This is where the Ruin is?”
>
Mandhi nodded. “There’s a stairway off of the inner courtyard when we get in. Bring me the water, please.”
“I want to go in,” Aryaji said, carrying over the laver of purified water. “I want more than anything….”
“Once we get through,” Mandhi said.
Aryaji brought the laver of purified water over to Mandhi, and they performed Mandhi’s ablutions in a tremendous hurry, then purified Jhumitu. He whined as they splashed his head with pure water, but Aryaji rubbed his head dry with a clean rag and he quieted. Mandhi shook the excess water off of her hands. She said to Aryaji, “Do you mind if I go ahead without you? I want to talk to Srithi.”
“Go,” Aryaji said. “I can wash myself.”
Mandhi pushed through the curtain into the courtyard. The sight hit her with a tide of memory: the old paved yard with palms planted at its edges, the colonnade with the rattan chairs in the shade, the blue-tiled pool in the center glittering with water. Her breath caught in her throat.
A joyous shriek of Mandhi! broke her reverie. Her heart leaped. Srithi descended the stairs from the second story. Her feet hit the ground, and she ran.
Srithi’s embrace crushed Mandhi. They both began speaking too fast for either of them to complete their thoughts.
“I had no idea you were coming!” Srithi said. “When did—”
“Came straight from Jaitha, where Sadja-daridarya is—”
“The Emperor! But never mind him, who is—”
“Jhumitu! Can you believe he’s so big? And you have another—”
“I know. Pashman we call him. And Gapthi—”
“Where is she, anyway?”
“With Amashi. And Veshta is at the palace with Yavada-kha—”
“Who?”
“Oh, that will be hard to explain.”
Heavy, damp steps sounded on the stone tiles of the courtyard behind them. Mandhi turned to see Kest emerging from the ablution chamber, looking with cautious curiosity.
“And who is this?” Srithi asked. “I’d say it was—”
“This is Kest. Taleg’s brother.” She paused. “My husband.”
Srithi’s breath caught. “Husband? Another? Where did you find… what happened?”
Kest stepped forward and bowed to Srithi. She returned his bow, but confusion and alarm remained on her face.
“I went to Kalignas,” Mandhi said by way of explanation. “To recover Jhumitu.”
“I knew that,” Srithi said. “You sent a letter to Navran….”
“Yes, and I found Jhumitu with Taleg’s family. All of them, including Kest and a great number of cousins, uncles, and aunts. And then, well, it was complicated. In the end, I married Kest, and they came with me back to Amur.”
“Oh, dear,” Srithi said, putting her hand on her forehead. “Never mind, you can tell me the details later. For now, I see that you’re clean and Mandhi vouches for you. Welcome to our house.”
“And there’s one more,” Mandhi said, pointing to the exit of the women’s ablution chamber. But she didn’t need to say anything. Srithi was already staring at Aryaji. Her face was locked in a stiff expression. Her lips moved, and her eyes seemed to see past Aryaji.
Aryaji was as solid as a stone. She spoke, and her voice echoed off the pavement of the courtyard as if a multitude spoke in her voice.
“Hail sister, mother of multitudes, protectress of generations.” She bowed to Srithi, and at the nadir of her bow she fell to the ground. She began to shake, her whole body quivering like a rattle.
“Hail, sister, child of blades, speaker of damnation,” Srithi said in return. She strode forward, knelt, and put her hand on Aryaji’s head. “But why are you stricken? Be still. Arise.”
At Srithi’s touch, Aryaji’s shaking stopped. The girl gasped for breath and pushed herself up to her knees. Srithi lay a hand on Aryaji’s cheek and smiled at her.
Mandhi’s mouth hung open. Kest behind her coughed. Jhumitu squirmed in her arms. Srithi looked up at them and smiled.
“I suppose I should explain this,” she said.
Mandhi’s tongue flexed. It took her a moment to regain the power of speech. “Yes,” she squeaked. “I suppose you should.”
Srithi pulled Aryaji to her feet and brushed the dust from the front of her sari. She took Aryaji’s face in both hands and kissed her on the cheek.
“I knew you’d be coming,” she said in a familiar, sisterly tone. “But I didn’t know you’d be so young. Oh, Mandhi, have you been taking care of her?”
“Srithi, please—”
“What is there to explain? If you’ve had my sister with you, then you know how the amashi speaks.”
Mandhi couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ve heard the amashi speak. But… but you? Srithi? Are you safe? Are you well?”
“I am safe,” Srithi said, lifting her chin and looking at Mandhi with an expression of slight condescension. “Ever more safe since Caupana has been training me.”
“Caupana?” Mandhi struggled to remember the name, then recalled: one of the two thikratta sent to Virnas with Nakhur and Daladham. “And you say that Caupana is training you?”
“Yes,” Srithi said. She grinned, bowed her head for a moment. She reached out and took Aryaji’s hand. “Without him I would never have been able to bear the amashi’s voice so well. But you, sister. What’s your name? It seems like the spirit has been harder on you….”
The girl smiled cautiously and clasped her hand in Srithi’s. “I am Aryaji,” she said. “The amashi… it’s getting better, but sometimes it still strikes me very hard.”
“And I am Srithi. You should come with me to Caupana. It did not take me long to learn how to use farsight—”
“Farsight?” Mandhi asked. Her incredulity was growing by the moment. She knew Srithi. She’d been friends with Srithi for years. It was utterly impossible that Srithi would transform into a far-seeing thikratta prophetess, but equally impossible that she would lie about it.
“Farsight, sort of,” Srithi said with an embarrassed shrug. “Not like Caupana, of course. I can’t really see anything on my own. But when the amashi comes to me, I can hear it better, and understand it without being knocked over. And Caupana sometimes guides me. That’s how I knew the other prophetess was coming to meet me. There is still one more, of course.”
“Sadja-daridarya,” Aryaji said.
“The Emperor? What about the Emperor?”
“No,” Mandhi said with an ironic laugh. “The last prophet. It’s Sadja-daridarya, whose name we say with fear and trembling.”
It was Srithi’s turn to drop her jaw in astonishment. “The Emperor! You must be—no, you’re completely serious. I would never have guessed—impossible—why didn’t Caupana tell me?”
“Distraction,” a low male voice called out. Two men in the simple yellow robes of a thikratta were descending the stair from the second story of the estate. The tall one, with a square jaw and a shaved head, spoke softly. “You knew there were two others. It would have been a source of anxiety if you knew that one of them was the Emperor of all Amur. Even now, it matters not at all.”
When Caupana and Amabhu reached the ground, they bowed quickly to Mandhi, Kest, and Aryaji. Amabhu, the shorter one with close-cropped, straight black hair, smiled at Mandhi. “Glad to see you arrived. Where are the Emperor and the others?”
“In Jaitha,” Mandhi said. “Most of the os Dramab remained at the mouths of the Amsadhu, but the men who could bear arms went to Jaitha to face the Mouth of the Devourer. The Emperor has a message for Navran-dar.”
“Can it wait?” Srithi said. She rushed forward and took Mandhi’s hand, pressing it against her chest. “I need to know about you and Kest and Kalignas, and about everything that happened, and how you found Jhumitu. And you haven’t met my second child.”
“Yes, yes,” Mandhi said, laughing. “That’s why I came here instead of going straight to the palace.”
“Now where is Habdana?” Srithi said, looking around. “Habdan
a!”
The boy stuck his head out of one of the side doors off of the courtyard. “What, Srithi?”
“Bring cushions and tell Kidri to make tea. No, I’ll do the cushions, here in the shade, it’s too hot in the sun. Tell Amashi to bring the children. Mandhi, we have so much to talk about.”
She pulled Mandhi to the shaded colonnade to where a set of cotton-wrapped cushions were stacked, and she began to arrange them for all of the guests.
“You’ll be staying here, won’t you?” she asked urgently.
“Here, or in the palace,” Mandhi said. “We still have to go see Navran-dar.”
“Here tonight,” Srithi said firmly. “Veshta is at the palace now, talking with Nakhur and that dhorsha—did you hear about their council? No, you wouldn’t have. Anyway, later you and Kest can move to the palace if you want to, but stay at least a few days here with me. Navran-dar is married now, did you know? His wife is Utalni-dar, a sweet young thing. Comes and visits me sometimes.”
“Slow down,” Mandhi said. Srithi was giving her too much at once. “Maybe I should start. Tell you about Kest.”
“Oh, yes,” Srithi said. The cushions were arranged, and she sat herself down, showing Mandhi and Kest where to sit with a wave of her hand. She looked at Kest with a sweet, honest glance of appraisal. “You certainly look like Taleg. Much more serious, though.”
“Yes,” Kest said dryly. “Is that a problem?”
“No, not at all,” Srithi said. Aryaji and the two thikratta completed their circle in the shade. “Everyone is here, now? Okay, Mandhi, tell me everything about what happened in Davrakhanda and Kalignas.”
Mandhi began.
* * *
Night came to the House of the Ruin, and true to her word Srithi prepared a room for Mandhi, Kest, and Jhumitu. It was a comfortable corner room—not the same one that Mandhi had used before, but large enough for Kest’s two bedrolls stitched together and the thick cotton padding that the page put down to make the most comfortable bed that Mandhi had seen since Sadja’s palace.
Mandhi made a little hammock of blankets in one corner of the room and lay Jhumitu down to sleep. The child was more tired than any of them, and after only a few minutes of mewling and rocking his breathing slowed and he curled up into satisfied sleep. When Mandhi turned around, she saw Kest watching her intently. She smiled at him.